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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The General (part 9): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: nothing is the way it was before. there is no future; there is no past. all there is... is nothing.

wc: 2.1k

tw: light gore

masterlist

“She’s not gonna eat; I already told you that.”

The sounds of Kaori and Toji fighting just outside of your door leak into your room, but you’re beyond caring. Megumi sits beside you in the sun-lit room, eyes scanning the outdoors, looking for any sign of an animal. You’re tucked underneath a warm, thick blanket, despite the temperature outside being warm enough to cause a little sweat. No, things were better this way.

When you had come to after blacking out, Toji, Kaori, and Megumi were hovering over you, trying to figure out what to do about the General’s untimely passing. But in the two months since, no one had quite figured out how to bring you back to life. The only thing they could do is watch you slowly waste away and become a shell of your former self.

Your parents suspect it’s because your princely husband had not sent for you since the war had ended, and you’re grieving a supposed loss. But neither Kaori nor Toji had the heart to admit that this loss wasn’t supposed. It was real.

Your days are spent in your bed or in the garden behind the house, mind empty as Megumi attempts to watch over you and possibly even cheer you up by play-fighting with his father. But more often than not, you’re reduced to tears, and Toji fetches Kaori because he “can’t deal with crying women”.

“My lady?” The head maid enters into your room with an orange and onigiri in her hands. “I brought you some fresh fruit from the market. Hamai sends her regards as well.” Hamai - Yuta’s sister and wife of Yuko - had also attempted to visit you, but her grief motivated her to knock on your door, and you couldn’t bear to think of Yuta or Nanami or--

“Thank you,” you croak, and she nods, handing Megumi the two onigiri.

“Your father said you’d better eat these or he’ll never--”

“‘Feed me again’. I know,” Megumi chants monotonously and takes the rice balls from her hands. “Thank you, Kaori-san.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any visitors?” Kaori asks for the third time. You cut your eyes to her, attempting a glare. “Hamai would love to come and--”

“Listen, the lady said no visitors,” Toji gripes, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ve been fighting off a ton of measly looking men who have nothing to say except ‘I’ve come to see Lady y/n’ and honestly, if you invite another person to this damn place, I’ll kill them on the spot.”

You roll away from the two people and look out of the window, remaining silent as Megumi eats his onigiri and stares at the bears and tigers in his book. Kaori and Toji retreat, restarting their squabble as soon as the door closes, leaving you to think about nothing and no one.

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re in the garden when Megumi runs up to you, holding a light pashmina to cover your shoulders in the chill of fall.

“Careful, you might get sick,” he warns, and you accept the article with a smile.

“Thank you, sweet one.” The child climbs onto the bench you’re seated on, swinging his legs while you stare at the shishi-odoshi in silence. You’re suddenly reminded of the three other sweet children you left back at the camp, and before you can begin to sob out loud, your hand flies to your mouth.

“Hey,” Toji appears from the house, hands deep in his pockets as he surveys the area. “You alright?”

“Just fine,” you whisper, pushing back tears and grief all at once. “I just needed some peace and quiet.”

“Yeah, gardens will give you that.” Toji stands beside the fountain and stares into the water for a moment before turning to Megumi. “There’s a frog out by the lake if you’re interested in--” Megumi hops down from the bench and disappears around the corner in a flash, abandoning you without a worry in the world. You sigh, watching him fade into the distance, and then turn to Toji, who is already staring at you with some unreadable expression.

“What is it?” you grumble, blinking slowly.

“Nothing, just…” Toji presses his lips together and looks sky-ward, thinking about his next words carefully. “I know you feel like everyone in the whole world can fuck off since Geto died… but have you ever considered moving on?” You tilt your head to the side, wondering if Toji really ever listened to himself talk. “I mean, yeah this shit is painful, but…” Toji rubs his neck and looks away from you and back to the fountain. “You have to move on at some point.”

“He told me to wait for him,” you explain, wrapping the pashmina a little tighter and squinting at the shapes in the pool. “I’m going to do just that.”

“Y/n, he’s dead… what good will waiting do? Will you wait your whole life?”

Your head snaps to Toji and you curl your lip up in disgust.

“You’ve never loved anyone in this world but yourself and your money,” you spit, standing from your seated position so fast that Toji takes a half-step back. “I don’t imagine that you’d know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s not true,” he retorts, frowning. “I’m trying to help you, that’s all. I’d hate to see you waste away over a man who can’t even survi--” The pashmina falls from your shoulders as your hand makes contact with his face, the echo of the slap scaring a flock of birds from the surrounding trees into the sky.

“Speak ill of Geto again, and I’ll make sure those words are your last.” Toji doesn’t touch his bruised cheek as you stomp off, watching you retreat back into the house as he realizes that he let you slap him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Screams haunt your sleep, fire burns the camp, and you’re running away, holding hands with the children as you dash into the forest. Geto is behind you, fighting off some unknown assailant, but you instinctively know how the dream is going to end.

You trip and fall over a root of a tree, but you yell at the children to escape. They continue running, not sparing you a second glance, but you turn around just as Geto is stabbed through the chest by a spear and falls with his back to the ground. His head tilts back and he makes eye contact with you, blood pouring out of his mouth as he chokes:

“Wait for me.”

You shoot up in the bed and stumble out of your room through the sliding door that leads to the garden, sweat pouring down your neck and back as you sink to your knees. Your stomach heaves once, twice, depositing yellow bile into the bushes beside the house. The sun is barely up, and as you dry heave, you hear another door sliding open, Toji then Kaori tumbling out of your back door.

“Poison,” Toji grunts, but Kaori pushes him aside before he can get to you.

“No, she didn’t even eat anything before bed,” she states, rubbing your back with her cool hands. Your skin clams up as a breeze rolls across the garden, and you shudder violently before your teeth begin to chatter. “Toji, a blanket.”

“Isn’t that your job?” he gripes, but walks into the house to grab a blanket anyways. When the cloth resta against your back, you feel a little better, but the feeling in your stomach won’t go away.

“My Lady… talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“Go,” you shake Kaori off, not wanting to repeat the events of your dream.

“It’s probably because she didn’t eat,” Toji groans, the stairs squeaking under his weight. “I’ll get her a --”

“Both of you. Go.” You look up at Toji, mustering your sternest look, and aiming the same expression at Kaori, who walks away from you, head hung low.

You stay in the garden as true morning crests over the sky, lying on the bench under the bare cherry blossom tree while the skies turn into pinks and yellows, and reds. The image of Geto’s bloodied face wouldn’t depart from your memory and you feel the ache even deeper than before. The ache intensifies until it feels like all of you is just one large hole, throbbing with need and grief.

Nothing could save you.

No one was coming back for you.

They were all dead, and there was nothing left of the people you had grown to love and care for.

It isn’t until your mother walks into the garden that you realize you might have missed your breakfast of an orange and water, but she comes bearing the fruit and you’re set back at ease. You wordlessly allow your mother to sit beside you, lifting your head so it rests in her lap snugly. She pats your hair gently, then inhales deeply, speaking in her normal soft tones.

“Kaori told me you were sick last night,” she begins, and you nod as if she had asked a question and not stated a fact. “Ever since Geto Suguru died, you’ve been awfully sullen. One might think you had been with him the whole time and not at the Imperial Palace.” You glance up at your mother, and she winks at you. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell your father.”

“How did you know?” you wonder, and she smiles, wrinkles forming at the edges of her mouth.

“Well first, whoever the General gets to write his letters needs to brush up on their penmanship,” she laughs, then shrugs. “But it was your face the day that the General was announced dead that I saw you change. It only took me a few days to realize that you were in mourning, not upset that your prince hadn’t sent for you.”

“Mother, I--”

“You had every right to keep it a secret, although I wish you hadn’t. It would’ve made my interrogation of Toji much easier.” You imagine your own mother - all of five-foot-four, standing up to the massive Fushiguro with a finger to his chest - and you can’t help but chuckle. “Whatever the General did, I haven’t seen you glowing like you did when you returned since you were a little girl. I’ll have to find a way to thank him for that.”

You choke out a deep sob, closing your eyes as you think of the lack of tribute, the lack of a funeral, the missing images of him that won’t return to your memory.

“Though Toji takes good care of you. I haven’t seen that man slack off on his job once since after the announcement. He’s also been very helpful with your father. You know, he would ma--”

“Lady y/n!” Kaori sprints out of the home, and you both look up to see her flustered expression, wondering what would have her so worked up this early in the morning. “There was a messenger from the Imperial Palace in the square!” she stops in front of you, panting heavily. “The Emperor… has fallen… ill.” When she catches her breath, the head maid can finally finish her statement, and she exhales deeply. “As is custom, his eldest son will be taking a tour of the country. And he’s named this village as his final stop, with your house as his resting place for the time he is here. He’ll be in the village in a fortnight.” You sit up, eyeing the maid carefully.

Pieces of a puzzle begin to click together in your mind.

“His eldest son is Prince Naoya, correct?”

“Yes, my lady.” As if sensing your premature plan, Kaori looks you dead in the eyes, daring you to do what she imagines you are already thinking of.

“And you said a fortnight?” Your mother butts in, squinting her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Fourteen days to prepare.” you whisper, lifting your head out of your mother’s lap and retreating to the house to find the eldest Fushiguro. Kaori enters behind you, grabbing your elbow before you can open his guest room door.

“What you’re thinking of is suicide,” she hisses, but you shrug.

“What better way to rejoin Geto than to kill his murderer and then die myself?” you retort, but she slaps a hand over the gap between the wall and the door, blocking you from entering.

“This isn’t what he would want,” Kaori pleads. “Please, think about what he said.”

“I cannot wait for a dead man, Kaori. Now, let me go.” You yank free from her grasp and enter the guest room, eyeing a lazy Toji lounging by the window. “I need your help.”

He rolls his head around to look at you and raises a brow. “With what, my lady?”

“I need to kill a prince in two weeks. Think you can help me with that?”

“You mean treason?” Toji sits up, letting the book he held in his hands drop to his bed, and hums thoughtfully. “Killing a prince as revenge… putting the Imperial Court into chaos… yeah, I think I can help you with that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something

#jujutsu kaisen getou #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #getou x reader #getou suguru #jjk gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro

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sugiwa · 3 years

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small dreams

It took one 27 second long video for Keigo to fall in love

The video looped through every news cycle, and each reaction varied from outright derision to almost mythical awe emerging. On YouTube, it was viral in fifty-three different countries and Starburst—a name derived from a candy company that the pro-hero was fond of—jokingly tweeted that she was more famous than All-Might.

And she might have been thanks to the reporter that not only caught her decking the father of a girl she just saved but also recorded the subsequent twenty-seven seconds it took for three police officers to pull her off him and pull her away. The peace sign Y/N threw up as the police led her into a car probably didn’t help, nor did the live stream of her twenty-four hours in a holding cell while they investigated her claim of the man’s abuse and finally released her.

Though there were news outlets that tried to pin Starburst down as a hero on the edge of villainy, her public reputation hadn’t taken any damage. It was hard, after all, to claim that she did the wrong thing when they heard the girl’s testimony and pulled her medical records. But, Starburst—or L/N Y/N—still faced punishment from the Hero Public Safety Commission despite all this.

Attacking an unarmed civilian was apparently a big no-no—even if he was an abusive asshole. She was spared having her license revoked until she retested the simple principle that she had refrained from using her quirk. Her sentence was lessened to a month-long suspension with a strict patrol schedule in some city near Tokyo.

Y/N could work with it. She could put up with the Commission’s inane chatter for the sake of her job, but she drew the line at issuing an apology. It took three hours to wiggle her way out of a press conference to address the event. By the time her meeting with the Commission and sentencing was done, Y/N retweeted the initial video with the caption: Totally worth it.

Keigo was slightly in love with Starburst. Maybe it was the way she strolled into the Hero Public Safety Commission building fresh out of handcuffs and bluntly told them that she wasn’t apologizing and would rather become a vigilante than listen to ten more minutes of them debating the future of her career.

Or maybe it was the video which he’d seen a hundred times over, where she looked like a hero. The kind he’d always dreamed of as a kid, the kind who swooped in and beat the bad guy and then offered you stickers and candy and told you everything would be alright because it was exactly what she’d done for that little girl.

Either way, L/N Y/N was a hero who deserved a little rest, which was why he was currently tailing her patrol route and taking care of the problems before she could move. Her quirk was right out of a comic book too. The golden energy that left her capable of issuing an instant KO.

“Will you leave me alone?” she snapped, finally turning around to glare at him. She had a warm face, not made for anger which was probably why the glare fell away a moment later, replaced by a smile. “I appreciate the help, but I’m not offering any fanservice in exchange.”

“Who said I was a fan?” His wings flapped, feathers flying back toward him.

“You regularly stalk girls mid-air? That sort of thing does not fly with me.” Y/N laughed, nose scrunching at her own joke. “Get it…cause we both fly….”

He smiled innocently, “Thought of that all on your own?”

Y/N groaned, twisting her earring, “Just because I didn’t go to a fancy-ass hero school like Wet Jeanist and Flameo Hotman doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

Slight insulted by the nickname she gave his favorite hero, he asked, “Flameo Hotman? You mean Endeavor-san?”

“Ohhh, that’s a man-crush voice.” Her eyes tightened with mischief, “I’m gonna have to dip since I got a hot date with my credit card. See you later, Chicken Little.”

He watched her go in slight awe because Y/N really was as crazy as the stories said. Starburst was a hero that had a bit of a cult following. She wasn’t high enough in the rankings to be wildly popular the way he was—up until she went viral, that was. A graduate of Ketsubutsu who went on to attend college before actually becoming a hero, she was on a watch list with the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Apparently, non-conformity was an issue…who knew.

A rain of confetti fell over Keigo’s head, brightly colored and all covered in specks of glitter. He inhaled deeply, turning to see Starburst’s grinning face as she eagerly clapped. Endeavor, like always whenever he was forced to be in Starburst’s proximity, turned around and stalked down the hall. Her confetti burned in his wake. Y/N’s voice followed him, offering an empty congratulations to the hero.

“How’s my precious senpai doing?” she asked, turning her attention to him.

“You really know how to annoy him, huh?” asked Keigo staring at the empty hall. If you gave Y/N too much attention, she ran with it. “What’s the deal?”

Y/N shrugged, rolling her shoulders confidently, “Some people are not equipped to handle true talent.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Keigo.

“I may or may not have drunkenly confessed that I had no idea who he was to a bunch of reporters during last week.” Y/N made a rude gesture with her hand. “I mean, if you’re not Number One, then do you really matter?”

“Harsh,” he ruffled his wings, freeing the last of her glitter confetti and letting it rain on the ground. “You all good with the Commission now?”

“All thanks to you! I owe you one, you know that?”

“Nah,” Keigo waved her off, resisting the urge to laugh as she made her bright eyes as wide as possible. “It was pretty brave of you. Plus, I think anyone would have done the same thing.”

Three months out of trouble, Y/N once again made headlines for ‘accidentally’ dropping a child trafficker off a building. She caught him before he hit the ground, but apparently, the authorities deemed the emotional damage a little extreme.

“They probably would have been a bit smarter about it, though.”

“Well, don’t worry, no one expects you to be the brains.”

Y/N pouted. “True.”

Keigo laughed. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re not in the top ten.”

“Is bullying the new rage these days?” Her pout grew, arms crossing over her chest, “Everyone’s got something snippy to say to me. Where’s Rumi when I need her?”

“Gonna hide behind her?”

“Fuck yeah.” Y/N nodded emphatically as she reached into her pocket for a pack of gum. She offered him a piece. “Let’s see how your chicken wings stand against her legs.”

Keigo looked at the gum and then her. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Wanna get something to eat?”

Her smile looked like the sun, “Thought you’d never ask.”

“So, what’s the deal with you and Dragonbreath?” asked Y/N, sprawling across his couch. It was the third time this week she was here. He should tell her to leave, but the words die in his throat in his mouth every time he tried.

There’s too much risk. Dabi’s listening in on everything he does these days, and he doesn’t want her anywhere near them. Not when he’s aware of what they’re planning. Not when he knows how Y/N would react.

She was rough and improper in everything she does, but there’s no one brighter or better when it came to genuine goodness.

Keigo dodged the question with his own. “Endeavor again?”

“Ran into him last week and got yelled at for ten minutes for getting in his way. The guy was in my path, and I’m the one getting yelled at? Next time, I’m drop-kicking him off his skyscraper.” She kicked her leg in the air, reminding him that she was scarcely dressed.

Was this what having a girlfriend like? Constantly jumping between fondness and horniness? He wasn’t complaining.

He heard this threat a million times. “Still mad about the fact that he has one?”

“I’m a simple country girl. I’d be happy with a peach orchard and some chickens.”

“Come here,” he crooked his finger at her. Y/N got up instantly, crossing the room toward the balcony where he stood. Her hands wrapped around his waist, slipping under his shirt, across his skin, over his chest. Too much and too little at the same time.

“You’ll get cold out here,” she murmured. He could sink in the warmth she offered.

“It’s nice seeing the world so still.”

A noise left her throat, wet and worried, “Hawks, whatever it is, whatever they’re making you do, I’ll be here. I promise.”

People joked about Y/N being dumb—he did it too often to count, but she saw more than most people did when it mattered.

“Why’d you become a hero?”

“Saved a cute boy once, and he gave me a kiss,” she said. He’d heard that story before. She offered it in every interview, never expanding on what boy or how she saved him. It was also a glaring lie.

He didn’t push her. He lied about too many things to count.

Keigo took her face between his hands—the urge to kiss that tiny speck by her eyes thrummed through him. It would take a thousand-thousand years for him to forget her face. Y/N turned, her lips skimming his palm, cold and warm at once.

He loved her because she was Y/N. Because in her, he could love himself and not grow cold from it. Because the numbness he’d always known leaked out in place of affection. He loved her boundlessly—above, below, and across—unhindered, without ill will, without enmity.

It was with her that he was Takami Keigo and not the current Number Two.

His hand cupped her neck, fingers tangling in the curls of her hair. Her lips opened under his. A trail of fire burst across his lips, and for a moment, he only knew the sweetness of her mouth. He drank her in, each breath, each hushed sound leaving her throat.

He would do what they asked and make the choices no one else could.

It was worth the world he dreamed of.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x y/n #tamaki Keigo x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #takami keigo #bnha #mha #hawks #mha hawks

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hivequest · 3 years

Text

Taking a Risk » Mallek Adalov/Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k words

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, stressed out reader, chillboy Mallek. TYping quirk only used when texting cause I could not be bothered lmao Originally posted on AO3

A/N: One of my favorite things that I’ve written, ever. I love Mallek and he’s for sure one of my favorite Friendsim characters. When I wrote this I was really feeling those Quarantine Woes

You didn't know what you were doing here. You felt out of place in the worst possible ways. It was a weird, squidgy feeling like stepping on wet grass. But not like the fun kind where you were running around in a sprinkler on a hot-as-balls summer day. No, this was the bad kind of wet grass that you stepped on without knowing it was wet. Why weren't you wearing shoes?

This analogy is stupid. The point is, you're feeling bummed out.

And what better way to not have to deal with that than hang out with someone you knew wouldn't push you into talking about all the ways crashing on this planet sucked! The point is, you're on your way to see Mallek. Mallek is absolutely the kind of friend who can tell when you just need to sit down and veg out. You had been so caught up in everyone else's bullshit that you weren't looking after your own damn self. So now you were doing that.

All it took was a quick text, asking Mallek if he had any company. He texted back only a moment later with a no, obviously not. You asked him if he wanted any. Not really. You ask him if you can come over anyway. Obviously.

You smiled at the palmhusk in your, well, palm. You could already feel the chill vibes of your hacker friend. Friend? Was that the right word for it? You didn't know anymore. When you first met there were definitely some sparks there. You could still feel them now and it made weird butterflies flutter around in your stomach. When you slapped his phone out of his hand and he sent you ass over applecart into the slimy depths of sewer water and he saved you, tits out and all.

You shook off the weird wistful feeling of maybe possibly crossing the friendship barrier and told him you'd walk to his hive. You'd been moping in some bookhive, not your usual hang-out spot with Tagora or Tyzias. This was some upper caste bookhive with purple bloods and some indigos and definitely not where you were welcome if the looks you were getting were any indication. They ranged from snooty to downright murderous. Yeesh.

Your phone -palmhusk, stupid troll names- beeped again. You got another text from him and those cheery fucking butterflies were back. God, you had it bad.

yeah were not doing that lmao;

im not going to let my robobuddy walk out in the sun

do you even know what time of day it =

just stay put ive already got your location ill pick you up;

And like a good little friendsimp. You park your ass on a chair and wait. You hadn't released your moping had taken up most of the night. But with the quick look around, yeah, no, this place was nearly empty by now. Just some older bluebloods trying to cram before their Ordeals and get shipped off-planet. Again: Yeesh.

You kept your ears open for the telltale sound of Mallek's limo. It was a sound you were getting used to these days. He always seemed ready to drop whatever coding shit he was working on to come to see you. You tried not to think too hard on what that might mean. No need to get your hopes up now. It's probably just your bad mood making you imagine some context where there's nothing. Yeah.

Damn, that shit hurted.

Just as you were about to add that to the reasons you were considering just screaming your lungs out who cares whose listening? you heard the wonderfully familiar sound of an approaching elongated scuttlebuggy. If that wasn't enough of a clue as to who the ride was for the quiet of the bookhive was very abruptly disturbed by a series of rhythmic beeps.

Holy shit was that the Tetris theme?

You shoved your palmhusk into your hoodie pocket and yanked the hood over your head. Even if the sun was only out a little bit you didn't want it anywhere near your freshly healed skin. You had no kind cowgirl to nurse you back to health right now if you got your asscheeks baked by the flaming death orb. You peeked your head out and even with the blinding light of Alternia's suns you could Mallek had opened the door and was waiting for you.

