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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

Text

cutting down the family tree

@buckleydiazs said:

High school au where Buck’s the sad lonely kid with the shit family and Eddie’s the popular captain of the wrestling team who makes it his personal mission to make Buck an honorary Diaz and convince him that he deserves nice things I am just saying

WOW this got a lot longer than I thought, so I abandoned the ask and put everything all up in here. Only barely edited, SORRY LMAO.

8.5k, Buddie HS AU. underage-ish if you squint I guess? tw for abuse.

Buck was good at going unseen.

It was a defense mechanism—his parent’s couldn’t get upset with what they didn’t realize was there—and it had only amped up once Maddie graduated. Once she went off to college, Buck had no reason to be a distraction anymore, to try and pull attention off of anyone; so he just got better at it. He could pick things up and set them down without a sound. He constantly walked on the balls of his feet. He even kept his breathing even, slow and low, whenever he wasn’t alone.

At home, Buck had gotten really good at—nay, he had perfected—the art of becoming invisible. So it only made sense that it translated to his school life, as well.

He got good grades—straight A’s—but only high enough to keep his grades at a 4.0, not high enough to earn Valedictorian, no AP classes, no crying over tests. Enough to ensure he would have opportunities after high school, but not enough to bring any student or teacher attention his way.

He worked out every day, and had for years, years of defending himself or defending Maddie meant he had to be in the best shape he could be in—but while his body was packed with lean muscle and quick reflexes, he drowned himself in clothes that were a size too big, making him look smaller, unassuming. He kept his posture slouched whenever he wasn’t standing to take a few inches off of his height, to the point that he could get lost in a crowd while you were still looking at him.

He didn’t participate in after school activities. He didn’t run for school president. He didn’t have a flashy car, a high status girlfriend, he didn’t show any interests that might make him friends or enemies.

Buck was invisible to absolutely everyone.

Well... everyone except Eddie Diaz.

Eddie Diaz, who was a senior, like Buck was, but was new to Pennsylvania, moving over the summer — who was 18, a year older than Buck, because he was held back in the third grade for fighting — Eddie Diaz, who had joined the wrestling team and made captain in an embarrassingly short amount of time (well, embarrassing for the rest of the team).

Why did Buck know all of this?

Because this was also Eddie Diaz, who, on the first day of Senior Year, locked on to Buck with laser-like focus, ignored all of Buck’s defenses, and apparently decided to take him on as a new friend pet project.

And much to Buck’s annoyance, he just couldn’t. Shake. Eddie. Off.

He definitely tried. He changed his walkways, he changed the bathrooms he used, he changed where he parked, he did everything except change his schedule—and Eddie was still there, keeping up mostly one sided conversations. The only time he had to himself any more was his free period, the time he spent in the school weight room, and never before had be been so thankful for that regular moment of peace.

Buck finally hit his limit one lunch period, spent huddling in the library, when Eddie sat down across from him. "Eddie, isn’t there someone who actually wants to have lunch with you? Some of your friends, or teammates, or someone who isn’t me?” Buck had asked, barely looking up from the text book he had been reading—he wasn’t a fan of the ‘mean’ route, but he was at his wits end. When Eddie paused, Buck actually felt hope rise up in his chest, that he would be alone again.

But Eddie had just leaned forward, made eye contact, and said “Nope.” with the biggest, shit eating grin Buck had ever seen.

Fine. It was less than a year. Buck could handle Eddie being around him for less than a year.

Buck could not handle less than a year.

Because Eddie, Eddie was nice. To him. To Buck, who had never said more than ten words to any other student since the day he started high school. Eddie was nice to him, and it was going to kill him.

It was going to kill Buck because he found himself wanting to be nice back.

Not that Buck was a mean person, because he wasn’t, but niceness was followed by friendship, and friendship was followed by attachment, and that was simply unacceptable as far as Buck was concerned.

... not that he hadn’t wondered, of course. He had always wondered what it would be like, to be able to hang out with friends, to have people come over to his house for his birthday, to have more contacts in his cell phone than the front desk of the gym near his house, his parents, and Maddie.

He had wondered, sure, but he had never missed it. He had never craved it. He knew it was more important for him to be on his own, at least for the time being—an attachment would make it that much harder to get as far from the east coast as possible when time came for college, and that was unacceptable.

But...

As he pulled in the parking lot, to a familiar spot near the back of the school, and saw Eddie waiting there for him so they could walk in to class together...

Alright, so he wanted it. So sue him.

“Buckaroo!”

Well, that was a good way to make him want it a little less, at least.

“Eddie, I’ve told you,” Buck said with an exasperated sigh, locking his car behind him. “It’s just Buck.”

(Eddie had called him Evan once. Just once. Once the blind panic had subsided, Buck had put a stop to that, real quick.)

“And I’ve told you,” Eddie said in a sing-song voice, “it’s a nickname. Nicknames are what friends do, remember?”

“Your words, not mine.”

Friends. Is that what they were? He rolled his eyes and shouldered his bag instead of thinking about it too deeply, but he couldn’t deny the spike of anxiety that rippled through him as Eddie started to ramble, falling back into the easy habit of talking for the both of them. He didn’t want friends. He just wanted to get out.

“...and so I told him...”

Besides, it wasn’t like Eddie actually considered him a friend. They had barely spoken—well, Buck had barely spoken anyway. There was no way in hell that Eddie actually cared about him, right? He had to have some secondary motive.

"and after that, she...”

But that was frustrating in and of itself. Buck had been so sure that Eddie was up to something, or had some ulterior motive, or but damn it if Buck hadn’t been able to determine what it was. None of Eddie’s little douchebaggy wrestling friends had approached them, Eddie hadn’t even tried to get Buck out of his comfort zone yet, he hadn't done anything, and somehow, that was even more frustrating.

“...just because Ms. Syzmaski’s a wrinkled old bitch.”

Buck let out a laugh, in spite of himself, as Eddie rambled on, shaking his head. Ms. Syzmaski wasn’t that bad, and—oh.

He covered his mouth as soon as he realized what he had done. He didn’t think he had laughed at all since Maddie left, and to have one pulled out of him so suddenly was a little surprising, to say the least—but as he turned to Eddie, beet red, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one surprised.

The look that Eddie was giving him, however, was the closest thing to “starry eyed” that Buck had ever seen.

“I, uh, I have to get to class. Bye Eddie.” Buck blurted as he turned and booked it down the hall, not quiet quick enough to miss the smile and the incredibly soft “Bye, Buck” that followed him.

Things only got worse as more time went on.

Better?

No, worse. Definitely worse.

Because Eddie could make him laugh, and the more time he spent with him, and the more he actually listened, the more likely those moments were. He was nice, too nice, on the rare occasion that Buck actually had lunch in the lunch room instead of hiding in a stairwell or the library, Eddie said goodbye to his friends and joined him kind of nice. The kind of nice that worked its way past Buck’s defenses, instead of breaking them down.

The kind of nice that made Buck actually want to open up, which, as he would never forget, was a dangerous kind of nice.

It was also, as he learned too late, the kind of nice that made him fucking cave in way too easily to Eddie’s whining.

“Come on, Buck,” he had begged. “I’m going to be failing Chemistry if I don’t get a B on the midterm, and if I fail chemistry, I get booted from the team. You have to help me.”

And like a sap, Buck had sighed in agreement, giving up a Friday night doing nothing to help the intellectually infirm (“Hey!”).

Wincing as he touched up the concealer on his cheek, Buck dragged his backpack out of the passengers seat of his car, giving an appreciative look up to the small, ranch style house that spread out before him. It probably said a lot about his own expectations if he already felt more comfortable in front of a row of little ranch houses than he would in front of his own house, but… well, that was just it. His house was a big, gaudy house in a neighborhood full of big, gaudy houses. But everything about where he was now—the sound of a dog barking, the smell of someone cooking on the grill, the fact that you didn’t need to ask anyone to buzz you in to a front yard—screamed home.

He didn’t think anything could spoil how light he felt—and that was certainly proven true as Eddie opened the door before Buck even had a chance to knock.

“Hey Buck, thanks again, you… uh, wow. You look, uh, great.”

It was a small surprise, but a nice one. He had ditched his regular, baggy, hiding-in-plain-sight clothes for a simple pair of jeans and a polo shirt, casual but comfortable, and he tried to ignore the smile tugging at his lips even as his face heated up.

“I mean, it’s nothing special, it’s just jeans and a—“

“Eddie! Bring your friend inside and close the door!”

It didn’t matter how he had tried to prepare himself, there was something about a parent yelling that would probably always cause Buck to tense up, and tense up he did. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t say anything, thankfully, just hooked his elbow in Buck’ as he yelled right back. “His name is Buck, Mama, I told you that!”

He tried to get his heart to calm down as he felt Eddie tug him to the doorway, his free hand clinging to his backpack strap for dear life, bracing himself as he walked into…

…something that could not have been more polar opposite of his own life if it tried.

Eddie’s house was smaller, sure, but it was homey in a way that Buck had only imagined or seen in Hallmark movies. He was all smiles as Eddie introduced him to both of his parents (he knew how important first impressions were, had had that beaten in to him from a very young age), but he found that it wasn’t fake—he was genuinely glad to be there. Even if it still threw him for a loop when Eddie’s mother had insisted on being called Helena, had shoved a tray of snacks into Eddie’s arms, and sent them to Eddie’s room to study.

“Go on, we’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Get your studying done.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“And leave the door open!”

“Mama!”

Buck was only mildly placated by the fact that Eddie was blushing as brightly as he was.

Any concerns that Eddie wouldn’t be taking this seriously, or was just looking for a reason to hang out and fuck around, were quickly put to rest as Eddie pulled out his chemistry book. It was comforting to know that Eddie was just as serious about his grades as he acted, and it made things a lot easier—when Buck didn’t have to spend half of his time telling Eddie to pay attention or to focus, as he had feared, things moved at a pace he hadn’t anticipated.

Eddie was incredibly smart. That much was obvious from the get go. Chemistry just didn’t click with him, but that was easy enough to rectify—he just had to help Eddie see things from a different angle, to focus more on the process than the end result, and “seriously Eddie, would it kill you to take a legible note for once in your life?”

Buck had set to work on transcribing some of Eddie’s rushed notes into a legible format while Eddie continued to work on a few practice problems, and before Buck knew it several hours had gone by and they were both being called down for dinner, and… look, Buck had a live in cook for most of his life, but damn if Helena’s enchiladas didn’t blow them out of the water.

He found himself drawn into the family dynamics easily—Eddie had introduced him to his sister, Sophia, explaining that Adriana was out for the night, and they talked, bickered, poked fun, everything that Buck had figured was out of his reach for the longest time. He spoke when he was asked questions, and let himself engage in a few conversations, but more than anything, he just sat and ate and soaked up the delicious atmosphere.

Was this what a family really felt like? He didn’t think he had ever felt like this at home, even before Maddie had graduated, even before his father had started drinking. He felt something white hot burn in his chest as the night dragged on—not jealousy, or envy, something more dangerous, want. It seemed like a cruel joke, that someone so close to him got to have it all, while he had… nothing, but as he looked over at Eddie, his head thrown back in laughter at one of his mothers jokes until Sophia flicked a piece of corn into his open mouth and he sputtered, he wouldn’t wish the reverse on even his worst enemy.

The good part about Pennsylvania was that it didn’t matter what time of the year it was, it was usually cold. Cold meant long sleeves and sweaters to cover the arms, and long pants to cover the legs, especially as the sticky feeling of Summer turned to foggy breaths and dew, and Buck could breathe a little easier.

Just a little easier, though, because when you were tugging your hoodie down over your head to cover a black eye, you couldn’t relax. Not really.

He was usually so careful. He was usually so good about covering his bruises (hell, he was usually good at getting bruises anywhere other than his face), but the last time he had touched himself up, he had forgotten to cap the concealer and the entire tube had run dry. He was sloppy. He had been reckless and stupid and sloppy and now he was paying the price; because as confident as he would have been a semester ago about getting through the day with a shiner and no one noticing, the day now included Eddie.

He didn’t know if he could avoid Eddie for an entire day. What was worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to.

The day had started off pretty well. He took the train to school instead of driving so Eddie wouldn’t see his car. He was barely on time to each and every class to avoid Eddie in the halls. He ignored every text that came in—though he did allow himself a grin when Eddie sent him a picture message of his Chemistry test, a big 91 circled on the front of it. He even managed to find a new place to eat his lunch, one he was sure that Eddie wouldn’t know about.

And then everything had gone to shit.

He had finished his History midterm early, turned it in with his head down, and walked out of the classroom. His next period was his free one, so he decided to head to the gym early, taking a quick stop in the locker room to change into a baggy, long sleeved shirt, chucking his hoodie and his backpack in a locker before getting to the gym. There was only one other person in the room, back turned to Buck as he walked in—it was as good as it could get, and he sent a silent prayer up to anyone who was listening in thanks.

It was going to be a cardio day, Buck could tell—his right wrist was a little sore, and his shoulder too, and while thankfully neither of them felt dislocated it definitely wouldn’t be a good idea to try to lift weights. He could feel the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he started to stretch out his hips and legs, nearly ignoring the telltale buzz he felt at the base of his skull until it was too late.

“Buck! There you are!”

Buck bolted upright at the same moment as a hand clapped onto his shoulder, squeezing in the friendly way Buck had become so accustomed to—but now, instead of a familiar warmth in his stomach, it sent a bolt of pain through his body. He sucked in a gasp and jerked his body away from the pain, fists halfway up as he turned around, his body sagging when he saw Eddie standing opposite to him.

Eddie, who he had been avoiding all day, who’s multiple messages he had left on read, who now looked like he was face to face with a ghost. If he could imagine how he looked right now, he might have laughed—black eye, slumped shoulder, pale, panicked face. It was probably hilarious, even if Eddie didn’t seem to think so.

“Buck?”

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Buck, what... what happened to you? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

The biting comment was on the tip of Buck’s tongue, to tell Eddie to fuck off, to get lost, but Eddie sounded so small and scared he couldn’t bring himself to snap. Instead, he offered a weak smile, shrugging his good shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle. You should see the other guy, right?”

It probably was in poor taste to go for a joke, and Eddie’s dark expression only confirmed that fact, but what was Buck supposed to say? ‘Hey, no worries, my mom broke a picture frame so it was either let her get the shit beat out of her or take the heat?’ Yeah, no.

Suddenly, his face was in Eddie’s hands, and oh wow that was nice, and he had to work to keep from sighing as Eddie’s fingers went feather light over his skin.

“Buck, this wasn’t just a little love tap.” Hah, no, there was no love in it at all. “You know, I could teach you how to block a few hits. Some self defense.”

Buck laughed, humorlessly, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay. Not a lot of good there, I don’t think.” he shrugged, shaking his head, even as Eddie opened his mouth to protest.

“But I can—”

“Stop. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Buck, I am serious. I’m really worried about you, have been all day.”

Buck had to swallow at that, his heart sinking, and he looked down as he weighed his options. Neither were good. But if one kept Eddie from worrying...

“...fine. On one condition.” Buck said, his voice a little thick as he looked back up to Eddie, who... well, he looked like he would do anything Buck asked at that moment, and wasn’t that an interesting swarm of butterflies in his stomach?

“You stop asking about how I got them.”

Eddie’s face did a funny kind of flip flop, but eventually, he nodded. “Fine. First lesson starts now.”

Buck sighed again as he thumbed the hem of his shirt, debating for only a moment before he pulled it off. The tank top he was wearing beneath didn’t hide a whole lot, but he figured Eddie had already seen one bruise, and had promised not to ask about the rest, so he didn’t think much could come from getting rid of the heavy, hot garment.

What would come of it, apparently, was Eddie gaping at him, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Buck felt a sense of shame pool in his stomach, ready to put the shirt back on in another second—he didn’t think the bruises were so bad, but maybe—

“Buck, you’re—you’re ripped.”

What?

“How are you not on the wrestling team with me? Or the lacrosse team, or football, or... something?”

Buck blinked for a moment before he felt blood rush to his face. Oh. Oh. Eddie wasn’t staring because he was disgusted, or horrified, but because he apparently... liked what he saw. From a sportsman perspective. That had to be it. Right. He cleared his throat, willing the pink to die down on his cheeks. “Eddie, are you gonna teach me or what?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up, wide as dinner plates, voice an active higher as he spoke. “Right!” He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Buck. “Okay, so, if someone is going to come at you from the front, if they try and throw a punch, you just move the outside of your arm to knock the arm back, and—good.”

Buck didn’t even wait for Eddie to finish speaking, as soon as the hand was up he batted it away with perhaps a bit more force than needed, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

“Okay, but then you need to follow through with a hit when they’re open. See—”

Eddie moved to throw a punch again, slow and painfully obvious, and Buck followed his instructions, pushing it away, and then... not doing anything. Eddie scowled, raising his hand again, and just like before, Buck knocked it away with the inside of his fore arm, trying to focus on the best point to hit to knock the hand away.

“Buck, you have to follow through. Blocking is great but you have to use the opening to hit back.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Punch- block. Eddie started picking up the tempo, moving around Buck,

“I’m not hitting back, Eddie.”

Yeah, right. Buck hit back, and he’d probably get beaten beyond recognition. Pass.

“I can see that, but you have to. If someone is going to try and hurt you, you have to strike whenever you’re open. One good hit and you can run like hell.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Where exactly was he supposed to run to? The living room? The kitchen?

“No.”

Eddie gave a quicker shot—still weak, but Buck ducked, pushing the hand away from him. This was actually proving to be pretty useful.

“Look, I get not wanting to hit someone, but you just need to daze them if you’re going to get away.”

“Eddie, I don’t hit back. That’s now how this works.”

“Well why the fuck not—”

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter!” Buck yelled, his tone taking himself by surprise, as did the heat that suddenly burned through his face. “It doesn’t matter if I land a hit or not, it doesn’t matter if I get hurt, as long as he doesn’t hurt anyone else!”

“He?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and dark, and Buck almost swallowed his tongue when he realized what he had said.

“Buck, who did this to you?”

“I have to get to class.”

It was too much. Buck swallowed as he turned around, abandoning his belongings in the locker room as he fled through the gym doors. He didn’t have to run far—thankfully he had his phone and wallet with him, which meant he had a train ticket—and only when he managed to throw himself between the closing doors of the Thorndale line did he manage to breathe again.

He pulled his phone out when the train took off, shooting a quick message to Maddie, asking her to call him out for the rest of his day.

Then he turned off his phone, put his head in his hands, and started to cry.

When Buck came to school the next day, he had his concealer on, and as far as he was concerned, the day before had never happened. He parked in his regular area, locked the doors, and tried not to sigh too heavily when he saw Eddie waiting from him.

He didn’t have it in him for a fight, but Eddie had both his hands up, and that was enough to keep Buck from running again.

For now.

“Look, Buck, I won’t ask details, but.... just tell me, are you okay?” Eddie asked, his voice slow and unsure, and Buck felt a frown creeping over his face in spite of himself.

He tilted his head as he looked Eddie over, brow furrowed. “You really care about me.” A statement, not a question, but Eddie nodded all the same. “Why?”

If the question caught Eddie off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked away, seemingly chewing over his words as he tried to answer.

"Because you’re worth being cared about, Buck.”

Buck hummed as he considered the answer, acting like it didn’t just rock him to his very core, and sighed as he opened his arms and pulled Eddie into a hug—Eddie seemed surprised, but pleased, and Buck didn’t have to wait long before Eddie was hugging him back, so gently and mindful of Buck’s body that he thought he might start crying again.

“So, it’s not just these rugged good looks?” he mumbled into Eddie’s hair, and Eddie groaned, shaking his head.

“Buck, please.”

“My charming personality?”

“Buck, please.”

Somehow, nothing changed, and everything did.

Eddie didn’t bring up the bruises anymore, possibly because they weren’t visible anymore, but he held himself differently around Buck—instead of grand claps on the back, he tugged at Buck’s elbow, instead of a teasing elbow to the ribs, it was a playful shoulder bump—all, Buck knew, things that Eddie could do without risking aggravating an unseen injury.

Any doubt in his mind that Eddie knew what was going on was dashed almost immediately, when Eddie intentionally steered the conversation in their little friend group (which was mostly the wrestling team, who had decided beyond all reason that Buck was okay) away from family matters. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Buck was sure it was at least a little obvious when you got to know him where the bruises came from, but that was why Buck had been so hesitant to get to know anyone in the first place.

What was new, though, was the hand holding. It started off as Buck being led around, but then Eddie never really let go of his hand. Buck didn’t mind it, even though he felt he should—he was more or less dying for any physical contact that didn’t hurt, an itch he didn’t even know he needed scratched until Eddie showed up. But it was still... weird.

It wasn’t until later on, as Thanksgiving break loomed around the corner, when Eddie let his hand trail over his shoulders while dropping a burrito and chips from the Qdoba off campus did Buck start connecting dots.

Eddie was always a touchy feely guy, and it had only increased as of late.

Eddie had blushed when Buck took off his shirt—and for good reasons, apparently.

And now, Eddie was treating him to lunch.

They were all fine things on their own, but once was an accident, twice a coincidence, and three times, a pattern.

He swallowed his bite of burrito—the perfect order, even though he was sure Eddie had only asked him what he liked once, weeks ago—and derailed whatever train of thought Eddie had going in one fell swoop.

“...but if you look at the—”

“Eddie, are we dating?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A denial, maybe? Or another blush and topic change?

What he wasn’t expecting was for Eddie to nod his head, his smile a little wider, and then just continue on.

“Anyway, as I was saying—”

“No, hang on. We’re dating? This is like, a lunch date? You bought me lunch, because we’re on a lunch date?”

Eddie’s smile was so soft that Buck instantly felt at ease, even though he knew he was probably asking the dumbest questions of all time. “Yeah Buck, this is a lunch date. I didn’t want you to freak about it, but I knew you’d come to the conclusion eventually.”

Buck hummed as he reached over, stealing one of Eddie’s chips, chewing it thoughtfully before he rose his brow. “Well, this is a pretty nice first date, then.”

He tried not to be offended when Eddie snorted, raising his brow as he met the challenge.

“Buck, this is at least our second or third date. Our last date was me bringing you home to meet my parents.” Eddie said with a smirk, but Buck frowned, shaking his head.

“Wait, Eddie, that was forever ago. What was our first date then?” Buck asked, confusion written all over his face.

Eddie actually blushed—okay, Buck was officially never getting tired of seeing that—as he looked up, humming in a way that was probably meant to be nonchalant but definitely wasn’t. “Oh, uh, well I consider our first date to be the first lunch we had. Um, the one where I made the joke about Ms. Syzmaski’s wrinkly old ass?”

Buck was honestly lucky he had swallowed before Eddie spoke, because that would have been a spittake for sure. “What the fuck about that joke made you think of that as a date?”

Eddie was pink again and Buck had to physically bite his tongue not to goad him about it, but he was steadily getting redder as Buck waited. Finally, Eddie threw up his arms, sighing in defeat as he buried his head in his hands.

“It was... it was the first time I made you laugh, okay? That’s why it was so nice.”

Oh, that was cute. Fuck, that was so cute. Buck could actually feel his resolve start to give way, which was unacceptable on more than one level, and he took a breath as he steadied himself. “I’m not staying.”

Eddie look like he had been punched. “What?”

“I mean it. I’m not staying. As soon as I graduate I’m getting out of this state, hell, this time zone if I can.”

“Buck—“

“I mean it, Eddie, I can’t—can’t stay here. And I like, you, I really like you, but if you’re staying in state, you have to know that I won’t. Not for anything, so if that’s a dealbreaker for you, you should just…”

His lungs ran out of his air as he forgot to breathe, but it was probably for the best, Eddie taking the moment to jump in before Buck could continue freaking out. “Buck, what makes you think I’m staying?”

Buck swallowed, his thoughts completely derailed. “What? You just moved here, why would you be leaving again?”

“The only reason we’re here this year is for my dads work. He has a year long contract, then we’d probably be moving back to Texas, but even then, who knows? No offense, but I have zero urge to stay in this snooty, Ivy-League bullshit state.”

Buck spoke slowly as his brain tried to catch up with what Eddie had said, brow wrinkling in a way that Eddie was definitely going to remember to call cute later on. “So… you’re not planning on staying. And you don’t care if I leave either.”

“No, Jesus. All I want is for you to be happy.”

It probably said a lot about how much that simple statement shocked him, but at this point in his life, he wasn’t sure anything would sit as “normal” for a long time.

“Oh. Well, then, care to explain how we’ve apparently gone on three dates and you haven’t kissed me yet?”

Eddie lit up like a Christmas tree as he scooted forward on the bench, his eyes bright. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? I didn’t want to scare you off or anything—“

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss me right now, I swear I’ll—“

He didn’t get to finish his threat—which was mildly annoying—but the warm pressure of Eddie’s lips against his own drowned out any other objection he thought he may have.

He was almost late to class, his lips bruised in a way he absolutely loved, and he regretted absolutely nothing.

The day before they were due back in school from Winter Break, Buck had been planning on spending the entire day in bed, recuperating from the incessant display of familial togetherness that the holidays usually had brought. Eddie had been his one saving grace—near constant phone calls, texts, and snapchats had been the only thing keeping Buck’s temper low enough to avoid a few new bruises.

And, if the sight of Eddie wearing the simple leather corded necklace that Buck had gotten him for Christmas made his heart beat a little faster whenever he saw it, that was between him and God.

