#because having my feet up helps a lot with my low blood pressure issues | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therealpeelz · 1 year ago

Text

2023 Game Log Thoughts

This year was kinda dogshit, right? I don’t think I’m breaking a lot of post-2020 ground here by saying that. A real “we’ll fix it in post”-ass year. A real, “at least I was only psychically scarred” kind of year. A real half-hearted “we’re building a dynasty for a great 2025”-ass year.

Here are some thoughts about the best non-game games I played in 2023.

Ball (2023, My Own Home ft. Two Cats)

Living with two kittens is like being in your own home as the naval officers that show up at the end of The Lord of the Flies, perpetually in a state of arriving to see two of your home residents locked with conch shell above head on the verge of enacting some kind of easily-accessible metaphor about man’s cruelty to man or life in a post-WW2 society or whatever. When they aren’t engaging in colonialist-tinged symbolic combat or sleeping, sometimes the cats like to play. Sometimes they even want me to play with them! This is very good for my mental well-being and health, but it really interrupts the flow of me grabbing them under the arms, getting nose to nose with them, and informing them that they’re my favorite idiot gremlin angels.

One of the games they like to play is ball. Ball is a game that the boy of the pair, Hamish, really enjoys. The goal of the ball is to take the small felt ball with catnip essence inside it (our conch shell, as it were, sucks for your asthm-ar or whatever), and throw it across the room. Hamish then runs around like the devil himself were tickling his prominent butthole, grabs the ball, and eventually returns it within about three and a half feet of where you’re sitting. Wait long enough, and Hamish yells some more, demanding the tickling finger of the devil once more. Hamish is desirous of the ambulatory symbology ball, and will yell until it takes flight again. This process continues until eventually Hamish is satisfied, which is never. Instead you eventually take Ball away from him after he holds it in his mouth and growls at shadows on the walls. Pig’s head on a stick, and all that.

Ball has a few flaws that I hope get patched out in a future update. The ball is just small enough to roll under pieces of furniture that are too low to get a human arm under. This is generally a stressful time for all players of ball until it gets resolved.

On the whole though, Ball has probably done more for my mental health than any game released in 2023. And that’s saying something - I went to therapy this year and everything! Ball is our 2023 Game of the Year.

Managing My Blood Pressure (2023, My Own Home and Elsewhere)

In contrast, managing my blood pressure did the opposite of Ball re: mental health. The mechanics of Managing My Blood Pressure involve putting on a dread-inducing cuff either at home or in a Doctor’s Office (read: hard mode), pretending like you don’t feel the creeping shadow of the ghost on the back of your neck, and making some little numbers that indicate your likelihood of an early stroke stay down.

Eventually you get a series of pills to help out with the numbers, and your life otherwise remains the same. It’s been good for me, and I’m glad to have done it. Playing Managing My Blood Pressure was a real meditation on the role that genetic circumstance and behavioral choice really blend into morass of indecipherable personal responsibility RE: The little death fraction that appears on the screen after the cuff pinches your arm. Do I deserve to feel the creeping death because of Life Choices? Was all of this unavoidable due to the genetic lottery of coming from two parents with various forms of neurosis and longstanding health issues of their own? Who knows! Managing My Blood Pressure is an ambiguous little koan in that way. Great game, very necessary, glad to have found an active lifestyle game that really clicks with me, can’t wait to have to keep playing it for the rest of my life while coming to terms with loving my own body. Great stuff.

Managing My Blood Pressure is our 2023 Game of the Year.

Todoist (20XX, Phone App ft. My Mind Palace)

After a series of heady therapy conversations and important conversations with my wife, it was suggested to me by people who love and care for me a lot that having your personal phone notes app filled with your own creative thoughts ALSO contain your ever-encroaching to-do list was a recipe for a bad time. All items on the list exist in a state of permanently being the most and least important thing in the world at all times, each with an ambiguous lifespan (“Will this task take months or six minutes? Who knows, in this mind palace!”), flattening everything into Schrodinger’s Most Important Item.

Now, those fun creative thoughts exist in a separate space from the mundane things that need to happen in life via Todoist. Todoist forces you to write deadlines for things - wow! Great innovation in the “Remember to log in and check your latest blood test results” space.

All the mundane and necessary life things now exist in a little chevron’d redd circle app on my phone, away from the really important stuff like the app containing half-remembered dreams and a list of all the video games I’ll never play but buy anyway. Priorities.

Todoist is our 2023 Game of the Year.

Therapy (2023, Also My Mind Palace)

That’s ridiculous. Therapy isn’t a game. Get outta here.

Video Games

Now’s as good of a time as any to talk about video games. Here’s all the ones I played this year according to every company having a Spotify Wrapped nowadays. Ordered roughly in the order I played them this year. Light to medium spoilers for everything discussed here.

LA Noire (2011)

In one of the many Sliding Doors realities where Rockstar didn’t find the cheat code for capitalism by making a sandbox open world multiplayer streamer content-production machine in Grand Theft Auto Online, every 18 months or so we’d have a new LA Noire. A game that you could put on like an HBO season DVD, play on the couch with a spouse, and chat through as you go. A game that you wouldn’t feel weird recommending to your dad.

LA Noire had the gall in 2011 to try to make human empathy a gameplay mechanic and kinda stick the landing. If you squint there’s even some fun ludo-narrative tension between being a “good cop” (lol) and getting high ranks in missions compared to being a “Good Person.” It’s neat! It inherits the problems of most fiction in this style - thin character writing for women, an abrupt and slightly unsatisfying ending. And it inherits some of the Rockstar pedigree as well - atomized little mini gameplay moments that are meant to break up the progression loop but mostly do a better job of making apparent how mechanically uninteresting the main game really is.

But LA Noire had the gumption to try something that really should have been obvious and good, a narrative-driven experience that makes emotional intelligence a Gamer Skill. Maybe someday we’ll be dignified enough as a people to give this format a go again.

Neon White (2022)

Introducing an action economy to one of these speed-focused time-shaving challenge games is a really brilliant way to teach a player speedrunning concepts like routing. Brilliant pedagogy here, and it feels really nice with gyro controls on console. You go, Neon White (2022).

Rogue Legacy 2 (2022)

Action rogue-like-lite games have a tough design challenge imposed on them. The differing playstyles and strategic approaches of a more tactical rogue-alike-athing need to be appealing and brain-tickling, but the equivalent in an actiony rogue-amajig also has to feel like tactile fun. This is, I’ve counted, what made about 20% of Hades (2020) a thin-air miracle. The core mechanical feedback loop of Shock Troopers-like dodging, ability management, and understanding of effective ranges that made each playstyle feel sufficiently unique while all harboring the same skill-transferable-nugget at the center.

By contrast, Rogue Legacy 2 never felt consistently fun to me. Under the veneer of its charming-if-2011-y internet humor and quality visual assets were a set of combat encounters that all managed to feel like some form of flailing no matter what your class or playstyle was. Henry Ford said your Model T could be any color you wanted, so long as it was kind of tedious.

Anyway, I spent about 80 hours on the game, most of it as the class that felt the most like Symphony of the Night’s Alucard. Oops. Guess I didn’t have that much not-fun, right?

Fire Emblem Engage (2023)

Christ alive. We just can’t trust these people anymore can we. Engage belongs to a special category of RPGs that I believe Aeveebee described where the main pleasure comes from navigating the systems of character building and progression such that you’re “breaking” the game. The joy comes from cleverly identifying the interlocking systems the developers meticulously planned for, making something that doesn’t feel like it should be fair, and then steamrolling with it. In that sense, Engage goes further than any other FE game I’ve played in making it feel like you’re Getting One Over On Them.

However, the narrative structure of the game and the resource allocation necessary to do all that fun game-breaking stuff is still on a Fire Emblem timeframe. For reasons I won’t necessarily spoil here, the game makes it impossible to actually make good on all that tasty theory-crafting until the very end of the game, and forces you to play by the usual FE rules of scarcity until you very abruptly don’t again. Engage exists in the Nintendo liminal space of games that might be more mechanically fun without all the hassle of that part where you actually have to progress in the game to build out your team of twink’d-out stat monster babies - what scholars call “The Pokemon Problem”.

Unlike a pokemon, or even other FE games, Engage doesn’t have a great narrative or compelling characters to fall back on. I clocked the visual designs being reminiscent of Vtuber avatars before a friend told me that was literally the intended choice. If these are meant to be appealing to someone, I’m not the demo. And the story zips straight past the endearingly kitsch anime style of recent entries straight into the forbidden zone of anime storytelling that exists on shows you're embarrassed to talk about.

F.I.S.T. - Forged in Shadow Torch (2022)

What a cool Shinra Midgar-core, defamiliarized Character Action Game Metroid platformer, Mandarin voice-acted thing. By the end the combat starts to feel a little thin, with some exploitable moves and patterns that work against most enemy types and situations, but hot damn is it fun to see a bunch of people making something with all of their influences front and center and loving it (foreshadowing for this year’s Actual GOTY? Perhaps!). The first hour of this game manages to do the Metroidalike thing better than basically any other game in its class by dint of fast forwarding the player to the part where basic movement feels really really good. I love Hollow Knight to death, but even that game spent its first 4 hours or so making you feel like a pathetic worm (lol) before giving you basic mobility options.

My only complaint is that the game is too legitimately good to be a 7/10. It has the dubious honor of being a really genuinely great 8/10. Sorry, buddy.

Metroid Prime Remaster (2023)

So much of this game aged so well. Such a cool little transition piece between what Nintendo was, what it would become, and what the rest of the AAA first person genre would be. The things Metroid Prime does well are obvious - its worldbuilding and environmental storytelling, its neo-Ocarina of Time combat, the tunes. The things it does really really well are less obvious. Prior to getting the double jump there’s a set of rooms that have surprisingly strict jump timings and positioning, getting you just to the point of frustration before unshackling you with increased mobility options. Masterful stuff.

Also it turns out that the hardest part of the Omega Pirate fight wasn’t its health or damage output, it was “being 13 years old”! With that difficulty modifier out of the way it was a breeze. What a chump.

Deathloop (2021)

Deathloop is decidedly not a Hitman. Sorry about those misaligned expectations, Deathloop (2021). Immersive Sims have this thing about them where some of the earliest hours are the most difficult, before you get your brain octopus’d around its gameplay systems and you get your first batch of upgrades and doodads. My first few hours with Deathloop, the first (but not the last) I’ve spent in an Immersive Sim in a long time (more GOTY foreshadowing??? Perhaps!!!), were a slog. It clicked when I starting playing the game as an extremely fucked up action game rather than a tense stealth-puzzler. From that point on, the movement-focused abilities all blended together and turned into something special. And with confident visual styling on top! Nifty.

I played through most of the game while dealing with my living room’s electrical circuit tripping intermittently every few days. It added an additional layer of tension and uncertainty around everything I was doing, but can’t really recommend the experience to anyone else.

The ending I chose involved two characters emotionally reconciling and rebuilding their relationship together eternally. A lot of people online say this is one of the “bad” endings. Oops! Guess we have different opinions about things. What can I say, I’m a sucker for two people choosing to love each other in the face of nihilistic absurdity.

Portal (2007) and Portal 2 (2011)

I played these two at least partially as a bit of gamer theater, that thing we used to do every now and then before we outsourced it to streamers, as a way for my wife to enjoy now that she has a bit of gaming literacy. The first one is still an immaculately-paced, tight little thing. The second game occupies a weird spot in an internet landscape where memetic culture was really taking off. It’s hard not to imagine the creators of Portal 2 writing and knowing which bits would be recycled at awkward parties for years to come, and that takes a bit of the wonder out of the whole thing. Being of a certain age and sheltered little privileged status I also never clocked any of these games for being as Sapphic as they are, so that was a fun rediscovery!

Portal 2, much like one of the other games of the year (MORE FORESHADOWING??? HOW???) also manages to nail the feeling of megastructure and New Weird vastness. Just let me hang out in the megastructures with my magical physics gun in the future, thanks! Another game for the sliding doors alternate present we’d have a lot more of if the AAA service model didn’t break capitalism in half - life woulda been better. But Valve is content to be the cable company rather than being HBO these days, so here we are.

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (2023)

If you’re the kind of person to have made it all the way here, you don’t need another person telling you much more about anything related to Tears of the Kingdom. Here’s an attempt.

The effort put in place here to make you consistently feel like a lateral-thinking Immersive Sim gremlin wizard in solving these micropuzzles for dozens of hours on end is remarkable. No other game designed to be this broken has ever made you feel quite so clever and cool for breaking it, and then subsequently giving you a little gremlin treat and a pat on the head for doing so. And when it doesn’t work, it’s usually a resulting physical comedy that you can only find in a Souls game!

In Tears of the Kingdom, you are the quest log. You are the little dude making a list of things to do and things to solve and crannies to nook. You’re free to sequence break the themes and plot, to run around and just be a spanner in the works. And everyone is so Nintendo Tastefully-Horny for Link the whole time without it feeling too gross or weird.

Breath of the Wild was a nostalgic game talking about Nostalgia and how we live in our own blasted future that the nostalgic past produced. Tears is a game about building on top of that rubble, forging something new with it, and manages to do an admirable job animating those themes over the course of its playtime. The ending made me cry tears of the Me-dom. I’m only human.

Tears of the Kingdom is our 2023 Game of the Year.

Rise of the Tomb Raider (2015) and Shadow of the Tomb Raider (2018)

Sometimes it’s just a lot of fun to play something that has a lot of money thrown at it. We like playing money games, don’t we folks? Just a lot of complex lighting effects and tasteful geometry and lived-in worlds. It all makes for a good time, doesn’t it? Rise is probably the better of the two here, with a more focused final act and something resembling some real theme work. I like the way the game dangles the ludonarrative of “go collect all the fun shiny things” alongside the narrative-narrative of “is this colonizer even here for the right reasons?”. It’s a nice touch, and that’s ALMOST like contending with the imperialist past of the series and the British Empire at large. Almost! In a way that definitely really isn’t. Nice work, team. Shoutouts to all the work here making a bow and arrow almost feel as cool as a DOOM shotgun. I’m also shocked this whole thing isn’t littered with more nostalgia for the older games. Again, something bordering on taste and restraint here, who woulda figured!

Viewfinder (2023)

Viewfinder is 2023’s breakout Portal-alike of a game whose primary mechanic was envisioned as a tech piece before blown out into a soft narrative-driven action puzzle romp. Where Portal traded in tight highly-refined rigidity in its puzzles, every stage in Viewfinder kinda feels like you’re doing it wrong but succeeding anyway. The story, heavy with the harbinger clouds of Climate Change Symbolism, is the thing that pushes this out into being an aggressively 2023 game. I hope the aliens that find us in a few thousand years after we’re all gone judge us based on things like this and not my obsession with taking long hot showers.

Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow (2003), Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance (2002), Timespinner (2018), Katamari Damacy Re-Roll (2018), Wario Land 4 (2001), Space Invaders Extreme (2018), rRootage (2023 re-release)

Around October of 2021, our household’s cat starting showing signs of being a mortal being put on this earth 17 years ago, rescued from a dumpster, and living a sheltered perfect life being our toxoplasmosis dispenser. To say I didn’t handle his end of life well would be euphemistic and an insult to my wife. I was an anxious spiraling mess, a hungry ghost made of all my fears feeding off the oxygen in every available room and suffocating the people I cared about most. It wasn’t good.

All the games listed above didn’t do the job of adequately supplementing (much less replacing) therapy, medication, mindful introspection, and honest difficult conversations that I needed. But gosh darnit they did an admirable job trying while I curled into a ball on my bed with an Analogue Pocket (or Switch) and attempted to put my brain into an empty carnival music mode. Here’s one sentence about each of them.

Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow is shockingly boring, and a reminder that the Iga-vania games have succeeded in their maximalist goals maybe three times out of the dozen made.

Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance is way more fun than I gave it credit for in its day, and has some sweet Giallo-adjacent background colors.

Timespinner is probably fine.

Katamari Damacy Re-Roll, in the highest compliment I can give it, was powerful enough to calm the monkey brain of my anxiety for a whole 2 hours one night.

Wario Land 4 has a level of excessive quality in all its individual assets that should really be made illegal.

Space Invaders Extreme is the pinball of shmups and I wish it were my brain’s screensaver.

rRootage is Nintendo Brain Training for freak shmup mutants.

Armored Core VI (2023)

About a third of the way through my first playthrough of Armored Core VI I realized I accidentally walked backwards into a forum-post-spawning meta build that invalidated half the bosses and most of the non-bosses in the game. What can I say, see a shotgun use a shotgun, that’s the motto. And this game’s shotguns rival DOOM for chrissakes.

No game has done a better job making you feel like a mosquito with rocket boosters (sorry Buck Bumble fans!!! You’ll get your critical rehabilitation someday!). Zipping through and around megastructures while playing as a flying megastructure while dealing with the post-capital military-industrial hellscape you’re dropped into is just phenomenal. This is a game by people who can seemingly just generate the best-feeling action combat as a matter of course, and craft a series of escalating challenges that force mastery along the way. Armored Core VI has about a hojillion weapons that each feel as good to use as at least the middle of the road cool guns in an Id Software game. And there’s some bone-dry bleak humor on top of the whole thing!

Armored Core makes video games feel cool again. The Ice Worm fight is the best gimmick boss Fromsoft has ever made. Armored Core VI our 2023 Game of the Year.

Spider-Man 2 (2023)

But no seriously, what if we gamers played a game with A LOT of money thrown at it? Like, just an ungodly unhinged amount of money. That’s fun, right? We like seeing the intricately-modeled city load very quickly, don’t we gamers?

Some lost Forever War-ass console wars veterans were complaining that New York in these games feels like a big jungle gym setpiece level you zip around in rather than a real town. And like, yes? It’s me, the person who enjoys seeing an entire metropolitan zone turned into the stage where I perform my zip zip thwips.

Someone I used to know talked at distressingly labored lengths about the Marvel comic book ethos being about finding The Superhero by way of The Human. This is a game that goes out of its way to show Spider-Man being a normal person, sitting and talking with people to make their days just a little better. It’s nice. Peter Parker is Marvel's Marvel Superhero.

The game also manages to replicate the feeling of reading an entire wiki’s worth of character and plot summaries - the best way to enjoy a comic you don’t really care about. I know just enough Marvel to know what’s being changed and altered here, which is really a sweet spot. There are like seven different dangling plot hooks in this game that feel like they could be fleshed out into full sequels, which is cool because it seems like Insomniac might be in indentured servitude to make these things until the wheels fall off. Thanks for your immortal service, Insomniac!

Combat feels like the exact middle point between superhero hyper-mobile nonsense, character action buttons-y-ness, and Dynasty Warriors “mash the special button for big fun”. If you’re not going to make AAA mass-appeal Godhand- Of War combat, this is probably the way to go!

Just like our friend Geoff “Jingle Keelhaul” Keighly, we are happy to say that Spider-Man 2 is not our Game of the Year 2023.

Mario Wonder (2023)

Mario Wonder is the first true sequel to Super Mario World, in that it’s rich with finely-tuned mechanical design space and pleasant action feelings that only barely get explored in the game's levels proper. Lurking somewhere in Mario Wonder’s physics values on a spreadsheet is the best platformer Nintendo has made since Mario 3. Someone else is going to have to make it though.

Some of the Wonder Seed gimmicks really don’t add anything to this game, and there really coulda been about six more special world levels and I would have been pleased. But at the least, they finally buried the guy at Nintendo who made New Super Mario Bros’s default slippery physics. I wish nothing but good things for the person who did that, but please do not hold us hostage to those 2D platformer physics ever again.

Alan Wake Remastered (2021)

The original Alan Wake is a platonic ideal of a 7/10 video game. Narratively ambitious, mechanically loose, a few elements that feel like they came perfectly-formed from a team of creative geniuses (Wake’s novel writing! So impressively bad on purpose) alongside a smattering of things that just barely work. Combat in Alan Wake is a loose, slippery telephone-game version of Resident Evil 4 that feels neither cathartic nor scary. As a sort of knowing in-joke (oh phew, this game needed more of those) it feels like a defamiliarized Max Payne system, which is fun for about an hour. It’s a means to its end as a video game with a narrative. So it goes.

