#all the characters are in this joint but I don’t want to clutter the tags | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clansayeed · 4 years ago

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #playchoices #choices fanfiction #cal lowell #garrus #krom #ivy #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

5 notes · View notes

kenkamishiro · 6 years ago

Text

zakki:re translations Part 1 (pg. 10-29, Vol. 1-2 illustrations)

Hello and welcome to the zakki:re translations post! It took a bit of time to think about how I’d have to structure these translations, but I’ve figured it out for the most part.

What this series of posts will be is a text translation of Ishida’s comments accompanied by the art he’s referring to (the actual art itself that’s been available online, not a picture taken from zakki:re. It’ll make more sense once you start going through the post, I promise). It will also include some commentary from me for some additional context, which will be marked as “T/N” for “translator notes”.

What this will NOT include are photographs of the book. If I take pictures of the book, they will be contained in a different post since I don’t want the translations posts to be more cluttered than they already are. I also won’t include any illustrations that don’t have commentary attached to them unless they’re somehow relevant to it.

They will be posted every 1-2 days depending on my schedule, and have roughly 10 pieces of commentary each which I found was a good length.

And lastly, some terminology before I begin. TG = Tokyo Ghoul (overall, like the fandom tag), OG = the first Tokyo Ghoul series, :re = Tokyo Ghoul:re.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

[T/N: This illustration was a magazine cover that included the blurb, "Justice has now been commenced." Presented this way since this is how it appears in zakki:re.]

zakki:re has now begun. Just like zakki, the comments on the paintings and such will be referred to as accordingly. I hope you enjoy.

This is the first cover on which :re began.

It gives off a certain vibe, hence the "Justice, commence!" blurb. At least that's probably what my editor thought.

I thought at the time that I was seriously going to fail to hand in my manuscript in time. It almost became, “Justice, commence (starting next week)!”

Weekly Young Jump 2014, Issue no. 46, Cover illustration

Volumes 1-4 of :re were prefaced with colour pages. Hinami was a member of Aogiri Tree, and Kanae was distressed over Tsukiyama.

Shirazu’s character looks kinda dangerous here for some reason, doesn’t he?

Weekly Young Jump 2014, Issue no. 46, Opening colour page

An image of a sky, as if it’s connected to the sky from the last chapter of OG. A certain three people from the final chapter are also standing here.

Weekly Young Jump 2014, Issue no. 46, Opening colour page

The cover illustration for volume 1 of :re. I used up all my energy drawing Haise. But he turned out quite well, don’t you think? He’s holding a Kitahara Hakushuu book in his hand.

I thought I should draw the story from the CCG perspective, so I introduced the character known as Sasaki Haise, an investigator who is a half-ghoul.

Before :re began I also created the Qs characters all at once for the shock factor. I took a break in between OG and :re, but it was only 3 weeks if I recall. I remember at the time I was working on the setting and drawing, so I ended up busier than usual during that writing period.

When OG ended, one of the staff asked, “Is it really over?” in confusion, and I answered, “Yeah, it’s really over.” It wasn’t really a lie since it was OG that had ended.

2014, Volume 1, Cover illustration

[T/N: The quality of this illustration isn’t good since I took it from the table of contents in Volume 1. But the neat thing is in zakki:re, the quality is so good that you can clearly read the words in the book that Haise is reading. Right now he’s reading Hakushuu’s poem “Blue Dragonfly.”]

Ui-kun has risen the ranks. Looks like he’s gone through a lot.

2014, Volume 1, Frontispiece

The exterior of the pinup, I think. From the series of mysterious outfits. Seems it’s based off a military uniform?

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Joint issue no. 6~7, Special long pinup

This is an illustration I drew using CLIP STUDIO. I’ve always used Sai for drawing, but when I was drawing the ending cards for the 2nd season of the OG anime (the ones that moved along with amazarashi’s “Seasons Die One After Another”), I decided to try drawing using CLIP STUDIO on a whim, and I kept using it for a while. Later I also drew the Trump card illustrations using CLIP STUDIO. I don’t use it anymore but looking back, the end product has a really distinct look to it, which makes me wonder if I should try using this program again...

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Issue no. 12, Cover illustration

[T/N: Couldn’t find the raw version of this illustration. This page was scanned by Imperial Scans (RIP).]

At the time it seems I pressed my editor, “What’s ‘On Christmas Eve the Qs bell is ringing’ supposed to mean?” for answers. But hey, doesn’t “Qs bell” sound kinda cool?

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Joint issue no. 4~5, Center colour illustration

[T/N: Not completely raw, but close enough. Scan for this illustration done by Twisted Hel Scans (also RIP).]

You’ve probably realized it by now, but the opening pages and the center colour illustrations from the YJ magazines were printed as they originally were back then.

Since the magazine design would be lost for those who didn’t buy the magazine back then, it would’ve been a shame since L.S.D. (the design company) worked extremely hard to make it look good. I also think the blurbs that my editor came up can be considered a work of their own (such as ‘Qs bell’).

Of course, I’m sure there are people who want to see the paintings in their original state. I felt the same way which was why I was conflicted about it, but I’ve accepted it in this form for this time.

The volume illustrations and the magazine illustrations have been arranged in chronological order as much as possible. I hope you can enjoy it together with the circumstances of my editor’s work.

If I ever get another opportunity, I’d like to have an art book with just illustrations only.

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Joint issue no. 6~7, Opening colour page

[T/N: The version of this illustration in zakki:re doesn’t include any text.]

Colour pinup from the appendix of YJ magazine. I added in Scarecrow who hadn’t appeared in the story yet (I didn’t know when I would add him in). I had fun drawing the 4 people above. I really like Nutcracker in particular.

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Joint issue no. 6~7, Special long pinup

The character popularity poll illustration contest (I think it was with Nico Nico Seiga). I drew some shikishi and gave them as gifts to those who submitted illustrations. This illustration itself feels nostalgic.

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Issue no. 12, Opening colour page

[T/N: Updated with HQ scans from TG_Hub. Thank you!]

The cover of :re volume 2 featuring Touka.

I chose something relaxing for the off-centre composition while still following the general flow of the OG volume, conveying that she has become more cunning. A reference to "zakki", so it'd be great if you could compare between the two.

Haise looks good in shades of brown.

This is the interior of the Chateau where the Qs resided, and it was designed by a good friend who I’ll call J-chan. A luxury home with the Qs’ bedrooms, common room, kitchen, Haise’s room, and the training room, fully furnished. I got the data from him so that I could preview it and look around in 3-D, so I included it in the instructions for drawing the backdrop as a reference. Thanks!

[T/N: If you want to see the comparison to OG zakki, click here. Also, the Qs chateau that Ishida’s friend designed...is ripped from The Sims 4. No, I’m not kidding.]

Weekly Young Jump 2015, Volume 2 cover

I took a bunch of my scribbles and reused them for the colour pages in the volume.

At the very beginning I drew Mucchan (Mutsuki Tooru), and moved on to other characters from there. As Saiko hadn't appeared in the story yet, her face isn't shown here. "Saiko absolutely won't show up for an entire volume," was my iron will.

2015, Volume 2, Frontispiece

#Tokyo Ghoul #zakki:re #Ishida Sui #Translations #my translations #zr translations #first part done!!#please be excited with me!!#also tfw the hardest part about making these posts is the formatting

368 notes · View notes

stuckwith-harry · 6 years ago

Text

“We’ll figure it out”

A/N: Yes, I do seem to have a thing for making Harry feel like absolute garbage. It’s a bit concerning, considering he’s my favourite character and all that. (The next one will be happier! I promise!) Anyway, this took me forever to finish, but I do ultimately like it a lot and figured it was time to just put down the damn pen. (Laptop.)

Warning for a mention/discussion of the Dursleys and an amount of f-bombs I promise I didn‘t plan. (I also take a subtle dig at Cursed Child, because of course I fucking do.)

Part 4 of 100 Ways To Say I Love You.

@diva-gonzo asked to be tagged - here you go. Alright, let’s all grab a snack and go!

„We‘ll figure it out.“

After the ecstasy is gone – after every member of the Weasley family has hugged them at least a dozen times, and after they've shared a thousand incredulous, glowing smiles, and after they've had messy, blissful sex twelve times in three days – when the thrill of it all finally quiets down, and Harry's cheeks have stopped hurting from smiling so much – what it leaves behind feels like a small hole at the very pit of his stomach.

“Fuck’s sake, she’s hard on you”, Ron tells him six days after – referring to Head Auror Chadwick – as soon as he’s closed the door to their joint office.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Head Auror Chadwick – only their supervisor and one of Ron’s favourite people to complain about – just handed Harry a thick stack of new files, though Ron’s complaints are louder than Harry’s.

“You were supposed to be spending this weekend getting absolutely shitfaced with us! You know, celebrating!”

Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him he asked for the extra assignments. There aren’t any words that can explain it, anyway.

“But we’ll do it, promise, and you’re gonna have the time of your life. There’s no way we’re not celebrating.”

And Harry smiles. He shoves the files into his bag, joins Ron in complaining about the ruined weekend, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles, while the hole inside him quietly grows.

At some point after him and Ginny first broke the news, the shocked faces and cheers and congratulations turned into making plans. Discussing how to juggle it all. Advice from Bill and Fleur and Molly and Arthur. Advice from Hermione, not because she has any qualifying experience at all, but because she's Hermione, and of course she picked up a book on the subject immediately after they told everyone.

Harry is there for all of it. He watches Molly gush, and Hermione babble. He watches Ginny glow. He’s there for every dinner conversation and every clap on the back, every anecdote shared and every single time Ginny secretly rolls her eyes at her fretting mother. He is there – so why does he feel so goddamn far away from it all? All the smiling is making a balloon blow up inside the hole of him: one that’s empty and sickening and, worst of all, a lie.

And so, two weeks after, he sits in his office at home, more hole than person, and pretends he‘s absorbing any of the information on the papers before him. Maps and Death Eater files and incomplete stakeout plans clutter his desk, and it‘s all urgent, it always is. But he keeps catching himself staring out of the dark window that reflects his desk lamp, and his thoughts run in a thousand directions at once. He can make out vague shapes of the neighbourhood in the dark, and the top of the apple tree in their garden. Godric's Hollow's rooftops shine in the pale moonlight. Harry knows what direction the primary school is, because they always walk past it on their way to the grocery store.

But it’s useless, he tells himself, as he struggles not to acknowledge the anxious hands that seem to have gotten hold of him, digging their fingernails into his insides and closing around his throat until he feels like he’s being choked. He takes off his glasses, rubs his tired eyes, and forces himself to breathe against the emptiness in his chest.

“You’re still up?”

Harry turns around in his chair. Ginny is leaning against the door frame, already in her pyjamas, and though Harry can't make out her face in the dim light, he can hear a smile in her voice. He half-nods, half-shrugs, and turns back to his desk.

Ginny is having none of it.

“You’ve been weird this week”, she says. Because she’s Ginny, it’s not an accusation: She merely observes.

Harry listens to her footsteps on the wooden floor when she comes closer, putting her hands on his shoulders before easily wrapping them around his chest. Harry can feel her stomach rest against the back of his head and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

“Sorry”, he says flatly.

Ginny strokes the top of his head, and Harry lets it soothe him, even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.

“We can go to bed, if you want”, she says, “or you can tell me what’s going on.”

And the truth is, of course, that Ginny has watched him fuck up many, many times in the few years they’ve been together. She's been witness as he's forgotten things, and failed to show up, and broken promises he meant to keep when he made them. She was there when he didn't understand what bothered her so much when it was him that bought the house, and when he told her it was just money. She didn't turn around and leave, every time he tried to protect her and ended up hurting her instead. She was there and looked at him when he yelled and cried and pushed her away and said things he didn't mean.

And two weeks ago, when she told him she's pregnant, she was there when his face lit up, and when he kissed her like he's never kissed her before, and when he smiled so much his cheeks still hurt the next day.

So Harry decides to confess, not because he likes it, or because that makes it easier, or because he's any less ashamed. But because he knows that Ginny has already seen the worst of him, and that she won't think any less of him.

Even if Harry does.

"I'm not excited anymore", he says with a tight throat.

The silence that that sentence leaves rings in his ears. Even now, Harry knows that no judgement awaits him – no tantrum is coming. She’s not going to fight him. But she's going to be there and watch, unflinchingly, as he falls deeper and deeper into the dark hole he’s turning into, and he is so fucking sick of it.

"Okay", she says simply.

"It's not okay, Ginny, it's really, really fucking not –“

"Babe, you're spiralling."

She rubs his shoulders and takes long, steady breaths that Harry can synch his too. When he's stopped gasping like he's drowning overwater, Ginny reaches for his hand, and together they sit on the carpet by the couch, where Harry and Ron usually sit when they spend their weekends working on cases together.

“Alright”, she says quietly. “Talk to me.”

Harry fixes his blurry eyes on their entangled hands, but Ginny doesn’t. It’s the one favour she never does him: she never looks away.

“I’m supposed to be really fucking happy right now”, he says hoarsely. “And – I don’t think I am anymore, and I don’t even know why.”

Ginny is silent for a few moments while she takes this in.

“To be fair”, she says softly, “I was a bit surprised about how excited you were. It’s not like we were planning for it to happen so soon.”

“But I was”, Harry insists. If there’s nothing else he can do to make it better, he needs to make sure this part, at least, he gets across. “I promise I was excited, Gin, I was – it’s just … everyone’s making all these plans, and thinking about how we’re going to manage it with work and everything …”

He trails off.

„I know they’re a handful“, she says, smiling faintly. „And we can tell them to tone it down, if you want … but I don’t think that’s what’s going on.“

Harry looks around his office, searching for a way to say it that doesn’t sting.

“I started thinking about what things are going to be like when the baby is actually here, and … I just have a bad feeling.”

When he glances up at her, he can see her jaw clench: she's silently pressing her lips together, and Harry wants nothing more than to shove what’s left of him into the hole he’s become.

“Well”, she says quietly, “do you wish I wasn’t pregnant?”

Silence.

“I don’t know”, he mutters. “No…”

Ginny quietly lets out a breath. “Okay. But something’s wrong.”

