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theskella · 2 years ago

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That's New - An Exocolonist Fic

I recently played I Was a Teenage Exocolonist, and I absolutely adore it.

But there’s criminally little fic and content regarding my good good Squat Queen.

So I wrote a fic myself.

The punishingly dry air of Dust stings Sol’s near-sleepless eyes as he finally leaves his room, having abandoned making up for lost sleep. Groggy and stompy bootsteps bring him out to the overly-familiar sight of the multicoloured Vertumnan sky above, and the colony he has spent eons building and rebuilding from just off on the sidelines below. The noises of late morning activity on the farm serve to lightly annoy the tired teen. Is it too much to ask that I be allowed a restful sleep every now and then? He thought. I mean these folks owe me that much, surely. There were a few lifetimes that Sol bitterly considered how little credit he was allowed for managing so many lives, caring for the tapestry of the exocolonists' story here. Having staved off disaster after disaster, all without being believed that he was the weaver.

Familiarity breeds contempt. An old adage he despised crept its unwelcome way to Sol’s forebrain. There was another that Sol learned – from a cartoon, no less – that he’d often turn to to quiet the worming, malicious thought.

When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all.

Sol looks over the railing to the colony. He’d subtly influenced so much to award himself this view, the greatest view of the colony, from where he could see all of his friends, and the infinite; though arduously realized, potentials they have. But chief among these, for this, the last, and so many other innumerable lifetimes, Sol’s eyes fall thus again to Nemmie. Her shock of vibrant red hair is easy to spot. Leading the jogging group of Helios, ahead even of Vace, a fact that – from its gilded frame in the hall of his most precious memories – reminds Sol that Vace seethes over. Sol chuckles, mentally viewing the thought, pondering over its fine-tuned aesthetic distance. When probed, Vace used to erroneously claim that it’s to ‘watch her go’, but Sol knows from thousands of lives that Nemmie is just naturally faster. Even he has struggled to keep up with her in their many foot-races from childhood to now.

Fortunately, Sol had already crested the hump, Nemmie had broken up with Vace a few weeks ago. This time an argument over having another man’s name tattooed on her arm lit the fuse. Nemmie’s stalwart defense of the personally important tattoo earned a terminal bout of silent treatment from which their already unhealthy relationship would not recover. Of course, Sol had to play a part. A part that once seemed difficult and uncomfortable; but with recitation and understanding of his motivation, he no longer felt or acknowledged that difficulty. Separating Nemmie from a woefully ill person in such a delicate time was the easiest of the boundless choices Sol makes.

Sol’s groggy waking movements begin to pick up as the still-overbearing heat of Dust bids his blood to pump. He passes Cal, pushing a heavily laden wheelbarrow outside Geoponics. Sol stops him from his work to hand him a Bobberfruit, clapping him on his unyielding shoulder.

“Man, Dust always makes me wish I had your augment!” Sol jokes as he repeatedly flaps the hem of his shirt to cool himself. Sol keeps up chit-chat until Cal idly bites into the fruit, letting Sol know that he’d devour it shortly. Despite his love of food, Cal’s dedication to work often has him skipping meals, a fact Sol has never quite been able to influence beyond joining Tammy in regularly putting food in his hands. As he jogs away letting Cal get back to it, Sol quickly pulls his holopalm up to update Tammy in the private chat they keep to let her know. A moment later she sends back two emotes, a sandwich, and the custom Tangent emote that Marz convinced Nomi to make as part of a set for all of them. Sol sends back a selfie: a single hand held in prayer in front of a bashful smile in thanks.

Next on Sol’s walk he passes Rex and Marz sitting casually on the steps up to Command. It’s always fun to try to get a reaction from the highly charismatic duo. Let’s see how they like this. Sol happily doffs his shirt with relief and enters their field of view, muscles aglow with beads of sweat, prompting a hearty, familiar and welcome howl from Rex. Marz soon joins in, similarly enjoying the show. Sol draws his hands up and down his rugged torso, mimicking some of the salacious videos Rex had shown him and Marz and taking more and more dramatic poses earning excited whoops and hollers. After wheeling around from flaunting his tush, the realization comes too late that Rex has advanced the bit and is racing toward him. It’s too late to brace and the collision brings the two young men to the ground, tumbling. All three laugh at the scene. From the ground for a brief moment, Dys can be seen peeking from over the hill the gate stands upon. Sol finds his eyes just long enough to convey a greeting in passing– Dys’ preferred morning interaction. Rex has gotten up and grips Sol’s forearm to pull him to his feet and brushes him off, cheekily spending more time than needed pawing at his body.

“Sorry, can’t help but chase juicy pieces of meat.” Rex says with his wolfish grin, his eyes don’t make contact with Sol’s, choosing to linger elsewhere. The emphasis is a little too thick but that’s to be expected. Sol replaces his shirt, ruffles Rex’s piebald hair a bit and softly pushes his head back toward Marz. Looking to where she’s lounging on the stairs, Sol returns the smile and sultry wave she gives him as their eyes meet. Her attention turns back to Rex as he starts hustling toward her, before turning to give a goodbye wave to Sol with a huge smile on his face.

Moments later Nomi Nomi suddenly bursts into Sol’s’ vision in an eruption of shiny and colourful clothing, loud-but-lovely hair and inexhaustible energy.

“HEY SOL! Guess what! Guess guess guess!” They greet with far more energy than should be allowed this early.

Without even waiting for a guess they immediately launch into a story about a thread of comments that the stories they’ve been writing together are getting. People really seem to enjoy them, as Nomi all but squeals to him.

“I can’t tell you how I know, but even some of the Helios kids are being nice!” Nomi pulls Sol’s sleeve to lower his ear to their face “I… snooped a little and they’re even writing fanfics based on our stories!” they say in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

Sol encouragingly offers that perhaps the Helios aren’t as violent as they seem, and it’s a matter of perception that paints them as such. Nomi excitedly agrees and rushes off, yelling over their shoulder that they have a duty then, to encourage this creativity.

Gazing over to the Garrison shows the joggers are still running a few laps. I probably have some time then. He livens his pace a little toward the Engineering building. When he arrives he is happy to be greeted by Tangent and Tammy together in the hall. Tang is sat on the floor, busied by interfacing with her holo-eye, and taking breaks to chug from an energy drink. Tammy for her part is taking advantage of Tang’s hyperfocus to swap the energy drink for water, and keep a stream of idle chatter to distract her from the moments Tammy holds a sandwich half to Tang’s lips, prompting her to bite. Tammy catches Sol’s eye and gives a pronounced sarcastic eye roll and warm smile. Sol puts his hand to his heart and mouths ‘thank you’.

It didn’t take much to get Tammy to agree that Tang takes poor care of herself, but there was significant coaxing into convincing Tammy that Sol would help keep Cal fed if Tammy helped Tang in turn. Cal’s issue was in not stopping to eat, while Tang’s was thinking anything you eat would do for nutrition. Tammy’s significant culinary ability would be better spent keeping Tangent off of an all-protein bar diet. Tammy was reticent at first, knowing Tang’s past bitter refusal to be cared for. Sol did eventually convince her to give it a shot, saying that slowly but surely, Tang’s gotten over that attitude. As Sol approaches, he pings Tangent from his holopalm to ‘look up’. She does so, and is a little surprised by Tammy’s presence. Tammy reflexively stiffens, but Tangent is– however removed from the situation she may be– thankful for the food, and takes it from Tammy to continue eating. Tammy sighs in relief as she rises to her feet while being careful to keep the energy drink she’s protecting Tang from hidden behind her. The sweet girl places a gentle hand on Sol’s shoulder before excusing herself to the Creche.

“How are the tests for the modified pomoea batatas going?” Tangent asks, rapidly switching from tasks to attention to Sol.

“Things look good so far, they’re able to take to Vertumnan soil now. However, Cal let me know that they are also being singled out by an endemic fungus.” Tang curses under her breath as Sol speaks, clearly disappointed but in a way one could have expected.

Sol is mindful to mention “Cal thinks their enhanced nutritional load is prompting the targeted parasitism. You should talk to him about it, he’s really come into his own in terms of the science of farming.��

Tangent, quite without knowing it, pays Cal a compliment, “Yes, he has been helpful. I will do so.” It isn’t much, but Sol knows better than most to take careful measure of the words Tangent uses, she’s likely already considered their meaning 3 or 4 times before saying them.

Sol wishes her well as he leaves, watching over his shoulder to see Tang munching on the last bit of her sandwich with a surprising vim. It comes as a huge relief, she’s seemed much healthier overall, since Sol stood by her side against Lum’s push for a plague.

Sol exits the Engineering wing into the none-waned heat to see with shielded eyes the Garrison clearing out from the track. Nemmie is punching arms and waving goodbyes before she looks up and spots Sol, she exaggerates her waving to him in a way just familiar enough to when they were kids that it makes his chest flutter. A beat passes before Nemmie starts bouncing into a run toward him. He starts to bob along to meet her. Though, Sol notes, she’s gradually picking up the pace as she nears. Sol realizes then, this isn’t a run– it’s a charge! Ignited with a youthful flame, Sol sets his form like he used to when the Garrison was mostly an official excuse for him and Nemmie to rough-house. Before the fall of the Strato. Before the arrival of the Heliopause and before Vace made the entire space feel coarse and– ironically, alien.

Nemmie is approaching at a blitz, Sol looks for any sort of indication of the opening volley– a tackle? A flying kick? What’s her plan? The heavy footfalls Nemmie makes reach Sol’s ears now, his fingers twitch in anticipation. Nemmie is within 4 meters and his defensive posture stiffens, a stoic-looking Nemmie kicks off the ground, turning to the side and sailing through the air to deliver– nothing? She’s just flying toward– OH SHIT! Unsuspecting arms reach out to catch his friend, but the force is just a little too much and Sol is taken to the ground. Nemmie lands in a ball on top of him before bursting out laughing, a sound he hasn’t heard for far too long.

“You’re supposed to catch me null-head!” Nemmie’s eyes peer up from where her head rests on Sol’s chest, behind the tangled, beautifully chaotic mass of red curls that coil and tumble over his chest. The sight reminded him of more treasured memories, desperately and excitedly piecing together fractions of his wife’s face from behind those same curls, grown out and allowed to be wild once more. He forced his current-self to compose again, before things got inappropriate.

He fires back. “I was expecting you to hit me!”

She tosses her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, then presses into Sol’s chest to extricate herself. “You gotta be ready for anything, farmboy. Expect me to run this drill again.”

The smirk she wears now is knowing, Sol’s aware, she’s aware. Before leaving the Garrison, Sol outranked her– fair enough, he was intimately familiar with bolstering his performance– in fact thinking about it, even now she is one rank lower than he was, who is she to assign drills? She’s taunting him.

He’s not having it.

His fingers find Nemmie’s sides and rub, dig and grind prompting a flurry of jerky movements and fits of laughter. Despite all her training, Nemmie has always been ticklish. All the training did was make Sol have to work for it. The giggly girl desperately paws, punches and slaps away at the offensive, but to little avail. Soon Sol has pushed himself off the ground and over Nemmie, who is laughing and rolling about, fully at his mercy.

These dear, childhood friends carry this on for a few more moments, the less fun passerbys scoff and give a wide berth. Eventually Nemmie taps, completely robbed of breath and laying on her back to catch it. Sol is similarly posed beside her, relishing his best friend’s returning energy.

“Hey have you eaten?” He says, tapping his knuckles on her shoulder. “I’ve got Xeno Eggs at my place– Cal’s certain they’re for eating.”

Nemmie almost starts an excuse, Sol knows the tells. Her hand raises toward her head to run her fingers through her hair. But– it stops. Her hand is paused in the air. There’s a moment in Sol’s mind that feel’s… a bristling discomfort, almost a chill. Nemmie is up on her feet before Sol’s given a chance to dwell on it.

“That sounds great! I’m starving.” Nemmie reaches that same hand towards him. He cranes forward to reach for it, but Nemmie reels it back before his grip can find her, awkwardly spending Sol’s effort and making him look foolish. She’s back to laughing.

A classic Nemmie rug-pull. Her laughter plays like music in Sol’s ears as he grins and gets up on his own, playfully batting away renewed offers to help him up.

“But hey– I’ve gotta shower and change first, I’ve already worn these fatigues for a solid week, and I stink.” She says pulling at her collar and fanning her face in mock disgust. Sol hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s no big deal, You can shower at my place, and I think I still have a set of your sweats from last Wet. Clean, of course.” Sol offers up, not wanting to waste any of her time, he knows how dedicated she’s made herself to the Garrison.

The pair trek back, retracing Sol’s earlier walk until they arrive at his home. His parents are going to be working, so they essentially have free run. All the while through the walk, Nemmie is– at least by comparison to earlier this month, in high spirits. She asks about Sol’s expeditions, and how he’s doing with his photophoner practice. She’d gifted him that very same photophoner when they were kids, and he’s kept immaculate care of it since. Sol’s glad to talk about anything non-military with her. He’s surprised when passing Cal. Nemmie sends a small, brief wave back when Cal greets Sol. It apparently surprises Cal too, as he nods back at her with a quizzical look on his face.

Once inside, Nemmie beelines immediately to the shower. Calling back to Sol that she won’t be long and to just toss the sweats in when he gets the chance. Sol makes for the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients and supplies for omelettes from the fridge and preheating the pan. Swiftly, Sol retrieves the sweats that had indeed been left when Nemmie got caught in a bad rainstorm and sheltered here, wearing some yet-to-be-returned clothes of his to get back to the Garrison when there was a break in the rainfall.

Sol approaches the bathroom door, calling out “Delivery” before momentarily cracking the door and throwing in the clothes, then going out to the kitchen again.

Benefited by the lifetimes he’s spent helping in the cafeteria kitchens, it’s a trivial thing to prepare some Xeno omelettes. So his mind comfortably wanders as he moves on autopilot. Something’s been nagging at the very cusp of his mind since he felt that chill, but he can’t pin it down. He abandons the quest when he realizes he should ask Nemmie what cheese she wants, some colony kids take issue with floatcow cheese. He rounds the corner to the hall the bathroom door is in and is greeted with a Nemmie fresh out of the shower, just starting to pull the sweater down over her slick, rugged abs, freezing him in place.

“Oh, sorry!” Nemmie blushes, tugging the sweater down over her “I rushed out when I smelled the food” she exclaims, trying to change the subject.

“Speaking of shredded; what kind of cheese would you like on your omelette?” Sol asks, holding the pan with the nearly cooked eggs inside. He punctuates with a teasing wink. She punches his arm in answer to this teasing when she walks over.

“Floatcow’s fine. Stars, it really does smell fantastic in here. Lucky me– having a renowned cook-off champion as a best friend.” Nemmie boasts with a grin.

After finishing the omelettes with cheese and neatly folding them, Sol leads Nemmie into the den, choosing to eat on a comfy couch. The pair wordlessly adopt an arrangement they’ve had for a long time: sat facing each other, Sol cross-legged and reclined on the arm of the sofa and Nemmie laid out with the soles of her feet pressed against his stomach. Many cartoon marathons in the lounge of the Strato were enjoyed just like this. Between bites, Nemmie heaps praise on Sol for his cooking, and wishes she had the time to learn to cook like this. Sol offers to just cook for her and Nemmie lets out a singular laugh with her mouth full.

“Imagine, my own personal chef.” she says, a lilt of joking wistfulness in her voice before swallowing.

“Marz would be so jealous.” Sol points out before taking another forkfull. Something about Sol’s comment gives Nemmie pause, her eyes dart about and blink rapidly.

“Thank you, Sol.” Nemmie’s tone shifts, growing more serious as she continues, “I know that you put a lot of effort into making sure we’re all… just– thank you. You’re the best, most caring person on this planet. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her foot idly presses and rubs against his stomach.

Sol places his plate on the coffee table and gently places his hands on Nemmie’s legs, warming toward answering her sudden candour, “Nemmie is everything alright?”

She smiles somberly. Her eyes are cast down on the empty plate she’s fiddling with. She takes a few breaths before saying “Yeah. Yeah, things are… better. I’m just–” she pauses. A long moment ticks by in the measure of her breathing before she finishes her thought.

“Everything made sense to me when I was with Vace–” she puts her hands out defensively in front of her and quickly covers– “I know, I know, he was awful. But things were easy. It’s hard to describe. It’s like, I was already angry and hurting, so Vace just felt like more of the same. I could deal with it, it was just part of the norm. And I’m happier now, but– without Vace I can see how lonely I was, how alone I made myself by tying myself up in his approval, and I’m… I’m scared that the person I was– who I let myself be when I was with him…”

Sol’s squeezes on her calf, trying to silently convey his empathy, to make it more tangible to her that he was listening. Nemmie’s feet swing suddenly over the edge of the couch, she spins to her knees sending her plate clattering to the ground and her falling toward Sol, catching him in a hug.

Her eyes are welling up, and she sniffles into Sol’s chest before continuing to speak, though the words are laden with effort to keep her tears back. “I don’t want to be that lonely person,” she manages to squeak out in a whisper. Sol’s arms went around her in reflex, and tighten now as he’s clueing into what she’s trying to say. He hushes her. Letting her know it’s ok. He lets her breathe for a moment, comforting her until he can compose what he wants to say.

“Nemmie. Nothing could change so drastically that I– or any of us for that matter– would hate you,” She wetly sniffles some more, trembling but still holding tightly.

“We know who you are, and… as bad as things seemed sometimes, we knew that it wasn’t– that it’s not who you are,” his hand cups the back of her head, stroking her hair. “We were sad, and it hurt. But I promise that we love you. And it’s because we love you that it hurt to see you acting that way.” His own words are beginning to choke in his throat, but he tries to keep it together.

“How can you know?” her question is heavy with worry.

Sol can’t tell her. Not that she’d even believe him, that he’s already grown up with them countless times, and nothing has ever truly torn them apart. They’ve strained, frayed at the edges and shown wear and tear, but the tapestry remains beautiful– mending, patches and all.

“Because I know my friends. You’ll have to trust me.” Sol offers instead, though it’s not what he wishes he could say.

She lifts her head up to look him in the eye, though his chest is no lighter for it. Tears have left trails down her freckled and scaled cheeks. Her eyes are puffy and red and searching his. The hug tightens on her subconsciously.

“I– I do,” her voice is steady now as she answers.

Then, quite brashly and without warning– Nemmie brings her lips to Sol’s. A moment cast in the haze of elation passes before Sol gently separates her from him.

“Nemmie wait–” he’s at once cursing himself and eagerly encouraging his next words– “you’re… you’re going through a lot right now. Are you sure– I mean, I don’t want you to…”

The faintest expression of doubt passes over the face of his best friend. Sol didn’t want her to jump into something like this out of stress. Wait–

“You’re right, I’m a wreck right now,” she starts softly and straightens herself up, pushing back off of him. Sol wants to disagree with her words, but she doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re here for me. You’ve always been there, even when I thought I didn’t want you to be.” She starts out whispering, but she reaches her hand forward, her fingers barely graze against the arms that held her, and the quiet voice dissipates as she finds her confidence. And her hand gently but firmly grasps Sol’s wrist

“I’ve been thinking about this. You’re caring, you’re funny, I–” she takes a deep breath. “I don’t feel lonely with you. You’ve been my best friend for as long as we could walk. You’ve never once forgotten my birthday. I can talk to you about anything.” Her words fluctuate in volume and tone, it’s clear that she has thought about it, but the thoughts are coming out in a random priority.

It’s adorable.

“And– you make me feel safe.” She finally exhales.

Sol’s neck hair stands on end, as he finally catches that evasive, errant thought. Or rather it rockets toward him, a collision that shakes every corner of his consciousness.

“I– I’m in love with you, Sol.” Her brilliant, purple eyes lock with his, and he feels unable to breathe.

She’s never been the one to confess–

That’s new.

And that’s all for now. I want to continue writing this, but I felt like this was a good enough point to post a Part One.

comments in good faith welcome

#i was a teenage exocolonist #iwatex #exocolonist #sol exocolonist #anemone exocolonist #cal exocolonist #dys exocolonist #tangent exocolonist #tammy exocolonist #marz exocolonist #rex exocolonist #nomi exocolonist #Sol/Nemmie #exocolonist vace

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lilyrachelcassidy · 3 years ago

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Birthday Cake

A/N: Suprise folks!!! *me laughing maniacally* The whole scenery for this fic somehow appeared in my head and I just COULDN’T let it slip away, so... My biggest inspo for that was @drawlfoy!! Remember her posting the fic where Draco and Reader work at McDonald’s and are total suckers in their job (arguing with the customers; preparing wrong orders; etc.)? Dee unfortunately, deleted this precious, but it’s stuck to my head ever since (lol lol, it’s the moment where Dee wants to get rid of something, but I kindly remind everyone it existed). Therefore I present to you the next Draco x Reader fic related to our fav fast-food rest. This time, however, they’re not working at the same workplace but... I'm going to stop here cuz I don't want to spoiler :P

**The second thing that triggered me to write this fic is the YouTube video I recently saw with a lady who orders the 'specials' appearing to be out of the menu list of McDonald’s, through the Drive-Through. She asked for a birthday cake, was laughed at a few times, but eventually got what she wanted. Applause for the attitude!!

About the fic (context, my bitches): ofc it’s the modern AU, non-magical world. Draco’s the worst boyfriend ever but always manages to turn things into their righteous place.

Summary: The birthday is upcoming, and Draco is in a rush to think up an idea for a perfect gift. His ingenuity fails, however, and leaves Y/N very unsatisfied with a disaster that has been forged.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: my brain playing a total psycho, language, alcohol, sexual undertones/allusions to sex, Pansy being too much of her self... deal...

Tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Such an unrestrained desire to strangle somebody you hadn't felt in a long time.

Really.

Today was your birthday, which you had been widely announcing for almost a whole month to people you might have accidentally forgotten about it. Having your boyfriend, Draco, on your mind in particular.

You doubted he would have the guts to omit your big day, though as repeatedly as he had done for a few years back. But something between foresight and the second sense of prevention told you to keep reminding him every day of the upcoming event, with a heap of birthday-themed emojis and uppercases in the messages.

Everything was planned out in your head: him picking you up from your house with the sharp-red cabriolet that he used only for special occasions; him driving the two of you to the fanciest restaurant he could find in town; him bestowing you with a nice-looking, golden necklace or a different piece of jewelry you had been suggestively pointing out in the store's exhibition; him booking up a hotel room for you two to celebrate.

Either way, that was much beyond your expectations, as it turned out. And now you were sitting in the front yard of your house, waiting for him to show up.

'If he was going to at all.' This thought invaded your mind for the last hour, try as might to subdue it. An hour you had been sitting tight, hoping it was only a delay caused by a traffic jam or other irrational explanation he could come up with. But you were deceiving yourself, you eventually presumed -- you had been checking up your phone every one minute, only to see if any message notification popped up on the screen, other than birthday wishes from friends who actually cared for you.

2.02pm: Nothing.

2.03pm: Susan 'Happy birthday bitch!'

2.04pm: Instagram notif. (Someone liked your photo, which you had posted before leaving your room, posing in front of the mirror in the best cocktail dress you could find in the wardrobe.)

2.05pm: Nothing yet again.

2.06pm: Still... Peace and quiet.

"Fuck it...Enough," you muttered under your breath, an annoying disillusionment falling like a heavy mile stone on your chest. Tears suddenly started sprinkling in your eyes at the regret, and you were very reluctant to admit that your friends were right -- Draco Malfoy was an egoistic, negligent, self-absorbed pri--

"Hi." You heard the raspy, panting voice says. "Sorry for the delay."

You blinked slowly, stupidly. You raised your head to assure yourself it was him. That his expression actually corresponded to his words and showed some kind of remorse for standing you up. But no... There he was: standing in front of you, plainly confident and unashamed, with his cocky smirk provoking you to slap him.

Oh, how much you craved to slap him right now. "Where to the fuck have you been?"

"I've tried to pick this up," he explained, simultaneously lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying in his hand. The big, exclaiming letters 'McDonald's' with the brand's logo were printed on its exterior, and it was fully stuffed with something inside.

Not quite comprehending, you furrowed. You attempted to hide the venom in your voice, but somehow it found its way to leak out. "Couldn't you do that in advance?"

"Nope..." It was his turn to furrow, looking almost shocked with the question. And thanks to all those years of your relationship, you knew it was his piss-poor estimation of time taking over. "It was a last-minute surprise."

"Sounds like it," you commented irritably. "What's that?"

"Your birthday present, sunshine," he drawled happily, ignoring your remark. He sounded positively delighted and satisfied with himself at surprising you with that because he saw a slight crease of shock painting on your forehead. "Here you go."

You took his deposit out of his grasp, still quite unsure. What if his gift would only make a situation worse? Can it get any worse with Draco's total lack of tact? Yes. But it was only one way to find out.

Without even stealing a second glance at him, you ripped off all of the packaging that had been folded around, protecting the contents. You tried to do it carefully and without any impact of emotions revealing the way you felt inside, but your hands were shaking with rage, and you couldn't quite contain yourself. You had been highly aware you shouldn't have expected much from him, but still...

You wondered if the universe was playing against you.

There was a moment of tense silence as you struggled to deal with all the wrappings. Rather unfortunately, you wished you hadn't put so much effort in opening your so-called 'gift' because as you finally did, it only angered you more, seeing as the disappointment laughs at your face. And yes, as a matter of fact, the universe was against you today...

"Are you kidding me?" you asked in disbelief, fury reappearing in your eyes. "A birthday cake?! From McDonald's?" Ugly, little cake with the creepiest smiley face of a clown. It wasn't even fresh, you realized, when you smelled it and felt a musty reek of a freezer, it probably had been kept in. A confusing sense of sadness in your chest couldn't reach any higher at this point.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, detecting the wrath in your eyes. At that, you felt the dumbest urge to laugh and never stop. "I thought it'd be something original."

"Oh, I love it," you said sarcastically, a faint voice of hope telling you it was only a very bad joke was still lingering in your head. But it wasn't a joke.