But what a nifty little narrative. A game brazenly determined to wear its influences as a chest tattoo and show them off to anybody else in the bar. Hearing Alan Wake say “just like in The Shining!” after someone breaks through a door with a hatchet. Masterful stuff. No cowards with subtext here. Every piece of Alan’s writing feels like it has the immaterial quality of someone looking around the room and trying to come up with a pen name based on objects they see. The man at one point describes in his writing something having a "mammoth-sized hole in the wall." The page with that passage is in a room that has a mammoth skeleton in it. The skeleton doesn't even have anything to do with the hole in the wall! No notes.

Under all the fun, winking metatext Alan Wake has the gall to be about something. Others have written more and better about what that is, but from my vantage I’d say it’s about as good of a story about self-loathing and artistic labor as we can expect from a game playable on an Xbox 360 computer entertainment system. It’s retroactively our 2010 Game of the Year. Condolences to our previous entry, Playing Super Street Fighter IV With Friends While \Being at an Age Where You Don't Have to Pay Back Your Student Loans.

Alan Wake 2 (2023)

I’ll refuse to spoil the exact contents of Alan Wake 2, because even if you’re one of six people to ever read this I’m not going to put that evil out into the world. Go forth and experience it.

To Alan Wake’s mix of Lynch, Stephen King, Resident Evil 4, and Lovecraft comes a helping dose of Fincher, Bryan Fuller, Resident Evil 4 Remake, House of Leaves, and Eurovision kitsch. It’s a game so preposterously confident in its own Thing that it feels impossible to exist as a big budget game in 2023. At the micro level, Alan Wake 2 is a tattered rat king electrical cord ball of metatext and nonsense. Bits of language, themes, ideas, feelings all together in a bolas that’s impossible to untie. But in aggregate, it all takes on its own dream logic in a way that’s totally coherent. I hate to say the words aloud, but it feels like literature. Gross!

The Remedy Connected Universe manages to feel more meaningfully comic book-like than most attempts at shared narratives cropping up in the last decade, all without ever losing sight of an unabashedly earnest emotional hook at its center. A lot of games feel like they walk backwards into being a treatise on existential hope in the face of consuming psychological nihilism. Alan Wake 2 earns it from the jump.

Late in the game there’s a depiction of a character’s anxiety that absolutely floored me. After a year of struggling to express what it feels like, there it is. It’s not mine, it belongs to a character who belongs to everyone. But there it is, stark and messy and angry.

Alan Wake 2 is not the most fun I had playing a video game this year. It’s probably the game I want others to replicate and learn from the most. It’s fearlessly a video game, and one that has the audacity to grasp for something and mostly get there.

Alan Wake 2 is our 2023 Game of the Year.

0 notes

theodorevg923 · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I have a rather specific self indulgent request. Could you write for Moondrop (maybe sun if you’re up for it) with a reader who has POTS?

Most people don’t know what pots is so here’s a list of symptoms/causes/treatments:

Tachycardia/Heart palpitations

Poor circulation/numb limbs

High or low blood pressure (sudden drops or rises)

Vertigo/Dizziness/Lightheaded

Shortness of breath/chest pain

Fatigue/brain fog

Fainting

Symptoms are typically triggered by postural changes, and standing is especially hard for long periods of time (10+ minutes) Our “automatic” functions aren’t so automatic, like blood flow. It all just falls to our feet when we stand.

Once symptoms have been triggered, you have to sit down. In more severe cases, lay down, or even put your legs up against a wall

There isn’t any known cause or cure for pots, but there are things that can help minimize the symptoms:

Extra salt (like, a lot. I take a whole pill of straight salt-)

Hydrate (again, like a lot)

Slow movements when going from laying to sitting to standing

Sorry this is a lot, totally understand if it’s to much or overwhelming to try and write.

Not to be rude, but I deal with some of these so this won't be that hard for me. I definitely feel you on the swelling as I, the author, is hypoglycemic, a lesser known form of diabetes.

A/N: If this, or anything I write, comes off disrespectful to those with medical and mental disabilities, it is not my intention. I have quite a few myself and never intend to put anyone down over something that is out of their control.

No gender specified so going Gen

Sundrop + Moondrop x Gen Reader with POTS

Master List!

FNAF Requests!

No warnings, just fluff!

- Under the cut for length!

Sundrop

When you're first hired for the daycare, Sun will be his usual self, excited to meet the newest employee.

Within the first day, if not a couple hours, Sun will have noticed the unusual behaviors you exhibit.

At first Sun will think your just another lazy employee, until they pick up the subtle signs of your dizzy spells, hand reaching up to cover your eyes, leaning against a play structure or desk, or slight sway in your body.

Sun has an extensive memory bank of medical knowledge that has been expanded over the years to include medical issues that arise for adults. A quick run through and they'll find a few options of what you have (if it's not on your employee record).

Once Sun has it figured out, they'll try to hide their stress over you, not wanting to treat you any differently. (They've been yelled at about that before.)

But Sun will find ways of helping you out, whether it's redirecting the children to other activities, sitting you down at a table to help children color or make crafts, or taking over clean up.

If you're afab, periods can be especially hard on you and Sun will instantly pick up on your worsening condition. This is when his attempts as master of distraction become more noticeable.

Sun will constantly stress over you, worried that they caused it by letting you overwork yourself. If you haven't already, it's time to talk to them. It won't soothe all their worries, but it will help.

"It's alright solar flare! We can work it out together!"

In the end, things will work out as Sun learns what your personal remedies and habits are. But they will always stress over you because they worry for their little solar flare.

Moondrop

Moon will be slower to approach when you first start, but they already know everything about you through Sun.

But through their own personal stress concern for their star shine co-worker, they will eventually approach.

Moon won't show his concern in the same way, but it is still there. If you try to help during naptime, or after hours, they'll simply redirect you back to the security desk.

As time goes on, Moon will help in their own way. Little snacks, drinks, items stolen borrowed from lockers on their nightly rounds.

Once Moon has come to trust like you, they will slowly approach with physical comfort. Even going so far on bad days to let you rest in their room. Don't worry, they know they need to be careful and not move to fast with the tether.

If you happen to work nights, this is when you'll receive the most comfort from Moon. And with allowance from Sun, don't be surprised to have lights out happen much more than typically allowed.

Sun knows you need your rest, and despite his wish to play with you all the time, Moon will be allowed equal, if not more, time with you.

Once Moon, and you, are comfortable with physical affection, expect to be carefully whisked away to their room for plenty of quiet times.

Both of their rooms will have snacks, drinks, and anything else Moon could snag for you, so whoever's you're with, you will be well cared for.

Both Sun and Moon know you aren't any weaker of a person for having POTS, it's just both have come to care for you, each in their own special ways.

"Anytime you need me, star shine, just turn the lights out."

And don't worry about any responsibilities you may have, at your insistence you can do them yourself, you do need to keep up your exercise after all. But it is nice to have someone like Sun and Moon ready to help you and to never think you to be weak for asking for help.

Stay Cruel Until The End - Theodore

Posted Jun 9 '22

#theodore923 #fnaf #fnaf fandom #fnaf security breach #fnaf sundrop #sundrop x reader #fnaf sun and moon #sundrop and moondrop #fnaf moondrop #moondrop x reader #x reader #x y/n #fnaf headcanons

88 notes · View notes

chubbyreaderchan · 4 years ago

Text

How it Should Have Been | Sesshomaru x Reader

tw: chlldbirth, female reader, anti-sessrin, pregnancy complications, OG Sesshomaru, human reader from modern times so everyone can be included

-- The Reveal --

She was acting strange.

Something was off with his human mate.

They were tired a lot more often than usual.

Then when they had dinner with Rin in Kaede’s hut she ran from the room and was ill. It did not add up for the demon lord. Not until Kaede asked.

“Dog demon.” the crone’s voice came out. “How far along is she?”

His golden eyes widened and he instantly regretted not noticing from the beginning. He stood up from the social meal, young Rin chattering excitedly over the prospect of a baby had been muffled as he went to find her. It wasn’t difficult combined with knowing her scent better than his own and the scent of sick. He found her knelt over, and he joined her on the ground despite the smell. Pulling back any clothing or hair that may get in the way.

“How long have you known you were with child, (Y/n)?”

She looked up at him, a bit of shyness in her face but then she knew that look. To the average person it would be the usual cold stare. The indifferent demeanor he always held. But their connection was different.

She knew him.

“I only realised a couple weeks ago... if I had to guess... maybe since the last full moon?” His golden eyes pierced her soul.

They always did in the most liberating and exciting way.

His slender fingers reached forward and he gently wiped her face. For one moment, Sesshomaru held an expression of care in his stony features.

In that moment he was truly beautiful.

-- Things Get Complicated --

Her body was beautiful in Sesshomaru’s mind.

Everytime they were alone his hands were on the growing bump, on her body in every way possible. It was a source of pride for the dog demon. However, one evening while she was taking care of the laundry she collapsed. He only found her because she took an unusual amount of time hanging her kimonos.

Her body sprawled out in the dirt, face paled from the normal lively color. Instantly, she was in his arms and off to Kaede’s hut.

"Old crone.” Sesshomaru’s voice was dark and demanding. “She collapsed.” If one didn’t know him he may seem unconcerned but there was a light waver to his voice. He was terrified.

But if given the choice... he’d save her first.

Kagome was also in the hut, thankfully.

“Lay her down!” Kagome insisted, not caring one bit about yelling at the demon lord.

He didn’t either. She was more important than a tone of voice at this moment.

Sesshomaru laid her down, letting her head rest against his lap.

“Her heart beat is low” Kagome noted. The young priestess placed a cool rag on her forehead and she slowly came through.

“Kagome?” she was confused. Where was she? How did--?

Oh! She remembered being light headed and then blank.

Sesshomaru made a sigh of relief.

“Your blood pressure is the issue,” Kagome explained. “She needs to rest. Stay off her feet. Probably until the baby is here, at least. Just to be safe. Only walking around a bit to help blood flow.”

"Aye, she needs rest,"

His eyes turned instantly serious. "I'll be fine--"

"(Y/n)..." His tone was dark. Dangerous. A tone he'd never use on her. Ever.

This was serious.

He was scared of losing her.

In a moment he lifted her into his back to bring her home.

This fear caused Sesshomaru to become more protective.

He cooked. He cleaned. He did things he would never had done before.

Laundry. Hair brushing. Whatever was needed he did. He didn't even trust someone to do it for him. How could they do it correctly?

-- Birth --

It all happened so quickly.

Pain.

All she felt was pain.

Her water definitely broke.

It was time but something felt off.

It was her first child. How would she know? Instinct? Maybe. He was instantly at her side as she screamed in pain.

She survived worse than this, hadn't she?

The tears on her face made Sesshomaru angry. So very angry. Or was he scared? It was hard to tell the difference in that moment.

Towels. Blood.

Screaming.

All for the sake of a tiny silver haired baby to be placed in her waiting arms.

There was something wrong even still. She was paling again.

So much blood.

She could die.

Kagome rushed him out force that no one knew she had as she, Kaede and Sango worked to care for her and baby.

Luck.

That's all it was.

Luck that the bleeding stopped. That they were able to keep baby warm.

Then he was brought back in, seeing his baby on the breast of his woman was like seeing heaven.

The dog lord knelt down to her, touching her face then the baby's head. "It's a boy" she said in a horses voice.

"My son." He responded gently.

-- Toddling --

"Naoki!"

Tree of truth.

Named with the three that connected them all in mind.

She was pregnant again, despite Sesshomaru's hesitancy but she wanted one more.

Just one more.

He'd give her the world if she asked him.

The small silver haired boy was bothering his father whom didn't seem to interested in the boy who decided the single most scariest demon would be a great thing to climb on.

Sesshomaru looked up at his swollen wife. This pregnancy had no scares this time.

"Your papa isn't a tree,"

"Papa!" He still wasn't fully speaking but small babbling was expected. It was especially amusing since Sesshomaru would speak to him as if he knew exactly what was being said.

As if he respected the hanyou as an equal.

Perhaps he did.

The baby went to move towards his mother however he was on his father's shoulder and the movement started him towards the dirt. With grace, Sesshomaru grabbed the boy as if it were nothing before passing the son on to his mate.

"Ada!" Baby Naoki shouted in a high pitch squeak.

"I don't think that was fun. You would have ended up crying." He spoke, as always as if he knew exactly what the baby said.

Sesshomaru seemed to have a natural intuition with his children. It often left his mate jealous but the jealousy was squashed out by a pride of having someone care so much for them.

The demon lord had truly grown since she first met him all those years ago under that great tree.

It seemed he learned that caring wasn't weakness but strength.

That was why he didn't travel as often, though he still desired power, his family became his main priority.

That's how it should be.

#reader insert #sesshomaru x reader #sesshomaru #inuyasha imagines #anti sessrin

1K notes · View notes

tricksters-captain · 4 years ago

Text

Helmut Zemo imagines - Hostage Part 1

AN: I came up with this idea for a series in the shower and I hope you guys are as intrigued by it as I am. Also I’m aware it’s posted later than I said but I’m a perfectionist and couldn’t post it until I was happy with it!! To make up for it, I have some Laszlo Kreizler smut coming up soon for you Alienist fans.

Summary: You were chosen as one of Karli’s elite. You became a super soldier to help your cause, make the world a better place but taking the serum came with a price. After being cornered one day, you’re taken by the famous Helmut Zemo to give him answers or face the consequences.

In This Chapter: Introductions. You are sent on a mission for Karli, only for it to turn bad.

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, Karli Morganthau x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,703

Warnings: Spoilers for TFATWS, violence, strong language

You stared back at the burning building as the truck pulled away.

Despite the rumbling of the thick tires on the tarmac beneath you, you could hear the screaming.

“Hey.” DeeDee placed a hand on your shoulder and tugged you round. “Don’t look.”

You could see in her eyes that she was just as shocked as you were but was trying to hide it.

The task had been to remove as many supplies as possible from the GRC depot to take back to the camps in Riga. There had been no mention of bombing the place.

Lennox’s eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror. You were all thinking the same thing.

Why would Karli go through with something that hadn’t even been discussed?

“Turn here. It’s faster.” DeeDee leant forward pointing towards a more narrow alley as fire engine sirens echoed up ahead.

Lennox did as suggested and the others followed close behind.

It wasn’t a long drive from Vilnius to Riga but you all stopped when daylight broke to take some time to eat something.

You sat down beside Diego, your eyes flickering to Karli every few minutes as she dished out supplies for you all.

She noticed.

“(Y/n).” Karli remained standing as she handed out the last can to Dovich.

You took the hint and rose to your feet.

You followed her to the side of the abandoned structure as the others tried to tune the radio.

“What’s the problem?” Karli asked you, a hard expression across her features.

“What’s the problem?” You couldn’t help but scoff at the question. “Karli, you blew up a building with people still tied up inside.”

“I did what I had to do. It’s the only language these people understand. You saw just how much food, water and medicine they were sitting on. If we had a fraction of that just a few months ago Mama Donya might still be alive.” You could see the tears Karli was trying to suppress as she spoke of Mama Donya.

“You still should’ve consulted us before you went ahead with it. We’re better than an eye for an eye and you know that.” You cautiously took her hand into yours to try and comfort her. “We’re trying to make a difference here.”

“And that is how we do it.” She dropped your hand as she defended her actions. You shook your head but didn’t retaliate. You knew there was no use in arguing with her in that moment.

“There’s something I need you to do after Mama Donya’s funeral today.” Karli was quick to change the topic. “A mission for you and DeeDee.”

“What is it?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“I need you to go to these coordinates immediately after the funeral. One of our allies will be expecting you both. He has information and something I need. It’ll be a parcel, small enough to conceal so you can make your way back to us without any suspicion.” Karli texted over the coordinates and the information on the contact.

“How can you be sure it’s safe?” You asked as you studied his profile.

“I wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t.” Karli paused before she wrapped her hand around the back of your neck and brought your forehead to hers. “We have to stick together now more than ever.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

“One world.” You muttered.

“One people.”Karli pulled away just as Dovich called over to you both.

They had managed to get the radio to work.

You sat down and opened a can of fruit slices to try and quench your hunger.

“The depot that was bombed was funded and run by the GRC, the Global Repatriation Council. One of the workers killed was the father of two and had only been on the job for one week. After condemning this latest action by the radical group known as the Flag Smashers, the GRC formally began drafting legislation known as The Patch Act, which would seek to restore traditional border regulations and fast-track the return to normalcy. The act of violence has also brought attention and followers to the Flag Smasher cause. No one can deny the world-wide reach of this group is growing, as is the danger.”

You shared a look with Gigi and Dovich as you listened to the broadcast. Your stomach churned at the mention of the father. You swallowed hard as you placed your food down.

Karli parted from the group again, feeling the pressure of the eyes on her, but you chose not to follow.

You had known Karli for 3 years. You met in Riga and became close quickly. You both had lost everything and then you had each other. When she took off to Madripoor, you followed. She always knew how to get people to see things her way, she had a spark inside of her that drew in those who wanted to fight for something; she was powerful for 19. She only grew more powerful with the serums.

You had backed her and supported her from the start but something was twisting. Something was going sour. You had never killed innocents before but in Karli’s eyes; was anyone on the side of the GRC innocent?

“Finish up. We need to get to the border in time to meet our contact.” Karli strode past the group and didn’t stop until she climbed into one of the cars.

You cleaned up after yourselves, leaving no trace that you were there, before you got back on the road.

You were back in Riga soon enough, your contact at the border let you through without any issues and you made it to the checkpoint with all the supplies safely.

Fortunately, you still had time to spare before Donya’s funeral.

You remained hidden, on the low, whilst Karli went with Nico to pick up the leftover serums.

You had previously spoken about creating more super soldiers. You had been against it. There were more than enough of you for the moment and the process of turning into one was beyond any pain you’d ever felt. You didn’t think more people needed to go through that. However, the vote passed and more were to be created.

“You ready?” Karli asked you as she returned. You nodded.

You headed to the secret location of Mama Donya’s funeral and fell into the crowd as the body came into sight. Mama Donya had been important to Karli and therefore important to you. She had been a kind woman. Kind to you. But Karli had a bond with her that you didn’t. This was Karli’s time to heal, to grieve, to help those who also relied on Donya.

You watched Karli step up to say a few words.

“I don’t remember my mother or my father. Same goes for siblings, grandparents, cousins. What I do remember is being alone. Worse than being hungry or cold or scared. I was alone. Until Mama Donya. Like a lot of you here, Mama Donya saved me. She clothed me, fed me, loved me.” You followed Karli’s eye line when she gasped softly.

It was Sam Wilson. Avenger.

You felt your blood go cold. Usually where there was one avenger, there were sure to be more.

“She taught me that we have to do for each other because they won’t. And we know who they are. They imposed struggle and hardship on us, then labeled us as criminals for pushing back. But the struggle is what brings us all together. People who have nothin’ in common. For we are, after all, simply one world and one people. So live accordingly.”

As you stepped forward and placed your bouquet of flowers down beside Donya, Karli clasped hold on your wrist.

“Go now.” She whispered under her breath.

“What about you?” You asked.

“I’ll be fine. Get to the contact.” Karli tried to assure you but you weren’t certain on leaving her. Dovich guided you away to stop you from arguing with Karli about it. He told you that he was going to stay behind to help Karli and that you had a more important job to do right now.

You had to give in and leave.

As you made your exit, you grabbed DeeDee and the keys to the motorbike outside.

“We gotta make a detour. Make sure we aren’t being followed.” You announced as you climbed onto the motorbike.

“Karli said our guy would wait for us so it’s better to be safe than sorry. We can’t mess this up.” DeeDee agreed with you as she placed herself behind you.

You took off down the street and did your best to lose any tails.

You ended up ditching the bike and moving underground once you were sure you were alone.

You were either really lucky or they had only brought enough backup to deal with Karli.

“We should be close.” You checked your phone to read the GPS before placing on your mask.

DeeDee held the flashlight up as you worked your way through the empty tunnel.

“You’d think Karli could organise a rendezvous point somewhere a little less musty.” DeeDee grimaced as a trio of rats scattered past you both.

