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procrastinatorimagines · 3 years ago

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I Want Us Part 10 (Final)

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing/s: Sonny Carisi x Intelligence!Reader

Warning/s: tw rape, murder, assault

Word Count: 2,222

Summary: The Intelligence Unit’s last case with Manhattan SVU had them flying out to New York to track down an abducted boy, and had Dectective Y/L/N and Detective Carisi growing close in the process. Now, a string of rape-murders in Chicago has SVU boarding the next flight out, believing the suspect to be the same man responsible for a set of identical crimes 10 years prior. As the case unfolds, Y/N and Carisi are brought back together, reigniting the spark between them.

A/N: Wow I found this sitting in my drafts unfinished after like 6 plus months, whoops, here you go

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm // @inlovewith3 // @averyhotchner

The case was pretty open shut when it came to the court side, though you’d been informed when it had been extradited to New York that he had pled insanity.

From what you’d been told, Tate had been involved in a childhood accident his mother had caused, resulting in his scar and an axe to grind with women that looked like his mother, never able to become the handsome prince he’d always wanted that swooped in to save the day like he had wished someone would do for him.

It... didn’t erase what he had done, but at least it was over now.

Besides, you’d had more on your mind the past couple of days. Sitting with Burgess in the locker room as she explained what was going to happen to Tate next she noticed the distant look in your eyes as you sat on the bench.

“What gives?” She asked, nudging you from where she stood in front of her locker. You looked up, coming back to reality, your mind still racing.

With a deep breath you knew there was going to be no fooling her, or dropping this until you said it out loud. But saying it out loud...

“Y/N,” Burgess perched on the other end of the bed, brow scrunched curiously as she waited for you to answer.

“I...” Moment of truth, you sat up straighter and swallowed hard, “I’m pregnant.”

“Wow,” Burgess blinked, mind connecting the dots, “Carisi?”

All you could do was nod.

“Does he know?” She asked tentatively, well away of the logistics.

You shook your head, knowing you had to tell him but not knowing what would happen once you did, even saying it out loud right now made it more real than it had been since you took the pregnancy test.

“Y/N...” She put her hand on your knee in comfort.

“I know, I know I do,” you ran your hands over your tired face, the weight of all this keeping you up for the past two nights, “but Chicago, New York... I mean, what would even happen?” The question was more to yourself than her, but you knew she’d always try and help when she could.

“I don’t know,” Burgess admitted, “but neither will you unless you call him.” She was right, obviously, but how would that conversation even go?

Trudy called down for her from the stairs and she stood, offering you one last should squeeze of encouragement and support. “Call him.” She turned to go but stopped and turned back, a small smile on her face, “and, for what it’s work, congratulations.”

Then she was gone, leaving you sitting alone, pondering your situation with one hand ghosting over your belly.

No Molly’s tonight, or for a long while, you resigned yourself to realising as you headed home. There would be no liquid courage to help you through this conversation.

Your finger had been hovering over the call button for longer than you wanted to admit, the fear building up inside of you the longer you stared at his name and number on screen.

“Pull yourself together Y/N,” you chided yourself, “you just caught a serial killer and now you can’t even make a phone call?”

With one last breath you quickly pressed the button before you could talk yourself out of it again. putting it on speaker and placing it on the table in front of you, waiting in anticipation as it rang. He might not even be in, it might so straight to voice mail...

“Hey Y/N,” Carisi’s voice clicked over the other end of the line, “Y/N?” He repeated after a long pause.

“Hey,” you finally replied, your throat tight as you forced your mouth to work.

He seemed to notice something in your voice when he answered. “Everything alright?”

“Er...” God, hadn’t you rehearsed what you were going to say a hundred times in your mirror? Everything had gone out of your head except the words you were dreading to say, but they seemed to be the only ones you could think of: “I’m pregnant.”

You blurted it out, no disclaimer, no warning, no sugar coating... maybe you should have wrote this down, you thought as you waiting in the silence. You knew he was still there, just processing what you had told him.

“Oh,” he said finally, then grumbled something to himself that made you grin a little, knowing he was kicking himself for that profound reply. “I mean, I- oh, that’s...”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him as he tripped over himself to find the right words, “I’m not expecting you to say some perfect thing, I’ve barely wrapped my head around it myself and I’ve had more than the few seconds you have.”

You waited for his reply to come, and waited, growing more anxious with the seconds. You were about to check if he was still there when he finally spoke again. “What now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know?” You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I could come to Chicago,” he offered, causing your head to shoot up.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you told him quickly.

“You’re not asking... I want to be there, and your hold life is in Chicago.” He said, and you could sense the conviction in his voice.

“Carisi we don’t have to decide anything right now, your whole life is in New York,” you replied, “let’s just think-” You head Olivia Benson’s voice cut through the background, calling Carisi’s name to get his attention.

“You have to go,” you guessed before he could say anything.

“Y/N-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay, go, we’ll talk more later.” You promised and he resigned himself to agreeing as you hung up, alone in the silence of your apartment.

What were you going to do?

First, food, then decisions. It was never good to make up your mind on an empty stomach.

About an hour later you were sat back in front of your phone, thinking about everything you’d done in your life so far.

Intelligence was more than just your unit, they were your family, but these last few cases... you’d felt a sense of purpose, a pull, like you were doing what you’d always been meant to do.

So, taking a deep breath, you dialled a number, and waited for Captain Olivia Benson to pick up.

She answered after a couple of long rings, “Benson.”

“Hi Captain Benson, it’s Detective Y/L/N, from Intelligence,” you identified yourself, butterflies in your stomach as your nerves built.

“Y/N, hi, I’m glad to get your call,” she told you, her tone giving you pause.

“...you know, don’t you?” You didn’t have to elaborate, you knew Carisi often confided in his Captain when something was on his mind.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” she admitted, something like sympathy and understanding in her voice, “congratulations, by the way, I know it must be a lot right now, how are you doing?”

“I’m... processing,” you said honestly, tucking your legs under yourself and resting your hand near your belly. “It’s actually, well partially, what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m all ears,” she said, waiting for you to respond even though you figured she already knew where this was heading. Had Carisi told her about his plans to come to Chicago? Probably.

Here went... everything. “I was just wondering, how serious were you about that change of scenery?” You asked, remembering what she’d said to you after your first case in New York what seemed like forever ago.

“Serious,” she swore, “truly, I know you might think I’m saying that so I don’t lose Carisi, but you have a real gift Y/N, and I’d love to have you on my team.”

Your throat caught, emotion and relief washing over you all of a sudden. Damn hormones.

“I know it’s a big decision,” she continued, “but I want you to know you have options, and time Y/N, whatever you decide, make sure it’s the right decision for you.”

“I will, thank you Captain Benson,” you said sincerely.

“Take care Y/N, keep in touch,” she added.

“I will, bye Captain.” You promised.

“Bye,” she hung up and you put your phone down, feeling more sure of your next move than you expected.

Olivia was right though, you didn’t have to rush anything, you still had time. Besides, there were more conversations to be had here before you did anything. So, albeit hesitantly, you went and put on your shoes and coat, grabbing your keys on your way out. Better to rip the bandaid off now, next stop, 21st.

Voight was the only one in the office when you arrived, looking up from his desk when you arrived, each step you took from the top of the stairs to his door feeling heavier than the last.

“Sarge, you got a minute?” You asked, knocking on the open door.

He pushed away the paperwork and gestured for you to come in, sensing this was important. With a pause, you sat down and told him everything.

You waited in excruciating silence for your Sergeant to speak, his facial expressions betraying no emotions, no hint of his reaction to your news as you sat on the edge of your seat, your whole body tense.

Finally, he leaned forward in his chair and spoke. “You know, I knew there was something special about you from the first day we met. You were a good cop, and I knew you had the makings of a great one, and I also knew I needed you in my unit when that happened.” He took a pause, collecting his thoughts as you tried to stop the tears welling up in your eyes. “It seems I wasn’t the only one, Benson called me after that case in New York, wondering if I’d be willing to part with you, she saw it too. If this is what you want...”

“It is Sarge, it really is.” You swore, grateful and more than a little shocked that both of them held you in such high regard.

“Then congratulations, on both accounts,” he told you with a smile and a nod, “New York is lucky to have you, and so is Carisi.”

He stood and so did you, offering you his hand in a professional handshake as you rounded the desk and gave him a hug. Needless-to-say, he was caught off guard, but he eventually returned the gesture.

You called Carisi as soon as you were back at your apartment, and after a bit of arguing about who should go where and do what, you finally persuade him. “Honestly, a change has been on my mind for a while,” you insisted.

“Y/N, are you sure? What happens when you get here?” He asked.

“I am,” you promised, “and as for what happens next, we’ll figure the rest out when I get there, together.”

After that, there was only one last big step to take: saying goodbye.

"Drinks are on the house,” Herrmann informed you with a grin as you reached the bar of Molly’s, the place packed as everyone you knew and loved milled around.

“What’s the catch?” Cruz asked suspiciously, pausing mid pour to look at his friend like he’d gone mad.

“The catch,” you answered with an amused smile, “is that I can’t drink alcohol and he knows it.”

Herrmann laughed, ignoring Cruz’s eye roll as he fetched you a lemonade.

The night went on full of laughs, stories, and more than a few tears, and then, at last, it was time for you to go.

“If you need anything, anything at all, you just call me, you hear?” Antonio insisted once he’d walked you to the cab and closed the trunk with your bags, taking your hands and squeezing them tight. You could feel your eyes welling with tears. You’d been green when you joined Intelligence, and you wouldn’t have gotten to where you were now without him by your side.

“You’ll always be my partner,” you told him, smirking as he did his best to pretend a tear didn’t slip down his cheek.

“Damn straight,” he replied, pulling you in for one last bear hug. After a moment he let you go, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself, “now get out here, you have a plane to catch.”

You nodded; it was time. Taking a slow, deep breath you wiped your eyes, glancing back to the cab waiting patiently to take you to the start of the next chapter of your life.

“Bye Antonio,” you said.

“Bye Y/N,” Antonio smiled, nodding as if to say you could go, they’d be okay.

Turning you opened the door, taking one last look past your partner to Molly’s, the sounds of laughter and conversation reaching you from where you stood with your hand on the door handle, your other lightly ghosting over your belly.

Things had changed fast, but you knew you’d always have a home here, a family, it was just about to get a little bigger.

You were ready, you realised as you climbed in the cab, waving to Antonio as you began to drive away, and you wouldn’t be alone. Whatever came next, you and Carisi would face it together.

Look out New York.

#sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #chicago pd #one chicago #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #svu imagine #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #sonny carisi imagines #svu imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagines #i want us

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mydrug-is-dragonage · 4 years ago

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Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

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prettyflyshyguy · 4 years ago

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Oops I wrote more C virus stuff

I got super energised and spent all night drafting up a one-shot about what happens when Ashley reunites with Leon post RE6 in the C-Virus AU cannon. It’s unfinished and is very much a draft, but I’m excited so I wanted to post what I have so far. I intend on compiling a bunch of these together and putting them up as chapters on AO3 and Fanfic.net once they’re edited, featuring various different characters.

You came this far just to become a Monster - The Aftermath

A brief summary: Ashley visits Leon while he’s stuck in quarantine. It gets a bit emotional.

I’m assuming the President in RE6 was the same in RE4 despite the uh long time difference between the two games. It’s 9 years and I’m Australian so I know nothing about American politics but I think a president can only serve 8 years in one stint so uh maybe he’d just been elected in 4 and was just running out of time before he died in 6? I’m rolling with that for the sake of my head-cannon/AU storylines. It makes sense given Leon was described as being good friends with him, and we can assume the friendship started once he got Ashley back home safely after the events of 4.

Given Ashley was 19/20 during RE4 she should be 28/29 post RE6 depending on her birthday.

The conversation with Hunnigan echoed in her mind as she walked down the labs corridor.

“While pursuing Chief Security Advisor Simmons, Leon became infected with the C Virus. He’s OK, don’t worry. It’s just we’re still running tests to make sure he’ll stay ok.

I know the report I gave you didn’t have much to go on in it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t allowed to provide you with much more information. You’ll just have to wait until you can see him for yourself.

He’s happy to talk with you, you can go down to the labs today if you’d like.”

“He’s happy to talk? You mean I can’t see him?”

The warm smile was betrayed by the sorrow in Hunnigan’s eyes.

“He’s still adjusting to everything. He’s spoken to a couple of our doctors and he’s dealing with a lot of internal negative emotions right now, about what people think of him. I don’t think the tests are helping.”

Hunnigan reached out and gently held Ashley’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you visit. It’s what he really needs right now. Trust me.”

Standing outside the viewing room door, holding her keycard at the ready, she steeled herself. The way the security staff described the setup, Leon had access to a shutter system on the viewing window, giving him control over how and when visitors can see him. It allowed him much needed privacy given his life since coming home was endless tests and scans and scientists.

Tapping her card against the reader, the light flicked green and she heard the lock release. Pressing down on the cold handle, she slipped inside. There was a small coffee table near the viewing window, the shutter was down. A few chairs were on the far wall, she pulled one up to the window and sat down. On the table there was a remote control, it looked custom made for the setup. It only had a handful of buttons, the most important of which was a ‘call’ button that she was told would alert Leon that someone was in the room, and a ‘mic on’ button. The room had an inbuilt microphone and speaker system to allow comfortable communication even if large groups were there.

It felt uncomfortably sterile. Worse than a hospital. She looked up to the top left corner of the room, where a security camera stared back. She was also told Leon had access to the feed. She wondered if he was watching now? Hunnigan said she’d call ahead. Was he waiting for her to do something first? Would he be upset that she was so hesitant?

Shaking off the feeling she hit both buttons on the controller and flashed a smile and a wave towards the security camera, for good measure.

A moment passed before she heard a light clicking sound on the intercom, before a voice emerged.

“Ashley, hey…”

She was surprised that he sounded so… Normal. She wasn't sure what she expected, no one had given her any information other than that he’d been infected but he hadn’t lost his mind. There was an extensive report written about the events that went down, she’d been able to convince the BSAA to let her read a copy of it but it was heavily redacted. Particularly the parts pertaining to Leon.

“It’s… good to see you.”

She was relieved to hear the sincerity in his voice, despite how slightly rough around the edges he sounded. He was Leon, that hadn’t changed. But she could tell he was different all the same.

“It’s good to, uh, hear you, haha..”

Her feet shuffled, she started bouncing one leg. Looking longfully at the window glass with the shutter still closed. She was fine with phone calls but this was making her nervous. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d last spoke, that they’d last caught up in person.

“I’m sorry, about your dad. I’m sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral. I’m sorry for everything, Ashley.”

“It’s ok, Leon. You did everything you could.”

Despite the lack of contact, the uncomfortable fog in the room was palpable for both parties. Her leg bouncing rate increased. Shuffling could be heard over the intercom speaker. They each heard the pain in the other’s voice. The wound was still fresh and very deep.

Not wanting to have that conversation to a wall, Ashley attempted to change the subject.

“So how are you holding up? I mean with the tests and everything. Hunnigan said you shouldn't have to be in isolation much longer.”

“Uhh yeah… It’s fine. I’m doing fine.”

She let out a small sigh.

“You can’t bullshit me, Leon.”

Silence.

“You’ve been stuck inside that room for almost three months now. You must be tired of it, and lonely.”

She paused, before continuing.

“When I got back from Europe after you rescued me, they kept me in isolation for precautionary testing for two weeks. They were paranoid I guess. I know for you they didn’t need long to clear you of any issues. Those two weeks were the worst of my life.”

“Worse than being injected with a mind-controlling parasite?” he joked back.

“Much, much worse.” she playfully replied, “I didn’t have a strong, capable, and handsome government agent to save me from a bunch of creepy scientists in hazmat suits.”

She heard what sounded like a muffled laugh. A smile crossed her face.

“Unfortunately for me the only ‘strong, capable, and handsome’ government agent I know is limited to Visitors on Wednesdays only.”

This made Ashley giggle suddenly, the first time she’d properly and genuinely laughed since before the C-Virus incident even occurred.

“When I came home, Dad was so worried. He just wanted to make sure I was gonna be ok. He was always so busy and worked so hard. He just wanted to make sure he could change something for the positive. In the end you made sure that happened. You and Helena.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and gently dropped off her chin. Followed by another.

“I’d known Simmons for just about my whole life, he’d had family dinners with us, we’d visit his house frequently. Dad had confided in him about so much I just… I can’t believe he’d betray us like that. I can’t believe he would be so selfish.”

The tears were making it hard for her to see, her words were mixed in with sharp breaths as she began to sob.

“He killed dad and all those people, after everything, he just fucking killed him and killed everyone else and burned it to the ground all for what!! And now he’s gone and I don’t know what to do, Leon I just don’t know what to fucking do!”

She cried for a moment, letting the anger and the grief flow. Purging her system, letting it out. As she started to calm down she pulled a packet of tissues from her bag, to clean her face.

“I want to make a difference. I want to do something, like dad did.” she said slowly through strained breaths.

“I never want to feel helpless and small ever again. After you rescued me in Europe, after everything you did to stop Simmons, I want to do something for the world too.”

She glanced up at the security camera, as if it would respond back somehow. Hoping he was watching.

“You and dad made me realise what I wanted to do with my life, what I cared most about. I even changed my college degree to International Relations when I got home but I mean, you already know that. Now with the BSAA here, I’ve asked Hunnigan if she can help me shift my career slightly, and work with you and everyone else here.”

“Really? You want to work for the BSAA?”

She nodded, not knowing if he could even see. Taking the moment to have a drink from her water bottle to gather herself.

“... I’ll put in a personal recommendation, if they’re still accepting those from me after everything.”

“Thank you Leon, I’m sure they will.” Ashley smiled.

“Well if they let me do anything, once the tests are cleared, I’d like to go visit your old man with you. If you don’t mind. I couldn’t be there for the funeral so… “

“Of course Leon,” she wiped a tear from her eye, “I’d love that. I’m sure dad would too.”

“I think you’d be great here, we need more people like you Ashley.”

“Of course, someone needs to be around to stop you getting into more trouble right?”

She was hoping for a smart ass response, a laugh, a quip, something. Her comment was met with silence. Her heart sank.

“What happened to you, Leon?”

He avoided responding, she could hear more slight shuffling noises.

“I know you feel uncomfortable, god knows I would too. Everyone’s talking about you, saying you’re a hero. You and all the others that worked together to stop the C-Virus from spreading. You saved people's lives.”

“... I don’t think you’d be calling me that if you could see me right now.”

The most she’d gotten to read about the effects of the virus on him were small comments about carapace and ‘external structural changes’. In all honestly she had no idea what he looked like, if he was even recognisable. She didn’t really know how to ask, besides the fact she really only knew Hunnigan well enough to be confident posing the question.

“I wouldn’t know. No one’s shown me any photos of you. I have no idea.”

He was silent again.

“But you’re still you, in the end. Does it matter what you look like?”

“It does when you look like a monster.”

She recoiled slightly at the tone of his voice.

“When I was in China, when it happened. It didn’t really matter to me. People's lives were at stake, Simmons was out there, I embraced it in the moment because I couldn't let people down. I needed to do something. I couldn't just give up and avoid facing the world. But now? I’m stuck in this cell and every few days I get more needles poked into me and more scans and more people asking me stupid fucking questions and I just.”

He paused suddenly. Breathing for a few moments.

“I can’t deal with all of this. I’m as good as a lab animal now. And why would anyone think any differently if they saw what I’ve become.”

“C’mon, don’t say that.”

Suddenly the shutter began to move upwards, a brighter light from the room beyond the glass spilling in. It took Ashley a moment to adjust before she could fully stare at the figure sitting opposite her.

“If you were in trouble and the thing that came to help you looked like this, would you still call it a hero?”

