#anyway why am i still on a post that makes me angry bye | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kybabi · 4 years ago

Note

sorry, i didn't realize i submitted it as a post. it's okay if ure not comfy w/ characters death! i also love some angst to fluff fic, so injury fic is all good, thank you in advance!🥺

reacting to their s/o getting injured after an argument

w/ sakusa, suna, and atsumu

(a/n: LOL BYE i feel like i write for the same people every time ugh someone take my phone away

anyways thank you for requesting; i was happy to write for this prompt! i lowkey hated the way i wrote it, but i hope this is somewhat ok💘)

sakusa

you and sakusa were.. disagreeing on some things

“so what, am i just supposed be okay not being a priority in your life?”

“why are you being so dramatic? that’s not true at all, and you know it.”

often times it felt like you were putting way more into your relationship with him than he was

when he started calling you insecure and pathetic, you decided you were done

you couldn’t look at him for the time being

so you left, angry tears in your eyes

you got in your car and began driving aimlessly, distracted and hurt

the streets were slick with sleet and you didn’t notice the car coming toward you

you panicked, swerving sharply, but ended up colliding with the vehicle

and that was the last thing you remembered

sakusa sighs as you slam the door, putting his face in his hands.

he knows he shouldn’t have called you those things. he didn’t mean them at all, and really, you were right. your relationship was important to him, but he hadn’t been treating you the way he should’ve.

he takes out his phone and texts you.

please come back. i didn’t mean what i said.

at receiving no response, he calls you. you don’t pick up. he calls you again, and the same thing happens.

he exhales, frustrated. but he figures you’ll come back to him.

he waits a few more hours. it’s 5 pm.

7 pm rolls around, and he’s getting anxious.

at 10 pm, he’s worried. could his words really hurt you this bad? so bad that you haven’t come home for hours?

at 11, he finally receives a call, sighing disappointedly at finding its not your number, but answers it anyway.

“hello?”

“hi, is this sakusa kiyoomi?”

he pauses.

“...yes? who is this?”

“hi sir, we wanted to notify you of an accident that occurred a few hours ago. l/n y/n was caught in a collision with another vehicle and suffered a few injuries that were just treated.”

sakusa freezes, heart stopping in his chest.

“what?” he whispers, voice small.

“you were on her emergency contact list, so we called you. if you’d like to visit her, she just came out of surgery.”

he doesn’t hear the rest of what the person on the other side is saying, because his pulse is racing and he’s pulling his shoes and coat on, halfway out the door.

he runs to his car, heart beating rapidly, and drives to the hospital quickly. he can’t even think straight.

when he finally arrives, quickly finding your room. he freezes, stomach dropping.

you’re still unconscious, and there are cuts on your face. parts of your arms are bruised.

he sits in the chair next to your bed, and forces himself to take a deep breath. he focuses on your chest, rising with every breath, and prays that it won’t stop.

“omi?” you whisper, a few hours later. he looks up, eyes wide, and pulls you into him, gently cradling your head and kissing your hair. he’s trembling softly, and your heart squeezes painfully.

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers, refusing to let go. “i’m so sorry for what i said to you. you mean so much to me.”

you begin to cry, digging your face into him and sobbing. you breathe him in, his fresh, warm scent smelling like home. you’re overwhelmed and emotional and so, so happy he came to see you.

the two of you stay like that for a while, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips in between moments.

“you really hate hospitals, don’t you, omi?” you whisper. this makes him laugh, the sound boyish and sweet.

“yeah. but when you’re here with me, maybe they aren’t so bad.”

suna

being in a relationship with suna was emotionally draining sometimes

it felt like you were the only person opening up and sharing their emotions with the other

but suna just didn’t feel that it was that important

and when you wouldn’t stop nagging him about it, he got fed up

“can you just leave me alone about this? stop being so emotional, it’s annoying.”

“whatever. i guess i’ll just leave, then.”

“yeah, do us both a favor.”

so you did

it was dark outside, but you needed air, so you went on a much needed walk

you walked on the street, as there were no cars around

as you turned the corner, you didn’t realize there was a car turning there, and by the time you saw it, it was too late

suna’s laying in bed, the guilt that had begun creeping into him the moment you left now triple the size.

he knows he needs to work on being open with you. it’s not your fault that you want that, and he shouldn’t have taken it out on you.

so he waits for you to come home, apology already resting on his lips.

but you never do.

it’s been a couple hours since you left, and you’re still not back yet.

he fidgets anxiously.

his phone rings, and he picks it up immediately, relieved. the relief disappears when he realizes it’s not you, and he answers, annoyed.

“what?” he grits out.

“i’m sorry, is this suna rintarou?”

“yes?”

“right. i’m calling to notify you of an accident that involved l/n y/n and a vehicle a few hours ago. we are notifying you as you are listed as their emergency contact.”

suna’s heart stops. what?

“luckily, there was no internal bleeding, just bruising. y/n was not operated on, but they are still unconscious. if you’d like to visit, you may.”

he hangs up.

his hands are numb, shock rushing through his nerves and making it hard to breathe. as he grabs his jacket and keys and heads out, he feels numb.

when he finally reaches the hospital, he calmly asks for your room number, and he’s escorted to your room.

it’s only when he finally sees you that the shock leaves his body, and his heart begins beating rapidly in his chest. tears prick at his eyes at the sight of you, laying in bed unconsciously.

he approaches your bed and thumbs at your cheek, brushing your hair out of your face.

“oh, baby,” he whispers sadly.

your eyelashes flutter against his thumb, and his eyes widen.

“rin?” you mumble, eyes opening slowly.

he sighs, relief flooding his senses, and he rests his forehead against you, hands coming up to cup your jaw. he pressed a kiss against your lips, warm and firm and sweet.

“you’re okay. god, you’re okay,” he whispers, voice shaky with raw emotion. the vulnerability startles you, and you look up to see his eyes brimming with tears.

“rin,” you whisper, hand coming up to caress his cheek. he grabs your wrist and keeps your hand pressed flush against him, afraid to let go.

“i’m so sorry, baby. i’m sorry, i’m sorry...” he mutters, repeating the phrase over and over. the sight breaks your heart.

“hey, i’m okay, baby. alright? everything is gonna be okay,” you reassure him, and he pulls you in tightly.

“i love you so much. you know that?”

“i know, rin. i know.”

and as you stay holding each other like this, you know the two of you will be okay.

atsumu

“do you even love me anymore?!”

“what the fuck are you talking about, y/n? why would you even say that?”

atsumu had been distant lately

he had been consumed with work, and you wondered if he even wanted to be with you

but your obsession with this notion irritated him, and quickly became annoying

“if you’re just going to be insecure, you can get out. i don’t want to deal with you when you’re like this.”

you just scoffed and grabbed your things, slamming the door on the way out

but as you began to walk away, tears began to flood your vision, and sobs wracked your body

while you didn’t want to admit it, you were immensely hurt

you were just insecure and it felt like you weren’t even worthy of atsumu’s love

you couldn’t stop hyperventilating, panic taking over and flooding your senses

you couldn’t breathe, and you begun feeling lightheaded

and that’s the last thing you remembered

a couple minutes after you leave, atsumu sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

he really hadn’t meant to send you away. he knows you’re just hurt and that he’s been too busy for you, but he just got fed up and lashed out at you. but now you’re gone, and he feels terrible.

he decides he’ll wait for you to come back home so he can apologize and make it up to you. he knows he has a lot to make up for.

but when you don’t return home for hours, he begins to get worried.

every time the two of you have fought, you’ve always come back after a little while. but you’re not returning his messages or calls, and you’ve been gone for too long.

he paces anxiously until his phone rings, and he looks at it hopefully. he sighs. it’s osamu.

“hell—”

“TSUMU!”

he pauses.

“what?”

“what do you mean, ‘what?’ what the fuck is wrong with you?”

atsumu stares at his phone, confused, and a little nervous.

“samu, i don’t underst—”

“y/n passed out in the cold, and from the looks of it, they’ve been lying out here for hours!” he yells into the phone. atsumu freezes.

“what?”

“how could you just leave them out here? what the hell is wrong with you?” osamu repeats, scolding him.

still in shock, eyes wide, atsumu stares at the phone.

“stupid fuckin’ idiot. i’m bringing y/n back to your house, since you were too dumb to notice they were hurt,” he mutters before hanging up.

just a few seconds later, the door opens, and osamu’s carrying you in his arms. atsumu gets up, running over to see you, and scoops you into his arms. you’re abnormally cold, pulse slow and face pale. his heart sinks, breaking into two at seeing you look so lifeless. this is his fault.

he puts you down on the couch and attempts to warm you up, placing his hands on your face.

“tsumu, what even happened?” osamu mumbles.

atsumu sighs guiltily.

“we had a fight. i told them to leave. i didn’t.. i didn’t think—”

“well no shit, you didn’t think,” osamu berates him. the two of them look at you, and there’s still no movement from you. “look, i gotta go,” he mutters. at the door, he turns back around. “hey, atsumu. be better next time.”

and as atsumu looks at you, cold and unconscious, he knows his brother is right.

he rests his forehead on yours as his eyes begin to fill up with tears.

“oh god, y/n. i’m so sorry,” he whispers guiltily. “please wake up. i shouldn’t have sent you away. i need you.”

at that, you stir gently, shivering. atsumu opens his eyes, hope and relief flooding him immediately, and he pulls away.

“y/n?” he whispers.

“c-cold,” you mumble. he scoops you off the couch and carries you to the bedroom, getting under the covers with you and pulling you into his chest. you seem to relax at that.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” atsumu mutters, rocking you gently.

“just wanted you to come back to me,” you whisper. his heart breaks, again.

“i’m here baby, okay? i’ve got you now,” he mumbles, refusing to let go. you nod into his chest.

“promise me you won’t leave me again?”

“i promise.”

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ghosttrolls · 3 years ago

Text

My Ghost, My Son

After taking literally forever to write this, it’s done!! A few people have asked me to tag them when I finished it so here @horrendoushag @narwhalsarefalling @amabsis @imdeadtiredtm

This is posted to AO3 and FFN! I’ll post the first part here under a readmore but please follow the links to read the full thing! Thank you

One

Maddie thought he looked so familiar.

She hunted ghosts for a living, her inventions paying for her work - her and her husband Jack’s work - and she made a point of keeping her town safe. Jack was never the best at it, but that was okay. For you to love someone, they don’t have to be good at anything except loving you back. Loving meant working together, to her. And so they worked together. They were the Fentons, after all.

There’d been this ghost that they’d been hunting - Jack called him the “Ghost Kid” - just a young boy, with white hair and a black jumpsuit. When he got angry, his eyes flashed green, and you knew you were in for trouble. He’d caused so much damage and distress over fights he’d pick with other, always larger ghosts. Maddie and Jack had both assessed it as just petty ghost squabbles. The kid was very argumentative. Jack wanted to study the ghost, take it apart. Maddie wasn’t sure exactly why. She meant to ask, but didn’t want to know.

The thing about ghosts is that no matter how much time passes, they don’t age the same way that humans do. Most of the ghosts they’d come across that appeared to be children had crossed over decades ago, sometimes longer. And they were stronger for it. Any ghost was a threat. Too many times, they’d let their guard down around a child ghost, and came away sorry.

But in this moment, Maddie questioned their assessment of the Ghost Boy for the first time. Maddie had responded to a ghost fight - the ecto-signatures were off the charts, the little screens beeping nonstop. A ghost that called himself Plasmius had started a battle with the Ghost Boy, or maybe it was the other way around. They were yelling at each other in front of the Nasty Burger restaurant, throwing punches and mostly just arguing, with more than a little showing off. Maddie got out of the car, watching the battle, waiting for a moment to act. It seemed like a fistfight now, but at any moment it could escalate... And just like that, almost on cue, Plasmius shot an ecto-blast at the Ghost Boy - and missed. The shot continued on, hitting the Fenton family car, and bouncing off, heading right towards Maddie.