The past three months had been… alarmingly good, if Buck was being honest. If his home life had taught him anything, it was that the other shoe always dropped—so as much as he loved spending time with Eddie, as much as he loved their kisses, and rare dates, and holding hands in the hallway, as much as he honestly, truly thought he could see a life beyond high school with him, he was constantly, constantly waiting for that other shoe to drop.

Which was why, when Eddie called him at one o’clock on a Sunday, Buck let it ring a few times before he gathered himself to answer the phone.

“Hey, are you busy tonight? I want you to come over and meet everyone.”

“What do you mean, meet everyone? I’m pretty sure all of your family knows me by now.” That much was definitely true—Buck had been spending more time at Eddies than his own whenever he could help it, and while there was always someone out on an errand or at work or doing something else, he had participated in enough dinners, family calls, and video chats that he knew more of Eddie’s family than he did his own. “What, you have another set of siblings you’re hiding away from me?”

Eddie’s resounding laugh was a little too loud, a little too tense, just enough to spike Buck’s curiosity without making him fear the worst. He agreed easily after that, asking if he needed to bring anything, and made plans for a few hours later.

When he pulled up to Eddie’s house, though, it was almost unrecognizable. There were streamers tossed through the tree in the front yard, balloons tied to nearly every horizontal surface Eddie could see, and there were enough cars parked out front that Buck had to squeeze in behind a truck and a fire hydrant (and hope that he wouldn’t get a ticket).

As usual, Eddie met him at the door (Buck had teased him once about waiting by the window, and when Eddie blushed and didn’t deny it, Buck had gone in to full hysterical laughter), the obvious nerves he was displaying not enough to dissuade Buck from punching him in the shoulder. “Eddie, what the fuck! Is this a party? You told me not to bring anything, I could have—“

“Oh whatever, I’ll sign your name on my card, calm down.” Eddie said, like he wasn’t the bundle of nerves himself, leaning forward to press a kiss to Buck’s lips (which he accepted, of course, he wasn’t a monster even if he was annoyed). He easily succumbed to the whirlwind of introductions—aunties and uncles and people who were clearly of the Diaz family, and damn, Eddie wasn’t kidding when he told Buck he wanted him to meet everyone. Eddie’s nerves started to hitch back up as they made their way to the backyard, and Buck was about to call him out on whatever it was that was going on when Eddie beat him to the punch.

“Alright, you ready to meet the man of the hour?”

“Only if you’re ready for me to.” Buck said with a hum, smiling as Eddie’s face did some impressive expressive gymnastics. “Eddie, you’re wound like a damn spring. If you don’t want me to meet this person, or any of these people, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He said, bringing his other hand up to link with Eddie’s as well.

Eddie, to his credit, looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his chest, and he beamed as he leaned in to kiss Buck agin. “God, you’re perfect. Have I ever told you that? Well, probably not enough, but it will have to wait, because…” Eddie pushed through the back door and towed Buck along with him, where a circle of chairs were set up around a table stacked high with drinks, snacks, party games, and in the middle of it all—

“…because here’s the birthday boy!”

—was a high chair, fully equipped with a tray table, a soppy cup, and a baby.

A baby.

Buck felt every nerve, every tense minute, every rational thought melt in his body and turn into a warm puddle of goo at the very core of his soul, and his face must have reflected that fact because Buck was vaguely aware of two of Eddie’s sisters laughing at him, but who cared there was a baby and it was the most adorable, pudgy, perfect baby Buck had ever seen.

The baby quickly let out a high pitched squeal as his attention landed on Eddie, smacking his hands against the table in front of him, and Buck could not be held accountable for the noise that he made when Eddie swooped forward and undid the tray, pulling him out of the high chair easily, tucking him into an arm like he was a seasoned pro.

“Buck, this is Chris.”

And now Eddie was walking toward him with the baby, the baby who’s name was Chris, and Buck only waited for the barest hint of a confirmation from Eddie before he moved closer, cooing toward the excited little bean in Eddie’s arms.

“Today is Chris’ first birthday.”

Which, that made sense, he was still so small and pudgy but still so energetic, and Buck nodded along with the rapid fire babbling as he squeezed Chris’ little foot playfully, feeling more proud of anything at the peal of laughter Chris let out at that.

“Chris is my son.”

Well, that made sense, Chris had the same complexion as Buck did, and he was just as quick to smile, and even though his hair was lighter in color it was still thick and wavy, and—

Wait.

His brain caught up with his ears and yanked him out of his baby haze as he looked back up to Eddie, and oh, yeah, there was that nervousness that Buck had felt radiating off of him all afternoon. It seemed to echo around the yard, where there was conversation and laughter just a moment ago, everyone seemed quieter now, hushed, or maybe that was just the rushing in Buck’s ears. Things started fitting into place as Buck thought about it—how he had met all of Eddie’s immediate family, but not at the same time, probably because someone had probably taken Chris out whenever Buck came over. How Eddie so obviously loved his family, but still got a little awkward talking about them at times. Why Eddie had only rarely badgered him about going out after school, because he was spending most of the time himself with his son.

“This is your baby.”

“Yes.”

Oh.

“You’re his father.”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

“Eddie, he’s beautiful.”

Eddie sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, the tension bleeding out of his body, and the smile he shot to Buck was more open and honest than he had ever seen before. He could feel a collective sigh breathed around him as the voices picked back up, apparently approving of Buck’s reaction. “He really is, isn’t he? When he was born last year, his mom wanted to give him up, but… I couldn’t even imagine that. My parents stepped up and really helped me out, we took him home, and it was just… perfect. Like it was meant to be.”

Buck looked up with a smile as Eddie spoke, utterly entrapped in how soft he looked as he held his son, his voice low and slow as to not startle the curious kid safe in his arms. “When my dad took a contract up here, I thought it would be the perfect chance to start over, you know? I wouldn’t give Chris up for anything, but I could tell teachers were going easier on me, boosting my grades, and I didn’t know if it was pity or… whatever. This was the chance for me to prove I could do it. You, uh, you’re the only one outside of my family who even knows.” Eddie said, and Buck had to physically bite his tongue to prevent himself from gushing.

“He’s perfect, Eds. You’re perfect. I’m… I’m really honored you told me.” Buck said easily, leaning forward for another kiss, mindful of the giggling body between them. “But if you think I’m going to let you forget that you told me not to bring anything to your baby sons first birthday, you have another thing coming, I can’t believe you didn’t let me get a gift or something—no, seriously!“

Eddie let out a groan as he leaned forward into Buck’s bickering, the sudden lull in the party long since forgotten as the night carried on.

The other shoe always dropped, though, and Buck 100% blamed himself for not seeing it coming. Hell, he 100% blamed himself for letting it happen. He had become complacent, he had let his guard down, Eddie had wormed his way into Buck’s heart and showed him how good things could be, and Buck had dared to believe him.

Buck had had hope, as stupid as it was, and now, here he was, standing at Eddie’s door, knocking at the wooden frame, begging, pleading for him to open the door—he didn’t realize how much he loved Eddie always meeting him at the threshold until it didn’t happen, until he wasn’t sure if Eddie was going to open the door at all, until he didn’t know what else he could do.

As it was, Eddie wasn’t the one who opened the door. It was Helena, who he had just spent the day with, and the sound she had made when Buck came into view was unholy.

The day had started off so well, too—Eddie and Buck had both been accepted to Texas A&M (while Buck’s pre-acceptance letter had come almost a month ago, he still waited until Eddie received his to even open the envelope), and Eddie’s parents had been so thrilled with him—with both of them—that they had insisted on treating everyone to breakfast before cheering Eddie on at what was likely the last wrestling match of the season (because as great as Eddie was, the team as a whole sucked).

Helena had forced him into a “Team Diaz” shirt, and Buck looked at himself probably a little too long in the mirror, tracing the name over his chest—if anyone noticed, no one said anything, though the smile on Helena’s face told Buck all he needed to know. Eddie, on the other hand, had absolutely lit up when he saw them all in the stands, his gaze lingering a little too long on the word Diaz splayed across Buck’s chest, and the look he gave Buck when they locked eyes again was nothing short of sinful (Buck was glad that he had been put on Chris duty—holding a baby was probably the only way he was able to distract himself from the sight of Eddie in spandex).

So, it didn’t come to a huge surprise when Helena opened the door and let out a sound that would have pushed him over the edge, had Buck not already been crying.

Well… halfway crying. He was only really tearing up in one eye, the other was too swollen to do anything more than squint.

His front was covered in blood, the “Team Diaz” stained red, his lip split and swollen and his cheek covered in bruises. It was probably for the best that his left eye was swollen shut, because blood was leaking around it from a split in his eyebrow, so he probably wouldn’t have been able to see anyway. Beyond the lip and the eye, though, the biggest concern was his nose—he didn’t think it was broken, but it was still sluggishly bleeding, and it just wouldn’t stop.

Helena pulled him into the house and immediately started barking orders (“Adriana, bring Christopher to the nursery and put him in his playpen. Sophia, tell Edmundo to get home right now, his Buck has been hurt. Ramon, give me the first aid kit.”), steering Buck easily to the back yard as the rest of the family scurried around.

By the time Eddie got home, Buck had been mostly cleaned up—or, at least, his nose had stopped bleeding long enough to mop up most of the blood on his face, and Helena had taped the gash on his brow closed with butterfly bandages, and had a cold compress pressed against his face. Eddie looked wild, his eyes wide and face unforgiving as he kneeled next to Buck, and if Buck had any tears left in his body he probably would have started crying again as Eddie cupped the uninjured side of his face.

Buck knew that Eddie was trying to find words, but he also knew there were a hundred wrong things to say at that moment, so he took the step for both of them.

“My dad found out about us.” There was no sense in sugar coating it, no sense in leaving the bandaid on too long, he just had to rip it off so they could move on. “Apparently he didn’t much like the idea of his son not carrying on the family name, he… didn’t take it well.”

Eddie let out a sound that could only be described as someone breaking, and Buck blindly reached for his hand, feeling something burn through his chest, deciding then and there that he wouldn’t let another ounce of his father hurt Eddie the way it had hurt him. “But you were right. One block, one hit, all I needed to get away.” His tone had soured into something dark and sticky, good eye burning as he remembered Eddie’s little self defense lesson, all those months ago. He could tell the moment that Eddie’s mind reached the same conclusion, and he scrambled to look at Buck’s hands—there were some bruising around his right knuckles, but that was it.

One punch, that was all he needed.

One punch, and just like that, he had left everything behind—his phone, his car, his father bleeding from what Buck could only hope was a broken nose, coughing and sputtering on the entryway floor. The only thing he had on him was his wallet and his hoodie, and even the latter was tossed into the trashcan as he got off the train, too thoroughly wet with blood to be of any good at keeping him warm.

Instinctively, he had gotten off the train and trusted his feet to take him somewhere he knew he would be safe. He had finally realized that that place would never be with his family, would never be his house. His house would never be his home.

“Eddie…” Buck started, his voice thick with emotion. “Eddie, I… I don’t want to go back. I never want to see them, ever again. I’ll call up Maddie, I’ll… I’ll do something, but I can’t go back there, ever.”

Eddie looked like his heart was breaking; but before he could open his mouth and tell Buck off for considering going anywhere else, Helena spoke again.

“You will do no such thing.”

Her voice soft but hard as steel, leaving no room for argument, and Buck looked at her with pleading eyes (well, eye) as she shook her head.

“You will not be going back there. I have half a mind to drive over there right now and—no. I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to see them again.”

Buck could feel himself sag in relief, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding coming out ragged and raw, even as Helena continued.

“And Buck, I don’t know Maddie, and I’m sure she would be happy to help you out however she could, but. I would never let another Diaz out onto the street. Never in my life.” She said, and Buck had to swallow when he realized who she was talking about.

They considered him a Diaz?

“So if you would really be happier, or safer, we can get in the car and I’ll bring you to your sister tonight, but it’s just a few months until you and Edmundo leave for college anyway, and—“

“Please stay. Please. God, Buck, please, at least stay with us until you heal up a little. Please.” Eddie had apparently had enough of his mothers talking in circles, his voice shaking as he spoke, and Buck’s shock must have shown on his face because Eddie looked like he was going to start crying again.

They really considered him a Diaz.

He wanted to question it, to object, to do anything to prevent himself from being in their hair, but just like it was the first time they had lunch together, Eddie had worked his way too far past Buck’s defenses, and apparently, he had brought his whole family with him.

Buck barely had to nod before Eddie had him wrapped up in his arms, tight, and Buck returned the favor easily, seamlessly, his head buried in Eddie’s neck like he belonged there.

The thought resonated as Helena went back inside, letting the two of them have their moment; though, just a moment, announcing that it would be a lovely night to have dinner outside on the patio. It bounced around his head as Eddie kissed his cheek when they passed each other with plates and glasses, setting the table beneath the string lights in the yard, the spot on his cheek tingling long after the contact had broken. It took root when Buck found himself laughing, sitting easier in his own skin than he had ever done before as Eddie tried to justify whatever foolish thing he had done in Ramon’s story, failing miserably, his hand laced tightly with Buck’s beneath the table.

Maybe this was where he belonged.

For the first time in years, Buck saw something that was worth holding on for, that was worth keeping and protecting and letting grow.

For the first time, he had hope.

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 #buddiefic #911fic #highschool au #christopher diaz #tw: abuse #flospeaks #8k #fic #god this got long #I don't know if I like it but I needed it to be out of my brain so #there you go #mutually assured devotion

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dasphinxone · 4 years

Text

Book of Nile: Cabin Fever WIP

Like, I need to SIT DOWN AND WRITE THIS OUT INSTEAD OF DOING SNIPPETS THO. I’m sorry y’all, I swear I’m writing a full fic of this. Please don’t kill me.

Booker wanders over and starts organizing the ingredients by type on the dark, marble top counter of the kitchen island. Spices are put together, other dry ingredients lined up. He takes out the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“How many eggs do you need?” he looks to Nile next to him.

“Just one,” comes her muffled voice from where she’s leaning over to take full stock of the lower shelves of the pantry.

He diverts his eyes from the sight of her lean legs and her behind clad in short sleeping shorts. Her braids are piled into a cute, messy bun on top of her head. She already has on one of the aprons she found hanging on a hook in the broom closet. How one of his heavily knit, grey cardigans hangs billowy off of her frame over her shorts and tank top sends his heart beating faster.

She’s always borrowing his clothes. Usually it’s his array of denim shirts or old t-shirts that she cuts down at the bottom to fit her. Yet something about seeing her using his sweater as a robe while baking for him? It screams domesticity.

Booker startles at the feel of Nile’s touch to his arm. “I’m thinking a gingerbread cake? Or cupcakes, if we have a muffin tin,” she frowns in contemplation. “Christmas is just around the corner and gingerbread cookies are so blasé, you know?”

His face lights up. “I think I can legitimately say that I have never had gingerbread in cake form.”

“You are definitely in for a treat!” she playfully taps him on the shoulder with a spatula she’s dug up. “It’ll go faster since Copley hooked this place up with the KitchenMade stand mixer to boot. Though you’re going to have to make a hard decision for me, Book.”

He can’t ever seem to say no to her. Not especially with that beautiful smile lighting up her face. For fuck’s sake, she’s wearing his sweater like she owns it.

He rapidly blinks away any fantasies of how incredible she would look wearing just the sweater by itself. The way it would cling to her curve. Teasing him with barely contained views of her beautifully dark, warm skin. Skin that would glisten with sweat after he’s fucked her up against the wall next to the fridge. Her legs wrapped around his waist and heels digging into his ass while she mercilessly tugs at his hair and calls out his real name. All after he’s balanced her on his shoulders while he’s on his knees, devouring her pussy like he’s on a mission to make her scream and forget anyone else who’s come before him…

Stop it, you fucking pervert! he scolds himself in his native language.

He rapidly drags a bar stool from the counter to the kitchen island and settles in. Mostly so that she can’t see that he’s already half hard. His black sweatpants don’t hide much.

“What would you have of me, mademoiselle?” he bows his head with a flourish of his hand. When he looks back up, she’s beaming even more.

“Soooo, do you mind having your bagels dry or just with butter in the morning versus with cream cheese?” she holds up two packets of it.

Booker purposely curls his mouth in contemplation. “What do I have to gain from the absence of it on said bagel?”

“Cream cheese frosting for the cupcakes?” she pulls a muffin tin from the cabinet of the island and waves it at him.

Booker arches a brow and leans an elbow on the counter to rest his head in his hand. “Well,” he drawls out, “If you insist on spoiling me with cupcakes ma cher,” he sighs with supposed annoyance, “I guess I shall have to acquiesce. You may proceed,” he waves in dismissal.

Of course, Nile sees how he’s barely holding in a laugh. “Frosting it is!” she declares. Leaning over the island, she brushes her lips to his stubbled cheek while patting his other one with her free hand. “I knew there was a reason why I love you.”

Booker freezes at her declaration as Nile spins back around to the opposite counter to start. She’s greasing the muffin tin, putting the paper cups into them, spraying those with cooking spray and beginning to hum to herself as she usually does when doing this sort of thing. She appears thoroughly unaffected by what she’s just said. Shimmying her shoulders, she asks if he can fire up one of her playlists from the cloud on his laptop. He’s always had access to her music account, so the request isn’t out of the ordinary.

He's glad he has the excuse to exit the area and go grab his laptop from the den. He’s in need of doing a few deep breathing exercises his various therapists over the years have taught him to do whenever he gets overwhelmed. Except it’s always for the bad sort of overwhelmed. Not a “Oh my fucking God, this woman has just declared she loves me…except I don’t think she meant it in that sort of context? MERDE, I DON’T FUCKING KNOW.”

Either way, Booker all but flees the kitchen.

Nile is glad of it. Because FUCK, she just said she loves him. And yeah, she meant it in a “After all of these decades of having your fine ass so devoted to me and watching my six at all times and sharing beds with you since we're the spares and you willingly helping me do my braids and twists installations for hours on end without being all white boy weird about it? I think I could love you for the near eternity we have together. Plus, I think you’re pretty damn capable of fucking ruining me in bed with your, uh, fucking.”

Nile plants her hands on the countertop and drops her head between her shoulders. Her heart is beating fast in her ears and her skin’s tingling. It’s not fear adrenaline coursing through her. Yet it’s also not quite the effervescent sort of high either. It’s all topsy-turvy, confusing feelings that she doesn’t like. Not because she’s afraid of emotions. More that she can’t sort them out at the damn moment. Combined with the fact that it’s just the two of them in this dream of a cabin? For these next few days to up to weeks, depending on the blizzard? That will be…interesting?

Or a fucking disaster where we end up hating each other but are stuck in the same rooms with no escape, she muses to herself.

She’s frozen to death a handful of times. It’s not a bad way to go; after the numbness sets in and you can’t feel your limbs, you just sort of drift off only to wake from death. However, literally catching one’s death of cold in the middle of a snowy storm in the forest would suck due to the lack of relief from dying over and over again. Sure, she could technically leave if things went horribly between them. Yet that would be a stupid as shit decision.

“Are you alright?”

Nile spins around to find Booker once again sitting on one of the barstools up against the opposite counter. Only now does she notice the music playing over the Bluetooth speakers of the small holo-TV mounted on a wall of the kitchen. It’s her favorite playlist, R&B from the 2010s when she grew up. No matter that the music is nearly 200 years old now, it wraps her in a warm aural blanket of comfort. Meanwhile, Booker looks non-plussed and focused on the screen of his laptop before he looks up at her. His azure eyes full of concern, he scans around the kitchen.

“You sound like you’re having trouble with something.”

She swiftly plasters a wide smile on her face and stabs a finger down at the screen of her holotablet. “There’s a lot of steps of this recipe-”

“I’ll help,” he cuts her off while scrambling up from his chair, “Anything you need, you want, I can, I mean I will do it.”

I’d like for you to eat me out on your knees and fuck me up against one of these counters.

Nile swallows, trying to rid herself of the filthy thought. The thing is, he’s wearing this light blue Henley that’s so tight across his chest that it doesn’t look like he could close up the buttons of it even if he wanted to. There’s a teasing peek of dark blonde chest hair at the low V of the shirt’s neckline she’s struggling to not stare at. On top of that, he’s had the nerve to shove up the sleeves to reveal his forearms.

Instead, Nile closes her eyes and takes a few deep breathes. She hopes it comes off as annoyed with the recipe versus reigning in her self-control to not just jump him and climb him like a tree.

“The recipe calls for making gingerbread men to use to decorate the cupcakes with, though it’s not necessary,” she breathes out. “Did you want to go the hard or easy route for this recipe?”

Booker grins, eyes meeting hers. “À la dure,” he drawls.

“The hard way?” Nile translates, hoping her breath doesn’t hitch. Is he doing some sort of double-entendre thing just to fuck with her?

He shrugs. “It’s not as though we don’t have the time.” Moving around the counter to saunter up to her side, he looks down at her holotablet. “You far outdo me when it comes to baking, but I think I can manage cookies.” He opens a new tab and searches for a gingerbread cookie recipe. Finding one, he quickly reads over it. “So long as you can ice them?” he holds up the tablet for her to take in the cute picture.

Nile slightly steps away from him. Mostly on account that he smells so good (fresh soap…is that a hint of his usual spicy, citrusy cologne?) and feels so warm with one of his arms flush to hers. “We don’t have cookie cutters here, but you can bake them round and we can ice faces or ornaments on them.”

“It’s a deal,” he holds out a hand to shake hers.

Looks like their project for this afternoon is set.

#book of nile #booker x nile #nile freeman #sebastien le livre #Booker #booker le livre #the old guard #tog #nile x booker #people being cute while baking is a thing for me apparently

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spicyspencerreid · 4 years

Text

Just Friends| Part Two

A Timothée Chalamet Imagine: Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

Female!Reader, Dancer/Actress!Reader, CoStar!Reader, FrenchSpeaking!Reader//2800 Words

Summary of part one// Reader and Timothée are best friends. They are going to be costars on a new movie where Y/n plays a dancer and has a small, but still important, role, and Timothée’s a lead. There’s a storm and Y/n’s hotel is having issues, so she has to stay in Timothée’s apartment.

Warnings// Grammar/spelling and lack of proofreading//Extra soft Timmy; Cursing; Really soft fluff: y/n’s side of it is romantic, but Timothée just sees it in a platonic way, it’s really beautiful in a sad way. IM SORRY ITS SO FUCKING SLOW AND LITERAL SHIT, i like kinda know where I’m going with it, but like I don’t. Just send me a request with how you want it to go please...let me know!

Key: French writing (english translation), Y/n/n-Your nickname, Y/f/n-Your first name, Y/l/n-Your last name

(Added July 2020) Note: this whole series was written before Ansel Elgort’s allegations arose, and honestly, in the most disrespectful way possible: I hope he rots in hell. I ALWAYS stand with the victim, and if that’s going to be a problem, find another series to read. If the mention of his name is triggering to you, PLEASE do not read. If you or anyone you know has been sexually assaulted or abused, do not be afraid to speak up, but if that’s not the route you personally want to take: you can call 1-800-656-4673, available 24 hours every day and 100% confidential.

this is the apartment I used for inspiration//I put links in the specific rooms when they were mentioned so it would feel more ~real~ lol.

You knocked on the door. It was almost 4:00, but it felt like 2:00AM with the time difference combined with your lack of sleep. You glanced a peak at yourself in the reflection of the door, and your face dropped as you saw yourself, instantly becoming extra conscious of the way you looked. You eyes were still a little a little watery, but it didn’t look like you were crying too much. The rain had wet your hair, and your face, and your mascara stained your under-eyes. You sighed realizing you’d already knocked and didn’t have any time to fix yourself.

The door opened. You put on a soft smile and let out a weak little hi. Timothée took one look at your mascara-stained face and pulled you into his apartment. His arms wrapped around your waist as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. You peeked your eyes up to look into the apartment. You were both in the small sitting room, but you caught a glimpse of the kitchen. It was beautiful. White, clean, cozy, and perfect.

“I’m getting your hoodie all wet.” You laughed into his neck, feeling more comfortable in his arms than you had felt in a very long time. You smiled as you pulled away, a tired, but genuine smile.

“I don’t mind,” he looked into your eyes as you suddenly became super aware of his hands lingering on your waist, “let me show you to your room, Mademoiselle.”

“Si vous insistez, mon ami.” (If you insist, my friend.) You reached for your bags, but Timothée practically slapped your hand out of the way, insisting he’d bring them to your room while you were in the shower. He led you down a short hallway, right by the entrance, adjacent to a bookcase.

“Well this is it,” he motioned to the room, it was blue, your favorite, which made you smile. You admired the pattern on the walls as he continued to talk about the room, “And this is the bathroom, the storm shut off the power a couple hours ago, so the heat still isn’t back on, but the hot water heater should be good. I’ll bring your stuff in while you shower...and extra blankets,” he giggled as his mind brought him back to your apartment in New York. You had the largest collection of blankets he’d ever seen.

“Thank you, I swear I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, I’ll call the hotel tomorrow morning to check on their status, but I think the system should be up by-” “Stop. Please tell me you’re kidding, you’re staying here as long as you need to.” He stood in the doorway of the room, resting his head against the wall. “Timothée...I couldn’t-” your fear of imposing was crawling back into your system, but to be honest, that wasn’t the biggest issue you had with this. You’re main problem was the idea of being stuck in a small, romantic apartment, in what happened to be the most romantic city on earth, with the last guy you wanted to feel romantic about at the moment.

“How long do they need you on set?” you sighed, knowing where this was going.