Aw. No, shit. You're in a bad mood don't get all heart eyes at him. Don't make it weird.

You took a few steps back into the bookhive, ready to make a run for it. You turn to a sitting indigoblood, who is just staring at you disdainfully for keeping the door open. You give her a two-fingered salute. Godspeed young cosmonaut. She gives you a one-fingered salute. Close the door you insufferable bulgebiter. Fair.

Taking a running start, you book it out into the heat of the Alternian sun and dive for the open car door. It's then that you realize he's halfway parked on the sidewalk to lessen the amount of time you'd have to spend in the sun. Aw. That also means that you came barreling like a cannonball at something that was like two feet out of the door. FUck.

Your face meets carpet and you can already feel the rugburn starting to set in. You hear a startled wheezy laugh from above you, a sound you know better than anyone else on this planet. You smile. It's not like you had any dignity to begin with.

You say hello to him as you peel yourself off of the floor of his car.

"Hey, there robobuddy. You stuck the landing this time," He smiles down at you as he reaches over you to shut the door, closing the space out from natural light and leaving you both lit by his colorful LEDs. You shrug and tell him you've been getting a lot of practice landing on your face these days. The look he gives you is still smiling but there's some level of disbelief at the dumbassery that is your whole existence.

"I know you can get yourself into it. Nothing too bad this time, though, right? No drones or broken bones?" He sounds concerned which is nice but he doesn't drown you with his concern. He leans back on the bench of his limo, keeping an eye on you as the vehicle begins to move on its own. You've been staying out of big messes but the little messes are starting to mess with you. He makes a sound of understanding the sounds as it comes from deep in his chest. Whoa. "Believe me, I've been there. Glad you're not cracking under it though."

He smiles and you can see his little fang and you can feel your heart melt a little. And also you're getting a bit teary-eyed and now Mallek looks alarmed. Shit. You try to quickly explain that you're fine, just, alien allergies am I right? He must be using some new air freshener to mask the musty smell of his limo. Since doesn't use it enough. Ha ha?

He isn't buying it.

With a rare show of cerulean prowess, he lifts you up off of the shitty car rug and sets you on the seat beside him. He feels uncomfortable and you can tell. Ah, goddammit you made it weird. You didn't mean to. Fuck. Fuck now you're feeling even worse. You thought you were starting to balance out. You're with Mallek now, shouldn't everything start to quiet down like it always does? Fuck. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans back against the seat and stretches his arms across it, letting you lean on him if you choose to.

...You choose to.

Your head finds itself somewhere between his shoulder and his collarbone, and you just. Shove your face there. Then scream.

To his credit, Mallek doesn't even flinch. He doesn't wince or shy away from you as you let out every bit of anger, sadness, and frustration out against his sweater. He just sits quietly, staring straight at the blacked-out windshield. You get the feeling he's needed to do this more than once.

Screw this planet. Screw everything about it that makes all of your friends suffer. Why can't you just get them away from all this bullshit?! Why do you have to deal with everyone's bullshit! You love them, you do but holy fuck they're looking to you like you can undo all the damage this place has done to them when you've got literally no god damn idea what's happening at any point ever!

And then, just like that, it fades into the background. Your throat hurts. Your head hurts and you think you might be crying. But it feels lighter. Better now that you've gotten some of that aggression out. You aren't like the trolls on Alternia. You can't kill people when you experience an Emotion™. But that doesn't mean you don't get pent up with rage.

Mallek realizes that now. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and his left hand slowly moves down from the back of the seat the rest against your back. His thumb brushes against your back, the claw drawing little patterns against the fabric of your sweater. His sweater. He tries not to think his sign your chest. This isn't the time.

"Feeling any better?" He asks and you don't know how to answer. You kinda don't want to. But you nod anyways, and you feel some tension leave his body. You knew he was worried about you. You apologize for making him witness your meltdown but he just makes another deep-chested hum. "Nothing to apologize for. I got the feeling you weren't feeling great. I could tell from the texts, you didn't use nearly enough ugly emojis."

You scoff and smack a hand against his chest and once again you hear that wonderful laugh from him. Hey! Your purrbeast emojis are adorable, thank you very much! And you'll not hear another word of it or else you'll send him pictures of rocks and rocks exclusively. No more memes.

"Jokes on you I'm into that shit." You laugh and thump your head against his collarbone. You thank him for being with you when were needed it. And picking you up to make sure you didn't deal with it alone. You don't want to make it weird but...yeah.

He doesn't respond this time, just letting you both enjoy the silence and the comforting sound of the engine. You should almost be at Mallek's apartment by now. It's as you're settling in for the last bit of the drive that you notice that the limo isn't moving. And hasn't been for a while. Your head pops up in confusion and the little GPS display on the back of one of the seats says... yep.

You're already at Mallek's.

But then why is the engine still on? That can't be good for the environment. Do these things even run on gas or is it bugs? Bug gas? Gross.

You notice then that the rumbling is coming from behind you. Like. From where Mallek is sitting. He doesn't look away when you turn to him, just kind of tilting his head to the side with a little bit of a cerulean hue to his cheeks. Oh. Oh, the sound is coming from him. He's purring. That's.

That's adorable.

You feel yourself soften even more when he lifts his arms, silently offering a hug if you want it. Is this platonic? Is this more? You've never had too much trouble identifying what people wanted from you. (Debatable.) If was overtly flushed you could shut it down or divert it to something very much friends only. (Like your every exchange with Zebruh.) But did you even want to do that to your hackerman? You could feel yourself screaming, no, absolutely not. But at the same time, you didn't want things to change. You didn't want to make his issues any worse than they already were. He didn't have too much longer on the planet and you knew it would tear him apart.

But then he turned those blue eyes to you. He looked just as unsure as you were but he was willing to take the risk. He shoved himself so far out of his comfort zone for you and was asking you to be selfish. To want something for yourself and do something for yourself. Not put him or anyone else's wants first. Just your own. And so you did.

You crawled up into his lap, pressed yourself as close to him as you could and clung to him. His arms didn't hesitate to wrap around you and you could feel a shuddering breath from above you.

"We don't have to put a label on this... not yet. Or ever. Either way is chill with me. I just... yeah." He gave up with a little shrug of his shoulders but you knew what he meant. Unless you could find a way to fight fate he was going to go off-world. He was going to leave you and you doubted you'd be able to go with him. You'd probably get gored by a drone for even trying.

But even if it was just for now, just for a moment, you were going to take it. You were going to let yourself have something, have someone who would care for you no matter how long or short your time was. You'd take it. You had stomached some of the most horrible things on this planet but Mallek had always been a constant. And you got the feeling he thought the same way about you.

So, you'd take it. Whatever comes next, you'd take it. You listened to the sound of his purring, in no hurry to move to get inside the apartment. Mallek felt the same.

You exhaled.

You would be okay.

#homestuck #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #mallek adalov #friendsim #homestuck imagines #hiveswap imagines #reader insert

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Taken Care Of (Derek x Reader)

A/N: I love a sick fic. It’s good, low-stakes hurt/comfort style fluff. The title was originally “Is it really love if he’s never seen you shoot snot rockets?” but since there was no actual said rockets, it seemed misleading.

Apparently, also my writing is prophetic because I’m finishing this under feverish duress of some sort of cold (its 81 degrees, I’m wearing a hoodie, and I'm freezing. This is bullshit.)

Word Count: 2437

Rating: G - descriptions of illness (mostly pain, dizziness), crying and self-deprecation

For what will soon become obvious reasons, this is set pre-movie.

“Derek? What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing the school lobby quickly to greet him, your friends trailing behind a little slowly.

“Hey Baby Girl,” he said with a grin. “You've been so busy, I feel like I don't ever see you. I missed you,” he gave you that pout he was frustratingly good at, the one that made you melt like butter no matter what else was going on, as he laced his fingers between yours.

“So you decided to visit me at school?” As glad as you were to see him, part of you wished he hadn’t just shown up. This hadn’t been how you planned for him to be added to this part of your life, and it wasn’t exactly good timing.

“I thought we could get lunch? I didn't know you'd be hangin out with your friends. Don't let me interrupt.”

His words nudged you, and you hastily made introductions.

“Oh, so you're the mysterious Derek. I always knew Y/N had good taste,” Alli hummed, looking over him with a flirtatious hunger.

You felt your stomach clench at the look she gave him. It wasn’t quite jealousy, trusting him far too much for concern to ever cross your mind, but something like fear settled over you. Or maybe it was just the nausea you’d felt all week, you tried to tell yourself. Derek seemed to sense the tension you held in every part of your body, and gave your hand an affirming squeeze.

“I don't know about mysterious,” he chuckled, “Y/N reads me like an open book.”

Jen laughed. “Perfect answer,” she slung an arm over your shoulder with a grin. “I like him. Definitely approve.”

“Ladies,” Alexi said, interrupting on their way past. “As curious as we all are to meet and drool over the boy Y/N’s been keeping to herself, let her have him to herself.”

They hooked their arms through the other two’s elbows who planted their feet and refused to be dragged away. You couldn’t help but laugh at your friends' antics, as tired and slightly embarrassed as you were. Derek was grinning at them, still holding your hand and keeping you tucked against him.

“Wait wait,” Jen protested. “Y/N. You’re taking him to Aida’s right? You have to.”

“I don’t know…” the smirk on Alli’s face continued to roil your stomach. “I’d just take him home.”

“What’s Aida’s?” Derek asked, hiding his face in your hair, surprising you that he was actually embarrassed by your friends’ comments.

“Only the best food ever,” Alexi answered with a smile. “Y/N can tell you all about it on the way. Just do that cute thing and share a milkshake with two straws, or I’ll hunt you. Byyyye.”

Giving up on pulling the others, they decided to push you two out the doors instead. Rather than dealing with more of their nonsense, you let yourselves leave, and stopped just out of range.

“Aida’s is a place around the corner. Cheap. Definitely knows how to cater to the student crowd. Good food, pretty amazing milkshakes. And coffee has unlimited free refills in a two hour window.”

“Sounds great. I wanted to take you to lunch. Do you want to?”

“It’s no big deal,” you shrugged. “I go there all the time. We should do something special, since you came all this way.”

“Y/N. You know I don’t care about that. I’m happy anywhere you decide. Besides,” he leaned closer to purr in your ear, words like honey sending a shiver down your spine, “I want to know all your places.”

“You’re terrible. Maybe another time. It’s a longer walk but...I’m feeling ramen?”

“Lead the way.”

You felt your steps dragging as you and Derek walked, trying your best to hide it from your boyfriend. Your lungs burned despite the walk normally being well within manageable, and several times you stumbled, doing your best to stay upright in the wake of a wave of exhaustion.

“I know you wanted to get lunch,” you said suddenly, pausing, “but can't we just get to-go and go back to my place? I’m pretty tired, and I really don't…I was just hoping for a nap before work tonight.”

He caught your hesitation and frowned. “Baby, what's wrong?”

“Nothing. I just...haven't been feeling myself for a couple of days. It's been a hard semester, that's all. The walk’s making it hit me a little.”

Derek stopped, turning to face you, eyes tracing over your face. No doubt he was taking in the deep, almost bruise-colored bags under your eyes that were only sort of hidden by your makeup. Or maybe it was the glossy sheen behind them. Once he had spotted one, the other signs started to jump at him: your fever-flushed cheeks and discolored skin, your dry, cracked lips, the slump of your shoulders, even your unusually loose and ill-fitted clothing.

You watched his jaw working as he struggled to contain whatever thought was on the tip of his tongue.

“Go ahead and say it,” you said with a sigh, throat burning with the exaggerated airflow.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re holding back.”

“Baby girl, you look awful,” his tone was flat and his face apologetic.

You tried to laugh, but it came out in more of a wet cough that made you wince, partially from the feeling, but mostly from the look he now wore.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I’m not. It’s just a little cold,” you protested, the argument weakened by another coughing fit, this one hitting harder and leaving you wheezing. The fit, or the way you swayed, dizzy and unsteady as the blood rushed back out of your head when it was over, seemed to be the last straw.

“That’s it,” he said, tone serious and sharp. “We’re going to my mom’s and she and I are gonna take care of you.”

“But--”

“Nope. You lost your protest privileges.” He was already steering you back in the opposite direction of where you were headed. “You can call Nino and tell him you won’t be in while I drive.”

“I don’t want to rob you of lunch,” you tried to fight anyway, voice weak and throat raw.

“I’ll eat somethin at home. I can’t believe you’re still tryin to...” he shook his head, muttering fondly about stubborn Irish pains in the ass.

After begrudgingly making the call to Nino, who sounded shocked but completely forgiving, you decided on one last ditch effort to escape admitting to and dealing with being sick.

‘Help I’m being held hostage!’ you texted Sean.

His response came only a moment later. ‘What??????!’

‘Your stupid bestfriend is making me admit I’m sick and keeping me from going to work.’

‘He’ A second text came through a moment later. ‘Good.’

‘WHAT? You’re my cousin, you’re supposed to be on my side. Rescue me. Before he sics his mother on me.’

There was a long pause, more than you thought Sean should need to respond. When the message finally came through, you couldn’t help glaring at the screen.

‘I’d rather fight an actual bear than Ma Sandoval.’

‘Ah. So you’re in on it. I see how it is. Your betrayal will not be forgotten.’

‘Feel better soon.’ He added a smile to the end, and you could practically see it as his signature smirk.

‘I hate you.’

You sighed, shoving your phone back in your pocket and slumped down in the seat. You closed your eyes, hoping that it would combat the movement of the car and the effect it was having on your headache. You were frustrated at Derek for making you admit something was wrong (even though you knew really that he was right to) and at the fact that it seemed like the minute you admitted it, the symptoms seemed to get immediately worse.

The next thing you knew, you were stirred from a light doze by a change in movement. Instead of the steady, rocking vibration of the car and the smooth, cool feeling of the glass under your cheek, you were pressed close against something warm and solid, bobbing in a more natural, if uneven, rhythm. Your mind was sluggish but after a moment, and a soft, familiar chuckle as you buried your face into him to escape the sun in your eyes, you realized that it was because Derek was carrying you, bridal-style across the lawn and into his house.

You suppressed an involuntary whine and the urge to cling to him as he settled you down in his bed. Heavy blankets that smelled like him were pulled up around your shoulders, the sudden warmth making you realize how cold you’d been.

“Not sick my ass,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Get some sleep baby girl.”

The door clicked quietly behind him and you let the comfortable darkness pull you back under.

Some unknown time later, there was a knock that pulled you out of strange, feverish dreams and you croaked something that you hoped sounded like come in, squinting against the light that poured through behind the person.

“Y/N, you should wake up for a little while,” Derek’s mother said, flicking on a bedside lamp. “I made you soup.”

You pushed yourself up into a seated position and smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you Mrs. Sandoval.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, you are dating my son, you at least call me Ma. Just like everyone else.”

“Sorry,” you looked down bashfully, the word tasting foreign in your mouth. “Ma.”

“Why are you not taking care of yourself?” she tutted as she set the bowl down and sat on the edge of the bed. “You are so busy trying to be able to be a fancy lawyer and change the world but you can’t do that if you drop dead. And of a little cold?”

“I--”

“And you made Derek worry.” She placed a wrist against your forehead to check your temperature. “He’s going to fret over you forever, now. It’s how he shows his love. I hurt my back a few years ago, and still he is ‘Mami you shouldn’t reach so high, Mami let me get that for you, Mami don’t carry so many heavy groceries.’ Imagine when you have children. They won’t be able to scrape a knee. If your doctor doesn’t put you on bed rest, he will.”

Her words made you choke on the food you had just sipped into your mouth, sending you into a coughing fit that left you short of breath.

“See, you wouldn’t be doing that if you said you were sick to begin with.”

“I just...thought if I took some cold medicine, it would go away on its own. I’ve been so busy. And I didn’t...want anyone to worry, or think anyone would care?” you admitted sheepishly, looking down at the soup in your lap and the blanket over your legs and trying not to think too hard about what you were telling her.

“Mija, look at me,” she said firmly but kindly. When you didn’t follow her instruction, she used a hand to tilt your head up. “You have family now. You don’t have to do everything alone. Now eat your soup.”

The sentiment, and the matter-of-fact way she delivered it, broke down a dam inside you, and suddenly you were crying, and she was hugging you, rubbing small circles on your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against her. You wanted to attribute your overwhelmed feelings to being sick, but in your heart you knew: it was a kind of acceptance and love that you had never expected, especially from someone who didn’t even have to like you.

After sitting like that for several long minutes, letting you sob and offering you comfort, she shifted back to nurse-mode.

“You need more fluids, not letting them all out through your eyes. Eat your soup, and I’ll go make you tea,” she said, nudging you back to rest against the headboard and standing.

You laughed wetly and tried again to thank her, only to have it waved away.

“How is she?” Derek asked, almost as soon as he walked through the door a few hours later.

His mother laughed, shaking her head wryly. “She will survive. Just needs to rest for a few days. It’s a cold.”

“That’s like asking the tide to take a few days off,” he chuckled, until his mother fixed him with a glare.

“Maybe if you told her the truth about how you felt, and she didn’t feel like she was on her own trying to be everything, she would.”

“Ma that’s not--”

“Derek Michael Sandoval, do not argue with me,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “You have been telling me for weeks now how much you love this girl, and it is obvious to a blind saint. Yet she is sick and doesn’t tell anyone because she thinks it would be a burden no one would want. Now what would give her that idea?”

Derek felt his stomach twist guiltily. It was true that he hadn’t told you he loved you, even though he was completely certain he did. But he thought it was for your benefit, to not scare you off by pushing too hard. He had never considered that it might be making things worse. He opened his mouth, looking for an answer to give his mother and found that he couldn’t get any words out. Instead, he just looked at her helplessly.

She rolled her eyes. “You are both so stupid.”

You were fast asleep when he slipped through the door, and as he got ready for bed as quietly as possible, he kept finding himself stopping to look down at you. You were burrowed deep in the blankets, wrapped in one of his hoodies in addition as the fever made you shiver. You looked so small and fragile and vulnerable there in his bed, and his chest ached with a need to protect you, a desire for taking care of you and loving to be his entire purpose in life for the rest of his life and it nearly knocked him on his ass.

As he slid under the covers beside you, you seemed to cuddle closer instinctively, and he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “And I know you can’t hear me right now, but baby girl, I promise, I’m gonna make sure you know, soon.”

#it wouldn't be me if it wasn't a little angsty #but mostly it's cute I think?#and more than a little cheesy #also guest starring Ma Sandoval because Moms make everything better #sick fic #Derek Sandoval x reader #Bad Samaritan fic #this ended up in a different direction than I intended but one I really like #I'm gonna go die now. goodnight #(coincidentally posted on Carlito's and thus Derek's birthday)#so that's fun

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virtueangel · 4 years

Text

limitless.

chapter two.

wc: 2,337. original publish date: october 3, 2020.

"'And oh, Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be home again!' The end," Van Gogh finishes, closing the children's book and setting it on the table.

"That wasn't a bedtime story!" JFK protests.

"I didn't know that!" Van Gogh volleys.

"What do you mean you didn't know that? Everyone knows The Wizard of Oz!"

Van Gogh shakes his head, almost apologetically. "Clearly not everyone," he mumbles.

Kennedy sits up, a bit taken aback. "You mean you've never read The Wizard of Oz?"

Gogh shakes his head, sliding the book off the table and stroking the cover. The yellow finished cardboard is bumpy beneath his fingernails, and it makes a low scraping sound.

"Surely you've heard of it?" JFK asks, eyebrows furrowing.

"No," Van Gogh admits, feeling defeated.

Kennedy unwraps himself from the blanket and sits up, scooting across the bed to console his best friend. He puts a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, but it is only shaken off. His kind gesture and caring attitude deflate like a released balloon.

"I thought every children's book was a bedtime story."

"Nah, but every children's story has a moral," JFK offers.

"How do you know that? Can't imagine heartless ol' JFK reading a picture book. I can't even imagine him as toddler."

Kennedy graciously ignores the first part of Gogh's comment. "My dads used to read them to me when I was a kid."

Van Gogh's smile falls, but thankfully JFK can't see because he's looking down at the book. He runs his fingers over the words, printed in accented letters, shiny and blue. "I bought this book when I was fourteen years old," he admits.

"You bought it for yourself?"

Van Gogh nods, still entranced by the golden-yellow cover of the children's book. "I liked the artwork," he explains, looking up at his best friend now.

Kennedy scoots away from Van Gogh, falsely assuming his work as Supportive Best Friend is through. "You would. It's all oil pastels and shiny objects -- very girly."

Gogh rolls his eyes. "Not all artwork is girly."

"No," JFK agrees, "just the artwork you like."

Van Gogh shoves the boy, not sorry when he hits his head on the wall.

"Hey!" He bellows, rubbing the back of his head vigorously.

"You deserved that," Van Gogh snaps, standing up to slide the book back into its rightful place on the shelf. "Do you ever get tired of your own voice?"

"Um... no?" Kennedy replies, laughing at his own answer.

Van Gogh runs a hand through his vibrant orange hair in exasperation. He snaps the pristine white bandage wrapped around his head, tied there to put pressure on his self-amputated ear in hopes to relieve some of the pain. It works most days, except when there are loud noises -- like on Friday nights when there are sports games and the streets flood with intoxicated teenagers who insist on letting their excitement out through violence. JFK used to be amongst those alcohol-ridden invalids. He's not anymore, but Van Gogh can't figure out why he changed.

But he's still an arrogant, egotistical asshole nonetheless.

Van Gogh scoffs, tempted to shove the boy again, but decides not to because it may escalate into a fight. Gogh would lose. He loses against everyone, his five-foot-five stature doing him not favours. He knows Kennedy could pin him to the ground in three seconds. His shoulders tense just thinking about it and the illusion of pain makes his bad -- or rather, nonexistent -- ear throb. He raises his hand reflexively, rubbing the side of his head over the bandage.

