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good-beanswrites · 2 years

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Day 2: Discovery

I'm here to promote my ace Niles agenda with some good rarepair thoughts! The art goes with the drabble under the cut -- I meant to just write out a super quick scene but it actually got pretty long haha

I tried to explain it in the writing without saying it specifically, but I headcanon Saizo as a sex-repulsed ace and Niles as a sex-favorable ace :)

For the first time since the war began, Saizo hesitated after an order.

“Are you… certain?” He tried to be as casual as possible, but the man wasn’t known for his nonchalance.

“I am,” Corrin gave him a look. “There’s not an issue, right? I mean, I thought I was doing you guys a favor, seeing as –”

“ – No issue. I’m on it.” He swept away before they could utter another word. It didn’t take him long to find Niles through the bustling of the everyone making camp. It seemed all the mages were tired from the day’s battle, because the man was lighting the fire by hand. Saizo appeared next to him.

“Niles.”

The man hardly flinched. “Hey sexy.” The ninja grit his teeth behind his mask. Sure, the two had been spending a lot of time together (one would call it courting if you could court during wartimes), but that didn’t mean the entire army had to know. He was still growing used to Niles’ tendency to make everything private awfully public.

At least the others had the decency to leave him be about it.

“Corrin says the way the numbers and the night shifts are, we’re sharing a tent tonight.”

“Oh?” Strange, something flickered across his expression at that moment. “Just the two of us?”

“Sounds like it.”

“How exciting…” No, Saizo’s mind must be playing tricks on him. Niles was already smirking and batting those eyelashes just as he’d anticipated. “So I’ll have you all to myself, mm?” A spark leapt from the flint in his hands.

“Just focus on lighting that.” Saizo turned on his heel.

Niles chuckled, “oh, this isn’t the only fire I’ll be lighting tonight. I look forward to –” but the ninja was gone.

---

Night fell. Saizo had tried to take up sentry watch from each of the three shifts, but they all turned him down. Perhaps they knew about the sleeping arrangements, and were also trying to help. He cursed Niles’ chattiness once more.

He stepped cautiously into the tent; he was alone, thankfully. He changed from his traditional garments into his nightshirt with the same speed he applied to his movements on the battlefield. With stiff motions he layed out the bedroll – just the one, he discovered.

The thoughts went whirling through his mind: what was he to say?

Of course, the issue wasn’t in being blunt. That was easy. He had no problem in saying “no,” or “shut up,” or “get those damned hands off of me” (he’d certainly said such things to Niles plenty of times out on the battlefield. The problem came in saying it now, when there were no more excuses of duty and professionalism.

He knew he would have to say the final no. And he knew what would follow. He could practically see the other man’s crooked smile, poised for doing the most damage. “Never?” he’d say. Or, “not even Kagero?” which would only open old wounds. Or maybe he’d go for the classic, “well, maybe I’ll change your mind.” Or perhaps he’d simply remain in disbelief. Either way, this was not a situation to drag out; he must suffer the blow quickly and be done with it.

He’d hardly finished laying out the bedding when Niles appeared in the entryway. Candlelight flickered against his grin. He made a grand show of entering and closing the tent flap securely behind him. He began removing layers of armor and padding ever so slowly. Saizo’s eyes flicked away.

His voice took on its usual playfulness as he stripped down to his undergarments. “My, my, you got the bed set up already. Eager are we?” He clicked his tongue, coming to stand before Saizo. “But I’ve got some business before pleasure, darling. I thought we told each other everything” The other’s entire form was tense. What was he getting at? “I can’t believe you strung me along for so long like this…” When Saizo finally brought his eyes up to the near-naked man, Niles could see the confusion in his expression. “Kagero pulled me aside earlier tonight.”

Fire flared in Saizo’s chest. Rage, mortification, regret, pain, then rage again. But Niles continued before he utter a single word.

“Alas, I suppose it’s only fair.” He shrugged. “There are quite a lot of secrets I have kept as well. Maybe it’s high time I let you in on at least one of them, really expose myself.”

The last thing Saizo expected him to do was pull on his nightshirt with a flourish. He sat down on the bedroll, gesturing for Saizo to join him. His eyes grew distant, his voice became gentle. It was rare to catch the man in such a state. Saizo knew to keep silent or risk losing it.

So he sat down, carefully sliding into the blankets as Niles spoke.

“You learn a few things, growing up as I did. You learn how to charm someone with one hand while the other picks their pockets. You know how to lie through your teeth and make it work. You learn when to stand for your fellow criminal, and when to hightail it.” He let out a long breath. He still hadn’t laid down, sitting with one knee tucked towards his chest. He removed his eyepatch, placing it nearby. His crooked smile returned, but it looked as hollow as the socket above it.

“You learn… to become someone who fits in with the other crooks and killers, ‘cause it’ll cost you if you don’t. So, you get rid of those differences. You tell them that you want the same riches, the same thrill of a fight, and the same pleasures. And then you learn to actually be like that, to flirt and to tease and to please your way into anything you want.”

There was a faint pause as the words really sunk in.

Saizo knew the man well, but he had no idea if it was complete apathy or the crushing weight of emotion that caused Niles to blow out the candle, settle into the sleeping bag, and give a curt, “so don’t worry your pretty head about it, okay? Let’s get some rest.”

The ninja kept his lips pressed tight for another minute. He could feel the previous intensity dissipating from his tense body. He could practically feel the weight lifting from his strained muscles, but moreover from his spinning mind.

He breathed, “thank you. For telling me, I mean. I never…”

“I’m a good actor, huh?” Niles was unfazed by Saizo’s rare moment of stumbling over his words. “Maybe I should go into theater when the war’s over. Or politics.”

“Oh gods, as if.” He was glad the other was back to a joking mood, but he wasn’t quite ready to drop the topic yet. The realization had him stunned where he lay. “All this time,” he said, more to himself than anything, and “you and I are the same.”

“Well, given I have years of experience, I’d say I’m far better at it than you –”

“Niles.”

“Heh, yeah, we’re the same. Loads of people are. You know,” he gave the other a nudge, “if you’d just told me earlier, I could’ve saved you a good deal of trouble, I think.” He leaned close. “Mmm, but when have I ever been anything but trouble?” He gave the most gentle, most chaste kiss Saizo had ever seen from him. Then he rolled over, leaving Saizo to contemplate a newfound world, an opening future, and an unknown feeling of peace he’d never known before.

#fe ace week #fe niles #fe saizo #fe fates #fire emblem fates #fire emblem niles #fire emblem saizo #fanfic #i know ace niles seems like a stretch but i really like the idea - it Works #it was my first time writing either character so bear with me but i had a lot of fun!#are they a rarepair? i feel like i havent seen anything for them

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angelaiswriting · 4 years

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Children (4 of 4) | Michael Gray

[Photo by Pixabay from Pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Michael Gray x wife!reader

✏️ Summary: Michael is back from the war, but is he really? Life is still difficult and the Gray family is falling apart under Y/N’s helpless gaze. (Requested by @duckydae)

✏️ A/N: wow, I reached a new level of angst. @kind-wolf will not be happy haha

✏️ A/N 2: also, another note, just as a sort of background info. The whole America thing (and obviously Gina) didn’t happen, everything’s peachy between Michael and Tommy (and the rest of the squad fam). :)

✏️ Warnings: angst and a slight hint of smut and ‘mature’ themes (sort of PTSD talking, drugs use, depressive moments ?), so for safety measures, 18+ only! I hate it when you guys are minors and cheat me, don’t think I’m stupid.

✏️ Word-count: 5,613

<< part one: children << | << part two: anna and john << | << part three: a bigger table << | PART FOUR: WARHORSE

There has never been this much silence in the Grays’ house―six years have done plenty to change the precious status quo of things. Even the children are afraid to step on those floorboards that creak a little louder than the rest.

“The children”―they have stopped being children a long time ago, when their Daddy had to leave for the continent, Y/N reasons. They’ve grown up quicker than she did when her time had come, when the war had come crashing against the shores like a tide and had brought her father away in its muddy waves.

John and Anna are now adults―probably too young to be such―definitely too young―but it doesn’t matter, not in 1946. John is eighteen, Anna just two years younger, and while Y/N always sees them as her babies, she knows that what she’s looking at is the result of something she never thought would come again.

Even the twins don’t feel like the fourteen-year-olds they’re supposed to be. Rebellious, headstrong, Henry and Paul get in more trouble than she can count and there’s nothing she can do to help. Nothing she can do to stop that barbaric destruction her children are going through.

Michael doesn’t help. Michael can’t help―he can’t even help himself. He sits in their bedroom with the curtains drawn and the lights switched on―he’s afraid of the outer world, but he is even more of the darkness. And of what the darkness carries in its hands when it clouds his vision and the ratatat of the artillery fills not only his ears, but his veins as well.

Bill can’t help his Daddy. Bill, with his angelic face and curly hair, with that omnipresent smile on his face and that silence that always accompanies him around. Bill, from the hill of his ten years of age, can’t help his Daddy, can’t bring him back to the Brummie countryside where everything is as quiet as he is.

He’s hated―Y/N knows it and refuses to acknowledge it at the same time. His father can’t bear his company, can’t bear his presence. And it’s not because he’s mute, but because his silence fills his father’s void with screaming creatures and living horrors he just wants to forget, to delete from his memory, a burning rod scraping and digging into the grey matter of his brain.

He’s mute, too, Michael, but for a completely different reason. His lips are sealed during the day and while he’s started to finally eat again, his tongue doesn’t move, his lips don’t give shape to any kind of words.

There are screams during the night, though―blood-curdling screams that give her nightmares in the waking hours of her days―that make her skin crawl as she turns on her left side to face her husband. The screams are worse than the bombings, worse than the shrilling yells of the air-raid sirens that sometimes still thrum in her lungs and in her stomach.

But tonight is different. Tonight Michael doesn’t scream―and that’s because he doesn’t sleep. He can’t sleep, can’t bring himself to close his eyes, to see the walking skeletons that still plague his every breath with the same violence of the silence in this house. He lies there, on top of crumpled sheets, butt-naked, staring at a ceiling that’s giving him visions. He sees waves in the stucco decorations watching his every move from above, and he hears voices, whispered voices that ring like a mixture between Russian and German to his frustrated ear.

The need to scream is there, tickling the base of his throat with those chilling cold fingers that scrape at the sides of his brain every day. But there’s no sound leaving his lips.

He thinks of snow. It’s the first time in forever and the need is so strong that it’s making his mind spin, his vision blur, the muscles in his thighs cramp. He thinks that if only he manages to find some―he’s sure John uses some every once in a while―then everything will be alright. For a few hours, that is. His wife doesn’t need to know, doesn’t need to hear a thing. All he has to do is get up from that bed of thorns, walk down the corridor and into his first son’s room, and look for that God-damned magic white powder that will make him leave his body for a few, precious hours.

But when he sits up, a man possessed by his need for cocaine, the bedsheets whisper under his ass, the mattress moans and holding his breath is of no use because his wife is already turning in his direction. She didn’t fall asleep in the first place―she just can’t if he doesn’t fall asleep first, these days.

Hate bubbles up in his mouth like vomit―and it’s so sudden and unexpected that it would make him shiver if only war didn’t skin him alive. And it’s hate that makes him seethe that Go back to sleep through gritted teeth.

“Where are you going?” Her voice scrapes his eardrums, removes layer after layer of membrane from his brain. Even the faint sound of her breathing makes the nerves under his skin come to life, tense and creak like a branch ready to break and fall to the ground.

“Go back to sleep, Y/N.” It’s the most he’s said in the five months he’s been back home and he all but hates the sound of his voice. It’s foreign to his own ears, and it’s strained, paper-thin, dry like fallen leaves on a winter day.

He wants to tear his throat out with his own bare hands.

She doesn’t answer and he feels the mortal combat going on in her soul, feels it in the air like the static electricity before the storm comes. But the storm never comes. And despite his raging need for some drug-induced happiness, he sits and waits like a man staring out at the never-ending expanse of the sea.

His mouth is dry, his tongue a dead weight pressing against the back of his teeth. It weighs him down, loads his muscles with lead and cement and ashes. So many ashes that he can smell his own flesh burn and combust, baring his bones for the world to see.

“Come sleep with me.” It’s a whisper and the sound of his wife’s voice is worse than the furious march of tanks.

He’s repulsed by his wife―and repulsed by the fact that he’s repulsed by his wife.

There’s a mist of constant anger following Anna and her mother can’t read its reasons behind it. She wants her father back―she needs her father back now that she ended up pregnant with the child of a veteran more dead than the dead.

She’s only sixteen and she’s having a baby she doesn’t want with a man that doesn’t see her through the curtain of what he’s already seen.

‘46 is the year Love died, or so it feels as Y/N cries bitter tears in the desolate solitude of the kitchen. It’s like war didn’t end, like it brought back a monster that still has to exhale its last breath.

Sometimes she thinks she sees it. In the vacuous look in her husband’s eyes. In John’s stubborn studies. In the mess the twins give birth to every single day without cease. Even in William’s eerie silence, and she’s glad he’s off to school, now, she’s glad the week has finally started again and has brought him away for a few days.

There is no escaping what the monster does to people. Anna could get rid of the baby if she weren’t that scared, but she can’t get rid of her husband. Can’t kill off the only man she’s ever loved and that has always treated her like a queen, worshipping her like one worships God in a temple.

“Why doesn’t he say anything?” Rage burns her only daughter’s voice as she stomps into the kitchen, purposefully loud as if she’s trying to catch her father’s attention, to rile a reaction out of him the way warm water and baking soda help you vomit. “Why doesn’t he say anything?!” Voice louder, tears are burning hotter than her anger on her cheeks and there’s no stopping the furious movement of her hand, which reaches up to wipe them away.

“Anna-”

“NO!” It booms and echoes in the cramped space of the kitchen of that countryside house. It rattles against the dishes in the cupboard, scratches the wood on the walls, hits the thick panels of the windows as it scorches the girl’s throat, threatening to punch out her teeth. ��Don’t do this, don’t treat me as though I don’t understand shit!”

They cry―it’s unwanted and almost humiliating, for everybody’s trying to ignore the elephant in the room, but they still do cry together, clutching at each other like they both were unyielding rocks under the onslaught of the sea. They cry and they do so in vain, for Anna’s still pregnant and Y/N’s still hated. Those tears don’t change the new reality of things and while the hiccups disrupt the otherwise gravel silence of the house, nothing happens.

Nothing can happen.

Probably nothing ever will.

“I need him and he’s a fucking ghost.”

When they look back at it in a few hours, neither will be able to say with complete certainty who pronounced those words, for they belong in both of their mouths. Y/N craves love, Anna - a father, and neither can have any.

John is high. He’s so high it’s a miracle he’s not floating mid-air and while his mother knows how good snow can feel, she still cries bloody tears when she sees her son like that.

John, ahead of his peers and studying psychology to help build a better world from the inside, is just as shattered as everybody else. He lies on the grass, under the shadow of an oak and the blue sky of a late-May afternoon.

And for a blind moment, Y/N thinks she’s lost him to the family’s very own sin. And she almost pukes right then and there, turned away as she is towards the flowerbeds she’s spent so much time tending to―it doesn’t matter that the house is surrounded by flowers planted in the hopes of forgetting, for nobody seems to be able to see them anyway.

But then he smiles, and he calls her over, and for a second she can see a glimpse of how Michael used to look like. The boy lost John Shelby’s looks and resemblance right before turning ten and has since then started down a path that was bound to make him stand out like his father’s very copy. Beautiful and strong and just as passionate about life and horses as one could be.

Life and horses and Tokyo.

“You are so beautiful, Mum,” he says, knocking the air out of her lungs as she stands there, frozen in time and space as she stares down at him. “You shouldn’t cry so much. Red eyes don’t look good on you.”

For a weird, unknown reason she bursts out laughing. She doesn’t know when the last time she laughed was, and John doesn’t recall it either.

It feels good, liberating, even. She didn’t think she still had it in herself to produce such sound, to let go in a burst of unexpected laughter induced by a second-hand high. But it’s good and for a moment, it makes her forget better than gardening has ever done.

“Where did you find it?” The words are out before she can stop them―she doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to know who gave her precious son a pinch of that artificial happiness that’s still staining his nostrils.

John looks happier than he’s ever looked in the last six years and a half. He looks like himself once again and she’s terrified to the bone by this thought―by this realisation―by the fact that there’s still a glimpse of the real him just because he’s managed to find the Devil’s powder somewhere she can’t even name.

“Charlie,” he answers with a chuckle almost as if to ask her Who else do you think has coke to spare, uh, Mum? The name also rings like an accusation, acid and scorching like an unwanted truth―It’s always been in the family and always will be. We’ll turn into snow when we die. And then we go straight to hell. “It’s good shit.” His dreamy eyes are more terrifying than the appalling screams tearing her husband’s body apart from the inside. “Have some with me.”

She doesn’t. The need to is strong, buzzing with a life of its own in her very veins with the same intensity it burned in Michael’s just a month before, the night he ordered her to go back to sleep before walking out naked of their shared room.

“Isn’t this the best feeling in the world?” Johnny asks and she lies―Yes. Yes, it is.

But she’s crying. She’s crying silent tears that stream down her ashy face like rivers. Their saltiness tastes like blood between her parted lips and she’s sure that they’re staining her teeth red, turning her mouth into that of a monster.

That’s the first time she thinks her family is dying, slowly falling apart between her numb, useless fingers, under her heart as heavy as a tombstone. It wrecks her from the inside out, a little more with each minute she passes staring into her son’s blissed-out eyes.

Yes, it’s the best feeling in the world, she cries, holding him between trembling arms as she feels old and decomposed inside.

Tommy’s visit is unexpected that night. And for a moment, his possessed face is all Y/N can see as she does her best not to recoil in front of that ghost as she keeps the entrance door open.

“Can I come in?”

His voice rings foreign to her ears, paper rustling in the wind, aged by years spent smoking―and then screaming. His whole face appears alien, a haunting vision out of a blood-freezing nightmare.

She doesn’t answer, but she does step back―enough to let him see the bare hall but not enough to let him pass. And it’s not because she doesn’t want him in her house, but because she can’t move, rooted as she is to the stone floor she scrubs every morning, from four to six, just to keep her own mind distracted after the restless night she’s had.

Henry and Paul follow the man with their heads hanging low and they, too, look like a spectral vision. Bloodied faces, crumpled clothes. Two fourteen-year-olds suddenly aged into old men.

She’s on the verge of fainting.

She’s weak and trembling inside, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets and she doesn’t even know why. Doesn’t know why the world is spinning and her throat constricting, vomit threatening to make an appearance after the tasteless dinner she’s still recovering from.

Yes, it’s the best feeling in the world. She now wishes she had kept her son’s cocaine because she could so use a snort right about now.

If nothing, it’s a blessing that Michael is in bed already―that he hasn’t moved from the mattress the whole day. A lack of reaction on his part is what would make or break her―break her most likely.

“Where is Michael?”

She doesn’t answer. Her tongue is knotted and her mouth is stuffed―with what, she doesn’t know, but it has the strangely familiar taste of nightmares. Her hand is still on the door handle: if she lets go, she’s going to fall. She’s going to fall knees first to the floor and there’s nobody there willing to pick her up―not her sons, not her husband’s cousin.

He’s seen too much already―Tommy. He’s marched through two wars and the extra years he’s been granted in France after the Great War have been wasted away between France and Germany now, possibly even Italy―she doesn’t know for sure―doesn’t want to know for sure.

Y/N wants to speak but can’t. Wants to ask her children what’s wrong with them and why do you want to break your mother’s heart? You stop being you the moment you give birth to your children, or so she’s always thought. Life starts again with a new Day One and all that came before that was extra. But now motherhood feels like lead shoes, pulling her down to the bottom of the ocean as her lungs fight against the salty water, fight for oxygen, fight for-

She doesn’t know, not anymore.

“They’ve been going at it again,” Tommy says, looking around and taking in the bare walls of a once well-decorated house. There had once been wind chimes hanging from the ceiling on the middle of the hall, but they’re not there anymore. And Tommy knows why. “Paul more than Henry.”

He says this almost as though Y/N knows what he’s talking about. The truth is, she doesn’t. And as soon as he’s going to leave, the twins are going to go upstairs without even glancing in her direction. That’s how it always goes, how her heart keeps on breaking day in and day out. There’s no rest. Absolutely no rest from that kind of torture.

“I’ll keep an eye on them, but…” He trails off, averts his eyes from hers almost as though the sight of her has burned him. He breathes in deeply and for a moment he keeps the air there, somewhere in-between his nose and his brain, afraid he’s going to smell blood or gunpowder or the acrid stink of war. “You keep one on them, too.”

The best feeling in the world―she’s not even sure she remembers what such a thing is. Nor if it even existed and she was there to witness.

She nods, and it’s all she can do.

“Keep them home for a week. The waters need to calm down.” These words make her gag, but she’s quick at swallowing it, at looking away―from the devil and from her sons. Then, Tommy reaches the door again, takes her hand off the handle. It’s not a gentle touch―he pries her fingers off the brass knob and that’s it. Dead fingers touching dying fingers―it doesn’t matter that her nails are painted a calm shade of pink, pale cyclamen on a spring morning. “Two is better.”

He leaves without turning back, without telling her it’s all going to be okay, that he’s there for her and her family, that he’ll come back, sooner or later. There’s no solace for her soul, sick and tired and on the brink of the abyss, staring up at her with its raping, hungry eyes. There are no words for wives like her, for women like her, left behind even when the husbands are back, breathing.

The best feeling-

She’s sobbing before she has the chance to feel the sob, to feel the tears sting her desensitised eyes. And she’s clutching a hand over her mouth because she can’t make a noise, can’t make a noise, can’t make a noise. Not in this house, not in this world.

“Mum?”

She wants to scream at them, wants to kick them out―out of the house, but not out of her life, she couldn’t take it, couldn’t-

“Mum?”