“Four weeks, then I have interviews and cameos lined up for two weeks after, then I’m flying back to New York, so technically six weeks-”

“Okay, well they need me here for two months and a half, that’s...” you giggled as he did the simple math in his head, “Ten weeks. So you are staying here, with me, in this apartment for the six weeks you need to be here.”

“Timothée...” the exhaustion was starting to really hit you.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, now go shower.” you caved.

“TMZ is going to LOVE this one,” you waved your hands in the air as you walked into the bathroom.

“I’m already expecting a very angry call from Celine once Kelsey lets her know,” you giggled as he mentioned his publicist, who always seemed to have an issue with something. You closed the door of the bathroom and sighed as you undressed.

After showering you dried your hair and picked up your phone, you hadn’t checked it since you were at the hotel. There was a missed call from your mom, so you left her a voicemail and quickly updated her on your situation. Kelsey had called about fifteen times in the past hour, and you did not plan on calling her back.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you dried your hair until was at least damp. You put some blush over your cheeks once you realized it was only a little past 4:30. You put on leggings and a cropped-sweatshirt and you left your cozy room. You walked into the living room and spotted Timothée eating off of a plate of fruit at the kitchen counter while talking to his phone, you admired his outfit. He was wearing a dark green hoodie, simple, but the way it brought out his eyes made the butterflies in your stomach do flips.

“And there she is...” you heard him say to his screen, “I’m live on instagram. I was telling our fans the situation you’d gotten yourself into...” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a strawberry and bit into it. He turned around the phone to show you to the camera, you waved and his fans went crazy, of course, “A situation, that wouldn’t have occurred, if you’d agreed to stay with me in the first place,” “Whatever, Timothée,” you laughed.

“Okay guys I’m gonna sign off...uh...how do I end this thing?” Timothée was probably the most intelligent man you knew, but his lack of energy on social media did not leave him particularly knowledgeable in moments like these.

“You have to click the ‘end live’ button.”

“Where’s that?”

“C'est dans le coin,” (it’s in the corner)

“Non, c'est ma photo de profil,” (no, that’s my profile picture)

“Ugh, laisse-moi le faire.” (let me do it) You grabbed his phone and waved goodbye to his fans as you ended the live. You laughed with him as you placed a bet on who would get the most calls from your publicists.

“Tu as faim? (are you hungry?) We could go out to a cafe a couple blocks away if you want.” He smiled as he popped a blueberry into his mouth and went to the refrigerator, grabbing whipped cream, your favorite, and a plate, where he put some whipped cream on it. You thanked him while you picked up another strawberry and dipped it in the whipped cream, melting over the fact that you didn’t have to ask.

“You know, I’m kinda hungry, mais je suis très, très fatigué... (but I am very, very tired)” you usually would’ve toughed it out and gone to dinner, having been pretty good at faking your way through a dinner at this point, but you were at a whole new level of sleep-deprived.

“Okay, so how about we get a couple margarita pizzas delivered and watch a movie. Sonne bien? (Sound good?)”

“That sounds amazing.” you sighed out of relief.

“The menu on my nightstand has the number on it, I’ll go call.” he squeezed your shoulder and walked into his room. You walked around, running your fingers over the bookshelves throughout the apartment. You smiled as your eyes laid on Call Me By Your Name, the book cover having the picture of him and Armie on it. You thought back to the night you’d met, and how nervous you were. You pulled the book out from the bookshelves, running your fingers over the cover. You thought about that little crush you’d had on him, how sweet he’d been to you, how he remained to be the same easy to talk to guy no matter how many more lead roles he booked. You felt your face heating up as you realized how it’d already felt too long since Ansel had teased you about it. You skimmed through the book, trying to find your moments, but you shut it as fast as you could once you found yourself imagining Timothée kissing you instead of Armie.

“L'avez-vous lu?” (Have you read it?) you jumped, dropping the book on the ground. Timothée was once again resting in the doorway of yet another room, he laughed once he realized he’d scared you.

“Yeah, actually, I read it the night after the premiere, wanted to see if it was as good as the move.” you giggled as you picked up the book and put it back in the bookcase while collecting yourself.

“What was the verdict?”

“I still think the movie was better, but if I anyone asks, I never said that...”

“Alright, I won’t say anything, I appreciate it though.” he laughed when he spoke. That smile was killing you. The doorbell rang and Timothée went to grab the pizza. You two ate and talked for a while, discussing the upcoming movie. You talked about how excited you were, you hadn’t danced in a movie since the one you were in with Zendaya. After you finished eating Timothée cleaned up and you argued over a movie to watch in his room.

“Y/n. You’ve never seen Pride and Prejudice? That has to be illegal in some countries. Everyone’s seen Pride And Prejudice!” You think this might’ve been the maddest you’d ever seen him before.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the opportunity’s never presented itself. Let’s watch Marriage Story, we can watch Pride And Prejudice tomorrow? When I’m not about pass out from exhaustion...?”

“D’accord, d’accord, (okay, okay) fine. Marriage Story it is...” you let out a silent yes as you both walked into his room. He pulled back the closet doors to reveal a rather nice TV.

“Yay!” you giggled flopping down onto the right side of his bed, “This is the first time I’ve officially laid on a bed in about 40 hours.”

He smiled, typing in Marriage Story on Netflix before laying down on the opposite side of the bed.

About an hour and a half into the movie, about the fifth time you’d almost drifted off into sleep, you’d noticed Timothée had practically covered his whole body except for his eyes in a blanket. You took one look at him and bursted into laughter.

“Fuck off, I don’t understand how you’re not freezing right now.” he was right, it was pretty cold in the apartment, since the heat still wasn’t up yet.

“I like the cold...and the sound of the rain, this is all pretty relaxing to me...” you laughed.

“Okay fine then, come here.” he opened his arm towards you and your eyes snapped to meet his.

“What?”

“Come here, I’m cold, I need your body heat.” You’d cuddled with Timothée on multiple occasions, but all of them led to you stuck in your thoughts at night as feelings resurfaced, and most of them led to you realizing you never wanted to leave his arms. You looked into his pleading green eyes and melted, moving over and shifting yourself so you were right up against him. His arm reached around you and you laid your head on his chest. A couple minutes later, he spoke again.

“You know, you can go to sleep if you want.” he whispered as he started to lightly drag his hand up and down your back, you felt lucky you were way too tired to give it a second thought. You looked over to the clock on the nightstand, it was only 6:00.

“Non, je ne peux pas. (no, I can’t) I have to wake up early tomorrow and start learning a turn sequence for rehearsal. I can’t really risk my sleep schedule right now, you know that.” you muttered into his chest. You knew if you went to sleep now, you’d wake up at midnight and not be able to sleep, then fall into a schedule of going to bed at dinner time, which wouldn’t work out well with your schedule for the movie.

“There’s only a half hour or so left in the movie, go to sleep and I promise I’ll wake you up when it ends, you haven’t slept in so long,” he started to draw circles on the exposed space between your leggings and your sweatshirt, his cold, soft, fingers giving you goosebumps, “détends-toi.” (just relax) You sighed into his chest as his hands started to lull you to sleep.

“Y/n, the movie’s over,” You awoke to Timothée lightly whispering in your ear. You leaned up and rubbed your eyes.

“Hi.” your eyes met his.

“Hi sleeping beauty.” He smiled and you blushed at the nickname. He knew it reminded of you the ballet, making your eyes light up every time you spoke about it. You realized how close his face was to yours. You became strongly aware of how close his lips were to yours, how easy it would be to just inch a little closer, and meet them with yours, and more importantly, how bad you wanted to. How bad you wanted to make that tiny little space vanish. You snapped out of it once you’d realized you were staring, hoping he didn’t notice too, but he did, he always did, you just didn’t know it. It was a quarter till seven, you sat up on the bed, and he did with you, needing to keep yourself busy so you wouldn’t fall asleep again. He kept his arm around you, and you two started to talk. You loved the late night talks you had, wether it was at midnight or just after lunch. You eventually made your way to the living room, and Timothée poured you both glasses of wine as you took your seat on the couch.

“So, are you nervous for your first day of rehearsals?” He handed you your glass and put his arm back around you. It was a stupid question, of course you were nervous, you were always nervous, about every new opportunity that came your way.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta a couple turn sequences to memorize tomorrow. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too much.” you were beyond nervous to work with the choreographer on this movie.

“Stop, you’ll be fine, they didn’t even audition you. They practically begged you to be in this film.” he wasn’t wrong, the director had reached out himself, saying he didn’t even need to see you, he’d just send you the script and wait for your response.

“Doesn’t mean I’m good enough for the role though, you know? They haven’t even seen me in the choreography, or how I fit with the other dancers, or any of it. I could be a total mess and they couldn’t do anything about it.”

“You’ve got to stop doubting yourself, do I have to remind you who you are?” He playfully shoved you, “I’ll never understand how you flawlessly played Sleeping Beauty in front of 3,800 people once a week for six months, but you somehow still doubt yourself when you’re just going to be in a room with a couple people?” he had a good point, but you didn’t see it like that.

“First of all, and you know this better than I do, the lights block out the audience when you’re on stage. And second of all, doing that show every day is ten million times less scary than being judged in a small room with people that matter.” “I know what you mean..., but I still think you’re too good to doubt yourself...”

“Oh really Mr. Hotshot?” it was you shoving him this time.

“One day...y/n/n...,” he took a sip of his wine, “...one day I’m gonna get you to realize how amazing you are.” You looked at him and sighed.

“One day...,” you took a sip of your wine before sitting in down on the coffee table, it was finally past ten, you’d been talking for hours and barely realized. You could finally go to bed without ruining your sleep schedule, “I should probably head to bed.”

“I’ll get your glass, goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Timothée.”

And there it was again, there you were again. You were doing what you knew you’d be doing the second you caved and allowed yourself to fall into his arms during the movie. The same as you did any time the two of you had gotten remotely close to each other. Every time you sat together on the couch in Z’s apartment. Every time Ansel had made a joke about your little crush, the one that was beginning to grow larger and larger. Damn. You were in for a long night of over-thinking.

Some of you asked to be tagged holy shit you guys have no idea how happy that makes me oh my god, I’m still tagging ppl btw, my phone’s dead lol so I’m on my mac:

@sspidermanss @fandom-food-fire @gigi-maria-argu @meaganl124 @danidomm

I DONT LIKE THIS NEARLY AS MUCH AS I LIKE THE FIRST PART IM SORRY :(( I LOVE YOU GUYS THOUGH THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART. IDK WHAT IM GONNA DO FOR PART THREE. I wanted to like make him start dating Lily and then y/n like cries to Zendaya and I had a lot of thought about that...please let me know about part 3!!!!!!

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothée smut #timothée x reader #armie x timothee #zendaya #ansel elgort #timothee fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee red carpet #timotheetea #timothée #just friends

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zerochanges · 3 years

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2020 Favorite Video Games

I don’t know if I am an outlier or if this is the same for everyone else but I really did not play a lot of games this year. 2020 was a very harsh year for all of us, especially for me for some personal reasons. So to get to the chase, I am just gonna say it left me not doing much in what little free time I did have, and I didn’t play much either. Usually I try to keep my lists for ‘favorite of the year’ to only titles released that year but since I played so little this year, screw it. I am gonna include any game I played this year regardless of release date.

Collection of SaGa

By far a flawed rerelease. It’s bare bones: there are no advance features you would usually expect out of these kinds of emulated rereleases like save states, fast forward, or rewind, and there was no real effort made to touch up almost 30 year old localizations that had to meet Nintendo of America’s then harsh standards. This really is just 3 roms slapped into a nice looking interface with an option to increase the game speed (which by the way you better use, the characters walk very slow in these old games).

I am bit harsh here, but only because I thought the Romancing SaGa remasters and the upcoming SaGa Frontier remaster all looked like they got a great budget and a lot of love while this is just another Collection of Mana situation (moreso specifically talking about Seiken Densetsu 1/Final Fantasy Adventure/Adventures of Mana part of that collection). I would have loved to see Square Enix do a bit more for these older games. Or at least include the remakes. Seiken Densetsu 1 had two great remakes, both unused in Collection of Mana, and all three of these original SaGa titles have remakes that have never seen the light of day outside of Japan. How great would it have been to get the Wonderswan remake of SaGa 1, as well as the Nintendo DS remakes of Saga 2 and SaGa 3?

But my gripes aside, these games are still fun as they ever were. Replaying SaGa 1 specifically during the holiday season really helped calm me down and made me feel at ease. It’s easy to forget but even in their Gameboy roots there are a lot of funky and weird experimental choices being made in these games. They aren’t your run-of-the-mil dragon quest (or considering the gameboy, maybe pokemon would be more apt) clones.

Raging Loop

Perhaps my favorite game of the year, Raging Loop is one of the best visual novels I have ever played hands down. The level of creativity and splitting story paths that went into it is simply mind blowing. The basic premise is both a wonderful throwback to the old days of Chunsoft sound novels while still modern and somewhat reminiscent of both Higurashi and Danganronpa. Essentially you play as Haruaki, a poor slub that got lost in the mountains with no clue where to go until you stumble upon an old rural village with a strange history and even stranger superstitions. Before you know it there has been a murder and the Feast is now afoot.

The less said about Raging Loop the better, although I do want to say a lot about it one day if I ever can write a proper review of it. This is a gripping game that will take hold of you once you get into it though and never let go. I actually 100%-ed this and I very rarely do that. I got every ending, every bonus hidden ending, played the entire game twice to hear all the hidden details it purposely hides on your first play through, played all the bonus epilogue chapters, unlocked all the hidden voice actor interviews, collected all the art work, etc, etc. I was just obsessed with this game, it’s that damn good! And the main character is maybe the best troll in all of video games, god bless Haruaki.

Root Double

From Takumi Nakazawa, long time contributor to Kotaro Uchikoshi’s work comes a game any fan of Zero Escape or Uchikoshi in general will probably enjoy. Root Double, like its name suggests is a visual novel with two different routes, hence Root Double. The first route stars Watase Kasasagi, the leader of an elite rescue team in the midst of their greatest crisis yet that could lead to nuclear devastation as they try to evacuate a nuclear research facility that has gone awry.

The other route stars Natsuhiko Tenkawa, an everyday high schooler whose peaceful life is thrown into turmoil when he stumbles upon a terrorist plot to destroy the nuclear facility in the city and his attempts to stop them. Together the two separate plots weave into one and creates a really crazy ride. Part Chernobyl, part science fiction, any fan of the genre will easily enjoy it. And hey it’s kind of relevant to include on this list too since it just got a Switch port this year (I played it on steam though).

Snack World

I was shocked upon starting Snack World as it is instantly incredibly charming, witty, and downright hilarious at times yet I heard almost zero people talk about it. EVER. This game is Dragon Quest levels of quirky though, and the localization is incredible. The game has such an oddball sense of humor that works really well with its presentation right down to the anime opening video that sings about the most bizarre things. Instead of the usual pump up song about the cool adventure ahead we get stuff like wanting to go out to a restaurant and eat pork chops.

The self aware/fourth wall breaking humor is just enough to be really funny, but doesn't overstay its welcome and always makes it work right in the context of the dialogue. And finally, just everything; with the menus, the name of side quests and missions, and the character dialogue -- are all just so witty and full of quirky humor. This is one hell of a charming and funny game and addictive to boot.

Trials of Mana

Trials of Mana has gone from one of those legendary unlocalized games, to one of the first major breakthroughs in fan translation, to finally getting an official English release complete with a fully 3D remake. In a lot of ways from a western perspective this game has had an incredible journey. As for this remake itself, I really found myself having tons of fun with it. I loved the graphics, and the voice acting while a bit on the cheaper side almost kind of adds to the charm since both the graphics and acting really give it an old PS2 vibe. I know that is probably just more me being weird but yeah, I had to say it.

I really hope Square Enix sticks to this style of remake more often, instead of just doing Final Fantasy VII Remakes that break the bank and involve extensive tweaking to both plot and game play. I’ll take smaller budget projects that play more like the original game any day personally. I wouldn’t mind if they also deliver a brand new Mana game all together in this engine either.

Utawarerumono Trilogy

This year saw the release of the first entry in the series, Utawarerumono: Prelude to the Fallen--and thus finally after three years since the sequels Utawarerumono: Mask of Deception and Utawarerumono: Mask of Truth came out in 2017 the trilogy is now complete in English. I ended up binging through Prelude to the Fallen very fast shortly after it came out and immediately jumped on to the sequels. Perhaps the best part of 2020 was that I finally played all three of these fantastic games, and did so back-to-back-to-back. Playing the first Utawarerumono was an experience I will never forget, it was like visiting old friends again that I haven’t seen in ages, by and large thanks to the fact that I saw the anime adaption of the game when I was much younger, nearly a decade ago. Back then I would have never of dreamed that I would get to play the actual game and get the real experience.

And it only got better from here, as all three games are such wonderful experiences from start to finish. The stories are all so deep, and by the time you get to the third entry, Mask of Truth, it’s crazy to see how they all connected over so many years and weaved together into a plot much bigger than they ever were. What carries it beyond all that though has to be the fun and addicting strategy role playing game aspect, which while a bit on the easy side, is still so much fun and helps make the game feel better paced since you get to play the conquests your characters go on and not just read about all the battles they fight. Beyond that the games are packed full of awesome characters, and I know I’ll never forget the amazing leads in all of them. Hakuowlo, Haku, and Oshtor will all go down as some of the greats to me.

Ys: Memories of Celceta

Ys: Memories of Celceta is a full 3D remake of Ys IV, a rather infamous game in Falcom’s Ys series. Not to get bogged down too much into the history of Falcom but by this point they were facing a lot of hardship and had to outsource this entry to other developers, and thus passed it on to two particular developers they had a business relationship with, creating two unique versions of Ys IV. Tonkin House who had worked on Super Famicom port of Ys III with Falcom ended up creating their own YS IV entry, Mask of the Sun for the very same system, where Hudson soft who had produced the much beloved Ys Books I & II remakes for the Turbografix (PC Engine) CD add-on created their own Ys IV entry Dawn of Ys for that console. Both games followed guidelines and ideas outlined from Falcom themselves but both radically diverged from each other and turned into completely different games.

Falcom finally putting an end to this debate on which version of Ys IV you should play have gone and created their own definitive Ys IV in 2012 for the Playstation Vita. I played the 2020 remastered version of this remake on my PS4. I even bought this on the Vita when it first came out but I am horrible and only horde games, never play them. So it was a lot of fun to finally play this.

Memories of Celceta is probably one of the best starting points for anyone looking to get into Ys, especially if you only want to stay with the 3D titles as out of all the 3D entries this explains the most about the world and series protagonist Adol Christian. Beyond that it’s just another fantastic entry in a wonderful series that has a few good twists hidden behind it, especially for long time fans of the series.

Random Video Game Console Stuff

Xbox Has Blue Dragon: I actually got an Xbox One this year for free from my brother. Because of that I started to play Blue Dragon again and there’s a lot I would love to say about this game. I don’t know if I am fully committed to replaying it all the way through however but I find myself putting in a couple hours every few days and enjoying myself again. Does anyone else remember Blue Dragon? I feel like it really missed its audience and had it come out nowadays and probably for the Switch it would have really resonated with the Dragon Quest fandom a lot more instead of being thrown out to die on Xbox and constantly compared to Final Fantasy VII and the like which it had nothing at all similar with.

The Turbografx 16 Mini: This was probably one of the best mini consoles that have come out and I feel like thanks to the whole 2020 pandemic thing it was largely forgotten about. That’s a shame, it has a wonderful variety of great games, especially if you count the Japanese ones (god I wish I could play the Japanese version of Snatcher included), and a wonderful interface with fantastic music. One of these days I would really like to be able to play around with the console more seriously than I have already.

Fire Emblem Shadow Dragon Never Existed: So Nintendo localized the first ever Fire Emblem game on Nintendo Switch which is awesome to see them touching Famicom games again--I haven’t seen Nintendo of America rerelease old Famicom titles since Mysterious Murasame Castle on the 3DS, but their trailer hilariously made it seem like this is the first time ever they released Fire Emblem when in fact they had already localized the remake Shadow Dragon on the Nintendo DS nearly 10 or 11 years ago. I and many other fans I talked to all found this really hilarious, probably solely because of how much they kept repeating the fact that this is the first time you will ever be able to experience Marth’s story.

All that aside though I have to say the collector edition for this newly localized Famicom game is probably the most gorgeous retro reproduction I have seen in a long time, and I really spent many many hours just staring at the all clear glass mock cartridge. I have found myself really obsessing over retro reproductions during 2020, and obtained quite a few this year. I really hope this trend continues to go on in 2021 as recreating classic console packaging and cartridges is a lot of fun.

#video games #collection of saga final fantasy legend #SaGa #SaGa I #SaGa II #SaGa III #Raging Loop #Root Double #Snack World #Trials of Mana #Seiken Densetsu 3 #Utawarerumono #Ys #Ys IV #ys memories of celceta

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what-a-messsss · 3 years

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2x3 rewatch

I keep forgetting that Brach is still in S2. Oops. Also, I apparently went to check something in S6 last time I watched something, so it started at 6x2 instead of 2x3 and I yelled. But anyway, on with this mess. “Death Came in Like Thunder” apparently. It sure did.

Ah yes, let us not forget that Branch is MANLEH. This shall be proven to us by him murdering his cousin, Trunk, with big ax. Chop chop, Branch, kill Trunk. But oh no, must also show that he is People Smart, so must also lose because this makes him likable. And many white people clap. Yaaaay. But be sure to say, “I let him win, Ferg,” while your competitor is right next to you, so he almost surely heard you. Good good.

Oh Ferg. Could you look more gormless if you tried? (I mean, probably not, since presumably that was the goal of the actor, so he would have been trying. But still.) Bb.

Heh, nice thematic cut to Walt also chopping wood. And YAY, Henry’s gorgeous truck (and gorgeous self). I’m just going to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Henry rolls up and just helps himself to some of Walt’s thermos of coffee. Because of course he does. But I do so love these touches that they put in that do underline the fact that they are married have been besties for going on 40 years. Also, I love this jacket of Henry’s. The woven top, jean jacket sort of one? Yeah, top 5 costume pieces of his for me. (Also on that list, all basically tied with each other, basically any pants he wears. I am reminded, when they cut back out to a full body shot. Because I am very shallow, and he is very pretty.)

Haaaaaa. And of course Cady talked to Henry before she talked to Walt. Walt is a butthead. And, yeah yeah, she just found out that he’d been lying to her for over a year, but that just proves my point that Walt is a butthead. And we’re back to this whole idea that she left her phone, which just... ugh. No. But Henry’s face when he says that she said that she is safe, and he’s so worried, but still willing to respect her boundaries.

“She is an adult, Walt.” “She’s my daughter.” For fuck’s sake, you jackass, your ADULT daughter; that’s the whole flipping point! Also, that little emphasis on my daughter, pfft. If you didn’t want to feel like she preferred her cool dad to you, maybe try being less of an AAAAAAASSHOLE. And, like, respecting her. Even a weensy little bit.

“Etta Place” I don’t remember if we find out why that’s the ‘assumed name’ that Cady chose, but I’m intrigued. Wait, I just googled. Looooool. She spent years with Butch and Sundance. Nice.

Walt is such a soft touch with teens. *snack crackle pop* that kneecap back into place. Vic starts this scene saying, “The 911 operator,” though, which is interesting, because I was kind of under the impression that Ruby was the main dispatcher, so it would be kind of heartening if she actually had back up with that. ...Or maybe they’re just far enough out that a cell call made would be picked up by a tower farther out and have to be routed back in to the station/them. I have no idea how that actually works. Another rabbit hole for me to totally not go down. Hopefully. Shit. They’ve apparently upped the fine for trespass since the show, though, because it’s $750 (or 6 months in jail) now and Walt says it’s $500.

And once again, we see Vic actually wearing gloves while investigating a suspicious death, and Walt just squinting into the distance helpfully. I suppose “things got bad” in Basque country around WWII, but there has been friction there that dates back before the Spanish Civil War, or even the Carlist Wars the previous century. It did get gnarly with the dictatorship of Franco, and the formation of the ETA in retaliation, though, so yeah. (Francisco Franco is also on the list of people who anybody with a time machine should go back and beat the shit out of.)

Shit, I forgot about the animal death.

Knock knock, no answer. Better just wander in without a warrant. I know that the guy who they know lives there is dead, but still, no fricking warrant; I suppose the worry of a poisoning could count as probably cause?

Gods, but there are moments when I do absolutely adore Vic, and they are usually when she’s taking the piss out of Walt. “Reclusive bachelor chic; you and Marco have the same decorator.” Looool. But also, sad, because Martha has only been gone for a little over a year, and Walt is not the kind of person who would, like, change stuff and get rid of her things, so that’s kind of odd. Maybe Henry and/or Cady went though and put away some of her things to try to help Walt move on? But damn, the ‘excuse you’ look on Walt’s face when she does say it, pffft.

AND AGAIN, Vic wearing gloves, Walt with his bare ass hands picking up the picture of Picasso’s Guernica; can you at least *pretend* you’re a cop, *some* of the time, buddy?

Lol at the barrabilak; they are pretty well by the Rocky Mountains, so it’s probably not all that surprising that Walt’s had some “Rocky Mountain oysters” before.