"Does it hurt?" JFK asks, suddenly dropping his macho-jock façade.

Van Gogh bats his best friend's hand away almost instinctively. "I'm fine. Sorry. It just rings sometimes. No big deal."

"Sounds like a big deal."

"Well it's not, okay? I said I'm fine, so I'm fine," Gogh replies.

JFK holds his hands up in surrender. "Jesus Christ, I was only trying to help."

"I appreciate that," Van Gogh sighs. He looks up at Kennedy and opens his mouth like he has a follow-up, but nothing comes out. He closes his mouth and looks away. JFK raises an eyebrow, having noticed the boy's jaw, but doesn't press. He wouldn't want to push his best friend over the edge. God knows he's already so close to the cusp of a fall anyway.

"Your parents coming home soon?" Kennedy asks, reaching for small talk.

Gogh shrugs, eyes fixed on his shoes. He wears black Keds with white toe-tips. The laces are tied in tight bows and are as pristinely white as all of his other possessions -- he'd expect no less from himself. "Who cares?"

"You can't stay here alone on a Friday night," Kennedy says.

"That's why you're here, dipshit," Van Gogh rolls his eyes.

"No, I mean-" JFK sighs. "The whole night. You can't sleep in this house all by yourself."

"Why not?" Gogh asks, looking up at JFK now. The rims of his eyes are red and his jaw is tensed.

JFK huffs, sure the boy is just being difficult now. "Because."

"Because why? Adults do it all the time."

"You're not an adult, Gogh. You're sixteen."

"So?" He spits. "You're sixteen and your dads let you do whatever -- whomever -- the hell you please!"

"This isn't about me, Van Gogh, it's about you and your apparent abandonment issues!"

"I don't have abandonment issues!" He means it to come as an angry denial, but it comes out as a scared protest instead. He tries again, steadying his voice. "I don't have abandonment issues."

JFK shakes his head and raises himself off the bed. "I don't have time for this. Do you want me here or not?"

Van Gogh pulls his socked feet onto the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. His absence of an ear throbs again and it skews his hearing, but he doesn't let on. He's so tired of this up and down with JFK -- they fight, Gogh falls into a vulnerable state, Kennedy drops the argument to console him, Gogh says he's fine, and the cycle repeats. Either they're fighting or they're not. I can't be held hostage by my mental illness, Gogh thinks. I won't be made into a fool.

"Not," he swallows the word, his voice nearly cracking.

"Gogh..." Kennedy says, dropping his attitude.

Gogh wipes at his face, trying to play it off as swiping away mucus from a cold-caused runny nose. "I'll be okay, Kennedy."

Kennedy stands in the doorway, one hand on the smooth white trim -- as pristine as the rest of the room -- and the other hand limp by his side. He turns around to look at Van Gogh, who won't meet his gaze, and thinks of crossing the room to him. He looks so small on that wooden chair, his plain bed made up with hospital corners and brand-new-car-tidy floor filling up with absence. JFK wants to stay with his best friend to make the room feel smaller, to make the house feel fuller, but he knows when to stop pushing. Sometimes it hurts to be edged out of Van Gogh's life... but then again, he's used to it. He's used to being treated as the boy's second choice because sometimes it's easier to confide in a stranger than a lifelong friend. Kennedy doesn't know, but he understands, and sometimes that has to be good enough.

JFK drops his hand from the trim of the doorway and turns back around to face the hallway. He walks between the walls as they close in on him, creating a suffocating ocean with their murky blue hue. He exits the house without glancing back at Van Gogh, forgetting to wonder if he'll be okay. He hates sports games because they make his ears ring, Kennedy reminds himself. Being there won't stop that.

***

John F. Kennedy walks through the door of his house at precisely 8:32pm. His foster dads are both sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with each other, watching a movie that must be pretty damn entertaining with the way they keep giggling. John hates it when people giggle -- the sound reminds him of butterflies, light and airy and so fragile it can't help but be crushed. "Giggle" is a gross word, too. It's made up of all the letters that no one likes to read to form sounds that no one wants to hear. Well, actually, that's not true -- plenty of people like the letters; they're just too predictably common for JFK to enjoy.

"Dads, I'm home," John announces halfheartedly. His parents are so absorbed in the television show that they barely look up -- maybe that's for the best. Arguing with Van Gogh never leaves Kennedy in a very chipper mood.

He sulks up the stairs to his bedroom, gripping the wooden railing firmly in his ascent. He tries to make a point of stomping just so his dads will turn his way -- he's not in the mood for talking, but he's accustomed to demanding attention.

John flops down on his bed -- it's king-size which means it takes up the majority of the room, but Exclamation!'s biggest playboy has got to decorate his bedroom for the aesthetic somehow. Kennedy's phone buzzes and when the screen illuminates with the name Cleo printed in thin white letters, he almost smiles, but remembers he's still blowing her off. He can't figure out why; most nights he would be ecstatic to whisper sweet little nothings in her ear. He starts to feel bad about ignoring her, but then remembers that she isn't his girlfriend -- he doesn't owe her anything. And even if he did, everyone's expectations of him are so low that even the bare minimum is seen as a prayer answered by god themselves.

He means to only flip his phone over to hide the screen, but he accidentally pushes it off the edge of the bed. It bounces on the carpet, landing corner-first, but JFK is too tired to care about whether or not the screen is cracked. He rolls over onto his back, folding his arms over his stomach and staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. His head starts to rush -- possibly from the cold air intruding his bedroom from the open window, or more likely from emotional strain. He replays through the day, memories of Cleo's hand grasping his bicep and him leaving her alone to go help Van Gogh. Everyone always wants a piece of John F. Kennedy. He never meets anyone's expectations, and yet, everyone religiously seeks his approval.

"Fuck them for relying on me as their source of entertainment," he mutters up at the ceiling. "I wish no one in this goddamn town knew me at all."

And yet, there's still one person exempt from the statement. Sure, everyone in Exclamation! is mushy-headed and smooth-brained, but going to high school here is a pit stop in JFK's life, and a vital one. Because while 99.8% of the Clone High student body give Kennedy a stomachache, there's still 0.2% to be taken out of the perfect whole.

JFK rolls -- no, literally rolls -- off of his king mattress to reunite himself with his phone. He taps the screen, lighting the machine to life. He slides away the "missed call" notification, erasing Cleo's name from his home screen. He unlocks the device and taps on a contact, which speed dials a certain someone wallowing in their room on the other side of town.

The phone goes to voicemail once, twice, but Kennedy doesn't give up. He knows the boy is receiving his calls -- it's not like he wants to be alone on a Friday night.

But then again, he might be drawing or painting or reading a book or doing homework or-

Van Gogh picks up on the second ring of the third call. "Leave me alone, JFK. I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

The line goes silent as Van Gogh fishes for an answer. He comes up short. "Look, I told you to leave because you upset me-"

"Let's go on a trip," Kennedy suggests, intentionally cutting off his best friend to avoid an uncomfortable conversation that would probably result in tears, yelling, or both.

"What?"

"Let's leave Exclamation!. I'm tired of it here, and I know you're not too crazy about it either."

The line goes silent again as Van Gogh hesitates. "Kennedy, that's absurd."

"How do you figure? It's not like your parents would miss you," he replies without realising how it sounds.

Thankfully, Van Gogh doesn't comment on it. If he's hurt by his best friend's words, he doesn't let on. "But we have school..."

"I don't care about school."

"But I do," he says, icicles freezing over his voice.

"Please, Gogh? I need a break from it all."

"What do you need a break from? You're everyone's favourite jock. Scudworth loves you. You're somehow pulling straight As even though you never do your work... I'm betting you're banging one or all of your teachers."

"I am not banging all of my teachers!" Kennedy exclaims defensively.

Van Gogh smirks through the phone. "But you are banging one."

JFK shakes off the boy's words. How does the point always manage to get away from him? "I know you're unhappy, Van Gogh."

"That's an understatement," he scoffs.

"Right. Well, don't you want to explore the world?"

Van Gogh doesn't respond.

"Draw? Read? Write?"

JFK still isn't selling him.

"Paint?" Kennedy tries one last futile hope.

Gogh's ears -- ear -- perks up. "Paint the whole world?"

"Well, we'd only be visiting a little at a time-"

"Okay," he replies too hastily, cutting off his friend. He swallows, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down as if the boy can see him through the phone. His fingers snag on the bandage again. He gives up. "Okay. Let's go on a road trip."

"You mean it?"

"Sure." Van Gogh can hear Kennedy smiling through the phone, his expression melting like honey and dripping down the line. "Why the hell not?"

#clone high #clone high van gogh #clone high jfk #jfgogh #fanfiction #comfort character #ship #lgbt

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lunetheaveragefan · 4 years

Text

one day...

Hi! This is the beginning of the first fanfiction that I’m posting here! I hope people like it!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Some cursing and quick mentions of anxiety/a panic attack. If you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 1,691

--------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER ONE

Virgil Tempest is having a bad day.

First of all, he’d woken up late. 30 minutes late, to be exact. That left him only 10 to get ready for school, so he didn’t have time to put on his foundation. Now, the feature he hated most about himself — his freckles — would be visible for all to see.

Secondly, his favorite hoodie was in the wash, so he had to wear his old, plain black one that he hadn’t worn since at least seventh grade. It was buried in the way back of his closet, wedged between a leather jacket he’d completely forgotten he owned and the suit he had only worn once, at a funeral for some distantly related family member.

Thirdly, he forgot his headphones at home in his rush, and so now he had to suffer the whole day, unable to block out the noise of his idiotic school. He thought he had a spare pair in his backpack, but when he looked once he got to school, there weren’t any in sight.

Earlier, he thought it couldn’t get any worse, but he is sure now that it was just building up to this.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Roman Princeford apologizes loudly from above him. To say Virgil dislikes Roman would be an understatement. Roman has a ridiculously pompous name and a personality to match. The star theater kid, popular king of the school, and friend to everyone. Well, everyone except for Virgil. Even Virgil’s only friend, Logan Wise, a class-A nerd, likes Roman.

Needless to say, Virgil doesn’t see Roman’s appeal. Maybe, if Roman could stand to be a whole lot less arrogant, say, every day, or if he stopped being so excessively extra, or if he just took the time to do something other than theater and bragging, he might be tolerable. The key word there being ‘might.’

“It’s fine,” Virgil mumbles from the floor, where he had landed after Roman knocked into him while Virgil was walking. Roman had been talking to his usual group of fans, taking up most of the hallway since pretty much everyone wanted to listen to him, and had thrown out an arm in one of his usual grand gestures and pushed Virgil right over. He’d landed on the floor, books strewn everywhere, being watched by the whole hallway. Of course, it’s more crowded than usual thanks to the tall tale Roman was describing that apparently no one could afford to miss out on. It didn’t help that Roman had decided to make a big deal out of it, either.

Wishing this terrible day could just end already, Virgil shifts to a crouch and begins to gather his books. To his utter dismay, Roman bends down to help him. Annoyed as he is, Virgil can’t get up the courage to tell the other boy to leave him alone. Even so, the work goes quicker with the other boy helping, and, as much as he would hate to ever admit it, Virgil appreciates it.

They both reach for the last book on the ground at the same time, and their hands knock into each other.

“S-Sorry,” Roman says, and Virgil thinks he hears a stutter in his voice. Roman Princeford, the theater prodigy who never messes up a line, stuttering? But when Virgil looks up at Roman, there’s a blush working its way across the other boy’s tan cheeks. Strange. This close, Virgil can see the bluish specks in the other boy’s green eyes.

Roman must feel Virgil’s eyes on him, because he looks back at him, handing him his last book. Dread settles in Virgil’s stomach as he realizes that Roman must be able to see his freckles. Just as he remembers, Roman’s eyes drop to the other’s nose, where the freckles are the most noticeable. Shit, Virgil curses.

Yanking the book away from Roman, Virgil turns away and stands up, and Roman soon follows suit. There’s a redness on both of their faces now, but on Virgil’s pale skin, it’s much more visible. How long was I staring at his eyes? He shakes his head, letting his dyed-purple bangs fall over his face.

Resituating his books in his arms and weaving his way through the people, he starts the walk to his next class, art.

“Have a nice day!” Roman calls from behind him. Virgil sighs and pulls up his hood, wishing now more than ever that he had his headphones.

“Whatever,” he mutters, but the whole next period, all he can think about is Roman Princeford’s bright green eyes, tan skin, and wavy blond hair.

I must be going crazy, he decides. I mean, I know I’m gay, but gay for Roman Princeford, of all people? I don’t know him at all, and from what I’ve heard — and experienced — he’s not someone I would ever get along with. There’s no way I could possibly have a crush on him.

Right?

------------------

At lunch, Virgil drops down in the seat next to Logan with a thud.

“Greetings,” Logan states professionally. “Am I misperceiving your body language and demeanor or was your day thus far below average in terms of relative happiness and unpleasantly abnormal?” Virgil looks at him around his bangs, puzzled.

“What?” Is he even speaking English? Virgil wonders.

“Pardon me, I forget that you are intellectually compromised when it comes to my copious vocabulary. Let me rephrase,” Logan proclaims. He clears his throat and lays his hands on the table, his fingers pressed together to form triangle-like shapes. “Did your day suck or are you just being your—” Logan waves a hand at Virgil’s body— “regular grumpy asshole self?”

Virgil is taken aback for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“Roman fucking Princeford bumped into me in the hallway, and then had the nerve to say, ‘Have a nice day!’ afterwards in that disgustingly cheery voice of his!” Virgil complains, poking at his food. He doesn’t really intend on eating any of it; the school’s food is terrible, and besides, he isn’t too hungry anyway. He has some crackers in his bag if he really needs something to eat later.

“I do not understand why you antagonize him so often, but I suppose if you refuse to change your opinions of him, there isn’t much I can do on the matter.” Logan pauses, and Virgil has a feeling he knows what’s coming next: one of Logan’s rare discussions of emotions. “But you shouldn’t just assume that everyone is out to hurt you, Virgil.”

Yup, there it is. Virgil likes Logan’s company because he isn’t too tied up in his emotions, unlike Virgil. He knows the facts, and that’s relieving when Virgil is in the midst of a period of overwhelming anxiety. But sometimes, Logan thinks he knows what’s best for Virgil, especially when it comes to matters concerning Roman Princeford.

Scoffing, Virgil crosses his arms and leans against the back of the chair. “Whatever,” he sighs.

Logan takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm his temper, which has a habit of getting out of control, and responds, “Virgil, this is unhealthy. You have—” But before Virgil can find out what Logan thinks he has to do, another voice cuts Logan off.

“Heya, guys! How are you?” Virgil looks up to see a shorter student standing there. This new kid’s hair is a mess of amber curls, tumbling over his forehead and slipping behind his round, wire rimmed glasses. Tan skin covered in freckles and a round face gives him a youthful look, but Virgil knows that he’s a junior just like him.

His name is Patton Hart, and Virgil, surprisingly, doesn’t hate him.

Patton is known for being one of the kindest people in the school. No matter who it is, Patton will find a way to cheer someone up. Back in December of their freshman year, Patton helped Virgil calm down during a panic attack around finals. Virgil harbors no ill will towards the kid, but it’s still strange that he’d show up at their table randomly.

Then, Virgil remembers that Patton’s best friend is the one and only Roman Princeford.

Roman probably sent Patton to tell me something. Damn, I hate that stuck up asshole. Before Virgil can open his mouth to ask Patton what he wants with them, since Logan and him are the only ones anywhere near, Logan talks first.

“Hi, Patton!” His voice is so upbeat and joy-filled that Virgil has to look over at Logan to make sure he did, indeed, speak. In the seat next to him, Logan’s face is lit up with a smile, and he looks so…well, not-Logan. And, wait, is that a blush on Logan’s cheeks?

Virgil raises his eyebrows in shock and blinks a few times to make sure what he’s seeing is real. When nothing changes when he opens his eyes, Virgil ignores the strangeness of whatever’s happening next to him and looks back at Patton.

“Hey, Patton,” he greets. “What do you need?” He tries to keep his voice annoyance-free, so not to hurt the other kid’s feelings. Patton’s a little puffball of innocence and positive energy, and the whole school has made an unspoken agreement to keep it that way.

“Oh, I just came over to talk to Logan about our science project!”

“We were paired together as lab partners today,” Logan explains, still with that wide smile on his face.

Weirded out by the scene unfolding in front of him, Virgil pokes at his food one last time and decides he’s not so hungry to risk getting food poisoning.

“Alright, then,” he says, standing up, “I’ll leave you guys alone so you can talk about your nerdy physics stuff.”

“Actually, Virgil, it’s chemistry we’re taking,” Logan informs him, some semblance of his usual professional manner returning.

“Well, it’s still science, and it’s still nerdy, so my point stands.”

Patton giggles, and Logan seems to blush, but at this point, Virgil doesn’t trust his own eyes.

“Well, goodbye, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, waving. Virgil laughs at Patton’s use of ‘kiddo’ even though they're in the same grade and waves back. Telling Logan that he’ll see him later, he turns and dumps his try, finally exiting the noise of the cafeteria.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

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put-a-lil-alright-in-the-world · 4 years

Note

do you headcanon beej as autistic/adhd? if so, would you share some hcs?

anon, you know the way to my heart! to answer your first question, yes and yes. to answer your second question, HELLS YES!

here are some hcs!

ok so beej has autism and adhd, both of which Juno wrote off as him being “sloppy”, “lazy”, “weird”, etc.

when he moved into the deetz-maitlands household, though, they started to notice that something was a bit off

it started with the stimming, something which beej had never been skilled at concealing

a lot of his stims (especially the ones he does when stressed) are blatantly obvious- things like vocal stims (humming, repetition, echolalia), and physical ones (rocking, tapping his hands, biting/chewing things), so they weren’t really possible to hide

and there were a lot of little things that you wouldn’t really pay much attention to unless you were actively searching for them: the way beej seemed to be absolutely obsessed with bugs, how it seemed like he was waging an internal war with himself whenever he made eye contact with someone

the deetzes were the first to notice, since lydia does some of the same things (autistic!lydia ftw!), but at first they wrote it off as “hey maybe it’s just a demon thing”

then, during a family movie night, when everyone was yelling at the cheesy horror movie on tv, knocking stuff over, the volume was too loud, and it sent beej into a textbook sensory overload meltdown

when the fam noticed, at first beej was terrified that this would be the last straw for them- that this would be the last “weird beetlejuice thing” that they were willing to endure before kicking him out, so he tried to apologize; choking out “i’m so sorry-sorry-sorry” through gasping sobs

when the family managed to calm him down, they eventually got to talking; asking beej why he melted down, what it felt like, you know the drill

it didn’t take long after that for them to deduce that he had autism, and they do their best to make him feel safe and comfortable

they buy those super-strong chewy necklaces in bulk to stop him biting on his hands like he did before, and try to turn his room into a quiet place full of stim toys and stuff to help him feel more chill

charles is surprisingly good at helping beej with panic attacks, overloads, and meltdowns. something about his calm, matter of fact manner combined with 15 years of helping lydia through the same thing make him an ideal candidate

they were initially a bit (read: EXTREMELY) awkward with each other, but it doesn’t take long for beej to start seeking charles out of his own accord, whether he needs help fixing a casualty of his latest prank, someone to listen to him, or even just a calming presence to sit with

it takes a few more months for them to notice the adhd, though

he’s bored, wandering around the house while lydia does homework, charles is at work, and the maitlands are working on their model when he stumbles across delia meditating

well, less stumbles and more forces his way into her room in an effort to figure out just what was going on behind the closed door

she invites him to try some meditation to “balance his chakras”, and he accepts the invitation with perhaps too much enthusiasm (“im gonna have the most balanced goddamn chakras you’ve ever seen!” “what do you mean that’s not how meditation works?”)

however, when they actually get to the sitting still and quieting your mind part of the whole meditation thing, beej can barely seem to handle 8 seconds before he a) blurts out a thought that just crossed his mind or b) groans that his mind won’t “shut the hell up”

delia knows that meditation isn’t for everyone, but for some reason she keeps thinking about how he struggled long after he leaves, about twenty minutes later

suddenly, the pieces start assembling in her mind

beej, who is always fidgeting at least one part of his body, even if it means sprouting new limbs to make that possible

beej, who was so excited for the maitlands to help him learn to read (yes beej is illiterate), but just got up and left after no more than 20 minutes of sitting

beej, who paces constantly, loses his train of thought, and seems like the most scatterbrained guy to ever walk the face of the earth or netherworld

the next day, after giving herself sufficient time to mull the situation over, delia approaches beej again, and asks if he wants to go for a walk

they walk around the property, delia trying her best to stay nonchalant as she asks beej questions about his struggles paying attention, keeping still, remembering things, and by the end of it she’s sure- he’s a textbook case, after all

after talking to charles and the maitlands that evening to get their opinions, she sits down with beej and explains their suspicions

beej deflects, at first (“god nerfed me with not one, but two mental illnesses because he knew I’d be too powerful otherwise”), but eventually starts to take it in, and realizes exactly how much this explained

why he could never seem to finish a task unless he could get himself hooked on it

how an hour for everyone else either felt like 2 minutes or 9 days to him

why every bit of possible rejection felt like a stab to the chest with Bad Art

he starts learning how to cope with it all a bit better. lydia shows him online articles for how to deal with symptoms, delia helps him do some beginners guided meditations, and everyone just supports him

on the bad days, when RSD is hitting hard and he feels absolutely worthless, he often turns to the maitlands

they don’t have much knowledge of adhd beyond what they read about in their child psych books when they were alive, but them just being themselves is enough to help beej

barbara puts on disney movies, and cards her fingers through his hair while they watch. sometimes, beej will curl up on the couch, his head on her lap, and fall asleep. she doesn’t mind, she knows he gets nightmares; wakes up screaming some nights, or sobs into his pillow when he thinks that nobody else is awake to hear it

adam sits on the couch, beej’s head on his shoulder, and reads aloud to him. he follows the words with his finger as a quiet way of helping beej learn the words. even though it’s an awkward angle, he wraps one arm around beej, holding him tightly

anyways beej has a family who loves and supports him and autistic/adhd beej holds a special place in my heart

these were really fun! i’ve never actually written hcs before and this list got hella long, but feel free to request more, y’all! i don’t write x reader (just not good at it) or beetleb*bes (ew. go to hell), but request anything else, y’all!

#beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #btmtmtm #autistic!beetlejuice #autistic beej #adhd!beetlejuice #delia deetz #charles deetz #lydia deetz #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #remy writes #hc tag

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kpopfic-recs · 4 years

Text

♡ nct ships masterlist ♡

Note: If you are unable to view the formatting on the mobile app, switch to reading on your mobile browser

(Last update 4/27/20)

Key: Fluff (❀) Angst (☆) Mature (☾) Completed Series (✓) Incomplete Series (✗)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Markhyuck

↳ Series

Put One Foot in Front of the Other (author unknown) II ❀ ✓

Summary: Donghyuck had wished long and hard for something or someone to bring excitement back into his life. (Hospital!AU)

Length of story: 3 parts/4.8k words

Warnings: Illness

Suckerpunched by nascar II (+ Norenmin) ❀ ☆ ✓

Summary: Jaemin knows the way he feels about Jeno and Renjun isn’t right by their society’s standards. (Boarding school!AU)

Length of story: 2 parts/6.6k words

Warnings: Death, suicide, homophobia

another world by ayotenten II ❀ ☆ ✓

Summary: "H-Hyuck ..?", Mark stuttered, his eyes trailing over the younger’s back, "What .. what is that ..?" He never wanted him to find out. He just wanted to live a normal life like everyone else. (In which a world with angels doesn’t exist, or does it?)

Length of story: 2 parts/10.6k words

Warnings: Blood

The Smile Carved Onto Your Face by nextdoorneighbor II ❀ ☆ ✓

Summary: Mark wants to run away with Donghyuck, take him away from his abusive family.

Length of story: 2 parts/12.3k words

Warnings: Minor character death, blood, mental illness, violence, domestic violence, self harm

Duplicity by excelgensis II ☆ ☾ ♡ ✓

Summary: “What’s between us has never been wrong. It’s just simple. You and me. Me and you. We’ve always been this way.” The air is hitching in Mark’s throat. His fingers finally find purchase in Donghyuck’s hoodie and they both freeze. 'Simple,' he thinks. 'Mark and Donghyuck. Donghyuck and Mark. Set on a collision course since the beginning of the universe.'

Length of story: 2 parts/16.1k words

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

someone’s bound to get burned by bfmark II ❀ ✓

Summary: "Jesus, I said to draw him, not make someone you don't know an entire shrine." "That's mark to you. and I know, but when you're asked to observe an angel so ethereal, your hand tends to slip, you know?" "Not really-" "Oh my god, just get in the car, picasso." Alternatively, Mark gets a little out of hand when he tries to prove his brother wrong and accidentally gets whipped for the boy from directed study. Along the way, he learns that change isn't so bad after all.

Length of story: 9 parts/20.4k words

Warnings: Mentions of mental illness

a little extraordinary by saddermachine II ❀ ☆ ✓

Summary: It's not exactly normal to have a strange boy climbing through your bedroom window in the dead of night. it's even more unusual to have this become a regular occurrence. Mark tries his best to take it all in his stride but it all get's decidedly difficult when a growing crush and a murky backstory keep trying to trip him up. (High School!AU)

Length of story: 24 parts/118.8k words

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse/rape, guns & gaslighting, violence, blood.

hell week by bluebot II ❀ ☆ ♡ ✓

Summary: Lee Donghyuck's Abridged Guide to Surviving Finals:

Don’t attempt to do any demon invocation rituals from mysterious old magic books you found in the university library.

If you disobey Tip #1, immediately find a way to break the curse and cast the demon back into Hell.

2a. Don't keep the demon around and, above all,

2b. Don't go and fall for the hellspawn.

Also, for the love of God, make sure to get a full night's sleep before your first exam.

(In which Donghyuck's a college student who takes everything too lightly and Mark's the Underworld's worst demon.)

Length of story: 17 parts/150.9k words

Warnings: Blood, demons, mentions of death, mentions of hunger, underage drinking.

↳ One Shots

my brothers don’t like it when you come around by daikonradish II ❀

Summary: There’s a crack in the door to the bedroom, and Taeyong squeezes beside Doyoung in order to get a look inside, right above Johnny on his knees, and Jaehyun on his tippy toes. They collectively stare at the boy typing into the pink flip phone, the sound of sweet laughter following every movement of his fingers across the keyboard. “What do you think it is?” Johnny whispers, head resting on his palms. “I don’t know.” Taeyong answers, a somber expression on his face. “But it can’t be anything good.” (90s!AU)

Length of story: 2.2k words

Warnings: None

The Edge of Glory by Hear_the_Dokidoki II ☾

Summary:

- If you lied about your health status 1) fuck you and 2) I will track you down.

- Do not peek. Where is the fun in that anyways?

- Praise is always ok, but don’t degrade me unless I give you permission.

- Do not force me to deepthroat.

If you break the rules…Remember: your dick is in my mouth and I have teeth :) (College!AU)

Length of story: 2.3k words

Warnings: Virgin!Mark, glory hole

summer night by kuntens II ❀ ☾

Summary: Donghyuck has always been clear about what he wants, but it's a whole different story when it comes to Mark Lee.

Length of story: 2.4k words

Warnings: None

Church Boys by fluffywinkos II ❀

Summary: A new face brings new feelings and experiences for the young devout boy, Lee Donghyuck.

Length of story: 2.7k words

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia

Between Shadow and Soul by excelgesis II ☆ ☾

Summary: Maybe it’s better, Mark thinks, that Donghyuck takes his honey skin and windchime voice and goes far, far away--because Donghyuck is sin personified and Mark Lee is a good Christian. But Mark knows that in the dead of night he'd gladly take bruised knees and an aching throat for Donghyuck, and he finds no reprieve in Bible verse or the kaleidoscopic beauty of stained glass.

Length of story: 2.7k words

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, religious themes, voyeurism

test me by hoesthetic II ❀ ☆

Summary: "Are you a compulsive liar then?" Mark asks, it's a joke, kind of. But he has always been told that he isn't very funny so it's a surprise when the other boy snorts. "Nah, but I could be. You can be whatever you want. Anyway, I'm Donghyuck. And you-", he says, then pokes Mark's chest with his finger, "-are going to be my friend". Mark meets Donghyuck while attending group therapy and although he knows everything is temporary, he lets himself hope that it will last.

Length of story: 3.3k words

Warnings: Mental illness, pyromania, depression, suicidal thoughts/actions

you’re in my prayers by jisungs II ❀

Summary: Donghyuck, in the midst of a boring summer, meets a church boy named Mark and falls in love.

Length of story: 3.3k words

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of drugs

Because you’re...you by ncitykillsme II ❀

Summary: Haechan steals Mark's clothes because he thinks that's the closest he can get to Mark without rejection. (College!AU)

Length of story: 3.4k words

Warnings: None

here is where the wave broke (and turned back to the sea) by hericide II ❀ ☆

Summary: Donghyuck is an intelligent young king, but he refuses to think about why Mark never comes home from the war.

Length of story: 3.5k words

Warnings: Minor character death

To Bear the Shade by excelgesis II ☆

Summary: He sees Donghyuck’s hooded gaze in the dingy light of a bathroom as he stumbles against Mark and slurs that 'it doesn’t have to mean anything'. Mark wants it to mean something. He always has. “Don’t,” Mark whispers, trailing his lips along Donghyuck’s jawline and leaving a smear of blood in their wake, “don’t tell me it doesn’t mean anything.” Donghyuck’s fingers dig into Mark’s waist. “It’s always meant something.” (Vampire!AU)

Length of story: 3.8k words

Warnings: Blood/blood drinking, suggestive content

Collar Full by valetudinary II ☆

Summary: Donghyuck sees the colorful strings connecting each person to one another. Life isn't all that exciting when he suddenly gets his heart broken, until a boy whose strings shine the brightest walks into his life.

Length of story: 5.1k words

Warnings: None

wanna spill my GUTS by nascar II ☆

Summary: The second day into his senior year, Mark makes a list. Scrappily labeled “How to Not Fall In Love With Lee Donghyuck.” In retrospect, he realizes that the list was counterproductive in every sense of the word. In Seventh grade at lacrosse camp, he’d been cross-checked by five feet and one-hundred lbs of unyielding boy. He’d been in love with Lee Donghyuck before he’d even hit the ground.

Length of story: 5.4k words

Warnings: Underage drug use, drinking, suggestive content

Kissing Lessons by americanbaekhyun II ☆

Summary: Mark has a girlfriend but doesn't know how to kiss. Donghyuck offers to give him lessons. (College!AU)

Length of story: 5.6k words

Warnings: Drinking, drugs, smoking

you’re like summer (brighter than the morning sun) by donghyuck II ❀

Summary: Mark's family moves into the empty house besides Haechan, and Mark both hates and loves the room that he gets because it gives him a good view of the backyard where Haechan is always sun tanning.

Length of story: 6.2k words

Warnings: Underage drinking

six deadly sins. by sugarhyuck II ❀ ☆

Summary: Mark's journey to deal with the six deadly sins: sloth, pride, greed, envy, anger, and lust to have Donghyuck as his.

Length of story: 6.9k words

Warnings: Suggestive content

Out Of Your Mind by SlimeQueen II ❀ ☆ ♡

Summary: Mark just wants to be a regular teenager. Or as regular as an eighteen-year-old sharing his body with a demon can get. And unfortunately for him, Donghyuck loves making things complicated.

Length of story: 7.1k words

Warnings: Drugs, demons/demonic possession

windows. by dancehyuck II ❀ ☆

Summary: Mark wants to spend time with the blind people at his church because that's just the kind of person he is, but when he meets Donghyuck, it becomes so much more than that.

Length of story: 7.2k words

Warnings: Illness

come over here and overwhelm me by hoesthetic II ❀

Summary: There's this boy. The first time Mark saw him sitting on the bleachers, he swore to God that his heart dropped down to his stomach. Now Mark knows his name, it's Donghyuck Lee, but back then he didn't. It was like love at first sight, the pretty emo kid laughing with his emo friends. (High school!AU)

Length of story: 8.3k words

Warnings: Drinking

the weekend, or whatever by paroxysmalirony II ❀

Summary: Donghyuck snorts. “And I'm the extra one.” “I guess you're rubbing off on me,” Mark shrugs and sets off quietly. (High school!AU, Athlete!Mark)

Length of story: 8.8k words

Warnings: Underage drug use

i was lowkey (that’s the old me) by hyuckheis II ❀

Summary: Donghyuck is going to start prematurely greying because of Mark Lee. Alternatively, Mark gets glasses. (College!AU, FTL!AU)

Length of story: 9.2k words

Warnings: None

I Had Everything (I Can See In Your Eyes) by The_TrashLifeisReal II ☆

Summary: Mark is only 16 but he's already lived two lives: Life with Haechan and life without Haechan. But in both of them Mark is in love and it hurts him. (High school!AU)

Length of story: 9.3k words

Warnings: Implied/referenced rape/non-con, underage drinking, implied/referenced alcohol abuse/alcoholism, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced underage sex, implied/referenced underage prostitution

Honey by lumarkle II ☆

Summary: Sometimes the things we want the most have the most power to hurt us, and Mark Lee learns this the hard way.

Length of story: 9.8k words

Warnings: Bullying, toxic friendships, unhappy (?) ending kinda sorta

when we get closer by bluebot II ❀ ☾ ♡

Summary: Donghyuck loved Mark like this. On a rare lazy day, Donghyuck and Mark stay in and watch a movie together while their hyungs are out. (FTL!AU)

Length of story: 10.7k words

Warnings: First time

ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! by idolrapper II ❀ ♡

Summary: “You’ve obviously thought about it if it’s on your list,” Jaemin says, stirring his bibimbap after squeezing an obscene amount of gochujang on it. “Which by the way is a worryingly short list. Like you’d take a bullet for Donghyuck? You’d sit through his gazillionth rewatch of the Twilight series? But you wouldn’t fuck him?” Or Donghyuck asks his best friend Mark to take his virginity. Feelings ensue. (College!AU, FTL!AU)

Length of story: 12.8k words

Warnings: Sexual content (not necessarily smut but pretty spicy?)

Today, too, the policeman sits (by the busker’s empty pitch) by mylifeincoffeespoons II ❀ ☆

Summary: Seoul Police Officer Mark Lee is reassigned to a quiet town, population ~1k. Which is, of course, where he meets the most troublesome (read: annoying) repeat offender of his entire career: street violinist Lee Donghyuck. Alternatively: Mark is a cop, but who exactly is pursuing who is anyone's guess.

Length of story: 15k words

Warnings: None

Equal exchange by sunshineandeyebrows II ❀ ☆ ☾ ♡

Summary: Donghyuck groans, plops gracefully down on the chair situated behind him. "Don't call me Your Majesty, that's my brother," he complains. "How should I call you, then, My Prince?" Mark asks carefully, but he's stopped trembling. "That!" Donghyuck decides. "I like the sound of it, call me that." Mark nods again, remembers he got reprimanded for that. "As you wish, My Prince," he mumbled quickly. Donghyuck grins. (Royalty!AU)

Length of story: 15.1k words

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, scars

creature of habit by ilovenct II ❀ ☆

Summary: If Jeno was the angel on Mark’s shoulder, then Donghyuck was the devil, and Mark wanted to do something that felt wrong, even just once.

Length of story: 18.5k words

Warnings: Underage drinking, anxiety attacks, implied/referenced drug use, cheating

Set my heart high (like a volleyball) by bluedheart II ❀

Summary: Mark and Donghyuck belong to rival high schools and they hate each other's guts — they're not even subtle about this statement. They think the universe must be playing a joke on them when they end up in the same university, auditioning for the same volleyball team. (College!AU, ETL!AU)

Length of story: 19.1k words

Warnings: None

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Noren

↳ One Shots

mint and vanilla by jenhyung II ❀

Summary: Renjun juggles a secret admirer, his best friend's life crisis, and Lee Jeno. (High school!AU, FTL!AU)

Length of story: 13.4k words

Warnings: None

the crystal chaser by jenhyung II ❀ ♡

Summary: Renjun has to deal with love potions, tea leaf readings, and the smell of throw up. (Harry Potter!AU)

Length of story: 17.4k words

Warnings: Vomit

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Johnten

↳ One Shots

Happy Birthday, Loser by ouchwinwin II ❀ ☾

Summary: Ten gives Johnny something unusual for his birthday, and Johnny has to show his friends in the chat room exactly what he got. (FTL!AU)

Length of story: 6.4k words

Warnings: None

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Johnyong

↳ One Shots

Little Miss Ruby by NeoCopperTechnology II ❀

Summary: Johnny finds a lost dog in front of his house and takes it to school with him. (College!AU)

Length of story: 12k words

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of sex

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Dojae

↳ One Shots

To whom shall I pray to by AngelsMayDie II ❀ ☆

Summary: Where Doyoung (Hades) yearns for a forbidden love with the god that is hardest to reach, Jaehyun (Persephone).

Length of story: 9.3k words

Warnings: Drinking

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Luwoo

↳ One Shots

you have my world (you’re my small universe) by princepixel II ❀

Summary: Hopeless romantic (and really tired) coffee shop worker Jungwoo is just going about his days (read: keeping Mark and Donghyuck from killing each other) when he starts getting hit on through....Yelp reviews? Who the hell is this 'W.Y.H' person and why does he keep saying Jungwoo's ass is so 'hella fine'? And they say romance is dead. (FTL!AU, slight side markhyuck)

Length of story: 10.2k words

Warnings: Slight mention of homophobia

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Dota

↳ One Shots

Chains by berryboys II ❀

Summary: Doyoung swears that if Yuta says "no homo" once more, he's just going to kiss the hell out of him.

Length of story: 5.2k words

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, suggestive content

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

2Tae

↳ One Shots

All of you by taeyong II ☾

Summary: Taeil tries to get his boyfriend drunk to know his species and gets more than what he bargained for.

Length of story: 3k words

Warnings: Tentacles, incubus!taeyong, human!taeil

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Norenmin

↳ Series

Suckerpunched by nascar II (+ Markhyuck) ❀ ☆ ✓

Summary: Jaemin knows the way he feels about Jeno and Renjun isn’t right by their society’s standards. (Boarding school!AU)

Length of story: 2 parts/6.6k words

Warnings: Death, suicide, homophobia

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Multiple Members

↳ Series

The Virgin’s Sob Story by brujsedbones II (Mark x 94-99 line) ❀ ☾ ♡ ✓

Summary: Meet Mark Lee: wildly popular virgin erotica novelist with a horrible case of writer’s block, freshly dumped by his now ex-boyfriend Kang Daniel, superstar hockey player, and the nation’s sweetheart.

Length of story: 14 parts/47.2k words

Warnings: Aged up characters, loss of virginity

↳ One Shots

Of How Curiosity Killed the Cat by gemihyuck II (00 line) ☾

Summary: Things escalate when Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin and Haechan find themselves browsing through porn sites together.

Length of story: 2.7k words

Warnings: None

Everybody loves me by tol_sirion II (Taeil x 95-97 line) ☾

Summary: Recently, Taeil has been fantasizing about it. Dreaming about it sometimes, waking up half hard and with a moan on the tip of his tongue, rutting against the bed.

Length of story: 8.3k words

Warnings: Gangbang, voyeurism

#nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #markhyuck #noren #johnten #johnyong #dojae #luwoo #dota #2tae #norenmin

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wotwotleigh-prime · 4 years

Text

Jeeves and Wooster vs. Plum, Part 2

S1e2: Tuppy and the Terrier

The second episode of Jeeves and Wooster is again based on three of the short stories, all of which were eventually published in Very Good, Jeeves: “Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit,” “Jeeves and the Song of Songs,” and “Episode of the Dog McIntosh.” There are also elements borrowed from “Jeeves and the Kid Clementina,” which was published in the same book.

One general difference I wanted to mention before I go on is that the TV episodes are not arranged in the same order as the stories and novels. For the most part, it doesn’t really matter, but it does lend a slightly different feeling to the development of events and the relationships between the characters. For example, Bertie spent a lot more time early in the stories bouncing around in America, whereas most of that takes place later in the show. These particular stories take place after most of Bertie’s American adventures in the book!timeline.

Anyway, let’s look at how these episodes stack up against their corresponding stories!

There are a few general changes here that make a great deal of sense. For instance, the three main stories involved here seem to take place over a longer period of time in the book (maybe a few months), whereas in the episode they are compressed into a few days, or maybe a couple of weeks at the most. The order of events is somewhat changed to help the stories fit together more seamlessly, too. For instance, McIntosh is with Bertie from the very start of the episode, meaning he’s there through the events of both “Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit” and “Episode of the Dog McIntosh.” Bertie also first meets Cora when he’s at Bobbie Wickham’s country house at the start of the episode.

Also, as the title suggests, “Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit” was originally a Christmas story, not that the Christmas setting really matters that much. The only thing that’s really lost is Jeeves’s brutally chipper “Merry Christmas, sir!” when he greets Bertie in the morning after he’s spent a terrible night sleeping in an armchair post-water bottle incident. Oh Jeeves, you magnificent bastard.

But there are several other big changes to the events of “Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit” that I really don’t get. First of all, Bertie’s rival in the water bottle war was originally Tuppy Glossop, not Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. Bertie had sworn ~*~*~HIDEOUS REVENGE~*~*~ against Tuppy for betting him he couldn’t swing across the ropes and rings above the Drone’s swimming pool, which ended with Bertie being forced to drop into the pool in full evening attire when he found that Tuppy had looped back the last ring. This was a long-running joke in the short stories and novels, and something for which Bertie never completely forgave Tuppy.

I’m not sure why they chose to change this, because A) it’s hilarious, and B) Tuppy’s right there the whole time in the episode! I guess they just wanted an excuse to feature Barmy? Anyway, this also necessitated giving Bertie a reason to get back at Barmy, hence the extended golf sequence at the beginning where Barmy shows up Bertie in front of Bobbie Wickham.

Also, in the story, Jeeves was particularly salty because they had been planning a Christmas vacation to Monte Carlo, which Bertie canceled in order to visit Bobbie Wickham’s family home. Jeeves’s big goal, other than souring Bertie on Bobbie, was to get the Monte Carlo vacation back on track so he could chill at the casino. Instead, we have a more low-key disagreement over Bertie’s hideous golf trousers, which is an element borrowed from “Jeeves and the Kid Clementina.”

Finally, the original victim of all that water bottle piercing was Sir Roderick Glossop, who was replaced with the new characters Prof. and Madame Cluj. Again, I’m not sure why this was changed. In the short story, the whole incident reinforced Sir Roderick’s notion that Bertie was insane, so Jeeves’s gambit was a double whammy against two marital threats (Honoria and Bobbie).

There are also, as in many of the TV episodes, little touches here and there that seem calculated to make Bertie seem a little dumber. For instance, in “Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit,” Bertie is the one who uses the word espièglerie in reference to Bobbie, not Jeeves (although, as usual, he second-guesses himself about whether it’s the right word).

Otherwise, the events of the episode are fairly similar to those of the stories in question. One difference is that Bertie had already met Blumenfield and son in the short stories, in the early story “Jeeves and the Chump Cyril.” (This story is adapted in the season 3 episode “Introduction on Broadway.”) Bertie is alarmed at the prospect of meeting Blumenfield Jr. again. He’s afraid the kid will tell him he has a face like a fish just like he did to Cyril, in which case Bertie fears he will not be able to resist “doing his upper maxillary a bit of no good.” (“Perhaps the young gentleman will not notice that you have a face like a fish, sir,” says Jeeves. Harsh, bro.) It is for this reason that Bertie takes off during the lunch and isn’t around to stop Bobbie from giving away McIntosh.