Harry bites his lip, willing it to stop trembling. There are no words for the feeling that’s filling him up like cement – the stirring and shifting of heavy dread that consumes him. But there are words he is thinking – words he desperately needs to ask, so someone, anyone, can reassure him, and yet, words he cannot let himself say, for fear of speaking it into existence.

“What if I’ll be shit at it?”, he whispers. “What if this baby grows up and fucking despises me? And what if I’ll despise the baby, too?”

What follows is their heaviest silence yet. Her grip on his hands has loosened, though she hasn’t let go. When he glances up at her, something in her face shifts, and Harry knows they’ve fallen into their usual routine.

“That’s not going to happen, Harry.”

“You don’t know that.”

He falls: deeper and deeper into this most recent hole he’s carved out for himself, until him and the hole are one and the same thing. She finds him at the bottom and looks at the mess he’s made.

He deals Ginny the blow, and she takes it.

“I do know that”, she says fiercely. Her eyes are red. “Because I know you. And you’re not your relatives, Harry.”

There's a small, stinging silence.

“That's what is it”, she asks, “isn’t it?”

And Harry shrugs, and nods, and stares at the empty wall across from them. “I guess.”

Ginny rubs his hands while she sniffs. “Okay. I get that. But it’s not going to be like that, Harry. You’re not like that.”

Harry closes his eyes. “And what if that’s the only thing I’ll know to do?”

“I know for a fact”, she says, “that you’re better than that. I wish you could look at yourself sometimes, Harry … you wouldn’t be worried.”

Harry doesn’t bother to tell her that the very last thing he wants to do right now is look at himself. “What are you talking about?”

“Teddy”, she says simply. “I wish you could see yourself when you’re with him. The way you treat him … you are so full of love for this kid. And Teddy’s as good as your son – this won’t be different.”

Harry hasn’t thought about it like that.

“And you would never want him to feel the way you did”, she continues, after a brief moment of hesitation – with that quiet thunder in her voice that only ever breaks through when they’re talking about the Dursleys. “Because you remember the feeling, don’t you?” When he looks up, her eyes are wet and fiery, but she battles her way through the next sentence anyway, a strangled whisper, nothing more. “You’d make damn sure your own kids never know it.”

There is no point in pretending anymore: Harry lets hot, salty tears slip down his cheeks and drip off his chin. “Yeah, I would”, he whispers.

“That’s all I care about”, she says. “If anything, it’s going to make you a better Dad, Harry, not a worse one.”

She untangles her crossed legs with a sigh and slips onto his lap, and Harry holds her there. Once she’s comfortably sitting on his leg with one arm wrapped around his shoulders, he buries his face in the crook of her neck, and there they are, crying on his office floor like teenagers.

“Look, if it’s any consolation”, she says, “I’m pretty scared, too.”

"You'll be great", Harry mumbles, and he knows it to be true without question.

Ginny plays with his hair. “Why am I supposed to be such a natural at it?”, she asks quietly.

“I just know.” Harry lets himself put his head on her shoulder – there is no feeling quite like the weightlessness that comes with leaning on her. “And you’ve got your parents to look to …”

“I figured that was part of it.” Harry doesn’t respond – he doesn’t need to. “And that’s what scares me, funnily enough.”

She doesn’t quite meet his eye when he looks up. “Which is why I’d actually appreciate it if we could ask them to back off a little, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah – what’s going on?”

“Everyone’s so damn convinced I’ll be amazing at it.” Pause. Then – “Even you.”

Again, it is not an accusation.

“And I get it”, she says. “Because my Mum did such a fantastic job, how could I possibly be different?”

Quiet sarcasm has slipped into her voice. Harry doesn’t miss it.

“Well, I’m not my Mum. And – she’s great and all that, but I don’t want to be my Mum. I wish they’d all shut up for a minute and stop acting like I exited the womb ready to be a mother. Merlin, I’m twenty-one, and now I’m pregnant, there’s no way I’ve got it all figured out right now.”

“I didn’t realise”, he mutters. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. You had enough on your mind … I could tell.”

“I do think you’ll be great”, he says – desperate to offer anything at all.

“And you will, too”, she says with complete certainty. Something he finds oddly soothing, even if he can’t believe it, not yet. “We don’t have to know it all today. We’ll figure it out.”

Harry looks away. “I just … wish I was still excited.”

Ginny strokes his cheek. „Me, too“, she says softly, and Harry’s chest hums and aches at those words. “But I was there when you found out, you know. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this – stupidly happy. That was real. I thought it was, anyway.”

And that last bit somehow hurts even more than the fact that Harry never wanted to fall into this hole. He wanted so desperately for this to be okay.

“It was”, he says. “I promise.”

Ginny waits for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she blinks away her tears and says: “You’re acting like it’s all ruined, and it’s not, Harry. That baby isn’t even the size of a Snitch yet. Nothing’s lost, okay?”

“Okay”, he says finally. The hole inside of him hasn’t gone anywhere, but the urge to throw himself into the abyss has lessened slightly.

She smiles.

“I’d like to point out”, she says and sniffs, “that all these tears are entirely hormonal, because I’m pregnant, but I’m still cool and intimidating and all that.”

“You are cool”, Harry says and looks up at her. “I – thank you. For not losing sight of me.”

#hinny100 #hinny #fanfiction #jessie writes #diva-gonzo

210 notes · View notes

boarix · 6 years ago

Text

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XIV

Gen 4

Trigger warnings: canon violence/language/gun, alcohol and drug use. Animal injury/distress. Death of named/game-canon characters. Suggestive/mature content.

Bloody Mess warning!

Game Spoilers!

Please enjoy!

“DOWN RANGE! DOWN RANGE!”

“I AM!”

Marcy Long and MacCready stood with their noses practically touching as they yelled into each other’s face.

“And for the last TIME, KEEP YOUR FINGER OFF OF THE TRIGGER! Are you trying to kill me?!”

“You just keep talking that way to me… I KNOW HOW TO HANDLE A GUN, YOU ASS!”

“Watch your language you… spoiled… brahmin patty!”

Cait, who was also taking part in the morning lesson, stepped back with an amused smile, “Oi, you two gonna snog or what?”

“I’d just as soon kiss Strong!”

“You should be so lucky, wench!”

Only a few yards away, Sturges, Shaun and Danse worked on Sanctuary’s large walk-in fridge/freezer. Duncan was within their view and was being entertained by both Panther and Dogmeat. As the argument’s volume was increased by Cait’s ire, Sturges had stopped and was alternating concerned looks toward the young boy and frowning deeply at the vocal combatants.

“How is it possible that I’m more annoyed by the sound of folk’s voices than gunfire?”

Danse, his face calm, holding a pipe wrench, walked with determined steps toward the three-way argument.

“Umm, Mr. Sturges… should we…”

“No way kiddo; I wanna see how this plays out.”

Large and imposing, Danse towered over the quarreling trio. Taking in an enormous amount of air, he bellowed at them with as much volume as if they were truant squires hiding in the Prydwen’s engine room, “LOUD NOISES!”

The resulting confused silence was so complete; it seemed as if time had stopped.

Wearing a smug smile, Danse stopped and tousled Duncan’s hair on his way back to work, “Okay, now what where you saying about condensation?”

Marcy holstered her pistol and quickly walked away toward the house she shared with her brother. When she passed Sturges, he could have sworn she was trying not to laugh. Cait was laughing and after a few confused blinks, MacCready joined her.

“Captain Danse, how did you know that was going to work?”

“I have some experience in dealing with difficult children.”

The day wore on and after morning lessons were over, MacCready surprised Sturges’s group by bringing them all lunch. Sitting together in the warm sun with full stomachs, it was no wonder when they all began to doze off.

Jerked awake when his head bobbed to his chest, Sturges stood and stretched, his joints popping pleasantly. Smiling at the assorted piles of napping people and animals he debated on whether or not to let them sleep: Duncan was using his father’s chest as a pillow and had a fairly sizable drool pool forming, Dogmeat had draped himself crosswise across Shaun, the two making an almost perfect “X” and Panther was in a cat-loaf on Danse’s chest and stomach, rising and falling with his breath.

“Sleepy synths and friends…” Deciding that there would be plenty of daylight hours left for repair lessons, Sturges sat back down and propped his back against the free-standing fridge. Just as he closed his eyes, Panther began to growl.

The enormous cat grew even larger with every hair on end. Panther had climbed off of Danse’s chest and was now stalking purposefully past the MacCreadys toward the settlement’s northern wall. Dogmeat was following close behind, his deep growl merging with the cat’s creating a sound that was almost harmonic.

“Danse, take my son. Get them all in the fridge. Now!” MacCready had rolled to his stomach and was low in the grass.

Duncan whimpered but allowed the large man to pick him up, “Daddy?”

“It’ll be okay, little man.” Training his eye just above Dogmeat’s head, MacCready could see a slight shimmer in the air as something moved between the houses. “Great. Just, flippin’ wonderful. And of course, I don’t have a walkie!” Unwilling to shoot without a clear target, he watched the ripple advance on the snarling animals, “Speak! Bark, Dogmeat! Call for help!”

Tilting his muzzle to the heavens, the German shepherd let loose with a long mournful howl.

Phasing into view, the young chameleon deathclaw answered with a challenging roar. Focusing a baleful eye on the sniper, the beast dropped to all fours and leaped.

Rolling out of the way, MacCready vaulted to his feet and ran toward the wall. He hoped to lead it away from the freezer and possibly back through the fence breach. A pained yelp stopped his sprint and he turned to see Dogmeat narrowly avoid a swinging hit, bright blood already flowing down the dog’s right flank.

Panther seemed to fly through the air as it came to the canine’s defense. Once atop the monster’s shoulder, the cat dug in with both fang and front paws, raking the deathclaw’s ribs with its scythe-like rear claws unmercifully.

Taking the opportunity of a stationary, visible target, MacCready fired round after round at the beast’s closest knee.

The deathclaw decided that perhaps this herd was entirely out of his league and that retreat was the best option. Contracting the chromatophores in its skin, the creature blinked out of sight. Raking a claw across its own back, it dislodged Panther and cast the feline into the side of a nearby house.

Danse emerged from the freezer just in time to see the cat hit with a sickening crunch, “NOOOOOO!” Able to see the monster by the damage on its side, he rapidly closed the distance and with every last ounce of his strength, impaled the deathclaw through its wound with the handle of his pipe wrench.

The creature came back into view even as the light left its eyes.

Cradling the still form of Panther in his arms, Danse didn’t even acknowledge his astonishing victory. “CURIE!” Anguish and fear were clear in his voice as he dashed to the clinic.

Waving the all-clear and leaving cleanup to the Minutemen, Sturges and the children watched as MacCready gave Dogmeat a stimpak. The sniper scooped the dog into his arms and they all followed Danse.

“Looks like you’ve earned yourself some stiches too, puppy dog.”

“Do you have to eat?”

“Wha...?”

“Shaun asked me if you, Bear and Billy have to eat. I told him I didn’t think so, because Billy… are you laughing at me?”

“No! Heh, I would never laugh at you, sunshine.” Hancock’s bed shook slightly, revealing his lie. “Now, strictly speakin’, I’ve never tried going without chow. I enjoy good food. Eating is… pleasurable. And we’re all aware how pleasure-centric I am!”

“Mmmhmmm!” It wasn’t just the ghoul’s own pleasure he focused on. “Ugh… I don’t wanna get up.”

Hancock pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, “So don’t. I’ll get up in a minute and bring us breakfast. As ghoulish as you are, I know you still need to eat. Heh, we burned a lot of calories last night, you feel me?”

Wraith had spent almost two months in Sanctuary after returning with Duncan MacCready. The group had stopped on the way to pick up Shaun and Nat and the children had formed fast friendships. Shaun and Duncan were already referring to each other as “brother”. Nat had been sad when it came time for Wraith to take her home but she held her head high and said her goodbyes with grace. Hancock had tagged along and he and Wraith had continued on to Goodneighbor after. Now, almost a week later, Wraith felt her schedule creeping up on her.

“I’ll have to dine-and-dash; if I’m gonna get to Diamond city by noon.”

“I thought Davidson was on top of things over there. You feel like you gotta babysit ‘im?”

“George is dead.” Wraith sighed, “I don’t have a official replacement yet.”

“Shit…”

A few minutes later, Hancock returned with eggs to find Wraith standing next to his bed, rotating her left shoulder.

“That arm still buggin’ ya?”

“No actually, it’s felt better in the last few days than it has since my surgery. Weird…”

A strange smile appeared on Hancock’s lips, “So your ghoulishness has you heal by radiation, right?”

“A little. Not as much as you… now why are you laughing?”

Doubled over in mirth he could hardly speak, “You… we’ve been… ha ha… a lot… *wheeze*… so you’re… I’m helping…”

Wraith blushed but joined in his laughter, “Sexual healing, huh?”

“How do you like the new pad?”

Wraith had wanted nothing to do with Kellogg’s property and Piper had tried to gift the home to Valentine and Ellie right after their wedding but they had resisted. She had suggested that the home could be considered payment for years of dedication to the city and the detective’s aid in locating Wraith’s son. After much debate, they finally relented.

After working on Minutemen affairs for several days, Wraith had been invited to dinner at the Valentine’s. Now, enjoying a quiet meal with her friends, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia; the domesticity reminded her of time before the war.

“It took a while to get the smell out from those darn cigars but it’s nice to have a separate place from the agency.”

“Ellie makes sure we keep all our work at work... keeps the clutter down.”

Wraith smiled as the pair made what could only be described as love-sick googly eyes at each other, “Speaking of work…”

“It’s been fairly steady lately. In fact, I just wrapped something up and surprisingly enough, I don’t have another case that I’ve immediately got to jump on. A little brake will be nice...” As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. When Valentine set his eye to the peephole, his smile vanished, “It’s Edward Deegan…”

“I’m sorry to bother you at home detective but this is a matter of some urgency.”

Valentine stood in the doorway, reluctant to let the ghoul in, “Don’t tell me, Jack’s got another wacko, alien abductee that I’m supposed to interview…”

“No, and I’m sorry about that, but Jack’s been shot.”