There’s a hand on her shoulder and the contact makes her jolt―almost jump out of her fucking skin.

They can’t see her like that.

And at the same time, part of her wants them to see. Wants them to know they’re not the only ones suffering.

Greedy bastards.

And she’s scared of that sudden, intrusive thought in the desolated land her mind has become.

“We’re sorry, mum.”

And when they hug her, Henry from one side and Paul from the other, she cries even harder because she’d do anything in her power to give her children a better alternative ending, but she can’t. She doesn’t have the power, doesn’t have the strength.

“So sorry.”

The best feeling in the world is that of the memories long forgotten in the deepest part of her mind, inside that red room she’s had to securely lock back in ‘39. A sunny September day it had been, still tasting like August and summer and the lovemaking sessions under a starry sky her husband had gifted her.

This is…

This is not…

“We’ll be better.”

And she cries because she knows the promise is sincere―fate just isn’t. Fate is against them, a growing tide ready to kidnap anything and anyone on the shore, staring up at an unforgiving moon.

It will last for a day, maybe a week, but soon enough she’ll have to witness her twins’ return home bloodied and battered, and she’ll have to live this moment again.

And again.

And then once more.

And one day Tommy will come home to tell her that her boys have died, that someone has stabbed them both to death and Quick! and Come! Before they bleed out in the middle of the street!

Her worries leave her mouth without her knowing she’s spilling them, bullets of a machine gun travelling a thousand miles a minute, hitting flesh and bone and brick. And soul.

They let her cry until there are no tears left, until she can barely stand on her feet, her right hand back wrapping around the door handle.

The best feeling in the world is a cocaine-induced orgasm, but she doesn’t tell them.

Bill is home from school. One more week and she’ll have to endure his presence for the whole summer. She’s terribly aware of how wretched a mother she sounds like, but she thinks this for his own good.

She doesn’t want him at home, at home where everything hurts and the silence eats him alive. Eats them all alive. She wants him away, in some far-away boarding school, someplace where nobody has ever heard of war or grief or silence and every day is a blessing.

Where is Dad? he wants to know with a smile on his face.

He’s a kid―he’s still her baby, the one she held in her loving arms back in ‘35, when shit still had to pop. She’s loved him then and she loves him now, but she’s a liar.

Y/N is a mother and a liar.

“Sleeping,” she answers, stretching a terrifying smile across her lips.

She’s making apple pie―the family’s all-time favourite―and Billy is helping her, pouring cinnamon on freshly cut apple slices with those tiny-but-growing hands of his.

Do you think he’ll enjoy his birthday present?

Oh, honey, I’m not even sure Daddy knows what day it is today, she wants to say but keeps quiet. “He’ll love it, baby.”

William always blushes when she calls him ‘baby’―I’m not a baby anymore, Mummy. And she smiles because he still calls her ‘Mummy’ when the rest of her kids have stopped calling her that before they turned ten. He’s her precious ray of sunshine on a stormy day, somehow managing to pierce the thick layer of clouds covering all sources of light.

But he doesn’t complain today. William is mute, not deaf, and he knows his Mummy cried herself to sleep in the living room last night. It’s his favourite, he signs, fingers wet and sprinkled with cinnamon.

And she hums and for a moment she feels like singing as she’s always done in the past. But she doesn’t, she can’t feel the music inside herself, can’t even conjure up the names of the notes. “We all love it,” she adds, turning back towards the dough she’s somehow correctly making. “You’ll be an amazing chef one day. Everybody will know William Gray’s name from Los Angeles to Tokyo.”

She’s glad Will doesn’t know what Tokyo can be―nor that she’s had a pinch, a few days before, and that that’s been her fuel for a whole day, keeping her up on her feet when all her knees wanted to do was give out under her weight.

It’s almost four in the afternoon when Anna joins them, baby bump barely peeking from underneath the yellow sweatshirt she hopes would help brighten up her day. Andrew hung himself the month before and the unexpected baby won’t have a father for real, now.

She’s used coke, too, a couple of times. Probably not the best choice when there’s a baby involved, but snow always helps everybody, whether it comes from the sky or some back-alley pusher.

“Hey, Billy-boy.” She ruffles William’s loose curls and everybody knows he hates it, but he still smiles at his sister from underneath beautifully long lashes.

Ten years old and he’s probably the more mature in the house. He sees right through the lie, but doesn’t make you feel guilty for lying, doesn’t kick you with the donkey-kick of a priest. Hey, Annie-girl.

She chuckles at the nickname and before she can second-think it, she kneels down and kisses his fingers one by one and then the tip of his nose and hugs him as tight as only a big sister can do. The sight warms Y/N’s heart and for a moment she stands there, tea cloth in one hand and wet kitchen counter forgotten.

The best feeling in the world has the taste of her children hugging, not the bitter one of snow. And it’s warm and bright and breathtaking―utterly breathtaking even now, on the edge of the unknown.

“You’re a good kid,” Anna murmurs in her brother’s ear and then she gasps and freezes and it takes Y/N a while to look up from her kids to see what has shocked her daughter so much.

The world stands still for a minute as she stares at him from the other side of the kitchen. It’s a scary view, it truly is, but it tastes like the sweetest lie, even if he doesn’t say anything, even if it looks like he barely registers his wife or two of his children’s presence in the room.

And then, the spell snaps and it breaks and all Y/N can see is the revolver in his left hand.

The children are out before they have the chance to complain, to tell her that they’d rather stay, that I’ve heard of shit happening, Mum, and I don’t want to bury you in that sweet and worried voice of her daughter that will plague her forever if things go wrong.

“Baby.”

She hasn’t called him ‘baby’ in forever and the word has a weird weight on the tip of her tongue right before it jumps out. The tea cloth is on the floor, forgotten, and she takes slow steps in her husband’s direction, bare feet against bare stone as she tries to ground herself in the moment, to not let her mind wander off. This is not a rabid dog she can shoot in the back of the head, this is her husband, her best friend, the love of her life.

“Baby.”

He’s breathing hard and fast, and when she’s close enough to touch him, she can feel his warmth―his heat. There’s no need to touch him to know he’s feverish, no need to read more in the goosebumps dotting his skin than the temperature rising higher in his body.

“People were here to hurt you.” It feels like each and every word he speaks pains him as his chest rises and falls and the air comes out scorching hot from his flaring nostrils. “Hurt you.” He cradles the side of her face with his right hand and the gun in the other presses its side against her cheek. There’s no menace in the action, just a husband holding his wife’s face and forgetting about the weapon he’s still clutching on to. “Hurt you.”

He doesn’t see her―his gaze is vacuous and distant―and it’s almost as though he can’t feel her, for the pads of his fingers press harder into the soft flesh of her cheeks.

There are tears on his face and those are the first thing John sees when he rushes into the kitchen from the door that gives on the back yard and the fields beyond, where Anna or William probably found him right after leaving the room. And they’re what stops him in his tracks, ready as he is to lunge himself on his father and push him away from his mother.

“Killed the kids,” he’s saying―Michael―and he sounds pained, more pained than he does at night when the horrors behind his closed eyelids wake him up. “Wanted to rape you.”

Anna is late at covering William’s ears, at shielding him from words whose meaning he doesn’t know, not yet. Snow and rape are still terms in the vocabulary he hasn’t reached yet―and hopefully he never will.

“They wanted to hurt you.”

It’s a blessing that John has managed to hide all the bullets he found in the house and that his father’s gun is not loaded. If it comes down to violence, he knows it won’t end with a bleeding hole in his mother’s chest.

“Dad?”

Michael moves almost as though he’s standing in the fog, fog so thick that both sound and light get distorted into nightmarish visions and sounds.

“Come outside, let Mum go.”

Summer ticks by painfully slowly and out here, in the country, the nights are silent. Cicadas are quieter than they ever were and it’s almost as though they know they shouldn’t disturb the warhorse.

Not even when he’s awake.

It’s a foreign feeling, that of being touched by her husband once again, of having him pumping inside her as he keeps himself propped up on his elbows, his hands cradling her face, his eyes focused on a spot right above her head, on the pillow.

It’s not love, it’s barely the shadow of what love used to feel like between the two of them, but it’s not violence, either―Michael came back many things from the war, but not a violent man. It’s the desperate attempt of going back to normalcy, of feeling alive again even when your limbs are cold and your loins feel dry. It’s tasteless and mechanical, but not meaningless.

This is not the best feeling in the world, but it can be, one day. It can be.

It will be again, Y/N knows it, and she’s willing to wait, she’s willing to help if he allows her.

Even now, her hands are soothing on the tense muscles of his back and on the ridgy scars left behind by God knows what kind of horrors. And her lips are warm against the cold sweat layering the skin of his neck, and her words soft―honey-like in his ear as she tries to bring him back home, bring him back where he’s loved and cherished and safe.

It’s silent. Their new lovemaking sessions are silent even when he pants above her, lost in some memory of his, in some feeling of his as he thrusts into her, trying to remember what it used to feel like.

He’s not back yet, Billy said that day in the kitchen, too wise for his own age and sake. But he will be. Don’t worry, Mummy.

She doesn’t worry, not when her son’s words meant the world to her back then―not when they still mean the world to her right now.

There is still hope and this is what she thinks of when Michael lies on his back, skin flustered and sweaty and breath short and ragged, his eyes staring up at a ceiling she doesn’t know if he’s seeing or not. He’s trickling out of her, down her thigh and onto the mattress, but it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t care.

She looks at him and she thinks that there’s still hope, that one day they’ll be back in their Birmingham bedroom and he’ll take out those stupidly expensive Parisian earrings from her ears and he’ll unclasp her diamond necklace. And he’ll let it fall to the ground―as carelessly as only he can―as he worships her body with his own.

Her fingertips are butterfly wings on the skin of his abdomen―still tight and soft as ever, maybe just not as full. She traces one of his scars, circles her bellybutton, and then plays for a moment with his happy trail. She stares at it and the only thought in her mind is, Oh, how I wish you still knew what the best feeling in the world is!

He’s ticklish, he’s always been, on his abdomen, behind his knees. He’s not as much now, but his body still tenses under her touch, an involuntary reaction she’s quite sure he’s not even aware of. She doesn’t know whether he felt her around him just a while ago, doesn’t know whether he’s heard her sweet nothings whispered like prayers in his deaf ears.

But when she looks up at him, she finds him looking down at her, brows slightly furrowed in a questioning expression, almost as if he’s wondering When did she get here?

He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t move his hands―his right one from his stomach and the other from the mattress. He doesn’t touch her but his eyes still caress the features of her face, trail down her naked body and then back up. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time after a long absence, like he’s not just been sheathed inside her for the better part of the last two hours, trying to make himself feel something again.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she says, and her whisper floats up to him and makes his eyes sting. “However long it takes.”

What do you think of this story? Please, let me know in a comment/reblog or through the chat or ask box, it would mean the world to me to know what your reaction to this was!! 💛

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi @becs-bunker @gruffle1

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender @thethyri @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl @inforapound @niamhmaria

People that might be interested: @kellydixon01 @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf

#michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray fanfic #michael gray fanfiction #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #angelaiswriting #fic: children (michael gray)

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null-whump · 4 years

Text

Felix –– Part Four

Start here, next

I got a little carried away and this one gets kinda brutal haha

Warnings: Broken bones, dehumanization, muzzling (continued from part three), non consensual mental intrusion (?) I’m not entirely sure how to label that last one. No sexual intention, I promise, but I wanted to put a warning just in case.

Word Count: 1,977

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I was awoken the next morning with a harsh kick in my side. Varren was standing over me, his cold eyes boring into mine.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to sleep,” he said calmly, and I felt my heart drop in my chest.

Incapable of speech because of the muzzle I was still wearing, I chose to glare at him instead, refusing to let my nervousness show. Varren kicked me again, hard, and I fell to the side. My attempt to push myself up only resulted in pain shooting through my broken fingers. The muzzle muffled my pained cries as Varren kicked me a few more times.

“Useless,” he scoffed. “I suppose you can’t do anything for me with your hands like that.” He walked over to his desk as I struggled to sit up with the least amount of pain possible.

I had managed to maneuver myself onto my knees when Varren approached me again, holding a book. One glance at the cover told me it was some sort of spell book, but I didn’t have a chance to read the title before Varren had opened it and shoved it towards me.

“Take it,” he snapped when I didn’t move.

I hesitantly reached out my hands and flinched as I took the whole weight of the book with my broken fingers.

“There’s a healing spell,” Varren said. “Learn it, and I’ll permit you to heal yourself.” He turned and walked back to his desk and sat down. “Maybe it will make you slightly less useless.”

I would have protested if I were able, shouted some indignant response, but the leather muzzle rubbing harshly against my face reminded me how impossible that would be. Instead, I carefully placed the book on the floor in front of me and began to study the spell.

I don’t know how many hours passed like that. There were no windows in the study so I couldn’t judge the flow of time, but I guessed it had been several hours. I was starving. I tried not to think about how I hadn’t eaten in a full 24 hours, but my hands shook whenever I raised them, and my throat ached with thirst. The words on the page were starting to blur together by the time Varren finally stood and walked back towards me.

“You must be hungry.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice without having to look up.

“I don’t see any reason to feed you,” Varren continued, walking closer. “After all, you haven’t done a single thing to deserve it. Just the opposite, in fact.”

I lifted my head and glared. He was bluffing, I was sure. If I died I would simply be sent back to the Realm and he would have to summon another familiar. Or was that his plan? I was weak and useless so he wanted to be rid of me, then he would summon another, stronger familiar. As much as I hated the thought of a slow death, at least I would be free of him…

“I’m not going to starve you.” Varren looked down at me, amused. “You may be a weakling, but I went to a lot of trouble getting you here, and I’m not getting rid of you anytime soon.”

I blinked, startled. This was the second time that Varren had said something almost exactly like what I had been thinking. It hit me immediately. ‘He’s a telepath!’ I cursed my stupidity for not realizing it sooner and furiously focused on my mental barriers. Telepathy was supposed to be my specialty, yet this witch had managed to get into my mind undetected – twice.

Varren dropped into a crouch in front of me. “Are you trying to lock me out, boy?” He seized my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “What makes you think you have the right to do that?” He asked, his voice low and menacing.

I refused to be intimidated by his cold stare, choosing to glare into his cold blue eyes, unflinching. ‘I’m not letting you in without a fight.’

Varren’s gaze grew colder, somehow. “It’s amusing that you think you could hold me off. I could easily force my way into your mind, but I don’t think that would quite get the message across.” Varren tightened his grip on my hair. “It seems you need another punishment.”

I felt my heart jump, but I refused to give the reaction I knew Varren wanted.

“What will it be this time?” Varren inquired. “Should I whip you again? Force you to stop breathing? You have plenty more bones to break. Or maybe something new?” Varren tilted his head to the side. “I’ll give you one more chance because I’m feeling generous. What will it be?”

I almost gave in then. I wanted to, I wanted to avoid the pain I knew would come if I resisted, but my pride wouldn’t let me. So I steeled my mind and tried to prepare myself.

“Very well then,” Varren said calmly. In one swift movement, he pushed me onto the ground face-first and twisted my right arm behind my back. His knee was on my back, keeping me pinned as he gripped my arm. “Your arm will be first,” he informed me. “Then as many as I need to after that until you let me in.”

He twisted my arm and I could hear the crack as the bone broke. I heard myself cry out, the noise silenced by the muzzle. My arm hurt, and I almost didn’t realize that Varren was speaking.

“Well, boy? Convinced yet?”

I grit my teeth and focused on keeping my barriers up. A little voice in my head whispered how pointless it was, but I ignored it as Varren pressed his hand against my shoulder. I felt him gathering magical energy in his palm, the warmth tingling my skin through my shirt.

“This may hurt a little.”

The amusement in his voice turned my stomach before he released the energy and my shoulder was in agony. I would have screamed if I could and my vision flashed white.

“It’s remarkable that you can still make so much noise with a muzzle on,” Varren remarked. “And that was only one arm.”

I forced myself to breathe, my arm screaming in pain. I guessed that Varren had shattered the bones in my shoulder, but I had no desire to think about it more than I already was. Varren tugged on my arm, and the pain that shot through my body made me whimper past the muzzle.

“Should we start on the left arm now?” Varren pulled on my right again, forcing out another pained sound. I felt Varren lean down so that he was speaking right next to my ear. “Well, boy? What will it be?”

I hated it. I hated him, I hated what he was doing, and most of all I hated myself for being so weak. But it hurt, it hurt so much, and I couldn’t force myself to go through more of it. Slowly, reluctantly, I released my mental barriers. I shut my eyes tightly and felt tears in my eyes as I waited, dread coiling in my chest.

Varren laughed quietly in my ear. “Good boy.”

I felt his presence in my mind immediately, now that he wasn’t trying to hide it. It was intrusive, the way he slipped into my thoughts so easily, poking and prodding at every corner of my mind, uncovering all of my innermost thoughts and secrets. He wasn’t just reading my mind, he was invading it. I felt my breathing accelerate as his consciousness filled my head.

To go so deep into my psyche was something I had only permitted two other people to do, and him doing it like this was wrong. It was wrong, I hated it, it was supposed to be a show of deep trust and intimacy between friends and lovers, and he was violating it with complete disregard for anything as trivial as consent. I felt cold tears slip down my face as he pushed farther into my mind.

‘Please…stop…’ the thought slipped out, and I couldn’t do anything to hide it. I couldn’t hide anything anymore.

I felt amusement from Varren’s consciousness. ‘Not yet, boy. There’s still something I need to do.’

I nearly stopped breathing as I realized what he meant. ‘No – don’t!’

The laughter came again, harsh and cold. ‘Did you just give me an order?’

‘Please,’ I begged, ashamed of how low I had been brought. ‘Please, I already – please –’

‘Ah, I see,’ Varren’s amusement seemed to have only grown. ‘You already have a bond, with someone else…oh isn’t that sweet? You really love her, don’t you?’

‘Stop it!’ I was torn between dismay and anger, but powerless to do anything. I had let him in, and now I was paying the price.

‘Sam, what a nice name.’ Varren’s mocking voice echoed inside my mind. ‘Unfortunately for you two, I’m going to have to get rid of that bond you have.’

‘No, please!’ I was frantic at this point, so much so that I didn’t care about begging. ‘Please, please don’t, I don’t care what you do but please –‘ I felt Varren brush me off mentally.

‘Go on now, I’m ordering you to break it.’

He was ordering me, and that meant I couldn’t resist. ‘Sam…I’m sorry…’ I felt another sob in my throat as our bond crumbled away.

‘You really are pathetic,’ Varren scoffed. ‘Don’t you remember, boy? You belong to me now. Not just your body; your mind, your spirit, everything. The only person you need a bond with is me.’

‘You can’t,’ I thought weakly. ‘A bond requires absolute consent from both participants, even if you order me to, it’s not real consent, you can’t make me –’

‘Can’t I?’ Varren challenged. ‘Let’s test that theory, shall we? I order you to form this bond with me, willingly.’ He intoned the bonding ritual, and I could only listen, helpless, until he reached the end. ‘Now, do you accept?’

‘I…accept,’ I found myself agreeing numbly, and the bond was secured into place.

“Good boy.” I felt a hand on my head, and I realized Varren was speaking out loud.

He wasn’t searching through my head anymore, but he was still there. I could feel him at the edge of my mind, his presence and emotions now linked with my mind, as mine were to his. It felt wrong, and awful, and disturbing on so many levels to have him so closely linked to me. I could feel the satisfaction and happiness that Varren had, and I hated it. I tried to focus on my anger, wanting to convey exactly how I felt about what had just happened, but I only felt Varren’s amusement grow.

“Before you get any ideas…” Varren twisted the arm I had forgotten he was holding and I cried out. “Don’t even think about severing the bond, boy.”

Immediately all thoughts of cutting off the bond fled my mind, and I despaired at the hopelessness of the situation.

“Now now, don’t be sad,” Varren said. “I’m going to heal you, and I promise it’ll only hurt a little.”

A thrill of fear went through me, and I felt Varren’s excitement increase in response. He was enjoying this. Seeing me in pain, and seeing me afraid. He loved it.

“If you’re extra good, maybe I’ll even take the muzzle off and let you eat.” I felt Varren’s hand move to my hair and stroke it, like an animal getting a reward.

I didn’t have the energy or the means to protest, and I was forced to lay there, listening to Varren’s laugh and feeling all the enjoyment he got out of my hopeless, hopeless situation.

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Beginning of a tag list! If you want to be added just let me know :)

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog

#whump #nonhuman whumpee #tw; broken bones #dehumanization #threatening #my ocs: felix #pet whump

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mimik-u · 6 years

Text

Flower Child (Chapter 3)

Title: Texts

Summary:

Garnet, Pearl, Amethyst, Greg, Yellow, and Blue—they've all lost someone. Lovers and daughters and friends and family, and that's not a wound you easily come back from.

If at all.

But this isn't an 'if at all' kind of story.

It's a story about a sickly, little kid named Steven and his ever-growing surrogate family.

It's a story about the kind of boy who'd extend a flower and a smile to a sad stranger he meets at a cemetery. Human AU.

AO3 Link

Sunday, 9:43 PM

Pearl: You’re really going to let him go see the Diamonds?

Pearl: After all they’ve done?

Pearl: After all WE’VE done to stand against them?

Greg: Its what he wants Pearl. who are we to deny him that?

Pearl: He didn’t want her to know about his condition.

Greg: That was different!

Pearl: Sure, Greg.

The three dots of impending doom jumped onto her screen within an instant, but Pearl didn’t wait for what was surely another half-assed justification from a man who seemed to half-ass anything that could be half-assed. (Which was neither fair nor right, but God, she was livid.) She shut her phone down, placed it on the nightstand, and rolled back onto her pillow with an aggressive thump.