I had forgotten that Vic had four brothers. But her comment about Sal going off to look after the sheep and how if someone had told her that one of her brothers were dead she “wouldn’t care about any damn sheep,” I don’t know. It kind of annoys me. It’s totally in character for her, which is good, but I think it’s part of what can annoy me about her character. Different people grieve differently, but also, I know she’s only been in Wyoming for a year or two, tops, but how is it so hard to fathom that someone one would be concerned about their livelihood, even in the face of personal tragedy? Just, seeing beyond her own very narrow experience doesn’t seem like something she’s very good at. It would be one thing if she’d framed it as “this is suspicious, and here’s why I think so as a cop,” but it was, “I wouldn’t react that way personally, so it’s sus.”

Sure, be suspicious because there’s a suspicious death and family members are always suspects until ruled out, but approach it like a cop. Or at least think about it from more angles than just your own, not terribly similar experience. You’re a white city cop who can’t (or won’t) adjust to being in BF rural-ville, but these are immigrant shepherds whose family come from a homeland where the cops were just as likely to kill you as answer questions, and you’re side-eying a guy for going to make sure that their meal ticket doesn’t get obliterated?

I need to keep reminding myself that I really did want to like Vic. I really did. She just... they don’t make it easy for me. Maybe she’s serving as an avatar for audience who don’t know about some of the culture stuff, and the audience get answers from her ignorance? But honestly, I wish they’d picked a different way to handle that, if that’s what they were trying to do. Her response to Henry being salty about Thanksgiving still really pisses me off. Because it was shitty and racist, and... do we really need a character basically rolling their eyes and saying, “It was so long ago, why don’t you just get over it,” about something that is intrinsically tied to the genocide of so many people? Why are Indigenous people just supposed to “get over it” but “Remember the Alamo” and “Southern Pride,” and shit? Fuck’s sake. Honestly, that might have been the moment when they lost me on her character. She has moments where she’s awesome, but they never really address her being fucking racist or give her a chance to grow into a better person. Which sucks a lot. Fuck. Ok, that was a lot. Sorry. Back to the actual ep.

AH, nice of you to beam in from the campaign trail, Brancheroo!

Uh, so I paused it to look at pic in the newspaper, and then being me, started to look at the articles surrounding the pic. And the one with the headline “Fans Injured At Local Game” is actually about the Stewart case? From 1x3? I’m guessing that somebody went to the trouble of writing up an article for that for some S1 ep after it and they just plugged it in because when not paused, you might catch “Sheriff Longmire” there and that’s all they need. Especially since the text starts to repeat after the first paragraph. (I am the worst pedantic little shit.) Ooooor, maybe even though it’s S2, it’s hardly been any time since 1x3? The date on the newspaper is March 31, 2012, so there’s a timeline hint.

Awwwwww, once Walt points out the bird, Ferg knows exactly what it is. Occasional twitcher, are we, my lad? “A red-tip meadowlark,” indeed. Oh bb; Ferg’s face when he sees Walt looking at the pic of him with Branch in the paper.

“You go too fast, you miss the little things.” Every once in a while, he actually sort of mentors Ferg. I wish he did more of that, especially since we see later how capable Ferg can be.

Go suck an egg, Branch. Why does she get all the “good” assignments? Maybe because she was actually on the job when they found the body, not campaigning.

OPE. Lizzie’s gift. Yeah, I’d probably choke on that coffee if I were you, too, girl. Better hope that there wasn’t perishable food stuffs in that gift, because that has been in there for a whiiiiiile, hasn’t it. Wait, was Ferg in the office when Lizzie dropped off the gift? Because his face said more than just “Did somebody give Vic a present?” Suuuuper subtle with that whole pushing the drawer closed with your foot there, Vic. Pfffft.

“Cyrano Caballero” How daaaare that skeeve take Cyrano’s name in vain?!?! (I have a thing about Cyrano de Bergerac. It’s quite possibly my favourite play, and I adore the character, and have exactly 0 chill about it at all. I find Brian Hooker’s translation of “The Ballade of the duel at the Hotel Bourgogne Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian” with “Then, as I end the refrian, thrust home,” vastly superior to any other translation that I’ve heard or read, though for the rest of it, I will grant that there are others to be preferred. But that version of his Ballade is exquisite, and I will not be swayed. Holy shit, FOCUS. That is so very much not the point.) It’s not even a throw away line in this ep, it’s just a random, very well chosen, if utterly appallingly insulting, company name. It’s actually incredibly clever for what the business is, and if it didn’t make me so stomping mad, I would applaud whoever came up with it heartily.

Vic’s face listening to this jackass’ spiel is a thing of beauty. “A good woman goes a long way of easing the obvious stresses of your daily life,” the jackass says, cutting his eyes at Vic when he says “obvious stresses,” and I caaaackle.

What is it about this guys’ horrible glasses that just makes him so much more hate-able? I’m not entirely sure, but kudos to whatever costumer put those on him, because they are perfect. In the ‘I want to punch him’ way of perfection.

And after all of that about Walt’s “lady friend,” Vic brings Lizzie’s present. Womp womp. That went super well. Yuuuup, run while you can.

Poor Ferg. Branch manipulates him, Vic ignores him, Walt shuts him down... Poor guy just can’t get a break.

I actually kind of like this motel manager--the one who “doesn’t judge people” and is a stickler for warrants? At least somebody in this county cares about warrants. Also, those doors are actually really pretty. Nice colour, and the carved scrollwork designs are nice.

What an odd shot: the one when they’re coming out of Walt’s office after talking to Skeevy McGrossFace and Rosa. It’s a weird sort of shaky-cam stepping back, just preceding Branch walking, and then turns to follow him when he sit’s on his desk. But it’s a really different style of shot than I can remember, so much so that it’s a bit jarring, especially after the series of nearly stationary close ups that we just had. Weird. [18:42-18-50]

Cady! I haven’t made much note of her costuming before this, but it seems notable that’s she’s only in monocromatics. Especially next to Fales in muted tones, but still some colour, and surrounded by the colourful grafitti of the alley where her mother was stabbed. Nice way of setting her apart from everything.

SHEEPIES! Ooooo, that wagon is so cool. Ah dang, the way that Sal corrects Walt’s pronunciation of his brother’s name is so gloriously passive aggressive. Good for you, my dude. Names are important, and people should have the respect to make the effort to get them right.

Aaaaaand Walt, the definition of Do, Don’t Tell, just shoves the guy to keep him from drinking the possibly dangerous water, rather than, like, using his words. Walt’s gonna Walt.

Iiiiiiiii am a mess, truly. It cuts to an architectural model and I start giggling like a 6th grader, because I know it’s going to be a Jacob scene. He’s not even on screen yet, ffs. HANDS. I’m fine. Totally fine. (That’s totally a lie. I just rewound to the beginning of the scene because I kept giggling too much to pay attention. What the hell.) First time we’ve seen one of the chips, which at this point must be a marketing mock-up, since nothing is built yet. And he actually types, not just doing the hunt-and-peck thing that is sometimes easier on a tablet.

Looking at the weaving that is up on his wall (maybe a rug?) I’m hoping that the prop people actually did buy from Northern Cheyenne artisans. They apparently did most of their filming in New Mexico, so I hope they made the effort to get the patterns right, and buy from the actual tribe they’re supposed to be portraying, I guess? And now I’m distracted by the fact that the random hanging light behind Jacob is at a weird angle?

Look, ever since I realized that the “Hey,” that Jacob does is apparently just A (thanks to it also happening in That Damned Xmas Movie) I am endlessly amused (and charmed) whenever Jacob does it. I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. (This is legitimately embarrassing. How much trouble I am having focusing. Beyond my normal focus issues, which, as shown above, are already impressive. Because thiiiiirst.)

“My boys at the lumber yard did just throw you a campaign rally.” I love how Jacob is basically apparently not just his secret angel-investor, but also a sneaky campaign manager. Did Branch just think shit like the rally just happened? He’s not fricking Ferris Bueller; somebody organizes those. And apparently it’s either Jacob himself, or someone who Jacob appointed to do so.

“I thought you were just a casino developer.” You have noooo clue, Brancheroo. “I prefer to remain a silent partner. White people get nervous when Indians start taking back their land.” Oooooope. Especially interesting because there are previsions for the Tribal Council to purchase land to be Tribal land (Section 6 of Article IX of the Tribal Constitution), but this seems more along the lines of personal acquisition. Though maybe not, because “on the board” doesn’t necessarily equate to being the owner.

The set up of Jacob’s office is so interesting. Functionally for the show, it’s probably for better shooting angles, so that we can see more of Jacob behind the desk while Branch is sitting in front of it, but from an in-the-verse decorating standpoint, bit’s fascinating. He has this focal wall with the gorgeous wall hanging, flanked by floor to ceiling window, but instead of having his desk centered on that wall and directly facing the bulk of the room, it’s at an almost 45 degree angle on a huge rug, and it’s so unexpected. I kind of love it, and want to analyze it for days. Also worth noting is that pride of place is given to the Hotamétaneo’o headdress which is on a stand centered in front of the wall hanging.

How fucking tired must Jacob be. He’s used to Walt... Walting, but then Branch comes in, who he is literally spending his own money to support in his bid for sheriff, and he pulls the same shit of assuming that he’s behind Bad Shit. And then Branch frames it as “bad P.R,” so he’s there to “discuss it with [him] privately.” And then basically threatens him with Walt. I swear. ...there is something a little amusing about Walt being used as the stick in the carrot and a stick method of negotiating. He certainly is enough of a blunt object most of the time.

Oh fuck you so much, Branch. Playing the “can’t give you details about an ongoing investigation” card as though you have some professional or moral leg to stand on after basically blackmailing Jacob with Walt’s vendetta is just such shit. You don’t get to look down your nose at Jacob’s quid pro quo pragmatism when you were the one who came to him for financial backing. You sanctimonious little shitheel. If you didn’t want to deal with Jacob, you shouldn’t have taken his $100k. He’s a business man, and you’re an investment, and not a quixotic one.

“He’s probably the only person to have died from [hemlock] since Socrates.” And then Walt’s incredulous look and her, “Alright, I googled it,” were subtle comedic gold.

Ooooooo, that was a nice little shot. Not quite foreshadowing, but showing Branch’s suspicions and sort of inviting the audience to share them. Walt says his bit about the Army poisoning “Indian wells” to kill them off and get their land, and then we see Branch fiddling with the Four Arrows chip and narrow his eyes considering and slip the chip into his pocket, looking suspicious. It’s a really neat little moment of visual storytelling, no lines, literally three seconds long, just sort of snuck in there, but super effective. Really nicely done.

And again, Cady is in monochromatics. And, shit, just gave Fales Henry’s name. Aaaaaand right after, she realizes that the junkie was killed and realizes that it had to have been one of her dads (or so she thinks).

Sal’s monologue in the cell is a good emotional payoff that plays off of Vic’s comments towards the beginning of the episode. I see the narrative worth of her making them, and how the structure of the episode benefits from it; but seeing those writing elements from the outside of the show doesn’t make me able to like her as a character who said them in-universe. And then the threat Sal makes of vengeance on someone who killed one he loves also underscores the stuff with Cady’s investigation into her mother’s death very well. As much as I gripe about the writing *cough S6 cough finale cough* there really is some damn good writing in this show, and I don’t show enough appreciation for it.

Huh, and now there’s a sort of inverse of that weird shot preceding Branch from earlier, but this one is much more effective and less off-putting. This one [33:00] precedes Walt as he walks back into his office, still a medium close up, but it’s much steadier, and the way it is framed, it does quite a bit to convey his mindset, and he walks out of the shot and we see the three deputies following him in like baffled ducklings, making the shot serve another purpose, too. Which honestly makes that earlier shaky follow shot of Branch even weirder, because this one was so much better.

And then Walt has his creepy little speech about how someone would want to watch the light go out of their eyes and not caring if you get caught. I do appreciate that when he’s talking about the psychology of killing with poison he doesn’t just call it a “woman’s method” which media so often does. It might have been the writers keeping who the killer was abstruse, but it was still more gender neutral. Especially since according to The U. S. Department of Justice's report on Homicide Trends in the United States (1980 to 2008) of all poison killers in that time period, 60.5 percent were male and 39.5 percent female. (Table 5 on page 10.) So that long held idea that even Sherlock Holmes was written to have that poison is “of course” a woman’s weapon is pretty crap.

Awwww, the good old days when Walt paid attention to animals. ...I am still bizarrely salty about the fact that he never named his horse. What a good pupper!

And then we have a classic example of Sneaky!Walt, which always takes people quite by surprise, because he’s usually as subtle as Miley Cyrus.

Also because when he does this, it tends to be pretty fucked up, in a Make Someone Think They’re About To Die way. And then he does His Thing, where he just lays out all of his suppositions, with no proof, only the terror of her thinking that she’s been poisoned and you’re withholding medical intervention to get her to confess. And is, irritatingly, correct about his theories. But I’m pretty sure this qualifies as coercing a confession? She thinks she’s fucking dying. Even Vic looks at him like it’s fucked up, and her moral compass where he’s concerned is... skewed.

They way this reveal was played out, (”How’d they find her so fast?” “Hard to say...”) is somewhat ambiguous as to whether it’s supposed to be that Branch went there to tell Jacob or not, but I kind of doubt it? I kind of figure that the meeting that Jacob was having when Branch rambled in was already with Rosa signing the paperwork. Jacob is smart. So, HAH. Little good your “can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” schtick did.

And then the news that someone in law enforcement has been asking after Henry.

“Lizzie was waiting for you here tonight. You should talk to her, Walt. She seems to think she is in a relationship with you.” ....omgs. The tone. I mean, yes, the blisteringly glorious SASS, but how does one not read that as incredibly shippy? Howwwww?

“You are an honest man, Walt. I would like you to stay that way.” Oh Henry. When did you decide that you weren’t? Was it when you hired Hector? Or was there something before? ...I feel like there were things before that. Hello darkness my old friend.

“It is not your job to protect me.” “It is my job...” THOSE WERE THE DAYS. Those were the fucking daaaaaays. And the emotions on Henry’s face after Walt says, “That was my right,” as though Henry cheated him of something. I am so deep in OT3 feels I cannot even see daylight here. The feels of them having been an OT3 and then Walt pulling this shit, and Henry having to defend his own “right” to avenge Martha? It wrecks me. “A good woman was murdered. A bad man is dead. End of story.”

#Longmire #Walt Longmire #Cady Longmire #Henry Standing Bear #Branch is such a tool #Jacob Nighthorse #The Ferg #Victoria Moretti #Episode commentary #How many tangents did I manage to go on this time?#so many #Martha Longmire #I ramble about shots and framing and narrative too.#It took me so long to do this.#I am such a mess.

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otomehonyaku · 4 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS CHAOS LINEAGE | KINO 5 [ENGLISH]

♥ OTHER CHAPTERS OF THIS ROUTE & OTHER TRANSLATIONS (CLICK HERE) ♥

@kyouxa and I decided to join forces to translate Kino’s CL route together! ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆ She’ll be translating the endings (which I’ll be linking to in my masterpost), and I’ll be translating the main route. Sorry that it took a while! I’ve been trying my best to muster the motivation to write my thesis............. which has basically drained all my energy dkfdkfjdfkj but anyway, I hope y’all are doing well, especially if you’re in self-quarantine (like I am), or if you have to work amidst all this chaos in the affected areas. Please take care of yourselves (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

In terms of the gameplay: The black choices lead up to a bad ending, the white choices lead up to a good ending.

DO NOT REPOST MY TRANSLATIONS, TRANSLATE MY TRANSLATIONS TO ANOTHER LANGUAGE, OR USE MY TRANSLATIONS IN ANY FORM ELSEWHERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. IF YOU ARE CONSIDERING DOING ANY OF THESE THINGS, PLEASE ASK FOR MY PERMISSION FIRST.

MONOLOGUE

Somehow, we were able to stop Reiji from acting rashly, and we managed to avoid an attack on the Violet House.

I have no idea what would have happened by now if I couldn’t rely on Kino’s advice.

Half of it is him openly expressing his dislike toward me, but still, I can’t help but feel that I can depend on him.

-LOCATION: SCARLET MANSION KINO’S ROOM-

Yui: I feel like Reiji has regained his cool a bit after yesterday, don’t you think? We were able to avoid a fight! I feel so relieved.

Kino: Don’t forget that it’s all thanks to my advice.

Yui: Of course, I am thankful. (Let’s just forget that after that, he’d bitten me, and had me fetch sugar candies for him...) (I would’ve gotten used to things like this happening for some sort of reason if it had been with Ayato and the others...)

Kino: Oh no, I ran out of sugar candies... Even though that was the last of it. I’ll have to wait until the next supply arrives, then.

Yui: It’s a pain, isn’t it? No shops around and having to rely on supply points, and all.

Kino: Yeah, really. My apps won’t connect to the servers either, it’s so boring... Ah, right! How about I play with you instead?

Yui: Eh...!?

Kino: It’s a perfect way to kill some time. You thought that would be fun too, right?

— SELECTION —

1. 嫌だよ　I don’t want to (black)

Yui: Wha... I don’t want to do anything like that! Do you have malicious intent again?

Kino: Heh, so that’s your response. You are indebted to me, though.

Yui: That’s...

Kino: Tell me again, thanks to whose generous efforts was everyone left unharmed yesterday?

Yui: (If that’s how he’s going to act, I can’t avoid it.) Okay, then... Today, I’ll do as you say.

2. 仕方ない　I guess I have no choice (white)

Yui: (I really don’t want to, but I should thank Kino for helping me yesterday.) (He seems like he’s going to demand something absurd from me, but...)

Kino: C’mon. Hurry up and answer me.

Yui: Okay. Just for today, I’ll do as you please.

— END OF SELECTION DIALOGUE —

Kino: Aren’t you submissive? I don’t hate this at all. Well then, what shall I do to you?

Yui: (Oh dear... It’s good that I went along with him, but he’s still a bit scary.)

Kino: Alright, only feeding on you the usual way would be boring, so... I’ll do this.

Yui: Ah...! What are you doing?

Kino: It’s a blindfold. Come on, stay still so I can tie it. I’ll bite you in all kinds of places while you can’t see a thing...

Yui: L-let’s not do this... Please, can you remove the blindfold?

Kino: You promised to do as I say, right? So, where shall I bite first? ...Hehe, maybe here?

Yui: ... (Ah... What? He’s tracing my back with his finger?)

Kino: I wonder if you’ll be more sensitive when you can’t see. Say, how about here?

Yui: Ah! W-where are you touching...

Kino: What a response. I guess I can get you all riled up for this. Well then, I’ll bite you here.

Yui: (W-where? I don’t know for sure because I can’t see...)

Kino: [leaves kiss marks]

Yui: [moans}

Kino: Your body just perked right up. I left a bit of a mark on your skin, but does it feel good?

Yui: Ah... That’s...!

Kino: It must be such a thrill, not knowing where my fangs will pierce your skin. Let’s try your arm next...

Yui: Ah...!

Kino: Why are you so loud? I only caressed you a little. Are you longing for it so badly?

Yui: That’s not... at all...

Kino: Hey, try imagining it. Where do you think I’ll bite you next? Your neck, your shoulder, your arm, your fingertips... Or your legs, maybe?

Yui: Don’t say that...

***

EXTRA AUDIO: TOUCH THE SPOTS ON THE SCREEN

(Kino’s hair) This state suits you. Shall I tie your wrists together next?

(The blindfold) You’ve been blindfolded, and touched to your heart’s content... How are you feeling?

***

Kino: My, you seem impatient. Don’t worry, I’ll bite you properly... [bites down]

Yui: [moans]

Kino: Hehe... What was that? I didn’t think people in pain would cry out like that.

Yui: N-no, that was just... Ah! (S-something is touching my leg...!)

Kino: You sure are easy to play with. Entertain me more, will you...?

Yui: (I’m scared... How long will this go on...?)

Kino: Hmph. I’ve gotten tired of that reaction.

Yui: (H-he finally removed the blindfold...) (If he’s only going to do stuff like this, I want him to stop already...)

Kino: Well then, what shall we do next?

Yui: N-next!? (This is no good...! I have to talk him out of it.) R-right! Carla and the others! We managed to avoid the worst-case scenario for now, but Carla will still want to attack the mansion, right?

Kino: Ah, that’s right. Reiji was making preparations for a counter-attack.

Yui: Yeah. If what we heard was correct, they’ll be coming tonight... But, it’ll come to a full-on confrontation then. So—

Kino: Right, right. You want to avoid it, don’t you? So we’d have to get in touch with one of the Violet House members, and prevent them from making a move.

Yui: Can we do that?

Kino: We can. I’ve been bored, so let’s go out. Of course, you’ll be coming with me.

Yui: I’m okay with that, but coming with you to another mansion alone might be a bit dangerous...

Kino: It’s okay. I protected you last time too, didn’t I?

Yui: (Kino really did brush off Kou and Azusa with ease.) (Kino’s powers I saw that time... It was absurd.)

Kino: We’ll be in trouble if Reiji finds out, so let’s make sure to slip out unnoticed.

Yui: Ah... Y-yeah!

-LOCATION: OUTSIDE OF THE VIOLET MANSION-

Yui: (We’ve come quite close to the Violet mansion, but Kino isn’t planning to go inside... is he?) (Besides, the Violets must be on their guard as well, seeing as we were here last time.)

Kou: Ah...!

Yui: Ah... Kou!? (T-to think we’d meet him outside... So they are on their guard after all. I wonder if Kou was patrolling the area.)

Kino: ...What great timing. Thanks for last time.

Kou: Same to you.

Kino: So it’s just you today?

Kou: I just happened to step outside the mansion for a bit. ...I’m at a disadvantage all by myself. Maybe I should go back...

Kino: Wait. I have no intention of fighting today. I came to talk.

Kou: With me?

Yui: (It would be good if Kino is able to talk to Kou and the others and come to a reconciliation that way, but...)

Kino: I saw your brother Azusa talking to our Yuma.

Yui: Ah... What!?

Kou: Azusa...?

Yui: L-Listen, Kino! What do you mean, you saw the two of them talking?

Kino: It’s alright, just keep your mouth shut.

Yui: (Even if he tells me to stay quiet... When could he have even seen Yuma and Azusa meet up?) (Besides, those two are enemies right now. If he says stuff like that to Kou right now—)

Kou: So? You were talking, but what are you trying to say? Just because they’re enemies doesn’t mean it’s unusual for them to be having a conversation, right?

Kino: I guess so, just like we’re doing right now. However, they seemed to be getting along strangely well. Hey, Eve. Do Yuma and Azusa get along well?

Yui: Ah... Uh... I guess so. I think they do get along well.

Kou: What? Don’t lie to me! There’s no way those two can stand each other! All that Scarlet House’s Yuma knows is violence!

Yui: ...! (There’s nothing we can do about his way of talking, because his memories have been rewritten, but hearing him say that makes me feel so lonely...!) That’s not true! Yuma is very kind and big-hearted! He’s always looking out for others. He always worries about Azusa, and whenever anything happens he’s always there to pick him back up... Besides, I think Azusa’s thoughtfulness balances out Yuma’s boisterous personality. They support each other and they have a good relationship!

Kou: ...How do you know what Azusa’s personality is like? You haven’t really spoken to him, have you?

Yui: Ah... Uh, that’s what I heard from Yuma... Yuma praised Azusa for being the way he is. In any case, it’s obvious that the two of them get along!

Kou: What the... It really does seems like they get along well...

Kino: I told you so. Azusa and Yuma trust each other. I don’t go into detail about what that could mean, though.

Kou: A reason for getting along well with the enemy... Are you saying Azusa might be betraying us...?

Yui: Huh!? That’s not it, Kou! Azusa is—

Kino: Alright, that’s enough.

Yui: (...! Kino clamped his hand over my mouth...!) (There’ll be misunderstandings if we keep going like this!)

Kou: There’s no way you could know, talking about the enemy like that...

Kino: Hmm, is that so? Even though I was so very kind enough to tell you. Whether you believe me or not is up to you. However, I just thought I’d warn you that they seemed to be getting along, just in case. Regardless of how much it takes to obtain the Throne, I want this to be a fair fight, y’know?

Kou: So that’s why you’re giving me this information? And you want me to believe that?

Kino: You’re making a scary face. If it bothers you that much, you might want to try talking to your brother Carla, to whom you look up so much? About the fact that there might be a traitor among your brothers, that is!

Yui: (...! Kino, what are you saying?!)

Kino: Well then, see you.

-LOCATION: FOREST-

Yui: Kino! Why did you try to mislead Kou like that?!

Kino: Listen, we’d be in trouble if Carla and the others came for us, right?

Yui: That’s...

Kino: That’s why I tried to raise some suspicion within Kou so that he’d go and report to Carla, and we thereby stopped them in their tracks. Carla will see away from the attack, and try to figure out who’s the traitor first.

Yui: (But there must have been another way regardless...) Hey, what you said about Azusa and Kou meeting... That was a lie, wasn’t it? You made it up to confuse Kou, right?

Kino: How cruel. Of course it was true. I saw it with my own two eyes. Well, I was talking about seeing the two of them near the Mukami mansion, before we were taken here. Hehe. Just like you said, those two brothers get along rather well.

Yui: What?! Even though Kou would misunderstand!

Kino: It’s not like I was lying, you know? Besides, you shocked Kou all the same.

Yui: (...! I did speak fervently about Azusa and Yuma, but...) ...I was just thinking Kou seemed to be suffering...

Reiji: Shuu’s behaviour...

—FLASHBACK—

Reiji: However, I have one think I’d like to ask you. Where on Earth did you get that information from?

Shuu: ...I wonder.

Reiji: ...I understand.