In a split second, Maddie heard the Ghost Boy yell “NO!!” and suddenly, there he was, in front of her. She watched the blast head towards him. She watched him throw his hands into the air, trying to cover as much as possible. His head was twisted towards her to make sure she was alright as he fell, and a realization struck her. His face up close was so familiar...

The Ghost Boy hit the ground, groaning. “Plasmius, you idiot!” shouted the kid, voice strained by pain and anger. He was curled up - it was safe to bet he was hit somewhere in the stomach. Shocked, Maddie stood there, unsure of what to do. If this were a normal human kid, she’d know how to act - she was properly certified in the appropriate emergency procedures. But she’d never thought to help an injured ghost before.

She looked up to the sky, to see what the ghost Plasmius was doing. But she couldn’t see him anywhere. “What a jerk,” she mumbled. Shooting and running.

“Coward, more like it,” groaned the Ghost Boy. He coughed. “Hope you’re okay.” She nodded, searching for words. Before she could say anything, he said, “Bye,” and with that, he phased into the ground, disappearing.

Maddie stood there, wondering how to process this. It all happened so fast. She got in the car, ready to head back to the house. Jack was still at home. They’d already started making dinner and it couldn’t go unsupervised, so he’d stayed behind. She wondered if she should even tell him what happened.

Maddie walked through her front door, opening directly into the living room. Against the far wall was the couch, which her son Danny was lying on, holding his stomach. He was facing the wall, back to Maddie. In the kitchen, she heard Jack and their daughter Jazz laughing about something.

Maddie went and knelt next to the couch, trying to examine Danny. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Got hit in the stomach,” he said, strained.

“You got into another fight at school? How many times-”

“I wasn’t fighting any kids!” interrupted Danny, rolling over to face Maddie. His face was full of anger, with a sharp glint in his eyes. They reminded Maddie of someone…

Danny sighed. “It was a stupid move, but I jumped in front of someone else that was going to get hurt.” Maddie was surprised - her son was angry, everyone knew that, and he got into fights often. But she’d never heard of him breaking one up before. “I couldn’t stand to see… someone else get hurt,” he said. He rolled back over.

“Well… I suppose that’s okay, then.” She leaned forward and kissed the back of his head. “Don’t tell your father.” She got up to get him an ice pack.

After dinner she and Jack were cleaning up, alone in the kitchen. Lost in thought, she scrubbed a plate in the sink, for a little too long. “He reminds me of Danny…” she said, quietly. The anger, the short fuse - but actions that show a good heart, deep inside. She looked up at Jack, who hadn't heard her.

Maddie thought of the ice pack she’d given her son. She thought about the ghost who'd helped her that night, and how he would most likely be alone in recovering. Why would he risk himself like that for her? After all, she'd spent months already hunting the ghost. Why would he protect her after fighting for so long? She wondered if he was playing some kind of game.

She realized the risk must have been huge, for him. She'd only ever seen him alone, fighting someone or some ghost. Never with anyone else.

“Do you think he has parents?” she asked. Jack looked up from packaging leftovers. “The ghost boy, I mean.”

Jack spoke without thinking, screwing a lid onto some Tupperware. “No, he's a ghost, of course not.” But as Maddie continued to scrub, he pondered the question a little longer. Maddie wondered what he was thinking - of course his initial reaction was no, he'd been hunting this ghost alongside her. But after a moment of pause… “I guess I’ve never really thought about a question like that before,” he said. “Maybe… but he's a ghost that wrecks havoc, Maddie! Why would that even matter?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I guess… sometimes, there's moments when he reminds me of Danny. The way his eyes get so angry. But there's kindness, too…” she trailed off. “Does he have parents to go home to when he's hurt? Is there anyone caring for him, at all?” She kept imagining that ghost, alone, floating around the Ghost Zone… healing from his fights on his own.

Jack put down the Tupperware. “What happened at the ghost fight tonight? You said it was routine,” he said, and then sighed. “But, I guess… no ghost is ‘routine,’ is it?” He sat back down at the table, looking at his wife expectantly. “Tell me.”

Maddie didn't turn away from her dishes. “It's just -- he saved me, Jack. Plasmius shot at me with a blast, and the Ghost Boy just jumped in front of me without thinking. He took the hit. I worry that he's alone out there… but why did he do it, Jack? What could he possibly gain from all this?” Maddie dropped her sponge and plate into the sink with a splash. “Why am I here scrubbing dishes instead of investigating?”

“And why didn't you tell me sooner?” asked Jack with a pointed eyebrow. “Listen, honey, maybe it doesn't mean anything…”

“That just doesn't feel like the right answer, though,” sighed Maddie, sitting at the table across from her husband. She rested her face in her palms. “Maybe there isn't a right answer. But I want to learn the truth. We've never bothered to learn about the Ghost Boy as a person, really. Who is he? Why does he fight all these ghosts anyway? Where does he go to rest at night?”

“That's a lot of questions,” said Jack. “We can't answer all of them right away.” He paused, thinking. Maddie knew he'd be resistant to research like this. “But we can take some time to study… see what he's really about.” It was a middle ground argument, on unsure footing. But she decided she’d take it.

“Great,” said Maddie. “Let's start tomorrow night.”

#ghostly posts #my writing #danny phantom #fanfic #phanfic #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #vlad masters #vlad plasmius

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desiraypark · 3 years ago

Text

Alright.

So.

I really wasn’t trying to get too deep into the mess. Why? For a couple of reasons.

1) Because when I joined this ADCU fandom--I was very aware that I was going to see racist shit. A lil’ internalized sexism. All of that. I’d mentally prepared myself for it before I came through, or tried my very best. As I stated in a post a week or two ago, I was very vocal about these things in my younger adult years, but now, I am tired and just no longer interested in letting racism, misogynoir, microaggressions, and other things on the internet get my blood pressure up (because I’ve gotta deal with it in real life). I simply block, filter, and move on. This is my path. Not saying that it’s right, that’s just the stage that I’m in right now.

2) What I’ve heard of this controversial fic is offensive to me. More so, the erasure of certain elements about the Civil War is what I found offensive. Did it piss me off or enrage me? No, because again, I’m tired lol. Offended, yes? Angry--me? No.

Now, I’m not writing this as a “woman of color”. This is a BLACK woman about to tell you what HAS pissed me off over these last few days. And I’m saying it straight from my account--not on anon or some account that just blossomed a couple of days ago.

I’m writing this as a Black woman who lives in a neighborhood that used to be a plantation (big house and slave cabins still up and intact up the street from my home) - because there is barely a place in my city you can walk where your feet don’t touch land that used to be a plantation, or a slave trading station, or an auction block, or a public whipping post, etc. I live in a city that is ENTRENCHED in “memories of the Civil War” -- “good” and bad memories.

I’m writing this as a Black woman who once worked next door to a Confederacy Museum--MUSEEEEUM--and watched old white men sit outside of the building with their flags. Or, who once had an old white man come to into my job, walked up to me with a shady, condescending glint in his eye, to ask me questions about “the museum next door” that he hoped to visit one day.

I love historical AUs and write them myself. Me, personally, I’m not gonna tell anybody they can’t write romantic/smutty Civil War AUs (I’m just gonna fucking block them). Because people are gonna do what they want and as we’ve seen demonstrated, there are some people who are gonna do the shit HARDER if it’s called out. But I DON’T have the privilege of reading something in that setting and being able to imagine myself as a landowner. This is a fact.

People can say “oh, well there were Black landowners back then!” But could they own that land without a “guardian”? Could they walk around town without “papers” to “prove” that they were free? Do we think that free and/or landowning Black people were just walking around untouched in the 1860s and AFTER? We LITERALLY just commemorated the 100th Anniversary of the Tulsa massacre. Come the fuck on, now.

I can BARELY write my 1920s AU shit without thinking about how race impacts the my OCs. I just CAN’T make that separation. And it must be nice that some of you WOC and white readers can do that. I’m happy for you. Whatever.

Now, from what I’ve gathered, I believe that this is the point that was originally being brought to SH--that not only could some of her audience not see themselves in this story, but some of them actually might be hurt by it. And instead of being thoughtful of that, excuses were made. The “colorblind” card was thrown out and it was stressed that “sides” in a Civil War setting were written “vaguely”. The dismissal and denial is what has frustrated me.

But ah, here’s the thing.

This is a pattern.

I think some of you might be under the impression that this might be the author’s “first misstep” (that is, if you think that is the case at all). I’m going to tell you a quick story. And this story is not secret--these incidents and the posts (pro-cop posts) that correspond to them were shared publicly.

I’ve long had SH blocked for awhile. Why?

You remember when another writer whose name started with an “S” went through this whole thing about all cops not being bad? I was actually quite friendly with that writer and expressed among people (including SH) that I wanted to reach out to S because I knew she was young and probably just hadn’t lived enough life and been around others to understand why their stance was problematic (and wrong). But then, I found out that she’d done the whole deleting POC’s comments thing...

She’d reached out to me wanting to talk, but at that point, after learning about commentary deletion, I didn’t want to be bothered. I decided that I would not reach out to her. I unfollowed her and moved on, because as I later told SH, Aiyana Stanley Jones was born around the same year that S was--but unlike Aiyana (who was murdered by WHO?), S will be fine. And I don’t regret my decision. I would have been a fool to try to be the Black person who “reaches out” to try to educate somebody. And I would have regretted doing so.

So, anyway. SH tried to encourage me to talk to S anyway, because S felt so bad and hurt. I politely declined, gave my reasons why, and me and SH left it at that and remained cordial. This is something I do regret because I should have known better. Because guess what? About a month later (IF THAT), SH made a post regurgitating S’s same pro-cop sentiments.

But I made no fuss. I simply unfollowed and blocked. She’d shown me who she was and I finally decided to believe her. No need to argue. I had no desire to “call her out” because she already knew how I felt--and she’d only shown me that (as history has shown my ass time and time again), I don’t matter to her and I don’t count in the world she’d rather exist in--(edit: or at the very least, the fanfic worlds she’d like to create). Calling her out would have been fucking pointless.

So, I can’t let this week end with y’all thinking that this is just some “slip up” or misstep--or some “sudden attack” made out of jealousy or whatever other shit people are spewing. These recent events are merely a day that has long been coming.

Now.

I’m about to put “Civil War” in my filtered tags and content, and go on about my day. Bye.

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ahwait-no-yes · 4 years ago

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Let’s talk about if Saihara hated Ouma

So lately I’ve actually seen a bit more comments on how Saihara doesn’t actually like Ouma and people have gone as far as saying he hates him and idk why people genuinely believe it so here I am about to refute that (I’ve been waiting ages to make this post just so you know so this came out as a horribly unstructured ramble more than anything oops)

some notes beforehand:

I have an obvious bias as I do ship saiouma. although i’ll try to be neutral on what I say here, I can’t hide my bias. I have tried to include what people that hate this ship believe to counter them though, also if you ship other things that’s totally fine?? don’t think of any of this as an attack at your ship and I’m not saying Saihara loved Ouma, I’m just tired of people saying Saihara hated him.

You’re allowed to respectfully disagree as long as you don’t berate me or say I don’t know the game when the majority of the screenshots in this are from my own gameplay, lmao.

and massive whole-game spoilers! Don’t read this if you’ve not finished DRV3!

Glad to know you made it under the cut! now I can begin with where I think people got this idea that Saihara hates him from- the infamous “You’re alone Kokichi and you always will be” line.

I admit this was very cold and still breaks my fragile saiou heart, but to base Saihara’s entire perspective of Ouma on this one line he said while he wasn’t thinking straight is just.. no.. It’s unrealistic. we’ve seen how Saihara is able to adapt his views and grow (I’ll come back to this later), he’s not stubborn in this regard like Momota or even Ouma is, so even if he did mean it 100% (which I doubt because when *anybody* is angry they will say or do things they may regret had they been calmer), it’s not like his view on Ouma from chapter 4 was his final view on him. And that’s what people fail to realise.