"It's not just--" He struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I've been asking Blaise and Theo about any ideas. I told them, what you had said to me -- 'you didn't want anything fancy.' So we decided it's... something."

"Of course I didn't tell you I want anything, you dolt!" Your voice raised up almost two octaves, and the pulse sped up so fast it entailed a headache along. A neighbor from the opposite garden who was watering the flowers looked at you, startled, and eyes widened your exasperated tone. You didn’t care. "It's how it works: you don't tell other people you expect them to buy something!"

"But I'm your boyfriend. You shouldn't -- er-- feel uncomfortable to tell..."

"Exactly! As my boyfriend, you should have known!"

"Well... I didn't. If that's what's bothering you, we can...we can..."

"Stop." Listening to him and his pathetic excuses was the last thing you were going to do now. "What – why would you even – " You sputtered out, unable to process or express exactly what you were feeling. There was definitely anger and indignation. Curiosity, for another, as to why Draco would even fall for such foolish and ill-considered idea, and -- to the top of it -- hope it would make a good fit. And possibly, the last and most satisfying part, was the wicked impulse to throw the cake directly into his arrogant face, letting him taste his own medicine he had been serving you for years on each failed birthday.

"You know, for once, you could pay more effort and try doing something nice for me," you told him firmly, deflating to calm down your buzzing nerves.

"I've been tr--"

"Do you realize how much it costs me to pretend to be happy when you forget about me? Last year, I organized a big-ass party for your birthday, inviting over all of your friends and buying the best booze I could find to celebrate it properly," you said harshly and pretentiously, as you intended. "The best part is, you didn't even thank me." You stared at him, wringing your hands and expecting to perceive any trope of shame in his eyes. For the first time, you actually did.

"Listen, about that--" he calmly attempted to cut off your monologue.

"No, you listen..." Did you really want what was upcoming next? Maybe it was about time. "Today, I decided I'm standing up for myself. So, for the last time, get out from my porch."

He bristled, the thunderstruck air hanging around him. "Because of the stupid cake?"

"What?! No! It's just... I feel like you don't give a damn about me anymore." Gulp formed in your throat, and the tears finally left your eyes at the consciousness of what was happening. "I think we both deserve some time."

Your eyes moved to his, and you almost wished you hadn't looked. He was watching you, with pursed lips and a pure mixture of every emotion: anger, sadness, resentment, pretension, dejection. The faintest of his flustered blushes appeared on his cheeks, and you suddenly wished you could hug him. "So you are putting us..." His finger pointed at him and you as if expecting clarification. "...on a break? Is that what it is?"

You were truly torn, to be honest. Becoming single on your birthday was the last wish you had for this day, but you felt a strong sense of adequacy and pride for building up the boundaries of tolerance. Besides, seeing as it was heading nowhere, it was only a matter of time that your relationship came to an end.

Although, it hurt. A lot. "Yes."

You darted your eyes from him, not wanting to study his reaction in case it caused you to meltdown and jump to his embrace, apologizing endlessly for your words. You loved him. But you didn't regret what you had just said.

Something like a dry chuckle of disbelief escaped out of his mouth. "Is that what you really want?"

'No,' your thoughts prompted you instantly before you could even contemplate. 'I want you to say so many things you're never willing to say. But you don't know.'

So instead, you lied: "Yes."

All expressed, you spun around without peeking back and rushed into your room, already knowing there was no more sense in strives to make this day any better; all of it would bring only bad associations. It would be depressing, even more than it already was.

God, was it how the break-up pained? Because if so, you wanted to be deceased. The world spun suddenly, and you sank to your knees, shaking madly and doing your best to find your way back to your bed, located a few mere meters from you. Part of you felt numb, but your head was wide awake and alarming you that something in terms of a disaster had just happened. Because it did. The clutching in your chest was unbearable, and tears were dashing out of your eyes like a living waterfall, which made you bury your face in your hands. Never have you ever wanted to be so drunk before.

And so many questions rung up in your head at once.

Did you make a good decision? What if you are going to miss him, yet knowing you could never call? What about college -- are things about to get awkward?

No answers.

But you knew someone who would be able to reply to them.

With the blurred by tears vision, you struggled but managed to find your phone in the purse, and then clumsily scrolled through and tapped in your list of contacts before holding the phone to your ear.

Please answer, you begged. Please, please…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Pansy's voice roared from the other side of a line, as always, enthusiastic.

"Pansy." You tried to sound less brokenly than you were, feeling marginally worse at the reminder of your birthday. "Is Daphne around?"

"Ouch, you're a really nasty bitch sometimes, you know. I'm not goin' to point out today, but since you didn't let me end my wishes, I'll note that for the future reference." You were sure she was grinning at the teasing, seeing as much as she liked that. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but... "How--"

"Pansy, please..." you sobbed out, almost desperate to have someone to consult and share emotions with. Daphne -- contrary to Pansy, who could be very judgy sometimes -- was someone you had especially on mind now. "I need to talk to her."

You heard her sigh; the kind of sigh she used to either prove her resignation or concern. But, as much as it surprised you, she suppressed her curiosity and, without a second word, obediently handed the phone over to Daphne. At least, that's what you assumed because you heard a pause and subdued mutters in the background.

"Y/N?" the milder tone spoke up, and you felt suddenly very strange as if submerged in water of relief; relief to hear the familiar voice. That released you from keeping a distant attitude, and yet again, a sadness washed over you, triggering a loud wail to come out of your mouth. "Y/N, is everything alright?"

"No..." you sniveled, unable to collect yourself together. "I-I... We br-brok-e up."

"You and Draco?" Daphne asked, astonishment evident.

You nodded but then remembered she couldn't see you nor read your expression. So instead, you forced your vocal cords to work again. "Mhm..."

"What happened?"

Restoring the story in your brain again, you told her everything, still tearfully but much more coherently this time. You avoided the details, briefly skipping from one utterance to another, as your conversations had gone, and you were very much thankful she didn't press for more information about the prospect of the situation. If it hadn't been her sporadic gasps or loud inhales of breath, you would have almost presumed she wasn't listening. However, she was, and as soon turned out, Pansy was as well.

"That's bananas!" Pansy shouted somewhere from the back as you had ended, and despite your gloom, you giggled quietly at her comment.

"Shush," Daphne tried to silence her, covering up the fact she had put you on the speaker. You didn't mind because you knew Pansy, who would definitely expect Daphne to cite the whole conversation if needed. But knowing Daphne as well, you could bet she flushed more than she would want to at that point. "So it all started because of the cake?"

"And the delay," you added. "But it's not just about that, obviously. It feels like... he completely stopped caring. And I don't want to be stuck in a relationship where everything is about sex and having fun only. Draco wasn't looking for a commitment, which..."

"Sucks,"ended this time Pansy unhesitatingly, who wasn't now screaming from the other part of a room but openly participating in the discussion.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"As for me, I think he might love you more than you know, Y/N." It was Daphne talking again, and she sounded positively convinced about her view as for someone who had hardly exchanged any word with Draco for the past few years. As if reading your thoughts, she continued. "I've observed you a lot. I know he might seem unemotional, but it's you who discovered him. That must require a lot of trust, you know."

You contemplated, and some of the memories and images from your first encounter run across your brain, try as might to suppress it: spotting each other at the party; binging some whisky shots together; flirty teasing; the very masculine scent of cologne; and then... more spicy recollections -- eager lips pressing against each other; against each others' necks; against other parts of the body; stripping off the clothes in the passionate haste...

Receiving a long moment of silence, Daphne took a second chance and asked. "And what's with you? Do you want to end it?"

It felt like standing before the oracle of truth. Therefore, you couldn't deny it in front of yourself. "No."

"So what're you still doing there?" commented Pansy impatiently, and you could imagine her rolling the eyes. "Get out and find him!"

She was right. You will.

XOXOXOXO

"I thought I'd find you here..."

No. Actually, you didn't.

You had tracked Draco's phone with your own one with some help of an app that, as the two of you had established still in the relationship, would be a good idea in case of an emergency. That in itself proved to be more than helpful, believing that your argument may be pinned as something in terms of an emergency, right?

So having access to his location, you had found out he was in the park where he had taken you on the first date, shortly after dinner, to watch the sunset that, as he had described, 'was a typical cliche from every romantic movie.'

But you had fallen for that. So much.

You hadn't been aware the place had actually some meaning for him until now, and that... God, that he had even remembered it. Time showed, however, that it indeed did, to which your heart reacted with a happy jolting. But also with a nasty sting of nostalgia following shortly after.

Yet, that only had encouraged you to make up your mind and go looking for him, which hadn't been such a difficult task per se. He was sitting on the bench, in the shade of a tree, and hiding his a little too delicate skin from the sun rays. As soon as he had heard your voice, his gray eyes flew up to see you standing a few meters away.

"What are you doing here?" was the immediate question that tumbled out of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, and to your surprise, he didn't even look angry or sad with you. Nothing near the edge; actually, almost something like the amusement was painting on his face.

"Aren't you mad with me?" you asked intrigued, completely forgetting about his question.

He frowned. "Why would I be?" His tone was so mild that you weren't sure if he was referring to the double meaning; but then he smirked playfully and said, "Besides, I knew you were coming."

"Wha-- How?" you asked, eyes dilating a fraction, in shock.

He smirked, pointing at his phone in an explanatory manner. After a moment, you finally figured out what he meant: the app must have registered he had been tracked and that your phone was trying to find his. At this notice, you reacted with a wave of flush, suddenly regretting your previous lie. His smile only widened at your expression. "Wanna sit? It's plenty of room here."

"Mhm..." You nodded, pleased to accept his offer, and walked over to the bench, doing your best to hide the evident embarrassment on your face. You felt strange he had taken you with such ease, seeing as merely two or three hours ago, you had burst at him like a cram-full volcano of unspoken emotions.

Draco shifted a package from his side, making more space for you to sit, and it took you a moment to realize it was a McDonald's cake from earlier. Everything started from that -- a stupid, little piece of cake which stood up between...

You shook the thought away, taking a seat next to him, close enough to smell his sandalwood cologne. "You didn't answer my question," Draco reminded you. "What's so important to make you track my phone?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You rounded your face to him, flustrated, leaning at the backrest of a bench. "That's why I came. I wanted to apologize."

"Oh... Couldn't you call?"

You sighed. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk to me after...you know... our quarrel," you said half-despondent, half-desperate, watching your feet as if it were the most interesting thing to peer at now. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know," he said. Out of nowhere, he was gently grasping your palms which forced you to look up directly into his intense gaze. His eyes were swirling like molten silver at you. "But I should be apologizing, love. I made a mistake, okay?" His hands traveled all across to your tense shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "I know I should be more... affectionate with you. And this was...dumb. A dumb mistake. With that cake. But I'll try to be better if you give it another shot."

He looked so serious that you instantly believed him. You wanted to actually, with all force of longing, which grew up too rapidly in you when he wasn't around. Draco was a fool, you could easily say. But he was your fool, which was a thing you couldn't be more proud of.

Peeking slowly in the other direction, you asked, out of the topic, "You remembered the place?"

"Of course," he puffed jokingly, smiling. "Our first date. Officially our place from then on."

"Right..." You smiled back.

Honestly, the mere fact that he had called this spot 'yours' warmed up your heart, and you felt yourself grinning at his never-before-discovered emotionality. To assure yourself you weren't the only one caring, it was all you needed to hear.

The whole moment was intense, and now, you realized, is when you should have hugged him. Kissed him. Said something back at his sincere endearment.

But instead, spotting plastic cutlery next to your 'gift', you asked, "So what's the taste of the birthday cake?"

And you knew he had caught the subtext of your playful inquiry. And you knew that soon you would work things out again. But, as for now...

"I thought you would never ask."

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Looooooool. Such a drama-comedy, right? And I could easily say It feels like 50% Draco-x-Reader / 50% Draco-x-BirthdayCake... But whatever (2am is working like a drunken bud, folks). Happy beginning of August :)

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twisted-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! May I request some sfw and nsfw relationship headcanons for the Savanaclaw dorm students Jack, Ruggie, and Leona please?

I... genuinely didn't expect it would take so long😶 It's finished now and I really hope I did the boys justice in these headcanons😅 A lot of them already circulate in the fandom or in the discord(thank you guys!), but I still decided to flesh them out and include here.

Whew, that's my biggest work so far, whooping 6k words. Also the boys required adding female♀️and male♂️-specific bullets, hope it's fine with you. Still no read-more, I'm sorry for every passerby out there.

Please prepare yourself and enjoy💗

Savanaclaw relationship headcanons (SFW/NSFW)

Jack Howl 🐺

Sfw

• So that's the men they talk about, behind whose backs you feel like behind a stone wall? Not only is he big in stature, but Jack is also very reliable. Except for being your boyfriend, he's also your best friend and the biggest supporter; fan, if you may. There's nothing you can't discuss with Jack or ask for help with.

• Actually, the process of transition from friends to lovers was very hard for him, mainly because of how shy he was at first. One day you speak like always, discuss college and laugh together, and the next day he's a blushing mess, unable to say a coherent sentence to you. That day you asked him, whether he was ill, but the ones you actually had to ask about his state were his seniors who, as a gesture of goodwill, confronted their dear junior about his not so obvious crush on you the evening prior and ultimately turned his world upside down, when he finally realized that he liked you more than a friend.

• His bashfulness doesn't go entirely, no matter how long you date. Holding your hand in his still makes his cheeks red, hugging you makes his heart beat faster and kissing? Rest assured, you're the one initiating it most of the time.

• Which doesn't exactly make your kisses less pleasant. Jack can kiss, and he does it exceptionally well. Jack's kisses are the most loving and passionate, starting out very sweet and slow, and gradually becoming deeper and more intense, leaving you breathless. He's a type to cup your face and hold it there just gazing at you with lovesick puppy eyes.

• Jack is an open book. Whether he's happy, sad, angry, tired, or just thinking about something, it's pretty easy to spot and after some time into relationships you won't have problems gauging his mood.

• But even in instances when his expression doesn't betray him, he'll still talk with you, Jack is pretty earnest. His goal is for both of you to feel comfortable with each other. He wants to know about your hardships and vent about his own.

• Jack doesn't let just anybody close to his heart, and when he does he can be very vulnerable with them. That's also why your arguments always have such a heavy impact on him. In the middle of a fight he's not going to back down, and it'll continue as long as one of you doesn't storm out, but when he calms down he's going to regret so hard. Most of the time, he would want to go and find you, apologize and mend things as soon as possible, even if he was indeed right. With his fluffy ears sticking close to his head and bushy tail hanging down impossible low, he would ask you to just speak with him peacefully, saying he didn't want for this atmosphere between you to last any longer.

• By the way, you and only you have the unique privilege to pet his ears and tail. It both stresses him, because of how shy he is, and turns him into a puddle of affection when you gently caress him. He swears to himself, he could spend his whole life on your lap.

Did he actually say it out loud?...

• Your boyfriend is plainly adorkable and you treasure him so much.

• Also consider chilling with him in his wolf form! He doesn't get why you're always so eager to see him transform, but as long as you're happy he'll oblige. Cuddling, or lying above wolf Jack is the most serene feeling in the world, it's like lying on the fluffy, warm cloud.

• Jack is a walking heater, he emanates warmth, when you just stand next to him. What a hot man~ You'll probably be so thankful for it in winter, cuddling up to him is just the best, and he won't complain much about your freezing feet, he loves you after all. But in summer? Wolf boy got used to your hugs and is actually offended you don't embrace him as much. You can't fathom how he doesn't boil from the heat by just holding you in his arms. Power of love, truly.

• Bear hugs? Who needs them, when you have wolf hugs! Definitely, a type to completely engulf his partner into a hug, even his tail curls around you. The spoon, and no elaboration on that. No matter who embraces whom, in Jack's mind it's already perfect.

• Definitely not the PDA type, Jack is pretty reserved, and the best you can get out of him when people are watching is a light peck to the head and hand-holding.

• Sometimes he sticks into troubles because of his temper and distinctive sense of justice. It's for you to de-escalate the situation before it can turn into something serious. He may grunt because those guys definitely deserved to have somebody teach them a lesson, but you try to explain to him that it's for the best, he didn't stay aside, and that already counts.

• He wants you to delegate him all physically taxing tasks, whether by carrying your shopping bags, giving you something from the shelf, or anything else really. Chances are, you're still weaker than him and he wants to take care of you, the boy feels so proud when he can help you! "W-what? Me, a good boy?! ",- yes, Jack, the best. He sometimes hates it so much, how easily you fluster him.

• He would like to create a morning routine together with you. If you're not as keen on sports, muscle building, or can't endure heavy physical training he will just be glad to have you doing morning exercises near him, he genuinely thinks of it as some form of bonding. You noticed that while being in relationships with Jack your lifestyle changed into a much healthier one.

• Jack can be very playful with you, at times reminding of an actual wolf. When he's in an affectionate mood he may discreetly nuzzle your face, nibble on your ears or pet your hair. Most likely he doesn't mean anything sexual by it, just enjoying your presence, by other times his touches mean an entirely different thing.

Nsfw

• He definitely didn't have any experience before getting intimate with you. He blushes so hard, you think he'll pass out from excitement and his tail is just a flurry of colors, with how fast it wags.

• The first time is messy and chaotic, he is totally lost and doesn't know where to place his hands and what to do. Thankfully he's a fast learner, the rate with which he improves actually amazes you.

• The first time he goes down on you is a disaster too. But he's getting better quickly, and where he still lacks the skill, he makes up with determination. He's not leaving his place between your legs, until you cum at least once; if his jaw locks, he doesn't care. Jack gets addicted to your taste and he's the happiest when your tights are around his head, hands tugging on his white locks and the smell of your sweet arousal enveloping him.

• The first time you go down on him boy dies and ascends. Poor wolf cums in a minute and when he sees you struggling to swallow his cum? Jack swears he has never become hard so fast. Blowing him means freeing a good amount of time in your schedule, because, even if he gets embarrassed about it later, he'll hold you down there for a long time. He feels just pure bliss when you suck and lick him.

• Before you even try to initiate something in public, he's already looking at you with judging face. He despises the idea, that some other people may do such things in public places, so Jack himself is not going to engage in them.

• Pet the dog the boy! Do it, he'll be ecstatic. The base of his ears and tail are his most erogenous zones. He'll let out the neediest whines when you touch him, it's a sure way to get him in the mood. If you take back your hand he will growl softly and chase after it.

• While his growling may sound threatening Jack doesn't mean anything by that, he's just trying to release tension from being aroused. He's actually very tame, never exceptionally rough with you, unless it's your goal to rile him up. Jack doesn't fall entirely into sub/dom classification, he's vanilla, but he prefers to be on top and do the most of the work since it means he'll get to enjoy your whole body and he's all about expressing his love to you.

• The boy is pretty animated, but he always minds the volume. It's mostly grunts and growls, with occasional moans you adore so much. And feeling him growl when he's performing oral on you? Priceless.

• He has a knot. Even normally his cock's base is pretty thick, compared to the rest of the shaft, but when he's in you he rarely can withhold from forming a knot.

•♀️With female significant other Jack won't hesitate to beg her to let him put it in. The feeling of being connected like that with you makes him very emotional and appreciated even. It goes away after some time, and if you're worried about him actually knocking you up, Jack is actually very diligent about putting a condom every time you have sex.

• While he likes to see your face, the expressions you make, and that he can easily spot if you're not feeling good, Jack's all-time favorite pose is doggy style, how obvious. Having you on your four under him inevitably brings out his most carnal desires. Best believe, he's going to rock your world.

Ruggie Bucchi 🐆

Sfw

• This boy is husband material. Intelligent? Check. Good with money? Check. Knows how to cook, sew, clean, pay taxes? Check. Nobody will judge you if you propose to him after the first few months, Ruggie is good all-around if you've already learned to love him for who he is.

• The hyena boy is not very confident early into your relationships. He feels like if he starts to open up, you'll get to know him better and eventually... break up with him. He's on guard the entire time, trying to be a picture-perfect boyfriend, but it's so different from the way he behaved before, you can't help, but think something is wrong. At some point, all the stress from college, dorm management, and your relationships is going to get at him, resulting in you consoling him on your lap after he breaks down and cries from overworking himself constantly. After he's let it out if his system, venting to you about how anxious he actually is, and how he doesn't want to lose you, when you have just returned his feelings, you can finally soothe him and address what he's said. When he's in such vulnerable state, Ruggie really needs to hear that you want to see his other sides, even if he thinks they are not beautiful, that you are willing to accept him no matter what and he doesn't need to be perfect for you to love him and you're definitely not leaving him any time soon. This talk does make him feel more secure afterward and it's easier for him to rely on you a bit more.

• His love language is definitely acts of service! He loves to be helpful, to hear your praise when he's cooked lunch for you, took your clothes to the laundry for you, fixed your tie or shoelaces when you didn't notice it was loose. It makes him feel accomplished and you being grateful and repaying him for that, unlike a certain lion, is definitely a nice bonus. His preferred way is to receive your love in gifts, but you need to be careful with them! He won't appreciate you wasting your money on something stupid or of no use to him; it has to be practical, but not necessarily expensive. If you present him with a handmade gift though, he's going to treasure it, no question asked. The thought of you, spending time to create it with him in mind makes Ruggie feel warm all over.

• Quality time between you is very important for him too. A nice evening together, without the college, annoying seniors, and other distractions is perfect for him. If you can concentrate your attention solely on him, lavish only him with your touches, hugs, smooches, and words of praise, Ruggie is the happiest man alive.

• For your dates he prefers to stay inside, prepare dinner together, dance and fool around without the care in the world, watch some show popular in Twisted Wonderland right now or groom each other. Yes, Savanaclaw guys do like self-care evenings from time to time, Ruggie in particular likes when you trim his nails, you find out that they're much harder than human nails, or comb his hair and pet those fluffy ears.

• If it's a special occasion, he won't be against going to some nice restaurant or cafe, he does know that it's important for couples to go out together, even if your budget may not be that big. Reserving pricey dates for holidays and important dates leaves him some time to save up money and feel prepared.

• The type that claims that's he's the big spoon, but the moment you lie down together, he's already cuddling up to your chest like the smallest spoon that he is. Ruggie loves to be close to your heart, listen to it's heartbeat, feel your warmth around him, it's such a blissful feeling for him. Just sometimes or when you ask him to, he'll hug you from behind and whisper sweet nonsense into your ear, assuring you that he'll protect you and everything will be okay.

• He may seem this confident, self-assured, and quite bold young man, who isn't shy at all to show his love for you, freely kissing and flirting with you. The truth is, as soon he's out of your vicinity, he's blushing like mad, while his heart is hammering in his chest. He's not used, definitely not used to courting somebody, it makes him so nervous, but it's not like he'll ever admit this.

• He doesn't like to be called cute, at all. Ruggie doesn't associate it with a compliment and he would rather have you think he's handsome, pretty or sexy but not cute, might as well say that he's weak or you don't see him as a man. He's can be pretty stubborn when he wants to, so what's left for you is to choose other words of affirmation.

• In Ruggie's mind kisses and embraces are an intimate practice. He can tolerate casual touching, give a friendly pat on the back, or even put an arm around somebody's shoulder, but he has to draw the line at kissing and hugging. He feels very grossed out when someone he doesn't trust enough tries to breach his personal space like this and evades it like the plague. Most likely, you're the only one who he has ever had close enough relationships with to do these things.

• Ruggies kisses can vary. Sometimes it's just a quick peck when you're passing by in corridors. Other times it's loving french kiss that leaves you both breathless, and which the boy tries to save for when you two are alone. But when he's jealous or feels threatened as in seeing a particularly noisy suitor of yours making rather bold moves, he won't hesitate to show his tongue down your throat right before them to get his message across.

• This hyena is very possessive. He still remembers how it's like to not being able to eat your food on your own, to not have a constant safe place to sleep at night, to feel like the worst, least deserving flea ever, not being able to protect what is yours. He still struggles, but he's no longer the scrawny, weak kid he was before, and he finally has the power to preserve what he treasures. And you're one of his treasures: the most beautiful and kindest being he's ever met. When you are by his side he feels like he could take over the world and waking up at the morning has never been so easy for Ruggie, for he knows he'll meet you today once again, and will be able to hug, and kiss, and hear that you love him.

• You'll have to learn it the hard way, that his history made an impact on his morality. As long as his ways are beneficial to him, to you or to his friends, Ruggie has no qualms doing the dirty stuff. It's not always violent in nature, but he broke bones with his unique magic before, you even was the one to out him on that, but it doesn't mean he gave up that mindset completely. It anything, he has now learned to go with more complicated, round-about strategies. Leave justice and righteousness to the folks like Jack, Ruggie is not as naive to think that the world is fair and he knows he has to work hard for the things he knows he deserves. But you're with him for reasons, and not letting him loose all his compassion is one of them. Sometimes it's important that you work as his moral compass and stand up and firmly tell him out of doing something that you deem wrong.

• Your arguments are almost nonexistent since most of the time Ruggie is the first to back down and accept your point of view. He almost never loses his cool and If he thinks you are not right, he'll still agree with you just to pacify you enough so you would discuss it with him and reach a consensus. Ruggie doesn't like to fight with you, he would rather fix the problem right at the start, so it wouldn't escalate, than wait until one of you can't keep silent anymore. By considering each other's opinion and working around them, your relationships remain healthy and beneficial to both of you.

Nsfw

• You can't help but question, whether it's actually his first time as he's said or not, but you aren't going to complain, with how he masterly finds and stimulates all your sweet spots.

• ♀️He will fulfill his position on the top without a fault, but if you seek something else entirely, he won't disappoint you either. Ruggie wholeheartedly thinks that the best place for him is where you say him to be. He will attentively listen to your commands and fulfill them to his best ability, just for a chance that you'll praise or reward him in some way. Handle him the way you want, he's already on the seventh cloud to be able to mate- oh, he meant to make love to you. In short, Ruggie is the best hyena boy, who'll submit to you in a breath.