“This is the safest way. We may have gained a lot of supporters above ground but we have a lot of enemies too.” You tried to defend Karli’s choice but even you had to admit that the sewers were a low point for you all.

“You think she got away okay?” DeeDee asked, the concern obvious in her voice despite her blank expression.

“I think Karli’s smart and she wouldn’t stick around if she knew she couldn’t win.” You may have been anxious for her but you rarely had doubts with Karli. Even without the serum she always managed to slip through the cracks.

As you continued to make your way through the tunnels, you spotted a silhouette up ahead.

You narrowed your eyes as DeeDee shone her light on him.

Fortautely, it was your contact.

“Greetings.” The man smiled widely at you both. He wore a bright head torch that stopped you from looking him in the eye and a large forest green coat.

“We’re here to collect the parcel and information for Karli.” DeeDee informed him, shading her eyes from his light as she tried to lift her gaze.

“Yes. Yes. I know.” The short man pulled out a small object wrapped in brown paper from under his coat. “Karli said you would be coming.”

As the man spoke, you heard something splash in the water behind you.

“What was that?” You asked, looking back to see if you could spot anything.

“It was probably just one of the rats.” DeeDee tried to assure you but the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand up.

You had a bad feeling about it.

“I’m going to check it out.” You whispered to her. “Better safe than sorry.” You repeated what she had said earlier.

“Be careful.” DeeDee handed you her flashlight before letting you go.

You crept back round the corner from whence you had came. You remained close to the wall to avoid any oncoming intruders head on. Peering down into the water, you saw that it had been in fact just a rat that was now paddling through the sewage.

“It's okay.” You relaxed, shouting ahead so they could hear you. “It was just a ra–––” You were cut short by a gloved hand covering your mouth.

You sent your elbow backwards instinctively which threw your attacker into the wall.

You spun around to see a figure dressed in a lavish coat with a purple mask covering his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at his appearance. You didn’t recognise him as an Avenger.

He came towards you, sending a fist to the side of your head. You managed to block his attack, kicking him in the chest.

You thought he’d be no match for you with your enhanced powers but he managed to put up a good fight.

He wrestled with you against the wall as he gained the advantage. You resorted in head butting him to get him off you.

You sent your leg up into his side but he wrapped his arm around your calf and yanked you forward. You lost your balance as he grip moved, hooking under your knee. He squeezed your thigh against him as he pulled out a rather large syringe.

“DEE! RUN!” You managed to howl before the needle sunk into your thigh.

You tried to fight again as he dropped your leg but your vision became patchy and your balance began to sway.

Not to your knowledge, he had injected as much tranquilliser into you as one would a tiger. Your enhanced abilities wouldn’t help you with that, you were soon out cold.

The stars shone above you as you and Karli laid back on the bonnet of the car.

“I genuinely believe that you could be the one to change things, Karl.” You said as you munched down on the chocolate bar she had gifted you.

“What are you on about?” Karli furrowed her eyebrows through her smile as she turned her head to face you.

“I mean look what you did for my birthday, just using your powers of persuasion.” You smirked.

“Persuasion isn’t enough to change things.” Karli disagreed.

“You’re right but right now, people need someone to look up to. Half the world is gone and hope isn’t something that's easy to come by anymore.” You stated.

“And you think that person could be me?” Karli scoffed at the idea.

“I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.” You broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to her.

“I think you’re spending too much time around Mama Donya.” Karli took the chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

“We’ll see who’s right one day.” You mused with a small smile. Karli rolled her eyes before trying to steal another piece. “Hey! It’s my birthday present!”

When your eyes finally opened, you realised you were no longer in the sewers.

You were standing but your hands were up above your head, chained to the wall behind you and a large metal strip was around your neck also. You desperately tried to search your surroundings through your mask but the restraints stopped you from moving much.

The room was dark, no windows, a few dim lights dotted around caused the room to seem almost a brown colour and there was little furniture.

You would’ve been a fool if you didn’t noticed the gun on a small table off to the side as well as the medical equipment glistening on a tall metal cart.

Your head throbbed and your mouth held the metallic taste of blood. You tugged at your wrist restraints to test their strength and to your luck they were holding.

“You’re awake.” You heard a thick accented voice when you stopped rattling your chains. “Good.”

The possessor of the voice, your kidnapper, stepped into light and you clocked who it was immediately.

It was Baron Helmut Zemo.

Zemo could not see your face as he had left the mask on you but he could tell from your eyes that you knew who he was.

“I bet you are wondering why you are here. Tied up in this basement.” Zemo started. “Let’s start with introductions, shall we?”

You remained silent.

“My name is Helmut Zemo––”

“––I know who you are.” You retorted.

“Then you know what I am capable of.” Zemo glared at you for the interruption. His hands finding his pockets as his eyes settled on your own.

“I know you’re going to kill me.” You knew of what happened with the Avengers. You knew of Siberia and the destroyed soldiers. You knew of his hate.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Zemo wagged his finger at you. “Not yet at least. No. We have a few things I’d like to discuss first.”

“Like what?” You scowled at the man.

“Like the whereabouts of Karli Morgenthau.”

(PART 2 HERE)

Taglist

@cathrin2405 @serenityfirefly97 @shannon-posts @dxnxdjarxn @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @trelaney @sierrabaltzer @daydreamer-in-training @e-barba @ornella0910 @natty13 @bry-97 @cherieweasley @kermuddgen @madelyn-barnes @jaxcliffaconda @candicerace @mo320 @takacsgram @hiccup005

259 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 3 years ago

Text

BEFORE ZERO: SHIKARABA, COMPANION CAPTURE FESTIVAL (EXTRA)

* Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

He was surprised because her little body jumped three times more than he expected.

That was the first impression of her.

From the moment he met her, she was like a lot of surprises to him.

++++++++++

The girl on the tennis court looked to be the age of a high school student.

When the relatives of the people involved came to visit the magnificent interuniversity circle, they were asked, "Would you like to try it out for a while?" Standing in a simple T-shirt and leggings reminded him of a high school or high school PE class. He said that was an absolute beginner in tennis and was the first to hold a racket.

The right to draw was correctly transferred and the girl lifted the draw. He didn't know how strong she was, obviously too strong.

Then...

The girl hit the ball. The flight time was long and it seemed that time had stopped in midair.

Both the height and the shape resembled volleyball spikes. It was a more powerful serve than the professional players you see on television, but with more momentum than necessary. That did not enter the service court.

Standing face to face was a senior in the circle. A tall and gregarious man, he was the central figure in the circle, but he also had a bad reputation for blatantly changing his attitude depending on the opponent.

Minato thought it was not good to judge people by rumors, but the other day he saw him leading a rookie who wanted to join the club with a high pressure game. After being shaken left and right, the girl, whose body was crushed, withdrew that day.

Laughing without fear.

"I'm qualifying to keep the circle level low. Misunderstandings are eliminated."

In fact, he was a disgusting person. Even now, on the court, he still had the same laugh and smile.

She hit the laughing face directly, "Senbetsu.", and fell backwards.

"What's up, get up?"

The girl pointed at "Senbetsu" with a racket.

"Is that all? If you don't say an answer, I'll issue another."

When she received a replacement ball at her feet, the students who were gathering around "Senbetsu" suddenly scattered.

"That's it, that's it."

Minato ran as he waved his hand and held the racket.

"Oh? What is it?"

The girl looked at Minato. Her big eyes gleamed on her angry flushed face.

"You don't need to chase."

After a while, "Senbetsu" weakly raised his hand. From the hollow of the other hand that held his face, blood was pouring out. It was a gesture of "surrender."

"Hmm, that's right... this is one."

The girl finally lowered her racket and proclaimed loudly towards "Senbetsu" that still couldn't stand up.

"I won, misunderstanding."

++++++++++

When Minato changed his clothes and walked out of the playground, the girl he saw earlier was walking forward. She had a shirt hanging down and was carrying a gym bag. She looked like a high school student returning from club activities.

He was a little concerned, so he called her.

"Oh, are you leaving already?"

Due to the height difference, he became like talking to the girl's head, but she talked about simple circumstances along the way, she was willing to talk to Minato.

"He made my classmate cry. That guy is a college student."

"Hah."

(Was that guy a college student? So he would be as old as me. He doesn't look like that.), he thought.

"So, in revenge..."

"No, I came to win or lose."

"Success or failure."

It was a word that he only hears in historical drama.

"I'm going to become a man in town, and I show up here and there, but wherever I go, I have a hand. A smiling, unpleasant, or just plain disgusting guy. That kind of thing. Not as an existence."

"Hah..."

"That's why I'm going to go through a few more today. Follow me."

"Well, that... success or failure?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Minato also heard rumors that "a scary and fierce chibi was making noise in circles here and there". Sure enough, this girl was the rumored teacher?

"If you help fight, I won't.", Minato said.

"It's wrong. You're the one stopping me.", said the girl.

"You came to stop him a little while ago. Well, he was saved. That's hard to draw."

"No, that's..."

Minato explained, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"For example, the son of a friend. Actually, when he was being bullied by his superior, I was there too, but the singing wall didn't help... So I thought about doing it this time. Well, this time I helped the opposite person."

"Take care of more people in that condition."

"Eh?"

"So if I'm about to overdo it, stop me from the side at the right time."

In the field the older brother of the family was in charge...

(So I think it's going to be an exaggeration now.), Minato thought.

"Well, don't force it."

Seeing Minato patrolling, the girl quickly started walking forward.

"If you don't come, come back quickly. See you."

"Oh, yeah."

He didn't want to go back. He was invited into the circle by one person, but the air didn't fit very well and he was planning to leave it anyway due to the older of him. He just greeted a few acquaintances and left.

However, he did not want to follow her silently. To say the least, this girl was either a troublesome girl or a troublemaker. It was better not to get involved.

He already imagined it.

"For now, why don't you try drinking tea around and calm down a bit?"

He may have been hit by her unexpectedly. Although he was a bit reluctant, it was a word that didn't come out of him on a daily basis.

"Eh?"

The girl stopped. Eyes widening, she looked back.

"Tea or coffee. Are you going to invite me?"

"Well that's not the case, but it's okay."

There were parks and vending machines in the neighborhood. At the moment, the bench was enough to sit on, but if she wanted to go to a restaurant somewhere, he wondered if he would be okay hanging out with her that long.

The girl looked around Minato's entire body with an unreserved look. From the top to the bottom, from the bottom to the top.

Perhaps the behavior of "nampa" touched the inverse scale of her.

Minato was stiff and on his feet.

"You are an ant."

The girl suddenly started bouncing. The destination was the park in front of him, no, the little building inside.

"What happened suddenly? Toilet?"

When Minato asked hastily, the girl shook her sports bag and pointed to the public restroom.

"Hey, I'll change my clothes there."

"Change your clothes?"

The girl stopped again as if she had suddenly been slowed down. The face he looked at again was flushed.

"Because... I don't want to date in a T-shirt."

"Eh?"

(Is it a date? Do you care about your clothes? That shy face?), he thought.

At that moment, a series of little surprises went through his head, but what surprised Minato the most was that she unexpectedly had a pretty face.

It was he who thought that way.

"Is different?"

Before the girl that he thought she was brave, he confirmed with his superior eyes.

"No, I wonder if it fits... maybe.", Minato replied.

"What is 'maybe'?"

"Sorry, that's right. Correct answer."

He hurried up and rephrased the answer, making a friendly laugh.

"Okay."

The girl also laughed. It was a bright smile, as if the sun was suddenly shining around her.

She was the first person with countless brilliance that would color Minato's life beyond that point.

++++++++++

After that, they continued to make the right decision together.

Her emotions were so rich that she overflowed from her small body, always angry, sad, laughing and acting faster than Minato.

He was surprised by her thousands and tens of thousands of times, and he was convinced each time.

In the end, that was always the correct answer.

#k #k project #before zero #habari jin #kagutsu genji #minato #akio #old scepter 4 #k all memories #k seven stories

12 notes · View notes

justmaybee · 4 years ago

Text

To Stop a Fight (Before It Starts)

Summary: Jiro and Saburo have been acting strange recently. Ichiro is about to find out why.

A/N: Y’know when you get an idea that just won’t leave you alone till you do something about it? Yeah, that’s this. Buster Bros too, who would’ve thought?

———

Ichiro is confused — very, very confused.

Like, he can’t pretend he understands his brothers all the time, twenty four-seven. Sometimes Saburo gets all technical, talking jargon Ichiro’s never heard of. Sometimes Jiro gets overexcited, speaking so fast that his stories get jumbled up and hard to follow. It doesn’t matter, Ichiro will always lend an ear and hear them out.

But he can’t do that if they’re...hiding something from him.

The thought inches its way into Ichiro’s head, and it makes his stomach turn. He presses his lips together against the small wave of nausea.

It just doesn’t sound right. Jiro? Saburo? Hiding something from him?

He may not understand his brothers all the time, but they’re everything to him. He knows them better than anyone, and vice versa. It’s them against the world.

So the idea that they’re keeping something from him is...off-putting.

He links his fingers, pushing them up over his head. The crack in his spine alleviates a load of pressure on his back and the relief is audible in his groan. He’s not cut out for all this computer work. Saburo really is a talented kid.

He stands up, wobbling for a second, before stepping out from behind the desk. Research can wait, he needs a snack.

He steps over to a cabinet, stuffed full of junk foods. Not the healthiest thing, but you grab what you can when you’re working on a job. He stares blankly at the bags and boxes, slipping back into thought.

He’s definitely being a little dramatic. They still get together and throw around some lines for practice every night. His brothers still come to him whenever something’s happened at school or during a mission. They live together, of course, and if it were a really big deal they’d have a hard time hiding something even if they wanted to.

Sometimes Ichiro can get a little tired of their bickering and back and forth, but he likes to think he’s become someone reliable, especially to his little brothers.

So no, he’s not that worried.

But then what has been up with them recently?

He only started noticing this last week, but a part of him thinks it could be stretching back further than that. A bunch of separate events, but he knows they have to be connected. Call it a hunch. It just all revolves around those two fighting and then going silent.

Like a week ago, Ichiro remembers them kicking around a soccer ball on the street. The way Jiro’s eyes lit up when they saw it, a little deflated and worse for wear off to the side, made Ichiro laugh. And neither him nor Saburo could even dream about outplaying Jiro, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying.

It was a lot of fun, more fun than Ichiro could’ve thought really. And by the time the sun was getting low, and Ichiro was calling out that they’d have to head home, both him and Saburo were feeling a little worn out. Jiro was still dribbling the ball like he could do it all night.

And of course, Jiro decided to shoot a cocky comment to Saburo, who lashed back immediately, always ready for a fight. Ichiro’s lived through a million of these squabbles and he’s sure to see a million more, so he didn’t give it much attention, heading down the street back to their place.

He had no doubt that they’d follow behind, but he did turn to peek when he heard a shout from Jiro. He was afraid Saburo had started pinching him again, but that wasn’t the case. At least, he didn’t think so.

Because what he saw was Jiro doing a fast jog to catch up to him, while Saburo stepped at a leisurely place behind. Not weird, but the wide-eyed expression on Jiro’s face and the satisfied smirk on Saburo’s made Ichiro a little suspicious.

Fast forward to the weekend. Two? Maybe three days ago? Jiro and Saburo were giving Ichiro the run down of a job they had finished up. Nothing too crazy, but enough that Ichiro felt more comfortable sending them out as a pair.

The job itself went off without a hitch, as expected, but the debrief was chaotic in its own right. Jiro gave most of the points, but Saburo was very generous with his corrections and notes. Sometimes they were helpful, more often than not they were nitpicks that had Ichiro wanting to laugh and sigh at the same time.

Jiro was starting to get a little flustered, eyes narrowing in annoyance by the end. When Saburo gave another quip, it looked like Jiro was really ready to grab a pillow off the couch and slug him with it.

Instead...

“Nii-chan, I think my phone’s about to die. Could you hand me the charger?”

Ah, yeah. Jiro’s phone did have a battery issue. They should really think about upgrading it.

Ichiro spun around in his chair, looking over the back desk for a charger and jumping in his seat at a pitchy yell from Saburo. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the cord, ready to lecture Jiro on why smothering Saburo with a pillow is not a good comeback but—

Jiro...wasn’t smothering Saburo with a pillow. Surprisingly. No, he was sitting back against the couch, arms crossed with a smile on his face that made Ichiro immediately check up on their youngest brother.

He was...fine.

A little pouty, hair maybe a little mussed up. Also leaning back against the couch, but his posture—

He was almost—how to put it—curled up?

Ichiro can’t remember if he had his feet up on the couch before, but between his knees being pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them...

Jiro chose that moment to keep explaining, so Ichiro gave him his full attention. But he started picking up on their pattern.

The three of them are together. Either Jiro or Saburo starts picking on the other (nothing new there). Then one of them shouts, like they’re about to start yelling at each other, but—

Nothing. Silence.

They break up the fight before it’s even happened. And Ichiro doesn’t have to say a word.

This should be a good thing. It is a good thing.

Right?

It means they’re maturing. Growing up. Taking Ichiro’s words to heart and moving past their constant bickering and fights...

Ichiro shuts the cupboard. With a little more...force than necessary, if the avalanche of snacks he can hear means anything.

Okay, so he’s not exactly sure what any of it means, but he is sure of one thing.

He spins around to shut the computer off. Everything is saved, and Saburo can get back anything that isn’t anyways. He kicks the chair in place and grabs his keys, spinning them around one finger as he steps towards the door.

He needs to see his brothers.

———

Ichiro loves their city, loves Ikebukuro with all he’s got, but there’s nothing quite like their own home. It took a lot of time and money. It took doing things he hopes his brothers will never have to stoop to. But it’s theirs, and Ichiro can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief whenever he steps through the door.

Tonight though he’s cut off by a scream that has his blood running cold.

He doesn’t kick off his shoes. Doesn’t shrug off his jacket. He sprints towards the noise, grabbing at his pockets until his fingers stop fumbling enough to hold his mic.

The rubber of his shoes catch him from sliding on the floor when he stops dead in front of their living room.

“Ji-Jirohohoho! Would you—ack—quihihiHIHIHIHIT!”

It’s, um—

They’re—um—

Ichiro’s sigh of relief is a lot louder this time, slipping his mic back into his pocket.

It’s loud enough that it’s somehow heard over Saburo’s squealing, and Jiro turns to see his older brother leaning against the entrance.

It’s kind of funny, now that Ichiro’s adrenaline has calmed down.

Jiro looks like he’s been caught red-handed, even though Saburo is the one with a tomato for a face right now. He pulls his hands out from under Saburo’s sweater, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

Saburo takes the chance to roll onto his side, hands clutching at his stomach. The shrieking Ichiro heard when he came in dulls to tired giggles.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Jiro waves. He tries to act nonchalant, but he looks more embarrassed than Saburo whose hoodie is still bunched up at the waist.

Ichiro smiles back, “Hey.”

Jiro is yanked from the one-sided, awkward conversation, but Ichiro can’t say it’s the better choice for Jiro.

Jiro yelps as he’s full-body tackled, falling backward over the other side of the couch. Saburo’s panting for breath, and he probably can’t see much past the mess of his bangs, but he doesn’t seem to have any trouble latching a hand onto Jiro’s knees and squeezing.

“Ah, wha-! Sabu—no! Saburohohohoho!”

Suburo’s response is the same treatment on the other leg, and Jiro makes a squeaking sound before he’s cackling. He twists against the cushion but he can’t seem to get himself up enough to push Saburo away from where he’s straddling his shins.

Like Ichiro isn’t even there, they treat it like a war zone, going back and forth with a familiarity that has their oldest brother shocked.

“No—no! Jiro, dohon’t! You’re gonna stretch out my—my shihihihihihirt!”

“Ouch! Not fair, Saburo! No pinch—ah! No PINCHIHIHIHIHING!”

“JIRO! No, I-I swear, I’m gonnahaha — I’m gonna kihihiHIHIHIHICK YOHOHOHOU!”

“Nah! No! I’m—I’m sorry! You win! Just—No! Not thehehehehere!”