#Leon Kennedy #Ashley Graham #C Virus AU #Resident Evil 6 #Resident Evil #fanfic #fic #Look I got way to excited about this and just knew exactly what I wanted to write #so have this very rare burst of Text from me #I'm enjoying practicing writing interactions between characters and focusing a lot on the interpersonal relationships #I'm trying to pack a lot in there #nods to other characters #reflections of the past game events #how things might change in a characters psyche after they experience something big #I hope you enjoy and if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it #because this is a draft and its almost 6am and Ive been awake a long time

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arofili · 3 years ago

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Three Houses of the Edain Edit Series: Appendix B

Continued from Appendix A. This section will contain information on the House of Hador.

~~~

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Appendix A: House of Bëor Appendix B: House of Hador (you are here!) Appendix C: House of Haleth, Drúedain

~~~

HOUSE OF HADOR

Note: With regard to name translations, I took inspiration from this article; specifically, I used some of the suggestions for name meanings of the early Hadorians and assigned them to elements in my Taliska glossary (see Appendix A).

~~~

Marach ft. Marach, Legen (OC), Malach Aradan, Imlach It is canon that while they were the third House to enter Beleriand, Marach’s people were originally in the lead; also canon is the attitude of the Green-elves toward them and Marach’s decision to remain in Estolad even though his son led many of his people further west. Since Imlach’s son Amlach is still in Estolad during the time of dissent, it is highly probable (though not explicitly stated afaik) that Imlach remained with his father. Everything else is headcanon. Also, Marach is trans because I said so <3

Imlach ft. Imlach, Amar (OC), Amlach The basic structure of this story is canon: Malach remained in Estolad; Amlach was a dissenter who was impersonated and became an elf-friend in his anger at the deception, entering into Maedhros’ service. I added a lot of details to flesh out the story, especially Amlach’s confusing night in the forest. I think Sauron (or one of his servants) stranded him in the woods and stole his likeness, though I doubt Amlach ever really figured out exactly what happened.

Malach Aradan ft. Malach Aradan, Zimrahin Meldis, Adanel, Magor Malach did enter Fingolfin’s service, and the basic details of his familial relationship are canon. Much of the rest of this is headcanon, however.

Magor ft. Magor, Amathal (OC), Hathol, Thevril (OC), Hador Lórindol We don’t know much about Magor or Hathol; the only canonical detail here is that Magor did move his people away from Hithlum and served no elf lord (though we don’t have details on why). Everything else is headcanon.

Hador Lórindol ft. Hador Lórindol, Gildis, Glóredhel, Galdor of Dor-lómin, Gundor This is mostly canon, though it has been embellished, and everything about Gildis other than her name is headcanon. Gundor’s life is also mostly headcanon, though the manner of his death is canon; I’ll go into his story soon.

Gundor ft. Gundor, Angreneth (OC), Indor, Padrion (OC), Aerin, Peleg We don’t know anything about Gundor other than the manner of his death; we also don’t know how Aerin is related to Húrin, so I decided to expand on both of those unknowns with the same story. Aerin’s father is said to be Indor, who is elsewhere said to be the father of Peleg (who was himself the father of Tuor in an early draft), so I made him the son of Gundor. Since Peleg obviously can’t be Tuor’s father anymore, I killed him off at the Nírnaeth...just like Huor, oops. I think Brodda took Aerin to wife before Morwen disappeared, but I couldn’t figure out how to word that concisely, so I left it kind of vague/misleading in the caption. Oh well.

Galdor of Dor-lómin ft. Galdor of Dor-lómin, Hareth, Húrin Thalion, Huor This is mostly canon, though it has been embellished to give Hareth a bit of personality. Ylmir is the Sindarin name for Ulmo, used by Tuor in his song “The Horns of Ylmir.”

Húrin Thalion ft. Húrin Thalion, Morwen Eledhwen, Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion, Urwen Lalaith, Niënor Níniel Boy howdy this is a long one! It’s almost entirely canon, though I’ve added some embellishments here and there. Beleg is included because he and Túrin were definitely married (at least by elven standards); I’ll go more into that, and the details of Túrin’s time with the Gaurwaith, in a future edit, but for now I settled just using the gayest possible language. Same deal for his time in Nargothrond.

Huor ft. Huor, Rían, Tuor Eladar We don’t know that Galdor took an arrow specifically to the eye, but I thought it would be poetic if both he and Huor died in the same manner so I added that detail to the canon that Galdor was killed by an arrow. The rest of this is pretty much all canon, with some embellishments. Tuor’s story will continue in another edit.

Tuor Eladar ft. Tuor Eladar, Idril Celebrindal, Eärendil Ardamírë The meat of this story is canon, but I’ve added in some of my headcanons as well. I definitely embellished Annael’s departure from Mithrim to show my perspective on his decision to leave Tuor behind (I really do think he thought Tuor was dead or as good as it, and that as a leader he had the responsibility to keep the rest of his people safe). I’m a little foggy on why Tuor was already so obsessed with Gondolin when he met Gelmir and Arminas, because why would the Sindar of Mithrim be so excited about a Noldorin city? I guess maybe they had friends from way back when who went with Turgon? Or maybe they just wished they could be “safe” like the Gondolindrim were, idk. I was kind of vague there. Ylmir is the Sindarin name for Ulmo; Yssion is a Sindarin name for Ossë (the other one is Gaerys, which I think sounds cooler but isn’t as close to a literal Sindarization as Yssion). The bit about Voronwë teaching Tuor Quenya on the road is headcanon, but I think it makes a lot of sense. Telpevontál is my Quenya translation of Celebrindal. I skimmed and skipped a lot of Tuor’s time in Gondolin, since I went over that in another edit. “The Horns of Ylmir” is a real song that Tolkien wrote (Adele McAllister has a cover of it); I added the bit about it triggering Idril’s foresight, though the song is absolutely foreshadowing no matter how you look at it. Eärendil did canonically get married the same year that Tuor and Idril left for Valinor; we don’t have much info on that otherwise, so I made it as bittersweet as possible. The bit about the Elessar is a lot of convoluted headcanon in my attempt to make sense of its 3 bajillion different origin stories. The name Ardamírë is prophetic because, you know, the whole Silmaril thing, but I liked the idea that Idril made the connection with the Elessar before the Silmaril came into the picture. All we know about Idril and Tuor’s fates in canon is that people ~believe~ they made it to Aman and that Tuor was counted as an elf, but that last bit never sat right with me since elsewhere it’s very clearly stated that the Gift of Men is not something that can be refused or taken away. The alternate legend is my own headcanon for what happened to them (I also think they had more peredhil kiddos); in my mind, the Valar let Tuor live the rest of his days in Valinor (all 500 years of them, I just think it’s poetic and connected to his grandson Elros’ fate) before he died peacefully and willingly, able to get closure with Idril before he went.

Storytellers ft. Eltas, Dírhaval Eltas is a character from the Book of Lost Tales, who tells Eriol the “Tale of Turambar.” Supposedly, he once lived in Hísilómë (Hithlum) and came to Tol Eressëa and the Cottage of Lost Play by the Straight Road. That story does not add up at all when you look at it through the lens of Tolkien’s later Legendarium, so I took the name and his origins in Hithlum and crafted an entirely different story for him. Dírhaval is canonically the poet who wrote the Narn i Chîn Húrin; he only wrote that one poem because he was killed at the Third Kinslaying before he could finish any of the other Great Tales like Narn i Leithian (The Lay of Leithian; from his Tolkien Gateway article I think that’s what he was working on after CoH? but I’m not totally sure. But Tolkien never finished the Leithian either, so I think it’s poetic to have Dírhaval do the same). Andvír was one of his sources in canon, I added in the others (Eltas, Nellas, Celebrimbor, Glírhuin), though it was conceivable (and canon, in Nellas’ case) that they knew Túrin enough to report his story (though we don’t know anything in canon about Nellas’ fate). These name translations are my own; I thought “sitting man” worked as a meaning for Dírhaval since I imagine that storytellers like him were known as folk who sat around a lot writing or telling tales.

Servants of Morwen ft. Morwen Eledhwen, Gethron, Grithnir, Ragnir the Blind, Sador Labadal Morwen sending her servants to talk to the elves is headcanon, and so is Gethron knowing some Sindarin, though I think that makes sense considering he did canonically travel across Beleriand and was the one who spoke to Thingol when they arrived in Doriath. We don’t know anything in canon about Ragnir except that he was blind. Sador’s story is canon, though I have added some embellishments here and there. Aside from Sador and Morwen, these name translations are all my own and extremely dubious, but I did my best.

Companions of Húrin ft. Húrin Thalion, Asgon, Ragnir the Outlaw, Dringoth (OC), Dimaethor (OC), Negenor (OC), Tondir (OC), Haedirn (OC), Orthelron (OC) This edit tells the beginning part of “The Wanderings of Húrin,” an unfinished manuscript that was cut from the final published Silmarillion. Húrin’s role in this tale is canon up through his departure from Brethil (that was where Tolkien left off); the way that he left his companions a final time is my headcanon. Asgon and Ragnir are the only names of his companions we know from canon; Asgon’s role as a former outlaw who had known Túrin when he returned to Dor-lómin and started a rebellion is canon, and Ragnir’s pessimism (asking to go home) and his relative youth is also from canon. Everything else about these outlaws is my headcanon, including my reasons for why they weren’t present at the Nírnaeth where literally all the able-bodied men of the House of Hador had perished (except for Húrin). Húrin did go to Nargothrond after Brethil, but I made up everything past that point. We know that there were some Edain at the Havens of Sirion (and presumably there were Men present in the War of Wrath that Elros mingled with before becoming their King), so I thought this could be a way for the remnant of the Haladin (and some of the House of Hador) to get there. I’ll go over the rest of “The Wanderings of Húrin” in future edits, when we get to the relevant Haladin characters.

Gaurwaith ft. Neithan, Beleg Cúthalion, Forweg, Andróg, Andvír, Algund, Ulrad, Orleg, Blodren This is largely a canon-compliant overview of Túrin’s life among the outlaws. The stories of Forweg and Andróg (and Beleg and Túrin/Neithan) are canon (though I did take that extra step and marry off Túrin and Beleg). Orleg’s story is canon, though it’s one that I had overlooked on my various readthroughs of Túrin’s Silm chapter & CoH. Algund and Ulrad’s stories are presented in a slightly tweaked/condensed form; Andvír’s origins as the son of Andróg (??? when did he have a son and why is it never mentioned in the main story???) are canon but (as expressed in parentheses) rather baffling, so I didn’t really emphasize him. Blodren is a character who isn’t in the later drafts of this story; he was an Easterling who was tortured by Morgoth because he “withstood Uldor the Accursed,” and eventually turned into a spy for Morgoth. (As with all Easterling names, his etymology is entirely made up.) He “served Túrin faithfully for two years” before fulfilling the role later taken up by Mîm and betraying the Gaurwaith to the orcs. He was killed by a “chance arrow in the dark” during the battle. I altered his story so that he wasn’t personally tortured by Morgoth and thus did not turn; since he was an Easterling and the rest of the Gaurwaith were Edain, I decided they probably treated him poorly, and threw in a bit of a friendship with Mîm as a nod to how Mîm took over his role. Also, I think Easterlings having pre-existing relationships with dwarves is a cool concept—especially since Bór’s people and Azaghâl’s people both served under Maedhros at the Nírnaeth, and could possibly have had the chance to interact!

~~~

CONTINUED IN APPENDIX C

#three houses of the edain #peoples of arda #house of hador #house of marach #estolad #ered wethrin #dor lomin #my meta #tefain nin #thote appendices

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eloarei · 4 years ago

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Hiatus’d WIPs: “Touch” (bnha)

I recently had a conversation with a friend/reader about how many unfinished fics I have lying around, and it made me decide to finally make a post for each one; under the assumption that I never write any of them again, I can at least link these posts at the end of the AO3 WIPs for people who are curious how the rest of the story goes. So here we have: WIP and notes for Dekumight fic series “Touch” (including unfinished next chapter) My thoughts: This was really one of my favorites for a while. There was something really fun about writing the sort of non-verbal communication they had going on, and the deep love and also awkwardness. However, the actual story of the fic doesn’t differ much from the canon plot, which makes it a little less interesting to write, and also difficult to pick up, because frankly I don’t remember shit anymore about canon. Under the cut: (8,300 words total) 3,000 words of what would be the next chapter (ending about halfway through), then a rough draft of the second half of the chapter. After that, there’s a super-rough draft/ outline of the next several chapters, followed by a bunch of notes from when I was initially planning. NOTE: Tumblr completely destroyed all formatting, so this should be full of italics, which implies thinking, but instead you’ll just have to puzzle it out. Similarly, my notes have a bunch of bolding and some strikethrough, which probably doesn’t work either. Sorry.

Takes place directly after “Retouch” (chapter 2) :

Chapter 3

It was just a few minutes later that Toshinori was hit with a spike of pleasure that he really shouldn't have been surprised by. He was finishing up some paperwork for UA though and wouldn't be getting ready for bed for a while, so instead of following through with the echo of Izuku's intense sensation, he just took a deep calming breath and willed himself to leave it alone. However, he did take a moment to send Izuku a well-timed text saying simply, | Sleep tight |. He still wasn't sure if the boy was aware of what he was doing to him, but he figured he'd just tip him off a little bit instead of asking outright. Not yet.

Izuku responded with a cute, embarrassed | ^^; you too |, and Toshinori laughed. So he hadn't expected to be called out on it, huh? Well, they could talk about it later; maybe over the weekend, if Suzuki's papers didn't scare him off. (And even then they'd probably still want to talk about at least a few things. Even if Izuku suddenly wanted nothing to do with him, even if they never saw each other again (a chilling thought), they'd still be affecting each other like this for the rest of their lives. It warranted at least a short conversation.)

Most likely, though... Most likely it would be a long conversation they'd be having, if Toshinori's impression of Inko was anything to go by. If it were just him and Izuku, who knew if they'd ever do much serious talking. It was far too tempting to just sit side by side with their hands tangled together and feel. So, it was probably good that Izuku's mother had such a strong hand in the situation-- and it was definitely good for both of them that she was such a reasonable woman. He knew she would probably bring up all the right topics (the things he still hadn't really researched; Suzuki wasn't going to be pleased with his ignorance), and ask all the right questions, and be super tactful about the whole thing, so he didn't fret about it, focusing instead on just getting through the week.

Easier said than done, he'd have told you, if you asked him at any point during those next few days, but eventually it was done, and he was standing outside the Midoriyas' apartment door with a briefcase in one hand and the other poised to knock. But before he could make a sound, the door opened, and Izuku was standing there, looking up at him with the brightest eyes.

“Hi,” he said, the simple word both enthusiastic and shy. His smile was impossibly wide, sending his freckles up into his eyes. “I, um, I could tell you were there,” he answered, before Toshinori could even ask how he'd known to open the door. Without further ado, Izuku reached out and took his hand, leading him into the apartment. They both breathed deep, relieved sighs as soon as they touched. Three days had just been too much.

Inside, Inko was doing dishes. “Oh, Toshinori, hi,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I'll be done here in just a minute. Izuku said you have some papers for us to look at?”

“At my manager's insistence,” he explained. Guided by Izuku, he took a seat next to him at the kitchen table, their hands still joined, and set the briefcase up where his other hand could find what he needed. He pulled the stack of papers out and set them in the middle of the table.

“How's your week been?” Izuku asked quietly, as they waited for Inko to join them.

“It's been fine,” Toshinori answered, though the emotion rolling around in his chest said 'I missed you', and he was fairly sure Izuku could feel it.

The boy squeezed his hand at the feeling and replied, “Me too,” in response to the unspoken sentiment.

Drying her hands off on a dishtowel, Inko sat down across from them and gave the pair of them an appraising (but ultimately approving) look, before she slid the stack of papers over to her. “What have we got here?” she asked, apparently rhetorically, as she didn't wait for Toshinori to attempt to explain. She read through each page carefully and then passed it over to Izuku, who seemed mildly surprised but also read each one before sliding it over to Toshinori. (He skimmed them again for familiarity's sake, but he'd already read through them in detail with Suzuki a day or two before.)

Other than a 'hmm' here and there, Inko didn't make any comments until they were through the entire stack, which took about an hour. (Although she did stop to tell Toshinori to make himself at home, when she realized he might be thirsty or something.) It was a very quiet hour, and it would have been unnerving for Toshinori if he hadn't still had Izuku latched onto him, feeding him wisps of emotion as he read.

Once they'd gone through the whole stack, Inko started over from the beginning, and began to point out little details here and there and ask questions.

“I think most of it is reasonable enough,” she said. “We're not entitled to any of your income or royalties; that's fine. And we can't talk to the media about you. I'm alright with that. Izuku?”

Izuku nodded. “That's okay. I wasn't going to.”

“But this part here--” She pointed at it. “--says we're not allowed to tell anyone about the situation at all unless we have express written permission. That seems sort of... broad.”

Toshinori looked at the passage that Inko had indicated. “Uh, right. I told Suzuki I didn't think it was necessary, but he claims it's a safety precaution.”

“For you,” Inko said, and she did sound accusatory, but not overly much. “What happens if we break the contract? Suing us won't get you very much.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Toshinori tried to say, but Inko continued on.

“What if we need to tell someone and you're not around to give us permission? Like, Izuku's doctors? It just seems unreasonable. Dangerous, even. I get that you want to protect your status, but--”

Toshinori could feel Izuku begin to speak before he could hear the sound. “It's fine, mom,” he said. “It's not just for him. It's to protect us too. Remember that story a couple years ago? There was that lady who was kidnapped by villains because they thought they could use her to get to her husband?”

Inko pursed her lips, a slightly sour face. She clearly remembered the story, and how the woman had been tortured just to hurt her husband. Toshinori remembered it too; it had made him sick. It would have made anyone sick, especially anyone who was close to their soulmate.

“That's probably what Mr. Suzuki was thinking of,” Izuku added softly, and Toshinori could tell that he didn't quite believe in Suzuki's altruism (hard for him to, when he could feel Toshinori's own skepticism about the man), but that he did still believe the reasoning was fair.

A bit subdued, Inko nodded. “Well of course we won't go around telling everyone. I... just think it's a little silly to have to get it in writing like this.”

“You're right,” Toshinori said, shaking his head. “Leave that one, then. I'll get Suzuki to take it out.”

It went like that for another hour or so, Inko pointing out things she wasn't sure about and Toshinori mostly telling her to just cross them out, because honestly, Suzuki was going to be pissed, but who cared? There was no one in the world who mattered more right now than Izuku, and that necessarily made his mother pretty important too. Toshinori would do whatever it took to make them comfortable, and his manager could just deal with it.

By the time they were done, they'd tossed out about half of the papers and scratched through parts of most of the rest of them, and were left with a reasonable list of promises that read roughly like this:

The Midoriyas could not talk to the media about All Might, and they couldn't knowingly do anything that would jeopardize his career, and Izuku couldn't act in any way that would hinder All Might's ability to do his job as a hero. That was pretty much it, though the basic meaning was hidden in so many superfluous details that it had their heads spinning.

As for Toshinori, he would not infringe upon the Midoriyas' anonymity, or use his status to coerce or extort them in any way, and he would be responsible for any financial issues that resulted from their connection (including, but not limited to, doctor's bills and lawyer's fees).

Honestly though, they all knew that these were pretty moot points. If Izuku or his family broke any of these rules, there was really nothing that All Might's lawyers could do about it. And if All Might failed to uphold his end of the bargain, the Midoriyas could take him to court for it, but it would be inviting far more trouble than it was worth.

More than anything, though, they trusted each other enough for this whole paper-signing situation to be mostly just laughable. Getting the papers to Suzuki was not a high priority (well, he might have thought so, but he was a failure of a manager if he actually expected such a quick turnaround, after all these years), so Toshinori didn’t hurry off, instead offering to take the two out for lunch. “Oh, thank you, Toshinori,” Inko said sweetly, “but I’ve got some work to finish up. Why don’t you two go out and take advantage of the nice day?” At his elbow, Toshinori could feel Izuku’s slight surprise echoing against his own. Although Inko had only been supportive so far, they still couldn’t help expecting that she was going to try to keep them apart-- though maybe they were just projecting their reasonable fears about society onto the only other person who knew just yet. But whether or not she might be more strict about them seeing each other in the future, she seemed fine with it just now, and they were grateful. “Thanks,” Izuku told her with a sunny grin, while Toshinori nodded in agreement. “Want us to bring you anything?” Inko shook her head. “Just be back before it’s late! And stay safe!” They promised they’d be careful (in every possible way), and left the apartment together, walking close by but with their hands in their respective pockets-- the safest place for them, when they would have wandered if left to their own devices, gravitated naturally toward each other and the fulfilling feeling they provided. “So what did you think of the papers?” Toshinori asked, a relevant icebreaker to start conversation once they were on their way. “I hope they didn’t seem too strict.” Izuku grinned, and drifted close enough to bump their arms together. “They seemed fine,” he said, apparently unbothered by them. “Honestly, I’d sign whatever I had to. It’s already crazy that I even got to meet you. So, whatever I have to do now… I’ll do it.” That smile was an absolute slice of sunshine, and if Toshinori wasn’t warm just by their proximity, it would have done the job.