Wraith was under the detective’s arm and in Deegan’s face in the blink of an eye, “Is he alive? Who shot him?”

The bodyguard took a surprised step backward and tipped his cap awkwardly, “Oh… ma’am… I didn’t think I’d find the pair of you together… I suppose that’s lucky for me…”

“I’ll pack your kit, Nick. Now invite the man in!”

“I… I’m not getting a say in this, am I?”

After the destruction of the Institute, Wraith had introduced Dr. Virgil to Jack Cabot in the hopes that he might curb some of Jack’s more “mad scientist” tendencies. The two had apparently hit it off to the point where Virgil was invited to move in and was granted his own lab space. Satisfied that they might keep each other occupied and out of trouble, Wraith had all but forgotten them.

Now allegedly, Virgil had kidnapped Jack’s sister Emogene, shooting her brother when he attempted to intervene.

“That doesn’t sound like Brian to me; he’s really not the violent sort.” Wraith and Valentine moved quickly through the ruins on their way to Cabot House, “He left the Institute because they were hurting people after all.”

Valentine agreed, “His first love has always been his research; doesn’t strike me as the type to lose his marbles over a dame. Let alone run off with her.”

“Someone isn’t telling us the whole truth here.”

“He’s bewitched by her and mad with desire!” Jack was lying in his bed with shoulder in a sling, “I’m not sure why you came here. I told Edward everything that happened. You should be out looking for her! Them… you should be out looking… for them.”

Wraith’s voice was gentle, “Jack, we really want to help but we need a better idea of what happened.”

“She… he shot me. He took them… her! I’m very tired now, please…”

“Mr. Cabot I’ll have no more nonsense today. It’s late and I left half my dinner and my patience at home. Tell us the truth. There is not a snowball’s chance in hell we’ll find them if you’re hiding information. Facts. Now.” Valentine had folded his arms and was glaring at him.

“Jack… they came all this way…”

Wraith was surprised to see fear cross the scientist’s face and tears in his eyes. She reached out to pat his arm, “Hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“You might, once you know…” Jack made an attempt at gathered himself but when he spoke, the words tumbled out in a confusing, panicked rush, “Emogene shot me. I know I told you I was going to destroy my father’s body but I was so close to removing the artifact…. His corpse had not even begun to decompose, even after all this time! Virgil and I began research on possible medicinal applications. Emogene was in a fury after I told her the serum would no longer be available and when she found out that we still had his body… she has Virgil! She’s going to make him implant the artifact in her! She hired some… RUFFIAN THUGS! They took equipment and Brian… I tried to stop her but she… she SHOT ME! You must stop her!”

“Oh… Jack…” Deegan shook his head sadly.

“Am I right in thinking that if this ‘transplant’ is successful, we’re going to have a full-on, telekinetic psychopath running around?”

“Actually, she might be able to propel herself through the air…”

“Oh? Swell.”

Wraith had not spoken and she stood with arms crossed, face like a thunderstorm. “You. Promised. Me.”

Blubbering like an infant, the scientist pleaded for her forgiveness, “You must understand! We were going to save lives! We had you in mind…”

“Oh, no. You were not thinking of me at all.” She turned her back on him, “Ruffian thugs? Do you suppose she hired mercs from Bunker Hill?”

Although Wraith technically owned the trading hub, she left most of the day-to-day to Kessler. The Minutemen were responsible for security and Hancock managed trade routes, barter agreements and the regulation of independent mercenaries. Kessler made regular reports to the ghoul and if there were matters of concern, Hancock would usually take care of them.

“Stands to reason, options are limited now that you’ve nixed the Gunners.” Valentine gave a mirthless laugh, “She’s not going to go to the Minutemen for help.”

Deegan seemed surprised when Wraith headed for the door, “You’re going now? It’s the middle of the night!”

“I’m sorry; did you not just hear what’s going on?!” She motioned for the ghoul to follow, “You are coming with.”

“Edward! Promise me… promise me you’ll save her!”

“Jack… I promise.”

“They didn’t come back yet.” Irritated at being awoken, the usually helpful Kessler was giving clipped answers through a clenched jaw, “I don’t know where they were going either.”

“How many mercs? What group?” Wraith wasn’t about to back down.

“Everybody’s filing nice, neat records now that John’s keeping tabs on the place, right? Just point us to the company cabinet and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Kessler frowned, “I can’t let just anyone…”

“Am I ‘just anyone’?” Wraith’s tone was steel.

As if she suddenly remembered who she was speaking to, the now pale Kessler briskly led them to the correct file cabinet, “If you need anything else…” Trailing off, she retreated back to her bedroom.

“Found it; ‘equipment and resource allocation and relocation’ for E. C. Looks like they were heading to Vault Ninety-five. You familiar, partner?”

“Yes, I’ve been there. They might be planning on repurposing the vault’s medical equipment.” Wraith stifled a yawn, “That’s a helluva ways from here…”

“They have a big head start too...”

“Brahmincart!” Wraith smacked a fist into her palm.

“Bless you…”

“No, no; I mean that we’ll head back through Diamond city, grab some more heavy-duty ordnance and sleep in the wagon on our way down to Somerville Place.”

“It’s too bad the Hounds don’t have more… hounds.”

Wraith was surprised, “You would ride puppy-back, Val?”

“Sure! You only live once, right?”

Wraith set a blistering pace on the return to the ballpark. Outfitting themselves and hitching up the fastest possible brahmin team took longer than she would have liked; making the prevention of the transplant seem less likely. The delay strengthened her resolve for an upcoming conversation with Deegan that she knew neither of them would enjoy.

“I want you to take this,” The trio had just finished a perimeter sweep of the vault and Wraith wasn’t sure if she should be concerned or relieved that there wasn’t a posted guard. She handed the ghoul an anti-materiel rifle, “It’s technically Mac’s birthday present so… maybe don’t mention it to him if you get to use it first.”

“What exactly do you want me to do with this?!”

“I want you to stay here. Stay well back from the entrance. It’s the only way in or out, so if she gets past us…”

“Now wait just a damn minute! I promised Jack I was going to save his sister, not turn her into red mist!”

“I know you might think that an AMR is overkill…”

“You’re FUCKING RIGHT I DO!”

“You won’t if that gal comes floating out of that vault and comes straight at you!” Despite his scolding tone, Valentine’s face was sad, “We are talking about telekinetic powers; she might have a debris-field shield. You’ll be thankful of a gun designed to destroy military equipment.”

“And that it’s precision enough that it won’t completely annihilate everything else around… her.”

“I can’t, Wraith.” The family’s bodyguard for over two centuries, Deegan could not picture himself pulling the trigger, “I know she can be a… a handful. But she’s not some monster; she’s not her father!”

Wraith grabbed the large ghoul’s substantial biceps and gave them a squeeze, “Who knows what it’s been whispering to her. She already shot Jack. If she comes out of that vault first, then Val, Virgil and I will be dead and she won’t be Emogene Cabot anymore.”

The elevator ride down was a tense affair. When the door slid open, Wraith and Valentine stood well back, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

“Who iiiiisssssss it?”

Wraith jumped as an oddly tinny and sibilant voice seemed to come from just behind her ear, “Emogene? Is that you?”

“Of course, lovely. Don’t be coy.” She seemed amused, laughing unpleasantly, “I came to greet you. I just knew Jack would send his two favorite gumshoes.”

Feeling an intense malevolent force emanating from the next room, Wraith reluctantly holstered her revolver and stepped forward into the atrium with her hands raised, “Emogene, Jack is worried abou…”

“DON’T LIE!” Looking once again as if she was in her early twenties, Emogene stood midway down the stairs. Her face momentarily twisted in fury as she interrupted, “That selfish fool only cares about himself.”

“Well, at least she’s not floating.” Valentine had exited the elevator to stand next to Wraith.

“That’s not true; he sent us here to save you.”

“Save me? Oh, dear we are confused, aren’t we? I’m not the one who needs saving, Wraith.” Continuing her decent, the woman moved with an almost snake-like sinuousness, “Just look! I’ve been reborn!”

“Where is Virgil, Ms. Cabot? I would very much like to see how the good doctor is fairing.” Valentine kept his hands raised as well, “We aren’t here to raise a ruckus; I think your family and friends are all a little worried.”

Now only a few feet from Wraith, Emogene locked eyes with her and completely ignored the detective, “I’m immortal, Wraith and brimming with power. I can feel it move through me. It feels so good.” She ran her eyes over her from toe to crown, “I can feel you… you’re like me. I don’t know how... Join with me. Spend an eternity with me. Be mine.”

“That’s… very flattering but I’m in love...”

“Yes. The ghoul… he’ll join us as well. John Hancock is rumored to be the Commonwealth’s most proficient lover. I’ll have him.” A pensive look crossed her face, “I have no use for your common human male, however. The mercenary is worthless.”

Wraith fought hard against a building anger. “Where is Brian? Where are the mercenaries that you hired?”

“They are no longer worth my consideration. You will grow out your hair; I want something to hold on to…”

“That’s enough!” Valentine lowered his hands, his anger getting the best of him, “Leave her be!”

“Mind your tone synth! You who threw his immortality away! And for what…”

“Love. Love, Emogene.” Standing tall, he lifted his chin with pride, “Haven’t you gotten tired of watching the folks you love grow old and pass on without you? The pain of almost continuous loss? Scared to see love die so you stop looking for it; only to become blind to it?”

“Weren’t you and Brian together? Don’t you care for him?”

“This fool?” Casting her eyes upward, she fanned her fingers and Virgil descended from the ceiling to hang over their heads like a marionette, “I believe I’ve told you; he is of no consideration.”

Wraith moved under the suspended doctor and raised her hands as if to catch him, “Brian! Can you hear me?” Overcome with a sense of impending doom she sent a pleading look to Emogene, “Please set him down. It looks like he’s choking!”

“Ms. Cabot, you can’t want this…”

“You know nothing of us!”

Emogene made an almost negligent twisting motion with her hands and Wraith watched in helpless horror, as Brian Virgil’s head was slowly torn from his neck. Although he couldn’t cry out, his eyes spoke of the intense fear and pain. Blood spewed violently forth, raining down on Wraith like a macabre waterfall.

Valentine drew his revolver and fired in the space of a breath but even that was too slow. Flicking her hand as if swatting a fly, the possessed woman cast the bullet aside.

“Tch… covered in that fool’s worthless bile… Worry not, I’ll wash you clean with my love. Join me, pet.”

Fighting her berserker’s rage, Wraith stuttered over her words as she shook, “For… how long? When will you get bored, hmm? Tear… tear my… my head OFF LIKE A CAP ON A FUCKING NUKA COLA?!”

“You don’t know what love is. You’re bitter and cruel, Emogene.”

“Fucking bitch.”

“So… ‘No’, is it?”

Raising herself from the floor, Emogene tucked her body into a fetal position even as the air shimmered and distorted around her. Raising the temperature through the power of the artifact, flames gathered around her until she resembled a small star. Then, reaching her limit, she flung her limbs outward, casting a powerful shockwave that ripped through the room.

Valentine was sent flying, coming down hard amongst debris that impaled him through his lower abdomen.

Wraith left a streak of Virgil’s blood as she was thrown violently across the floor. Caroming hard off of the wall between the stairs, she gasped as the air was knocked from her lungs.

It might take a monster…

Vaulting to her feet before she could even breathe, Wraith ran straight at her enemy. Just before reaching her, she activated a stealth-boy and vanished. Positioning herself behind the unconscious detective, she checked to make sure he was still breathing. After administering a stimpak and dosing herself with Med-X, she moved closer to the vault’s entryway security office.

As soon as she lost sight of Wraith, Emogene pulled items to her, including the remains of Virgil, and sent them spinning and flying around her in a protective shield.

I guess Val called that one…

Drawing both her revolver and Kremvh’s tooth, Wraith hooked a can on her toe and kicked it at the floating psychopath. Still under the effects of the stealth-boy she changed position again trying to find any available shadow in the fire-lit atrium.

“Come now, Wraith. We expected more from you!” Cackling madly, Emogene caught the can and settled back to the floor, “Death-in-the-Shadow! Ha! We know how to draw you out.” Blood flowed freely from Valentine’s wound as soon as Emogene lifted him.

Seeing him dangle in the air with his life ebbing rapidly away, Wraith lost control. Unloading a clip from her .44, she then threw the gun and dagger before casting around for a larger projectile. Had she kept her senses she might have noticed that her enemy seemed to be having trouble with the volume of items she was mentally controlling. Instead, Wraith lifted a bed, stacked it on yet another bed, and heaved them like a spear.

The detective was dropped unceremoniously to the ground as Emogene instinctually lifted both hands to block the furniture. Her eyes widened in surprise when she was punched in the stomach.

Growling menacingly, Wraith kicked her for good measure. Picking up a bedframe she brought it down hard but the other woman was able to roll away.

Stunned, hurt and suddenly afraid, Emogene’s thoughts turned to escape. Levitating and propelling herself through the vault’s entryway she slammed the elevator call button.

Wraith saw her smirk just as the doors slid shut between them.

“Val! Wake up! Stay with me, partner.”

“Uuugghhhh?”

“Oh, thank you. Here, have some water.” Wraith held the detective in her lap as she helped him drink, “What’s your pain level; how do you feel?”

“I feel… I feel like the south end of a northbound brahmin.” He blinked groggily, “What in the world happened?”

“You were skewered on some junk and I lost my head. I think I was whipping stuff at her but… she escaped. I know that much at least.”

“She took the elevator topside?! We have to go… uggghhh…” Making as if to stand, he was overcome by weakness and sagged back into Wraith’s embrace.

“Take it easy! You’ve lost a lot of blood.” She gently squeezed him, “I did my best to fix you up but you’re going to be weak for a while. I think the wire missed anything super necessary but I’m worried about infection. Heh, when was your last tetanus shot?”

“Never would have thought I’d need one.” He smiled weakly up at her, “Thanks for patching me up for the hundredth time.”

She kissed his forehead, “Remember these gentle feelings toward me when I have to make you climb out of here.”

“Climb…”

“Emogene destroyed the elevator car.”

“Oh? Swell.”