At some point Saburo’s head is hanging off the arm of the couch while Jiro drills his thumbs into his ribs. Through watery eyes, he finally sees Ichiro, watching them like they’re the entertainment for tonight. He’s can’t possibly be in the right state of mind, and that’s probably why he makes the biggest mistake possible.

“I-Ichi-niihihihihihihi! H-help!”

Ichiro coughs to cover his own laugh, though Saburo’s scream when Jiro’s hands find their way under his arms does the job pretty well.

Guess it’s his turn to join.

Jiro’s confused noise gets cut off when his back hits the couch, bouncing once off the cushions. Saburo is still giggling weakly beside him, so that means—

He gasps so suddenly he almost chokes on it, and only a garbled version of Ichiro’s name comes out before he’s squealing louder than even Saburo could.

His hands push, pull, grab weakly at Ichiro’s hand latched onto his hip. He didn’t even know he was ticklish there, but the bright laughter that bursts from his mouth and has his eyes watering makes that so clear so quickly.

Ichiro chuckles, watching Jiro shake his head back and forth, red cheeks hidden by his wild mane of hair. Ichiro’s only using one hand, but Jiro might be the loudest he’s been all night. Even as he sinks against the couch—slipping down because of weakness, gravity, maybe both—Ichiro is able to keep him in stitches.

Speaking of one hand.

With Saburo laying back over the arm of the couch, it’s pretty easy for Ichiro to slip a hand under the gap in his shirt and start vibrating his fingertips into the taut skin of his stomach.

Saburo again proves how good he is at everything he does when he shrieks, loudly. His lung capacity is really something. His head flies up for a moment, but the weight of gravity and his own exhaustion keep him from getting all the way. He has to settle for wrapping both hands around Ichiro’s wrist and kicking his heels against the couch, as if that’ll help calm the ticklish buzzing of Ichiro’s fingers against his skin.

It’s something like fate when they both call for mercy at the same time, cries of “Nii-chan!” and “Ichi-nii!” just legible through the hysterical laughter.

Ichiro pulls his hands back with a little pat against the prickling skin. The pair droop so quickly, Ichiro has to be quick to catch them before either slip to the floor. He drags Jiro upright, and moves Saburo to sit against the couch properly.

He ends up leaning against Jiro while they catch their breath. Ichiro tries not to smile, like they’d even notice if he did.

“Okay. Two questions,” Ichiro starts once his brothers look a little less ragged. He knows they’re good when Jiro nudges Saburo off him, Saburo shooting a stink face his direction.

“How did this happen, and why wasn’t I invited?” The way his brothers avoid eye contact at his second question is too funny.

“...Well,” Saburo starts, fixing his bangs to look at Ichiro properly. “You were upset the last time we got ‘too violent’ with each other, so next time Jiro said something stupid I just—��

“—decided to be a smartass and do something that ‘wouldn’t hurt,’” Jiro scoffs, finishing for them.

Ichiro laughs aloud at that one, and—even after everything—it isn’t long before the other two join in.

“And we—um—didn’t ‘invite you’ because we didn’t think you’d want to,” Saburo mumbles.

“—or that you’d be so good at it,” Jiro mutters, hand rubbing subconsciously at his hip.

Ichiro claps a hand on both of their legs, only smirking a little when it makes them jump in their seats.

“It’s been a while, but I do have some experience in tickling you both to tears,” Ichiro smiles.

“That makes sense,” Saburo mumbles. Jiro nods, looking at the carpet.

“But Ichi-nii,” Saburo asks, always thinking one step ahead. “Are...you ticklish?”

Hm, all the times Ichiro had tickled his brothers when they were younger, he never had to worry about taking what he dished out.

But now, it looks like Jiro and Saburo have found something they’re willing to work out together.

Um, g-good for them.

#bee stuffs #tickling #tickle fic #jdjfhcdjjsksks I feel weird tagging this #ugh whatever #buster bros #Ichiro #Jiro #Saburo #Hypmic #ticklish!Jiro #ticklish!Saburo

23 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

Text

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 9

A/N Okay I’m excited for this one because we’re meeting my favourite character and if you’ve read my lil notes while I was writing a few weeks back you’ll know right now who it is hehe

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Zach Herron was the kind of young man who made an impression on you. Honestly, he had that popstar look that any nineteen-year-old boy should have to really make it in the industry; the fluffy brown hair, big brown eyes, and cheeks that would make any young girl or old woman alike want to pinch them. He had promise, he had the look, he had charisma, sure. The only catch was that he had no fucking talent. He could sing well, this was fair to say I suppose, but he just sounded like any other choir boy. He didn’t have that special gift that Jonah and I always tried to reach for when it came to our clients.

So we denied his demo.

His agent pushed him on us in a few emails and even a phone call and she sounded nearly desperate to get this young guy a record deal but Jonah and I knew what image we wanted for our brand and just another pretty boy who had a mediocre voice was not who we wanted to sign.

We were persistent in our decision.

We only met the kid in person once. He showed up uninvited to our studio and demanded to speak to us. We stayed firm but fair with our choice to decline his demo.

To be brutally honest with you, dear reader, he lost his fucking mind.

Zach wasn’t one to take no for an answer – I assumed his mother coddled him a bit too much as a child and he wasn’t used to not getting his way – and when he realized we weren’t changing our minds, he lost it. I’m talking screaming and swearing and completely destroying my office until we had to call up security to restrain him and escort him out of the building while he cursed us to hell and back the whole way into the elevator.

“You’re going to regret this! You’re going to regret this until the day you die!”

The kid was literally fucking psycho.

It made perfect sense to add him to this list of potential suspects.

We had his work address from when he first sent in his information (along with a ton of other things we needed to know as potential record owners to a new artist) so Jonah and I drove right into the heart of Los Angeles to confront him. Was it the smartest idea? Probably not. But I mean we weren’t going to walk in there and directly ask ‘did you murder my wife’ but at least we could figure out some sort of verdict.

The bars on the window of the shop were not unlike a lot of places downtown, theft rates high in some neighbourhoods so smaller businesses opted for safety over aesthetics. Jonah and I stepped inside the small store together to find not a lot of customers filling the aisles. Probably suspected for a Tuesday after lunch hour. The smell of fresh cheese and meat waved through the air and I forced myself not to cover my nose. Could you blame me when I had been staring at a dead body all morning? Fresh meat wasn’t my first choice of a preferable scent at that moment.

Standing's Butchery was an unfortunate destination in that sense but if we were trying to prove my innocence then it was an important step.

“Should we buy lunch while we’re here?” Jonah asked me.

“No.” I answered easily. “I want a damn salad after this morning.”

Zach was behind the counter at the far end of the restaurant, his hair tucked in a hair net and his gloved hands busy behind the glass display case. He didn’t notice at us when we walked in until we were nearly directly in front of him.

His brown eyes raised to us, flicking between Jonah and me a few times, before coolly dropping his gaze back to the large chunk of steak he was filleting.

“Come here to beg for me back?” he asked egotistically.

“Not a chance.” I answered easily.

“Your lame-ass record company is going to swim with the fishes without me.” Zach said flatly. The knife hit the chopping board loudly before he pulled it back and slivered it down another strip of steak. “What can I do for you jackasses then?”

“Where were you around 7 last night?”

Zach’s eyes raised to mine, knife pausing mid slice before he focussed back to his work, “None of your business.”

“My house was broken into and I’m trying to figure out who I need to report to the police.” I said. It was only a half lie.

“I wouldn’t waste my fucking time breaking into your house full of useless fucking trash. What would I want out of it anyway?”

He didn’t look up as he sliced another thin fillet of steak with precision and a steady hand. He tossed the piece to the side and it hit the counter with a wet smack, a few splatters of blood streaking across the laminated granite. I focused my eyes on his face even if he refused to look at us.

“Doesn’t matter. What were you doing last night?” I tried again.

“I had a meeting at another record company.”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeah, it fucking is. Which one were you at, you fucking-”

Zach set the knife down hard against the countertop, cutting me off mid-sentence and his angry eyes bore into mine. He didn’t even glance at Jonah. Obviously his personal issue with one of us was decided.

“You already ruined my fucking dreams with your tasteless bullshit company thinking you can tell me ‘no’. Now you’re coming back here to interrogate me? I’m sick of you.” he waved the knife between us.

“Learn how to take criticism before you get yourself arrested for assault or destruction of property.” I retorted strongly. “Your attitude isn’t helping your case here.”

“There is no case.” Zach picked up the knife again and shook his head as he went back to slicing through the beef, “You’re pathetically obsessed with me, Seavey. You want to keep my name in your mouth so bad, so what, you want my dick in there next? At least that would shut you up. Fuck off.”

I scoffed loudly and tried to form a rebuttal, but he was continuing, his voice low to keep the sharp conversation between the three of us but thick with anger enough to make my blood pressure rise.

“I’m sick of seeing the two of you all over this fucking city; on every stupid fucking billboard and news channel. You don’t know what it’s like to suffer. You’re selfish pricks and you’ll get what’s coming to you sooner or later.”

“Tell your mommy to get you a mental test, you fucking psycho.” I spat. “If we don’t get a restraining order today it will be too fucking soon.”

“You came to find me, remember? Nice to see I have a little fanboy and his sidekick following me around like stalkers.”

“Fanboy my fucking ass, Herron.” I slammed my palm down against the glass display case. “Were you or were you not at my house last night?”

Zach looked back up at me but didn’t answer. The smirk on his face made me sick. He looked back down to his work.

“Just answer the question.” Jonah chimed in coolly.

“I was not.” Zach answered slowly as if he enjoyed seeing me angry.

“Fine.” I took a step back from the case, all too aware of his manager eyeing us and our confrontation from a few feet down the counter. I started back towards the door to the butcher without a look back, Jonah following quickly behind me. What use was my interrogation if all he gave me was snark and a denied accusation. Our darling fate would take care of him one way or another…whether he was responsible for Avalon’s death or not. I must say, though, if it was him, that was a disgustingly sick method of revenge for just a denied demo.

Zach called after us as I pushed open the door and stepped out to the sunbathed sidewalk, “And Seavey, tell your wife I say hello. If she wants a real man who knows how to work with meat, she knows where to find me.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @tempus-ut-luceant @br4nd1s @xkelsev @hiya-its-amber @sexyseavey15 @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

#🔪#daniel seavey #jonah marais #why dont we #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

21 notes · View notes

thejosh1980 · 4 years ago

Text

Little Wing

(Trigger warning: animal/pet death)

Today, right now, I am sat at the spot where Mijo felt his last sunrise, just 24 hours ago.

He was 28 weeks old, he spent 20 of those weeks with me, and my family. He was my family. He was thrust upon me by my wife and mum, who knew Mijo would be the kind of birthday present I'd want, but could never ask for.

When he arrived he was unexpected. Straight from the car, into my bedroom, onto my lap, what a surprise, it was love at first sight. Those eyes, that tail, that round belly, the fur, I was all in. I had to say goodbye to 4 beautiful pets whom I loved dearly when I left Germany, so then and there I made a quiet, whisper promise to Mijo;

“I'll never ever leave you”...

We began like any other Daddy and cat story, playing, eating, talking to each other. We may have made a few messes on the bed learning to potty train, but I couldn't really fault him, he was perfect. He loved cuddles, got under our feet all the time, talked to us a lot and wanted to be a part of everything happening around the house.

He meowed very loudly too. Sometimes he'd meow from the next room sounding lost and worried. That's when I started to realized something was very different about him. It took about 2 weeks, but then I realized, he was totally deaf!!!! No vacuum cleaner, loud bangs, claps, or door slams could get his attention. When he meowed loudly, it was either because he had to, to feel himself meowing in his head, or he was missing us and could smell us, but not hear us in the next room. I had never had a cat who couldn't hear me call their name, so this was going to be a challenge.

Mijo accepted that challenge...

In a short time I figured out how to clicker train him, using a torch. I love training cats. Most folks think it's impossible, but I've taught cats to fetch, sit and come on command in the past.... So, pretty soon I had him jumping up, over and across chairs and tables on cue. I also learnt a way to “call” him; assuming he could see me, if I knelt down and tapped my leg, he'd come a running. Every time. We had it all figured out.

Grab a harness and a lead, and off we go, walking around the garden. This wasn't a cat, this was a dog. He had very little fear, I mean, he couldn't even hear the birds making a racket or the car driving by or the dog barking next door. He was fixated on me.

I bought him a blow up boat, to use in the pool, to help him get used to floating on water. It was a huge boat for his little size, but he'd hop in, and I'd “treat” him while he got used to the motion. The plan was to build him up to a real boat, or canoe or SUP. I could imagine him walking on water.

He was also great with other cats, so I could take him to visit his cousin and they'd play all day (if we'd let them). He'd come with me to visit other family and then... well, then the real adventures started. Mijo and I could go to the river, the park and the beach. We also went for coffee at the busiest part in the local village, and he took it all in his stride. We took bike rides too, as he sat in a special backpack I had for him. I could hold him while skateboarding or put him on my shoulder as I walked around. He was chill, happy to see and smell his silent world.

When Alex or I came home, and he'd be in the bedroom snoozing or gazing out the window, we could come in, take off our shoes, put our stuff down, maybe run to the loo, then we could snuggle up with him, cause he hadn't heard us arrive. He would just be waiting... He'd just wait for someone to step close enough, blow on his ear, feel a vibration and then he'd meow a big BIG hello, purr and snuggle. He was a no pressure cat... But always ready for hugs and pats.

Besides being deaf, he just didn't seem like any other cat I'd had or even met...

But isn't the way it is with all pets? They're all unique.

He loved Alex. He always had a hard decision between my lap and hers, or sleeping close to one or the other. We had a son to take care of, to love and to enjoy. At the beginning, Alex wasn't sure about having a cat, she'd pretty much always been a dog person, but it didn't take long for Mijo to wrap her around his little paw. She was hooked.

We thought he was going to be grow up to become a big boy. You know, Maine Coon sized 5-6 or maybe 7 kilo. We had high hopes for a dog-like cat, big enough to take on the world. We wanted to show him the world too.

After he had his snip (desexing) in mid March, he wasn't very well, and it really traumatized all of us, we just weren't sure why he took it so badly. He was in a lot of pain, even though the operation itself was quick and really good, with no issues. He would spend the day, in his “bread loaf” position, with his nose to the ground. It was like he was conserving all his energy for when we came home or wanted his attention.

Eventually, after a few weeks he bounced back, back to being his usual self, for a while. He actually lost a lot of fur during this time, most likely due to a reaction to the antibiotics and pain killers. Where his collar and harness were, he lost all his hair. It only took a few days, a bit too quick to realize what was going on, he rarely wore the collar or harness after that. It meant we sometimes lost him in the house without his bell on to tell which room he was in, so I'd be running around turning on and off the lights to get his attention and a meow.

It was our fun game of “Mijo Polo”.

We had noticed he wasn't eating as much, and he wasn't as playful. In fact, all his toys were being ignored, and he rarely chased anything we teased him with. When we took him for playtime with his cousin, he wouldn't last as long play fighting. Something was up, we thought he'd bounce back by now.

Overall, he was a very chilled cat, having just had an operation and now with, ringworm, a tooth problem (one adult tooth was causing him problems and needed to be pulled) maybe that was why he wasn't too interested in food. Surely it wasn't bacteria, an infection or a virus in his blood.

In early May, Mijo developed ringworm, which, by the way, isn't a worm but rather a fungal infection. The vet already had us on anti fungal cream day and night. It's very unusual to get ringworm; it's all around us, but a strong immune system, actually, a decent immune system, would fight off any infection naturally. Cats generally just lick it all off their fur. Humans sometimes get it, from a scratch or a wound. It's in the soil, it's in the air.

When we got the treatment for the ringworm, we also gave him an appetite stimulant, to encourage him to eat, but it made little difference. As nothing changed, we went back to the vet a few days later, and did a hypothyroidism test; the results were borderline.

What could be going on?

At the time of his desexing operation, he was 1.7 kilos, a week later he was down to 1.5 and eventually 1.45 kilo. His body was growing a little, but his muscle and fat wasn't.

We talked to the vet and decided, even though his ringworm was infectious, the tooth had to go, sooner rather than later. It seemed logical that it was his biggest barrier to fulfilling his dietary requirements and his well being. We wanted him fattening up, growing up, and being his usual self again, ASAP. We needed to get him back on track towards good health, enough was enough.

On Monday 17th May I dropped the little guy off at the vet for the day. A check up and a tooth pull.

Before any cat gets an anesthetic, they run a simple blood test to determine if the cat is well enough. During the day we got a call that the operation couldn't happen, and that he'd have to stay in over night or longer, with meds to help him, because his red cell blood count was low. 10%. Most cats need around 40%, if there's any complication with the tooth pull, his blood may not clot.

It's official, he was very unwell.

I was at school when I got the news. I was in shock. Our little boy was that unwell? But he does eat (a little), he does walk on the lead with me, he's eating his treats... was he that unwell?

Suddenly we had to decide on some expensive tests to figure out what was wrong with him. I mean, the red blood cells were being eaten up by the white ones, but why?? We arranged the suggested tests and they kept him in over night.

I was very distraught. How can my little guy be so unwell yet behave well? With that blood count, he shouldn't be able to walk, he should be so lethargic that he can't keep his head up!! He should be in a coma.

All in all, theoretically, he should be dead.

So was it dwarfism, hypothyroidism, mycoplasma??? And and and?? Tests... Blood being taken.. Our boy in the vet over night, alone, worried, scared??? Will he make it through the night? I didn't sleep well...

On Tuesday afternoon the vet let us bring him home. His blood level was down to 9.1%. The idea was that, at least at home he'd have cuddles and love, and that might help his immune system. He was lethargic but not completely terrible. I would need to bring him in on Wednesday for another blood test, to see how he was doing.

On Wednesday, it didn't go well, Mijo had gone from 9 to 8.1% blood level. It was now becoming almost impossible to get any blood out of him. I saw how difficult it was 2 weeks earlier when he had the hypothyroid test, they had to try on both legs and his neck to get a half mil of blood! He was a champ and barely complained. But now, I couldn't imagine the pain he went through with even less blood.

He's been that sick for how long?? Why hadn't we noticed?

We were panicking.

The vet suggested we meet with a mature, more experienced doc, on Thursday. We should be able to figure something out, we had to. Each day = less blood = more chance of...

Well, I am a hopeful guy. I realize, I live on hope. I spent years hoping certain people in my life would change, or love me in a way that I feel some love. I always hope things will change for the better. I don't know why, but it's ingrained in me to feel hopelessness or hope... I think I'm never in the middle... or is that called acceptance? OK, maybe I do feel that too, eventually... But it takes a long long time...

I have videos of Mijo on Thursday 20th, he's cleaning himself in the sun, meowing and purring, happy to see me, walking around the garden with me. Full of life and adventure.

At lunch time, Mijo and I go to the vet. He is his usual cute self, always curious at the vets, and now there's a the new guy he's meeting, what an adventure.

Before he opens the cat box he said something along the lines of “Well, because his blood levels are so low, today is really about deciding if he goes to heaven or not...” I'm not sure, but I know I heard words like “heaven” and “euthanasia” early on in the consultation. Shock was setting in. I barely heard anything else he said, luckily we had Alex on the speaker phone.

Turns out, not only is our little guy deaf, he's an anomaly.

Any cat with 8.1% should be comatose. They should barely be able to walk. They certainly can't pee or poo without help and don't drink or eat much. Mijo came out of his box and sniffed around, was alert and ready to meet the new guy!!

The vet was stumped. He had never seen this before, in over 30 years...

We didn't know he was so sick, because, he was, overall, a well behaved cat. His weight he lost, sure, but he was now at least stable. He was eating, it just took a lot of creativity sometimes to spark his interest (mostly warming up meals and giving him treats).

The vet tried to explain to me, but I'm sure Alex on the phone understood it clearly, that we had very little time, well, no time. We had 3 choices that day. Go to a specialist an hour's drive away, give Mijo steroids and hope he had mycoplasma or Immune mediated hemolytic anemia (IMHA) or, lastly, euthanasia.

Wait???? What does that even mean??

The specialist would give him a blood transfusion, and some special custom drugs which should help him. The vet said it could cost in the 10s of thousands, and may help Mijo for a few weeks, but it's not a solution that we are sure would be long term or not.