They wandered for some time, down towards the city center where they might find something for lunch (maybe something other than ramen, so they could expand the list of foods they knew they both liked), chatting a little. The topics were never anything consequential; Toshinori thought Izuku was still a little nervous around him and wasn’t sure what to say. He understood the feeling, even without a physical link, rather feeling that way himself. But Izuku also had the natural anxiousness of the young and quirkless (he remembered feeling that way), so Toshinori tried to guide the conversation in comfortable directions. Heroes were always a safe topic, and one with no end of iterations. They’d walked a few casual miles, keeping their attention slightly on their surroundings in case a good restaurant caught their eye, and were in the middle of discussing Kamui Woods when something else caught their attention. In the distance a block or so, there was a crowd gathered, their exclamations and worried murmurs rising to a concerning pitch just as an explosion shook the area. Many of the citizens shrieked and ran for cover, but plenty of them were still huddled around in a nervous fashion, like people observing either a train wreck or a predator from which prey could have no hope of escaping. Toshinori became aware of Izuku latching on to his arm more than he strictly felt it, the young man’s concern bleeding over into him and mixing with his own. He could feel Izuku’s natural empathy coming strong through the connection, something he’d only glimpsed the times before. There was something happening nearby, something that frightened and worried everyone; should he help? What could he even do? Should he stay out of the way? After all, they’d only just found each other, and to lose Toshinori now would be devastating; to be found out might be even worse! Izuku would hate himself if he ruined All Might’s career by causing a scandal, but he couldn’t just sit back if someone was in danger and, ahh, if only he had powers, if only he could do more than cling and be a burden to his soulmate and-- Oh, Toshinori thought. These were not his fears; they were Izuku’s. It was Izuku’s desire to help whoever might be in trouble, his desire and his desire and that was right, he wanted to help too. Of course he did. He was a hero, wasn’t he? There was only so worried he could be for his own safety and his reputation and Izuku shouldn’t worry either because it would be okay and I am here and it was amazing-- he really was the right one for him. The perfect soulmate, and maybe something more, but that was something he could think of later. The screams were louder now, and the worried murmurs too, and as an explosion shook the windows of a building half a block down they agreed they couldn’t turn away, not when there was a chance they could do something, anything. Even if there was no power left, it was still his duty, and he didn’t have to do this but yes he did. “You’re at your limit?” Izuku asked, glancing up at him through his fluffy bangs, concern bleeding out of him through more than just their physical connection. It couldn’t have been much more than a guess, but from his expression Toshinori could see that Izuku somehow knew it, like an intuition.

He nodded. “Essentially,” he replied. He wasn’t sure how to explain it in detail, but hoped a more nuanced understanding of it would flow through their bond. “I always have a reserve amount, but it’s… not much.” Izuku seemed to get it. “Maybe we can just… go see, if there’s something we can do.” That seemed fair; that seemed like the least they could do. Maybe there was something, some way to help. Inspired by each other, they jogged over to the scene and the crowd surrounding whatever trainwreck was keeping their attention so strongly. Toshinori froze down to his veins when they saw what was the cause of the commotion. It was a mutant; the same mutant he was sure he’d captured just the other day. Yes, he’d been distracted by Izuku’s presence, but he distinctly remembered turning the water bottle full of sludge over to the police before absconding with his new soulmate up to the rooftop. Izuku’s arm brushed Toshinori’s as he stepped closer in a subconscious bid at safety. How had the mutant escaped? Was it perhaps a different man after all? A twin, or someone with the same quirk? Had Izuku done something wrong? Distracted All Might from his task and caused the villain to escape? Was it the police’s fault? He glanced down at Izuku, who glanced up at him, and Toshinori shook his head. It’s not your fault, he said wordlessly, or Don’t worry about all that. And Izuku nodded, back on track after a momentary lapse of focus. How and why the mutant was here was of little concern. They both turned back to the scene at hand. “Okay, stand back and I’ll try to handle this,” Toshinori said, looking down at Izuku in a way he hoped was reassuring, and knowing anyway that he didn’t have to; Izuku could feel his determination, and every little ounce of worry that things might not go as planned. It was a nuance that Toshinori had learned to deal with in his life, and it was something Izuku was going to have to deal with as well. (Though given the boy’s penchant for overthinking, perhaps it wouldn’t be that much of a trial after all.) “Do you have enough energy?” Izuku asked nervously, obviously not wanting… well, all the things that could go wrong if Toshinori ran out at the wrong time. Toshinori laughed in soft self-depreciation. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’ll do what I can. That’s what it means to be a hero, right?” With Izuku’s arm still brushing his, he could feel the boy’s admiration, and it doubled in him and gave rise to a heroic rush he didn’t think he’d felt for years. Still, he waited for the right moment. That was another thing about being a hero; you couldn’t rush in blindly (not with his level of experience, anyway). He watched as the mutant swung his head around, like a cornered animal watching viciously for its enemies, and he could just about guess when it was going to let its guard down. Almost… he thought, his muscles tensing in anticipation. But just as he was about to spring forward, he felt a twinge of panic from Izuku’s side of the connection. It was a spike of recognition. Kacchan!

The roughest of drafts:

Izuku freaks out and runs to try to rescue him and they're all surprised when he actually manages to do some slight damage to the mutant; it's not enough to defeat him, but enough to stun him into dropping Bakugo, at which point Toshi transforms and rushes to finish him off. Tl;dr, turns out that a very tiny amount of Toshi’s power has become available to Izuku. (Make some note of the pain aspect, Toshi feeling Izuku’s pain from using OfA.)

Afterward, when Toshi is talking to reporters (and Izuku has managed to avoid at least a little of the reprimanding from canon, due to appearing to have some power) Izuku can feel the discomfort, Toshi’s power draining. Perhaps he plays the fan, comes to shake his hand as thanks for saving him and they're both a little surprised that it eases the discomfort, seems to give Toshi back a little strength. Izuku had just done it as an instinct, but in light of what had just happened with the power sharing, they're both very curious how this whole soulmate thing is going to work.

Toshi excuses himself from the crowd before too long and goes to find Izuku. He finds him being confronted by Bakugo, who knows that something is strange but doesn't know what (and is upset like in canon about Izuku trying to help him). Toshi tries to stay out of sight until Bakugo runs off, feeling that Izuku is confident enough in his ability to handle this. When they rejoin, Izuku explains who Bakugo is.

“[But enough about that.] Are you okay?”

They join hands. Toshi can feel that Izuku is fine but still he says, “It's you I'm concerned about. Do you know what you did back there?”

“That was your quirk,” he said, and Toshi nodded.

“Some of it, at least. Is your arm okay?”

Izuku stretched his arm out, wiggling his fingers. “It aches a little, but I'm okay. I'm just… I've never done anything like that before. It felt… kind of amazing.”

Toshi could tell that it was a little more than an ache, but that Izuku wasn't lying. It really wasn't hurting him much, and he was really feeling exhilarated. He remembered feeling like that when he first took the quirk himself.

Izuku’s side of the connection was curious and Toshi realized he could feel him thinking about his past. He debated with himself for a minute. Was this the right time to tell Izuku about his past? He would have to tell him some time, and there was no reason to wait. “I felt the same way the first time I used it,” he said. “When my mentor gave it to me. I was about your age.”

The feeling of surprise that Izuku emanated was not as much of a shock as he expected, more of a warm melting feeling, a soft realization. “You were ...quirkless? Someone gave you your quirk? But how?”

Toshi tells the story as they head back to the apartment, but they take a detour to sit somewhere and finish talking. (Way before this, Izuku texts his mom to tell her what happened and that they're fine and they'll be home in a while.) It's gotten dark by the time Toshi has finished telling of Nana and AfO and needing to pass OfA on, and they're sitting on a bench in a corner of a park or something.

“It was just an idea before,” Toshi says, “but now I'm pretty sure it's the right one. Would you be willing to take it? One for All?”

The surprise this time really is a shock, and it nearly knocks the breath out of him. “...Really?”

“You can tell I'm serious,” Toshi says with a smirk, and then he nods. “Yes. Really. It's the only thing that makes sense.”

He thinks of the reasons: he needs to pass it on, and Izuku wants a quirk, needs one to get into UA. And he's defenseless without one, a real danger with them together now. And he's already shown that he can handle it, at least a little.

“Should I think about it?” Izuku asks, looking unsure. He's probably thinking about all the things they talked about with his mother earlier, trying to be careful. But Toshi can tell he really wants it, and that's enough for him.

“If you want,” he says. “Take your time.” He knows that Izuku will say yes. (He's less sure if Inko will agree, but he knows that between the two of them, they can convince her.)

He can feel Izuku trembling, and it's with excitement he thinks. “Thank you,” Izuku says, almost breathlessly, and he leans forward and kisses Toshi, softly and quickly, and then looks him in the eyes for a short moment, twists his body in his direction more and leans in for another kiss. This one is a little deeper, lingering, not obscene but less than entirely chaste and Toshi can feel so so much through it, especially as he allows himself to kiss back. They don't take it far; Toshi can feel that Izuku knows there are boundaries, though Toshi is nervous about himself, unsure if he would be able to keep himself from crossing them, to stop when it was time. He's a bit anxious, but he's glad Izuku is reasonable, and he's excited and he's happy and they're melting into each other even though they've stopped kissing and it is finally Izuku who speaks up to interrupt them getting stuck in their twofold thoughts.

“I should get home. I have to tell my mom about all this. Am I… Can I tell her? About OfA?”

Toshi nods. “It's a big part of all of this. I guess she should know. And that'll give you a chance to talk it over with her. Decide if you want it.”

‘I do want it,’ he could tell Izuku was thinking, although maybe not in so many words. Izuku was trying to be patient and make smart decisions. He was doing his best to be worthy of being Toshi’s soulmate, and Toshi was overcome with affection for him. He hugged him close, and even more than the kissing, that was the most they'd ever felt, the most contact they'd ever made. It was less electric than kissing, but like an overblown, overexposed photo. They stayed there like that for a little while before they silently agreed to get up and go back.

The end of chapter 3, more or less.

Chapter four.

Izuku took a week to act like he was thinking about it, but in truth he'd decided almost immediately, and convinced his mom that it was a good idea (or that she should let him do it at least) on that first night, after Toshi had walked him home and said goodbye.

“Izuku! I saw on the news about that mutant attack! You're really alright? And Toshinori, and Katsuki?”

“We're fine mom! Toshinori saved us. But…” A pause. “With dad, have you ever… accidentally used his quirk before?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking a little worried. “I can feel when he's using it, but i've never breathed fire myself.”

Yeah, it wasn't anything he'd ever heard of before. Maybe it was because most people's quirks weren't that strong. Maybe it was because he was quirkless. Maybe… well there were a lot of reasons it could be. It didn't matter that much why; it had happened, and they'd both felt it.

“I used it. All Might’s power. Just a little bit of it.”

“Are you okay?”

He said he was fine, he thought, but Inko was skeptical. She remembered some times when he was younger, when he thought an injury was less serious than it was. She convinced him to go to the doctor tomorrow and he agreed, dismissively as he was so invested in telling her about Toshinori’s offer. She's a bit nervous about the idea but it doesn't take long for her to give in.

At the doctor's tomorrow (maybe only mentioned, not a scene) it turns out that Izuku did in fact fracture a bone in his arm. (Is a cast needed for that? Probably not.)

Later that afternoon, Toshinori texted him and asked if he was okay; his arm felt a little off. Izuku responds casually that it was just a fracture and he's fine, and Toshi fusses over him a little, apologizes for putting him in that situation. Izuku really is not bothered by it. Toshi doesn't ask if Izuku has decided and Izuku wonders if he's changed his mind. A week later, he says that he's decided to take OfA, if he's still offering it, and Toshi says that he'd be happy to give it to him, if he's really sure. But! There's no way Izuku is going to be able to handle it in his current state. They begin to train (though not until Izuku’s fracture heals). In the meantime, Izuku continues school, and Toshi continues work, and they see each roughly every weekend. Sometimes they'll meet out for lunch or sometimes Inko invites Toshi over for dinner.

(Cover some catch up. Mention Suzuki being annoyed about the edits to the paperwork etc)

It's a few weeks before they start to train, but of course it's much less covert than in canon. Inko knows exactly where they're going; Toshi has discussed it with them over dinners and such. He doesn't tell them that his plan is for Izuku to clean up the trash on the beach until they get there though.

The next several months are a more efficient training than canon. After Toshi is pretty sure Izuku has grown strong enough, they try the power-share again, and Izuku is able to start using the very tiny percentage of OfA, sometimes. It works if he's recently been in physical contact with Toshi, and fades after a minute or two. It's not enough to do anything very heroic, but it is a significant boost to Izuku’s natural strength, allowing him to move items several times his normal weight limit.

(They also find that Izuku can actually use a version of OfA that is more than twice as powerful as his tiny version, only if Toshi is currently in contact with him. However, Izuku hurt himself the first time they did that, so they avoid it until much later.)

They still don't have a perfect grasp on Izuku’s ability to handle it by the time they transfer it to him, but it's better than canon, and they do it earlier so he has more chance to practice. He has at least some ability to use it at half-power before the entrance exam (chapter 5). The only reason he hurts himself so badly there is because he freaked out and wasn't careful.

Training is pretty fun for them. It's more like play than in canon, with Izuku showing off, carrying Toshi around, silly stuff like that. He's moderately less concerned about being a hero, mostly because Toshi is so constantly encouraging so he doesn't worry about it. And he knows that even if he doesn't make it somehow, he's still got Toshi and nothing can take that away.

Aside from training, they still spend a good amount of time together. Events and holidays and such. Izuku meets Suzuki. Toshi invites Izuku (and probably Inko) to his place once or twice, though they still spend most of their time out or at the Midoriyas’ apartment. Inko politely requests that they not stay at Toshi’s place. (She isn't /too concerned, but she just wants them to know that she has some kind of expectations about how they'll handle their relationship. She half expects Izuku to go behind her back in some of those regards.)

Izuku has his 15th birthday not long after they start training (might have to look this one up) or thereabouts. He has mixed emotions about this, and about inviting Toshi to his ‘party’ (probably just a fancy-ish dinner with his mother (maybe dad too?) Since he doesn't have any friends). He wants Toshi there, of course, but he's somewhat embarrassed about still being only 15, and doesn't want to draw attention to it. On the other hand, he's also excited to be getting older, closer and closer to the age that it would be appropriate for he and Toshi to act however they liked. (This birthday scene goes in early middle of chapter.)

More holidays: Christmas, new years, Valentine's day. Maybe just slight mentions of those.

Chapter ends when Toshi wishes Izuku luck at the entrance exam. He kisses him and Izuku is a little shocked because Toshi is rarely if ever the one to initiate that sort of thing. He heads to the exam, excited and confident.

Chapter 5.

Toshi heads to UA (potentially along with Izuku), and goes to watch the exam with his fellow teachers. He's met them several times and they know about his injury and resting form, but only Nedzu knows that Izuku is his soul mate. Most of the others are familiar enough with him to know that he doesn't have one, and many assume that he's one of the few who will never have one.

When the exam starts though, they might be able to tell that he is on edge, excited but nervous. However, they are all focused as well. It's not until Izuku smashes the robot (and everyone is shocked) and Toshi reacts to the pain that they notice the connection between them. He's not incapacitated (like Izuku is) but he is distressed and in pain and having to deal with the commotion from the other teachers. (Choose one teacher to perhaps help him out.)

As soon as he's able, he goes to Izuku. (At some point he calls Inko to let her know what's happened, and she's worried and upset and he has to talk her down until she realizes that he's upset too.) In the infirmary, Izuku is knocked out, which Toshi already knew, could tell because the pain subsided very quickly. Chiyo looks up when he comes in, obviously connecting the dots.

“He made quite a mess of himself,” she tells him, pulling up a chair next to Izuku’s bed for him. She tells him the details of what Izuku broke. “But he'll recover.”

“Thank you,” Toshi says, reaching out to carefully run his hands over Izuku’s arm, laying his hand on the side of his face, thinking about if this was a good idea, etc.

Eventually, Izuku wakes up and they talk. A few people might come by in the meantime. Izuku is eventually clear to go home. Toshi takes him. Izuku asks if he passed, knowing that Toshi was there, and all Toshi can say is that he thought he did a good job, but he doesn't know for sure. (He later finds out that Izuku scored quite well, but refrains from telling him, letting Izuku get the letter from the school.)

He gets a phone call from Izuku after the letters have gone out, and he can feel a sense of excitement even before he picks up. Izuku is crying on the other end. “Why didn't you tell me I made it?!” But he is obviously extremely happy.

Out on patrol or something, Toshi can't stop grinning for the rest of the day. When someone asks him, he just says that he's excited for new opportunities.

Chapter 6

Izuku and Toshi both begin at UA. Izuku has already made friends with a few people from the exam, and of course he knows Bakugo. Bakugo is extra suspicious of him, confused about how he's got a quirk suddenly, and knowing that he's been acting strange the whole past year. He might even suspect that they're both related to izuku’s soul mate, considering the timing.

School is, of course, plenty for them to focus on, but izuku and Toshi are still very focused on each other as well. Toshi treats izuku much the same as in canon, inviting him for lunch and etc, “playing favorites”. But since the other teachers know they're soulmates (at least, some do?) they don't criticize him quite as much for it.

Toshi and izuku continue to progress in their relationship, lightly, balancing their personal and professional relationships. They act very casual around each other and have to be careful not to be too casual in front of the class.

Izuku makes friends, which is sort of new for him. He loves them and wants to be open with them about his situation, but he can't. He's thought about telling, but he knows he can't break the rules they set. It's harder when perhaps the rumor (true rumor? What do you call that?) goes around about how he was affected by the soul link pain when he was little. He can easily tell his friends that it's not bad anymore, but it's hard having to pretend he doesn't know who it is. (Also may have to decide about sub-pairings? Otherwise it will be very hard for any of the other students to talk about their experiences. If they had mates in the class (like most ships) they would likely find out very quickly.)

Most people won't immediately assume it's All Might, even if they spend a lot of time together.

Key point: they hone their energy sharing, as Toshi becomes a bit exhausted some days. Simply being in contact for a while (lunch or something) acts as a recharge for him. When the other staff figure this out, they're much more accepting of izuku hanging out in the staff lounge.

(Need to rewatch to see what the first few weeks are like.)

Maybe include some scenes with Inko.

Chapter 7

This is the USJ incident. Toshi gets caught up in work and is late to help at USJ, but less late than in canon because he feels/hears Izuku crying out for him. Don't have to describe most of the USJ events because it's from Toshi POV, but have to decide when he gets there and if it all goes more smoothly.

The way that Toshi and izuku act towards each other (calling by their first names, extreme familiarity and working together) is what starts to tip off some of the students, though it's not relevant at the time.

The encounter is a little easier this time, with the power-share (this is probably the first time they try it out seriously) and the desperation to save each other (and the others) echoing between them.

Any character who takes notice of their bond and quirk in canon is likely to notice the soul link instead.

After the incident, emotions are running high. This was the first time they were honestly scared of losing each other. They want to hold each other for a very long time. Perhaps they are seen by some of the students (who maybe chalk it up to generic relief over the situation, but would definitely file it away for later). Later, they still don't want to let each other go, and perhaps spend their first night together (not necessarily sexual or anything), Inko having not allowed them to do so before.

Emotional wrap-up; they're scared but calmed by each other's presence. They know they can handle the future together.

END? (of this particular story, probably) Brainstorming, notes, and ideas for further fics in the series

And the notes below: (my shorthand for the characters is IM = Izuku Midoriya, AM= All Might, IMmom = Inko (not shorthand in that case I know lol, I think I didn’t want people reading over my shoulder)) >>>"Touch" sequel

A lot of people actually expressed an interest in this, so let me jot down my ideas-- as well as their ideas.

AM and IM have met, and now keep in touch. How has this changed their lives? Well now whenever they feel a strange pain, they'll call or text each other to make sure they're okay. They're both aware of what their relationship would be, if IM was older, and so is his mom, and so is pretty much everyone else that knows. In fact, most people assume that they're 'together' anyway, and it causes some tension. They try to keep it mostly under wraps, but it's nearly impossible. IM's friends and classmates are sure to notice, and AM's manager thinks maybe they should just come out with it. For their part, IM and AM just want to enjoy each others' presence and keep their moral concerns personal. IM is of course more brave (between the two of them), while AM knows he's 'supposed' to refrain. In public, they're both very good about it.

Some time in the future, after they've really adjusted to each other, and the drama (at least from their friends and family) has died down, they take to being heroes together, as they at some point realize how much more receptive they are when they're together/touching.

Questions! :

--Does IM still get OfA? (I'm leaning towards yes? Most of the rest of the story wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t.)

--How do friends/family react? Some people are jealous? BK particularly? IMmom is as supportive as possible, but she still worries for IM. As time goes on, if IM get OfA, she worries for AM too. (What about AM's cop friend?? I dunno, haven't thought about him much.)

--How do media/people react? Manager wants to tell, because he knows people will find out and it's better to come out with it before they do. But AMIM want to stay private. Perhaps at the tournament, it is no longer possible to avoid media attention. Someone notices AM's discomfort when IM fights TS, notices IM look to the stands for AM before doing something reckless. When they find out, it's all anyone wants to talk about. AM's thin form becomes very useful for avoiding the media.

--Perhaps around then, IM is kidnapped to be used against AM?

--When things are calm, AMIM often text each other just to talk-- sometimes in the night. "I miss you" IM texts. "Is that what you were thinking of?" AM asks, aware that IM is awake and wound up, and winding him up too. This is before they've really worked out how things are supposed to go between them. IM is bold; AM is holding himself back.

