#also I have an odd bit of sad despite being the good adult and cleaning and having posted a chapter this weekend | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vespertineart · 3 years ago

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'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓲𝓽'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗."

Jotaro kujo x Fem! reader

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Life moves so fast. Too fast, for your liking. Maybe it's because your childhood wasn't the nicest, so you have wallowed in the sadness it brought you too much that you weren't aware of time, or the fact that you were so wrapped up in one future, you thought your life depended on nothing but academic purpose. At least then. Or maybe it's because you never realized how much you've wanted to do in your life until three years ago. You're still young, though a young adult, and you shouldn't be worried about the consequences of things you never did. Though, maybe they would affect you later on.

It's always been overwhelmingly depressing when you realize you can't relate to that flurrery feeling every one of your classmates told you about when bungee jumping or simply touching a manta ray. Never have you had the chance to visit a very famous amusement park because of how expensive it was. All of that would make you the odd one out in any friend group, which is why you never bothered to start a close friendship with someone.

However, this year was different. Let aside the fact that you missed out on all your school year's material, you experienced something far more exciting than anyone's ever had. Your mind still finds itself boggled by the sudden event. One second you're with your classmate who you knew nothing about at the time, and the next he's in jail, and you're with his grandfather trying nag get him out.

You can't even bring yourself to comprehend how you even got a grip on the whole situation, how you managed to have yourself thrown into the formula, from going to Egypt and saving Miss Holly, to fighting Dio and even almost dying with Kakyoin and Avdol who are currently in different hospitals. It all still feels so surreal.

Unconsciously, as you reminisce, your fingers brush the large scar that lays unveiled on the surface of your forearm, reaching from your wrist to your cheek, a few scabs still blanketing random edges on it. Soon, your hands found themselves reaching your currently broken and cast ankle. Your crutches lay limp on your leg. Your skin is cold, and so is the wind hitting it. For May, this is probably the longest it has taken to become warm.

"Oi, yn." You're snapped out of your daze when a certain deep voice calls out to you, a coherent tinge of worry trailing at the end of the person's greeting.

The all-familiar, stinging scent of cologne immediately assures you of who this person is. You let out a sigh, dipping your head down, eyes closed, a delightful sense of relief washing over you.

"Hey, Jojo. Thanks," you greet as you take a weak hold of the beer can your companion bought you. After a while of shuffling, both of you got your backs comfortable on the strong walls of the school's roof, taking in the cool wind as it brushes through your hair. The sun is set, but there is still a bit of sunlight left, it mixes beautifully with the soft white streetlights and spots of yellow, red and blue in the far distance which homes and billboards emit. If you focus enough, you can see a light silhouette of hills.

Jojo. Jotaro kujo. You recite that name on your tongue every night, sometimes in fear you might forget it. Some of his admirers despise you for it. For having the advantage of calling out to him whenever you want and he'd answer you, and only you. Your classmates say you're extremely lucky, like you've won a million-dollar bet for being his first and closest female friend. He's never down to open up, but from your experience, he's desperate for any type of companionship. However, the so-called advantages were never what this was all about for you. If it was, you'd know barely anything about each other, and you're glad you could become more than just classmates after the whole Egypt thing. To you, his friendship depended and revolved more around trust and means of comfort than just mainly using him for safety and assumed attention. The fact that he's truly a hard to crack shell of a man—that you somehow managed to turn into ash the moment you told him to 'get the fuck out of the jail room, you look ridiculous' —never mattered to you more than how closer you wish to get to him. Focusing in front of you again you watch the colors of the clouds merge with the dark purple of the sky. The stars are already out, and a beautiful half-moon is shining brighter than ever. You pout, disappointed of the incoming inability to see it in full display due to the sky's current cloudy state.

"Old man called me yesterday." You turned your head to Jotaro, eyes immediately locking with his. Just the simple fact that both of you go out of your ways to fully focus on each other makes your relationship all the more mutual. Jotaro, especially, he's never felt as easy with anyone as he has with you, and kakyoin, too, but he'd never say it directly to any of you . At night, when he's lost in his thought, he finds himself thinking of you. How kind you are and how you never seem to see the bad in anything despite having a bad past. He'd never admit it let alone say it with his tongue but he tries to take advantage of that kindness, in a way to make sure nothing will happen to you. He can't afford to lose anyone else. He also doesn't know if the fact that he thinks of you is more embarrassing, or the fact that he secretly wants to let his walls down in front of you one day. The thought comforts him, but, as usual, he's too meek about it, since there were many times his 'kindness' would be misunderstood as romantic intent. Well, he's doubting that, anyways, specifically with you.

"hm?" you reply, taking a sip of the refreshing drink in your hand. Your fingers wrap around each other, holding the can in a tight and secure grip. You're prone to dropping your drinks now and then, so you found this to be the most practical way of 'protecting them'. Yes, you look stupid when you end up dropping them either way. You two always get a good laugh from it, so at least there isn't any embarrassment happening.

"He was wondering if you wanted to stay with us for a couple more weeks. Mom misses you already." Jotaro exhales, smoke filling the air around you and mixing with his musky cologne to create an unbearable scent you never wanted to forget. The mention of Mr. Joestar for the third time this month makes your eyes widen. It was all for the same reason too. You lived alone for a long time now, and you've gotten very used to the lonely and eerie feeling of your dark home at night. However, of course, after meeting the Joestars, Joseph couldn't possibly leave you without pampering you so much, especially after helping with saving his precious daughter. You were grateful. You always are for what he does for you, but just enough for him to make you basically live with him is something you can't quite afford. Not money-wise, it's just that you don't have anything to give them in return, and offering your life also meant living with them. The cycle goes on.

With a grunt, you twist your form to face Jotaro, your hands pushing hard on the floor to support your frail physique.

"Jojo...I really appreciate it, but I have things to do at my house. I need to clean it, take care of the food that's been in the fridge for almost a month now. Maybe another time, but I really don't want to trouble you guys like this. You've done way too much for me already," you excuse, trying your best to scoot closer to your friend. As a final task for the day, you set yourself up on your knees and wrap your arms around the much larger man, patting him on the back a couple of times before planting a heavy peck on his forehead. "And you can stop worrying about me so much now, Joot. I'm really fine, thanks to you." A warm smile graces your lips as you speak your soft words to Jotaro, seeing his panicked eyes slowly close as he scoffs, pushing you away and hiding his rose-tinted face with the shadow of his hat.

"I'm still walking you home."