So, how does Saihara view Ouma then?

well, I’d say he’s been interested in Ouma as a detective from the moment he met him with his curiosity piqued at Ouma’s claims of leading a secret organisation.

and he remains curious about Ouma throughout, always questioning why Ouma says certain things, what Ouma is lying for, he just wants to figure him out- and this doesn’t just apply to free time events either

I think you get my point there, now, I think if I didn’t ship saiou and read this, I’d argue these are all pre-chapter 5 and before the breaking line so he may have been curious before but not after- that then brings me to my next point

Saihara was confident- dare I say believed- in Ouma, especially after Chapter 5.

how bold of me to say ikr, but this ties in to Saihara’s ability to adapt his views. He’s sort of like a mixture of both Kaito and Ouma honestly, because naturally as a detective he has to be suspicious and think logically as Ouma does, while at the same time Kaito taught him to believe in his friends which has also helped him to advance in trials. I think he might have extended this belief to Ouma, because he trusts that Ouma is doing what he does for a reason.

In fact, I’d argue he’s the only one of the remaining group who wouldn’t readily accept pinning Ouma down as a villain. If anything, it’s the opposite- Saihara fought to clear Ouma’s name, and never stopped trying to understand whether or not his intentions were true or false

i’ll just drop this screenshot here (that i named THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY.png in case you were wondering)

this is what I mean when I say he wouldn’t accept it as fast as the others and would second-guess it, bear in mind this is the moment Ouma “admitted” to being the mastermind. and it’s not like this doubt was sudden or anything, cause I can recall this moment (that I actually didn’t catch on to on my first playthrough)

which gives me the idea that hadn’t Ouma purposefully messed with everyone and built up his bad reputation, it would’ve been so much easier for Saihara to disprove him being the mastermind at the point he said it.

Anyway, going back to my point- excluding Kaito (cause Ouma directly told him), Saihara is the first to bring up Ouma’s innocence, and this is what I mean when I say Saihara believed in Ouma

note that I say believed in. believing Ouma and believing in Ouma are different, it’s like how loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things, so don’t argue that by saying “he didn’t trust him” because ik that and that’s not what I’m trying to say.

but he did believe that Ouma had his reasons, and he tried to discover and understand them. I mean, take this for example

he’s already on board lool look at him go, but no really look at the confidence

he’s both confident in himself and in Ouma not lying here, then goes back to being curious about his intentions

oh and let’s not forget who it was that searched Ouma’s lab to find clues to prove he is a remnant of despair. Why do you need to search for evidence for something you (and the others even more) think is irrefutably true? the answer is obvious- he was doubtful of it from the start, and needed evidence to convince himself it was true, but then as he found nothing to prove it (and even evidence against it), he had to convince the others of it too- and prove Ouma’s innocence

(the last screenshot was from Hikkie’s playthrough on Youtube)

But as you can see, he’s clearing Ouma’s name as the leader of the Remnants of Despair.

Now, I bet someone would argue that this only proves Saihara was determined to find the truth in general, because he’s mister detective, so I’ll raise you the fact that Saihara didn’t need to try figuring why Ouma does the things he does- he could leave it at just knowing the truth and if he really didn’t like Ouma like people say then there’s not much merit to it.

“So what if I know this now? I didn’t care about him, it’s pointless” he could’ve thought something like that, but no

(I also think the “you’re lying again kokichi, there’s a method to your madness” moment fits here too)

Not only this, but there’s also how Saihara learnt from him.

honestly im still kinda mindblown from this ever since I first realised it, but when you think about it, Ouma hinted to Saihara in his FTEs how to win the game.

(those 3 screenshots are from justonegamr’s kokichi’s FTE video; random fun fact this was the playthrough that i watched while first getting into drv3)

But if you think about it, Ouma tried this again in his own trial in his attempt at ending the killing game and then Saihara also used this to actually end it

Not only that (which personally i think is pretty powerful in itself), but Saihara also tries to take Ouma seriously and picks up hints he leaves and uses them later

as well as

(and generally just)

generally, Ouma will hint and then Saihara will pick it up. it’s been like that for the whole game- why should Saihara give any extra thought to what Ouma hints if he dislikes him?? really, he could’ve just ignored him the same way he did at the end of chapter 4- but again, he didn’t “”hate”” Ouma enough to keep ignoring him, he considered him a friend in the end anyway.

and the end is what I’ll talk about now, too.

first- can we just acknowledge this?

he doesn’t ignore Ouma at all here. even though he didn’t trust him, he was sad to have lost him.

Not to mention the way he thinks about lying at the end of Chapter 6. (like, please this is just- *chefs kiss*)

IMAGINE Ouma was alive to hear him say that omg but Saihara could (and probably would) extend what he says here to Ouma himself- y’know, the ‘embodiment of lies’

by thinking about lies in a different angle instead of at face value like this, he gets a more neutral view on them rather than just thinking “they’re bad!!”, why wouldn’t he be able to do the same for Ouma? especially now that he knows Ouma was innocent and actually hated the game as much as they all did. I mean hey, even after chapter 5′s trial he sort of already thinks about lies differently

and throughout this post, I’ve tried to avoid talking about his free time events or his salmon mode ending because people always say “well they’re not canon” and to that I say not canon to the plot, yes, but still canon to the characters. so yeah, I don’t disregard any of them.

from this point onwards these all technically happen before chapter 5, so it’s not entirely relevant to my point that saihara still liked ouma even after the end of chapter 4, but it’s still something that shows he liked him beforehand at least. I mainly just wanna ramble though haha

one thing I’ve always thought was interesting was how Saihara easily lashed out at Kaito in his own free time event

and Kaito is undeniably Saihara’s best friend who he holds in high regard. If Saihara having backbone means he doesn’t like someone then damn bye bye momota have a nice trip in space

in terms of ouma and saihara though

how about the fact that Saihara willingly sat there and played rock paper scissors (janken pon!) with Ouma 100 times?? bruh I got bored playing that with my brother after 8 rounds yesterday how would Saihara manage 100?? would you really have the patience for that when you don’t even like the person you’re playing with?

how about his third free time event too?

(from justonegamr’s kokichi fte video)

Saihara wanted to spend some time with Ouma, that’s- its literally written there I don’t know what you want from me the guy wanted a nice time with someone he supposedly doesnt like

what I love about this is how “reaching out” could be taken both literally and figuratively. Wanting to understand someone and trying to find a way to but them being too unwilling to trust anyone.. damn 😔👊 also shuuichi either wanted to handshake or hold hands, what else do you do when you reach for someone’s hand come on

oh yes and how about that he’s content with the refusal because it allowed him to figure out a small thing about Ouma? understanding that Ouma has a different way of being reached out to? mhm please think about that for a bit

that parallel in the salmon ending too...

he considered how it’ll be like with him after they get out and how he’ll learn about him, then ultimately decided when ouma reached out to him that he does want this, and even comments on the warmth of his hand... afhskfdlj

his blush when ouma mentions how his lies didn’t bore saihara was also a very cute moment

ooh and what about the love hotel???

there’s that one line “I know i’m meant to be Kokichi’s ideal in this fantasy but when he tells me he loves me I feel like he means the opposite” or something like that- i’d argue it’s because he’s cautious of Ouma for one but also am I getting something wrong here or is he talking about how he, Shuuichi, thinks Ouma doesn’t like him? because I see people argue this is proof saihara doesn’t like ouma but all he’s really doing is just doubting ouma loves him

well in any case

WHY would he want him to stay in a love hotel of all places if he disliked him?! I know I’m just a broken record at this point but I can’t think of anything logical for it. they didnt even need to include that line in the scene at all but they did like they could’ve easily said something to do with realising where he was instead but nah. even after the event’s over, he says to himself

doesn’t he sound disappointed by it? and the fact that he even questions if it was a dream- okay

ooh, something i’ve realised while writing this as well: it kind of seems like Saihara might not want to like him but does anyway; he quickly ‘smothered the thought’ of staying with Kokichi, didn’t want to admit that Ouma’s lies never bored him, and I also thought about how in one of Kaito’s free time events he says to himself “I shouldn’t be talking about another boy like that”- well, maybe it’s similar for how he thinks of ouma? it’s not like Saihara didn’t care for the others’ opinion on him (probably the opposite ngl if you mess up in class trials he says something along the lines of“Ah I screwed up! They probably think I’m a fraud”) and considering nobody else liked ouma (except for maybe gonta) I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt shame for liking him, thus repressing that feeling (especially around the others, there’s that part in trial 4 where he’s trying to convince kaito he isn’t siding with ouma cause he knows by doing that could damage his friendship with his bro)

I mean this is something I only thought of just now, but it could be plausible (i hope?)

One last thing- I find it incredibly funny how in chapter 2 when ouma is literally on top of saihara he doesn’t freak out or scream and everyone else in the room is also completely chill with it and unquestioning. no really they’re just standing there.. and how long was ouma even in that position for??

Now, I think that’s all. So to finish off, I’ll just say

People get the idea that saiouma is bad because some don’t realise Saihara can still like a person without idolising or putting them on a pedestal. Idk if this is gonna sound controversial or not, but I honestly do think he did exactly that to Kaito and Kaede- which doesn’t make what they have with him toxic or bad at all, I just think his view on Ouma is a lot more realistic and less clouded. Heck, if Saihara canonically liked Ouma as much as he does with the other two I don’t know if I’d ship saiouma as hard as I do (it is fun to imagine though).

If you actually read through this then.. wow? I’m surprised you got through this unstructured mess? I hope you can agree with me for some of my points at least but I’m not here to convince you or anything, this has just been on my mind for weeks now I needed to get it out somehow.

I said it at the start and i’ll say it again now too- i didn’t intend on attacking or comparing saiou to any other ships so I do apologise if I seem like it, i’m just terrible with my wording (lmk if something genuinely offended you, i’ll probably change it) but you’re free to ship whatever you like cause at the end of the day it’s just a bit of fun. that being said, I don’t want to actually argue on this so please don’t haha, i’ve contemplated just deleting this but I’ve put a lot of effort into this post even though i cant analyse for 💩

I hope you can enjoy the rest of your day!

have the kokichi gaygun as a farewell present

571 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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mmilkbreadd · 4 years ago

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Chapter twenty five: “The End”

Masterpost - Prev.

Warning(s): a bit of swearing ; post-timeskip manga spoilers!!

────────∘°❉°∘────────

Or aka, ‘The Sakusa Kiyoomi Theory’

Act One: “Who is Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

Saturday, 6:23 am, “y/n's home”

“You're late,” said y/n with crossed arms, she was already waiting for him at the door of her house. “I hope this doesn't become routine.”

It was already morning in the streets of Paris. Tendou Satori and her neighbor (and best friend), y/n l/n, were walking towards their famous bakery and chocolate shop, ‘Sweet Strawberries.’ It was a small place with a few tables to sit for tea and delicious things to eat. Also, although it was small, it was quite crowded.

“Woah, how angry you are today, little baker... More than usual, actually” y/n shook her head at her friend's comment. “But obviously I already know why, and it seems that you know why too.”

Y/n decided to ignore what Satori had said, and keep walking quite ahead of him. It was still an hour before the store opened, but they already had several orders that were due to deliver around nine in the morning. A three-tier wedding cake, forty heart-shaped chocolates for the anniversary of a married couple, and of course, the strawberry cake for someone named Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Around a quarter to seven, they arrived at the bakery, and they got down to work to get all the orders completed on time.

Tendou was more dedicated to the chocolate part, of course, and to serve customers. Despite y/n had advanced a lot in terms of her social skills, she still needed to learn a little about how to communicate normally with a person.

“That 'Sakusa Kiyoomi' has a Japanese name, do you think he is too?” y/n asked, wiping flour from her hands.

“I don't know, they could be. But doesn't that name sound too familiar to you?” Satori replied.