• ♂️ The brattiest bottom, and none other than you got him. Prepare to wrestle him, quite literally, for a chance to have him underneath you, or just around you. Unless you prove that you're deserving of it, he's not going to relent. But the gratification for it is immense: the blushing, whining, breathless mess that Ruggie is when you're done with him is truly the sight to behold.

• Ruggie has nice stamina and can handle a lot, and is even somewhat masochistic, but degradation and punishments don't sit well with him and make him very uncomfortable in the end. If you want to discipline him for teasing you on public or getting it on without you, the best way to make him realize his mistake is through orgasm control. Crying from over-stimulating or from broken orgasm makes him learn the lesson, but not feel disrespected deep down. Just edge him for hours on end and he'll be as good as gold the weeks afterward, until he starts thirsting for your treatment once again.

• It's either raspy dirty talk or loudest, most sinful moans possible, no in between. Poor residents still can't figure it out who keeps them awake at night, the pornstar worthy cries just don't tie in with the image of petite vice dorm leader, and even if some of them understood, one glance is everything it's going to take to silence them.

• ♀️ He loves the feeling of being in you, how warm and tight it is, but don't hide the strap-on too far, he loves it equally as much, the devilish glint in his eyes tells it all when you first suggest it. Ruggie receives it very eagerly and is very supportive of the idea of adding it when you have some "alone time" together.

• He's a putty in your hands when you blow him. The hyena feels very special when you pay such close attention to his dick and can't handle it for too long. Blow jobs are definitely the currency he accepts for being an amazing boyfriend and it's a treat he always looks forward to.

• Considering his stature, he's definitely not the biggest one out there, but does he know how to use it, and what positions make both of you feel good. A grower, you sometimes question yourself, if it's some kind of magic.

•♀️You on top of him makes him not under the collar at any time, but especially when you fuck. No matter if he's penetrating you, or eating you out, he's overjoyed and so head over heels for you. And does he love to go down on you. Ruggie adores your clit, and always pays it the utmost attention. Hyena boy loses the feeling of time when he is there, smothered by your tights and licking, tasting, sucking, drinking your juices, and enjoying your moans. You'll have to forcefully remove yourself from his mouth because he's not stopping on his own, even if you're already tearing up from overstimulation.

•♂️ He's going to demand to be on top, even if he's the one taking it, he wants to have an illusion that he's in charge, even if you ram his ass like there's tomorrow. If you're the one receiving his cock, hands down(ha!), he positions you into a doggy style, the penetration is amazing and his hip game is top-notch, you'll have a hard time declining him a top position afterward.

• He can be pretty stealthy, when he wants to, so if you're up for it he will gladly finger you/give you a handjob under the table. The feeling of his calloused fingers in your most intimate place can bring you to orgasm very fast, not to mention how skillfully be moves his hand. Oral in a hidden alley? Not entirely out of the plate too. And the way Ruggie deals with accidental witnesses or uncomfortable questions still hasn't made you face consequences, so it's definitely working.

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Sfw

• Stupidly sexy lion. He knows the hots you have for him are immense and he's going to use it against you. If flashing the cockiest smirk you've ever seen and whispering in your ear is all it takes to convince you to sleep with him, ditch your homework, to laze around with him or just generally pay attention to him, he's going to abuse it as much as he can.

• You feel like you've become ten times lazier since you've started to date him, he thinks that you just spend quality time together as a normal, lovable couple.

• It's pretty much impossible to make him do anything, even if you're his significant other now. He's not helping you with your crappy homework, neither will he buy you anything from the store or cafeteria, even if he's walking by it. Get your own shit. Even better, bring him something too, since you're going anyway.

• ♀️ That's it unless you're a lady with a more or less firm grip. There's definitely more respect he pays to you, having grown up in the pride of Afterglow Savannah. Ladies first and foremost, he can't ignore it. Suddenly he's the one getting his own shit and bringing you whatever you want with a silver lining, probably not looking the most enthusiastic about it, but you're his woman and that's what you deserve.

•♀️The dream boyfriend when you're on your periods. He's getting you the right pads without a fault, knows just what snacks to bring you, heating packs are already there and an even hotter lion is embracing you and petting your hair.

• Still overall Leona is not your prince charming, and your relationships are full of compromises and until Leona finally understands that it takes two to tango, it's on you to support them. Which can be pretty hard, but the pay off is big unarguably.

• Your arguments start out calmly, up till the moment Leona gets sick of it and then the worst starts. It takes time for the situation to escalate to that point, Leona does have some patience and sense in him, but once you both are angry and don't hear each other prepare for this fight to leave no stone unturned.

♀️With a lady, Leona will be pretty tame, and rather than shouting he'll be growling lowly, which isn't less aggressive, but the chance of him scaring or snapping at you is pretty low. He'll be the first to storm off, not having the patience to stand it anymore and unable to let it out because of his innate respect for you.

♂️It's brutal, even if he's meters away from you. He hates to be bossed around or scolded like a guilty kitten and you remind him of all the arguments he had with his family at home, which makes his blood boil. The best course of action would be for you to leave him alone for the time being and patiently wait when he's up to talking again.

Sometimes you talk and the problem is solved and you don't return to and quarrel about it ever again, other times Leona just plainly drops the subject before it comes to bite him in the ass and you have a fight again. You have to be the smarter one with a hot-tempered and prideful boyfriend that you have, for arguments to not shake your relationships, and even straighten them.

• When he's not sleeping Leona can be quite cute and affectionate with you, corny when he's on a mission to make you blush. He doesn't care if anybody is round, you're the only one who he sees and right now he wants his wake-up kiss and nobody can stop him unless they want a couple of broken bones. You got into trouble because of his careless nature a lot of times, but when you look at his charming smirk and naughty eyes you can't resist him which allows him to peck you ten times more until you either drag him to a hidden from prying eyes place, or others shout at you to get a room.

• One kiss is never enough for Leona, especially since he doesn't acknowledge close-mouthed kisses and not the one to ever restrain himself. The make-out sessions are frequent and very heated, with his hands roaming everywhere, low groans sending pleasurable chills down your spine. What a relief he's usually in the places where no noises and people can disturb his sleep, or "bonding time" with his mate.

• The biggest spoon, he almost never gives up his place. If you catch him at his sleeping spot somewhere at the botanic garden or square and he's awake enough to spot or smell you, he'll trap you in his grasp and not let go until it's either time to eat or return to dorm. Crying that you have important matters and you can't just rest like that is futile. He's pretty warm too and even more cuddly than Jack, so prepare to suffer. But it's also very sweet how pissy he gets when you try to leave, clutching your form closer still, employing even his tail just not to part with your comfortable presence. The only time he's willing to be a little spoon is when he lays on your lap, happy to receive pats and scratches to his ears, at times like that he feels practically blessed to be with you.

• He may not show it openly, but he cares. He cares so much about you. He knows your likes and dislikes, maybe not precisely, but it's already outstanding for a guy who mostly gives no shit about people other than himself. He knows how to make you happy when you're sad or stressed, and how not to worsen your state. He'll talk with you about your problems to help you find a solution, and when you thank him for helping you, Leona will just brush it off and say that you were the one to come up with it. He's also just fine with lending you an ear, even if inside he wants to turn into sand whatever or whoever made upset. Yes, if it's alive, they will probably not be happy that they survived, because the following day will be a total nightmare for them. Nobody in their right mind would harm the lion's mate, and Leona makes sure everybody knows that.

• He's quick-witted and can come up with smartest, most efficient ideas in no time, but he's always too lazy or doesn't see a point. If you're needing his help, he may consider it, but you still receive a negative answer sometimes. Unless you have something you can offer, which for Leona you always do. The answer is straightforward - you.

• When you stay at their dorm, Ruggie always dumps his usual responsibilities on you. Leona has to wake up to his morning classes and how you manage to do it is on you. And bring his breakfast, or he'll forget and by the time he remembers nothing is left for him already. Also, braid his hair, and exclusively to you, try to not be taken to bed once again. It's quite rare you complete your quest. Other times Leona just takes advantage of it and skips the day entirely, lounging around and doing stuff with you.

• Ruggie and Jack admire you for how you can put up with Leona's lazy lion ass and how you get along and accept Leona-senpai even though his character is like that each respectively. Both agree that it's quite a feat you didn't bailout in the first weeks. They notice how much Leona mellowed down, in a good way, when he got together with you and are quite glad that the senior found such a person to love as yourself.

• Jealousy over the roof, but you won't ever catch the wind of it. He's good at pretending, and he can't let you know that he's about to chew this poor soul head off, together with their limbs and flesh. In his mind you literally belong to him, only he is allowed to flirt and tease you. He'll try and lead you away as nothing has happened, but his blood is boiling.

• Being Leona's lover means getting the privilege of being called "aunt/uncle" by small Cheka. He loves you so much, the lion cub looks forward to playing with you and his uncle when he visits NRC. It's the rare instances when Leona doesn't conceal his jealousy and demands your attention back openly. You think it's funny how he feels challenged by the kid, but choose to watch from the sidelines, how instead of being scared of fuming uncle Cheka just goes to give love to him instead. Leona thinks that you get along well with children, and just sometimes imagines how would you look caring for your own cub. If you ask him why he's spacing out like that, he'll just huff, but the small blush will remain on his cheeks for quite some time.

• "And what should I do with you?"

"Love me, feed me, and never leave me."

This big ass cat just needs your TLC to enter his cat heaven.

Nsfw

• The ultimate pillow prince. Love him and fondle him, kiss and bite him, he'll take everything and then ask for more. He'll agree to everything as long as you keep the good stuff coming. He even tries and acts like he's the one in charge, but you know that you're the one doing most of the work and his bravado is just for show.

• But when he needs to really show you who is alpha here he won't half-ass it. When he's especially angry or jealous Leona is not releasing you from his room all day long and goes to extreme, by his and probably your standards, lengths to prove that you don't need anybody else, and only he can satisfy your every need.

• He has had sex before and that's a fact, but was he ever so emotionally connected to somebody else? If his intense gaze and low roars tell you something, it's that he has never dedicated himself to somebody, neither in or out of bed.

• Unashamed nudist, Leona will fuck you just anywhere as long as you both want this. Charm to the max, when you say that you're worried somebody will walk in on you. "You're not thinking about anybody else when I'm right here, kitten".

• Blowjob is not just a way to motivate him, sometimes it's the only way you can make him do something. Prone to throat fuck you on occasions when he has the spare energy. More often than not just lets you take all matters into your hands and do whatever you want. If not for those quiet grunts you would think he fell asleep again. He did not, the man is living his best life.

• Animalistic growls, groans, and grunts are heard in Savanclaw hallways when you make love. While he may not be the most vocal lover, he doesn't hold himself back either. You make him feel good, and he lets you know about it.

• Leona Kingscholar is massive and he knows it. As if the big dick energy wasn't already radiating off of him, he actually has a lot to stress it. "Not the most human dick" squad, he has the penile spines, though not as painful as in actual mammals, they just add more excitement to already satisfying feeling. Best believe, he knows what to do with this package to make you see stars.

• As long as you're above him he's content, missionary, cowgirl, 69 you name it, he loves it. Do mind that his trust power is bruising, not taking into account his size, as a result, you won't be walking normally, if at all if was especially fired up, the following day.

•♀️While you're up there, might as well sit on his face and let him have a snack from his personal five-star restaurant. He loves every minute of it and can probably stay for days there, making you come over and over again because he's so damn good at it too. He knows just how to lick, where to apply pressure, what to do with his fingers, and that rough tongue is plainly amazing. Never heard of it before? Now you did and it has the most mind-blowing sensation against your labia and clitoris. So messy, Leona is; when you finish with him he'll have your slick and cum smeared all over his face, which he doesn't mind at all, licking off what he can, successfully making you turn even redder from the erotic sight beneath you.

• ♂️ The sloppiest suck you'll ever get, nobody can challenge Leona on that. It would be nice if he just repaid you a bit more often. You'll probably learn to treasure his blowjobs, because of how rare and memorable they are simultaneous. The king, oh this irony, of deepthroating, you wonder if this man even has a gag reflex. Apparently, he does not, or just holds himself together very well, because he'll remove himself only to breathe in some air before he goes to town on you once again.

• Does he have a nice imagination, this lion. It's not rare for him to just daydream about fucking you in any setting possible, pop a boner, never do something about it and just drift off again. The reason he always turns your cutesy cuddly times into marathon sex is because he's always horny, but rarely acts on it and just opts to let off the steam together with you.

• Prepare to be littered with bites and scratches, the sex with Leona can be very wild. No matter your position you'll receive lots of marks all over your body, and don't raise your hopes - you won't be able to conceal it, for he chose very specific areas that are always seen by others, Leona is a possessive man after all.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #savanaclaw #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #leona kingscholar #twst jack #twst ruggie #twst leona #lemonade #mel writes

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gingergcnius · 3 years ago

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some of y'all asked for more quirrell!ghost , so here it is !

most of the flowers that grow in the room are mostly anemones , belledonnas , bittersweet , black eyed susans , columbines , daisies , iris , marigold , pansy , willow , and the newest addition to the room , zinnia .

the zinnias start growing after sybill's appearence , and increases whenever one of the professors or students come to visit and practice magic and quirinus sees they don't have sybill with them . ( or a boy with golden hair , dressed fine from head to toe and the biggest and ' attractive ' smile someone could have )

he likes to watch the students practice in his room , as long as they don't damage what he cannot regrow . ( and it's not like he can stop the tears , his visitors a constant reminder yet like cold water in a hot summer day ) . it reminds him of a faint memory from when he used to be a muggle studies professor .

though he doesn't talk much , he will nod and tilt his head from time to time to show that he is listening to the students , and that he is not ignoring them . ( he will always listen , even if he is floating way up from the ground , curled up into a ball and sobbing his heart out . )

he is the most calm with snape , often the potions professor would drag in a chair , a book under his arm , and he would spend time reading . he insists it's the quiet he seeks , and he is not doing this for the ghost . quirinus is dead , after all . he died a traitor , why should he care if he came back as a pathetic ghost ? is his answer when someone asks . ( he never once speaks those same words when he enters the room )

sybill comes to visit ( both arms trapped in a grip by minerva on one side , Pomona sprout on the other ) weeks after , eyes red and puffy . this time , when quirinus sets his blank eyes on her , no tears come . instead , he reaches for one of the bushes , and plucks a single zinnia and hands it to her . no one aside from pomona reacts , she brings a hand to her eye to wipe away a tear .

sybill keeps the flower in a glass cage , a thick book laid next to it on the table . it's quirrell's book of course .

it took her a long time to dig through the boxes that had collected dust very long ago , having to take small breaks to cry away from them ( these were his , he had cared so much , he would be angry if he learned there were tears on them that left stains . )

filius and Pomona decide that it's an excellent opportunity for further experiences and bring their classes down to quirrell's room from time to time . it gets the ghost to speak , and the students learn new things . it's worth the small smile , the quiet yet excited voice coming from the ghost as he explains the plants , their uses , and how to take care of them . he sometimes corrects students , showing them which way to flick their wand and when to thrust it to cast proper spells . though sometimes he will be far away , hidden in a corner , not even brave enough to face the older students if they decide to bring them here .

( they learn their lesson to avoid bringing the older students , when some , who remember what quirrell had done , reacted terribly and insulted the professor to the point where it took another two weeks before the professor appeared back in the room . and another few weeks before he started responding , stopped crying again and listening to what said to him . )

the first time he truly leaves his room ( the students had decided to call it that , since it was easier , and to avoid suspicion around umbridge ) is a true disaster . it is halfway and a bit after through the year , and a few of the students decide to hide in his room .

at first , he doesn't hear the soft cries of the young girl and two boys because of his own sobs , until she stars sobbing just as loud as him .

curious to why someone young as her would be in such devastating state , he floats up to her . if you were to ask what happened next , he couldn't tell .

one second he was staring at a terrible scar on the back of her hand , and the next he was floating down the corridors of Hogwarts , followed by the pleasing group of three , for him to stop to not do it .

they do not succeed .

the amount of noise they are making , of course attract the attention of the professors , and they are shocked when they see the professor floating through the halls . not a tear in sight , fury visible on his face . he is angry , and you do not get in the way of a pissed ghost . ( not that you can , of course . )

for the first time , his eyes are focused , no longer unseeing .

he doesn't even bother knocking , he goes right through the door , and people hold their breath .

he just crashed Umbridge's lesson .

due to the lack of slammed door , it takes a while until umbridge notices the ghost .

" um . . professor ?— " " i do not remember seeing a raised hand , or me giving you permission to speak , Mr Potter . detention , after class in my offi— "

she gets cut off by a gasp , because glaring down at her is no other than the ghost of quirinus quirrell , the former DADA professor

" no . " his voice echoes in the room .

" p-pardon ? "

" . . i s-said , n o . " this time , his voice is much , much louder . it's the loudest he had ever spoken in months .

" y-you w-will not torture a-any o-of the students ! "

" i don't think a ghost has a say in how i punish my students ! "

a few minutes of silence , and umbridge takes that as a win .

it is not .

it's when a hand lands harshly on her shoulder , and practically throws her around , true panic settles in .

because normal ghosts are not supposed to be able to interact with objects , let alone another human being . and quirrell ? quirrell is inches away from her face , eyes a bright red , and he is not happy .

" do you . . k-k-know how i-i d-died ? i died w-when a d-dark lord p-possessed m-me . i struggled , f-for months , f-fighting a-against him . he punished me t-too . and you . . y-you r-remind me t-too much of Voldemort— " he is cut off when no other than sybill trelawney slams the door open , gasping and wheezing as if she ran a marathon . wide eyes searching until they land on the ghost . only then , she relaxes .

apologizing , she moves over to quirinus , softly talking to him and leading him out of the classroom .

the language of flowers are from a site i looked up , so if they're not accurate i am very sorry . I'm not very good with flowers :

anemone: forsaken , sickness

belledonna: silence

black eyed Susan: justice

bittersweet: truth

columbine: foolishness , folly

red columbine: anxious , trembling

daisies: innocence , hope

iris: a message

marigold: despair , grief , jealousy

pansy: thoughts

willow: sadness

zinnia: thoughts of absent friend

i was officially thinking of quirrell and his unfinished business being not being able to explain people what truly happened , and that he was innocent , but i thought , while writing the scene with him and dolores , why not add a little twist ?

so now not only his unfinished business is explaining his side of the story , it is also voldemort's death ( revenge ) , being useful and help the students ( guilt , from his DADA year . he had found dark arts interesting , and because of Voldemort he had failed to show the others his point of view on the subject ) and dolores umbridge ( he will not rest until that disgusting thing called a human being is gone from the halls of his home )

i also have a headcannon where the more feelings behind an unfinished business there is , and depending on the number of said unfinished business , the more in contact with he world said ghost is . like being able to touch objects , be completely aware of your surroundings , and going as far as acting like a human . and as you can see , quirinus has quite a few and loads of emotion behind it , especially when he focuses on them .

OKAY NOW IM DONE ILL STOP WRITING NOW OR ELSE IT'LL TURN INTO A WHOLE BOOK——

#woohoo #that is way longer than i expected to write #but i think #it's definitely worth it #now that im taking another look #if any of you noticed the small easter egg from when a small change happens to him #and make the connection to what he says #congrats !#here's a cookie 🍪#quirinus quirrell #sybill trelawney #severus Snape #filius flitwick #minerva mcgonagall #pomona sprout #harry potter #dumbledore's army #harry potter au #ghost!quirrell au

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

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Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

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supercharmed-forever-mine · 3 years ago

Note

On the rating of 10, how do you rate the writing of each legacies characters, why and who deserves better? What aspects should be improved?

I updated some of the opinion for clarity and also added Finch because I forgot her originally

I'll just make a list and go down it and I'm sorry in advance I love responding but I'm horrible at grammar/punctuation and also I might tend to ramble but I'll try to be as concise as possible. It should also be noted anything I state that might possibly relate to ships is a personal opinion and I have nothing against any ships/characters gay or straight/Good or Evil. However would it be said that I definitely mean more towards the gay/Badass with a Golden heart side of shipping with any fandom.

Hope Mikaelson- As of now I would rate her writing at about a 6. And I only say that because as we know a majority of her characters personality slightly has always but this season especially related to her relationship with Landon. And I wish we would see the Badass Tribrid Hope we've been promised since season 1 I mean sure there are no lack of examples of her bravery and martyrdom. But I am tired of her always feeling down on herself and like she's a cosmic mistake when it has literally been proven by Lizzie's wish in season 1 that their life would be infinitely shittier without her. What they can do to improve it is have her focus on friendship and herself instead of trying to always focus on Landon. She deserves more than just to be a boy obsessed character I mean she's the daughter of Klaus F****** Mikaelson for Pete sakes she literally descends from the most powerful supernatural family ever to exist and is rightfully the most powerful being on the f****** planet.

Note: I found Handon's relationship cutesy in season 1 but now not so much especially since they use him dying as a plot line way too often it just doesn't have the same effect that used to***

Josie Saltzman-As of now I would rate her writing at about an 8. I like how her character at least for a while had her own storyline going off the mystic falls High School plotline and how she lived with delena because it was a good call back for us TVD fans but I think it could have definitely lasted longer than a few episodes. We all know it was just used as a lot device to introduce Ethan as a series regular and as an introduction for her to Finch's character. But overall I feel throughout the seasons she has experienced at least some personal growth as exhibited even in 3x15 where she admitted she has to stop saying sorry especially to Lizzie for not always jumping to do what she needs / she wants all the time. Whereas before Android AU version aside because she literally had to do what she was programmed to do. She has an exhibited that she's starting to do what she needs to do for Josie before others most of the time or she's trying to. And as far as her relationship to Finch well I don't see them being endgame I have no problem with them and I do see Finch being one of her major loves of the series that teaches her whatever lesson she needs that leads her to whoever her endgame love is. With her relationships I will always miss Posie and I wish they could get Lulu back at least just for one episode. Also I feel these last two episodes of the girls being a trio they have a really Been serving Hosie with the looks but also I feel like in general Josie and Hope have been really in f****** tune. In conclusion I just don't know because Kaylee's acting skills and just turning general I would rate a billion she could choke me and I would literally thank her.

Lizzie Saltzman-as of now I would rate her at about a 7. I feel as if she has had great personal growth over the series and hell even this season. I also like hell despite everything in her life especially her eternal struggle with her mental illness she is always trying to do better and not just for herself but mainly for others and some people would say that's not good but I like it because it truly shows what she stated in 1x03 during the gargoyle incident that she never wants to be the bad or evil one. She has all this s*** thrown at her being called broken, being seen as the lesser than sister, and not to mention the absentee parents. Yet through all this she manages to only get stronger especially once she builds a genuine friendship with hope. However what I will say is that I don't like the regression of her friendship with Hope in correlation to her progress of especially her mental illness. And what I mean by that is it's almost been shown that once she had even the seeds of a true friendship with Hope that Hope would never give up on her hell not but like even an episode or two into their newly formed friendship in S1 Hope went to Josie when she Lizzie was on the verge of a bad episode and "sweet" Josie was basically like fuck her she needs to fall on her ass for once and Hope ass was appalled y'all she was like Lizzie can't control her brain chemistry and was so defensive/protective it's like once they got over that hurdle that mainly Josie gave them everything clicked into place and they were almost instant bff's. So for them to do so good in season 2 and then it seems like it showed especially in these last several episodes black magic incident to bring Landon back aside that Lizzie's old issues of resentment and jealousy towards hope are starting to come back and I don't like that because the more Lizzie had A Friend in Hope it seems like the better she got at coping and doing better mentally.(sorry if this has been a confusing several sentences). And no by that I do not mean that Lizzie is mental progress has solely relied on Hope but I do think it has helped significantly for her to have a true friend. Also let it be noted now out of every ship though I should Hosie too HIZZIE is my #1 ship on Legacies two phenomenally beautiful woman also the enemies to friends to lovers trope *chef's kiss*which might be plausible as I always wondered what they meant in the Hosie crush confession scene of season 1 when Josie said that she always went after everybody josie liked hinting that Lizzie might be at least bisexual or maybe that was just what Josie perceived at like 12/13 years old. Also on the note of relationships Mizzie was a cute concept at the beginning but I do love the fact that MG is finally finding himself and standing up for himself but he did also do it and I kind of a******-ish way towards Lizzie. And that's all I can say for her. Actually I could probably write a novel on this women and also Hizzie but I won't lol.

Alaric Saltzman- As of now I would give him a rating of like a 4 . In the last several episodes I think he's been trying to make progress at being a better person but that's about all I can say I'm not an anti. But he definitely will not be winning the father of the year award anytime soon and like many people have pointed out he was a great guardian to Elena and Jeremy so he has the potential in parenting he obviously just ain't using it or lost it over the decades. I don't hate him but I do believe they're doing a discredit towards the better man he was in The vampire Diaries especially at the beginning.

Landon Kirby-His writing is like a 3. He is just there to be arm candy for hope. Until the last couple episodes where he became this for once realistic not optimistic hardened badass he literally brought nothing to The season other than someone for Hope to obsess over. And to be someone that they repeatedly kill for shock value even though it literally shocks no one anymore. I don't hate his character but he doesn't tickle My Fancy as much anymore. His character has a lot of potentialy especially if they ever bring back in his Phoenix side and truly explore it beyond his almost endless ability to revive and being a "Bird Boy" lol. I mean truthfully they're doing him a disservice Aria is a phenomenal actor who could take his character places if they just let him be more than a basic ass plot device. Also can we talk about how gorgeous of a man Aria is especially in these last few episodes looking love it and fine as f***.

As it has become apparent to me I ramble too much and I just don't have the capacity as it is now almost 1:00 in the morning my time to do anymore characters in depth so I will be doing a simple excerpt for the rest now that I have done the main 5 people.