As much as you want to, you can't complain with a broken ankle. Who knows what might happen if you're too slow with walking? Over his dead body will Jotaro Kujo let anyone lay a finger on you...

~~~~~~~~~

The slow crunching of pebble and dust under heavy boots and the repetitive melody of crickets in the grass is enough to get you woozy in the freezing weather of tonight. The wind started picking up a long while ago, and you fear it might get worse before you reach your home. Clouds are grey and dull as they sway in a quick pace in the blue-black sky. The vigorous rustling of trees makes your ears tingle. Your pores are open with sweat, the droplets slowly trickling down your face and quickly drying out. Your arms over your crutches, your stomach hurting from excessive contraction, your breath becomes heavy, and your chest begins to hurt. It's been well over 20 minutes since you guys have been walking, and you're starting to hate yourself for letting Jotaro deal with your snail-paced struggle on a day like this.

Without a word, you sigh, then slowly crouch down to reach the floor. However, from how your ankle is positioned, the momentum you pushed yourself down with was faster than you anticipated, and you gasp. Bracing yourself for impact, you let go of your crutches hastily, spreading your arms in front of you to prepare support. Your eyes close tightly and you clench your stomach, a second away from hitting the concrete before feeling a soft barrier holding you up. Slowly, you open your eyes again, to find none other than Jotaro, encasing you in his large, jacket-cushioned arms. Without a chance to react, you feel yourself getting pulled up, hoisted up a millimeter high and huddled in your friend's arms again only this time in a better position for him to be able to swing your legs over to the side.

"Good grief, woman. What the hell were you doing?!" At this position, you can clearly hear the growl in Jotaro's voice. Heck, his breath is right in your ear. Inevitably, you shiver, letting out a huff of air. You feel yourself blush out of embarrassment when he gives you a side eye and you prepare to find a good answer to his question.

"Sorry, I wanted to sit down a bit...I uh..wasnt expecting to...fall-"

"Whatever, just stop talking or you'll die. And you're freezing ," Jotaro interrupts, leaning down to grab your crutches, still holding onto you. His head rests on your shoulder as he bends down, his fingers curling with ease around the handles.

Still shocked from the sudden ordeal, you start shuffling in Jotaro's arms, earning a grunt from him.

"Stay still, yn, for fuck's sake!"

"I-I can still walk on my own, JoJo!"

Annoyingly, or rather, smugly, Jotaro ignores your comment, only dragging his disagreement further by hoisting you up further so your figure is tucked snuggly between his arms. This proves his previous comment of how cold you actually are, seeing as you immediately melt into his arms, eyes almost instantly closing as you sigh, taking in the comfortable warmth of the thick fabric of his clothes.

when you look back at him, you decide not to complain any more when he raises an eyebrow at you and lets out chuckle. You just stare at the fading stars, keeping the image of his rare smile in your head along your little journey.

As you space out, your eyes having no place to stay still as the clouds move endlessly, you shake your head, feeling the pain in the back of your head from how dizzy you've become. This world is too big for even eyes to bear. you let out a mall sigh, the incoming comfort quickly cut off as you gasp. A wet droplet found its way on your nose uninvited. You look at Jotaro, expecting to see his face dotted with a bit if sweat, but that wasn't the case. Another droplet, and a third, and soon you see one slip off from Jotaro's hat. Oh... Ooooh...

Oh shit.

You gasp once more, suddenly sitting up and causing Jotaro to retract his head with a grunt.

"What the hell?!"

"Jojo it's raining!"

"And..?! Jeez you overreact."

With a pout, you hit the top of your friend's head, earning a stutter from him.

"C-can you walk a bit faster..? I can't have you getting sick, " you complain, clutching onto the chain dangling from JoJo's collar as a way to nudge him into agreeing to your order.

"That's not happening, y/n just sit back down-" As if to mock him, the clouds let out a loud clap of thunder, The rain quickly picking up with the wind. As fast as this happened, you and Jotaro are now almost drenched in water. You cross your arms, looking up at Mcedgy with a smug expression on your face.

He sighs heavily, tugging the brim of his hat and letting out his famous

"Good grief..." before wrapping his jacket around you like a stolen package and trudging quickly. A few moments pass before he starts to run.

Surprisingly, your house isn't that far away anymore. You'd expect that from someone twice your height running. Currently, your friend is huffing, occasionally spitting excess water away from his mouth.

"We're here."

He stops running, just jogging his way around a building before setting you down on the floor, waiting until you regained balance to give you your crutches back. You hiss at how cold the air is, your body quickly shivering.

You quickly find your keys from your pocket before limping to your front door and opening it with a satisfying click, taking your single wet shoe off and stepping into your house, again, cringing because of how cold the floor has gotten. As you manage to trudge to pull a shawl you found hanging on a chair, you turn back to the door, facing Jotaro again.

"Thanks for walking me here JoJo. It was definitely a pain, I'm sorry," you apologize, a wide smile on your face, rubbing the back of your neck.

"It's fine," says Jojo, already lighting his third cigarette of the day and placing it between his lips.

There's a long silence between the two of you, the heavy sound of rain and occasional thunder being the only thing breaking it. Your breaths are heavy because of the weather, and you do nothing but stare at each other. It seems none of you want to turn away for some reason. both of you are worried for each other. It takes another while before any of you finally move, Jotaro shuffling off of the steps in front of your door and turning around with a small farewell.

You, knocked out of your trance, call out to him again, making him stop. Now in your garden, completely soaked, Jotaro turns his head to you. His cigarette is barely lit anymore.

"Umm...I just realized your house is too far away," you start, catching your friend's attention. He slowly walks back to you, shoving his hands in his pockets. He only hums in response.

"Uh...I just...don't want you walking all that way again, and further so why-"

"I'm not coming inside your house," Jotaro cuts you off, causing you to stutter and blink a couple of times. However, you've already made up your mind and there's no way you're turning back now.

"No, JoJo, you are, and I'm serious right now!," you protest, trying your best to sound strict as you walk to take a hold of Jotaro's arm with your free one and pulling him under the dry safety of your door. When he realized he stepped in with his shoes, he quickly retreats, pulling on his hat and looking away.

"JoJo...!"

Jeez, you're so naïve. Little do you know, Jotaro is only concerned about causing you any harm. He'd rather shrivel up and die from hypothermia than have you affected by him. But...refusing is never an option with you at this point. If anything, he doubts you won't end up following him until he's already at his own house, still trying to nag him further. He grunts, shaking his head then looking back to you.

"Jesus, fine."

Your face quickly lights up with a smile, and you drag Jotaro inside your house —with a limp—and make him take his jacket off. As much as he somewhat doesn't want to be here, Jotaro sighs in relief, shuddering at the warmth of your home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

{2901 words}

This is just something to start writing here. I'm not sure how to feel about it but I hope you like it lol, you can imagine what happens next. this seems very random and messy, which it is but I promise I'll come back with better content lmfao.

--Poppie

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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom. :P

AO3

FFN

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them. With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes. His expression was strangely flat and blank. He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her. He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice. “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him. It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered. The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again. He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own. At all. Ever.

But that shouldn’t be an issue. Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah. There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan. The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.

Midoriya.

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things. It would fit right in.

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity. Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam. Or break a bone. Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk. Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way. Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.

Izuku bounced in place, excited. He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission. It was like a dream come true! Literally! He dreamed about this! Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh! Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it! It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him. Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward? But it had been a while since the sports festival. They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though. Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups. Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention. “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him. It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise. “Um,” he said. “Okay?” He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number. “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay. Harsh. But fair.

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait. Aizawa knew about that? Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though? At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right. Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.

“Yes,” said Aizawa.

“Er, are you sure? I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little. Was that what they were calling it now? Rude.

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.

Which. Okay. True. But also, rude.

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card. The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them. On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa. Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them. Which was typical, really. It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before. Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting. He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools. At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato! The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here! There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary. Izuku was almost jealous. He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.

Actually… All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks. How interesting! Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips. He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course. He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating. It was better to play it safe. His quirk was already weird enough as it was. He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out. Most of that day was a blur.

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki. He was relieved. Todoroki looked relieved, too. That made sense. With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right? Or did Endeavor not let him? Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but… Izuku had doubts. He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous. I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically. “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised. “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka. “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku. “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.” Like Iida. What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning. He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay. So. “Am I- Am I the only one that asked? L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…” He shrugged, helplessly.

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed. He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him. He did not need people looking into his life. Into his past. Into his quirk.

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those. Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.

He would just have to do his best to help them.

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms. A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor. Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls. Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket. What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes. “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today. You can call me Ito-san. This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind. All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group. The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass. However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito. “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment. Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.” Ito paused. “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand. “Who’s going first?” she asked.

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone. The man did a double take, then paled, slightly. He glanced at Izuku. “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku. “This is- This is my number? It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito. Then his phone rang. “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone. “It looks like I’m in the wrong group. You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!” Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.

Izuku swallowed. Something was going on behind the scenes. This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it? Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher… And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei. He’d almost been killed by the noumu.

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door. “Hello,” he said. “I am Suzuki Takami. I am your instructor. Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito. “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable. Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku. “But, I, um, I opted out? I filled in the paperwork and everything. I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork. He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa. “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out. Maybe you were misinformed. Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head. “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine. I can go with you, so you won’t be alone. No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license. He’d have to go through recertification entirely. When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you? I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.

Izuku’s mind was racing. He couldn’t lose his license. He couldn’t lose his ability to help people. He—What would All Might think? He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um. It’s fine! I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?” He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands. “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes. Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag. He put the bag down on one of the futons. “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive. We’re really sorry,” said Saito.

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa. He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless. “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei! Plus ultra, right?” He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that. He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern. He swallowed. Don’t think about it.

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something. Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed. Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.

“Alright!” said Saito. “Here we go!”

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed. She paused for a moment in the back hallway. She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes. Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was. The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.

Oh, well. Except for Midoriya, they were all clean. If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled. Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper. It shouldn’t be bleeding. That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself. This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight. She was still worried about Deku. He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe. She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe? Darker? Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise. Or was it sunset? Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach. He crouched, looking at the sand. “It’s really…” he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”

“Hm,” said Aizawa. “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki. “If I can have your attention, please. I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

#bnha #fic #fanfic #my writing #boku no hero academia #gen #long night in the valley

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anjuschiffer · 4 years ago

Text

Amira Wayne - Chapter 13

I’m alive! Here’s day 14 of @biodad-bruce-month event (even tho it ended already)!

Chapter 13: Dating/Love

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

“Wait, I could just do that?” Chat exclaimed, looking at the akuma that crumbled under his hand.

It was another day without Ladybird, but Chat and Bee were able to handle the past two akumas with ease and with little damage.

The first time around, the duo met with Ladybird’s kwami Tikki to help purify the akuma. But after witnessing Tikki eat the akuma before spitting it right out purified...let’s just say the duo were left a bit traumatized.

Not wanting to see that again, Chat and Bee decided to look for alternate ways to purify an akuma. Or at least get rid of them before causing more trouble.

“Wait, how did you not know?” Bee asked.

“Never tried.” Chat said with a slight shrug. “Which reminds me, I have to tell LB something after this.”

Queen Bee noticed how Chat frowned, his eyes becoming dull.

“You too?” Bee asked, watching as Chat’s ring was down to its last pad.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘you too’?”

“I have to leave for the States in a few weeks. Something about having to keep appearances and the sorts.” Bee huffed, watching the Parisian sky starting to darken.

“What are the odds? I also have business in the States, although it’s more about business than appearances in my case.”

“Seeing as the two of us have to tell LB, how about we tell her the news together?” Bee suggested.

“Sounds like a plan. Although it has to wait for some other day. Right now, I have a meeting to attend, so later!”

Queen Bee watched as Chat Noir left the training grounds in a hurry, noticing the fake smile plastered on his face.

“You’re being dragged into it too, aren’t you?”

“Morning.” Marinette told Adrien and Chloé, much to the surprise of everyone else in the class.

How did the trio become friends overnight? And wasn’t Marinette best friends with Alya?

“Marinette. The sun is out, I’m having a great hair day and all you can say is morning?” Chloé huffed. “Good morning to you too.”

“Hello Marinette! Feeling any better?” Adrien decided to ignore Chloe, Marinette nodding.

“To be honest, a bit. Still got to take my medication and rest, but staying in bed won’t do me any good.”

Amira recalled the text message she received this morning, her father asking her how she was.

Selina had filled him in when he called back, telling him about the situation. Amira also learned of his visit through the baker’s surveillance cameras.

While she had told him that she didn’t care what he did, it hurt to see that he came to visit her.

Then again...what right did she have to feel sad that he didn’t try to talk to her when she’s already pushed him?

“-to Marinette. You see Adrikins? I’m telling you, she needs to stay-“

“He could’ve at least let me have known he came over.” Chloé and Adrien found Marinette mumbling, a frown on her face.

“He? Did someone-“ Adrien started only for Miss Bustier to walk into the class and start the class.

Chloe watched as Marinette zoned out during their first class, watching as Alya didn’t bother to check in with her supposed ‘best’ friend.

Marinette continued to zone out throughout the entire morning and then acting if nothing was wrong once lunch came around.

It bothered Chloe so much and she didn’t know. Why did it bother her to see Marinette act as if she wasn’t in pain when it was clear as day?

“Ladybird!” Chat called out, snapping Bee from her thoughts. It’s been three days since she last saw Ladybird, watching as their leader greeted them with a slight smile on her face. “Feeling better?”

Deja vu much?

“Chat. Bee. I’ve been doing well. Master Fu gave me the okay to return back to patrolling despite not wanting me being here.”

“How come?” Bee asked, looking out to the Parisian skyline. Tonight, it seemed foreign.

“One word: Hawkmoth.” Ladybird stated, watching as her partners looked at her with narrowed eyes. “If I stay for too long out of commission, not only will we be giving him more answers about the miraculous, but he’ll know our weakness.”

“But-”

“He’s probably caught up with the most recent information regarding the damage left behind from Dark Owl. Can’t exactly hide the evidence left behind at the stadium and his office.”

Ladybird watched as Bee and Chat nervously laughed at that, remembering the large pile of rust left at the stadium and the amount of tech to clean out of Principal Damocles’ office.

“Do you think he knows about you and-” Bee started, only to stop when LB nodded.

“He might know I’m not suited for the Ladybug, but there are also other possibilities.”

“Which are?”

“I’m like him.” Ladybird bluntly stated, getting titled heads for a reaction. “I have another life outside the mask that makes me mia.”

“Wouldn’t that apply to all of-”

“Not exactly. The two of you are mostly active, always at the scene as soon as possible. As for me, I don’t usually appear until minutes later or until halfway. That can mean many things. One, I’m a sickly person outside the mask, therefore I take longer to arrive. Or similarly, I live a little bit outside of Paris, thus making me tardy. Third-”

“You might be an adult,” Bee stated, watching Chat look at LB with large eyes. What did he figure out?

“Or you might be someone of a high standing who can’t afford to leave their place in society to fight him, a man who has all the time to be ready to akumatize someone at a moment’s notice.”

Guess LB wasn’t expecting that answer, judging from her taken back expression.

“Right on. To think you got it on your first try.”

“Wait, you’re rich?” Bee screeched out, looking at Chat for back up. “I mean, that would explain the burner phones, the equipment at the- you have the money to buy out an entire floor!”

“Yes Bee. I’m rich, although it’s my father who’s rich and was stupid enough to forget to take away my black card.”

“You have a black card?” LB and Chat watched as Bee continued to freak out.

“What’s a black card?” Chat decided to ask, earning concerned faces from the girls. “What?”

“How do you not know what a black card is, Chat! It’s literally the symbol of being filthy rich! Not even Daddy has one!” Bee exclaimed, promptly shutting her mouth.

“You’re rich too, Bee? Wow. To think we all come from a-”

“You’re rich too?” The girls exclaimed, the trio bursting into laughter.

The three chatted for hours, learning more about themselves. Time went on, the three kids laughing and holding their stomachs as they told tales of their past and of the present. However, Bee picked up on the way Ladybird avoided talking about her father and urged the other two to talk.

What was she hiding?

“Does that make us the rich kid club?” Chat asked, earning a stifled laugh from LB and a ‘seriously?’ look from Bee. “What? It seems fitting!”

“As much as I’d like to continue to stay and talk, I think we should be heading home. It’s one in the morning and I have class tomorrow.” Bee and Chat nodded in agreement, the three bidding each other farewell.

“So two days, huh.” Amira hummed, watching as Selina packed her bag. While it was two in the morning, Amira thought it would be best to drop by and visit Selina. The talk with her team left her in a giddy state, Amira wondering why she even came here.

“Actually, I might be leaving tomorrow evening.”

“Why?” While Amira still wasn’t particularly fond of the woman, she felt a part of her wanted Selina to stay. Perhaps it was the fact that Selina had been by her side these past few days.

Or the denial that continued to linger in Amira. That she enjoyed Selina’s concern over her.

While Selina was by her side, Amira didn’t have restless nights where she would wake up from dreams she couldn’t remember. But from what Sabine had told her, Amira used to have nights where she would be waking up screaming and calling out Jason’s name like a madwoman.

But ever since Selina came over, they stopped happening. “What made you-”

“The gala was pushed forward towards this month. Towards Thanksgiving.”

“Why would-”

“Dick had made the decision to push it forward after getting a phone call in regards to the main event of this year’s gala.”

“Main event?” Amira asked, now wondering what type of event caused Dick to push up the date of the gala. What event caused her father to accept the change of date from it’s usually wintery day?

“This year, Bruce was eagerly planning the main event with such pride, making sure everything was perfect to announce the main event. But then, Jason’s...Jason’s death happened and-

“The Catherine Todd Foundation.” Amira whispered, feeling her heart stop.

That’s right. How did she forget? How dare she forget? How dare she forget her brother’s dream?

“That’s right.” Selina closed her suitcase shut. “Bruce was planning to reveal the latest Wayne foundation-Jason’s foundation- that he had planned for months.”

“That was planned...for this year’s gala?” Amira asked, feeling her mouth dry.

Her father didn’t utter a word about it. Nor did Dick. Did...did they not-

“Amira. Amira, look at me.” Selina coaxed, cupping Amira’s face into her hands. “Dick just found out about it when he got a call about one of the sponsors. The sponsor wanted to change the date to make sure-”

“Why didn’t he tell me about it?” Amira whispered, feeling something roll down her face, salt meeting her lips. “Why did no one-”

“Amira, kitten. Dick hasn’t called you in a while, right?” A slow nod. “He’s been busy setting up the gala in your father’s steed. Bruce...your father holed himself again in his study when he found out the sponsor had called in. He...he had forgotten about it. It slipped his mind after-”

“He could’ve called me so I could’ve helped him rework the-”

“Amira.”

“I could've helped!”

“Amira, Dick couldn’t-“

“You wouldn’t understand Selina! You don’t know-“

“I do.” Selina said softly, holding Amira’s trembling hands. “Just like you, I loved the brat to pieces.”

“You’ve...you loved Jason?”

“Sure, we didn’t get on the right foot, but I did go to love the boy. Little brat loved to play dirty. Remember he endangered his life once just so I would catch him and make me drop my guard.”

“Sounds just about him.” Amira softly said, Selina picking up on her relaxation. “Jason liked playing dirty, no matter who he was up against. Once he popped his arm off its socket during one of our sparring lessons, which caused me to stop fighting. When I went to check on him, he popped it back in and won the match.

Even though I knew he was alright, I started bawling and hugged him. Father and Alfred came running to see what had happened and when Jason told him what he had done, Father scolded him. ‘Sometimes, you have to play dirty. A fight in Gotham will never be fair and square, old man. You, better than anyone else, should know that.’” Amira said with a smile. “He’d always use that against Father and would win his case. Or perhaps Father let him, knowing that using those tricks would help in a fight one day.”

“And it did, although it mostly grossed out Riddler when he saw Jason do that. Should’ve seen the look at his face.” Selina said with a chuckled, reminiscing that day.

“I would rather have Jason back than wishing to have seen that.” Amira admitted, looking at Selina with unshed tears. “Jason… Jason was the glue that held us together. He was the one who brought us together, so when...when he died...we...we-” a shuddering breath escaped Amira. “We fell apart...

Dad became so broken that he began to isolate himself from us. He would shut himself in his study for hours and from what Dick told me - days! When I was still in the manor, we wouldn’t see him at dinner nor would we hear from him unless he came back home frustrated from a work meeting.

He no longer made time for us. For Dick...nor me. He allowed himself to drown in his work, both as CEO of WE and Batman”

“Amira.” Selina softly said, wiping away the tears that had been running down Amira’s face.

“When I finally got to talk to him again...it was to tell me I was being sent to Paris.

He didn’t even let me say goodbye to anyone, not even Jason...

He was at it again. He was isolating me again, but this time to a place where I couldn’t do anything no matter what I tried. I would have no friends to help me, nor connections to help me break out of my father’s control. The only option I was left with was to obey.”

“But Amira, you have friends now. You have people you can lean on. So why? Why can’t you-”

“It was all Jason.” Amira said. “Jason managed to convince Father to let me explore the outside, not me.

Jason was the one who made Dad understand that I shouldn't be kept inside like a trophy bird. That I should be allowed to spread my wings, to grow. How did he do it? I would never know, but I wish he had shown me how.

I only knew how to yell and scream to get what I wanted. I wasn’t like Jason who proved he was right, who fought for what he deemed just.”

“Amira, you don’t have to keep-”

“I do, Selina! I do!” Amira cried, digging her hands into her hair. “My father won’t see nor talk to me otherwise if I don’t! Father never understood the damage he’s done to me unless I show it to him. He’s...he’s!”

Selina pulled Amira into a hug, feeling the girl stiffen in her hold. Selina held the girl tight against her, letting tears run down her face that she didn’t know she was holding back.

To hear the amount of pain she was holding in, the amount of troubles she had to deal with...and to think Bruce was the cause of the majority of it.

“Your feelings are valid Amira, your frustrations are as well. But trust me when I say, things will get better and you’re already doing a wonderful job of moving forward.” Selina began to stroke Amira’s hair when she felt Amira tremble. “It may seem as if the situation isn’t getting any better, but it is due to your efforts of wanting to change it.

So give yourself a break and just let it all out. I’ll make sure to protect while you do.”

That was all Amira needed to let herself cry out her heart, hugging Selina back as she wailed her soul out.

Selina drew circles on her back as she sat there, making sure to not let Amira go.

How did Bruce let it get this bad?

“You’re going to the States?” Marinette asked, looking up from her calendar in her planner.

It’s been two days since Amira last saw Selina, already missing her. It took everything in her to not beg her to stay. To not leave her...but she knew better than that. She had to leave and Amira had to respect that.

So here she was, letting her mind try to forget Selina’s warm hug and the calmness she felt when Selina hugged her.

“Yup!” Adrien said with a smile that Marinette could look through from a mile away.

“Adrien and I were both invited to some event that our parents want us to attend, something about having to keep images and whatnot.” Chloe elaborated, noticing the last Thursday in the month circled in red. What a coincidence. “As happy as I am that my mother called me, I didn’t want it to be this way.”

“At least she gave you the choice. My father is threatening me with going or not being able to leave the house again.” Adrien bluntly stated, flinching when Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Baguette, what’s-“

“He threatened you? Your father threatened you?” Chloé and Adrien could feel the murderous intent seeping from the girl. “Let me talk with-“

“Baguette! It’s alright! I told him I’ll do it on a few conditions!” Adrien practically scrambled the details out. He watched as Marinette softened a bit.

“Conditions?”

“For starters, he’ll let me go with Chloé. No Nathalie nor Gorilla. Second, he will not be allowed to contact me nor Chloé. If I need his help or if I want to go back, I have to be the one to call him back. Third and final one, if I manage to settle a meeting between him and one of the people he told me to make contact with, he has to agree to let me do whatever I want for the rest of the year.”

“Wow Adrikins. Since when did you start stepping up towards your dad?”

“Since I realized that my so-called freedom is still being controlled. If I fully want to be free, I have to start by loosening my father’s control over me. So far, I’ve been seeing results from my efforts. I don’t plan on backing down until I fully achieve my goal.”

Marinette watched as Adrien smiles proudly, not being able to hold back her own smile.

“Hope you reach it Adrien. I know it’ll be worth it. So then, when’s the event?”

“It’s in three weeks, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Adrien and I will be attending Wayne Gala.”

Ladybird looked at Bee and Chat with the same look she had given Adrien and Chloé.

“The both of you? The two of you are going to be mia in three weeks?” Ladybird asked in disbelief, watching as the two of them rubbed the back of their heads. First Chole and Adrien and now these two? “Do you realize-“