-- IM goes to UA, begins to use quirk. -- AMIM work harder at managing IM’s abilities than in canon, because its effects are more obvious on them. -- AM starts at UA as a teacher; AMIM have to hide their link. IM has not told anyone. AM had to tell the staff. -- When the villains attack, AM gets there sooner, as he’s tipped off by their link. Things happen about the same. -- (Should I bother to include that part if nothing is significantly different? Leaning towards no. Maybe just touch on it.) -- At the tournament, that’s when people take notice of AMIM’s link. (IM’s friends have already begun to notice.) -- After that, it’s all anybody wants to talk about. AMIM are in the spotlight, though UA tries to protect them. -- The media begins to gossip about them, some piecing the puzzle together about their quirks. Some guess that IM is AM’s son (and has inherited his quirk). (It’s not unheard of for family to be platonic soulmates.) -- Manager makes them come out with an official statement finally, despite their reluctance. -- IM receives many invitations to intern with heroes. For safety’s sake, they turn them all down, except Torino. -- IM goes to train with Torino, covertly, while AM stays behind to deal with the PR mess. -- Things happen about as usual. Maybe only touch on this part as well? Not super relevant to the AU. -- IM thinks about AM during the fight with HK, and AM wants to get to him, knowing something is wrong, but knows he won’t make it in time. (Remember, “Touch” was 3rd person limited-omniscient. POV can be from IM, AM, and other relevant characters.) -- Would AM be allowed to test IM during the midterms? Maybe gloss over that part. Especially towards the end of Season 2, go more vaguely into the ending, to avoid making it obvious that you have no idea what happens after that. XD; Isolate the emotional core of the story (the emotional drama or problem) to solve in the final scenes, even if it avoids canon entirely. That’s preferable, in fact. Points to write, unrelated to canon occurrences: : -- AMIM want to spend a lot of time together, but they must balance their responsibilities. IMmom is pretty understanding and allows them a lot of freedom. -- Manager (needs name) is less understanding, hounds them to release a press statement. -- Most of their time together is spent in private or secluded places. Obvs, they frequent the beach for training. -- They often text and talk to each other on the phone, nightly if they haven’t seen each other. -- AM is still struggling a little bit with the fact that IM is so young, but he’s impressed by IM’s emotional maturity. -- IM is over the moon about AM, not enduring nearly the moral struggle AM is. He’s not an idiot, and he’s not oblivious, but he doesn’t think that there’s anything particularly wrong with them messing around a little. He’s considerate enough not to wind AM up when he’s busy or they’re in public, although sometimes he can’t help how he feels. (Being ‘turned on’ isn’t really strong enough of a feeling to cross the link; only acting on it is.) -- For his part, AM (at first, at least) tries not to touch himself, or at least only when he thinks IM is sleeping. Eventually they come to the conclusion that that’s not working out well-- and the most logical way to handle it, so as not to inconvenience either of them, is to go at the same time/ at set times. -- That is the most AM allows them to do (hugging/cuddling is totally fine, limited kissing is okay), and even that seems like too much to him, but he compromises with himself because he knows it would be worse if he didn’t. (It’s not as if he’s going to convince a 16-year-old to stop touching himself for 2+ years, and though his own urges are less frequent, it’s been uncomfortable trying to hold back entirely.) He doesn’t allow them to touch each other, and IM is actually pretty okay with this. Well, he respects it, at least. He’s just happy to have AM in whatever capacity he can. Some notes regarding the universe: -- laws regarding consent ages are a bit more lax, given the soulmate thing. AMIM would be more-or-less within their right to do whatever they want with each other, as long as IMmom is okay with it. And even if she weren’t, they could apply to be married, even at IM’s young age, by passing a test that proves they’re soulmates.(I don't think they'll do this. Manager would have a heart attack. ...then again, maybe he'd like the idea…) -- however, there is still certainly a stigma about age-difference relationships, particularly where one party is underage.

Story 1 plot points to mention our resolve:

-- telling IM that his mom already knew

-- AM coming to terms with IM being a fan

-- AM telling IM his real name

-- AM telling manager about IM immediately. (Might be a good point to start with.)

To time skip or not to time skip? I'm leaning towards not. New outline, after I've written a bit.

1. AM talks to manager, Suzuki, and tells him about the whole situation, almost entirely honest. They decide to keep it a secret until AM has a successor. (AM POV)

2. AMIM go on a date, where they talk about both applying to UA. IM wonders what AM is not telling him. They hold hands. AM brings up the paperwork Suzuki wants them to sign, and IM agrees. (IM POV)

3. AM sees something that convinces him to offer OFA to IM. (AM POV)

4. IM begins to train for OfA. (IM POV)

5. IM goes to UA entrance exam. (AM POV)

6. They begin at UA, and try to figure out how to act around each other, after they've had so much private time over the past months. (IM POV)

7. The villains attack UA, AMIM touch-team to beat them, and people start to really put their relationship together. (AM POV)

END S1. Ugh how did this get so long that I have to separate it by season?!

Touch2 titles:

Some related words: Touch, feel, sense, sensation, emotion, Touch, touched, touching, touches, touchstone, touch-tone, aftertouch, finishing touch, retouch, out of touch, in touch, untouched, Touched can mean: physically touched (he touched my arm), lightly mentioned (he touched upon the issue), emotionally moved (he was touched by the story), brought together metaphorically (their lives touched), affected (his life was touched by his decisions) Touch, taste, smell, see, hear

Leaning towards using other ‘touch’ words for different parts of overall story.

Touch - original story

Retouch(ed) - this story

Touch-up - maybe the next part

Finishing touch - the last story (though there might be another in between)

Untouchable - first nsfw side story, before izuku is of age, on the phone with each other, feeling the echoes of their actions.

Untouched - second nsfw side story, when izuku comes of age and they finally get together physically.

Aftertouch - epilogue (years in future, maybe, working together)

In touch - side stories taking place in the timeline of the story

Out of touch - side stories taking place before or after story, or from different character's point of view or about different characters.

Chapter quotes: Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.

-Edwin Hubbell Chapin (Chapter 1, Retouch) The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.

-Helen Keller The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him, a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

-Pearl Buck Aim for your star, no matter how far, you must reach high above and touch your life with love, you must never look back, but charge on! Attack! See your goal your star of desire, see it red hot, feel it burning, you must be obsessed with it to make it your true yearning, be ready my friends for when you truly believe it, you will certainly achieve it and by all of God’s universal laws you will always receive it!

-Bob Smith We do not do well except when we know where the best is and when we are assured that we have touched it and hold its power within us. (lol god this one is awfully literal)

-Joseph Joubert If you can learn from hard knocks, you can also learn from soft touches.

-Carolyn Kenmore, Mannequin: My Life as a Model When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

-Henri Nouwen And that’s everything I’ve got about Touch/Retouch! I might clean up that third chapter and post it some day, but *shrug*.

#elo fics #Dekumight #long post

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fairytellerxo · 5 years ago

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Pretty

This isn’t a draft purge, more like me clearing out my google docs purge. Some lovely person had asked if I wrote for Hank or Riz, so I gave it a go for Hank. It’s angsty but has potential to be absolute fluff, so I may try to do another part, to see how it unfolds.

“She likes pretty boys, I’m not talking the stereotypical pretty boy. She likes them with tattoos, scars, bruises. It’s the art behind those that she finds the prettiest. It’s just this twisted way of looking at the bad or the unsavory and finding the beauty in it that she likes. She saw me, damaged, bruised and bloody. Took me in and nursed me back to health. I fucked it up, I took her for granted, used her as a crutch until I could walk on my own again, then I ran.” Hank chuckled softly. “I saw her for the first time since I took off, she looks amazing. She had a kid on her hip and one walking with her.”

“Aw she has grandkids,” Coco smiled. “That’s fucking cool man.”

He shook his head slowly. “Nah, her kids. Always had a thing for younger women, she was twenty-four when I left. So she’s about thirty now.”

“Dirty old man,” Angel laughed. “Knew I liked you for a reason. I know you have pictures of her.”

Hank nodded as he fished a worn picture from his inside pocket. “Her name is Agustina.” He passed the picture to Angel. “It’s my favorite picture of us.”

“Man, you didn’t age well.” Coco shook his head as he looked at the picture. “You should talk to her though, it’ll fuck you up in the head if you don’t. Trust me, unfinished business is bad business.”

“I for once agree with him.” Angel handed the picture back to Hank. “Tranq, you might get lucky, slide right in and play stepdad to her kids.”

“Maybe she’ll think you’re prettier,” Coco smirked. “You got more scars and art to decipher now.” He shrugged lazily before standing up. “Later guys, keep me updated on Agustina.”

“What do you want?” Agustina shielded her eyes from the sun as she watched the man approach the front porch. “You have no business here.”

“I got unfinished business,” He stopped just short of her, looking at her carefully before sighing. “Agustina…”

“Hank,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “I got nothing here for you anymore. Or rather I got nothing that you need here anymore. You made it clear when you took off in the middle of the night six years ago without a word and then you dodged me for a whole damn year. I moved on.”

“Fair enough,” He sat down beside her and nodded slowly. “I fucked up, I can’t even sit here and lie to you. At the time, I was all about me and my needs. So, when it was all said and done, I took off. Do I regret what I did? Absolutely. Club and family life got to me.” He rubbed the back of his head. “You look like you’re doing well.”

“Both topics you could’ve talked to me about.” She huffed as she looked at him before shaking her head. “I was young but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t think you were gonna wife me up and I was gonna play stepmom to your kids. I figured we would let our story play out and go from there. Didn’t fucking think you’d choose to write me out of your life entirely and without notice? That shit broke me. I wasn’t good for a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” He couldn’t even figure out what else he could say to make anything better or different. He did what he did and he owned up to it. “I can’t change what I did but I’d like us to be friends if possible.”

“I got a kid to think about, I’m not sure if I need another friend,” she shook her hair out of its bun. “I hope you know, that all you had to do was talk to me and tell me you wanted out. I wouldn’t have hated you or any shit like that but you fucking broke my heart dude.” She rubbed her face. “I don’t know.”

“Mommy,” a little girl walked out of the house. “Can I get another cookie?”

“No, it’s close to lunchtime baby,” Agustina turned and smiled at her daughter. “After lunch though, okay? Lox, I’ll be inside in a minute.”

“Okay,” Lox stared between the pair. “I want some fries, okay mommy?”

“Aw, anything for my princess!” Agustina chuckled. “Go clean up your books and toys if they’re all over the place. I don’t want to trip again.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Hank looked at the woman. “Looks exactly like you.”

She nodded slowly and grinned. “She’s my world, I almost can’t believe she’ll be six in a few weeks. It’s so damn crazy.” She stood up and stretched. “Time flies.”

“She’s six?” He glanced up at her again before he stood up, easing into his full height, he towered over the brunette before he looked at her carefully. “She’s six?”

Agustina shrugged. “You, made a decision and you left, so I made a decision and raised her on my own. She’s my only kid but sometimes I’ll watch the neighbor’s son because he’s adorable and I’m in the midst of a very serious baby fever season right now.” She shook her head. “I didn’t owe you shit, so don’t look at me like that.”

“You had my kid and didn’t say shit to me?” He grumbled. “That’s my kid.”

“And? I tried to track you down for a year, every time I would pop up at the club, you’d have your boys cover for you. You were a piece of shit back then. I hope you’ve changed for the better now though.” She shrugged again. “Lox is my love. She was created out of love but I wasn’t going to force you into a life you obviously didn’t want. So, here I am. Living and thriving with my little sidekick. It’s your move, Hank. It’s your fucking move.”

#hank loza #tranq #mayans mc #mayans #i did my best but we'll see how the second part goes #if it sucks #let me know #if it's cool #just let me know too #I'M SO NERVOUS

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carpe-lumxn · 5 years ago

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@collidingxworlds | continued from here (x)

Okay, so at first Lucifer delivered some boundaries of what can and can't be done in order to try and seek a compromise. According to Crowley's sullen reply it was not as effective. Then again, Crowley was not keen at all to give up his view of Earth, willing to fight tooth and nail for it again. Why someone would fight so hard for an unfinished prototype, Lucifer did not understand. Alright already. You are right, changing one's worldview was a process that required multiple steps. Perhaps Lucifer was asking for suggestions in order for Crowley to have no reason to object to Hell anymore, but his choice was clear-- he wanted the company of humanity and humanity only. No matter how flawed it was. So. Despite how problematic it was, it would be wiser to let the matter rest for now. Meanwhile, Lucifer explicitly stated that she was here for suggestions for improvement, which was somewhat true, so she might as well make the most of it.

Bear with me, princess, she thought as Crowley rolled his eyes. You could survive 6000 years as a demon, you could survive this brief conversation. She could be patient, luckily. So Lucifer huffed, sat back, crossed her arms, and listened.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at Crowley's attempt to appease her pride. Arguing that she knew Earth better than other demons. Well. Only to a certain extent, Lucifer never visited the surface for long. Then she realised that Crowley was justifying this from her fashion choice. Ah. It was nighttime, so he wasn't able to see her full ensemble. Lucifer crossed her ankles, flashing her dragon-scaled spats and the tattered ash edges of her culottes. Very strange to wear spats in the 21st century, was it not? Yes, they, along with gold makeup, were incredibly fashionable with the Archangels. 'Tis a dead end, sweetie, nothing to see here.

Maybe it was petty, yes, but Lucifer scoffed at they’ll listen to you, we’ve always have. It was a very delicate balance, power. She chewed the tip of the cigar. No can do. Lucifer did not trust so much given out. “I see you’ve never met Behemoth and Leviathan. Or Asmodeus and his cult. You are right, some demons do need to hear that, but saying all that at once? Hmm. There's also a crowd who would not care much for that, a crowd who would see that as degrading, and another crowd... well. Bit hard to explain about that crowd." She waved her hand. "Fugetaboutit."

So Lucifer was feeling confident at first. And then Crowley talked about the politics, how Lucifer sold fake sights just like the incompetent political leaders on this planet. Okay, that caused Lucifer's patience to wane, because that wasn’t true. There was an end in sight, they just had to push for it. Second of all, Crowley really was using a lot of keywords that ticked her off. Embarrassing, lazy, choice, change, etc. Alright, so maybe Crowley was smarter and more observant than Lucifer had thought. Lucifer did squint really hard at him during the "do nothing" accusation, however, as well as his proposal to remain independent. Yes, as if she didn't have other places to be.

“And if, despite your contribution, nothing improves…?”

Lucifer was surprised that Crowley knew not only how to accurately describe Epicurus' key ideas, but synthesise from it. How he had used it, on the other hand? Arguing that the best things were something to work towards? Okay. Lucifer would have laughed, or cried. Maybe both. Good thing Lucifer had become a little too fatigued by that belief to bother much. She didn't let herself be fazed because of this and so simply nodded along.

At the innuendo, Lucifer's eyes widened for a split second, but a blink later and she reverted back to a neutral face. Yikes, what a whiplash. She frowned a little at whether Crowley was reaffirming about the lack of Holy water or whether Crowley was joking about her lack of tolerance towards alcohol. Fine, that was a very solid double entendre. To add to the insult, the brandy was actually very delicious. Very smooth, with woody undertones and a nice, vanilla aftertaste. Okay, she was definitely wrong. Lucifer wasn’t feeling thirsty anymore, truly, so she put the brandy back onto the table.

“Technologies. Technologies in Hell. They’re… often ineffective against the environment. The root problem isn't the bacteria, it's the shifting tectonic plates. Every time they move, ground water leaks into the corridors and the rooms. And with water comes life. Course, solving that would require a complete do-over. Believe me. I've checked with the demons who developed them. We did experiment with Roman herringbone brickwork designed to withstand earthquakes once. Didn't work.” But a huff through the nostrils implied a curiosity about whether the aforementioned technologies could finally work. “On the bright side, at least we can't get sick from it.

“Beelzebub. Yes, you worked under Beelzebub. They’re infamous for being intensive with their work ethics. Why did you not weasel yourself out? Assign yourself under a better, more relaxed Lord, then Beelzebub won't have much dominion over you anymore. All you need to do is to forge the right documents. Put someone else in your place for karma, even, you're smart enough to do that. You only get into trouble if you’re caught, after all. And if that helps with your situation? I say that it's for all the better.”

A sense of panic had risen inside of her when Lucifer realised that she could not recognise Crowley. And even more when Crowley announced who he had been— an angel who made the stars. Well. That could explain why he wanted to be so detached. He was an outlier amongst the rebels. Combined with living on Earth rather than in Hell... what if that’s why Crowley was able to survive the Holy water. Because he still was, at the core, an angel. True, all demons want closure in regards to that fact, but again, what was a starmaker doing on the wrong side?

Why? Lucifer was about to ask. Why did you fall? But at the sight of Crowley’s panicked expression, Lucifer realised just how deep of a grave she had just dug. No no no, focus. He may miss being an angel like everyone else, but he was still fallen. They could start with some sort of retribution, then move onto giving context. Yes, they could do that.

“At least the past is over and done with now. I…” come on. What should she say? "Think it was unfair.” There you go. “I think it was unfair that that had happened to you, the fall, and you have all the rights to be furious.”

There was some truth— in the beginning, Lucifer did feel guilt at leading a failed revolution. And just as she thought that she had cleared it away, it had chosen to waltz back into her life at the worst moment. Well no, she's not going to let that piece of doubt get the better of her. There was work to be done.

"Very well. Perhaps I can never see Earth through your eyes just as much as you can’t see it through mine. But supporting it is still problematic. Look at it this way. For…” a demon. But then he did not see himself completely as a demon. “Someone like you, you are very sympathetic. More than what is safe. So perhaps a story can help you reconsider this.

"You’re working on a little project called humanity. Perhaps you're tasked to work on something small, like painting the chrysalises of caterpillars, or a bigger group effort like sculpting mountains out of stone." Lucifer's gaze drifted to the ground. If only they knew. "Despite your small contribution, you understand that all this is going to pay off into a very successful project. Then the Almighty announces that you all are only granted six days to finish building the Earth. You need more time. All of you need more time. And you understand that in order to successfully finish your craft, you can't perform under such a tight deadline.”

Lucifer fiddled with her lapels. "You know, I've looked at human books out of curiosity sometimes, to see how they view this world. Alfred Russel Wallace once theorised about evolution: that the current versions of Earth's living organisms are a finalised product of several prior drafts. Well they somewhat are… just under a tight deadline. And you think to yourself: those aren't even the best examples of what we are able to produce. Some were downright rushed. What amazing things would we be able to do if we were given more time?"

She unconsciously chewed her lower lip. Maybe this was a mistake. It had always been a mistake to be this open. But the serpent had made stars once, so he was an artist of sorts. If Lucifer was lucky, perhaps he'd understand the grief too familiar to Lucifer. If Lucifer was unlucky… well. Whatever he did, it will only be another firm reminder for Lucifer to do better next time.

"And then rather than being presented a compromise, even if it was just one more day, what are you given? A war. Not only a war, but one that divided you and your friends. And, and, not only divide, but cause them to turn against you. In extreme cases, your loved ones are the ones who fight you on that battlefield, because they know that you love them too much to hurt them. They know that they'll be rewarded and become celebrated for "fighting against their personal desires in order to do what is right"." She gave out a cold laugh. Lucifer had a scar in her chest. It was the one where Michael plunged her flaming sword inside from behind her back. No matter how many corporations Lucifer swapped out of, the scar remained, a reminder of her mistake of trusting Michael too much, too soon.

“And then you and your coworkers become punished together. But not just with something temporary like being jailed, no." Lucifer pressed the cigar butt into the ashtray and miracled her good cigarettes, finally. Maybe Crowley will complain about the stench of burning cloves and yarrow, but that was beyond her concern. "Well. You know the rest."

She shot a sharp glare at the serpent, at the starmaker. "Do you see my point?"

Lucifer let out a long, quiet sigh as she sat back, her gaze on the other end of the room. “I understand your distance. I don’t understand your complicity. Well. Somewhat. Even so, I don't understand why you would want to stand for a symbol of exploited labour and Her hubris. And I know that there is no benefit for my own kind to have to stay in a dark tunnel forever when there is something better at the other side. You... could argue that the really good things, the best ones, are the pleasures we have to work for," she quoted in an ironic attempt to lighten the mood.

Lucifer sighed again and shook her head in confusion. "I bet you didn't fall for something as grave as I did, starmaker. But my point still stands, that gives you all the more rights to seek retribution for what She had done to you. Don’t you wonder whether your life could be better than it is now? Don’t you want justice, too? Don't you want respect?”

#collidingxworlds #the Earth is a Libra (canonverse)#//hi! Tagging your multimuse blog I hope that's alright ^^U

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revivedandabandonedkids · 6 years ago

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The Portrait of Afuro Terumi (01~05)

! Double Gods

! Unfinished

01.

There's a long corridor in the deep of the mansion, and a giant room at the end of it that Father tells Hiroto to keep away from.

"Why?" He asks whenever he catches a rare chance to occupy Father's time.

The answers are different every time.

"There's a cool draft seeping through. You might catch a cold."

"There's nothing at the other end to entertain you with."

"It's a dusty dusty room. You might catch a cough."

None of them are convincing enough.

He turns to Hitomiko-nee-san once to see if he can get a more satisfactory explanation, but his sister merely rolls her eyes and say. "It's because the hall is haunted. Duh."

Hiroto can't tell if she's trying scare him off or if she's just tired of trying to come up with an excuse, but the answer sends shivers down his spine.