Which, of course, did nothing to alleviate the headache that had been beating against the back of her skull all day.

Rose… Rose wouldn’t have wanted this, would she?

Her son fraternizing with the enemy.

With Yellow Diamond.

Even the mere thought of the woman was enough to conjure a clear image of the imposing CEO in Pearl’s mind-eye. She had golden eyes and a hard heart, and her practices—from her exploitation of workers to the conditions of her factories—were far from ethical. She was a tyrant, a monster, a despot.

And Steven was set to enter her lair.

(An extravagant penthouse suite that had reportedly cost over 200 million dollars.)

Her little boy, swallowed up by the yellow beast.

Rose… Rose wouldn’t have permitted this…

… Right?

Right?

It was a single instant of hesitation, but it was enough, and her mistrust and anger and irritation at Yellow, at Greg, at the world, soon gave away to another emotion, one that had been swelling up in Pearl’s chest all day. She rolled over to her side and plucked her phone up once more, clearing Greg’s response away with a furious swipe so she could type in her password.

It was 7673.

It was Rose.

She clicked the little photo icon and scrolled.

Scrolled past pictures of Steven as he slept during one of his dialysis treatments.

Past twenty Amethyst selfies that had been taken while Pearl wasn’t looking.

Past the family’s vacation to a cabin in the vast, snowy mountains.

And then she abruptly stopped, tapping once to expand the only image she wanted to see.

It was a picture of a picture, of a polaroid Garnet had taken approximately a year before Rose had met Greg, and everything had gone to—

Rose’s arm was wrapped around Pearl’s shoulders, and her pink lips were pressed against her cheek, and they were laughing.

Laughing!

And Pearl was in love.

Even in the blurry polaroid, she could see the faint blush that had traced itself across the bridge of her pointed nose like a messy pink scribble, could see the admiration that had made her eyes shine so bright once upon a time.

And she could feel the phantoms of warmth.

The warmth of Rose’s big, encompassing arms.

The warmth that had spread across Pearl’s entire body, that had electrified her veins.

A hot, itchy sensation climbed and climbed her throat until it welled up in her eyes. The phone went slack in her hand, tumbling to the bed.

Who was she kidding?

She didn’t know what Rose would have wanted.

After all, once upon a time, Pearl had thought that she wanted her.

She would have turned forty today had she not chosen… She bit her lip. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself.

It did not compute.

She would have turned forty, she tried again. The tears dripped down her beaky nose. And she would have been radiant.

Monday, 7:02 AM

Garnet: safe drive steven. <3

Steven: Thanks, boo. <3

Steven: And just so you know… I did think about what you told me last night.

Steven: And, like, I really thank you for being upfront with me about how you felt. Pearl just straight up told me that I shouldn’t go, and you took the time to tell me why I shouldn’t go, but this is just something I have to do Garnet.

Garnet: have to?

Steven: I guess I don’t have to, but I want to.

Steven: She’s really nice, and she’s really sad, and I want to be her friend.

Around her, the gym’s locker room was coming to life. Fellow trainers changing into exercise gear for appointments with clients. Early gym comers heading off to the showers for a rinse off. People talking and sipping coffee and slamming locker doors with aplomb. But Garnet was immobile on the bench, her entire world contained in the little screen sitting in the palm of her hand.

She was conflicted, and conflicted wasn’t exactly a feeling she experienced very often.

It was unpleasant to say the least.

Like a fist nurtured into her stomach over and over and over again.

On one hand—one of the fists churning her stomach in nauseating ways—the memories and the rage and the rage those memories roared into existence tore through her overwhelmed head like fire in a forest. She saw Rose Quartz standing on a box in front of the D.E. building, the force and passion in her words inspiring disgruntled workers to join her in protest. Saw her own hands wrapped around a sign that screamed for FAIR WAGES as her hoarse voice did the same. Garnet’s own mothers, Ruby and Sapphire, had worked in one of D.E.’s factories overseas before they’d come to America.

They were the reasons she had taken up Rose’s banner in the first place.

Ruby’s calloused hands testified to cruel work—the kind of stuff that may have broken a lesser person—and Sapphire’s strained silence about those years spoke volumes where she could not.

Whenever they saw Yellow Diamond on TV, they would immediately blanch and grasp hands, as though they were afraid that she would reach through the screen and wrench them apart.

On the other hand—Garnet gritted her teeth to make this concession—Yellow Diamond was her demon. Hers and her parents’ and Rose’s and Amethyst’s and Pearl’s.

Not Steven’s.

She wanted him to inherit so many things from her—some wondrous and some wise.

Love and light and patience and perseverance.

But not hate.

Never hate.

Garnet threw her towel around her neck and stood up with a sigh that reached into her bones and shook them for good measure.

Garnet: okay… i love you steven. <3

Steven: I love you too Garnet. <3

Monday, 9:12 AM

Amethyst:

Pearl: You’re not driving, correct?! If so, please put your phone down immediately!

Pearl: If not, very cute.

Amethyst: chillllllllax P

Amethyst: ste-man is getting a snack from the gas station. we’re about an hr out from empire city

Garnet: :)

Pearl: Excellent timing, Amethyst!

Pearl: Remember, his appointment starts at 12, so that should give you plenty enough time to check into the hotel and get situated there.

Pearl: I’ve put the reservations under your name.

Pearl: You have the debit card, right?

Pearl: Oh, goodness. I think I forgot to pack M.C. Bear Bear.

Garnet: i handled it.

Amethyst: haha - nice save G

Garnet: B)

Garnet: i’m psychic

One of the double doors leading out from the gas station was pushed open with a lethargic kind of energy, and Amethyst, who had been leaning against the hood of her car, looked up from her phone to see that the wimpy gesture belonged to none other than her little buddy, her Steven. He closed the door carefully with his weak hand, nurturing a bag of Chaps in the other, and then, without so much as glancing her way, trudged right past her to the passenger side of the car, pulled the door open, and barreled in.

The door didn’t slam to a close so much as it did feebly stutter to one.

Well, that was a huge yikes.

Not waiting to give him time to stew in his feelings, Amethyst pocketed her phone and proceeded to the driver’s side, pulling her seatbelt across her chest and cranking the ignition to her little Honda Civic in one, fluid motion.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Steven was looking at the bag of chips clenched in his hand, but there was something in his expression—something unfocused, something glazed—that told her that he wasn’t quite seeing what he was seeing.

She pulled out of the parking lot and tried to keep her voice as casual as possible. “You okay, little dude?”

He wasn’t. Obviously. But it didn’t hurt to ask.

She knew Steven well enough to know that he’d rather drown in the ocean ten times over rather than share his feelings.

But she also knew that once he started talking through them, like the ocean, they’d flow.

“Yeah… just got a little dizzy when I was standing in line for the register.” He laughed humorlessly, the bag in his hand crinkling in a way that told her that he’d squeezed it tightly. “But I guess that’s just a occupational hazard of this whole dying business.”

They were on the highway now, Jersey speeding past them in a blur of green and gray and black. Amethyst’s fingers choked the wheel.

“You’re not dying, Steven,” she gritted out, trying to see straight. The edges of her vision bursted with red, and all she wanted to do was pull over and slam the kid into a freaking hug. “Get that outta your head.”

“I know, I know.” He rested his elbow on the door’s control panel and leaned his head against the window. She couldn’t see his eyes, but their reflections were dark with trees. Perhaps they were just dark all over. “Just joking.”

Amethyst took one hand off the wheel and squeezed his free one. His skin was clammy and cold to touch.

“You’re not, but that was a good try, Ste-man.”

“What can I say?” He laughed again, and at least this one had a little more body to it. “I’m a virtuoso at using dark humor to cope with my crippling depression.”

And he meant it to be funny.

Meant it to be ironic.

But she wasn’t having it.

“You don’t have to be, though,” she told him, as serious as she could be. “Not with me anyway”

And he turned to look at her, his dark eyes widening in something that may have have just been awe.

She blushed furiously but blustered on anyway because dammit, this kid needed this talk, like, yesterday.

“I mean, I know you front with everyone else, but, like, you don’t have to do that when you’re around me, okay?” Amethyst’s grip tightened on his hand. “I get not wanting to talk about it. I get desperately needing to talk about it. I get you, Steven.”

Because they were alike, him and her.

They had issues, and they tried not to think about those issues and only ended up thinking about them all the more.

It was a cycle she knew well.

She wished Steven didn’t have to.

He didn’t answer immediately. Amethyst withdrew her hand and replaced it on the wheel, driving in silence for as long as the silence stretched thin between them.

She felt his gaze upon her.

Felt the intensity of it, the sadness.

“I just… I just feel so bad, Amethyst,” he whispered. “All the time.”

Amethyst wanted to melt into her seat. A lump rose to her throat.

“I know, buddy.”

“I’ve forgotten what it feels like to feel good.” His voice was fragile—not in the way glass was fragile, but in the way a dandelion was. One puff, and then it was gone.

“I know.”

She heard a sniffing sound.

A surreptitious swipe of the nose.

Amethyst knew better than to look his way.

Monday, 11:31 AM

Amethyst: heyyyy greg. steven and i made it to e city. bout to drive to the hospital.

Greg: Thanks for the update!

Amethyst: yah. np.

Greg: uh, what does that mean ??

Amethyst: no problem

Greg: i didn’t thank you for anything?? ?

Monday, 4:38 PM

Amethyst: sorry for not answering ur calls. just got back to the hotel. steven’s asleep. gonna have to text.

Greg: He’s asleep? already?

Pearl: What did Dr. Maheswaran say?

Amethyst: yeah poor kid’s worn out

Amethyst: she’s not happy w/ his blood count. she says his hemoglobin is low. if it doesn’t get better by the end of the week she might do a blood transfusion

Amethyst: 4 days of dialysis this week instead of 3

Amethyst: steven’s not happy :/

Pearl: That’s it. We’re coming up there immediately.

Amethyst: no!

Amethyst: i mean, not that i don’t want you guys to be here, but u guys can’t afford to take any more time off work

Amethyst: and we’ve got bills ’n stuff to pay

Amethyst: not 2 mention the new iron pill dr. m prescribed

Amethyst: like - i’ve got this

Pearl: Garnet? Greg? What do you think?

Garnet: amethyst is right.

Greg: i mean yeah… I’m not happy about it, but she’s got a point.

Pearl: Okay… but if things get worse, we’re coming up there. Alright?

Amethyst: k

She’d drawn the curtains to make it darker in the room, but even still, a crack of blue light slipped in through the gap, illuminating Steven’s sleeping form. He was curled up under the blankets, which obscured most of his face.

His little button nose poked out.

His closed eyes fluttered restlessly.

Amethyst wondered if he was dreaming.

And if he was, she hoped that it was a good one.

Because frankly, reality sucked.

While Steven had been changing from the hospital gown to his regular clothes, Dr. Maheswaran had pulled her aside and given her a haughty once over that let Amethyst know at once that the doctor wished she were Pearl, who, out of Steven’s four parental figures had the best grasp of all the medical jargon.

“He’s needs a new kidney, and he needs it soon,” Dr. Maheswaran said. No sugarcoating. No bull. She didn’t have the best bedside manners per say, but the nephrologist would tell it to you straight, and that was what mattered most to Amethyst.

“Then find him one, Doc.”

“I’m trying,” she frowned, and the lines under her brown eyes became all the more pronounced. “But kidneys are a tall, damn order.”

Monday, 4:48 PM:

Greg: love ya champ

Greg: i’m so proud of you

Monday, 5:01 PM:

Pearl: Call me when you get up! Love you, Steven. <3

Monday, 5:09 PM:

Garnet: <3

Tuesday, 10:32 AM:

Amethyst: picked up steven’s prescription

Amethyst: we’re @ breakfast

Pearl: How much was the copay?

Amethyst: only like $10

Pearl: :) I’ll add that to my ledger.

Amethyst: neeeeeeerdddd alert

Pearl: This ‘nerd’ does your taxes for you every year.

Amethyst: and i appreciate tht but that doesn’t make u any less of a nerd

“Gosh, I was hungry,” Steven said around a mouthful of waffles. He already had his next bite queued up on his fork, and a trace of syrup dripped down the corner of his mouth.

Amethyst was hella relieved to see that his appetite had returned; last night, he’d stayed passed out until 3AM, and when he woke up, she could only get him to nibble on a couple of crackers.

“Bet,” she replied, chomping down hard on a piece of syrup covered bacon, savoring more than just its taste. The sweetness was good, but seeing Steven in a good mood made it even sweeter.

“Who were ya texting?”

“Pearl. She was being lame and trying to talk to me about math.”

Steven chuckled. “You should try being homeschooled by her.”

He squared his blocky shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, two actions which resulted in an uncanny physical impression of their dear Pearl.

“Now Steven,” he mimicked in a high, lofty voice, “you can’t just move the x around like that. There’s a certain finesse to it. A technique. Here, let me do it.” He lowered his voice back to its normal pitch. “And then she starts talking about how my mom was great at solving division problems or something like that.”

Amethyst’s eyes were streaming. She banged her fists on the table, drawing a nasty look from a passing waitress.

“You’re a riot, Steven.”

“Thank ya!” He grinned.

When their meal came to a close—and it only did after they’d each slammed a couple of more waffles—Steven swirled the quarter of orange juice he had left in his glass, and Amethyst pulled out his ever-expanding pillbox from her bag.

Red pills.

Blue pills.

Iron pills.

Diuretics.

And by God, they were all big enough to be choking hazards.

“Ugh, Steven,” she muttered, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “I dunno how you do this everyday.”

“Oh, that’s an easy one,” he replied cheerfully, accepting her offering of his Tuesday pills. “I totally dissociate.”

“Solid, dude.”

Steven downed the pills one by one, chasing them with vigorous swills of juice.

“Tell me about it,” he gasped when he was done, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

They had another hour or so to kill before Steven had to return to the hospital for his treatment, so they took to walking down one of Empire City’s lesser known shopping districts. From time to time, they’d rest on a bench until Steven could catch his shortened breath.

It was during one of these breaks when the little bugger finally breached the topic of conversation she’d been crossing her fingers to avoid.

“If I don’t end up having to get a transfusion,” he began thoughtfully, head angled backwards so he could stare up at all the high rises poking into the sky, “I think I wanna text Blue Diamond soon. Visit her while I’m here, maybe.”

“Maybe…” She hesitated, and Steven was quick to snap up on it.

“Amethyst, I love you, but if you give me the same, old spiel on why I shouldn’t visit Blue, I’m gonna walk away.” She couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. His voice was playful, but his eyes were grim, and his mouth was pressed into a thin, determined line.

“You’re sure bent on doing this, huh?”

“Very bent,” he agreed succinctly, nodding with dramatic precision before adding, “Super bent.”

Because there was obviously a discernible difference between super bent and very bent.

Amethyst scratched her neck and sighed.

“If the doc gives you the go ahead, then text her,” she told him grudgingly. “I wasn’t a part of the team when all the big protests against Yellow D were going on, so I can’t tell you why you shouldn’t go.”

Pearl and Garnet seemed to have plenty of reasons, though.

“Thanks, Amethyst!”

“No big deal, dude.”

Their little bench was an island in the stream—solitary, stable, even with so many people flooding around it. Amethyst did as Steven was doing and tilted her head back to drink in the panorama from above, appreciative of the cool breeze that slid across her face and stirred her long hair. Her eyes closed against the bright, golden sun.

“I was doing some research,” Steven said, and he was very quiet. Melancholy.

Amethyst opened one eye to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His hands were clasped neatly on his lap, his solemn gaze still offered to the heavens.

“A couple of years back, there was an awful murder that took place outside of a bar somewhere in this city.” He paused. “The details were too… gruesome, I guess, for the article to talk about. She was only twenty-one.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Dark stuff you’re reading there, kid.”

His shoulder rose and fell in a half-shrug.

“It was a dark thing that happened.”

Tuesday, 4:29 PM

Steven: Hey guys! Just got out of treatment.

Greg: how was it kiddo?

Steven: Better than yesterday. We’re heading to the hotel.

Pearl: I’m so glad, Steven!

Garnet: !!!

Steven: Thanks! Love you all.

Amethyst read the texts in the group chat while Steven was hung over the toilet, puking his little guts out.

Insistent that Amethyst stay out of the bathroom until he was done.

She rapped on the door anyway, unsure if he heard her over the sound of his own violent retching.

Dialysis naturally had the effect of making him nauseous, but nausea was also a side effect of the new iron pills he was taking, so really, the odds were just not in Steven’s favor today.

“You okay in there?”

“I feel like the answer to that question”—he paused to gag—“is very obvious.”

Asshole, she thought fondly and barged into the bathroom. Kid needed a Sprite, a cold rag to the forehead, and a nice, little trip to bed.

“Amethyst—“ He whined, lifting his head feebly from the commode. The traces of throw up were edged along the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up, Steven, and let me love you.”

She grabbed a washcloth from the counter and turned on the faucet, the loud hissing noise just not loud enough to mask what was surely another round of vomit.

Wednesday, 3:22 PM

Amethyst: STEEEEVEEENNNN’S GOT A GIRLFRIEND

Pearl: What?!?!

Garnet: nice.

Greg: way 2 go champ!

Amethyst: asgdshafl

Amethyst: so dr. m’s daughter came in today to read to patients and like she and steven rlly hit it off

Amethyst: her name is Connie

Amethyst: and i’m calling it now. their ship name is stevonnie

Pearl: I think I’m experiencing premature empty nest syndrome.

Amethyst: ya’ve got the nose for it

Pearl: Rude.

Amethyst: but anyway his treatment’s almost done and dr. m says his blood count’s looking better

Amethyst: no transfusion!

Pearl: Thank goodness.

Greg: ugh I agree

Garnet: Woo.

Amethyst: and he’s happy today

Amethyst glanced up from her phone to confirm what she was telling the others.

“Buuuuuuut Connnnnnnie, you can’t just leave it on a cliffhanger!” Steven was pleading, fingers mussed through his dark, curly hair in exasperation. “Like, Lisa is literally hanging from a cliff. I need to know what happens!”

“Okay, okay!” The dark-skinned girl pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “One more paragraph… Mom’s about to unhook you from the machine, though.”

Dr. Maheswaran waved her off with a dismissive flick of the hand. “One more paragraph would be fine.”

“Yes ma’am!” She re-buried her nose into the thick book. “Lisa’s hand was slick with sweat as Archimedes…”

Steven leaned forward expectantly, hand tucked under his chin, M.C. Bear Bear clutched tightly to his chest right next to his dialysis catheter and all of the tubing involved.

And he was smiling like a fool.

Like a kid.

Amethyst: he’s rlly happy

Wednesday, 7:41 PM

Steven: Hi Blue… this is Steven.

Steven: That cute kid from the cemetery. :)

Blue: Hello, Steven. It’s so very nice to hear from you. How are you?

Steven: Could be better. Could be worse. You?

Blue: Ah, likewise.

Steven: I was texting to say that I’ll be in Empire City for the better part of the week, and I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer of coming to visit, maybe?

Blue: Of course—I would love that.

Blue: When would be the best day for you?

Steven: Friday would be great if that’s ok with you.

Blue: Friday would be perfect. 1:00? We could do tea and cakes.

Steven: Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Blue: Friday it is then. I can’t wait to see you again, Steven.

Steven: I can’t wait to see you too.

Blue set her phone down on the bathroom counter, and twenty sleeping pills slipped between her tall fingers and back into the bottle.

It’d been a bad day.

She wouldn’t have done it…

She hadn’t been going to…

She had just been thinking.

It had been a bad day, and then Steven had texted.

“Well, I’m home for the night.” Startled, Blue looked up in the mirror to see her wife leaning in the doorframe—arms crossed, a permanent frown carved into her striking face. “Stocks are down, and my investors are running for the hills. It’s a hellhole. I’m in literal hell.”

Yellow detached herself from the door and drew closer. The tips of their fingers brushed ever so slightly, ever so softly.

And that was about as physically affectionate as they got nowadays.

“How was your day?” Her voice sharpened at the end. “I see you’re still in your nightgown.”

“It was fine, Yellow.” It absolutely was not.

Blue gripped the edge of the sink to keep her hands from shaking, determined not to glance at the pill bottle she’d been holding just moments before.

“Are you sure? I could call the doctor right now. Check the dosage on your antidepressant, perhaps?”

“Oh, yes,” she muttered venomously, more to herself than Yellow, but she supposed she didn’t care enough if Yellow heard it, too, “because that’s exactly what I need. An upped dosage.”

That seemed to be Yellow’s only reliable solution when it came to fixing her.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Blue bit out. “Nothing at all.”

And she pushed off from the sink, impelled by dull anger, her shoulder roughly knocking against Yellow’s as she went.

Her hand slammed against the light switch before she exited the doorway, and it did her a great deal of good to submerge Yellow Diamond into total darkness.

#steven universe #blue diamond #pearl #amethyst #garnet #yellow diamond #a little bit of #bellow diamond #flower child #s: steven universe #mimik-u #reginianwrites

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edenian-princess · 6 years

Text

Losing You - Part II

I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO WRITING THIS.

Why is it whenever you want to do something creative, life just decides to come in and throw a bunch of stuff at you? It’s illogical. Let me live.

Anyways! Here you go, @bat-yo-us ! Thank you so much for being patient with me!

Angst

Word Count: 1845

Jumin couldn’t stay still. He paced about, waiting for her to come back.

Two minutes.

Four minutes.

Six minutes.

He took out his phone and called her.

“Hi, this is MC! I’m away from my phone but leave your name and number and I’ll call you back ASAP!”

He could feel the blood drain from his face. He didn’t get a busy signal. That meant she had already finished the call with her mother.

“Damn, damn.” Jumin called for his bodyguards and instantly, they stormed the shop, concerning most of the shoppers.

“MC is missing. Find her, find her now.”