Despite what she had said, Wraith had no intention of making Valentine climb the cable to the surface. Instead, she proposed tying him to her in some way and hauling them both up, with the aid of chems, hand over hand.

“No, Wraith.”

“Okay…”

“That‘s a terrible idea and not just because of the Buffout.”

Eyebrows pitched she shook her head and swept her hands out in front of her, “So, you have a better one?”

“Check your Pip-boy; they ought to have had some sort of parallel access shaft for maintenance and elevator repair, right?”

“Ummm…” Studying the maps on her device, a slight flush crept across her cheeks, “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

Valentine chuckled, “Because you were gung-ho about showing off your Marine rope climbing skills?”

“I was really good at it; no legs all arms.” The screen cast a green glow on her face and she bit her lip as she concentrated. “It looks… it looks like you’re right.”

“Naturally.”

“Still, it’s a ladder. That’s going to be a lot of climbing...”

“I’m not going to let you truss me up to dangle from you like a bindle!”

The trip up was long and arduous. Valentine went first so that if he lost his grip, Wraith might catch him. And they had to make frequent stops so the weakened detective could gather what little strength he could to make it “just one more floor”.

At one point, noticing how hard he was breathing, Wraith climbed up and positioned her limbs around him, “Let go and rest, Val. I won’t let you fall; your wife would never forgive me.”

“Would… I… be… a… good father?”

Despite the lack of context, she didn’t even hesitate, “Yup. You’d make the best pop ever!”

“Don’t even… know if… we can…”

“Worth a shot, right?” Wraith felt herself start to choke up, “If not, there are a few kids without parents that would be very happy to be Valentines.”

“It’s… a little… I’m scared actually.”

“Of course! You wouldn’t be the responsible Detective Nick Valentine if you didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“Uhhgg… don’t mention gravity!”

Once on the surface, Wraith carried the now unconscious Valentine to Somerville Place. The clinic there was small, and he would need follow-up care but the medic was proficient and the detective was soon stable and resting comfortably.

“We have a problem, General Wraith.” The settlement’s head had pulled her aside and pointed toward the river, “That Edward Deegan fella is still here. He’s drunk, scary and won’t leave.”

“Oh…”

When the ghoul saw her he couldn’t stop the smile of relief that crossed his scarred face. It was quickly replaced by anger and he staggered to his feet and rushed her while pointing a shaking finger at her face, “You! YOU ASS!” Balling up his fist, it looked as if he might strike her. Instead he started to sob and dropped to his knees, “Why… why did I have to kill her?”

“Deegan… I’m so sorry…”

“No… I… this is all my fault. I was supposed to protect them. How could I let this happen?! How will I ever tell Jack?”

“I will be there with you when you do. I’ll help you.” She set a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Physical labor and cleaning.”

“What… what?”

“Two things that help me work through grief. While I’m waiting on the transport for Val I’m going back in the vault to get Virgil’s remains.”

Deegan watched her walk away for a minute before sighing deeply and following after.

Later, Wraith sat in a chair next to Valentine’s bed, trying to decide if she had failed. Waking up, he reached out and patted her hand.

“Doll face, don’t go thinking that you’re somehow to blame for this.”

“I didn’t make sure Jack destroyed his father’s body. I didn’t make sure the artifact was destroyed or hidden or…”

“You trusted them, that’s not on you.”

“You can’t trust everyone…”

“You,” He flinched as he sat up straighter, “you sound like Deacon.”

“Yeah…” She faked a smile; trying to put on a brave face for her friend, “I sent a courier so there should be a cart here soon. The ride back to the city is going to be a little rough…”

“Suppose I’ll just have to have some more Med-X, huh?”

“Shocking! Detective Valentine on chems!”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell John, he’ll never let me hear the end of it. Also, Wraith… the caps on Nuka Cola aren’t supposed to be twist-off…”

When Hancock didn’t answer her knock, Fahrenheit took a deep centering breath before letting herself into his office. Her relief to see he wasn’t engaged in anything embarrassing quickly dissipated when she saw the melancholy look on his face. Seated at his desk, he stared out a window with a letter in his hand and an empty container of Mentats at his elbow.

“That a letter from Wraith?”

Jerking slightly he turned and smiled at her, “Oh, hey Fahr. Did I miss a meeting?”

“No. It’s been a while since Wraith left and you’ve a tendency to become… lugubrious, the longer you’re without her.”

He smiled at her verbiage, “Fancy depression, huh?”

“Yes. I try to make it a point to check in on you.” She stabbed a finger at the letter, “What is that?”

Irritation and sadness passed over his face, “It’s a update from the Sunglassed Ass.”

“Things are bad.”

“No, no they’re just fine… don’t really want to talk about him…”

“Very well, would you like to play chess?”

“Always!”

A few minutes into the game Fahrenheit noticed that the ghoul was toying with a defeated pawn. It was unlike him to fidget during matches and combined with his obvious distress over the letter she decided to push the issue. Subtly of course.

“Regrets over your gambit?”

“Hmm?” He frowned at the piece in his hand before setting it back on the table, “Sorry, I took too much and now I’m spinnin’ in my mental loop.”

“It’s interesting what some individuals consider acceptable loss.” Advancing her knight she took another pawn, “That’s why I think Deacon would have been a worthy opponent; his agenda is paramount. Very few distractions.”

Hancock scoffed, “Unless you count Wraith.”

“Did he?”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Right.”

Suddenly standing, the mayor crossed his hands behind his back and began to pace, “He’s always been a pain in my ass; showin’ up outta nowhere… but he was here. Helping. I’ve been a part of the Railroad since I took over but he’s always made sure no one knew. He told Wraith that I ‘turn a blind eye’...”

“Lies from a liar.”

“You know, he was on this faux fruit kick for a bit; would leave bananas in my boots. Complete fuckin’ nonsense from him, all the time…”

“The balloons.” The memory made her frown.

“Exactly! So why is it that I’m missing him being… here?” He was gesticulating wildly now, “I’ll fuckin’ tell you why; Wraith! She loves him! I know she does. And he loves her. And I love her. If she can love someone, then there must be some worth to ‘em.”

“It’s interesting how you don’t apply the same logic to yourself…”

He dismissed her with a wave, “She would have died without his help. It’s possible that, at some point I could have been axed, had he not been there to prevent it!”

“And so, what?”

“He could have come back by now. He’s repaired their infrastructure, set up new safe houses, appointed new agents… He’s not comin’ back though. You know why?”

“Do tell.”

“Because he knows that he loves her and that is dangerous. And he doesn’t think that he’s good enough. He told me himself he doesn’t deserve…”

Fahrenheit’s laugh was humorless, “This from the ghoul who staged a fight with her because, ‘it’s what’s best for her’.” She drummed her nails on the chessboard in irritation, “She is one of the most capable people I’ve ever met, and you foolish men treat her like a child.”

Looking abashed, Hancock sat back down, “Suppose… yeah.”

“Your self-sabotage knows no bounds, does it?” She leaned forward and caught his eye, “Do you really want him to return, profess his love and carry her off into the sunset? Do you find her so fickle? Nonsense indeed!” Leaning back she folded her arms, “No, she’s chosen you and MacCready; may the heavens have mercy!”

“I’m being stupid.”

“You… need her. She levels you out.”

“Sorry, Fahr. Wanna finish the match?”

“No. I see the empty box of Mentats, there’s no way I could defeat you tonight. This was a ruse.”

He feigned shock, “Using my beloved chess against me? No Fahr, tonight you definitely defeated me.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Hancock froze. He stood up. He sat back down only to stand up immediately again.

“You… going to keep doing that?”

“Baby?”

“Yes, potentially; if the pregnancy is successful, I will give birth to a baby.”

He sat back down, “Baby?”

“Oh, boy... It’s going to be like that, huh?”

He stood back up and began rushing around his office, grabbing various items and putting them in his coat pockets, “We should leave right now!”

Alarmed and confused she stood up as well, “Leave and go where? Hancock? Hey stop! Dad, stop!”

“You… called me… you called me dad?”

Taking his scarred hands in hers, she led him to the couch, “Yes, dad. Leave and go where?”

“Sanctuary. Amari doesn’t have ultrasound. Pregnant daughter needs ultrasounds.”

“All those chems and I still managed to shock your intelligence down to a super mutant’s.” She pulled him to her and hugged him tightly, “I’ve already talked to Amari; she sent a letter to Curie and everything will be fine.”

“Does Michael know?”

“Yes, this was all carefully thought out and planned.”

“Of course.” He sniffled, fighting tears.

“You can cry if you want, grandpa.”

So he did.

“… and daddy and Pants-her and Doggy and Mr. Cap’n all fought it! The kitty was hurt bad and Mr. Cap’n was very sad but he’s all better now and Curie is a really good docker!”

“Wow Dunk, that sounds scary!”

The small boy puffed his chest, “No I wasnit, Waif! Daddy ‘nd Mr. Cap’n are really good and Shaun was there!”

“Thank you very much for telling me.”

Wraith held Duncan’s hand as he and Shaun escorted her from Sanctuary’s main gate. She had already been updated when she met with Cait at the Red Rocket but she enjoyed his enthusiastic story-telling.

“Your daddy on duty?”

“Yup. He’s the best shooter-man!”

“He sure is, honey.”

“Hey grandma, Curie says she needs to talk to you as soon as you got back.”

“Okay,” Passing Duncan’s hand to his she stopped and stared hard at Shaun, “You grew.”

“Jeez, grandma! You say that like it’s bad.”

“I’ll have to measure you again… ugh. That’s it; I’m teaching you both to sew!”

Shaun laughed, “If I’m making my own clothes does that mean that they can look however I want?”

She stuck out her hand, “Deal!”

After visiting briefly with MacCready, Wraith jogged to the clinic. The loveseat in Curie’s office was over-full with napping Danse, Panther and Dogmeat. Wraith stifled a giggle as all three were snoring.

“Psst! Madame…” Curie waved Wraith into her lab, embracing her once she was inside, “Bonjour! I am so very happy to see you return safe.”

“Thanks, Baby Bird. Shaun said you wanted to see me?”

Suddenly nervous, Curie knit her fingers together and held them to lips, “I have made a discovery. It might be shocking to you, so please sit.”

“Uh, oh. What is it?”

Pulling another chair across form Wraith’s, the doctor sat and reached out to hold her hands, “We have long suspected that Panther was a synth, oui? As you probably know le chat was gravely injured defending against the deathclaw. Mon ours was so distraught!” She frowned at the memory, “I did my best and thankfully I was able to save our dear friend.”

“Thank you, Curie. We all love that cat.”

Curie’s face was grave, “I analyzed some of the blood samples I obtained, for science, and I found that…”

“Tell me.”

“DNA from your late husband was used to create Panther.”

“Yes, I know.”

Shocked, Curie’s mouth worked, opening and shutting as she tried to find the words, “How… who… when?”

“Okay, probably should re-phrase that. I have long suspected that at some point Father would have harvested some of Nate’s… information.” Wraith smiled, “I know it sounds odd but when I first saw Panther, my thought was ‘that’s Nate’.”

“Why have you never told me this? I could have verified for you…”

Wraith took her by the shoulders and hugged her again, “Don’t worry about it! The cat isn’t literally him… Sure they act alike in some respects but… No, it’s fine. I will always love Nate. He is gone now though, and I have done my best to move on. I can’t be always looking for his shadow in everyone I meet.”

“That is most poetic, madame.”

“Thanks, Baby Bird.” Wraith stood up, “Was there anything else? I need to go meet with Sofie.”

“Mademoiselle Fahrenheit is pregnant and Ellie Valentine as well.”

Wraith sat back down.

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my master-link post tagged under Wraith in the Ruins in my bio. As always, if you have any questions/comments/concerns, my ask is open to you. Anon too! I’d love to hear from you. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout fan fiction #fo4 deacon #fo4 hancock #fo4 maccready #fallout curie #curie #fo4 danse #fallout danse #john hancock #rj maccready #fallout companions #nick valentine

12 notes · View notes

hmsworths · 6 years ago

Text

A Dazed Morning.

Sebastian Stan (think of gossip girl days) / Chris Evans (also think of 2001-2005 Chris) / Female Reader

Warnings : Underage Characters, Sexual content, and drug usage.

Author’s Note : Another original piece turned into fanfiction. Living that wild life to the fullest. Nothing special. Why were their lives cooler than mine when being teenagers? Also, I have so many headcannons to share but, that’ll be for another day. And, I can’t write threesomes for nothing.

Tags ( @wintersparker, @skishenanigans, @afacelessgirlinthecrowd, @bucky-plums-barnes, @buckynasty)

A humid bedroom atmosphere.

Nothing but the traces of the night before, covered in unorganized clutter, the rays of the sun peaking in cracks behind the curtains, and the underwear belonging to two strangers and I. One with a personality that screamed to be awkwardly social in his surroundings but comes to break through his shell when interacting with well known acquaintances. And another one that shows a false self by being the well-known guy in school. A jack of trades, to put it short. But , once all doors are closed the public don't see him as the guy who thinks up insane ideas and brings them to life, especially in this situation that we're all in.

A bottle of Jack Daniels, paired up with some strong weed will put two guys who have a great sense of creativity into one hell of a mess.

Alcohol is one hell of an invention to bring people into a false state of enjoyment, yet, the fun ran out quickly for me. I wasn't on the strong side of drinking and yet, for some reason, I always became jealous of how Chris can down something so high in alcohol proof. From my assumptions, strong stomachs do go far in people like him. Now, the only fun that it lead was a head-splitting headache with the spastic aches surrounding my muscles.

I became the first one to be awaken by pain and suffering. You should call me the chosen one to deal with such agony. With the spasm being too unbearable, I tried to turn my body to the opposite side where the nightstand was placed but then, getting lucky with bad luck, I saw the last person who I shouldn't be waking up with.

A Cheshire-like grin slowly appeared on his face with the hint of sleepiness.

"How was last night?" An unanswered question came over me as I tried to reach the muscle relaxers that were laying across the stand. With so many failed attempts to reach them, I'll probably weaken my own arm until he sluggishly grabbed two pills and gave them to me.

"Need water?"