"Have you ever been?"

She scoffs. "Of course not. Father told us to stay out for a reason."

She's a goodie-two-shoes like that.

So Hiroto asks on.

"You might get lost in the dark."

"The door is locked and I've lost the key."

It's obvious that with the older he gets, the less patience Father has for the question. The answers turn short and clipped, when eventually it turns into a single-

"Just keep away."

And then he stops talking to Father altogether.

02.

His curiosity stays unquenched.

03.

It's easy to get bored inside the mansion.

It doesn't matter how ridiculously large a house is, once you get used to the bounds, the place settles in a quiet thrum of mundaneness, and Hiroto's spent years trapped within those walls.

It's ridiculous, how the mansion's settled on a mountain. Isn't it awfully inconvenient to get to society? Maybe the land's cheaper on the mountains, but it's not like his family lacks money, so what's the excuse there, Father?

The Kira mansion looks like one of those CGI layered Haunted House In The Deep Of The Woods On A Stormy Night in horror movies. Clearly the best place to raise your children.

Hiroto used to freak out at night when the shadows stretched too long on the ceiling and the air conditioner whirred too loudly in his spacey room, but as he grew, the fear started altering into gaping loneliness. Then even that was gone, and all that was left was emptiness.

It's a miracle that he hasn't developed some sort of emotional trauma from all the neglect.

Or maybe Hiroto is traumatized, and just doesn't know how to identify it.

He can't wait to be old enough to get his own place. A place far far far away.

And that's when Hiroto gets the first idea of the secrets residing in the house.

When he tells his future escape plans to his friend(?) Haizaki, the dark skinned underclassman only nods thoughtfully and says, “I’d be dying to move out of a cursed house too.”

Hiroto narrows his eyes. “Cursed?” That’s the second time he’s heard that word applied to his residence, but it’s the first time he’s hearing it from an outsider. “What do you mean cursed?”

“There’s a rumor.” Haizaki seems reluctant to answer. “People talk about it all the time: There’s a ghost, or an angry spirit of some sort? Anyway, it supposedly killed a bunch of dudes before finally being sealed inside a secret chamber. I wouldn’t know. I just think your house is creepy.”

Creepy it is. Cursed? Hiroto doesn’t know.

“I think I know what chamber you’re talking about.” Hiroto tells him. Because what other room would be considered as a secret chamber other than the room he’s prevented from entering?

Is that the reason it’s forbidden to him? Because his Father is a superstitious shithead? Why keep living in the house, then?

“Seriously? That chamber exists?” Haizaki’s eyes widen. “That’s freaky.”

“You wanna come see it?” Hiroto offers with a smirk.

Haizaki scoffs. “Because we both know that you don’t have the guts to poke around by yourself.”

Hiroto flushes darkly, trying to uphold some sort of composure as the elder one present. “That’s not- I’m just granting you the chance because you look interested.” So really, Haizaki should be thanking him.

Haizaki guffaws, and it’s a very unattractive voice, mind you. “I’m not risking the chance of getting cursed, rumor or not. You’re on your own, buddy.”

"You still believe in sorcery and witchcraft?" Hiroto taunts. "What a baby."

For once, Haizaki doesn't take the bait like the easily-riled-up dumbass he is, and simply retorts. "Like you're one to talk. You wouldn't be yapping at me to go with you if you weren't afraid of it yourself."

Shit. He actually has a point. Except-

"I'm not afraid." Hiroto narrows his eyes. "The only reason I haven't gone into the room is because Father explicitly told me not to."

"And you listen to him since when?"

Hiroto shuts up. He hates it when other people are right, especially if "other people" is Haizaki.

04.

"Why am I not allowed to go in that room?" Hiroto asks. It's been years since he last questioned about it.

"You can't just barge in here whenever you want, Hiroto." His Father has a look of displeasure on his face, probably upset since Hiroto bursted into his home office abruptly without even a knock.

"Tell me why I not allowed in. The truth. Not some half-assed lie."

"I thought you've dropped that childhood nonsense already."

Hiroto feels his throat closing up. His clenched fists shake. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm your father, Hiroto."

Hiroto scowls.

"Hitomiko-nee-san says it's haunted. There's a rumor outside that it's cursed." He says bluntly.

"There's no such thing as ghosts or curses, Hiroto. You're the heir of the Kira company. We don't indulge in fantasies or superstition." His Father furrows his eyebrows condescendingly. "You should know better."

05.

And that's why Hiroto's sneaking into the Forbidden Corridor, glaring at the giant door in front of him.

So there is a room here.

Well, that's pretty much a given, since a corridor leading to nowhere would be a pretty idiotic design.

It looks like a fairly plain door. It's wooden and the paint is peeled. From the bright beam of the flashlight on his phone, he can see that there's dust all over the surface of the doorknob. This place hasn't seen any visitors in a long while.

"Listen, I can't stop you if you still want to get cursed, but word of advice: Don't interact with anything. Don't touch anything. Don't respond to any noise. In and out. Higher chance of survival."

It's not like Hiroto needs survival tips from Haizaki Ryouhei. That would most likely increase his chances of getting his soul sucked out of his body or whatever.

The door makes an ominous creak when it cracks open.

It's brighter than he expected. There's a beam of afternoon sunlight spilling through a ceiling window. He turns off the flashlight.

It's an almost empty storage room. That is to say, it would be empty, if not for the enormous life sized painting strung up on the wall to the far side of the room.

It's a portrait of a person. Or maybe an ethereal being. The depicted subject sat regally in the center, with a Greek chiton draping over their slender figure. Long blonde hair the shade of melted sunlight flows down their shoulders, shrouding a pale, fair face with elegant eyebrows arching over striking red eyes and a teasing smile twitching at the edge of their mouth. Between their left fingers is an elegant wine glass, a golden fluid fills it to the brim. The background is a muddled mistiness.

It looks like a very ordinary painting. The frame has little cracks littered all over. Under the frame lays a caption:

Afuro Terumi (????) It is said that this painting brings happiness.

Hiroto snorts. Some cursed room. There's nothing but what looks like a religious painting. Is this what Father is so amendment on keeping Hiroto away from? Does Father even know what's inside this room? Why would he hang a (seemingly expensive) picture where no one could see it?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Hiroto crosses his arms in front of his chest and tips his chin up in a mock sneer. "They say you're cursed." He says loudly, fixing his gaze on the being portrayed in the center of the canvas- Afuro Terumi, probably. "Well, they say the room is cursed, but you're the only one here, aren't you? What do you say?"

Afuro Terumi's face breaks into a wide smile. "I'd tell you they're right. I am cursed."

-[Next]

Okay just to be clear, this is still some what a wip.

I have most of the plot figured out, and have written about 1/3 of the entire story already, but I have a reputation of not finishing wips. So.

I don't know when the next part will be out yet. Keep a lookout if interested. Ignore this if not.

Bear in mind that this is written at the spur of the moment. I put like 0 effort into this, but still spent a lot of time because typing takes a considerable amount of time oof.

I am not going to apologize for putting 0 effort, because I wrote this piece purely to entertain myself. It's very very self-indulgent. And also because it's just not worth it putting too much heart into my ina eleven stories.

Nothing against the ina eleven fandom. I love this community, I really do, but it gets tiring sometimes and I don't have the energy to fight off bad emotions. I'm only trying to protect myself.

Being a fanfiction writer isn't easy work. I've been writing for roughly six years, and only recently did I come to this realization that as a writer, I don't need to write to please anyone else. It's my own opinion that matters. I write for small fandoms and very rare pairings, so feedback never comes easy. I'm sure other writers can relate. No feedback makes it way too easy to doubt oneself. That had taken a toll on my emotional health in the past, over and over again. Then I decided that I'm done with doubting myself over a hobby. So I no longer ask for comments, because I don't want to set myself up for disappointment.

There had been a time in my life that I thought I would stop writing. At least stop putting my writing online. There's just no motivation for it. But then someone came up to me and told me that they love my stories, that I'd convinced them to ship a rarepair, that they want to try writing now. That changed my mind, and helped shape my mindset the way it is today. I don't need to write for a crowd. I just need to write for myself, and the very few who enjoy my stories as well.

This rant turned out to be more personal than I'd intended, and ended on a happier note than I thought it would. So if you're still here, advice for other struggling writers: find your audience, your support system. Find those who are willing to discuss ideas with you. It gets better from there. ♡

#Inazuma Eleven #inazuma eleven orion #My writing #Kira Hiroto #Afuro Terumi #anyway i'm just throwing this out of my hands thank

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dianaagron · 6 years ago

Text

untitled unfinished doctors au

fandom: digimon pairing: mimi/taichi word count: 5k of glorious basically unrevised drafts summary: digimonless au where everyone is a doctor and they’re in their 30s cause that’s fun warnings: it has sex in it because apparently other than finishing stuff i’m also unable to not write mature bits in them additional: but it’s been sitting in my computer for years and it’s so long so i might as well share what i have cause at least this way i won’t feel like i completely wasted 5k of writing you know

hello friends i’m alive and sad so i thought why not make everyone else sad as well with this piece i started writing like three summers ago and never finished because i’m unable to write a chaptered story and my mind has an attention span of 12 days after which my creativity just goes blank. happy new year tho!

Looking out of the only window in the small room she shares with one other fellow neurosurgeon of the National Center for Global Health and Medicine Hospital, Tachikawa Mimi sees a clear blue sky painted with just enough fluffy clouds to make her feel lighter after pulling her third all nighter of the week.

The desk calendar is still telling her that it’s July, and if it wasn’t for her mobile phone lighting up on its own and showing her the date, she would’ve still believed that sunny, summer day belonged to the previous month. As it turns out, it wasn’t just her phone coming to life on its own, but as distracted as she was (between the lack of sleep and the clouds) she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her.

“Is there an emergency?” She asks, a little worried, phone propped between her ear and her left shoulder to be able to get the white coat she’d left resting on the small couch on the opposite side of the room.

“No, I was just checking if you were still here.” The deep voice coming from her phone explains. She grabs the coat, and fiddles with it until she finds the badge (she almost curses when she spots it in between the two cushions of the couch).

“Yeah, I’m in the office.” She replies, with her half-whiny tone she’s sure he’s grown accustomed to by now.

“I can see that.”

Mimi’s hand flies to her chest, the sudden noise of his voice behind her startling her and making her drop her phone to the floor. This time she curses out loud, not bothering to turn to him until she checks that the phone is still intact (thank god her mother sent her that pink rubber case last month); when she does, he’s scratching the back of his head, waiting for her acknowledgement.

“Sorry.” He tries, an apologetic smile masking what she knows is complete, utter fear of an outburst. It’s funny, because she is the fellow, and not him. She thinks she might as well just spare him for today, so she turns around, making her long hair flow in the air and meeting his eyes with a bright smile, surprising him.

“Did you know it’s August?” She absentmindedly asks him while wearing the white coat at last.

“How long has it been since you last slept in your bed?” His tone is worried, but she’s already walked past him and out of the door of the studio, and she doesn’t look back to check how his dark brows are furrowed and his arms crossed against his chest. She knows all that, and she also knows he’s going to follow her out on the corridor and down on the first floor, up until they reach the cafeteria.

“I can tell the head supervisor a word, you know.” He doesn’t ask, and she only mumbles a “mmh” in response.

Grabbing two trays from the stack, she keeps one for herself and shoves - a little too hard, and on purpose - the other to him.

“You should really get something other than coffee.” He tries again and this time as they wait for the order she has already placed. She turns around to face him, honey irises staring into a pair of grey ones, completely blank.

“Jyou,” she starts, voice so promising that his brows shoot up in amazement, “don’t dad me.”

Jyou’s facial expression falls in what Mimi has taken a habit of calling the ‘staring into the void mode’, which is one of the three common reactions she gets when they talk (she keeps track).

“Then you might as well just refer to me as Doctor Kido if you don’t want me to be considerate of you.”

He’s pouting, and she giggles. That’s the Jyou she knows, the Jyou she’s known for more than half of her life. Mimi grabs the coffee, now waiting for her on the counter, and the chamomile, placing both of them on her own tray and moving fast to the self service area with sugar and spices. Soy milk, two shakes of sugar and many of cinnamon after, Mimi meets her attending supervisor at the table on the far left, the one near the window. It’s their favorite, and she can’t remember ever having sat on another table.

“You know,” she starts, mixing her coffee before closing the cup with the plastic lid, “you should step up your game a little. That chamomile isn’t going to bring the chicks to your yard.”

He frowns, and she stares at him until he feels the urge to fix his glasses on the crook of his nose. That’s how she knows she’s won, again.

“Who even puts cinnamon in their coffee?” He pouts, again, and even if he didn’t intend the retort to come out as a question she answers him nonetheless, which she knows is a way to annoy him and make him wish he had just kept his mouth shut, for once.

“It’s perfectly normal, you know? You wouldn’t have the option of getting coffee with cinnamon syrup if people didn’t like it, and what can you do if the cafeteria of the place where you’re employed doesn’t include flavors? You add powdered cinnamon, that’s what you do.” Mimi takes a sip of her drink, savoring it with her eyes closed even after she puts the cup down on the table again. When she opens her eyes, Jyou is holding his cheeks with his hands, stretching the skin of his face downwards in the Jyou Kido certified basic reaction number two: The Scream, a painting by Norwegian expressionist Edvard Munch (yes, art was her favorite subject back in the day, that decade and a half ago, more or less). “Besides, you’re glad you have me as your fellow. The whole hospital knows I’m the prettiest one.”

Jyou breathes out loudly, and then grimaces before gulping down his chamomile as if he was gulping down his sorrows.

Jyou’s sitting on the metal bench just a couple of feet away from Mimi’s open locker where she’s hanging the white coat, now replaced by the blue scrubs. She walks to him, sitting next to him and mimicking his hand movements, thoroughly massaging the insides of her palms, not bothering to turn to him.

“Sora asked me if we want to get some drinks later. They’re meeting at The Island at eleven.”

“Who’s them?” Mimi wonders out loud, curious. The three of them - herself, Jyou and Sora, who had been one of Jyou’s best friend since med school - usually tried to meet at least once a week at the cocktail bar not far from NCGM, a cute place popular among the doctors of their hospital. Yes, there had been times when other friends tagged along, but that “they” wasn’t so easy to figure out, given the number of mutual colleagues the three of them shared.

Jyou shrugs, unable to give her an actual answer.

“I have no idea. It’ll probably be just us and her colleague in cardio - you know, that one whom you said looked like a lizard. She said you can tell Koushiro and Miyako about it, if you want.”

Typical Sora, Mimi thinks, always trying to look out for others. She makes the mental note of sending a text in the group chat she shares with her ex classmates, and then she stands up, holding out a hand for Jyou to grab, helping him to sit up and walk to the operating room.

As it turns out, it wasn’t the lizard colleague Sora brought to the little gathering, but a much younger guy none of them had ever met. The young man, messy blonde hair half hidden by a baseball cap worn backwards, is sitting next to Sora, laughing fondly when Mimi and Jyou, with Miyako and Koushiro, sit down at the table they had reserved.

“You’ve made it!” Is Sora’s delighted comment as Mimi plops down on the chair across from her, feeling the weight of the accumulated tiredness of a week of all-nighters and naps on the uncomfortable couch of her studio finally down on her shoulders. She lets her head rest on the wooden table, arms left hanging down and swinging.

“I’m exhausted.” She lets out as her last dying breath.

Miyako hops down on the spot to her left, stretching her arm to reach Mimi’s hair, moving a wavy lock away from the eyes of her friend to check if she had fallen asleep as soon as she’d hit the wooden surface.

“Hi exhausted -” the voice belonging to the young man speaks up, and the beginning of the joke is all it takes for Mimi to come to life again, raise her head as well as her hand, surfacing from behind the table, to shoot a dangerous look to the newcomer and try to stop him before he can say “ - I’m Takeru.”

Takeru smiles, his eyes curving into two cute half moons, and Mimi’s head falls back to the table with a loud noise.

“Damn.” Miyako comments, arms crossing over her chest and eyes checking out Takeru, looking clueless there right next to Sora. “I didn’t think anyone else under their forties would ever dare to pull a dad joke.” She grabs one of the open beer bottles in the center of the table and lifts it up in Takeru’s direction. “Impressing. I’ve only ever seen Taichi look cool with a dad joke up until now.”

The younger one raises his brows, visibly pleased by the unexpected compliment coming from Miyako. “Why, thank you.” He replies, lifting his own glass to exchange the unspoken toast between the two of them.

“Yagami tells dad jokes?” Jyou asks, a little incredulous. Miyako nods while still sipping down her beer.

“Mmmh. Pretty often. Turns out the patients like it. Makes him look goofy.”

Mimi opens an eye, sneaking a look at her friend explaining. “Who’s Yagami?” She asks weakly, but curious nonetheless, still half lost in the conversation. She tries to sit up, feeling her head hurt as soon as she comes to an almost standing position with her back, so much she has to hold her forehead with her hand to put some pressure on it and relieve the momentary pain.

“Yagami from Trauma and Emergency.” It’s Jyou who replies her, but Miyako who specifies. “I’m his fellow.”

“Aaaah.” Mimi finally understands, turning to face Sora right across the table. “The hot one.”

Sora nods, a finger pointing in her direction in a sign of understanding. They had seen him in the cafeteria a couple of times, or walking through the corridors to get to the Trauma and Emergency Center, and she remembers Mimi’s open remarks about the width of his biceps.

“Is he single?” Mimi asks, now turning to Miyako. On the other side of the purple haired girl, Koushiro shakes his head incredulous. “Really.”

Mimi shoots him a look, showing him a grimace. “Yes, really.”

MIyako shrugs, holding out her hands on each side of her as to push back her two friends.

“How would I know? I’m his fellow, not his trustee.”

Mimi nudges her waist, glancing maliciously at her. “You call him Taichi.”

Miyako scoots left, getting out of Mimi’s reach only to find Koushiro, on that side, already showing her a mischievous grin that mirrors the one of his best friend, and he’s ready to attack. “Does Taichi let all the fellows call him that?” And again, Mimi, “Does Taichi like it when you call him that?” And Miyako has to slam down her now empty beer bottle on the table, so hard that Jyou is already halfway through the panicking mode as he foresees the bottle being broken into hundreds of tiny little pieces of glass, scattered everywhere in the bar, resulting in a lifelong ban from The Island impending on them. And Jyou doesn’t want that.

The glass of the bottle doesn’t crack, but the noise is loud enough to make the group - and the entire place - go silent for a couple of slow, embarrassing seconds. Sora mutters an “Incredibly sorry”, or something along those lines, and it’s Miyako the first one to break the ice again, wanting to have the last word.

“I’m his fellow.” She starts, talking fast with her lips drawn into a thin line, eyes moving quickly from Mimi on her right to Koushiro on her left to not give them the opportunity to stop her once more. “I’m well past the crush stage, believe me, after you see his eating habits during break everyone would be past it.” Miyako stares in front of her lost in her thoughts, before turning one last time to Mimi, and looking a great deal more calm, to add: “Besides, he’s more of your type.”

Mimi just stares at her.

“My type?” She asks, unsure.

It’s Koushiro the one to answer her, butting in the conversation he was not long before a part of. “You know, buff.”

“Hunky.” Sora continues.

“Remember the body builder?” Jyou adds turning from Sora to Miyako and Koushiro. Koushiro points at him, his eyes going wide. Then, he oppresses a snort only because of the look Mimi flashes him.

“How do you all even know my type?” Mimi demands, an octave higher. Miyako shrugs back, clearly not impressed by how offended her friend is pretending to be.

“We all know each other’s type. It’s, like, basic knowledge. Jyou’s type is the down-to-earth woman that can take care of him (here, Jyou grimaces, turning away the bottle he’s holding in a defeated manner), Sora wants the family oriented and -”

Miyako’s explanation is cut short by Takeru, who’s now fixing the hair free from his cap, turning to Sora as fast as a lightning bolt and putting a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly to turn her attention to him.

“You like family oriented guys?” He asks her directly.

Sora starts with a “Well…”, but it’s Mimi who replies, confirming Miyako’s statement. “She does.”

Takeru’s eyes widen together with his smile, and the rest of the table is left wondering how exactly can Sora’s taste in men bring so much joy to a guy much younger than her as Takeru.

“Do you want me to introduce you to my brother? I’ve been trying to hook him up with someone for years but he just doesn’t want to hear it.”

Takeru’s smile is expectant, and Sora has to blink a couple of times before coming to the conclusion that one of the residents in cardiology that she’s in charge of just offered her a possible date. But Mimi is faster than her again, and before Sora can remember how to make her vocal cords work again, she’s already asking the important question to Takeru.

“Who’s your brother? Do you have a picture of him?”

Takeru nods, taking out his phone from the pocket of the jeans he’s wearing.

“Do you know Doctor Ishida? He works at the hospital as well.” He lets out casually while unlocking the phone.