The guards immediately spread out, their abrupt presence prompting a few of the store clerks to move from their registers towards the center of the store. Jumin beelined towards the nearest cashier and folded his arms over his chest angrily. “Where is your manager, where are your cameras, where is she?!”

“Sir, we need for you to calm down and tell us who you’re looking for—”

“MC!” Jumin spun around and called out for her. He was almost inconsolable. He ran his hands through his hair and softly muttered to himself, “Calm down, calm down.”

“Would a Miss MC come to customer service please, Miss MC to customer service.”

Jumin looked up and pulled a clerk towards him. “Take me to customer service.”

“Ah, Mr. Han, you shouldn’t grab a clerk like that,” one of his bodyguards mumbled lightly.

Jumin didn’t care. His grasp on the clerk’s shirt tightened, and the clerk shakily agreed. Jumin’s desperation was palpable, and in a last-minute effort to speed things along, everyone lightly jogged towards the customer service desk while Jumin sprinted.

Please be there.

Please.

Please let this be one of your silly jokes.

Give me the opportunity to hold you and make you promise me we won’t ever return here ever again.

Jumin and his bodyguards arrived at the customer service desk, some of his guards huffing and puffing behind him.

He couldn’t see her.

A cold sweat ran down Jumin’s back as dread really began to set in. He made his way towards the customer service desk, ignoring the customers already in line.

“MC, where is MC.”

“… Sir, who?”

Jumin slammed his hand against the counter. “There was an announcement made. You know who I’m referring to.”

A manager made her way towards Jumin and spoke politely, “Sir, we are doing everything we can—”

“If you were, you would have found her already.”

“Sir, please—”

“Mr. Han. You may want to see this.” One of the bodyguards ushered an impatient and disgruntled Jumin into a surveillance room, where two technicians stood by.

“Could you describe her to us, sir?” One of the technicians asked gently.

“A- A woman, five feet tall, brown hair. She’s wearing a gray shirt, a- and jeans.”

“Oh my god.”

Jumin rushed towards the second technician and paled as he saw footage of MC in the toy section of the store being grabbed by a tall figure wearing a torn t-shirt and blue jeans. The figure brought his hand to MC’s mouth, she collapsed against him, and both slipped out of frame. Jumin had not realized how tightly he had been clenching his teeth until a small migraine formed in the back of his head.

“Sir –”

“We need to move. Now.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jumin’s guards rushed out of the room. Within minutes, a team surrounded the inside and outside of the store, helicopters were in the air, vans were patrolling the highways. Yet, through all that, Jumin wasn’t put at ease. As he made his way to the car waiting for him, he pressed his hands to his temples in a desperate attempt to quiet his rampant thoughts.

“Sir, where would you like to go?”

“Take me to Luciel’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car moved, Jumin anxiously fiddled with whatever he could to get his mind off every worst-case scenario. His fingers moved from adjusting his tie to playing with his tie pin to drumming against his knee.

“Could you drive faster?” Jumin spat.

“Y- Yes sir.”

Headache…

Everything… hurts…

I slowly opened my eyes and tried to move my hands to my head.

I couldn’t.

“What…” I tried again, but the more I tried to move my hands, the more they hurt. “… what’s happening…?!”

“Good evening, Mrs. Han.”

I lifted my head. Boom. Boom. Boom. My head pounded as squinted at the figure before me. A young man, wearing a torn t-shirt and blue jeans, stared down at me, an almost menacing smile gracing his features.

“Who… who are you?”

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t remember me. You know who I am.”

I blinked and tried to sit up, but to no avail. “No, I don’t. Are you an old boyfriend? Even if you were, you would look familiar –”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” He roughly shifted the back of the chair I was sitting on. He lightly paced around me, the nearness of his footsteps both frightening and agitating me.

“I guess you got involved with someone powerful, huh? Jumin – fucking – Han.”

I squirmed. “Listen, whoever you are, I’m really –”

“You know who I am!”

I jumped and looked away. I had no idea who he was, or what he wanted. I wanted Jumin. Where was Jumin? I ignored my headache and started looking around. “Jumin?!”

“Jumin? Oh, Jumin~? Save me, Jumin!” The man huffed and kicked the leg of the chair I was sitting on. “Shut up. He isn’t here.”

That meant he was on his way to get me. He had to be.

“Listen, just… just let me go, all right? I won’t tell Jumin anything, just –”

“Hah, that isn’t going to work with me, you begging like that.”

I still had no idea who he was. I tried to adjust myself and made eye contact with him. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you –”

“If? If?”

… Ah, jeez.

“You did upset me. You go without messaging me for months, and I suddenly hear about you being on the arm of a billionaire? It’s bullshit!” He threw a newspaper in front of me; there was a picture of Jumin and I, his hand around my waist as we made our way down the street. The headline had been scribbled out, probably by that lunatic. He grabbed me by my hair and yanked upwards, forcing me to look up at him. “That’s why you’re here. You need to make up for lost time.”

“There’s nothing I can do to –”

I felt a sharp pain on my neck and my eyes shot open. The man leaned in. “There are plenty of things you can do.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed. “P… please stop.”

“What? Does it hurt?” I felt another sharp pain, this time on my abdomen; a slight poke with a blade of some sort, then a little twist. I hissed softly, then bit my lip.

Don’t look down. Don’t look at what’s happening. Keep your eyes closed.

“I’d actually love for your boy-toy to find us. I love for him to watch as you slowly fade out.”

A chill ran down my spine. “What, you’re going to kill me for not responding to some messages you sent me months ago? Pretty petty, don’t you think?”

He pushed his blade further into my abdomen. I clenched my fists.

“Don’t test me, bitch. I’ll kill you right here, right now.”

“Go ahead,” I replied impulsively. “You’ll be charged with kidnapping, you may as well top if off with murder – agh!!”

“Haha, you think you’re cute.” He twisted the blade in and I shivered compulsively.

“O… okay… okay, s… stop.” I huffed.

“Oh? What happened to the tough girl just a minute ago, hm?” he pushed his blade in further, and I could vaguely begin seeing spots.

I closed my eyes again; there was no getting out of this. Moving and talking back would only make that blade go in deeper. And if he were to remove it from me entirely, I would bleed out.

It was hopeless. I felt… hopeless.

“Jumin…” I muttered softly.

Jumin. I needed to make it, for him. I didn’t care if I heard, “I told you so” from him for the rest of my life. I needed to stay awake for him. I needed to fight for him.

I gritted my teeth as the man leaned closer to me, his breath by my face. Before he could speak, I rammed my head against his. Adrenaline pumped through my veins; I didn’t care that a blade was dangling out of my stomach. I needed to keep attacking him somehow.

I had to keep fighting.

I vigorously fiddled with my bindings and managed to get myself out of them. He was coming at me, like a disoriented bull, but I grabbed the blade and began to swing it at him.

“Stupid bitch,” he chuckled lightly. “I give you two minutes, tops.”

Maybe pulling the blade out wasn’t the smartest decision. I started feeling tired from the blood loss, but I needed to stay conscious. Just until Jumin arrived.

Jumin. I repeated his name in my mind. Maybe if I said it enough, he would hear me and come for me. He said something about us being one, so that had to count for something.

“Give me my tool back,” the man said, inching his way towards me. “We can end this quietly.”

I swung at him again, and he tackled me before I had a chance to blink. He grabbed his weapon from my shaky hands, and plunged it into me again, and again, and again.

Jumin.

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even let out a whimper.

It was over.

Jumin… you were right. I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll listen to you.

Next time… I’ll…

“MC!!”

The man Jumin had seen in the security cameras, the man who kidnapped his beloved MC, had tried to put up a fight before he was shot down. In a normal circumstance, Jumin would, at the very least, acknowledge his tenacity.

But this circumstance was anything but normal.

He rushed over to his MC and scooped her into his arms. He lightly combed his fingers through her hair, just as he had done to wake her up every morning.

“MC… darling, hey…!” Jumin slightly turned his head and shouted, “Get the damned ambulance here, now!!”

“Jumin…”

He pulled her closer to himself. “Yes darling, I’m here. You stay with me, all right? Keep your eyes on me, help is coming.”

“We… we’re one… aren’t we, Jumin…”

“Darling, please, don’t talk. Conserve your energy. I’m not losing you, not you.”

“We’re one… that’s how you kn…knew to come for me…”

“MC…”

“I was… I was calling for you… and you… you heard me, didn’t you…?”

“MC, please –”

“We’re one.” She smiled sweetly and placed her bloodied hand on his cheek.

Jumin pressed his cheek into her hand and smiled weakly. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

#mystic messenger #jumin x mc #jumin han #ficlet #angst #AHAHA FINALLY #this is actually my first MM request!#thanks bat-yo-us!#but this month has been crazy so i'm glad i managed to crank this out #i need to work on part III now XD

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secretagentspydetectiveninja · 6 years

Text

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 57

Ta-da! Kim gets in a sword fight and also meets a crocodile. Neither of these are even remotely the weirdest thing to have happened in this fic. (Oh yeah and a season 2 character’s in this one so, uh, spoiler alert)

Also on AO3 as always

“How are things going?” Kim asked down the phone. “Your approval rating hasn’t gone down, has it?”

“Surprisingly, it’s actually increased slightly,” Max replied. “I’ve mostly been busy working on Markov so I haven’t spent much time looking at the news, but it seems that the citizens are happy to get to know their prince a little better. Quite honestly, it wasn’t even a surprise to most people.”

“That’s awesome!” Kim said, his worries vanishing. “Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that. And how’s Markov doing?”

There was a kind of excited spark to Max’s voice suddenly. “He’s coming along fantastically! I knew robotics was fun, but I had forgotten it was this fun. I really should have done this so much sooner! Markov speaks quite a lot now, there are still bugs to sort out, but hopefully I’ll be able to fix those soon, maybe even in time for the wedding if I work hard enough, so then you’ll get to meet him too, and…”

He continued gushing about his little robot friend for quite a while. Kim just sat there with a dopey smile on his face, content to listen. This all sounded so exciting – he couldn’t wait to meet Max’s robot! He’d never even met a robot before in his life. It was so weird, really, how could a metal electronic machine actually speak? Surely magic had to be involved somehow? But no, according to Max it was all just science. That was the coolest thing ever.

“And what about you?” Max said finally. “How have your holidays been so far? Is Queen Sol nice?”

“Queen Sol is freaking awesome!” Kim said. “It’s only been a week but I’ve already had so much fun. It’s like having a cool big sister. The other day she took me bowling, but not like normal bowling, it was massive bowling with giant skittles taller than a person, and you had to throw this massive inflatable ball at them, it was amazing!”

“That does sound fun!”

“Yeah! And she took me to the 3D cinema and I watched a movie in 3D, like with those glasses on, it was so cool. I did get a headache but still, totally worth it. And there’s been this duelling competition going on over the past few days and I got to the finals!”

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks! The final match is in like an hour, so I thought I’d call you first, because I haven’t seen you in a while and I miss you…”

“Aww, I miss you too. But I’ll see you soon, don’t worry. Good luck for your match – I’m sure you’ll do well!”

Kim just wanted to hug Max through the phone. “Thanks… I mean of course I’ll do well, I’m the best at duelling. I’m probably even better than Adrien at this point. No one else here is that good, so I’m sure I’ll win. And the prize is this super cool trophy, so I’m not letting a snake take it this time.”

Max was chuckling away on the other end. “I may be all the way over in another country, but pretend I’m cheering for you! And so is Markov!”

“Max, you’re so sweet. I love you so much.”

“Oh Kim…” He sounded rather flustered. It was adorable, but all it did was make Kim miss him even more, so he changed the subject.

“Also I’ll get to finally meet Princess Penny and Jagged Stone next week, it’s gonna be awesome.”

“And you’ll meet the crocodile too, I presume?”

Kim had very much been trying not to think about that. “Haha yeah… I guess…”

“Well I hope you have fun with them. I should probably get back to my work now, but it was so nice to chat with you. Please call again soon!”

“I will! Say hi to Markov for me!”

Even after hanging up, Kim couldn’t get his stupid grin off his face. It was strange how being away from Max was just causing him to fall further and further in love, when he had been worried the opposite might happen. Even Sol could probably tell, considering how much Kim kept going on about Max all the time. He couldn’t help it! Everything reminded him of Max in some way or another.

Anyway, for now he had to get his mind back to duelling. The final match hopefully wouldn’t be too difficult. It wasn’t like any of the others had been. Looking at the clock, he decided to head down to the tournament grounds already, so that he wouldn’t be late.

The weather was warm and sunny. Plenty of the servants had turned up to watch the match, as well as some palace guests who were here for the wedding early, just like Kim was. Queen Sol herself was sitting in the stands, a large parasol over her head and a fan in hand. She waved at Kim, who waved back with his sword. This was reminding him oddly of the lacrosse match back in the winter holidays, though hopefully this match wouldn’t turn out such a disaster!

The opponent walked onto the grounds right at the last minute. They were decked entirely in red, with a helmet that fully covered their head and didn’t even leave their eyes visible, like the medieval knights from paintings in history books. Kim had never met this person before – he wasn’t even sure of their name! But hopefully they wouldn’t even be able to see out of that helmet, and then he’d get an easy win. Perfect.

Queen Sol herself stood up to announce the start of the match with a megaphone once everything was ready and everyone was in place. “Let the final match of the tournament begin!”

With that, Kim lunged forwards straight into an attack. His tactics were usually to be aggressive enough to intimidate the opponent into a quick loss.

This time, however, it didn’t work.

This opponent was ruthless. They were quicker, smarter, and more aggressive than anyone else Kim had ever faced. Even Adrien had never been this good.

Gritting his teeth, Kim forced himself to focus properly now. No more being complacent. He had to win that trophy. He was the best, and he had to prove it.

The battle was long and tough, with the crowd gasping every few seconds whenever one of them made a particularly risky attack. Kim was pulling out all the stops, and yet the opponent still seemed to be ahead of him every step of the way – why weren’t they losing already?! This was the worst!

Eventually the unthinkable happened. The opponent got the upper hand. Kim was left sitting on the ground, stunned, his own sword knocked out of his hand and the enemy one pointed straight at his throat.

Considering how brutal that match had been, he half expected the opponent to just finish things off by skewering him and ending his life before any poisoned chocolates ever could.

Instead they sheathed their sword, removed their gloves, then took off their helmet–

“Finally, a worthy opponent,” said the striking young lady now standing before him. Her voice was raspy, her cheeks were covered in freckles, and her short hair was the same odd bluish-black colour that Marinette’s was.

Kim hadn’t been expecting his opponent to be quite that young – he had, truthfully, sort of been expecting some kind of immortal monstrous abomination, thinking that no human person could have enough strength to beat him. But no, it was just a regular human, and one who looked around the same age as him too.

She held out a hand to help him up. Still stunned, he took it and got to his feet. As if from a distance, he could hear the crowd cheering. But they weren’t cheering for him, and he wasn’t going to get that trophy. He had actually been beaten.

“You are Prince Kim, aren’t you?” she asked him now.

“Yeah,” he said, wondering how she knew. To be fair, he had been bragging all week to any servants who would listen about how he was definitely going to win the tournament, so it might have been that. Or the TV interview back in spring. But then again, this girl had skin pale enough to rival Juleka’s, unlike many of the citizens here, so it was possible that she was a guest just like Kim was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, though her very slight smile seemed fake enough to prove the contrary. “I’m a fellow royal guest here for the wedding too. My name is Kagami.”

Kagami… Princess of a distant country to the far east that Kim could not recall the name of, off the top of his head. He was sure he had read her name somewhere while doing homework for his world studies lessons, though. It was so weird to actually be meeting her.

And so annoying to have lost a duel against her…

Well, no point being a sore loser. He was far past that. Instead he swallowed his pride and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. That was fun.”

Her smile seemed more genuine now as she shook his hand. “It was indeed. Perhaps we could duel each other again sometime.”

No way, he thought.

“Uh… sure.”

“Good. I look forward to it.”

She nodded her head at him, almost in a slight bow, before turning around and heading towards the cheering stands, where Queen Sol was waiting to award her the trophy. Kim watched and tried his hardest not to feel jealous. He really had done his absolute best, maybe not at the beginning but certainly later on, and it still wasn’t good enough. Kagami was just better at duelling. Fair enough.

Oh, but he so liked winning…

He barely paid any attention as Kagami was given the trophy, the crowd cheering for her wildly, then starting to leave as the match was over. He merely stood there with an odd feeling of humiliation descending on him. Losing was never fun, ever, even if he was better at dealing with it now. And losing a match he had been so sure of winning? In front of everyone he had showed off at? They probably all thought of him as a loser now, and in more than one sense of the word…

“Prince Kim?”

It was Kagami again, now with the trophy in her arms.

“You can just call me Kim,” he muttered.

“Right, Kim.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Is it true that you enjoy playing tennis?”

Tennis? Of course he did. Tennis was the Marinette sport for him. The sport that he and his old friend used to play together for hours and hours every single day when they were kids. It always lifted his spirits.

“Yep,” he replied.

“So do I. I hear you can be very competitive. Perhaps, if we have a tennis tournament, you might get to win that one instead. And then you’d get a trophy too.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice,” he said, “but you really don’t need to take pity on me. It’s fine.”

“Apologies. It’s just…” She turned aside a little. “It’s the first time I’ve been away from home without my mother with me. I thought it would be a good opportunity to finally make some friends my age. I’m not very good at it.”

She wanted to be friends? Well why hadn’t she said so before?

“Of course I’ll be your friend!” Kim said. “Anyone who can beat me at a duelling tournament has gotta be cool.”

She looked a little taken aback by his sudden change in tone for a few seconds, but quickly recovered and smiled at him. “Thank you. Anyone who can give me such a tough fight must also be… cool. So, um, what do we do now?”

The stands were almost empty by now, most of the crowd having left. Kim hadn’t really planned to do anything in particular for the rest of the day, but he had an idea.

“We play tennis, of course!” He grabbed her arm and started pulling her along, to her surprise. “You wanted to, right new friend? Well then we should! And my other friends are gonna be here in August too so I’ll introduce you to them as well when they get here, they’re really cool! We’ll make sure you’ve got loads of friends to keep in touch with by the time you go back home…”

He turned back to see that her smile was much less restrained now. Good, so his friendliness was working! If there was one thing going to school had taught him, it was that sometimes other people were quiet, or shy, and wanted to be friends but weren’t sure how to go about it. Kim, on the other hand, was none of those things. So why not use his confidence to kickstart new friendships whenever he could?

And plus, it would be fun having another friend here. Queen Sol was cool and everything, but often very busy running her country and preparing for the wedding, and anyway she was so old that sometimes the generational gap showed itself. Having Kagami around would be nice.

Over in her own kingdom, Pharaoh Alix was lounging on her actual throne for once, never usually bothering to sit somewhere so uncomfortable but feeling extra royal today for some reason. Her pet snake, as usual, was curled up around her arm. Jalil was on babysitting duty like he often was, though he mostly was just ignoring her in favour of leaning against the wall and reading a book.

“This is so weird,” Alix said, snapping shut the newspaper she had been looking through and tossing it aside. “How the hell did Max’s approval rating go up? Like maybe I’ve been over in backwards Europe for too long, but I didn’t think people were that accepting!”

“He was just confirming something his country already knew,” Jalil said, not even bothering to look up from his book. “And they’re glad to see him opening up. Royals these days are kind of more like celebrities, you know, people like it when they’re not being so mysterious and old-fashioned anymore.”

Well that was lame. She hadn’t chosen to be a “celebrity”, she didn’t want the media snooping around in her life or having to tiptoe around everywhere to avoid ruining her reputation. But it seemed that that was what the citizens wanted. Alix knew that her approval rating, though very high for an actual ruling monarch, was nowhere near as high as it could be. No one really knew much about her. It was better that way – she wasn’t sure how her citizens would react if they knew their pharaoh was a reckless little delinquent.

“Speaking of celebrities,” she said, changing the subject, “are you coming along to Princess Penny’s wedding?”

“Yes, of course. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?!”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’ll break your arm again. Or get into a brawl with some foreign diplomat. Or use that ‘Flower Pharaoh’ reputation you told me about as an excuse to kidnap the hired flower girl and take her place. Or–”

“I get it,” she said, sinking into the throne and crossing her arms. “But for the record, you’re never there to ‘keep an eye on me’ at school, and I don’t get into trouble there.”

He finally looked up from the book, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh fine, maybe a little bit of trouble,” she said quickly. “But I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Good point! In that case maybe the betrothal plague will hit you too this time.”

She recoiled further into her seat. It was often considered good luck around these parts to get engaged to someone on the day of someone else’s wedding, so the nickname ‘betrothal plague’ was given to the phenomenon of young people always being hit on at wedding parties. Many people just used it as an excuse to easily find a sweetheart. Alix had only been about 11 at the last wedding she attended, but she very clearly remembered Jalil having to hide under a chair by the end of it in order to avoid swarms of zealous fangirls.

Or at least, that was how he had put it. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad.

“It’s not gonna happen,” she said. “I’m not old enough.”

He grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’m only 17…”

Oh… 17. Almost 18, in fact.

In other words, old enough.

“See?” Jalil said, seeing the look of horror on her face.

“But I’m a monarch!” she said. “People will be too scared to talk to me… right? And I have a pet snake… a venomous one… so surely…”

“I wouldn’t count on that putting off everyone.”

“But then what will?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Though I suppose you could always try the Prince Max method. That might work.”

Prince Max method? What on earth was he talking about?

Wait… oh…

“I’m not coming out to everyone, no way,” she said.

“Well why not? It seemed to work fine for Max.”

“Yeah but like, I’d have to explain. No one knows what aromantic or asexual means, they’ll think I’m a plant or something. I had to go and read some obscure science journal to find out! And plus… no one will believe me…”

“How do you know?”

She hoped she didn’t sound too bitter. “Dad didn’t.”

“Oh… well then, I guess you’ll have to end up hiding under a chair the whole evening.”