“That's exactly what I was thinking!”

“Weird.”

“Yeah... Anyway, the customer asked not to make the chocolate so bitter so add more milk to that please.”

“Yes, boss!” Satori made a military signal and continued his work.

Act Two: “Pretending to be Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

8:39 am, “Paris” (?)

Bokuto Koutarou, along with Miya Atsumu and Hinata Shoyo were lost in Paris. They had circled the Eiffel Tower at least five times. But it seemed they hadn't realized it yet.

They were more lost than Bokuto studying math. But a simple city would not defeat them so easily... would it?

“Maybe we should have brought Sakusa,” Hinata said after round number six.

“And hear him complain about how dirty everything is? No thanks,” Atsumu Miya replied, shaking his head. “We don't need Omi-Omi. I, Miya Atsumu, am enough to know where we are.”

Atsumu put a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. Bokuto and Hinata looked around, ignoring the enormous tower behind them, wondering where they were.

“And where are we then?”

“Paris, of course” he replied. “I can’t believe you’re seriously asking that, Shoyo.”

Hinata and Bokuto looked at each other, unable to believe what their teammate was saying.

“Sure…” Bokuto said, getting his phone out of his pocket. It was time to be the serious person of the trio. “Akaashi, we got lost” and that time was now over. Koutarou was crying as he spoke to his friend, who was on another continent. “No, I can't stop crying, Akaashi. I swear I was following the steps you wrote on the map so we wouldn't get lost, but Atsumu wanted to take the lead, so he broke the instructions, and we don’t know where we are. It's all his fault...! No, Sakusa has not come either.”

“Hey! It wasn't my fault,” the dyed blonde complained, crossing his arms. “And we never needed Omi-Omi!”

“Okay, Akaashi, I'll do it. Bye, love you… As a bro of course” Bokuto finished saying and hung up. “He told me I have to call Tendou. Is the only way.”

Hinata started shaking his head from side to side, while Atsumu slapped his forehead with his hand. Then a message came from Keiji; It was the number of Tendou Satori himself. Bokuto started dialing the numbers that appeared on the screen of his phone, on Hinata's.

“Wait wait, shouldn't I speak? He might recognize your voice” Hinata said, awkwardly taking the phone from Bokuto's hands.

“He would also recognize yours, Shoyo. I'll do it.” Atsumu snatched the device from him and pressed the call button. “Hello, sir, what’s up? I'm Sakusa Kiyoomi, could you help me get to your store? I'm a bit lost... How did I get your number you ask? Eh– It's on your website dude! You should delete it, some people pretend to be someone else and you should not fall for that...”

Act Three: “If Sakusa Kiyoomi was real, we should have brought him.”

10:04 am, “Sweet Strawberries Bakery and Chocolate Shop”

“I can't believe it took us almost two hours to get here! It wasn't even that far from the hotel” Hinata said looking towards the building that was a few meters in front of them.

“Six blocks. Can’t believe it either.” Atsumu wiped the sweat from his brow. “And now that? Are we going in or not?”

Bokuto went pale. He was going to see you, after so many years without communicating or having exchanged glances. He never imagined that he would see you again after that cold day in Miyagi. He had made a thousand scenarios in his head of how you two meet again: in some distant future you visit your hometown and he visits Hinata, and thus you meet in the park or on the street. You would have your own family, and he would have his. But that would happen in many years, not now. Not at this moment, when neither of you had grown enough... When he hadn't managed to forget you yet. But these weren't Koutarou's inventions, this was reality.

The incredible and stupid reality.

“I don't want to go in,” Bokuto said suddenly and stopped walking. “I’m not ready.”

Atsumu, who was already one step away from the door, turned to see him. Hinata collided with Miya's chest because he was walking right behind him.

“What are you talking about? Let's go in now” Atsumu said walking towards the ex-owl. “We didn't change the whole tour just so you don't go see your little girlfriend… We change it so you do! Don't be scared, do it now or you'll regret it for life. I remember how you talked about her during practice, and I even want to meet her after that! Come on dude, use the little braveness you have left.”

It seemed that Atsumu's words, or Hinata's smile next to him, made Bokuto take courage and head towards the entrance of the shop.

A bell rang before three pairs of feet echoed through the small place. There was a great smell of chocolate that invaded every inch of the establishment. Hinata paced around the place until the sound of a door opening made the three teammates turn their heads to where the sound was coming from.

“Welcome, what can I offer-- So all of you are Sakusa Kiyoomi, huh?” Satori Tendou said, coming out of the back-room. “You see guys, I never believed this would happen. It makes me think a lot too… So, is Sakusa Kiyoomi even real?”

Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto were paralyzed in place for several seconds. The former Shiratorizawa monster stood with his hands on his hips, staring at them.

“Is it Sakusa Kiyoomi? Tell him I'm coming in a minute!” y/n yelled from the back room.

“Oh no, y/n, it’s someone much better!” Tendou replied, holding back his laughter. “You won't believe it even if you see this!”

Then, silence took over the place until a few quick steps interrupted it. A figure appeared through the door, with several boxes in their hands. A pile of boxes so big it covered their face.

“Help me, Satori, I'm going to fall” y/n complained, and after Tendou took out the boxes that covered her view, she saw her friend smiling widely. “What?”

Satori, who couldn't contain his laughter anymore, gestured with his head towards the three statues in the middle of the place. And finally, seeing her friend's face, he started to laugh out loud.

“Kou?”

“A-and Hinata!” shouted Bokuto nervously. Shoyo looked at him and then pointed at Atsumu.

“And also Atsumu!”

“And Saku– shit, we should have brought Omi-Omi after all…”

───∘°❉°∘───

────────∘°❉°∘────────

Note: I am very very very very sorry for not posting this sooner, but I had thousand of things going on in my life. Now I’m better and ready to finish this beautiful, and crazy, love-story.

I hope you loved it as much as I did. I truly enjoyed it writing, and I’m happy to finish it too.

I’ll appreciate it a lot if you comment down below what you thought about the series. I’ll read you later -Tina.

────────∘°❉°∘────────

Tags in reblog!

Thanks for reading🥰

#bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto smau #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smau #atsumu #sakusa #hinata

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novemberandmay · 4 years ago

Text

As She Falls

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Her wings pointed to the sky as she was pulled into Earth’s gravity. Her limbs were also pointed up, except for her head and torso. She watched as clouds passed her, the rough wind trying to crush her non-existent body into molecules. Even though she wasn’t in her physical body, she could still feel the wind? How weird. But she was uncaring of this, as she crashed into her hospital room. She could finally see how her body was, after all this time. She looked at it, finding her body looking pathetic. It was thin, overly thin, and covered in bandages. She was hooked up to so many machines, it was a miracle she was still alive. But while observing this, she heard the door in front of her open. Glancing up at it, she saw something surprising.

“Chloe? What are you doing here?” She asked, shocked. But she didn’t get an answer, since she didn’t have vocal cords or a way to voice her thoughts. Chloe stood in the door way, her expression pained. She started to mumble things, things that didn’t make sense. Chloe seemed crazy and possessed at that moment, but it didn’t matter to Marinette. She raised her hand to try and get Chloe’s attention but was covered in light. She was forced into the older girl’s body, into the girl’s very soul.

When she opened her eyes, the light had make her close them earlier, she was surprised to see a little girl in a hotel’s lobby. She was gripping a teddy bear, but seemed upset, maybe a tad sad. The girl stayed still for what seemed like days before she turned around and passed through Marinette. The girl stormed out of the room, tears leaving her angry expression. Marinette ran after the girl, finally recognizing her as Chloe. She found the girl again in a hotel room, where items around her seemed broken. Then a door sounded behind her and worried screams rang out. As this happened, everything warped and twirled, ‘til she saw her Chloe, the teenaged Chloe. She was sitting on a couch, her expression somber. This time, though, she could see that Chloe was able to spot her. As she had glanced over at her.

“Chloe? What’s happening? Are you okay? Do I-?”

“How pathetic, Dupain-Cheng even haunts my dreams. Great.”

“What? This isn’t a dream Chloe! I’am really here, I’m fin-“ Chloe’s crazied laugh sprang out, startling Marinette.

“No need to lie, you illusion. I saw her dead body myself, I know she’s not alive. Not anymore.”

“But I’m fine Chloe! I’m just fi-“

“SHUT UP!” Chloe screamed, throwing a teacup at Marinette’s face. It hit her, causing blood to stream down her face. Chloe stormed up to her, her rage filled expression being the main focus. The blonde girl raised her finger up and pointed at her, her elbows bent.

“NOW YOU LISTEN HERE! MARINETTE IS DEAD. SH-she left me. SHE’S JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE! LEAVING ME AT THEIR BEST CONVENIENCE!! JUS-just like mama. She’s ju-just like her-r.” Her screams became stutters as her voice became pathetic. Marinette’s eyes softened and she reached her hands around Chloe, hugging her tightly. Chloe started to sob, falling to her knees, bring Marinette down with her.

“WH-why?! WHY am I noT ENOUGH?!?! WhY-“

It was hours before the emotions inside her seized, leaving her feeling empty.

“I’m sorry Chloe. I promise I won’t leave you again.”

“Y-you promise?”

“I promise Chloe. I swear that I will wake up and you won’t be alone.”

As they hugged tighter, everything went white.

She was suddenly transported back to the hotel room, where she was not alone. On the ground, holding her hand, was Jon. He was sobbing, and looked as if he would collapse into a coma soon.

“Oh Jon! What happened?”

There was no response as she looked over his shoulder, he just kept crying. She laid her hand on the boy’s shoulder, where the familiar bright light surrounded her.

This time, she was alone in a house. But there was noise some where, it sounded pained. She rushed around, opening doors left and right until she found the cause. Jon.

She found Jon huddled in a corner of a kid’s room, sniffling. Her face lost it’s tension, as she sat beside him. She was ready to hear his tale.

“Did you know I can always tell when someone lies to me? That everyone does it a lot? Even ma’ and pa’ lie to me. Only you and Dames don’t lie that much, at least not to me. You tell me when you can’t tell me something, you try to be honest. But now you’re gone. And now Damian lies. No one tells me anything true anymore...”

“But it’s fine. It’s just like before I knew Dames! I can handle it...I hope. I’m used to you both being honest, so I don’t know if I can handle it now. So much has changed, some much is different...why can’t it go back to before you jumped? Everything was okay then- I could fix it! I could help you, I could at least try. But reality doesn’t work that way, right? Yeah. So I can’t save you, I can only imagine that in my wildest fantasies. Did ya’ know I used to think of you and Dames as my parents for a bit? I know you aren’t, but I just wanted to imagine it. Having a mum that’s not running off to get the latest catch, one that comforts me. Having a pa’ that’s not off saving the world every 5 seconds, but is beside me, even if a little reluctantly. But who cares? I’m just being ungrateful! I mean- who else wouldn’t want Superman as their dad? And Lois Lane, the famous and renowned reporter, as their mom? If anyone else knew of my position, they would want it! So why? Why don’t I want to be their child? Why do I want to be normal? To not tell when someone’s lying? I know it’s wrong and I’m just being ungrateful, but-“

“Jon.”

“...”

“Listen to me. Nothings wrong with you. I would love to be your mum, and I’m glad you think that way. It’s not bad to feel this way. Your emotions are valid. You are valid. I love you, I love you so, so much. So please, don’t think this way. I’ll be your mom, I’ll be anyone you want me to be, okay? ‘Cus I love you. I love you like a mother would love their son.”

Marinette raises Jon’s hand to her chest, smiling at him.

“See? I’m not lying, am I? I promise to never lie to you, no matter what.”

Jon stares at her, tears gathering in his eyes. His mouth twitches, he looked pained, sad.

“MAMAAA!” He screamed at her, lunging at her. He gather her into a hug, sobbing. He cried, cried for hours. He wouldn’t let her go, as he collapsed on to her. He cried into her hair, as she pat his back. Marinette hugged him back, caring for him like a mother would.