The sequence where Bertie witnesses Jeeves giving Blumenfield Sr. the McIntosh clone and freaks out is also a change from the story. Originally, Jeeves explains what he has done after the fact. It’s a solid change, IMO, because that scene is hilarious.

It’s also worth noting that Bobbie comes off more sympathetic in the original story than she does in the TV episode. She actually apologizes to Bertie for troubling him with the lunch at his apartment, and, even though she’s the one who gives the dog away in the first place, she ultimately helps Bertie with the scheme to get him back. Bertie is also sympathetic to her desire to make a hit with Blumenfield, and doesn’t seem to hold a lot of ill-will regarding the water bottle prank.

One more minor note: In “Episode of the Dog McIntosh,” Bertie makes reference to the song “I Lift Up My Finger and I Say Tweet Tweet,” which Bertie performs in the season 3 episode “Right Ho, Jeeves.”

The segment with Cora Bellinger and everyone in the universe singing Sonny Boy is a solid adaptation of “Jeeves and the Song of Songs” with few differences that are really worth mentioning. There are changes, but they’re pretty minor. I am sad that we miss out on this particularly Extra monologue from Bertie after Tuppy’s performance of Sonny Boy, though:

“’Come, Jeeves,’ I said, and those standing by wondered, no doubt, what had caused that clean-cut face to grow so pale and set. ‘I have been subjected to a nervous strain unparalleled since the days of the early Martyrs. I have lost pounds in weight and permanently injured my entire system. I have gone through an ordeal, the recollection of which will make me wake up screaming in the night for months to come. And all for nothing. Let us go.’”

@cuddyclothes (I will cross-post this and Part 1 to G_S later!)

#Jeeves and Wooster #P. G. Wodehouse #tv canon #book canon #Jeeves and the Yule-Tide Spirit #Jeeves and the Song of Songs #Episode of the Dog McIntosh #jeeves and the kid clementina #Tuppy and the Terrier #Bertie Wooster #Reginald Jeeves #Tuppy Glossop #Roderick Glossop #Bobbie Wickham #Cora Bellinger #barmy fotheringay phipps

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pinkmedusa6 · 4 years

Text

Burning Bridges

Pairing: Richie Tozier & Eddie Kaspbrak

Read on AO3

An excerpt from this work:

“Go back to sleep Rich. I’ll be back, I promise.” Eddie stumbles backwards and slips out the window. Soon the room settles into a lull like Eddie was never there to begin with.

The clock reads 3:35 am. Richie stays in his bed debating if he should get up and chase after Eddie but his consciousness makes the decision for him as he begins to fade into his dreams once again. Sleep overtakes him, thoughts of Eddie still swaying at the edge of his mind. Richie decides to talk to him in the morning. He will realize later that this was the worst decision of his life.Eddie

Kaspbrak was never seen in Derry again.

Summary: Richie is living the lonely life of a C-list comedian in LA until he suddenly is contacted by Mike Hanlon. 15 years after his disappearance Mike believes to have received a phone call from Eddie. The remaining Loser's return to Derry in search of answers and their missing friend.

It had been a normal day for Richie Tozier. But that’s how all tragedy’s started, with normal days.

All seven members of the Losers Club sat along the bank of the quarry. The haze of a summer heat settling along the exposed edges of their skin. Beverly was skipping rocks along the water, trying to beat her record of 6 skips. Ben watched her like she was competing in an Olympic sport, the flick of her wrist catching his gaze. Bill, Mike, and Stan sat not far off, discussing amongst themselves.

Richie had taken to climbing up a nearby tree and hanging off one of the branches by the crook of his knees. While Eddie stood underneath him rattling off the possible injuries he could get by falling.

Richie was desperately trying to keep his glasses from sliding off his face as Eddie glared at him. “I’m not going to help you if you fall and bust your head open.”

“Aw would you still love me if I got brain damage Eds?” Richie grinned swinging carelessly back and forth.

“Don’t call me Eds. And you already have brain damage asshole.” Eddie huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“And you still love me! How sweet,” He threw Eddie a wink. Richie thought he saw a hint of red creep around Eddie’s cheeks but wasn’t sure if that was just his own blood rushing to his head.

“That’s why we’re your friend, can’t let the poor kid with brain damage play by himself.” Stan called over, not even bothering to turn towards Richie.

“You wound me Staniel.” There was a grunt as Richie heaved himself up and began his decent down the tree. About a foot away from the ground he lost his grip and fell landing on his back with a small thud. He barked out laughter as Eddie ran to his side to make sure his skull hadn’t broken like an egg shell.

“B-by the way, what electives did everyone ch-chose for the semester?” Bill said fully ignoring the commotion taking place beside him.

A chorus of answers rang around the group, from Bev shouting home economics to Ben quietly mentioning a poetry class. Stan said photography and Richie remarked that his teacher would get tired of every picture being a bird. Eddie sat quietly in his spot beside Richie.

“What about you Eddie?” Mike smiled over at Eddie. He had also stayed silent during the discussion, there wasn’t much to say about electives when you were home schooled.

Eddie fidgeted from where he was sitting on the ground. “Ok I’ll tell you guys but you have to promise not to mention it around my mom she’ll flip.” There was a collective nod, “I uh decided to go for track and field.”

“That’s fantastic Eddie!” Bev said.

“You’ll do g-g-gr-ugh.” Bill closed his eyes in frustration before starting again. “You’ll do awesome, you have always been the fastest of us anyway.” Bill smiled along with the rest of the group. He was right, Eddie had always been the fastest of the Losers club even when he thought his asthma was real.

“Fast on the track and in the sack that’s what they say right?” Richie laughed as he was shoved by Eddie but he didn’t miss the distinct dimpled smile.

After finding out his mother had been lying to him for years about his asthma, as well as several other illnesses, Eddie had abandoned most of his placebos. Only when his mother was watching did he seem to keep up his act, not yet wanting to confront her. Richie felt a certain kind of pride bloom in his chest. The kind that had always been there but seemed to grow with each act Eddie did. Sonia was controlling and every step that Eddie took seemed to defy the tight grip she had on him. They were coming closer to the end of their high school days and Richie was excited for the future. A future he hoped contained a great deal of Eddie.

Richie knew the way he felt about Eddie differed greatly from his feelings towards the other loser’s. He didn’t stay up late at night thinking about the curve of Beverly’s legs nor did he leave lingering touches along Stan’s arms, those were exclusive to Eddie. Calling it love would make it too real. He called it a crush because crushes were soft fleeting things. Crushes were easy to get over you could skip from one to the next. Love was a hard rock that sat at the bottom of your stomach. Yet Richie could barely contain the tightening of his chest with the way each freckle stretched over Eddie’s cheeks as he smiled. Just a crush Richie reminded himself.

The losers club continued their carefree summer day at the clubhouse, reveling in one another’s company. Richie felt at peace among his friends, he wondered if this is how all his friendships would be or if this was something special.

By the time four o’clock had rolled around it had become Richie’s favorite kind of day, one where after spending time with all the losers Richie was able to squeeze in an hour or two of alone time with Eddie. After departing from the clubhouse the duo arrived at Richie’s home, eventually landing on his bed to read comics and bicker over trivial topics.

It was Eddie who brought up the subject of college, “Are you still planning on going to UCLA?” The question threw Richie off guard, especially since they just finished a heated argument over who was the better superhero, Captain America or Iron Man. But now Eddie sat on the floor of Richie’s room, his back against the bed and staring at the posters on the wall. His eyes seemed like they were searching for an answer in the Rush poster hung up haphazardly above Richie’s desk, a fruitless effort.

“Well yeah, its step one in my plan on becoming a famous comedian,” Richie turned to Eddie from where he sat on his bed. His eyes were still trained on the poster but Richie caught a glimpse of some unnamed emotion flash across them. “You should come with. UCLA has like a million majors to choose from.” Richie tried to say it as casually as possible and not like he would trade his left arm just to have Eddie in the same state as him. This was not the first time he had brought it up but he still felt the same nervousness tug at his stomach, like it was an encoded proposal.

“Like my mom would ever agree to me moving across the country with Richie Tozier.” Eddie finally returned Richie’s gaze, a somber smile on his face.

“You’re right. You’re mom would get too jealous.” Eddie groaned “Do you think I could get Mrs.K to come with me to UCLA? I’m not sure she could survive till winter break without me.” Eddie took the comic book in his lap and rolled it up before smacking Richie on the head with it. Richie laughed, a shit-eating grin spread wide across his face. Eddie wavered in his scowling, eventually laughing along with Richie. Soon both boys settled back down into a comfortable silence as they read their comic books.

As the evening sun slipped into his room it basked Eddie in an otherworldly glow, Richie wanted to burn the image into his brain. He wanted to record Eddie as he was now and replay the scene over in his head until that’s all he could see. He was almost grateful when Eddie said he needed to leave, the tips of his fingers burned with the urge to touch. But Richie smiled and pushed those feelings away, a practice he had grown accustomed to.

Richie walked Eddie to his porch, leaning on the railing as Eddie began to walk down the steps. “When will I see you again Eddie my love?”

“Jesus can you just say my name normally for once?”

“For you? No way in hell Spaghetti man.” Richie was grinning, a common occurrence when he was with Eddie. And Eddie would huff and roll his eyes at Richie’s antics but there was always a smile that followed and Richie would always chase it.

“Well Bill wants us all to meet up at his house tomorrow, his aunt sent him a board game and it can play up to ten people so now we won’t have to fight over who goes first.” Eddie said, hopping off the last step of the porch and turning to face Richie.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow when I show you my awe-inspiring board game skills.” Richie wore a cocky smile, it always gave him a special rush knowing exactly what buttons to push to rile Eddie up.

“Oh shut up you couldn’t even beat me at Clue.” Eddie crossed his arms, face already formed into a pout.

“Hey that’s not fair, you know I suck at those murder mystery games!”

“Well it’s a mystery why I’m still friends with you” Eddie smirked as Richie let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if Eddie had shot him on the spot.

As he turned to leave down the driveway Richie shouted “see you tomorrow!” Eddie turned around briefly to wave at Richie before scurrying off towards his own house and out of Richie’s sight.

After dinner Richie went to bed peacefully, happy with how the day went. That was before he was awoken at 3:21 am.

Richie was a heavy sleeper, he had always been since a young child. That night he did not hear a window creaking open or shoes shuffling on carpet, he wasn’t awake until a gentle hand began to stroke his hair. Even then Richie was still dancing between sleep and consciousness. He shifted, opening his eyes just barely only to close them again then repeating the process a few more times before comprehending that for a hand to touch his head it needed to be attached to a person that was presumably in his room. His eyes opened fully to see a dark figure standing over him.

Shock would have set quickly into his veins if not for the hand still combing its way through his hair, daring him to sleep once again. He made a sound that was a mix between a grunt and a slurred “what”. The hand retracted as Richie grabbed his glasses off his night stand. While the figure was less blurry they were still just as dark and only after his eyes adjusted did Richie catch the face of the intruder. The sliver of moonlight peaking from behind the clouds illuminating just enough for recognition to kick in.

“Eddie?” Richie questioned, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

Eddie jerked back slightly, his face still mostly shadows. Richie was having a hard time making the connections his brain needed to make. “Richie” Eddie said finally and if Richie were more lucid maybe he would have caught the distinct wetness Eddie’s voice carried. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Richie rubbed his eyes, “What are you doing here man?” He went to turn on his lamp but Eddie grabbed his wrist.

“No don’t.” Richie was taken aback “Sorry its just…“ There was hesitation in his voice and Richie started to wonder if this was a dream, it felt too weird to be reality. “I needed to see you.” There is another pause as Eddie let go of Richie’s wrist before kneeling down beside the bed. Richie felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek. “Richie I need you to listen carefully. I’m going to be gone for…“ he breathed in sharply “I- I’m not sure how long. But I promise you I will be back ok?”

“Eddie you’re not making any sense” Richie’s voice dripped with confusion as his gut started to tug at itself. This wasn’t the Eddie that Richie knew, this wasn’t the spitfire that always spoke his mind and was trustworthy to a fault. No this Eddie sounded uncertain and scared.

“I know, I’m sorry” Richie thinks he hears a sniffle, “I can’t….just remember I’ll be back Richie, please remember that.” Eddie leans forward and rests his head on Richie’s shoulder as he begins to shake.

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie, softly running his hand down his back. They stay like that for a moment and Richie starts to wonder again if this is an elaborate dream.

Eddie pulls back, “Richie I-“ he says it like something important is dancing on the tip of his tongue ready to dive, but he just shakes his head “I have to go” he slips away before Richie can protest. “Go back to sleep Rich. I’ll be back, I promise.” Eddie stumbles backwards and slips out the window. Soon the room settles into a lull like Eddie was never there to begin with.

Eddie Kaspbrak was never seen in Derry again.

Thank you for reading! If you are interested please check out my AO3 as I probably won’t post anymore chapters on Tumblr. Feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism!

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #it chapter 2 #fanfic #my art #it movie #losers club #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #stan uris #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #writing

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myownpersonaldemons · 4 years

Text

I wrote a thing.

UF!Grillby/Reader

Reader’s sister needs someone to babysit.

“Hm…fuck no? Is that a good answer?” Grillby said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight back away, effectively closing himself off. You leaned against the table, pressing your lips together. That was precisely the kind of reaction you were expecting to get, honestly, but you were going to give it your best attempt instead of letting the topic slid there.

“It’s only for a week, and I’ll be the one looking after ‘em. I’m their last resort, anyways! Everyone else is either busy or doesn’t have the time,” you explained, allowing your voice to take on a hint of begging. You may be proud, but with your boyfriend, you weren’t above begging. He rolled his eyes, or the approximation of the action as he didn’t have eyes really to roll.

“I don’t care if you were the last person on Earth,” Grillby gritted out, “I am not allowing a kid into this apartment.”

“Why not?”

“Five reasons,” Grillby held up a hand, he lowered one finger per excuse. “One, I hate kids. Two, they’re messy and sticky and get shit everywhere. Three, I can’t swear in front of them. Four, a week with a kid in the apartment means a week where I can’t have sex. Five, what would Sans say if his bedroom was occupied?”

You held up your hand and with each counter point you raised a finger, “One, you don’t hate kids you just don’t know how to act around them. Two, she’s not a messy kid. Three, you can swear in front of her since her parents do. Four, we can still have sex we just got to get creative and make sure the bedroom door is locked. Five, if you’re really that concerned about Sans’ sleeping arrangements he can sleep with us in our bed when he gets black out drunk.”

He scowled at you for that last one, then ran a hand down his face, “Why do you care? Can’t they just hire some nanny or some shit like that?”

“Not everyone’s as rich as you, Grillby,” you pointed out.

“What if I hire someone for them instead?” he gestured to himself.

“I don’t trust you to hire someone with the right credentials,” you admitted, giving him an apologetic grin.

Apparently that had been a huge blow in his ego, but eventually you had gotten him to agree to babysitting your sisters kid for a week. Not a day more. You honestly weren’t excited to take care of a kid for a week, but it was for your sister and she’d owe you big time for this. You had kissed him and thanked him, saying that you owed him. He grumbled about it, and was still grumbling about it.

Especially considering the fact that you had subsequently gotten really fucking ill the day after your sister dropped off your niece. You had woken up dizzy and sweating. Grillby had taken one look at you, sworn, and taken you to the doctor. He’d almost forgotten to bring your niece as well, and you weren’t in any mindset to actually remember. You could barely remember how to zip up your jacket let alone that you had a small child to look after. Your niece was cuddled up in your arms in the waiting room as your boyfriend sat with his head in his hands.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, leaning against him, the simple act felt way too much for you.

“It’s not your fucking fault,” he replied, turning and kissing your forehead. It surprised you, he normally wasn’t an affectionate person in public, well not that sort of affection. Though, you were feeling chilled and the warmness against your forehead was delightful so you leaned further against him.

Grillby wasn’t used to seeing you so…weak. Pale. Awful. You could barely hold onto the child in your arms as the three of you walked back to the car. So, Grillby reluctantly held his arms out towards you. You looked at him tired confusion in your eyes. “Gimme the kid,” he muttered, and you slowly shifted the sleeping kid over into his arms.

Well.

This was weird.

He couldn’t say he liked it.

The child was small, and stared up at him with as much apprehension as he stared down at her with. She was stiff as he attempted to hold her like you had been holding her. Then again, that was probably because he was stiff as well. With a grimace, he shook off the awkwardness of the situation and placed a hand on your lower back and guided you over to the car. You were ill and you needed antibiotics for the next week until whatever this was had passed. Which meant, instead of you looking after the kid.

He was going to have to look after a child that wasn’t his, and look after his sick girlfriend.

He didn’t mind the latter of those responsibilities, but the first? He didn’t care for your sister too much, and thought her husband was a bastard, so looking after their child was not something he wanted to do at all. He’d only allowed the kid to be in your apartment because you said you’d take care of her.

With a sigh, he fumbled with the car seat until you brushed him aside and did it before you got into the front seat. By the time he got to the drivers seat, you were well on your way to passing out, arms crossed and slouched in the seat. He hoped to the stars that you would be lucid enough to at least tell him what to do, and deal with the kid while he was at work. Grillby was not going to miss work because of a dumb kid.

When he pulled into the parking stall, he nudged you gently awake. You blinked sleepily before getting out of the car, he worried when you swayed slightly. Then he was hit with the sudden need to get you away from everyones eyes. So, he scooped the kid out of the car as fast as he could and got you onto the elevator. You were weak. Defenseless. Not only that, but there was also the weak, defenceless child. At least with the kid he knew none of his enemies would bother with it. No one would harm kids, after all.

The panic about your safety faded the moment he locked the door to the apartment.

You fumbled with your zipper and he assisted you getting your winter gear off before handing you the kid. You stared at the kid for a second and then looked up at him confusedly. “What?”

Fuck.

Just what he needed.

“I don’t know how to take off the snow suit shit you put on her,” Grillby said, giving the baby a small wiggle. She giggled and kicked her feet.

You made a ‘oh’ noise before reaching forward and taking the kid from him. He breathed out a sigh of relief as you worked the snowsuit off the kid. Grillby watched you as you talked to your niece cheerfully, even exhausted and sick as all hell you were still being super sweet and cute to a kid that wasn’t even your own. You stood up, wobbly, and he quickly placed a hand on your back to steady you.

“You should rest,” Grillby pointed out, “I don’t want to have to take you back to the doctor because you cracked your skull open.”

“I’ll be fine, I got medication,” you retorted waving a hand, and scooping up your niece. “Plus I said I’d look after Alex, so look after her I will.”

Grillby didn’t bother fighting you, but kept a close eye on you and the kid. He lounged on the couch with a book so that he could keep an eye on you as you did various activities with the kid. At one point, the chubby little shit got up and headed over to him and held up a crayon drawing. He looked at it, and then glanced back at you. You looked even sicker than you had earlier, but you gave him a thumbs up.

“Looks good,” he muttered, “What is it? An eggplant and a potato?”

“It you,” the kid pointed at the purple shaped object, “n’ auntie.”

You giggled at that, but in a way that made him realize that you were becoming loopy. Grillby sighed, biting back his normal saucy response and instead sat up.

You should sleep,” he said, directing his attention towards you. You rolled onto your back on the ground.

“Gotta watch Alex,” you replied, giving him another thumbs up.

“Doesn’t the kid need a nap too or something? Wasn’t that what your sister said?” Grillby gestured towards the kid who had placed the drawing on his lap and was heading back over to the crayons on the living room floor. He really hoped there wasn’t any crayon on the wood. When you just made a fart noise he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“I’ll sleep when you go to work,” you said before rolling back onto your stomach and sitting up. “I need to give Alex a bath.”

Grillby sighed deeply before waving a hand, “Don’t drown in the tub. I can’t help you out if you do.”

You stuck your tongue out at him as you got to your feet and scooped up Alex. She complained as you disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone in living room. He checked his watch. A little over two hours before work. He could go early to get everything ready, but he didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you alone while you were sick. So, he listened closely, hearing the kid complaining about not wanting a bath fading into giggles from both you and the kid.

Eventually, he got up and peeked into the bathroom to ask what you wanted for dinner.

You were drying the kid off, a fond look on your face as you booped her on the nose.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, shoving down the strange fluttering in his SOUL at that sight. He didn’t have time to unpack it and quite frankly, he didn’t care to at all. Cus, fuck that.

“Something light,” you replied, tucking the blanket around the kid. “I don’t know if I can hold anything too heavy down.”

He nodded, and headed into the kitchen. When he finished, he went to find you to let you know that he’d made some soup, but he was met with the sight of you passed out on the bed with Alex flipping through one of the books her mother had left with them. Grillby sighed heavily. Great. Could he even leave you alone with the kid tonight? His bar was open for nine hours…

Closing his eyes, he rubbed at them roughly for a second.

Then he stepped out of the room and called up Sans.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?” Sans said as he answered the phone.

“Come to my apartment,” Grillby practically ordered before hanging up.

It took longer than Grillby would’ve liked before Sans popped into existence in the middle of the living room. Sans scratched at his skull, staring down at the crayons and papers still strewn about. “arts n’crafts grillbz? didn’t take ya for the kind of monster.”

Grillby explained the situation simply instead of allowing himself to rise to the bait. “I need you to make sure neither of them ends up killing themselves.”

“what? no.” Sans held up his hands, “i ain’t a babysitter.”

“I’ll cut your tab in half,” Grillby insisted, and saw Sans’ face twitch.

A second passed and then Sans groaned, “fine, fine. i’ll make sure they don’t off themselves.”