She nodded glumly, expecting the worst. Of course she could intentionally try and scare people away, like she used to do by accident, but… no, her days of intimidation were over. Maybe she would end up just having to hide under a chair and hoping for a miracle.

Jagged Stone and Princess Penny returned from their Atlantican tour soon enough. It was so far away, across the vast western ocean like the kingdom of Césaire was, that they were quite tired and jet-lagged on their return, needing to rest before being introduced to anyone. In the meantime, while sightseeing in the nearby city, Kim and Kagami bought copies of Jagged Stone’s new bestselling autobiography in order to know him a little better – though Kim didn’t actually bother to read his.

They finally got to meet them on their third day back. Queen Sol had decided it would be nice if Jagged could get to have lunch with his “young royal fans” and had organized it especially for them. Kim had spent the entire previous day listening to every Jagged Stone cassette he could find in preparation, so that at least he would know some of the songs and not sound like a total out-of-the-loop moron. Kagami already seemed to know a lot of it – apparently her kingdom was just as techy and advanced as these ones.

First they were introduced to Princess Penny, who looked much like a younger version of her mother, but with shockingly bright hair that was cut so short that it didn’t even fall over her ears. She looked unlike any princess Kim had ever seen before.

“So nice to meet you both!” she said to them. “My fiancé is just on his way…”

From the corridor outside came the sound of a thunderous electric guitar chord. The next second Jagged Stone himself was sliding into the room on his knees across the slippery marble floor, guitar in hand, striking a pose.

Kim already knew what he looked like – he had seen the crazy purple hair and loud outfits on the covers of cassettes and on billboards and posters in cities. But it was still so bizarre to actually see the rock star himself right in front of his eyes, larger than life, somehow even crazier than he could have ever imagined.

“Hey kids!” Jagged leapt to his feet. “Are you ready to attend the most epic wedding of your lifetime?”

Before either of them could reply, the crocodile had pattered into the room after its owner. Jagged leaned down to give its scales a little rub, and it responded by giving him an affectionate lick.

Kim stepped backwards.

That was a crocodile. An actual, real one. He had never seen one in person before.

It was long, green, scaly, its gaping maw was filled to the brim with dozens and dozens of pointy teeth…

“Wanna stroke Fang?” Jagged offered in that iconic odd accent of his.

The crocodile looked up at them, opening its mouth in what might have been an attempt at a smile. All that served was to make it look even more dangerous.

“I would love to,” Kagami said, as polite and stoic as ever. She stepped forwards, leaned down, and very gently placed a hand on Fang’s scales.

It’s just a crocodile, Kim told himself. Crocodiles were nothing. They didn’t have venom. If Kim could get over his fear of a cobra enough to make friends with it, then surely this relatively harmless creature would be easy to deal with in comparison. And plus, Kagami had managed to stroke it. He wasn’t going to have her beating him at duels and then showing him up too. He was Prince Kim the fearless, afraid of nothing!

Taking a deep breath, he took a step closer to the monster. It looked up at him. Could it sense fear? Some animals could do that, couldn’t they?

Never mind. He took another cautious step, then very slowly crouched down until he was mere inches away from the mass of fangs that this crocodile was named after. Were the teeth the only thing dangerous about it? It had tiny little legs, surely it couldn’t get anywhere.

I could easily outrun this thing.

The thought entered Kim’s mind automatically, and he couldn’t help but smile. Of course he could outrun this creature. He was quick, and it was slow. Nothing to be afraid of.

Feeling way more smug now, he put his hand on the scales and gave them a gentle stroke. Huh, it felt a lot like leather. The crocodile now stuck out its tongue and was wagging its tail, almost like a little dog.

Why had he been scared of this creature again?

“Anyway, I’m starving,” Jagged said, standing up again and taking Fang’s leash. “Time for food! Come on, guys!” He and Fang went over to the table, and Kim and the others quickly followed.

Wow… Kim had stroked a crocodile today. An actual crocodile. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone about that. Max was going to be so proud of him.

#hmm not very much kimax in this chapter. i give it a 2/10 #miraculous ladybug #le chien kim #max kante #kagami tsurugi #(yeeeeeeee she does indeed show up!!)#alix kubdel #random stuff #aish writes #the misadventures of prince kim #royalty au

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saiyukisecretsanta-blog · 6 years

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This gift is for Queen-of-Onions! From their secret saiyuki santa, Silver aka Junkerfox! Title: Black Friday Shopping Spree Characters: Gojyo, Hakkai | Platonic Genre: Family, humor, one shot Rating: G ~

Wintertime was always a headache for Gojyo, primarily the fact that it was cold and he had to bundle up so much. Forced to wear layers, freezing his ass off just to get a cigarette, it was a nuisance. Nevertheless he did his best to press on and keep going. Maybe it was just winter blues, but he was sure that winter was his least favorite season. About the only thing that kept him going was the fact that he could at least get some shopping done and maybe flirt with a cute cashier or two. With that in mind, Gojyo set out from his shack and shrugged on his puffy winter coat, just to get his goals accomplished and then come right back to the warmth of a fire and a serious lack of frosty air.

The sound of leaves were crunching under each and every step he took with his boots, and it just sounded like death to him. In his mind, winter was always so boring, so cold, good for snuggling and hot cocoa sure but the weird air of togetherness and family was just something he wasn’t used to dealing with unless he was alongside the merry band of morons. Lost in thought, he hardly realized he was about to walk into one of those very specific merry morons.

“Jeez, and here I thought I was blind!” Said a friendly and familiar voice. Hakkai rang out like a bell, and Gojyo clutched his chest from the startling call out.

“Ah shit, sorry man! Didn’t mean to ah.. What are you doing walking, don’t you have a jeep?” He said with a raised eyebrow, spotting the dragon sitting perched on his shoulders.

“That’s his Christmas gift, he doesn’t have to drive me around anywhere unless he wants to.” Hakkai replied with that fox like grin on his face. His eyes closed and that smile spread across from cheek to cheek, causing Gojyo to roll his eyes a little bit. Continuing on, he had to admit, he really was grateful for the company. He didn’t like having to shop, the only benefit of it was to be able to look at pretty ladies at the check out. In the interest of not wanting to seem daft, he turned to Hakkai as they continued their trek into town, clearing his throat some.

“So I ah, assume you got your Holiday shopping done for the monk and the monkey?” Gojyo raised an eyebrow as he rummaged in his pockets for a smoke and his lighter. It wouldn’t be very polite to smoke in the crowds, so while he had the time, he figured he might as well start the calming experience of nicotine now.

“Well of course, you’d have to be crazy to go out into the crowds this close to the holidays to try and shop.” Hakkai responded to him once more, that sass in his voice yet again. Gojyo couldn’t help but laugh this time, shaking his head. “Nevertheless if you ARE rather crazy to go shopping, the least I can do is be there for emotional support.” He finished off saying, giving the red head a pat on the back.

—

It wasn’t long before they were in town, cheeky comments put aside at last and crowds in every direction. Even being on the taller spectrum, it was hard to navigate around everyone and everything with all the decorations, snow piles, tiny children, you name it about, but Gojyo had a mission. Not be a cheap ass for the holidays. That was when it dawned on him though, and he looked to Hakkai who seemed to have that knowing look once again on his face.

“What the hell do I get for everyone? Is that what you were going to say?” Hakkai asked him politely, folding his hands behind his back, which garnered yet another laugh from Gojyo.

“Alright, alright, you got me there. Seriously though, You would think everyone would be easy to work with after knowing them for so long. It just seems kinda like.. Harder I guess to imagine getting specific shit. Also harder to work without a gold card.” Gojyo shrugged, looking in some storefronts and scratched the back of his head.

Hakkai nodded his head in agreement, knowing exactly what he was talking about, but still wanting to genuinely help his friend as best as he could.

“No I understand, don’t worry. Think of it this way, the fact that you��re trying shows you care. I’m here to help though. Let’s see. Maybe a nice mahjong set for Sanzo? I bet he’d appreciate that. Also for Goku?” A brief pause before they both looked at each other and nodded with sage wisdom.

“Food.”

It wasn’t long before Gojyo was going into a nearby shop and reaching for his wallet, paying for Sanzo’s gift before realizing his wallet wasn’t actually there. He made a flustered expression, trying a different pocket, then another, then another, before whipping around and looking all around the ground. An older woman grumbled behind him about him holding up the line, when he politely excused himself and ran back outside to ask Hakkai if he’d seen it. Without even being able to say anything, he turned around and looked at something behind the redhead, pointing slowly.

“Well.. now I have.” He said slowly, before Gojyo immediately turned around to see what he was staring out. Down in the street, barely a foot tall, was a small scrappy dog that was wagging its tail excitedly and holding Gojyo’s wallet in its jaws. His eye twitched as Gojyo leaned down to snatch at the dog, and as if knowing exactly what he was up to, the dog growled and jumped back, throwing its head around as if playing with a toy, and scampered off with the wallet. It was hard for Gojyo to actually register that this was happening, and without even a thought, he just tore after the dog, muttering a curse or two under his breath.

Hakkai couldn’t help but laugh, the cartoon hilarity that was ensuing was just pure genius, and after wiping a tear away from the scenario, he tore after Gojyo and the pooch as well, figuring 4 pairs of legs could hopefully catch up with four very fast paws. Darting off in the direction Gojyo went, and apologizing to the people left in the aftermath of the whole experience.

Over trash cans, darting around corners and walls, Gojyo was doing his best to try and catch up to the mutt, gritting and grinding his teeth as he tried to think of a way to cut the pooch off at some corner. Why the hell would it steal his wallet? Much less HOW did it managed to steal it out of his pocket? Was this some masterful new crime wave he just happened to become privy to in the early stages? So many thoughts raced through his head, but what little cash he had left from winning a few prime poker matches was about to be puppy chow and he was not about to be broke Gojyo this soon in the game.

Running down alleyways, sliding into walls unintentionally, leaping over gross items he would rather not know what they were, Gojyo was getting exhausted. As if the cold air he was breathing in wasn’t bad enough, his knees were taking a beating from this. Probably another sign he was getting old, and as he stopped to pause and catch his breath and his barings, he couldn’t help but give an exasperated breath as he looked up to see Hakkai, standing not too far off and holding the miscreant pup in question and the missing wallet.

“Tell me there’s some secret fairy blood in you when it comes to animals?” Gojyo asked Hakkai, panting and standing up slowly to look at spectacle in front of him.

“It’s just my friendly nature! That’s how I got along so well with you after all.” He chimed in, handing the wallet back to Gojyo.

“Oh haha. Thank you very much.” He said, taking the wallet and counting the cash in it to make sure it was all still there. A bit slobbery, but everything seemed to be in there without a cent missing. He looked at the mutt, sighing as he gently scratched behind its ears, garnering a lick on the hand.

“If Goku wasn’t enough of a handful himself I would say that we could keep the little guy. He’s certainly crafty enough, we could name him Gojyo jr!” Hakkai laughed, holding the dog as carefully as a newborn. Gojyo rolled his eyes, smiling some as he began to walk back to the shops, about ready to finally gather up his gifts and head home.

—

After finally having his shopping bags full and grabbing a bite for him, the pooch and Hakkai to eat, the sun was starting to set and it was becoming clear that the mutt had taken a liking to Gojyo. How, he couldn’t quite figure it out, but what a babe magnet the little guy had been. Maybe he’d have to take tips on how to be that irresistible. As both Gojyo and Hakkai were about to get up and start trying to figure out what to do with the dog, a sudden outcry of joy was heard and a young girl came running over to them in a fit of excitement.

“My baby, oh my gosh you guys found my puppy! I thought he got lost forever, I was getting worried with it getting dark and cold!” She cried out, taking the little guy immediately from Hakkai’s arms and being greeted with a wagging tail and plenty of kisses.

Both boys exchanged looks with each other and gave a little shrug before returning to the young lady, who was wiping away tears of joy and relief. It was obvious that even though the dog had been an absolute nuisance to their plans for the day, the pup was harmless and very clearly an important part in her life.

“Please, I have to thank you both somehow! You should come to my house for a holiday feast! Bring your friends, my family always manages to make a big feast for a lot of the lesser fairing folks in town!” She clapped her hands excitedly as she set the dog down. Both a bit taken back, the boys shared a look, then smiled and turned back to the girl.

“Sure, it would be our honor miss! You can count on us and two others to come along.”

“Yeah, we’ll be sure to bring our appetites.” Gojyo said with a chipper tone, not necessarily revealing just how BIG those appetites could be.

As the girl walked off happily, having left her address and such for them, Hakkai leaned in to quietly speak to Gojyo.

“Admit it, this was probably the best shopping trip you’ve ever had.” He said, nudging his elbow into his ribs some.

“Oh yeah, I love having my wallet stolen and being shown up by a tiny, fluffy little menace. The girl was cute though, think I stand a chance?” He said with a laugh, before pulling his coat a little tighter around his body. For now, he just wanted to go home, bundle up, and maybe break into Sanzo’s new mahjong set before actually giving it to him. Hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

“C’mon Hakkai, let’s walk back to my place and thaw out and maybe toast a couple beers to the end of the shopping epidemic.”

“You took the words out of my mouth Gojyo, let’s go. Also maybe next time I’ll just ask Hakuryu for a quick ride when it’s this bitterly cold out.”

#fanfic #queen-of-onions #gifter: junkerfox #saiyuki secret santa #submission

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thewalkingdeadimaginings · 7 years

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Waiting On You

Hi again, 😊 I think this has been done but could you do a story where Spencer keeps trying to hit on the reader. Until he gets tired of her refusals and gets more aggressive and basically trying to pin her down but Daryl who is her friend/crush saves her.

TRIGGER WARNING: when it comes to anything involving attempting to hurt someone, pin someone down, anything that gets physical in the way it will in this one shot, I feel a trigger warning might be appropriate. Not that I intend to take anything too far, but I know some people can be triggered by stuff like this. So just a head’s up, if assault of any kind is triggering to you, even attempted assault, I’d skip this one.

I’ve been distracted. Now I’m watching American Horror Story on Netflix just because everyone said Freak Show was so good so…it was pretty good. Now I’m watching Asylum and uh…these first few minutes are…interesting. I guess I can’t complain about an Adam Levine sex scene…right? Although the sight of butts makes me giggle so I wasn’t too excited about seeing his butt. I just laughed. And before anyone asks, yes, the sight of Norman’s butt also makes me giggle. I’m not a butt girl if that wasn’t obvious.

Also…why did Asylum use music that was used in Carrie? Was I the only one to notice that or…? Seriously, this music from Carrie seems so out of place in Asylum. I’m referring to the 1976 version by the way haha

BUT ANYWAY, let’s get on with this one shot, shall we?

Finding Alexandria had been a miracle, at least you thought so. Rick thought all these people were fools and didn’t know what they were doing. Daryl acted like a caged animal, refusing to speak to anyone outside the group. You kept close to Daryl as he’d been a bit more unpredictable lately. You knew he could snap at any second. He’d warmed up to you during your time together although you knew in your heart he’d never see you the same way you saw him. He treated you almost like a sister. But you just didn’t seem him like a brother, not even a little bit. Every time he grabbed your arm to lead you away from danger, every time his fingers brushed yours when he handed you something, every time you felt the warmth of his body when he went past you, your heart skipped a beat and you just wanted to grab him and kiss him. It was almost like an addiction. But you were pretty sure that you were hiding your feelings well. They would always be one sided so it was somewhat easy to keep your feelings a secret from him.

“I’m gonna get some supplies from the pantry,” you said, “Feel like we could use a nice dinner after the past few days that we’ve had. What do you think, Daryl?��

Daryl shrugged, “Wouldn’t be a terrible idea I guess.”

“Perfect,” you said, patting his firm arms, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

You headed out, glancing at Daryl once more before you walked out the door. The fact that he would never see you as anything more than a friend broke your heart. You thought for a moment that maybe you should accept it and explore your options, invest your love in someone who would actually return it. But could you ever do that?

As you shut the front door behind you, you noticed Spencer, Deanna’s son walking past the house. He stopped as you walked down your porch steps and he smiled, “Hey, Y/N. How’re you doing this afternoon?”

“I’m doing fine,” you replied. He started walking again once you were beside him, “What’re you up to, Spencer?”

“Nothin’ much,” he said, “Just decided to take a walk. What about you? Where are you headed?”

“I was gonna see what I could scrounge up from the pantry for dinner tonight,” you explained, “Some of my people seem to be struggling to adjust.”

“But you’re not,” Spencer said, “I think that’s great, Y/N. Well, since you’re doing that tonight, what’re your plans tomorrow night?”

“Uh, I’m not sure, why?” you mumbled.

“Maybe you could have dinner at my house instead,” he said, “Get to know each other a little bit better.”

Spencer’s intentions were obvious and it was flattering that he wanted to spend time with you but he wasn’t your type. Sticking with your group seemed like the comfortable option and perhaps you should’ve been willing to move outside of that comfort zone. And you would, just not with him.

“That’s very sweet,” you said, “Maybe some other time. We’re still getting settled around here it’s just not the right time.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped a little even though he was trying to hide the disappointment in his face, “Sure, sure.”

Maybe you hadn’t made your feelings clear enough because even though you were done with the exchange, he still followed you into the pantry, asking what you were thinking of making, showing you different items and making suggestions. And while his interest was nice, it was getting a little annoying. You just wanted to grab what you needed and he was prolonging the process.

He even walked you back to the house, though whatever he was saying to you was being tuned out at this point. Once you were back inside your house, he couldn’t bother you unless he decided to follow you there too.

“Well, this is me,” you said, gesturing to the house, “See you around, Spencer.”

“Maybe I could help you out in the kitchen,” Spencer said before you could even take two steps towards the house, “I always help my mom out when she cooks. Well, I used to before the world went to shit.”

“Right,” you mumbled, “Thank you for the offer, Spencer but I’m totally fine cooking by myself. It relaxes me.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer said.

The front door opened and Daryl stepped out, his brows lowered as he stared Spencer down, “What’s goin’ on out here?”

Spencer took a step away from you, “Just wanted to see if Y/N would need any help in the kitchen.”

“She don’t need your help,” Daryl snapped, “I think you should be headin’ home now. I can help Y/N from here.”

You fought the urge to smile triumphantly as Spencer walked away with his tail between his legs. You hurried into the house, setting your basket of items down on the kitchen counter as Daryl shut the door and followed you into the kitchen.

“You know you don’t have to actually help me,” you said with a warm smile, “That was just to get Spencer to leave, right?”

“Yeah but I figure might as well,” Daryl said, “Make it believable. I get that cooking ‘relaxes you’ and all that but I don’t mind…I dunno…cuttin’ up stuff or something.”

You looked through the basket, your lips pursed in thought. It warmed your heart that Daryl was actually willing to help her and it just made it that much more difficult to even attempt to get over him and move on.

“Let’s see, nothing to really cut,” you mumbled, “But, there’s plenty of other stuff to help me with. Much more exciting than cutting.”

It was so fun spending this time with Daryl. He liked to act as if he didn’t care but he seemed so interested in what you were doing and looked like he was really listening when you walked him through everything. He even helped you serve everyone once dinner was ready. At this point, you could never look at anyone else the same way. Every time you considered moving on, he just dragged you back in.

Spencer pretty much avoided you whenever Daryl was within earshot. When you were alone though, he pestered you every single time. After a while, Spencer started making you really nervous. Your continued rejection started somewhat annoying him, though he still smiled through gritted teeth. And it wasn’t exactly easy to avoid him. The community was small, surrounded by gates. And he knew where you lived.

“You’re sure you don’t need my help on this run?” you said, “I know I’m not much of a tracker but I could always learn, right? You could teach me.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you some other time,” Daryl said, “I won’t be gone more than two days, Y/N. Why’re you worrying?”

“It’s just…Spencer leaves me alone whenever you’re around,” you murmured, “I’d like to be away from him.”

“He put his hands on ya?” Daryl said, instantly tensing up like he was ready to start throwing punches. You were hesitant to answer as it felt that even a no wouldn’t make a difference, “Y/N! Did he?!”

“No!” you retorted, “He’s just getting…impatient I guess you could say.”

Daryl sighed as his body loosened, “Look, I’ll be back in two days, alright? Try not to leave the house too much. I’ll tell Rick and the others to keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you said, your cheeks burning red. Seeing Daryl’s protective side was nice even if it was just him being a friend.

Daryl grunted, “Anyways, I gotta get goin’. You just watch yourself, alright?”

“I will,” you sighed, “You be careful out there too. I want you coming back in one piece, ya hear?”

“Always do,” Daryl replied. You followed him to the front door with his bag in your hand. As he turned and took the bag from you, you grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. Daryl was always quiet, never had much to say. But you’d never seen him at a loss for words before.

“Seriously,” you said, “Be careful.”

“Yeah, I uh…I…I will,” Daryl stuttered, clearing his throat. He adjusted his bag in his hand as he walked out, glancing back at you every now and then until he was completely out of sight. You instantly were filled with regret. You’d made everything weird and uncomfortable, hadn’t you? Daryl would never act the same way around you again, how could you have done something so carelessly?

Daryl promised to be back home in two days but by the fourth day, you were beginning to panic. He had to have gotten lost or hurt. Someone might’ve taken him or even worse, killed him. His body was lying in the middle of the woods somewhere being devoured by walkers. Plus, the longer he was gone, the more comfortable Spencer became approaching you and bothering you. Having the others around didn’t keep him away like you and Daryl had hoped they would.

Near the end of that fourth day, you were trying to distract yourself by reading a book but you found yourself rereading the same sentence over and over again. It was pointless but you forced yourself. If you didn’t, you’d go crazy and start thinking of the worst possible scenarios again and you definitely didn’t want to imagine Daryl dead or badly hurt somewhere.

There was a knock at the door and you were almost relieved. A visitor would surely take your mind off your worries. You opened the door without checking to see who it was, which turned out to be a big mistake. As soon as you opened the door, Spencer shoved his way through and shut the door behind him, leaning against it.