“It’s why we’re telling you now and not later this week or next. We know-“

“Do you really?” Ladybird growled, huffing as she turned around, the Parisian night staring right back at her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have-“

“No, you’re right.” Chat said, Ladybird picking up on his sorrow. “It is stupid of us to leave you-“

“Master Fu.” Ladybird casually said, looking at Bee and Chat. “I can ask Master Fu to see what I can do.”

“Master Fu?” Bee asked, looking at Chat for clarification.

“Oh right, you’ve never heard about him. He’s the one who chooses the wielders for the miraculouses. He’s the one who chose Ladybird and me. As for you, you were recommended to be a wielder as I vouched for Rena Rouge to be a temporary holder.”

“Wait. I was recommended to-“

“I recommended Master Fu to give you a miraculous. However, that doesn’t mean I fully know your identity. I did recommend two people to become Pollen’s holder after all.” Ladybird looked at Bee who was on the verge of tears. “Guess Master Fu chose the better of the two and I’m glad he did. You’re a great partner.”

Bee ran and threw herself at Ladybird, the two girls tumbling to the floor as Chat just stood there smiling.

“I promise to make up for the time we miss!”

“Don’t worry about it Bee. The two of you shouldn’t worry about a thing. Everything will turn out alright. You’ll see.”

No. Everything didn’t turn out alright.

The day came where Chat and Bee bid LB a temporary goodbye and Adrien and Chloe boarded a plane towards Gotham. The minute they said goodbye, Amira grew restless, uneasy.

It didn’t help that this uneasiness traversed towards her civilian life as well.

As she walked into the school, it felt like if everyone was watching her every move, judging her.

It was Gotham Academy all over again...

Wally had assured it that it was going to be fine, that she was worrying over nothing.

But Amira knew better than to ignore the emptiness she felt in her chest.

Sure, Alya talked her ears off, but Marinette didn’t like the feeling of emptiness around her despite Alya’s clear company.

Without Chloé and Adrien, everything just seemed...off.

She didn’t realize their importance until chemistry class.

She watched people get into pairs as Miss Mendeleiev finished telling her instructions for today’s lab. With the clap of her hands, everyone started to pair up...except her.

“Miss Mendeleiev. I don’t seem to have a partner. If it’s alright, can I-“

“No partner?” Miss Mendeleiev asked, realizing only then that three of her students were out. “I can’t just let you do the lab by yourself Marinette. It’s unsafe.”

“Miss Mendeleiev, I am fine being on my-“

“Now, now. You know that in my lab, no one is allowed to touch the chemicals without a partner.” Miss Mendeleiev clapped her hands to get the class’ attention. “While it seems like everyone has a partner, Marinette doesn’t. Now, who would love to have her in their group or volunteers to be Marinette’s partner?”

Marinette’s didn’t need to turn around to know no one raised their hand.

After all, she was always doing labs with Sabrina or Alya, although this time around, Alya had promised Alix to be her lab partner. That left Marinette to be partnerless this time around.

“So no one is going to volunteer? That’s alright. Nino, please help Marinette with this lab. Kim, join Ivan and Mylène.”

Marinette heard as Nino approached her, turning slowly to avoid seeing everyone else pity him.

“Look forward to working with you.” Marinette said with a slight bow, only to receive nothing in return.

Seems like this would be a long lab.

Or not.

Marinette somehow ended up talking up a storm with Nino.

“You do parkour?” Nino asked, looking as if Marinette grew a second head. “No offense, you don’t even look like the type-“

“Parkour, gymnastics and martial arts. Of course, I haven’t touched gymnastics in a while since my mentor has been busy. Doesn’t help that he’s on the other side of the world.” Marinette said, pouring the hydrogen peroxide into the water and then into the catalase test tube. She watched as the latter created bubbles.

“Dudette, that’s amazing!” Nino exclaimed, opening up his notebook to the back of his page.

“Dudette?” Marinette looked at the page he opened, noticing some notes about a personal project. How did she come to that conclusion? Simple. It said ‘Directed by Nino Lahiffe.’

“Ah, I should’ve asked if-“

“It’s fine. Just taken aback by the name since it’s my first time hearing it.”

“Really? What do your friends call you then?”

“My brother calls Mimi and my friend calls me Bugette.”

“Alya calls you Bugette?” Nino asked, writing down his observations of the catalase in boiling water.

“As much as Alya thinks she’s my friend, she isn’t quite there. And it’s Wally who calls me Bugette. He’s a friend of mine before I transferred here.” Marinette elaborated, sliding her notebook towards him. “Haven’t spoken to him in a few days though.”

“Alright class!” Miss Mendeleiev said with a clap of her hands. “At this time, start wrapping up your workstation! Make sure to properly rinse out the tubes and place them into their appropriate-“

“Marinette. Is it alright to call you dudette? Of course, if you don’t-“

“I’m fine with it.” Marinette told him with a smile. “I don’t mind being called dudette, Nino.”

“-only known her for 30 minutes. How can you say that she wasn’t doing all the work so that-” Marinette heard as she approached the windows that belonged to her classroom. She stopped before they could see her through the glass.

If her ears didn’t betray her, the one speaking right now was-

“Alix, she wasn’t doing all the work. We both did the lab toget-”

“She’s friends with Chloe.” Ivan added.

“How do you expect us-”

“You didn’t try to even get to know her. Yes, I also didn’t want to interact with her before being paired up with her, but now I wish I did. I wish I had talked to her earlier on in the school year and you guys should too! She’s-”

“You shouldn’t pressure others to try and talk to me Nino.” Marinette said, strolling into the classroom. “Let them take their time to try and approach me.” Marinette handed Nino a piece of paper. “I also looked into a few things you mentioned earlier and thought I should give you this. They’re always giving out free courses and workshops, so I thought I should let you know.”

Nino looked at the paper Marinette gave him and was surprised to see a list of different companies and dates in which they held workshops for upstarting directors.

Just as he was about to ask where she had gotten the information from, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the next class.

Amira wishes she was able to escape Anansi’s punches just as quickly as she was able to bolt out the classroom earlier that day.

Amira had been trying to call Wally, trying to get any info on her two friends who should’ve have arrived at Gotham when her phone began to yell ‘AKUMA ALERT.’

So having to leave her worries behind, Amira yelled ‘SPOTS ON’ as she headed towards Hawkmoth’s latest Victim.

Rolling away from Anansi’ punches and parrying them took a toll on Ladybird, feeling the air leave her body as she was slammed onto the ferris wheel structure.

Managing to find a safe space within an alleyway, Ladybird reached for her burner phone when she was reminded of her dilemma.

Her two partners were away...she told them not to worry…

“Here you are!” Anansi roared, striking the alleyway where Ladybird was hiding, causing the vigilante to become airborne. As Ladybird crashed onto the pavement, the transformation was called off, Tikki opening her mouth to scold Amira for dropping her transformation when she promptly closed her mouth.

Calling her transformation off, when she crashed onto the pavement and scrambled her way towards another alley.

“Tikki, go to Master Fu.”

“But-” Amira looked at Tikki with stern eyes.

“Tikki, go and don’t worry about me. I don’t have super strength but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a plan.”

“Amira.” Tikki whimpered.

“You now what we have to do. Now go!” Taking one last look at Amira, Tikki flew off.

“Please be safe Amira. Please, don’t do anything reckless.”

“Come on Little Bug! Is that all you got?” Anansi smugly said, cracking her knuckles as she watched Ladybird wipe off the blood that seeped from her mouth.

Spitting out a bit of blood, Amira grinned. Beads of sweat rolled down her face, something Amira didn’t know she missed dearly.

“Did you really think that was my best? Come on Anansi, I thought it was pretty obvious what was going on here.”

“What are you talking about?” Anansi growled, noticing someone land behind Ladybird. Anansi watched as Ladybird glew red and healed her wounds. “You!”

“That’s right Anansi.” Ladybird grinned. “My backup is here. Carapace!”

“On it!” Carapace yelled, throwing his shield towards Anansi.

With a simple step to the side, Anansi was able to dodge it, only to get her foot wrapped by Ladybird, slipping backward as her back connected with the ground.

Carapace tried to land a hit, but missed when Anansi rolled to the side, but was then dragged towards Ladybird.

Swinging her foot to the side, Anansi shook Ladybird off when she noticed the makeshift ring around her.

How did they set that up? Who set it up when she was bust fending of both Ladybird and Carapace.

“Up for a round Anansi? Or are you afraid of losing against someone half your size and weight?” Ladybird challenged, the smug on her face fanning the annoyance within Anansi.

“You’re on Bug. Can’t wait to beat you and show you that a bug should never mess with a spider!”

“Come on Anansi! I thought you said this match will be over in one punch! Oh wait a minute! You can’t even land one!” Ladybird said in a haughty tone, causing Anansi to lunge at her, sending one final punch onto the Arc de Triomphe.

Anansi felt as the ground began to shake, only then realizing the trap Ladybird set down for her.

Grabbing something from the ground, Ladybird grabbed hold of Carapace and brought them to where Alya was being held hostage.

“Carapace, now!”

“Shellter!” Carapace yelled, shielding them as the Arc de Triomphe crumpled to the ground, trapping Anansi underneath.

Once the debris settled and the dust settled, Anansi’s headgear appeared by Ladybird’s feet, causing Ladybird to smile. Gleefully, Ladybird slammed her yo-yo against the thing and cracked it, the akuma emerging from it.

Capturing the akuma and purifying it, Ladybird yelled her words. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Carapace watched with wonder as all the damage Anansi caused was repaired, the Arc de Triomphe restored before his eyes. “Meet me at the Eiffel Tower,” he heard Ladybird say before she swung away.

Ladybird stood at the Eiffel Tower, looking at the setting sun in the distance. She had yet to receive a call from-

“Ladybird! So, what do you think about-”

“Hold on Carapace.” Ladybird cut off, Carapace now wondering what was going on. “Not all of us are here.”

“All of us? But I thought-”

“Sorry for coming late!” A voice said, causing Carapace to jump.

Soon, something on the ground began to grow, the pink glow becoming bigger by the second. Emerging from the glow was a girl that seemed to resemble a mouse themed hero.

“Carapace, I’d like you to meet the other vigilante who helped us today.” Carapace remained silent as the mouse themed vigilante shyly waved at them, tucking a loose orange auburn hair strand behind her ear.

“Hi, my name is Gris. It was a great honor to work with you, Carapace. Ladybird.”

Pulling their luggage behind them, Adrien and Chloé scanned the welcoming area. Their flight lasted longer than what they thought it would be and they were ecstatic when they landed a few hours ago.

Their eyes landed on a gentleman with a poster board with their names on it.

When they approached the older man, they couldn’t help but notice the faintest smile on him.

“I presume you’re Mr.Pennyworth?” Adrien spoke up, Alfred nodding in response.

“I am Master Adrien. It's also a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Chloé. Welcome to Gotham.”

#maribat #amira wayne #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #b!dbwm2020

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rosesgonerogue · 5 years ago

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Let the Sunshine In - Chapter One

AO3

Three Years Later

Awareness came in waves. There was a constant drumming that was enough to drive someone insane, as well as someone breathing heavily. It sounded wrong, and even worse, it felt wrong. For some reason it gave him the visceral urge--no, the need to hurt, to maim, to kill.

After the sound came the pain, the feeling of needles dancing across his skin, of circulation resuming in disused limbs. Soon after came the smell of sulfur, of something rotten. Finally a toxic green light filtered into his vision, the unnatural shade looking infinitely distasteful.

What was this? Where was he? His mind felt broken, fractured--the information he needed was all there, somewhere, the pieces just didn’t fit together, and it pissed him off.

He was in some kind of disgusting, green water, and outside the water a whole host of people waited. The pounding grew faster as his eyes flicked around. A part of him swore to find whoever was responsible for the drumming and acquaint their face with a wall.

“-odd, we simply want to--”

“Who the hell are you?” The extremely rusty voice surprised him. It was his. Something about that felt important. “What happened, where am I?”

“You are Jason Todd,” a stern man said primly. “And I am R’as al Ghul, an acquaintance of your previous mentor. We are at the Lazarus Pits.”

The pounding got louder and he--Jason--clenched his fists, ready to kill someone to make the heartbeat sto--

Heartbeat. It was his heartbeat.

The heartbeat he shouldn’t have.

A rush of memories assaulted his brain; a crowbar descending, unhinged laughter, an explosion, but most of all, pain. Pain and fear.

This wasn't right. His hands sank into his hair, ready to pull it out as he stumbled backwards, unable to process everything. He was dead--or he should be. He wanted to still be dead.

The man, Ra’s, advanced, speaking calmly and slowly, like Jason was a wild animal. “If you would follow me, we can--”

Jason rushed the man with a strangled cry, bludgeoning the man with his fists, elbows, feet, fighting however he could. He heard a few distinct snaps, but he didn’t stop until the man was a bloody mess at his feet.

He still quivered with rage, his entire body feeling like it was about to explode.

“You should have left me dead,” he growled before barrelling through the mass of people that moved to surround him. His feet carried him out of the cave he had been in and out into the night that waited. After being dead, apparently even starlight was a little bright for his eyes--if it had been daylight, he might have just gone blind right then.

Something inside him dictated where his feet carried him. He felt a distinct pull to… something. It felt important, so Jason began trudging along.

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

“I think that’s the last box, sweetie,” Sabine said, following her husband in.

“Thank you guys for helping so much, it really means a lot,” Marinette said with a smile to her parents.

Tom set the box down carefully, eyes already filled with tears. “I can’t believe my little girl has a place of her own. It seems like just yesterday I was teaching her to make macarons for the first time.”

“Oh, don’t you start crying, Tom, or I’ll start crying too,” Sabine said, swatting her husband with a sniff.

In a few short weeks Marinette would be starting her studies at the best fashion program in all of Europe. Like many of her classmates, she was staying in Paris for at least the near future. She had originally planned on staying at her parents’ house for at least the first year of the program, but the perfect opportunity presented itself, and Marinette just couldn’t say no.

Marinette’s beloved grandmother, Gina, had decided to bike around the world. This was pretty much how she spent her life anyway, but now her granddaughter was legally an adult, which meant she could grant said granddaughter some much needed freedom.

Despite how little time Gina actually spent in Paris, she was the proud owner of an adorable little house. She had already willed the house over to her fairy, but now she could tell Marinette to move in under the pretense of having her house-sit. Gina paid for the utilities still, and her only stipulation was that Marinette had to keep a room clean and ready for her, should Gina show up unexpectedly.

The thought of having her own house, free of charge, even, was mind-boggling, but at the same time it was everything Marinette hadn’t known she needed. There was the natural yearning all young adults had to try things on their own, but this solutions came with the ultimate safety net. Even more importantly, it came with the privacy that she desperately needed.

While she waited for her program to begin, Marinette had spent the majority of her time at the bakery. It was fun, being with her parents and taking care of deliveries whenever Luka had a gig. It also made keeping a secret identity secret nearly impossible. This way Marinette was still close enough to help at the bakery when she needed to, but her parents weren’t constantly barging in at inopportune moments.

As they set up, somehow her things fit in perfectly alongside Gina’s like it was meant to be. The last thing the family had to do was go grocery shopping so Marinette had something to eat other than the copious amounts of pastries her parents had forced on her.

When the deed was done, it was time for her parents to leave, even though none of them were really quite ready for that.

“You’re not used to being alone,” Sabine fussed. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend just one more night at home?”

“Or we could spend the night here with you,” Tom said hopefully.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Marinette said with a smile. “I’ll be sad, but we’ve got to start somewhere, right?”

Staring at his daughter, Tom couldn’t hold it in any longer-- he started crying. “Don’t forget to call us, sweetheart, and write too! We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“Tom, she’s moving twelve blocks away. If she doesn’t have time to visit us, we can just pop in on her, right?”

“Right,” Marinette confirmed, eyes completely dry. “I’ll make sure to visit often.”

Finally she was able to bid farewell to her parents, closing the door to her house behind them. She milled around looking for something to do, finally settling on turning the TV on for background noise and getting to work on her latest commision.

Just as she was getting into the groove and making real progress, Marinette’s phone rang. She sighed, finishing the last little bit of handwork on that section before answering the video call.

“My little Marinetta, how are you?” Gina asked. As far as Marinette could tell, her grandmother was somewhere tropical at the moment. Where exactly was anyone’s guess.

“Good, Nona, just getting settled in!”

“Are you just sitting around at home?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, I’m working on a commission and--”

“I didn’t leave you the house to just sit around, my fairy. You need to be young and free, even if it’s only occasionally. This is your first place of your own, so go celebrate! Go out to dinner, go get ice cream, find a party to go to, I don’t care, just go do something!” Gina commanded.

“Yes, Nona,” Marinette said, knowing it was useless to resist.

“I’ll be waiting to see a picture of whatever you do,” Gina said firmly.

“Yes, Nona.”

Gina kept chatting for a while longer, but before she hung up, she reminded Marinette one more time that she needed to go celebrate somehow. Afterwards Marinette attempted to keep working on her commision, but it was fruitless knowing that her Nona expected her to go have fun.

Even though they had just bought groceries, Marinette didn’t really feel like cooking after all the day’s activities, so she decided to walk over to one of her favorite cafes. It was a ways away, but she didn’t have much else to do with her time, so she decided to simply enjoy the weather. She ate a light dinner at one of the outside tables, made sure to send a picture of it to Nona, and once she was finished, she swung by one of the nearby farmer’s markets on impulse. Yes, she had the groceries she had gotten earlier, but no grocery store could beat fresh produce like this.

The farmer’s market was closing soon, which meant that a good majority of the things that were high in demand were already sold out. There was one vendor that had one frozen chicken that she really didn’t want to take back home, so Marinette got a really good price on it.

It was nearing dusk as she made her way back to the house, but she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. There was something in the air that just felt wrong. It was kind of similar to the feeling she got from akumas, but also not. It was familiar, but twisted, corrupted inextricably. As she walked the feeling only got worse, and Marinette didn’t know if she should go find out what it was, or if she should just run away as fast as she could.

In the end, the urge to investigate won out. She was Ladybug, it was her responsibility to see to the safety of Paris as a whole. On edge from the unsettling feeling, Marinette moved through the streets discreetly and carefully.

Her instincts took her to the opening of an alleyway in a fairly quiet part of town. The feeling of wrongness was pervasive as she edged forward. It took everything in her not to gasp at what she saw.

A boy who looked about her age stood at the back of the alley was surrounded by three cloaked assailants. He could almost be mistaken for an akuma because he didn’t actually wear clothes, he was only covered by ragged bandages, almost like a mummy. The poor boy was gaunt, he looked like he was only a few steps away from death. He couldn’t be an akuma, because in all this time, Marinette had never seen one so feral.

“I have to help him,” Marinette whispered, hand tightening on the handle of the bag her chicken was in. “Tikki, spo-”

“No Marinette!” Tikki hissed waving her arms frantically. “Don’t transform. We should leave, this is dangerous.”

“What are you talking about, Tikki? That boy clearly needs help.” Marinette’s claim was only emphasized when one of the assailants drew a sword-- and actual sword being used by someone who was not akumatized.

“If you transform he’ll hurt you! We really should leave,” Tikki said, trying to pull her away. “I’ll explain at home, but we need to leave.”

Something about the boy was deeply unnerving to Marinette. His very existence felt wrong. But something about this made her think of Robin, who she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for quite some time now.

“No,” she said with steel in her voice. “I’m not abandoning someone who is scared and alone.”

“Marinette, you’ll get hurt!”

“Not if I’m lucky,” the girl said with a smile that held far too much venom.

The boy was already faltering when Marinette entered the alleyway. His eyes latched onto her for the briefest of moments, but that only caused for one of the assailants to get even closer, knife grazing the boy’s arm.

Years of being Ladybug had taught Marinette to move nearly silently, as well as where to hit to take down an opponent quickly. The first man was taken down by sheer luck--she somehow managed to hit the pressure point at the juncture of his neck despite being hooded. He fell down, immediately unconscious from her assault. The one who didn’t have a knife in hand glanced over, only to be met face first with a swinging frozen chicken.

By the time the third man turned to see her, the chicken was already swinging to knock the knife out of the man’s hand, potentially breaking some fingers as it swung. Marinette had already cracked the man across the face before the knife had clattered to the ground, leaving only her and the boy conscious in the alleyway.

He looked at her with crazed blue eyes, his pupils blown as he fixated on her. “You!” he snarled, leaping forward. “You had something to do with this!”

“No, I just wanted to help, let me--”

Before Marinette had to do anything in the way of restraining him, the strange boy staggered forward a few unsteady steps before collapsing right onto her. She hadn’t noticed the way that he towered over her before, but supporting his entire body weight helped her realize just how absurdly large this boy was. With that in mind, she should probably stop mentally referring to him as a boy.

“Marinette, this is really dangerous. He could hurt you, he already tried to!” Tikki said, once again trying to pull her away.

“Tikki, he needs my help,” Marinette said, stubbornly shouldering the boy. “I’ll keep myself safe, but I won’t leave him here!”

“You promise you’ll do everything you can to keep yourself safe?” Tikki asked, eyes baring into Marinette’s soul.

“I swear.”

“Fine,” Tikki sighed, wilting a bit. “Go ahead and transform, it will be easier and faster to carry everything that way.”

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

Be warned, this is just going to be me ranting about Batman lore for far too long.

Okay, so even in AUs like this that are clearly distanced from canon, I like to research and make it as close to canon as possible. For those of you that don’t know, doing research on anything related to Batman is a MESS. I’ve read “Death in the Family,” the original Batman issue where Jason dies, I’ve watched “Under the Red Hood,” just because I wanted to get a really good sense of Jason and what the whole alive again experience was like for him. I also looked into the Lazarus Pits for placement questions, and apparently there are little Lazarus pits all over the world, including in Switzerland. Switzerland is close enough to France that I just went with it.

Now for the part that REALLY kills me. I recently also watched Son of Batman, and in it, Ra’s is killed, but apparently he was too dead for the Lazarus Pits to work. However, upon looking into Jason, it is revealed that he was brought back to life after being dead for a few YEARS. I’m not even going to go into the fact that Jason’s body was complete even though he died not by crowbar, but by an explosion. I’m not touching that. Additionally, Jason was still really short and pretty scrawny from being malnourished when he died, and he somehow comes back as a beefy twenty-something year old.

TLDR; the Batman canon is a mess, so when writing fanfiction I can do what I want and it’s still canon compliant.

Let me know what you guys think!

Taglist:

@cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @theatreandcomicfreak @jardimazul @karategirl119 @thewondersoflebanon @tbehartoo @shizukiryuu @northernbluetongue @moonlightstar64 @naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @saphiraazure2708 @yokizu @jeminiikrystal @chocolatecatstheron @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @zalladane @slytherinsheashire @bran-thecreeper-stark @otaku4312 @emotionalsupportginger @dorkus-minimus @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tired-butterfly @bamagirl513 @pauliestorylover @alenee13 @ladybug-182 @senpaiweird @kalligraphics @jessigurl-design @emeraldpuffguide @veunnotvuen @storyteller-d @g-arya @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @procrastinatingrightnow @sturchling @dast218 @trashystar420 @indecisive-mess-named-me @awesome-starfish-and-tacos

#jasonette #maribat #Let the Sunshine In #LtSI

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ffamranxii · 5 years ago

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I just finished Fruits Basket Another and I have some Feelings, okay? Under the cut, because spoilers.

THE CHARACTERS

Hoooo boy let’s unpack here. Furubana is about Sawa Mitoma, a nervous first year in high school. She firmly believes that she’s basically human trash, and resolves to take up as little space in the world as possible, and that’s not even me paraphrasing. She says within the first few pages she wants to take up as little space as humanly possible. We find out that she’s the daughter of an extremely abusive mother - emotionally abusive. Sawa’s mother never hits her, but she’s also never once nice to her in any of her appearances. She isolates Sawa from any and all friends, she constantly drags Sawa down, and she’s rarely even at home, even back when Sawa was a little girl. How long has Sawa been looking after herself? Sawa is what Tohru could have become if Kyoko had been involved with a gang member rather than Katsuya.

The main trio of characters is rounded out by essentially the same trio as before: Mutsuki Sohma as the son of Yuki and Machi and Hajime Sohma as the son of Tohru and Kyo. Visually, they look nearly identical, which is why I chose that ^ picture. But they could not be more different. Sawa is every Sohma insecurity rolled into one, and the Sohmas are what their parents could have been without the curse and the constant abuse. Hajime is one of the oldest of the cousins, smothered with love and affection by his entire family, and is lovingly referred to as Dad and Papa (which annoys him), being one of the few in the family who cooks, cleans, or is, y’know, responsible. (Good job, Kyoru! Teach your boy right!) He is unwillingly elected student council president, and manages it easily. Unlike his father’s life, things come easily to Hajime, but he doesn’t let that make him conceited. He’s a down to earth character who trades biting remarks with Mutsuki. Mutsuki, on the other hand, I love. I adore. I want to erect a shrine to this boy. Poor Yuki, his wife hath birthed him a miniature Ayame. Mutsuki is trouble under a beautiful exterior, subtle snark and gentle teasing, but over the top in other aspects (like his thing that was once a desk and complete inability to do the most basic of tasks like buy laundry detergent, his utter willingness to let other people do things for him). He is also a deeply caring individual, and has an extremely close relationship with his cousin Shiki which is the complete opposite of his father’s relationship with Shiki’s mother that I nearly cried right there while reading volume three.

Kinu Sohma is the daughter of Hatori and Mayuko (a pairing of which I am not fond), and I actually was not fond of her until volume three, at which point she became a treat. A college student, Kinu seems to have no real ambitions or life goals (much like many college freshmen), spends much of her time sleeping, and only really sweeps in at the last chapter to comfort a very distressed Sawa in the way only a fellow woman can, delivering a wonderful speech right up with Kyoko’s Words Of Wisdom about how no one has the right to treat you badly, even your own family. No one has the right to abuse you, demean you, hurt you. That is a curse. She actually uses the word curse, and it makes me wonder what her parents told her of the Sohma curse, if Hatori ever mentioned how Akito used to be, or how Shigure was such a piece of shit about the seahorse, and it made me love Hatori all over again, for teaching his daughter such a powerful thing. Volume three also gave wonderful interaction between Kinu and the entirely deranged (but perfectly appropriate) Hibika Sohma, the daughter of Ayame and Mine. Just like Hatori is the only one who has any sort of control over Ayame, Kinu is the only one who can reign in Hibika. I believe these two are the oldest, out of all of the cousins, because in volume two, Hibika just fucking jets off to Paris with no warning, at the top of one of her tiny tophats instead of setting up her parents’ second store, because she needed inspiration to create new dresses. I don’t think a high school student could do that. Hibika may possibly be the oldest (Kinu is still a minor at 19 [Japan’s age of adulthood is 20]), because I don’t think a minor could do that either. She’s obsessed with Sawa and playing dress up with her, something Kinu is able to reign her away from doing with ease. She’s only the tiniest bit toned down from Ayame. I love her.

Michi Manabe is the daughter of Kakeru and Komaki and is sometimes at odds with Hajime. My biggest complaint with Furubana is that she is not in it enough!! Despite not being a Sohma proper, Michi is included in nearly all Sohma activities and all the Sohma cousins know her. She and Mutsuki were raised as siblings and address each other as such, which is precious because awww, but also because Kakeru has a deep sibling bond with his half sister as an adult, Komaki (who I view as another Tohru in a way, from how she was introduced) made an effort to keep Yuki and Machi in their lives and comfortable, and Yuki and Machi both created a family unit with the one family member who wanted Machi around, a bond so strong that their children saw each other so much growing up that they refer to each other as siblings. How precious is that?? Poor Hajime is probably the only voice of reason Mutsuki ever had in his life because you know Michi is to Mutsuki what Kakeru would be to Ayame. God I need a Kakeru-meets-Ayame-centric episode right now. Yuki would DIE. Riku Sohma is one half of the twin siblings born to Haru and Rin, and while he looks like Haru, this boy is a lot like his mother. He doesn’t have the anger issues his parents have, not really (except for instance of punching out Hibika’s brother), but he can be a bit spacey, he’s very serious and literal, and he likes to sleep. Everywhere. This family and their sleep. It kills me. He also gets himself a cute little girlfriend, and because of his crush on this girl and his watching of her, he notices her wanting to reach out to Sawa, and Sawa makes her first friend (mostly) on her own in nearly her entire life! On the other hand, Sora Sohma, his twin sister, is cute and spacey, a bit ditzy, and looks like their mother but is 100% Haru. She has nicknames for everyone in the family, and never calls anyone by their actual name. She’s my second favorite character after Hibika. Sora reminds me very much of Usagi Tsukino: instead of seeing a person, Sora sees a friend.