“Good,” Grillby said and then placed a hand on Sans’ jacket. The scent of burning cloth rose up, “If even a hair on their head is injured-“

Sans shrugged off Grillby’s hand, “ya trust me ‘nuff ta look after yer mate and a kid, and i ain’t about to break that trust, grillby.”

Grillby nodded stiffly before turning and heading back into the spare room. He carefully picked you up from the bed and brought you into your actual bedroom. After waking you up briefly to explain what was happening, giving you medication, he tucked you into bed and headed back out.

Alex was staring at Sans with as much apprehension as a little kid could have.

“I’ll be back at two sharp,” Grillby informed Sans as he pulled on his jacket. Alex trotted over and tugged at Grillby’s hand. “I go too?”

“No?” Grillby pulled his hand from Alex. As he turned, the little girl tugged at his hand again.

“I go too.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Grillby picked up Alex, holding her at arms length and strode over to Sans. He placed her beside him. “Stay.”

“Go!”

He ignored her and left.

Sans looked down at the kid, who was glaring after Grillby. Then, she burst into tears.

You woke up the next morning, feeling a bit more clear-headed. You pushed yourself up slightly, groaning. Okay, strike that. You were aching. You probably should take a warm bath, or get a massage from Grillby to help with the aches and pains. Speaking of…Grillby wasn’t lying beside you which was strange. He always slept in later than you, as he didn’t need to work until later in the day. You slowly got out of bed, pulling on a sweater to fight off the chill, and left your bedroom.

Grillby was cooking pancakes in the kitchen and Alex was babbling away to Grillby as she ate some mashed fruits messily.

The apartment was an absoloute nightmare.

“What happened?” you asked looking at all the toys, books, dishes and everything strewn about.

“Sans is never allowed to babysit for me again,” Grillby spat out, gesturing towards the mess, “Sure, you two didn’t die but! The apartment’s a fucking nightmare!”

“Fucking!” Alex mimicked, and then held up her spoon towards Grillby. He stared at it for a second, and only after she offered it to him again he sighed and bent down and accepted the mashed fruit with only a bit of reluctance. You fought the smile on your face.

“I’ll clean up-“

“You are sick, sit your ass down,” Grillby said, “I can clean the apartment.”

You hesitated but sat down in the chair at the island that he gestured to. Alex was sitting on the counter, which if Grillby wasn’t the one watching her you might’ve had an anyersum. You knew you sister would if she saw it, but you weren’t going to tell her. Alex scooped up some more fruit and offered it to you. You shook your head, “I’m sure Uncle Grillby would love some though.”

You saw Grillby’s flames snap oddly at being called Uncle, and he gave you a look, “Just Grillby.”

“Jus’ Gwillby,” Alex repeated, but offered the spoon towards Grillby again. He once again reluctantly accepted the food. Then he put a smaller pancake on a plate and placed it in front of her.

He made a slightly bigger one for you, and you didn’t know if you should eat it…but you did because you’d never turn down Grillby’s cooking. As you and Alex ate, he explained how he had left Sans in charge when he went to work, and that he had come back to Sans passed out on the couch, Alex passed out in the bathroom with the faucet running, and you had apparently attempted to get out of bed at one point but decided that walking was too much energy and had curled up on th floor in the hallway. He’d kicked Sans out, and put you and Alex to bed. Last night he’d been to just exhausted to deal with the mess that was the apartment but insisted that it had been worse when he had gotten home.

You apologized once more, and he just gave you a blank look. “You’re sick, again not your fault. You owe me big time, but not your fault.”

You smiled, “Course, you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

He puffed up slightly as you fed his ego with just those few words.

Thankfully, that was the last fiasco. Your medication was helping, and you had a clear enough head for the rest of the week to look after Alex when Grillby went to work that you didn’t need a babysitter in the form of Sans.

Grillby wasn’t any where close to what you’d call affectionate with Alex, but he seemed to tolerate her enough that sometimes their interactions were cute. At one point, she wanted to know what he was reading, so he read out loud to her as she sat beside the couch and peered up at the book. When she tried to crawl into his lap, he picked her up and gave her to you instead. The one time that Alex woke up from a nightmare and snuck into your room, he had been startled as the tiny form crawled over him and nearly fell out of the bed. You’d simply groggily asked her what was wrong before allowing her to cuddle up next to you for the rest of the night.

When your sister finally came to pick Alex up, you had smiled and said everything went swimmingly. No issues. You totally weren’t sick. Grillby totally didn’t at one point let her try a sip of his whisky, and she totally didn’t pull the ‘ew gross’ face before asking for more. She totally didn’t walk in on you and Grillby getting it on because he forgot to lock the door like you had told him. She’d also definitely did not eat an entire crayon. You still weren’t sure if she did but it was missing from the crayon collection and you couldn’t find it anywhere.

It wasn’t until a few days later that your sister phoned you up.

“Why is Alex calling her father ‘bastard man’?”

You turned and glared over at Grillby. “I honestly have no idea why Alex is calling your husband a bastard. Grillby????”

Grillby merely gave you a grin that was reminesent of the knife cat meme.

So close to your sister, thinking you were the best babysitter.

So close.

#uf!grillby/reader #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #myfanfics #my fanfics #undertale fanfiction #uf!grillby #fluff

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

Text

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 13

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Friday - the wedding, pt 1/2

“Rose. Rose? Rose!”

“Hmm?” Rose looked up, blinking, at the sound of her name. She’d been engrossed in examining her fresh manicure, and by the exasperation in her mother’s voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called. “What?”

Scowl firmly in place, Jackie huffed. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re in space, and not on Cloud 9. It’s your wedding day- why aren’t you happier?”

“I am happy,” Rose forced a smile, conscious of the woman behind her doing her hair. “Everything’s lovely, it’s a gorgeous day. I’m fine.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes, and Rose calmly returned the gaze; she’d learned long ago how to deal with Jackie when she got like this, and refused to flinch. Eventually the other woman nodded, though she still didn’t look satisfied. “Fine. Now, I was thinking-”

Wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself, Rose wandered down the stairs to the first floor. With the reception only a few hours away the floor was a bustle of activity, as the catering company’s waitstaff finished setting out tables and placing settings in anticipation of the dinner to come. Trying to keep out of the way she crept into the room, standing in the corner to observe the goings-on. One long table was set for thirty in an L shape, the longer section by the windows. A DJ booth was set up in the corner near her, with a fabricated dance floor set up to avoid scratching the original wood flooring.

Keeping to the wall she made her way closer to the table, stopping behind the chair designated for her after the ceremony. When I sit there, it will be as Mrs. Malcolm Tucker, she thought. Viscountess Gallifrey.

She felt nothing.

Even standing here, the morning of their wedding, looking at their reception space, it didn’t feel real, tangible.

Her heart hurt.

“Ma’am?”

Startled, she turned to find a nervous waiter next to her, a tray of teacups in hand, clearly setting them at the places. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and they did an awkward half-dance moving around each other.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the seemingly-loud sounds of the setup, she fled.

Trailing her fingers along the shelves Rose breathed deeply, letting the quiet air of the library soothe her nervous energy. It smelled of smoke from a wood-burning burning fire, fine whisky, old books – and Malcolm.

From her very first visit to the room, way back in her first year at uni, it had been one of her favorite spots on Earth. She’s spent countless hours in the library at her parents’ mansion, but it hadn’t been until she arrived here, in a room that had served that purpose for literally hundreds of years, that it brought her the joy and comfort she’d always instinctively known she would find amongst books. Each one promised an adventure, travels through space and time, without having to leave a cosy chair.

Nothing changed; no telltale creak of the door, no footsteps on the carpet, nothing to inform her senses, but all the same, she knew suddenly that he was there, from the spark of electricity that raced across her skin.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony,” she murmured, not lifting her eyes from the copy of Sherlock Holmes in front of her.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Malcolm murmured, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Besides, I’m reasonably certain that only applies to the dress, not the bride. After all, I saw Missy the morning of our wedding.”

Rose’s lips twitched, and she arched an eyebrow at the shelf. “You’re divorced.”

“Exactly. If the bad luck bit was true, we would’ve been married for much, much longer than only five years.”

She laughed at that, reluctantly turning around to find him grinning just behind her, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “I suppose that’s fair. If you’re not careful, though, you’ll get a reputation as a five-year husband. What will the next Mrs. Tucker think?” The idea of him remarrying was enough to make her breath catch, her heart physically aching. But she kept her smile, not wanting to go there with him in front of her.

“Oh, there won’t be another Mrs. Tucker,” he said breezily, momentarily freezing before clearing his throat. “I mean, I wouldn’t- not again. Twice is enough for me. I doubt I would ever meet anyone who could change my mind.”

It was just wishful thinking, a projection of what she wanted that to mean, but for a single heartbeat she heard a soft, wistful tone in his voice, one that said I’m not letting you go, I love you, promise me forever. “I suppose we’ll see,” she sighed. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

His brow furrowed, and she waited as he searched his memory. “Oh! Apparently you’re worrying everyone; Clara thought you might’ve done a runner.”

“I’m right here,” she shrugged, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, painfully conscious that under her dressing gown, she wore only a slip and lacy lingerie. (A girl could hope – she wanted to be prepared just in case the wedding night turned into a wedding night.) “Not even wearing my trainers.” She held a foot out for inspection, earning herself a chuckle when he saw her fluffy slippers.

“I see that. Can we…”

Rose let him guide her to the plush sofa in front of the fireplace, delicately curling her legs under her and adjusting the hem of her robe for decency, though it didn’t help when his eyes lingered on her bare thigh for a moment. “What’s up?”

Malcolm sighed, leaning back and running his hands over his face. “You don’t have to go through with this,” he said, bluntly but not unkindly. “I’m asking far too much of you, and would absolutely understand if you want to back out. You haven’t been yourself these last few weeks, and I can’t bear to be the cause of your unhappiness. Truly.”

“You’re not! You’re not.” The idea was so absurd that Rose couldn’t help but blurt it out, hurt but not entirely surprised that he’d drawn that conclusion; hadn’t Clara warned her he thought just that last weekend? “It’s just… this isn’t what I had pictured. Not that I’ve ever spent that much time planning my wedding, or my future, but…”

“I know.” He smiled wryly. “I never considered marrying again- I thought, after the divorce, that I would spend the rest of my life alone. And that… was okay.” His eyes softened, and he reached out, fingertips barely grazing over her knee before his hand settled firmly on the couch next to her, not quite touching. “I realize this isn’t ideal. I don’t want you to regret doing this. But… I promise you, I am a good husband. We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, and… we make each other laugh, and smile, and at the end of the day, that’s what makes a marriage work. It’s not necessarily about the- the physical. They say ‘marry your best friend’ for a reason.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from smirking. “And how’d that work out for you?”

“I got Clara, so, brilliant. Come on- it can’t be any worse than your current situation,” he pointed out. “Besides, blokes seem to love married women, maybe this is just what you need. So, what do you say?”

She gave into the laughter, settling her hand on his and running her thumb over his knuckles.

“I suppose I say… I do.”

Malcolm stared critically at the reflection in front of him, tugging on the hem of the waistcoat before smoothing it down. The clock he could just see out of the corner of his eye told him he had twenty more minutes until it was time to go down for the ceremony, and the longer he was left alone with his thoughts, the more jittery he became. It was almost as if by soothing Rose’s fears he’d absorbed then, making him doubt everything.

This is the right thing, he told himself once again, narrowing his eyes at the glass. She agreed to it, and I believe her – Rose Tyler does nothing she doesn’t want to do. This will make both of our lives better- easier- and won’t change all that much. It’s a signature on the line and that’s it.

His romantic heart, usually kept buried deep inside him, locked away since before his divorce, continued to bleed all over his sleeve. Why doesn’t she love me? It was a ridiculous question, of course, his rational mind knew that- the greater question would be why she would- if she did- but at the end of the day a small boy with taped-up glasses who was a bit too much of an odd duck for the popular kids still lived in his chest, wishing people would like him while doing everything possible to keep them at arm’s length, or further. That was part of why he and Missy had gotten so deeply entrenched in each other – they’d spent most of their childhood each other’s only friend, and they’d mistaken that for love.

Sometimes he wished he could go back to his teenage self, awkward and gangly at fifteen and overly devoted to Missy, and tell him that what he felt wasn’t love, not real love, not the kind the songs and poems and books and movies were about. That he’d know it when he found it, mid-forties and utterly enchanted with his assistant. But, of course, if he did that, if he saved himself the heartbreak of an ill-fated relationship and marriage with Missy, he wouldn’t have his daughter. His beautiful, precious, wonderful, awe-inspiring little girl, who pushed him to be better just by believing that he was.

And without her, he wouldn’t have met Rose.

“Dad?”

Startling violently he spun on his heel, nearly falling over in his surprise at being yanked so thoroughly from his thoughts. “Yes?”

“All right there?” Clara asked, unable to full mask her smirk as she watched him from the door. “You should be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.” Brushing his hands down along his coat, he crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

“Nice.” She moved inside, rearranging her expression to appear more sympathetic, but unable to fool him – her eyes still sparkled. “Now, I need to talk to you, it’s serious.”

Sitting himself down on the bench at the end of his bed, he watched her arrange herself on the loveseat across from him. “I’m all ears.”

“So, I was talking to the reverend about the ceremony,” Clara started, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees. “And he said there’s this rule- it’s really stupid, and it really sucks.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed, confused. Despite her attempts at appearing severe and serious, her tells of lying gave her away- what she was lying about he wasn’t quite sure, but the way she covered her elbow confirmed it. (Once of his great accomplishments as a father, in his own humble opinion, was convincing her as a little girl that when she lied, her elbow would turn green. Somehow, despite becoming a teacher, she’d never realized the truth; it was a foolproof way of fact-checking any story, which frustrated her to no end as a teenager, unable to tell how he always knew she was lying.)

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Okay, so, he said that the best man isn’t supposed to really know the bride, or at least, not be close to her. You know, for perspective, so he can properly advise the groom, that sort of thing.”

What? “I don’t follow,” he said honestly. Clearly she had a reason for this, but he couldn’t see the point – it made no sense. Why not just say you would rather stand up for Rose? That, he could understand- he was Clara’s father, but after more than a decade of friendship, she and Rose were the sisters the other had never had. But why string him along like this, until ten minutes before the ceremony?

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just… don’t know what to do.” Her eyes sparkled, bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth, and when her gaze trailed behind him, he frowned, though it was the voice that made him turn to look himself.

“I may be able to help with that.”

Without thinking Malcolm rose to his feet, staring at the doorway with his mouth open wide, unable to believe his eyes.

“Brigadier?”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #human!au #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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kinkstuffig · 4 years

Text

Feel Me

*Soulmate AU where the injuries of your soulmate show up on your own body*

Ash glanced down at his leg. The purple stain of a bruise was slowly fading. It didn’t cause him any pain, obviously. It belonged to the person who he would love in the future. His soulmate. Who seemed to end up with random bruises fairly often and in the strangest places.

He was glad that he was the only one who could see these injuries. One of the more recent had been a black eye and swollen lip combo, as if someone had beaten him over the head with something. He felt really bad for his soulmate. They had to walk around school and everywhere with everyone else able to see. Whoever they were, these bruises weren’t something you could get by just being clumsy.

Generally, Ash didn’t really pay attention to his soulmates injuries. In the past, they had been more commonplace. A scraped knee, a paper cut, a blister or two. More recently they had been very heavy. Ash was fairly sure that his soulmate was being beaten. He wished he knew who it was so he could do something about it. No one deserved this.

A few days later

In the middle of his math class, Ash began to feel very strange. There was a tightening in his chest. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. There was something wrong happening. He could feel it. He needed to stop it but he didn’t know what it was.

Ash excused himself from class, before going to hide in the school library. Hopefully no one would find him there. The panicked feeling grew. He tapped his fingers nervously on the floor. It was nerve racking, not knowing what was going to happen.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his wrist. He nearly cried out but he bit his lip instead, tasting blood in his mouth. Raising his wrist to eye level, he saw a thin red line forming over the blue veins crisscrossing his skin.

No, he thought. No.

Another line appeared below the first, this one obviously deeper than the last. It was accompanied by a sort of burning ache.

Why, he asked himself. Why would they do this?

More lines crawled their way up his arm, beads of blood bubbling out of them.

Stop, he whispered. Please.

The line forming on his palm paused. It seemed to be deciding whether it would continue. Then it pressed deeper than the others, cleaving the skin so that it split away.

Ash closed his hand, unwilling to look at the gruesome sight. He curled up in a ball, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He attempt to block these thoughts from his mind but every time he shut his eyes or even looked down, there they were, glaring up at him like evil grins.

There wasn’t really anything he could do, was there?

He returned to his classes and when he got home, he dug around in his closet until he found an old pair of fingerless gloves. That and an old hoodie would be his attire until these scars faded. He couldn’t bear to look at the gashes inflicted on himself. Some voice in the back of his head whispered that this was his fault. He could have prevented this.

Ash pulled his black beanie down over his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He needed some rest after the night he’d had. His teacher had other plans. “Wake up, Young Man. What I’m telling you now is important. You’ll use it the rest of your life.”

Bay struggled to keep his eyes open. He was so exhausted but he really needed to pay attention. His head slumped forward but he snapped it back up again in time to see the teacher yelling at another student. This teacher was quite brutal. He felt bad for the poor soul.

But he had his own problems to worry about. “Sir?” Bay raised his hand timidly.

“What is it?” the teacher snapped, turning his frustration from the other student to Bay.

“I’m not feeling well. May I go see the nurse?”

“Oh my god!” the teacher growled. “Have you not been paying attention? I was just explaining to this young man how essential this unit is to your education. You will not survive in this world if you haven’t memorized the concept of conversions. Why don’t students ever listen to me?”

The teacher rambled on but Bay just tuned him out. It was getting more and more easy to do that with adults. Unfortunately, he was actually beginning to feel ill. In fact-

Bay stood up from his seat and quickly walked out of the room. Once in the hallway, he ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. Nothing came up but it was awful just the same.

Ash had watched the scene play out with zero emotion. He was too tired for this bullshit. Why were teachers such assholes? The teacher was now calling the office to warn teachers about a runaway student. Ash put his head down on his desk. He didn’t feel well. He could have gone to the nurse but he was too tired to deal with this shit. The teacher must have given up on forcing children to learn, because Ash didn’t wake up until the bell rang and he had to go to his next class. The world spun for a moment as he stood up but he just brushed it off. The tacos he’d had last night were probably just disagreeing with him.

Bay stood up from his spot by the toilet and immediately sat back down again. If He was too dizzy to stand up, how was he supposed to get to the nurse? He hauled himself up again and leaned on the wall until he thought he could support his own weight again. He was able to make it out to the hall when the bell rang. Passing time. The worst time to be extremely off balance and disoriented.

Bay staggered around, confused, until somebody bumped into him and he fell over. He groaned at the thought of having to get up again. He just wanted to lay down and sleep.

“Hey, are you alright?”

A boy with shaggy dark hair and a concerned expression was bending over him.

“Mmm.” Bay made an incoherent noise and shook his head. Everything was too loud and he wanted to hide in a dark room and make it all go away.

“Shh shh it’s ok. Let me help you up. I’ll take you to the nurse.” The boy with black hair reached out a gloved hand. Bay took it and was surprised at the strength used to haul him to his feel. He swayed and an arm was looked around his waist, holding him upright.

“Wow. You were not lying about being sick earlier.”

Bay made a confused face and The black haired boy explained they shared a math class. They reached the nurse’s office and the boy dropped him off. Bay was sooo happy to lie down on a cot and finally get some sleep.

The nurse shook Bay’s shoulder. “Honey, you need to get up now.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

She shook a tiny bit harder and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you want to go back to class now or do you need to go home? I can call your parents if..”

“I’ll go back to class,” Bay answered quickly. He stood up quickly and swayed. The nurse pushed him back down.

“If you have a transferable disease, I’m afraid you will have to go home. Let me take your pulse.” She grabbed his wrist. He pulled away slightly and his sleeve moved, exposing a few scabs.

“Oh honey, what’s that?”

Bay yanked his hand away from her. “It’s nothing. I just fell on some glass. I’m fine. Best get going. Can’t miss human bio.” He stood up a bit more slowly and made his way to his next class as fast as he possibly could.

Ash stood in the shower, rubbing shampoo into his hair. He loved the way bubbles felt on his skin. It was a guilty pleasure of his, one which he didn’t bother to share with anyone. Suddenly he felt the panic. Though it was routine for him now, it always upset him. Today the red lines cross crossed his thighs. “No more ripped jeans for me,” he sighed. The pain was greater than usual, which was surprising since the cuts were usually deep anyway. He looked down to see his own blood swirling down the drain. At first he thought it was just part of their connection, a more intense projection of emotions. But when he ran his fingers over the cuts, blood came off on his fingers and everything stung under the water. His soulmate had cut too deep, cut into him.

Ash got out of the shower. He tried to bandage the cuts but they kept bleeding through. This was too much for him to handle. He went to bed, hoping that when he woke up, all of this would disappear.

In the morning, he’d forgotten about previous nights events until he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. There were newly healed scars from his elbows to his shoulders and scabbed over cuts from his elbow to his wrist. The cuts on his thighs were just barely shut and some were still sleeping blood. There were a few thin lines on his torso and by his ankles. There was so much destruction it hurt to look at it.

Ash dressed in some black sweats and a hoodie, hoping to hide the evidence, deceive himself again. But he couldn’t get the images out of his head. He left first period and hid in the library to cry. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this but he just couldn’t handle this anymore. He wished he could help whoever it was that felt this was necessary. He didn’t want to live seeing these everyday. Depression covered him like a blanket.

Bay limped to his English class. His leg burned but he needed to finish his essay and how was he supposed to do that in a hospital? The teacher announced they would be working in the library and Bay almost cheered. That was his favorite place to be in this school. It was very quiet and easy to concentrate. People didn’t mine if he went off in a corner to work by himself. Sometimes he’d even stay there a while a skip his other classes.