Kaleb Hawkins- His writing is a 8. I do like how he's coming to himself over the years and is a a right hand man to Alaric now instead of being just a uncontrollable vampire(the only hate on this part not towards Kaleb but Alaric is that it shows he will virtually mentor/uplift almost any teen that ain't his own daughters). Though in my opinion he always kind of had a point on some things especially about the hypocrisy of Alaric in season 1 especially on the bmood drinking thing. Him and Mg's relationship is awesome I'm glad they made up in the last episode and our brothers again. Also I was rooting for him and Cleo I think they would be a cute little couple. Also I need his backstory immediately especially after saying to Cleo the last time he was vulnerable he died I need to know how he turned.

Milton Greasley(MG)- His writing is a 9 the season. I say that because he is really came into his own and stopped being the punching bag. Though I think the idea or used to think at least that him and Lizzie would be cute together I am proud of him for standing up to Lizzie finally even though I liked him always being there for her I was tired of him being a fallback for her when it didn't work with whoever however I do think he could have went about the rejection a little bit gentler especially with how he knows of Lizzie's emotional problems. And don't even get me started on Alyssa that was just a disaster that should have never even been brought to fruition her cheating with Jed was probably the best thing that could have happened. I liked his little side adventure with Ethan though I do think they could have wrote it a little better I was sad when he had to compel the memories away like they still could have been friends he just couldn't have known about the supernatural stuff also I'm still not convinced Ethan won't become supernatural later in the series if he stays on. And that's all I have to say on that one love my baby.

Jed Tien-His writing I can't really give a writing I don't think it's horrible but I do think overall they could give him a better plot line as a series regular other than just being used for the comical relief eye candy/mentioning how he's the alpha. Though it was funny the whole pool tournament to decide who was alpha will Finch was just exactly that so bad it was laughable. However I do respect the fact that he even admitted to her that he knew she threw the game and that he is a genuine man of his word and has become better over the series from like this dumb jock stereotype to this genuine dude the Alyssa incident aside. He is a cinnamon roll and I will protect him at all cost.

Ethan- Again as he just became a series regular this season and barely showed up in his premiere season. I will not be rating him in any traditional sense. His writing is not totally horrible I liked his adventures with mg they could have been written better and they still could have let him be MG's friend without supernatural knowledge instead of compelling the friendship completely away. And I am still not convinced he will not become supernatural in some way depending on how long he stays in the series truthfully it's actually almost inevitable unless they go the whole route of making him the Matt/Token Human of the show which I really hope they don't I mean he can stay human but don't make him a supernatural hater.

Cleo-her writing is 10. I say that because she has been a phenomenal character and I've never seen the actress before but she is obviously phenomenal as well. I like her whole connection to Malivore and how it's a legitimate one that seems to be interwoven with the story that's already been presented and add something new. I also like how she tried and really wanted to genuinely be friends with all the characters especially hope but at the same time she was also very realistic and new probably and truthfully the only way for Malivore to be defeated was for Hope to Go full Tribrid and she wasn't above actually trying to murder hope to save herself and just get rid of Malivore which I can't blame her.

Malivore-after the end of season 3 / the first couple episodes of season 4 which were supposed to be the original ending to season 3 I better never hear the name again I am so tired of it this should have ended like at least a season ago at this point it's dragging on. This was supposed to be a monster of the week type of series which is okay me personally I have always appreciated having one big bad of the season and then a couple of minor baddies that get their characters arcs and take a few episodes to defeat or something as like a B or C plot. Point being is that this character and plot line has gotten stiff as can be. To be honest I think half of us aren't even here for plot line anymore we just want to see which of our ships get together.

Finch-I am loving her character and I do think she's cute with Josie. Also I stan anyone who is a sarcastic b**** Queen. I think it's nice how her will backstory was different than the traditional one but also I hated how sad it was like she literally didn't even know what she was doing. Though I will say calling Lizzie the "evil" twin that she can fight me because you don't talk about my blonde cinnamon roll like that is based on one impression from something that was only meant and done out of a good place and Lizzie's heart trying to find out her backstory. But other than that I have no real qualms with this character and it is too early to have a real in-depth analysis/opinion of her.

Thank you for reading this long rant hope I answered your question well enough if not PM me on anything specific.

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter Ten

Title: Past, Present, Future

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

It’s been a productive morning. Breakfast had turned into an enormous affair; seemingly endless supplies of pancakes, french toast and eggs and bacon being shared amongst the ten people gathered. Although much more reserved and quiet than Millie, Alannah had held her own in the midst of the chaos and chatter; the only child initially nervous and withdrawn but quickly and seemingly getting accustomed to the level of noise and activity that comes with so many children in one house. She’s a lovely little girl. Smart and witty; always offering to help out with food prep and dishes whenever she’s over for a meal, full of compliments in regards to food and decor and possessing remarkable manners and social graces for someone so close to their teenage years. In a way she reminds Esme of the younger version of herself; shunned by her own family and desperately searching for people that will both accept and love her. Perhaps that’s why she’d been so willing and eager to bring the eleven year old into the fold; remembering what it was like to be surrounded by family yet feel so alone at the same time. It’s a horrible feeling; knowing that you’re not what your mother -or both parents in Alannah’s case- wanted and never allowed to forget it. It’s isolating and soul destroying. Causing problems that deeply imbed themselves in your psyche; battling with the destruction and never still weeping and sore wounds that hang around even as a an adult. She hadn't been as fortunate as Alannah; no one else that had been willing to embrace her as ‘one of their own’ and give her what she had so desperately needed AND wanted. And there’d be no way she’d wanted another kid going through that same thing; feeling alienated and lost as a kid and then having your adult years just as messed up and troubled.

So many bad decisions could be directly blamed on the behaviour she had witnessed growing up. Able to make friends yet unable to form real bonds with them. Growing tired of romantic partners; annoyed by the sounds of their voices and agitated by the touch of their hands and winding up feeling physically ill at the thought of them even touching her in an intimate way. The idea of being that close to someone had always turned her off instead of the opposite; a handful of brief and non intimate relationships throughout her entire high school career before trying her hand at the ‘real deal’ in college. Even then it had been too much work; long battles with her own brain and her own hang ups before she would even let her first REAL boyfriend get anywhere past second base. And she’d gotten married solely because she’d been convinced that Mark could be the one to get her past her issues; she’d learn how to tolerate someone being around all the time and she’d learn how to be a normally functioning adult when it came to having a serious and long term relationship with someone. That had been a disaster; confusing being in love with exactly just settling for someone and convincing yourself that you couldn’t possibly do better, so why even try? And even though she hadn’t loved him, she’d still desperately held on even when he became abusive and turned her life into a living hell. Suddenly afraid to be alone and terrified that his words were true: no one else would ever want her. That she was damaged and crazy and no one in their right mind would ever put up with THAT. And he’d constantly remind her that she couldn’t do better. That she should count her lucky stars that he even stuck around in the first place. No other man would, after all.

“That’s how much I love you, Esme. I put up with you. No other guy would. But I do. Because I love you THAT much.”

It’s weird how things evolve. Or don’t, for that matter. How your past has such an impact on your future. Fifteen years after Mark and she still struggles; moments of extremely low self esteem, lingering mental health problems, an unhealthy and twisted relationship with her own family, a constant worry that -despite being relatively healthy and somehow surviving the most horrible and terrifying of moments- her marriage is only two seconds away from imploding. The latter is irrational and she knows that. Despite Mark’s words, she had managed to find someone that loves her -truly and wholly loves her- despite all of her issues. Who sees past her messiness and busts his ass to help her finally move on and heal from her past. Who looks at her like she’s the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world; who would remind her of that until his very last breath and who -regardless how much it DOES annoy him- always tries to reassure her that things are just fine. He doesn’t care about the other women that check him out or show him attention or even the balls to try and get close. Always finding ways to assure her that he only has eyes for her; a man of few words that never shies away from pledging his unwavering love and faithfulness. No matter how many times she needs to hear it.

Her mother. She’s the one to truly blame for how fucked up her brain is. That lack of maternal instincts and the pure hatred she’d often shown. She had never let Esme forget that she was a mistake; a ‘change of life’ baby that never should have happened in the first place. On the worst of days, she’d often say that she’d wished she’d never even had her. That she should have ignored Esme’s father’s begging and pleadings to keep the baby. They hadn’t needed another mouth to feed; five boys was more than enough and another kid only caused financial strain and emotional strife. Her mother had always refused to acknowledge her own issues that had caused so many problems; her constant cheating, her lack of maternal instincts, her own biases when it came to her children. Even decades later she refuses to accept any responsibility; laughing off any mention of parental neglect or favouritism and shunning any and all suggestion that she was -and still is- emotionally abusive and an expert at psychological warfare.

While there’s no proof that those exact same things exist in Alannah’s home, Esme does hang onto an old adage passed down by Doctor Klein: “if things are that bad out in the open, they’re even worse behind closed doors.” If Alannah’s parents are so ‘out there’ with their distaste for each other and with their roles as parents, things are probably much darker and direr at home. And if she can give the kid a glimpse of a somewhat normal family and the experience of having siblings and people around her that do value her and appreciate her and show her attention and affection, it’s the least she can do. It’s too late to mend her own issues and it’s not possible to go back and time to change things, but she CAN alter Alannah’s present AND future.

Desi arrived at ten. Quite the baker and chef himself, he had offered to help Tanner in his culinary pursuits; bringing over his most expensive pots, pans and baking sheets and a stash of both exotic and common ingredients for the ten year old to experiment with. And with Millie the only other child left in the house, it had given her the opportunity for a little ‘me time’; the rest of the kids having gone with their father to assist in his pursuit for last minute Christmas gifts and the items she’d jotted down a list prepared right before he stepped out the front door. Some time in the gym had done her a world of good. Forty five minutes on both the treadmill and the rowing machine, followed by some time with the weights and working up a sweat punching and kicking at the heavy bag; the latter successfully enabling her to shed the anger and bitterness towards Mark, her own mother, and Alannah’s parents.

While she isn’t quite nearly as devoted and motivated as her husband is -often working out twice a day, two to three hours at a time- when it comes to fitness, she find it DOES help; getting her heart rate up and her adrenaline flowing a rather successful combination when it comes to her battle with her mental health woes and her ongoing battle with her self esteem. The latter becoming worse with the arrival of the last set of twins and her inability to shed the remaining twenty pounds -out of forty five- that she’d gained while pregnant with them. She’s nowhere near who and what she’d been before she’d begun having children; missing how skinny yet fit she’d been and how every piece of clothing she’d owned or tried on had seemed to fit so perfectly.

Tyler always rolls his eyes when she brings it up.Quick to remind her that a lot has changed since they first met; he doesn’t expect her to be the same person, in the same way she doesn’t expect him to be either. And that’s a good thing, he’d point out, and then thoroughly list all the ways they’ve both evolved for the better. He’d get that mischievous glitter to his eyes and he’d give that cheeky grin and he’d talk about how much he enjoys her body now; all that ‘extra cushioning’ in all the right places. And then he’d kiss her and embrace her as tight as her body would allow him to and everything would seem right and perfect in the world once again. Those big, strong arms never failing to make her feel safe and protected. In a way no one else has ever been able to.

******

After a long bubble bath- complete with scented candles and a glass of wine- she finally heads downstairs; braiding her still damp hair and securing it with an elastic and letting it dangle over the front of her shoulder. Desi is in the living room; surrounded by plastic tote boxes filled to the brim with various Christmas ornaments that he’s in the middle of organizing. The tree had arrived earlier and now sits in its stand in front of the living room window; seven feet tall and wide and full and filling the house with the fresh and unmistakable scent of pine. The kids are already excited to decorate. Even the normally quick to bore Millie looking forward to what has turned into quite the year event; Chinese take out and hot chocolate stirred with candy canes and the fireplace on while Christmas carols play on the stereo. It’s just a little ‘something’; a simple and silly little tradition that they’d adopted when they’d first moved back to Australia and have been indulging in ever since. There’s been many more adopted; both trying to give their kids the experiences they never had growing up.

“Thought maybe you fell asleep,” Desi says in a way of greeting. “Not that I’d blame you. Isn’t often you get time away from all the kiddos.”

“As nice as a nap sounds, the bath hit the spot. I may or may not have refilled the tub with hot water three times. Just to drag it out a bit. You’ve been busy. You don’t have to organize and clean my house every time you come over. I’m more than happy just to spend time with YOU.”

“A little help here and there is a good thing. Little T was helping me go through things and make them a little easier for you to find. We’ve got shortbread and sugar cookies in one oven, brownies and squares in the other. He’s in his glory that kid. Quite the little baker, ain’t he? He’s got skills. A mighty keen palate.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he becomes rich and famous for his cooking and baking one day. He’s a talent. In many ways.”

“He’s a good kid. A damn good kid. Reminds me of you in a lot of ways. Got quite a bit of momma in him. And he sure thinks the world of her, too.”

“He’s always been close to me. Since we lived in Colorado. He became quite the momma’s boy when things…” her voice trails off and she reaches into one of the boxes and pulls out a strand of rose gold garland. “...when things weren’t so good between Tyler and I.”

“That bad?”

“Bad enough. We split up. For six months.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. He went through some things. That were totally out of his control. And he made some decisions that weren’t the best. I had to kick him out.”

“You kicked him out? You? As madly and crazily in love as you are?”

“I did. He got back into the booze and the pain meds and he became a totally different person and I didn’t want that around the kids. So I told him to go. That once he got his shit together and could put us before his issues and his job, he could come back. Took him half a year, but…” she shrugs and tosses the garland onto the couch. “...it all worked out in the end. We got back together and we fought like hell to make things work. And here we are. Twelve years into things. And a hell of a lot better and stronger than we’ve ever been. He’s changed. We both have. We’ve come a long way.”

“And Little T?”

“He picked sides. He was three years old. Just a baby still. But he’d seen and heard enough and it affected him way more than it did TJ and Millie. He was scared of his dad. For a long time. Not that Tyler ever did anything to scare him; he never yelled at the kids or hit them or did anything to frighten them. We fought. A lot. And those fights got pretty bad. A lot of yelling and a lot of really horrible things said to each other. Things we can’t take back, unfortunately.”

“But you got past all that. Obviously.”

“We did. I mean, we didn’t MEAN the things we said. They were said out of anger and hurt; none of it was ever intentional. But that sticks with you, you know? You didn’t mean what you said and you hate yourself for saying any of it, but you still did it. And you can’t go back and erase it. Those words existed. Sadly.”

“You can’t dwell on it, Big E. You just can’t. Y’all got past it, am I right? You got back together, you said yourself you’re better and stronger than ever. And I highly doubt he holds all that against you; shit that happened years ago.”

“I know he doesn’t. But I also know he holds it against himself.”

“Well, that’s the bipolar part of things. Keeps the bad shit in his head and reminds him of it during the down moments. He’s doing okay with that? All that shit in his head?”

“He is. He’s been remarkably...well..for someone with the diagnosis he has. I’m proud of him. For handling things like he has. He just copes with it all. Way better than I thought he would. It’s been five years and there’s been no real issues. He takes his meds and he goes to therapy and he manages it all well. I’m proud of him. So proud. He’s done really well. He’s a tough shit, that’s for sure. Probably the toughest person I’ve ever known.”

“You mean when you’re NOT looking in the mirror?”

Esme laughs. “I am not THAT tough. I put on a good front.”

“You’re a tough cookie for a tiny little thing. All the things you’ve told me? That you’ve been through over the past twelve and a bit years? You shouldn’t underestimate yourself like you do.”

“It’s been...interesting...to say the least.”

It isn’t something she speaks so openly and honestly about; how she and Tyler met and everything that had happened in Dhaka and the decisions she’d made on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It isn’t exactly a topic you’re comfortable discussing with just anyone; your husband being a mercenary and a former alcoholic and painkiller addict with mental health issues. But Desi is trustworthy; kind and compassionate with a heart even bigger than his already enormous body. And it helps to have a confidant; someone to spill even your deepest and darkest secrets to without the worry of being judged.

“I found these,” Desi snags a shoebox off the coffee table and opens the lid as he presents it to her. “Look homemade.”

She peels back the layer of tissue paper and smiles at the contents revealed. “Salt dough ornaments. I remember making them with Millie. We were still in Telluride. Our third Christmas there. I hadn’t even gotten pregnant with Declan yet. God, that seems like a long time ago.”

“There’s four there, though. If you hadn’t had Declan yet, there’d only be three, would there not?”

“That’s not Declan’s.” She carefully plucks out the fourth ornament in question; gingerly turning it over in her palm as she inspects it. The same size and shape as the others, but with the added ‘extra’ of a halo that a then three year old Millie had decorated with gold glitter. It had been her idea; an ornament for the brother that she’d never get to meet but insisted was still very much part of their family. “That’s Austin’s.”

“Austin? Who is Austin? You have another kid I don’t know about? A baby you lost or…”

“Austin wasn’t mine. He was Tyler’s son. From his first marriage.”

“Excuse me….what?”

“He was married. Before me. In the same way I was married before him.”

“You never told me about that. You being the second Missus Rake.”

“There was never really a reason to talk about it. She was his high school sweetheart. They got married pretty much right after graduation. Then he joined the military. Austin arrived a little while later. When he was twenty five.”

“What happened between them? Things went bad or…?”

“It wasn’t the healthiest of marriages. They were young. Probably rushed into things. He was gone a lot and she wasn’t happy being an army wife.”

“And the kid? Does he see him? Do they live in Australia too or…?”

“Austin died.” She finds herself both fighting back a flood of threatening tears and speaking around a lump of emotion sitting square in her throat. “When he was six. Long before I ever knew Tyler.”

“I’m sorry,” Desi lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if…”

“It’s okay. It’s good to talk about it. About HIM. We’ve never hidden it from the kids. We’ve always been open and honest about things. Our past lives, the fact we were both married before, how they’d have another sibling if things had gone differently. There’s never been a reason NOT to tell about those things. It’s all part of who we are. All plays a role in how we got to where we are now. In one way or another.”

“Was he sick? Was there an accident or….?”

“He had lymphoma. It was very aggressive and pretty far along when the doctors finally caught it. The kid didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t last long. Even with chemo and radiation. It was bad. Very, very bad. Just a horrible thing for a kid to go through.”

“And for his folks to see.”

“It was a really bad time. For them. As a family. And Tyler…” she swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “...he was never the same after that. It really did a number on him. I know he seems all big and bad and fearless and intimidating but he’s got such a huge heart. He loves big and he loves deep. You see how he is; with the kids.”

“Definitely loves being a daddy. And they definitely love him.”

“He’s an amazing dad. I couldn’t have asked or wished for a better father for my children. And in a way, losing Austin made him the dad that he is. It was rough. On him. It still is.”

“It’s a hell of a thing. Losing a kid. Can’t imagine what it’s like seeing your own flesh and blood suffer like that. It was bad enough for me; seeing my husband go through what he did. I can’t imagine watching a kid go through that.”

“I often wonder what would happen if one of the kids got sick. If he could even handle it. I mean, once is enough. Imagine having to deal with that AGAIN? And I hate that my brain even goes there. That I immediately think of something like that. He’s tough and he’s strong and he’s resilient. But I don’t think he could handle that. If anything happened to one of the kids or me…”

“He’d deal with it. It’s what we do. When we love someone. But you need to get out of your head, Big E. I mean, it’s beautiful nine times out of ten. But that last remaining bit…”

“It’s a mess. I’m the first to admit that. I can’t believe I’m this emotional over this. It’s a Christmas ornament, for crying out loud.”

“It’s what it represents. It’s your husband’s pain. So it’s your pain too.”

“For years we never even put the ornament on the tree. Tyler couldn’t handle seeing it. So I just put it away. Until he was ready for it to be out. And then one year, he did it himself; got it out of the box and hung it on the tree and that was that. We’ve been putting it up since.”

“Is that why their marriage broke up? The kid getting sick?”

“There were other problems. It wasn’t a good marriage. For many reasons.” She lays the ornament back in the box and carefully covers it with the layer of tissue paper. “But I guess in the end, it worked out okay. For me anyway. We wouldn’t have met. Had things NOT fallen apart. I can’t say I wish I could go back and change things. Because if I could do it…”

“Change one thing, change everything. The butterfly effect.”

“Whatever you do, do not bring that up to Tyler. Not the butterfly effect itself. The movie. Don’t talk about Ashton Kutcher to him. He’s got this deep rooted and unexplainable hate for him.”

“I feel the same way about Justin Timberlake. You know what I call him? Just to be an asshole? Justin Tenderbottom.”

Esme laughs at that, then sets the shoebox down on the cluttered coffee table and allows herself to be pulled into a tight hug; one of Desi’s enormous hands on the back of her head and his arm curled around her waist. She rests her forehead against his chest; the tears coming easily and effortlessly now. It’s a hurt she’s never been quite able to explain; a painful and long lasting mourning for a child that she never knew.

“You’re a good little wife, Big E. I know for a fact that he thinks the sun rises and sets on you. That you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He said that?” Esme sniffles noisily and looks up at her friend. “He admitted that to you?”

“He did. And he’s said a lot about you. All good things, too. You are definitely the center of his entire universe. And you know what? It’s a horrible thing that happened. To his son. To him. But if it hadn’t? Well you wouldn’t have what you have now. Those seven kids you got? None of them would exist. And if you ask me? This world is a better place because they do.”

“Mum!” Tanner calls, as he slowly makes his way from the kitchen; oven mitts on his hands as he carefully carries a mug of tea. “I made you a drink! I knew you’d want one. You always have tea right after a bath.”

Smiling, she pulls away from Desi and uses the bottom of her t-shirt to wipe away the tears that stain her cheeks. “You know me very well, sweet boy. You didn’t use the stove though, did you? To boil the water? You know you’re not supposed to do that if there isn’t an adult with you.”

“I used the coffee maker. Daddy showed me how. I know what I’m doing. And it’s safe. I can’t hurt myself. Three milk and no sugar,” he presents her with the mug, a proud smile plastered from ear to ear. “Just like you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” she says, and takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “And so are you. The most perfect and precious Nugget EVER.”

****

Two hours later she finds herself lounging in the sunroom; legs stretched out and socked feet against the window, laptop opened and resting on her thighs. It’s a double helping of work; two businesses to keep running smoothly even when thousands of miles away. Scheduling and payroll and Christmas bonuses to take care of for the bookshop employees, emails from potential clients needing fast and efficient ‘solutions’ to serious problems in areas all over the world. Word travels in the mercenary life; a rather tight knit yet extremely competitive circle that moves fast. People with money want the best; someone that chooses a life of relative secrecy yet possesses an astounding and well respected reputation. The list of ‘regulars’ is long and plentiful, and each brings more people into the game; word of mouth making or breaking a company such as theirs. There’s never a lack of work; over forty guys -some with years of experience that had bailed from competitors- employed and constantly climbing. But Christmas is the one holiday where they DO take a break; referring anyone that needs a job done to Anil. He doesn’t take his role of a husband and a father as seriously; dedicated to his work and refusing to let anyone -even his own wife and children- get in the way.. He’s a good man and treats Nik and the girls well; providing for them and protecting them and making sure they never go without. But his loyalties remain with his business, and he is never shy when it comes to admitting or defending it.

She forwards him the emails and then focuses her attention on the bookstore; balancing the books and checking the profits and sending out payroll and bonuses. It’s been a quiet end to the morning; Milie and Alannah upstairs in her bedroom playing on the computer and watching movies, Tanner and Desi finishing their first round of baking and using their break to head outside to play in the snow. She watches them now; Desi’s big body lumbering around the yard as he chases Tanner, who occasionally allows himself to be scooped up and tossed into the nearest snow pile. That high pitched and giggle makes her smile; picturing Tanner’s enormous smile that crinkles the bridge of his nose and the corners of those brilliant blue eyes. He doesn’t form bonds easily; leery of new people and finding it difficult to make friends. But he’d taken easily to Desi. Once saying that it was the man’s deep yet soothing voice that won him over. Along with a gentle smile and warm brown eyes that let Tanner know that their neighbour was a good person with a good heart.

The doorbell sounds just as she finishes and sends off the store’s schedule for January. The melodic chime setting off a flurry of activity and noises; both dogs -stirred for their naps in front of the front room fireplace- now barking in unison, paws sliding across hardwood flooring as they scramble for the door. It’s soon followed by Millie’s footsteps; seeming unusually thunderous and heavy as they rush down the stairs. Accompanied by that thick Aussie accent she’s adopted within the last five years; yelling at Saju and Mac to lie down and shut up and behave or she’ll throw them out in the snow. It’s hardly a threat; both preferring the sun and the sand and their romps in the ocean, but quite accustomed to the cold weather and snow beneath their feet.

“Mum!” Millie bellows in an effort to be heard over the continued barking. “Some lady’s at the door! She wants to see dad!”

“He’s not home!”

“I know that! But she wants to talk to someone! And I don’t want it to be me!”

Smirking, she snaps the lid closed on the laptop and sets it on the coffee table; grimacing at the tightness in her lower back as she gets to her feet. The pain and discomfort is new over the course of the last five years; a small mistake made during the epidural while in labour with the twins resulting in long term damage. It sucks; your body betraying you when you’ve been so selfless and willing to keep other human beings alive inside of you. Pulling the sides of her cardigan sweater tighter around her body, she crosses her arms over her chest as she heads for the front of the house; soles of her UGG slippers lightly squeaking against the wood flooring. They’d been yet another one of her husband’s surprise gifts; a neatly wrapped package accompanied by a bouquet of Australian wildflowers that had shown up a day after he’d left for Cambodia. He’s become a master at it; showering both her and the kids with both simple and elaborate gifts. Claiming that it makes him happy to do it; spending his own childhood going without while his father used their money for booze. And it’s a way of making up for all his past mistakes as well; doing whatever he can to be a good husband and father and erase the mistakes of the past that continue to haunt him.

The woman at the door is tall and blond; clad in a disgustingly expensive leather coat with fur trim, the ends of her wavy platinum hair tumbling out from under the edge of a burgundy wool beret that perfectly matches her heavily painted lips. The smile she gives is phony; the look of dismay and disgust readily apparent as her eyes take in Esme’s more casual and relaxed look. It isn’t the first time she’s seen a look like THAT; the housewives on the school yard and at the soccer park have long perfected it, along with their snide comments about how ‘boring and plain Jane’ she is and how they can’t fathom how someone like Tyler could stand being with someone like her.