—END OF FLASHBACK—

Reiji: It was so unnatural. Did he think he could hide that from me? ...Well, alright. I’ll leave you out there for a little bit longer. However, as soon as I’ve caught you by the tail—

-LOCATION CHANGE: FOREST-

Yui: (Haa... To think that we’d be trying to get in touch with Ruki as well...)

—FLASHBACK—

Ruki: What are your intentions, loitering around in enemy territory and dragging the prey with you?

Kino: Nothing in particular? I just thought I’d like to talk to you, so I ended up coming here. I saw your little brother Kanato out and about with the Violet House’s Laito. They didn’t seem to be acting like enemies at all, you know. They might even seemed to be getting along rather well. This is just a simple warning. Whether you believe me or not is up to you.

Ruki: ...

—END OF FLASHBACK—

Yui: (Ruki looked like he didn’t believe it at face value, but he did seem to have something on his mind...) Hey, Kino. Why did we go all the way to the Orange House’s Ruki to tell him that?

Kino: Just a way of keeping everyone in check. If we warn the Orange House in advance as well, they won’t do anything unnecessary. You want to stop this battle, right? So then I suppose you have no complaints?

Yui: I guess so, but... (The distrust among everyone will only grow this way...)

Kino: Well, then. Reiji must be worried, so we should be heading home right about now.

Yui: Yeah... (Still, we were able to stop yesterday’s attack thanks to Kino, so I can’t really say anything...) (It would be for the best if nothing bad happens from here on out...)

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goatbi · 4 years

Text

Silence

Warnings for mentions of abusive households and muzzling a human being. These are both mentions and do not happen in fic, but still. Warnings for that!

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

They had met in sixth grade, when Host moved into their town from across the country. When Host had come in, long hair combed down his back and tugging the skirt he wore down as if it would hide the fact he was wearing one, Dark knew in that moment that they had to be friends with him.

Dark didn’t know why, or what drew them to Host in the first place. Host hadn’t spoke a word, despite the teacher asking him questions about himself. Host just stood at the front of the room, head down, hair falling into his face like he was using it to hide the bandages over his eyes. Dark didn’t know if that was truly the purpose, but the moment the teacher asked if there was a spare seat, Dark’s hand was in the air, and Host sat next to them.

They had met Mal and Wilford in high school, and Mal attached himself to Host, while Wilford would not leave Dark alone. Not that they wanted him to, but Dark wasn’t quite yet ready to admit that to anyone. The two of them had stood together against a lot of things, had their gender crisis back to back, and while Dark helped cut Host’s hair in their bedroom at two am the night before graduation, Host was the first to correct someone on Dark’s pronouns, hovering at their shoulder with a deadly grin if someone dared do it again.

High school was also the first time that Host had taken off his bandages in front of them, let them help clean up the mess underneath, though Dark didn’t get the story of it until college.

The two of them ended up going to the same college together, rooming together, though, with their room connected to Mal and Wilford’s room, Dark and Wilford ended up rooming together most of the time, even if, officially, it was them and Host.

Nearly fifteen years of knowing each other, and Dark considered Host their best friend, if they weren’t going the sweet route and saying it was Wilford to get him to smile. Fifteen years, and Dark didn’t know what Host’s voice sounded like.

Host had never spoken a word to them, to anyone, that entire time. At first Dark thought it was nerves, of moving to a new town away from everything and everyone, but as time went by, Dark saw how he purposefully kept himself silent. There were moments, Dark could see, where Host would light up, go to say something, before freezing for a split second, going silent again. Dark watched him struggle with it, before finally settling into that silence properly before freshman year.

Dark didn’t fully understand it, but said nothing. It was Host’s choice to make, after all, and Host had made it. However, communication wasn’t always easy. Host hadn’t learned sign language before going blind, which lead to many many nights of Dark teaching themselves sign language, and then carefully teaching it to Host, shaping his hands properly, while they sat on the floor of his bedroom, listening to a rock playlist Dark had found somewhere on YouTube. Even then, Host would stumble, drift into his own made up signs, that only Dark really understood. It was fine. Anyone who needed to understand him would put in that effort to do so.

Mal put in that effort. Dark had stood on the edges of their relationship, watching to be sure that Mal wouldn’t hurt Host in anyway, but wanting to give Host that space, and Dark had been witness to the first time Mal had correctly translated one of Host’s personal signs, the way Host lit up, grinning, uncaring that he had gotten braces three weeks before, and had all but launched himself towards Mal, squeezing him in the tightest hug, and Dark stepped back further.

Wilford had noticed it, of course. Somehow, he always did, and Dark denied everything, despite the knowing smile on Wilford’s face.

The point was, when Dark sat in their home office-currently they were all still sharing a home, having gotten used to each other’s presence, and also because they were all just a few years out of college, with varying levels of success on their careers-and Host stepped in, nervously fiddling with the ends of his coat-Dark had gotten him it as a ‘Good job getting out of your abusive family’s house’ present back in senior year when Host ran away from home to live with them, and Host had put it on and never taken it off-Dark just knew that something was going on in his head.

“What’s up, Host?” Host frowned, shaking his head and sitting carefully on the couch that Dark had put into the office a year before, when Wilford complained about not being able to sit with them when they worked, as if Wilford didn’t wiggle his way into their lap every time he came in. Dark sat for a moment, watching him, then went back to work.

Host always needed some time to think through things, get his mind on the right track, and so Dark left him to it, half focusing on their work, and half focusing on Host, just in case whatever he was thinking on brought his anxiety up too much. It was already elevated, Dark could see that easily enough, as Host fiddled with his bandages, slowly rocking back and forth, and Dark wondered if he just needed to unmask in here for a moment.

But no, Host still sat there quietly, fiddling with the bottom of his bandages-Dark idly wondered if they needed to be changed, but suspected they hadn’t bled at all today, so he should be safe-and rocked, head pointed in his directly.

Dark, half focused as they were, noticed Host open his mouth for a moment, then pause, closing it again. There were a few false starts there, and Dark found themselves actually getting nervous about this, as Host continued to rock and stop and start himself.

Nearly a half an hour of this passed before Host stopped rocking himself slowly, and swallowed.

“Host.... wishes to be able... to speak... at his wedding.” His voice cracked and broke, years of disuse doing him no favors, but Dark couldn’t help but grin at this, the forced silence broken after at least fifteen years. Dark pushed themselves from the table, walking around it to sit next to Host, draping an arm across Host’s back and tugging him into a hug, one greatly appreciated, if Host clinging onto them said anything about that.

“Well... you are one step closer.”

To be honest, Dark hadn’t expected the third person, but drew their own conclusions from it, as there were a few ideas he could think of. Host needed to ease into it, or maybe that was why he stopped speaking in the first place.

Still, either way, Host had spoken. It was cracked, quiet, and just barely a sentence, but it had happened.

The wedding Host referred to was his own with Mal. A year before, Wilford and Dark had eloped, with only Host and Mal as witnesses, and did eventually plan to have the extravagant wedding that Wilford, more so than Dark, wanted, but Wilford had really wanted to be able to call Dark his wifesband, and Dark had shared that sentiment. Mal and Host, on the other hand, despite actually getting their shit together before Dark and Wilford, had spent longer just dating, before Mal proposed with a necklace at two am on a random Sunday a month prior to Host speaking again.

As Dark understood it, the moment Mal proposed, Host knew he wanted to speak at his own wedding. It had taken a month for Host to work up the courage to come to Dark about it, and even then, still took time to finally speak again. Which lead to the inevitable question. Why couldn’t he talk?

Host curled himself into the coat, balancing his head on his knees as he pondered the way to explain it properly. He did a sign, a personal one that Dark hadn’t been able to translate, even after years of knowing Host, cupping both hands, one over the other, and pressing them over his mouth, frowning behind them. For a moment he paused, before setting his legs down to properly tell the story.

Part of it, Dark knew. Host, in fifth grade, had gotten into a car crash, a pretty severe one, with his family. They had all gotten out safely, alive, though it was the reason that Host lost his eyes. This is where Host continued the story, hands shaking. Before, Host would stop it here, rather abruptly, though, after meeting Host’s family, hadn’t had many questions about abrupt endings to stories like this.

When he had woken up in the hospital, Host had spoke, but it wasn’t right. He referred to himself in third person, and the doctors had explained it as a psychological reaction to trauma, one they couldn’t fix. When Host had gone home, his family had attempted multiple ways to get him to start talking in first person again, none of them good, really only worsening the problem.

Here Host paused again, doing the untranslated sign once more, before shaking his head and very slowly finger-spelling it out for Dark.

M-U-Z-Z-L-E

Dark felt their heart stop. Host continued on quickly, hands shaking as he explained. After awhile, they had found no way to get Host to stop, so instead, would muzzle him every time he spoke that way. The silence was preferred to the third person, and it would always end up getting back to them if he spoke at school, so Host just stopped. This was when they moved, to get away from the rumors of Host’s stilted way of speaking, and Host had met Dark.

Now, of course, Host was trying to get over that instinctual fear of being muzzled for speaking. Dark, not for the first time, felt near murderous rage boil inside their chest, and, rather than speak, dragged Host into another hug, clinging to him tightly, and Host clung back quietly, shaking.

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

It wasn’t hard to get Host into their office to practice. That was really all it was, after all, practice forcing the words out and realizing no one was going to muzzle him. Dark had been the obvious choice in Host’s mind, for this, as they had been around for a lot of Host getting over trauma induced fears. Mal, of course, had a day job, something Host was unable to have for multiple reasons, and Dark had managed to be able to work from home, so it was just a matter of waiting for Mal to leave, and then sitting inside Dark’s office with them, working on something himself and forcing small sentences here and there.

It wasn’t an every day thing, really only once a week, but Host began to grow more confident with it, even speaking outside the office once, though they were the only ones home when he did it. Each word he spoke brought just a bit more confidence to him, and Dark watched, as they usually did, as Host went from speaking minimal sentences, and sitting tense for nearly an hour afterwards, to being able to hold a full conversation, though a bit stuttering, up to the day of.

Host, consistent with who he was as a person, was anxious about it. Pacing through the office nervously, chewing on his thumbnail.

“What... what if Host can’t?” He asked softly, and Dark sighed, moving over to catch his wrist, so that Host didn’t end up chewing through his own fingers.

“Okay. Mal isn’t expecting you to, so it won’t disappoint any him, and it won’t disappoint me. Going from talking to just me to talking in a room full of people, even if it is people you trust, is a big step. If it means anything... I believe you can.”

Host let out a sigh, bouncing on his heels carefully, and nodded slightly. “Host can do it... He can do it...”

“Good. Now let’s go.” With their hold on Host’s wrist, they turned, dragging him a few feet.

“Wait, wait, now?” Host stuttered, stumbling a bit to keep up with Dark. Dark chuckled softly.

“What? You think I’d let you sit in here anxious forever? I know how your head works, you’d talk yourself out of it. Of course I lied to you about the time. Not much, of course.” Host shook his head, managing to keep up with Dark, pouting.

“Jerk.” He muttered, and Dark laughed, managing to get a grin out of Host as they did, pulling him down into the backyard. Then, he passed Host off to Wilford, who grinned, taking Host’s hand carefully.

“Ready Hosty?” Wilford asked, and Host let out a sigh, before nodding.

There were exactly two people up at the alter other than Host and Mal. Dark, and one of Mal’s close friends, Marley. Dark hadn’t had much time to talk to him, but that was more their own fault.

It was beautiful, though small, and this was on purpose. They had, multiple times, vetted the list of people, to who Host could be comfortable speaking in front of. It wasn’t like they knew that many people in total anyways, even with the two of them, especially with Host’s family consisting of him, and Mal’s consisting of Marley.

The ceremony progressed with minimal difficulties, the only real interruption being Wilford unable to stop himself from kissing Dark on the cheek before sitting down again. Not that Host seemed to mind, as he bounced a bit on his heels, clinging onto Mal’s hands and just grinning, Mal smiling back, already tearing up.

As much as Dark wanted to pay more attention to Mal’s vows, Dark found himself focusing on Host, the little signs of nerves that he showed, still bouncing just slightly. Mal seemed to notice it too, but focused on the bright grin on Host’s face anyways.

Host pulled his hands away from Mal’s for his own, smiling softly as he seemed to prepare to sign, but paused a moment. Dark shifted, then carefully pressed a hand to Host’s back, and Host pressed just a bit against it, before smiling at Mal.

“Mal is... many things, to Host.” Mal’s eyes went wide, jaw falling open, and Dark couldn’t help but grin at the sight of it. Chancing a glance out towards the rest of the gathered, Dark saw similar expressions on the gathered. He caught Wilford’s eye, and the look on his face told them everything they needed to know. Dark set aside time in their head to be interrogated about this later, and tuned back to Host, but noted that he had already missed the rather short vows that Host had constructed, in order to have enough courage to say them all.

That was fine. Dark had helped draft them after all.

Mal seemed barely able to stop himself, and the moment they said ‘I do’, Mal was dragging Host in, hands cupping his face, barely able to stop grinning to kiss him. Dark hummed, turning to look to Wilford, as the total group of maybe twenty stood, Wilford moving up to stand next to Dark, intertwining their hands.

“How long?”

“Ehhh... Months? How long has it been since Mal proposed?” Dark asked, as if they didn’t remember.

“You two have managed to keep that-” Wilford gestured towards Host and Mal, who still had their foreheads pressed together, even surrounded by the others as they were. “-a secret this entire time? Jeez.”

“I mean it wasn’t that hard.” Dark leaned against Wilford slightly, smiling. “You two both have jobs after all, and we both work from home. It’s not that hard to come in when you’re both gone and just sit through it.”

Wilford pouted at that, before pointing towards Dark. “I still want whatever explanation you can give me.”

Dark grinned, kissing his forehead lightly. “Of course my love.”

#markiplier egos #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #the host #malfunction/malik #Feelings In Various Ways #OUGH #this idea has been bouncing in my brain #i didn't wanna write vows so Dark be like *spaces out*#muzzled au

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years

Text

The Goddess's Judgement Part 5

Volug may speak only in the ancient tongue, but his dialogue lines are actually really funny when translated. Especially Volug’s “What if I ate everyone I fought? Would everyone keep fighting?”

Like that is so stupidly hilarious and the fact that it’s in a language that doesn’t even exist is great yet awful. There’s no vore in this though cause I don’t like that.

Focus on Volug since I like him and also no one understands him so I force myself to focus on descriptions cause I struggle lol

Also want y'all to know that I spent around an hour trying to figure out how to get the ancient language font to appear on Tumblr just for one damn line, but I couldn’t figure it out lmao

This was originally uploaded to Tumblr for about 5 minutes before I reread and wondered why the hell I uploaded it before deleting it and adding way more.

___________

Wandering around the dining hall transformed, Volug constantly stops at every table. A few pieces of meat get tossed his way each time, Volug catching them in his mouth. But with a couple of whimpers added, the whole table takes pity and gives him a sizeable portion of their meal. Add in a bark of joy mixed with some tail wags, each and every person are eating out of Volug’s hands.

Constantly in his wolf form, everyone mistook him for a strange dog. The lie still holds to this day, everyone viewing him as their dependable loyal companion. Able to halfshift to remain transformed as long as he wishes, the ability was useful despite reducing his strength. But now, Volug could feel the sheer lack of strength to do anything besides walk while halfshifted.

Treading to the next table, Volug repeats the process for the umpteenth time. He gobbles the chunks of chicken and steak happily tossed his way. Already full a couple tables ago, Volug presses on, nearing the last few tables.

Stuffing himself, Volug pads away after the last table. On his way to the exit, people notice him again, offering more scraps. Volug eats those as well, taking the free food.

Finally out, the route to his room feels long. Far too long. Finding a secluded room in the fort, Volug immediately claimed it, growling at anyone who came near. Everyone deciding to leave him alone, they left the room to Volug, a safe area to revert back. The door left slightly ajar since he woke up, Volug pushes it open and then closes it with his back foot. For good measure, he shoves the small vanity in front of the door. The door secured, Volug transforms back.

Fit muscular form completely gone, Volug groans upon finally reverting back. Working off the weight a matter of long several years, Volug is obese. On the precipice of 600 lbs, his tanned body stretches everywhere, his stomach sags down near to his knees. Volug burps as he lets his ass fall down onto the bed, the poor thing creaking and groaning from his weight. His thighs press down on the matress, spreading out. His stomach folds on to them, resting as it gurgles. His plump breasts rest on his stomach, the overladen fat accumulating everywhere. Volug’s tattoos stretch across his arms, the lines lighter and losing their definition. His ass squishes against the matress, fat shifting as Volug tries to get comfortable.

Digging his hand into his stomach, Volug massages it. Hands grabbing handfuls of rolls, Volug burps as he lets out pressure. Huffing, Volug closes his eyes as he sighs, the relief wonderful.

Half naked before, Volug now went without pants, Volug ditching the pair the instant they were tight. Not like it matters when he’s constantly transformed, Volug still wears his tight boxers, a hole or two already formed on them.

Groaning, Volug grabs the dog bowl of meat in his room, a treat from the chefs. Groaning, Volug grabs the pieces of meat. Shoving it into his mouth, he powers through, finishing all of it.

Huffing, the bowl is tossed to the floor as he wipes his finger of their grease. Standing back up, a process of fat pushing against fat, his stomach flopping around the contents of his food, Volug grimaces. Placing both hands on his stomach, Volug rubs them in circles, sighing in relief. Stomach slightly more calm, Volug plays with it, testing its heft as he lifts it up, his arms struggling to cradle all of it.

Grabbing the second bowl placed in his room, Volug groans as he eats that too. All of it meat again, Volug tears through the pieces. A quarter done, his stomach begins complaining anew, the dome churning with all its contents. Ignoring his body, Volug instead simply burps, the gas escaping his lips. One hand rubbing his stomach, he uses the other to feed himself, eyes closed as he repeats the process.

Hand touching only the plate, Volug drops it to the floor as well. A testament to his gluttonous ways even before the judgment, the floor is littered with bones and plates. Still standing, Volug licks the juices off his fingers. Legs buckling, Volug drops back onto the bed. Mattress already having a dent from his earlier rest, Volug dents it further, his ass squashing it. Groaning, he lies back, his feet on the floor with his back on the burdened matress. Huffing, Volug lies still, his stomach processing the several pounds of meat he gorged today. It takes about ten minutes for Volug to get back.

Having eaten only meat the entire day, he craves something different. Everyone viewing him as a dog, they won’t give him anything besides meat. Everyone except one person.

Probably suspecting something, Pelleas interacted with Volug differently, attempting conversations with him even. Granted, Volug didn’t speak back, but he feels Pelleas knew. Maybe because he knew, Pelleas always treated Volug with more intelligence and reverence, though; some of that partially came through Volug being one of the first soldiers from Pelleas’s rebellion towards Begnion.

Whatever food Volug sniffed in Pelleas’s room, he’d wag his tail at. Cautious, Pelleas had given Volug only portions of it, unsure of whatever Volug was could eat. Not sick a couple days after, Pelleas gave him whatever treats Volug wanted. Pelleas was Volug’s only ticket to non-meat food.

Deciding to go for some dessert, Volug pushes himself up, struggling and wheezing. Constantly halfshifting, the ability took away all his energy from both his wolf form and regular form. Before, he’d be able to move around and property function while not halfshifted. But now, halfshifting is far too taxing, especially with Volug’s long periods of using it. Out of energy, it was always easy to just halfshift back if he was out of energy in both forms at least he could move easier transformed. In a cycle, Volug could only eat to help replenish the taxing nature of it.

Sitting up, Volug rubs both hands on his bothered stomach, the movement causing a reaction. Volug shoves the vanity back besides the door and opens the door slightly before halfshifting. Several people greet him as he walks through the hallways, Volug offering a small bark as they coo over him. The route to Pelleas’s room is known by memory, the constant snacks from him ingrained in his mind.

The door uncharacteristically left open, Volug carefully walks in. The room is barren yet littered, tomes haphazardly left open on the bed. Searching around, Volug smells strawberries left on the floor for him. Heading towards it, Volug devours them, the acid sourness a respite from all the meat. Quickly finished, Volug finds a note.

Unfortunately, the note is written in modern script, Volug unable to read it. Scanning it, Volug finds some text written in the ancient tongue.

“I don’t think you can speak or read, but you have a far too high intelligence for a mere dog Volug. Oh I hope nobody reads this and think me mad. If you can read, Volug, then I went to the Gallian camp to end Daein’s involvement on an amiable note with the Laguz Alliance. I left some strawberries for you,” the note says.

Huffing, Volug groans at finding out the small treat is his meager dessert. Weighing his options for approximately five seconds, Volug heads out to the Gallian camp.

More compliments thrown his way as he leaves, no one questions him, assuming Volug to do whatever dogs do in the snow.

Trudging through the snow, Volug follows the scent, a massive group of Laguz easy to smell despite the light wind picking up. The sun nearly gone, the moon begins taking its place, the full moon offering decent lighting. The crunch of the snow and the wind the only noise, Volug continues on his quest for dessert.

The flapping of wings halts Volug in his tracks.

“Please, not so fast,” Pelleas’s voice sounds out, his voice further away from the flapping.

“We were told to have you back before the sun sets,” Ulki dryly relays.

“Oh come on, go easy on the Beorc will ya! He can’t fly like us,” Proving his point, Janaff flies slightly higher.

The eyes and ears of Tibarn had gained weight as well. Both hawks, the two were smaller than the beast tribe. Both crest a bit under 300, both of them still hefty.

Now higher, Janaff spots Volug despite the distance. “There’s a beast heading this way,”

“I told you I heard him five minutes ago, we’re fine,” Ulki retorts. His retort proves pointless as he flies lower, hearing Volug’s steps now much closer.

Before either can do anything, Pelleas speaks up. “Volug?” He questions, a meaty hand over his squinting eyes. A bark is his only response. “No need to worry, he’s a companion of mine,”

Janaff and Ulki share a look at each other, unsure whether to comment about Volug’s identify or not, both of them knowing of him from Rafiel.

“Well, we’re near your camp, so you’ll be in good hands,” Janaff salutes, ready to fly away. Ulki grabs his hand.

“We were told to-”

“I’ll be fine. I can see the keep from here,” Pelleas bows, or imitates one, his gut getting in the way. “Thank you for your assistance. We’ll help assist you all with whatever items to facilitate heading back home,” Pelleas smiles, following Volug’s pace.

“See ya, and thanks for the tip on transforming, I’m sure Tibarn appreciates the tip more than us!” Janaff salutes, dragging Ulki behind him.

“Thanks for checking up on me Volug,” Pelleas pats his head. “Though I guess you wanted some snacks,” Volug barks back, Pelleas smiling. “I’ll get you plenty, keeping up with the hawks was difficult. Thanks for walking slow,” Unknown to Pelleas, Volug’s slow pace was from halfshifting, running far too strenuous.

Arriving at the keep, Volug heads straight back to Pelleas’s room. Pelleas waddles to the mess hall, cheers and praises aimed at a blushing Pelleas who returns the compliments. The chefs happily supply Pelleas with his favors, several sweets being made. Shoved out of the kitchen, Pelleas heads back to his room, the sweets being delivered soon.

Back in his room, Pelleas finds it far cleaner than he left it, his books stacked neatly on his desk. “I guess I have you to thank for this too?” Pelleas jokes, patting Volug’s head, the idea of a dog cleaning a room entertaining him.

Pelleas sighs as he sits on his bed, the large matress offering a break for his tired feet.

The door slightly open, the knock signals the sweets’ arrival. Several thanks ushered the chefs way, Pelleas smiles as they leave.

Pelleas pales at seeing the mountain of a cake. Sighing, he pats Volug’s head. “I suppose you earned it,”

Heading to bed, Pelleas lies down, the creaks sounding out loudly as his matress digs down from his weight. Volug watched patiently, Pelleas’s breath evening out.

Pelleas now asleep, Volug shifts back and locks the door. Eyeing the strawberry cake, Volug hauls the cart to the desk. Taking a tentative sit on the desk chair, it holds his weight, the creaking not alerting Pelleas.

Too tired to bother with utensils, Volug grabs the cake with his hands. The first handful shoved into his mouth, it goes down smoothly, the creamy silkiness of it pleasantly alarming his taste buds. One handful devoured, Volug grabs another, and another, and then another, Volug making a process out of it.

One hand for feeding, his other is for his stomach, the mass complaining and kicking as even more food enters. Ignoring it, Volug eats the cake, more and more of it disappearing down his throat.

Head tilted back, Volug groans as he eats the last handful. Napkins appreciated, Volug licks his fingers before wiping himself, the chunks of cake now off his face.

Huffing, Volug grips the desk as he stands, his stomach yelling at the movement. Scooping as much of his stomach as he can, Volug groans.

Halfshifting, Volug immediately reverts out of it, finding it far too taxing. The door locked and no one bothering their king, Volug wheezes as he waddles towards the bed.

“Being this charming is hard,“ Volug complains in the ancient tongue. His stomach churns and bubbles as he rests on Pelleas’s large matress. The matress evens out from his weight. He just needs to wake up early tomorrow and halfshift back; that should be easy enough.

#fat emblem #male weight gain #male wg #feeder emblem #my writing #fat!tellius #fat!volug #weight gain

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mwritesink · 5 years

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A mumble mumble of thoughts about Fire Emblem Three Houses

Right. So I’ve completed all four routes of three houses and I have thoughts.

I mean, big thought is that I love the game considering that I went right back in and started another play through of Blue Lions. and sooner or later I’ll pick back up my written let’s play but not right now because I’m over extended as it is and playing three houses has been both a solace from my own over extension and a perpetuator of it.