He needed another source for his essay on rare marine iguanas, so he headed to a shelf. Unlike many of the people in his generation, he preferred books over internet sites. They had a certain thing about them that made them more comfortable, familiar, and personal. As he scanned the bottom row, he saw a tuft of black hair behind a book about macaws. He turned the corner to find a seemingly familiar figure lying on the floor.

At first he thought the person was asleep but when he knelt down beside them, he saw golden brown eyes searching his face. “Hey,” he began shyly. “Remember me? Sorry I didn’t catch your name the other day. I’m Bay. Thanks for helping me. I was pretty out of it.”

The other figure, who appeared masculine, sat up scrubbing his face with his sleeve. “Don’t mention it.” His voice was strained and rough sounding. “I’m Ash.” He held out his fingerless leather gloved hand. Bay shook it.

“I know this is none of my business but may I ask what you’re doing in here? I’m supposed to be working on an essay, but it looks like you were… brainstorming.”

Ash laughed, though his eyes weren’t smiling. “You could say that. Definitely had some deep thoughts to think.” His face merged back into a frown.

Bay took a deep breath. “Do you think you could use a friend to help you think?”

“Friends are always welcome,” Ash said, smiling again.

“Great.” Bay scooched over next to Ash. “So… what is on your mind?”

“Well,” Ash looked down. “This is sort of awkward.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Bay encouraged. “You’ve already seen me in one of my worst moments.”

“I-I have a friend that hurts them self. They keep doing it often and a lot. It makes me very upset because I want to know why they feel this way. Im worried about them. I’m afraid of… what could come next.”

Bay wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. What do you tell someone when they tell you their friend self-harms? He decided the best option was comfort and he reached over to Ash and hugged him.

Ash was very surprised. He wasn’t used to getting hugs from other boys. Not that he had anything against bugs. In fact, this one felt kind of nice. He relaxed into it. Bay stopped panicking as soon as the tension drained out of Ash.

“Thanks,” Ash said, gruffly. He was starting to tear up but he didn’t want to cry again in front of Bay. “It’s very kind of you to want to help me.”

“Anything for a friend.”

“This is nice, but I really should go back to class now.” Ash pulled out of the hug. Bay felt a tiny bit emptier as Ash’s body heat left him but he tried to ignore it.

“See ya.” He gave a little wave.

“Bye.”

They both stood up, Ash preparing to leave and Bay now scanning this shelf for research materials.

Ash turned around as he reached the end of the shelf. “Hey, can I get your number?”

“Sure…” Bay’s voice trailed off. He was feeling extremely lightheaded.

“Bay?” Ash said concernedly. He ran forward to catch Bay as he fell. Ash held the unconscious boy in his arms for a second, trying to take in the situation. A kid had just passed out in the library. He should really tell an adult but he didn’t want to leave Bay unattended. The teachers were all on the other side of the library, making this the perfect place for crying and working quietly. It was not, however, the perfect place to deal with a medical emergency.

Thankfully Bay’s eyes opened a few seconds later. “W-what?” He mumbled.

Ash gently layer him down on the floor. “You just passed out. Do you remember your name and where you are? Does anything hurt?”

“I’m Bay and this is the school library. And… now that you mention it, I’ve got a killer headache.” He covered his eyes and made an uncomfortable sounding noise.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” Ash walked quickly to the water fountain and back, hoping he wouldn’t be caught. Food and water wasn’t allowed in the library, as it could damage the books and computers. Ash really didn’t want to get in trouble right now.

“Here. Drink this. it should help.”

Bay took the water bottle and sipped slowly. “It still hurts. But I guess dehydration doesn’t go away in a second.”

“Nope. Is that why you passed out you think?”

“Yea. Probably. I never drink enough water.”

“We should probably tell an adult about this, just in case it turns out to be something a bit more serious.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” To prove his point Bay pushed himself up into a sitting position. His eyes were squinting from the pain in his head.

“Did you eat anything today?” Ash asked, wondering if there could be another possible cause for the episode, but not wanting to alarm Bay with talk of adults and doctors.

“Not yet. I never have breakfast.”

“Did you bring a lunch?”

“I forgot mine today and I don’t have money.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“It’s ok. I’m not hungry.”

“For later then.”

“No. Thanks, but really, I’m good.”

Ash sighed. This child definitely needed some calories in him but he was refusing anything Ash offered.

“Fine. I won’t get you anything.”

Bay almost sighed with relief, but then he caught himself.

“But you’re coming with me after school.”

Bay groaned.

“What? Is the prospect of going somewhere with me that undesirable?”

Bay blushed and laughed. “Never mind. See you then.”

The boys parted ways, Ash returning to a class he hadn’t left and Bay finishing his water before going to turn in some homework.

After school, the boys met in the school parking lot.

“So, I’ll follow you?” Bay suggested.

“Nope. You’re riding with me. I don’t want you to accidentally make a wrong turn. Don’t worry. I’ll bring you back here to pick up your car after.”

“Okedoke.” Bay strapped himself into the passenger seat as Ash pressed the gas.

They drove through a town which they were both familiar with and stopped at a McDonalds. Bay’s hands began to sweat. He really didn’t like ordering things at restaurants.

Ash held the door open for him and the bell chimed as they walked in. Bay looked up at the menu. There were so many choices. The words began to spin, calorie sections looming out at him.

“C’mon Bay. It’s our turn to order.” Ash grabbed Bay’s sleeve and tugged him to the counter. “I’ll have a large double bacon cheeseburger, large fries, a large soft drink, and a large McFlurry in strawberry. Bay, what do you want?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bay muttered.

Ash mad a pouty face. “My treat?”

Bay panicked. What did they serve here anyway? He said the first thing that popped into his head. “Ummm, small fries and water please.”

“A small fries and a water it is then,” Ash beamed at the cashier.

“Coming right up,” the cashier replied cheerily. “You boys wait here.”

Why did you say that? Bay thought to himself. Stupid. Stupid. stupid. Do you have any idea how many calories are in that? Of course you do. The chart is right there idiot. And there are way too many. All that salt, all that grease. There’s nothing healthy about it.

Their food came out of the kitchen and they took it to a table. Ash bit into his burger with gusto, sauce dripping onto his face and hands.

Bay stared down at his small fries. The smell made him nauseous. Thinking about eating them made him want to throw up. He counted them. 27 small fries. 27. That was too big a number to go inside his stomach. He looked up. Ash was watching him as he chewed mouthfuls of burger. Bay picked up the smallest of his twenty seven fries. He felt the salty grease on his fingers. He put it in his mouth he didn’t want it to be in his mouth. His stomach clenched. It would refuse anything thing he put in it. Should he spit this fry out and say it was burnt? He chewed slowly. He felt the crisp outside of the fry crunch against his teeth. The soft guts of mashed potato spilled out onto his tongue. It felt wrong in his mouth. He swallowed. The potato stuck in his throat. He swallowed again. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He was going to be sick. Bay drank some of his water. The mashed up fry was now in his stomach. He could feel it. It was warm compared to the rest of his stomach’s contents, which only consisted of the water from earlier. He didn’t like the way it felt in his stomach he wanted it out. He tried very, very hard not to throw up and waited for Ash to finish eating.

Ash let out a long belch. “Braaap. Hoo! That was a lot. I think I ate too much.” He poked his belly, which was pushing out from under his hoodie.

“Me too,” Bay said quietly.

Ash looked at Bay with a confused expression. “You barely ate anything.”

Bay looked down. “I know. I wasn’t hungry today. Sorry. You can have the rest.”

“But what did you mean by-“

“Never mind.” Bay shook his head and pushed the rest of his fries toward Ash. “It’s nothing.”

“If you say so.” Ash took the extra fries but he chewed them with concern. Bay had been distant and sickly looking the whole time they’d been at the restaurant. He didn’t know Bay very well so this could have been his modus operandum but to Ash this seemed unhealthy.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Bay said,a little snappishly. A few minutes later, however,he looked even worse. “Could you excuse me for a minute? I need to use the restroom.”

“Sure. I’ll be outside in the car when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks.” Bay flashed a weak smile before getting up unsteadily and walking quickly to the washroom.

Ash went to stand up and felt a sharp cramp in his middle. He looked down at his belly, which had definitely grown in size since the morning. He was way too full. Thinking about his new acquaintance had distracted him from his stomach’s aching until now. He didn’t feel very well.

He thought he might be sick. He hadn’t thrown up since the third grade when he’d had the swine flu and he was a little afraid of doing it again. Ash hauled himself out of the booth and went into the washroom. He wanted to be prepared, just in case. As he opened the door, he heard retching from one of the stalls. Someone else was being sick. Maybe there was something in the food that was making him feel this way.

The stall opened and Bay emerged. Feeling guilty for not waiting outside like he’d said he would, Ash his behind the door, watching through a crack. Bay washed his hands at the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes and Ash thought he say a tear trickle down Bay’s cheek. Then Bay scrubbed his face with cold water and turned to dry his hands.

Ash ran out to the car, hoping he would be in and casual looking before Bay came out. He was very worried about the boy. He must be really ill to be having all these symptoms.

Abruptly, something inside him shifted and Ash was feeling more uncomfortable than he had for a long while. He could feel everything he’d just swallowed churning in his gut, which wasn’t very happy with him. Ash thought his intestines might burst. He was really glad he hadn’t ordered dessert.

Bay sat in front of the toilet, fingers down his throat. It seemed so normal, so routine, this ritual that he practiced after every forced feeding. If only he didn’t have to do this. If only it wasn’t needed. But he deserved it. He deserved this punishment. He felt awful, both emotionally and physically.

With all his stomach’s meager contents safely in the toilet bowl, he stood up and flushed. The saliva clung to his hand in slimy strings. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. He ran his hands under the water, washing them thoroughly, and rinsed the acid taste he’d grown accustomed to out of his mouth.

Bay stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror. His lips were chubby. His arms were flabby. Even his face was fat. How could anyone bear to look at him? Why did he even bother existing? He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Being sentimental? “What a pussy. Man up, bitch ass,” he whispered to himself.

He couldn’t be caught looking like he was crying, so Bay scrubbed his face until it looked normal, took a deep breath, and walked out to the car.

As he opened the door, Bay could see the pained expression on Ash’s face. The black haired boy was hunched over, his head resting on the steering wheel. He cradled his distended belly and moaned.

“You ok?” Bay asked, already knowing the answer.

Ash shook his head, not changing position, and moaned again. “That was way too much for any rational minded person to try and fit inside their body. But of course I’m the dumbass with eyes bigger than his stomach.”

“Can I help?” Bay queried, wanting to make his new friend more comfortable.

“Got any suggestions?”

“Well,” He said tentatively, “You could always, you know, get rid of it.”

“Nah, that’s a waste of money. And I really, really don’t like throwing up.” The last sentence came out more like a whimper as an especially powerful cramp squeezed Ash’s belly. He breathed in sharply, clenching his teeth.

“Do you think a belly rub would help?”

Ash looked over at Bay, who was nervously messing with his fingers. “Why not.” Ash groaned. “It can’t make it worse.”

Bay locked the car doors and helped Ash recline his seat back. Having his tender tummy exposed to someone else’s hands was a prospect Ash hadn’t considered for his first outing with a person. Bay gently pulled the lower part of Ash’s hoodie up, revealing a very swollen, very unhappy looking tummy. It bulged out, audibly sloshing and gurgling. An angry red line ran down the center, showing how much it had stretched.

Bay placed his hands on it. They were still cold from the sink water and Ash pulled away in protest at first. Eventually, though, he pushed his hot middle into the cool soothing hands running across it. Bay’s talented fingers massaged out cramps and pressed into pockets of air, resulting in burps and embarrassed looks from Ash.

Secretly, Bay loved the feeling of the taught, feverish skin against his fingertips. the elastic give of human skin was fascinating to him. Occasionally he would playfully poke the belly, gaining surprised yelps from its owner.

Eventually, Ash’s belly had calmed down enough that it wasn’t drowning out their conversation with it’s gurgling and Ash’s pain was tolerable.

“So, did we learn a lesson about overdoing it today?” Bay asked playfully.

“I know I did,” Ash laughed. “But I can’t promise I won’t have to learn it again.” He paused and became a bit more serious. “What about you?”

“What about me?”Bay was suddenly wary.

“I heard you in the bathroom. Are you sick?”

“No.” Bay bit his lip.

“Tell me the truth.” Ash really cared about his new friend. He knew something wasn’t right and he wanted to help him.

“I promise, I’m not sick,” Bay said, his face unreadable. “At least, not in the conventional way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ash demanded.

“You can’t really drive right now,” Bay said, changing the subject. “Would you rather I drive you home and you take me back to school tomorrow or I drive you to school and you chill out there until you’re feeling better.”

Ash frowned. He could tell Bay was avoiding the subject and he knew he could get it out of him. “You didn’t answer my question. And why couldn’t we go to your house?”

“Well, you didn’t answer mine either.”

“I asked first.”

Bay shoved Ash over into the passenger seat. “Your house it is then. Address please?”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“My dad’s home. Address please?”

“Huh?”

“I answered your question. We can’t go to my house because my dad’s home. Address?” Bay was becoming visibly unsettled. Ash knew he really didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him.

“I’m not done with this,” Ash said quietly, before telling Bay the address.

A few minutes later, the car pulled into the driveway of a one-story brick house in a residential neighborhood. It was small, but the bursting garden and light catchers in the window made it cozy and homelike.

“Nice flowers,” Bay commented. He could smell the blooms without rolling down his window.

“It’s my mom’s thing. She likes crafts and projects. Gives her something to do. Keeps her from being bored.” Ash hauled himself out of the car. He could walk on his own and the food was settling, but his large belly was unmissable.

They walked to the porch and Ash opened the door. “Hey Mom, I’m home,” he called as he stepped inside, beckoning for Bay to follow him.

A chubby lady, seeming to be in her late forties and with a multitude of blonde curls came running towards them. She hugged Ash, probably a bit too tightly as his face changed color for a few seconds, and then stepped back. “Honey, you’re home kind of late. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Mom, this is my friend Bay. I took him out to a late lunch and brought him over to hang out. We left his car at the school so is it ok if he stays over?”

“Well, I don’t see why not darling. Should I cook up something extra scrumptious for dinner then?”

Bay shook his head slightly at Ash, pleading with his eyes. Ash complied. “Actually, we just finished and we’re really full. We might have overdone it. But thanks for the offer, Mom.”

“I can tell,” she said, playfully poking his belly. “Well, run along then. Don’t break anything.”

“I won’t, Mom.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Come on, Bay. I want you to meet my dog.”

The boys walked down a hallway and entered Ash’s room. It was as punk/emo/goth as you’re picturing, with band posters hung up everywhere. Dirty clothes, mostly in black, were scattered across the floor. An unmade bed- really a mattress with sheets- was tucked in one corner of the room, while a battered wooden dresser sat in the one diagonal from it.

Ash flopped down on his bed, propping himself up with a few ratty pillows. Bay made himself a sort of nest out of the clothes on the floor, though he had a very strong urge to wash them, fold them neatly, and shove them all back into the dresser.

They made small talk for a few minutes before Ash again brought up the dreaded subject. “Why aren’t you eating?”

The question caught Bay by surprise, even though he had been expecting it. He could feel the tears returning to his eyes and he really didn’t want to cry. “This topic makes me uncomfortable. Could we please not talk about it?” He asked meekly.

Ash felt bad for prying. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you upset. But this seems like a serious issue. I know we haven’t know each other that long but you’re my friend and I care about you.”

Bay’s heart pounded nervously. He hadn’t told anyone this before. But maybe he would feel better once it was out in the open. “I,” He began slowly. “I have an eating disorder.” He tensed, preparing for the blows he was used to but none came. He searched Ash’s face for signs of anger and disgust. Instead he found confusion.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what that is. Could you explain it for me please?” He looked genuinely curious, not like he was teasing, so Bay decided to risk it.

“I just don’t eat. Or when I do, I purge it. If I can’t purge in time, then I punish myself but that doesn’t happen often.”

“Why?” This question was something Bay hadn’t exactly thought about before. He knew what he felt when he did it but the actual cause he wasn’t sure of.

“I deserve it, I guess,” he answered.

“You know that doing that can result in death, right?” Though not intended or toned to be sarcastic, Bay felt like his trust had been betrayed already.

“Like I said, I deserve it,” he muttered, no longer looking at Ash.

“You’re so young to die, though. You’ve got the whole rest of your life to do something great.” Ash honestly didn’t understand how anyone could want to die. Even on his worst days, like this one, he knew there were people he had to live for, people who needed him. He’d feel so guilty even considering the idea.

“Everyone dies,” Bay said darkly, as he unlaced his shoe. “Why does it matter when it happens?

Ash didn’t really have an answer to that. He wasn’t sure what to say. He rolled over, leaving his back toward Bay. He needed some time to think.

Now along with his soulmate, who’s life wasn’t great, he had another person to take care of. Not that he didn’t want to take care of people. It actually made him feel like he had a purpose. But these weren’t problems that he knew how to deal with. Ash did some googling for a while.

Bay had gotten his shoelace entirely out of his sneaker. He put it around his neck, above his choker, then tied it with a slip knot and pulled. He wasn’t actually going to kill himself of course. He knew his limit. This was just a game he played with himself when he was very upset. Sort of like how long can you hold your breath, except there were two ways to lose.

Ash looked up. “Hey, stop that!”

Bay turned towards him, letting go of the lace. “What?”

“You know what. Come here.” Ash looked frustrated. Bay was scared. Ash seemed nice but one could never be too sure. Bay slowly came over to Ash’s mattress and sat down.

“You can’t do things like this.” Ash carefully untied the lace from Bay’s neck, sliding it into the pocket of his own hoodie.

“Why not?” Bay asked petulantly.

“There are people who care about you, people who want you to be safe, to live. You’re scaring me. I knew that suicide was a thing but i’ve never met anyone who was suicidal.”

“That you know of,” Bay added quietly. “People aren’t always as open about it as i am.”

“Oh.” Ash sat silently for a second. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course not everyone would say exactly what they were feeling. He knew he didn’t all the time. This was a lot to take in and Ash was still a little overwhelmed. He wanted some time to process everything but now he knew he had to keep an eye on Bay.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Ash suggested. Bay nodded in agreement. Ash pulled up Netflix on his laptop and scooted Bay closer to him on the bed. Having both read Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for an English Lit assignment, the tv show Sherlock seemed like a good choice.

They binge watched the first two seasons, becoming mesmerized by Benedict Cumberbatch’s acting skills and enjoying John Watson as a character. During dramatic moments, Ash used Bay’s entrancement as a cover to slowly get closer, first just touching fingers, then holding hands, and finally putting his arm around him.

He hoped that Bay would see this as a friendly gesture, or possibly one meaning that the eerie soundtrack was affecting him. Really, however, these actions were to keep Bay from escaping. Ash was good at reading most people and knowing how they were feeling, or so he thought, but Bay was unpredictable. He didn’t know what Bay was capable of and he was slightly afraid that Bay might try something else untoward.

This tactic was working so far. Bay had noticed the increasing closeness of his friend. He wasn’t sure in what context to put it but he knew that using the “I need to use the bathroom” excuse would no longer work. He was enjoying the film and the non-threatening physical contact was kind of nice. Bay tried to relax. It was going pretty well until Ash had yawned for the seventh time.

Bay paused the show. “Are you getting tired? It’s only nine.”

“A bit, yea. A heavy meal does make one sleepy. It’s probably a good time for us both to turn in. I’ll have to take you back home tomorrow.”

That last sentence was the one that ruined it all. Home was not a happy place for Bay, nothing like it was for Ash. But he was already so freaked out that Bay didn’t dare tell him another awful thing. However, he’d already decided that he wasn’t going home.

“Good idea. Do you mind if i leave the show playing though? TV helps me sleep.”

“Same. Sure, why not?”

Bay glued his eyes to the screen, determine not to fall asleep. The show was really good and he wouldn’t have wanted to miss any even if he didn’t also have ulterior motives.

Ash eventually nodded off, his head slowly falling onto Bay’s shoulder, and his grip on Bay’s waist loosening. Bay waited until he could hear the heavy breathing of deep sleep. He was very practised at this.

Carefully, he slid Ash’s head onto a pillow and his arm around a stuffed goth bear. Bay was free. He eased open the door and stepped into the hall. Though it was very dark in Ash’s room (lights off, shades down, and dusky outside(perfect for watching netflix)), his parents were still awake so the lights were on. Bay’s eyes took a moment to adjust.

He hadn’t really payed much attention to his surroundings before but now his instincts kicked in and he noticed more things. For instance, the carpet in this hallway was deep which would make it easier to walk quietly but the walls were papered with a cheery bluebell print on mustard yellow, a hard to keep clean color palette. A few feet forwards on the opposite wall was a white door he thought might lead to the bathroom. He shuffled down the hallway until he reached the living room. Ash’s mom was watching Criminal Minds and crocheting doilies out of neon green and orange yarn. A man Bay assumed was Ash’s father could be seen through a sliding glass door smoking cigarettes on a slightly run down patio. another doorway opened into what looked like a kitchen.

Bay ran through his plan. Originally he had thought about trying to get sleeping pills but it would be hard to think of a plausible reason to need them, as it was only nine and people his age often didn’t sleep until much later. Complaining of a headache would be much more likely to happen.

Bay stepped out into the open. Ash’s mother looked up. “Oh, hello dear. Is there anything i can do for you?”

Bay put a hand to his forehead and made a pained expression. “I’ve got a killer headache. Do you have some aspirin or something?”

Ash’s mom frowned. “Normally i wouldn’t give medicine to a child that wasn’t my own.”

Bay turned his ‘i feel like i’m dying’ face up a notch.