Giving Mijo steroids would give him a fighting chance, or not... Basically it could cure or kill him. Because we aren't sure what is the cause of the low blood count, it could be IMHA, mycoplasma or something else, but it's a best educated guess at this rate. If it is the wrong choice, he may die quicker than expected.

Euthanasia, no explanation needed.

We decided on steroids. According to the vet, there was a 50/50 chance it would work. If the cause of the blood cells killing off each other was for or against steroids, we'd know soon enough. Still shocked I tried to understand it all. I'm so grateful Alex was on the line and knows this stuff through experience and study.

The idea of taking Mijo an hour's drive north to the specialist, to a cubicle, a place where we may not be with him 24/7, on the off chance that he wouldn't make it and die alone, we couldn't fathom that.

Mijo took the steroid injection like a champ, he always did injections well. He was given some antibiotics to also help. The vet said, that by Saturday we'll know if it was the right decision. We'd know if he would be getting better...

It was decided that on Monday 24th we'd go back in for a blood test to actually see if the steroids were working (cause apparently one can't really tell with Mijo's behavior, the cheeky monkey).

Mijo and I came home, and well, he ate, he was purring, sitting on my lap. The usual deal. When I went out to get the washing in, he tried to go out too, something we, as parents, have been very protective about. He doesn't go out alone, he doesn't go out without a lead or a bell. He's not an easy cat to find if he runs off, not that he has ever tried. He deaf, he can't hear cars or other dangers out there.

I promised him I'd take him out to that side of the house/garden that afternoon...

So we did, we went out, we sat down, he explored. He was well, good, better, best. He was my boy. He trusted me, I trusted him. I'm always amazed how well he walks by my side, like a dog, with loose leash... Taking my steps as cues when to walk, and when to stop.

We also met the neighbor's dog, which was a first, both were not really interested in each other... But still, Mijo knew there's a lot to live for...

Overnight he went great... Woke up with him on my chest relaxing waiting for me to get up and feed him, luckily I have a wife who had to get up for work at that moment. I remember she sang him a lullaby and held him like a baby. It was really sweet to see how much love they had for each other. Rock-a-bye Mijo...

We wanted to him feel as much love as we could. We felt that, if the steroids and antibiotics were doing their part, and we did ours, there's nothing he can't beat. And he sure felt the love...

I held him while doing some singing exercises, close to my chest. It was something we hadn't done before, and he purred. He'd look up and meow every time I stopped making vibrations. He felt it, I felt it, it was a connection.

We spent a lot of time, reading, relaxing and sitting on laps. Alex and I cuddled him, told him we loved him. He was really fighting. He was eating. He was a little more playful than in recent weeks. He wanted to live. We could feel it...

He went from eating half a packet to 1.5 packets a day, plus dry food. He always wanted treats, and I was always glad to oblige.

By Saturday he was wonder cat! Kneading... Purring... Chasing toys... Eager to hang out...

We'd overcome the problem! He was getting better. There's fight, love and life left in him. He was amazing. If it hadn't been for his ringworm (which was also healing very very well) I'd say he was perfect, especially once he put on another few grams...

We had 4 awesome days, loads of energy and love. He was never alone in the house, and rarely alone in a room. We wanted him to know, to feel, that we loved him so deeply and that all we want was him in our life, for adventures and cuddles.

On Monday morning, his appetite went down... He didn't really eat much...

We all left for the day, work and school. I think we were all worried, but he'd been so good and improved so so much, that we were sure he'd be fine. We have the blood test booked for the afternoon, I'm sure he'll pep up by then. The injection could be wearing off too...

Mijo and I went in to the vet, and his test came back at 14%!!! Damn, that's 6 points!! The vet expected 3 to be a big improvement. In fact, if he had 3 or less, euthanasia may have been the only option... Happy days! He was well. He's going to live! He'll be fine.

We're not out of the woods yet, but we are in the right direction.

All that love we lavished on him, not just in the past days, but the past 4 months. The adventures, the friends he'd made (both human and animal) the smells and sights he'd seen, the vibrations he felt, it was all coming together... He was a fighter with a lot of love to give...

We were over joyed. Really, I couldn't have been happier when I got the results. I gave a “whoop” and threw my fist in the air (I've never done that before in my life!).

We changed to tablet form steroids, as they'll be better long term, keep up the antibiotics and off we go...

But we all know, that often people and animals, when they know they are dying, they give it one last shot. And that was it... We didn't realize until Wednesday, that he wasn't actually going to get better...

Mijo stopped grooming himself, he slowly ate less and less... He became more and more lethargic, he started to sit in the “bread loaf” position with his nose on the ground, as he did after the snip, resting. We thought it was the change in steroids, and as I was at school and the girls at work, we just kept thinking he'd pep up eventually.

When I left for school Wednesday morning, he was alert, but lethargic. When I came home early to check on him, he had really changed again.

His belly was a little bloated, but he had hardly eaten. He had trouble walking, it seemed like it was a mix of muscle degradation/pain and confusion. His meowing changed to a high pitch cry, similar to that of a young kitten. He also stopped eating, he wouldn't even touch any of his tasty treats. He searched for any bit of sun to stand in, but he was looking so uncomfortable, his posture had changed, half sitting, half standing. I was grateful, when I carried him to his water bowl, that he drank a lot. He also went to the toilet, I held his tail so he didn't make a mess on himself.

We spent the afternoon outside, as the sun started to set. He loved the sun, I wanted him to feel warmth... I held him, talked to him. I don't know now many times I asked him to please hold on, please fight and that I loved him. He looked more comfortable in the sun.

I did film us walking around the pool. I am forever grateful for technology, so that I could just put my phone down, touch a button and record a moment. As we walked and talked, oblivious to the camera, I recognized a change in his breathing... I may have missed it previously, but for sure, his breath was becoming more and more labored. Every 3 or 4 breaths, he just had to try harder... His eyes were changing too... But I was sure he could recognize me, the way the vibrations from my chest reached his body and the way I smell. He would react from time to time, shifting or clawing at me.

He often touched my chest with his paw. Reaching out...

Mum and I went to the vet late Wednesday afternoon, the earliest we could. I explained it must be the change of steroids. No, it wasn't. They were the same type, it was just that he wasn't able to fight anymore. We discussed the specialist, called them and made a plan to go in first thing in the morning. I arranged for a friend to come with me, and Thursday morning bright and early, we were going up to get Mijo cured. Transfusion, drugs, you name it, we were going to do it. We had to, we told him we'd make him better.

There and then, Alex and I decided to trade in our honeymoon, you know from the wedding we had 13 months ago and still haven't done the traditional thing of a week or two away somewhere. We decided the money we had aside for that, would go to Mijo's specialist costs, because without Mijo, our honeymoon, whatever and whenever we decide to do it, wouldn't be worth doing, if he wasn't around.

I made a firm plan on how to help him through the night. We would hold him in shifts... All 3 of us... If one showered, the other held him. Dinner time, we shared the responsibility, not that we ate much anyhow. We cuddled, we talked, we purred, I would blow gently on his head... He was feeling love and he was fighting...

Because he hadn't eaten all day, we decided to try feeding him with a syringe, with success. With the tablets we were putting into his stomach, I felt he needed something else down there too... With a small syringe, he took it well, lapping up a tasty liquid treat.

When it was bed time, we put pillows around the bed, incase he fell, because he was very wobbly on his feet. He would cry out at random times, possibly from pain, but I think more from confusion. He sometimes wanted to get away from us, as we know, pets know when it's time and usually disappear, isolate.

We barely slept. I managed about 3 hours... But it was tough.. He wouldn't stay still, and eventually we put him in his little bed, near our bed... Of course he didn't stay there long.

At 4am I heard him crying... I found him under the bed... Alex woke up too... His breathing had changed a lot... Every breath was labored. He wasn't getting enough oxygen.

I laid on my back, and Mijo laid on my chest. This was how it often was, especially when I was reading... We did that until around 7am... Alex taking turns, holding him, talking to him, loving him. Mijo could barely hold himself up, he just laid in our arms... Breathing... His eyes began to glaze over...

We discussed our options, we felt the specialist was now a long shot. We didn't think he'd make the drive, he was near the end. Our little man had little fight left... And we wouldn't forgive ourselves for him dying in a foreign place. There were a lot of tears and back and forwards, including mum coming in for cuddles with the little guy at 5am...

Alex called the emergency vet, and we planned to go in at 8:30... Mijo's time had come...

When the sun comes up, if the blind is open in our bedroom, the sun shines right on through to Alex in bed, Mijo was in her arms, while she drank coffee as the sun rose.

Sometime later I took the little guy out to the pool, where we walked and talked, cuddled and loved, around and around, in the morning sun. I talked to him about all the adventures we had, riding bikes, visiting people, the beach and the river. I spent most of that hour, holding him, looking to his eyes... He gazed up, I just hope he knew it was me. I just knew he felt the vibrations of my words.

We both told him, it was OK to let go now. We were ready. But he kept on fighting for each breath... I think he was just like his Dad, always hopeful..

He last moments at home, where in the chair I'm sat in now. It gets the best light, first thing, even though it's inside the “catio”. Alex had sat down while I was walking outside, I seem to do better when I walk, and I brought him in for cuddles with her in the sun... He was bathed in sunshine, in Alex's arms... It was beautiful...

Actually getting in the car and going to the vet, was tough, but it really hit me when I walked in. I held the little guy, and just burst into middle-aged-man tears and sobbing... If you were there, you'd know I was my mother's son, cause she was sobbing too... I couldn't look anyone in the eye... I didn't understand what was going on, or about to go on...

I think I was in another place...

We went into a consult room, and I just laid the little guy down, not thinking of using the blanket we had... The vet explained the procedure and took him away for his catheter and first injection, some anesthetic? I don't know, but apparently it was the right thing, it helped with his pain.

I couldn't even look Alex or Mum in the eye... I just cried...

I still had hope...

When they came back, Mijo was wrapped in a soft blanket, what a great idea...!! He was quieter, more peaceful... The vet left to give us a moment...

He was still breathing, still fighting... I put my ear to his face, and heard him...

I kept making sure his eye lids closed from time to time. I remember back when Catalina, my little girl in Germany, needed to be anesthetized for a check up. The vet put some put liquid drops in her eyes and made her blink, so her eyes didn't dry out... So for Mijo, I did that every once in a while... I didn't want his eyes to dry up... I wanted him to be able to see me, because laying on that table, he couldn't hear me.

I begged Alex not to bring the vet back in for the final injection... I think I may have screamed something at her... I don't know... I wasn't me... I was trying to hold him in my arms, without moving him... I was trying to give him another chance...

I bawled...

I don't know if I have ever cried like that before... I thought I'd be all cried out... I thought all my tears had already left the building the previous hours and days... But there was more... a lot more... and more to come...

I know that Alex and I held hands over his body... I felt the love... I felt his warmth... his breathing... I know I cried tears onto him, there were tear drops on his lips...

I looked him in the eye as much as I could, but mostly, I cried...

I felt the liquid go into him, I felt it go around my hand into him...

I don't know much about what happened after that... I know I didn't want to leave him, I had promised him I would never do it. I regret not holding him once more... I know that at that moment, I felt the life drain out of me... I felt hope die...

I walked out, not knowing what to do, and flopped down on the grass outside... I never sit on grass, but Mijo liked it...

I managed to drive home...

That was yesterday...

Since then I've tried to rest, tried to come to grips with what has happened, tried to connect with a few friends, I've tried... I'm still trying...

This morning I got up wanting to do some sport, washing, then study and take on the day with confidence... It's a new day, I should take that opportunity to get back into my routine... It took all of 1 minute, from bed to bathroom, to be bawling... Except for the time I manage to calm down enough to type this blog, I've been crying... It's now 10am... I was awake at 6:15...

We are running out of tissues..

I felt so bad this morning, I wanted to plead with Alex not to go to work, because I just can't today. I just can't. We have discussed how she copes in these situations, and I know that's how she copes, by going to work, so I kept my trap shut. I just want her to hug me all day, so I can feel her warmth.

I cried so much on the drive to drop mum off at work this morning, she started crying too, and contemplated not going to work... She wanted to be there for me, but I told her, honestly, I don't think I'd be much company today.

I don't know the grieving process, we haven't learnt that in counseling school yet, but I do know, I'm feeling very lost... I feel very numb...

I can't explain it, and maybe that's why folks can never really explain how they feel after someone close to them, or their pet, has passed. We are just lost.

I also feel that I am grieving for my other losses in my life. It's a bit like, it's a culmination of all the others before him, plus him on top, making me feel pain like I have never experienced before.

Grief is just love, with no place to go... Alex and I talked about that quote last night. I used this quote to help me through leaving my 4 pets in Germany, I know I have to find a new place for my love, but for now, I just can't.

I know I couldn't have gotten through this without the support of my Mum and Alex...

While Mum cries at the drop of a hat, she is solid and thoughtful and loving. Alex is strong and experienced in these matters. She knew what to say, and when, even if I did yell back… Both have a lot of time and patience for me.

I know Alex and Mum feel bad, maybe even guilty, for choosing him. Mijo was a present, to give me joy and love and comfort. And he sure did, in multitudes, to all of us. I would never have gotten a cat back then, I didn't feel Alex or I were ready, we were still working through our issues with our pets in Germany.

Alex and I decided that we want Mijo home with us. He was only on this earth for 6.5 months, we expected him to be with us for 10+ years. Taken too early. Once he's cremated we'll have him in a little urn. He was so small, but if there's a little left over, we will either plant a tree with his ashes or sprinkle him down by the river, the first place he went to that was close to water.

The past day or so, I have shared what happened with some friends, classmates and family, and everyone has been so thoughtful and caring. Thank you, it's really helped to know you're all out there, thinking of the little guy. He would have loved to meet you all.

He was perfection. If someone else had gotten him, realized he was deaf, they may not have given him the adventures and life he had. Mum considers him a rescue cat...

So here I am, in the chair, his last chair in his last moments at home.

I can still smell him on my shirt. When I walk around the house, dazed, I sniff my shirt. He had a wonderful smell. The smell of love and adventure. I hope that smell lasts a life time.

I miss his warmth, his meow, which was damn loud!! I miss, that sometimes he'd get lost around the house... Or he'd lose me, around the house. He was gentle, and only bit me once, by accident, piercing my thumb a little. I miss the fact he had 1 tooth growing forward, directly out, making him a tri-toothed kitten with a protruding top lip! He took on the world without fear. I've never experienced anything like it in a cat. My girl Catalina did sit on my shoulder as I walked down the street in Germany, but Mijo, he let me go skateboarding with him, played guitar with me (he'd chew the strings) and one time, I even vacuumed his tail.

All trust. No fear.

Back when he lost all his hair around his neck and stomach after his snip operation, we were pretty concerned. Funnily enough, it grew back pretty quickly, but it grew back white, not grey. He had a ring around his neck and kind of marks on his back wrapping around to his belly. Alex googled it, and actually found out, cats can often have their hair grow back white after trauma or experiencing extremes of temperature if their hair was cut short or fell out.

About a month ago, I sent my dearest of friends, Sandra, a photo of his regrowth, and she commented looks like “little angel wings”...

Fly on little wing, fly on...

RIP Mijo Angus

12-11-2020 – 27-05-2021

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#pet #pet love #pet death #sad story #loss #griefandloss

11 notes · View notes

helena-edge · 4 years ago

Text

The Great and Powerful Ozpin (RWBY fic)

So, I usually post og content on my page, but in honor of RWBY Volume 8 coming out I thought I’d share a fic I wrote awhile ago. I have to give a shout-out to @tigerstripedmoon. After reading “three small words,” which you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12372592/1/three-small-words. I had to write a cloqwork fic of my own. Seriously, you guys, it was THAT GOOD. Please check it out. You can find mine at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13511024/1/The-Great-and-Powerful-Ozpin. I’ll also post the whole thing here. I’m hoping that Oz gets some love in volume 8. That poor old wizard deserves it.

Okay, so here it is, “The Great and Powerful Ozpin” in which Qrow is an alcohol-soaked cinnamon role and Oz is sadder than he lets on...

The Great and Powerful Ozpin

“What kind of headmaster lets a student die on his watch?”

The shout that cut through the amphitheater forced the man on stage to pause mid-sentence.

“I—”

From his place in the balcony seats, Qrow watched Professor Ozpin adjust his spectacles and peer out towards the crowd.

“Pardon me?” Ozpin’s deep, calm voice echoed in the vast room, the gathering place of Beacon Academy. Regular classes had been interrupted for a special ceremony. The screen behind the speech podium was black, the color of mourning.

“You heard me, murderer! You killed my sister!”

Gasps erupted around the room. The sea of students parted aside in the wake of a giant—no, a human, the largest man Qrow had ever seen, making his way, stomp by angry stomp to the stage.

“Hazel.” Ozpin’s soft whisper of recognition sounded loud through the microphone.

“Ozpin!” the man roared in response, a sound that could have come from the mouth of an ursa.

Glynda, Oobleck and Port stood behind Oz, watching Hazel Reinhart approach. Glynda clutched her riding crop tightly, Oobleck nervously sipped coffee from a thermos, and Port gritted his teeth beneath his mustache. Unlike the other teachers, Qrow had chosen to attend the memorial service for Gretchen in the shadows of the balcony. He liked to be up high. It helped him to see better. He clenched the hilt of his sword as he watched Hazel jump onto the stage. He was only a few feet from Ozpin now, who despite, the nearing threat, remained a steadfast presence behind the podium.

“You will pay for what you did!” Hazel bellowed. He raised a beefy arm to point a finger at Ozpin’s chest.

From above, Qrow saw the tightening of Hazel’s body. He knew what he was going to do before anyone else.

None of the students understood how Qrow managed to reach the stage so quickly. There was just a blur of black—one student swore they saw a few feathers—then a clang of something heavy impacting metal. When everyone opened their eyes again, Hazel’s fist was firmly planted in the flat side of Qrow’s blade.

“Not one step closer.”

Qrow heard his own voice pulsing in his ears, low and gravelly—and dangerous. “Make a move, you son of a grim. I dare you.”

A deep, rumbling sound issued from Hazel’s mouth. Qrow couldn’t believe it; the lunatic was actually growling at him.

In response, he turned his blade ever so slightly so that the sharp edge was cutting into Hazel’s knuckles.

“Qrow.” A gentle voice spoke from behind him, and Qrow felt the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder, one with pale, delicate fingers, but with a grip stronger than Qrow had ever known. At that moment there was the sound of a cane being tapped decisively on the ground.

“Why don’t we all calm down,” Ozpin said, his manner congenial as if he, Hazel and Qrow were merely sitting down to a cup of afternoon tea.

Hazel’s eyes looked past Qrow and instantly narrowed. “You,” he hissed. “You killed her; you killed my little sister.”

“Your sister was old enough to make her own decisions.” Ozpin sighed. “Gretchen was brave—braver than most. She would have made an excellent huntress.”

Hazel continued to push harder against Qrow’s blade with his fist. Blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the stage floor. Qrow stared. Did the man not feel anything?

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Ozpin continued.

“What do you know about loss?” Hazel cried.

“More than any man, woman or child,” replied Ozpin in a tone that grew heavier with each uttered syllable.

Qrow saw rage grow in Hazel’s eyes. He was certainly not calming down; in fact, Ozpin’s words seemed only to have incensed his rage.

“Oz, stay back,” Qrow warned.

But Ozpin had never been one to take orders from Qrow, or anyone for that matter.

“Hazel,” he said softly, imploringly.

The resistance against his blade intensified. Hazel was strong, too strong. Qrow wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long.

“Drop dead,” Hazel seethed at Ozpin, spittle flying out of his mouth and hitting Qrow in the face.

“Dead,” Ozpin repeated with a wry chuckle. “If only.”

With a single thrust, Qrow felt his sword give way. The barrier that he’d made between Hazel and Ozpin clattered to the floor as Hazel rushed forward, letting loose a yell of savage fury.

“Aaaah!”

“Oz—!” Qrow cried, reaching, weaponless, for the professor.