Anyway

This is not meant to be a well thought out essay, it’s just my thoughts and not really going in for debate because that way only lies me being depressed.

I like all the routes, each has their strengths and weaknesses and I find the writing overall, while not galaxy brained good, is pretty damned good, and it does an interesting turn with making sure that no route gives you the full picture of the world of Fodlan. You have to play the entire game to scratch the surface of the truth, and even then players still have to cobble together what the facts actually are. The only characters that have all the cards are Rhea and the Agarthans. Rhea keeps hers fairly close to the chest, letting out one or two if there is no other choice, but the Agarthans have more cards than Rhea and are willing to play the ones that enhance their worldview.

yes there are flaws in the writing and it isn’t as tight as one might hope for being able to tie up it’s loose ends and keep the plot as internally consistent as it would need for having, essentially, four AUs stacked on top of each other. The weaknesses of the writing fall largely on the plot and it’s treatment of who exactly are the antagonists and the motivations therein.

I really like Edelgard, and I really like Rhea. However, the writing does a disservice to both of them. for the first half of the game, Rhea is set up to be a smiling antagonist. You have Jeralt being openly suspicious of her, you have Seteth questioning her decisions and being summarily shot down without answers, you have a noted instance of the church executing a person for an incident unrealted to the church and without trial (yes mitigating circumstances that are only found out through supports), you have the Lonato incident where raising an army (of civilians by all implications) merits the death of both him and the civilians (yes he intended to use that army to attack the central church and yes there is definitely an argument that she only marshals the church as a reaction to a threat). Nothing in the School Phase is set up to have a player trust Rhea at first blush. But in the second half, when she’s not there, the writing does an about face to say that no, really, you should have been trusting her the whole time. Except in Crimson Flower where she becomes the spiritual/end game antagonist.

Yes I know she has her reasons for being shady and keeping her secrets close and the truth of the world closer, but it doesn’t change the about face re: trust the game gives her.

Now for Edelgard. Edelgard is in a tough place writing wise. One the one hand, she’s the Big Red Emperor/physical antagonist on Silver Snow and Verdant Wind, and both the spiritual and physical antagonist in Azure Moon. On the other, she’s the protagonist of her own route, the face of the game’s advertising, and the speaker of the game’s theme. I believe the writing really did her dirty. They try to pull her in too many directions at the same time, so her motivations, tactics, and ideals all get thrown into a cocktail shaker that never pours out the same drink twice. It then becomes very easy for fans to take their selected drink and run with it, while not considering the other drinks made, or what all those drinks together might make. It doesn’t help that, of the three lords, Edelgard’s development as a character, and the impacts of her rule, are most impacted by the presence and absence of other people at her side. (Ex. If Petra dies, there is no independence for Brigid. Ex. the changes rendered by Byleth being present or absent)

(Though… does that mean if you don’t recruit Petra in non Black Eagles Runs Brigid becomes a vassal state of united Fodlan no matter what?)

Moving on.

There are some interesting culture clash that happens in the writing where assumptions have been made by the writers that don’t translate to non-Japanese audiences. I commented a couple times to my friends that I found it weird that the students you don’t teach call you “professor” or “teach”, and that it was probably evidence of the fact that the player might have changed Byleth’s name. This comment was generally accepted until my GF reminded me that the Japanese high schools work by having the teachers go around to all classes even if they’re also in charge of homeroom for a particular class. For all it’s western trappings and influences, the Officer’s Academy is very much a Japanese highschool, down to the differences in how the named students personalize their uniforms across gender lines. However, the game itself fails to get this across, as it only shows Byleth teaching their chosen house and interacting with students outside their house only on weekends. This then is also how Edelgard comes off as being very weirdly attached to Byelth when Byleth chooses one of the other houses. But if Byleth is teaching all classes and is just special homeroom teacher for one of them, then it makes more sense.

In any case, cultural assumptions aside, the school phase and training options were one of the things that I went into the game with the most trepidation about, but after playing it’s one of the more fun aspects to plot and plan what classes I’m going to give people and how to get there. The New Game+ features are also turning into a boon for my idea of Bolt Axe Annette as a Gremory (just need to get her to Gremory… and get a Bolt Axe for her). I don’t think I would like the training aspect if they did it again in a future fire emblem game, but as a one off “here’s a feature specifically for Fire Emblem Three Houses” it works.

I mentioned Byleth earlier, and I gotta say, of the character writing, which on the whole is fairly strong, their writing is one that sits the least well with me. My assumptions for this is that it had to do with the fact that Byleth is an avatar character, with a limited amount of customization, especially compared to Robin and Corrin, so they made up for it by writing as much of a blank slate character as possible so the player could superimpose a personality of their choosing. It makes sense in game play, giving the plot mandated dye job, but it feels weird to have such a pivotal character who cannot express their own opinions in a meaningful way. I wish Byleth was a fully fleshed out character rather than a player stand in, and it would make the growth we are told they go through more impactful and meaningful. Potentially the writing wouldn’t need to change much, aside from Byleth being able to make definitive statements about anything without being interrupted, and letting Byleth fight for their point of view instead of it being dismissed out of hand by other characters.

Also, can you imagine the hilarity of comedic straight man Dedue educating Comedic straight person Byleth on the basics of gardening, because as a mercenary Byleth would have never had the time? Can you imaging support conversations where you can really tackle what being raised a mercenary with no context of what the Church of Seiros is?

And so I roll into my last point: Missed opportunities.

For as much as I like large swaths of the writing, I feel like there’s been a lot of missed opportunities that could have been expanded on but weren’t, and so there’s a lot of what if’s that float about. As an example, I don’t particularly like Raphael, but that’s because I wish his supports did more than revolve around “Raphael eats and because he’s eating doesn’t hear what people are saying to him, and this results in friendship”. There is a lot that you can do with a big cheerful guy who’s in it to protect his sister and his friends that is more than a gimmick, and for Raphael in particular, I think it would do a lot for him to have more writing like how he got in his paralogue with Ignatz, where he can see an issue, knows there’s an issue, but decides to handle it in his own way, even if that way is one the player and his friends might disagree with so he can keep on being the big cheerful guy.

There are more examples from that, and missed connections, and places where a Support that only goes up to B could have been strengthened with a potential A support.

In the end, I love this game, I don’t mind replaying it over and over again, cause each time I’ve noticed something different and been able to try something new which alters my playstyle (trying to get Wyvern Master Dedue! Wish me luck in overcoming that red arrow next to flying). And I’ll likely go back to it for years to come.

#fire emblem #three houses

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 5 years

Text

Til the End of the Night / Ch6: In which Roman has company

Previous / Masterpost / Next

Summary: The Dragon Witch finally shows up in person.

Warnings: manipulation, breaking things in anger

A/N: Roman wanted more page time. And by wanted I mean demanded from me. So I gave it to him. :)

Read on AO3

Roman watched through his full-length mirror as his friends entered the forest. All the walking wasn’t very exciting, but watching it was better than doing nothing. He had finally worked out how to zoom in on the stupid thing after tinkering with it (and shouting at it) for most of the day, and jeez was he ever gonna have to have a talk with those three about their clothing choices. Virgil at least looked the part, although it was the wrong part. And, okay, yes, Patton was freakin’ adorable, that was a given. Logan, uh… yeah, he had nothing there. Even his face- which was, of course, identical to Roman’s own face, and Roman looked good in anything- still couldn’t save that outfit. Back to the point, though, if they were going through the forest, that meant they were taking the same route he himself had a few days ago. Which meant… hmm.

He flopped on the bed to think, staring up at the ceiling. When he traveled that path, he was always presented with challenges- three of them, to be exact. Adventuring was his way of testing himself, making sure his improvisation skills were kept sharp, as well as his swordsmanship. His friends probably wouldn’t be fighting much, though, given that they had no weapons and wouldn't know how to use them if they did. No, they were more likely to face obstacles suited to their individual strengths.

“But what might those be?” he mused aloud. Not that he didn’t know what their strengths were, but how did, say, Patton’s emotional intelligence and caring nature translate into anything that might pop up in the normal course of a heroic quest? He tried not to dwell on the fact that he should have known, that he seemed to be losing control over his own dreamspace thanks to their presence and truly did not know what would happen. “I mean, I’ve certainly never heard of anyone defeating a dragon with hugs.”

“Have you ever tried?” He sat up in surprise at the sound of another voice, light and teasing, yet underlaid with a dangerous sharpness. The Dragon Witch herself, stepping through the mirror. He dismissed the images quickly and laid a hand on his sword, jumping to his feet. “It’s been a while, Prince.”

“Not long enough, witch, and I believe the attempt would only earn me a knife in the back,” he pointed out, eyebrow raised. She laughed, tossing her intricately braided dark hair over her shoulder.

“You know me too well. How are you faring, all alone in here? I know it must be difficult for you, what with the lack of adoring imaginary subjects and all.”

“You’ll be disappointed to hear that I am perfectly fine.” Actually, he had never been so bored in his life. Now that the reality of his situation had really settled into the Imagination’s framework, he couldn’t conjure anything fun anymore. “Enough small talk, what are you planning? You must have a reason for wanting me out of the way.” His weapon was drawn now, and they circled each other, Roman holding his sword at the ready, the witch’s hands giving off a warning glimmer of magic. They both knew better than to attack first, so a wary peace existed for the moment.

“Oh, taking over your kingdom, terrorizing the populace, the usual. I do wish you’d give me more complicated motives once in a while.” The witch was one of Roman’s earliest creations. He wasn’t entirely sure when she had become self-aware. It was a bit worrying, if he was honest; sometimes he wasn’t sure if she was really under his control or just playing along for her own amusement.

Roman bristled at the insult to his creativity, clapping a hand over his heart in offended shock. “You dare presume to tell me how to craft my stories?! I wish you wouldn’t imprison me in my own architecture, but we can’t always have what we want, can we?”

“Point taken. But that reminds me, I didn’t just come to indulge your love of antagonistic banter.” She took a step towards him and he raised his sword defensively. “Oh, put that down, I’m not here to fight.”

“Maybe I am,” he retorted, and, well, with an opening like that, what was he supposed to do? He lunged at her with a shout, only to find himself suspended in midair, surrounded by green and gold light. Stupid magic. His sword floated out of his hand and over to her while he was immobilized. She finally released him from the spell after catching it and he thudded onto the floor in a very unprincely manner. He glared at her and stood up, brushing himself off and trying to look at least a little bit dignified.

She responded as if nothing had happened between his last statement and this one. “No, you’re here to wait for someone to save you from my evil clutches, but since I doubt that will be happening any time soon, right now you’re going to help me with this.” She produced a rolled-up parchment and showed him a vague drawing of a castle. “I mean, it’s definitely missing something, right?”

He blinked, taken aback and briefly forgetting to be angry. “Pardon?”

“The design of my castle,” she said, as if it should have been painfully obvious. “How am I to take your place as ruler of this realm without anywhere to rule from?”

He really shouldn’t be helping her with that, but dangit, the temptation of having something to do was too strong. It wasn’t as if she would have time to actually construct the thing, after all, he certainly wouldn’t be lending any assistance there, so there was no harm in merely planning it as a mental exercise. And he really wanted to draw a castle, okay? He snatched the paper and spread it out on the table, conjuring a pencil.

“Alright, you’re definitely going to need more spikey bits here… No, no, this is all wrong-” he erased an entire section of the building- “this should be over here, and then maybe some spires… Oh, and of course there’s got to be a wall with a nice, intimidating front gate…” Without her noticing, he also scribbled in a small back-door entry. No impenetrable stronghold would be complete without a way to sneak in, obviously.

Soon he was flipping the paper over to sketch different angles on the back, and then unconsciously summoning up more, so absorbed in messy floor plans that he didn’t notice when the sun went down. The witch watched over his shoulder as he muttered to himself, smirking at how easy it had been to get him going. Eventually, he finished off one last illegible annotation with a flourish and stepped back proudly. “Done! Beautiful, right?”

She stepped around him and shuffled through the papers. “Oh, yes, you’re so talented!” He preened. She glanced sideways at him, a glint in her silver eyes and a smug smile tugging at her lips, and he faltered, realizing he may possibly have made a slight mistake. “And so, so incredibly easy to manipulate.”

Her eyes flashed green. He gasped and braced himself on the table. It felt as though someone had wrapped a hand around his internal organs and given a sharp tug. Something was torn from him, forced violently out into the world. His closest reference point was a dream gone wrong, the feeling of nightmares forming themselves from his creative power against his wishes, only so much stronger. He couldn’t breathe for a second, and then the witch flicked a hand at him before he could try to move, walking away and leaving him frozen in place. He could only watch as she oh-so-casually opened a wooden door that definitely had not existed before, on the opposite side of the room from the window, and stepped out into a long torch-lit hallway, taking his sword with her. “Thanks for the castle, Princey,” she sang while closing the door. There was the metallic sound of a key in a lock, and he stumbled a bit as her magic dissipated from the air around him.

“No,” he said out loud, surprising himself with how angry he sounded. “No! How could I be such an idiot!” He swept the papers off the table in frustration, and the look he gave them as they fluttered harmlessly to the floor should by all rights have burst them into flame. “I finally get a chance to do something in this story, the story I was supposed to be the hero of, might I remind you-” He appeared to be reminding the lantern. “-and the one thing I’ve been able to do in like a week, it all goes completely flipping pear-shaped! It’s not fair!”

He was vaguely aware that this was the literal definition of throwing a tantrum, but given that no one could see him anyway, he didn’t particularly care. In fact, he decided to go ahead and throw a pillow, too, while he was at it. Then he accidentally knocked the lantern off the table, again, while pacing angrily around the room, and then the pillow he’d just thrown was on fire and so were the drawings, and the lantern survived but he burned his hand retrieving it and at that point he was too frustrated and tired to clean up properly, so he didn’t. He just fell into a convenient chair and glared at nothing in particular, trying to get himself under control before his burning anger morphed into hot tears. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He couldn’t tell how long it took him to calm down. When he felt like sitting up properly again, it was really dark outside, and that was all he knew. The lantern was flickering, because a lot of its oil was now pooled around the charred remains of paper and fabric and fluff. He simply snapped his fingers to get rid of that mess, now that he was stable and not at risk of making it worse instead. While he was at it, he cleaned himself up and changed into some more comfortable clothes for sleeping, red flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, dropped his head into his hands, and sighed.

“Am I… losing control?”

The room didn’t respond. His own thoughts tried to answer him instead, and he didn’t much appreciate what they had to offer. The evidence was beginning to add up, as Logan would say, probably while dressed as Sherlock Holmes for some reason. Getting stuck here in the first place could be dismissed as a fluke. The others having influence over his realm, well, that made sense, given the way it responded to his thoughts, although that didn’t mean he liked it. But the Dragon Witch hijacking his power to bring an entire castle into existence? That should not have been able to happen. He created her. She was a figment of his own imagination. Why was she suddenly doing things he didn’t expect, or understand, or know how to stop? It was… scary. He had never been genuinely afraid of anything here, always knowing on some level that none of it was real, but this scared him.

He wanted to conjure up a new pillow, but was hit with the probably-irrational fear that it wouldn’t work and he would have proof that his power was fading. Maybe leaving him entirely, stranding him here, never to return to Thomas except in dreams, where he would desperately try to get a message through each night only to have it forgotten upon waking and okay no this was not a hypothetical narrative he needed to follow to its conclusion, that was only making things worse, stupid brain seizing on anything it could turn dramatic and taking it way further than necessary. This was exactly why he needed the others to get here soon. Logan would bring him back to what was real and actually happening when his thoughts ran away with him like that, and Patton would surely give him a hug and believe in him so hard he’d forget he ever doubted himself, and Virgil would make him feel better just by being there, ready to stop him if he tried to do anything else stupid for the sake of showing off. He and Logan were basically 85% of Roman’s impulse control, but Virgil was the one willing to literally tackle him to prevent a bad decision. He’d never expected to miss that.

This wasn’t getting him anywhere productive, and he couldn’t sleep with his thoughts in such turmoil. He gave up after fifteen minutes of trying and sat up. The room was nearly pitch-black, but there was a dim sliver of light coming through the crack under the newly-extant door, making the mirror appear to glow. Maybe he would just check on them once more before going to sleep, just, you know, to see how far they had gotten since last time. They were almost certainly asleep by now, but still. He felt his way carefully across the darkened room and pressed a hand against the cold glass of the mirror, focusing his thoughts on his friends.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #i dont know what else to tag this as... the others arent really in this chapter #so uhh filler to get past the first five tags so i can do the organizational ones #my post #my writing #til the end of the night

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imaginedanganronpa · 6 years

Note

Can you please do some headcanons on how the V3 cast reacting to Kaede being mute? Like her childhood she received damage to her vocal cords.

Note: Whenever I use ‘disability’ I’m not trying to use it as a slur or anything like that, I simply mean it in a way that she is set back from everyone else because she’s mute, you know? Not trying to offend anyone. :)

The V3 Cast Reacting to a Mute!Kaede Akamatsu!

Kaedewas always insecure about being mute. Sometimes, she wishes she could talkbecause then her life would be much simpler.

Then she could do all the things she wanted to and she’d feel more normal.

Unfortunately, she can’t. She received a sport’s injury when she was ayoung child which damaged her vocal cords beyond repair. That’s a big reasonwhy she gave up sports and started pursuing music, specially the piano,instead.

Like every time she moves into a new class, she is hesitant. Kaede can’t do thestandard “tell us about yourself” routine and she always fears being rejected.

But for the most part, her new class was quite understanding and accepting.

She became fast friends with the Detective named Saihara Shuichi – mainly becausethey both seemed like outcasts, different than the rest. He understood and related to her on a levelthat most people cannot.

He also took up learning Sign Language so that he could more easily understand what she wastrying to say. However, Kaede most often communicated through notes and facialgestures rather than using her hands.

Saihara sympathized with the poor girl and warmly welcomed her with big, openarms. They spoke through silent smiles and blushes, and he always seemed toknow what she was trying to say.

His friends also became close with her, though he didn’t have many. Kaede gotto know each of them well.

There was Kaito, who was a bit blunt at first. He didn’t fully understand whyshe wasn’t talking until Saihara explained it to him, and then he felt likeshit.

Kaito sometimes forgets and tries having a verbal conversation with her, beforequickly correcting himself and apologizing. He isn’t as supportive as Saiharasince he can still be a little bit oblivious at times, but he really does try hisbest with her. He has good intentions but often comes across as the opposite.

He’s never met a mute person but he keeps an open mind and takes her under his wing, involving her in things like working out and other things his and Saihara’s friend-group often do. Kaito made her feel at home.

Maki, like Saihara, related to Kaede and welcomed her but kept her at the samedistance as everyone else; Kaito was still the only person she softened uparound, and Kaede’s mute situation wasn’t going to change that.

The girls still got along, though! Maki also seemed to always know what she wastrying to say and she quickly became the person Kaede went to for girl-advice.Maki became the female that she was closest to and she never tried to pushKaede’s limits.

And finally, there was Rantaro, who seemed to have a bit of an attraction toKaede. Whether it be romantic or platonic, she wasn’t sure, but Rantaro wasdrawn to her from the very moment they first met.

He was very open-minded and understanding of her situation, and he loved receiving hand-written notes from her. Rantaro becomes very protective of Kaede – those brotherlyinstincts kicked in and, due to her muteness and disability, he vowed to watch over her.

And that he did: he always checks up on her and passes her cute little notes inclass. He does his best to make her feel welcomed at Hope’s Peak. Rantaro caresfor Kaede, even more than Saihara on most days, and on a much deeper level. She considers him to be one of her very best friends.

Outside of that little group, everyone seemed to treat her differently, but not necessarily in a negative way – those wereher just main friends. Everyone else, for the most part, seemed to be kind towardsher.

There was Ouma Kokichi who teased her for a while. It came across as rude and impolite but in reality, he was trying to use humor to deflate the situationbecause… that’s just what he does.

Ouma still sometimes made off-comments towards Kaede. She never took it toopersonally, but sometimes he stepped over a boundary.

Deep down, though, Oumawas compassionate and felt for her, only playfully teasing the girl because he wasn’tgoing to treat her differently based on her muteness.

“Sooo, Kaede, are you gonna talk today or not?” Almost every day; it slowly became an inside joke.

Kiibo was someone who didn’t seem to fully understand her issue. I mean, he isa robot so he has a reason, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Humanscould be weakened and their lives altered forever from an injury? That was sucha weird concept to him.

But Kiibo tries to not let his ignorance get in the way. Like Kaito, hesometimes forgets.

Plus, since he can’t relate to her in the same way that humans can, he sometimes comes across as rude but that’s unintentional. Kiibo is just trying to understand her and does his best to support her. He actually wants to be really close friends, and the two surprisingly get along since they’re both misfits.

And Gonta is the same way. It took Kaede a few tries to explain to him why sheis mute. Gonta kept asking her, “Why not just explain? With words?” It actuallymade Kaede smile because she knew that he was genuinely just concerned andconfused.

After he finally got it, with the help of Kirumi explaining it to him, Gontafelt really bad for her and kept saying he wished he could help somehow, eveninsisting that he would take away her pain if he could… with different words ofcourse.

Gonta really became close with her. He always asks her how she is andif her voice is any better, in which she always says no but thanks and hugs himanyway, appreciating the concern. Gonta likes to think he’s helping in some way.

Then there were girls like Himiko and Angie.

Himiko tried coaxing Kaede into letting her test out restoration and healingmagic on her to get her voice back and repair her vocal cords, but the Pianistkindly refused. She didn’t really believe in the whole ‘magic’ thing.

The smaller girl never let up though, bugging Kaede and telling her that she’dbe the perfect test subject and that nothing could go too terribly wrong.

“I’venever tried a healing spell before, never had someone to do it on. C’mon,Kaede!”

And Angie went a similar route, but instead her thing was that Atua could helpheal her. Again, Kaede declined and Angie was a bit hurt but still pursuedKaede in bringing her into her religion.

Either way, both girls were very understanding about her condition and despitetheir efforts, never tried forcing her to do something she didn’t want to. Theywere respectful and remained acquaintances at most but only wanted to help her in the ways they knewbest.

Tenko was the same way but she was a bit more hesitant around Kaede. She likedher, and was kind towards her, but she feared that she would accidentally hurtKaede somehow and possibly further her injury which is something she reallywanted to avoid.

But still, Tenko was always really empathetic towards her. The things she was tryingto say often went over Tenko’s head and she usually misinterpreted Kaede butwas still as understanding as could be.

She also was concerned with who injuredher and how, because if it was some… male, then she would definitely get somerevenge.

Kaede calmed her nerves. Tenko kept her distance from Kaede apart from kindgreetings and friendly exchanges occasionally out of hesitation, though.

Another person that often distanced themselves from her was Ryoma. He simply didn’tfeel like he would be able to help her or be there for her in the way sheneeded, and she was already receiving that kind of attention from folks likeSaihara and Rantaro.

He was friendly, but Ryoma was naturally a cold person. He did his best tosympathize with her problem but never truly pursued a real friendship.

If she tried communicating with him, he would respond and Ryoma wassurprisingly very understanding and good and deciphering what she was saying,but he simply didn’t think he was “fit” for her. However, he’s like this withmost people so she didn’t really take it personally.

Kirumi was very parental with her. She often took care of Kaede, not in the protectiveway that her close friends did, but rather checked up on her to make sure shewas okay, like a mom would. Kirumi gave her extra attention because she has aided mute people before.

She was one of the only people, other than Rantaro, Maki, and Saihara, whonever tried to outright force her to talk. Kirumi respected that she was muteand knew the extensive damage that vocal cord injuries carry and geared herselfto look after her peer.

Their relationship was mainly surrounded by that fact. Kirumi was very formalwith her and often acted as a translator if her friends weren’t around. Herheart really went out to Kaede and she wanted to do the best she could to makeher time in their class as smooth and easy as possible.

There were some others on the opposite end of the spectrum, like Miu, who didn’trespect her as much. She kept bothering Kaede about wanting to hear her voice,and though Miu didn’t really mean it in a harsh way, that’s how she cameacross. It was that she was just really curious because she has never met amute person before.

Miu related muteness to quietness and sometimes mistook Kaede for just beingshy. It took her several months to finally come around and realize that that’sjust not the case.

She tried creating inventions to help her talk but Kaede didn’t really wantthat, and a lot of those inventions ended up not working anyway.

She also triedto translate but was wrong the majority of the time, interpreting her words asmuch more sexual, blunt, and jarring than what they truly were… with lots ofswearing added.

Needless to say, Kaede communicated with Miu mainly through notes from that pointon.

Some of her classmates didn’t really come around for a while, either, likeKorekiyo and Tsumugi.

Korekiyo didn’t start associating with Kaede at first because he wasn’t surehow to communicate with her and he didn’t want to seem rude or disrespectful.He did a lot of research about muteness and vocal cord injuries before heactually tried to form a friendship.

She was very understanding and he was very respectful. Korekiyo had a lot ofquestions about her life and her injury which she kindly answered. Once he camearound, he was fascinated by Kaede. He found her to be inspiring.

She easily could go to a school or join a class for mute kids, but she didn’t –and he thought that was extremely beautiful and admirable. Korekiyo held her ata high standard and really supported her in the end.

And Tsumugi was a bit uncomfortable, not knowing how to approach her at first.She didn’t want to be overbearing but also didn’t want to put Kaede on apedestal for something she can’t control.