I answered that question by swallowing the pills and turning back to the other side, face in front of another guy that was sounded asleep, with snoring and sleep-talking about the fullness of breasts galore.

Scoffing out of irritation he tousled my black hair and said, "I didn't know you can still do that. Thought that grown out since you were a kid?"

"I lied." Telling him the truth, I was trying to get into a comfortable position before his hands finally crossed over to my bare shoulder blades. Being seductive won't get your way out of this one.

"Man, last night was one hell of a fuck."

"Learn to properly use English." I retorted back groggily. A sucking noise from his teeth came back in retaliation.

"I guess last night fucked up my brain. Making it hard to communicate with others around me." A dragged out yawn came from him as he propped his head with the back of his hands, slowly looking around at his surroundings while I try not to holler out in pain, not waking the other guy up from his sleep.

"You can't even communicate with me, and we're friends." I chuckled under my breath before letting out a small hiss from the movements of my legs trying to get into a comfortable position.

"Anyways, is Sebastian up?"

"Yeah, he told me that he was going in the kitchen to get something to eat." He looked at me for a brief moment while turning to the bare opening of my vagina.

"He must have did a good number on you. You were all fucked out."

I couldn’t help but to let out a short giggle in response, "His techniques were so good on you, he might have fucked you into another reality.." Both of us are trying to stop the hysterical laughter that came upwards to our mouths. Stiffing every chuckle, we tried to get our best attention to something else in particular from last night. And that was,

"But,_____, did I hurt you anywhere or something?" Redness grew quickly into my cheeks as I shuffled underneath the covers. "No,Chris. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." A sigh of relief came out as he turned to face the back of me, slowly bringing his fingers to trace the lines of my collarbone.

Sometimes, the man can be the definition of a hopeless romantic.

"Just making sure." A brief moment of silence came around us until I broke the ice with something I would say deemed awkward. "But still, it was kind of hot. You and I making out while Sebastian was eating you out, then I was whispering all kinds of kinky things. 'Do you like the way his tongue works along your wet folds ' or 'It's cute how you are getting turned on by this, you little slut' and all other things. What a naughty little thing you are." I looked over at the corner of the bed and then at Chris.

"You should watch your mouth."

A light chuckle came from the guy on the other side of me while beginning to get from the bed that was littered with used condoms, butts to appear from joints or cigarettes, and a pair of unclaimed socks. Looking around the trashed room he then let out a sigh before putting on a undershirt. "I know this may sound crazy, but, I want everything to be like this all of the time." I looked at him with a puzzled expression. What did he mean?

"You know, to live carefree like this all the time. Not giving a damn about the little or big things in life and being able to do something of your worth." He then grabbed his glasses that were laying by his feet and wiped the fogged lenses with his shirt. "Life will never be fair but, as long as we got one another, then everything will be fine." Putting his glasses on he faces the back of my head again and strokes the fine strands of my hair. "I wish it was more like this, but, less fucked, you get what I mean?"

"I know." I replied back with sincerity in my voice, knowing full well that the words he was speaking was the truth. If there was a pause button, we would press it instantly. To get away from the boredom of life in general, especially being a teenager with one year shy away to becoming an adult. It's difficult to grasp a concept of being a good little girl, trying to impress your parents and teachers, and other senseless stuff that wouldn't let you be prepared for the real depths of our world. Then, I came to realize something. The guy who is sitting next to me, the one that I'll always shoot the shit with just about everything, drink until dawn to talk about our problems in life-whenever it may be school, work, or personal things, and the one who I always put my trust with when things don't go in my favor. He is the one that fully understands our problems and knows that we'll survive this together.

"But still, I'm glad you're with me on this." I turned to face him and out of nowhere (and not not even hearing the sound of the door opening by any chance) I see Sebastian who left the bed previously performing a blowjob on him. All this talking about trying to bond in the most difficult times and I didn't even notice the faint sounds of moaning, groaning, and one 'Fuck, that feels so good'.

"And you need to get on this too." He grunted while roughly grabbed Sebastian’s lock of hair and forcing him to use a deep throat technique.

Yeah, fuck you too, Chris.

#H O R N Y ass young adults #stucky x you #stucky x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #chris evans smut #sebastian stan smut #hmsworths #dazedseries:hmsworths

117 notes · View notes

floofymuses-archive · 6 years ago

Note

Could you give some good advices for multimuse blogs?

You’re asking ME for good advice? Anon, have you seenhow messy this blog is? I don’t think I could give any usefuladvice, but I can try, I guess?

Big hecking post bc rambling - but I tried my best honestly?

Stay OrganisedHaving lots of muses means it’s going to get clutteredvery quickly, the last thing you need is for everything tolook a mess. I run my blog by my tags so everything isaccessible. I also make sure to have a lot of pages, forthings such as Spotlight / Active muses, my full muselist, etc.

Make Sure People Are Reading Your Rules!This is a big one. Some people will say they’ve read your rulesand you’ll never know if they really have. That’s why I have a littlepassword at the bottom. ALSO; don’t be afraid to be strict with them!If people aren’t following your rules, then they obviously haven’t readthem and/or they’re just disregarding them. We have rules for a reason,so boundaries aren’t broken / crossed over. We have them for our security and whatnot, we don’t have them to just be broken.

Muse Who You’re Most Comfortable WithYou don’t need to have so many muses, such as I do.I have so many bc I have spikes of muse for each andeveryone at different times so making separate blogsand/or running minimal of them is literally pointless forme. Some people feel they can only muse a few at a timebut - I always advise you muse whoever you’re feeling,no matter how many muses that will be.

You Have Your Own Muse Portrayal / StyleBack when I was on Facebook, everyone was fighting overwho had the best portrayal, and if there are doubles / duplicatesof a muse you play. I advise you not to worry about things likethis. I used to get upset and things all the time, but now it’s justnot worth it. Everyone plays their muses separately and originally,everyone’s portrayal is different and unique to each person. Justbecause someone plays a similar muse that you have on your list,doesn’t mean they’ll replace you or abandon you by any means.If they do, they have to be a super petty person.I mean you can still interact with that same person, just with a differentmuse you have - if that makes you more comfortable. Don’t get upsetover it. I still see people on Facebook getting stroppy / upset about people playing the same muse as someone else and it really isn’t worth it - I mean in terms of multi muses and such. Singular blogs - it’s very much a different situation.

Shipping! Don’t Be Afraid to Post Your Opinion and/or let someoneKnow that You Want to Ship / Pair with Them!Highly important. If you want fluffy / shippy roleplays, don’t be nervous aboutapproaching people to ask about it if you want to pair with them. Whether singleor multi muse blogs. But - always makes sure to read their rules first, in case they have specifics when it comes to pairing their muse(s) off. Last thing youwant is to cross a boundary! (And reading the rules is common sense).I mean, they might want to ship with you too, you just have to try to be open about it as best as you can! I ALWAYS put my muses out for shipping - it’s myKryptonite.

Make Sure The Muse You’re Playing is VisibleWhat I mean by this is, make sure you note in the tags, or in thetitle, what muse you’re using. With me, having so many, I make sureI always use the tags for my characters AND that I have icons premadefor them already. For me, icons make it ten times easier to see who I’mmusing for what roleplay / response.

Always Give Other Multi Muses / Single Blogs a ChanceI’ve seen some people not like multi muses from time to time, very rarelyin fact, but - for this kind of thing, I always recommend being open to anyoneand everyone, whether they share the same muse as you. The chances ofhaving roleplays depending on the muses you have will be higher.

Show Off Your Muses, Give Them Their Own Promos or GraphicsI like to do this for my muses, honestly. I make little promotional things so ifpeople like a specific muse, they can reblog the appropriate promo for them,if in relation to their fandom or something. It’s a good thing to try and show off your muses to other roleplayers, you want them to be noticed and interacted with. You can do promotions for them on their own, with someone else’s muse(a joint promo), or whether it would be aesthetics, or icons even. You cherishthat muse of yours? Well - show em’ off to the world!

Inspiration is Hard to Come By, if You Wanna Post OOC Content,Don’t be Afraid to!I say this because I had a message from someone on my last blog, saying Iwas posting too much OOC content. Now, we’re here to roleplay, yes - but ifyou don’t feel like writing? Or You’re lacking inspiration right now?NOT your fault. I often have days I just can’t think of anything to write so I just post casually or I edit. I mainly post to let people know that I’m not dead / that I haven’t left the community. If people are making you feel like crap for not posting in character content all the time? You don’t need those people around you. This is YOUR blog. YOU post whatever YOU want. ♥If people really appreciate you and your writing - they’d stick around no matterwhat you post, and know for a fact the in character things are on the way, whether sooner, or later!

#i really don't know if any of this is useful but;#i tried my best!;#this is literally just how i feel when i run this blog;#it's my pride and my joy;.#𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒚 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆; ❰anonymous❱#𝑨𝒔𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏; ❰Ask❱

6 notes · View notes

keatulie · 7 years ago

Text

tagged by @gaymarriedinspace!!!

5 things you can find on my blog:

Two. like. so many.

old recordings/images of Stuff that just carries a Vibe of childhood, like bits from 90s-00s channel continuities and advertising, toys, photos of rooms from certain years. am super nostalgic.

video games like Spyro the dragonnnn. also bursts of cute Chao posts from the Sonic series bc I love those guys. builds/maps and things from Zoo Tycoon/The Sims as well.

abstract humour.

animals and nature!

5 things you can find in my room:

so many toys and plushies!

nice smelling stuff like fragrance diffusers and candles.

Clutter that isn’t rly mine but doesn’t fit anywhere else in the house.

clothes, bc laundry is the One chore for me that’s just uuuuhuhhgh.

more sketchbooks, scrapbooks, and notebooks than any one person needs.

5 things I always wanted to do:

be a title designer, which sounds rly specific but wow, well-designed openings like the Adventure Time cards and like 30s-40s cartoons are just SO good!

spend a week or so somewhere near the Rockies and go on an animal study/expedition.

learn how to sculpt clay figures and make plush toys (which one of Classy’s answers reminded me of haha). just wanna make a ton of cute little collectible stuff for myself and others.

learn to fiiiiinallly play an instrument. maybe a woodwind. I have an ocarina. o:

stay at a camp. I always used to see these in North American shows and it seems so fun haha. but like, one for adults. except it runs exactly the same as a kid’s camp. so basic nature survival, crafts, trails, campfire stories.

5 things that make me happy:

everyone I know who is super cool and friendly. <3

birbs. esp when I wake up early enough in the day and it’s sunny and there’s birds outside.

my dog.

drawing and designing worlds/characters/anything rly.

nature walks.

5 things on my to do list:

start work on my final uni project hhhhn,

get into a steady exercise regimen

go on like, adventures more often.

spring clean my room (allllready started!)

get a Job.

5 things you may not know about me:

I have like, um. it’s not double-jointed I think, but a weirdly shaped left thumb? the joint at the base in the palm kinda juts out and I can make it stick out. also my thumb is crooked, but I can pop it straight if I want w/ no pain nowadays. both hands used to be like that but the right just straightened itself out as I got older. I used to accidentally throw them out and lock them all the time doing things like pulling socks up and it rly hurt.

I experience color-graphemic synesthesia, where you inherently associate certain letters and numbers with colours. I remember becoming aware of this when I was little and a baby show I was watching described the number six as ‘soft and round’, and I was like ‘!!! same and it’s also mint-green!’ in case you want to know: one is brick red, two is salmon pink, three is sort of apricot-yellow, four is royal blue, five is pale yellow, six is^, seven is dark purple, eight is apple red, nine is gold. these continue into the teens and like 20, 30, etc, but they don’t stack up. ‘46′ is not blue and green, it just doesn’t have a colour.

even tho I’m... super unobservant and have garbage short-term memory I’ve got a rly good long-term one. I can remember so many details about stuff I did and events that happened when I was younger. weirdly, even tho this prob crosses into short-term, I can usually navigate my way around a place after visiting it for the first time (even tho I never remember any names or roadsigns). I’m basically a homing pigeon. the strongest senses relating to memory for me are smell and hearing.

I've had just one surgery in my life (so far.. . .) and it was on my eye when I was 5. I have strabismus/a squint, and before that operation my left eye would still drift to the side (inwards), even while wearing glasses. a year ago it stopped drifting almost completely, except when I’m sleepy or focusing on something too close to my eyes. I don’t know why, I guess my muscles strengthened? but I’m glad. :3

I’m 4th of 5 kids, but 3 are much older and 1 is much younger (and all to a different parent) so none of them have lived with me or been particularly close, so I was basically raised as an only child.

thank you!! 🌟

I tag @dreamweavers, @eyespyscience, @hollehmonstah, @koldtblod, @uighean if u want to do it. :3

#personality #original #long post

9 notes · View notes

callmetippytumbles · 7 years ago

Text

Pick a song for every letter in your URL

I know I am late AF with this post, so much for that resolution. I have finished the Spotify playlist I made for this days ago, but I just have not sat down and written this part. I am doing it now. This post and all subsequent productive posts are brought to you by the new ADHD meds that I am testing out on a Sunday.

I was tagged by @lizzybeth1986 and @maxattack-powell. If you tagged me as well, I am sorry I did not mention you here, it got lost in my activity feed.

I am not going to tag anyone else, because I am hella late, but if you want to do this tag feel free to do so and tag me.

Here is the list. Yes, I talk about the tracks because I am extra like that. I used to do music reviews in college and I still like doing that. The music review part is below the “Keep reading”. I made a whole playlist though so I will not link to any songs. See below.

C--Cadillac by Miguel This song is fun and one of my favorites from the Get Down soundtrack. I watched this during that dance competition scene, and I too would like to do the Hustle to this song in a scene-stealing dress. A--Alright by Kendrick Lamar This song gets heavy play. Especially if I am just going through it and I just need to be encouraged. Sometimes all you need to hear is "We gon' be alright" to make it. Love this song. L--Lovely Day by alt-J Okay, so there are a bunch of covers of this song. I love the original by Bill Withers. I like the Jill Scott version. I chose to share this one. I think it is because of the tone and feel that this version brings as opposed to the others. First, it's sonically different. The other versions are upbeat and lean into that feeling of the song. This one doesn't do that. It's haunting. The song plays like everything in your life is shit. Just terrible but because this person is in your life you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and you can make it through. This song is not something you play in anticipation of the beginning of a good day. Instead, the song is something that you play to make it through that day. (Many TRR fans will connect to that feeling. It should be on all of your angsty playlists.) L--Lookin Ass by Young Money, Nicki Minaj Look I know men can be trash. I like to play this when I need a reminder. The n-word is all over this song. If that is not your ministry, then this song is not for you. I like it because its a woman calling men out that want to judge women but are in no position to do so. I live for that.