Sora’s eyes widen as she turns to Mimi, and at the same time Miyako’s hand flies to Mimi’s shoulder, shaking her with force. The reply to Takeru’s answer comes in unison from the three women, taking the clueless resident by surprise.

“The god?”

Takeru looks up from his phone, startled.

“Doctor Ishida from oncology?” Jyou comes to their aid, and Takeru nods. Then Koushiro wonders: “Ishida is family oriented? I’d never tell.”

“Is that what he goes by now?” He chuckles. “I know, he gives off that vampire vibe sometimes. But he’s actually nice.”

“One of the few associates with some logic.” Jyou comments.

“So,” Takeru turns to Sora again, showing her the lit screen of his phone, “do you want his number?”

Nightshifts can be quite endearing, if you ask her. Sure, she’d rather be home snuggling her favorite pillow as she lies down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed (or, as a variation, as she is being laid down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed), but night duty is not too terrible when the hospital offers those Oscar-worthy performances.

Like this couple who’s yelling at each other as they wait in the hall, the man laying on the stretcher and the woman beside him hitting him repeatedly with her purse, and the first aid doctors pleading her to stop just as many times as she releases her frustration at - as Mimi had guessed he was - her husband. On the other side of the man, another woman is standing, her own hands stroking her arms crossed over the chest; everything about her screams “uncomfortable”, and the sight does nothing but fuel the entertainment of the row of employees behind the front acceptation desk.

“What’s going on?”

A male doctor approaches the bunch, but Mimi doesn’t turn to check who it is, afraid she’ll miss a turn of events from the show unfolding before her eyes. She does answer him nonetheless, though, as everybody else seems too interested in what’s happening to reply.

“Are you asking for the medical report or the facts?”

“Whatever’s more fun.” Replies the doctor. Mimi grins, and she notices with the corner of her eyes the secretary who had been standing next to her making space for the doctor, and the latter bending his back and resting his elbows on the desk to enjoy the show more comfortably.

“Dude broke his weenie during an encounter with his girlfriend. They had to call his wife. He’ll probably need two operations if she keeps hitting him like that.” Mimi explains, trying to stay cool as she reveals what the party had gathered up until then.

“Her bag seems heavy.” A resident behind her adds, and she thoughtfully nods.

“Ouch. That’s harsh.” The doctor comments.

“I mean, it’s understandable.” Mimi points out, her shoulders raising and then dropping again. She feels the man beside her turn his head to her, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the wife who’s now yelling something along the lines of “I would too if I were twenty! It’s you who should’ve kept it in your pants!”.

“Been cheated on?” He asks Mimi.

“I was the other woman.” She admits easily, without putting too much weight on it.

“Impressive.” He replies. When Mimi turns her head to the right where he’s placed next to her, her eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

There are three things she notices, in the following order. First, his face is relaxed, and he’s offering a smile different from those ones she’s used to get whenever the news of her having been the lover of a taken man slips out (God, if she’s so over those). Second, he’s closer to her than she’d expected; he’s still laying his forearms on the surface of the desk, hands collected, but his head is tilted to her side not far from her, and Mimi quickly wonders about how tall he can be, if even bent down he’s still at her eye level. Third, and most importantly, she realizes who exactly he is.

“Wanna go get coffee?”

And just like that, at 1:05 am of a heated August night Taichi Yagami is offering a way out of her night shift, and in all honesty Mimi is not really sure she can say yes, but that doesn’t stop her from turning around and leading the way to the cafeteria on the other side of the building (when she gets home, in the morning, she tells herself that everyone was gathered at the front desk anyway, so it wasn’t like they’d notice her missing).

As it turns out, Yagami Taichi of the Trauma and Emergency Center ("aspiring head of the department") had been an associate at NCGM for a couple of years already, though he was not much older than Mimi, with only a two years difference. Mimi had lightly bowed when he had properly introduced himself, reminding herself that he was an actual surgeon, and she was still a fellow, and as unused to good custom as she was, the image of Jyou scolding her had been too clear in her mind to skip formalities. But then Doctor Yagami had waved his hand so hurriedly to stop her from bending further that she had to go for the good, old, western way, offering her hand and waiting for him to squeeze it.

"I have a feeling we're a little past the formal stage, with you telling me about your past choices and all that." His comment had earned an earnest chuckle from her, and he had payed it back with a smirk of his own before adding an "I'm not judging" as he had turned to get the two coffees they had ordered.

"Didn't think you would." She had answered.

Mimi had observed him ask for their drinks in a charming way, different from how she'd seen other men flirt with employees in bars. He had been offering a bright smile with his requests, and it felt like his voice was genuinely interested when he had asked how it was going or said the usual thank you after getting the coffees. And there she was now, sitting next to him on one of the benches in the backyard just out of the cafeteria, sipping her cinnamon flavored coffee at past 1am with a doctor of a higher rank that up until that morning she had been labelling as "the hot one".

She had found talking to Doctor Yagami as easy as conversing with every other of her old time friends, and there, under the stars of that heated night, as he was telling her about how this one time a fifteen year old patient had developed this huge crush on him during the time she had spent in the hospital recovering, Mimi had thought that that patient was pretty relatable.

Yagami Taichi was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. With his tanned skin and longish hair pulled back in a casual way, now that Mimi had the opportunity to watch him from a close perspective he was handsome in a particular way, with his kind brown eyes and dimples showing whenever he laughed. But, above everything else, it had been his straightforwardness and openness to attract Mimi closer to him as they had been sipping their respective coffees, how he’d casually touched her shoulder after a joke, or how his leg had moved to graze hers as he had asked for a question about her hair she doesn’t really remember now.

And there she is, asking herself how long she'll be able to last sitting there like that - their knees casually touching as he keeps a strand of her hair between his fingers - before this all becomes uncomfortable. But then, she's surprised to realize that instead of uneasiness, she's feeling that sudden rush of excitement through her body, starting from the spot where his warm leg is touching hers, to the tips of her fingers.

And maybe he's thinking the same, because when their eyes meet he lets her hair go only to bring his hand to her cheek, sliding down until he's cupping her neck and his thumb is moving cautiously over her earlobe, causing her breathing to become more irregular, and her eyes to lower on his lips.

The thought of how inappropriate this whole thing is doesn’t even cross her mind as he brings her face closer to his own, and she's actually the one to dive in and close the distance between them to find out his lips are soft, and just right, and when he parts them his tongue is sweet and warm and she can taste the coffee they had been sipping until only minutes before.

He does something with his tongue that makes her want more and then she's grabbing his white coat with both of her hands to bring his whole body closer, because his mouth is not enough anymore. He complies, and she feels his right hand tightening its grip on the back of her neck, and the other one traveling over her leg and up, up, up, until she feels pressure right where she really needs him.

"Where's your office?" She breathes between one kiss and the next, and it takes her all she’s got to do so and not let the urge of laying down on that bench get the best of her.

"Trauma and Emergency is too crowded at night." He barely manages to give her a coherent answer, and Mimi is quick to reply: "Neurosurgery isn't."

His lips are on hers again just as soon as she turns around after locking the door of her office behind her, and then he's pinning her between himself and the door, her small body covered by his slightly bent one. She swings one leg around his hips to give him the clue, and readily he takes it and picks her up only to stumble through a desk and a pile of boxes before making it to the couch.

"Do you have condoms?" She asks him when she's sitting on top of him, one shoulder of her white coat together with the one of her dress down her arm showing her bare skin, and she sees him fixing her naked spot and squeezing her bottom before trying to reply.

"I really didn't think I'd be doing this at work." It comes out with a somewhat apologetic tone, but Mimi is more concentrated on the way he's looking at her, his eyes burning and fingers sliding to her front to deepen into her. She moans, half biting her bottom lip, letting her head fall and rest on his shoulder, hiding her face on the crook of his neck and kissing him in that spot as he lightly bites the skin of her shoulder.

"I should have a couple in my purse." She manages to say with some difficulty, distracted by how he in thrusting inside her with his fingers. And, unable to part from her, he lifts himself and her from the couch to reach for the bag sitting on the desk on the other side of the room.

He lays her on the desk, moving the stack of papers and other objects his mind is not quick enough to recognize on the side, and he starts kissing her cheek and her ear, traveling down to her neck. With the hand that is not holding the hair on the back of his head, she blindly looks for the condoms in the inside pocket of her purse.

Then there is not enough to time to do things properly, to get rid of their clothing or to move back on the couch to be more comfortable. All she feels is anticipation and electricity running through her veins, and she only registers him kneeling down to bother with removing her underwear only with his teeth before he sinks himself inside her, and she clings to him with all her body.

The last week of August brings with itself a slightly cooler wind, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity Mimi is able to leave the windows open in each room she stops by. With the end of the month comes the end of some of the doctors’ vacations, and the pace at the hospital seems to slowly go back to its normal state. She spends her days between the hospital, The Island and - finally - her flat, staying by Jyou for the most time, catching up with Sora during those breaks they share, dropping by the Laboratory to check if Koushiro is feeding himself properly, and making sure she doesn’t visit Miyako during her work hours.

Not that she’s ever wondered around the Trauma and Emergency Center that often, ever. She and Miyako had made the pact of trying to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible during work hours ever since her younger friend had started her fellowship, and the reason behind it had been quite simple: they were both very talkative people, and being good friends as they were it wasn’t hard to find ways to waste time. In addition to that, they also used to share an apartment up until Miyako had moved back with one of her sisters the previous fall, when her other sister had gotten married and moved out.

Miyako leaving the flat had been quite disrupting back then. Mimi remembers a time when she’d needed her friend’s presence after a date turned particularly wrong, and found emptiness in what used to be her room. Granted - she still had Koushiro with her, and as her best friend he had been there for her during all those so called emergencies when Miyako couldn’t teleport herself from one side of town to the other, but Mimi had come to the conclusion, one day, than more than Miyako’s mere presence, she missed the flat dynamic that there had been for many years between herself, Koushiro and Miyako.

And now, roughly one year later, Miyako’s room is still free, and Mimi and Koushiro still reject an average of 1.5 flatmate applications a week because even though they have no intention of letting anyone other than their former flatmate in, they still keep the notice of a room up for rent out. Which doesn’t make sense, as Mimi’s heard so many times form Jyou, but that didn’t mind. She’d found her safe haven in that shared apartment with Koushiro, and while she had always been the right girl for an adventure, now she was at a time in her life that asked for stability, calm, and a sense of belonging.

(All of which she doesn’t have, or at least she doesn’t feel so, as if she’s hanging in there even if there aren’t storms around her. She feels like she’s still, and everything else moves around her, and in everything, she doesn’t feel the need of taking action. She simply doesn’t feel.)

“So I’ve heard —“

There’s a look of pure horror in Mimi’s eyes when she looks up from the tray full of empty dishes of what had been her lunch to find Takeru’s beaming eyes. In a split second, she wonders just how fast gossip can travel between the walls of that stupid hospital, also trying to figure out a way to disagree and change topics almost immediately.

“— that you’re trying to find a new housemate.”

A sigh leaves Mimi’s rosy lips and it’s then that she takes in the scene unfolding before her eyes: Takeru - in contrary to what she believed - isn’t alone. There’s another guy right next to him, propped on the chair in front of her as he’s trying to climb it in a funny sort of way. His hair’s so spiky she wonders if that’s a way he likes to style it or that’s just the way it is - much like Koushiro, that no matter how many products she decides to try on him, his hair won’t flatten.

“Trying is a big word.” She simply comments, resolving into pouring herself the last drops of soda there’s left in the can into the empty glass.

#digimon #michi #mimi tachikawa #taichi yagami #digisafe #what even are the tags the kids use these days lmao #it's actually quite amusing seeing just how much i've outgrown this place #but at the same time i wish i was as creative as i was a couple of years ago #oh well #clara writes #and is retreating into her cave in 3... 2... 1

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drop-dead-art · 6 years ago

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Runaways - Fangs Fogarty

Sorry if this is bad, it’s my first songfic and I haven’t written in a looooong time, but Fangs needs love. This is if Fangs got out of town before getting arrested.

Edit- So I havent really posted anything Riverdale related (like fandom stuff) in a long time, but this was in my drafts, unfinished, and earlier I had taken a nap and had a dream of how to finally finish it. So here ya go.

Song: Runaways by All Time Low

Warning: ANGST... and swearing, because, it’s me who wrote it, duh.

———————————————————————

“Where’s Joaquin, I thought he was getting Fangs outta town?” Jughead asked frantically . “He got into some trouble. I called an old friend, they’re gonna get Fangs and bring him somewhere safe,” as FP finished his sentence there was a knock on the door, Jughead and Fangs looked at each other, terrified, while FP strolled over to the trailer’s door. “Y/N? Didnt know your dad was sending you. You’ve grown...,” FP spoke awkwardly.

“Do we have to do this ‘how do you do’ shit? Thought this was a time sensitive thing?” You spoke, crossing your arms, an uninterested look on your face. You looked over at the group of teens, “Wanted, come on. Get your shit and let’s go.” Fangs quickly hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder, hugging his friends goodbye, before clambering into your car.

Only a quitter,

Would let it go,

I'm your fool in a one-man show,

I was so bitter,

'Til you came along,

You set my sails when the tide was low

As you and ‘Fangs’, as you’ve learned his name to be, drove down the highway there was nothing but silence, you could feel the awkward anxiety coming from the boy. Deciding you wanted more info you spoke, “so why exactly are you on the run?” He tensed, before muttering, “I was accused of murdering this girl,” he got frantic, spitting out a defense, “but I didn’t! I swear! She and I were just... seeing each other.” You hummed in response, “it’s fine, I believe you. If FP trusts you, I will too.” “Oh yeah... how do you know FP?” “Old family friend.” “So, are you a serpent?” “Yeah.” That was that, you both sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

We're going down this road,

With tears in our rear view mirror,

Far from home,

But in the dark you'll know,

With me you've got nothing to fear,

So let's run away

They will have to find another heart to break,

Why don't we just run away,

Never turn around, no matter what they say,

We'll find our way,

When the sun goes down,

On this town,

There'll be no one left but us,

Just like run-aways,

They will have to find some other hearts to break, hearts to break

It’s been a few weeks since you ‘rescued’ Fangs, bringing him back to your home in Salem, Massachusetts. You’ve since gotten used to him, even becoming friends, yet you can’t ignore the slight flutter you feel everytime he speaks, or the stutter in your heart when he looks at you. ‘His girlfriend just died, he isn’t gonna be over her!’ you thought, frustrated, ‘besides, he’s gonna be leaving anyways.’ Suddenly you felt sad, empty... thinking about Fangs leaving after you got attached, hurt, and hearing him talk about his friends so excitedly, not being able to contain how much he misses them, hurt more.

Out in the distance,

Lost in the fold,

We trace our steps to a great unknown,

Bury our toes,

Where the ocean meets the sand,

We hide ourselves right where we stand,

You’d been quiet lately, and Fangs couldn’t help but notice, he worried he’d done something wrong, but whenever he’d ask if you were ok or if he upset you you’d respond, “I’m fine, you didn’t do anything, I’m just feeling a little tired,” which he knew was bullshit. Frustrated, he decided today was the day he was getting answers. Stomping up to your room he knocked, though it was more like banging, on your door. As soon as you opened up he pushed himself in, “What have I done wrong?” He demanded, seeing your confused face he elaborated, “you’ve been extremely quiet and everytime I try to get you to laugh, or even smile, I’m met with complete silence. So, what did I do wrong?” You felt bad as he sadly uttered the last sentence, “Nothing,” you muttered, his head shot up, and as he opened his mouth, you continued, “I’ve been feeling upset because you’re gonna be leaving soon and I’ve gotten attached. I’m gonna miss you.” His eyes softened and a small smile painted itself on his face, “I’m gonna miss you too, I’ve grown attached as well. You’re always gonna be one of my friends.” Although your heart sunk at the label, you couldn’t help but feel happy at his admission. He strut over to you, pulling you into a hug. Your eyes widened in shock, a blush on your face, your heart pounding in your chest, he was warm, and for once in your serpent life, you felt... safe.

We're going down this road,

With tears in our rear view mirror,

Far from home,

But in the dark you know,

With me you've got nothing to fear,

So let's run away

They will have to find another heart to break,

Why don't we just run away,

Never turn around, no matter what they say,

We'll find our way,

When the sun goes down,

On this town,

There'll be no one left but us,

Just like run-aways,

They will have to find some other hearts to break, hearts to break

Once you got the dreaded call, the one telling Fangs that he’d be able to go home in two days, you began to feel empty again. Fangs, recognizing your sad eyes, decided to brighten your day by suggesting you guys go out and hang around town, making the best of the last two days you guys had.

They won't catch us in the dark,

Roll like thunder, burn like stars,

They won't catch us in the dark,

Roll like thunder, burn like stars,

Tomorrow... Fangs will be leaving tomorrow. You couldn’t stop the tears that fell down your cheeks as you scrolled through all the pictures you guys took together. A small smile wormed itself onto your face as you looked at the picture of Fangs with whipped cream on his nose, eyes crossed looking down at it with a confused expression on his face. ‘What a doof,’ you thought, fondly. You wanted him to stay, to be with you. You wanted to wake up to him singing in the kitchen as he made pancakes, the only food he could make without burning. You wanted him to hold you, to kiss you, to tell you everything was gonna be okay. But, your wishes would go unanswered. As if life was telling you to go fuck yourself.

Run away,

They will have to find another heart to break,

Heart to break

So let's run away

They will have to find another heart to break,

Why don't we just run away,

Never turn around, no matter what they say,

We'll find our way,

When the sun goes down,

On this town,

There'll be no one left but us,

Just like run-aways,

They will have to find some other hearts to break, hearts to break

Today was the day, Fangs’ friend, Sweet Pea, was parked outside, along with Jughead and Toni. You remembered him going on and on about them, how wonderful they are, even if they were pains in the ass sometimes. You were jealous, he had such wonderful friends, you only had your brothers, whom of which were across the country helping some other serpents. “I will miss you, y’know,” you heard him mutter as he held his bag over his shoulder. “I know. I’ll miss you too.” “This won’t be the last time we see each other, I will come visit, I swear.” You gave him a sad smile, knowing that he’d forget all about you as soon as he got home. “You better,” you chuckled sadly, “otherwise I’ll have to go down to Riverdale and kick your ass.” A wide smile grew on his face, “oh yeah? is that a challenge?” “No. It’s a promise.” “Fangs! Let’s go,” Sweet Pea shouted, impatient to get home. “Bye, I guess,” you muttered. “For now,” he spoke, before hugging you, “I’ll see you soon,” as he let go and started to turn to walk, he bent down and kissed the corner of your mouth, “I promise,” he winked.

‘Soon,’ you scoffed. As if. It’d been three years since you heard from him. He didn’t even text you when he got back to Riverdale. FP did, saying thanks and that they all got home safe and sound. “I knew he’d forget me as soon as he was home,” you whispered, heart broken.

#riverdale #fangs fogarty #sweet pea #jughead jones #toni topaz #southside serpents #fangs forgarty imagine

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in-defense-of-the-horror · 6 years ago

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An Artist and a Writer

“You know, I’m always going to support you, no matter what.”

That was always the hypothetical situation with Nate, and it probably always would be. He liked to talk about some mystical date in the future when he would be successful, and the money would be pouring in. He liked to describe this fantasy often, in the context that it would happen, probably because he realized that it never would.