The Cosplayer slowly but surely settled into her new classmate, and likeKorekiyo she had a lot of questions. She came across as more uninformed but Kaededidn’t think it was a very big deal.

Tsumugi liked Kaede and just didn’t really grasp the extent of her situation.Still, she was as respectful as could be towards her but the two never really got close.Once again, they were friendly enough but never got too familiar with oneanother.

Overall, her class accepted her for who she was and saw her as a real humanbeing and not just ‘The Mute Girl.’

She was closer to some more than others, but she loved them all the same. Shehas never felt more welcomed or loved in another class. They all, for the mostpart, seemed to understand her and support her. No one ever tried forcing heror made her too uncomfortable.

That’s all Kaede could really ask for.

- Mod Rantaro

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simple-skarsgard · 6 years

Text

Boy Next Door

Pairing: Zeitgeist/Axel x Reader Prompt: Axel gives you a ride home on a rainy night A/n: Inspired by this ask and this one . . For the sake of my mental health I will write it as Axel instead of Zeitgeist cause that name lmao. But ENJOY.

The town sweetheart. That’s what everyone had learned to know you by. A young, beautiful girl who owned her own bakery and was the sweetest person to ever have existed.

You were familiar with just about everyone in the town of Royal Creek. And just about everyone was familiar with you.

The scent of your strawberry scones haunted the atmosphere of the tone and drove everyone insane with cravings. Your scones were what you had grown to be infamous for and not a day went by where you didn’t sell at least a dozen. Of course you had more than just one specialty, but the scones- some would argue- were to die for.

Your shop was small and nobody helped you run it, only because you felt you didn’t need much help. It hardly got busy and the baking was something you felt you could do and would actually prefer to do on your own. Baking away your troubles while singing your heart out to your favorite cd’s and albums. It was your own little safe haven and it was your heaven on earth.

Although you were known for your baking skill and your kindness, you were also known for being the most ‘odd’. How? It all stemmed for the fact everyone knew about your crush. Everyone except your crush himself.

Axel Cluney. He was an odd character to say the least. He was tall and lankly figure with light brown hair and emerald eyes. Dressed in usually tank tops with baggy jeans due to his line of work in his own body shop. Which actually happened to be right next door to your bakery.

The mixture of oil and strawberry never went well, but a part of you liked it and didn’t mind it in the slightest.

Axel wasn’t anything short of a good guy, but he definitely stuck out like a sore thumb and it was a wonder to people how a well-kept girl like yourself could be attracted to such a messy-looking guy like him.

You’d had all kinds of guys come and approach you, but your heart felt like it belonged to none other than Axel himself. Yet it seemed everyone but Axel was interested in being more than friends with you.

There had been a few times you’d pass by his body shop and catch him underneath a car without a shirt and covered in grease and sweat, not being able to find it easy to tear your gaze away. You’d be lying if you said the way he rolled out form under the car before wiping his greasy hands off on his clothing didn’t swoon you just a bit.

You’d even stare at his interesting selection of tattoos, always trying to keep an eye out if he’d added to his body art, but you could tell it made him uncomfortable the couple of times he caught you. You had no choice but to try and hold your ground and not stare at them.. but you couldn’t help yourself.

He was different and intriguing.

You were just closing up shop when the rain began to pour down from the heavens, earning a small frustrated groan from you. You normally drove to work, but seeing as your car had broken down on your driveway that morning, you’d been forced to walk to your little bakery. And not you’d be forced to walk the same path back home, only now your disadvantage was it was pouring cats and dogs and you were without an umbrella.

The little hoodie you had with you would be little to no help but you slung it over your head in an attempt at a make-shift umbrella.

As predicted, the rain soaked through your sweater faster than you anticipated so you saw no point in trying. You tied the sweater around your waist and mentally cursed yourself for deciding to wear your brand new white thin-fabric dress that day. The material stuck to your skin like it was clinging for dear life and left a quite transparent view of your breasts.. And of course you’d chosen to wear a white bra to match with your dress.. The transparency was embarrassing to say the least so you crossed your arms with your hands cupping over your breasts in an attempt to keep your modesty.

Beginning your long walk home, you could feel yourself wanting to cry at how cold you’d become in a matter of minutes. It was going to be at least another forty minutes til you got to the comfort of your home.

You’d made it past a few blocks, noticing the empty streets and lights going off on every home you passed. It was getting late and with not even so much as a car in sight, the lonesome road was only serving to make you paranoid.

The echoing of your heels crashing on the pavement with every step was all you had until the sound of a motorcycle’s engine approaching down the direction you’d came from made your heart beat faster. You try to calm your anixety and say nothing would happen to you, but being a woman out this late all alone was never a safe bet.

The roaring engine grew closer until it was on your block and you prayed it would zoom past you and let the person continue along with their night and let you continue with yours, but to your dismay you heard the sound slowing down as its approach to you grew closer.

Tightening your hold on yourself, you try to walk faster and keep your eyes glued to the pavement to avoid eye contact with anyone to avoid problems if possible. But stealing a glance up you could see the motorcyclist in the corner of your eye slowing down, driving at your walking pace until you stopped in your tracks.

The cyclist only inching just feet forward before they too came to a halt.

The fear had settled deep within your stomach and you tried to quickly think of an escape route. You watched the cyclist who was unmoving and with their back still to you, you noticed your reflection was in their rear view mirror. And not a bone in your body denied the fact they were looking right at you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you boldly continue you your walk, trying to silently pray to God nothing would go wrong.

You were just about to make it past the cyclist without any action but then the figure climbed off the bike and turned towards you. You kept walking, wanting for them to do nothing and let you be. But they strode toward you and just when they were far too close for your comfort- which was non existent- you caught sight of who was in your presence.

“You look cold,” Axel smiled at you as he was slipping off his leather jacket and offering it you with an extended arm

You only blinked, not being able to believe what was happening. After moments of processing your shock you reach over and take the jacket, slipping it onto yourself and not being able ignore the mixture of musty oily with cologne. You smiled a little and tightened the jacket around yourself in an attempt to further bury yourself in the scent.

“Why are you alone this late? And walking in this rain?” he asked.

“My car broke down this morning and I had to walk it to work.. so now I have to walk back home,” you folded your lips, anticipation growing inside you that you were actually talking to your crush.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he half-laughed,”I would’ve gone over and had it fixed for you in no time.”

“I didn’t want to bother,” you admitted.

He shook his head, a half smile playing on his lips. You truly were too nice and the rumors of your kindness were anything but lies.

‘Can I offer you a ride home?” the question came out fast, like a small bomb had exploded in him and he was holding his breath trying to get it out.

“Oh? uh n-no it’s okay- I-I really don’t- I don’t mind the walk, really.” You were doing your best to sound convincing but you couldn’t help wanting to accept his offer, but caught between not wanting to burden him and also wanting to be with him just a bit longer.

His eyebrow quirked at you before he shook his head,”No, I’m not having it. You’re not walking in this rain.”

He turned away to grab a helmet from his bike and hold it out to you, insisting you take it. Biting your lip as you contemplated what really would be the damage from one ride, you slipped on the helmet.

You didn’t fail to catch the hint of a smirk on his lips before he nodded for you to follow. He mounted the bike and waited for a moment before you securely got on behind him..

“Put your arms around me,” he shouted over the running engine that he never bothered to turn off to begin with.

Reluctantly you do as your told and feel the burning on your face when he gives your hand a little squeeze, only tightening your grasp on him.

“Hang on tight!”

He revved the engine and zoomed off, hearing your squeak of surprise pass through your lips and feeling your grip around his waist become tighter.

Axel smiled wide and only sped faster not being able to resist that your laughter and delight anytime he did, made him feel just a little more attracted to you. He only ever slowed down when you would point to make a certain turn onto another street, but it wasn’t too long a pause before he would speed up again. And every time without fail, his smile grew at hearing your laughter and enjoyment echo in his ears along with the sound of his bike.

Finally arriving at your home, he parked his bike in the driveway and glanced at your car.

“I could come by in the morning and have a look at it if you want me to,” he scratched his cheek.”It wouldn’t be a bother at all if it meant you’d have a safe way of getting to and from work.”

You smiled as he walked you to your porch steps, his height towering over you and instead of feeling intimidated, you felt safe.

“I’ll repay you somehow, I promise.”

You both chuckled but his laugh faltered some before he cleared his throat.

“I have something in mind..”

“I’m ears.”

He fiddled with his hands, cracking his knuckles and tugging rubbing them nervously. You wondered if it was because he was so used to working with them that it was the only way he could release his nervous tension. You had the same quality. Keeping your hands busy with the constant baking was your own translation of anxious release.

“How about you.. join me for coffee tomorrow after work?” he sounded hopeful and slightly eager at the thought.

But upon seeing your surprise at the question, his confidence crashed and he took a step back, “Nevermind, it was just an offer. Nothing serious.”

“Wait!” you grabbed his hand to which he stared down at, being surprised himself at the contact, but not complaining.

His eyes trail from his hand in yours up to your own and he was greeted with your kind smile.

“I’d love to go for coffee.”

The eagerness he’d had moments before ignited in his eyes, but was more subtle upon the smile on his lips.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek,”See you tomorrow.”

A/n: Short and cute! I am pretty happy with this little one-shot! I would love to write about this character more, but I think I’ll wait til Deadpool 2 release so I know his characteristics better. Hope you all liked it!

*****ALSO. IF YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ENOUGH, REQUEST A SECOND PART THAT WOULD BE SMUT AND I’LL WRITE IT.*****

Tags: @jadelynlace

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard imagine #deadpool 2 #deadpool #zeitgeist #axel cluney #roman godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #hemlock grove #hemlock grove imagine #it #it the clown #pennywise #behind the blue skies #battlecreek #henry pearl #simon and oaks #simple simon

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jadewing-realms · 5 years

Text

gathering flock

“Are you going to explain?” Sasuke mutters aside to his small companion as they trudge, equally backpack-laden, up final stretch of tree-lined street leading up to their hallowed destination. He keeps his tone unimpressed but sharp—his specialty, crafted to simultaneously intimidate and obligate this particular person, the object of his mild exasperation. “Or are you going to make me ask?”

The trip from their neighborhood to U.A. isn’t all that bad. It’s a decently quaint, scenic route, and it’s taken just long enough for a proper conversation along the way. And it’s been a few days since their last proper conversation.

Izuku, actually, hasn’t really been consistently in touch since the whole ‘sludge monster’ incident. And that was an incident Sasuke had to learn about that on the news right after it happened. Which he still isn’t happy about. Watching his Quirkless friend race into the camera frame from the helicopter view had admittedly been both exhilarating and terrifying, which Sasuke had already explained at this point—twice. One one hand, it was incredibly brave and just what he’s come to expect from his best friend. On the other hand, it was incredibly stupid. And for Bakugou? Please.

This all happened ten months ago.

All things considered, it’s not like Sasuke can really blame Izuku. What with grad prep, final exams, taking all the necessary preparations leading up to today of all days, they and all of their classmates have been running themselves ragged. Sasuke’s been working hard to develop special equipment and filling out paperwork specially for today, and he knows Izuku’s been working out quite a bit, which heaven knows he’ll need in just a few short hours. But this thinning of their usual time spent together isn’t the problem, even if they do live on the same street. No, no, this inquiry is for a different purpose entirely.

And now that most of their regular chitchat is out of the way, Sasuke has questions. After all, it’s not every day one finds one’s best friend leaving a beach from which one witnesses the most famous Hero of all time launching away.

If Izuku had known All Might was there, Sasuke has no doubt in his mind that the little fanboy would’ve been rocketing toward the waterfront. So he wants to know why Izuku had instead been walking away—as if his idol wasn’t right behind him a second earlier. Which only meant Izuku already knew—and had seemingly had direct contact for the first time in his life.

Sasuke wants to know how it went.

Now, Izuku blinks at his abrupt questions, and then has the gall to give him a blankly inquisitive stare. “Uh, I’m not sure what—”

“All Might,” Sasuke interrupts via explanation. “You met him on that beach. You were almost late because of it.”

All at once, Izuku breaks out in a sudden bout of Anxiety, as he is apt to do when he’s put on the spot. Which… is incredibly easy to do. It usually doesn’t happen with Sasuke, though, so that’s odd… “W-Whaaat? I—”

“Tch, that wasn’t an accusation,” Sasuke snorts. “Relax.”

“I-I knew that… Um…” Izuku struggles to formulate a response, by the way he bites his lower lip and fiddles with his bangs between his fingers. “Y-Yeah. I was… jogging. And happened upon him… cleaning up trash. I got to say ‘hi’…”

Sasuke eyes him sidelong. That’s quite the faltering response, and he’s not sure he understands why… Then again, no matter how long Sasuke’s known him, Izuku seems incredibly embarrassed of his devotion to the Number One Hero. Maybe that’s it. “Hmm. That’s cool.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, it was!” The anxiety lingers just long enough to make Izuku watch his sneakers for three more steps, before his expression softens. The nerves simmer down, leaving that same old admiration behind in its wake. Which suits him much better, to be honest. “He really is amazing, you know?”

“You’d know better than me. I’ve never met him.”

Which is true. Sasuke’s been to several rallies and speeches, but he’s never gotten to interact with All Might directly. Which… used to bother him, a long time ago. When he was much smaller, younger… more innocent? He’s not sure. In any case, it’s not quite so disappointing to him now. What would he say? ‘Hello, nice to meet you, please sign my backpack’ and then it’d be over and he would probably never talk to the Hero again. Is he truly missing out on that much?

Beside him, Izuku seems to shrink again, ducking his head against his uniform collar. After all, he’s met All Might in person twice, now. “Right. S-Sorry…”

Sasuke sighs. “You’re apologizing again.”

“Ah! Sor—”

“Midoriya.”

“…th-thank you for your patience?”

“…hn. Better, I guess.”

A sort-of comfortable silence falls between them, filled only by the clip of their shoes on the cold pavement. Theirs, and others too; the street is filling up with people of all shapes, sizes, colors. Some with horns, hair in ungodly colors, tails, wings, name it and they’re there. And despite their diversity, Sasuke knows exactly what they’re all here for.

“So, did you get your tinkering done last night?” Izuku breaks the quietness, at which Sasuke tears his eyes away from the growing crowd of competition and settles his gaze on his friend’s inquisitive face.

“Of course I did. I didn’t have a choice. There’s no way I could come here today without something.” Sasuke lets out a quiet huff of disgruntlement. This is something he’s known for years, but in no way has that time made the fact any easier to put up with. Having a combat-based Quirk would make things so much easier…

Then again, who is he to complain? Izuku has nothing. Just remembering that makes a dagger of guilt twist in Sasuke’s insides.

Unaware of his inner chagrin, Izuku’s expression lights up like Kyoto Tower, a beaming grin somehow doing nothing to narrow his wide, starry eyes. Sasuke resists the urge to indulge in a dramatic eyeroll. You’re such a dork, Izuku, you really are…

“What’d you end up bringing!?” Izuku asks, overflowing with puppy-level eagerness as he grips his backpack straps in anticipation. “The gloves?”

“H*** no, those are nowhere near ready.” Granted, Sasuke is wearing gloves now, so he can see how that might be misleading. They’re nothing special though. He holds one hand up in front of his face, examining it and envisioning the gloves Izuku’s referring to. He’s working on what he calls taser gloves. He got the idea from one of their middle school teachers, Mr. Hatake, and his lightning Quirk. Since Sasuke’s Quirk offers him no offensive advantage, something like that could grant him at least a little attack power.

“These are just insulators for when I use my stunner,” he explains, turning his hand over before dropping it back to his side. “I haven’t been able to get the real gloves working yet. They’re complicated.”

Izuku’s smile softens if only a little, fonder now than eager. “I know you’ll figure it out in no time, though. You’re so smart—like, way smarter than me…”

“You’re still underestimating yourself,” Sasuke sighs. “But yeah, I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

That said, he is only fourteen. He’s been called a genius in the classroom, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to tech or invention. He’s acutely aware of how far he has yet to go… which means those gloves will take some time to develop further. Lots of time… Until then, he has to settle for less practical means of evening the odds.

“O-Oh my gosh, here we are…” Izuku’s voice is suddenly trembling, at the very same moment they come to the crest of the hill.

There, before them, looms the shining gateway to greatness. An archway of steel, emblazoned with the school crest, gives way to a broad walkway paved in neat rows of rust-red brick, lined with concrete columns and smattered with the dozens of Hero hopefuls who dare to trod where legends were made. Beyond a pillared porch and three numbered doors at the top of the front staircase, a colossus of a building pierces the sky with four mighty towers, gleaming glass faces throwing beams of sunlight overhead. Those beams flash over the schoolyard and beyond to the city the school overlooks like a fortress over its estate—a beacon of justice, safety and peace. A castle dedicated to bringing up the knights who will defend the world’s future.

“U.A. High,” both boys murmur in perfect unison, breaths of pure wonder. In Izuku’s case, it’s tainted with a thread of that same old anxiety—unwarranted, in Sasuke’s opinion. In the case of Sasuke himself, the syllables do much to harden his simmering resolve. He clenches his fingers into fists.

There’s only one acceptable outcome today. He didn’t come all this way to lose. Too much is at stake.

Glowing red eyes flash across the forefront of his mind and he squints his own eyes shut to try and ward them away. Not now… not today.

“Stupid Deku.”

Sasuke’s eyes snap open again. His feet stop in their path. “Oh great. The person no one wants to deal with today.”

Izuku, stopping a few steps ahead of Sasuke, does the stupid thing and looks behind him, almost like he wants to validate the person’s approach. “Kacchan?”

Bakugou answers in typical fashion. “Get out of my way now, before I set you on fire.”

Before Izuku can launch himself into a tirade of anxious apologetics, as he very much is about to do judging by the sweat on his forehead and the tremor in his eyes, Sasuke speaks up so his mutual pain-in-the-rear end can hear him—without deigning the explosion boy by looking at him, of course. “Please do. Then you can spend today in jail while the rest of us get into U.A.”

Izuku, for the moment, is lost in nervous tittering. Meanwhile, Bakugou clicks his tongue and, to his credit, doesn’t fly off the handle like usual. Perhaps he is capable of prioritizing when necessary. “Whatever, just stay outta my way, Useless, and pray we don’t end up fighting each other.”

“Yeah, that’d be pretty bad for you, wouldn’t it, dobe?”

To Sasuke’s amusement, that’s enough to make Bakugou halt in his steps. Two tense seconds pass, in which Bakugou’s breathing rasps heavier and heavier through his nose, like he’s trying to hold back a wind storm or something. Usually, there’s a certain nuance to human beings, a natural unpredictability. But this narcissistic idiot is so obvious about everything he’s thinking and feeling, it’s almost painful to watch. Sasuke’s seen it again and again, the huffing and puffing and then the explosion. The Big Bad Wolf with on-hand TNT.

But then, miracle of miracles… Bakugou simply starts walking again. He doesn’t even bother with a retort.

Color Sasuke impressed. If only a millimeter’s worth.

Once the human trash bag has passed beyond earshot, Izuku deflates, head hanging in either relief or shame… it’s incredibly difficult to tell. “Sasuke, you really shouldn’t antagonize him…”

“What, like he antagonizes everyone else?” Sasuke sniffs. “Compared to what he does, this is nothing. He deserves worse, but to give it to him, it would mean stooping to his level. Which I’m not about to do.”

“Hnn…” Izuku wrings his hands. “He’s… been better lately. Ever since… well, I mean. He’s kinda been taking it easy on me.”

“Izuku, he just threatened to set you on fire. That’s no better than actually doing it.”

“I-I know, but—”

“No buts. Stop giving him excuses.”

Something between a groan and a heavy sigh heaves from Izuku’s chest and he sags, shoulders hunching. “Okay, okay…” After that concession, he gives his head a good shake and stands up straight again, and Sasuke knows he’s ready to keep moving.

Izuku’s always been resilient.

The original plan, of course, is to fall in step with Izuku so they cross the school building’s threshold together as planned. Because they’re stupid kids with stupid sentiments and both of them agreed it would be cool. So Sasuke widens his strides, aiming to catch up quick. But all it takes is two seconds and two steps for Izuku to very suddenly be on his way down—having tripped on his own feet. Ready to faceplant the pavement.

Sasuke’s Quirk floods into his senses, drawing every sight, sound, smell into sharp awareness, and he lunges, even though he knows he’s just far enough behind he won’t be able to do anything. Still, might as well try to keep his friend from getting a concussion before they can even make it to the front steps.

Someone walking on Izuku’s opposite side beats him to it. She reaches for Izuku’s arm… and he just stops.

Mid-air.

“Are you okay?” she asks, giggling.

Sasuke stops too, one hand still outstretched to catch his companion, and his Quirk fades away just like that, the moment past. The world returns to normal. Except for the floating Izuku, of course. Usually, Sasuke’s the only person around and willing to keep Izuku from hurting himself.

It feels odd now, having someone else step in.

And with a pretty impressive Quirk, no less. There’s no other explanation as to why Izuku’s feet remain ten centimeters off the ground.

Compared to that ability, she’s not particularly outstanding in any way. A maroon coat, pleated skirt, black tights. Short chestnut hair frames a round face, cheeks pink with cold. When Izuku instinctively begins to flail, as most would in his position, the girl giggles some more and gently guides him back to his feet. Once that’s done, she clasps her hands together placatingly.

“I stopped you with my Quirk,” she says, confirming Sasuke’s suspicions. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. But I figured you wouldn’t mind me catching you!”

Sasuke observes Izuku’s face as best he can from his not-so-strategy angle. All he can really see is his ear and a bit of freckled cheek—both of which are beginning to flush.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice though. In fact, she hasn’t noticed Sasuke’s presence at all either—or at least, that Izuku’s not walking alone. There are a lot of other students around them; she probably assumed he’s just another one. Which he honestly doesn’t mind. He lowers his hand and hangs back. As long as Izuku’s fine, he’ll just wait for the interaction to pass.

Except it doesn’t. Because Izuku isn’t saying a word. Sasuke may not be able to see his face from where he’s standing, but the awkward silence speaks volumes.

“Isn’t this all like, way nerve-wracking?” the girl offers by way of conversation starter, smiling but doing little to hide the anxiety in her own body-language, hands going to her backpack straps, weight leaning on her heels.

Izuku’s response consists of a sudden outburst of flailing and stammering.

Oh, that’s smooth.

“Well,” she says, unperturbed, “guess I’ll see you inside. Bye!”

Off she scampers, leaving Izuku to wallow in more awkward silence. Other examinees pass them by, a single beat of silence passing with them before Sasuke steps alongside his friend.

“Well, that was weird,” he murmurs, watching their new acquaintance disappear through the door labeled with a giant golden number 1.

“Holy whoa,” Izuku barely dares to breathe, “I just talked to a girl!”

“But you didn’t actually say anything, hot shot.”

“H-Hot shot??”

With a smirk, Sasuke resumes his stride to the castle front. “Come on. You can’t tell me your face isn’t burning. I’m not blind.”

“W-Wha—no, I—I mean…”

“Geez, don’t hurt yourself. Again. Now hurry up, or we’ll be late.”

“Sasuke, you can’t j-just do that and then walk away!”

“Doing it. You coming or what?”

Izuku’s harried footsteps are all he gets in answer.

#we'll set the world to rights #wstwtr #my hero academia #bnha #naruto #crossover #fix it au #sasuke uchiha #izuku midoriya #deku #friendship #these cute boys #i can't #my heart

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storyunrelated · 6 years

Text

Downward Trend - William Bosworth Has An Idea

Actually, let's do this.

I'm going to put the whole first bit of Downward Trend here.

I mean, why not? This is my blog, after all. I can do what I like. And this way all can marvel and laugh at what I consider an opening.

Beginnings are my weak point. Followed closely my middles. And endings. And writing in general, really. But that's life!

And I'm putting a break here but I bet you - I fucking bet you! - Tumblr breaks it and the whole text just dumps across your dash and makes you hate my filthy filthy guts. For which I am sorry.

Though not so sorry I won't risk it.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

One: William Bosworth Has An Idea

William ‘Billy’ Bosworth - the billionaire tyrant and horrifyingly influential media mogul - was looking up. Figuratively and literally.

You wouldn’t have thought ‘billionaire’ from looking at Billy. Your first impressions would likely be of a man who would have a very intense conversation with you about his new petrol lawnmower. Or maybe about which route he’d taken down the motorway to get to you and what the traffic had been like. He just had that look about him. Hard to put your finger on.

But no. Instead he was one of the most powerful men in the world. A pioneer of technology, a shrewd businessman and also an eccentric.

He was an eccentric because while he had unusual habits that some might have scoffed at had he not had money he did, in fact, have money. Lots and lots and lots of money. So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

If anyone else eschewed beds at night because ‘lying down was for corpses and I’m not a corpse’ then you’d laugh at them and point and call them names to their face. But since Billy was very successful and slept upright tied to a post in his office then clearly it must have been a good thing to do. Because he was rich.

So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

“Sally. Sally come in here,” he said, waving a hand in the vague direction of his secretary. He’d had no reason to raise his voice given that every inch of his office had been hooked up with top-of-the-range microphones to record his every murmur on the off-chance it was groundbreaking and brilliant. Like that time he’d come up with the idea of the having customers pay to not have to view incredibly offensive adverts.

Really, deeply offensive. They’d employed only the vilest of bigots to ensure that no-one could tolerate the adverts. It had been inspired.

But he raised his voice to get Sally’s attention anyway, because that was just how he operated. Sally came rushing in moments later looked haggard. As she worked for Billy Bosworth, Sally always looked haggard. It was unavoidable.