M--M I L K by Leikeli47 This song is perfect for working out and just feeling yourself. I play this when I am working out but need a reminder that I am working out for me. The base and beat is just hypnotic and can pace a run or a speedwalk. E--Every Man Has a Woman Who Loves Him by Yoko Ono Say what you want about Yoko Ono, you have to admire her artistry. I like her music. This is one of my favorite songs. When I read reviews of Double Fantasy, a lot of them shit on Yoko Ono's contributions even though she is on ALL of the tracks, produced the tracks (including the tracks that Lennon leads), and wrote/co-wrote them. Double Fantasy is intended and created as a joint album. It was designed to be a conversation. That's why the tracks alternate. That aside, I am drawn this particular song. The straightforward lyrics, and that guitar that echoes and chimes in the background. The music, like the actual organization of the instruments on the track, is impressive. The instruments from synthesizers to the base, the guitars blend in a way that is layered but not excessive or cluttered. This is a track that is very well suited to Ono. Her vocals match the mood of the song. The song is a delicate song about a woman and led by one. Definitely deserves a listen.

T--That's All by Genesis The song is mesmerizing. The grand piano, to the drums to the base build to make this constant pace that sticks with you. It has excellent repeat value. Phil Collins vocals really match the frustration of the lyrics. I--I'll Call U Back by Erykah Badu This track is on one of Erykah's mixtapes. This song is an exhale. Everything from the beat to her voice, to the mood, is about chilling. Erykah is very unbothered on this track. She'll call you when she calls you. A song that is this deliberately mellow could easily meander and play for several minutes, but that isn't what happens here. It's very short. That is a deliberate choice too. She is not going to spend a lot of time or energy to reclaim her time. Unlike Lookin' Ass which is about telling a man off aggressively, this is shooing someone away and going back to doing you. Play this track when a debt collector tries to call you and fuck up your day. It's fun. P--Plastic 100°C by Sampha Sampha is the kind of artist that has an incredibly unique voice that is used a lot for features. He was the man singing along with Solange (who is a Cancer like me, won't stop claiming that) on “Don't Touch My Hair”. Also, he features a lot on SBTRKT tracks (like “Something Goes Right”). His features are good, but his solo songs deserve way more shine than I feel they get. This song has a sense of drama to it even is the instrumentation is really delicate and lush in contrast. It was written after he lost both parents to cancer and he found a lump in his throat while his career was growing. Before I found out about the events of his life that inspired this song I kept thinking of intense vulnerability, how scary that really is but opening up and exposing yourself despite that. He sings "It's so hot I've been melting out here/I'm made out of plastic out here/You touched down in the base of my fears." You hear the panic in his voice. It's a gorgeous song. Like its waiting to be turned into a songfic. P--Phantom Punch by Sondre Lerche This is kind of a departure from his usual very thoughtfully arranged, very romantic fare. This man is a FUBU romantic. He is a romantic that writes for romantics. This song is still about someone who is infatuated with someone. It's just really lively with a focus on electric guitars and synthesizers. It makes you as giddy and filled with energy as Sondre is. Y--You Come Through by PJ Harvey I am a person that likes a ballad, plenty of my favorites come from artists that are not known for them. I think why I enjoy if not prefer ballads from artists that do not always set out to do them because it's like being let in on a secret. You are seeing an artist expose themselves in a way they don't usually don't. This is one of those tracks. PJ Harvey is a force of nature. You are more confronted by her work than you are entertained. This song is entirely different. It could be viewed as a confession of love and mourning a love lost or even both. The lyrics leave a lot of room for interpretation. What is unquestionable is the vulnerability that she conveys during the performance of this track. The track is bare and stripped so that her vocals are the focus and not the music backing them. Her vocals are softer and restrained as opposed to at full force. This combination creates the effect that you get as a listener that you are an interloper on her private thoughts and emotions as well as becoming as vulnerable and exposed as she is. It's beautiful.

T--Transit by Robin Hannibal I noticed that I chose a lot of deceptively simple songs that are quite complex, like vanilla. This track leads with the drums. You hear the drums in the track before the keyboard or Robin's vocals. The lyrics are about a complicated relationship. "Break up, just to make up" are some of the words to this song. While the relationship described is complicated, the arrangements don't seem that way. The song doesn't sound fraught or in a state of panic. Robin is not in any kind of emotional anguish while performing this track. It's calmer and mellower. U--Until Then by Broadcast Until Then is a song on an album full of beautiful, stand out tracks. The Noise Made by People is a delightful album and worth a listen. It's very nostalgic without going full-on throwback in a way that seems like a poorly executed 60's costume. The album feels like it should be the score and soundtrack to some kind of play, but it isn't. Until Then feels the most like a track that could be sung in a theatrical production. The climax just hit, and all of the characters have reached ruin, and this is the song they are all singing before the plot tracks their recovery from said ruin. This could be a reprise sung by a musical theatre group or sung on the album by Trish Keenan. Both work. M--My Love by Jill Scott I have to say; I do not really like songs that intro with a conversation break and not the song starting. I can do a quick sample but do not interrupt the music. I am here for the music. I can make an exception for this song. My Love is about a woman who finds out a man that he may have been on again/off again with is marrying another woman and she is confused by this. I may have played this on repeat after the TRR1 finale. Halle may have too. Jill croons "My love is deeper, tighter/Sweeter, higher, flyer" comparing herself to the woman the man chose to marry but this is quickly followed by "Didn't you know this?" like he should have known better. It's not mournful like "I miss this man so much." Jill don't play that. The tone is more like "you dared to choose her and not me, and you knew better." It's poetic, soulful and lush. Even if Soul is not your thing, this song could still find its way to your catalog. B--Blind by TV on the Radio TV on the Radio is what happens when you let art nerds start a band. This song is on the Young Liars EP. It's the longest song on the playlist, clocking in at over 7 minutes. This song uses that time to kind of lumber around the issue presented in the lyrics. It's about a guy who suspects his girlfriend may or may not be cheating on him. The words go through all of the questions, the doubt, action and inaction that happens when confronted with that kind of situation. This track features organs, a droning beat that builds as lead singer Tunde Adebimpe sings with a voice filled with melancholy and ambivalence. It's a compelling track. L--Lost in the Plot by The Dears If Adebimpe in the last song sings with a voice with melancholy and ambivalence, Murray Lightburn of The Dears sings like is either about to have or recovering from complete emotional upheaval. His voice is just filled with such intensity and fervor you are forced to reckon with whatever emotions he is dealing with. This song in particular really showcases this. By the time he is shouting "It's the same old plot", you are just as over everything as Lightburn is. E--Elephant Woman by Blonde Redhead Elephant Woman is the opening track to Misery is a Butterfly. The song is about being broken emotionally as well as physically. It was reportedly inspired about when Blonde Redhead lead singer, Kazu Makino, being thrown off her horse and severely injured as a result. It grapples with feeling betrayed by something (but can easily apply to someone) you love and struggling with the damage after the fact. It's set to beautiful and haunting strings and whirling guitars. You ache when Makino delicately sings "Now inside and outside are matching." It's beautifully crafted and magnificent to listen to. S--Sleeping Ute by Grizzly Bear While it feels weird to close a playlist with a song that was an album opener, this just feels right. If you are someone who likes guitar riffs (looking at you @lizzybeth1986), this song opens with some great ones. It's a song that deals with restlessness and seeking reprieve from chaos. The arrangement reflects those themes by opening with trashing cymbals and guitars that sound like they are on top of each other and it mellows into a calmer melody as the drums fall back and the guitars come into foreground like the calm after a tumultuous storm.

#tagged

1 note · View note

the--blackdahlia · 7 years ago

Text

Hurt (Sherlock x Reader)

Title: Hurt

Summary: A look at your and Sherlock's lives together

Warnings: Character Death, angst, tissues needed

He set in his chair, staring at the fire as it burnt in front of him. Today had been a long, hard day for the old detective. Years you two had spent together. Years. And today was the last time he ever saw you. Your eyes were closed like tall those times he woke up with you sleeping by him, but this time, he wouldn’t see them fluttering open.

John tried to follow him, but Sherlock shut the older man out. Everyone he knew was shut out because the one person he wanted to be there was gone. You were gone and it was eating him up inside. But he decided to do something he hadn’t done since you got sick. He picked up his violin. He knew you loved it when he played it. And after the opening chords played, he started to sing.

And remember.

I hurt myself today To see if I still feel I focus on the pain The only thing that's real

Sherlock looked at the photos sitting on the mantle above the roaring fire. Experiments and the skull surrounded them, but they made this cold flat feel like a home for those years that you were there. He gripped his bow a little tighter.

The needle tears a hole The old familiar sting Try to kill it all away But I remember everything

****

You weren’t even supposed to be at the crime scene. But then again, neither was Sherlock. John was visiting family and Lestrade had told Sherlock he wasn’t needed, but Sherlock decided to show up anyway. And you stumbled across the crime scene when your dog decided to go through a break in the perimeter. Sherlock didn’t even notice you until all 100 pounds of slobbering canine landed on him, knocking him down.

“Bloody hell!” Sherlock yelled.

“Bad dog!” You said, grabbing his leash again and pulling him back. “I am so sorry!”

“Get your mutt off of me!” Sherlock growled at you. You had that look then.

“Um, excuse me Mr. High and Mighty, but my dog is not a mutt.” You snapped at him. “Ringo is an Akita!”

“Ringo?” Sherlock scoffed. “You named your pet Ringo?”

“Yeah? So what?” You said. You rolled your eyes at the man in the coat. It was too hot for it anyway. But those cheekbones…wait, stop it.

“People and their pets.” Sherlock chuckled. “It will never fail to amaze me.” You missed the slight pain in his eyes.

“You know what Mr…”

“Holmes.” Sherlock said. “Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective.”

“Yeah well Mr. Holmes, you’re not a nice person and I really don’t want to be anywhere near you. So if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get out of here before Ringo decides to pee on you.” With that, you stormed off. LEstrade had just noticed you there, but by the time he got over to tell you to leave, you had already left.

“Who was that?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock didn’t answer. He watched you leave before turning his attention back to the case that he wasn’t even supposed to be at. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. He didn’t believe in love…

****

What have I become My sweetest friend Everyone I know goes away In the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt

****

You ran into him a couple more times. Those times, he had someone with him who made sure he was somewhat nice. Ringo sure did love him. He always wanted Sherlock to pet him and sometimes wrapped his leash around his legs so he would fall against you. This continued on until John finally managed to get you two to agree on a date. Sherlock said date successful due to the fact that there was a robbery at the restaurant and it was fun for him. You honestly couldn’t help but love his smile.

And it must have been a good date, because you went on more without John pushing.

****

I wear this crown of thorns Upon my liar's chair Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair

****

You married Sherlock Holmes after a year of dating. It surprised most people that Sherlock Holmes decided to settle down. And it surprised even more people that you agreed to marry him. But after you broke through that rough shell, he wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t a perfect marriage, because there is no such thing as a perfect marriage, but it was amazing.

While you were off at work, Sherlock would work on cases. Occasionally, he would stop by to see you and bring you lunch. Sometimes you were so busy and would work through lunch, and he would send you a cute little text message.

It always made you smile.

****

Beneath the stains of time The feelings disappear You are someone else I am still right here

****

You two tried and tried for kids for years, finally bringing a pair of twins into the world. James and Hannah stole their father’s heart the minute he laid his eyes on them. They were a great combo of both their parents and soon had everyone in their parents’ circle wrapped around their tiny fingers.

The night you brought them home, after putting them to bed, Sherlock looked over at you with the most genuine smile you had ever seen on his face.

“What?” You asked, smiling back at him. He gently kissed your cheek.

“Thank you.”

****

What have I become My sweetest friend Everyone I know goes away In the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt

You spent a lot of time in the hospital when you turned fifty-five. Sherlock was about sixty-two when you got sick. Cancer. He absolutely hated that word. Every time a doctor casually said it, it made him want to punch him. It was about this time that his joints started hurting too bad to play his violin, despite you wanting to hear him play.

James and Hannah came home to see you as you started to get worse. Sherlock stayed with you as much as you could. He didn’t go to crime scenes as much anymore. Lestrade had passed away a few years ago. His brother wasn’t looking too good. John was busy with his own family. But Sherlock wanted all his attention to be on you.

You weakly held his hand one night as you looked at him.

“I want to go home.” You said weakly. He nodded and took you home. He laid with you on your bed. He stayed awake and watched you as you slept. You woke up and looked into his eyes once. You smiled weakly. “I love you Sherlock.” You whispered. He teared up and kissed your forehead.

“I love you too.” He whispered.

It was just days ago. He lost you that night.

****

If I could start again

****

The night after your funeral, Sherlock took his violin and tossed it into the fire. He didn’t want to see it anymore. He didn’t care how much it cost or how much it was valued at. He could care less. He couldn’t really play it anymore anyway.

****

A million miles away

****

He hand wrote some letters and sealed them. He left them on his cluttered desk. One for Hannah and her family. One for James. One for John. One for Mycroft. And one for Molly. He smirked a bit as he walked away from his desk and went to the bedroom you both had once shared.

****

I would keep myself

****

Sherlock laid down on the bed, his head resting against your pillow. With a smile on his face, he closed his eyes.

That night, your husband joined you again.

****

I would find a way

Tag List: @theas-bedtime-stories @crownedloki @dekahg

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch

143 notes · View notes

smerglemerg · 8 years ago

Text

Words: 6348 Chapters: 1/?? Language: English

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Shinsou Hitoshi, Todoroki Shouto, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Shigaraki Tomura, Sensei | All For One Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Shinsou Hitoshi, Midoriya Izuku & Todoroku Shouto, Midoriya Izuku & Shigaraki Tomura, Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might Additional Tags: my spirit academia au, BASICALLY, me seeing how far i can go before someone asks me to tag body horror, also me seeing how far i can go before someone asks me to stop hurting izuku, but you know, ;), really tho, body horror don’t red if you don’t like it!!!!