“...thank you..” Jon mumbled. Marinette only smiled in return, watching as he faded away. She looked up and reached for the sky, a bright light covering her. It felt right. She felt happy.

Marinette appeared back in the hospital room, now with a new person.

‘Damian?’

He said nothing as he grabbed her human body’s hand. His face was remorseful and sorrowful, his scowl now including tears and forced look. He was holding back sadness, she could tell. She wouldn’t let this continue though, so she walked up to him. She stopped right beside him standing straight. She bent over, and reached for his shoulders. She gave him one last hug in this form, before zipping into his body, ready for her next conformation.

Taglist: @miraculous-ninja @rebecarojas07 @toodaloo-kangaroo @solangelo252 @neakco @dood-space @jjmjjktth @animeweebgirl @nickristus-dreamer @talushi2002 @miraculouslydumb @stellar-star @myazael @crystalangelluna

Notes: I know it’s a bit rushed, but I just had to finish the idea as soon as I thought it. Hope you liked it! The taglist is open, and prolly will always be, just so you know. I’ve had a great day today, I took my NWEA and made an amazing score, so I’m proud. So are my friends, like May. Anyways, I got off topic, have a nice day y’all! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! Till next time! Buh-bye!

(DIDNT MEAN TO POST IT WHEN I DID, OOPS)

-November

#maribat #daminette #mlb x batman #mlb x dc #batman x mlb #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #dc x mlb

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scoopsgf · 5 years ago

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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script-nef · 4 years ago

Text

I come for the interaction and the food | Miya Osamu

Category: crack, fluff

2k words; pseudo-reddit thread of Onigiri Miya

The owner of Onigiri Miya

Yo dudes. So my friend was raving about the onigiri shop for ages, and she was so damn relentless that I gave in. And I like onigiri in the first place, especially negitoro, so I went (is this TMI?). Anyway I was like???? So damn shook when I went in because the owner is like???? Damn??? He's so hot and I am simping for him, and the female population in the shop was as well like hearts were flying out of their eyes. I'm going to go there every day and ugh I know it’s cheesy and cliché but I hope he notices me or something like that DON’T JUDGE I’M LONELY OKAY??

Comments [Anon]: I KNOW RIGHT LIKE EVERYONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND HIS ONIGIRI UGH FOOD FOR THE EYES AS WELL AS THE STOMACH

[Anon]: Y’all are simping for a real person and I just have to say: LMAO ME TOO UGH HE’S JUST REALLY HOT AND PATIENT AND HIS VOICE IS SO NICE

[Anon]: YASSS HE REALLY IS AND HE ALWAYS COMES UP WITH NEW MENUS AND LETS SOME OF US TRY SAMPLES BUT IT’S ALWAYS. AMAZING. HE’S AN ONIGIRI GOD, I TELL YOU.

→ Continue thread

[Anon]: Um, OP? I don't know how to tell you this but… He has a girlfriend… like a really cute girlfriend who he’s been dating for years now.

[Anon]: Say what?

[Anon]: Hey what. What. I didn’t know this. I’ve been visiting his shop for like 3 months and I didn’t know this. What.

[OP]: Oh. Great. My romance has died even before it started. ;^;

[Anon]: Well you can join us obsessing over their relationship! She visits a lot and they’re cute all the damn time so frequent customers made a small online group to share episodes.

→ Continue thread

I just saw Hime and wow, damn

So I went to OM today—because wow it’s so delicious please open a second shop MyaSamu—and my eyes were blessed because WHO DID I SEE?? YEP, IT WAS HIME.

Like y’all know how he calls her Hime as a nickname, which is so [censored] cute, and SHE LIVES UP TO THE NAME. There’s like, a graceful aura around her and it’s sort of blinding? As soon as you see her, it’s like “Ah, yep. That’s her. No one else can be called Hime other than her.”

AND SHE GOT SO FLUSTERED WHEN I CALLED HER HIME BY ACCIDENT!! It just literally slipped out because I’m a [censored] idiot like that and she turned so red! And started hitting MyaSamu out of embarrassment! But her hits didn’t even look that painful and he was smiling so happily. My eyes were blessed that day.

Comments [Anon]: Oh my god you’re so lucky, I want to see him smile… I mean, he does, but apparently he smiles differently when he’s with Hime and I know that if I see that, my day will instantly become better.

[Anon]: Oh dude, you are not wrong. He somehow becomes more radiant. Just. How?

[Anon]: Imagine being that cute and beautiful together. What a power couple.

[Anon]: You know what happened once? I was really down while I was eating there because I got a bad grade, and she came over to talk to me!! Because apparently I looked way too sad and she was worried about me! UGH I’M FALLING FOR YOU HOW ARE YOU THIS KIND?! ARE YOU AN ACTUAL ANGEL?

[Anon]: This just confirmed, Hime was never human. She is the epitome of angelic grace here to save us and MyaSamu is so blessed for being with her.

Y’all are weird as [censored], why do you do this [censored]

Why are you guys obsessing over real people like that? I would be creeped out if I knew anyone does this, you guys are invading their privacy. Get a life and stop being so damn disturbing.

Comments [Anon]: ??? He knows about this. He literally checks up on this site a couple of times per week. He explicitly said to many customers “Thanks for liking me and my girlfriend so much. You guys are funny.” The [censored] are you on?

[Anon]: I asked Hime once before and she said it’s fine as well unless we’re stalking them or some [censored] like that. And we don’t. We’re just exchanging stories on our interactions with them inside the shop and how cute they are. He said it actually helps with his revenues and sales.

[Anon]: Literally. They’re just really cute. Like you look at them and boom, you have diabetes, no exceptions.

[Anon]: I think he said like half of his new customers came after seeing this thread, so back off

Ignore that person, GUESS WHO I SAW

Y’all might be thinking Hime, and yes, I did see her as well. BUT I ALSO SAW ATSUMU! He was hanging with Hime and teasing her so much. Then MyaSamu got annoyed and they nearly brawled there lmao perfect representation of siblings.

Hime tried to stop them and when they kept on fighting, she slapped them both on the back and shouted for them to cool it. MyaSamu I guessed since they’re going out, but she tamed Atsumu. Atsumu. My heart thumped because she was so awesome. Like, you’re cool, kind, sweet, amazingly pretty and on top of that, badass as well? Lady, you should be designated as a national treasure.

Comments [Anon]: Bruh. I live super close to OM. I go there practically every week. I’ve filled out the coupon like, 5 times. I’ve never met Hime once. AND YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT YOU SAW HIME AS WELL AS ATSUMU???? WHY HAVE THE GODS FORSAKEN ME??

[Anon]: How cool was she? I can’t imagine Atsumu folding to anyone that’s not his parents.

[Anon]: I feel like he would be rude to his own parents tho lol

[Anon]: True true

[OP]: She was like, the epitome of cool. Based on the sound of the slap I would have been rolling on the floor while crying in pain but they kind of seem used to it or something? She just glowered at them and they immediately shut up. I wonder if she was like that when they started dating as well.

[Anon]: I find it funny that everyone is focusing on Hime while Miya Atsumu, division 1 volleyball player and one of the members of Japan’s national team, is right there.

[Anon]: Atsumu pales in comparison to Hime. This is a fact.

[Samu]: True

[Anon]: ??? The [censored]? Are my eyes working? Is that… actually Osamu? As in like, the Osamu that we’re talking about? Like the owner of OM?

[Samu]: Yes

[Anon]: Okay then bye I’m never coming here ever again. Goodbye y’all and watch me die haha [censored]

Friend of Samu and “Hime”

I can’t really believe this actually exists but it’s really funny and kinda cringey to see everyone fawn over Osamu and “Hime” like this. I've been their friend since high school and let me give you a fact: “Hime”’s nickname during her time in school was Janus like the two faced God. Because she’s really nice all the time but once she gets angry, it’s over for everyone. Everyone.

So what do y’all do here, just share stories?

Comments [Anon]: Holy [censored] what. What. CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THEM?? WHAT WERE THEY LIKE IN SCHOOL? WERE THEY STILL CUTE AND SWEET LIKE THE BEST BRAND OF CHOCOLATE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD????

[Anon]: YEAH LIKE WHITE CHOCOLATE

[Anon]: I’m sorry, but if you think white “chocolate” is good then please keep that [censored] to yourself because that [censored] embarrassing.

[Anon]: White chocolate is good!

[Anon]: You’re an embarrassment to humankind.

→ Continue thread

[Anon]: As the person on the above thread has said, could you share little stories of how they were like in school? If they’re fine with it?

[OP]: Hmm… well I’ll ask first.

I got the permission

Hm, I don’t really know what to say about their relationship though. I was friends with them for a long while but it wasn’t really surprising when they started dating. Osamu’s liked her for years. I heard they were childhood friends and were stuck at the hip with Atsumu as well, but she was closer to Osamu. Though that’s kind of a given, what with Atsumu’s [censored] personality.

She was one of the school council members and really popular as well. Always eager to help people, has a smile on her face and a complete disaster. She’s so damn clumsy and uncoordinated that I once saw her trip on air. On air. How. She’s terrible at cooking as well, like apocalyptic level. She somehow managed to burn rice in home economics class even with three other people keeping an eye on her. It was actually pretty impressive.

Anyway, Osamu was absolutely smitten with her and everyone with eyes or common sense could see it. Except for… you guessed it, her. He would literally be tripping over himself to help her and we were all like “boy, please be more subtle you are killing us”. Especially Atsumu since he had to deal with that even at home because they’re neighbours. I once took a photo of him making the most disgusted and annoyed face, but it got deleted when I changed my phone. An international loss.

Where was I going with this? Oh right, how they went out. I gotta go to sleep so I’ll post that later.

Comments [Anon]: ???? YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT??? HOW ARE YOU SO CRUEL THIS ISN’T FAIR I CAN’T GO TO SLEEP BECAUSE I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.

[Anon]: EXCUSE ME ARE YOU SKILLED IN TORTURE BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY DYING YOU CAN’T JUST BOUNCE AFTER TELLING US THAT. COME BACK!!!!

[Anon]: Dudes I have a good idea. Let’s spam them with comments.

[Anon]: Oh ho, smart, smart.

[Anon]: Dude

Damn you guys are persistent

Chill, I need my sleep as well.

Alright, this was a while ago so some facts might be inaccurate. Also she forbade anyone from commenting on it during school. It’s fine now though, and thankfully I was sitting next to them when it happened.

So Osamu always brings bentos and makes hers as well. He used to make them for Atsumu as well (unwillingly but had to since he complained about it so much) but stopped after like, the second time because they got into a fight. I think the reason was that Atsumu was whining too much about how he doesn’t like some of the side-dishes and Osamu snapped. That was a fun day.

We were eating in the classroom and enjoying our lunch when she blurted out something like “Osamu, you’re so good at cooking! You’d be a great chef. Your wife would want to let you cook for the entire time you’re together!” Which was fine because everyone knows he’s good at cooking. I think that’s what you guys call a gap moe or something, I dunno.

And Osamu just stared at her. You know what moment when you just feel something bad is going to happen? Like that chill in your back? Yeah, it was that. I sensed that from Osamu. Atsumu probably got it as well because our eyes locked and the red alarm of “STOP HIM” flashed in front of both our eyes.

But before we could interrupt, Osamu just smiled and said “I can cook for you like that if you want.” And I [censored] you not, everyone went quiet. We were staring at him like “??? Did you just propose before even asking her out on a date?” And her face, oh god I didn’t know her face could be that red or that her eyes could be so big. She was literally frozen while trying to eat like the rest of us watching them.

When she stayed frozen, it was like there was an error message saying “[Name].exe has stopped working. What the [censored] did you do.” above her head. Osamu eventually moved and dragged her out of the classroom. And they didn’t come back until the bell rang for the next class.

I don’t know what happened during the talk, but I guess he finally confessed because they were holding hands when they came back.