He was a hack. It wasn’t the day-dreaming itself that bothered Greg – all artists had a certain level of disconnect from reality, he knew that was something he was guilty of himself. It was fact that in this portrait being painted of the future daily, his role in it never changed. Sometimes Nate did collaborations with authors whom he spent nights pontificating about with condescension. Often it was that his sole publication was picked up by a publisher for another three installations. Once it had been an adaptation into a Netflix original series that he himself directed and cameoed in for his fictional, adoring public. But the stories always ended the same way, with him supporting Greg. “Sure you will.” Greg had endured these ramblings for years, and he was never the star in these fantasies, never a co-star. They were never even equals. Nate liked him being more of a prop, it would seem. “I mean it. I’m going to take care of you.” He spent so much time thinking about that future that he didn’t even seem to realize Greg had been the one taking care of him for years. “I know you would,” he said flatly. “I will. This is going to happen.” “Sure.” It was hard to give monosyllabic replies that sounded sincere, though, and his attempt to evade further discussion had just pulled him deeper into the whole mess. “Oh, so you don’t believe in me now?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t really have to. I can see it in your face. You don’t think that this project is going to happen. You don’t think I’m going to make any money off this.” “I think you have to finish the book, first.” Somehow it had slipped out and the tension was palpable between the two men. His situation had worsened considerably, but his chest felt lighter, even as his partner looked at him with the wounded eyes of an animal that has only ever known imagined pain up to this point in its life. “Wow.” “Look, Nate-“ “Do you have any idea how hard it is to write a novel?” “I’ve written novels, Nate.” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to publish one, then? No, you don’t. Making money in this business isn’t easy. It’s 99% networking – and that’s why you don’t have your name on the shelves.” “Your name isn’t on shelves either!” He was losing control of the situation, but it felt like it might be better to just air all his grievances at once. “You wrote one e-book seven years ago and you’ve been talking about it ever since.” “I have written plenty of other things since then, Greg! Which you would know if you ever paid attention to my work.” “You’ve started two other novels since then, and one short story that overstayed its welcome by about four-thousand words. That’s not enough content for so much time – even if you had finished one of them. I could list of every stage of every draft of every project you’ve considered since we’ve been together, because I have to hear about it for hours every time you manage to cough up a couple hundred words. I have to pay attention to it because it’s all you talk about all the time.” It felt so good to say it all out loud. The words carried with them a momentum and the knowledge that his life would never slide back into what it had been. Nathan, clearly, had felt the shift as well because he had fallen out of his victim routine, the wounded outer layer being peeled back to reveal something nasty and real that Greg had only ever caught glimpses of before. “Well, forgive me for wanting to do work that I’m actually proud of.” That was a low blow, calling him out for doing the contract work that had been paying both their bills. When they had started dating, Greg had been the sort of man who would never stoop that low in a fight. Then again, when they started dating, he thought he was in love with another writer. The insult was falling from his lips before he could even think of stopping it. “I would rather be a sell out than a prideful creator with no creation.” “How. Dare. You.” “That’s really the heart of the problem, isn’t it? You have no work. You have no ideas.” “I have ideas!” “The same ideas! The same three fucking ideas for your entire career – if we can even be calling it that.” “Stop it!” “No! I’ve been coddling your ego for too long – but I’m tired of hearing about what a genius you are every goddamned day and reading the same unfinished story over and over every time you change some punctuation. I can’t do it anymore.” “You won’t leave me.” “I’ll do one worse. I’ll tell you the truth. You’re the sort of writer who likes talking about his work more than he likes working on it – and the only market that sells to is the campus kids down the street who are as pretentious as you.” Honesty felt so good for Greg. The crime of passion that followed felt exponentially better for Nate. The knife was in his lover before he even knew what was happening. It had been sitting there, on the table where he had eaten alone because Greg had to work late. It hadn’t been cleaned up yet because Greg was too tired to ever dream of helping out around the house, let alone go to events or have a real conversation. Nate’s boyfriend who had always been afraid to open up, was now spilling his guts all over their hardwood floors. The irony of that struck Nate as incredibly poetic. As he let the body fall to the floor at last he tried to describe the sentiment in his head, to imagine how he might put it on paper. The words evaded him though – he couldn’t think of any that could truly capture the beauty of it all. It was something that he never could have imagined, a tragedy for the ages that bundled up in a warm euphoria. His metaphors kept mixing, and even in the thrill of the moment, the imagery was hard for him to hold onto. He wanted to do something with it before his inspiration was all gone. Taking just a moment to wipe his hands on his jeans, he retrieved his computer and sat down next to the carnage. He had the word processor up in seconds, but still, the story wouldn’t come to him. Not even in what he considered to be his finest moment. An abyss of white stared back at him, and they continued the stand-off until his vision was blurry and his brain hurt. Some work days were just like that. “I told you, you’re not a real writer.” Nathan tried to block out the sound of the corpse beside him, taunting him, just as it had in life. “You’re never going to see your name in print, you can’t write a single word.” “Shut up!” “Why don’t you tell me about the story you want to write, now that I’m truly a captive audience.” “You don’t deserve to hear it.” “You have nothing.” “I have everything I need.” “You’re not a writer.” He looked down at the body, half-expecting to see it sneering as it challenged him, cackling with its victory over his life and sanity. None of that was true, of course. Greg was just dead. “You’re not a writer.” This time, Nate was saying it to himself. He’d just had the biggest break through of his career. He wasn’t a writer after all. Maybe he never had been. He closed his laptop with a grin, feeling relief wash over him as he realized he’d never have to struggle with word count again. There would be no more query letters, no more rejection, no more feeling inadequate, and especially no more trying to fool himself into believing he was something he wasn’t. He wasn’t a writer; he was an artist. He was a visionary, a prodigy, someone who had created a masterpiece their first time around. The last seven years hadn’t been a waste. They’d pushed him to the point of brilliance and now that he’d found his calling, he could finally claim the success he knew he’d been destined for. He stood up a new man. For the first time since his publication he knew that he could go to bed and rest easy, knowing that it had been a fulfilling day of work. He looked down at the floor one last time, and exalted in the pride he had for his new creation.

#an artist and a writer #cat voleur #my writing #horror writers on tumblr #horror fiction

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im-basically-logan · 7 years ago

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Happy Density Day!

haha get it cuz the formula for density looks like a heart. I still dont know how to title things. Analogical V-Day fic anybody? (quick note- sorry if the pacing is sorta weird??? idk how story writing works. personally my favorite part is the last few paragraphs lmao)

Summary: Logan wants to give Virgil a poem for Valentine’s Day, but wants to make it as perfect as possible. Either way, Virgil loves it. Words: 2,796 Ship: Analogical, Royality (tho, it’s only briefly mentioned and analogical is the focus) TW: Kissing, sleeping at bad hours, uh... Patton tackles Roman playfully at one point Please send me an ask/message if I need to add a trigger. Genre: Fluff!!

@riverbendover @nokatai-realm @crowsketches @living-on-the-virge

It was about 3 days before Valentine’s Day and as much as Logan would usually show nonchalance or distaste towards the holiday, he’s been Virgil’s boyfriend for 8 months now. He wasn’t going to brush off their first Valentine’s Day. He was going to make the perfect card for his Virgil even if it meant he didn’t get any sleep that week. Well, that was an exaggeration and Virgil would probably ask as to why Logan’s sleep schedule had suddenly done a 180. But nonetheless, Logan was going to make a nice little card.

Logan started out with printer paper as a planning stage, wondering what to actually put in the card. He went through scribbled out drawings, minimalistic pictures, telling Virgil how beautiful he was, and finally settled on writing a poem. He was good at those. Usually.

His trash can in his room began filling with balled up clumps of paper which were drafts that he deemed not good enough.

“Clothes are dark as space, but eyes as bright as the stars. I hope-- No.” Logan mumbled the poem out loud to himself, then crumpled up the paper, threw it to the side, and started anew. The side of his hand was turning gray from being left-handed and the graphite of the pencil he was using. “I cannot describe to you how much I love you. It was a revelation when I had discovered my feelings for you. Like when Newton discovered gravity. It was fundamental to understanding life as you are fundamental to me understanding emotions…” He tapped the pencil against his head quickly, trying to think. It sounded… Like something. It wasn’t too bad, but he decided to trash and rewrite it again. It was probably just fine, but Logan was a perfectionist.

He began writing a bit more before deciding to create the decorations on the light purple construction paper he found for the actual card. He had the equation 128√e980 written along over the spine while the card was flattened. The equation was supposed to be read while the card was closed and turned a certain way, and it would read “I love you” from being folded in half. He found the little trick while looking up ways to say I love you to a partner. In pen he neatly wrote inside the cover of the card the beginning to his poem to Virgil. The beginning was the only thing he was happy with at the moment, but he would add more later. He checked his watch and read 11:30 pm. He sighed, put his materials away and went to bed. Although made sure to put the card neatly into the drawer of his desk. It was only 2 days before Valentine’s Day and he barely had anything! He wanted to keep working on it, but also sleeping was important and he and the others were working on getting a full night’s rest. Besides, Virgil would badger him in the morning about it and he couldn’t have his boyfriend find his surprise.

Logan went through the next day rather smoothly: Nice comebacks to Roman, reminding Thomas of important events, and of course a few nice kisses with Virgil in the middle of it all. Patton always grinned if he caught them and Roman always teased them until Logan mentioned it was almost Valentine’s Day.

“We are allowed to have physical affection, especially around this time of year, correct?” Logan asked Roman, raising a brow with a pouting expression.

“Well I suppose so, but… You two are such nerds!” Roman responded weakly, unable to come up with a witty reply. Patton butted in, putting his arm around Roman’s shoulders.

“Now, don’t be mean, Roman. It’s your time of the year, isn’t it? Valentine’s Day! A day of Roman-ce.” Patton laughed and Virgil, who was leaning slightly against Logan, snickered. Logan sighed with a very small hint of a smile while Roman rolled his eyes with a laugh. He exited with Patton, most likely about to go on an adventure or brainstorm. Logan, although, had a pit in his stomach as he was constantly reminded Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

Such terrible planning on my end… He thought, biting the inside of his mouth before kissing Virgil on the head as they went to do their own separate things for now. He sank out and went to his room, relieved to find it just as it was when he left it. He hadn’t taken out his trash yet, but he assumed Virgil wouldn’t go digging through it at least and see the drafts. Checking his watch, which read 8:30 pm, Logan pulled out the drawer and took out the card. He drew a little density equation on the back, coloring in the little heart that the symbols for mass over volume created. He then opened the card back up, rereading the beginning of the poem he kept from a draft.

“I don’t believe I’ll be able to explain my love towards you. Like how it is a mystery as to the true way the universe was created despite the many theories. How the chances of us existing together may have been smaller than a quark, But we managed to exist and come together.” Logan sat down at his desk and began writing a bit more, once again mumbling the words to himself as he wrote. “Your mind can be as far away as a galaxy,

but I’d travel the light years.

You’re a fundamental element in my life, Like gravity to planets and stars.” He bit the bottom of his lip, unable to think of anything else to add. “I can’t even write a simple poem…” He murmured to himself, dropping his pencil. He kept his head up with his left hand, trying to think. There wasn’t any specific pattern or rhyme to the poem. It was purely just him rambling about how great Virgil is in metaphors about space and science. Would Virgil even enjoy that? He created a small, curvy border with a blue pen on the inside of the card, but cringed as he looked back to the unfinished poem. Then he put another line. “I am and always will be unable to express how much I care for you.” It was true, but the poem felt too short and he barely had an idea on how to end it. He wrote on the other half of the inside of the card “Happy Valentine’s Day, Virgil. Love, Logan”, drew a simplistic galaxy on the front, and went back to his previous position of laying his head atop his hand. Instead of coming up with any ideas, Logan somehow fell asleep on his hand. He took his nap for about 4 hours, waking up at the superb hour of around 1 am and his head ended up on the desk with his hand still upright. Great. Only 1 day until Valentine’s Day and he was barely done with his card. He dug his hands into his hair in frustration. It should have been easy to write a poem. But no it was going to be difficult and now he was tired as hell. He decided to create the blue borders on the outside of the card while waiting for the others to get up. After finishing the border, which did look rather nice, he put it back in the desk drawer and went to sleep in his bed this time. Although he didn’t fall asleep immediately. Of course not. He was thinking about what Virgil would think if he barely had anything to give. The poem was pretty choppy… he should rewrite it again. What if Virgil didn’t even want a card? Would chocolates have been better?

Luckily, Logan didn’t stay up late enough to question anymore as he crashed into sleep while thinking about Virgil. Said side must have felt Logan still being awake because he made his way into Logan’s room having woke up early himself. It was dark so he couldn’t see the trash can of the Valentine’s drafts but he could feel his way over to Logan’s bed and curled into his chest almost like a human-sized cat. Before going back to sleep, he kissed Logan’s cheek and put his head half on some pillow and half on the mattress with his head lying against the top of Logan’s chest. He didn’t mind sleeping like this, in fact if he was resting next to Logan on just a mattress he’d be content like that as well.

In the morning, the actual morning of about 7:45 am, Logan found a Virgil sleeping next to him. He sighed dreamily, then remembered that he still hadn’t thrown out his god damn drafts yet. Logan tried to move as subtly and quietly as possible to not wake Virgil. He eventually got out of bed and moved the plastic bin under his desk quickly as he heard Virgil shuffling on the bed. Then he went back over his bed, kissing Virgil’s forehead.

“Virge? C’mon, it’s almost 8 o’ clock,” Logan said, looking at his watch. Virgil was awake, but he kept his eyes closed as he replied,”I don’t wanna.”

“Patton’s making french toast.” “5 more minutes.”

“We both know that means 5 more hours, metaphorically and even literally at times.”

“Shush, nerd.” Virgil eventually opened his eyes and got up, his hair messy and partially standing. Logan smirked at the other’s appearance, holding out his hand for Virgil to take. So Virgil takes it gladly and they move on with the rest of their day.

Logan had barely any opportunities to work on his card but while there was a short lull he managed to write a few more lines. “You’re nothing short of breath taking. A star should be named after you. No, a galaxy.”

He stopped as he felt a presence in his room. It was Patton. Oh thank god. They both headed off to the commons to discuss with the other two about the big day tomorrow.

“What are you two doing?” Roman asked Virgil and Logan. They both shrugged, but Logan of course, had a small gift to finish.

“Why are you asking?” Virgil replied. “What are you doing, Princey?” Roman was about to respond when he was suddenly tackled by Patton on the couch, letting out a boisterous laugh.

“Well of course, romantic things! Anyways, I thought you’d both at least say something like spending time with each other.” He continued as Patton got off and sat next to him, a wide grin on his face.

“Well that’s a given, isn’t it?” That was Logan, who quirked a brow.

Virgil shrugged. “Sure. We can just chill out here since Romano and Patton are probably going to the fantasy realm or whatever.”

Logan nodded as Roman scoffed at the seemingly mundane idea. He said it was such a boring thing to do on Valentine’s Day, but Virgil didn’t mind.

They all went off to do their jobs and then night time came around again.

Logan was rushing through his notes after playing a game of 52 pickup with his slang vocab cards which he foolishly dropped while hurrying back to his room. He closed his binder with satisfaction after looking at the schedule, putting it away in a separate drawer from the card, which he took back out of its hiding place. He was clueless as to what to add. It had barely any stanzas. Logan tapped his pencil against the table, making a fast paced clicking noise.

“Ughhh!” The logical facet sighed, his mind totally blank. “I should have gotten more hours of sleep.” He looked at his watch: 10:40 pm. He could still finish it by tomorrow. Logan, although, was holding his head up with his forearms, consciousness blinking on and off. He decided, if anything, to add just one more line he could think of. Everything else was decorated and he could finish it after taking a quick nap. He wrote it down slowly due to fatigue, but still tried his best to make it look neat.

“I love--”

Then somehow passed out while writing with a pen. Though, Thomas used to do that at times so was it really that surprising? He was out cold for a while and even slept past 8 am.

“Logan?” Virgil called, noticing Logan’s absence in the morning from the commons. Then Virgil finally found his boyfriend’s head resting on his desk with a nicely decorated card next to his right arm. He noticed the still full trash can of paper and then picked up the card. He didn’t read the inside yet, wanting to see the other things first. He noticed the equation “I love you” message first and chuckled at such a nerdy detail. Then he found the density formula on the back and smirked. How had he been so blessed as to have had such a caring nerd in his life?

Virgil finally opened the card to see the partially unfinished poem on the left flap and a nicely written closing on the right. He saw his name, so this must’ve been for him.

“I guess he didn’t finish…” Virgil concluded out loud to himself, but he really wanted to read the poem. Logan had written him previous poems and he absolutely loved them. So he read it aloud, mumbling the words under his breath.

but I’d travel the light years. You’re a fundamental element in my life, Like gravity to planets and stars. I am and always will be unable to express how much I care for you. You’re nothing short of breathtaking. A star should be named after you. No a nebula. I love…”

Logan had woken up as Virgil was reading the second to last stanza, although wasn’t completely aware of his surroundings yet.

“Morning, dear,” Logan greeted with a yawn, adjusting his glasses and hair as much as he could. He was calm and tired until he saw what Virgil had in his hand and then he was fully awake in an instant.

“I… did you read that?” Virgil nodded slowly, hoping the logical facet wasn’t upset. They sat in silence for a few moments before Virgil, surprisingly, broke the silence.

“Um… I really liked it, actually. Really.” He gave a genuine smile, moving to plant a kiss on Logan’s messy hair.

“Really?” “Yes, I did.” “It’s not even finished or--” Logan almost tripped over his own feet trying to sit up from the chair. It was way too early for this. (It was almost 1 pm).

Virgil laughed as Logan struggled to stand up and move, eventually falling onto his bed face first before slowly turning himself around and sitting up. Virgil made his way over to the bed too with much less stumbling, sitting down next to Logan.

“I assume this-” Virgil pointed at the word “love” at the end of the poem. “-is supposed to say ‘I love you’, right?”

Logan looked at Virgil deliriously for a few seconds before practically diving forward and kissing him. Virgil almost let go of the card, but held on and melted into the kiss, smiling as he did so. Then they both fell backwards onto the bed in suppressed giggles.

“I’ve never seen you this giddy,” Virgil commented teasingly.

Logan pointed an index finger straight up as in an objection. “In my defense, I’m very tired.” They both broke into laughter again. After a few minutes of Logan waking up, he had Virgil give him the card to finish writing out “you” and then gave it back.

“I love it, Logan.” He looked at the now fully visible trash can of drafts. “Man… I wish I made something.”

“It’s okay Virgil, you yourself are enough,” Logan replied, pecking Virgil on the forehead who look assured enough for now.

They eventually made their way downstairs, Virgil still latching onto the card, and had their first Valentine’s Day. It consisted of Virgil constantly complimenting Logan’s card and poem, making him blush, and Logan constantly saying how amazing Virgil is, making him blush as well. They cuddled on the couch and watched a few documentaries about space and other oddities.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.” Logan presses a kiss to Virgil’s lips for the millionth time today.

Virgil smiles into it and responds,”Happy Valentine’s Day, nerd.”

#sander sides #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #royality but not rlly #patton sanders #roman sanders #sander sides fic #valentines day #kissing #analogical fluff #my fic #lo rambles

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 7 years ago

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(You Are) Wanted

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts, unfinished, for ages. Then I reread the comic this weekend, and finally decided it was time to give it another go. So, here we are. Pre-slash for now. Expect oblivious boys, and a lot of pining. Warnings (spoilery) in the tags.

Part I | Part II | Tag

“Sorry,” Will says, sheepish, as he pulls his ringing phone out of his pocket. He rolls his eyes when Holster points at him, grins triumphantly, and yells, “Fine! No phones during team lunch, dude!”

Will’s about to reject the call, but hesitates when he sees his sister’s name flash across the screen, thumb hovering indecisively. She hadn’t taken anyone’s side during The Incident, at least not officially, but she’d unfriended him on Facebook soon after like most of his family, and hadn’t sought any contact since. Will had taken it as the hint it was meant to be.

“Dex?” Bitty asks softly, looking concerned when Will glances up at him. “Is everything okay?”

“I—” Will starts, then shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t know. It’s my sister. I, uh. I should probably take this. Sorry.”

Bitty nods, and smiles reassuringly, patting Will’s arm. “Of course, honey. And no fines,” he adds, directed at Ransom and Holster.

Will hears them argue—"No exceptions, Bits!“ is countered with, "No dessert for you, then."—as he quickly walks out onto the porch, but he knows Bitty won’t budge. Bitty’s the only one who knows about The Incident, and only because he’d walked in on Will during one of the few times Will had actually allowed himself to cry. Will, to his absolute mortification, had broken down completely, sobbing and stuttering through telling the story, while Bitty’d sat with him, stroked his hair, and rubbed his back.

He’s glad, at least in hindsight, that Bitty’d found him, because Bitty, more than anyone else Will knows, understands what it’s like. He’s got Jack, sure, and the support of the team, his friends, but his family doesn’t know. And, as shitty as their respective situations are, it’s a relief to have someone who can relate, who gets how much it can suck, at times.

Once he's closed the door behind himself, and made sure no one who could overhear him is around, Will finally answers the call with a tentative, "Hello?" All he hears over the line is laboured breathing, then a wet, shaky breath. "Maddie? Are you there?"

It takes another moment, but then Maddie whispers, almost too quiet to hear, "Billy. I need your help."

[more under the cut]

* * *

The drive takes nearly four hours, but Will’s glad for the opportunity to process. Not that it works, but still.

He’d left in a hurry, with only a brief explanation to a wide eyed Bitty—who’d promised to arrange some supplies, like the amazing person he is—and a quick detour to his dorm to pack an overnight bag. And now here he is, in the hospital parking lot, freaking the fuck out.

He has no idea how he’s supposed to do this, or if doing it is the right thing. It feels like it, to him, but Will’s never really been able to tell when it comes to his family. He tightens his hands around the steering wheel, drops his head against it, and tries to breathe deeply, in and out, slow and steady.

“Think it through, break it down,” he tells himself firmly. “C’mon, man.”

Samwell has special housing for students in his situation, he knows as much from a girl in his Econ class. Will probably qualifies for that now. Hopefully. If not, he might be able to get one of the small on-campus apartments; he’s a legal adult, he’s got a part time job, good grades, and his share of their grandparents’ inheritance. All that has to count for something. Right?

It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be fucking hard. But pretty much everything has been, ever since The Incident this past summer. What’s some more work and responsibility piled on top of everything else at this point?

“Fuck,” Will says, with feeling, and thumps his head against the wheel a couple of times.

But then he straightens up, takes another steadying breath, and gets out of the car.