Poor Chizuru Sohma should’ve been Yuki’s kid. Honestly I’m surprised Ayame and Mine don’t have more kids, given how passionate I’m sure they are. And while Chizuru loves his father, he does declare the man crazy (as does every other character, minus Mutsuki, who says he’s “the most terrific of all uncles”) on more than one occasion. Chizuru is the more responsible of the Ayame/Mine Sohma children, setting up the Ayame II shop essentially on his own until Mutsuki offers Sawa’s help as a part timer (because remember, Hibika decided to go to Paris for the week). He hates that others view his family as eccentric and him as normal and especially hates when they comment on it, and he tends to be a bit foul-mouthed and outspoken. A bit like Hiro. Poor kid. Rio Mosca is Saki Hanajima’s boy and he is NOT KAZUMA’S SON AND THIS MAKES ME SO SAD. His parents’ love story is rather cute, however. His father is a foreigner (Italian, given that his surname is Mosca), and the two met on a plane, making this a cute little callback to when young Megumi prayed for a someone for Saki to “get on a plane and meet her.” Mina Sohma is the most precious baby and is the daughter of our boy Momiji! Although, look at her - could she be anyone else’s child? She is sweet and cute and seems to be without Momiji a lot - Momiji inherited his father’s business (which seems to be international?), and he travels all the time. Mina has a great talent for batting and rather than be privately tutored and follow her father all over the world, she stays behind in Japan to play baseball for her school. Her dream is to take over the family business from her father like he did from his. It seems Momiji’s terribly tragic story ended happily, as it seems he reconciled with his father enough to inherit his business... (more on this later). And then we have Shiki Sohma, who is surprisingly the son of Shigure and Akito! :O Shiki seems to inhabit two worlds, much like the Sohmas of Furuba. On the one hand, he is part of a generation who was raised by those healed by Tohru Honda. Loving, caring parents who love and adore their children. He has friends who care deeply for him - his best friends, despite all being in different grades, are Chizuru and Rio, and they all play Go together in the school club. His family are all deeply committed to him - Mutsuki especially is close to him, as seen in the first volume where Shiki was teased at but not seen, as Mutsuki called him to come to the house where he, Hajime, Kinu, and Sawa were having a hot pot with Michi, Riku, and Sora. His parents both are and aren’t the Shigure and Akito we know from Furuba - Shigure is still the immature jokester and Akito is still the serious head of the family, but they both love their son immensely, totally and completely in a way that Akito remembers being loved as a child by her father, in a way that Shigure’s parents probably loved him. On the other hand, in volume three, it is shown that, being the son of the head of the family, and living in the Sohma compound, with the old servants, the “old timers,” and Ren, subjects Shiki to some truly horrific abuse the likes of which no other second gen Sohma child has had to go through. Shiki would greet guests who would give him gifts, only to find that within those gifts were notes badmouthing his mother. Ren attempted to stab him as a small child, something the old Akito would and has attempted on the first gen Sohmas, and it’s implied the only reason was because Shiki was Akito’s child. Akito threw herself in front of Ren’s knife and took the blow for her boy. Shiki is a quiet and withdrawn child, one foot in each of these worlds, and seemingly paralyzed over how to act. Much like Sawa, especially once she meets the Sohmas.

Remember I said we’d come back to Momiji’s happy ending? See that woman in the top left? That’s Momo Sohma, Momiji’s sister. In Furubana, Momiji has reconciled not only with his father, but with his sister as well! Momo appears to pick up Momo from the Sohma house; she is Momiji’s assistant and Mina seems to stay with her sometimes when Momiji is out of the country. Momiji has his family back!!! Speaking of families, Hinata Sohma, Hiro’s little sister, is all grown up and makes her own appearance in the third volume (and is a slight alcoholic, lol). She also mentions brothers - did Hiro did another sibling after his curse broke?? Megumi Hanajima makes an appearance as a teacher at Kaibara High School, and this is my second complaint about Furubana - there is not enough Megumi!! He grew up sexy! Second best glow up in the series after Momiji! It’s Megumi who tells the romantic story of how Saki met her husband on the plane. Also making an appearance is Makoto Takei, former student council president, unwilling witness to Haru’s natural hair color explanation. He is now a teacher as well, and Sawa and Riku’s homeroom teacher. He’s also still in love with Yuki, and lets Mutsuki get away with anything. He is often at odds with Ruriko Kageyama, the daughter of Motoko Minagawa of the Prince Yuki Fan Club. Ruriko has inherited her mother’s obsession, though unlike Motoko and Makoto (god those two would’ve made a great obsessed couple), Ruriko loves ALL Sohmas. I don’t understand how the worship of an entire family to stalker levels is an official school club but whatever. Ruriko is actually pretty cool, and while she’s pretty strict, she’s also on somewhat friendly (like, “person I talk to at school but nowhere else” type friend) terms with Sawa.

THE STORY

I feel this can best be summed up in five sentences and in reverse: When Sawa was little, she fell down the stairs. She was found by Shiki, who simultaneously called an ambulance and fell in love with her. Her piece of shit mother sued Shiki because he was rich as shit. Ten years later, no Sohmas harbor any grudges against Sawa, her mother is still a piece of shit, the Sohma children are full of Tohru-and-Kyoko wisdom passed down from their parents, and try to help Sawa. And also they all hardcore ship Shiki/Sawa. The end.

No seriously, that’s the story. It’s beautiful. I wish there was one or two more volumes, a cameo featuring the adults, it would be perfect. Could you imagine the terrible awkward jokes Shigure would make? “Honey look, Shiki’s in love with the girl he pushed down the stairs as a kid. Was marrying her one of the terms of the lawsuit? Hahaha.” And Akito would just be like “....baby, you and Sawa go outside while I smack your father, you don’t need to see this.” And the two go outside and we then see Shigure fucking fly through the paper door and a loud “YOU FUCKING MORON” follow him out with the classic -_- “did I say something wrong?” Shigure face. And Shiki is just a fascinating color of ruby fire about the cheeks and mumbles, “so yeah... that’s my father....” and Sawa is a similar color and staring at her shoes like “he seems nice...” and Akito opens the ruined door as though she didn’t just beat the shit out of her husband and calls out to them, “come and have tea, your father had to step out for a bit. Sawa, dear, I’d love to hear more about you. would you prefer jasmine tea or green,” because Akito has done a complete 180 and become a decent human being since becoming a mother and Shiki is EVERYTHING to her and if her son loves this girl then GODDAMNIT SO DOES SHE.

#fruits basket another #furubana #fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket spoilers #furuba spoilers #i just finished the series and i don't know what to do with myself

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littleredroseonthevalley · 4 years ago

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The Rose

Summary: Aerin is free, but at a price.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Explicit and/or non-graphic mentions of suicide, murder, inhumane punishments and dysfunctional relationships. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Notes: So, this is messed up. Like, really. I am a bit of an Edgelady when it comes to fanfiction, I have always defended that people can enjoy what they enjoy and forget everyone else. But this, this is messed up. God, I need a psychiatrist.

Anyways, despite my clear preference towards roses, the title is because I was inspired by this song.

Love is a funny thing.

It is good, but it is bad. It heals and it hurts. It saves and it condemns. It is democratic, but a privilege.

Everyone pursues it, even, and perhaps especially, those who deny their desire to love and be loved. It seems like the very thing that keep societies together, a need to accept and be accepted in turn, to feel like you are dearly valued by someone. Be it a family member, a friend or a sexual partner.

All the races have their own way to express love. Marriage and the one true partner in a lifetime for the humans, the separation of sex and devotion for the elves, and the survivalist ritual of the orcs, they all just want to be loved by someone. Preferably forever.

My life taught me the importance of the social bonds. My family was slayed far away from their home and no-one knew them, nor they had any identifying characteristics, other than our race and the two young children that survived the attack. Kade and I.

I do not remember it very well. The first thing I remember is their burial, on a common grave. My hand gripped Kade’s, who seemed to be crying, but my eyes were dry. I think I cried too much already.

There was no way of knowing from where we came from, other than the general direction of Undermount. Since no elves passed through, there were no travelers or officials to talk to. I thank the gods every night for the kindness of the farmer that took us in, until his demise.

I depended on and was nurtured by my brother, and I knew it was the same for him. Our bond was what helped us to survive, and I protected and fought for that bond as much as I craved for another.

Perhaps it is due to my blood. Elves were known as people of loose sexual morals, what I came to learn it was due to their concepts of Kinvali e Divali, as well as the ethereal beauty of their never-fading youth, but the naturalist explanation was just as likely with my limited information.

I do not think it is, though. I would take it a step further. Perhaps it was due to my neediness and sense of abandonment. A strong presence by my side during the day and some bodily heat next to me on my bed at night seemed to silence the despair of my soul.

The fact of the matter was that I was hardly pure and inexperienced, my road had been longer and more tortuous than it perhaps should, and the wariness was apparent. I sook companionship, desperately so, and more often than not, I found it. Not with the stability I wanted, but I rarely gone by without someone to which I could use to that end since I entered puberty. Some of them, I even could see myself with them permanently, but my race or social standing often came in the way.

Then, there was him.

Him and I were alike in many aspects. He had a family, but one that ignored him on a good day, and abused him on a bad. He was as good as an orphan, forgotten and unloved, often starved and beaten, seduced by an evil and faceless force from infancy for a nefarious purpose.

I suppose I cannot excuse him completely, he eventually should know better, that he was sowing the kind of suffering that corrupted him in the first place, but perhaps there was wisdom in taking a spoonful of sugar before the bitter medicine.

He did not lie to me. I know he did not. He showed me what there was beneath the gray and barren permafrost of his corrupted face, and what I saw was enchantingly beautiful. He was handsome, if rather short and gaunt, with a sharp and excitingly witty mind, and extremely kind and empathetic.

My soul sang for him. I felt safe and seen by him, and for the two short nights we spent at Deadwood, my desires and needs were shaped in a hole that seemed that could only be filled by his presence. My heart longed to see him again, as soon as I possibly could.

Our sojourn at Undermount, so tantalizing when I first entered Deadwood, was still nice and enlightening, but my tongue was overwhelmed by the sweet honey that the tart mouthfeel of elfish society was that much more blatant. That was not my place, these were not my people, and I could only think that I would be happier in Whitetower.

I had my summer under his warmth that afternoon at the palace gardens and at the library with him, and then the night under his sheets, and I knew it was true love for me.

Then, the cold hit me and I was thrown on the harshest of winters. His face twisted in a grey frost, a clean cut was made and his brother’s life was taken, like it did not mean anything. The portal opened, he held onto the magic user and they vanished into the unknown.

I realize I was used, little more than a pawn, designed to gather the shards and protect a viable vessel for an evil force. He had used me, like he too had been used, and it really hurt me.

I had to stop him. No matter what he meant to me, no matter how it would hurt, I had to stop him with any means necessary. I could not let it move forward and let more lives to be destroyed.

So, I did just that. I captured him and killed his master.

Tonight, I go down the dungeon. To see him, to talk to him.

He was asleep, curled up at a thin cot of hay, likely trying to stave off the humid cold coming out from the stone walls and the wells of the castle. Without his disguise, his skin was gray and his aura was very dark. His constitution seemed thinner, more haunted.

It filled me with pity.

“Aerin! Wake up!” I whispered, breathily. I had bewitched the guard, but there was no need for alerting any reinforcements. “Aerin, wake up, please!”

His dark eyes shot open and he quickly rose to his feet. “Raine! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” I responded, downcast. “We don’t have much time.”

“What for? To gloat? To marvel at your doing?” He sneered.

I sighed. “Aerin, I am not going to apologize for stopping you. It had to be done. I am sorry, however, that I lied to you when we were at the Shadow Court.”

“I should have known better.” He mumbled, sadly. “I should have known to be stronger, to not let my sad human needs to get the best out of me. It was naïve to believe what you have told me.”

“That is not what I lied to you about it.” My eyes fill with tears. “Yes, I had no intention of joining you in the Shadow Court, and I still have none. Yet, I was sincere when I told you I would take you as you are.”

Aerin raised a doubtful eyebrow, so I placed my hands at the lock of his cell and whispered an enchantment. It opened softly for me to walk inside, before closing ominously behind my back.

Every step I moved forward, he took one backwards, until his back was pressed against the wall. Cornered, I pick up his hands and try to soothe him by caressing his fingers with mine.

“Your magic has improved.” He managed to let out.

“That was what was keeping me. Research, training and planning.” I smiled softly at him. “I love you, Aerin. With all my heart. My greatest regret is that I am twenty years too late to save you from corruption, from suffering.”

“It’s not your fault.” He finally responded. “The short time we had together was much more than I ever hoped to receive.”

Aerin kissed my tear-stained cheeks and wrapped me in his embrace. Without the stone, the smell on his skin was different. He smelled like blue moss and flowers that bloomed in the night, and that only made me cry harder.

“I am sorry, too.” I hear whispered on my ears. “I am sorry I cannot give you anything but a life of pain and suffering. I am sorry I was weak, greedy and stubborn. I am sorry I cannot be the man you love all the time.”

I break apart from his hug and face him. Wiping my tears with my left sleeve, I look him dead in the eyes and say, “I came here to free you.”

“What?” He did a double-take.

“I put you in here, I am getting you out.” I threw my satchel at him. “There is a map of the Shadow Realm in there, one that should take you through a route safe enough so you can open another portal, one to a land beyond the great desert. There is also some gold and supplies to help you on your voyage.”

“That… That is brilliant!” He smiled, genuinely happy. “I can’t believe… You are so ingenious!”

He picked me up by the waist and twirled me around, and I let myself giggle and bask on his excitedness.

Then, he laid me down and looked forlornly at me. “I can’t do magic anymore. My powers derived from the Dreadlord. With him gone, so are my powers. And you couldn’t corrupt yourself, so you can’t open a portal as well.”

“There is more than one way to enter the Shadow Realm, Aerin, and you know the price.”

“You don’t mean…”

I did not let him finish his sentence. The silver dagger reflected the moonlight as I raise it.

“No!” He screams and launches himself to stop me, but it was too late. I drove the cursed knife through my stomach.

As my cupric blue blood soaks my tunic, I lose strength on my legs. Luckily, Aerin grab me by my shoulders and supports me straight. My life force is being sucked dry to open a portal to the Shadow Realm.

Soon enough, it appears on the back of the cell and I smile. “I did it…”

“Raine! Gods!” He seemed frantic. To me, it seemed odd, as a sensation of peace was slowly taking ahold of me. “Why did you do this?!”

“I had to free you…” I verbalize with difficulty. “I couldn’t let you waste away in a dungeon… I needed to give you a chance of living…”

His eyes spill big tears. “Not like this. There was another way.”

“There would be no peace. A fugitive’s life is not worth living.” I smiled at him. He was so handsome. I felt glad to die looking at him. “If I die, if you move far away, no-one will ever touch you.”

“I want you to come with me. Please, Raine, there must be a way to heal you. Don’t die, please.”

“The blade is cursed. There is no coming back.” I whisper. “Hurry… The portal will only be open while I’m still alive… I used too much magic, it won’t remain open for long.”

Aerin looked momentarily conflicted, but picked up the satchel and headed to the portal.

“I’m sorry, Raine. I am so sorry.”

He jumps into the vortex and disappears. I feel it inside my soul he had managed to find his way to the Shadow Realm.

I am glad. I was able to help someone I love. Is it not the most we can expect of life?

Before I came down to the dungeons, I visited Deadwood for some important ingredients. Inside the bag, I left the dry moonflowers and the instructions to brew the purifying potion. I hope he takes it.

I feel my grip on consciousness slipping and the spells I casted tonight are fading away. It was the end for me.

In the winter, far beneath the bitter snows, lies the seed that, with the sun’s love, becomes the rose.

#blades of light and shadow #aerin valleros

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rydenstories · 5 years ago

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A Spiral Staircase

My Grandma lived out in the country. Not the real country, with farms and cornfields. Just far enough away from the city that the houses are a good football field away from one another, with expansive backyards. Mom always said she felt we needed the space to run free, though we both knew it was just an excuse for her to drop us off for months at a time, obligation free. We were rambunctious kids, my sister Amanda and I, without a care in the world and so we spent those summers running all over the place.

Along with our energy, we were blindly friendly to everyone, despite most of the surrounding residents being more than a little annoyed with our presence, running through people's yards. Grandma's right side neighbors, though, were very kind to us. I had always found myself personally interested in their house, being much larger and newer than anything I'd ever even set foot in. I also knew there were children over there, though they rarely came outside to play. It was actually their father, Isaac, who initially invited us through Grandma to meet his children.

My sister and I and chased each other across the large field between the two houses. Isaac waved from his porch and as we grew closer and I noticed the two children behind him. Twins, a little girl and boy, who's names I learned were Eloise and Edward. They started off shy, but soon warmed up to us. Isaac suggested that we play in the yard. Both children looked at their father with a surprised look before booking it excitedly off the porch, yelling for us to follow them.

This started a friendship that, although only lasted only a few weeks, felt years old fairly quick. Both children, who my sister and I called simply The Twins, were quiet but incredibly intelligent. Mature. Knowing. They could both be bratty, having been home-schooled and sheltered most of their lives, but it didn't show often. It didn't take long after that initial play-date for the Twins to start staying over at our grandma's house nearly all the time. However, we'd never been to their house. My sister asked a few times during the early days. Either of them would just shrug it off.

"It's nothing special. We don't have a lot of stuff, and there isn't much to do. It's much more fun at your house anyway."

We'd correct them; it was our grandma's house, not home.

Mom hadn't been back to even visit in weeks. Hadn't even heard from her, at least not until she called my grandma up, near the end of July, and needed bailed out of jail. Grandma argued with her on the phone for a while before hanging up and frantically calling people in her phone-book, looking for ANYONE that could watch us while she tended to her business. Soon, she found herself walking us across the lawn with Amanda and I in tow, knocking on the back screen door, and politely asking Isaac to keep an eye on us. He hesitated but ultimately agreed and let us into the house. "Remove your shoes, please! I'll be in my office. It's by the kitchen, so if you need anything, just holler for me!"

Stepping into the door, I scanned the room and realized that the twins were right; there really wasn't anything in their house. Not even a TV set. Two white couches, a glass coffee table, and a plain grey rug. It all seemed nice but kind of.... bland. The room was far too large to be so empty, too. Isaac called to the kids, who jogged up from around a corner. Their faces lit up when they saw us. "Oh my gosh! Hi!"

Soon they were leading us around and showing us everything. Each room was very clean and mostly empty, aside expensive and bland furniture. The Twins led us to the den and something immediately caught my eye; at the corner of the room, a metal spiral staircase both rose into the upper level of the house and plunged into the depths of the basement. Without thinking about it, I exclaimed "Wow! That sure is pretty!" Eddie stopped and the rest of the group did, too.

"Yeah. It's really nice. My mommy had it put in when we moved here. There's another staircase in the hall but that one was hers. It leads right up into her bedroom and down into...." He trailed off for a moment. "Where her craft-room used to be."

Obviously, even as a naive kid, this all struck me as odd. I'd never seen or heard about their mom and this definitely didn't seem like a crafty-mom house. "Your mom?"

Ellie answered this time. "She left. She didn't like us anymore."

I immediately caught the frown that struck my sister's face and knew I probably wore a similar one. Both of us knew that feeling. We tried our best to pretend we didn't get that feeling, but we did. Kids aren't much to dwell on sour subjects, though, because the twins immediately moved on from it and so did we.

"Anyway, we aren't allowed to use it. Too dangerous, daddy says. Plus, we don't really wanna go down into that basement, either." Before I could ask why, the twins were already walking towards the swirling staircase and gesturing for us to follow. My sister stayed behind but I followed and looked down into the hole in the floor.

The basement was a stark contrast to the bareness of the rest of the house. Even from what little I could see, the entire place was packed floor-to-ceiling with absolute junk, filling giant clear and multi-colored plastic tubs stacked on top one another. "Who's stuff is it?"

With the statement, I looked back and realized that Eddie and I were the only two left in the room. Ellie must have noticed my sister's discomfort and led her to the next room. Eddie was quiet for a minute, almost searching for an answer. "I really don't know. Dad's I guess." And with that, it was as if the thought was out of his mind, because he turned away from the staircase and continued on his tour of the house. Nothing else stuck out like that staircase, and no other room had the same kind of insane clutter as that basement seemed to have.

The Twin's bedroom was large and about as plain as the rest of the house, though it definitely had more in it than all the other rooms (leaving out the basement) combined. The children owned dozens of books and puzzles. Ellie had an impressive collection of porcelain dolls that my sister couldn't keep her eyes off of, while Eddie's pride was a heavy stone chess table with perfect little glass pieces. They definitely had more than I expected, but I could see why they found our more modern toys had a wider appeal.

Still, we found fun easily. Both mothers and other oddities were out of our minds for hours as we played pretend and Eddie taught me how to play chess. Without notice, much of the day had passed and I eventually had to use the restroom. I tried to remember where it was but failed and had to ask the Twins. "Aw man, you forgot already?! I told you, the main bathroom is busted so you'll have to use the one in my mom & dad's room. It's just down the hall."

I asked one of them to go with me but they both laughed and asked if I was serious. Embarrassment washed over me and I quietly led myself out of the room.

Isaac's bedroom door was open wide and I could see the staircase from the hallway. I entered the room and veered off to the bathroom, which had a huge jacuzzi tub that had clearly never been used. After finishing my business, I exited the bathroom and began to leave before my curiosity stopped me and the staircase caught my eye again. Isaac had told us he'd be in his office, I told myself. He wouldn't notice or care if I just went down the staircase and into the den. I could run right back up and nobody would even know!

There wasn't even a question in my mind before my feet started moving and my hand went for the cold, metal rail. I almost expected a loud, rusted creaking sound when I put the first bit of my weight onto the top step but found the entire thing to be surprisingly stable and quiet. Immediately, being on the thing felt dreamy and the quick trek down was suddenly taking much longer as I studied the design of each step as my foot landed on it. Before I knew it, I was in the living room, and staring into a deep, crowded hole. I snapped back to the moment and realized that I probably needed to go back up before I got into trouble.

Before I could turn and escape back up the stairs, the low sound of humming coming from below caught my attention and I froze in place. Shoot. I'd been caught and my grandma would not be happy to hear that I'd been misbehaving when she was already so stressed. The humming continued, quiet and sad. I actually look back now and recognize the song as If Tomorrow Never Comes by Garth Brooks, though at the time I only felt it was extremely familiar. Somehow, my brain began to reason that the Twins had lied, and their mother really was around, in her craft room. Again, my feet began to move before my brain could put reason behind the steps and I was descending into the basement.

Almost immediately, I knew that my initial suspicions were wrong as soon as I hit the landing. The basement was much too dark for anyone to see anything down there. The walls of filled containers seemed even higher and more close together than they did from upstairs, but formed a path that led deeper into the basement. On the floor, I noticed literally dozens of moth balls spilled everywhere, a familiar scent that I picked up the moment I'd entered the house but couldn't place until then. Up close, the smell seemed almost enough to knock a full grown adult out, but I ignored it as the humming continued from somewhere in the darkness. I started following the sound and called out, sorta clumsily, "Hello? Uh, Eddie and Ellie's mom? I'm sorry to come down here it's just-"

I turned a corner in what now began to seem like a maze of junk and the humming halted, cutting off my speech and stopping me in my tracks. The manufactured corridor was nearly pitch black without the illumination from upstairs, though a little light still leaked through the cracks between containers. I stood there in silence for a moment before the humming picked up again, which seemed less pretty now and more labored, sour notes coming between low whimpers. I started feeling for the walls, continuing into the basement and towards the sound. I gasped after almost slipping on a large cluster of mothballs and the humming stopped yet again. The moment was much shorter and the humming never resumed. Instead, I heard someone softly gasp, then one of the loudest cracks I have ever heard in my life, like stomping on million dried branches.

Startled, I froze again for a long time, my curiosity dropping for a moment and reality reminding me that I was deep within somewhere I wasn't allowed to be. Before my good sense could make me turn around, something crashed somewhere in the basement. Pink light leaked through cracks on the far side of the basement. Again, everything sensible retreated to the back of my mind and I slowly began making my way through the zig-zag of big tupperware tubs and junk. Too much junk, I started to think as I turned the final corner.

Nobody was down there, but it was clear that one of the topmost containers had been opened and something had fallen out. It was a little music box with a bright pink light inside. I suddenly felt stupid, realizing that the music I heard could have easily come from this, although it didn't make much sense and the quiet tune didn't match. I walked over and picked it up. A container lid sat next to it. I grabbed it as well and recoiled at the foul smell that stuck to it, unbelievably somehow cutting through the raw stench of mothball.

On the other end of the row, there was the normal staircase that led up into the kitchen. It was clear at the other end of the house and even Isaac would notice, his office was right next to the kitchen. I didn't care anymore, though. It would be better than trekking all the way back in the dark, and they were gonna notice my absence regardless.

I picked up the lid and music box again, holding them far away from me as I searched for and spotted the tupperware container they likely belonged to at the very top of a stack. Somehow feeling a naive sense of courage after all of that, I began trying to climb up to put them back. Soon, I found myself standing on the very edge of a container and reaching with all of my might to just tip the little music box into the bin. After a moment or two, I was finally able to push it over, but not without my fingers catching the edge of the open bin. The surprise made me lose my balance and soon I was falling backwards. My caught hand pulled the bin down with me as the momentum caused my legs to knock the others I'd been standing on forward.

The contents of the container hit hard and heavy, causing my head to smack the ground. My vision blacked out and I laid there, feeling woozy. The smell from the container hit harder as well and I fought the pain and nausea.

I closed my eyes for a while, listening for an adult or one of the other children to inevitably come find me but as a few moments passed in silence, I started trying to move myself. Something heavy laid on top of my chest. I finally opened my eyes and my vision started coming back. As they adjusted, I realized almost immediately that a pair of glassed-over eyes were staring back at me. A girl, frozen stiff in the fetal position, lay on top of me, head laying lax over my shoulder, peering straight into my soul. Panic rose and I began to scream.

Fighting pain, I scrambled out from underneath the tiny dead girl, though I had trouble standing up. One of the other containers had also been knocked open, a much more decayed woman slumped out, feet bent unnaturally close to her face. The contents of another had clearly been jostled and I could see wispy black hair poking through the junk packed around the poor girl I knew was inside. Another scream rose but caught as the creaking of the basement door caught my attention and light from above spilled over decay.

Isaac looked in shock at the scene below him, covering his mouth to stifle a gasp before stepping backwards and running away to somewhere else in the house. The man was caught.

I froze there for a moment, having seen enough horror movies even at that age to know that he would probably be coming back with a knife or something. I really didn't want to be in that basement anymore. The girl with the glassy eyes stared blankly into me, and I finally pulled myself up off the floor, I weighing my options. I could go back, through the dark, and return to the spiral staircase or I could chance the set of stairs in front of me.

The sound of movement from above, in the kitchen, made the decision for me.

It took me another short moment to make myself go back through the zig-zags of variously colored tubs, frightened of what was probably inside, but fear of being killed overcame the fear of those who'd already met the same fate and I started running, only looking down at the floor below me to avoid slipping on mothballs. My vision was limited, though, and I fell a few times though I tried my best not to knock any more containers over. The scent of death had already almost completely overwhelmed the pungent mothball smell.

Through the persistence of fear, I'd almost gotten to the looming spiral staircase when a creak came from the other side of the basement.

I froze as Isaac called out "Helloooooo?" and began descending the stairs. Each footfall felt like a punch in the chest as I struggled to snap myself out of it and get moving again. I'd only need to pass through one more narrow passage and then turn the corner. I did my best to move quietly, quickly, but while still avoiding the mothballs. One fall could be it for me.

"You're not in trouble. I just want to talk. I promise." His voice was fake-gentle, almost sarcastic and annoyed. It made my heart race faster and faster. Still, I did my best to control my breathing, keeping low and quiet as I passed container after container, wondering again if they all held the same horror.

From upstairs, I could hear Amanda and the Twins calling out my name. Isaac had heard it, too, because I could no longer hear his footfalls on the concrete floor. By then, I was inching around the last corner. I peeked behind me one more time and saw someone sticking their head out at the end of the corridor. At first, I thought it might be Isaac - about to close the distance between us.

Then, I saw those glassy eyes. A shush escaped her decaying lips and she disappeared back into the darkness. I couldn't stop it - I just started to scream. Staying quiet, playing it safe, had completely gone out the window. Swear to God, I practically launched myself around the corner and towards the towering staircase, somehow avoiding the last of the mothballs without even trying. I ascended the twisting steps as quickly as my sore legs could take me. I couldn't bring myself to look back to see if the dead girl or Isaac were in pursuit, just keeping my eyes upward as the living room slowly came back into view. Amanda stood across the room, in the doorway. The Twins were nowhere to be seen.