Anyway, yeah. That’s the story of how they went out. I have to sleep again so bye.

Comments [Anon]: WHAT THE [censored]

#osamu x reader #osamu imagine #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu!! one shot #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#osamu #miya osamu #SNS format #crack #fluff #female reader

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phynali · 3 years ago

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so not to ruminate on things that vex me, but the past 2 or so months have been kinda shit, and i’m trucking along and there absolutely are high points and good things and joys that balance some of this out, but i need to vent out some of the negative emotions somewhere to get ‘em out. so i guess i’m doing that here because -

we’re in lockdown#6 where i live (state of victoria) and it’s hard, this yo-yo of restrictions and swinging in and out of one lockdown after another.

for those who understandably won’t know, what we call lockdown here means not just restaurant and commercial closures and mandatory working from home unless you’re in an industry where that’s impossible -- it also means no guests (0) inside you’re home unless you’re both living alone and single or else romantic partners, it means not leaving your home at all except for one of 4-5 necessary reasons, not being outside for more than 2hrs per day even to exercise, and not going more than 5km from your home unless required for work/medical/etc required reasons.

it’s intense. we spent (i think) 128 days in this degree of lockdown in 2020, never mind how many we spent in other forms of restrictions and working from home. and we’ve been back in it four (4) times in 2021 already. in-out-in-out-in-out -

it’s taking a toll on the mental health of every person i know. we get weekly emails with wellbeing and resilience tips from my job -- not just “be productive or else” capitalism but heartfelt ones from wellbeing officers with copies of articles like this one on languishing from the NYT, acknowledging we’re all struggling and directing us to the plethora of wellbeing resources our workplace is trying to provide, not only to us but reminding us they offer it to our families too.

i’m one of the lucky ones. i’m really not trying to wallow here or to pretend otherwise. i appreciate that i can work from home, even though i can’t focus when i do and it this interacts with my adhd to fuck my productivity. even if i’m so behind and delayed it feels like i’ve lost 12-18 months worth of work and it will have long-term ramifications on my career -- even so, i still i have a job. i still get paid. and i even kept my job, a bit by the skin of my teeth but i did, when my sector downsized last year. yes, the way my employer went about lay offs left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth (my own included), but i made it through.

and my sector, while affected, is by no means the worst of the collateral damage.

the yo-yo of lockdowns is taking a very very real toll on industries like hospitality, tourism, commerce. and the economy does have indirect effects on health and mental health as well. my friend, a waitress, was on her way to work the evening shift at a restaurant when she got the call about the latest lockdown. she had to turn around and go home because the announcement came just hours before the lockdown was imposed, and every place suddenly had to close by 8pm. bye bye evening shift. so much of the government support for these industries has dried up, has been inadequate.

lockdowns save lives. i don’t begrudge my state for imposing one except that yes -- i’m resentful we’re here again with only six cases. i can be both accepting and grateful and also pissed and tired and more all at once.

even more than the latest lockdown, i’m pissed about the yo-yo. that we went into lockdown in june, came out in july, went back in in july, came back out in july, are going back in now, in the first week of august. three lockdown/re-openings in 10 weeks, as if this rollercoaster doesn’t completely incapacitate our ability to plan or prepare for anything more than a week out, more than a day out -- in this case, more than a few hours out. 4pm the lockdown was announced, with an 8pm start time. as if that doesn’t have more insidious consequences on individuals and industries than a more clearly articulated and consistent approach. as if all the restaurants that got to open up this week didn’t purchase large food orders for this weekend that will spoil because they were given 4 hours notice to close their doors.

that’s the part i hate, right now more than the lockdowns themselves. consumer sentiment was at a high in april, optimism was everywhere. people felt good, and like we had a plan forward. now -- well, now my job is sending me emails about how normal and okay it is that i might be ‘languishing’ because aren’t we all?

and i absolutely do begrudge my federal government, and i’m angry with them, and this is part of why:

youtube

but i also accept, to some extent, that these decisions have all been made in difficult circumstances, and i’m not really about to pretend i could do any better.

at the same time, australia’s vaccine rollout is among the slowest and lowest at least within OECD countries. i know that’s partly because we’ve managed the keep cases low and therefore we are prioritized less when it comes to who needs the vaccines most (and thus who is earlier in line to be able to purchase) among other geo-political reasons i won’t get into, but it still very much sucks. our timeline and ability to move forward and ability to stop having lockdowns requires a mostly-vaccinated population, and that’s not something we’ll have anytime soon.

and i am a visa-holder here and my family is back in canada and with our current border restrictions leaving to visit is honestly is not an option because i wouldn’t be able to return, to work. i’m managing that distance okay most of the time despite my homesickness and frustration but my partner’s parents are older and his mother’s health just isn’t amazing and it’s weighing on him a lot.

a phd student i work with just had a parent die in another country while stuck here, had to drop everything to return, is devastated by not being by their parent’s side when it happened because it came on sudden, and now won’t be able to come back into australia after, will have to finish their thesis remotely from abroad. stories like that are becoming commonplace in certain circles, here. this student is not the first or only person i know who has been in that exact situation in the past year.

it’s enraging, and upsetting, and instills a sense of helplessness because -- there’s nothing that can really be done about it. there’s no good answer, but it’s scary to think of what could happen. i know it scares my husband. if his mother’s health suddenly dips -- does he drop everything and leave? how can he not? would i go with him or hold the fort here? what ramifications does that have either way?

right now, we’re in the first stages of getting permanent residency, my job is putting in the nomination, and this is one of those awesome high-points i mentioned. it’s a very much needed sense of security in my career and my future in this country. but while a PR application is pending and under review, you can’t leave the country, even in pre-covid times. it takes months to get the application fully nominated, accepted, then submitted, and months on months to process.

in january 2020 we had agreed that for xmas 2020 we’d return home to canada. obviously the world changed and we quickly determined that wouldn’t be the case. we pushed that plan back to july-aug 2021, then to october 2021, xmas 2021. my partner’s sister asked him last week if we started making plans, booking things for xmas, was calling to check that we’d had our second jabs. he had to explain the situation to her, that we aren’t even eligible for our first vaccine yet, that we aren’t holding out any real hope of visiting, not this year, not until mid-next.

anyway - i’m just. languishing, i guess, if that’s the word for it after all. i know it’s not the same as depression -- i’ve had episodes of that, been treated for it in different ways. this is and feels different, even if there are obvious similarities. whatever to call it, it sucks, and i hate it. and i hate the other lows and anxieties and crap i’ve been dealing with in the past few months as well that didn’t make it into this post about covid. crap with work, with friends, with goddamn car rentals of all stupid things. crap that’s making me anxious and crap that just needs processing. crap that is, ultimately, massively exacerbated because lockdowns turn us into little rats gnawing on the bars of our cages.

and i guess i just needed to talk about it somewhere, to organize my thoughts and free up some headspace (emotion space?) currently being used to hold these thoughts and feelings in place. i kind of hate posting personal crap like this and always get the urge to delete but i also have a hard time organising my thoughts if i don’t write them out with this intent to post. sort of want to go outside and scream at god, sort of want to phone up a friend and yell at him for an hour for being an exhausting ass, sort of want to be alone for a day to curl up under a blanket with a movie that’ll make me cry because raging at the universe is always so much easier when i’m alone and unobserved. but i guess since those aren’t especially kind or feasible i’ll post this instead.

anyway - if you read to the end of this for any reason, i’m not trying to be maudlin, and there’s really no need to respond. it’s just a feelings dump, sucking some of the poison out, not really much different than journalling but i’ve always been better at that online than on paper.

#ugh #personal post #just organising thoughts and bitching about present circumstances #because i'm tired of 2021's bullshit and needed to vent a bit #gpoy

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letswrites · 3 years ago

Text

Safe haven

hellooo everyone, are you good? I finally decided to post this Dele one, it's just a small thing I wrote when Spurs were in that terrible phase back when Jose still was the coach and Dele was remaining on the bench almost every game. Is a fluff (I guess) and I hope everyone enjoy :) lemme know your thoughts about it!! good reading ❤

Safe heaven- Dele

"Hey, had you saw him?" she asked the Asian guy walking from out of the tunnel "hi... yeah, he's still in the shower, I guess" "oh" she was waiting for what she would call an eternity "do you think he will take too long in there?" he passed his fingertips on his hair before sighing and answer "no idea" she nodded in agreement but she was frustrated "hey" he touched her arm "hum?" "Has only two or three lads left... want me to take you in there?" "you're sure that it's a good idea?" "is not a good idea at all, but... is cold here outside" he winked to her "thanks" she mumbled and followed him to the lockers room. He stepped inside first, only Hugo and Serge in there "hi guys" "Sonny! Thought you already were leaving" "hum, I am... Look, I know it will sound weird, but are just you two here, right?" "hum... is us, Moussa and Dele, if I am not mistaken" Hugo said hesitating "I think that's correct" "why?" he looked to his feet and sighed before answering Hugo "is better show to you" he stepped to the side where a giggly, closed eyes her, put her face inside "is everyone dressed?" "Oh!" the guys laughed with her "yes, yes, don't worry" she opened her eyes "wow! Is very big here" "if someone asks how you get here, you don't know me" she smiled and hugged him "thanks, sonny. You rock" he hugged her back and said goodbye to his teammates "just to make it clear, I would not be worried if I found you guys undressed" they chuckled "your wives otherwise..." she grinned while walked towards the duo, to greet them "so... only the French squad here, huh" she stood on her toes and kissed the men's faces, Serge wrapping an arm around her to keep her close "How you guys are doing?" "You know when something bad becomes usual for you?" "Yeah..." "I think that's the feeling we have been struggling with lately" she could feel how sad the team's captain was "yeah" Serge nodded sadly "cette putain de merde ! Tu ne le mérites pas. J'ai vu ce club aller en finale de la Ligue des Champions, vous deux, Dele, Harry, Sonny, Lucas... (sorry for freaking out in French lmao :p/ translation here: this fucking shit! You don't deserve it. I saw this club go to the Champions League final, you two, Dele, Harry, Sonny, Lucas...) Fuck! You don't deserve that!" "I totally agree with you!" "me too. We went to the final, fuck!" "Is just disappointing..." "You have good French, by the way" "thanks! Lived in Paris for 2 months already" "really?" "Yeah. Didn't speak a shit of French" "you clearly got over that" "yes, absolutely" "the best part of being around a lot of foreigners is that you can speak your mother language and most part of them will not understand" Serge laughed "true" "but a lot of people speak French here" "like right now, everyone in this room speaks French" "I don't think Dele speaks French" Serge questioned "you're right". She froze. His voice always made her chill a little, she turned around just like the other two men to see Dele with some water drops on his hair, half-dried, and with a towel wrapped around his hips, his v cut line showing up "hi" he said accompanied with a small smile that was not very honest "hey" Serge and Hugo noticed the tension in the air, so they swapped some glances and decided to leave them alone "I must be going" "me too, don't want anyone worried at home" "okay" they said goodbye and she walked towards him "what are you doing here?" he said while looked for a t-shirt "Training my French?" she smiled but he just gave her a flashing grin, she sighed "am worried about you" "you shouldn't" she leaned her hips on a big block that she believed was a counter "of course I should" "you're not my girlfriend nor my mom" "thank God" she mumbled and he looked to her "I mean, if I was your mother, I couldn't be your girlfriend and if I was your girlfriend..." her voice failed as he approached her, closing a coop around her with his arms "just shut up" she smiled "how are you?" "I am... not good" "that means bad" "yes, Smart cookie" he poked her nose tip with his fingertip lightly, she giggled. "Talk with me. Just like you