“Yes, sir?” She asked, only mildly breathless. Her response time was still the best of any secretary he’d ever had. Even better than that former Olympic sprinter he’d hired a few years back. That lad had had a very poor work ethic. Couldn’t stick it out for the distance, it seemed. Should have seen it coming.

That, and he’d just kept talking about his bloody medal. ‘We get it’ Billy had said ‘You ran very fast in a straight line. Get over it’. There followed a rather heated argument and from that point their professional relationship had taken something of a dip.

Hence, out with the athlete and in with Sally, who actually had secretarial experience and actually knew how to do her job. In retrospect the better approach.

“Do you know why I took off the roof of this building, Sally?” Billy asked, gesturing upwards to where the ceiling was missing and, more generally, to the sky beyond. Sally looked up and blinked. There was nothing there that gave her even anything approaching a clue.

“No, sir,” she said. An honest answer. She really had no idea why anyone would willingly do that to a building they owned.

It hadn’t even been a proper job, he had literally just paid a group of men to come and cut the top off the building. The structural damage had been significant and none of the air conditioning worked any more. Or the satellite links. Or the insulation.

And the building also now leaked when it rained. There was also that.

“Well I can’t tell you. You’re not important enough, I’m afraid, Sally. Send in Vlad.”

Sally - who wasn’t especially fussed about not being told, in all honesty - left the room as quickly as she’d arrived and lunged to her desk to ring down for Vlad, who could have been anywhere. Thankfully Vlad had chosen this time in the morning to sit and have a biscuit and so was at least within easy reach.

Minutes later a man who looked rather like someone had poured eighteen stone’s worth of beef into a suit before balancing a potato on top emerged from the lift on Billy’s floor and came striding on into Billy’s office without even pausing to knock.

Vlad was possibly the only person in the world who had standing permission to do this. This was because Vlad was the sort of person who urinates without lifting the seat up first, doesn’t flush and then dumps the paper handtowels into the toilet even though it’s made very clear you’re not supposed to, specifically to block it for whoever followed.

A monster, basically. But Billy’s personal go-to monster, so a monster with considerable latitude.

“Vlad. Do you know why I took the roof off this building?” Billy asked, not looking. Vlad was the sort of man you could hear coming. Feel coming, too. The air got out of his way in a very particular, noticeable fashion that you could tune into.

“Uh, no. Sir,” Vlad said. He, like Sally, also had no idea. He had worked with Billy long enough to not only learn that questioning his decisions was a bad career move but that even thinking about them too much wasn’t such a great move either.

Billy turned his head slightly, peering out of the corner of his eye.

“Sally shut the door. This is still too important for you,” he said. Sally obliged, leaving the two men alone in Billy’s roofless office. Whether Sally would be able to hear them talking anyway because of, you know, the lack of roof was not something that had apparently crossed Billy’s mind.

“Look up there, Vlad. What do you see?” Billy asked. Vlad looked. He saw pretty much exactly the same thing as Sally had seen. Sky.

“Sky?” He asked, hopefully, tentatively.

“I meant beyond that, Vlad. Look deeper. Expand your vision!”

Vlad had no idea what this meant. He just squinted harder. The sky remained sky. A distant plane crawled across it, glinting. A single cloud meandered. Vlad saw nothing of any particular significance.

“Uh…” he said, hesitating. Billy rolled his eyes. Vlad was a wonderful henchman in many ways but he was rubbish when you needed someone to bounce ideas and notions off of.

“Possibilities, Vlad!” Billy said with exasperation, raising an arm and pointing to one specific patch of sky. “You see there?”

“Yes,” Vlad lied.

“Up there - in that very patch of sky! - lurks a group of stars. Very far away of course and you can’t see them right now because it’s daytime and we’re in London anyway, but I assure you they are there. A glittering cluster of stars! Around which spin and twirl scores of worlds!”

At this point Billy finally stopped craning his neck upwards and turned to face Vlad properly. As he had been standing looking at the sky for some hours now this produced the most horrendous cracking sound. Not that Billy seemed the least bit concerned.

“I posit that these worlds contain life. Life, Vlad! And what does life mean?”

Billy did not wait for Vlad to take a stab at an answer to this one, for which Vlad was profoundly grateful.

“Customers, Vlad! Potential customers! People I have yet to reach! Did you know that my services, my products and my presence reaches out in one shape or form to about ninety-nine percent of all available humans on this planet?”

This was true. Ludicrous sounding, but true.

If people weren’t watching a programme that had received some level of investment from one of the many, many (many) companies that Billy had a finger in then they were watching it on a television or device made by one of his companies or containing one of the revolutionary components he himself had designed.

Or they were watching a film backed by one of his production companies (or one of his production company’s subsidiaries companies).

Or they were booking tickets to see one of these films on their phone made by a company he owned or designed by him.

Or both. At the same time.

But what of those people way out in remote regions? Tribes deep in the jungle that had no real awareness of the world beyond? Those who deliberately sought to avoid any and all human contact? Billy had those poor souls covered, too.

Personally owning a good chunk of the planet’s satellite infrastructure (and having designed some proprietary parts that showed up in all the places he didn’t own) Billy ensured that - floating around up there - were several specialised satellites which lovingly beamed down carefully modulated signals on all the more isolated parts of the globe.

These signals didn’t translate to anything a normal receiver would have been able to pick up. After all what would have been the point? These poor souls had - either by choice or by unfortunate twist of circumstance - no access to such devices.

Rather, these signals were of the cutting-edge, experimental type that only the human brain could pick up. A biological antenna, as Billy had so gleefully said at the time. Those in the affected areas could enjoy quality, Bosworth-created content every night when they went to sleep.

Unavoidably. Constantly. Every night. With adverts. For products they’d never heard of and had no way of purchasing. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to reach those formerly thought unreachable. And this had been achieved.

Billy’s influence was everywhere.

And did he expect thanks for his kindness? Plaudits? Awards? Of course not! People gave him those things anyway. What Billy did was for the betterment and benefit of mankind!

And now the betterment and benefit of whatever beings lurked out there among the stars, too. His magnaminty knew no bounds, least of all earthly ones.

Assuming these alien beings were there, of course. Which Billy was fairly certain they were.

Mostly certain, edging towards totally certain. Adamant, really. On most days. Some days he experienced flickers of what normal people might call doubt, but the rest of the time he was the bastion of certainty. Those extra-terrestrial customers were out there waiting for him. He’d put money on it.

“Customers?” Vlad asked, slowly, still peering at the sky. It just looked blue to him.

“Yes Vlad. Very far away though, like I say. Getting to them is going to be a bit tricky. But I have a plan!”

Billy turned on his heel and marched to another part of his sprawling office, Vlad following close behind. Both men stopped when they reached something wide draped with a white cloth. Billy whipped this cloth aside with theatrical flair, an act he had spent some previous weeks practising. Vlad gasped appreciatively as a meticulously hand-made model was revealed. It had little people and everything.

“This is the phase-array transmitter that will broadcast my new extraterrestrial channel to my new customers! Isn’t it cool?” Billy asked. Vlad was circling the model, bending down to get an eye-level look and taking in the detail.

“Very cool,” he said, nodding. He liked the miniature chain-link fences and outbuildings and pylons and substations. And the array itself, of course - a deeply impressive and monolithic building of truly intimidating size. Even built to scale it was a bit daunting. Probably the fact that it was flat-black and studded with glowering red lights had something to do with it. And the group of tiny people modeled to have collapsed on their knees in awe and terror clustered around the base.

Really the attention to detail on the model was astounding.

“This whole thing has been something of a pet project of mine but it is finally nearing completion. I have the spot picked out for this. It’s a very precise spot. It can only be this spot. It’s this spot or nowhere. This is where the problems start, Vlad. Do I like problems?”

This was an easy question, Vlad’s favourite type.

“No you don’t,” he said.

“That’s right, I don’t. The problem here is that the spot where I need to put my fantastic and cool array is presently occupied. I’ve been patiently working on strangling the life out of the area for months now - buying land out from under people, raising rents and that sort of thing - and I’m all poised to start! But there’s a holdout.”

With the flick of a button the whole model inverted. This seemed like a feature that would have required a lot of work, but the effect was certainly something to see. Where before there had been the clean, wonderful phased-array complex there was now several streets, some wasteland, some shops and general urban blight.

“This is the area as it is now. Ugly, isn’t it? Look at these shops. What does this one sell? Kebabs? Poor souls. Anyway. I own this land here,” Billy said, indicating in turn each stretch of blank wasteland. “These buildings are all unoccupied. They were set to be developed but not now. These shops are all set to close in a month or so because I’ve bribed them. So far so good.”

This left one quite obvious exceptions. A single house, sat on its own. Vlad looked at it. Billy glared at it and, slowly, unfurled a finger to pointing accusingly down at the model house.

“This,” he hissed. “This thing right here. Holdout. Nail house. The lady who owns it really owns it. Owns the building, owns the land under it. Refused my bribes, my generous bribes and even my staggeringly generous bribes. Money is apparently not something she’s interested in! I can respect that, but it’s annoying.”

“What’s her deal?” Vlad asked. Businesslike now, he could start to see the shape of the issue forming up in front of him. Billy wouldn’t have called him in here just to show the model off, after all. Vlad was there to solve problems. That was why Billy kept him around.

“Oh, landlady or something. Has lodgers. Likes talking to people. I don’t know, I haven’t looked into it - that’ll be your job.”

Billy waved aside such concerns. As far as he saw it he’d already done more than enough himself by personally organising his gaggle of assistants to go and pay out those bribes and telling Sally to tell his real estate division to buy up all that land. It had been exhausting. Having to deal with a principled lady keen to cling onto her house was something he simply didn’t have the energy for.

Besides, that was why he had Vlad.

“Want me to get rid of her?” Vlad asked, eyebrows waggling euphemistically. It took Billy a second or so to decode this gesture. Vlad was heavily implying murder. This was what Vlad tended to go to first whenever Billy came to him with anything but Billy still hadn’t picked up on this. For all his faults, Billy was still at least vaguely innocent and well-meaning.

Careless and myopic, but not actively malicious. He’d reverse over your foot in his car, but not try to hit you with it. If you follow.

“Heavens no! No no,” he said, flipping the model the right way round again and moving back towards his desk, which was the size of a normal person’s kitchen (in width and depth if not in height - it did also have a sink). “Nothing so crude or, ahem, obviously legally dubious as that.”

As powerful as Billy was, even he knew better than to have a known employee actively murder someone. That sort of thing was just unnecessary work. That and, you know, murder was wrong. Billy remembered that. Someone had told him once.

“What am I doing then?” Vlad asked, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk as Billy sat in his. Billy’s chair was a luxurious high-backed leather number that cost an amount to make most people wince. Vlad’s was from Ikea and could not properly support his weight.

“You are going to go to the site and help them oversee the demolition of what’s presently there. And at the same time - you know, if you find occasion - you might possibly see that life for this lady and her lodgers becomes more…”

Billy fished his hands through the air, searching for the right word.

“Unpleasant.”

Vlad grinned. He understood this. He had experience with unpleasant.

“If I find occasion,” he said.

“If you find occasion,” Billy said. Billy was grinning too.

He was thinking about what he was going to have for dinner later. There was a microwave curry in his fridge with his name on it. Literally. He’d written it on there. Not because he was afraid anyone else would take it. It was just so his dinner had his name on it.

He was going to see if he could have a drone feed it to him. Just for kicks. It sounded like a lark. Just tape a spoon onto one of its runners and see how things went.

What an age to be alive.

#Downward Trend #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writing

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dxlanwrites · 6 years

Text

"Old Roots" .5 (G.D)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/N: oooo back at it again with a new part. For anyone curious I usually update and or write a new part about 4-5 days after my last update when I feel as though the previous part has done okay and when the anticipation is at it's highest and then I drop a new update without anyone knowing. Cause im just mobbin like that also this ain't edited yet and no were as long as my other parts. Enjoy.

WARNING: cursing, violence, DeAtH?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Staring blankly into the eyes of my thought to be dead brother, I tried to wrap my head around the fact that he was standing right in front of me. Opening my mouth then closing it as I tried to speak but didn't know the right words.

"I've never actually seen anyone speechless before." Marcus said to my brother. As for Matt he didn't say anything but stare down at me as he looked my body over.

"I said not to hurt her, you know." He spoke as he walked around and neared the table behind marcus.

"She's an aggressive one I'll give you that but I wasn't the one who left those marks." He said looking down at my arms. Following his gaze I noticed that 2 large bruises had began to form on my forearm that were in a clear form of a hand.

"Was it the boy?" Matt asked with his back turned to us.

"Indeed it was. He might be just as aggressive and reckless as our beautiful y/n here." Marcus spoke softly. He stood up and took a few steps towards me stopping my side. Reaching out,he brushed a loose hair away from my face and gently caressed my cheek. Moving my face away from him, I shot him a dangerous look which only caused him to sign and return to his seat. Matt soon returned to us with what looked to be a manila folder that was thick with papers it had held within.

"Okay kid, lets just make it easy on all of us here. I'm going to show you some very important information and all I want to know is your imput. Okay? Fairly easy stuff." He said to me as he opened up the folder and shuffled through a couple papers. Stopping a one he pulled it out and turned it to face me. On this paper was just a bunch of long listed numbers along with time and dates.

"What the hell am I suppose to be looking at?" I said angrily. Matts faced hardened as he inched the paper closer to my face.

"You don't recognize any of this information?" He asked.

"No. Why would I? They're just numbers." I replied.

"They're just number? They're just numbers? NO! THEY ARE NOT JUST NUMBERS. These are very important numbers that deal with alot of money and shipments. Now look again." He said softer as he composed himself. Glaring at him I reluctantly turned to look back at the paper. Scanning line after line nothing looked remotely familar or stood out until I got at the bottom.

"These are from Graysons account." I said snapping my head up to look at Matt.

"Yes they are. And we need someone who knows how to translate these transactions to the specific day and time they are going to be delivered." Marcus said getting up.

"Wait, so let me get this straight. You went through all this trouble just so I would be able to tell you guys when and where? You two are seriously fucked up or just stupid. I don't know anything about what he's running or any information about them. The last time I ever saw anything like this was when I was 18 and I'm pretty sure he's changed quite a few things by now so I wouldn't even be able to get into the main frame to check." I said bluntly. They both stared down at me then up to eachother. Marcus let out a frustrated sigh and walked back over to the table.

"C'mon kid, if anyone could crack these numbers it's you." Matt said.

"Why should I? And don't you dare say for you because less then a few hours ago I thought you were dead. Do you even have any idea how that feels? To except the fact that I thought my big brother wasn't alive." I said as my voice cracked. Looking down at the floor, I tried to push past my emotions that almost broke through the surface. A gentle hand then lifted my face up as a calloused thumb wiped away a stray tear.

"I do know. I watched you lay in a hospital bed for days unconscious not knowing if you were going to be okay. Thinking I would never be able hear your annoying ass voice ever again." He replied.

"And now your working with the man who put me there. Nice." I said pulling away from his grasp. He sighed as he stood up and walked away. Keeping my eyes focused on his back as he stood near Marcus, I began to slowly tune out the world. Slipping into a day dream like stage, I couldn't help but think of what I would be doing right now if I never came back home. Would I be sitting back into my little nook that craddled my window in my apartment as I typed away at my laptop keyboard hoping to finish my essay that was due the next day or maybe I was out with everyone, sitting at the café a few blocks down laughing at something Scott and Maria said as we waited for our small deserts we ordered just like we did everytime none of us were busy. Maybe I was working, pissed off at something an annoying customer just said or enjoying restocking in the back with Justin. I would go for any one of those scenarios right about now instead of the reality that awaited me.

"Y/N, y/n, y/n." I heard my name being sweetly called out. Moving my head towards the direction the voice spoke I could vaguely make out a figure in the distance. My eyes focsued on it as it closed the distance between us.

"Why do you always make things so difficult." He said quietly towards me as he began to walk past me and toward Matt and Marcus who were preoccupied looking at the papers they showed me before. Staring at him in disbelief another figured zipped past me and stood directly behind the boys without being noticed.

"Interesting papers you got there." Tyler said peering over their shoulder.

"About time you got here." Marcus sneered.

"Well we got alittle... Caught up." Ethan said glacing back at me.

"Can't trust anyone these days." I said harshly.

"No you can't." He said turning his attention back the the boys.

"I did tell you to be careful who you trusted, didn't I? All of this would of went a whole lot smoother if you would of just let Ethan drive you back at the shop earlier today. He was suppose to bring you back here so we could of talked but you had other plans." Marcus said.

"Yeah and I wouldn't of gotten the shit beat out of me by your little boyfriend. Oh and thanks for the couple of swings you added in." Matt said as he shoved Ethans shoulder.

"Hey, I had to make it believable. He would have known something was up." Ethan defended. Shaking my head in disbelief, I just couldn't wrap my head around what was unfolding infront of me.

"You betrayed him. Your own brother. For what? A spot on Marcus little gang?" I asked staring him down.

"Like you haven't betrayed him. Don't try to act all innocent." Ethan huffed.

"And what do you really gain out of this?" I asked.

"Power. Money. Anything I want really." Ethan said nonchalantly. Weighting out my options in my mind, I made the choice to not just sit here and wait around to see what happens next. Im not even the type of person to give up so easily so why the hell have I been. I never take the easy route and Im not about to start now.

"Well since this soap opera seems to just carry on and on, I think I'm going to take my cue and skedaddle." I said outloud.

"Aw but why would you wanna go just as things are about to get good?" Tyler said just as the metal doors behind me slammed open. A small commotion was going on behind me followed by a few grunts and cursing. The sound of something being dragged along the floor was more prominate as the footsteps got closer. The loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor caused me to turn my head around.

"Oops sorry. You slipped." One of Marcus's men said down towards the ground. I couldn't exactly see who he was talking to because they were just out of sight.

"Leave him there. We have things to do." Matt said motioning for the men to come over. I could hear a few groans behind me as if the person tried to lift themself up.

"A sight to see isn't it boys. Brings back so many fond memories." Marcus said looking between me and the other person.

"If you want to bring back memories how bout you come alittle closer and I'll knock them into you." The voice said behind me. Marcus laughed out loud but ignored the persons threat.

"Always being the tough guy. How's that worked out for you Grayson?" Matt said as he moved towards us.

"Sure as hell pushed y/n away. Lost Ethan for awhile, even lost yourself. Maybe it's just time to throw in the towel." Matt said behind me. The sound of struggle was heard but stopped when the sound of a skin hitting skin soon was heard. Flinching at the hard noise, I tried wiggling my hands free again. Another grunt voiced out as Grayson was lifted to his feet and dragged over. He was falling over his own feet alittle and struggled to keep him weight up, which ended in him collapsing to his knees right next to me. Without warning he leaned his head to the side and placed it on my thigh. How badly I wanted to reach out and hold him.

"How cute. Like a modern day Romeo and Juliet only this time Romeo gets to witness his dearly beloved Juilet die right in front of him." Tyler said walking over to me. In one quick motion a piece of duct tape was thrown over my mouth as the back of my chair was grabbed and pulled over towards where the rest of the guys stood. Tyler shoved Grayson towards to floor as he walked by making him land with a loud thud. My chair came to a quick hault as I was placed right smack in the middle of the room.

"Let's play a little game. You see I'll ask a question and then you'll answer it. Pretty simple. If I like your answer nothing with happen but...... if I dont, poor y/n will suffer the consequences." Marcus said towards Grayson. I noticed Ethan and Tyler look at eachother with worried expression from the corner of my eye but refocused my attention on one of Marcus's men as he moved over towards Gray. He stepped behind Grayson and pulled him up into a kneeling position as Marcus crouched down in front of him. I knew they were talking but couldn't make out what he was saying over their hushed tones.

"Wrong answer." Marcus's sung out as he abruptly stood up and walked over towards me. The look in his eyes was the same exact look that haunted my dreams causing me the panic and frantically try to free myself.

"I'll make this quick." He said quietly to me as he bent down towards my ear, leaving a kiss on my duct tape covered mouth.

"Too bad. I was always quite fond of y/n." Marcus's said twirling a piece of my hair in his finger. He soon dropped my hair and reached out his hand. A man I recognized from earlier reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun then placed it into Marcus's opened palm. Cocking it back to load it, he took a step forward then harshly placed the barrel directly agaisnt my temple. Ethan took a small step forward but was stopped when Tyler placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him back, luckily for them this small act went unnoticed.

Graysons body was stiff as he looked on unable to do anything. As soon as I made eye contact with him the small wall that was holding back my emotions broke down as my muffled cries sounded out. Hearing the slight click of the gun as the bullet slid into place, I closed my eyes and waited for impact.

"Stop. I'll do it." Grayson said abruptly making my eyes shoot up.

"Just as I planned." Marcus's said smiling. A hugs sight of relief left my body as the pressure from the gun left my temple. I was soon cut free from the chair but still had my hands bound behind my back. Confusion rushed through me as Tyler bent down to cut the tape off my legs.

"Careful she's a kicker." He said crossing his arms as he grinned at me. Tyler took a mental note and cut me free but quickly started tieing me legs together. In one fast move he hauled me upwards.

"Take her to the room. Wait for us there. We have a important conversation with Mr. Dolan awaiting us." Marcus said.

"Maybe we could have a good time in the room. To release some stress. Always loved this ass of yours." Tyler said smaking my ass and giving it a hard squeeze.

"Touch her in anyway and I'll kill you." Graysons deep voice rang out.

"Oh but I already did touch her and I'll do it over and over as she begs for more." He said as he lifted me up over his shoulder trailing a hand up the back of my leg getting dangerously close. My muffled screams rang out as he took a step forward.

"Apparently miss princess over here hates being thrown over the shoulder. Whatever you did M really fucked her up." Ethan said following Tyler and I.

"Ethan please. Leave her alone. You already have me, just let her go." Grayson pleaded towards his brother.

"And what fun would that be?" Ethan said as he smirked down at a defeated Grayson.

"What happened to you." Gray said quietly.

"You. You happened." Ethan said harshly back. I began to thrash violently in Tylers arms but nothing was working so I decided to slammed my clenched first as hard as I could into the spine of his back which made him cry out in pain and throw me out of his arms. Hitting the ground hard, I felt my head bounced on the concrete as pain filled my sense's.

"Bro what the fuck." I heard Ethan yell as he bent down towards me. I yelled out in pain when he touched the back of my head.

"Fuck." He whispered under his breathe. I tried to move away from him but ended up moving my right arm. Stopping immediately when pain shot through it I knew I had landed on it wrong. Tears were rolling down the side of my face as the pain in my head became worse.

"Pick her up, we don't have all day." Matt shouted at Tyler and Ethan who just looked at eachother and down at me.

"Guess nows as good as a time then ever." Tyler said as he lunged at Matt while Ethan threw a punch knocking Marcus out. I could vaguely hear people cursing and things being thrown here and there as my vision started becoming fuzzy. A comfortable warmth was growing up my left side just as a slight pressure was added.

"Shh baby it's going to be okay." Graysons voice said. Blinking through the tears I could make out his lopsided smile as he looked down at me. His cheeck bone was cut and swollen, a black eye was starting to form and fresh bruises were laced around his neck. He carefully pulled off the duct tape covering my mouth.

"Gray..." I said softly as my lip quivered.

"I know baby. But everything will be okay, I promise you that. I love you y/n, always have even when we were kids. And Im so sorry. I love you." He said as he gently nuzzled my neck. I wanted to grab him and pull him closer and say I love you too but I couldn't. My mind was already slipping in the darkness that begged me to close my eyes. A new found tiredness washed over me as my eyes tried to stay open.

"You need to keep those beautiful eyes of yours open okay? Ethan has a plan. Everything will be okay soon. I love you so fucking much, just remember that." He said softly as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on my cut lip. His figure drifted away from me as my eyes readjusted onto the ceiling. As much as I wanted to look to see where he went I couldn't seem to move. From the corner of my eye I could see the door towards the back being kicked open with a loud bang that rattled the room. A few footsteps echoed in my head as loud sharp noises rung out. Everything around me became very loud too fast. My ears reluctantly began closing off the noise around me as the familar buzz of white noise filled my ears as my eyes slipped in and out of focus. Everything seemed to stop when the loudest bang I ever heard let out. Quietness fell over the room just as the ground next to me vibrated as if something landed on the other side of me. My gut feeling told me not to look over so I knew I had to. Taking everything I had in me I rotated my head to the right as I hissed out in pain as I applied pressure to my right arm. Laying next to me was a familar toned back I've witnessed too many times. The dark colored head of hair was looked matted in the back with some kind of dried liquid. Slowly the body was rotated over by a pair of arms. Blood gurgled out of his mouth and down the side of his cheek as he gripped the persons bicep. A pair of arms slithered underneath my back tilting me forwards slightly. I could feel myself being freed from my restrains as my arms were gently placed onto my stomach. I was fully lifted up into someones arms as they were talking to someone. They're words were coming out muffled as a louder voice seemed to yell at them.

"We gotta go sweetheart." Marty's soft words said to me. Turning my head to look back at the scene one last time, my eyes roamed over his stilled body as a few people crouched over him. I eyes rested on his face that was scrunched in pain and too pale for my liking. His hazel eyes met mine just as his neck went slack and his eyes drifted closed.

"Grayson...." I cried out quietly as I was carried away into a bright light that wrapped its warmth around me just as my eyes drifted shut with his.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #dolan twins #ethan dolan #dxlan writes #old roots

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