"What are you doing? What did you do?"

Before I could respond, there was a loud but quick gasp from below. The noise itself practically propelled my body forward. I grabbed Amanda by the wrist and we ran back to grandma's house. Nobody followed. My sister continued to protest and beg for an explanation, but I said nothing as I grabbed the corded phone off the receiver and dialed 9-1-1.

It took a moment to get the dispatcher to take me seriously, believing at first that it was nothing more than a prank call. Eventually, I suppose the details were too much to ignore and the woman said she'd send a car over. She kept me on the phone while we waited, instructing me to lock both the front and back doors, and to stay away from the windows until we saw the blue and red lights of the cop car. By that time, Amanda had also realized that I wasn't joking and began to softly cry. "What if he hurts the twins? What if he hurts Ellie and Eddie?" I worried for them as well, but fear overcame worry.

Soon, we saw the flashing lights and watched from the front window as two cop cars came down the street, one pulling into our driveway and another continuing down to turn into Isaac's driveway. Our officer was a girl - short with light blonde hair tied high in a ponytail. She asked questions and I tried my best to give detail, but it was hard to focus as more cop cars pulled past, then an ambulance, then two. There would also be news vans, but that wouldn't come until later, when the word got out that a serial killer had been living among the quiet houses of that rural neighborhood.

Though not every tupperware contained a body, it was difficult to accept how many brutal murders he'd gotten away with. 15 women and girls, each with broken necks, over the span of six years. Isaac was smart - he'd put together the perfect cover family, only getting rid of his wife when she started to wise up to his awful deeds. He was charming, no doubt about it. Had my childhood curiosity not gotten the best of me, who knows how many more lives he'd end?

Speaking of lives ending - Isaac was found among the bodies that night, in the basement. Died of a heart attack, though there were whispers that his neck had been broken. The twins had locked themselves in their bedroom. Their father had taught them to do so whenever they heard commotion in the basement. They never knew what was taking place below the floors of their eerily bare home.

Somehow, our traumatic experience was enough to finally sober our wayward mother and tether her down. That was certainly the last time we ever had to stay with Grandma long term, and even in adulthood, I still avoid long visits if I can. The house still stands empty, unsellable with a reputation that so far precedes it, and I can barely look at it for fear that those glass eyes will be peeping out of the window.

#my story #mine #writing #creepypasta #nosleep #short horror story

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inikavulpixelreviews · 5 years ago

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Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Bug Type

Oh boy, it is indeed TIME for the finale of all these type reviews. Covering my absolute favorite type of them all: Bug!

I had always had a loving fascination with insects and arthropods since I was a young child. I'd not be shy to let them crawl on me so long as they weren't outright menacing like a particularly dangerous spider or some variety of ant with some mean chompers. I was THAT KID that caught caterpillars, fed them until they became butterflies, and then let them go. The kid that tried (and sadly failed) to keep an ant farm. I only kill bugs in my house that are being particularly invasive (and even then I always feel awful doing it); the rest I just escort outside. I don't care what any “whoa kill it with FIRE!!!!” kinda commenter says, spiders are pretty much welcome to stay in my room.

How sad is it that as I see it, one of the perks of having an outdoors day-job is I regularly get to make friends with insects?

Point is, bugs are good. They're good for the environment, and important to Pokemon's history itself. The man credited with creating Pokemon, Satoshi Tajiri, cited the major inspiration for Pokemon being his childhood memories of collecting bugs. OF COURSE bug would get its own dedicated element in this sort of RPG! As well as being one of the more populated types in the series.

It's just sad that it's not exactly THE most meta type out there. It's weak to a lot of types that are bad to be weak to like Fire, Rock, and Flying, but don't have much in the way of resistances or type advantages. The one real perk they have resistance-wise is blocking Fighting. They're at least good against some types that are handy to have a counter to. Either way, I pretty much CAN'T go a whole playthrough without picking up a bug buddy. It's impossible.

It also comes to light to me that, when you look over the whole roster of buggies like this, it turns out not one Bug is really designed to be “gross” or unappealing outright. I mean, I guess shed cicada skin can be uncomfortably crusty to the touch, but other than that, hmm. Nah, the closest we get is “arthropod menace” and that's about it. How do was have a COCKROACH Pokemon in the series at this point and the type is more or less squeaky clean as ever?! I guess I kinda do appreciate that Gamefreak rather legitimately celebrates insects as some really neat and fascinating creatures. Bugs aren't gross, they're cool! Bugs aren't nasty, they're neat! It's heartwarming to know a series as big as Pokemon sees insects and arthropods in more or less the same light as I do. Heck, I'm sure you could credit the series to warming up PLENTY of other people to be less squeamish toward bugs. Or at the very least think twice before they go squashing one that's minding its own business.

...That said, I wouldn't say no to them making more gross-looking bugs.

Top 10 Favorite Bug Types:

HNNNGH. This is too difficult. I can't. I gotta highlight more.

The Other Top Favorites:

There. My heart is a little more at peace now.

The Bottom 10 Least Favorite Bug Types:

Okay Fine

The 10 Bug Types I Wish Were A Little Bit Better:

Because the only Bugs in the whole type that just outright aren't my jam are Volbeat and Illumise, and that's it. The rest have just a little tidbit or two that I'd change or do a slight redesigning outright to get em to be up to par with other Bugs. Additional mention to Mega Heracross just because I'd almost rather Mega Heracross was its own, unique Pokemon instead of an alternate form of Heracross.

The Cutest:

Gen 5 is so good with adorable Bugs oh my goodness.

The Coolest:

The Prettiest:

The Spookiest:

...See what I mean? There is a CRIMINAL lack of spooky bugs in the Bug type!

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Shuckle is still a mystery.

Most Inventive Use of the Type:

How many times have I gushed about Shedinja's design throughout this whole review series? It's hard to make “the fact that it's a Bug” a real inventive thing by itself since it's a rather matter-of fact state of being for monsters like this. But these bunch in particular REALLY take advantage of their bughood and really show the designers at Gamefreak did their homework or just in general had some really neat ideas. Araquanid being a reverse of a real-life diving bell spider, a mosquito that sucks blood to increase its FLEXING capabilities, a cockroach that is a self-grooming neat freak just like real cockroaches are. Escavalier and Accelgor lumped together because of their specific interaction reflecting a real-life interaction between a beetle and its snail prey; albeit the ending is a little bit happier for this snail than in real life. Kricketune is a sadly unsung little stroke of minor genius in how a violin beetle gets to actually BE a violinist that plays its own violin body. Kricketune's just overshadowed by its own memey cry, sadly.

The Buggiest of them All:

I'm always perfectly fine with stylized body types when it comes to bugs, but I can also take a moment to appreciate the Bug types that are convincingly insectoid. Plus y’know. It helps when the odd bug type has the correct number of legs.

BUG TYPE WISH LIST:

NOTE: These Type Wishlists were written out before any news on new Pokemon from Sword and Shield. The Pokemon revealed over time will not affect these wishlists. Just to present them unaltered despite spoilers and in the interest of getting the wishlist out there, and to see which items on said wishlists get fulfilled by Sword and Shield!

[Inhale]

A Grasshopper/Cricket:

Despite their english names, Kricketot and Kricketune aren't actually crickets, but are actually moreso designed after beetles. So we've still yet to have any true orthoptera species of insect in Pokemon yet!! And that is a CRIME because Grasshoppers and Crickets are criminally underrated just because they're fairly common insects. God I could comprise of list of just some neat orthoptera I like. You could even kill two birds with one stone here by having an inter-species evolutionary line where a cricket evolves into a grasshopper!

Termites:

I'm still bummed Durant's evolutionary path is painfully underwhelming compared to actual ants. Where's like, the Queens?! And big-headed Majors?!? Either an expansion of Durant's current forms or a new set of Termite-mons would be really nice!

A Fly:

How weird is it that we've still yet to get a common house fly?! We technically have Cutiefly, but I'd love to see a more traditional-looking house fly. Or any other number of fly species if you're feeling adventurous!

A More Traditional Mosquito:

Buzzwole is absolute gold and I don't at all mind it, but I'm still feeling a bit of an itch (hah) for a more traditional looking mosquito. My first shot at making a mosquito monster in the form of my own Fakemon was incorporating the aquatic larval form as a scuba-diver that eventually evolves into a water-drinking and squirting big mosquito. MAINLY because I didn't think Gamefreak would ever even slightly elude to blood if they ever made a mosquitomon, yet here we are.

A Wheel Bug/Assassin Bug in general:

I just point out Wheel Bugs because they're easily my favorite kind of assassin bug, distinguished by the big gear-shaped hump on their back. But I'd love any assassin bug, really. Just look at their goofy faces.

A Giraffe Weevil:

I'm sure tons of people have seen pictures of this thing around the internet. And if you still haven't there it is. You will lay your eyes on this stupid thing and you will immediately understand why we needed a Giraffe Weevil Pokemon like, four generations ago.

A Bombardier Beetle:

While it may not look like much of the surface, this beetle is packing a venomous spray that it ejects from its abdomen to ward off predators! We could always use more Bug/Fire types, so why not pick this thing up and a flame-spewing or actual-bomb-chucking beetle!

A Dragonhead Caterpillar:

There is an irritating lack of insectoid dragons in the Pokedex that are actually classified as insects. You passed up DRAGONflies multiple times, guys! So fine, I guess I gotta pull out a more obscure wish; one of these bad boys! The Dragonhead Caterpillar is easily one of the sickest looking caterpillars out there, and totally befitting a Bug/Dragon type as is! The one sad thing about this is, like the antlions, it's another case where something's larval stage is a lot more neat looking than its adult form; for A Dragonhead Caterpillar would eventually become one of these:

...Yeah, while the Plain Nawab is pretty, its significantly less impressive looking than its caterpillar form, huh? Still no reason you couldn't just elect to give us a draconian butterfly while you're also at it! I guess I wouldn't be TOO upset even if an official Pokemon version of this bug wound up with a more fun base stage than its final stage.

Any Wooly Caterpillar:

I don't care which one you pick, a big ol fuzzy caterpillar is something CRIMINALLY missing from Pokemon at the moment!!

A Devil's Flower Mantis:

Mantids are some of the micro-world's coolest monsters. It's a shame then that the three mantid monsters in Pokemon so far are 1. A lizard with some mantis parts on, 2. More of a lobster, and 3. Not actually a mantis. And that sadly the latter means orchid mantids are out. While I'd be overjoyed to see any new mantis Pokemon, I think a Devil's Flower Mantis would be my personal go-to for a new mantis. It's just so god dang WICKED looking!

This Mind-Controlled Snail:

Because this thing has to be demonstrated in gif form to really portray the oddity of what's going on here. Although, the description is on the gross side, so here's a fair warning to skip past if you're squeamish.

This particular species of parasitic flatworm preys on snails. When they're eaten up by these unsuspecting mollusks, they'll soon find themselves getting their brain taken over by the pulsating worms that wriggle inside the snail's now-bloated eyestalks precisely to make the snail more enticing to birds to eat. Not only that, but the parasite also hijacks the snail's brain. Snails normally prefer damp and dark areas where they're relatively well-hidden away from any predators. These parasites force the snail into bright and wide-open areas like the tops of bushes specifically to make it as easy a meal as possible. They multiply in the bird's stomach before beginning the cycle anew when the bird, ahem, “drops” them off.

Obviously there's a lot of parallels to draw here from this and Parasect. But heck to it if I'd say no to a new, freaky mind-controlled hypno-snail. It'd be such a cool effect on an ingame model to see their eyes pulsating in color. You could even go ahead and make it a candidate for our first Bug/Psychic type!

A Stick Bug:

It's not super pressing that one gets in. I just think stick bugs are neat.

A Black Widow:

I know we got Ariados, but something feels missing from the spider roster in that we don't have a traditional creepy crawly-type spider. A Black Widow is about the most stereotypically creepy spider out there, but I'd love to see it for its potential either way.

A Peacock Spider:

One more spider while we're on the subject of spiders. And offset a spooky spider with a cute one! There's all sorts of fun takes to have on a peacock spiders.

A Pelican Spider:

No hold up. Wait a second. One more spider because I had literally discovered this thing as I was writing this very list. Look at this thing. Look at this spider. What the hell. What the actual hell. What is happening. What. I want one now.

APPARENTLY this Pelican Spider is a species of spider that specifically evolved to eat other spiders. Its weirdly long “neck” and extended mandibles are designed to keep its prey at a long length away from itself so they the spiders it catches can't retaliate with their own bites. That's so neat. I could see how you can intemperate that into a gameplay sense; make it specialize in biting moves and have an ability that makes all biting moves no longer make contact. Maybe that's not HUGE but.

A Dobsonfly:

Again, no pressing reason I can think of other than dobsonfly are underrated, and getting a nice Pokemon to go with em would be cool.

Gah, there's probably a good billion or so I could continue to think up but I SUPPOSE it's gotta stop at some point.

“How on Earth did we wind up with some internet person talking about insects for about half an hour's worth of reading?”

ANYWAY, that's the final of the type reviews. Sword and Shield are just two weeks away, believe it or not. It’ll be a while before I’m back into the funk of making reviews. As I’ve said before, I’d like to take a month or two to really absorb all the new Pokemon they have on offer. For a brief little preview-opinion, the new Pokemon are overall pretty dang good so far. There’s already a couple I’ll be excited to talk about, but if preview event-goers are to be believed, there's’ apparently a TON of new Pokemon to look forward to.

ANYWAY Future-talk:

I dunno if I’ll do something in the meantime review-wise. I would go back to look at the recently discovered Beta Pokemon from Red and Green and Gold and Silver, but I feel like I’ve not got a ton to add to that conversation in particular. (Literally the only hot take I can really come up with is the Baby Vulpix is kinda lame)

I MIGHT look into doing character design reviews for some non-Pokemon properties. I felt like it was eventually gonna happen at some point, I’m just not sure about it happening YET given SwSh are so close and once I’m ready for those reviews I’d have to put the non-Pokemon project on hold. Tell me what sorta series y’all would like to hear my thoughts on for character design. My personal biggest candidates are looking at the creatures from the Pikmin series, the various boss characters from all the various Mega Man games, and looking over the Champions from League of Legends, as well as reviewing the monster cards of Yu-Gi-Oh.

Mega Man would probably be the easiest. Robot Masters don’t exactly require deep analysis to critique their designs. (Though that wouldn’t stop me from getting rambly.) It wouldn’t be until the X, Zero, ZX, and Battle Network/Starforce series that the designs get crazy detailed.

YGO and Pikmin would be easy too, the only issue would be figuring out a format for what order to do them in.

League would easily be the hardest to do. Cause being the completionist that I am, I would want to cover EVERYTHING. Old versions of the characters, NEW versions, as well as every single skin. The problem is figuring out an order to put it all in. The easiest would just to do iit in alphabetical order and cover the skins of each champ as we come across them. But I’d ideally like to do everything in chronological order. Start with the first 40 champions and then pan out to cover each one in order of release, skins included. It’s just really difficult to find a consistent timeline on League content, especially for skins. I dunno. That’d be something I’d have to look into.

Either way, no matter what I end up going with, I’ll see you next time!

[Archive]

#Pokemon #bug type #The Bug Type #Pokemon Reviews

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redrosella · 6 years ago

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Passion

Chapter 1 of 2

Summary: An old photo in Patton's room brings up new questions for Virgil. Who was Passion? Why had he never heard of him? Where is he now?

...Can Sides die?

Author’s Note: Wow, I haven’t posted any writing on here forever. I really should get back into doing that. Anyway, I know the summary is vague, but I promise it’s for a good reason ;) Don’t want to spoil anyone.

Cleaning Patton’s room seemed like an impossible task.

Every side seemed to be covered in different toys, pages, and countless knick knacks that seemed utterly unorganizable. There was almost no common theme to be found that would lend itself to creating a semi coherent living space.

Now, it may have been possible if you were to throw out some of the more obscure items, or maybe even move them to a different place where they wouldn’t get in the way so much, but no. Patton wouldn’t dare parting with even one of his treasures, so organization it was.

And who worse to recruit than Virgil?

“Thanks for helping me out, kiddo! Just let me know if you ever get overwhelmed and we can take a break.” Patton flashed Virgil a smile.

“No problem, Dad.” There was no possible way Virgil would ever deny a request from Patton, even if his room did make him slightly uncomfortable from time to time. So here he was spending his valuable time helping him with this impossible mess.

They figured the best course of option seemed to just be picking a corner and begin cleaning it out in the hopes of actually making a dent, so Virgil went to the far left corner as Patton began working on the right.

There were a lot of very peculiar items stashed there, from memories of high school crushes to childhood toys that broke the instant they were played with. Some of it even managed to bring a half smile to Virgil’s face rather than a grimace.

It took a good half an hour of work on his corner before things finally seemed to get slightly more presentable, and a half an hour before he came across a picture frame.

That in and of itself wasn’t weird. Patton had tons of pictures scattered across his room, hidden in every nook and cranny. What was odd was the person in the photo.

He looked like a young Thomas, just barely on the cusp of middle school. He wore a thick scarf and glasses, a book and pen in hand. His eyes almost gleamed with interest despite looking caught off guard in the photograph.

“Uh… Patton? What is this?” Virgil asked.

Patton hummed in question, popping his head out from his corner of the room- which looked a lot less clean than Virgil’s. He’d probably just spent the whole time reminiscing rather than cleaning.

Virgil held up the frame, waving it in lieu of answering. Patton managed to catch a glimpse and gasped, running over.

“Oh my gosh, I thought we didn’t have photos of him anymore!” Patton took the picture frame reverently, holding it close and absorbing every detail of it. He held it so close to his face that Virgil wondered how he was even seeing the whole picture.

“Who is it?” He asked after a few awkward seconds of letting Patton quietly gush over the photo.

Patton blinked. “Oh, I forgot you weren’t around when he was! He’s Passion. His name was Pasha.” He held out the photo between them, letting Virgil see it again.

“Passion?”

“He was Thomas’ interests as a kid. His hobbies, his dreams. He was my best friend back when Thomas was ten years old,” Patton clarified, a wistful tone to his voice.

Virgil bit his lip. “What… what happened to him?” Clearly he wasn’t around anymore. Virgil would have seen him, someone would have mentioned him, something would have come up. Instead this was the first time he was even hearing anything about a Passion. It sounded more like Roman than anything, but that wasn’t right, was it?

Patton became oddly silent at Virgil’s question, staring at the photo with a touch more sadness.

“It isn’t my place to say,” Patton finally settled on saying.

“Whose would it be?” Virgil asked.

“Logan or Roman. They know more than I do.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Virgil’s mind. Logan and Roman weren’t around when Thomas was ten. How would either of them know what had happened?

“Well kiddo, I think we should call it a day. I’m… I just want to be here for a bit.”

“Patton…” Virgil trailed off. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine. Just thinking. It’s always good to get the emotions out, right?” Tears glistened in his eyes. “Thanks for helping me clean, really. And thanks for finding this picture.” He flashed the anxious side a real smile despite the tears trailing down his face.

“No problem padre…”

----

In the beginning it was just Morality. Just Thomas’ emotions getting him through life day by day. There wasn’t a need for anything else. When you’re a baby, things are relatively simple.

It’s when you get older that things become a lot more complicated.

Passion came into existence when Thomas began to explore. He was a little four year old still trying to find his way, but he did have interests, favorite things, goals that weren’t all emotional. Passion was there to fill that gap for Morality.

It was a shock when he first popped up. Morality had no idea that there could even be other sides, so seeing Passion suddenly appear with his scarf and glasses in the mind palace one day nearly sent Morality into a tissy. They quickly figured it out, though. They were sides, and they were parts of Thomas. There was no reason to be afraid of each other.

They ended up making a pact to stick together throughout those formative years. They worked to fend off the emerging dark sides, doing their best to make sure that Thomas wouldn’t fall prey to that kind of thinking. It didn’t always work, but it was enough.

They saw Thomas grow up. No other light sides appeared, but that was fine. They were content just being with each other.

----

“Logan… Can sides die?” Virgil asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Logan almost dropped the book he was reading, completely caught off guard. Virgil didn’t blame him. There they were, sitting in the living room having a nice quiet time together, and the anxious side just decided to drop one hell of a bombshell.

“I… why would you like to know?” Logan asked, befuddlement clear in his voice.

“Just wondering.” Virgil shrugged. He decided that he wasn’t going to bring up Passion. Clearly with the reaction Patton gave it was a sore subject, and he didn’t want to cause more harm just because he was curious. He figured he’d just skirt around the issue with Logan and try to suss out an answer without actually mentioning it. Maybe that’d stop all Virgil’s dwelling and let him focus on more important things.

...It was wishful thinking, but Virgil would bank on it anyway.

“Well… I suppose it is possible…” Logan said very carefully. He sounded like he was treading on very thin ice, not about to lie, but also not wanting to say anything that could cause a negative reaction.

“How would that… hypothetically happen?”

“Virgil, are you okay?” Logan asked, cutting the conversation off.

“I am- really!” Virgil quickly defended. “I’m just curious. I’ve never heard of sides disappearing, but it’s gotta be possible right? If Thomas doesn’t need one anymore?”

“I highly doubt Thomas wouldn’t need one of his core personality traits. Even the dark sides are needed, despite everything negative they contribute. They still have some good, and Thomas still can use their words to his benefit.” He sighed, looking put out. “Are you worried that Thomas doesn’t need his anxiety anymore? Because I’m pretty sure we already went over this when you ducked out.”

“No, I know Thomas needs me, don’t worry. I learned my lesson there. I was really just curious, I swear.” Virgil really hoped he wasn’t digging himself into a hole. “But you never answered my question. Is it possible?”

Logan bit his lip, looking down at his book and back up to the other side. “Yes. I suppose it is. If, hypothetically, a side’s job could be taken by another side, then that side would no longer be needed- but that is a highly improbable scenario. There is no reason that would happen, especially because Thomas is a grown adult. His personality has been solidified by now.”

But it hadn’t been in the past. That meant it was still possible then. Logan clearly didn’t know of anything like that happening, but he also wasn’t there until Thomas was twelve years old. Maybe something happened to Passion before he was around, so he wasn’t aware?

But who would take up Passion’s spot? Unless…

Roman.

Roman was passionate. He was creative. He was the source of Thomas’ hopes and dreams.

It made perfect sense.

Oh god, Roman killed another side. Maybe not intentionally, but he took their job. That’s why Patton was so upset, but didn’t want to show it. He was afraid of hurting Roman's feelings.

Virgil stood up quickly, his chair pushed back slightly.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned.

“Sorry, I need to… go. Thanks for talking, that was really interesting,” Virgil said quickly, speeding out of the room and leaving a confounded Logan behind.

Virgil needed to talk to Roman.

Later.

After he finished processing this.

----

Morality and Passion were ten years old when they decided on names for each other. Calling each other by their titles was just too formal for them, and they came to the conclusion that they weren’t just Thomas’ morality and passion, but so much more, so they deserved a name just like him.

“I want to be Patton!” The tiny side cried out as he pointed at a name book, the name sticking out.

“Why’s that?” Passion asked inquisitively, looking at the book carefully, where the meaning of Patton was printed.

“I dunno. It just sounds nice!”

“But names have to have meaning!”

“Well Thomas’ name was picked just because his parents like it! We can do the same.” Patton pouted. “You can pick out a nice meaning for your name, but this is what I’m sticking with,” he said stubbornly.

Passion was about to protest further, but his eyes trailed a few lines up, spotting something that caught his eye. “Pasha,” he said reverently.

“Huh?”

“Pasha! That should be my name! Then we could both have names that start with P!”

“You just chose a name that sounds like Passion!” Morality accused.

“So? You said it yourself, it doesn’t have to have a big meaning. It can just be a name.” Passion crossed his arms. “This is the name I want.”

“Oh, fine. It’s nice to meet you Pasha!” Patton stuck his hand out.

“It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” Pasha shook the other’s hand, which Patton quickly turned into a hug that they stayed in for a good minute.

These were their names, and their names alone.

----

It had been a few days since Virgil talked with Logan, and still the only conclusion that he could come up with was that it was indeed Roman who had taken Passion’s place. Thomas was young and his interests were still growing and changing when Passion was still around. There was a chance that when Roman did come around, he unintentionally overstepped his role as creativity and bit off more than he needed to, rendering Passion useless.

That did seem like a very Roman thing to do. Not intentionally, but he always dreamed of bigger and better things, so of course he might take the reins on things like that without even thinking about it, because it was so ingrained into his personality.

It wasn’t a one hundred percent certain theory, however. Virgil knew better than to bank on those. There could always be some different explanation that he hadn’t though of- and this was a pretty drastic theory just to be throwing around with very little evidence.

That’s why he needed to talk to Roman. Get some information out of him and figure it out for himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with the information, but he just needed to know it to ease his mind. He’d figure it out later.

“Roman.” Virgil flopped over the creative sides’ bed, his hair falling over his face.

“Yes, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance?” Roman jibed. He was sitting at his own desk, brainstorming ideas idly. Virgil liked to sit in on these sessions, reminded of the days back when he and Roman worked together to create edgy poems and the like for Thomas. Even if he didn’t really contribute anything anymore, it was still nice to listen to the embodiment of creativity spitting out ideas and eventually hitting that one perfect one he was positive would work.

“I was wondering… You’re not just creativity, right?”

Roman shot him a confused glance. “Well, a-doy. Just like you’re not just anxiety, you’re also self preservation . Hell, I even introduced myself as the fanciful side the first few Sanders Sides episodes! What kind of a question was that?”

Alright, it was a stupid question. Virgil just didn’t know how to casually bring it up otherwise! That was the only way he could think of that could maybe naturally work.

“I was just wondering,” Virgil mumbled. “So what other traits would you describe yourself as?”

Roman frowned. “Are you having an existential crisis, Virgil? Because I can tell you that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You’re self preservation, caution, fear, that voice of reason in Thomas’ head. You give us all a reality check when we need it.”

Geez, did everyone think that Virgil always needed a pep talk? He should really tell them to cool it. He wasn’t always on the brink of sinking out again, he was just in a bad place that one time- but things were different now. He was a different side now.

He guessed it just took time for the others to realize this. So now he just had to deal with the constant reassurance and slight babying, even when he was trying to do this for everyone else.

Okay, maybe not everyone else, but still just in an effort to sate his own curiosity.

“No, Roman, I’m fine. Just curious. What would you describe yourself as?”

Roman looked like he wanted to protest more, but decided against it, instead tapping his chin with a finger. “Hmm, well, that’s a tough one. I suppose I’d be creativity, dreams, ambition, talent, those kinds of things.” Roman perked up for a second “Oh! And I can’t forgot passion! I’m-”

The rest of Roman’s words were drowned out by Virgil’s mind.

There is was, straight from the horse’s mouth. He was passion.

Roman had to have taken over Passion’s role, killing him. He was the reason why Patton was crying in his room.

And Virgil couldn’t even blame Roman. Roman was just naturally passionate. He was always driven, always pursuing new things, and there was no doubt that he was just like that when he first came into being. He would never have done that to another side intentionally, but it’s not like it was something he could control. Roman was just the natural evolution from Thomas’ passions as a young kid to his hobbies as a teenager.

The rest of the conversation with Roman was a blur in Virgil’s mind, but he eventually got out of his room and into his own, left with a cacophony of thoughts and no way to organize them.

----

Pasha and Patton were only ten years old, but they were aware of things like relationships. Sure, they may not be old enough to get all the logistics of it, but they knew the basics: people that were together held hands and did things together and were happy.

Patton already had two of those things with Pasha, so he figured why not try holding hands with him? Then they could be together like their parents!

It was a perfectly logical conclusion in the moral side’s mind. He loved Pasha, and Pasha loved him, so obviously they should be in a relationship.

“Pasha! Hold my hand!” Patton cried as he raced into the side’s bedroom.

“What?” The passionate side poked his head up from a children’s book, confusion written over his face.

“You should hold my hand, and then you can be my boyfriend!”

“You… want to be my boyfriend?” Pasha blushed, putting his book down on his lap.

“Yes! That’s what everyone does when they’re close friends! They hold hands, and then they are a couple! We already hang out and are best friends, so why shouldn’t we be boyfriends!”

“That.. does make sense,” Pasha said, a tone of contemplation in his voice. “But would you really want to be my boyfriend? I… I’m sure there’s someone better.”

“We’re the only two good sides! Besides, even if there were others, I’d still like to be with you! You’re funny and kind and passionate about so many things! Do… do you want to be my boyfriend?” Patton’s voice got a tad smaller at that last question, a bit of fear worming its way into his gut.

“I… Of course, Patton. I’d love to hold your hand.”

A large grin spread across the moral side’s face, and he quickly rushed over to Pasha’s bedside, grabbing his hand. It was a bit clumsy at first as he tried to figure out the best way to fit their hands together, but they worked it out quickly.