Chapter One: Larger Than Life

Midoriya Izuku comes into the world silent. No screaming, no crying he’s silent and still and the doctors worry but he giggles at the sight of the small floating cat that hovers beside his mother. He cries and screams at the realisation he should not exist, cries because he does not get to experience helping someone guarding them with his entire being and giving them the weapons to protect themselves.

Midoriya Izuku comes into the world quiet at first, screaming later.

Izuku does not know how long ago it started, or even if it had “started” and not just always been like this; either way he stares blankly at his reflection, stares at the second skin that wraps around his body. He stares at the way it ripples around him, the hair like mane that curls like tendrils around him invisible to only himself and the spirits. Izuku observes the eyes that litter themselves across his shoulders, his arms; observes the way they hover above his skin wrapped in the translucence green that hug his body tightly.

Izuku thinks he might have had an observation quirk, an analytical and empathetic quirk by the way his eyes ripple and seem to smile when he writes his quirk analysis’. He thinks, he wonders what type of life he would have lived if he had not been born this way, without an extra toe joint, without a quirk. Izuku dreams of a life where he isn’t born with a second body wrapped over his flesh, eyes spread along his shoulders and arms like a disease; in a world where maybe he didn’t have crippling anxiety and wasn’t abused by the person he loves most outside of his family.

His green skin shifts and ripples, he hears his mother call for him downstairs, sighs at the mewls that emanate from his mother spirits. Izuku lives in a world where fantasy is the new reality, a world where people are born with supernatural abilities that are called “quirks” people believe that this is the next generation of evolution but all Izuku needs to do to disprove that is go outside. Humanity believes this is the next step in their evolutionary process.

Izuku resides in a world where 80% of it’s population is blessed with abilities that belong in fiction rather than reality, 30% of this population have abilities, “quirks”, as they’re called that are suited to the highly longed after job of being a hero. It is an unfortunate fact that out of these 30% only 10% can be considered hero material as the other 20% are either not strong enough or not equipped properly to be deemed heroic. Izuku goes to school everyday, Izuku sees the spirits that clutter up the space everyone else sees straight through that he should see straight through and laughs at humanity’s arrogance.

He snorts at the way they all scramble around and posture to each other, even as he drowns and suffocates all at once with the spirits that swarm his vision and scream in his face while they don’t even acknowledge him. Izuku can feel his energy drain, sees all the eyes on his arms close and breathes in new air as the spirits of people he doesn’t know disappear from his vision. His hair is a whorl of knots and despair, he stands in front of his mirror; his torso is a myriad of scars and burns and the sight of them drown him in fear and sorrow, lost hopes and dreams of a better world, a better reality.

Izuku wonders if he might become a villain one day, he shakes the thought off. It settles in his veins, constricts around his throat and greedily sucks up his energy.

Midoriya Izuku is in the process of heading to school when a villain starts to attack the nearby train station, he can not help but stop to watch, can not help but stop to see what heroes come to stop him. Izuku sees one hero directing traffic, another one is making sure no rubble makes it to civilians, he spots Kamui Woods and is unable to stop the babble that spews from his mouth. He is ensnared in this display, enraptured at the way heroes risk their lives but he bristles as Mount Lady crashes through the scene, flying through everyone’s blindspots.

Izuku growls low in his throat, snarls through the mouth on his second neck, howls through the empty maw on his stomach; his eyes roll back the whites scattered across his shoulders and arms, teeth are bared on his neck and on his stomach. His hair sharpens, curls up above his head the part of him that should not be was not supposed to be screams fury at the way this human rushes in full kilter and completely unaware of the way it physically hurts Kamui Woods to stop his Chain Lacquered Prison technique, ignorant to how it strains the connection between the hero and his guardian.

Izuku writes down notes on Mount Lady, sketches her in her horned costume, sketches her spirit that towers over her arms draped around her shoulders made up of stone and mountains with moss scattered across its mass. The man standing next to him gives a startled laugh, encourages him, says he will be rooting for him when he makes his debut; Izuku forcefully hides a flinch, drowns in all the spirits he can see, breathes in, replies and closes his eyes.

He arrives at school. His teacher brings up the topic of high school placement exams. Kacchan thrives of attention, and his spirit lays itself down around Izuku’s ankles, nose turned away from him demanding attention like the tigers human does the same. Izuku sighs softly, sinks into his seat and knows that the teacher will bring up his application to UA, if not to mock him then to turn a blind eye to the way his students abuse Midoriya Izuku simply because he appears to be quirkless even without an extra toe joint.

“Speaking of UA, didn’t Midoriya also apply to attend there?”

Fear’s hands caress him, wrap in a deceitfully gentle manner around his throat; Kacchan starts to yell, explosions flutter and scorches his desk. The fear drags him down, fills his throat with blood, makes his eyes bleed in pain, the empty maw on his stomach wails in terror and Izuku falls of off his seat.

“As if a useless quirkless no good screw up like you can get into UA, Deku!” Kacchan roars, explosions crackling to life and Izuku is never as terrified as when Kacchan’s anger is directed to him. Kacchan’s spirit rumbles, whether in amusement or distaste at his human’s actions Izuku does not know, his eyes are all open and he drowns in blood no one else can see. Scrambles away from his childhood friend, away from his abuser.

“I’m just trying Kacchan,” Izuku hates how his voice quivers, how his throat cries in fear and the gaping maw across his stomach howls for all spirits to hear his terror. “I don’t see how it harms anyone for me to just try, you don’t even know if I want to get into the general department or not!”

Izuku knows immediately he has said the wrong thing, sees it on his friends face, sees it with how the kind spirits around him flinch, how the ones that hate him for what he is what he could have been should have been grin and rumble with approval. Kacchan’s guardian flicks their tail dismissively and Izuku knows his friend will save the most painful things for after school, save the true wounds for when it can not be placed upon his record. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, he wishes he had never been born, he wishes he was normal.

Time passes and they eventually have to go back to class, the teacher can only look away for so long until serious harm threatens to appear. Izuku wonders what his world would be like if he had been born properly, stares down at his arms that he wraps up in bandages every day hoping that they will one day cover all the eyes that spread along his skin. He thinks in another world he would become a villain with this ability, he thinks he might have died in another world, perished as soon as he realised what he is what he isn’t.

Kacchan confronts him at the end of the day like Izuku knew he would, he spouts crap and shit that Izuku knows he doesn’t mean just by looking at the tiger regarding him with silent disdain, by looking at the dragon head of Kacchan’s guardian snorting and dismissing him. His friend abuser has always, always been his cruelest when trying to be kind, and in his words, his spiel and apparent disregard for Izuku’s safety he tries to protect the quirkless wonder that had once been his friend, had once encouraged him before their respective quirks appeared.

“You know what you should do fucking shitty Deku?” Kacchan sneers at him, his lackeys laugh. “You should go jump of off the roof and hope you get a quirk in your next life you useless piece of shit!”

Izuku knows his friend. Knows that Kacchan is trying to be kind, that in between the snarling and spitting anger Kacchan is terrified of him becoming a hero, him a quirkless freak in the midst of battle terrifies his friend who hides it behind anger and abuse. Izuku knows this as the facts they are and yet, still it burns in his chest, sets his heart aflame at the way Kacchan growls when he sees him; hurts in the way his best friend attacks him, burns him and scars him without even knowing. It hurts that no one will stand up to Kacchan, that they will never accuse him of the abuse Izuku knows intimately and remembers vividly at night when he lies awake unable to sleep but unable to write anything to make his feelings go away.

The thought slips into his mind, constricts his heart makes him weep blood from eyes unseen by humanity. A wail tears itself from the mouth on his throat, the gaping maw on his stomach howls despair at the words of his friend; eyes cry blood, mouths howl and snarl melancholy. Izuku gets up, brushes of the ash and dirt on his arms, his legs, his torso, smeared across his eyes, and tinging the green a murky brown colour that darkens while his eyes weep. He stands tall, alone in a room that rewards abuse, he exits his classroom and exits the school.

The sight of his notebook in the pond makes him frown, his eyes are open he is all by himself and never has he felt more suffocated or humiliated then he feels right now in this moment. Izuku takes a deep breathe, the eyes spread across his torso close, his hands drip blood but they are clean and wound free; he gathers up his soggy notebook, gathers up the shattered pieces of his heart he should have learned to stop giving by now. He breathes in, and out. Izuku starts in the direction of home, unease curls and settles in his gut like an old lover and he is wary of the way it makes his hair whorl and bristle, sharpening into steel blades.

He flattens the hair above his forehead subconsciously, it is as soft and normal as ever. There are steel blades curling up and around his head and Izuku can’t help but think Kacchan scares him more than whatever this feeling forebodes.

It comes to a head twenty minutes later after he has gathered all his stuff, dried his notebook and repaired it as best he could; he is passing through a tunnel the sound of rushing trains blaring overhead. Midoriya barely hears the sound of a the man plate rattling behind him, his hair locks into long steel beams; his eyes snap open, he whirls around heart pumping rapidly inside his chest. He can’t tell the villain apart from his spirit, it slips and slides and clings onto it’s human like a leech and Midoriya is frozen a second to long at the possibilities that presents.

“A medium sized body to hide in….” the villains muttering confirms several different quirk uses that had flashed through his brain, the villain is wrapping itself around his body before he can do anything. “Just 45 seconds kid, then I’m saved you’re a real hero you know? I never thought that he would ever show up in this town, there’s no bother trying that I’m made of liquid.”

Midoriya Izuku howls. He screams and snarls and spits vile liquid as his jaws clamp and tear through an unseen body, ripping it and spraying blood everywhere. His eyes are rolled up and back only the whites are showing, the steel blades that have replaced his hair whip and slice and attack; the villain feels pain but he does not know why. There is the taste of blood in his mouth, spinning in his stomach, dripping down his neck his arms his back it’s everywhere and his voices reaches a fever pitch as a swirling sun bursts out from the manhole the villain had came through earlier.

He thinks, he knows, who this is; All Might thrums a steady beat of centuries and generations crammed into one body Izuku has never seen because of how bright All Might’s spirit must be to glare golden yellow when he has all his eyes closed. He hears his hero attacking the villain, he can breathe suddenly and he gulps it in hungrily. He screams in pain at how bright All Might’s spirit is it burns, it scars, his eyes bleed and this time the black goo that cascades across his body is his own and not another’s; it seeps into his gaping maw, the stitched on mouth always opened at his throat. Midoriya stumbles, crumples, heaves and retches the taste of another spirits blood burned into his memory as his own bubbles up and drowns him twice over.

Midoriya hurls black bubbling tar, gag on the taste of a parasitic spirits blood that spreads and covers the concrete. He thinks it lands atop All Might’s shoes but can’t see past the glaring, blinding all consuming pulsing shifting mass that shifts and contracts and walks behind it’s human like an old friend that is so bright its like looking at the sun with his eyes closed but so so much worse. It crawls up his throat, scrapes its way through his body out his visible mouth; there is a hurricane of whispers and ideas and lost thoughts that makes it source behind his hero, a corpse is stuck inside his throat, bulging big it swirls and fights stretching his neck out as it tries to escape him.

Tar drags it back down his oesophagus lest it be seen by mortal eyes, he chokes and spits and heaves stomach acid and tar out of his mouth; a living corpse tears its way out of his stomach and he sobs at the pain. He can hear the way All Might frowns, sees him take his phone out even as Midoriya clenches his eyes closed to the point black stars burst behind his eyelids; feels his heroes bones shifting and grinding against each other as he speaks softly into the receiver. Two bottles of liquid are carefully kept in someone’s sight, time passes and shifts but all Izuku can hear and feel and see and taste is the spirit in his lungs in his throat climbing through his body.

Can hear the way it screeches agony at his panicked defence, feels how his hair slides so easily through liquid as hard as iron. The tar boils in his throat, drips a steady beat of death out his eyes; blood flows from his mouth his eyes his nose but Midoriya can not stop retching, heaving he is desperate to get the feeling of such complete and utter helplessness out of his mouth. The sound of tires shriek muffled in his ears, a hulking mass of liquid shifting gold slows and kneels in front of him it shapes and forms and takes the form of a woman whose hands slide in his chest and dislodge teeth and tongue and muscles that cling and remind him of what he done in his own defence.

A woman made out of golden liquid which shines to out rival the sun places her hands in his chest and helps in the way a man nearby wants to, the way Tsukauchi and Nedzu stand next to an emaciated man with a concave on his side and pray. She helps and the bones and rotted meat roll out of the throat on his mouth, tar spills out his mouth and he can feel the way they see it in how they breathe how their chest stutters and flutters in surprise and pity and disgust. Midoriya shakes and sways and is positively certain the tar is not black but brown because there is a man heaving in the background of his hazy hearing, sees blood gush out of a blond man’s mouth like a geyser in the view of golden clad spirit.

His vision swirls and shifts like he’s looking out of fifty eyes all at once and should it not be a concern that is more dizzying than the hundreds that litter themselves across his torso. He shudders, golden hands enfold over his shoulders; slink under his arms and pull him up like a marionette, he stumbles into golden plated arms and is rightend. Midoriya opens his eyes, stares into softly glowing eyes the colour of silver, golden hair floating gently above a pair of broad shoulder as half of it is tied up into a bun; he can see the impression of black beneath the gold that bathes her and wonders if this is the person who had All Might’s quirk before him? She flickers, glitches and is briefly replaced by an old man with grey tinted hair and crinkling green eyes that smile at him through the centuries.

Midoriya sways slightly, breathes in slowly, turns around while he clutches his head in pain at the way it throbs from his ordeal. Some of his eyes are sealed shut with black liquid others eyelids are glued open with the fluid. In front of him stands a man he knows as Tsukauchi Naomasa, a detective that’s friends with All Might; his spirit hovers behind him, a blank mannequin with a heart monitor for a mouth that is beating to the tune of Midoriya’s heart. They want to know what happened but Midoriya can not answer that, does not know how to answer that without telling the truth. Without telling them he is an abomination, spilling the world of spirits to them, informing them that he has hundreds of eyes spread across his torso and three mouths with long hair that can turn to steel at a moment’s notice.