“She’s here to see dad,” Millie says. “I said he wasn’t home, but…”

“It’s okay,” Esme assures her, then nods down at the curious and rambunctious dogs now gathered at her feet. “Can you put these guys outside? Before they give me a migraine?”

Nodding, Millie slaps her hand against her thigh; a well used sign that dogs have learned means they should follow her. And they happily cooperate; their tails wagging energetically and their bodies pressed against the eleven year old’s legs as she leads the way through the house.

“She’s very…charming.”

Esme glances up at the woman standing in front of her, and manages a polite yet terse smile of her own. “Well, what can I say? She’s her father’s daughter. Can I help you?”

“You must be Emily.”

“Esme. My name is Esme. Not Emily.”

“That’s a very unusual name. A little...odd...in this day and age.”

“It’s actually quite common. Very old and classic. I was named after my great, great grandmother. And she was born in the eighteen hundreds, so…”

“I’m Natalie.” She doesn’t bother to offer a hand, electing instead to keep a firm hold on the plastic container she tightly clutches.

“That’s very plain. Natalie. Kind of boring. Guess you didn’t have any unusual and odd relatives to be named after.”

The corners of the woman’s turn up in a slight smirk.

“Can I help you? Is there a reason you’re here? Asking for my husband?”

“I’m here to see Tyler.”

“And our daughter told you he isn’t home. Which wasn’t an invite to stick around. I’m sure whatever you want to talk to him about, can wait until he IS here. Or, I could just give him a message and then he can decide whether he wants to talk to you or not. I wouldn’t hold your breath; he isn’t the chattiest person on the block. Why ARE you here? Is there something I can help you with or…?”

“I was hoping to speak to him.”

“And for the third time, you’re being told he’s not home. So sorry, Tyler can’t come out to play right now. And unless there’s something you want to say to me….”

“We met yesterday. He was at the park. With your son. The handicapped one.”

Once more crossing her arms over her chest, she cocks her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Your son. With the problems. Travis, Thomas….”

“His name is Tanner. And he doesn’t have ‘problems’. He has Autism. Don’t talk about my son like that. You can come here calling on my husband all you want, but when you bring my kid into this…”

“We had a nice little chat. At the park. We just moved here. My daughter and I. It’s been hard meeting people.”

Esme smirks. “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

“He was very friendly. Welcoming. Tyler. Not Tanner. Just to be clear.”

“And…”

“And I just wanted to thank him for that. For being so nice. For making us feel like part of the neighbourhood.”

“Well I’ll be sure to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll appreciate hearing it. Is that everything or….?”

“These are for him.” Natalie offers the plastic container. “I made them myself. They’re award winning. Used to get lots of compliments on those.”

“Oh how nice. You’re offering him your cookie. I mean, cookies. That’s very sweet. I will let him know that you stopped by with your generous offer. But just so you know, he doesn’t accept...goodies...from other women. So if you’re thinking about offering him any in the future, you might want to stop while you’re ahead. I’m sure there’s other married men out there who would gladly accept. But my husband? You’re pissing in the wrong front yard.”

Natalie’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just making it clear that he doesn’t accept goodies from other women. Ever. And he never will. So if you’ve got something brewing up in that head of yours, you might want to put an end to it now. He’s not interested. And believe me, I think you’d rather hear that from me. He won’t let you down as politely and easily.”

“I don’t know what you think I’m up to, but…”

“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve come across plenty of women like you. And I’m just cutting to the chase. He’s not interested. Find someone else. Go after someone else’s husband. Stay away from mine.”

“I’m not after your husband. I’m just here doing something neighbourly and…”

“If it WAS something neighbourly, you would have come here to introduce yourself to ALL of us. Not just ask for him. I have to admit though, that’s pretty ballsy; showing up like this and having the nerve to talk to the wife. Most would have just left once they found out the husband wasn’t home. I’ll hand it to you; you’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m just here to be friendly. That’s it. No ulterior motive. You know, I was surprised to hear you have SEVEN kids. When I saw you the other day out in the snow with them, I thought there was no way they could all be yours. You just seemed so fresh faced and young. No way did you look like someone with THAT many children. But now up close? Well, let’s just say I’d look tired and downtrodden too if I got pregnant that many times.”

“My husband prefers the fresh faced and natural look. You know, as opposed to looking like Sephora threw up on your face. He also prefers brunettes. So that’s two strikes against you. Is there anything else? Other than your cookie. Sorry,” Esme laughs. “I did it again. I meant ‘cookies’. Is there more or…?”

“No. I think we’re done here.”

“You know what? I think we are too. And as lovely and sweet as you are, I hope this is the first and last little visit. I hope you fully understood what I told you. About keeping your goodies out of my yard. I think I made it pretty clear.”

“You did. As a matter of fact, you…”

“Have a good day,” Esme manages a smile, then shuts the door in the woman’s face, giving a small jump when she discovers her daughter sitting in the middle of the stairs; her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.

“What a bitch,” Millie grumbles.

“Normally I’d give you hell for the language, but right? She was, wasn’t she?”

“Huge. A huge bitch. You should have throat punched her, mum. She deserved it.”

“You can’t just go around throat punching everyone that pisses you off. If you could, I’d be exhausted. Or in jail.”

“I can’t believe she’d come here asking for dad,” Millie says, as she stands and takes the stairs two at a time, following her mother towards the back of the house. “How rude is that? Asking for another woman’s husband? That’s some goddamn nerve.”

“She’s probably used to getting what she wants. And WHO she wants.”

“Well she can’t have dad. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want anyone. Just you. Think she got the point? That she better not try and mess with him? I think you went way too easy on her. I think you should have thrown down. You could have taken her. For sure.”

“Some women don’t care, Millie. They’ll continue to mess around with married guys no matter how times they’ve been warned to back off. Maybe she’s one of them. Maybe this isn’t the last we’ve seen of her. Who knows.”

“If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away. You were tame. Dad won’t be. He won’t be nice.”

“Maybe that’s what she needs. She needs a man to tell her where to go and how to get there. If there’s one thing your dad is a professional at, it’s telling people off. Don’t worry about her ; she’s harmless. Your dad wouldn’t touch her anyway. He’s not the type. To do things like that.”

“I think it would be hilarious to see him tell her off and really embarrass her. And what are those supposed to be?” Millie nods at the container Esme drops on the island.

“Cookies. She made them for him. Isn’t that so sweet?”

The eleven year old makes a dramatic gagging noise. “She probably poisoned them. In hopes you’d eat them. Probably wants to kill you off and become our step mother. They look like shit anyway. Throw them out. I would.”

“I’ll let your dad decide what he wants to do with them. And her. The ball is in his court now. He can decide what to do from here.”

“I hope he tells her to piss off. That’s just plain weird; coming over to some married guy's house and asking for him. On what planet is that okay to do?”

“None. It’s very unusual. To say the least. But like I said, don’t worry about her. Your dad wouldn’t do something like that. He’s a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them. That is the last thing I’m worried about.”

“Good. Because she has nothing on you. She’s all phoney looking. But that fur wasn’t. On her coat. I bet she’s obnoxious enough to wear real fur. What a cow. She should have been throat punched for that alone. Don’t worry, mum. You’re way better than she is. You’re real and you’re cute and tiny. And dad loves you. ONLY you.”

“Your dad is the last person I worry about. Other women? I definitely worry about them. Your dad? Never. I trust him. A hundred percent. And speaking of your father, I hope Alannah likes Mexican. Dad’s bringing some home for lunch.”

“She loves it. She loves all the same things I do.” Picking the container of cookies up off the counter, she peels back one of the corners and sniffs at the contents; frowning and making a gagging noise before setting them back down. “They’re not even good cookies. Oatmeal raisin! The abomination of cookies! Dad HATES oatmeal raisin. He says there’s nothing worse than biting into one and expecting it to be chocolate chip, only to discover it’s oatmeal raisin.”

“Your dad loves Vegemite. So excuse me if I don’t take his taste in food seriously.”

“Vegemite is awesome, mom. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yes. I do. Which is why I don’t eat it. If I wanted to eat shit, I would. Everything okay? You and Alannah getting along alright?”

“She’s my best friend. In the whole world. I love her. And we always have an awesome time and we never get tired of each other. But there’s something I need to ask you. About her.”

“Okay…” Esme slides onto one of the bar stools at the island. “...what’s up?”

“I’m worried about her. The way things are at home. Her parents are horrible. They don’t even want her around. And when she is around them, they just ignore her. They don’t even talk to her. They don’t ask about her day at school or about her friends or anything like that. They don’t even know what her favourite movie or tv show is or what celebrity she has her crush on. What parent doesn’t know that stuff? You and dad know that stuff about us.”

“Dad and I care. We like knowing about you guys. You’re our kids. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well Alannah’s their kid and they don’t give a crap about her. I mean, they’re leaving her at Christmas! How horrible is that? Who just dumps their kid off on someone at Christmas?”

“Millie, not everyone has the life you do. Not everyone has parents that love them. Not everyone has a mom and dad that wants to be involved in their lives. I didn’t have it. Your dad didn’t have it. And unfortunately, Laney doesn’t have it. It sucks. Believe me, I know.”

“But what if we could give her a family? A real family? Like you and dad did with Ovi.”

“I’m not sure if I like where this is heading…”

“She loves being here. Spending time with all of us. I mean, she was scared of dad at first. Because of how big he is and all his tattoos and scars and stuff. But she got to know him and now she loves him. And she really loves you. She always goes on and on about you. About how cool and fun you are. And tiny. Like her.”

“We love having her here. She’s a great kid. I hope she realizes she’s welcome here. Anytime.”

“She does. Which is why I want to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

“Okay. Something tells me this is serious. What’s going on?”

"I want her to come back with us. When we go home."

“Millie, we can’t just…”

“She’s part of the family already. You and dad love her like she’s one of us. And you guys treat her great. She’d fit right in. And she’d love it there. She’d love being so close to the beach and the ocean. I know she would. And she’s not a bad kid. She’s a really good kid. You said it yourself; how great she is.”

“She IS great. She’s an awesome kid. But we can’t just take her with us.”

“Why not? Don’t you want her there?”

“Of course I want her there. But she has a mom and dad. Not very good ones, but she still has them. We can’t just take her with us. There’s this little thing called kidnapping. We can’t just take someone else’s child.”

“You took Ovi. When I was a baby.”

“We didn’t just TAKE him. We had to jump through a lot of hoops. Legally. Your dad had to go and talk to Ovi’s father and try and convince him to let us have him. It wasn’t just as simple as bringing Ovi along.”

“Dad could talk to Alannah’s parents. Talk them into letting her come with us. They’d let her. They don’t care about her anyway. We’d be taking her off their hands. They’d probably be happy about it.”

“Amelia, it just isn’t that simple. There’s a lot of red tape and legal stuff. I wish it was easier, but it’s not.”

“But would you consider it? IF her parents said okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I suppose? I’d need time to think about it. I already have seven kids. Taking on an eighth?”

“It’s not like she’s a baby. All the hard work has already been done. Please, mum? Would you at least think about it?”

“If it was just as simple as talking to her parents and taking her with us, I’d say yes. In a heartbeat. But it’s NOT that easy.”

“I just want you to think about it. We’d be giving her a good life. Like you and dad gave Ovi. Will you at least think about it?”

“It’s not a decision I can make on my own, sweet pea. I’m not in this alone. I’d have to talk to your dad. I can’t just tell him we’re taking on another kid. It doesn’t work that way. He has to be on board with it.”

“Will you talk to him at least? Bring it up? Just see what he says?”

Esme nods. “I will talk to your dad. But I’m not promising anything, Millie. We have a crazy life. Your dad has his business and I have the bookstore. And there’s seven of you. Taking Alannah? That’s a big deal. That’s serious. And it’s something your dad and I would really, really have to talk about it. That’s all I can promise you. That I’ll talk to him. That’s the best I can do.” She reaches out and tucks some of the wayward strands of blond hair behind Millie’s ears. “Okay?”

“Okay, mum. And I’m sorry. For how I’ve been acting. I’m kinda bitchy lately.”

“Kinda?” Esme grins. “Just kinda?”

.“Okay, maybe A LOT. But I do love you. And I AM sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. I was your age once. I know what it was like. And it was brutal. VERY brutal. You know what that means? The mood swings, the attitude, the skin issues?”

“Aunt Flow is going to be paying a visit soon.”

Esme laughs.”Yeah, unfortunately. The joys of being a girl. You'll be alright, though. It’s a change. You’re growing up. Even I’m having a hard time with it. I still remember finding out about you. And telling your dad we were having you. Seems like forever ago now. We were so happy.”

“Dad was a little spooked. At first.”

“He was. And for good reason. He’d lost Austin and he didn't think he’d ever get to be a dad again. And then I told him about you and we hadn’t known each other that long and it was kinda scary. For both of us. But once we saw you? On that first ultrasound? And we got to hear your heartbeat? We loved you right away.”

“Dad’s miracle baby.”

“He will never, EVER, stop calling you that. He loves you so much, Millie. More than you could ever comprehend. And he’s pretty good, huh? At the whole daddy thing?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t trade him for another dad, that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t trade you either, mum. Just so you know. I know sometimes we don’t get along well. We don’t always see eye to eye on stuff.”

“Well, you are your father’s daughter. Through and through. And your dad and I disagree a lot too. But I love you. Beyond all comprehension You’re my first. My baby girl. How could I not?”

Smiling, Millie stands behind the stool Esme’s perched on and wraps her arms around her mother’s neck. “I love you, mummy. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you too, Amelia.” She pushes her fingers through her daughter’s, then presses a kiss to one of the forearms resting across her collarbone. “And I always will.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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laughing-with-god · 5 years ago

Note

QQ has me shaking in my boots ✊🏻👏🏻 but I’ve had a lingering question for the last few days; if the rest of the BTS members were in QQ, what districts would they be from? Love your work 🥺❤️

oh my god, okay here me out; an alternative Quarter Quell Fic were all past victors must play again and all the bts members are victors who come to play the quell but they somehow all become yandere over Y/n.....Lemme know if that’s something ya’ll would like to read. Anyway, here ya go;

(Btw I’m gonna base these profiles on the crackhead idea I stated up above, except I’m not going to do Jungkook and Tae bc they’re already in my Quarter Quell Fic and their games are being played right now so I don’t feel right doing profiles for them...it’ll deadass confuse me.)

BTS as Victors (Hunger Games AU)

Kim Seokjin- District One (Luxury)

Jin originates from district one, most would say that he figuratively hit the birth lottery by being from this district.

The first district is essentially the crown jewel of the capitol, it’s by far the most favored. The main job of district one is to provide the capitol with all luxury items, so most people make their money by creating jewelry and makeup. (Both of which are in extremely high demand in the capitol, so 1 is by far the most economically flourishing district.)

Jin never had to suffer food outages or abuse by peacekeepers because of 1′s good status with the capitol. To further his prosperity, Jin’s father was actually the mayor of district one.

Which makes Jins’ reaping all the more scandalous.

There was a rumor that Jin’s father expressed sympathy towards the damaged and less favored districts (11 and 12).So when Jin’s name was reaped, people suspected that the system was rigged and Jin’s name was going to get called out either way. Because after all, how would the capitol keep a loud-mouth mayor in check? By putting his son in the games, of course.

No one volunteered in fear of interfering with the capitol’s plans and getting in trouble.

However Seokjin fancied himself an actor and practically skipped to the stage with a big grin on his face, announcing his name proudly and even stating that it would be an honor to compete on behalf of his district.

His strategy was to get on the good side of both the audience and the gamemakers. Unlike other tributes who sometimes couldn’t help the look of terror they had, Jin made sure to constantly look happy and would even compliment the gamemakers in his interview by saying things like, “This game is going to be the best one in years, I could already tell.” “I caught a glimpse at the makers during my assessment and let me tell you...they’re not playing around this year.”

Because of this Jin wasn’t the target of any foul play or natural disasters bc the makers held no ill will towards him, if anything a lot of them actually wanted him to win.

He earned himself many fans and thus sponsors, mainly due to his good looks and partly due to his surprisingly goofy nature.

Jin was always sure to keep his attitude light. He constantly made jokes and did impressions in the arena, showcasting his humor bc the last thing he needed was to be painted as the bad guy. His number one rule was to always keep his fans satisfied. That kept him alive.

He stuck to the career alliance; teaming up with his district counterpart, two and the girl from four. He stuck with them because he knew he would need the numbers and the supplies. But a bit more than halfway through the games, when the careers took down all the main threats, Jin zipped up all the tents that his sleeping allies were in, took a good amount of supplies and set the camp on fire; effectively killing the career pact.

For two days after that he wandered alone but was having trouble with basic survival skills. Unlike more than half the tributes, Jin grew up in a city with no true sense of nature. He was struggling.

That’s when he came across a boy from 11 and a girl from 7. They both were rather weak and Jin offered them protection in exchange that they let him stay in their hideout with them. But when 11 and 7 were under attack, Jin fled and let them be killed.

Jin eventually had to go against the last tribute standing; a girl from 6. She was also frail and only lasted that long because of her hiding skills. Jin overpowered her and threw her off a mountain. Thus, he became victor.

He still is to this day one of the most popular victors and a really good mentor (although he mainly just advocates for having allies, using them, then killing them before they can kill you.)

because of his good looks, he is often sold off to elite women and men for a night with a handsome victor. Jin has no choice, it’s the only way he was able to make the president forgive his father. (Think of Finnick Odair).

Choice of weapon; spear, betrayal (all his allies will eventually end up killed by him)

Arena

Min Yoongi- District Six (Transportation)

District Six is responsible for all methods of transportation the capitol has. The hovercrafts, the high-speed trains and advanced cargo ships are all products of 6.

Citizens from six are heavily oppressed by the peacekeepers. Although not as poor as 11 or 12, they are one of the more rebellious districts. It’s also the largest district and the most unstable, lots of the population suffer from a morphling addiction which is party responsible for the citizen’s disobedience.

Yoongi came from a lower middle class background, raised by a single working mom who fell victim to the morphling epidemic. Needless to say she was very absent from his life.

Life at six is so bleak, when Yoongi’s name was reaped his first thought was ‘well, at least I won’t die in this shit hole.’

He was very numb due to shock so he appeared very aloof when he went up to the stage; a total contrast to his counterpart who was bawling her eyes out.

He managed to keep this stoic act up for the entirety of his time in the capitol, his thought process was that he never wanted to give the capitol the satisfaction of seeing him break.

He mainly enjoyed all the food and luxuries the capitol had to offer, thinking that he had no chance of winning and might as well enjoy his last days.

It wasn’t until his interview where even the host forgot his name that he realized that he might have a secret weapon under his belt; no one knew who he was, he was forgettable, someone who other tributes overlooked and even underestimated.

He went to his mentor with this revelation and was told to go the ‘Joanna Mason route’.

Ie; play weak and stupid until there’s only a few tributes left, then release your inner crazy and kill them all before they ever even saw you coming.

Yoongi figured it was better than nothing and decided this as his strategy.

Yoongi had no help of sponsors or allies, all he had was himself. But that’s the way he wanted it.

He hid for more than half the game, his small stature making it easy for him to hide into small nooks and crannies. He survived mainly on small plants, insects and any rainfall he was able to get.

It wasn’t until he witnessed someone die near one of his hideouts that he allowed his murderous side to snap.

It was a fight between a girl from 5 and a boy from 9. The girl had knives while the boy had an ax, the girl managed to get him in the throat and he fell over dead. After the girl searched his pockets for supplies, she turned around to stalk off, unaware Yoongi was only yards away.

Yoongi silently got out of his hideout, took the ax and ran up behind her before chopping her head off.

There was only four tributes left and Yoongi hunted them all down, tired with how long this game was taking and desperate to get home.

he managed to kill them all, the tributes being caught off guard bc of his excellent hiding skills

He became one of the youngest victors of all time, he was only 14.

As a mentor, he’s actually pretty absent.

Yoongi doesn’t like to get too close to the tributes because it becomes too emotionally crushing to eventually witness them die.

His general advice for them is to lay low and never draw any attention towards you, the factor of surprise is the ultimate weapon for those with patience.

Yoongi has never been the same since the games, he isn’t proud of it but he’s also become dependent on morphling; it’s the only thing that keeps his nightmares and depression away. (Like Haymitch, except Haymitch was dependent on alcohol and Yoongi is dependent on drugs)

He despises the capitol even more now, hating the fact that they made him a murderer and he was forced to play into the very game he promised to never have a part of.

He lives with that guilt everyday and doesn’t think he’s any better than the ruthless career kids he sees every year

He’s quite belligerent too. He is almost never given mentor interviews or screentime because he’s blown up one too many times that the hosts know to avoid him. (Think Joanna Mason and the one catching fire scene where she flips shit on national tv).

Weapons; hiding, ax

Arena

Kim Namjoon- District Three (Technology)

District three has some of the smartest tributes, and Namjoon was no different.

District Three is responsible for all the high-end technology the capitol has; the people may not be as strong as two or as flashy as one, but their intellect alone runs the capitol.

Kids from three are good at creating functional tools, codes, wires, ect. But sadly, these traits don’t translate well into the games given the clear advantage towards physical superiority over intellectual superiority.

Namjoon was determined to show the capitol how far a smart kid can go.

Like most tributes, Namjoon went into a little bit of a shock when his name was reaped.

He walked up, void of any emotion and avoided any eye contact with the district representative or the female counterpart.

When he was escorted into the room to say his goodbyes to his family is when he finally broke.

But his mother made him promise to do anything to get back home, she didn’t care how dirty he had to get she just wanted her boy to live

This encouragement/promise was enough to motivate him to become the last one standing, he didn’t care how gory he would have to get.

He utilized his mentor heavily, talking their ear off and asking countless questions. Soaking up any information/advice he could get, knowing it could very well be the difference between life and death.

His mentor advised him to choose the Beetee Latier strategy, telling Namjoon that if he just got his hands on some tools and put his mind to it he could be the most dangerous tribute in that arena.

During his training days Namjoon spent all his time in the rope stations, net stations and hook stations, knowing that his future plans would require him to be good with these skills.

During his interview, he hinted to the audience that he was very smart. He was careful to not make it obvious enough to make him a target of the careers but enough to raise the interests of the sponsors.

His personal score was also good, making the act of getting sponsors a little bit easier.

When the game began, he ran off from the blood bath but not too far. He stayed close enough to watch who left and with what supplies. With this knowledge, he began to track the people who had the tools he would need to play out his plan.

He would track these people very slyly, waiting until their guard was down to swipe their supplies.

With these supplies he would build traps and set them up for tributes to unknowingly walk into. His favorites were bear traps, snatching nets and digging up 8 ft deep holes then covering them up with debri for tributes to stumble into.

He managed to kill a decent amount of tributes before killing off what was left of the career pact.

However, Namjoon wasn’t able to avoid hand-to-hand combat forever.

When it came to the end, it was between a male tribute from 5, a girl from 2 and Namjoon himself. Both tributes had weapons while Namjoon didn’t.

He fought with them and got stabbed and sliced a good amount, but even with his fatal blood loss and fading consciousness, his brilliant mind came up with a plan.

He staggered over to one of his traps, making the tributes think he was just trying to run away when the truth was he was trying to lure them to their deaths.

They took the bait, got strung up into a net before being electrocuted to death.

The last words Namjoon heard before he blacked out was the head gamemaker announcing him victor.

Namjoon is now one of the greatest mentors of all time. Whenever it’s his turn to overlook the tributes of his home district the chances of 3 winning goes up 50%

He is very good at strategy and has even helped the gamemakers create certain arenas for future games.

namjoon teaches his students the importance of staying calm and sticking to a plan. “When kids are scared, starving and fighting for their lives they’re very easy to pick off. Utilize that.”

Weapons; stalking, traps

Arena

Jung Hoseok- District Eight (Textiles)

Hoseok was a victim of the reaping gamble. (The process in which kids will enter their names in the reaping bowl more times than required in exchange for food)

Hoseok is the oldest of four children, his mother died with the birth of the youngest child and his dad died years later due to poor health via the unlawful work conditions in the factories. (District Eight is responsible for all the clothes the capitol has, this means the vast majority of citizens work in factories. Eight is also very oppressed so peacekeepers beat citizens and hand out punishments often.)

Hoseok dropped out of school in order to help provide for his brothers and sister. He is the only one working and he refuses to let the second to oldest child drop out of school to help him. He just wants his siblings to get their education so hopefully they can end up with manager positions at the factories and wouldn’t have to suffer the awful conditions/abuse average factory workers go through.

Hoseok is used to putting his name in more times than needed. Of course it means his panic is through the roof when reaping comes but when the names are called and he’s not one of them, he walks away with a relieved heart and bags full of food for his siblings.

Hoseok depends on that food, because it saves him up to three weeks of salary and he can use that money to get his siblings some new clothes that they had to wait all year for. Along with some small gifts in order to make up for the birthday’s Hoseok wasn’t able to afford.

Since this was his last year of being eligible for the reaping, Hoseok made sure to add his name more than usual, hoping to get more food so he could spread out the money for even longer.

So in a way, when his name was called, he wasn’t completely surprised.

But he was heartbroken, realizing that in his effort to provide for his siblings he may have robbed them of yet another caretaker.

When it was time to say goodbye, he tried his hardest to be strong and promised them he’d come back.

On the train ride over to the capitol he was completely inconsolable, unable to sleep at the prospect of his siblings having to watch him die on national tv.

He went through the motions of the first days at the capitol, but it wasn’t until the training days begun that he was approached.

it was a girl from 10 and she was only 13 years old. She asked him if he had an ally and if he would be interested in working with her. Hoseok was about to say no when he fell silent, the girl reminded him so much of his younger sister that he couldn’t help but want to protect her.