A blush spread on both of their cheeks, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

----

The next day when Virgil walked into the living room, he was met with three identical faces all looking at him with a variety of different expressions, concern being the most obvious.

“Virgil, we’re… worried about you,” Roman started.

“What?” Virgil blinked.

“You’ve been asking some odd questions lately, and we were just afraid that you might still feel out of place here- or perhaps that some worries are plaguing you still and you need to have someone help you work through them,” Roman clarified. “There’s no shame in asking for help. We’re all here for you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” The anxious side crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at everyone.

“Virgil, you asked Logan about death, and then asked me about what you thought your purpose was here. It sounds like you are still struggling to find your place in our group, and wondering if you are still useful- which of course you are-” Roman quickly affirmed. “You know you’re part of the family.”

“Of course I know that.” Virgil scuffed his shoe on the ground. “I told you, I wasn’t asking about that stuff because of me. I was just curious. Not everything I ask has to revolve around me. There’s just a lot of stuff that I still don’t know here.”

Logan frowned. “Well, usually curiosity occurs from something happening to spark the idea. It is not a far leap to assume you are currently thinking about these types of things and are wondering about what we know. It’s okay-”

“I’m just trying to find out about Passion!” Virgil cut him off, too annoyed at the barrage of misunderstandings to think through his words.

Everyone in the room froze up.

“How… How did you learn that name?” Logan asked slowly.

“That’s my fault, kiddo,” Patton spoke up softly, speaking up for the first time since the invention began. “We were cleaning out my room a week ago, and he found a photo. I… I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, kiddo.”

Virgil rubbed his arm self consciously. “It’s fine, Pat. I was just wondering what happened. You told me to ask Logan and Roman, but… I didn’t want to hurt them like you clearly were when it was brought up. I was trying to be discreet.”

“Pat, you were hurt?” Roman’s head whipped over to the fatherly side, concern obvious on every inch of his face. “Whatever for?”

“I… I just missed Pasha, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. I know that I shouldn’t be afraid of letting my emotions out anymore, so I just let myself miss him. It’s okay.”

Roman put a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Patton. I’m sorry. It’s okay to miss him.”

“I suppose we owe you an apology, Virgil,” Logan said after a minute. “I did not think that you knew about Passion, so I did not make the connection, and instead jumped to a false conclusion. I apologize.”

“It’s no big deal. I was just wondering.” Virgil shrugged. If he knew that asking about Passion would have caused this mess, he would have just kept his curiosity to himself. Everyone staring at him now was just making him even more anxious.

“Well, I suppose we owe you an explanation now,” Roman spoke, still patting Patton on the back and shooting Logan a look. The logical side nodded back.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain it to me. I figured it out myself,” Virgil said with a sigh.

“You did?” Logan asked incredulously.

“Yeah. You said that sides can only die if their role was taken over by another side. Roman appeared when Thomas was eleven, and when I showed up around twelve, Passion wasn’t there. I figured that Roman took over Passion’s role, and that’s why he’s gone now. I don’t blame you, and I’m sorry for pushing.”

Logan and Roman both shot each other a look. “Virgil… That’s not exactly true.”

“What?” Virgil blinked. “But you told me that that was the only way sides could die.”

“Passion didn’t die, Virgil,” Patton spoke up, his voice soft. “He’s still here.”

“I… I don’t understand. You were mourning him. How is he still here? What do you mean?”

“Let me tell you a story, Virgil…”

----

“Hey Pash, what’s wrong?” Patton poked his head into the dining room. The eleven year old was sitting at the table, a contemplative frown on his face.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know what’s wrong?” Patton walked over the the side, sitting on the chair next to him and leaning close.

“I don’t know!” Pasha cried out, throwing the pencil in his hand down with a dull clunk. “It just doesn’t make sense! Thomas’ teacher wants him to do a writing assignment, and I want to do it, but I also don’t want to!”

“Why don’t you want to?” Patton grabbed one of his boyfriend’s hands, trying to physically reassure him. Seeing his boyfriend in any kind of hurt was always heartwrenching.

“His teacher wants us to do this writing about these silly things, and it just seems stupid to me! Like, I want to, but it’s a waste of our time!”

“Oh Pasha… Nothing is a waste of time if you have fun doing it.”

“But we could be doing better things!”

“Pash, you never know if something will be worth doing if you never try it.”

“I just think we should be doing more… concrete things. Like working on math, or history! Not spending time writing stories. They do nothing to help us.”

“But they’re fun! Our time together doesn’t really do much, but we still hang out and enjoy it!”

“I guess…” Pasha trailed off.

“Come on, let’s just do something fun now and take your mind off this. We can always come back later.”

“Alright. Thanks, Pat.”

“No problem.” Patton flashed his boyfriend a large smile. “That’s what I’m here for!”

“But what am I here for?” Passion mumbled under his breath, too low for the other side to hear.

----

Something wasn’t right.

Patton could feel it. Thomas’ mindscape felt weird, like there was something invariably wrong. His first thought was Passion. He had been acting weird lately, but surely he couldn’t be causing this… wrongness? Pasha would never do something like that. Dark sides did that, not Passion.

Patton slipped out of his room, taking small steps over to their living room where he could hear sound. It felt wrong.

“-isn’t right! Doing theatre would take up too much time! We would barely be able to get out homework done!” Pasha was pacing around the room, looking at the floor and ranting to himself. A roiling feeling boiled up in Patton’s gut. “But this would make Thomas happy! I should be letting him pursue his dreams! But not at the expense of school! School is more important than some hobby that he probably won’t care about in a year. School will lead us to more substantial hobbies!”

“Pasha…?” Patton questioned.

He didn’t hear him.

“But what if he likes theatre? What if he wants to continue it? What if he gets a major role? He wouldn’t be able to do anything else! I can’t leave all our other passions behind just for this one! What about astrology? Math? Those are so much more viable career options! I know we should be enjoying our youth, but we have to think about things like this! We can’t waste our time doing theatre!”

“But what about what Thomas wants?”

“We are Thomas! We know what’s best for him!”

“No, we’re his sides! He’s still his own person who can make his own decisions!”

“But I’m still his passion! I know about things like this!”

“And I know that this will make him happy!”

He was arguing with himself. He wasn’t even being discreet about it, he was just literally talking back and forth with himself like he was two different people.

This had been happening a lot lately- on a lot lower level than this, but still similar. He’d argue with himself, flipping between different options and never settling on something. It was like a never ending war with himself. But never as obviously and physically split as this. Patton wanted to step in, say something to comfort his boyfriend and tell him that everything was okay, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix this. He was frozen with indecision.

“You’re not listening to me! Well you’re not listening to me! You can’t keep doing this, we’ll never get anything done! You’re the one getting into a huge argument with yourself, just choose something! But there is no right answer, it’s all subjective!”

Tears began to well up in Pasha’s eyes. He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound that wasn’t around him. The sound that was all inside his head.

“JUST GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

And then…

Pasha didn’t exist anymore.

Just like that, he was gone. Patton’s boyfriend wasn’t there anymore, and instead… There were two people on the floor, dazed and confused but entirely separate.

One had Pasha’s glasses. The other had his red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

“We…” Scarf looked up at Glasses. “What?”

“This… is an unprecedented turn of events…” Glasses sputtered out.

“Pasha?” Patton whispered. It was like his entire world was breaking down. This wasn’t right. Where was Pasha? Where was the boy he grew up with? What happened?

“Patton?” Scarf spoke up, his eyes meeting Patton’s. “I… I don’t know what happened.”

“We split,” Glasses explained, sounding like he just came upon the realization himself. “We couldn’t decide which path to pursue, and we weren’t getting anywhere like that, so Thomas’ mind split us in two. So we wouldn’t be constantly fighting and could actually get something done.”

“So… who I am?” Scarf asked, fiddling with his scarf idly in his hands.

“Who do you feel like? I feel like… Logic.”

“I feel like… Creativity.”

Patton’s world shattered.

#Sanders Sides #Thomas Sanders #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #Redrosellawriting

125 notes · View notes

sweetchcolate · 6 years ago

Text

fandom: Inuyasha

words: 2934

inukag week, day 6: alternate universe

a/n: inspired by this post by @nokaninja, especially the bit with “the flowers were his moms idea.” For some reason, I pictured Izayoi calling her son “nunu” and it all devolved from there.

@inukag-week

“Inuyasha? Inuyasha?” A pause. “Nunu?”

“Gah, ma! Quit it with that nickname! I’m a grown ass― erk, I’m grown up now!” he yelped, ears flattening against his skull.

“I’m sorry, honey.” His ma’s smile was anything but apologetic, amusement hanging on her lips. She was fuckin’ teasing him about this old ass nickname he got for himself back when he was a brat and badly lisping: whenever his ma called him by his name, he tried to mimic her, but with little success. Eventually, he shortened “Inuyasha” to “inu,” more palatable to eleven-months-old him, and completely dropped the “I” over time, thus creating “nunu.”

Unfortunately for him, the nickname stuck. Since that fateful day, he was forever referred to as “nunu” by his parents, and and it didn’t change even as he turned into an adult.

His ma sighed, as if she could read his thoughts. Her eyes were glazed, faraway and nostalgic, seeing something that couldn’t be seen. “Oh, Inuyasha, you could be one hundred years old and have three thousand grandchildren of your own, and you’d still be my baby nunu. I remember when I could hold you up in my arms: you weren’t longer than my forearm.”

“That one of those ‘you’ll understand if you have kids of your own’ lessons, huh?”

His ma nodded. “Right. Today’s is ‘my child is hiding something and I’m wondering what.’”

“W-what makes you think I’m hiding something?” Shit, was he that transparent or was that just his ma’s mom senses?

His ma sipped her coffee calmly before pointing out, “You keep looking at the time and brushing your hands through your hair. Also,” she grinned, impish, “your ears were twitching all day long.”

Of fucking course! He covered the traitors with his hands with a low growl. “These damn ears stand out too much…” he muttered.

His ma laughed. “So, I was right, you were hiding something. Let me guess…” she brought a hand to her chin, supporting her elbow with her other hand, a gesture she had taken from his old man.

He was going to have to tell her anyways, so might as well be now since they were on the subject. “I’m meeting someone,” Inuyasha explained.

“Ooooh,” his ma cooed, clapping her hands in anticipation, eyes bright. “Who is it? Tell me, tell me!”

“Uh…” He looked away as heat crept up his neck and cheeks. Suddenly, he was way too warm, palms sweating, his heart thudding in his chest like a jackhammer and his mouth dry. “It’s… y’know… Higurashi Kagome.”

“Higurashi?” she repeated, something in her tone making the hair at the base of his neck rise and a shiver crawl down his back. “From the Higurashi shrine, near the park with those swings you loved so much?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” was all his ma said in answer, face frozen into something impassive, but eyes glinting with dark memories.

Fuck, he thought, nails digging into his palms as his heart gave one last throb before dropping to his stomach. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting: he thought she’d be surprised, excited, supportive. Anything but this half-hearted, half-disappointed “oh”.

Worse is that he genuinely liked Kag― spending time with Kagome, but he also wanted his ma to be happy with his choice of partner: she was a good judge of character, and all the previous people he associated with that she didn’t like turned out to be shit.

His past relationship with Kikyo was another mess of its own.

“So, you don’t… approve?” he asked at last, voice tight because of the hard lump that had formed in his throat.

His ma blinked, as if she had woken up from a nightmare. “Oh no, not at all! It’s just…” she bit her lip, brows furrowing in worry and sadness, “little Kagome’s said to have the most spiritual power in her family in generations.”

Ma… She really was afraid of a repeat, wasn’t she? “Don’t worry, ma. Kagome can’t purify my ass― erk, my butt.”

His ma reached for his hand, rubbing a thumb on his knuckles like when he got sick as a kid, but Inuyasha thought this was more for her comfort than his, this time around. “I know being half-human protects you from total purification, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not painful or unpleasant.”

“Bah,” he drawled, waving a nonchalant hand, “it aint too different from the new moon nights. I trust Kagome not to zap me.”

Hi ma smiled a bit at his choice of words, slightly cheered up. “So, how did you meet her?”

He scratched the base of his ear, flushing a bit at the memories. “Eh, it ain’t nothin’ too glamorous. Her little brother Sota’s in one of my classes and it’s usually his ma who picks him up.”

“Oi, Sota! Ya still here?”

The boy looked up from where he was sitting, smelling of dried sweat and fresh tears. “Mama’s not here,” Sota said with a little smile, trying to appear strong, but his wobbling voice betraying his worry and fear.

“She’s probably late or somethin’, kid,” Inuyasha crossed his arms, pointing with his head at the mess left behind him. “C’mon. Since ya’re here, help me clean up.” That would distract the kid and change his mind until mom came to get him.

It was a good hour later, when it grew dark outside and Sota babbling away, that a girl barged in, clearly out of breath. “Sota!” she called, pushing her dark hair away from her face with both hands, revealing worried blue eyes and flushed cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m late!” she breathed.

“Kagome!” Sota yelled, flinging himself in the girl’s arms. “You really came for me!”

The girl, Kagome, placed a hand on Sota’s shoulders, patting his head. “Yeah, Mama’s had a problem with the car and I wasn’t home until recently. I’m sorry I took so long to come, kiddo.”

Sota shook his head. “It’s okay, sis! I helped Inu-sensei put away the benches and he said he would teach me a new move next time!”

Kagome tilted her head. “Inu-sensei?”

“That’d be me,” he drawled, finding it a good time as ever to inject himself in this conversation.

The girl looked up, eyes first stopping on his face before continuing their way upwards, catching… “Dog ears?”

Inuyasha bristled, the hair all over his body rising. Fuck, he forgot to put back his cap after the parents left earlier, having picked up their children from their martial arts class. Sota was a good kid and didn’t mind his dog ears: if anything, kid seemed to have a bit of a hero worship going on with him. Inuyasha’s half-demon status was, in his eyes, something amazing rather than fearful.

That didn’t mean it applied to his sister.

Kagome approached him, the top her head barely coming up to his clavicles. She even had to tilt her head a little, curled hair fanning over her shoulder and held back by a plaid headband (which matched her shirt), to look him in the eyes properly, crystal blue against his yellow-gold.

Well, at least she had the decency to face him, instead of avoiding his gaze. He’d give her that.

Suddenly, without warning, Kagome’s hands shot up towards his ears, fingers tweaking them this way and that. Her brows rose and her eyes shone with surprise. “Wow! They’re real!” she exclaimed with child-like joy.

He didn’t even have the time to react before she flushed, pulling her hands away. “Oh my god, that was so rude! I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me!”

Inuyasha’s words tapered off as his ma broke into a fit of laughter, doubling over and strands of dark hair pooling over the table. His ears stuck to his skull in his embarrassment and he carefully pulled her hair away from falling into her cup of coffee and the plates of food. Eventually, his ma straightened up, brushing tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, nunu,” she said at last, shaking her head in amusement. “This is priceless.”

“Glad to know you get a kick outta your son’s ear misadventures,” he huffed, not really hurt by his ma’s reaction.

“That’s not why I’m laughing so much. It’s just… when I was pregnant with you, your father and I didn’t know what you’d look like. We knew you’d be half-demon, but we didn’t know which features you’d inherited: his hair or mine? His eye color or mine? His demon strength or mine?”

Inuyasha raised a brow, a bit interested in hearing about his early days and how this tied in with Higurashi Kagome tweaking his ears and getting his ma to laugh her ass off.

“When I first held you, I was a mess. It took me over a day to give birth to you, I was exhausted, hungry, half-loopy from all the painkillers, and couldn’t tell your dad from the nurses. And apparently, the first thing I did when I met you was blubber “puppy ears!” and nuzzle them.”

A groan left Inuyasha’s lips and he smacked his face in exasperation. This damn obsession with his ears… It cursed all the women in his life! Even his freakin’ stepmom, his old man’s first wife, slipped a comment about it when they first met! His ma, for her part, never failed to give him funny looks when it happened: he thought that she had grown desensitized to her son having odd features, even for someone part demon, but nope.

Turned out she was the fucken original Inuyasha’s ears fanclub member!

“So, how did you react?” his ma asked and he rolled his eyes.

“Y’know exactly how.”

“And yet, if you’re meeting up with her now, it means your grumpy attitude didn’t discourage her,” she teased.

Kagome was stubborn and gave back as much as she got. While most people cowered when his temper made an appearance, she had yelled right back, claiming he was “rude” for exploding on her when she had apologized for tweaking his ears.

Despite their rocky start, Inuyasha got to know Kagome better, since she became responsible for picking Sota up once his classes were done: she was stubborn, she was reckless, and she drove him absolutely nuts. Kagome was his total opposite: an optimist to his cynic views, openly kind to his gruff attempts at comfort, cheerful to the almost permanent scowl on his face, and so on.

Worst of all? She was a master sneak: slowly, so gradually he didn’t realize it, she had slipped past his walls, picking a spot in his heart and nestling there as if she owned the place. It wasn’t long before he had her name on his lips almost every day and before the syllables “ka-go-me” made his ears perk up in interest and his heart beat hopefully.

Inuyasha from a year ago would have been disgusted at his open vulnerability when it came to Kagome. Inuyasha of the present wouldn’t have it any other way.

“She gets attached too easily,” he answered in the end, voice fond and eyes soft, unable to find the words to properly describe Kagome.

His ma raised a brow, one corners of her mouth tilting up not quite in disbelief, but more like she knew something that he didn’t.

“What?”

Her smile grew wider, like the cat that ate the canary. “Nothing. I’m just glad you seem to be looking forward to that date. Speaking of which,” she said, tone pitching at the end, “when are you leaving?”

“Uh…” he took a quick look at the clock. “In an hour or so. I’m meetin’ Kagome at her place.”

“And what are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Eat a bit, see a movie, hang out.” Honestly, he hadn’t planned this far ahead: being in Kagome’s presence was enough. He didn’t mind following what she had in mind as long as she was happy.

His ma pouted, tracing the rim of her coffee cups, as if disappointed he didn’t give her more meat to chew on. “And are you bringing her a gift?”

“Why would she need one?” Inuyasha blinked, genuinely confused.

“To commemorate, to show you were looking forward to that date, to show you care or simply to make her happy. There are many reasons, honey.”

To show I care… to make her happy… the words looped in his mind. What could he get for her without acting like that Hodo guy from her middle school days? Well, for starters, nothing related to illnesses or “get better” gifts! He could also scratch shrine/priestess-related stuff: she already had all a girl could dream of in that matter, thanks to her family.

“What about jewelry?” he asked his ma, looking for advice. Yeah, that sounded good: a necklace, to match with the black pearl hanging around his neck!

“Mm, it might be my own experiences talking, but I think it’s better to keep jewelry for later dates or for when you’re in a stable relationship,” she answered, fingering the thin silver chain around her wrist, a memento from his old man. She looked up with a small smile, “But what about flowers?”

“Inuyashaaaaa!” Kagome called from above, waving his way before she went down the stairs as quick as she could.

His heart lurched at the sound of her voice and he clutched the bouquet tighter behind his back. Shit, hope she didn’t see the flowers!

In the end, he had picked them as a gift, per his ma’s suggestion. They were a deep pink, almost red, their smell soft and their petals velvety. He also made sure to pick sturdy flowers which needed little care, so that Kagome could keep them for a long time.

Or at least, he hoped she would.

Kagome skipped over the last few steps, her momentum carrying her forward. Inuyasha stepped in front of her to catch her, breath knocked out of his lungs when she collided with his chest with an oof! He had to place a hand on her back to steady her, fingers sinking into her fluffy green top and drawing her closer instead.

“Thanks for stopping me, Inuyasha!” Kagome chirped, tilting her head back to catch his eyes. Her red lips curved up into a pleased smile, blue eyes soft, the tip of her ponytail brushing his hand.

He flushed. “Ya’re welcome.”

Kagome glanced at him up and down, taking in his outfit. “You clean up real nice!” she said. “I really dig your jacket too. I’m almost jealous!” she laughed, tugging lightly on the lapels, teasing.

Inuyasha never really had much of a reason to wear his red bomber jacket in the past, despite it being his favorite. It was one of his old man’s mementos, and he didn’t want to risk ruining it during fights with arrogant demon punks who got too frisky with him.

He also avoided wearing the thing, as its vibrant color would draw in people’s eyes and bring out scowls. It was like painting a big fat target on his back, turning himself into a matador’s red cape and the crowds into enraged bulls, as if he didn’t get enough flack for being half-demon.

It figured Kagome would enjoy his jacket: she seemed to appreciate about him what other people derided him for.

“Thanks. You… uh,” he swallowed, mouth dry and ears twitching. “You look good too.” Real cute.

She beamed, blue eyes glittering, twirling on the spot to show off. “Thank you! I almost didn’t wear this top, because Sota said I looked like ‘a green caterpillar’.” She mimicked her brother’s voice at the end. “The brat!”

Inuyasha smirked, teasing. “He ain’t wrong.”

Kagome mock-gasped, bringing a hand to her chest. “Well fine! Guess I will go back home to change into another shirt, since some people don’t have an eye for fashion.” With a huff, she whirled around, ponytail swinging, hands on her hips. Her brown skirt clung to her legs as she took the first few steps towards the shrine.

“Oi, Kagome,” he called, following after her. He waited until she turned around, a questioning look on her face. Inuyasha swallowed hard, throat working, heart damn near vibrating in his chest. His hand shook behind his back.

“If you’re going back up, t-take this too!” he managed, voice breaking at the end. Inuyasha whipped out the bouquet of flowers as his face erupted in flames, blushing so hard he was sure he was as red as his jacket. He avoided looking at Kagome, eyes settling on her bright earrings instead.

The blood rushed in his veins and his heart pounded in his head like a headache, so loud his ears barely caught Kagome’s faint gasp, a small hitch in her breath. When her hands wrapped around the bouquet, cool fingers brushing against his, he almost flinched, the muscles in his arms spasming.

He risked a quick glance at Kagome’s face: she was staring at the flowers with stars in her blue eyes. Her mouth was slightly open in wonder, cheeks as red and bright as the flowers he had offered her. Inuyasha was pretty sure he also saw sparkles shining around her.

Kagome brought the flowers to her face, inhaling deeply a few times. “They smell so good,” she whispered, as if afraid to break the moment. She then touched his hand and when he didn’t pull away, slipped her hand in his, squeezing.

“Thank you, Inuyasha,” she told him, voice gentle and full of feelings. “They’re wonderful.”

“Ya’re welcome.”

He squeezed her hand back.

#inuyasha #inukag week #inukag #inukag week day 6 #my fanfiction #sweetchcolate's nonsense of the day

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diningpageantry · 5 years ago

Text

Meetings

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44808160

Chapter 4/12 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2046

Chapter Summary: GSA Meetings, nostalgia, and Simon barely being able to hold a conversation.

Mr. Pitch's classroom is much nicer than I was expecting.

Granted, I'd anticipated very little more than blank walls and maybe a cursive guide on the board (I fully acknowledge these are nearly adults that he's teaching, but he seems to be the sort of bloke to do something that condescending). Instead, I was pleasantly greeted with an essential oil diffuser running, posters of fine art from galleries, and quoted texts from famous literature scattered about.

I'd assumed he was a bit of a nerd, given he teaches Queer Lit, but I hadn't nearly imagined that he'd have a miniature Oscar Wilde bust on his desk. Bold.

He doesn't take much notice of me when I step in, despite the fact that I'd knocked. He simply sends a brief glance my way before proceeding with his set up. I don't let it discourage me enough to not set myself up in the back regardless to his distaste.

He has a grand windowsill, jutting out and shining warmly over his muted mahogany room. I get myself comfortable there, leaning my back against the warmed glass as my shadow casts long and thin across the room. While he works, I get myself situated. Laptop, extra notepad, and a single black ink pen. At the top of the page, I scrawl down quick information in a tight, scribbled note.

GSA Meeting - 23rd of October

“Why'd you wish to come?” Mr. Pitch's voice echoes clearly throughout the room, making me jump a bit in my seat as I'm pulled to his attention. Maybe that's his trick in being strict teacher--he's unavoidable.

I click my pen a few times, to his disgust (I know he hates it), and shrug in response. He responds in an equally annoying manner.

“Oh pray tell your ever-so important thoughts, Snow.”

I shrug again, opening my laptop and logging in as I speak. “I just want to be able to understand and connect with my students better--all of my students. I can't trust that they will feel comfortable coming to me with anything if they don't know whether or not I support them, and of course I do.” Wrapping up my sentence, I lift my head and see him across the room, standing at his whiteboard with Expo in hand. He looks almost golden in the sinking orange daylight.

His face is unreadable. It might be the distance, or it just might be how unreliable he is, but he's got such a bitterness to him regardless to the situation. What I can tell is he's turned his nose upwards in a disheartening snooty gesture. Is there a superiority complex in being already “woke”? How does “woke” even go? Do I have to “wake” myself up?

“Yes, well,” he begins, turning his back towards me as he starts dragging out a dramatic Welcome Back onto the board. “Stay out of the way, then.”

Wow. Okay. “Of course.” Dickhead.

I watch him from behind, paying attention to the tight pull at his shirt as he reaches, writing with unfair grace. He's got the penmanship of a proper gentleman, with long, elegant lines and soft swirling edges. Seems like there's some artsy spirit hidden behind his uptight attitude (fuck it, who knows how much of a personality he actually has)

He keeps at a distance, preparing print outs and papers--stacks of name tags, pens to fill them out, and optional buttons that read pronouns. He pops one onto his lanyard, a small one reading, “My pronouns are: HE/HIM”.

I use it as an opportunity. “Can I have one of those?” I ask, gesturing towards them. “I'm uh… I'm a ‘he’, I suppose. Is that how you say that?”

He looks quite bored as he delivers it, fingertips brushing mine as he passes it over. It inadvertently makes me blush. I believe it's the first time we've ever touched skin-to-skin…

“You'd introduce yourself with your pronouns,” he says borderline condescendingly, raising a brow towards me as if to mock my little knowledge (which feels unfair, given I'm trying to learn). “Such as ‘Hello, I'm Basilton, and my pronouns are he and him’.”

“Oh.” I pop the pin onto my jumper, watching it gleam in the light. “Well, then my pronouns are also he and him.”

As I'm looking back up at him, head maybe chest level, two students step in, bags over their shoulders as they stare at us. I turn away slightly, yet take notice that Mr. Pitch is still standing right in front of me, staring down onto my head as I wave.

The students share a quick glance at one another before approaching. As they grow closer, I take note of who they are. One's a bit taller, and has shoulder length grown-in fuchsia hair parted in the middle, as well as black nail polish and black smudged eyeliner. The other one, the shorter one, is a bit more clean cut. Undercut with dark brown hair, and big, round glasses that take up most of their face.

“Hello,” I start with extending my hand. “I'm Mr. Snow, I'm the new guidance counselor, and I'll be sitting in today to just observe and learn.”

They exchange another glance between each other, wordlessly making quick expressions before both swiveling towards Mr. Pitch. He doesn't move much, except turn his head to them. They all look at one another, clearly staring unreadable thoughts that only the three of them seem to understand (or maybe I actually am clueless). What I do understand, despite my own confusion, is it leaves the two students snickering as Basilton just frowns.

“Hello,” the shorter one starts, enthusiastically gripping my hand. “I'm Ambrose, I go by he and him.”

I nod at him, and go to shake the other student's hand.

“Sam. They/them. We're the co-presidents.”

I nod again and smile, folding my hands on my lap. “Thank you both so much. I know it's a bit odd, but I promised I'd keep quiet.” I send a quick glance at Mr. Pitch, which makes the kids laugh a bit again. I could swear I Basilton's his cheeks get pink.

I would ask him why they're all acting so strange, but he's already giving both of them pointed looks before they both roll their eyes and go off to set themselves up. It isn't long before the first few members start trickling in, slowly filling up the room. They all sit in a hum of continuous chatter until the hour chimes.

Mr. Pitch starts it all off, giving an introduction of himself and the club before entirely letting the presidents take over. I jot quick notes that follow, remarking on the flow of it and what they're teaching generally, followed by the setup of the workshop they had planned.

It's a brief one--a gender identity and gender expression workshop. I listen intently, copying the graphic for myself into my notebook.

Nearly halfway through, I take notice that Basilton is slowly sneaking his way back, standing now beside me and subtly looking my way. “Are you getting anything out of it so far?” It sounds so condescending. As if I wouldn't understand or relate in any way regardless of my own identity.

“I'm quite enjoying this,” I whisper softly, lips turning up into a smile, even though he himself is giving such a bitter attitude. “I'm learning a good bit.”

I watch his slow movements, bending slightly forward to get a good look at my notes. He stands silent and statuesque, eyes studying my pages as he leans further down for a look. Something about it makes me hold my breath, eyeing over down his body.

He's got an odd way of approaching. Hawk-like and akin to an arachnid, all at once. The surveyor of the land, I suppose. Nobody's probably ever taken to calling him something sweet, like a sheep.

Eventually, he tires himself, standing back upright and sneering at me before stalking off.

It resonates in such an odd, heavy way. An unfairness to it--it makes me bitter. He gets to be a prick to me, and I have no line of defense. No way to complain about the shit he pulls, no matter how small it is. It always just feels like primary school taunting, brought up into adulthood.

It's sad, because I wonder where his life is. Then I realize that this is it. I wonder if he's happy here, because he doesn't seem like a happy person period.

The students work fabulously, discussing the topics at length and filling out paperwork while interacting. Soon enough, I'm filling up a page of quickly written notes, looking around on occasion to take it all in.

Once they wrap up, all the students (except the presidents) pack up their belongings and head off, leaving papers and stickers here and there throughout. I instinctively jump up, going to help tidy up. Both presidents look at me, give me a smile, then look towards Mr. Pitch.