* * *

A nurse leads the way through the maze of hospital corridors, chattering happily while Will does his best to not melt into a puddle of nerves right there on the hideously lime green linoleum floor. They stop in front of a door that looks exactly like every other on that floor, and the nurse gives it a soft knock, before pushing it open with a cheerful, “Ms Poindexter? Your brother is here. How are you feeling tonight?”

Will hovers uncertainly just inside the room, watching as the nurse checks Maddie over. She looks exhausted—dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, pale, hair a tangled mess—but, Will supposes, that’s to be expected, considering. She smiles tiredly at the nurse, but it fades slowly when she finally looks at Will, replaced by something Will doesn’t want to analyse too closely.

Her voice trembles when she says, “Billy.”

“Mads,” Will says, and moves closer, taking the hand she’s holding out towards him. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” Maddie says, and Will manages a weak chuckle. “What about you? How have you been?”

Will shrugs. They both know he hasn’t been fine. If she’d wanted to know more, she could have called.

“Okay,” Maddie sighs, nodding, mostly to herself. “Okay. I know I’ve—I know, Billy. I—thanks for coming.”

“You knew I would.” Will looks down at their clasped hands. “That’s why you called me.”

“Well, now,” the nurse cuts in, clearly aware of the tension, her smile just a little too wide. “There’s someone else who wants to say hi. He’s just woken up, and he’s due for a change, but a few more moments won’t hurt, if you want to hold him first.”

Will’s nodding before she’s even finished talking, letting go of Maddie’s hand to take the wiggling bundle from the nurse. “Thanks,” he says absently, eyes fixed on the tiny, scrunched-up face of his nephew. Belatedly, he adds, “And I can do it. Uh, if that’s allowed?”

“Of course.” The nurse leads him to the changing table in the corner, then gestures at one of the closets. “Diapers and everything else you’ll need are over here, and we have a few changes of clothes ready if you need them. This has come as somewhat of a surprise, from what I understand?”

Will huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

The nurse takes her leave after some more instructions, and reassuring Will that she’s only the press of a button away in case he needs her. It’s been a while since Will’s changed a diaper, but gets it done, and no one’s crying by the end of it, so he decides to count it as a success. He dresses the baby, very carefully, scared the entire time that he’ll hurt him somehow, then picks him up, and settles him against his shoulder, making sure to support the head.

“Hi there,” he whispers, gently stroking one finger over the baby’s chubby little cheek. “I’m your uncle Will. You’re going to be staying with me for a while.” The baby yawns. It’s really fucking cute. “Yeah, I feel you, buddy.”

“You’re good with him.”

“You could be, too.” Will glances over at Maddie, who’s shaking her head, mouth pressed into a thin line. Will doesn’t push. Instead, he asks, “What’s his name?”

Maddie points to the bedside table. “The papers are over there. You’ll have to fill them out before you leave. You’ll get the official birth certificate in a couple of weeks, I think, along with everything from the lawyer. The fa—Chris and I have signed everything to so you can take him with you tonight, don’t worry, I—”

“You didn’t even fucking name him?” Will hisses, then immediately feels bad when the baby makes an unhappy noise against his neck. “Sorry, buddy. I’m sorry.” He glares at Maddie as he walks over, shifting the baby so he can sit down, holding him in one arm, and rifle through the papers with his free hand. “Unbelievable. He’s your kid.”

“I didn’t plan this,” Maddie says, sounding annoyed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Ever heard of condoms?” Will asks snidely, without looking up. “People who don’t want kids usually use those.”

They don’t talk again until Will’s done going through the forms. He leans back in his chair, lifting the now sleeping baby to lie against his chest. His lips are parted slightly, hands curled loosely against Will’s shirt. A few dark curls have fallen over his forehead, and Will gently tucks them back under his hat, then lets his hand linger, cupping the back of his small head.

Maddie’s the one to finally break the uncomfortable silence. “Look, I—you know how mom and dad are—”

Will snorts at that, and looks up so Maddie can see him roll his eyes. “Yeah, Mads, trust me; I know.”

“I thought about, you know. Ending the pregnancy.” She’s fiddling with her blanket, and chewing her lower lip, frowning down at her feet. “But I couldn’t do it, it didn’t seem right.”

“So, what?” Will shakes his head, and has to laugh, but it’s a little mean, without humour. “You thought, hey, everyone hates Billy already, no big deal, I’ll just have him take care of my mistake, pretend nothing ever happened?”

“Mom and dad,” Maddie starts petulantly, but Will interrupts before she can say more.

“For fuck’s sake, Maddie. You’re twenty-one years old, mom and dad don’t control your life. You did this. You. And now you can’t even own up to it?”

Maddie glares at him. “Just because you’ve had some big, gay epiphany—”

“Oh my god, are you serious right now?”

“—and decided to spit on everything our family believes in, on everything mom and dad have done for us—”

“Do you even hear yourself? No, really, can you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?”

“—doesn’t mean I have to do the same! I won’t! It’s become blatantly obvious that you don’t care about our family, but I do. I won’t hurt them like this, Billy, I won’t. Not after what you’ve already put them through.”

Will opens his mouth, ready to keep arguing, but then closes it again, because what’s the point? He’d known coming out to his parents wouldn’t go over well, and he knows they wouldn’t be any happier about their unmarried, supposed to be virginal daughter bringing home a black baby instead of a college degree. Will had decided to do it anyway, for his own sanity and peace of mind, but Maddie’s right about one thing, at least; he can’t force her to do the same.

Definitely can’t make her see that she’s talking complete bullshit, either.

“Our parents, they’re not good people,” he says instead, standing. “I know that’s not how you see them, and I know they’ve probably said worse about me since I’ve been gone, but it’s the truth. I hope you’ll be able to see it one day, for your own sake.” He shifts the baby into a more comfortable position, and kisses the side of his head, almost challengingly, looking Maddie in the eyes as he does it. “Now call the nurse. I’m leaving.”

* * *

The guy sitting behind the motel reception desk doesn’t look thrilled when Will turns up with a baby, but Will’s all out of fucks to give for the day. He’s not going to drive home while he’s raw and on edge like this, especially not with a baby—his new baby, Jesus fucking Christ, in the backseat.

He takes a quick shower once he gets to the room, hurrying through it, not sure how long he can leave the baby by himself. The baby’s still sleeping peacefully in his car seat when Will steps out of the bathroom, though, and stays that way all through Will dressing in a pair of sweats, texting Bitty with an update, and half an episode of some random TV show with the volume turned down. And then he falls right back asleep again after Will’s changed and fed him.

“Huh.” Will watches the baby sleep next to him on the bed for a couple of minutes, convinced he’ll start wailing any minute now. Which he doesn’t.

He does wake Will up twice during the night, crying unhappily, but he’s quick to calm down after another bottle the first time, and a fresh diaper the second. He seems content to be lying on Will’s chest, and Will’s pretty sure he read something about newborns and skin contact once, so he leaves him there, only mildly terrified that he’ll roll over and squash him in his sleep.

* * *

They survive the night without any accidents, and are on the road a little after seven the next morning. Will has to stop three times for feedings and poop related incidents, but the roads are mostly empty so early on a Sunday, and they make good time, arriving back at Samwell just before one.

“Okay, so.” Will’s parked in front of the Haus, turned around in his seat to talk to the baby. “We’re staying with Bitty for tonight, because I’m pretty sure my roommate would murder me if I brought you back to our dorm. Then we’ll go talk to my student advisor tomorrow, see about an apartment, babysitting options, all that stuff.” The baby blinks. “Right. Okay. Here we go.”

As feared, everyone’s there when Will walks into the Haus. Holster’s yelling questions the instant he hears Will, Ransom yells at him to stop yelling from the living room, then Lardo yells at them to cut it out, and Chowder follows that by yelling from his room, wanting to know what’s going on.

The baby bursts into tears. Will seriously thinks about doing the same.

And then suddenly Bitty’s there, with a soft smile, holding out his hand for the diaper bag packed by the nurse back at the hospital. “Here, hon, let me take that.”

Will smiles gratefully, and busies himself with unbuckling the baby while everyone gathers in the hall, staring at him with varying degrees of confusion. Will’s kind of relieved to have the baby to hold onto, rocking him and making quiet shushing noises, lips pressed against his head, instead of meeting anyone’s eyes.

It’s Tango, of course, who asks the question, once the baby’s calmed down somewhat. “Is that a baby?”

“Uh.” Will’s still resolutely looking at the baby, not at anyone else, wiping some of the tears away from his cheek while he sniffles quietly. “Yeah, it’s a baby. He, uh. He’s mine.”

There’s a crash, and when Will glances up, Nursey’s standing in the kitchen doorway, mouth open, shards from a broken plate on the floor around his feet. “What the fuck, Dex?”

A/N: The Poindexters are a mess, but Will’s doing his best here. I have a general idea of where I’m going with this, but not everything is set in stone yet. So, if you have any ideas or questions, message me. And check out this tag for updates.

#dexnursey #nurseydex #william poindexter #kid fic #accidental baby acquisition #pre-slash #dex & bitty friendship #bitty is a saint #slight homophobia #slight racism #talk of abortion #unrealistic baby acquisition process #it's fiction #wantedverse #myfics

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btsinspirationtakesme · 7 years ago

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Warning: Unfinished prompt (+ unedited).

I don’t want to leave this over the holidays, and didn’t have time to finish it fully so here’s an unfinished holiday prompt that’s been sitting around in my drafts for the past two weeks!

Prompt (unfinished): You have to plan the work Christmas party with the resident grinch, Min Yoongi.

“No.” You said clearly to Namjoon, your boss. Whilst you were happy to plan this years festive celebration to end the year at work, you couldn’t imagine planning it with Mr. Grinch Mc Grinch Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi, you didn’t even know how he managed to end up being a lawyer. He only spoke to his stream of pretty secretaries and Hoseok from the Intellectual property team who was the complete opposite of him.

“Y/N, I’m planning on putting the both of you on a major case and this type of team building is really important for success on this case.” Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of your defiance.

“Can’t Taehyung help? He’s just as festive as me!” You protested.

“Taehyung’s an overgrown child, you know I can’t put two people like you to plan this.”

“What do you mean, 2 people like you?!”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, gesturing to your Christmas jumper that was under your blazer.

“It’s December 1st.” He said, closing the case and getting up. You made a sour expression muttering how he was just as grinch as Yoongi under his breath. It’s not like you were wearing Christmas jumpers in June...but did Christmas jumpers even need a season?

“I’m late for lunch, start planning ASAP. I’m bringing my girlfriend to the party this year, so don’t mess it up.” He said, not taking another word as he sped out of his spacious office.

This was a nightmare. You loved everything Christmas and from what you knew, Min Yoongi was the anti-thesis of holiday cheer. You remembered how he rolled his eyes at the kids from the schools initiative that came in to sing Jingle Bells. Whilst everyone else on the office complex cheered the little kids on, Yoongi was sat in his office with headphones in. It didn’t stop there, he even rejected the sugar cookies that you baked and brought into work last year. No one, could resist your sugar cookies.

Planning the work christmas party was supposed to be a great honour, only reserved for the most trusted employees. You knew Yoongi was a good lawyer, but couldn’t Namjoon pick someone who would actually help you pull off the best Christmas party ever? Clearly Namjoon trusted you a little too much.

No, there had to be a way around this. Determined, you took it on yourself to march into Yoongi’s office, ignoring the look of disapproval that was shot your way by his new secretary.

“Y/N. To what joy do I owe the pleasure?” Yoongi said, never looking up from his paper work as you barged in with your arms crossed.

“The joy of being partnered with me for this years festive party.” You said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel happy?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“It’s Christmas.” You added.

“And?”

“People want to remember how I pulled off the most amazing christmas party that Park and Jeon Co have ever seen.”

Yoongi scoffed, going back to signing his documents. After the third page of constant signing you had enough.

“Yoongi!” You protested.

“Hmm?” He drawled, never taking his eyes off his papers.

“Quit your deal for a second and listen to me!”

“You think a multi billion dollar deal is going to stop and wait for your little commercialised office party?’ He asked, a sign of irritation on his face as he looked up at you from his work pausing. You had all of his attention.

You were annoyed. Yoongi had evidently decided to take a page from law school at you, and you weren’t going to let it slide.

“The duty of care in this case would fall on your personal too, considering the entire office wants a break at the end of this month.” You shot back, without flinching.

Yoongi bluffed again. “Well, technically the client in question would”. You sighed internally, you weren’t about to make a mock legal case out of this situation.

“Just meet me at Lombard’s next Thursday, 3.” You sighed, Lombard’s was an infamous venue that you were planning to test out for the office party. Whilst you would have loved nothing better to do than to sit there and plan the most spectacular festive do yourself, you also had cases to plough through and couldn’t afford to put so much pressure on yourself.

“Of course.” Yoongi said absentmindedly. That was code for a ‘sorry, I had cases to file’ or ‘I had court’ as an excuse. Too bad you were good at reading people, you’d send him reminders every day until he would turn up in explicit writing. No one was going to step on your party throwing parade.

“Excellent.” You said smiling brightly. Yoongi, almost reacting to the unnatural situation to him, where he expected another whine or scream from you raised his eyes up at you suspiciously. There had to be something up, but Yoongi really didn’t have time for that, or you now. From what he knew of you, you were roughly in the same league as him when it came to years in practice, favourites of Namjoon from what he had heard but also complete polar opposites. He knew you from when you first interviewed at Park and Jeon Co, because he had been in the same interview. He knew you were one of the ones that left the office at 9 smiling, and he found that weird. He also knew you were an avid baker, bringing in all sorts of delicacies to work bake sales which were always mysteriously gone by mid morning because of an anonymous donor who bought all the pastries you bought in, Yoongi knew because he was the donor.

He knew, well...everyone knew that you loved Christmas. Everything about the season, from the displays in store windows to the carols sung by kids had you starry eyed. Christmas lovers made Yoongi feel nauseous. He saw it as the most vile, commercialised holiday to exist on earth. People ended up fighting for no good reason, over money. Yoongi knew his job involved settling disputes over money, but to use a holiday as an opportunity to fight- over money? That was something he didn’t understand.

You finally left him in peace and Yoongi went back to his work, thinking it was the end of you at least until next week. He knew very well how much office Christmas parties were a thing, around here but he was going to try his best to avoid it. You were Y/N, still his competition. He needed Namjoon to believe that he was the best junior lawyer in the office, and the more work he could do the better.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Send these to Mr. Min’s Office please.” You said kindly to your office assistant, Brenda pointing to the wrapped up box on your desk.

“Are you...two a thing or something?” She asked taking the box, probably curious about the third and last delivery of the week from your office to Yoongi’s.

You nearly spit out your coffee.

“Me, and Yoongi? Please.” Whilst Yoongi could certainly catch eyes, with his cool exterior and witted brain, he was the anti-thesis of your type. No emotions.

“Namjoon’s got the both of us planning the Christmas party this year. I’m sending him festive reminders about the spirit of Christmas.” You said, and the latest gift to go his way was a set of baked mince pies straight from your grandmothers recipe book. Usually you only reserved baking those for special events, but you were calling out all stops in getting Yoongi on board. You also wrote a handwritten note, reminding him about the importance of loving others.

Brenda smiled, reading the handwritten note before saying she’d deliver it to Yoongi.

__________________________________________________________________

“These are very good, spicy and sweet. She’s got some serious talent, should have been a baker really.” Jimin, Yoongi’s partner for a asset transfer case said in between bites from Y/N’s mini mince pies.

“Who said you could have any?” Yoongi asked without looking away from his laptop screen.

Jimin’s mouth hung open.

“Um, well they were just placed there and-”.

“Let’s just work on this file.” Yoongi cut him off. His eyes were trying to focus on the important file in front of him, but they kept flitting back to the note in front of the pies. He had read the others, and was mildly amused and was curious about this one. Seeing Jimin immersed in the file, he lost resolve and took the note opening it. In elegant script that belonged to you, he read the note.

“Christmas will always be as long as we stand heart to heart and hand in hand”.

Yoongi smiled. Dr Seuss, his favourite childhood author. He was taken back to earlier, more innocent memories with his parents. Playing in the backyard with his brother, waiting for the snow to settle, racing with the neighbours kids. Waiting for the food to be cooked and sneaking bites in.

“What’s got you smiling?” Jimin asked, looking up to see a faint smile on Yoongi’s face. Yoongi quickly broke off the smile, scrunching the note in his hand and telling Jimin to read the third page of the file again, because he knew it had some curious facts and Yoongi needed to snap out of the trip down memory lane you had caused.

Safe to say though, Yoongi was reminded of Lombard’s and he wasn’t going to give it a miss.

______________________________________________________________________

Strangely enough when Thursday rolled around, it was Yoongi who was the first to arrive at the high end event venue. Dressed impeccably well in a tan coat, he attracted attention the moment he stepped in. Whilst he told the receptionist about meeting someone here, he was offered a seat waiting. The view from Lombard’s was breathtaking, even from the first floor which gave him a wide view of the cities cars zooming by against the backdrop of aesthetic buildings.

Yoongi was about to call you to see where you were, considering you were 10 minutes late for the meeting. Seeing as you weren’t answering, Yoongi stared out the complex in frustration. That’s when he saw you. Of course, he thought.

Of course you would be the type to stop and listen to Christmas carols. Scoffing at how ridiculous you were, a hot shot lawyer being the only one who stopped to listen to Christmas carols. Yoongi, curious decided to go out and catch a better picture.

Upon walking to you across the road, he could see how happy you were. You were encouraging the children, cheering them on like you were their mother. Yoongi felt in unfamiliar territory.

“Sing with us, sing with us!” He heard coming right up next to you, before the children took one look at Yoongi and piped down. Yeah, he knew he had that kind of effect.

You looked at him.

“I don’t have all day, I’ve already given up 10 minutes of my day. ” Yoongi said, impatiently.

The children were looking at you with doe eyes, and they had insisted on you singing a christmas carol. You weren’t about to say no, their precious little cherub faces were staring at you. But you also had to plan an event.

“Oppa here will sing with you! Noona just needs to sort some things out.” You said, pushing Yoongi to the crowd of children. Yoongi, usually composed looked at you were horror.

“W-where are you going?” He asked, afraid of the little humans now gathering around him.

“I have all the registration details in my purse, so I’ll just sign us in with the host today! I’ll come back for you in a few minutes, just do this Yoongi!” You said, pleading him with doe eyes yourself- a tactic you only reserved for desparate situations.

“Yah!” Yoongi yelled, but it was no use. You were gone, and he had a bunch of little humans around him.

“Ajusshi please sing!” They yelled at him.

Yoongi did a double take. “Ajusshi will tell your mother you cheat on your maths tests, if you call Oppa Ajusshi one more time.” He said bluntly.

They gasped.

“Please sing with us, we’re raising money for children’s services throughout the holidays.” A little boy said in a weak voice, where any other adult would have melted.

“I don’t sing.” Yoongi replied.

“Aj- Oppa! Everyone can sing, just say AHHHH.” A little girl, who Yoongi figured was some sort of ring leader took control.

“Ah.” Yoongi said bluntly.

“Oppa!” The little girl protested, stomping her foot down.

“Learn some respect, squeak.” Yoongi said, staring the little kid up and down.

“Sing, please Oppa it’s for a good cause!”

“Or just give money.” A boy, gleefully smiling said.

“No. You’re all annoying.” Yoongi replied back.

It was surprising how much Yoongi could bicker with a group of 9 year olds, but he could. Even more surprising was how he despite being a lawyer, couldn’t fight battles with kids.

“I’m back! How was your sing along?” You asked cheerfully, coming back from signing in at Lombard’s.

“Aju- Oppa won’t even sing! We really wanted to raise money with adults singing with us.” The little girl who took control confessed. You looked at Yoongi and sighed.

“Can’t you even do this little thing, Yoongi?” You asked.

“Why? This cash doesn’t even go to the children who really need it.” He said, blunt as ever.

The children gasped. You were shocked.

“I’m sorry kids, some people have no Christmas spirit inside of them.” You said, apologising for you ass hole of a co-worker.

“Learn about capitalism while you can kids, it’ll save you a whole lot of stress.” He said, a final comment to the group of innocent caroling children.

Whilst the children said their goodbyes and moved on, you decided to keep as much distance with Yoongi as possible. He couldn’t do a little favour for some kids, instead accusing the money they were raising of going into their own pockets.

“Why are you so quiet?” He asked, after you both had finished going through the financial details of the venue inside Lombard’s with a host representative.

“I’m just thinking...how could someone be such a Grinch? To little children at that?” You said, blunt as Yoongi for once.

“Me? What’s so bad about what I said?” He asked, like it was so casual.

“What isn’t bad? Yoongi they were just trying to raise some money to give to sick kids.

“Do I look like I have the time to sing with them?”

“No, and that’s the point! That’s the point of Christmas, you do things for other people because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Then why is it most people start a competition about who can out-do each other?” Yoongi retorted.

“That’s not really what Christmas is supposed to be about. The people who do that aren’t really in it for the spirit.” You said. “Most people, most families don’t.”

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi #yoongi fic

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