“Hey,” he said, “Wanted to see how you were doing.”

You gripped the back of the couch tightly, “I’ll feel better when Daryl is home.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back?” Spencer said, “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it?”

“It would actually,” you muttered, “Look, I’m not really in the best of moods right now. This isn’t a good time.”

Spencer frowned, “It’s never a good time, Y/N. When will it be a good time for you?”

“When Daryl is home safe and sound,” you snapped.

“He was safe before and it was still a bad time,” Spencer argued, “Why do you even waste your time on that guy? He doesn’t give you the damn time of day and still you ignore the guys that do wanna give you their attention.”

“I’m flattered that you like me,” you said, “Truly, I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to like you back. I just don’t feel that way about you, Spencer. I think…I think you should go. Before one of us says or does something we’ll regret.”

Spencer took a step closer, “You won’t even give me a chance, Y/N. How do you know you don’t like me if you don’t even give it a chance?”

“That would be wasting your time and mine,” you replied, glancing around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There wasn’t anything within reach so if things went south, you’d have to just run, “Wouldn’t you rather find someone that does like you in that way? Now please, just go.”

You tried pushing Spencer away from the door so you could open it but he stopped you by grabbing your arms and holding you close to him, “Why are you always pushing me away, Y/N?! Huh?!”

“Spencer, let me go,” you said firmly, trying to wiggle out of his tight grip. Spencer snarled under his breath as he shoved you to the ground. He pinned your arms down at each side of your head as his body hovered above yours. You couldn’t hide your terror now, trying to catch your breath as you whimpered, “What do you think you’re doing?! Let me go! Please let me go!”

He kissed along your jawline as you trembled underneath him. You couldn’t focus enough to think of a way out of this. Was this all you could do? Just lay there and wait for it to be over? Then what would you do? Would anyone believe you? What would your group do if you told them? Would you be able to take the anguish? Would he even let you live? The anger in Spencer’s eyes was so fiery and frightening, you weren’t sure what he would do next.

“Please,” you squeaked, “Let me go.”

You barely heard the front door open. You had completely zoned out in an attempt to numb yourself from what you feared Spencer would do. You couldn’t see or hear anything else around you. You barely felt Spencer’s weight being thrown off of you. You started slipping back into reality, hearing shouting and crashing from just a few feet away from you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” You knew that voice. Daryl. Daryl was back and he’d come back just in time. He had thrown Spencer into the wall which had knocked over an end table along with the picture frames and vase that sat on top of it. He was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood as he started punching Spencer mercilessly, “Make you feel good to overpower her?! Huh?!”

“Daryl, Daryl, stop,” you said softly. Daryl paused, looking back at you with a look you’d never seen before. He looked almost scared. You reached out and touched his shoulder, “I’m okay now, Daryl. He’s not worth it. Just let him go.”

“Fine,” Daryl scoffed. He helped Spencer onto his feet and shoved him towards the door, “Get the fuck outta here. You ever touch Y/N again and I won’t stop until you’re fucking dead, ya got it? Keep your fucking hands to yourself, you sick fuck.”

Spencer wiped his bloody nose on the back of his hand as he stumbled out, slightly disoriented. He slammed the door behind him as he left and you let out a sigh of relief, “I was so scared there for a second, Daryl. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Daryl said, “I’m fine, just ran a little late that’s all. Did he hurt you at all?”

“Just a life-flashing-before-my-eyes kinda thing,” you said, “But no, he didn’t hurt me. But thank god you came when you did. I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do.”

“Don’t gotta worry about that now,” Daryl said. He grabbed you and pulled you in for a hug. He held onto the back of your head and his facial hair scratched your shoulder, “I got ya, Y/N. I know I fucked up bein’ late but…I’m here now.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” you mumbled, taking in his scent, “I’m just glad you’re back. In one piece like I asked.”

Daryl cracked a smile, pulling back a little to look into your eyes, “You’re a peach.”

“I’m just glad nothing’s changed,” you said, “After I kissed you, I thought…I thought I’d made things weird.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because…I know my feelings are so one sided,” you mumbled, smoothing down the collar of his leather jacket, “But I just…made a bold move I guess.”

“It was ballsy,” Daryl said, “But, you don’t know shit, Y/N. You think your feelings are one sided, but they’re not.”

“What?” you gasped, “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Daryl retorted, “They’re not.”

A smile slowly spread on your lips and you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck, “You…you like me as much as I like you?”

Daryl nodded and you leaned forward, finally bringing your lips to his, the spark feeling almost like it was burning you but it was the best sensation. You’d imagined this scene a million times in your head but it was so much better than you had ever expected. His hands were gripping onto your waist as you held his face in your hands.

Daryl broke the kiss, peeking at you through his thin hair, “Probably like you more.”

“I doubt that,” you said. You pushed his hair away from his eyes and kissed the tip of his nose.

“We can fight all day about that,” Daryl said, “But do you really want to?”

This had all happened so fast, it was making your head spin. Daryl had been sitting on this for four days, not in discomfort, most likely in the same state of shock that you were in right now. Feeling like it was too good to be true. You were so glad that you’d never given up on him, that you stuck by him until this very moment. You didn’t feel so nervous, so afraid anymore. Was shit really falling together?

#The Walking Dead #TWD #Daryl Dixon #The Walking Dead Imagines #TWD Imagines #Daryl Dixon Imagines #TWD Fanfiction #Daryl Dixon Fanfiction #Daryl Dixon one shot #imagines #one shot #fanfiction

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untitledpseudonym · 4 years

Text

The Director’s Cut

“ANNNNND CUT”

A loud click and a gruff voice smelling of smuggled cigars and bourbon fills the set of director Randy McCullahan’s horror film studio.

He steps out of his director’s chair, setting aside his glass of Eagle Rare, and starts walking

to his star. She is currently laying on the ground of the kitchen dining room set, and covered in latex intestines and scarlet red theatrical blood.

“What is it now, Mick?” the beautiful raven actor says, raising her hands up in confusion. Randy ignores her briefly to acknowledge his 7 ft star looming over the annoyed, fakely mutilated actress.

“Chet, just wanna say, you’re doing a great job. Really embodying the killer vibe. Make sure you go back to makeup artists to get your mask refitted, it really seems to be slipping off.” Chet looks at the director, emotionlessly, his Ice blue eyes making it’s way past the thin film that covers the eye holes of his goat mask, piercing the director, and walks away towards the makeup crew.

“Heh, truly a method actor.” he says

“Uh, hello!” says the annoyed, actress. Randy sighs, displeasingly.

“Ah, yes of course. You.” He says pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Whaddya mean me?!” she says standing up. Letting the fake guts and blood spill and drip of her. “That’s just it, Eve! It’s you! You’re not truly terrified. Your performance all day has been absolutely dreadful! You have shown no emotion in your death scene in 60 takes! We’ve burnt through 2 and a half hours of valuable film time just because you choose not to act! Like what am I even paying you for?!” Randy says yelling at her. Eve puts her hands on her hips. “I have given you my all for the entirety of this production! I talked to the other producers and crewmates and they all agree I've done the scene right the first 15 takes AT LEAST!” She spits back. Randy looks back at the crewmates and back at her. “Is that right?” he asks softly. Eve crosses her arms. “That’s right.”

Randy nods and walks over to his director’s chair, softly repeating to himself: “uh-huh, that’s right, huh? Uh-huh, that’s right, huh? Uh-huh, that’s right, huh?” over and over until he gets to his chair and grabs the half drunk glass of Eagle Rare, and launches it, gently grazing the ear of the once righteous, now fearful actress. “This is my fucking set!” Randy bellows. “My fucking production! We will film until you all say your lines in sleep fucking paralysis! I don’t give a fuck how right you think it is, bitch! As long as i’m paying for your shit, you will deliver! Let me reiterate for all of you, since according to your ring leader Eve, you all support her claims.” Randy reaches under his directors chair and pulls out a M1911 pistol and fires off two bullets into the studio warehouses ceiling. Everyone shouts and ducks,some flee the set, clearly afraid of the director’s rant. “AS LONG AS IM PAYING FOR YOUR SHIT, YOU WILL FUCKING DELIVER!.” Randy shots above the petrified chaos he has commenced. He glances over at the terrified faces of his cast and crew and notices chet in the distance standing looking at him, fearlessly. Randy points his gun over at Chet. “See! True fucking actor right there, EVE! Take note.” Randy glances down at his watch and back at the terrified film cast. “Well, Chet earned you all the right to take five. See you all on set soon.” Randy waltzes off the set, but not before giving eve a death stare.

“I fucking hate that creep.” Eve said to her friend Caroline, who was laying across from her on the italian leather couch. “Eh, you get used to it. I mean, hell, I’ve been placed damn near every one of his casts and it’s basically the same song and dance. No matter how hard you try, he will make you repeat takes, Over and over again. You do the same things and he gets the same result. Personally, I think he does it until he gets tired.” She says looking at her. “Don’t let it get to you.”

“That’s the thing Caroline, it does get to me. Everything was the complete opposite since my first day shooting. He was vibrant, likable even, but now he somehow managed to turn not only himself, but the entire cast and crew against me. You’re legit the ONLY one who will talk to me.” Caroline blinks twice and yawns. “Well, I’m not talking to you. I’m your fucking dog, you fool.” Caroline says.

“Oh.” Eve says.

“As the designated therapy dog for everyone in Randy's movies, I’m used to having to listen to my master’s bullshit, over and over again. In the end though, it’s the same result. Always.”

“...What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” Eve said, focusing on removing her makeup in the mirror.

“Oh, haha. Very hilarious. Maybe I should give Kevin Hart a call and tell him he has some new competition.”

“Oh, Puh-Lease, shouldn’t you be sniffing your asshole or something?”

“Well maybe you should--”

A loud knock banged on the trailer door. A deep gruff voice spoke. “Eve Kraken? Are you decent?” the person on the other door said. Another voice spoke a bit more quietly. “Why don’t we just kick that bitches door down. She’s probably busy talking up her next toy for the evening anyways.” Eve gritted her teeth and slammed down the makeup wipes she had in her hand and marched to the door swinging it open with force. It was one of the producers. “Miss Kraken, we need you on set like right now.” Randy stepped in front of the producer. “You stupid fucking bitch.” he said angrily. “You took off your goddamn makeup, didn’t you?”

“Well you said take five, so I was gonna re apply the makeup for the next scene we are gonna do.” she said, honestly.

“The next scene? The next scene. Davis, you hear her? The next scene. Bitch, We are still on the scene that you can’t fucking get right in the first fucking place.” Randy said sternly through closed teeth and clenched fists. “Just put on your fucking makeup and get your tight ass back on set before I give you two black eyeshadows that will take fucking weeks to get off. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His Rum and Cigar breathe spread out on her face like a wave of pure disgust and hatred. She felt numb. All of his words had invoked a certain fear and rage inside her. This wasn’t just today, you see. This was everyday for Eve. She HATED randy. She FEARED Randy. The check she would receive every week for this treatment, seemed not even worth it. She gulped. “Yes, Randy. I'll be on set in five, please just, five.” Randy gruffed and walked away. The producer shuts the door, before briefly saying “Way to go, retard. Now we’ll all pay.” Once she can hear their footsteps fade away from the trailer, Eve screams. A trail of tears drip down her face as she punches her makeup desk over and over under her hands are bruised and bloodied. A small knife rumbles and tumbles off the desk. And onto the floor, making a slight, but noticeable clunking noise onto her hard wood floors. Eve looks down at it and kneels down at the small blade.

“Take it.” Eve looks up at Caroline who was now sitting across from her.

“What?” Eve said.

“Take the fucking knife and kill the fucker.” Caroline said to Eve.

“Your mouth, it’s moving..” Eve said startled.

“I know. Get the knife. Now.”

The knife that once sat between the now talking canine and distressed girl was now neatly tucked in Eve’s hand. It’s settled.

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

“Come in.”

Randy said after three knocks on his office door. He put down his cigar and pencil, drawing his attention away from his notepad to the disheveled Eve. Her knuckles were bloody and bruised. Her eyes were puffy and red from the tears she shedded. She had a knife in her hand.

“The fuck are you doing in here. I told you to get your tight ass on set.”

“Why?” Eve said calmly walking towards his desk.

“Bitch, why? We have a fucking movie to shoot and you can’t get a fucking simple scene right. That’s why. Now get out of my office.”

“Why do you act so cold hearted towards me?”

“What? Listen either get out of my office or I will make you get out.”

“Oh I'd like to see you try.” Eve whips around and shuts and locks the door and slams her bruised hands on his desk.

“Now, tell me now. Before I do something, I am going to regret it.”

“Bitch I don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” Randy sits up staring her dead in the face. “Now, go back on fucking set or so help me g--” Eve’s hand whips up and send her knife straight under the directors chin, slicing his throat. The adrenaline sends her into a fit of rage and she leaps onto his lap over the desk and continues to stab him repeatedly in the shoulders and head, crying and screaming. “IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU”. Eventually she ceases. Now covered in her tormentor's blood, she cries in his lap. She sniffles and starts to walk towards the door. She knows she’s going to jail. She knows that her life is over. But jail is no comparison to the hell she had to endure from him. She notices on Randy’s Desk a yellow notepad with her name etched at the top. The color and font of the blue ink pressed on the pad was old and it cried out to the girl, begging her to read it. Eve wiped her hands on Randy’s pants and picked up the notepad and started reading it’s contents:

EVE

The Art of filmmaking doesn’t oftentimes require the effort put forth upon the actors cast and crew. It’s also the director to get their actors to put in their best efforts. Eve was my ultimate test to this new philosophy I created. I didn’t pick her for her acting talent alone, no. I picked her because she grew up well. Two loving parents, upper-middle class lifestyle in Los Angeles, plenty of friends etc. Knowing this and her talent in horror movies, I understand that there may be a grey area when it comes to achieving true fear and paranoia and capturing it on film. So, much rather than encouraging her to undergo method acting, I am going to be doing a little bit of acting myself. I must belittle, hurt, bully, and cut her down to my best of efforts. She will HATE me. This however will develop a true sense of fear. She will no longer be acting because chet is chasing her character. She will be acting because she will be in fear of me causing more harm to her. This publication will be proof to other directors to follow my footsteps to really push their actors to their limits. I will continually be posting updates on this project of mine during my time filming my horror film.

Eve covered her mouth in shock. He wasn’t the villain in this story. He just wanted a genuine reaction out of her. To capture a real piece of human terror on film. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know what to do. She teared up as she began to tremble in fear. Her eyes darted back and forth between Randy’s corpse and the Notepad. She just killed a man. The blood was on her hands. There are knocks on the door. Fuck, What should she do. She can’t run. The office is blocked off. They’re calling for Randy. Shit, Shit, SHIT. She’s trapped. This is her first of many cells. Her room to sit in her regret before the mental regret of her actions. The door is barged in and Chet walks in still in his killer costume. He glances over at the body and over at her.

Motionlessly looks at her.

It’s all over for her.

“AAAANNNNNNNNNNND CUT”

“Eve that was fantastic work, your reaction was fucking perfect.” Said the director.

Eve helped up Randy, who had trouble getting up after she sat on his lap.

“Do we have to do that again, since it was perfect?” Randy said whinyily

“Unfortunately yes. Over and Over again.”

#Short #Horror #gore #october #inktober #Film #Director #Wattpad #Fear #Psychological horror #short horror stories

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monomas-a-smug-bih · 7 years

Note

for the villain deku part two ill list some quirks for the reader speed teleport telekinesis summoning anything they can imagine those are just a few the summing one is my favorite but what do you think?

Tumblr took out all the times I pressed return so I’ll fix it later

You mind was a dark hole of nothingness. Until a small light caught your attention, you walked towards it. “Kacchan! Stop it… y-you’re hurting him!” The green haired boy squeaked, standing in front of the victim despite his shaky, tiny body’s cries. The bullies laughed, explosions popping in Bakugous small palms. The rest of the dialogue was hard to understand, you came closer for a better look at the memory. Soon enough, your past self’s tiny legs kicked off of the park bench and came to his rescue. The emerald eyed boy’s face was horrified, you were going up against Bakugou, the older kid sent a big explosion your way. Terrified when you disappeared, no where among the excess smoke, he stumbled back. “Kacchan! Stop!” A little girl sent a flying punch to the back of the explosive boy’s head, reforming from smoke behind him, finally saving the day when she grabbed Izuku's hand to flee.You grinned, wishing you could just go back. You were giving him a hug and telling him to stop apologizing for being so weak. “Haha. Don’t be silly, silly! ‘That’s what friends are for!” Your eyes started to blink open.

—

You were hoping it was a dream. Praying you wouldn’t have to wake up to the disaster that had occurred. You opened your tired eyes. Well, on the bright side, you weren’t completely wrong. You had no clue of where you were. Expecting to wake up somewhere with at least decent lighting, maybe even the infirmary if you were lucky. Nope, definitely not. You started to panic, and reached out a hand to bring it up to near your face. You’d always twirled your hair as a way to calm yourself as a little girl, may as well give it a try, right. But your hand never made it to your hair, not even close. You tried again, it was no use. Whatever they’d bound your hands with was some kind of rope, not quite though…. and it was, damp? ‘That’s odd.’ you thought, being desperate, just for a way to stray your thoughts away from the crazy situation you were in. Otherwise you’d start REALLY panicking, for sure. Your thoughts were interrupted by a feeling of the scary presence behind you. You were ashamed to admit it, but you winced, squeezing your eyes tight, sending tension to varoius muscles of yours.‘Gee, what a hero.’ Sub-consciousness scolded you, quickly, you redeemed yourself, whipping your head around bravely. Just to meet those striking emerald eyes once again, stripping that short-lived feeling of redemption away from you immediately.He noticed your cautiousness, backing off a bit, then started to state the obvious. “There’s a couch right there you know.” He tilted his head, pointing towards the furniture, his casual attitude failed to defuse the situation though. You were sitting on the floor, tempted but not motivated to make any moves. You could probably dissipate into nothingness anytime you wanted to escape, so what’s the rush.The midst of battle wasn’t the best time for a conversation, maybe now you’d get a chance to chat, maybe even convert him to your side. You crossed your legs, glaring into his green orbs as an attempt of intimidation. You weren’t any less hurt than before, but some of that emotion overlapped with your curiosity. What did they do to him? How could such a generous, and heroic person suddenly be molded into the boy in front of you. You stood up.“Why are you doing this,” you bit your lip, he transferred some of his weight to the wall behind him, and quit fiddling with his jet black glove. He raised a brow and sighed, the emeralds in his eyes rolling and landing of you again. Was he giving you…. attitude? You’d never had to deal with him like this. You growled, taking a stomp forward, catching the smirk on his face, and sudden excitement dancing in his eyes. “You. You-” already stumbling over your words, sadly the door he must’ve entered from was swung open. Some playful looking girl with two blonde buns bouncily walked through the doorway,“Deku Deku Dekuuuuu! What in the world are you doing?” Her mischevious aura had a sociopathic odour to it, it frightened you. She stepped in further, tilting her head and dramatic gasped, smacking her hands to her cheeks.“Oh my! Izuku! Who is…. this?” She questioned, on paper the phrase is a greeting, but her tone made it sound more like a threat. Jealously was practically drippng from the last sentence, she’s only been here for seconds and something about her wasn’t sitting right with you at all. Then your eyes darted over to her right hand, she reached behind her to draw a weapon of some kind, you instinctively backed up, gaining space for your quirk. Gritting your teeth, you attempted your quirk, the light made the knife in her fingers glisten, she walked towards you pace quickening with each step. She giggled and then laughed harshly, then you realized something.Your quirk wasn’t working. You heart began beating out of your chest, breath quickening. Your keen ears heard your hands sizzle in defeat behind you. You couldn’t transform because your makeshift hand-cuffs were drenched! This is bad, every attempt had failed, smoke of your hands evaporating much too fast for proper use thanks to the liquid. Your back hit the wall before you even knew you’d been walking, sweat dripping off your fore-head, the girl with murderous intentions was grinning in your face now, flashing her pearly white canines at you.You hear a knife clatter onto the floor, your mind was blank. Before you’d even noticed him lean off of the wall, he was gripping the annoying the villains wrist. You backed off of the wall, getting a better look at the scene. She tore her her wrist away from him aggressively, it looked like that’d leave a bruise. “Man, Zuku-kunnn, don’t grip so hard.” she turned around and whined, Izuku narrowed his eyes.“That pathetic hero better not be your girlfriend.” She picked up the knife, her tongue lining the blade. “She definitely won’t last as long 'here’ that wayyy.” She glanced back at us, and continued to walk out of the room. Leaving you two shell shocked. 'Was she just flirting?’ You sure hoped so, or she really REALLY wanted you dead. You gulped, sighed, and hesistantly plopped down on the creaking sofa. This place obviously isn’t a safe one, you wanted to know where the exit was, you guessed there was plenty more villains though. Unless that 'was’ his girlfriend…. you blinked, snapping yourself out of the stupid dilemma of jealously building up inside you. 'Who cares.’“Man, she was-….lovely.” You swallowed your anger, try to get an awkward conversation going. Awkward or not you wanted answers. You wanted to get him out of this. You wanted to leave together. You wanted-He scoffed, his expression seemed depressed, underneath the crossed arms and intimidating look. “M-Mind untying me?” He exhaled, looking to the side. Leaving the silence to fill the space between you two. It was your turn to sigh, “I’ll take that as a yes.” You voice was cracking, he hated how such a pretty voice, could hurt him so bad. You were breaking right in front of him. His face stayed aloof to the silent air, he approached you and gently grabbed your chin, faces only centimetres apart.“If I wanted to untie you I wouldn’t of done that in this first place.” He backed off turning away from you, his eyes travelled to your wrists. “Then why? Why’d you do it in the first place.” You sat up, determined, and narrowing your eyes. “Tell me exactly why you left everyone, All Might even.” You bit down onto your to tongue, tears daring to fall down your face. He couldn’t quite tell why, but his chest was aching, looking at your pitiful expression was making him…soft.“Tying me up, and stabbing me in the back." your dry, humorless laugh shocked him. “Silly me, 'that’s what friends are for.’ R-right?" The phrase itself caught him off guard, it was contradicting own it's own. He'd sworn he’d heard it before. A glistening tear slipped from your eye, and he wanted nothing more than to hold you. What was wrong with him? He was considering leaving you in the rubble, beside your friend and teacher. He was guilty enough, yearning to just leave. He couldn't get your expression out of his head. Unfortunately for you, Toga saw you two fighting, and decided you shouldn’t be left in 'one’ piece. Then Tomura Shigaraki butted in, and said he had better plans for you, along with stating you were a wittiness. This was the best option.He frowned, and trudged over to you, slowly untying your bounded wrists, and hovering his head over your shoulder almost to comfort you. To your surprise the rope dropped to the floor. “H-huh?” Slowly but surely, arms snaked around you waist, he brought you closer to him. “Join me.” It came out like an order, but the weird tint in his voice made you know he was pleading you. That’s the sad part, the sincerity in his voice was so enduring to you. He jumped, startled when you’d returned the hug, you guess, villains weren’t very used to getting any sort of affection. You shook you head in his shoulder, and stood up from the sofa he’d been hunching over for you. His curls tickled your neck.“Since when was being a 'hero’ so important to you anyways.?” “Since you’d given up on being one.” He squeezed tighter, that was the truth, you’d never wanted to be any kind of flashy. But for him, it had been everything at the time. “Come with me, please. Come home already.” Your arms shake once again under his secure stronger ones. You knew he’d been bad for a few years, but maybe he still had a chance. A fresh start, maybe for the both of you.“I can’t, just like you can’t, I don’t really have the option.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck. This worried you, they could’ve tortured him over the years, brainwashed him, or maybe just persuaded or tricked him. But judging from how tight he was holding right now, you guessed neither of you would be letting go anytime soon.