He, as always, looks bitter.

The presidents run off to do whatever they need to get done for dinner, leaving Basilton and I alone in the room. He doesn't pay much attention to me--not until I speak.

“You have quite a lovely classroom,” I say aloud, eyes focused on my moving hands as they collect the scattered markers. “Really. A great room.”

I don't know if he can see me smiling, but I am. A timid, little smile as I settle the markers into the bin they'd started in. In fact, he doesn't even respond before I start speaking again--this time, barely thinking.

“I wish I had this sort of experience when I was young, you know?” It doesn't quite process well the moment I say it, squinting and frowning as I think through the words. He doesn't seem to know what to think of it either, because I'm looking at him like a deer in headlights. He's simply blinking, eyebrows raising again in his classic judgmental posture.

“I-I meant,” I start, going to backtrack. “I'd meant the classroom and all. Never really got all this.” I wave an arm around, then look down dismissively before going to collect my belongings.

I feel his eyes on my back, and I can't help but wondering if they're meant to be of disapproval of me or not.

I finish packing up my belongings before slinging them over my shoulder, glancing in his direction. His face doesn't seem half bitter for a split second, changing to a typical glare as my heart sinks.

“Yes. Well.” He adjusts his cuff sleeves, rolling his shoulders. “I suppose the help is appreciated, but you don't bring anything intellectually stimulating nor useful to me right now.”

“I-I-”

He cuts me off with a sharp upturn of his chin. “So I'd expect you to be leaving now, given I have work to do.”

I helplessly blink at him for a minute, trying to process his words as my hands unintentionally ball up into fists. He stands, unwavering as I glower in frustration. It takes me a second before collecting my thoughts and somewhat managing a less-than rude face. “Fine, yes. I have better things to do than waste time in here.” I tug my bag closer before stomping off, trying not to get terribly worked up as my feet pound against the wooden floors.

It feels like a blur before I'm in the flat--our flat. Our shared flat. The one I live in with that bastard.

Is it my fault for trying to express friendliness? Or his for being emotionally distant? It can't be all me, because I try. Yes, it wasn't all for him--why would it all be for him? Nonono. It was an olive branch that he broke. Not my fault--never my fault there.

Fuck it. I should be blaming him.

If he wasn't so atrociously unfriendly, then this would be a different story, but he's an absolute nightmare. No wonder he sits alone--no wonder nobody wants to be around him. He's a bitter prat with no sense of gratitude or remorse for his terrible personality. If I didn't have to deal with him, I'd feel better immediately.

Maybe I should do that.

Maybe I can get a room transfer, if I beg hard enough.

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men)#p(tcolm)

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lifeinahole27 · 6 years ago

Text

CS ff: “On the Two” (Chapter 9/9) (au)

Summary: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Rating: E

Content Warnings: Borderline alcoholism, very brief mentions of past relationships, mentions of the loss of a limb - this fic is primarily tame but I’ll do my best to tag anything that might need tags.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Mentions of sex.

A/N: I cannot express my full gratitude that you’ve read this whole fic. I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed it and I can’t wait to see what I produce for the next one! Much love and appreciation for all of you reading this! <3

Catch it on FFN & Ao3! Or find the previous chapters here on Tumblr!

There’s something to be said for having a girlfriend who dances. Emma’s definitely agile, and while she’s incredibly fit she’s still soft in all the right places. By now, Killian knows she sleeps in next to nothing and eats junk food as much as possible, with her snacks as fruits and vegetables in order to mislead people into believing she’s some kind of health nut. These are all things he knew before the summer at Camp Hope ended and life after began.

Thankfully, the list of things he knows about Emma just keeps getting longer.

“Not on the one, darling,” he murmurs against her ear, his hand resting on her stomach with her back against his chest. He tenses his fingers momentarily so she chortles in his hold. She’s ticklish, he’s discovered, and has exploited this fact many times over now. And when she’s not on a deadline, it’s so easy to derail any kind of attempt at dance rehearsals.

This studio is different than the one at camp. For one, there’s no issue with the heating and air conditioning, which is good considering it’s been snowing for three and a half days and shows no signs of stopping. But they’re cozy inside the studio space with hours to spare thanks to it being so close to the holidays.

Another difference in the studios is that this one is downstairs from Emma and Ruby’s apartment. The living space had come first, when they’d found the perfect apartment with just the right amount of space and the perfect price tag.

Downstairs, there’d been an empty retail rental big enough to be a studio. It had taken time, and some help from David and Snow (their way of making amends for what they later claimed was a huge oversight in their judgement), but they’re preparing to do a Grand Opening ceremony in two weeks to mark the official start of business. They’ve taken on a few private clients, but soon they’ll have classes and lessons of all kinds. They’ve even found a couple more teachers interested in employment.

With the two women on holiday break from the hotel’s entertainment schedule, Ruby drove up to Storybrooke to spend some time with Granny and Mulan. Already, she’s been able to go see her family and girlfriend more than expected since moving out of Boston.

That leaves the apartment free for Emma and Killian to spend their own time together. Today, with the snow continuing to thwart any plans they may have made, they’re down in the studio. The front of the building is all windows, and looks in at the space where Ruby or Emma will hold classes for groups of people. There are two slightly smaller spaces, however, and one of them is windowless, a line of mirrors against one wall, and a solid door so no one can peek in.

It’s not that anyone would be doing so today, of all days. Again, with the studio closed and the place to themselves, there’s no chance anyone will walk in on them. That’s a good thing, too, when Emma promptly abandons the steps to slide down Killian’s body, taking his sweatpants down as she goes. Thankfully, they’re near enough the wall that he leans forward, bracing his left forearm on the mirrored surface and reaching down to rest his hand on the back of her neck just as she engulfs him in one slick slide.

He had no idea the sex could get better, but he’s never claimed to know everything.

Afterwards, when they’re both satisfied and sprawled on the floor, Emma bundles up one of their shirts for Killian to use as a pillow before resting her cheek on his chest. Her breath ruffles the hair that’s slowly growing back, and he feels the way she smiles as she must notice the same thing. With wispy touches, she traces along his chest, around a nipple, and down his stomach. Her body starts shaking with mirth as Killian groans. It’s been five minutes, and yet his body already wants to start again. She’s brilliant at eliciting such a response from him.

“Darling, we need a bed if you wish to go for another round. And water. I need to rehydrate after that.”

She chuckles out loud this time, lifting herself to a sitting position next to him with one hand resting on his stomach. “Good idea. Maybe some food, too. Oh! D’you wanna make pancakes?”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

She grins, her eyes crinkling up as she does. Her hair is an absolute tangle, the last of the sweat still drying at her temples, but she looks even more beautiful every time he looks at her. “Come on, sailor.” She stands up, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Now, why does this feel awfully familiar? But I seem to remember being fully clothed the first time we did this.”

At mention of their disastrous first meeting, Emma throws her head back and laughs. He smiles as he watches her, taking in the relaxed stance despite her total lack of clothing. He lines up the images in his mind of that first memory of her hovering over him, her face pinched in annoyance, her lips pursed as she tried to coax him off the ground. How long ago that night feels compared to where they are now.

With one more bracing breath, Killian sits up, taking her offered hand and helping to gather their clothes. They’ll clean later, top to bottom, as they did with the camp studio. For now, however, he wants to make her some hot chocolate and help her with the pancakes. They slide on only what’s necessary, and then Killian sends her on her way up the back entrance while he gathers the rest of their discarded clothing. He pauses before he shuts off the lights, looking at the man that stands in the mirror and smiling. If he could go back to May and let his past self in on the secret, he may have been less reluctant to go to camp, even if it all seems surreal.

He never figured dancing would become something he did on the side. To his surprise, Regina had followed through with the offer to sign Killian on as a part-time entertainer, even after she learned that he was a total amateur, taught only in the weeks leading up to their performance. Twice now, he’s danced on their performing nights, once with Emma and once with Ruby. They’ve even started teaching him a few new dances that they’ll start using after the New Year begins so he has more than a single Mambo in his repertoire.

It was all a whirlwind after the summer ended at Camp Hope. He and Emma had a week in the city together before she and Ruby began hunting for a new apartment. He helped any way he could, but mostly he was happy to be able to take Emma out on dates after their initial return. When she officially relocated to Portland, he weighed his options for a couple weeks before deciding it was also time for a change of scenery for him.

But instead of moving to Portland with Emma, he went further. One weekend in October before the hotel job officially began, when she was tied up with planning meetings with Ruby and Regina, Killian drove to Storybrooke. He took David and Snow out to dinner, and informed them he wanted to move to town, and that he’d like to offer his services for maintaining the camp.

It was awkward, at first, with David. Somehow, the entire time they talked, Killian was sure the man was going to forbid him from seeing Emma, like Killian was a suitor for David’s princess daughter, but the demand never came. The dinner helped to smooth over the last rough edges from the incident over the summer, and it helped that they got to see how dedicated he was to helping around the camp – that he intended on staying in Emma’s life.

After seeing what Killian could still do as far as repairs and maintenance to the cabins, the tension eased even further. When the spring hits, Killian will go to camp again to help Marco, their lead wood-worker, to make some renovations. He’s discovered that he works wonderfully with the older man, even if his adult son, August, can be a bit much sometimes.

Killian shakes his thoughts free, finally extinguishing the lights and locking up the studio before jogging up the steps. He heads straight to Emma’s room to drop their clothes and tie on his robe, smiling for what feels like the millionth time today when he sees Emma’s missing from the hook.

The pancakes end up taking a little longer than he or Emma intended, primarily because she looks too tempting in her robe, standing there mixing batter as she hums along to whatever song is playing from the radio in the kitchen. He presses up close behind her, finding a spot just above her ear as he inhales.

“Something smells delicious.”

“I haven’t even started cooking them, yet.”

“I’m not talking about the pancakes,” he says, moving forward to nuzzle the side of her face.

Her smile grows, and she spins around to kiss him, then – fiercely and fondly all in the same move – until she breaks away. Her eyes search his face as her hands rub up to his shoulders and back down.

“What?” There’s something there behind her expression, but she doesn’t look sad or upset, so he knows the answer can’t be bad.

“I’m just… happy. Still surprises me sometimes.”

With a sweeping look of his own, he gives her a small smile. “Aye, love. Me too.”

She leans up, then, kissing him again, letting it quickly morph from a tender moment to one filled with passion. She has him backed up against the table in no time, one hurried “To hell with the pancakes,” thrown out for good measure as she takes control of the kiss. Their robes are pushed off to the side, dropped to the floor like their clothes were earlier, and they truly put the kitchen table to the ultimate test of how much weight and activity can take place on top of it without collapsing.

Killian makes a mental note to thoroughly clean the kitchen when they’re done, as well.

With one kind of appetite filled once more, they finally get down to the business of making their very late second breakfast. The rest of the day is spent on the couch in their pajamas, fuzzy blankets wrapped around the both of them as they catch up on whatever is on her Netflix queue.

It’s been six months since they met, and five since things took a turn for romance, but Killian’s mind wanders away to what comes next. It’s those thoughts of the future that follow him into his dreams, and he wonders what kind of ring Emma might like best.

-x-

“Killian’s going to ask me to marry him,” Emma says quietly into her phone. The screeching response is loud to her own ears, so she’s glad she’s sitting in the living room and far away from the man in question, soundly sleeping in her bed.

It takes Ruby just a couple seconds to calm down again before she starts her line of questions. “Wait, did you talk to him about it? How do you know this?”

“So, Killian talks in his sleep. Not often, and most of the time it’s total nonsense, but I was just dozing off last night when he grabbed my hand and asked me what kind of ring I want him to get. Completely asleep, dead to the world, and he just told me he wants to marry me.”

He never talked when they were sleeping together at the camp. It wasn’t until about a month of actually dating him that he first babbled some words at her as she was waking up to make breakfast at his apartment. Last night was the clearest he’s ever spoken to her in his sleep, though, as if the message defied being garbled by sleep.

Once, the very thought of getting married would cause her chest to constrict in panic. Now, however, she has that feeling you get when you’re trying not to laugh while speaking. As it is, she can’t fight the blissful smile stretching across her whole face.

“And what kind of ring should I tell him to get when he asks?”

“His subconscious has already ruined part of the mystery. Let it be a surprise. I trust you to know what I like.” “And you’re not freaking out?” “You know, I would’ve a couple months ago. Probably right after we slept together I still would’ve run away. But now,” she pauses, trying to think of the best way to describe how she’s feeling. She wants to run, all right, straight down an aisle with Killian waiting for her at the end of it.

“Now it’s just right?” Ruby finishes for her.

“Exactly. Okay. Merry Christmas and all that, in case I don’t talk to you tomorrow. Send my best to Mulan, and tell Granny thanks for the cookies. We have been steadily working our way through them since we opened the package.”

“We already finished ours, honestly. And same to you and Killian. You guys coming up tomorrow or Christmas Day?”

“Tomorrow, as long as the roads are clear. I think the snow was due to stop last night.”

“Good. Drive carefully. Try not to have sex on everything.”

“Too late,” Emma says. Chortling as Ruby starts squawking again on the other line. “Okay, bye!” She ends the call before she gets hearing damage in her ear, still chuckling to herself as she stands up from the ball she’d curled up into on the couch. With a long stretch and yawn, Emma makes her way back to the bedroom where Killian is still sleeping.

She tilts her head as she looks at him from the doorway, his face eased of any expression, his breathing soft and even. His brace and prosthetic are sitting on a shelf she installed especially for him, and his hand rests on the spot she vacated in her need to bubble over with her secret just a bit ago.

Once, Emma found Killian sleeping on the side of a trail, and the thought of that shared memory from the day before makes her snort. The noise causes Killian to stir, and he blinks his eyes open to search for her.

“Coming back t’ bed, love?”

“Yeah, be right there,” she tells him, turning once to go use the bathroom and get a glass of water before she curls up with Killian again. She knows that with the late hours they kept the night before and all their strenuous activity, they’re likely to stay in bed all morning if they can. It is Christmas Eve-Eve, and they have nowhere to be today.

There’s still a nervous flutter in her belly as she climbs back into the bed, back into the sleepy embrace Killian bestows upon her after she’s situated under the covers. She rests with her head on his shoulder, his arm loosely wrapped around her back, and thinks about how much life has changed since this time last year. For one, her bed was definitely empty. And for another, her bed was in Boston, her heart locked away, her future uncertain.

Now she’s snuggled to a man that helped her move this bed into this very room, with her heart next to his, and she’s happier than she ever imagined she could be. And now, apparently, he wants to marry her. It takes a lot of effort to not let the giddy laughter erupt once more, and she focuses instead on the other developments that have taken place to get her mind off the elephant in the unconsciousness.

When she moved to Portland, Emma wasn’t sure what was going to happen with her relationship with Killian. They’d barely made it past a third date before she and Ruby signed a lease for this place, so there was a lot she and Killian hadn’t been able to discuss yet. She knew she loved him, and that he loved her. And that alone was a shock, still. Of all things Emma was expecting from camp this year, falling in love in such a short period of time was not one of them.

Though they hadn’t been together long, that didn’t make Emma any less sure of her emotions. She kind of figured when she was willing to invite him to her cabin that night after their performance that it had to be something bigger than a one night stand.

And then came the end of camp. Killian and Liam both stuck around after all the guests checked out to help out any way they could. Killian explained later that he felt he owed it to David and Snow for not decking him on the spot, and he wanted to give them back something for all they gave to him. Even after the studio was cleaned and locked up for the season, and her car packed to the brim with all their gear, he still stuck around.

There were several jobs that Killian was perfectly fit for, given his background in building things, and he helped Leroy make some repairs, helped Marco fix up some of the furniture in a cabin where he hadn’t had time to update it yet, and he helped David with anything the man even hinted at needing help with. Sure, they snarked their way through any and every job they did together, but Emma could see at the end of their clean-up week that David was fighting smiles when Killian made a joke.

When she moved, Killian took the initiative to go make solid amends with her brother and sister-in-law. She was busy with rehearsals for an upcoming show at the hotel, but Killian assured her he would be fine, that he would backtrack and spend the night in Portland with her after dinner was completed. It was still nerve-wracking to wait around for news of that dinner, however. Almost worse than waiting for Regina when she and Ruby went to sign their contracts.

Of course, he surprised her in the best way possible when he told her he was moving to Storybrooke.

“I don’t ever want to make you choose between visiting me, and visiting your family. So I’m moving to where they are. David and Snow have even offered to lease out their old loft to me until I find a place of my own.”

The loft was a first home on their own for all of them, at one point or another. After Ruth passed away and David and Snow moved out to her old farmhouse, no one could see fit to let go of the apartment, so they sublet it during the summer months and kept it, just in case. And now, full circle, Killian was living in it. Because they hadn’t really talked about the future or what comes next between them, he’s just been nestled there until further notice.

It does make it really handy when she has a week off and she can hop up to see the Nolans. She stays with Killian and gets to see everyone for days on end, which is just about the most settled she’s felt since Ruth first took her in.

Killian mumbles in his sleep, turning to press his nose against her forehead, barely kissing the skin before he falls back to sleep once more. Emma wonders if they ever truly relaxed at camp, given how much more comfortable they seem to be now that it’s all said and done. Not that it really matters, since it all worked out, but she wonders what she would’ve done had her family truly banished her. She wouldn’t have let them. She shouldn’t have left like she did – especially without giving Killian a way to contact her – but she would’ve made sure it all worked out this way no matter what.

Her boyfriend’s budding friendship with her family is all just a bonus. As is her own slow-building relationship with Liam. Just as Killian experienced pushback with David, Emma had some problems getting along with Liam right off the bat. She’s pretty sure he was just looking out for Killian, but it took a heated conversation to turn it around. He’d been touting how he waited to start courting Tink until after camp was finished and they had time to get to know each other.

In one instance, it was a lovely lunch at Killian’s apartment in Boston right after she moved to Portland. In the next, the brothers were angrily talking over one another about morals and propriety and she thinks there was something about disrespect? She lost track quickly. She just remembers standing up between the two of them and telling them to both shut the hell up so they could talk it out like adults or take it out back like children.

It took some extra rum and whiskey, and another beer for her, but they hashed it all out that night. Liam is, as she guessed, incredibly protective of his younger brother. And changes had taken place really fast in their lives. She was the force that was taking Killian away from Liam, though she didn’t know that at the time. When Killian moved, she made a promise to Liam that she would keep on Killian to call and FaceTime with his brother, but she’s never had to remind him once in the last couple months.

It helps that Liam comes up to Storybrooke once or twice a month on the weekends to visit Tink, so that the brothers don’t ever feel truly separated. And it also helps that Liam has seen the full turn-around in Killian from the beginning of the summer. Now, when Killian has a glass of rum, he stops at one. Full bottles are not a rarity anymore. In fact, since he moved, she’s pretty sure the same bottle of rum has been in his liquor stash.

After spending most of the morning doing absolutely nothing, Emma finally shoos Killian out of bed so she can get her laundry done and pack for the week they’re staying in Storybrooke. He helps by cleaning almost the entire apartment while she works on her task, helping to load up her laundry basket when it’s all done and bring it down the hall to her bedroom.

They make dinner together, a simple meal of spaghetti since there’s nothing left in the fridge. They make hot cocoa again after they’ve cleaned up from their meal, settling on the couch to watch Christmas movies until bedtime. She’s a little sad that the apartment is mostly bare of decorations. They put up a few small ones, but no tree this year.

First, neither she nor Ruby will be home to enjoy it on Christmas day, so what was the point. And second, it didn’t fit in the storage space located outside their door, so Emma reluctantly kept it in Storybrooke this year. So while the urge to decorate simmers in her right this very minute, it’s not like she even can. She tides herself over with a reminder that there will be a tree at David and Snow’s place, and she’ll appreciate that one to the fullest.

The drive up the coast is about what Emma was expecting it would be. Enough of the snow has melted down that it’s not treacherous, but it’s not a quick and easy drive, either. Because of this, they end up arriving at the town line about an hour and a half beyond what they were hoping for.

“We’ll just come straight out to the farmhouse,” Emma says to Snow on the phone.

“No, honey, go to the loft and settle in a bit. We can wait. Dinner’s not for hours, still. We understand.”

Even though she protests one more time that she wants to see them, and sooner rather than later, Snow still insists they go do what they need to at the loft first. Maybe if she wasn’t so tired from the constant vigilance on the trip up, she would’ve caught the note in Snow’s voice letting her know something was up.

But because she is that exhausted from the drive, she’s still completely blown away when Killian shoulders open the door to the apartment and they’re greeted with a puff of warm air and the scent of cinnamon instead of the chilled exterior they were expecting to come back to.

The whole place is decorated like Snow and David used to, with lights hanging from the exposed beams and railing of the loft above. The lamps suspended above the breakfast bar have tinsel wrapped around them, and the lights switched to red and green – something that used to absolutely delight Emma when she used to come over around the holidays. The one winter she was living here, they did the same thing, and that’s probably exactly why they did all this now.

“Surprise!” Snow says as she rounds the tree – Emma’s tree – set up in the corner by the bathroom, placing an ornament and sprucing as she goes. Her sister-in-law beams as she looks at Emma’s wonderment, and she finally remembers to close her mouth and push Killian through the door when David snorts from upstairs.

“We thought we’d give you a true Storybrooke welcome,” her brother says as he comes down the stairs, grabbing Emma’s suitcase and moving it to the side so he can shut the door behind the two of them. He helps Emma with her coat, taking Killian’s as well and hanging them on the hooks by the door. Only then does Emma remember how to function, to slip off her snow boots and take off her hat and gloves, stashing them in the appropriate places, only vaguely aware of Killian doing the same beside her.

After that, her only goal is to hug David and Snow. She starts with her brother, as he’s closest, and then to Snow who is painstakingly placing tinsel on the tree, making sure each and every strand looks perfect. “We were going to wait,” Snow explains, opening her arms and accepting the tight hug Emma gives her. “But we also wanted to surprise you once the drive kept getting longer and longer. We had plenty of time.”

There are even two stockings hung from screws in the brick wall, hung with twine so they rest just at the height they’d be at if there was a fireplace and mantel here. Hers is old and worn – the one that Ruth made for her when she first came to live with the Nolans – but Emma can see that the purple thread that spells her name has been refreshed with some glittery yarn accents. And now, one adorned with Killian’s name hangs next to it. She sees that he’s finally moved, as well, his fingers gliding along the delicately embroidered red.

“Look inside,” Snow urges, going to stand with David as the other two stand in awe of their stockings.

Killian casts one glance Emma’s way, lifting his eyebrow in question and she shrugs in response. In unison, they reach into the stockings and pull out small items wrapped in tissue paper. The item from hers feels like fragility, and she’s not mistaken when she unwraps the milky glass of a hand-blown ornament shaped like a swan. It’s likely by someone in town, and Emma makes a mental note to ask who so she can thank them in person, but her gaze is caught by Killian’s ornament.

It’s clearly one made by Marco, the handcrafted carving too detailed and precise to be done by anyone else, and she thinks it’s just a tall ship until Killian laughs once, finding the little pirate flag attached. Clearly, Marco had wheedled Killian’s love of ships and pirates out of her boyfriend at some point during their work together. She imagines he must’ve spent weeks working on this one ornament and adds a second trip to their thank-you-tour for the days following Christmas.

“Thank you,” Emma says as she turns to David and Snow. “For all of this.” She gestures to the apartment in whole, from tree to lights to stockings.

“We just thought it would be nice for your first Christmas back to feel as close to home as possible.”

She just barely stops herself from crying, but it’s a close thing. And now, with the ornaments, it’s not just Emma’s first Christmas, but both of theirs.

That night, Emma watches the lights stretch and twinkle as her eyes grow heavy. She and Killian are wrapped around each other, the blankets tightly tucked around them to keep out the December chill. She stares at everything they kept lit, watching some strands cycle through their programmed flashing and dancing.

Knowing that Killian is likely to ask her a very important question soon, Emma lets herself daydream about what a future with him will look like beyond the new year, or even the next one to come. If she squints just the right way, the loft transforms into somewhere bigger, and theirs. With rooms to fill with decorations and no landlords. She sees little shoes lined up by the ones they would keep at the door, and a little girl balanced on Killian’s feet as they dance together in the living room.

The image is so startlingly clear that Emma almost declares that they start trying right now, but she settles for slowly coaxing Killian back to full wakefulness, initiating lovemaking so sweet that her heart almost bursts with happiness somewhere in the middle, let alone the end that leaves her sweaty and panting and satisfied but craving, as always. He gives her everything she asks for and more, only letting himself chase release when he feels she’s been thoroughly pleased, and he kisses her tenderly after they’ve both cleaned up and crawled back into bed, whispering his love and merry wishes as they both drift off together.

A few days after the most perfect Christmas Emma could’ve ever imagined, she gets roped into making breakfast with Snow while David and Killian go out in search of more hot chocolate packets. When they come back, it might be her imagination but David’s eyes look a little misty. If Snow notices at all, she doesn’t say anything, and David must not share with her over the next couple months, because her sister-in-law is notoriously terrible at keeping secrets.

In the end, Killian hands her a ring of a different kind first, to a grand Victorian that she used to admire every time she drove by it, close to the water and large enough for her own practice space and a workshop for Killian. The other ring comes later, when they’re lying in bed together a year to the date after their first performance. Their future unfolds in the facets and sparkle, in the way Emma says yes after she slides to kneel on the floor in front of him.

Their first dance as husband and wife is definitely not a Mambo.

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #captain swan au #sarah writes ff #cs multichap

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thoseofgreatambition · 7 years ago

Text

ftb bonus

Warnings: anxiety, touch starvation

Wordcount: 5K

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

A/N; Hello! So as we’re moving on in this I’ve realized that I haven’t shown much of the readers past, which is on me. So I’m calling this a bonus chapter but it does stand on its own and could be called a prologue of sorts if you would like. I hope you enjoy! Also I tried a more ‘normal’ style of spacing, so please tell me if y’all like it!

LIAR {PT 1} | 1.9 K

ROSE COLORED {PT 2} | 2.6K

LIAR LIAR {PT 3} | 3.3K

DUTY {PT 4} | 5.3K

BONUS CHAPTER 1 BONUS CHAPTER 2

BONUS CHAPTER | FTB | FERRO

You hadn’t been allowed to see Fred and George for years. Well—your older sister Marie said it was only a week, but to you as a five year old, it felt like an eternity to not see your best friends. No amount of crying or pleading had been able to help, and your father had been all to ready to stay home with you instead of taking you to the burrow to follow through with yours and the twin’s punishments. “This is what you get Y/N—you’ve got to accept punishments when they come. You can’t just go around encouraging the twins like that and getting them into more mischief.” You’d sniffled, tiny hands balled into fists. Tantrums never worked—so you hadn’t bothered throwing one, but that didn’t change the fact that you were a child who wasn’t terribly good at handling emotions like this yet. “We didn’t mean to break anything.” “I know you didn’t.” he’d leant back in his chair and lifted you into his lap, bouncing you on his knee. The details on everything were still a bit fuzzy—but your parents, along with Arthur and Molly knew two things. One—you’d joined in with the twins on a prank, and had urged them on. Two—the Weasley’s garden had almost entirely caught on fire before any adults were able to put it out. So separation was deemed the most appropriate punishment. Apparently the twins were just as miserable as you were. “Sometimes you’re going to do something that winds up being very bad when you don’t mean it to be. When that happens you have to accept what comes, alright? That’s the grown up thing to do, to admit you did something wrong and learn from it. Alright?” That wasn’t something you understood just yet—but you’d nodded anyways. Wasn’t that what you did when your parents told you something new? “When can I see them?” “Tomorrow.” When you perked up your father laughed and pressed a kiss to your temple, “What are you going to do when you see them?” “Say sorry to Aunt Molly.” “And?” At that you paused, not sure how to respond before very tentatively—“No pranks?” “Atta girl.” Soon enough the next day came and went—you’d helped the twins clean out the garden some more, though between three five year olds that hadn’t done a lot of help. All seemed well though at the end of the day. You’d been able to build a fort out of blankets in their room with them, and worked through some of the biscuits that George had managed to knick for you three. Fred’s head wobbled as he tried to stay awake, before finally hugging his rabbit and dozing off. You were fairing a little better, though not by much. “’m tired, Georgie.” “Do you wanna go to sleep? I can get you my blankie.” You nodded and quickly George had crawled out of the fort before coming back in with a tattered baby blanket that you hugged close before lying down next to Fred, George squeezing himself in as well. “’s that better?” “Mmhmm. Thank you.” You grinned at him as he giggled sleepily, the edge of his blanket balled up in his fists while you hugged the other end. “G’night.” “G’night, Y/N.”