Before he could take another step, the sight of Ozpin raising his right arm, quick as lightning, caused his shoes to skid upon the ground to a halt. He realized that Hazel couldn’t get closer than a cane-length away from Ozpin. The headmaster held him back with the tip of the walking stick. Hazel was a towering mass of muscle compared to the slim figure of Ozpin, but he couldn’t force the man back an inch.

The student body gaped collectively, spellbound by the scene. The whole amphitheater seemed to be holding its breath, and the teachers themselves were frozen with shock. Glynda, Oobleck and Port had their weapons out, but they appeared to have forgotten that they were authorized to use them. Ozpin’s face remained coolly unaffected; his eyes never broke from Hazel’s fiery gaze.

“Go home Hazel. Your family needs you.”

“My family?” Hazel’s incredulous scream traveled all the way to the ceiling and bounced back again. “You destroyed my family!” He struggled against Ozpin’s cane, but just then the doors to the amphitheater burst open and men and women in uniform came streaming in, guns drawn. Someone with sense (Probably Glynda, Qrow thought) had called the Vale police.

“Hands up!” they shouted at Hazel.

Hazel, finally understanding that he was vastly outmatched by Ozpin and now outmanned, did as he was told, raising his massive arms above his head. With one final hostile glare at Ozpin, he let himself be led away by the police.

After the doors slammed shut behind them, every eye in the amphitheater swiveled back to the stage. His cane lowered, Ozpin walked calmly back to the podium.

“That concludes the service,” he said into the microphone. Then he left the stage without another word.

Glynda took up the mic after he was gone, using her commanding voice to usher some order back into the disoriented crowd.

“You heard the headmaster. Back to class!” she barked at the students.

Qrow picked up his sword, flicking off some of Hazel’s blood before putting it back in its hilt. He was secretly glad that he hadn’t been forced to waste the scythe mechanism on a piece of scum like Hazel. He knew Oz would sympathize with his grief, but Qrow had no patience for people who took their pain out on others.

He pulled a metal flask out of his shirt, hearing it clank against the sideways cross necklace he never took off. He took a large swig and waited for the burn of alcohol to chase away the memory of Hazel, the hatred in his eyes. He would have destroyed anything in his path just to get to Ozpin, all for the sake of his suffering.

He stood alone on the stage as the room emptied out, gazing at his reflection in the flask. He saw dark circles beneath his eyes. The bright red irises matched the tiny veins popping out against the white. All the while he denied the voice in his head that called him a hypocrite.

Self-destruction is still destruction, the voice taunted.

Qrow took another swig. Shut up.

***

“How long has it been since you ate something, Oz?”

The sky was dark outside the circular window of Ozpin’s office. Because the window doubled as giant clock, Qrow was able to watch the minute hand tick up and around the shattered image of the moon, which illuminated the ground below in pearl-white fractals.

“Ate something?” Ozpin said from across the room.

“Yeah.” Qrow turned away from the window to face the headmaster, who was busy shifting books around in his shelves. “You know, food? Hot cocoa doesn’t count by the way.”

A hint of a smile played over Ozpin’s lips. “That’s a shame.”

Qrow couldn’t help but notice that, between reaching up for books, Ozpin was leaning on his cane more than usual. In fact, the slight slump of his shoulders made it seem like the stick was the only thing keeping him upright.

A softer note took hold of Qrow’s voice.

“How long has it been since you last slept?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s one a.m., and you’ve decided that now would be the best time to rearrange your bookshelves.”

Ozpin paused, running a hand over one leather-bound cover. The History of Remnant. The sound of gears churned rhythmically above them. The gears, along with the cool emerald walls of Ozpin’s office had always had a soothing effect on Qrow. Everything about the room was familiar to him. He used to spend a lot of time here during his student days. Granted, he had been in trouble most of those instances, sent to the headmaster for speaking back in class, starting a fight in the hallway, or sneaking booze into his dormitory. None of the teachers had ever been very fond of Qrow in his younger years, but Ozpin had always gone easy on him. Now as an adult, not much had changed; he continued to rub people the wrong way, but being back with Oz, looking down at the clouds from the tallest part of Beacon Academy, he felt like he was back home again.

“Time is relative,” Ozpin said at last.

“Right,” Qrow replied.

“Why are you here at this hour?” Ozpin turned the question on the huntsman.

“To give my report on the spring maiden,” Qrow lied.

“Young Spring is residing at Haven Academy. Leonardo keeping me updated for the time being…a fact which you are well aware of.” Ozpin raised a silver eyebrow in Qrow’s direction. “Why are you really here?”

Because I saw your face when Hazel called you a murderer, and there’s no way I’m leaving you alone after that.

“To help you organize your books.”

He took a step closer to the shelves. At the same time, a book wobbled and fell, and on its way down, knocked over a figurine of two intertwined dragons that had sat guard there for as long as Qrow could remember.

Ozpin caught the book in one deft swoop. Qrow rushed forward for the figurine but, his reflexes, dulled from drink (he had been outdoing himself this week), were too slow to catch the dragons. They hit the floor, shattering into tiny bits.

“That’s a bit of bad luck.” Ozpin frowned at the mess.

“Sorry,” Qrow grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know I can’t always control it.”

“No need to apologize.” Ozpin squinted at the broken dragons, poking a shard with the tip of his cane. “It was a gift. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been fond of it.”

He started to put the fallen book back on the shelf. As he looked up, a daze came over his eyes. He blinked and staggered backwards like someone who was about to faint. Qrow made ready to catch him, watching as the weight of the book carried his arm downwards. Finally, it slipped from his fingers, which appeared to have no strength left in them, and tumbled to floor, joining the shattered dragons.

Ozpin closed his eyes and hunched forward, resting his forehead on his cane, breathing hard. If Qrow hadn’t know any better he would have thought that he just finished fighting off fifty grim. Before him was the shell of the man who had held Hazel back with no effort one week prior.

“Oz,” Qrow said hesitantly, placing a hand on his back. At the touch, Oz straightened up.

“I’m fine; I just became a bit dizzy there for a moment.”

“That’s what happens when you starve yourself for a week,” Qrow muttered under his breath. Then louder. “Are you alright—really?”

Ozpin, either not hearing him or choosing to ignore the question, said nothing. Instead he let his cane guide him towards the center of the room.

“Is there a real reason you came here?” he asked Qrow without looking back at him.

At that moment, anger for the headmaster bubbled up in Qrow. Why couldn’t he be straight with him for once and admit that something was wrong?

“Yeah, there is.” He struggled to keep his voice steady. “I came to ask if you think letting yourself die will bring Gretchen Reinhart back? Well, in case you didn’t already know, professor, Beacon lost a student forever—and you can’t die!”

Oz was silent for a minute before turning slowly around. One look at his face made all the anger in Qrow’s body dissipate into thin air. With his chin lowered into his green turtleneck and golden eyes raised in supplication, Qrow was instantly struck by how vulnerable, how sad he looked.

“Please…I know. You don’t have to remind me,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Qrow immediately apologized again, disgusted with himself. Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, a betrayal of stress that Qrow had come to recognize over the years.

“I try to eat, but—”

“—you can’t keep it down,” Qrow finished for him. He knew the symptoms of guilt.

Ozpin nodded.

“I try to sleep, but—”

“—let me guess: the nightmares.”

Ozpin nodded once more, pinching his nose harder and furrowing his brows as if a bout of sharp pain had just seized him.

Qrow wasn’t surprised. Ozpin had been suffering the nightmares long before Gretchen’s accident. Another side-effect of a mind steeped in shame. Qrow had heard him cry out in the night before, screaming at someone only he could see.

“The children! Where are the children? What have we done? What have we done?”

He knew that there were parts of Ozpin’s past that he had never shared with him, might never share with him. The man had certainly lived long enough to rack up plenty of secrets.

That doesn’t matter, not now. Qrow told himself. Let him keep his secrets for the time being. What mattered in this moment was getting Oz through the night.

“Even if this body does give out on me, death would be no release. I…I get to carry my guilt through each life,” Ozpin continued.

“Oz, you know Gretchen wasn’t your fault.”

Ozpin lowered his hand and looked Qrow squarely in the eye. Regardless of how old he became, the headmaster’s piercing gaze never failed to make Qrow feel like the scrawny first-year again.

“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Ozpin said firmly. He moved to turn away but Qrow caught him by the shoulders.

“Then don’t talk, listen. You were right when you said Gretchen was old enough to make her own decisions; she chose her path, she met her fate.”

All of a sudden, an image of Summer came to him. His breath caught in his throat. His team leader had left for the mission that day and never came back, leaving Qrow to somehow make a life without her, to keep Ruby, her infant daughter—his niece, safe. But in the end, he was positive that even if she had known what awaited, she still would have gone.

“That’s right,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Choice. We can’t forget that they made a choice. If we do that, then we insult their—I mean Gretchen’s memory.”

Qrow could feel Ozpin’s body shaking between his hands. He brushed the professor’s silver hair away from his eyes, letting his fingers linger against the side of his face.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he whispered.

The utterance of those three words was all it took to make Ozpin break. He crumpled to the ground, face buried in his hands, his cane clattering beside him.

Qrow dropped to his knees after him. He waited a moment while Ozpin took deep, shuddering breaths. Gently, he removed Ozpin’s hands from his face, his chest tightening when he took in the agonized expression beneath.

Past the black spectacles, past the gleaming gold, Qrow could glimpse a millennium of suffering in his eyes, a man whose life stretched beyond what he couldn’t begin to imagine. A man who had seen a thousand years pass by, life after life. How many mistakes had he, Qrow Branwen, already made in his short lifespan of less than thirty years? He thought of Summer again. Enough to turn to drink to numb the pain. Pain. Once he thought he understood it, but as he gazed down at Ozpin, so small and exposed once the façade of the calm, collected headmaster had come tumbling down, he realized that he only knew pain as an inkling, a small sliver of the suffering that the human soul, that Oz’s soul could and had been made to endure.

“It’s okay,” he said again, hearing how feeble his attempt at comfort was, like trying to staunch a stab wound with a band-aid.

The tears began to stream now, down Ozpin’s cheeks, dripping into tiny puddles on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Qrow repeated, taking off the spectacles to better wipe away the tears. “It’s okay…”

He pulled Ozpin into an embrace, rocking with him as the sobs wracked his body. How long had he been holding them back? It was a while before his breathing steadied.

As Qrow pulled a way, he automatically reached into his shirt for his flask. He contemplated its contents and the weeping man before him. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, and it certainly wasn’t hot cocoa, but it was the only remedy he could think of.

“Here. This might help you sleep,” he said.

Ozpin, his face pale except for the puffy redness around his eyes, stared at the flask. A split second passed and he seemed to make a quick decision. He took the offered drink, suckling the alcohol from it like a baby with a bottle.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Qrow took the flask away, making use of his sleeve to dry the left-over drips of liquid on Ozpin’s chin.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop. No more apologizing,” Qrow whispered.

He leaned close, using his lips to kiss away the wetness on his cheeks. Then he moved on to the mouth. Ozpin’s lips were stiff and trembling, but Qrow knew how to work them until they melted into his.

He would stay with him tonight, be there to soothe the nightmares away. With a sigh of exhaustion, Ozpin sank into Qrow’s chest. Qrow’s hand naturally fell to the task of stroking his hair.

Yes, he would be here, always.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Despite everything, Ozpin managed to chuckle through his tears.

“I thought you didn’t want me to starve.”

“Right. I’ll steal some pancakes from the cafeteria then.”

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #cloqwork #rwby ozpin #ozpin x qrow #ozpin appreciation

29 notes · View notes

maria-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part five

summary: in the aftermath of hurricane agatha, the pogues are thrown into a mess none of them are ready to deal with. things that don’t exactly top sailor’s ‘fun things to do this summer’ list: surfing in the middle of a hurricane, getting punched in the face by a stupid kook, and stumbling upon a mystery that turns her and her friends into the damn scooby gang. when she said she wanted an exciting summer, she should’ve been more specific. 🙃

word count: 8.1k+ (it just keeps getting longer and longer 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings n stuff: mentions of abuse/neglect/gambling addiction, child abandonment, anxiety, self-worth issues, jj being both soft af and hot for his best friend, weed usage, underage drinking, unresolved sexual tension, sailor being thirsty, swearing, guns, fighting, blood, that one trope where two characters only call each other by their nicknames/last names until they don’t because of ~reasons~ that makes me lose my shit every time (like a lot of the obx fandom, i also headcanon that jj stands for jesse james), references to the three stooges (jj=moe, pope=larry, and john b=curly and that’s a fact lmao), to all the boys i've loved before, avengers infinity war, and david attenborough, and a line heavily inspired/influenced by taylor swift's "dress" (a song that happens to be on the playlist for this series)

a/n: we’re finally entering canon territory, y’all (with a few tweaks, of course!) but i’m determined not to make this a rehash/retelling word for word of the show ‘cause that’s just no fun, so expect smaller pieces (vignettes, i guess?) of storytelling as i expand on canon with sailor and the rest of the pogues. think of it like a mixtape of sorts, but with words instead of music if that makes sense lol. this part originally covered episodes one and two but i wrote so much that i had to split it, so we're just covering most of episode one for now (i still can't even believe how much shit actually goes down in the pilot lol). i was veryyyy excited to write the kegger at the boneyard 'cause some ~juicy~ stuff happens there lol. fun fact: the title of this part is a term used by surfers to refer to getting up at the ass crack of dawn to hit the waves. as always, this is unbetaed so any mistakes are mine. enjoy!

gif credit to @jj-maybnks

~Masterlist~

part five: dawn patrol

The next morning, Hurricane Agatha hits the island with all the force of a knockout punch; the sound of rain pounding against the roof echoes impossibly loud throughout the Chateau but Sailor’s bewildered shriek is even louder.

“You’re gonna what the what?!”

John B shrugs as the stunned redhead, lounging on the couch, looks away from watching the storm and fixes him with a wide-eyed stare.

“I’m gonna surf the surge.”

“Hell yeah, bro!” JJ yells from his spot as her footrest, punching his fist in the air and she sends him an exasperated look, both at his enthusiastic encouragement of John B’s downright moronic idea and the fact that she already misses the feeling of his thumb drawing circles on her bare ankle.

“Are you two insane?”

“Possibly.” John B states, grinning when JJ follows that up with, “Absolutely.” The blond boy pushes Sailor’s legs off his lap as he stands which earns him another displeased scowl from the redhead. “Come on, Sail. Live a little.”

“Oh, I’ll live alright, but you idiots won’t,” She takes his offered hand, letting him pull her to her feet and then down the hall after John B as she continues, “because this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“See, this is why we keep you around,” He replies, laughing when she dodges his attempt to ruffle her hair and dashes forward to beat him to the spare room. “We do something stupid, you and Kie read us the riot act. It’s tradition.”

Sailor grabs her long-sleeved rash vest -if she’s going to sit on the beach to keep an eye on these fools in the middle of a damn hurricane, at least she’ll wear something that offers a little bit of warmth- and heads to the bathroom to change. “Yeah, and then I’m there to patch you up when you inevitably hurt yourselves.”

“Can’t help that you have that healing touch.” His cheeky response floats through the closed door and she catches herself smiling -wide and just a little bit sappy- in the mirror.

After a quick detour to pick up Pope, who’s already drenched from sneaking out his window, the pogues (sans Kiara who never answered John B’s text in the group chat and, knowing her parents, was probably on hurricane lockdown) head to the beach, where the rugged gray surf hammers against the shore with unrelenting brutality. Sailor trails behind the others as they grab their boards and make a break for the water, blatantly ignoring the barriers that read ‘beach closed’ in large, impossible to miss letters. A few hundred feet down the coast, she can barely make out The Sandbar all boarded up for the storm and she thinks of her mother, wondering if she's riding it out inside or at home; either way Carmen's all alone and Sailor's stomach twists with guilt, both for letting her phone battery die so she didn't have to answer her calls and for leaving in the first place, even though it was the right thing to do for her damn sanity.

“These signs are here for a reason, guys!” She calls over the howling wind, squinting through the rain at the rough waves with her hands tapping uneasily against her thighs. Watching John B run into the ocean with reckless abandon (Pope following with a little more caution, thankfully) immediately puts her anxiety on edge so she sits down heavily on the wet sand, wrapping her arms around the knees pulled to her chest and looks up at the blond boy who stayed behind. “Aren’t you gonna join the other stooges?”

JJ shrugs at her question, glancing out toward their friends before dropping his board to the ground and taking a seat behind the trembling girl, his chest to her back. “This one can’t just leave you hanging out here all alone, lookin’ all sad and shit. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special, J.” She smirks and scoots back in the sand, lips curling into a full-fledged smile when he lifts his arms to drape them over her shoulders. As he tucks her securely against his front, the warmth of his body helps ward off the biting chill of the rain, and so does the fact that he knows her so well, that he knows this is exactly what she needs to help calm the panicking butterflies in her stomach.

He leans close, lips brushing against the shell of her ear when he whispers his next words like a secret, low and just for her even when there’s no one around to hear them. “Trust me, Sail, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She suddenly finds those butterflies in her stomach fluttering for a whole different reason.

The Chateau sits in complete darkness, the power having been knocked out since they returned from dropping Pope off at his house that afternoon. Sailor thinks it’s about ten at night as she lies on her back on the mattress of the sleeper sofa, listening to the wind rip through the trees outside with Binx curled up at her feet. The spare room was way too hot without a working fan, even after she braided her hair off to the side and changed into a crop top and shorts, so she and JJ had returned to the living room where it was cooler, if only by a little bit.

John B has already retreated to his room for the night; he’d been acting quieter than usual since their little adventure at the beach but between a lantern-lit dinner of semi-stale cereal and passing a joint around, she never got the chance to ask if he was okay before he made his escape. JJ lies beside her with his limbs all askew and from the slow rise and fall of his bare chest she’s 99% sure he’s out like a light until, out of the blue, he mutters into the stagnant air, “Can’t keep your eyes off me, huh?”

She blinks heavily -that weed must’ve hit her harder than she thought because she hadn’t even realized she’d been staring- when he lazily turns his head to stare back, a halcyon grin on his face and in the dark, his pupils are blown so wide she can barely see the blue of his irises. Her hand itches with a longing to sweep that one stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead but instead she blindly slides it to the left until she finds his and holds on tight; his fingers automatically lace with hers even as the space between his eyebrows furrows and the smile falls from his lips.

“Sail?”

“I don’t think my dad’s ever coming back.” The redhead’s mouth blurts before her brain can catch up, heavy words lingering like a storm cloud ready to downpour. The thought had been weighing on her heart for a while now, from when she’d first suspected it two months ago, and it feels bittersweet to finally admit it out loud, even when she hadn’t planned doing it.

Her bedmate is silent for a long time as he looks at her through the shadows and she focuses on the touch of his palm against hers instead of the awful mounting pressure behind her eyes -hadn’t she promised herself she was done crying over her dad?- until he asks quietly, “Why? I mean, good riddance 'cause he's kind of the worst, but why?"

“A feeling,” She murmurs around the sudden lump in her throat, biting the inside of her lip hard enough that she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. “He...he usually comes back after a month or two but this time it’s been almost five.” A bitter laugh escapes from her chest and she shakes her head. “I guess he finally decided he’s done dealing with my worthless ass.”

JJ’s eyes flash like lightning as he rolls over to face her, the hand not entwined with hers reaching up to cup her cheek. “Sail, shut up. Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true,” She says sharply, words acerbic and biting and full of a self-hatred that’s been poisoning her heart ever since she was old enough -eight and far, far too young- to discern the way her dad’s love for her was fickle at best, non-existent at worst. “I could’ve been a better daughter- a perfect daughter- and he might still be here and my mom wouldn't hate me. I should’ve tried harder-”

“Jesus Christ, Sailor!” He interrupts, calloused yet gentle thumb wiping away the tears she just now registers sliding down her cheeks and the shock of hearing her full name come from his mouth makes the rest of her vitriolic thoughts fly out the window. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

The image of him blurs through the darkness in shades of black and she closes her eyes, jaw clenched in an attempt to quell the tremble of her lip as he goes on in his low, soft voice, “You should’ve tried harder to do what, huh? What could you have possibly done better?”