They made an alliance.

And it was working rather well. Turned out the girl from 10 was very handy and knew how to keep her and Hoseok alive. The arena was a freezing arctic and she skinned polar bears in order to keep her and Hoseok warm, later cooking the meat for them to eat.

Most tributes that year died via freezing to death, very little fighting was done.

Not the career pact though.

They found Hoseok and the girl from 10, holding him down and forcing him to watch as they tortured her.

Eventually she died but he would never forget her screams for help.

This was enough to make Hoseok snap.

So he did.

Hoseok became a monster, broke free and killed the pact. There was only three (two boys, one girl), he stabbed one in the throat, strangled the other and tracked the fleeing girl down before holding her head under the freezing water till she drowned.

Hoseok won.

In a way he’s glad because now him and his family live on victor’s row and no longer have to worry about their next meal.

But his sanity will never be the same....

He is the kindest mentor, mainly because he knows that the majority of them won’t be coming back so he’s sure to be very nice and always offers to look out for their family when they eventually die.

Arena

Park Jimin- District Four (Fishing)

Jimin volunteered for the games, an act that was surprising to everyone and anyone in four.

It’s not that Jimin wasn’t strong, it was just that he didn’t seem like the type to hurt people and he was mainly just known as a really sweet local fisher boy.

People wondered how such an angel could even think of volunteering, much less actually win the games...

(Rumors even spread that he must’ve been suicidal or in serious debt, why else would he volunteer?)

But he strutted up confidently and announced his name, holding a certain benevolence that made him seem self-assured in his own ability.

Jimin was already acting like he won the games before he even got to the capitol.

He never really showed any anxiety or distress, he talked to the escort and mentors very casually....as if they were all old friends.

He also was extremely close to his designers/stylists, he allowed himself to get spoiled by the pampering and new clothes/makeup. (This also could’ve been part of his strategy. Most tributes could care less about their team but by Jimin becoming close to them, they most likely were more motivated to get him the best clothes, jewelry, makeup and overall helped him get more fans.)

Needless to say he became popular very quickly, he was by far the most attractive tribute and his laid back/flirty personality was infectious. For the first time ever a tribute’s concept was sex appeal, something that was unheard of for tributes to do because of their young age.

During his interview when asked about his strategy, Jimin just shrugged cutely and said “I’m a very lucky person, I doubt this will be all that hard.”

he buttered up the careers very nicely, they all basically just saw him as eye candy with lots of sponsors, not an actual threat.

Little did anyone know, Jimin was actually playing a very intelligent game that requires lots of manipulation.

His main objective was to stick with the careers until more than half the tributes were gone, then he would turn the careers against each other.

It would start off really slow and deliberate; going to one career and saying “This isn’t any of my business, but I heard (blank) talking in their sleep about offing you.” Or going to another and saying, “Don’t you think it’s weird how (blank) is acting? Maybe they’re thinking about killing us and winning this thing for themselves.”

He creates chaos and distrust and watches as they slowly turn against each other.

Eventually the careers would begin to kill each other, the alliance crumbling all thanks to Jimin.

Jimin would wait until only him and another career remained. At this point the career would realize that it was Jimin who destroyed the alliance...but it would be too late.

It was a girl career and although she was strong, she was no match for Jimin who dragged her to the swamp and held her head under water until the cannon sounded.

He would then kill the remaining two tributes, a piece of cake since he only kept the careers around to off the bigger threats, only weak kids remained.

Wins the game and becomes one of the most popular victors of all time. (Although it’s still a mystery as to why he volunteered, a lingering question Jimin has always refused to answer.)

Because of him a new strategy in the games was born; The Jimin game (ie; get in an alliance, use the alliance for supplies/food/protection, then when all the big tributes are gone plant a seed of deception into the allies so they all turn against each other)

Also because of him tributes began selling a more sexier side of themselves. (Esp tributes from four bc Jimin mentors them into it so that they can get more sponsors)

Jimin also frequents the capitol often, being an A-list celebrity and receiving special treatment whenever he comes around. Unlike Yoongi, Jimin fully embraced his role and is always ready to give out interviews or guest on shows.

he also sells himself to elite capitol women, not because he was forced to but because he enjoys the sex and gifts that come with it (sugar baby)

Although there is one catch to sleeping with the infamous Park Jimin.....you have to tell him a secret worth his while.

What he’s planning to do with these secrets....no one knows.

Arena

#bts

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noisernamewrites · 4 years ago

Text

LATIBULE - KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

latibule (n.) a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

warnings: angst if you squint?

characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Reader

pairing: Kirishima x Reader

word count: 3199

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kirishima’s body felt heavier than it ever had before, even with his quirk activated. The way his costume hung on his body seemed like an ill-fit, like it wasn’t meant to be there, and the sag in his shoulders from the the activities and responsibilities of being a hero that day were evident on his exhausted body. The soot and ash covering him left him wanting of a nice hot shower, and he missed the way it felt to be clean.

Many people raced around him, either rushing to tend to the wounded or contacting the needed professionals for clean up, evidence, and whatever else was needed at a crime scene. The street was filled with a flurry of EMT’s and police officers scouring the surrounding blocks searching for the villain responsible for the destruction. Their hurry left the atmosphere buzzing with fear and adrenaline, and he could almost feel it thrumming against his skin.

The sun was setting across the horizon. The glow felt warm across his tired body, but the unpredictable breeze that blew left goosebumps across his grime covered skin. His shoulders shivered, and he crossed his arms in an attempt to both look strong but also protect himself from the cold. His hero costume was rad as hell but did little to protect from the chill of fall and the dirt that inevitably covered him from head to toe in disasters like this.

Kirishima felt useless. Sure, he had taken a couple hits, but they weren’t terrible. He was sure he’d be able to take care of them when he went home to you, but the EMT’s had told him to sit down in one of the ambulances and get treatment. He was trying to keep up the positive outlook, but he kept looking around and seeing the major destruction. He could hear the whimpers of the people that made it out with more than a couple scratches.

While a young EMT dabbed at the deep cuts along his side, Kirishima listened out for the sounds that echoed in the street. Each whimper reminded him that he hadn’t pushed himself enough, that he didn’t harden fast enough, that he hadn’t moved fast enough to make sure everyone made it out safe. His hands fell into his lap as he looked across the scene and felt deep pangs in his chest of frustration. He felt inadequate, useless, weak, and unmanly because he had just barely managed to let the villain slip. While he was able to save everyone, not without a few bumps and bruises, he felt as thought if he had done something differently he would’ve been able to catch the bastard.

“If you hadn’t insisted on heading into the building, we wouldn’t be able to treat them.” Kirishima flinched at the voice, while the EMT quietly murmured as they carefully stitched along Kirishima’s softened skin,” I mean the survivors,“ the EMT was young, but also very delicate and focused on his task, however his awkwardness seemed to increase tenfold. Kirishima glanced at the bracelet looped around the EMT’s wrist, and saw the name ‘Red Riot’ etched into it. A small voice cheered for joy at the aspect of meeting a fan, but it was largely clouded by the fog of failure that loomed across Kirishima’s mind.

In an attempt to hide the frustration in Kirishima’s mind, he broke into a big smile,” Thanks kid, I appreciate it. I like your bracelet!” The EMT sputtered at Kiri’s sudden broken silence, and whispered out a hasty thank you, before finishing the last of the bandages and scampering away. The kid was nice, Kirishima thought, He always enjoyed meeting fans, it gave a boost to his inspirations and hope that he might be like his role models.

His eyes fall on to the fresh bandages wrapping around his waist, before scanning the horizon. The sky was a deep golden red, and was accented by blues and purples that made Kirishima think. He always tried to be a bright red, filled with courage and enthusiasm in hopes of inspiring the public and maybe the next generation. A hero just like crimson riot.

Kirishima chuckled to himself at the thought. He wasn’t anywhere near being like Crimson riot. Not even close. But he was getting there! He hoped he was at least. He remembered how when you and him had moved in together for the first time the way you pulled out his red riot posters and proudly hung them in the small living room that was empty at the time.

Regardless of his blushing protests, you just laughed him off and told him you thought they were cool, and that his role model should have a designated spot on the wall. Kirishima didn’t dare move them from where you had put them, because you had been right. Crimson riot still sat up in his wall.

He loved the way your smile had immediately widened at the sight of his old teen decorations, and how your laugh echoed the room with excitement.

The blues and purples of the sky had began to expand with the escaping sun. Kirishima gazed at with a small tinge of sadness at the loss of the gorgeous red. Those blues were similar to the voice in his head that whispered regret and shame into his ear. The way they sent shivers up his spine never went unobserved by him.

Kirishima had tried to shove those bothersome reminders to the back of his head. It was rarer now than it was in high school, middle school even. He had gotten so good at ignoring them, telling them no, but today? Today wasn’t easy.

—————

He had gotten a call at an ungodly hour in the morning, when you had been laying at his side fast asleep. Your arms had been wrapped around his chest and your head buried into the curve his back. He remembered his groggy haze of a small whispered greeting before being shouted at on the other side of the phone by some law enforcement about a robbery at the grocery store that had the especially well made treats that you always begged him to grab on the way home each day.

His eyes shot open at the sound of another day where he took up the name Red Riot. After hanging up his body was filled with both adrenaline and some foreign feeling flurrying in his stomach. With a quick huff, he pushed it to the back of his mind and raced around in a hurried silence as not to wake you. The red and black hero costume resting in its specially made case was pulled on in a hurry, and his long red hair thrown into a tight and spiked pony tail that managed to defy gravity with its spikes.

Leaving the apartment that morning, the foreign feeling had pushed itself back through to the forefront of his thoughts. The air whipped around him as he sprinted around the corners of the empty streets in the morning twilight. The only sound he could hear was the distant police sirens and the rare sound of firetrucks. Within a seconds notice, he pushed his body to go faster, racing around the corners of the small neighborhood that just yesterday seemed to be empty and peaceful. The smell of smoke wafted and burned his nose as he grew closer.

Kirishima had grown used to the burning that flooded his muscles, especially after years of training and fighting as a hero. His body was toned and chiseled like that of a greek god. As he sprinted off towards his mission in the dawn’s early light he felt a small fire in his belly at the prospect of saving people, proving himself, and getting to come home to you, signing his praises and bringing home whatever sweets you craved that day.

When the small convenience store had finally come into view, so did the towers of black ash that flew into the sky and their original source. The red heat bloomed across the building with a totally unpredictable and vicious hunger.

However when Kirishima had gone flying round the corner, he was greeted by the sight of a flowering blaze surrounding the entire building, the blaring of sirens, and the almost muted cries of those struggling to survive within it. Without a second thought, he raced into the collapsing building, his body already hardened.

—————

“What the hells is wrong with your face?” A rough voice growled out beside Kirishima. He didn’t need to look up to see his best friend looking at him with that usual angry expression painted across his face. His arms were crossed and his own hero costume was grimy and covered in soot from the fire that had been barely extinguished.

When Bakugou had heard about the robbery, he was second to show up at the scene. Even if he would never openly admit it, he made sure to keep a close eye on the areas where he knew Class-1A had taken up shop and patrolled. His excuse for always managing to be there at just the right time were “Would the number 1 hero not know what’s going on his own damn neighborhood?” However everyone know it was his silent way of watching out for Class-1A after they had all graduated.

“Ah- hey Bakubro! Nothings wrong, any news wether I can help with the-” Kirishima tried to not let his voice crack. He tried so damn hard. The feelings from this morning of unease and fear had begun to bubble back up and drown out the fire he had after the villain had disappeared and the survivors were properly corralled to ensure they would get proper treatment. His own hands had begun to fidget with the sleeves of his costume.

Kirishima quickly cleared his throat,” -with the search?” He glanced his eyes up at Bakugou’s, and was quickly shocked at the exhausted look across it. His eyebrows were still pressed into their usually crease but his eyes were dark with thought, and his mouth pressed into a permanent frown that made him look much more intimidating than kirishima had ever taken him for. Usually Kirishima would laugh and make a joke about how if Bakugou kept frowning they was he did, it would stay like that forever. But right then, he just didn’t have the energy to say much of anything.

Bakugou quickly skimmed over Krisihimas appearance. Tired, ragged, and an underlying hidden emotion that Bakugou had grown used to identifying in his friend. His talents for observation never escaped him.

“Go home shitty hair,” he turned away and was about to walk towards the police officers that were shuffling around in the remains of the burned store. He stopped mid-step,’ You know, they’re waiting for you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sturdy hero. He had known Kirishima long enough to recognize the way he would begin to fidget when he was worried.

“You did good.” He muttered just loud enough for the red-haired man to hear before heading back towards the police, now covered in soot themselves, and started barking at them to not “fuck up the evidence”. Kirishima tuned out his friends shouting as he glanced down at his fidgeting hands. He wanted to go home, to see you. But some rotten feeling in his chest had bloomed and darkened. It wasn’t fear, he was used to that, and used to being able to shove it down. This was different.

This was shame, and it ate at his stomach with a rotten vengeance.

—————

When Kirishima had finally made what seemed to be the longest trek of his life back to your shared apartment, he let the flurrying guilt consume him. The stairs towards the 4th floor where he knew you’d be waiting for his return seemed like a grand journey across mountains, and not just 13 steps at a time. His legs felt like they were filled with lead, and the ache across his chest had expanded and began to make his whole body sore. He was so tired and frustrated, mostly with himself and that idiot that had gotten away.

The stress of having a collapsing building all around him had faded significantly, and was replaced by a deeper insecurity. He did save the few who were left behind in the building, he had done his job as a hero, but that voice that was only a whisper an hour ago grown malignant and desperate, reminding him that if he had done more, been stronger, he could’ve done more. All while these thoughts had ran rampant across his mind, his feet carried him farther and farther up the stairs until he stopped before a familiar door.

Kirishima felt a small tremor shake his hands as he stood before what once seemed like his own home, was now a giant and imposing gateway. You were on the other side, and it wasn’t you that he was afraid of, it was your disappointment, your fear that he wasn’t good enough. When he was younger, and training to be a hero with his classmates, he remembered the way he shook with enthusiasm at his friends courage, and how he tried to emulate that same bravery, and yet now, that mask had left him.

Before he could think of an excuse to text you about how he had to stay late for clean up, especially to avoid your concerns, the door he was so afraid of swung open.

There you stood. You were wearing your usual home attire, comfortable sweatpants that had his hero name on them. He remembered you bringing them home one day and teasing him about how you were never going to take them off. The shirt that hung loosely off your shoulders was one of his, and it almost swallowed you whole. Your phone was grasped tightly in your hand.

As kirishima’s eyes finally met yours after what seemed to be a pause in time and rested there for a moment, he expected to see disappointment, or aversion, he only saw relief.

“I…I was going out to find you.“ you shifted from one foot to another, your hand resting on the doorknob,” You usually come home a little earlier and I wanted to make sure you were ok…“ your eyes stayed connect only for a moment more before the sound of something clattering against the floor was completely ignored for the way your arms wrapped around your chest, holding him impossibly tight to you.

A silence echoed after you had buried yourself against him, and as Kirishima buried his face into your neck, your eyes widened at the realization that today had not been a bad one, it had been terrible. You delicately moved one arm to rest around his neck and brought your other up and to his head, where you ran your fingertips through his fiery hair.

You both stood there quietly, until you slowly dislodged yourself from his death grip, and quietly lead him over to the small couch that was home to many movie nights in your small apartment. Already sitting on the coffee table was a med kit, that he assumed you had pulled out after he had ran out that morning. You knew he’d come back with a few bumps and scratches, but today seemed that his pride had taken the most hits out of anything.

You swabbed the small scratches that decorated his hands, and without warning, placed butterfly like kisses on the few bruises that had already began forming.

Kirishima eyes widened at your oblivious affection. You both were very loving towards one another, that was obvious, but sometimes the amount of compassion you seemed to hold in store for him was shocking to the red head. The voice of disappointment, that was shouting at him only moments ago, was silenced by the delicate touches and whispers of concern that were barely loud enough to echo in the room.

All at once, Kirishima was hit with the drastic measures he had experienced that day, and a heavy exhaustion set across his features at once.

You had already began putting away the bandaids and alcohol before looking over to see kirishima’s gaze was resting droopily across your own. His wordless request was met by your own answer as you stood up, pulling him with you to the small bedroom you shared. Your fingers enlaced with his own calloused ones, gripping at yours with an almost quiet desperation.

The night had already vanquished the sunsets colorful tones, and the room was dark, barely lit by the lights of the living room that was now abandoned by the two of you. As his exhausted body crashed into the soft pillows and blankets, you crawled in beside him, and pulled him close enough to were the two of your were chest to chest.

“Kiri?” Your voice, still quiet, but the concern in it sent a pang of regret through him. He didn’t know what you were going to ask, but he knew that he had hurt you. He had let you be concerned for him longer than he should have. His arms tightened around your waist. His eyes met yours, to only see flowing admiration coming fro them.

“Im proud of you.”

The small utterance of praise sent a shiver down Kirishima’s spine, and a small tear fell, only to be caught by the cloth of his shirt that hung from your body as his head buried itself into your neck. His arms wrapped around you again, just as before, and pulled you even closer.

Your name breathlessly fell from his lips. It wasn’t just your name, it was also the silence that came after as your arms held him tighter to your body, and his own lips met yours. It was the way a three word phrase passed between the two of you with no sound.

“You did enough Eijiro.” his own name seemed so natural coming from your lips. The way they took claim of the name made his heart warm. He couldn’t see the tears that fell from your own eyes, from the pain the two of you shared, but he could feel them fall onto his own skin. Each one warm and trailed down until they fell onto the white sheets of your shared bed.

The warmth that the two of you shared for those moments reminded him of what home felt like. Of its comforting embrace and whenever and however he did return to it, its welcoming gaze, the smell of a home cooked meal and the passionate care that came from those within it.

Your hand rested on his cheek as you pulled him away for only a moment, your eyes met again as they both seemed to swim with concern and tears. Kirishima had rarely seen you wear this expression, and he realized it was because you shared the same feelings. Of doubt, fear, and frustration. The words that fell from your lips weren’t just meant for him, but the both of you. A unifying reminder to each other.

”You are enough”

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keladryhawklight · 4 years ago

Text

The Scourge

Sometime during the Night, Kel & Sandor’s Apartment

The low whistle of a blight-barrel sounded as it soared through the air, impacting with a low boom against the barrier of the Hollow. In the dark of night, battle cries rang from the shadows as the hundreds of Forsaken soldiers emerged from the once-quiet forests of the Hinterlands; the men on duty sounded the alarm, ringing throughout the Hollow. A pair of fearful violet-eyes snapped open in the silence of the militants quarters, startled from sleep by the low rumbles and panicked screams.

“All civilians to the tunnel!” A mans voice thundered outside.

The bells rang, loudly and urgently in the darkest part of the night. Kel came awake in an instant, sending cat, dog and crab tumbling every which way in her moment of fear. A scream strangled in her throat as she looked left and right around the room to discover the source of the noise. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she fought to catch her breath in the face of such a fright. Sweat beaded on her neck and in the tendrils of hair around her face. In an instant, she had forgotten where she was, and whom she shared her bed with. Instead, she had been cast back to another moment in time when such horrors had come in the night. The Light within her returned in an instant, wrapping itself around her hands, as they clutched at the blankets pooling in her lap. For weeks it had been strangely dimmed, something she could only attribute to the mysteries of her pregnancy; it had pained her somewhat, but the true touch of it's warmth had never left. It had simply been as if she had expended it all. It weaved, flickering on the air, sparking off her hands as she fought for control of it, and herself.

On and on the bells pealed incessantly. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Shouts rang outside, shouts of the guards she knew who patrolled this hour. Of people in the streets. Screams of those innocents who happened to be about at such a late hour. Launching herself out of bed she almost collapsed as the blood rushed back to her. White-knuckling their footboard, she stood for a moment and simply breathed while her vision whited in and out. Come little child, her thoughts whispered to the tiny being she carried. Now is not the time for this. Standing there dressed in naught but one of Sandor's shirts, she fought against the pressure put upon her in that moment by their child. Their child. She had to move. But her feet refused to. Refused to face what horror had come to their door. For once, she was terrified beyond belief. It was not just her and Sandor anymore. It was her, Sandor, and their child.

What in the name of the Light do I do? her thoughts whispered to her silently. What do I do?

Beside her, Sandor slept. His brow furrowed as he dreamed. He too, shared the uncertain world of dreams, and was often visited by memories past.

He was back in the Cathedral. The massive church with its vaunted ceilings was lit with innumerable torches and candles. Around him were Crusaders; Clerics, Priests, and Knights. At the alter stood a tall, slim woman. Her face was obscured in reddish shadow.

"BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN OF THE SCARLET CRUSADE!" She called, her voice echoing in the marbled halls. "WHAT IS OUR PURPOSE?" "TO CLEANSE THE LAND OF SCOURGE AND RECLAIM IT FOR THE LIGHT!" "THAT'S RIGHT!" She responded, extending her hand. "NOW GO FORTH! PURGE THIS LAND OF UNDEATH, UNHOLY, AND ALL HERETICS THAT STAND IN OUR WAY!" The assembled host turned, revealing Sandor - not the young man as he had been when the Crusade fell, but as he was now - amongst the Crusaders. There calls of battle soared as they approached the massive doors of the Cathedral.

Sandor sat upright, and startled, seeing Keladry gripping the side of the bed. His breath quick, he rose and moved quickly to her side. He pushed the bells and rising screams from his attention as he knelt by her, placing his hands on her stomach.

"My Lady-... What-..." He looked towards the window, a faint orange hue growing. Was that fire? "We must get you to safety. I fear the Scourge has finally made it's way to Stormwind."

It didn't take a Gnomish engineer to realize what was going on. He didn't have time to wonder how the Scourge had made it south so quickly. What he needed to do was act.

Her eyes found his, hers wide and wild with fear. Her hands clutched at his desperately as she struggled to pull herself and her racing heartbeat under control. In his hands, she trembled like a leaf, her body shaking as the memories of a night past washed over her and the uncertainties of the future grasped at her tightly. Light came off of her in wisps, sparking in the air of their bedroom erratically. For all the control she normally had, in this moment it was gone. Her breath came in quiet pants, as she struggled to separate the world of dream and memory, from the disaster of their reality. Her gaze landed on Sandor as he suddenly appeared before her, his hands gentle as they cradled her stomach. Her thoughts raced as she regarded him, spilling over one another in no planned manner. He had been sleeping. They had been sleeping. The Hollow? Their home. They were home. Stromwind, they were in Stormwind. "What is going on," she beseeched him softly after a long moment. Her voice was thready, higher pitched from the emotions racing through her. "Sandor, what is going on?!" His words echoed in her mind. The Scourge. She knew the Scourge. They had come for them once again. First it had been the Hollow, and now it had found them again, nestled in their Stormwind apartment. Their safety, their nest that they had so carefully, so meticulously carved out in the safest of areas within the heartlands of the Alliance, had been in an instant shattered once more. "How can they be here?!" she questioned him. "How? How? We were supposed to be safe here. I-" Her words ceased abruptly as the realization sunk in, and reality hit her like a stone. Once again, when their world was about to turn upside down, they were going to be separated. The colour leeched from her face at the realization. "I.. We.. You.. you must see to the Enlisted, and the defence of the city. And I.. must see to the hospital. To the soldiers coming in for immediate assistance."

Sandor shushed her as her questions raced; reaching a hand up to stroke her face. His voice was calm, steady, despite his racing heart. He wouldn't fail her. No here. Not tonight. For almost a decade, he had run from the teachings of the Crusade. The brutal, singular-minded drive that had been instilled in him to seek out and purge Undeath. The training was harsh, and by the end, the Crusade had been manipulated and twisted into a shadow of its formal self. He had long ago rejected those teachings; but if the Scourge had made it to the home of the Alliance, to their home, he couldn't afford the luxury of being discerning in his methods. He nodded at her words. He took her hands into his, uttering a prayer to the Light. Keladry would feel herself enshrouded in a barrier of the Light. It would provide her with some protection against the Undead. "I will do as you command, my Love. Prepare yourself for the battle to come, and trust in the Light."

Stealing the briefest moment in time they could ill afford, she nuzzled into the hand that stroked her face, bringing the smallest modicum of comfort to her racing heart. His voice was quiet as he shushed her, his demeanor calm. *How can he be so steadfast?* her thoughts questioned silently. *Our home..* Her eyes searched his frantically, searching for the answer to his calmness. Her heart continued to race erratically as she sought to pull herself under control.

The scourge had come to the city. First their king had vanished, plucked out of the skies by the banshee's valkyr. Their songs haunted her dreams-- ever since that fateful day in the Plaguelands where she had fallen from the arms of one to the earth below, she had never forgotten that haunting, keening wail that heralded the arrival of the creatures. They too had come, plummeting into the very heart of their lands to take from them their leader. The act had, in instants, plunged them all back into darkness, back into uncertainty, and back into fear.

Her stomach rolled, their child making itself known. Her hand shot to her stomach instinctively, cradling the spot that had just been kicked. She knew they could not dally. Not this time. She reached for her hospital clothes, loose linens that would allow her to work without restrictions. It was going to be a long night indeed, so she knew. In moments, she was pulling on her boots, buckling her medical bags to her waist. "Duke, come," she crooned to the little pug who darted left and right. He didn't understand the excitement. Didn't know what was going on. To him, his owners were simply up and about, and that was his concern. She grabbed a spare medical bag, bigger than the rest. Scooping him up, she tucked him deep within the confines of her medical bag. It was a heavier bag, and could easily contain the both of them for a little while. Bacon could ride in his spot between her shirt and shoulder, his little claws hooked into her underclothing quite well. But Duke and Yenafur.. "My love, corral your cat. She will have to share a place with Duke until we can reach the hospital. I will let them run free in my office-- they will be safer there, surrounded by the hospital guards, and the city watch who will no doubt be on site."