usually did before" he sighed "it feels like everything is going down" he buried his face on her neck, she kept in silence, but still listening "first Champions League and Mauricio being sacked, then when Jose arrived it was okay at first, then lockdown... and bench. and I was robbed, they took my stuff, my face was punched, Maradona died, Levy didn't let me go to Paris, Ruby left, more bench... things weren't supposed to be like that!" he wasn't crying but she could feel how much he wanted to. "Come here,” she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him, “I’m so sorry, love.” It was so clear he had a hard time dealing with everything “it was supposed to be like that yes, you know why?" "No" "because God knows how much strong you're" “Yeah” Dele mumbled, bitter. He was about to say something else, but his voice broke and was followed by an audible sob. He buried his face in her neck even deeper than before “It’ll be okay,” she rubbed gently his back, frame shaking. “I don’t like it” he grumbled “I know,” she soothed, “just stay right here for now, with me. Let's forget about that all for a minute” he sniffed "yeah" he looked at her, how could he be so blind. She was right there in front of him. Always had been "it’s the only place I want to be right now.” he let it scape, she smiled shyly and felt his hands on her waist, moving her eyes to where those beautiful, tattooed hands were holding firmly. And that was the only thing she could see before move her gaze up again, and be surprised by a kiss. A kiss from him. "Owww" they parted quickly "sorry to interrupt the lovebirds, but you looked so cute" she giggled and Dele rolled his eyes at Moussa's comment before look to her again "you kissed me" "yeah..." he blushed, she rubbed a hand on his bare chest, he looked to her "if you don't mind, I would like to be kissed again" he smiled, now fully and sincere, before hold her face and pull his best friend to another kiss. Soon his hands reached her hips, lifting her and placing gently at the counter, deepening the kiss. That time they were interrupted by a cough "hum... guys" they parted, breathless, his gaze on the floor and hers on Moussa "what?" "Is not cute anymore" she laughed and he did the same, even angry with his teammate "I still want to get dressed without getting traumatized here" she smiled and jumped off the block to leave. He wrapped an arm around her "stay" "I'll let you guys put on some clothes" "wait for me, then" she smiled and touched his face "you know I was going to wait anyways" he half smiled and nodded, of course she would, she always did. They lost in each other's eyes for a few seconds before she stood on her tiptoes and leave a brief kiss on his lips before disappearing into the tunnel "bye, Moussa" "bye! And thank you" she giggled and made her way to the parking lot with a smile on her face 'he kissed me' she thought.

#dele #dele alli #dele blurb #dele alli blurb #football imagine #tottenham hotspur #dele imagine #dele alli imagine

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volturialice · 4 years ago

Text

me: i’m not gonna write any more of the drugged!human alice au

also me:

it has a title now too I guess. posting in a huge rush because I was supposed to be out the door ten minutes ago, so it’s even more unbeta’ed than usual. oh well

2,180 words

warnings: drugs, discussion of date rape, vomiting

rating: T

pairings: jalice

part 1 here

perihelion 2/?

It’s hard to tell visions from dreams. Sometimes, Alice doesn’t know which is which until a vision is coming true right in front of her, and then it’s like, okay, too late to do anything about this now. It means all of her dreams are high stakes—any nightmare could become a life-ruining disaster, any good dream could be made or unmade real by some hidden catalyst she doesn’t know about. She’s pretty sure she almost bombed the PSAT because she didn’t wear the blue top she had on in the dream where she scored a 189.

But her inability to tell the difference was never that big of a deal until Forks—until she started dreaming about the Cullens, and Jasper specifically. She wishes she could tell which of the Jasper dreams are real. They’re just so…well, horny. If Alice knew they were visions, and not her subconscious making a complete, desperate idiot of itself, she could be less embarrassed about the whole thing.

Tonight she dreams of Jasper and Rosalie in a room with green walls and shiny wood floors. They’re different in the dream, somehow—more still. Rosalie doesn’t sit. Jasper doesn’t blink.

Between them, an open doorway gapes into darkness. Just visible in the room beyond is the silhouette of a prone figure on a bed, unmoving. They watch it for an uncomfortable amount of time before Rosalie speaks.

“If she were any other human, I would have hunted you for sport, you know.”

“I know,” says Jasper, sounding impossibly old and tired.

“I would be off absolutely wrecking your shit right now, and then I would take care of the liability, because that’s how it works in this family. But she’s…this.” Rosalie grimaces, gesturing to the figure on the bed. “And why was it you told us you were following her, again? To ‘ensure her silence?’ Right,” she scoffs, evidently too disgusted with Jasper to keep looking at him.

“She hasn’t said anything. She won’t.”

“No, she won’t, because you’ll stop her at all costs, will you?”

Jasper’s face doesn’t betray the slightest twitch, but his eyes harden almost imperceptibly. “Not that way.”

Rosalie whirls back around. “You were supposed to be the one person I could count on to do what’s necessary! And now you’re telling me you won’t? Listen to yourself!”

Jasper throws up his hands. “Why are you here, then, Rose? Why are you helping her?”

“I’m helping you, you jackass! I know you all think I’m this narcissistic bitch, but I’m not…not inhumane, okay?” Rosalie levels a contemptuous glance at him, then looks away. “I don’t want some girl to be date-raped, however dangerous she is. And I’m not about to sit by and watch you make a complete mess of things.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think that ship may have sailed,” grumbles Jasper.

“I’ll say. I drive up and she’s going on about how you’re stalking her and claiming you’re dating? She should have been killed the moment she figured out what we were, but instead you’re following her around protecting her because of some bizarre psychic connection she claims you have? Make it make sense, Jasper.”

“Edward confirmed her ability is real.”

“Great, so she’s a bigger freak than us. That makes it all ok,” snaps Rosalie, dripping with sarcasm. “Wonderful to know your abysmal taste in women hasn’t altered after all these years.”

Jasper ignores both the jab and the implication. “Earlier you made it sound like you were on her side.”

“I just think you ought to admit what’s really going on here. You won’t let us kill her—fine. It’s utterly irresponsible and stupid, but I can accept that. But it’s not like we can allow her to keep existing out there as a human, knowing what she knows.”

Jasper barks out a humorless, incredulous laugh. “Are you advocating that we should have Carlisle change her? You, Rosalie Hale, want to ‘take away her humanity?’”

Rosalie shrugs. “I’m not saying she wouldn’t be better off dead. But she’s not a very good human, is she? I gather she’s not exactly thriving. They have to pump her full of drugs just to keep her functional, and her human peers still think she’s insane. Be realistic. Her life was over the moment she learned the truth about us.”

Jasper’s only response is a slow shake of his head, like he still can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about changing her. Don’t tell me it wasn’t your first thought, when you realized you didn’t want her dead. I may not be the mind reader in the family, but I know that’s a lie.”

It takes Jasper a beat too long to answer. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”

“Not enough, apparently. Right now, we’re in as much danger as she is. If she were one of us…well, her life is already ruined anyway. At least then we’d have her oh-so-special ability on our side. Surely you can see the strategic advantage,” Rosalie rebukes. “Better Carlisle changes her than the Volturi. Has it occurred to you that if they ever find out she exists, the decision will be taken right out of your hands?”

“It’s not in my hands.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes again. “Hers, then.”

He sighs. “The possibility did occur to me.”

“You think she wants to learn Italian and live in a sewer? Eat tourists?”

“I have no idea what she wants.”

Rosalie laughs. “Right, because she’s playing it so close to the vest. She called you a simp. Do you know what that means?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Funny how you never want to confide in anyone, yet here we are.”

Jasper’s look says that isn’t what’s going on here, but he doesn’t respond. They settle back into tense silence.

“What are you going to do about the man? The one who drugged her?” asks Rosalie after a while.

“Eliminate him. Quietly.”

Rosalie nods. “Carlisle won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Can you actually do it, though? Without slipping?”

Jasper doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

“I could do it.” Rosalie’s voice is quiet.

“It’s not your problem.”

“Exactly,” Rosalie insists. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me. If you slip…well, we may not have to move, but you won’t be able to come back to school for months. Going to trust the rest of us to babysit your human?”

“I won’t slip,” says Jasper, but for the first time, he sounds uncertain.

Alice’s dream chooses this moment to blur and shift. Jasper and Rosalie melt away, voices distorting until they’re drowned out by other voices, other sounds and images that crowd in and pull at her, like being tossed around in a rough ocean. They come one after another, too fast to make sense of them—muddy tires, a burst of cut-off music, a slow, dark ooze crawling over pavement, an echoing splash. Familiar red eyes, looking down at her.

Then Alice is awake, and the eyes looking down at her are black. Wait, no. There are no eyes looking down at her. It must have been part of the dream.

She’s lying on something soft—a bed. Above her is a white ceiling. Her head throbs with a confused, cotton-y ache, and her mouth tastes disgusting.

What the hell happened? Alice isn’t great at piecing together chronological sequences at the best of times. She remembers being in Port Angeles…splitting up with Bella in order to meet her friends from the art show at a bar, and then…people talking, her legs sticking to the green leather barstool. The lights getting blurry around the edges, the cool, slippery feel of condensation from the glass in her hand, and…oh. Oh, shit. Jasper.

Jasper had been there. The last thing she can recall is Jasper approaching, his face twisted in rage so murderous that she’d thought, huh, I guess he really is a vampire.

She rolls over and—speak of the devil—there he is, standing kind of a weird distance away, halfway between the bed and the door. He looks far less murderous than she remembers.

“Good morning,” she croaks, struggling into a sitting position. “Um. Where the hell am I?”

“Port Townsend,” says Jasper, which means absolutely nothing to her. She’s only been in Forks a few months—is she seriously supposed to know Washington geography?

To Alice’s immense relief, she’s still fully clothed. She does a surreptitious check to make sure her boobs aren’t falling out of her shirt, and when she looks back up there’s a glass of water in front of her face. She takes it and chugs the whole thing down in a few gulps. Why does she feel so hungover? She had only had, like, two drinks last night. Certainly not enough to make her black out and forget the whole evening. No, this big, empty gap in her memory feels more like when they used to drug her at the hospital. In fact, it feels exactly like that.

Jasper takes the empty glass from her and hands her another full one. He’s still watching her in a way that makes her want to squirm and fidget. Why had he been so angry last night?

She chugs the second glass of water while her sluggish brain tries to add it all up. Angry Jasper plus no memory plus waking up in a bed in a strange place, equals…yikes. Maybe she shouldn’t be drinking whatever he hands her.

“Uh,” she taps her fingers against the empty glass, “why do I feel like I’ve been roofied?”

“Because you were. Here,” says Jasper, handing her something else. Her own phone, somehow fully charged. One new voicemail, from…herself.

Future Alice, this is Past Alice. You’re probably pretty freaked out right now, but it’s okay! Jasper didn’t drug you. I repeat, Jasper did not drug you. Be nice to Rosalie; she’s there to help. Now put the phone down, you’re about to hurl. Bye!

Alice has just enough time to think, Rosalie? before a violent wave of nausea hits and she’s throwing up into the waste bin that appears in front of her face. “Ugh,” says the person holding it, and sure enough, there’s Rosalie.

There’s something extra humiliating about throwing up in front of two vampires, one of whom she kind of has a thing with and the other of whom is his super-hot sister who hates her. Thankfully, her stomach was empty except for the two glasses of water.

Rosalie blurs out of the room—damn, she’s fast—and reappears without the waste bin. It’s weird being on the bed while Rosalie and Jasper are standing, so Alice gets to her feet, already feeling way better. “Whose house is this?” she asks.

“Mine,” says Rosalie, practically shooting laser beams of resentment from her eyes.

“You wouldn’t let us take you home or to the hospital,” explains Jasper. “This is Rosalie and Emmett’s beach cottage.”

“Cottage” seems like the wrong word for this place, now that Alice gets a look at it. It has eight- or nine-foot ceilings and the view out the window—a vast, gray body of water that might be the ocean or some kind of bay—looks like a default computer desktop.

“Oh. So, then…someone else drugged me last night?” She tries to remember who she was talking to before Jasper came over, but she’d talked to so many people at the bar that they all kind of blur together in her head.

Jasper nods.