She’s quiet for a long time, so long that her tears run dry and all that remains is smeared salt on her skin because she doesn’t have an answer. What could she have done? That terrible thought in her mind rears it’s ugly head again, the one that tells her she’s not good enough, that everything’s her fault because she doesn’t do enough, but when she asks it what more she can do, there’s no reply. There never is.

“Hey, look at me.” She hears the rustling of sheets and feels his fingers slip from hers before they come to rest on her cheek, both hands now cradling her face; she opens her eyes to find him hovering over her and the sheer lack of distance between them makes her heart skip a beat. “You...”

“What about me?” Her voice cracks as she speaks and in a mirror of her from earlier, JJ shakes his head, causing that stubborn strand of hair to once again fall into his eyes.

“I wish you’d see yourself the way I do.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “And how do you see me?”

“Fucking amazing.” He says simply and in the dark, she can barely see the flush slowly starting to creep up his neck. “Smart, brave, and loyal as hell. A beautiful badass who doesn’t take shit from anybody. A girl who listens when someone needs to be heard.”

The redhead stares up at him with wide green eyes as he goes on and on, listing all these wonderful little things that her traitorous mind has a hard time processing, let alone believing; he really thinks about her like this? “You care so damn much,” “You’re kind but not afraid speak out,” “You’re the one I trust the most.”

Her hand slowly releases its tight grip on the sheets and slides up his bare arm, feeling the heat of his skin under her palm as she touches his face, not trusting herself to speak because she’s so afraid of saying something dumb or stupid and ruining everything ('like I always do,' her mind echoes).

“You’re my best friend, Sailor, and yeah, you’re not perfect. You drink and you smoke weed and you don’t get straight As in school but fuck, you’re real and so not worthless.” He says each word with such conviction that its impossible not to believe him, as much as her brain screams at her not to. “And I want you to know that what your parents think of you doesn't matter at all, got it?"

Without warning, she flings her arms around his neck and JJ loses his balance, falling onto her with a soft oof of surprise but Sailor doesn’t even feel the extra weight as she rests her face against his shoulder and finally finds her voice. “Thank you.”

He takes her with him when he rolls onto his side, arms wrapped tight around her waist and nose buried in her messy braid. “Just...trying to do the right thing, I guess. For once.”

She pulls back at his words, then leans forward and slowly presses her lips to his flushed cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth. She lets them linger for a beat longer than necessary before leaning back -not too far, just enough- and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Jesse.”

He usually hates being called by his first name (she found that out pretty quickly into their friendship, “never call me Jesse” being one of the first things he ever said to her) but he just looks at her with a soft, endearing smile on his face as he leans back onto the bed, once again bringing her with him. “Promise me something, Sail?”

She glances up at him from his shoulder and meets his eyes. “Yeah?”

His fingers tuck an escaped red curl behind her ear. “Just...be you. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

She wishes it were that easy, that she could just step inside her mind and flip a switch and she could stop all those thoughts that’ve plagued her for years but it’s not. It’s gonna take time -time and a lot of patience and maybe even a miracle- but damn it, she’s gonna give it her all, not just for herself but for him and the rest of the pogues, too, the best friends she's ever had, so she nods and settles back down at his side. “I’ll try my best, J.”

“I know you will.”

"Sail, you're the best swimmer out of all of us. Think you can dive down there and check it out?"

The redhead peers over the edge of the HMS Pogue and into the water, where the murky shape of the sunken Grady-White sits thirty feet down on the bottom of the marsh, then nods at the rest of the pogues, an excited grin on her face.

"No problem," She answers John B, hopping up onto the very tip of the boat's bow with practiced ease before diving headfirst into the water to JJ's yell of "diver down!" It's dirtier than usual because of the hurricane but she doesn't let that stop her as she swims down and down until she reaches the top of the boat and pulls herself the rest of the way onto the deck, carefully scanning the area for...fuck. Honestly, she's got absolutely no clue what she's looking for but she assumes she'll know when she sees it.

'It' turns out to be a motel key, resting all alone on the floor by the steering wheel and she quickly reaches out to snatch it, sliding the silver key ring around her finger securely. When she pushes off toward the surface, she leaves the ghostly Grady-White behind with more questions than answers.

The rest of her friends are lined up in a row along the boat's railing, all staring at her with near identical expressions of anticipation as she breaks through the water and holds the key aloft with a triumphant smile.

"The Summer Winds Motel called, they want their key back!"

A little later that evening, Sailor would really regret finding that damn key but right now, she's having a great time dancing at the Boneyard with Kiara at the traditional post-hurricane kegger, second refill of beer in hand, spiked with Fireball from the flask tucked in her back pocket. To her, dancing's a lot like surfing -steady feet, swiveling hips, snapping shoulders- and she thinks that might be the reason she's so bad at it, anticipating the fluidity of water instead of the solidness of dry land. Or it could be that she just doesn't have rhythm when she's a little buzzed. That works, too.

"Ow, Sail!" Kiara winces as the redhead steps on her foot again, rolling her eyes fondly when she throws her head back with a loud, tipsy giggle.

"My bad, Kie!" She twirls in the sand, hair dancing around her shoulders like fire, and finds herself spinning right into a herd of dancing tourons, all too drunk to care that she's spilling her beer all over their feet. Large, olive-skinned hands grab her waist to spin her again and she laughs, smiling over her shoulder at a cute dark-haired touron as he slides one palm over to settle against the bare skin of her lower back. She pushes one hand on his shoulder with just enough resistance that he doesn't get too close into her personal space as he leans in to speak in a low Southern drawl, brown eyes turned a pretty bronze in the glow of the nearby bonfire.

"This probably isn't the best thing to say to a beautiful girl but you kind of dance like a giraffe."

Sailor bursts out laughing at that. "Hey, I think giraffes are very elegant creatures so I'll take that as a compliment!"

The boy grins and she smiles, too, letting him take her free hand and pull her into the throng of dancing bodies. He's almost as bad a dancer as she is but he's fun to talk to and together they gleefully show off their worst moves until their feet hurt -she's lost count of how many times she stepped on his toes- and her solo cup is empty. "Come on," She says and this time, she's the one to grab his hand and lead him over to the closest keg, where John B's dishing out beer with an expert flourish.

"'Sup, Sail," He lifts his chin in greeting as he fills her cup, smirking when she immediately pulls out her flask and adds a long pour of Fireball on top. "Who's your friend?"

"JB, this is Adam, he's visiting from Tennessee. Adam, meet John B, one of my best friends and a total moron," She makes quick introductions, smiling into her drink as he scowls and playfully sprays some beer at her feet before filling another cup and holding it out to the other boy with a jab at her expense.

"Be careful around her, man. She's a handful."

The touron accepts the drink with a shrug and a quick wink in her direction. "Good thing I happen to like 'em a little crazy."

Ugh. More than a little miffed at that, she rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of beer to hide her annoyance when Adam laughs and slings his arm around her shoulders. Calling her a giraffe was actually kind of cute in a very weird, endearing way but he instantly lost whatever points he had with her the second that 'c' word came out of his pretty mouth. She glances around the Boneyard while the boys start talking about surfing (she scoffs to herself, what does a farm kid from Tennessee know about that?), scanning the crowd for the rest of her friends and a chance to ditch him. Kiara's sitting on a big piece of driftwood, chatting up a stunning, deeply tan girl with glossy black hair -she waves when their eyes meet and shoots Sailor a cheeky grin before returning to her conversation- while the ever awkward Pope seems to be stuck in the middle of one of his rambles about autopsies as he stands around the fire, the willowy blonde beside him looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. She'd deliberately lost track of JJ a while ago, after she watched him getting a little too close to a tiny brunette, his hand low on her back as she passed him a drink and ran her fingers up his bare arm, coaxing that killer smile of his onto his face (that girl may have gotten his smile but Sailor got his eyes and they watched her until she pointedly turned away).

Honestly, she's a bit -okay, a lot- peeved. Here she is, thinking that they're the closest they've ever been before (they've always been close, ever since that day in sixth grade, but this is a whole different kind of close), and just when she feels like she may finally be ready to admit some things, some feelings, he's off doing who knows what with another girl; to be fair, she's off with another guy that she'd, until a minute ago, fully planned on kissing, but that's only because of him! Him and some weird need she has to keep him looking at her, to make him jealous -she shakes her head and takes another swig of her whiskey-spiked beer. Nope, nope, not gonna think about that.

Poor Pope looks like he's really struggling so Sailor pushes all thoughts of her blond best friend from her mind and goes to rescue him, ducking out from under Adam's sweaty arm and walking away without a backwards glance, ignoring the confusion in his voice as he calls her name. She pushes through the crowd to her friend and steps right in front of the girl he's trying to talk to, grabbing his hand with her free one.

"Come dance with me?"

The smile of pure relief that breaks out over his face makes her own widen as he lets her pull him back through the mass of bodies to a less-crowded part of the make-shift dance floor, the tension bleeding out of his hunched shoulders with every step.

"You're an angel, Sailor."

She laughs and wraps her arm around his shoulders, leading him in a carefree twirl across the cool sand. "Tell me something I don't know."

Like a leaf caught up in a whirlwind, he's helpless to resist her infectious joy as they dance, grinning like fools and poking fun at each other; for a while, the redhead tries to forget about stupid, clueless boys and focuses on Pope who, while still a clueless boy, doesn't expect anything from her but pure, unconditional friendship that she's all too willing to give (although she did have a teensy little crush on him when they first became friends, she got over it pretty fast the second he started talking about the bodily functions of dead bodies in explicit detail). She shares her drink with him, giggling at the way his face morphs from curiosity to disgust to delight at the taste of her cinnamon beer concoction and lets him down the rest while she drinks straight from the flask that she pulls from her back pocket.

"You've got a shadow." Pope says, slightly nodding his chin over her shoulder and she takes his hand again, slowly spinning herself under his arm to take a quick glance, rolling her eyes when she spots Adam staring at her from the edge of the crowd. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately. Thought he was cute, then he called me crazy." She tucks the whiskey away with a shrug at her friend's sympathetic wince, then steps closer to him and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Wanna help me tell him to take a long walk off a short cliff?"

"Uh-"

"I think I can help with that," A familiar voice cuts off Pope's reply as JJ suddenly appears at her side, slipping his hand into her back pocket to spin her right into the circle of his arms before he plucks the flask from the other and takes a big sip in one smooth kinda sexy move. "Straight Fireball? Damn, Sail."

The redhead carefully schools her features into a blank mask but her body has other ideas, one hand instantly settling on his chest like it's second nature and her face flushing from more than just the alcohol as she casually replies, "You know I like things a little spicy." Completely aware of the way he's watching her every move, she snatches the whiskey back and downs the little bit that's left, trying and failing to ignore the thrill that shoots through her at those bright blue eyes of his darkening when her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Pope rolls his eyes at them both before muttering a quick 'see ya' and hastily melting back into the crowd.

"So, who're we telling to fuck off?" His voice is just a little strained and she feels her cool facade start to crack as she scowls, subtly tilts her head toward where Adam's still staring at her with an expression that looks like he ate a sour lemon. JJ spins her around to take a very conspicuous peek and her mouth curls into a grin, mask breaking completely when he shoots the touron a glare that screams 'try me, I dare you'; the heat from his hand still in her pocket burns as he leans in until his forehead rests on hers. "Let's give him a show."

Sailor hums and pretends to mull it over even as she coyly snakes her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, the harder panes of his body sliding almost sinfully against her softer curves as they sway together, "I don't know, you looked pretty cozy with that other girl earlier..." Is it kind of petty to bring it up? Yes, yes it is, but she can't resist toying with him like he did to her, just as she can't help the breathless gasp that escapes her lips when his fingers press hard into the toned flesh of her ass through her shorts.

"Why, Flynn, are you jealous?"

"Please, I saw that glare you gave him. If anyone's jealous, it's you, Maybank." She fires back while carding both hands through his hair and the pure gratification she feels at his slight shiver is nothing short of euphoric. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely takes notice of the frown Adam sends their way before he turns and stalks off toward the other side of the beach; honestly, she's so caught up in JJ and everything about him -the slow swing of his hips, the hands burning hot against the strip of her back exposed by her crop top, the darkened look in those ocean eyes- that she'd completely forgotten about the touron she danced with earlier in an effort to forget the boy she's dancing with now. She should've known it wouldn't have worked: Sailor could never forget JJ, no matter how hard she tries. He's like a permanent mark on her, a tattoo inked in gold, a beautiful, wonderous scar that she never wants to fade away.

"Seems like we scared him off so I don't have to worry about that anymore." His flushed face is so close she can feel his breath on her lips as he speaks and her eyes quickly flick down to his mouth on their own accord.

"And what about me?" She asks, twirling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, heart beating fast in anticipation as he smirks wickedly at the way her own face turns cherry red.

"Sail, babe, you don't have to worry about a damn thing."

All one of them has to do is tilt their head and everything will fall into place and she can once again know what it's like to kiss him-

"Let it go, Topper!" A sudden, annoyed shout breaks the two apart before they can close that final distance (Sailor's not sure who would've made the first move and she's both relieved and disappointed they won't get to find out), turning away from each other in tandem toward the gathering mass of bodies chanting 'fight, fight!' at the shoreline.

"JB, he's not worth it!" At the sound of Kiara's voice, they take off running across the sand and shove their way to the front of the crowd just in time to see Topper Thornton in all his frat boy glory get absolutely slammed with a hard punch to the jaw, courtesy of John B. The kook barely hits the ground before he's back on his feet and lunging forward to tackle him into the water, landing a hit of his own square in the eye.

"What the hell happened?" Sailor grabs Kiara's elbow and the dark haired girl looks at her with wide eyes as the boys continue to roll around, exchanging brutal blows while a stunned Pope watches from her other side.

"I don't even know, they just started wailing on each other!"

JJ stands silent to Sailor's right, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists as he stares at the brawl and she reaches over to wrap her fingers around his wrist, thumb calmly running circles on his skin.

"Top, seriously! Stop it!" Sarah Cameron stands in the sand just before the crashing waves, yelling furiously at her boyfriend and throwing her arms in the air when he ignores her. "What is wrong with you?"

The moment Topper lands three punches in a row on John B's battered face, Sailor decides she's seen enough. She rushes forward without thinking to grab the blond boy's arm, pulling as hard as she can in an attempt to get him off her friend and barely has time to register what's happening when the fist he was aiming at John B suddenly swings at her. It connects solidly with her left cheek and makes her stumble back, her hand flying to her throbbing face before she goes down hard onto her butt in the surf.

"What the fuck, Thornton?"

"Did you just punch a girl?"

"Ohhhh shit!"

A cacophony of voices yells from the shore as the kook boy stares down at her, momentarily stunned when he realizes who exactly he hit, and it gives John B an opening to wrestle him back into the water and land a solid punch right to his nose. Everything happens so fast after that that the redhead, still reeling in a wide-eyed daze, has a little trouble keeping up. First, Kiara and Pope splash through the waves to her side, kneeling down to help her to her feet with their arms around her waist. Second, Topper gains the upper hand and straight up tries to drown John B, holding his head under the water while Sarah screams at him to stop. And third, JJ -reckless, bold, protective JJ- pulls out that damn stolen gun, effectively bringing the whole mess to a grinding halt when he stalks forward and presses the barrel to the side of Topper's head.

"Your move, broski." He threatens and the beach is so quiet everyone can hear the click of the safety being switched off. The kook slowly raises his hands in the air and John B emerges from the water, stumbling forward onto his hands and knees with a horrible wet cough.

It's all too much for Sailor's poor tipsy self to take. The world spins beneath her feet as her head starts to pound and her shaking fingers fail to find purchase on Kiara's and Pope's shoulders.

"Guys, I don't feel so good," She manages to whisper and their looks of concern (the former) and panic (the latter) are the last thing she sees before her legs give out and everything goes black.

The first thing she registers is the pain that radiates from the left side of her face, her whole head throbbing with every beat of her heart and the sound of loud whispering right by her ear isn't helping at all.

"That's the best you can do, J? Seriously?"

"The power's out! I can't exactly pull ice out of my ass, Kie."

Something semi-cold gently rests against her cheek and she audibly sighs at the little bit of relief she feels, her hand sluggishly rising to hold it a little closer as she mumbles, "I wouldn't want your ass ice anyway." At least she tries to: her mouth feels like it's full of cotton and she's pretty sure the only thing that comes out is unintelligible gibberish.

Sailor opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her back on the sleeper sofa at the Chateau, a passed out John B to her right. Pope sits on the edge of the mattress by his side, holding a beer bottle to his friend's black eye and he sends her a relieved smile when he notices she's awake.

"There she is," JJ says from her other side and she turns to face him, not at all surprised to find him already looking at her, and the unabashed concern in his eyes sends a golden warmth through her whole body. Her fingers slip down the hand that's still holding the bottle to her cheek so she can run her thumb over the delicate bones in his wrist in a silent thank you.

A different, softer hand rests on her knee and she tears her gaze away from his face to smile at Kiara as she says, "Good to see you're okay, Sail."

The redhead sinks back into the pillow in embarrassment and covers her eyes with her free hand. God, she really passed out, didn't she? She passed out after taking one lousy punch to the face by a fucking kook, no less. How completely mortifying. She swallows thickly and sounds like a chain smoker when she says, "I'm so sorry, guys. I'm a total idiot."

The other three conscious pogues start protesting all at once -apparently there's many, many, different ways to say she's not an idiot- and the resulting volume of their combined voices is enough to make her headache even worse. She sits up and scoots back until she's propped against the couch and sets the now warm beer on the side table before massaging both of her temples.

"Will you please shut up, I can feel my brain beating in my skull."

For a second, there's wonderful, blissful silence and then:

"Holy shit, thank you," A groggy voice says to her right and she turns to watch a bleary-eyed John B claw his way back to consciousness. "You guys are fucking loud."

"He lives!" JJ shouts, ignoring the four glares sent his way and reaching over to clap his hand against the brunet boy's shoulder. "Welcome back, dude."

"Ugh," He suddenly rolls onto his stomach -Pope deftly catching the bottle when it nearly falls from the bed- and his muffled voice floats out from the pillow he shoves his head under like an ostrich in the sand. "Knock me back out."

"Aww, poor baby." Sailor gives his back a sympathetic pat and chuckles softly when he blindly feels around for her arm, pushing it away with another deep groan and a 'fuck off, Sail' that lacks any type of venom.

"Okay, now that you're both kind of conscious, let's agree that neither of you will ever fucking do that again. Got it?" Kiara addresses John B and Sailor as she stands from the bed and crosses her arms, fixing the latter with a piercing look that makes her feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar; she opens her mouth to defend herself but before she can say anything, Kiara turns her furious gaze to JJ and points an accusing finger at his face. "And you! What the hell were you thinking pulling that damn gun out, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Kie!" He suddenly rockets to his feet and throws his hands in the air. "Sail got socked in the face and JB was getting fucking drowned, I wasn't really thinking much at all!”

The dark haired girl can't seemed to think of a response to that and looks away, staring at the floor with her jaw clenched as Pope, ever the mediator, rises to his feet, too, and rounds the bed to step between them placatingly.

"Let's just drop it for tonight, okay? They need to rest." He says, nodding toward the two still on the bed before wrapping his hand around Kiara's elbow and turning her toward the front door. She immediately pulls her arm from his grasp but still nods in agreement, the hard look in her eyes softening when she glances at her injured friends.

"Yeah, okay." She says and glances down at her watch, wincing when she catches sight of the time. "My parents'll kill me if I'm not home soon, anyway."

"Come on, I'll take you guys home." JJ says with a conciliatory look in her direction as Pope tosses him the Volkswagen's keys from his pocket and when she nods back, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, Sailor knows that all is forgiven, at least for now.

"Are you sure you're good to drive?" She asks and immediately rolls her eyes at his sarcastic reply of "Yes, Mom," and the obnoxious wink he shoots her.

The trio leaves after a quick round of goodbyes and John B waits until he hears the sound of his van driving away before finally emerging from under the pillow and rolling onto his back.

"Sensing the immediate danger has passed, the ostrich cautiously pulls its head out from the sand..." She says in her best David Attenborough impression, laughing when he tosses the pillow at her head with an amused grin.