“Do you always have to get in trouble like this?” You frowned at your sister, who’d graced your family with her presence now that she’d graduated from Hogwarts and moved to America. Was it possible to think sarcastically? Somehow you’d managed it. After your mother had died your sister had been in Hogwarts already and decided to stay. Now you were onto your fourth year, she’d come back, and your brother was about to start his sixth. Not bad, but it was not fun getting chastised by someone who didn’t know what it was like in America. Your fingers felt cold as your gut began to boil, “Did I miss the point where you became head of the family overnight? They were being rude.” “You can’t get into duels! You’re not even in your fourth year yet! Do you know how hard this will be to sort out?” “Alex got into way more trouble—“ “You are not Alex! And Alex was punished too.” Your lip twitched as you looked up towards her. “He said I was a bitch.” “And he’s an asshole, but that’s not worth going to jail over. Or risking getting kicked out of school.” Your sister crouched down, so she was eye level with you in your chair, “There are ways to handle things like this. You don’t need magic, and you won’t get in trouble for it. But you need to learn to control your temper. No more getting into fights. No more picking arguments. People need to see you act good, you have to do it for the family and it’s going to make things easier for you when you’re older.” “I don’t think I’m very good though.” Your voice was soft, a bit afraid to admit this out loud. “I keep getting mad, Marie. People keep writing things about me and they don’t know me at all—“ your hands wrung themselves together, unable to put it all together. You felt so lonely all the time. You felt like a pretty set of china that was taken out to be used and then put back away. Your family kept talking about duty and being strong but how were you supposed to do either? You were the third in line. The odds of you becoming head of family depended on either your siblings dying or stepping out before having any children. Quite unlikely. Your sisters grip was firm on your hands, and though you’d felt so much resentment for her just a little while ago you couldn’t help but realize that there was no one else besides her and Alex who knew what you were going through. “This is a hard family. It’s going to ask a lot out of you. That’s why you’ve got me and Alex. But we can’t keep you safe from everything, okay? That’s why you need to start listening to us and learning as fast as you can. Do you understand?” You thought you did—you thought that this meant just learning to control your tongue and your wand. That seemed easy. That seemed alright. But it was more complicated than that. It always was.

Your aunt smiled at you as she held an arm around your waist and guided you through the party. “Now I want you to meet the boy I was telling you about.” Brow furrowing, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. “Auntie if I don’t like him—“ “That’s fine! If you don’t hit it off with him that’s okay.” She rubbed your arm a bit, before looking at you with bright eyes, “But you’re getting to be a young lady now. You’re in your fifth year. I just want you to get introduced to some nice young men so you know the kind of people who will get on well with your family.” Something about that didn’t settle right with you, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. Perhaps it was because of the redheaded boy back in England, where you’d spent your last summer. The way he’d passed on your blanket like when you were kids. How he’d seen how cold you were, and hadn’t made you stand up like you were a statue. How you didn’t need to hold your head all the time. George was in England though. He was in Hogwarts. You knew for a fact from Fred’s letter that he’d gone on a date last week. Why hold on? It was fine. You looked towards the young man that your Aunt pointed to, surprised to see someone from one of the French pureblood families you’d met a little whiles ago. He’d been rather kind—and you’d had a good time speaking to him. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad of a thing. Your lips pursed in thought as you felt you aunt rub your arm once more, “If you don’t want to do this it’s fine. I can bring you back to your sister.” At least she seemed to know the people you would get along with, you mused. “No. This is alright.”

“Y/N.” Alex stood at your bedroom door, leaning on the frame—looking at you with an odd amount of sadness that you couldn’t understand. “Are you alright Alex?” Your brow furrowed, as you looked up towards him, this was not the upbeat brother you knew. This was not the man who managed to hold himself with poise no matter what the situation. “I’m going to step out of line. I don’t want to be in the running for head of family.” You blinked, feeling… well, you weren’t sure how to feel. “Alex you’re amazing at this stuff. We’ve been taking lessons for years—“ you’d been taught how to speak French. Taught how to play piano. Taught how to run a business. Taught how to run expenses. Lessons on how to read people and use that to your advantage. You’d spent your whole life being shaped into the perfect heir despite it being unlikely you would, and you knew the training was far more intensive for your brother. “Don’t you ever think about how it could be different, Y/N? About how you could live a normal life? You could hide away and not be photographed anywhere. You could do what you wanted in public. No one would care.” As you stared at him blankly, your brother recognized you didn’t understand him yet. How could you? You were just sixteen. Not yet graduated. The only times the media was intensive on you was during the summer and that was so easy to shield you from. “You’re going to understand it one day.” Your brow furrowed as you bristled, you were starting to get rather sick of hearing that.” “I don’t think I will, Alex.” “Then good for you. It bumps you up to next after Marie. You can get what you want then, and so will I.”

The first time it’d happened, you’d flinched. Fred had looked at you in concern, immediately withdrawing his hand from your head. “Are you alright? Did I tug on your hair?” Quickly he checked his hand. He didn’t think he did but he supposed there was a chance. “No I just wasn’t expecting it.” Fred blinked and stared at you. You’d come to visit after you’d graduated, and was staying at the flat with them above the shop. He and George were sharing his room and you were sleeping in George’s. You’d been telling him about the Quadpot player you’d just broken things off with and how you’d come to get a bit of a break for a month or so. He’d wanted to show he was there for you so instinctively he did what all Weasley’s did. He’d ruffled your hair. “Are you—are you alright?” thinking back on it, you’d gotten much less affectionate in the years since you were children. Long gone were the days where hugs were the norm and being close to people was extended beyond greetings. Even now, when you two were hanging around on a Saturday, you’d held yourself upright as if someone would whip out a camera at any moment. There was no relaxing you. Again, you stared at him blankly. “I’m alright. I feel quite normal.” “So you just don’t like being touched? Aside from your family or—“ well, now probably wasn’t a good time to bring up a boyfriend. What was with the questions? You didn’t get it. “It’s not that I don’t like it, but I don’t get it much. Don’t you just touch people when you’re saying hello or goodbye?” Dumbfounded, Fred shook his head. “Why wouldn’t you touch them more?” “It’s not…” you thought back to it, and after a few moments was able to verbalize things, “Well, if I’m out and someone sees me doing that with others, aside from my family it turns into an ordeal. They’ll think I’m with them. It doesn’t seem terribly worth it.” Fred’s first thought was that this explained why the media had dubbed you ‘An Ice Queen’. His second thought was that it was rather unkind to think of you that way. “I guess I just don’t get it—“ he laughed a bit, trying to make light of the situation. “You and I were raised pretty different, you know?” There was a small nod from you, you certainly didn’t understand. Affection was shown to you by action, not words. Not touches. You knew your family loved you because they were helping you become a healer. You knew that they could tell you felt the way by the hours you spent to help them with their own causes. To do otherwise felt oddly superfluous.

You’d come to England the moment the war was over. The moment you could get away from your family’s grasp. The second you’d gotten George’s letter you’d booked a flight for that night, the expenses be damned. You needed to be there. The burrow was quiet, at three in the morning, and when you apparated in you weren’t sure what else you expected. Your heart felt like it was in your throat and all you could think about were the horrible things you’d read. George’s ear had been cut off and you hadn’t known! Fred had almost been crushed by a wall. There had never been an issue with you being composed, you’d been taught so well to swallow down fear, anger and sadness to turn them into strength and righteous fury to harness power for gain that you’d never had to worry about it. But right now there was nothing to gain and you were painfully aware of how much you could have lost. You heard footsteps, and spun around to see a very worn out George in front of you. Pale and looking like he’d seen so many horrible things since you’d been away. Hands trembling as he stretched them out, a silent invitation that you gladly threw yourself into. Arms tight around him, threading through his hair. Quickly pressing kisses to his cheeks as he stumbled backwards to catch you both. “Are you okay? Georgie are you alright?” You hadn’t used that nickname for him in years, but it was the only one that would come to your lips right now. Your fingerpad traced over his scar where his ear was and you let out a small whimper—“Did that hurt? Does it still hurt? When did it happen?” “Months ago.” His voice was muffled as he pressed his face against your neck, breathing in your scent as he soaked in your presence. He’d been so focused on the war that he’d honestly forgotten about how he felt for a short while, but now it felt like he was going to crush underneath the weight of it all. Desperately, you traced your hands over him—he was shaking so much and you simply wanted to keep him warm. “Are you alright then? How’s Fred? Oh you’re shaking let’s get you to bed—“ “They said he’d be okay.” His grip on you didn’t lighten, and the way you were trying to keep him warm only fueled his ache. He’d been so happy to forget about you when he’d found out you were dating some heir to the Graves fortune. But now there was no forgetting. Really he ought to have been untangling himself from you but everything hurt so much and he was so scared and tired of constantly trying to act well for Fred. “I don’t want to go to bed yet. I want to stay like this for a little while longer.” “Okay.” Your voice was soft, as you returned to petting his hair, shocked by how soft it felt beneath your hands. “We’ll do anything you like, Georgie.” He rubbed circles on your back, soaking up all the warmth you were willing to give him. “Thank you.”

George watched you curiously. It’d been a few months since you’d come to England after the war, and you’d stayed longer to volunteer at St. Mungos and help those who’d been more seriously wounded than Fred. Honestly, he’d been so grateful to have you back. When Fred had gotten out of the hospital you’d visited almost constantly whenever you could to help nurse him back to health. It was wonderful to see you so much. He’d been surprised that your family was letting you be gone for so long but you’d simply laughed at that question. “Georgie—they’re your family too! We grew up together. You used to call my Mum and Dad ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’. The Weasley’s are part of the Y/L/N clan—you ought to remember that.” It’d brought a smile to his face. This did not. He was used to the way you carried yourself. The way you stood up straight, the way you moved so gracefully that even your hands seemed that way. So it was quite odd to see you doing the same with someone who was dating you. Jack. George hadn’t wanted to like him. He’d expressed his distaste to Fred that he’d be coming over to visit you, but now he’d found himself getting along much better than he would have liked with the man. It was stunning really. Jack carried himself a lot like you did—spine straight, an easy but careful smile on his face. A remark that was crafted to make everyone laugh. Oddly though he still seemed quite genuine. He’d asked George for some funny stories about you as kids. He’d laughed heartily when George had said that you’d once set the garden on fire. He’d thanked Molly very dearly for the meal she’d invited him to and come with a bottle of wine and flowers as a thank you. Jack was a good man. George was a little annoyed by it to be honest, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t starting to consider Jack a friend. Which made him feel very guilty about the fact he was in love with you. Very guilty indeed. As a result he’d kept a fair distance, careful to only show you as much affection as Fred did. Fred wasn’t the one in love after all, and whatever amount he did would be fine. So when Jack left Fred and George’s flat that night, giving you a rather rote peck on the cheek goodbye before apparating away, George couldn’t help himself. “He’s a good guy— I’m glad you met him.” You’d smiled a bit at that, though it wasn’t very wide. Almost as if someone had told you the weather would be pleasant tomorrow. “I’m glad you two get along. My Aunt’s really happy that I’m with him.” “I can see why.” George grinned at you, as the record Fred had set up before going to bed played a slower song. “C’mon miss princess. Show me how to dance.” You’d laughed, and the smile on your face seemed easier and more genuine as you strode over to him and placed one hand on his shoulder and took his other up. “Shouldn’t you already know how to do this? You’re 21 years old.” “Mmm, not all of us go to balls all the time, you know.” You shook your head, smiling until George had asked what seemed like a rather innocent question. “So do you love him?” Was it wrong for him to ask that? George simply wanted to know if he ought to just give up and move on. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand if that was supposed to be the case. “My family loves him. We get on well. Agree on almost everything. I’ve gotten to be really close to him the past few months, and it’s gone smoothly even though we’ve been apart.” It’d been ideal actually, even being separated from Jack hadn’t been too much of a bother. The letters had been more than enough. George’s brow furrowed, “But do you love him?” “Isn’t that love?” He froze, your movements ceasing, “That’s not love… Love’s wanting to be near eachother, it’s kisses and saying kind words. You can’t just get along. I mean that’s really important it’s what that’s built on but—there’s got to be more, Y/N.” You stared up at him, unable to deny two things. One, that sounded more amazing than anything else you’d ever heard. Two, the person you wanted that from and felt that for was George. You swallowed thickly, more than a bit confused. “That doesn’t make for a good match though—“ you felt quite defensive about your choices right now, unsettled as the realization you were in love with George came crashing upon you. “Is making your family happy all that matters then?” that sounded terribly sad to George, and it made the ache in his chest double. “Do you not want that?” “Just because I want something doesn’t make it important. I mean I wanted to keep being a healer but when I’ll be done with that when I get back to America.” “Y/N—if you want love there’s plenty of people who’d be lucky to give it to you. You’re too wonderful not to get it if you want it.” He watched as your expression changed from confusion to dread and understanding as you figured out what his words meant. George was in love with you. Quickly you stepped back, and flattened out your clothes. Your calculating self quickly returned, and the warmth in the room began to fade. You would not lend him any more of your warmth. You were a lot of things. You were dignified. You were strong. You were determined. You were proud. You’d been called many different names. Princess. Birdie. Ice Queen. There’d been one scathing article after you’d performed what could only be described as a morally grey political move, a ‘Pit Viper’. However you were not a cheater. You were loyal. You knew the value of hanging to those close to you and what dedication truly meant. Sure you weren’t in love with Jack—but you’d be damned if you began to cling to someone else when you were dating him. “I’m going to leave now, George.” “Y/N I’m sorry—“ Your lip twitched, and you felt sadness that was becoming all too familiar to you well up in your throat. So much of your life had been spent scrounging for kindness and affection and making peace with the kind that your world allowed you. It’d been so nice, the couple of months you were here to get it so freely and frequently that you weren’t surprised by it anymore. That couldn’t be the case now though. The kind thing to do would be to tell George it was alright. That things were fine. However you were human, and you didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to say it was fine when in less than three minutes he’d revealed just how happy you could be if things were different. He looked like he was waiting for you to give him that peace of mind, but you couldn’t. Couldn’t excuse him for this. With a silent nod, you apparated away, back to the Nest where you’d grown up and Jack was waiting for you.

Jack’s idea of love was the same was yours used to be. Someone who you could spend your life with amicably. Someone you got along with. Someone your family was pleased with. No surprises needed. Just someone who you could raise your own family with and be content. So this was confusing, you tapping your foot on the ground as you sat much closer to him than you usually did, aside from when you two had relations. That didn’t seem likely at the moment though. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” How was this happening? You’d been so fine with how things were before but now you kept aching for warmth. Stealing it from others wasn’t cutting it anymore. You wanted that easy affection that came when you were in England. Those friends of yours who showed how they cared through soft touches that were instinctual. “I’m not happy, Jack. I want to be in an affectionate relationship.” He stared at you blankly, as if you were speaking a foreign language to him. “Am I doing something wrong then?” He’d been loyal, he’d helped you when you asked for it. He’d taken you to nice places and did his best to bring you things randomly that you might like. That had always been affection to him. “No just—you’ve seen how other people are right? How they hold hands and kiss each other all the time.” He reached out and set his hand atop yours, not sure what all of this was about. It was warm, and soft, but he couldn’t really say he was getting much from it. “Like this then?” Jack was trying. You saw that. However you also saw that even if you continued on this route that it would never be what you wanted. It wouldn’t be the easy type of love that you hoped for. “No. Not like this.” You gently took your hand away and Jack realized that he no longer understood you.

The media had a field day when they’d found out you’d broken up with Jack. It had been a veritable circus. There’d been so much speculation that you didn’t want to go outside anymore. People wanted to know how the perfect power couple could break apart so suddenly and you didn’t want to admit it was because of you. Because you’d come to realize that you couldn’t be as happy as you thought your life could make you. So you’d come to England. Fled there really—written a short letter to George and Fred, they’d certainly already read about it but despite everything they were still your closest friends. Though things with Fred had gotten more tense than they were before. George couldn’t help himself from coming to visit as soon as you’d landed. He’d found you standing in the middle of your childhood home’s living room—surprisingly put together for someone who’d been on a twelve hour flight and had only had time to shower. He was fairly certain it was the way you held yourself, as if you were ready to give a proper speech in front of a waiting crowd. George stared at you with what you recognized as pity, though refused to acknowledge. “Do you know why my family always has at least two children, no matter what?" "Why?” his voice was soft as he stared at you– as you stood in the middle of your living room. White walled. White marble on the floor. Icy blue furniture. The moonlight sucking up what little warmth there would have been. “You’ve got the heir. And then you’ve got the spare." His brow furrowed, "You’re the third born." You shrugged, seemingly undisturbed by all of this– it was your life. It was your reality. You were going to make the best of it all. "Anything past the second is the worst case scenario." His hand twitched to reach out and hold you, but as you finally looked back at him he realized that it wasn’t the moon that had sucked up the warmth in the room, but you yourself. Without touch how were you to keep warm? "I’m not here to wallow. I didn’t leave for England because I was scared or because I wanted to run away. I came here for myself. I came to be more than the third born. I’ll make the best of things, and I won’t take pity, George." He toed a strange line between intimidated and inspired, and it was all George could do to nod. You were glowing. You were lit from a fire within. You’d told him once when you were little that your family’s motto once translated to English was ‘Fire and Iron’. Now he could see why. “About Jack—“ You’d let out a small snort of laughter, amused that he thought that was important right now. “Let the past be the past. I don’t know as much as I thought I did.” At that he took a step towards you, ready to defend you from yourself if need be. “You are plenty smart—“ The smile that came to your lips was impossible to contained, touched that he was still so keen to protect you even after all that had happened. It made you want to return the favor all the more. You weren’t ready for him yet, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t start to be more careful and aware of how you were around him. George deserved someone like that. You thought back to the time you’d egged on the twins and wound up setting the garden on fire. To when your sister had chastised you for getting into a duel. To when your brother had resigned. You had never understood when those things had happened, had been confused when you realized you didn’t know what you thought you did. You didn’t want to keep being that person. You wanted to open yourself up to being wrong. Couldn’t you do that? Couldn’t you allow yourself to do something that people might not like? “Smart people are wrong all the time Georgie.”

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#george weasley #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #fic: for the birds #my writing #my imagines

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malenkaya-glosoli · 8 years ago

Text

Autism traits I recognise in myself and my hopes for my future

As some of you know, I am autistic (specifically Aspergers syndrome, now commonly called ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder)).

Sources:

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/156046771536/possible-traits-of-aspergers-in-females

http://malenkaya-glosoli.tumblr.com/post/157169210436/asd-traits-checklist

https://everydayaspie.wordpress.com/2016/05/02/females-with-aspergers-syndrome-checklist-by-samantha-craft/

Here are some traits I recognise in myself (might/will repeat some)

1. Difficulty with mathematics

2. Difficulty reading clocks and telling time (unless it’s a digital clock)

3. Spends long periods of time researching a special interest and categorizing information on a special interest

4. Superior long-term memory, weaker short-term memory

5. Prefers to be self-taught and direct learning

6. Intense interest in literature and writing, may have taught self how to read before formal education

7. Deep thinker, curious

8. Highly creative and imaginative, drawn to art and writing

9. Odd gait or posture… drag and shuffle feet…

10. Learning to ride a bike or drive a car can be difficult due to lack of necessary skills

11. May cry, scream, become snappy/irritated/impatient

12. Dislikes physical contact with people, resists hugging/kissing

13. Physical stimming (rocking, foot tapping, hand flapping, leg bouncing, eyelash and eyebrow plucking)

14. Auditory stimming (listening to music)

15. Prefers comfortable clothes over stylish clothes

16. May speak in a monotone voice, with an accent (a little and occasionally), or too loud or too softly

17. May be unaware of boundaries and personal space

18. Clings to one or two friends, prefers to have a small friend group

19. Dislikes and avoids eye contact

20. Tendency to over-share

21. Difficulty understanding what is and isn’t considered “socially acceptable”, may be blunt and considered “offensive” or “rude” (and “selfish”)

22. Difficulty knowing when to speak, may interrupt

23. Escapes through imagination

24. Overwhelming, intense emotions

25. Easily distracted, gets “lost in thoughts”

26. Fantasy brings comfort and relief

27. May be fascinated by words or song lyrics.

28. Tend to say what they mean. Are often brutally honest, coming off as rude when they do not mean to be.

29. Sense of humor sometimes seems quirky, odd, or different from others.

30. Often gets lost in own thoughts and zones out

31. Finds comfort in escaping through imagination, fantasy, and daydreaming.

32. Escapism frequently used to relax ...

33. May frequently reject or question social norms. (in my head)

34. May accidently dominate conversation at times.

35. Often struggles with and is confused by the unwritten social rules of accurate eye contact, tone of voice, proximity of body, stance, and posture in conversation.

36. May have difficulty regulating voice volume to different situations. Is frequently observed as being either too loud or too quiet.

37. May have a tendency to over-share with friends and sometimes strangers

38. May take criticism and judgement very personally

39. Executive function is often a challenge

40. May outwardly appear to have little investment in hygiene, clothes, or appearance, often prefers fast and easy methods of style.

41. Clothing style is likely more focused on comfort and practicality, especially in the case of sensory issues.

42. May possess a youthful appearance and/or voice. (If you ask me, I have the height of a six to seven year old child and the voice of an eleven to twelve year old child with the physical appearance of a twelve year old despite nearing the end of adolescence)

43. Often needs a large amount of down time or alone time.

44. Often holds great compassion for suffering.

45. Will not spend much time on grooming and hair.

46. Usually happiest at home

47. Often musical, artistic (no pun intended, ha!)

48. May be a self-taught reader, been hyperlexic as a child

49. Highly intelligent, yet sometimes can be slow to comprehend due to sensory and cognitive processing issues

50. Emotionally immature (I actually can’t bear that word if it’s being used about me :s ) and emotionally sensitive

51. More open to talking about feelings and emotional issues

52. Moody

53. Hates injustice and hates to be misunderstood; this can incite anger and rage

54. Perceived to be cold-natured and self-centered

55. Is very outspoken at times, may get very fired up when talking about passions

56. A deep thinker

57. A prolific writer drawn to poetry

58. Analyzes existence, the meaning of life, and everything, continually

59. Feelings of confusion and being overwhelmed

60. Feelings of isolation

61. Escapes through a relationship (imagined or real) (In my case, imagined)

62. Comes across at times as narcissistic and controlling

63. Holds a lot of thoughts, ideas, and feelings inside

64. Takes criticism to heart

65. Longs to be seen, heard, and understood

66. Feels significantly younger on the inside than on the outside

67. Trouble identifying feelings unless they are extreme

68. Personal feelings of anger, outrage, deep love, fear, giddiness, and anticipation seem to be easier to identify than emotions of joy, satisfaction, calmness, and serenity

69. Likes to know word origins ... (I once made a list of similar words in Germanic languages and am currently developing a list of similarities and/or loanwords between Bulgarian, Macedonian, and Serbian with their Turkic, Indic, Iranian, and other counterparts and I am very excited about it; and also I can read and write in the Cyrillic alphabet (more often than not I use it for when I write in the Bulgarian language))

EDIT 6-16-17 (trigger warning for functioning labels and NT speak in the links and an ableist incident mentioned in the list):

sources

http://bitterautistic.tumblr.com/post/155772259419/not-so-commonly-talked-aboutatypical-autism

https://everydayaspergers.com/2012/03/31/day-62-females-with-aspergers-syndrome-nonofficial-checklist/

http://www.myaspergerschild.com/2013/04/list-of-symptoms-for-high-functioning.html

70. Embarrassed by peers/actions of peers (only when toilet humour, which I am not at all fond of, is involved)

71. Double jointedness (I can twist my arm around without breaking it)

72. Strong sense of things being either right or wrong

73. Interested in social change / extremely upset by injustice

74. High sense of intuition

75. Not caring or noticing about hygiene until it is pointed out (and even then I don’t care much)

76. Dislikes words and events that hurt people and animals

77. Resists change in the environment (for me, of objects being replaced without my prior knowledge or consent, even if said object or objects belong to someone else. On one occasion I was yelled at and, despite my age, threatened with corporal punishment for trying to do something about a lamp I was used to seeing getting replaced)

78. Apparent lack of concern for personal hygiene (hair, teeth, body odor)

79. Resistance to being held or touched (only developed this during the past year or two)

80. Tends to get too close when speaking to someone (lack of personal space; only when i was younger, for the most part)

EDIT 7-6-17

sources

https://strangerdarkerbetter.com/2016/11/16/positively-autistic-a-list-of-positive-autistic-traits/

https://strangerdarkerbetter.com/2017/03/28/dsm-criteria-for-autism-explained/

https://autisticality.com/2016/03/21/inclusive-autistic-traits/

http://what-is-stimming.org/

81. Knows physical boundaries and is willing to assert these boundaries regardless of social norms

82. Prefers one on one or small group interaction to large groups

83. Finds ease of communication with other neurodivergent people

84. Values honesty over social norms (especially when it comes to me wanting to stim visibly in public or not wanting to look like a girly girl, I’m more a sweats, T shirts, and shorts kind of person)

85. Has very high levels of empathy, especially for animals

86. Values time alone to reflect and relax as a part of self-care

87. Tends to develop better friendships with other autistic people or otherwise neurodivergent people

88. Highly passionate about subject of special interest/s and can speak endlessly about these topics

89. Has an impressive vocabulary that includes words that are not in common use

90. Grows very passionate and invested in objects, ideas, or desires that become special interests

91. Stims to soothe the senses

92. Makes use of quotes from movies, books, or video games to convey meaning in conversation (only sometimes, usually only in my thoughts, to myself, or in my diaries)

93. May be averse to eye contact

94. May speak too loudly or too quietly for a situation

95. May express emotions that do not fit a situation (laughing or smiling when something sad has happened)

96. May make friends outside of age range (I mostly prefer other teenagers and adults)

97. May prefer solitary activities

98. May prefer to interact with a select group of people

99. Repetitive vocalisations such as humming, squealing, or other noises

100. Repetitive questioning about a specific subject

101. Intense reactions to small changes (I usually don’t even say anything and I just go about putting things back where they were)

102. Black and white thinking (something is all good or all bad with no area in between) (but I do have my “never mind” moments)

103. May have a strong tendency to notice details before or instead of the “big picture”

104. My stims: Attempt to tap my fingers to the tune of whatever is stuck in my head, bite my fingernails, bite on the little bits of skin on my chapped lips, bite the skin around my fingernails, blow spit bubbles, bounce my knee, chew the insides of my cheeks, clean my teeth with a fingernail, crack my knuckles, crack my toes, crack my wrists, jump up and down, listen to a song over and over, pace the floor like crazy when I'm on the phone, pick at my acne, pick at my eyebrows, pick my nose, play the same song over and over, pluck my eyelashes, pull out my eyebrows, pull out my eyelashes, randomly hum a song, read things online, rock back and forth while sitting, scratch my scalp, sing in the shower, suck my thumb, write lists, write in the air, draw in the air, read magazines (sometimes)

#autism #how autism affects my life #i know exactly how it feels

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