There this got way too long, sorry if the ends shitty but as always enjoy….

#villain deku #bnha #bakugou #izuku #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #Bakugou Katsuki

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sage-nebula · 7 years

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tailsimp replied to your post: Mystic Messenger - Entry Nine

I love your versionof MC so much i would kill to have a character like this in a dating sim.

Ahhh, thank you!! This makes me feel a lot less self-conscious about adding that little bit in, haha. To be honest, I was kicking around ideas earlier of kind of novelizing Seven’s route, and really fleshing out MC into her own character with her own backstory, et cetera---but I don’t know if that would be something people would be interested in, if people would even want to read that, since MC is technically an OC and all . . . but this is encouraging, thank you!

If you’re interested, I also imagined a little scene like this playing out at some point during the Days of Silence™ part of the time they lived together, probably a bit earlier on (and as a note to those not familiar, my MC is MC4, and Pepero is the Korean equivalent of Pocky---though since this is Mystic Messenger, I’ll be calling it Bebero =P):

“What are you doing?”

It was the first thing Seven had said to her all day, and MC paused in the middle of tugging her left shoe on to look over at him. He was staring at her, but that wasn’t exactly right. It was more like he was glaring at her, and as nice as it was that he had finally looked up from his laptop screen, she couldn’t say the fact that he was glaring made her feel warm or fuzzy. She pulled her shoe on the rest of the way, and then put her foot on the wall so she could tie the laces. (That was the worst part about chucks, really; you could never just slip them on, you had to untie and retie them each and every time.)

“Going to the convenience mart,” she said, looping her laces before she yanked them secure. “We’re out of soda and I want some. Want anything?”

“You can’t do that,” Seven said. MC glanced over at him before she reached for her other shoe, and his volume kicked up just a notch as he snapped, “I’m still gathering information---I haven’t even begun the process of neutralizing the threat. It’s too dangerous out there. You can’t leave the apartment.”

MC fought the urge to roll her eyes, but she flashed him a small smirk as she finished tying her other shoe.

“It’s 12:30 in the afternoon,” she said. “What, you think Saeran’s going to jump me in broad daylight? He’d be more than a little noticeable, don’t you think?”

“Saeran isn’t working alone. He’s part of a larger organization---Mint Eye,” Seven said. His voice choked a little over Saeran’s name, and MC’s heart squeezed. “And whether he’s noticeable or not doesn’t matter. He’s clearly capable of a lot now. Maybe more than we know.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, and MC squeezed the edge of her jeans to stop herself from crossing the room to offer him a hug. Judging from what he said the night before, he wouldn’t want it. “Seven . . .”

“Until the situation is stabilized, you can’t leave the apartment. You’re far safer in here than you are out there, and we can’t take the risk of something happening to you just because you wanted a soda.” The hard edge was back in Seven’s voice, all traces of vulnerability gone. The stare he fixed on her was no less piercing. “So take off your shoes. You can’t leave.”

As bad as she felt about what he was currently going through---as much as she wished she could do something to nullify the stress and pain he was feeling---MC couldn’t help but grit her teeth in response to his word choice and tone.

“Okay, as much as I appreciate everything you have done---and are doing---for me, I really don’t respond well to orders, so I’d appreciate it just as much if you didn’t give them,” she said. “You can ask me to do things, and we can discuss them, but don’t just tell me what to do.”

Seven huffed a sharp, irritated sigh, and smacked his hand against his leg. “Look. Your life is in danger. And I know that’s my fault, and I know this apartment doesn’t feel like the safest place because of the bomb---”

MC rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about the bomb---”

“---but if you go out there right now, anything could happen. Anyone could hurt you. The agency, Mint Eye---and I can’t . . .” Seven yanked on his headphone wire before he bit out, “It’s bad enough that you’re in the danger you’re in right now. The thought of something actually happening to you because of something as stupid as a soda is just . . .”

MC sighed, and let the tension leave her shoulders. “Okay, then let’s try to come up with a compromise,” she said. He glanced back at her, eyes wary behind his glasses, and she gestured toward the door with both arms as she said, “Why don’t you come with me? We can both go down to the convenience mart, I can get my soda and maybe a snack, and then we can come back. We’ll be together the whole time. You’ll keep me safe.”

Seven paused in the process of giving his headphone wire another sharp tug, his eyes wide, but then he pressed his lips together in a tight line and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I have too much work to do. You know that.”

“Okay,” MC said again. “Then you stay here, and I’ll go.”

Seven’s glare was fierce, and there was a growl in his voice as he said, “Have you been listening to a word I’ve been---?!”

He cut himself off abruptly when MC pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and held it up for him to see. Her eyes never leaving his face, MC swiped her thumb across her phone’s screen to unlock it, opened her call history, and tapped his name. It only took a moment for Seven’s phone to start ringing, blaring a fast-paced theme (bebop, it sounded like) from his jacket pocket, and he furrowed his brow in confusion as he fished it out.

MC bit back a smile. He looked so cute when he was confused.

Seven cast another look her way, and when she gave him an encouraging nod, he answered it. The call now connected, MC held her own up to her ear.

“We’ll stay on the line the whole time,” she said. “The convenience mart is seriously right down the street---you can see it from the bottom of the stairs---so if I run into trouble, you’ll know immediately, and the Defender of Justice 707 can come dashing to my rescue. Okay? Does that sound fair?” He opened his mouth, and she held up one finger to silence him as she added, “This is the last deal you’re going to get before I go with my original plan of just leaving on my own, so be aware of that.”

He glowered at her, seemingly too frustrated to speak for a moment, before he said, “You’re stupidly careless with your own life, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking,” MC shot back. This did nothing to ease the frustration in his expression, but she thought his forehead creased a little more with renewed confusion, and this time she couldn’t keep her smile at bay. “Well? Sound like a good deal?”

“. . . Fine,” he said at last. “But make sure to keep it connected the whole time. If you hang up for even a second, I’m coming to find you.”

“Maybe I’ll hang up on purpose, then,” MC said, but when his lips didn’t so much as twitch out of his frown, she lifted her other hand in a placating gesture. “Relax, relax, it was a joke. I’ll be right back.”

“Mmhm.” Seven looked back at his computer, but MC paused in the doorway long enough to see that he hadn’t resumed typing, and his eyes seemed to be glued to one spot on the screen. His phone sat on his knee, right next to his left hand, and it was with a little smile that she stepped through the doorway and started toward the stairs.

The convenience mart was less than a five minute walk from the apartment, and as she had told him, the sun was bright and high in the sky. There wasn’t a hacker or secret agent in sight (though MC supposed secret agents were probably good at staying out of sight), and she made it to the mart with no trouble at all. She considered saying something to him, to try and have a light conversation over the phone as she walked; but then she had remembered that he had left his phone on his knee, and figured that he had probably done that intentionally. It was a sign. He would be near enough to hear if something happened, but still too far away to talk. There was no change from the previous night.

The mart was nearly empty when she walked in, save for the now-familiar face of the clerk behind the counter. He smiled at her as she entered, and she lifted her hand in a wave.

“Back again, huh?” he said. “It’s only been a few days, and yet I feel like I’ve seen you so many times we’re practically old friends.”

“Yup,” she said, very conscious of the phone in her hand. She glanced at the screen, saw that the call was still connected, and bit the inside of her lip as she wondered what Seven thought about what he was overhearing. Probably he wouldn’t care since the convenience mart clerk wasn’t a hacker or secret agent, but . . . well. She still wondered.

“Back for your usual?” the clerk asked, oblivious to her preoccupation. MC let her arm drop back to her side and forced a little grin. He was a nice enough guy, probably living a normal enough life; there was no need to drag him into the world of drama she’d found herself in. “We actually just got a fresh stock of Bebero in last night. I thought of you when I was unpacking it.”

“That’s sweet,” MC said, mostly because it was easier to say “sweet” than it was to say “strange” in situations like these. She had Seven on the call for his own comfort, not because she wanted to accidentally create a situation where she actually needed him to come to the rescue.

“Aw, it’s nothing,” the clerk said, and he blushed a little as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Anyway, they’re over at the candy section if you wanna grab ‘em.”

“Thanks.”

She hit the soda coolers first, and paused for only a second after grabbing her one-liter of Ph.D Pepper to grab a second for Seven. That they had the same favorite soda was coincidence, but it was one that had made her grin like an idiot when she found out anyway. It was just soda, and there were plenty of people who liked Ph.D Pepper---but still, it was nice that they had something like that in common. It was just another way in which they clicked so well.

Well, she thought so, anyway.

She tucked both bottles in the crook of her arm before she kicked the door shut and swung by the candy aisle. Just as the clerk had predicted she would, she swiped up three boxes of dark chocolate Bebero before she headed up to the counter, and spread out her haul on top.

The clerk grinned at her. “Stocking up?”

MC smiled back, and shrugged. “Something like that.”

The clerk laughed a little to himself before he began scanning her items, and it was as he was reaching for the second bottle of Ph.D Pepper that something occurred to her. She glanced at her phone. It was risky---he might notice even if he didn’t have the phone against his ear, and she might have to deal with him kicking down the door of the convenience mart to make sure she hadn’t been spontaneously murdered by a secret agent if he did, but if it was necessary to keep the surprise . . .

She pressed her lips together, hesitating for only a second more before she swiped her thumb across the Mute button.

“Hey,” she said, and when the clerk looked up at her asked, “you wouldn’t happen to have any Honey Buddha Chips in stock, would you?”

He blinked, and then huffed a surprised laugh. “Actually, for the first time in months, yes,” he said, and MC’s heart lifted. “It’s strange; we haven’t been able to get a hold of them for ages, almost as if someone bought out the entire warehouse. But we just got some in last night. Want me to grab you some? How many?”

She wondered briefly if she should tell him how close he was with his guess that someone had bought out the warehouse (and that the someone who hadn’t bought out the warehouse, but rather had been paid with it, was currently back at her temporary apartment) before she decided against it. “Four bags, please,” she said. Three for Seven, and potentially one for her. She had never had them before, but after hearing Seven and Yoosung gush about them, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious.

The clerk slipped out from behind the counter to go grab them, and as he did, MC unmuted her phone and brought it up to her ear just in time to hear Seven (his voice frantic) say, “MC? MC! Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she said, and nodded to the clerk as he began to scan the items. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wad of cash to pay him (she was running low on cash; she’d have to buy fewer boxes of Bebero next time, given how expensive they were, but they were such a guilty pleasure), thumbing out the bills as she said, “Sorry, I accidentally hit Mute.”

Seven sighed on the other end of the line, and maybe it was her bias, but she thought he sounded more relieved than irritated. “Be more careful next time, all right? I thought something had happened.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said. The clerk scooped her items into a double-bag, and she gave him a grateful smile and another small wave as she took it and exited the mart. Seven didn’t say anything else, but then, she didn’t expect him to. If it wasn’t about her safety, he didn’t seem inclined to say very much.

The walk back to the apartment was as uneventful as the walk from it had been. Seven didn’t look up from his computer when she re-entered the apartment, but she saw him reach over and disconnect their call. Well, that was fine; it had only been a compromise to make him feel better, and it wasn’t as if they had been talking anyway. MC slid her own phone back into her pocket, even though she knew she was going to have it out again in the next five minutes to see if any of the other RFA members were in the chat.

Seven didn’t so much as breathe in her direction to acknowledge her as she locked the door behind her, kicked her shoes off on the mat by the door, or carried the convenience mart bag into the kitchen. Neither of them said a word as she stacked her Bebero boxes on the counter next to two of the bags of Honey Buddha Chips, or as she carried her own bottle of Ph.D Pepper and bag of Honey Buddha Chips to the couch, setting them both on the coffee table. In fact, Seven didn’t look up at all until she walked over to him, and even then, it was only after she set his liter of Ph.D Pepper on the side of his laptop, and propped his bag of Honey Buddha Chips up against it. He glanced first at the snacks before he looked up at her, his eyes wide and, for once, unguarded.

His eyes were so pretty when he wasn’t trying to be cold.

“Thought you could use something to eat,” MC said lightly. “You didn’t eat dinner last night, and I haven’t seen you eat anything yet today, either. We don’t have much here, but I figured those might tide you over. You always seemed to like them, anyway.”

Seven stared at her for another long second before he looked back at the snacks, and furrowed his brow as he brushed his fingers against the Honey Buddha Chips bag.

“How’d you get them?” he asked. “I thought none of the stores were selling them since I . . .”

“Looks like the Honey Buddha Chips drought has ended,” MC said, grinning. “The convenience mart clerk said they just got a shipment in last night. Yoosung’ll probably be pretty happy whenever he finds out.”

“You’re not going to tell him?”

“Nah. Let ‘em stew on it a little longer.”

The ghost of a smile graced Seven’s lips, but then he swallowed hard and looked back at his computer. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now,” he said. “You didn’t have to spend your money.”

MC bit back a sigh. “It’s not about what I had to do, but about what I felt like doing,” she said. “But anyway, there are two more bags of Honey Buddha Chips in the kitchen for whenever you want them.”

Seven didn’t say anything, once again shutting her out. MC tried to ignore the awkward feeling that had settled between her shoulder blades as she walked over to the couch, and let herself flop back on the cushions. After a moment of relishing in how comfortable the couch was (whatever else could be said about Rika, she had good taste in furniture), she pulled out her phone to check the RFA guest e-mails, just in case any potential guests had replied. She opened up a new one with a Culture Club that Jumin and Jaehee had suggested, and was tapping her nail against her phone as she tried to think of a reply when she heard the sound of a chip bag opening from the other side of the room, followed shortly by the sound of a soda cap unscrewing, and the faint hiss of carbonation leaving a bottle.

MC smiled.

#tailsimp #fic fix #mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #mc4 #mcseven #i like to imagine this happened even if canon says it didn't #during those rough few days when communication was so difficult . . . i like to imagine a little something like this #something that feels a little more human and natural than the (tbh cliche) scenes we got instead #(like i love this game but they were straight out of a shoujo manga at times lbr)#(and a character like seven deserves better)#choi saeyoung #god seven #mm MC

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solosorca · 7 years

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Vampire au, chapter 18

Previous chapter

The world needs more Pillar Pair.... not that this has any in haha

"What the hell?" He snapped as he tried to get out of the vice like grip. "Who the hell are you?!" He didn't get a reply and one of his cakes dropped from the plate as he thrashed particularly violently to no avail. He was pulled out into the chilly night air and then freed. He spun around, ready to give whichever vampire it was a piece of his mind. It wasn't a vampire. It was Princess Tomoka. "What was that for?!" Ryoma asked, glaring at her. "We need to talk," Tomoka replied. "You could have just asked me," Ryoma grumbled, walking over to the edge of the balcony and leaning against the ornate railing. "What do you want?" "We're supposed to be getting married," Tomoka said, joining Ryoma at the railing, "we should get to know each other." "Did your grandmother put you up to this?" Ryoma asked, taking a bite of chocolate cake. "She told me to speak to you." "Look, there is no way I'm marrying you," Ryoma told her flatly, "I'm already in love with someone else." "And you think I'm not?" Tomoka answered, bristling slightly. "I don't want to do this either!" She looked down at the floor, angry tears in her eyes, "I have to do what my country expects me to," she said through gritted teeth, "it's my duty and your's too! You have a duty to your country!" Anger flared up inside Ryoma, how dare she say that! "My country celebrated my parent's death! They took everything away from me! I have no duty to them!" "So you're going to go slinking back to your captors." "No, I'm going to go back to the man I love." "He's a vampire!" Ryoma was getting sick of this. "Yes, he is a vampire and he's a thousand times better than any human I've ever met." "My father will go to war if you don't marry me. Thousands of people will die. So will your beloved vampires," Tomoka spat. "Why? Why would he go to war? What on earth will your father gain from me marrying you? A political allegiance? There are plenty of ways of doing that without marriage! My country is more than happy to make ties with yours, so why the big deal about us marrying?" "I-I," Tomoka spluttered indignantly. "There's something else, isn't there?" Ryoma asked. To his surprise, Tomoka didn't kick up a fuss, she just looked thoughtful. "There isn't any reason for us to marry," she said finally. "There isn't," Ryoma agreed, “so why the insistence that we marry?” Tomoka leaned back against the railing and looked up at the starry sky, “It has to be something about you.” Ryoma nodded and tried to think what was so special about himself. He was the legitimate heir to the throne of Ensinkil, but as he’d said, there were far better ways of creating a political alliance. “They probably just want me out the way,” he said, thinking aloud, “at least on my country's side. They’re broke and your country is rich, I know they sold me to you. It’s easy to see why my country wants me to marry you. Why yours wants it is a mystery though.” Tomoka shrugged, “I have no idea. I was just told that I should marry you, after all, Granny has been planning the match since we were born.” “I know,” Ryoma grumbled. His own parents hadn’t groomed him for marriage and, he was sure, would have allowed him to marry whomever he wanted. But Tomoka’s grandmother had visited multiple times and anytime she saw Ryoma had unsubtly hinted towards her matrimonial intentions for him. “What would you have done had you not been kidnapped by vampires?” “I wasn’t kidnapped!” Ryoma snapped, “they helped me!” “Fine. But would you have married me?” “God no!,” Ryoma replied, “I was going to run away and find a life for myself.” It had sounded so easy in the car, so easy to say it now, to leave and find a new life. He wondered if he could have actually done it. “That sounds mature,” Tomoka snorted, “shirking your responsibilities.” Ryoma shrugged, “I don’t care. And don’t start yelling at me, I have my reasons. What matters right now is that we’re agreed that we’re not going to get married.” Tomoka nodded and sighed, “Hopefully as this will be sorted soon and we can go back to our own lives.” Ryoma offered her his plate, “cake?” She smiled and took a small sponge cake with a strawberry on top, “thank you. I’m not allowed to eat cake.” “My mother had to drag me away from the cake during parties like this when I was younger,” Ryoma admitted, “I used to sneak back after I’d gone to bed and hide under the buffet table.” Tomoka laughed, “I always dragged Sakuno with me and we would fall asleep under it and only be found once the party was over.” “Did you grow up with her?” “Yes, She’s my lady-in-waiting technically, but she’s always been my best friend.” “You love her?” Ryoma asked, shoving some chocolate cake into his mouth. Tomoka puffed out her cheeks, “it’s that obvious?” “It’s just the way you talk about her,” Ryoma shrugged, His eyes caught movement at the door and he looked up to see Sakuno. Speak of the devil, he thought. “Your Grandmother wants to see you,” She said, her eyes darting warily to Ryoma. Tomoka sighed, “okay,” she turned to Ryoma, “thanks for the cake.” “See you around,” Ryoma said as she left and then turned around to gaze out of the grounds, picking at his plate of food. Would it have been so bad to marry her? He supposed they’d both just sleep with other people and only be together in public. It would be a lie, but at least they’d both be living the lie together. He’d much rather be with Tezuka. The thought of Tezuka, of his Tezuka, made him feel happy and he smiled to himself. He wouldn’t be living a lie once he got back home, he would be happy. Absent-mindedly, he pulled the small bottle of Tezuka's blood out of his pocket, it was nice to have a part of Tezuka with him, even if it was blood. He supposed he should go back to the party, but it was cool and peaceful on the balcony and all that was waiting for him inside were simpering girls and being teased by vampires. The chatter and music floating through the doors was anything but enticing. He wondered if he could sneak out and go to bed, but someone would inevitably catch him before he could. The bottle slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. Ryoma’s heart was in his mouth as he watched it hit the stone floor and didn’t break. He breathed a sigh of relief and bent down to pick it up. Just as his fingers closed around it, pain exploded in his arm.