“Like we’d ever need to drug you,” says Rosalie. Oh, right. Vampires.

“So you just…watched me sleep?”

“Yeah, it was riveting. I had no idea snoring like a lawnmower was a side effect of rohypnol.”

So Alice was supposed to be nice to Rosalie, huh? Easier said than fucking done.

Something pushes at the back of her mind—Rosalie and Jasper watching her sleep. She, Alice, had watched them watching her sleep—from outside her own body. A vision, then, and not a dream.

She tries to remember the rest of it on the drive back to Forks, staring out the back window of Rosalie’s BMW like a kid with the two vampires up front. There had been something else in the vision, something besides the disjointed set of images. Jasper and Rosalie had talked about her, about whether or not she should be a vampire. She sneaks a glance at Jasper in the car mirror, at his downcast, shadowed eyes. Had he ever actually said whether he wanted Alice to be a vampire or not?

His eyes snap up to meet hers in the mirror, so suddenly she almost jumps. Alice looks away, guilty for no real reason. The vision, think about the vision.

There had been something else in it: a plan. They were going to…something. Something about slipping, something Rosalie thought she could do better than Jasper…

Right. They were going to kill someone.

rosalie @ human bella: noooo don’t become a vampire you’re so fertile aha

rosalie @ human alice: yeah nobody’s impregnating this little gremlin. bite away

#twilight fanfiction #jalice #jasper hale #alice cullen #rosalie hale #fic: mine #drugs //#date rape mention //#vomiting //#perihelion tag

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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years ago

Photo

Unexpected Visitor

(Story Post)

“Oh. Hello.” Nathan came home to a bit of a surprise. After coming home from a meeting with Korsgaard, he opened the door to find Jeffrey in his kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. He looked up and smiled to Nathan. “Oh, hey! What’s up?” Jeffrey asked. “What’s up to you first. What are…you doing here?” Nathan asked. Jeffrey shrugged. “Ya know, just hanging out with Wano.” “Ah.” Nathan felt a chill. “And where is Wano?” “I think he just finished up in the shower,” Jeffrey said. “Water stopped running.” “…How long have you been here?” “Hm, I got here… Maybe at noon-ish?” Jeffrey answered. Nathan just went quiet. He carried the twins in with him and set them down in the living room play pen before going and calling up the stairs. “Wano?” The Eclulan called back from the bathroom. “Yeah?” “I’m home! Can you come down please?” “‘Kay.” “Make sure you’re wearing clothes!” “‘Kay!”

Nathan went and grabbed some water from the fridge while he waited. He watched Jeffrey intently, but the young man just kept eating his cereal, oblivious to Nathan’s stare. Wano came down with boxers and a T-shirt on, with a towel around his neck. “Welcome home.” “Uh, yeah, thanks. Um, so Jeffrey’s here,” Nathan said. Wano looked at Jeffrey, who waved to him, and then looked back to Nathan. “Yes.” “What is he doing here?” Nathan asked. “He asked if he could come over,” Wano said. “I said yes.” Nathan blinked. “And you didn’t think to ask me, maybe?” Wano tilted his head. “Why?” “Uh…” Nathan motioned around. “Because it’s my house?” Wano frowned. “Are you mad? I don’t understand. Jeffrey is a friend to us, no?” “He… He is, but it’s still my house,” Nathan said. “I’d like to know when other people are in my house when I’m not here. You need to ask me first.” “It’s okay, Nathan. I’m heading out anyway,” Jeffrey said, after drinking his cereal milk. It left him with a milkstache. “Ollie’ll probably claim Ben as his own if I don’t get back soon…” He got up and made his way to the door to get his shoes on, but Wano intercepted him. “You have milk on your lip,” Wano stated. “Oh?” Jeffrey smiled and leaned into him, puckering his lips. “Can you get it off for me?” “Um, okay.” Wano took a finger and wiped the milk from Jeffrey’s face then wiped his hand on his own shirt. “There, you are clean.” Jeffrey chuckled and then moved on to get his shoes. “You’re so silly…” Nathan was just watching them, completely frozen. Wano waited and watched as Jeffrey finished getting ready to leave. “You will text me when you are home?” “Yeah, ‘course,” Jeffrey said, grinning. He straightened up and took Wano’s cheeks, pulling him down into a quick kiss. “I’ll see you soon, handsome.” Nathan was screaming internally. “Do you want to walk me to the bus stop?” Jeffrey asked. “Sure,” Wano said, without a second thought. “No!” Nathan cut in. Then he managed his volume. “Sorry, no. Wano can’t go too far from the house. The bus stop is too far.” “Ah. Right…” Wano angrily kicked his leg out with the ankle bracelet. “Aw, okay.” Jeffrey smiled and waved. “I’m off, then. Bye!” “Bye,” Wano said. Jeffrey walked out and Wano waited at the door until Jeffrey turned the corner towards the bus. Nathan sat down at the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. “Could you close the door, please?” Wano did as told and then wandered over. “You look angry in your face. Was your meeting bad?” “No.” Nathan straightened up. “So, you and Jeffrey are serious now?” “Serious about what?” Wano asked. “You’re in a relationship,” Nathan said. He remembered he had to be plain with the Eclulan. “Wano, did you have sex with Jeffrey today in my house?” Wano shrugged. “Yes.” Nathan groaned. “Seriously?! At least tell me you’re using protection…” “Protection? From who?” Wano asked. “Not Jeffrey. I am much stronger than him.” “No, condoms! Contraceptives!” Nathan said. “Safe sex!” “I don’t understand any of that,” Wano asked. “Are you kidding—did you put anything on your penis to protect yourselves from illness or pregnancy?” Nathan tried one more time. “No. None of that makes sense,” Wano asked. “Why would we do that?” “Um, maybe so that you don’t get a sexually transmitted illness and you don’t get pregnant!” Nathan exclaimed. Wano shrugged. “But I cannot get your human diseases and I cannot get pregnant.” “But Jeffrey can!” Nathan said. “Yes, is that not the point of sex?” Wano asked. “Not the diseases, but to reproduce?” Nathan wanted to shout but he held it in and just turned around to try and calm down. Wano frowned. “I have not seen you so angry before… Do you need food? Are you hungry?” “No, Wano,” Nathan gripped his kitchen counter with white knuckles. “…I am trying so hard to figure out a way for you to realise why what you’re doing with Jeffrey right now is wrong.” “I don’t understand. Do you not like Jeffrey?” Wano asked. “I thought you were friends.” “I…” Nathan grit his teeth. “I like Jeffrey. We are…group friends. But, Jeffrey is immature and what you two are doing right now is so blind of the consequences. You’re about to be deported off the planet!” “I am very aware of that,” Wano said, defensively. Nathan turned back around. “Then why are you trying to make a baby?!” “It is because I am leaving that I want to,” Wano said. “My planet is dangerous… I might not come back. I would like Jeffrey to carry my legacy so my life was not without meaning.” Nathan wrinkled his nose. It sounded noble in a way but still rubbed him the wrong way. “Wano, that is probably the most selfish thing I have ever heard in my life.” Wano was taken aback. “What? Why?” “Legacy? Are you kidding me?” Nathan said. “If you expect to die, the last thing you should do is try to leave behind a fatherless child!” “They would not be fatherless, they would have Jeffrey,” Wano said. “Unless you are trying to say Jeffrey is a mother, but I learned that's not very ‘progressive’ or something.” Nathan growled in frustration. “You know what I meant! Creating a child just to walk out on them is so irresponsible! You need to give me a much better reason than that! But there isn't one because that's bullshit!” Wano frowned. “You don't understand… I want to be a father. This could be my last chance.” “Wano, you're deportation is only two months away,” Nathan said. “Even if you did get Jeffrey pregnant right now, you won't be here when they're born. And return applications can take a long time. You might not be able to even see the baby for a few years. You'd be more of a sperm donor than a father.” Wano shook his head. “You think that. I don't care what you think.” Nathan had enough. “Whether you see it that way or not, I'm not going to facilitate this in my home. You can't have Jeffrey over here anymore. You didn't have permission in the first place.” Wano stepped right up to Nathan and loomed over him. “What are you going to do? You can't stop me.” Nathan wasn't going to take this. He straightened up and growled, glaring down at Wano. When he tried to speak though, he could only emit a loud thunderous snarl. Wano immediately backed off and looked genuinely scared. “Nathan?” Nathan realised suddenly that something was wrong. Wano had a couple inches on him. It shouldn't have been possible for him to look down on the Eclulan and yet there he stood looming a good foot over the frightened alien. The twins in their pen nearby had both turned, Grace starting to howl and Gabriel letting out little bear cries as well. “The wolf…” Wano emitted. “Nathan, you're big…” Nathan looked at his own hands and saw the fur grown straight out all over, and his claws curled out longer than he'd ever seen. Panicked, he turned about looking for something reflective. He found a new pot and looked into the polished surface. In his reflection he didn't recognise himself. His hair had grown over his face, his ears had elongated past his head with fur all over and all his teeth had pointed. He was looking into the face of the wolf for the first time. Wano was doing his best not to cower in fear. He kept eye contact with Nathan while he tried to figure out what to do. “Nathan… Are you okay? I am…sorry…” Nathan didn't want to scare Wano but any time he talked it just came out as growls and snarls. He waved his hands to try and communicate for Wano not to worry and then he pointed to his phone on the counter which he couldn’t pick up himself now without scratching or crushing. “You want me to call?” Wano asked. “Dax? APID? The doctor?” Nathan just nodded. Any of them would do so long as they could help. “I'll call Dax.” Wano picked up the phone and dialled. In the meantime, Nathan tried sitting so he could calm down. He yipped uncomfortable as sitting initially cause him some pain. He realised he suddenly had a tail and he'd sat right down on it. Trying again, he leaned forward and sat down without crushing anything. It didn't make sense. It was daytime, he was still part man, and he was conscious. Nothing like this had ever happened before and he was scared. He put his face in his hands and took deep breaths, just trying to calm down. After a few minutes, Wano put down the phone and came around the kitchen counter to where Nathan sat. He looked him over and then touched his shoulder. “Nathan? Are you okay?” Nathan tensed up at Wano's touch but when he pulled his hands from his face, they were normal again. Or rather, relatively normal, he still had his permanent claws but they were back down to a manageable size, same as his canine teeth. He touched his face and felt the smooth hairless skin. He heaved a sigh and looked up to his friend. “Wano…” The Eclulan smiled. “You are alright. You are not wolf.” “I don't know what happened...” Nathan was shaking and he couldn't help tearing up. “What was that?” “Dax called the doctors to see you,” Wano informed him. “I am sorry… If I did not anger you…” Nathan shook his head. “No, I…” He tried to steady his breathing. “There's a monster in me…” Wano could tell words weren't helping his friend at all but he didn't want to see him like this. He got down on his knees and pulled him into a hug. Nathan shuddered and wrapped his arms around Wano's torso. He just wanted to calm down and get back to normal. “You are nice guy, not monster,” Wano said gently. “Thanks…” Nathan managed. The twins were still exchanging animal cries and Nathan started getting up to check on them. “Nathan, no. Just relax,” Wano said. “I'll take care of them. You rest.” Nathan sighed but agreed. “Okay, I... Maybe I'll take a shower...” “Yes, sounds good,” Wano encouraged. Nathan did so and went upstairs to shower. The sensation of the water running over him helped him feel more attached to his body, something transformation often disconnected for him. He thought he'd always wanted to be conscious as the wolf, not to lose all control, and yet this sudden transformation had made him feel betrayed. He wondered what Syd or even Korsgaard would have to say about it. He only imagined they'd want to recreate it. APID would want it studied. But he had no idea how it happened or what triggered it. He didn't want to think it was his emotions because the idea of being irate and becoming a dangerous monster scared him the most. The last thing he wanted was to endanger his friends and family. He just wanted to forget it happened at all.

#lore #Nathan #Jeffrey #Wano #alien #fairy #werewolf #implied mpreg

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