"Ha ha. I was trying to avoid getting a Kie lecture," He explains, running both hands down his face with a heavy sigh. "It feels like my head's gonna explode."

"You and me both, dude." She carefully probes at her swollen cheek and is more than a little surprised to feel the beginnings of a scab forming near her eye. She knew Topper landed a solid punch but she didn't realize how solid that hit was until now as she catches sight of the tiny bit of drying blood left behind on her fingertips.

"That looks like it hurts. You okay?" John B asks and she looks up from wiping her hand clean on her shorts, stiff from dried saltwater, with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.

"I'm alright. How about you? No offense but your eye looks like shit."

"I'll live." He answers with a shrug as he pulls himself upright on the mattress and leans his head against the back of the couch. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

He sluggishly turns his head to look Sailor in the eye and shrugs again. "For trying to help me out. Sorry I got you punched."

She smirks and reaches over to give his hand a brief, friendly squeeze as she replies, "It's not your fault I got myself punched. I'm sorry your ass almost drowned."

He snorts at that and she's relieved to hear it, knowing that he can still joke around and he's not, like, completely traumatized or something. Poor guy's already got enough to deal with without adding a mental breakdown to the list. She swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and slowly stands before taking a tentative step forward; when her knees hold and she doesn't fall flat on her face, she makes her way to his side and holds both hands out to him with a small, lighthearted smile.

"Yeah, you're delirious. Near death experiences do that to you." She says, helping him to his feet and, after looping his arm over her shoulders and sliding hers around his waist, the two teenagers carefully shuffle down the hall in the dim light of the emergency lantern on the kitchen table to his room, where she unceremoniously dumps him onto his bed. "Sleep it off. And for the love of God, please change. You smell terrible."

She goes to leave as he laughs again, tugging his shirt off and tossing it into the growing pile of clothes near the closet before saying, "Hey, Sailor?"

The redhead pauses with one foot in the hall and leans against the doorframe. "Yeah?"

"You know you're a badass, right?"

She laughs and sends him a wink but her heart is oh so light as she turns and heads to the spare room, calling back over her shoulder, "Nice to see someone acknowledge it. Now go to bed!"

The sound of the Chateau's front door opening and closing startles Sailor awake and she blinks heavily, wondering when exactly she'd fallen asleep. Last thing she remembers she was staring out at the fireflies through the open window as she steadily ran her hand down the length of Binx's back and their ethereal glow, combined with the breeze dancing around her shoulders, must've pulled her right under. Down the hall, she hears a loud thump, followed by JJ cursing as he runs into something and she giggles to herself, rolling onto her side to face the hall. He appears in the darkened doorway a minute later, rubbing his knee with a scowl on his face and she laughs louder at his quiet, venomous hiss of "fuck that fucking chair."

"Rude. It's not the chair's fault you always run into it." She teases and he shoots her a flat, unamused look before turning to glance down the hall toward John B's room, his fingers holding tight to the door frame.

"He's okay, you know. Told him to get some sleep." His head swings to face her when she speaks with soft words and even in the dark, she can see the way his tense shoulders slowly relax and his hand loosens, falling back to his side as he nods, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"And you?" He asks, his eyes never wavering from hers as he kicks his boots off and pulls his shirt over his head; the sight of his messy hair and the muscles in his arms make it a little hard for Sailor to breathe, the gentle wind she once thought of as cool now doing nothing to help calm her flushed skin when she scoots over in bed to give him room to lie down next to her. Binx looks as disgruntled as a cat can look as he loses his comfy spot and jumps down from the bed, only to immediately leap onto the windowsill and stretch out.

"What about me?"

JJ rolls over to face her, reaching one hand up to cup her injured face and runs his calloused thumb under the cut on her cheekbone. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she shifts closer and lays her head on his outstretched arm, covering his hand with her own and effortlessly fitting her fingers into the spaces between his. "I'm fine. Even better, now."

He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Good, 'cause I don't know what I'd do if you weren't."

When those pesky butterflies come raging back with a vengeance, she realizes she's fighting a battle she hopes to lose.

The sound of a conversation in the kitchen, low voices drifting through the closed door of the guest room wakes Sailor early the next morning. Sunlight filters in through the windows and she squeezes one eye shut against the painful brightness, the other still squished into JJ's shoulder. His arm is a welcome weight slung over her hip and his deep, even breaths are soft against her forehead as he sleeps on, dead to the voices down the hall. With the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, she smooths his fine blond hair away from his face and runs her fingers along his jawline before carefully sliding out from under his arm and quietly heading toward the kitchen.

Pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, she rounds the corner and stops short when she catches sight of the person standing by the table, her cheerful 'good morning' getting stuck on her tongue; she was expecting Pope and Kiara, not the goddamn sheriff! Shooting John B a wide-eyed look that makes him shake his head (what the fuck did that even mean?!), the redhead forces a smile and hastily offers her a wave.

"Uh, good morning, Sheriff. Sorry to interrupt, just, uh, grabbing some water."

She just nods in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to the brunet boy and Sailor breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. Holy shit, is that woman scary. She heads to the sink and keeps one ear on the conversation as she quickly fills a glass with water and pops two aspirin, the headache from last night made even worse by the addition of a whiskey hangover.

"I didn't realize you had company, John B. Wild night?" The sheriff asks and Sailor meets her friend's eyes again, her anxiety rising when she sees his thinly veiled panic. Her back to Peterkin, she silently implores him to say something, anything -hell, she even tries to subtly mime surfing with her hands to help him out- but he stays silent, so she gathers her courage, plasters a smile on her face, and twirls to face her.

"Busy day, actually. We went surfing all day after cleaning up the yard." She says, jerking her thumb toward the heap of broken branches piled by the fire pit visible through the living room window; when the sheriff turns to look, she quickly elbows John B in the side, ignoring his huff of surprise as she nods her head in her direction.

"Yeah, surfing! All day." He blurts out, sending Sailor a lukewarm glare when she quickly mouths 'what the fuck was that?' before they both straighten up and spin back to the older woman just as she turns to face them again.

"Right." Peterkin hums and arches one eyebrow as she glances back and forth between the two teenagers. "Now tell me, how'd you both get those bruises? They look pretty painful."

"Oh, this?" Sailor asks, pointing at her cheek with a casual shrug, "I tried to hang ten and bit it pretty hard. My board caught me right in the face."

Peterkin looks at her for a beat longer than normal and the redhead does her best to keep her expression neutral as her palms start to sweat. "Surfing, really? Thought you were pretty experienced in that department."

John B adds, offering some much needed back up, "Even the pros wipe out every once in awhile, you know?" He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. "My board got me good, too."

"Yeah, it just was not our day," She says with a nervous chuckle, refilling her water and slowly starting to back out of the kitchen, pretending she doesn't see the dismayed look her friend sends her way; her anxiety can't take another second of the sheriff's piercing gaze and she needs to get away fast, lest she start recounting every single second of their activities both legal and not so legal- from yesterday in explicit detail. "And I'm still pretty tired so I'm just gonna go back to bed for a bit. Nice talking to you, Sheriff."

After disappearing around the corner before either of them can reply, she creeps down the hallway, keeping her footfalls as light as she can, and she's so focused on trying to listen in on what Peterkin's saying that she runs smack into JJ, standing in the doorway of the spare room. His arm instantly darts out to wrap around her waist and pull her close, keeping her from falling right on her butt as he says, "There you are-"

"Shhh!" Sailor hisses quietly, covering his mouth with her hand, "The damn sheriff is here!"

He mumbles something into her palm but she she holds a finger to her lips, pushing him back into the room and softly closing the door behind them before pressing her ear against it and dropping her hand from his face. He mirrors her position with a question clear as day in his wide eyes, 'what the fuck?', arm still looped around her lower back.

"She's grilling him about yesterday," She says simply, then turns her attention back to the faint voices floating through the door. The duo listens in silence, trying and failing to discern what's being said until they hear the sound of the sheriff's boots on the front porch and her squad car tires crunching through the gravel as she drives away and they exchange a worried look. JJ had it right: what the fuck, indeed.

"Holy shit, guys," John B's voice suddenly says from the hallway. The door opens before they have time to back away and it sends them sprawling to the floor in a twisted pile of limbs; the brunet boy -who'd usually find something like that hilarious- barely reacts to their position and sends them both a tense frown, his next words dropping like a damn anchor in the marsh.

"We need to go check out that Grady-White again, and fast."

Sailor groans and lets her head fall back onto the floor with a thunk. "Here we go."

let me know what you think! fun fact: ostriches actually do put their heads in the sand, but it's not because they sense danger. female ostriches bury their eggs to keep them safe from predators and they'll occasionally stick their head into the sand to check on them and give 'em a lil turn 😊

taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy

51 notes · View notes

diyunho · 5 years ago

Text

The Joker x Reader - “ What Death Tastes Like” Part 5

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The Joker feels his face covered in soft kisses and although generally speaking he loves being pampered, this particular instance awakens his self-defense mechanism.

“What time is it?” J mutters.

“Let me see,” you stretch for your phone. “12:03 am.”

“I should go,” he lifts his head up from the pillow and you pull him back in your arms, yawning.

“Stay for a little bit longer, ok?”

“Why?”

“I wish to hold on to my birthday present for a few more minutes,” Y/N pleads with the man she senses doesn’t want to be there anymore. “Don’t worry, I’m aware it was a casual affair,” your sad smile prompts a completely out of context answer:

“If you noticed I fell asleep, you should have woken me up!” The King of Gotham complains.

“I fell asleep also,” you snuggle to him and since J is suddenly quiet you whisper. “It was amazing.”

He keeps staring which makes you wonder what the hell is going on in his mind right now.

“At least for me,” you underline after you grasp he won’t comment on the subject; you didn’t have a clue he’ll convert the night you spent together into awkwardness for no reason. “Get out of my tent!” you snap at his behavior, irritated. “Get out!” you shove him and The Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t budge.

“Why are you mad?” he finally addresses the annoyed Y/N.

“Because you’re a jerk!”

“Come again?!” The Joker frowns and Scarecrow’s daughter has a clever response; she doesn’t share his genes for nothing.

“I would but I guess you’re not a big fan of us having sex a second time!!!”

“Wow!” J bitterly scoffs. “You sure can twist a guy’s words, huh? If you really must pry into my personal life, I’ll have you know that I’m not used with small talk afterwards, understand?”

While you wonder if he’s bluffing, you can’t help offer the benefit of doubt served with a side of insolence.

“Well, maybe if you would give it a try with someone that actually cares, you’d have stuff to discuss.”

“Miss Crane, what makes you think Mara doesn’t like me?”

The Joker expects a feisty reply to his audacious remark yet he receives a piece of sturdy logic instead:

“If she was crazy in love, she wouldn’t agree and with this on and off relationship you two have.”

J is obviously displeased at your statement thus Y/N has to unleash her creativity in order to push him comprehend what she’s aiming at.

“The problem is you don’t approach anything important, you only shut down everyone. Even Emma believes she’s not yours.”

The King of Gotham was preparing to lash out but your latest sentence totally catches him off guard.

“What do you mean?!”

“You never talk about her mother granted she keeps asking so Emma presumes you probably stole her from an individual you consider your enemy and raised her as revenge.”

“Huh?!” The Joker gets on his elbow, appalled. “She is my daughter!”

“I say that to her when she panics, unfortunately random people do look similar…,” you twirl a strand of his green hair around your fingers. “Steering clear from issues we’re uncomfortable with doesn’t necessarily result in a positive outcome,” Y/N concludes and her partner is not excited at all.

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?!”

“I’m a Crane,” you peck his lips. “It’s in our blood.”

A lot of thoughts rushing behind those blue eyes and you’re confident his patience is running low; add a short fuse to the combo and according to your flawless instinct J will bite soon.

“Take me for example,” you attempt to cram in the main point of your dialogue before it happens. “I don’t care you’re older, I fancy your company nevertheless: you’re super handsome plus emotionally unattractive…”

“I’m what?!” The Joker interrupts.

“Umm… emotionally unattractive?” you hesitantly repeat while watching him jump off the pillows and start to collect his clothes in the semi darkness.

“Serves me right for sleeping with somebody half my age!” he growls at the young woman realizing she upset him with her rant.

“So you’re 46?” you struggle to joke at his affirmation.

“Listen here, Miss Crane!” J dresses in a hurry, angry at your stunt. “If you imagine you figured me out, you didn’t!! Nobody fucks with me!” he violently kicks the mattress and you can’t avoid it:

“I think I just did. Literally.”

The hate in his demeanor makes you regret opening up; your goal was to imply you like him no matter what yet the aftermath is way off what you intended.

“I apologize, OK?” you sigh and reach your hand for his.

“I hope you perish!” he strikes your fingers with such brutality it stings. “You’re dying anyway but hopefully the Cromyxillium kills you faster!” The Joker unzips the tent and leaves a shocked Y/N breathless at his hurtful tirade.

“That’s all you got? Stupid old man…” you whimper and cuddle under the thin blanket with his cushion.

Grief is not the correct term to describe what you experience for the moment: a perfect birthday turned into exactly the opposite in a blink of an eye simply because The Joker proved once more he has no concept on how to handle dynamite; fire suits him better.

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

Next morning, 10:14am

“Are you hot or cold?” your father inquires since your intravenous therapy commenced 10 minutes ago.

“No,” you gaze at the IV bag and Jonathan lingers by your bed, reminding his offspring about their plan.

“We’ll do 3 hours on, 3 hours off; I’ll monitor your vitals and if you feel strange alert me immediately, deal?”

You nod a yes and his perseverance in aiding you with your terminal cancer evokes a sincere confession:

“Daddy…Thank you for trying to save me…I’m sorry I’m a burden…”

“A burden?!” Scarecrow mumbles.

There are a million facts you should evoke, yet the predominant one keeps hunting you.

“You buried yourself in the lab because of me…and Evelyn left…”

“Evelyn and I broke up for various motives,” your parent grumbles. “Saying I immersed myself into working because of you hints that I was forced into it against my will which is not true. I did everything out of love… I can’t bear the idea of losing you,” he kisses your temple; you wrap your free arm around his neck, squeezing him tight.

“You’re the best dad; I’m lucky you’re my father. If I die… you think mom is waiting for me?...”

Jonathan Crane has the weird sensation he’s choking; his wife died after you were born due to leukemia, now their daughter is fighting for survival: she’s plainly the last fortress separating him from utter madness.

“I couldn’t save your mother, but I’ll be damned if I let you die kid,” he caresses your cheek. “She can wait; I bet she’s not eager to take you with her,” Scarecrow reassures his daughter. “Rest honey.”

“I will…” you consent and Emma barging in the bedroom with her duffle bag switches your attention.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she exclaims. “Traffic was horrible, bad accident on the freeway!”

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

11 am

“Are you comfortable?” Emma checks with her friend, not entirely certain how to bring up a very delicate topic clouding her usually bubbly disposition.

“Of course,” you smile and she wiggles in her recliner. “Are you?” you wink at her visible restlessness as you attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Y/N…,” she taps the fluffy carpet with her feet. “Mmmm… last night after we returned from the river I dropped by to see how you’re doing and… I came to your tent…,” Emma pauses seeing the stupefied expression on your face. “I…I found my father sleeping in there with you…”

You lick your lips and strain to keep your calm even if your heart is pounding out of your chest.

“Did my dad take advantage of you?” she lowers her voice and you can tell she’s torn apart by the horrible notion.

“He didn’t,” you shake your head.

“Dumb girl…” Emma admonishes without any trace of resentment; what else can she articulate in these circumstances regardless?

“I can’t believe I’m inquiring… Did you use protection?”

“No…It just happened…”

“Oh my God!” the concerned judgement pressures you to continue:

“It didn’t end well so it’s fair to assume we’re not in any danger of me becoming your stepmom,” your tone diminishes and she leans over to scold when The Joker passes by the opened door without bothering to peek inside your bedroom; you didn’t spot him but Emma did.

“I’ll be back!” she hisses and you’re confused at her desire to leave you.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She ignores your question and races after The King of Gotham, catching up with him at the end of the long corridor.

“Dad!” Emma shouts and he turns around.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?!” she interrogates the clueless Joker.

“I’m meeting Crane. Is he downstairs?”

“In his lab compounding the next batch of Cromyxillium for Y/N,” she fumes at J’s impertinence. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He seems puzzled and Emma is not tricked by his deceiving performance.

“My best friend is in her quarters, uncertain if she’ll survive the cancer treatment. Are you pretending she doesn’t exist?”

“Meaning?” The Joker sneers.

“I know you slept with her!” the accusation follows instantly. “Don’t deny it! How could you take advantage of her?!”

The Clown Prince of Crime straightens his shoulders, aware he can’t negotiate his innocence out of this complicated riddle.

“I did not take advantage of her! How dare you accuse me of such low move?”

“You didn’t?” Emma closes the gap between them. “You know she has a crush on you and she’s vulnerable; what type of man would prey on that?!”

J is not thrilled with the innuendos and cuts her off:

“She basically begged for some and I obliged out of pity!”

Emma slaps him and The Joker gasps, enraged she had the audacity:

“Do that again and I’ll neglect you’re my daughter!” he growls and the serious threat doesn’t faze her.

“Hurt her more and I’ll forget you’re my father! If you are indeed my father,” she emphasizes while stomping away towards the kitchen.

“I am your father!” J simmers at her impeccable strategy: Emma is retreating to a different corner of the house giving him the opportunity to choose.

Who the heck knows if she’s actually his?

One thing is undeniable though: they share the same despicable temper.

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

You discern The Joker in the doorway and your body stiffens; you stare at the TV screen wishing he’ll disappear.

“Where’s Crane?” J analyzes Y/N’s IV pole.

You don’t engage so his crankiness emerges.

“I suppose you didn’t flatlined yet!”

“Nope,” you grunt at the provocative declaration that served its goal: you did reply to The Clown’s rubbish.

“Where’s Crane?”

“I heard you the first time and I’m not sure why you focus your energy on a useless interrogation. You know where my father is!”

“Where?” The Joker’s vile attitude can’t compromise for less than instigating his fling.

“Please take your stuff that’s firm now but will get saggy in maximum 20 years and vanish!” the poisonous remark makes him groan.

“What stuff?!”

You check him out glaring at his mid-section before dismissing his presence.

“That’s the rudest fucking criticism ever!” The Joker barks and Y/N crabbily indicates:

“It’s not criticism, it’s reality! Gravity’s a bitch! Mara won’t mind, won’t she? After all, you two share a very special bond: on today, off tomorrow, hookup next week, take a break next month. Such dreamy relationship!”

“Do you have more derogatory references to my private life?!” J grinds his teeth ready to unleash several atrocities your way.

“No, too busy dying…” you show him the needle in your arm. “I don’t feel the pain from the medication burning my veins; I’m used with my sickness, with the ups and downs. What I do feel is the pain of being taken for granted.”

The Joker is not a fan of the insinuated context.

“You said no strings attached!” he stresses the lack of commitment consented the previous evening.

“You’re the one that came to me; I thought it meant you were accepting to be the center of my universe.”

J ogles the ceiling of Y/N’s bedroom and assembles a couple of harsh disclosures in his brain when her entitled smirk halts the project.

“You’re buying it, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his astonishment. “I’m just messing with you Mister Joker; who in their right mind would make you the center of their universe?! You have 10 seconds to leave, otherwise I’ll scream and security will come!” you shelter your head with the quilt so you don’t have to see his mug anymore.

No outpour of vexation from his part which is cool: means he bailed.

The blanket is slowly pulled until your eyes emerge; J hovers your face, pissed at the unwelcomed clash.

“I’m checking if you kicked the bucket; corpses are usually covered thus my dilemma.”

“Go away!” you advise. “Or I’ll scream!”

You inhale preparing to yell: The Joker didn’t predict you’d defy him and he swiftly kisses you in order to stop the sounds.

The door is cracked and Emma witnesses the scene, reckoning bizarre elements:

Her father holds grudges and was mad at Y/N earlier due to whatever happened yesterday; nevertheless he still kissed her.

On the other hand, you were definitely miserable after your escapade, yet you didn’t reject him.

Emma may not be informed about the entire story, but one detail is crystal clear: the future is far from being simple.