#tenipuri #prince of tennis #echizen ryoma #pillar pair #tezuka kunimitsu #orca writes fanfic

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coldphoenix · 7 years

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Vegeta/Bulma Oneshot: Goodnight Sweetheart

Author’s Note:- I posted this on ff.net a couple of years ago, and this song came on my ipod today which made me remember this fic, so I decided to put it up here. I edited it a little because I thought Vegeta wasn’t tough enough in the original… I’m still not totally happy that I got his character right, but this was the best I could do without rewriting the whole thing. Anyway… I always thought this was a sweet little fic either way, even if it is sad. Hope you all like it :) And I promise to upload something happier soon!

XXXXX

It was the early hours of the morning and Vegeta was sat beside a hospital bed, as he had been for days. He had come and gone every so often, for food and whatever ridiculous trivial things she asked him to pick up for her. Magazines, crosswords… chocolate. Even in her weakened state she could think of plenty of things for him to do; her mind hadn’t gone at all… It was a shame that her body was letting her down more and more with every day that passed. All Vegeta could do was sit back and watch his wife weaken before his very eyes. Even the great empire that was Capsule Corps couldn’t buy Bulma an extension on her life. She refused to use the dragonballs; she didn’t want to be artificially restored to her youth. She was happy enough to be hooked up to machines – or at least she had been. Now she had even grown tired of that. She said she was old enough, that she had done everything she wanted to do with her life. She was a grandmother and happy – apparently, that was all she needed. It was ridiculous. She had reached a good age, she said. Ninety six. By human standards it was good, Vegeta had to admit. Humans rarely even made it to a century, and if they did it was in a care home without even their own mind for company. At least Bulma had her mind. She was here, in a private hospital room… driving him insane. “You will invite Goku over for Christmas, won’t you?” Bulma nagged. “Yes.” Vegeta answered through gritted teeth. God, couldn’t her medication make her talk less?

Bulma looked at Vegeta sternly, a very prominent frown breaking through the wrinkles on her face. “I mean it. I’ll know if you don’t.” “He’s been coming for years!” Vegeta snarled. “And his family! Eating us into poverty.” His fist clenched when Bulma started to laugh. It wasn’t funny! Vegeta was furious with her until he noticed just how difficult laughing seemed to be for her. She was holding herself back, afraid to move too much because it hurt… He sighed. “You need a stronger dose.” “If they up my meds any more I’ll die.” Bulma answered. She looked at him. “And that’s not until later.” “… Right.” Vegeta mumbled, reminded of the reality that was today. This was it… This was the last day Bulma would be alive. She had taken it upon herself to end her own life. She said she couldn’t stand the pain anymore. She was on the strongest painkillers in the world and she was still in agony. It hurt to laugh; it hurt to move; it hurt to sleep… She couldn’t get comfortable no matter what she tried, and it would only get worse… So she had asked the hospital to help her. They had agreed – because she was of sound mind was their official reason… nothing to do with the fact that Capsule Corps had donated thousands to them, and they were terrified of refusing her request in case they lost the money. Spineless cowards. Vegeta thought it was pathetic – and he thought she was stupid. She had spent the afternoon saying goodbye to her friends and family, all of them begging her to reconsider… But she was stubborn, and she didn’t listen. They said she was like Vegeta in that respect. Well, maybe she was. She was choosing to die now, on her terms, when she still had her pride and dignity… It wasn’t the worst way to go. Vegeta had come to terms with that. Now it was just a case of waiting for her. Bulma and Vegeta were alone together in the early hours on the morning, with a lethal dose of medication hooked up to Bulma and ready to go whenever she wanted… All she had to do was take her own life.

Bulma rested her head against her pillow, frowning as she failed to get comfortable. “What’s it like, then?” She asked. “Dying?” “You’ll find out, won’t you.” Vegeta growled, uncomfortable with the question. “It’s not fun, Bulma.” “Really?” Bulma smirked slightly, her eyes closed. “Well… you’re not a season ticket holder like Goku. One more death and he gets a VIP seat, right?” “Hah.” Vegeta sniggered. “I’ll help him with that.” Bulma smiled and opened her eyes to look at Vegeta. “… You’ll take care of him for me, won’t you?” “For God’s sake Bulma, he’s not a puppy!” Vegeta scolded. “I know… but he’s not the same. Not since Chichi…” Bulma sighed. “You won’t be like that, will you?” She looked at him, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “You’ll… be okay without me?” “Well I was for years.” Vegeta answered.

Bulma smiled again, and looked away. “Good…” She said softly. That was the best answer she could hope for. It meant so many things, exactly what he said and everything he didn’t… All she needed to know what that he would be okay. “I want some music.” “It’s three in the morning.” Vegeta replied. “So? I don’t have to get up tomorrow.” Bulma looked at him. “Could you?”

Vegeta paused, and then sighed, reluctantly turning on the radio that sat on her bedside table. He scrolled through the channels; it was mostly shit. Of course it was. Who was listening to the radio at this time? Night workers and stoners. “Here.” Bulma stopped him, and looked at Vegeta. “Leave this on.” “Really?” Vegeta looked at her. “I like it.” Bulma growled.

Vegeta let out another impatient sigh, and took his hand away from the radio. “It’s crap, Bulma…” “Get the hell over it.” She closed her eyes and listened peacefully to the song on the radio.

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Do-do-do-do-do) Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Ba-do ba-do) I hate to leave you, but I really must say, Oh, Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight.”

Vegeta stared at his wife in awe, amazed at how content she looked. “You really like this?” He questioned. “It’s our song.” Bulma said. “Since when?” Vegeta frowned. They didn’t even have a song!

“Well, it's three o'clock in the morning,”

“Since now.” Bulma answered, laughing a little at the perfectness of the lyrics. “Haha.” Vegeta rolled his eyes. Stupid coincidence.

“Baby, I just can't treat you right, Well, I hate to leave you, baby, Don't mean maybe, because I love you so. Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

“Vegeta…” Bulma looked at him. “Mm?” Vegeta uttered. “Can we dance?” Bulma asked. “No.” Vegeta answered flatly, giving her a stern glare. “Are you crazy? You can’t even stand.” “So help me.” Bulma shrugged. “Please?”

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Do-do-do-do-do) Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Ba-do ba-do) I hate to leave you, but I really must say, Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight.”

“… Fine.” After a long pause, Vegeta reluctantly agreed. “But if it hurts too much –” “I’ll hide it from you.” Bulma smirked. “Tch. I’d like to see you try.” Vegeta snorted as he took hold of her. Bulma giggled. “Sadist.” She teased. Vegeta sniggered a little, and slowly helped her out of bed and onto her feet.

“Mother, oh and your father, Won't like it if I stay here too long,”

Vegeta held Bulma closely against him, taking almost all of her weight for her; she could barely stand on her own. They didn’t dance. At least, not like they could when they were younger… Not that Vegeta had ever really enjoyed dancing, it was more Bulma’s sort of thing. He only recalled doing it once; shortly after their wedding, when he was drunk. Tch. That had been ridiculous… and this was pathetic. They shuffled now; it was all Bulma could manage… hm. Still. She seemed to like it all the same. She rested her head against him, and sighed contently as they gently moved to the music.

“One kiss in the dark, And I'll be going, you know I hate to go.”

“Vegeta…” “Mm?” Vegeta grunted in response. He lowered his eyes to greet her when he felt Bulma’s head move from against his chest; she was staring at him. “I love you.” Bulma uttered. “… I know.” Vegeta replied. He hesitated, then stroked her hair and stared into her eyes. They were still so blue… They had aged. A lot. Bulma was a wreck. She was weak, and frail, and wrinkly… She wasn’t the gorgeous lioness he had married anymore; she wasn’t the fiery siren who could make him collapse with just one turn of her head or one bat of her eyelashes. She didn’t excite him like she used to; she didn’t make his pants tight or his tongue itch… but she was Bulma. She was still Bulma. … And he loved her.

Vegeta held her closely against him, careful not to hurt her as he leaned in and kissed his wife’s lips. He kissed her like they were young again, knowing full well that they weren’t. He didn’t care. Nor did she, and he knew that. It didn’t matter anyway. “… I love you too.”

“Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

Bulma smiled up at Vegeta and her eyelids started to turn heavy. She yawned. “I think I’ve… worn myself out.” She uttered, and allowed Vegeta to help her back into bed. Bulma leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes.

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Do-do-do-do-do)”

“Vegeta…” Bulma softly uttered. “I think I want to go now.” “Mm.” Vegeta grunted, not looking at her. “Okay.” “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” “Oh, God Bulma!” Vegeta growled. “I’m not a child.” “You could have fooled me.” Bulma opened her eyes and looked at him, opening out her hand. “… Promise?” “… Yes.” Vegeta took hold of her hand and squeezed it firmly, looking at her with the most sincere eyes she had ever seen. “Don’t worry about me. Do what you have to do.” “Thank you…” Bulma smiled. She took hold of the plunger that was connected to her IV; the plunger that would administer a lethal dose of medicine. She looked at Vegeta once last time, and she smiled. “I love you.” She whispered. “I’ll see you again.”

Vegeta simply nodded and squeezed her hand, watching as she pushed down on the plunger… and as soon as he saw her hand move his entire body filled with dread. “Bulma…” He choked. “No! Bulma, stop! I won’t be okay – please don’t leave me!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, (Ba-do ba-do)”

Vegeta breathed frantically as he watched Bulma’s eyes close and he felt her ki drain from her body in seconds. He had no idea if she’d heard him, and he had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to live! Fuck! All of a sudden, he was clueless. He’d never felt so afraid! He ran his hand through his hair, grabbing it furiously as he desperately wished her back to life. He was alone. Oh God, he was alone… He loved her. He loved her! “Bulma…” Vegeta whimpered. He threw his head down onto her chest and kissed her cheek, squeezing her hand as he lightly sobbed. “Bulma…”

“I hate to leave you, but I really must say, Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight.”

XXXXX

Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight - The Spaniels

#vegeta #bulma #vegebul #songfic #sad #feels #myfics #dragonball z

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quirkcounselor-asuka · 4 years

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[Case number: OP-0090126-337 Examination recording number: 1 Physician/Psychiatrist: Asuka, Ayumu Recording date: Thursday, October 24th Recording time: 6:00 pm] @ua-todoroki

[It takes an especially long time to process Todoroki into the building. He's registered in and a number of people bustle him around, getting signatures, fingerprints, pictures for his ID card. It's a rather homey building, comfortable and soft in a way more reminiscent of a retirement home than a counseling building. Eventually, he's brought into a cushy little room, lined with couches and other furniture.

Barely seconds after he's brought in, Ayumu hurries inside, closing the door quickly behind them.]

AYUMU: Todoroki-kuuuun!! It is very nice to meet you, yes, please get seated and we can get started in a second!

[Shouto's underwater through it all.

He doesn't really hear what he's being told. It gets muddled and lost. He mindlessly does what he thinks he has to, goes where he guesses he's supposed to. His slowness isn't thoughtful, it's the opposite. He can't think and it's making everything worse, like the waters found a way into his head somehow.

Eventually, he's finally somewhere that feels more... solid. Or maybe he was told it was. He's not sure. His head slowly perks up at the sound of a new voice and he looks around for a seat, eventually pulling the closest one closer and sitting.]

SHOUTO: ...

[Finding a desk, Ayumu sets down a small stack of papers they were holding, huffing and sighing with curious delight as they attempt to straighten them for a moment. Then, seeming to decide that they're bored of that, they spin around to look at Todoroki.]

AYUMU: Hello! I'll be your main counselor here, my name is Ayumu Asuka, you can call me - well, whatever you like! I don't really care. This experience, all of this, is about you and what you want. You're pretty much the boss here, okay? I'm just here to be your guide during this journey!

[They sit down on a chair, drawing it closer to Todoroki and smiling brightly.]

AYUMU: Do you have any questions? For me, about me and my work, maybe about the process? Or anything, you can ask about the sky if you really want to.. Up to you! Today's more an introductionary day, anyway, so~

[He watches and listens with a blank expression and dull eyes, not able to bring himself to actually care about what they're saying or doing.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't know. [He shrugs.] Barely know what's happening.

AYUMU: Oh! This is your first day of your villain preventation course! It's a form of rehabilitation but, like, before you're convicted of any crimes, pretty much.

[They smile at him for a moment.]

AYUMU: Do you know what day it is? Are you aware of who and where you are?

SHOUTO: ... Great... [He mumbles, dropping his head.] Yeah.

AYUMU: [A small nod.] You weren't looking forward to this day, I take it.

SHOUTO: Why would I.

AYUMU: It doesn't have to be a negative experience, Todoroki-kun. It's an opportunity to change and learn, that could be a very good thing!

SHOUTO: It's villain rehabilitation. [He snaps.] Do you know who my father is.

AYUMU: [A blink.] Of course I do...?

SHOUTO: He's going to kill me for this.

AYUMU: [A tilt of their head.] Literally or figuratively?

SHOUTO: ... [He drops his head further.]

AYUMU: ...? [They wait patiently for a moment.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't know.

AYUMU: If you're in danger, you can be protected...

SHOUTO: N-no... [He shakes his head.] No it's fine...

AYUMU: Hmmm... [They lean back to retrieve some of their papers from their desk.] Does asking for help scare you?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] ...

AYUMU: Well, you're obviously scared of something. Your father, obviously... [They drop the papers into their lap.] If you want to talk about him, we can. Or we can move on!

SHOUTO: [Another shrug.] ...

AYUMU: [They smile vaguely.] Mmmmmhm...

AYUMU: ... Do you consider your father to be the worst person in your life?

SHOUTO: Yes.

AYUMU: Worse than any villain?

SHOUTO: ... Yes.

AYUMU: [They sit back, almost looking impressed.] Huh...

SHOUTO: What.

AYUMU: Have you interacted with a lot of villains before? I know you've been involved in a few cases, as a hero, as... et cetera...

SHOUTO: Yes. I have. ...

AYUMU: Any of them make a lasting impression?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: ... Like?

SHOUTO: ... [He thinks for a moment.] Um... there's one.

AYUMU: Yes...? [After a second.] Oh, you don't have to name names if that makes you more comfortable!

SHOUTO: ... It's fine.. he.. [He shrinks.] He's targeted me.. directly... for a while... it's not really....

AYUMU: ... Not really what?

SHOUTO: I don't know... public... part of my job...

AYUMU: ... What does that mean? I'm a little confused...

SHOUTO: ... He's been stalking and harrassing me.

AYUMU: [They frown at that.] Oh... That's terrible...

SHOUTO: .. It's been going on for a long time.

AYUMU: About how long?

SHOUTO: ... Months. I don't know. At least six or seven. Maybe more. Can't remember.

AYUMU: [A sad nod.] That's really terrible... I'm so sorry.

SHOUTO: It's fine.

AYUMU: ... Is that the worst of it, then? This villian and your father?

SHOUTO: ... What do you mean..

AYUMU: I mean, when you think of the evil you've encountered in your life, would you think of those two especially? Have they made the biggest impact on you?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: And have you ever felt like you've... changed? Perhaps after everything that's happened to you... Do you ever feel like you’ve been affected in ways you can't really stop?

SHOUTO: ... [He nods, slowly at first.] Yes...

AYUMU: Like how? No judgements...

SHOUTO: ... I'm a sex addicted maniac.

AYUMU: Maniac? That's an interesting word to call yourself...

SHOUTO: Is it.

AYUMU: Why do you use it?

SHOUTO: Because it's what I am.

AYUMU: [They pout at him a little.] 'Maniac' implies you're out of control, all over the place... Is that how you feel?

SHOUTO: Yes.

AYUMU: Would you say that's why you're here?

SHOUTO: Yeah.

AYUMU: I see! [They nod thoughtfully.] Have you ever thought violently on top of that? Or acted out on violent thoughts you've had?

SHOUTO: Why do you think I'm here.

AYUMU: [They grin cheekily at him.] I think you're here because someone made you be here. And because you're a sex-addicted maniac, apparently. You can be crazy about sex without being crazy about violence, can't you?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.]

AYUMU: So would you consider yourself addicted to violence? Or no? Maybe it's more a means to a end, or maybe... [They gesture a little.] More of a guilty pleasure, something that feels almost as good as sex. Any of these sound close?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah. Kind of.

AYUMU: Which one?

SHOUTO: The last one... I guess.

AYUMU: Reeeeally? Huh... [They nod thoughtfully.] Is that why you want to be a hero? Because you still want to be, right?

SHOUTO: I do. But that's not why.

AYUMU: Oh, good! Well, I'm glad that's not the reason, haha. Why do you want to be a hero?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs. Again.] Because I can't see myself doing anything else.

AYUMU: Sooo.... it's not that you want to be, it's that you feel you have to be?

SHOUTO: I guess.

AYUMU: Hmmm... [Crossing their legs, they start going through the papers on their lap.] What feels better to you, saving people or sex?

SHOUTO: .. Um. [He knows the answer.] ... I... uh..

AYUMU: [They smile a little knowingly but otherwise stay silent, letting him fumble.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't.. know. [He looks away.]

AYUMU: Of course... [They nod a little.] Must be hard, confusing.... you're obviously dealing with a lot...

SHOUTO: ... Yeah...

AYUMU: You're not alone in this, okay? [They smile.] I promise. There are plenty of heroes with bad thoughts or impulses, or have even done some wrong in their life. But that doesn't mean they can't change. Do you want to stay like this forever?

SHOUTO: [He grits his teeth.] No. I don't.

AYUMU: [They go :O] ... Then don't you think maybe it's not the worst thing in the world that you're here? Besides the dad thing, I mean.

SHOUTO: I shouldn't have to be here.

AYUMU: What would you rather?

SHOUTO: I'd rather be fine on my own.

AYUMU: Yeah, I bet we all would rather that, huh? But on your own, well, you're some sort of maniac, so...

SHOUTO: ... [He sighs. >:/]

AYUMU: [>:3] I'm just saying, you're here for a reason. You might have had reasons for doing what you did, really good ones, but you still did it and that's what landed you here. I don't really know if you get that?

SHOUTO: I get why I'm here.

AYUMU: [They just pout at him in response.] Then why be so difficult?

SHOUTO: Because I don't want to be.

AYUMU: Huuuh... That's just going to keep you in a place like this longer...

SHOUTO: I can get better anyways.

AYUMU: Oh, so you actually plan to? Get better?

SHOUTO: Yes?

AYUMU: Well! That's a relief to hear! [They clap once.] Sometimes it's hard to tell with you what you're thinking and feeling. You're very closed off. Have you been like that your whole life?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: Why, do you think? Does it feel safer?

SHOUTO: I guess.

AYUMU: Is there anyone you've ever really opened up to...? Maybe in your past or maybe one of your friends?

SHOUTO: Kind of. [He shrugs.] Not a lot.

AYUMU: Would you rather it be a different way? Or are you more... content with this sort of arrangement?

SHOUTO: I don't know. I guess I wish I could.

AYUMU: [They smile softly at that, tilting their head a little.] Why don't you try a little? Maybe you can reach out to someone in your life, tell them a little more about yourself? It doesn't have to be about the bad things...

SHOUTO: I don't know what I'd say.

AYUMU: Well, what do you like?

SHOUTO: Um... [He blinks.] Sex. ... [He looks away, knowing that shouldn't have been the first thing out of his mouth.] I read sometimes.

AYUMU: [They try (and fail) to suppress a little giggle.] Of course... What do you like to read?

SHOUTO: Manga, when I can get it.. Books are good, too...

AYUMU: Oh? Maybe you can reach out to your classmates, see what they like to read? That could be a good conversation starter...

SHOUTO: Maybe.

AYUMU: Or maybe something else... Anything else. Even sex, if you wanna start with that, if that's easier for you... [They nod.] I think to start you really need to learn to reconnect with the things around you. With people, good people, with society... You know! Get more of a sense of what's normal for people...

SHOUTO: ... Yeah. [He looks down, suddenly sad.] I've never connected with people well, though.

AYUMU: ... No? [Expression falling, they look at him for a moment, trying to think a way past his predicament.]... What about your classmates?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] Not really. I mean. I guess. Sort of.... but it's never really felt... I dunno. Real.

AYUMU: Really? What would make it feel real to you, then...? Do you know?

SHOUTO: ... No.

AYUMU: ... I see...

SHOUTO: ... I have... a friend.. um... he's kind of like me, I guess. Maybe that's the closest.

AYUMU: Oh? Wanna tell me about him?

SHOUTO: ... I dunno. He's been missing. [He frowns.] He's not really like me at all. I guess he just gets it.

SHOUTO: [:(... Frowning now, they nod in understanding.] ... Well... that makes sense, then. It helps when they understand what you've been through, right?

AYUMU: ... Yeah.

SHOUTO: Well... You have group therapy next... [They look at his schedule.] With a bunch of people your age who are dealing with some of the same things... Maybe you can reach out to them if you can't reach out to your classmates?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] Maybe.

AYUMU: Good... I'd really like you to. [They perk up, a childish happiness on their face.] Next time I see you, I want you to be able to tell me about a new friend you made! That's your homework for the week, okay?

SHOUTO: ... Okay.

AYUMU: I also want you to write down any violent or "villainous" thoughts you might have during the week... Maybe about your father or that villain you mentioned, or any bad instances that stick out. We'll talk about that. Try and find some positive thoughts or experiences for every villainous one, ones that you can connect more to being "heroic"! We'll go over all that next time. Sound good?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: Good! If you do them both, you'll get a nice reward! [They wink.] Otherwise, I'm sending you off to group, now... Unless you have any questions about today? Any of the things we talked about?

SHOUTO: ... No, I don't... [He starts to stand.]

AYUMU: [They stand with him, smiling to themselves.] Good! Then I'll be seeing you soon, Shouto-kun~ [They give him a little pat on the head, ruffling his hair around.]

SHOUTO: Yeah. [He gives a forced smile at the pat and then steps away to leave.]

AYUMU: [Satisfied with that, they start to return to their desk.] Don't forget everything I've said, Shouto-kun! Good luck!

#todoroki shouto #asuka.log #[[ not sfw btw... ]]

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