Sandor nodded; taking stock of the situation. His heart was pounding; but he kept his breathing even; slowly through the nose, and slowly out through the mouth. He glanced around, searching for the shaggy grey cat. Yenafur had pressed herself into the corner, meowling in protest to all the activity in the bedroom. Sandor scooped the cat up, scratching her chin and neck. The cat immediately began to calm down as he passed her over to Keladry. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Take your communicator; let me know when you make it to the hospital, and if there are any issues." He peered into her mismatched eyes, trying to impart as much calm and resolve as he could. "I'll be in touch when I reach the enlisted quarters. With luck, the Corporals have begun to mount a defense." He pulled her close, kissing her. He didn't want to separate himself from her, but they had jobs to do. He pulled back, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Go with the Light, my Lady."

A grimace crossed her face as she tucked the pair into the medical bag. One of her bigger ones, it would allow them to wiggle about just *barely* before settling down. If she clipped it, but didn't zip it shut, then they would have more than enough air and light to prevent instant panic before she reached the Cathedral. Hopefully, they both settled as they often did, and curled up for a quiet trip. She lifted the bag carefully, settling it across her shoulders, clipping it into place. She could feel them through the bag, pressed close against her bag. Their family. As for Bacon, he soon settled in his normal travelling spot; tucked into her shirt between the curve of her neck and her collarbone, his tiny claws holding him securely.

As Sandor's hands came down on her shoulders, she stilled. His words were solemn. She knew he had the same pressing concerns as she at the front of her mind. His green eyes searched hers, and she found calmness, strength, resolve, *love*, all hidden within those depths. He kissed her once, imparting all the words they hadn't said between them in that one single gesture. There was so much they had not said to each other, so many adventures they had not yet lived. Her hands crept up around his neck, and she pressed herself close, clinging to him in that moment, hugging him for all she was worth.

"This is not goodbye," she whispered to him. "This is not. I refuse to acknowledge it as a goodbye. It is a see you soon, do you understand me?"

Sandor let himself melt a little into her embrace. He could feel his heart beat faster as she held him close. After a moment, he nodded at her words. “I will see you soon, my love.”

At his words, she nodded, and stepped away. Affording one last look, she took in every detail of his face before she left. Her hand came up to clasp his for a brief moment. Memorizing the lines in his face, the colour in his eyes. Feeling the warmth in his touch, and in his gaze. Light flashed between their touch in an instant, her own returned blessings of safety and protection to carry him through the night. Pausing at the door, she picked up one last item; her longsword, well honed, and etched with the runes of the Light. It would serve her well, if worst came to worst. She did not want to consider such a thought. The Cathedral and the hospital were not far, but she could ill afford to take a risk. Not when she guarded their family with her life. As she departed their apartment, she paused, staring up at the suddenly bleak looking façade. Her eyes welled as she considered what was and what might be. It was too difficult a thing to comprehend, the magnitude of loss this would be to either of them. If she were to lose him, she couldn't imagine the pain in simply breathing with him gone. And if he were to lose her, it wouldn't be simply one loss. It would be the loss of two. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had done thus far, and it wrenched her heart to not know what the coming days would bring to them. They both had duties, and they both understood and knew what was expected of them. But the dull ache of 'what if' burned deep down.

No, Kel. You must stop, her thoughts chided softly. Do not fall to such thoughts. Do not give into such thoughts. Be strong now. You may cry later. Giving her head a shake, she blinked away the tears, and drew her sword from it's scabbard. Light flashed along the blade as the runes lit up the dark night.

"And 'lo, I walk through the valley of darkest shadows, I have the Light as my shepherd," she whispered softly. "It is my strength, my rock, my shelter from the storm. In it, I place my most sacred of trusts."

As the words faded, she moved. Darting down the dark streets, towards the orange glow. Towards the Hospital.

After she left, Sandor hastily tucked his tunic into his trousers. Finding his leather boots in the corner, he pulled them on. From a drawer he produced two studded leather bracers. In a pinch, the hardened hide could hold back the bite of a ghoul, inadvisable as the tactic was. He grabbed his 7th Legion sword, ornately decorated with eagles and lions, and slung the scabbard over his back. From the closet, he fetched his shield and warhammer, before finally letting out a sharp exhale. “Time to go to work,” He grimly uttered before making his way downstairs. Checking his grip on his hammer, taking a few steady breaths to prepare himself. He pulled the door open, being greeted by the sickly-sweet smell of undeath, the tolling of bells, the distant screams and accompanying moans. His eyes quickly scanned the street, several blocks from the Cathedral square. A family down the street was standing on their stoop, huddled together. His first instinct was to approach them, have them come with him to the enlisted quarters. He strode in their direction, his pace quickening. From the alley a pack of ghouls, perhaps three or four, shambled, spotting the family. The mother shrieked, dragging her two small children inside. The father brandished a steak knife, shakily shouting at the ghouls to get back. He quickened into a full spring, swinging his hammer into the skull of one of the straggling ghouls in the pack. It immediately crumpled to the ground, it’s body broken and mangled. The man, spotting the action, smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, just before the first ghoul made it to the stoop, grabbing the man's arm and biting into it. Rivulets of blood flowed outwards, towards the man who screamed, attempting to push the ghoul away. The skulls of two more ghouls crumpled under the weight of his blows, before he swung, bringing his hammer to bear against the remaining ghoul's knees. The ghoul dropped, releasing his grip on the man. Setting his hammer back down, Sandor grasped the man by the shoulders, giving him a brief shake. The man's eye's frantically searched Sandor's. "T-Thank you, ser-.."

Sandor shook his head answering quietly, "There is no time for that. You've been bitten, which means you are likely infected. Tell your wife to board up your home, and make your way to the hospital. They will do what they can for you there." The man's eyes widened. "W-What?? Can't you take me?!" Sandor shook his head. "I am needed elsewhere. Now hurry. You don't have long." The man frantically nodded, before knocking on the door. Turning, Sandor began his journey once again, heading in the direction of the Dwarven District.

#WoW #Wow Rp #WoW RP character blogs #OC #oc story #shadowlands #undead #scourge #stormwind #world of warcraft roleplay #worldofwarcraft #wrymrest accord #WrA Alliance #WRA RP #wra #the 47th #The Fortyseventh #fortyseventhrp

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meridia002-lorddiavolosconcubine · 4 years ago

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Dizzump in the Devildom

WARNING: FECES/DEFECATION, NSFW (NO SEX, BUT UTTERLY DISGUSTING), MERIDIA HAS AN ACCIDENT

Let this be the first entry in the Devildom Diary.

My first day in the Devildom was a total ASS DISASTER. Literally. Imagine finding yourself in an unfamiliar world that lacked amenities as basic as toilets. I was horrified and embarrassed when it came time to take my first dizzump in the Devildom. On that first evening I grabbed my demon boyfriend, Mammon, and pinned him against a dark corner to ask him where the toilet was.

“A toy what?” Mammon asked as he characteristically threw up his hands in confusion.

I dumbfoundedly watched him shake his head at me as waves of impeccable white hair grazed his forehead. Why humiliate myself by explaining the concept of human defecation to this shiny, smooth entity? I waved off my question as an exhaustion-induced brain fart and decided that it was best for me to search for a place to poop that night.

Why doesn't Hell have toilets? I searched the Internet for “demon boy anatomy,” and what I discovered didn’t comfort me. According to AkuWikia, demons lack functional buttholes. Their pink starfishes are only for anal sex and were never an original part of their evolution. The wiki article said the first king of the Devildom spent centuries watching humans procreate and fuck. He saw anal sex as unique and wanted demons to be able to do it. From that day onward, the demon king cast a spell on all his subjects that drilled perfect puckered holes in their anuses. The article made no mention of human defecation.

So there I was, my struggles to contain the doo doo within my donut hole failing me. Touching cloth is what humans call it when you’re desperately trying to keep the turtle’s head in its shell. Prairie dogging. You get it. I bemoaned my choice to wear tight-ass pants. I clenched my cheeks, my hands pushing them together to stall Mr. Hanky for as long as I could. I waddled sideways in the hallway like I had something up my ass. After all, I did.. it was threatening to break free. Why did I have to eat that burrito baby last night? Shit!

Stiffly shuffling against the wall, I opened the bathroom door. No toilets, but a pretty big bathtub. big enough to squat and drop deuce in the drain.

No! Shaking that thought from my mind, I continued searching every closet and room I had access to. Buckets? No. Where would I dump it? Asmo’s underwear drawer? Maybe. Ugh. Behind the bookshelves in the living room? Possibly. Let’s keep that as the number two choice.

I paused mid step in the hallway as my rectum clenched up in painful spasms. You know when the the shit starts coming down the pipe a bit more and holding it in causes painful cramps? That’s a sign you needed to find a toilet yesterday.

Time was running out as I was growing a monkey tail in my underwear. I needed to paint the Oval Office soon. Do I go in the bathtub and try to wash it down the drain? It seemed like the most private option. At this point, I could go outside for all the little D’s to see. What if Caveman Solo spied me dropping anchor in the grass like a dog? He’d probably like that.

I shivered at the thought of that shady fuckboi watching me shooting torpedoes on the side of the House of Lamentation. Why? Why didn’t they prepare this one little detail? Would it hurt these perfect, poopless men to install toilets for the one disgusting poop human?

My ass cheeks squeezed to the maximum when the final cramp hit me with a rumbling so loud it could’ve been Beelzebeef’s stomach. My cheeks gave out, and I went right in the seat of my pants. Staying in the bathroom, I locked the golden doorknob behind me. I dropped my pants, sticky brown separating from the cotton of my dollar store underwear. I glared at the brown curl in the seat of my panties with disgust. "I hate you," I whispered with all my vitriol.

I threw my clothing into a sagging, sad pile in the corner. I stood buck naked with my legs obscenely wide over the drain, squatting as much as my shortened Achilles’ tendons allowed. I inhaled and exhaled slowly to relax my sphincter. Warm ropes slid through my rectum like a monorail. I waited until I heard the soft plop in the drain. Sighing, I was about to stand up when another bout of the shits hit me, and this time it wasn’t as neat as the turd I just birthed. Before I could gather myself and clean my mess, a second violent episode of the shits gripped me. At this point, I was already half standing and no longer perfectly aiming over the drain. A typhoon of liquid ass viciously blasted the white tiles.

I panicked, and the more anxious I got, the worse the diarrhea became. I decided to accept the situation and let it all out.

“It will all be over with soon,” I said out loud. “And then I can clean it.”

With that being said, I pushed like a mother in labor. Pressure built inside my belly and travelled down to my colon until it exited my body in mere seconds. I became lost in the moment. I don’t know how much time passed, but it felt like the best time of life. Being so far gone in my poophoria, a moan escaped my mouth. Oh, the relief I felt in my guts! For hours I had held it inside me until the feces seemed to be sentient. It came out on its own.

My sweet moment was disrupted by a knocking at the door.

“Oi! Meridia!” Knock! Knock! “What’s going on in there? The smell is awful, and I gotta take a piss!”

Oh, fuck! Mammon’s timing couldn’t have been worse! Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I had to squeeze my cheeks together to restrain in the rest of the shitstorm while I looked around for paper towels. What was I supposed to say?

“Uh ... J-just a minute! Just taking an extra long bath!” My voice faltered.

“I gotta pee, so I’m comin’ in,” he answered. “It shouldn’t interrupt your bath!”

Goddammit!

Before I could stop him, Mammon turned the doorknob. The gold knob turned slowly, the door opened the slowest I’ve ever seen a door open. It creaked and squeaked ever so loudly, and I feared it would attract more attention. My stomach dropped again resulting in a tiny spurt of brown goo. White hair and brown skin poked through the door. First his head came through the crack like a little prairie dog. Then the crack opened wider as a RAD uniform appeared. The hands that were on the demon’s hips flew up to his nose as he gagged.

“Ack! What is that sme—” My boyfriend stopped talking as he stared at the Pollock-esque brown masterpiece I made all over the tiles.

“Meridia! What’s that comin’ outta your ass?!” He screamed.

My legs quaked with each spasm of shit I held back. It was useless. My cheeks jiggled with one final effort as a downpour of liquid brown splattered the tiles below me. Mammon was panicking, and I needed to explain this before he called his brothers for an emergency.

“Please calm down!” I begged. “I’m pooping!” My arms waved around agitatedly as I attempted to explain defecation to his confused face. “It’s a human thing. Please, just help me clean this fucking mess!”

Mammon seemed even more confused and distressed. His arms flailed all over the place in confusion.

“What does this even mean?” His voice cracked out. “Does your shit need to ... go back inside ya ass?!”

What? Oh, god no. I hope he doesn’t try that!

“No! Just, please don’t call attention to this!” I hissed. “I need you to bring me towels so I can clean this mess up.”

I hoped I could get through to him, because he gazed with a half-mile stare at my brown splattered masterpiece on the walls.

“Mammon!” I snapped him out of his shock. “Get. Me. Towels!”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, thing.”

Poor little guy. He sounded ill. It wasn’t long before the white-haired tsundere came back with a bunch of white towels. I palmed my face.

“White towels? Human excrement will stain those so much!” I said.

He shrugged. “I guess we’re gonna have brown towels at the end of the night.”

Taking one from the stack to wrap around my body, I was able to set about frantically mopping my midnight regret off the walls and floor. Maybe the most difficult part was scooping my mess out of the bathtub drain. I turned to Mammon and was immediately floored by the sight of the demon with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and shirt unbuttoned. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I think I was freakishly turned on by the smell of shit. His body odor combined with the scent of fecal lasagna twisted something primal inside of my core. I looked down at my hand, remember that I was squeezing an ice cream scoop sized clump of doodoo in my hand. I shook my head to snap out of my arousal before my thoughts went somewhere taboo.

I hurled the crap clog inside a garbage bag, which reminded me of the lack of a toilet.

“So, we need to talk to Lucifer rather discreetly about installing a toilet in the house,” I reminded Mammon. “On second thought, let’s just see if Diavolo can put toilets everywhere.”

Mammon shook his head. “Why didn’t ya just say something earlier, human?” he said. “When you asked me about the toilet earlier, ya coulda just explained it to me. I think I heard something about Diavolo having putting those in RAD just for the human students.”

I froze. “You ... What?!”

He gulped. “Uhh, yeah. How’d ya think Solomon shits?”

My body began to shake in anger. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

He stopped when my emotions started to show. “Hey, now. I’m sorry. It just slipped our minds.”

My jaw tensed as vengeful ideas played through my shit-addled brain. Leaning over the tub, I eyed the drain deviously as a new set of spasms wrapped my bowels in their grasp.

“Mammon,” I eyed him sideways. “We’ve cleaned enough in here, and I need to bathe.”

He stopped scrubbing to wipe sweat off his sexy forehead. “If ya say so. Call me if ya need me human.”

Before he left, we made out like teenagers, my soiled hand leaving smudges in his clean, white hair.

When I was finally alone, I dropped my fluffy white, brown smudged towel on the clean tiles. Stepping inside the shower, I marveled at the freshly cleaned tub. Sad I would have to soil it again.

Once more positioning my legs vulgarly wide over the drain, I unleashed everything. No holding back.

#obeyme #mc has an accident #tw feces #obey me mammon #bathroom #cursed fic

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digitaldreams0801 · 5 years ago

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Koichi Kimura Form (Frontier Rewrite Project)

Name: Koichi Kimura

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Birthday: June 4

Sexuality: Asexual Demiromantic

Element: Darkness

Human: Loweemon

Beast: JagerLoweemon

Unified: Rhihimon

Family: Tomoko Kimura (Mother), Kousei Minamoto (Father), Aoi Kimura (Grandmother; Deceased)

Appearance: Koichi stands at the same height as Koji, and he shares his bright blue eyes and dark hair. Koichi keeps his hair cut shorter to his face where his brother does not. He wears a purple shirt underneath a worn-out blue vest with dark blue jeans. He wears black and blue tennis shoes with white accents. Once in a while, he wears a lighter blue hat given to him by his mother for his birthday. Koichi’s figure isn’t defined at all due to how little he eats as a result of his family’s poor financial state.

Personality: Koichi is naturally shy and reclusive, tending to avoid most human contact where possible. He has a deep fear of being left behind, and due to this terror, he never reaches out in the first place. He tends to bottle his emotions as a result of his struggles with connecting to others, leaving him to hide everything until it pushes him to a breaking point, causing him to explode in a breakdown. However, Koichi hides this exceptionally well, never letting anyone see that the weight of the world is bothering him. When people do speak to him, they see that he is quiet yet friendly, naturally sweet and caring when others need something of him. He prefers his own company, often preferring to read or write alone. Koichi is incredibly empathetic, and he struggles sometimes when the suffering of others is placed on top of him. His own empathy can very easily overwhelm him, but since he never discusses such with others, it only contributes to his worsening mental health. He does all that he can to help others no matter what toll it takes on him. Koichi is selfless beyond imagination, always aiding others but never finding the strength to get help for himself. He wishes to not be a burden on others, causing him to keep to himself until he is sure that sharing himself with them is safe. Overall, Koichi is kind and sweet, but his inability to reach out to others causes him immense grief as his empathy pushes him towards his breaking point.

Background: Koichi was born as the older of twin brothers to Tomoko and Kousei Minamoto. After a lengthy string of arguments between them, the two split. Tomoko took Koichi while Kousei took Koji, and the pair vowed never to see each other. In order to earn enough money to support her son and mother, Tomoko took many shifts at the hospital where she worked. She was prone to overworking herself, never resting since she needed as much money as possible. Koichi understood his mother’s need to work, and he did all that he could to ease her burdens. Aoi, Koichi’s grandmother, took care of him when Tomoko was at work, and the two fostered a close relationship. Koichi grew up taking nothing for granted due to the lack of money his family had. He learned to look after his mother, not wanting Tomoko to get herself hurt. One day when Koichi was eleven, Tomoko collapsed at work due to working too many shifts back to back. The lack of money coming in as well as the hospital bills had the trio struggling for a while until Tomoko got back on her feet. Koichi only cracked down on keeping his mother’s health a priority, doing all that he could to ease her burdens. He didn’t want to bother her given how much she was struggling as it was, prompting him to start bottling his emotions. Tomoko, Aoi, and Koichi all stumbled through life for another few years until Aoi got sick when Koichi was fifteen. Tomoko worked hard to pay off the hospital bills, but Aoi wound up succumbing to her illness and passing away. The high prices left Tomoko and Koichi poorer than before, barely scraping by, but Aoi told Koichi one piece of important information before her death: he had a twin. After Aoi passed, Koichi began doing more research behind Tomoko’s back, not wanting to bother her when she was going through enough as it was. He longed to reach out to Koji after spending so many years in loneliness, and he decided to reach out the day that Ophanimon sent her mass distress call in Shibuya. He followed Koji to the train station where disaster struck.

Other: Koichi spends a lot of time at his local library, and some jokingly say that he has read the whole young adult fiction section multiple times over. He writes some fiction in his free time, but he refuses to share such drafts with anyone. Koichi is terrified of people leaving him behind since he bitterly believes that his father leaving is the reason that his mother suffers so much. Without a second source of income, their family is struggling, and he thinks that anyone else leaving could cause problems as well. Deep down, he also has a fear of rejection, and it is so deep that he never reaches out to others, not even after his mask as Duskmon falls away.

#digimon frontier #koichi kimura #digimon #rewrite #new interpretation #spirit of darkness #legendary warriors #digital's frontier rewrite bs

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danganronpa-21 · 5 years ago

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Naegiri Week Day 1: Ill

Here we are, Naegiri Week Day 1: Ill. I hope everyone’s ready for a little Post-Hope’s Peak escape fic, in which Makoto is fighting off a case of scurvy, and so Kyoko decides to make the journey to a Future Foundation Safe Haven in hopes of finding food to save him. For this one, I’d definitely issue a warning of some heavier topics of violence and in-depth descriptions of gross stuff, as there’s dealing with illness and dead bodies and all that.

It’s also way longer than I originally intended to make it. Oops. My other prompts will... probably be shorter, I think. This one was just an idea I got really enthused about! So, I hope you enjoy it!

Also, little tip to the rest of my fellow writers/digital artists participating in Naegiri Week: remember to rest your eyes! I gave myself a migraine yesterday from too many days of bright screens in a row. Be gentle with yourselves! You’ve all done wonderful things so far, and best of luck with the rest of your prompts!

____________

Four days ago, Makoto collapsed.

Kyoko hadn’t seen it happen at first. Her lavender eyes were far too focused on the path that lay ahead of them. She hadn’t even thought to look back when she heard his body hitting the pavement. Every moment she knew she had to be alert for danger; she had no time to waste on listening for tiny sounds like that. She’d expected it to be nothing. She had to focus on leading the charge. Though throes of illness and hunger threatened to overtake her, she knew she had to press on. She encouraged the same in the others, too, but completely fell apart when Makoto’s quiet gasps brought her attention to him.

Hearing Byakuya shout, she spun around without thinking. Her eyes fell immediately upon the pitiful boy. He was the strongest boy she’d ever known, yet when she laid eyes on him, he was sobbing on the road like a pathetic child. His teeth grinding together in pain. His eyes squeezed shut. Desperately trying to keep himself together.

“What happened?!” Byakuya stepped closer to Makoto, eyes narrowed. He crouched down to his level. “Get up off the ground. Now’s not the time to get all weepy-eyed!”

Makoto didn’t answer. He didn’t dare lift his face from the asphalt; his brows furrowed in emotion. Sadness, Kyoko wondered? Or maybe he was in pain. Some invisible pain, that the rest of them couldn’t see. She supposed he’d been complaining of sore legs as of late, but that was normal. Everyone had sore legs. Running and hiding during the apocalypse did that to you. They’d been walking in search of help for days; of course their legs felt like they were going to fall off. Even Aoi, who’s leg wound had adopted an infection, refused to complain. For the most part, Makoto had kept quiet, too.

Yet there he lay, his face so close to the dirty street, crying like a little boy. Something more had to be wrong. He never was much of a crier; she doubted the soreness of his own legs would be enough to send him crashing to the ground.

“We don’t have time for this!” Byakuya huffed, prying at the smaller boy’s body. He grabbed hold of his arm and tugged. Within an instant Makoto screeched out pain, desperately trying to yank his arm out of Byakuya’s grasp.

He continued to sob. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

Byakuya failed to respond to his pleas. He kept tugging like a toddler; one who didn’t know that it hurt the puppy when he pulled its tail. Makoto continued to howl and sob. “Would you be quiet?! You’ll attract cannibals or something! Now isn’t the time for this!”

Kyoko barked out an order without thinking. “Togami, leave him alone.” She walked towards the two of them, each step careful until she crouched down next to Byakuya. “Something is clearly wrong beyond whatever you think it is.”

“He’s fine,” Byakuya protested, “He’s not in any sort of real pain.”

Wrong, Kyoko thought. One look into Makoto’s watery green eyes, and one could see that it wasn’t anything normal. Sure, he’d had the same complaints as the others — fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, and loss of appetite… but no one else had been experiencing pain quite like this. If something had become enough to make him cry, she knew they should take it seriously.

“Naegi-kun, what’s the matter?”

His face had painted itself with shame, likely at his tears. He spoke with shaky breaths, almost daring to avoid meeting her eyes. “Everything… my shoulders, and my forearms… my knees… god, everything hurts so bad… It’s like all my joints are killing me.”

She placed a gentle hand on his head, hoping to be supportive. She had never been all that good at the whole comforting thing, but she still intended to try.

“I tried to hold up, for awhile, I really did…” He sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “But I… I’m sorry, I… I tried so hard to… to… hold up, but I just… This really… really… fucking hurts...”

The curse caught them by surprise. If Byakuya had needed any more proof that he was in legitimate pain, that word was it. His scowl, however still strong, seemed to soften a bit after he heard the word. His grip on Makoto’s arm lost its firmness as well.

“Shhhhhh…” She patted his head softly, “You’re okay. I know it hurts.”

He sniffled again, seeming grateful for her comfort. In a way, it brought her solace, knowing that she gave him some peace of mind. Her presence seemed to stabilize his breaths a little. “I’ll… I’ll get up in a few minutes, I s-swear I’ll keep going I just… this really hurts…”

Wrong again, she thought. Everyone seemed to have a knack for being wrong here. There was no way in hell Makoto would be walking on his own again. He collapsed; it was a telltale sign that his joints had all given up for the day. He should have known that.

“Nonsense, Naegi-kun.” She shook her head, “Hagakure-kun will carry you.”

His brow creased in worry, and he shot a nervous glance towards Yasuhiro. Ah, she thought, he’s worried about what will be done with Aoi.

“B-But what about Asahina-san? Her leg’s so much worse than mine. She needs someone to lean on.” He stuck his arms out to try and push himself to his feet, only to go tumbling back down against the road. Kyoko prayed he hadn’t scraped his chin. “I-I can get up, if you’ll just give me a…”

He once again went crashing to the ground, letting out a rather pathetic sob.

“I c-c-can do it, I-I swear…”

Kyoko shook her head. “Asahina-san can lean on me instead. I just want you to get of here in one piece.”

____________

Patient Name: Naegi Makoto, Ex-member of Class 78-A of Hope’s Peak Academy

Reported Symptoms: Fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, loss of appetite, fever, and painful joints and muscles.

Diagnosis: Early stage scurvy. Keep an eye out for pinpoint bleeding around hair follicles and skin as time goes on. Immediate consumption of fruit and vegetables will be necessary.

Kyoko could do little more than sigh as she slammed her notebook shut, her pen unceremoniously tossed to the side. Thinking about all of this stressed her out too much, yet there was little else that dwelled in her mind. Most days she would be thinking about the next opportunity to move, to get food or water, but now… now all of her thoughts were of Makoto, and what she could do to ease his pain.