Does not know how to avoid mentioning the way the back of his knees sometimes open up as eyes or rows upon rows of teeth, is incapable of avoiding the detailed description of how his black splits open and tentacle like feelers unfurl to judge the emotions of those around him. Thinks of all these thing, his eyes and his mouths and his calves that shift from pupils to teeth to skin; thinks of the way his back splits open at random intervals and how his hair sharpens into a needle point. Midoriya is terrified to think of his appearance, abhors looking in the mirror and seeing the constant reminders of what he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to be born as; the reminders that he lost his chance at guiding a human through their life and he feels sick again.

Midoriya Izuku walks unsteadily forward, eyes unseeing; heart rate like a dying rabbit and with the aura of a god as he collapses on his knees, falls down and breathes out as he loses consciousness. Infinite light and power made up of gold and the aspirations of generations smiles down at the boy their current wielder has chosen and laughs at the thought of All for One winning against him.

Midoriya Izuku wakes up to the sight of a blue white black ceiling, wakes up to the smell of musty air and old paper that has been filed away, the taste of blood and tar is gone from within his mouth. He blinks, lethargically, he wonders if they drugged him in case he panicked upon waking up; there is a soft beeping as a small heart monitor hums along to the tune of his soul. A white face hovers above his head, a body twisted and curled up behind it like a cat; the beat upon the spirit’s lips is different this time, Midoriya thinks it might copying its charges song. There is a shuffling noise in the background that slowly returns to his ears, he can hear a door being shoved open and muttering about broken doorknobs.

Midoriya wonders why they would place him in a cell without a proper lock, blinks as the thought registers and shrugs it away. Pushes himself up on his arms, slips and his heart leaps into his throat, the monitor copies but he is caught by long muscled arms; someone that smells of coffee, old paper and something that whispers and niggles in the back of his brain the truth. His sight is still blurry at best, the mannequin flips and hangs itself of the shoulders of the man who had caught him. Midoriya looks up into the eyes of Detective Tsukauchi and wonder if this is about All Might’s true form, wonders if this is about the appearance of a man he can not even see because of how much his spirit outshines him.

“I can’t, can’t my vision has not returned yet,” he speaks softly, dryly and wonders if it will be like this forever but knows it is not so in the way his vision is slowly clearing out.

“May I please have some water?” Midoriya does not ask why he is still in their company, Tsukauchi offers no answers. Midoriya is handed a glass of water and can not help but spitefully wonder if he is about to be interrogated because of circumstances he would rather have never happened.

Tsukauchi Naomasa sits back down in his chair, leans forward on his elbows and cradles his face in the palms of his hand. Silently he wonders where Toshinori if, his friend is much much better at talking to children, to fans and the press and family members of those that know his secret but whose family are blind to it. Sighs into his hands, covertly watching the young boy sitting on his office couch hooked up to a small heart monitor, Midoriya Izuku age 14, quirkless and the kid his friend decided to lump One for All on. Tsukauchi can see it on Midoriya’s face, the poor boy thinks he is going to be interrogated because he was unfortunate enough to be attacked by the villain All Might was after near the end of his three hour limit.

His hands twitch, face contorts into a frown; Toshinori had left soup in the stations fridge before he left and told him not to eat it while he went to explain the situation to Midoriya’s mother. Tsukauchi can see how the kid is shaking, its barely there like he is used to being bullied over being cold; he thinks his friend would not mind if his soup disappeared to keep the boy warm and awake. As he stands up Tsukauchi can not help but shed his coat and drape it over the green haired munchkin, he smiles at the squawk of surprise it gets from the kid. Five minutes later he comes back with a steaming cup of soup, and a mug full of coffee for himself.

Sits across from Midoriya and gently places the cup in front of him, gives him a look that Toshinori regularly called his mothering look (that all his coworkers agreed with). Waits until Midoriya reaches for the soup and carefully grabs the hand they had attached the monitor too; wary of the scrapes and bruises the boy had gotten when he’d panicked after Muddy had tried to take his body. Moves slowly, makes his motions obvious and clear as he removes the device from the boy’s wrist, leans forward to gather it up before leaving the room temporarily to place the machine away. When he gets back Midoriya is blowing softly on his soup and taking small sips, shoulders and torso drowning in Tsukauchi’s coat that swallows the freckled child up.

“You were panicking rather badly last night Midoriya,” he starts in a quiet tone, no pity in his eyes and no sympathy in his voice. “The medics wanted to place you in a cell but Toshinori and myself figured that would just escalate your panic upon awakening. They compromised on us placing you on my office couch if we hooked you up to a heart monitor to make sure you were still breathing.”

“….. Thank you for the soup Tsukauchi-san,” Midoriya replies just as softly as him. “And thank you for the water earlier, I apologise for beginning to panic; but, I must ask where is my mother? Why isn’t she here right now?”

“We informed your mother of yesterday’s afternoon incident,” Tsukauchi grimaces at his wording. “You’ve seen All Might’s true form and because of what Toshinori wants to do with you he has decided to go explain everything to your mother before asking you anything.”

“What do you mean by that?” Midoriya blurts out, shifting and panicked, what he wants to do with me? What does Tsukauchi-san mean by that? What would All Might even want with a quirkless fuck up like himself?

“All Might was born quirkless, his quirk named One For All was given to him be the previous user Shimura Nana. It is a quirk that accumulates strength with each person that receives it, do you understand?” The boy looks shocked but Tsukauchi can not blame him, he too would be shocked in this situation. “Toshinori wants to give you his quirk, I don’t know his reasoning behind this; maybe its because of those hero analysis notebooks you had in your bag maybe it’s just because he sees some of himself in you.”

“All I know right now is that Toshinori has gone to explain the situation to your mother alongside the circumstances of his quirk and the training he would have to place you through if she gives her permission for you to receive it.” Tsukauchi gives a helpless sort of shrug, “of course he will ask whether or not you want it after getting permission from Inko-san.”

Midoriya’s instinctive reaction to this knowledge is to ask for a picture, ask what Shimura Nana looked like and if she is the woman made of gold from before that had helped him. He bites his lip, chews the insides of his mouth to stop the request from coming out; makes it look like he is processing the information handed to him, which he is but the possibilities whirl through his mind rapidly. He wonders if the previous user joins the maelstrom of spirits that make up All for One before or after they die, the thought itches at his brain; demands he find out, dictates he should ask the quirks made up of generations.

Midoriya and Tsukauchi sit together in silence made from their mutual unease and worry of the situation, Midoriya wonders silently how the detective sitting in front pf him and the hero at his apartment would react to the knowledge of how he is an abomination. They sit together in silence, wait in silence until Midoriya Inko and Yagi Toshinori the man better known as All Might arrive to tell them whether or not Midoriya Izuku will be allowed to train for a chance to gain One For All.

Midoriya Inko and Yagi Toshinori arrive together, one teary and fearful looking, the other solemn in the face of a mothers grief. Midoriya Izuku can tell by the look on his mothers face she has agreed to let him take All Might’s quirk if he so wishes too, can see it in the way the golden light seems to dance around his hero and the floating cat that trails after his mother purrs, wrapped around her throat in comfort she can’t see. One For All flutters around their current human, dances to a beat only a multitude of generations can hear and dances across the room to drape itself over Izuku’s shoulders; he blinks blinded, but other than that he has no visible reaction other than that, he listens to the conversation and the legal jargon the adults throw around. He understands them, after years and years of study laws regarding heroes and being interested in other laws he can understand them.

He listens, and accepts when he is offered One For All. Generations of heroes laugh, and dance and twirl around the room their glow blinding and the volume of their voice reaching a fever pitch deafening him. Izuku smiles, and braces himself for whats to come.

It happens while he’s on the afternoon run through the city, he is passing through the tunnel in which Muddy had tried to steal his body when Bakugou grabs him out of nowhere; the dual faced spirit seems to laugh at how it pains him, how it crushes and tears the feelers in his back apart until the black tar like blood drips down his back even as he stares into crimson eyes that terrify him utterly and completely. His mind flashes back to a time where he was declared quirkless and his friend abuser attacked him mercilessly without knowing that it would kill him, without understanding that and then proceeding to get no lecture or punishment for it because clearly it was just Midoriya’s jealousy talking after all there had been a fire at their school the week he’d been placed in hospital why was he trying to blame the burn scars on the innocent Bakugou?

His pulse races, he can feel his heart lodge itself inside his throat and his eyes are open wide with pupils dilated; blood dirties the back of his clothes and pools around his ankle but only he and the scaled tiger that slips through their legs can see the damage this blonde human is doing to him. Midoriya sucks in a quick breathe, he is being pushed roughly against the brick wall and Bakugou has practically lifted him of the ground the idea it will happen again makes him panic and react. His leg lashes out, connects with Bakugou’s groin and the striped dragon purrs dark amusement at how the scurrying humans grapple against each other; one to escape and the other to cause as much pain as possible before someone comes across them and he can try to say he’d been about to call an ambulance.

Midoriya lands a lucky hit that makes his friend abuser stumble and fall and he scurries away as fast as he can, bursts into the streets in a frantic pace his feet thudding against the pavement in a cacophony that showcases his fear. The sight of spirits flood him, drown him and he forces his eyes closed in the panic even as his breaths get shorter and shorter as he runs away, away, away from his old friend his constant abuser; he skids around a corner, darts across the street and heads towards a The Cat Orchid cafe that tolerates no abuse, hoping and praying to reach it before Bakugou could catch up with him. Midoriya Izuku screeches to a stop as his brain registers the sight of someone entering, but he’s going to fast, moving too quickly and he slams into them; trips over and rolls, eyes screwed shut but with the contact he can see the life like string puppet type spirit that appears to have a mimes makeup scheme.

He is speechless, flushed by exertion and embarrassment as he stares up into violet blue eyes, pale scrappy skin and bags that drag underneath the stranger’s eyes. Midoriya isn’t sure whether his heart is pounding from fear or embarrassment or attraction to this person who had accidentally saved him when they had crashed into each other; or more accurately Midoriya had crashed into him. Neither of them have time to properly process the accident when Bakugou come hurdling over, snarl on his face and anger in his spittle and Midoriya can not stop the desperate whimper filled with terror that slips through his vocal chords. It’s as clear as day how this action saves him and gains him a friend by the way both human and spiritual eyes narrow in barely concealed anger at what his tone implied.

The blue haired, violet blue eyed stranger helps him up; purposely ignores the way it makes his friend froth at the mouth and only turn around to face the blonde when he makes sure the boy that’d slammed into him is okay. Shinsou’s expression is positively frosty and it is no wonder in this moment why people immediately associate his quirk with villains and evil, it agitates him, disgusts him at the pure unadulterated fear in the green eyed boys tenor at the sound of this blonde and he wonders what the relationship between the crimson eyed male and the boy behind him is. His eyes are narrowed and the bags around them are more pronounced, he is unable to see the way a dual faced spirit and his own circle each other, snarl and spit and hiss derogatory terms at one another that only one of the three can hear and understand.

“Get out of my way you piece of shit!” Bakugou nearly growls into Shinsou’s face and he is in no way inclined to do as the asshole standing in front of him demands; especially when he stands like he should automatically be listened too.

“Pardon? What did… you say?” Shinsou drawls quietly, and unseen his spirit’s eyes start to twirl and a puppets cross appears above Bakugou. He can’t help but silently think of the different ways he could make this foul human being make a fool of himself, but a glance behind him stops Shinsou and makes him let out an inaudible sigh instead.

“I told you to move out of my fucking way you stupid goddamn idiot!” Bakugou barks roughly, and his eyes widen with pure rage as his limbs lock down on him and the blue themed boy smile.

“I think you should leave us alone, piss off would you?” Shinsou’s tone belies his statement. His smile is more bared teeth than a look of pleasure and the expression is obvious by the way Bakugou snarls uselessly as his body betrays him and heads far away from the cafe they stand outside of. Shinsou turns around fully expecting and accepting the inevitable disgust on the green haired boy’s face but all he sees is gratitude alongside a slight look of awe; needless to say it is the exact opposite of what he is prepared for and it shows with how he fumbles over his words.

“You, uh urm you were going inside? Would you like to join me,” he ventures uneasily, relaxing at the beaming grin it gets him in return. This is a pleasant surprise and Shinsou is unable to lie to himself when he thinks about how peaceful and flattering this male’s face is upon finding out about his quirk. “Ah, my name is Shinsou Hitoshi by the way. I suppose you could or can call me Hitoshi if you want or either it really doesn’t matter to me.”

“My name is Midoriya Izuku, would it really be okay if I joined you? I mean I did just inconvenience you and indirectly made you chase Kacchan away plus by the look on your face you probably came here to escape people telling you how disgusting or foul your quirk is but! I was wondering have you ever thought about becoming a hero? Or even a detective or police officer!” He rambles excitedly, bouncing along his heels as he follows Shinsou inside the cafe regardless of his words.

“You could help so many people! You could stop villains in their tracks because they would respond without realising who you were and if you were a police officer you could get information out of criminals without any trouble because they would not be able to resist your quirk without outside influence!”

Shinsou grins and laughs as his new friend Midoriya continues babbling along and unknowingly lifting his mood, it may have been an accident and the circumstances unfortunate and had preferably not have happened but Shinsou can not help but be silently thankful his green haired, green eyed companion had crashed into him. A smile curls up on his lips, he feels at peace and relaxed, sitting in this out of the way cat cafe with his new found friend; letting out a small sigh the last of his tension slips out his body as a few of the cats make their way towards the two teenagers. Shinsou privately thinks to himself that telling Midoriya he has thought about being a hero, has dreamed and planned on becoming a hero since his childhood could wait until the boys rant had powered down. As he waits he smiles softly, and soaks up all the warmth Izuku and the cats offer him unconditionally.

#pushing up daises #bnha #gift for simkjrs #mine #my spirit academia

28 notes · View notes