“You look so pitiful. I suppose it can’t hurt. There’s some tylenol in the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom down the hall. Do you want me to get you a glass for water?”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

“Alright. I hope you boys are enjoying your sleepover.” She giggled to herself and winked at him slightly.

Bay knew what she was implying but he just turned away and rolled his eyes. Entering the bathroom he saw a long counter with two sinks, above which were two mirror fronted cupboards. Behind the door was a toilet and next to it was a shower/bathtub combo. Bay reached into one of the cupboards and found the bottle of Tylenol. It was almost empty, only containing twelve tablets. Twelve would probably do the trick. Bay got some water from the tap and swallowed them all, then threw the bottle in the trash and waited.

(One tablet is 500 mg. The highest dose allowed is 4000 mg in 24 hours, meaning 8 tablets.)

The clock on the wall said he’d been in the bathroom for an hour. Nothing had happened. He didn’t feel any different. Maybe if there had been more of them… He got up from the floor where he’d been sitting and went to open the door, planning to go back to bed. Instead he was face to face with a very worried looking Ash.

“What were you doing up?”

“I had to pee.”

“Really?”

“Why else would i be in the bathroom?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”

Bay was about to pretend to be offended when he noticed the unnaturally pale tinge to his friends face.

“Are you ok?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You don’t look ok.”

“Ummm…” Before Ash could deny it, he was running to the toilet, holding his middle. He began vomiting, quite forcefully. Bay tried not to watch. The entire contents of Ash’s stomach were emptied into the porcelain bowl before he was able to sit back and pant.

“I guess all that McDonald’s didn’t settle so well,” Bay commented.

“Shut up,” Ash gasped.

At that moment, Ash’s mom appeared in the open doorway. “Oh my, Ash. You didn’t tell me you were feeling sick too.”

“Too?”

“Your friend here came to me with headache complaints a little bit ago and now here you are throwing up. I hope this isn’t a bug. You can’t afford to miss anymore days of school.”

Ash made an accusatory face at Bay before turning back to his mom. “I don’t think it’s a bug mom. My dinner just didn’t agree with me, that’s all. And Bay doesn’t drink enough water.”

“Will you be alright darling?”

“We’ll be fine mom. Go back to your crafts.”

“Ok then.” She left the room, but still carried a worried expression.

Ash turned to Bay as soon as she was gone. “What did you do?”

“What did i do? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ash was about to respond, but instead he hunched over and moaned. “Fuck, this hurts a lot.”

Silently, Bay regretted taking all of the tylenol. Ash could have used it now. Bay knelt down on the floor next to Ash. “Are you sure that this is from all that before? It seems a little intense compared to previously.”

“To be honest, i probably am sick.” Ash gritted his teeth as another cramp felt as though someone was stabbing him in the gut. “I just don’t want to worry my mom. She already thinks i have ‘problems’.”

Bay maneuvered his hands into the position they had been in when they were in the car. Gently, he tried to massage the pain away. He could tell by the way Ash tensed and relaxed that it was helping a little but not much.

He wished he was a better person and not such a terrible fuck up. If he didn’t hate himself so much, Ash would make a really nice friend. But if he couldn’t love himself, how could he love someone else.

Ash leaned back against Bay, whose arms were wrapped around him. “I’m tired.”

Ash’s hoodie smelled really nice. And he was soft. And suddenly Bay had a very strong urge to cuddle him. He lay his head on Bay’s shoulder and muttered a non-committal “mmmm”.

Ash woke up to the light streaming through his blinds and a searing pain in his abdomen. Also he was on his bed and Bay was spooning him, which was rather nice and he would have enjoyed it except for the part where he wanted to cry because of the pain. He curled in on himself, trying not to wake Bay up but ending up doing so anyway.

“Hey,” Bay whispered.

Ash just grunted. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he opened his mouth but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Are you ok?” Ash shook his head.

“Is it worse?” He nodded.

“I’m gonna go get your mom,” Bay said worriedly. Ash tried to protest but Bay was insistent. “If it’s something serious, like an appendix, then we need to get you looked at right away. It’s better to be worried for a good reason than to not worry about true danger.”

Bay got Ash’s mom, who was making waffles in the kitchen, and told her the situation. While extremely flustered, she did know what to do. She went out and started the car, while Bay helped Ash get out to it. The pain was so bad, he could barely stand up.

Bay was the only one who noticed the stove was still on so he quickly flipped the switch before they left. The lingering smell of burnt batter in the air twisted his stomach and he started to feel nauseous.

When they reached the ER, doctors immediately took him into a room and gave him a once over. Appendix and poisoning were their main hypothesis. However when they did the examinations to see if either were true, everything checked out as perfectly normal. The doctors decided to put Ash on pain meds and keep him for observation.

They moved him into a room in the regular hospital. Ash’s mom filled out paperwork at a small table in the corner and Bay alternated between admiring Ash’s face and concentrating on not throwing up. Based on the fact that Ash’s mom hadn’t even considered sending him home or breakfast for either of them, he could tell she was really stressed and he didn’t want to make things any worse for her.

Ash was watching Bay. now with the pain meds coursing through his veins, he could think clearly again and he was trying to remember what exactly had happened the night before. He knew that they had cuddled and Bay had tried to comfort him but what was before that. His nausea had woken him up and then he’d noticed Bay wasn’t there, which made him very panicky. So he got up to find him, checking first in the bathroom because it was the most logical place. He did find him but then he got sick and that was that. There was something beforehand though, something else. A bottle in the garbage he remembered. But a bottle to what?

At that moment, Bay threw up. He had tried so hard but he couldn’t keep it down any longer. The thin stream of vomit pooled around his shoes. Ash’s mom looked up, surprised. Ash narrowed his eyes. It was the bottle of pain meds!

He knew that Bay was depressed but he didn’t think he would overdose in someone else’s house. Ash pressed the call nurse button on his bed as Bay continued to retch, although his stomach had been nearly empty to begin with.

When the nurse arrived, she wasn’t sure where to look. “Call poison control,” Ash told her. “It’s an overdose.”

“What??!” Ash’s mom was very confused.

“What did you tell him to take for the headache?”

“Tylenol but-”

Ash turned to the nurse. “That’s what he overdosed with. It would have been a little before ten last night.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” the nurse asked as she lifted Bay onto a gurney and prepared him for transport.

“He probably took it on an empty stomach and he’s only had water for like, a while, several hours. Please don’t let him die.”

“We’ll do our best honey.” the nurse rushed away, leaving Ash’s mom in stunned silence.

“Fuck. this was my fault. I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. I knew something like this might happen.”

Though ash’s mom wasn’t exacctly sure what had just happened, she knew she had to comfort her son. “If someone wants to do something like that, they will. You can’t stop them once they put their mind to it and it’s nobodies fault but their own, so don’t blame yourself. Didn’t you only meet him yesterday?”

“No, i’ve met him before that. And i think i’ve known him my whole life.”

“Really? How could you know him that long? I’ve never met him before.”

“I think he’s my soulmate.”

“Oh.”

Afterward

Ash was right. Bay was his soulmate. The symptoms had appeared in Ash first because:A it would save Bay and B the effects of a tylenol overdose can take up to 24 hours to appear but because they were soulmates, it happened differently.

Bay survived, but the doctors diagnosed him with depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder. He told them about his abusive father and they let him stay in the hospital until he was recovered, and then decided he should live with Ash’s family. Being soulmates, it was much easier for Ash to tell when Bay was feeling down, upset, or scared and he would know if Bay self-harmed. They worked through everything together.

#self harm #anxiety #anorexia

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 26--History

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “History.” Ienzo gathers the stories of the survivors and presents them to Even. The effects of the darkness linger.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even turned the manuscript over in his hand, as though feeling the quality of the paper. “I never pictured you as a soft scientist,” he said, his tone mostly unreadable.

Ienzo sighed. His vision was cut into odd little slivers; he wasn’t quite used to his new glasses, his eyes scrambling to adjust. “You’re going to be frightfully disappointed in me, but I no longer derive any pleasure or fulfillment from so-called “harder” subjects.”

Even stared at him. “Why on earth would I be disappointed?”

“I do recall a period in my life when you found my perusal of fiction a waste of time, when I could be studying.”

He set the manuscript down onto his desk. “We all know what a fool I was, back then. No.” He smiled. “The only way I’d be disappointed in you was if you were to waste your life faffing about. But you were never lazy.” He ran his finger along the paper spine.

Ienzo frowned a little. “I understand the… trepidation, you might feel,” he said slowly. “And… it is quite harrowing.”

Even’s eyes dropped, became distant. “I can only imagine what the experience has been like, for you.”

“...Gathering these stories?” He thought about it. “Not everyone is… willing to share such dark content of their hearts. I’ve had more than one door slammed in my face.” He knotted his hands together tightly. “I’d hoped that my suspicion regarding everyone’s opinion of us was mere paranoia, but some folks do feel a certain… ire. Not that I can blame them.” Some people hadn’t even let him speak to them; others were more direct.

“We don’t blame you,” one woman had said. “We know you were Ansem’s ward. But how can we trust that any information we give to you will be used for good? None of it was before.”

Others, however, had been incredibly welcoming. “If I’ve seen anything in my life, we all deserve second chances,” an older woman had said. “If you’re good in the committee’s book, you’re good in mine.”

The stories flooded his life; the losses, the difficulty to adjust to a new and alien world (had these worlds truly been here all along?), the nightmares, the darkness. Ienzo could not offer them much comfort other than an attempt at catharsis. Any attempt at more psychological treatment would be uncalled for.

Rather than hold their minds in his hands, he now held their hearts; he could only hope he could be worthy of it. “It’s… worth it, to hear their voices,” Ienzo said softly. “We… need to understand the human impact. I don’t mean the numbers.” He forced himself to meet Even’s eyes. “I have… written something of an abridged memoir, myself.”

Even digested this; his expression became pinched. Then, he sighed. “It would only make sense. You are one of the victims.”

“Victim and perpetrator in one.” He shook his head slowly, then rolled his eyes. “Seems I am fated to live in dichotomy.” He took a breath. “I have already spoken to the others. It might be valuable to give your own version of events. Not necessarily for publication.”

Even smirked. “For the good of my recovery?”

“Well, yes. You had said you were trying to write and reflect, to delineate a new identity. How is this any different? Your perspective could offer some insight to future generations, when they inevitably look back at all this.” A warm, needling pain bloomed inside of his skull, and he flinched without meaning to.

“...Record keeping,” Even muttered. “Very well. I… will consider it. Are you alright?”

Ienzo touched his temple and winced. “I had hoped these new glasses would lessen my headaches, but that appears not to be the case.”

“You’re still getting them? After all this time?” He frowned.

“Not frequently. You needn’t worry.” He forced a smile. “Take as much time as you’d like with it. I have other copies.”

“I shall, but…” Even gave him a once-over. “Do let that fiance of yours take a look at you. Apparently he’s quite competent.”

Ienzo hesitated; his engagement was supposed to have been private, but now it was something of an open secret.

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you actually think you could keep it under wraps? What with Dilan's inane gossiping?”

“Not… secret.” He felt his face reddening. “I don’t see why my personal life should be of interest to anyone.”

“Of course it will be, when we live on top of one another.” Even went to speak, then hesitated. “You are so… very young. So young.”

The repetition of it caused Ienzo to blush again, though no longer with embarrassment. “As nobody will let me forget. Heaven forbid I be allowed to make my own choices.”

“I don’t want you to get into something so permanent. You’re barely stable yourself.”

Ienzo bit his tongue. He took a breath to calm himself.

“Even if you were not only twenty-one, you’ve only been with him a year. I realize you are not used to the idea of permanence, but--”

“It was I who asked him.”

This seemed to throw Even. “I’d’ve--figured--”

“Demyx is very respectful of my boundaries. He would not force me into anything I did not explicitly ask for. Should it end, we will deal with it maturely. But I don’t see that happening.”

For a few moments neither of them spoke. “Do you truly want this?” Even asked. “Would it make you happy?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I am already happy.” His headache was worsening. “Insofar as I can be, anyway.”

Even considered this. “I suppose I will always see you as a… child,” he admitted.

Ienzo sighed. He tried to smile. “Par for the course when you raise someone.You were always… more my guardian than Ansem. But you must trust I am able to make my own decisions. After all, you--” He felt heat rise to his face.

“I what?”

“It was not me you came back to Radiant Garden for.”

“You know why I had to leave. Ienzo, I did not want to, but who else would’ve--”

“...I know.” He bit his lip. “Still. A note would’ve been appreciated. You needn’t protect me anymore. Especially from him.”

Even sighed. “Old habits die hard. Or so the cliche goes.”

“...Right. Well. I shall leave you to it, then.”

Ienzo made his way home slowly. He figured he was developing a migraine--not nearly so uncommon since he'd been trying to relearn magic, especially so since that stunt with the fire. His stomach churned, and he was experiencing vertigo, both sure symptoms. Demyx had left him medication. It would be a sleepy, wasted afternoon, but he’d be fine. He stumbled; to the untrained eye he probably looked drunk. His body was so unwieldy. He dug in his pocket for his keys and with shaking fingers tried to unlock the door, only to drop them with a rattling that seemed much louder than it actually was. He finally got the door open, and was more relieved than he’d like to admit to see Demyx on the couch, strumming Arpeggio idly, with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hey babe,” he said. “How was your day?”

Beans rubbed at his ankles. The touch was like a shock. He swallowed bile. “Demyx?”

The shift in his expression was immediate; Arpeggio disappeared and he all but vaulted over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel peculiar.” Not quite in his body. Not quite present.

“How?” He took Ienzo’s wrist, his pulse.

He tried to speak, but the words couldn’t come; something seemed to register in Demyx’s eyes.

“Lay down,” he said gently, easing him to the floor. The hardwood seemed unusually cold. Some wadded fabric was shoved under his head, his vision strange and sheeny. Why was he on the floor and not on the couch, the bed? “This is going to feel warm,” Demyx added.

Ienzo felt hands on either side of his face. It wasn’t just warm; it was hot, burning, but he was no longer able to tell him anything.

“...Right,” he heard Demyx say. “Right.”

Ienzo hoped he would explain.

“Hold still,” he heard instead. “Try to relax.”

How could he? He could barely move. The heat moved through his scalp, deep within (the brain didn’t have nerve endings; where was this pain coming from?) and sharpened into agony.

“I’m sorry,” Demyx said. “Just--”

As suddenly as the pain came, it faded, replaced by heat for what seemed an eternity, until it subsided, a cold so intense he shivered, but at least his body seemed to be under his control again. Ienzo blinked. “What--”

There were tears in his eyes, Ienzo noted. “I’m going to put you to sleep for a little while,” he said thickly. “I’ll explain everything when you wake up.”

The heaviness of Sleep overtook him. When he woke, he was in his bed, and it was dark. A thin film of sweat crawled along his skin. Ienzo sat up slowly. He turned on the lamp at the bedside. “Demyx?” His voice was scratchy. He thought he heard something in the bathroom, water.

The door opened. “Should’ve figured you’d wake up the second I turned my back,” he muttered. “Had to pee for hours and of course--” He bit his lip, then crossed over to Ienzo. His hands were still a little damp when he took his vitals.

“I don’t suppose that was an ordinary migraine,” Ienzo said.

“Try not to talk,” he said, without making eye contact. “There’s not an easy way to say this.”

He felt his anxiety spike.

Demyx sat at his feet. Now that he was in the light, Ienzo noted how terrible he looked; pale, sweaty, and flushed. Exactly how he always looked when he used too much magic, too fast. “So you had a stroke,” he said. He bit his lip.

He knew he was supposed to be quiet, but he spoke without meaning to-- “No, I was just ill--”

“Ienzo, shut up, please.” His eyes were watering, and he blinked, trying to drive the tears away. “The symptoms are… really similar,” he said slowly. “Sometimes you can even mistake a small stroke for a bad migraine. But it feels… different, inside your head. It’s a good thing that I was there, because I was able to fix it right away. Even luckier that I literally was just studying this a few days ago.” He hiccuped. “You’re fine now, but I…” The tears broke free. “How long have we been ignoring what’s been forming inside you? You’ve had headaches for a year. A year .” His previous professionalism was slipping, and he held a hand over his mouth, muffling sobs. “It could’ve… triggered a brain bleed, it could’ve--”

“It’s not your--” Seeing his expression, Ienzo cut himself off.

“Aerith’s coming to look at you,” he said. “In case there’s anything else I missed. Try not to… move, or talk, unless you really need to.”

Ienzo settled back against the sheets, reeling. He tried to take Demyx’s hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze, but he was shaken. These headaches of his had all along been part of a larger problem; he’d had a feeling, especially since the last time he’d blacked out. He couldn’t blame them for not understanding what it was. The way the will affected the body was not something anyone studied. There was no way to qualify how it worked. Maybe there hadn’t been any other signs that could be fixed, no sign a scan could pick up, anyway.

The door creaked open. “I had to… check on something,” Aerith said to Demyx. “I think I figured it out. You look terrible.”

“I’ve never done the spell before.”

“Have some ether. I’ll take it from here.” She approached Ienzo. Her braid was frizzy, like she’d done it in a hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. I think. Sleepy.” Would shorter, clipped sentences help?

“No pain or numbness anywhere?” She prodded him.

“No.”

“I’m going to look at you. It’s going to feel warm.”

Ienzo flinched, bracing himself for the same terrible heat, but the sensation was gentle.

“Well, there’s nothing left ,” she said, to Demyx. “He feels more or less healthy--”

“Then what was this?”

“An accumulation.” She looked at Ienzo. “The people I work with… haven’t normally been through so much.”

He chanced a question. “Like what?”

She drummed her fingers together. “...Permutations of being,” she said slowly. “From darkness, to nothingness, back to light. Putting your body through all those changes… the stress is going to sow seeds that won’t emerge for years. And considering you wore down your will twice… It must’ve exacerbated the symptoms.” Aerith frowned. “Think of it like… a person who really doesn’t take care of themselves. Will you feel it at twenty? No. But suddenly at forty you keel over with a heart attack. I’m hoping--and what I read supports this--that once you reach and get through the crisis point, you won’t have to deal with it again. Essentially reset to zero with magic. Demyx.”

He looked up, drying his eyes.

“You’ve been through the process twice. I want to look at you too. Maybe not now. But tomorrow.” She twirled the end of her braid. “It’s actually kind of… common. So many people here have gone through so much stress, and the darkness, too. Of course that’s going to affect the body.”

“Will I be okay?” Ienzo asked.

She squeezed his hand. “He did a good job. I’ll check in on you regularly, and you tell me the instant you get the smallest headache. But I think you’ll be fine--just get some rest these next few days. Nothing strenuous.”

“My body seems hell bent on destroying me,” Ienzo remarked dryly.

“I have a feeling you’re going to do a whole lot better,” she said. “Please take it easy. Both of you.”

For a long while after they left they lay side by side on the bed in the dark, trying and failing to get some sleep. Ienzo could hear Demyx trying to stop crying. “I don’t think it would be too strenuous to hold you,” he said softly. “Come here.” He rested his head against Demyx’s chest. “I don’t suppose this is the… best time to tell you. Even found out about us. It feels these walls have ears.”

Demyx was still shuddering. “What did he say?”

“About what I expected. That I’m so young to make this decision. But I… what happened today only proves I made the right choice.” He was glad for the dark, the way it hid his face. “I want to have as much time with you as possible. I can’t afford to be cautious.” He could feel his own emotions welling up within.

“Shit happens,” Demyx said tiredly.

“Exactly.”

“I hope she’s right. For my sanity.” He didn’t say it, but Ienzo sensed it-- I can’t keep doing this. “But I… I’m excited to be married to you.”

“I am too.”

---

Aerith ended up being right; he did not get headaches after it was over, any more than an ordinary person might. His scans came back continually clean. Even and Dilan delved into this new vein of research regarding the effect of darkness and nothing on bodies; it excited them. They hoped to be able to help everyone else who was suffering. It seemed sometimes as though the second they got a hold on how much damage had been done, something happened to make it clear this was only the beginning. This was the nature of recovery.

Ienzo returned to his normal alcove in the library for some light reading. He found his manuscript on the desk, flooded with sticky notes and, he suspected, suggested edits. He sighed. Even may have been the better critical thinker, but he was not necessarily the better writer.

Lying below this was a composition book, filled with steady, painstaking writing. Even’s story, the beginning of it: The boy, when we took him in, was numb, traumatized; he did not speak. I all but begged him to find a family in town, but his mind was made up, and the small genius became his son. I found myself caring more about the child than I wanted to admit; the others, too, drawn to the glow of his potential. Strange to read about himself in the third person.

They found him lying facedown in a pool of water after a storm; eighteen or so, strong, his hair a shocking silver. He remembered nothing aside from a name that was to haunt us all--Xehanort.

Ienzo flipped through the pages wearily.

He seemed to have taken with Ansem’s ward. Ansem figured this may have had something to do with his past--perhaps a forgotten sibling. It was so difficult to get Ienzo to speak; I would not dare take the only easy conversation he had from him. What I did not realize quickly enough was that Ienzo was no friend of Xehanort’s, no pet; he was a puppet.

Those memories...

Ansem was livid when he discovered we’d repurposed our experiments. He, a man who hardly ever raised his voice, chewed out golden boy Xehanort with more vitriol than I'd ever experienced. We were discovering the very building blocks of the soul; didn’t he realize how momentous this was? Ansem always held his ideals above all, up to and including the people in his life. I figured this was more of that frippery. But he was always better at seeing the bigger picture than I.

I was wrong, and a fool; there was a reason they called him Ansem the Wise.

Ienzo couldn’t look away; it was like a trainwreck. He realized he’d needed this, to hear what Even had to say. There was so much left to the story.

#beyond this existence: new life #ienzo #demyx #even (kingdom hearts)#zemyx #aerith #beyond this existence #this is the short that made me think of atonement

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