If she chose to be honest with herself, there wasn’t much she could do to soothe him. She wasn’t a nurse, nor a nurturing person. She knew little of caring for people with bubbling stomachs and crushing fevers, and she certainly did not know a thing about helping someone with aching joints. Her care methods were standard: feed them, wash them, give them something to drink, make sure they were comfortable. That was all she could do to make his suffering easier. Nothing short of searching for an antidote could ease his sorrows, and she knew there was almost no way she would be able to get by doing that. Not with the others around, at least. They’d throw a fit once they discovered her absence. Not to mention that they might try to track her down; an act that could only further the sense of disaster. If she wanted to do this, she’d have to do it on her own. She’d just… have to find some way to slip out during the night. Maybe leave a note warning them not to come after her, or they will face her wrath when she returns. Yeah, that was a good statement… she knew at least Aoi and Yasuhiro would buy into that one.

Setting her notebook aside, she sighed. Inky blackness would soon consume the ruby red sky, and she’d get a chance to relax. Well, as much as one could amongst a pile of ailing teenagers. Nights were revered among their group for their solace from pain, but getting to sleep was always the real struggle. Between Yasuhiro’s pneumonia-induced hacking, Toko’s hourly bathroom trips, Aoi’s whimpering, Makoto’s sweat-soaked fever dreams, and the whale calls made by Byakuya’s empty stomach… Sleeping was a challenge. Even if she could manage to block out the sounds of her sick and hungry friends, their environment was hardly comfortable enough to sleep in anyways. Most nights they bounced from place to place, and most of those places were not built for comfort. Some nights they were lucky and got to share a motel room or two; most of the time though, they found themselves curled up on the floors of former retail stores and restaurants. This time around, they found themselves in an abandoned library… another place that, surprisingly, had few places to sleep.

Of course, that didn’t stop some of her friends. When she looked up from her notebook, almost all of her friends had drifted off already. Toko had nuzzled her face into Byakuya’s shoulder and fallen asleep there, and he’d let her. She assumed he must have been too exhausted himself to push her off. Aoi curled herself up in a corner, trying desperately to maintain warmth against the cold breeze. As for Yasuhiro, well, he’d been dead asleep for hours. Once he could stop coughing, his favourite hobby became sleeping. He was always the most well-rested of the group, unlike Kyoko. And much unlike Makoto lately.

No surprise there that Makoto was still wide awake.

“How are you feeling?” The words were reflex. She’d asked him the very same question so many times; really any time she’d realized that he was staring off into space again.

He gave the same answer each and every time, wincing as he shifted. “I’m fine.”

She never believed it. Habitually, he held his tongue for the sake of the others. That was why he’d gone on for so long before collapsing. He sucked it up until he couldn’t anymore.

“I know that’s not true.”

He let out a small grunt, pulling one of his legs closer to his chest. He exhaled sharply through his nose, slowly turning to look at her. “Of course it’s not true.”

She tried to look sympathetic, but she didn’t know what that looked like facially. Lowered brows in concern, maybe? Jeez, she would have to reprimand her grandfather for making her struggle to express herself. That is, assuming she might ever see him again. “What’s bothering you today?”

His eyes squeezed shut tightly. There was a jarring lack of hesitation in his words, as he turned to her and said, “Kirigiri-san. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

The question struck fear into her heart like lightning. His words vibrated through her eardrums for only a few seconds, but already she felt ready to shout at him. He was supposed to be the optimist, damn it! How could he scare her with this talk of dying? No way. No, no, no. No way.

“No, you are not.”

Her voice came out firmer than she intended, like a parent telling their child that their word was final. She imagined her face must have followed suit, an uncontrollable scowl carving its way into her lips. If her predictions were correct, this was also probably one of those times that her eyes had become scarily intense.

“Really? You think there’s something we can do?”

The lack of hope in his tone almost made Kyoko want to slap some sense into him. But hitting your friends is a mean thing to do, and hitting the boy you kind of sort of think you might have a crush on is… well, it’s a lot worse.

Nodding was a better choice in this scenario. “Yes, I do.”

To her surprise, Makoto let out a soft chuckle. As his eyes fluttered open, she could start to see the inklings of sadness that hid behind them. Like he had already begun to accept that he faced the beginning of the end.

“It’s okay,” He said softly, “You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying.” Her hands curled into fists. Where had all of his positivity gone? Had this condition replaced it with nothing more than swallowing melancholy? Once upon a time it would have been unthinkable for Makoto to even speak like this, but suddenly now she was taunted by the idea that it could become the norm. “I fully intend to make sure you do not die.”

“Kirigiri-” He started, but she didn’t let him finish. She cut him off not even a word’s worth in to the sentence; furious at the way he spoke.

“It’s not up for discussion, Makoto! Whether you think you will or not, I intend to make it so that you survive.”

She gulped. Neither of them had expected her to snap like that. Usually she could be calm and reserved, even in the face of adversity. But something about the suggestion of Makoto’s death hit her differently. Like a knife being jabbed into a wound she didn’t know she had. Without her consent, her eyes had become glassy, and she realized that she felt the push of tears in her throat. Stupid, she thought. It had been so long since she’d last felt the need to cry. It was so easy to choke it down.

The words hung a long pause in the air between the two of them; both of them afraid to break it for what felt like hours. Kyoko could do nothing but swallow repeatedly and blink rapidly, hoping desperately that he didn’t notice that she wanted to cry. Thankfully, he didn’t, opting instead to pick at the dirt under his fingernails. He lacked the proper works to say… just as she did.

The act that ended up the vow of silence between them was a soft sigh from Makoto’s end of things. He bit into his lip, shutting his eyes tightly. The face he made when he was reluctantly about to go along with one of her wild schemes to save the day.

“What do you propose we do?”

_______________________

If a spring breeze even existed anymore, it carried only a bizarre chill and the stench of death.

In the air it carried came the taste of distant smoke; the charred bodies of the dead and the burning brought through the air to these wandering children. Amongst the smell of death and the taste of airy smoke, lived nothing more than darkness and dim patches of light. The only sound being the distant screams of the tortured as they begged for mercy, and the gentle footsteps of the allied moving in synch. Pray for them, these wandering children. They are lost in a world determined to eliminate them.

A horror novel could not have painted a superior picture to the one that unfolded before Kyoko. All around her threatened destruction and desolation, should she take one wrong step. Just as if she were a character in a book, Kyoko would have to think through every detail of her present situation carefully. There could be no room for error, especially not when she had brought along such fragile cargo.

The decision to bring Makoto with her was a bad one. Sure, she knew there was little she could have done to stop him from joining her, but that didn’t keep her from regretting it. The poor thing stumbled about with all of the grace of a baby deer still learning how to use its legs, and had the endurance of one, too. He could only move in quick spurts, only fast enough to make a little bit of headway before needing to rest. They were nowhere near being close enough to their destination as they should have been thanks to that.

She didn’t have it in her heart to blame the poor boy, though. He did his best to not be a liability. He was skilled at ignoring his upset stomach and its repeated false alarms for vomiting, and was sweating out his fever like a pro. There were few people she had ever seen manage illness this well, and it impressed her, knowing that he could. She might have even felt proud of him, if she didn’t feel so overwhelmingly awful about having to drag him out into the dirty, disgusting world.

“H-How much longer until… until we’re… t-there…?” He panted so quietly that it might as well have been a whisper. She could see beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, desperately trying to cool him off. They weren’t managing so well, she noted, for his face flushed rouge. Maybe he would be due for another break soon, she decided. He didn’t look so good.

She tried not to look too pitying as she glanced back at him. She’d quickly learned that pity only made him feel worse. “Just a little while longer,” She purred in the sweetest voice she could muster, hoping to sound comforting, “We can take a break soon, if you like.”

He shook his head vigorously until pain overtook it. Another product of his fever. “I think I can manage for a little longer.” He promised; she knew it had to be empty. Too much sweat had stained the collar of his t-shirt for him to be okay to keep moving. He would need a break. And water.

“I disagree.” She took his hand in her own. “Here, let’s duck behind this building. We can stop here for a bit.”

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Kyoko’s movements were enough to shut him up. At that point, his focus drew towards his aching joints, and how to keep himself from crying out at the movement. Luckily, resting at the library for a few days had given them a new lease on life, and he could move just a tad easier than he could have before. He wasn’t collapsing, nor wailing from indescribable pain. At the very least, that made both of them feel a little bit better about the whole thing.

Still, even his increased comfort didn’t mean that he didn’t have to focus on keeping his complaints at bay. Every bend of his knee or curve of his forearm warranted a low grunt of pain; one that he silenced in order to keep himself and Kyoko safe. Night was the most dangerous time for them to be travelling, and they both knew how every little sound drew the attention of the nightcrawlers.

So he kept himself silenced, right up until they reached the building Kyoko proposed they hide behind. Then, with all of the grace of someone who had been nearly drowned, he let his desperate gasps spill out of him. Kyoko stood guard next to him; she seemed adamant that she be able to monitor his breathing. There hadn’t been a break that had gone by that she hadn’t listened to his shallow breaths, waiting for them to progressively become deeper.

“Do you want some water?”

Her voice came as a gentle coo, like the way a mother would speak to her ailing child. She didn’t bother to listen to his response; she reached into her bag to grab hold of the bottle anyway. They both knew he’d be taking a drink no matter what he said.

She handed the bottle to him carefully, taking note of the water level. Enough for him to have a mouthful, but not for her. That was fine. If where they were going was as perfect as it was rumoured to be, she would have no problem getting more. Perhaps she could even snag some bottles to take back with her, to hydrate the others. God knows how long it had been since they had some real, fresh water.

Makoto accepted the bottle gratefully. His hands shook as he unscrewed the lid, but Kyoko tried not to notice. It was probably just hunger tremors, she thought to herself. She knew she had them too. She couldn’t help but fantasize about putting an end to those soon, too, just as she did with the water. All she could think about, apart from getting there alive, was providing what she knew everyone needed.

What Makoto needed most of all. Of course she thought of the others, but Makoto’s need was potentially the most pressing. Realistically, Toko would survive as long as she stayed hydrated, and the same went for Aoi so long as she washed the wound. Given that he was neither a small child or elderly, she fully expected Yasuhiro to make a full recovery. And once again, assuming that Byakuya would eat and drink, he’d be fine too. Makoto was really the only one of her friends who could die on the spot from something dramatic like a heart attack. So getting the right kind of food into him sat at the top of her priority list.

“Do you want some, Kirigiri-san?”

Leave it to Makoto to snap her back into her thoughts by offering her water. There had barely been enough in there for him to have a mouthful, yet he’d still halved it to make sure she could drink. Stupidly selfless Makoto; she wanted to scold him for that. She knew that he knew that he needed the water more, and the idiot had still halved it. She shook her head frustratedly.

“Are you sure?” He prodded, raising an eyebrow at her. He waved the water bottle at her temptingly, but she raised a hand in refusal. He knew better than to keep bothering after that, so he let it go and took one last swig for himself.

“Just drink it,” She sighed, “If I’m to believe the rumours about where we’re going, then I should be able to get more.”

The luckster blinked it surprise, and pulled the water bottle back close to his body. The expression of excitement on his face over having more water was cute enough to make her laugh, albeit rather lightly. The fact that he now seemed almost territorial over his water only made it harder to avoid giggling more loudly.

“You think this place will have water and fresh produce?” His eyes were wide, glimmering with the hope she worried he had lost to his illness. She could have cried at the sight of faith finally returning to his gaze. It had only been four days since he fell apart, but already she was grateful to have it back. It had been too long. Just seeing that brought a smile to her face.

“It’s supposed to. Apparently, there is an anti-apocalypse group spreading resources to survivors. I believe they call themselves Future Foundation, or something cheesy like that.”

It became his turn to smile. “It’s nice to know that there’s still some people out there trying to do good.”

She nodded in agreement, unable to fight herself on looking pleased. Really, she was with him on that. Knowing that someone else was out there, fighting for the future… it brought her great happiness. She could only hope that she would live long enough to put it to good use.

Makoto screwed the lid back onto the water bottle and handed it back to her. She took it gratefully, proceeding to offer him her hand. He became a little more stable when he had the help. A sigh of relief expelled itself from her mouth when he accepted her hand, and pulled him up from the spot where he sunk originally. Now that he was so close to her face again, the drops of sweat and the flushing of his face became even more apparent. She chose not to weigh her options about what to do; she simply pried her glove off her hand and placed it on his forehead to feel his temperature. Warmer, she noted, but not as bad as it could get. If guessing was involved, he probably hadn’t hit one-hundred degrees yet. In the seventies or eighties, should she be tasked with giving an exact number.

Still, this wasn’t something Makoto could possibly know. Concern for his own well-being gleamed in his tired eyes, and only showed further in the way his brows lowered over them. Perhaps it was over what she could report, or maybe the fact that she stood so close, but his lip took some abuse as well. It had become like the victims of the Tragedy: cannibalized. He was biting the skin off it again and again in agonizing anticipation. Like he thought Kyoko could just decree that he had two minutes left to live.

She sighed. “Well, you certainly have not got any better,” She withdrew her hand from his forehead and slipped it back into its glove, “But you also haven’t gotten any worse. Which, I would say, is a rather good thing.”

Like a wave crashing to the shore, all of the concern in Makoto’s expression washed away. As a small smile snuck across his face, she heard him laugh. “Yeah,” He paused, turning his head to look at the path that lay ahead, “Should we be going again, then?”

“If you’re ready.”

From that point forward, they would take a few more breaks. Understandable, considering that Makoto hadn’t done such a good job holding out for long periods of time. So far they had managed to narrowly dodge the nightcrawlers, ducking through alleyways and silencing themselves every time they heard the familiar footsteps of the hungry. When they came near, neither of them dared to make a sound. They only waited; they barely found the strength to breathe. Only once the loud, stomping feet trailed off, did the two teenagers continue on, feeling a little more like they were going to throw up the dinner that wasn’t in their stomachs. But it was fine, for they were almost there.

That’s what Kyoko told herself, anyway. It distracted her from the fact that they seemed to be stopping more and more often because of them. It seemed as if her finger would fly to her lips every two minutes. She’d be desperately silencing the whispers, footsteps, and breaths she dared to take — otherwise, she couldn’t guarantee their survival. Then, once the shouting of the cannibals had passed, they’d keep stumbling along. In the back of her mind, though, the thoughts of them would linger. How hungry did they have to be to eat other human beings? And how certain could she be of this Future Foundation safe haven if the nightcrawlers still rallied for flesh?

She gulped at the thought. For a second, she considered asking Makoto, but dismissed the idea just as fast. The poor thing already fought off nausea as he walked; striking up a conversation about some good ol’ cannibalism wouldn’t help that case. She had a memory of him vomiting the first time he’d seen one of the bodies they’d eaten. How could human beings ever stoop so low? Could they really stoop so low?

Kyoko shuddered at the life she’d lead if she were more desperate. Though hunger ached in her belly and sent dizziness spiraling through her head, she couldn’t fathom killing and eating another person. And she knew Makoto and the others couldn’t either. And while this did put them on the moral high ground, it also put them into the position of victim. If they weren’t careful, they could be next.

It was better not to think about it. The consumption of others, the chance that the promise of food and water was empty, and her stomach’s endless growling. It was better to focus on her partner. What he felt, what he thought, what he needed in the moment. It was strange; in spite of not being a nurturing person, she sort of took to caring for him. It took her mind off of the other things she decided to avoid thinking about. Interesting. She couldn’t keep herself from wondering if maybe, just maybe, he worried about her in the same way.

“How much further now?” He whispered over her shoulder; his voice wrought with exhaustion. Though she told him to stop many times, he had taken to refusing the closer they got. She could hear his breathlessness as they stumbled through the night, but it was never enough to slow him.

Their eyes didn’t meet as she guided him forward; she simply mumbled her response to him. “Soon,” She told him, “We’ll be there.”

He let out a low hum, pulling himself back from her side ever so slightly. There was weight on his feet when he walked; she could hear it, but he said nothing. He simply kept pushing along, one foot in front of the other, beads of sweat still dripping down his forehead mercilessly.

At least with them having not heard the footsteps of the nightcrawlers recently, Kyoko could take the opportunity to chat. “How’s your stomach?”

As if to answer her, a loud grumble sounded from presumably, within his stomach. She hid her smile behind her hand, and he blushed.

“A little rumbly, but… okay, I guess.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I am sorry to hear that… but we will fix it soon. I promise you that.”

He laughed softly. “I’m not worried,” He placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know I’ll be fine, so long as you’re with me.”

One might have thought Kyoko would answer, but the words caught in her throat. Her mind raced so quickly that she could barely think of a thing to say. Stupid Makoto, she thought to herself, stupid Makoto and his cute face and his sweet sentences. This boy will make a joke out of me one day, I swear. Only the flustering of her face could show how that made her feel, her gaze darting away from him. He probably wouldn’t look at her deeply, yet she didn’t want him to see how much those words meant. It would only make the blow worse if the rumours turned out to be wrong.

Her lips sealed themselves after that. The two of them still kept a close eye on each other, but there was almost nothing else that needed to be said. The closest they got was Makoto slipping his hand into hers; it felt as if it was his way of begging to be close. Taking one look at the war-torn, exhausted boy who trudged beside her, she couldn’t help but accept it. An old friend’s words echoed in her mind.

Have you ever held hands with a boy?

It was hard to know whether she wanted to scowl or laugh. She had held his hands before; it wasn’t the first time. But at the very least, this time felt a little different. Perhaps it was because as they took each careful step towards the unknown, it felt like it was the two of them against the world.

They made good progress after their last conversation, for there were no more interruptions. Creepy, Kyoko thought, that enemies could just seem to disappear as they drew closer. A little too suspicious, if you asked her. Not that she should really be asked; she was a detective after all. As far as she was concerned, anything could be suspicious. Still, she attempted to shrug it off… for Makoto’s sake. The last thing he needed while in his condition was the paranoid ramblings of a girl without evidence.

Besides, his presence became a good distraction from her paranoia. All she had to worry about was pushing him forward, towards the proclaimed Future Foundation safe haven building. The structure had finally spread itself out in front of them; the whole thing appearing suspiciously normal amongst the chaos. If the expectation for Kyoko was honesty, she would have confessed that she presumed that everything would look… rougher. Maybe some scorch marks along the bricks from fires long since put out, or perhaps some blood stains turned brown from age. Certainly, if these Future Foundation people were bright at all, they should consider that their weirdly clean-looking building stood out like a sore thumb. Just an old warehouse building, complete with dusted red brick and white moldings around the doors and windows. Not even the window glass shattered or shared any cracks with the outside world. The window was simply tinted with natural colour, and dust that had been kicked up from storms. In the old world, this could have been any old abandoned warehouse. Only now, it was the hiding spot of secret resources.

The appearance of it was so obvious that Makoto’s face lit up upon sight. Just seeing his expression was like watching a human Christmas tree. His exhausted eyes lit up with glee, and he clung tightly to her arm. Delight dripped through his voice as he spoke to her, and he gestured towards the building with a bouncy, shaking hand. “Is that it, Kyoko?” He asked, “Is that the building?”

She nodded, fighting off the grin that threatened to make its appearance. “Yes,” Closing one of her eyes, she pointed forward, “That’s the one.”

Those olive green eyes of his sparkled back at her, and he pressed his face into her arm. A sigh sounded as he nuzzled her, and for a minute, she might’ve imagined them some place else. But the old warehouse was no sunset-lit beach, nor star-clad night. It was just an old warehouse, full of little more than promise. Promise was promise, though. If it meant his survival, Kyoko might consider it the most beautiful thing of all.

With that idea resting in her mind, she pressed him to move forward. One step after the other, the same rhythm as always. Every once in awhile she stopped to flick her head around corners; a necessary evil to ensure that no nightcrawlers could spring a trap on them. Makoto followed along behind her carefully; a willful puppy trailing after his caretaker. As they drew closer and closer to the clearing that housed the warehouse, Kyoko knew making a break for it was necessary. When she glanced at her walking partner, it took her all of three seconds to know he saw it too.

She took a deep breath, and squeezed his hand tightly. Counting back from ten in her head, she braced herself. One, two, three. Even with her gloves on, she could feel the sweat on Makoto’s pams. Four, five, six. The warehouse beckoned them in an inaudible voice. Seven, eight, nine. Stacks of fresh produce and water. They had to be in there.

Ten.

Kyoko stole a breath and ran.

The world went by her in a rush; the sounds of their thundering footsteps as they ran consuming everything else around her. Amongst the chaos of their feet, the only other thing she could hear was the shallow panting of Makoto, who was clearly overexerting himself to arrive safely. She’d be sure to praise him for his perseverance later; most likely after she rewarded him with some well-deserved water and food. For now, though, she zeroed in on the front door. It stood there waiting; a wooden beacon in the distance. It drew closer and closer as their feet hit the pavement, the smell of death and the taste of the smoky air drowned out by what lay behind it.

Almost there. The thought echoed in her mind as she grabbed hold of the door’s handle. Behind her, Makoto attempted to skid to a stop, clearly just as lost as she was in the motions of the run. In the distance she heard the voices of the hungry, and she prayed that the famine of her and her friends hadn’t put them in the nightcrawlers’ sights. She yanked the door back with fervour, shoving Makoto inside before promptly slamming the door behind her.

She slumped against the door the moment she arrived, and her lungs screamed for air. The world seemed to sway under her feet as she stared down at them, trying desperately to steady herself. She had exerted the energy she lacked when she ran, and she knew her partner must have too. The mere idea of moving only made her head spiral further, but she knew she had to check on him. She ignored her brain’s desperation for the world to slow. Instead, she turned her head towards Makoto.

Just one look at him, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

He was… horrified. His hands had flown to his mouth to cover it, for otherwise it’d be hanging agape. His sleepy eyes were now wide with shock, and his brows so harshly furrowed together that she’d have thought he witnessed the product of a nightmare come to life. She could even see tremors start to consume his body once again.

“Naegi-kun?” She squeaked, her voice small and insignificant against the echoing terror of the warehouse. “What’s wrong?”

The boy refused her gaze. He only extended a hand, and trembling, he pointed forward.

His horror struck her just the same when her eyes fell upon it.

Bodies littered the building. Bodies of Future Foundation members, bodies of the despairs, the nightcrawlers, and the desperate. Everywhere was the sight of bodies, bloody and beaten beyond recognition. Shelves knocked over; the contents spilling over into pools of blood, excrement, and urine. Those that didn’t fall from the shelves onto the fluid-soaked floor had been otherwise tampered with. Some had been ripped open and left to spoil, so that no one might have what lay inside them. Others were completely destroyed, or used for horrible things Kyoko couldn’t bring herself to process. Her head spun even faster, and she was half-sure she’d have toppled over, if it weren’t for Makoto who grabbed her arm.

Thank god for his willingness to support her weight.

“I…” She sputtered, shutting her eyes. A harsh, sudden headache pounded at her temples, and when she tried to breathe, the air scorched her throat. “I don’t understand.”

Her feet swayed beneath her even further, threatening to bring her down. It was only Makoto who kept her steady; his voice hushed as he whispered in her ear.

“Stay with me, Kirigiri-san.” He begged. Through the booming of her heart in her ears, the shaking of his voice made itself audible. “Everything is fine.”

She tried to swallow, but it felt like a rock lodged itself in her throat. Her senses threatened her with tears, but she willed herself not to cry. Crying doesn’t solve anything. Her grandfather’s words. Words she wished to resist. “No,” She murmured, “Everything is not fine.”

“I know,” he whispered back, “It’s horrible, I know.”

She nodded. “This place was supposed to… help people. I… I cannot understand why anyone would… would…”

The detective’s voice trailed off. Her whimpers were the only thing ringing through the silence of the old warehouse. This only seemed to torture her further; Makoto couldn’t help but remark on how she trembled in his arms. The act was so uncharacteristic of her. It sent a jolt of worry to his core.

“Naegi-kun, what are we going to do?” She turned her head to look at him; the first time Makoto had actually seen the fear in her violet eyes. “The water… Aoi, and Byakuya, and the others… and you! You needed this place! You needed it so badly, and I was certain… I was certain that I…”

He pulled her face towards his chest, shushing as gently as he could. He found himself stroking her hair without thinking to do so; he supposed he thought the action would be soothing. Fortunately for him, she failed to oppose it. Rather, she actually buried her face deeper into his chest to hide.

“It’s okay, Kirigiri-san.”

“B-But, I…”

The girl’s hands curled into fists, and he could feel the clench of her jaw. Was she about to cry, or was she about to punch him? The lack of answer made him uneasy. Kyoko looked like the kind of girl who could punch hard, should she want to punch you.

“... I was supposed to help you. We were supposed to get out of this together. I… I don’t understand why I cannot help you. I don’t understand what I’ve done poorly.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing you could have done, and no way you could have known. We just… need to go somewhere else now.”

She pressed her face further into his chest, and suddenly, he could feel it. The tiny, wet spots of her tears on his shirt. She wouldn’t show it, but he could feel it. For her sake, he decided not to mention it. Chances are she was already embarrassed enough to be crying, given her stoicism. He decided perhaps it was best if he just let the waterworks slide this time around.

“No.” She answered with a shaking breath. Though he could hear her sniffling, she dismissed any semblance of a sob. “No, I’m not leaving here until we find something to help you.”

“Kirigiri-san-”

“No!” She growled with all of the stubbornness of a toddler. It might have even been punctuated with a stomp of her foot. “No, I am not leaving her until we fix things!”

“Kyoko, we can’t…”

Suddenly, she shoved him away, staring at him with a frown. The tears were still glistening on her face, yet she scorned them. It dawned on him now that he probably led her to want to punch him, shortly after she started to cry. Two for two, he supposed.

“It’s final, Makoto.” A firm, resolute voice took place of the shaky girl’s. She swiped at her eyes, and strengthened the painted-on scowl she wore. “I intend to help you. Whether you try to help yourself or not.”

The words struck him dumb. He tried to reach his hand out to her, to say something that would be of value, but the detective was having none of it. Within seconds, she had whipped away from him, strutting down the rows of shelves like it was nothing. A chill shot down his spine at the sight of it. How could she be so firm in her resolve, he wondered. Even he, who had been widely praised by others for being so hopeful, was breaking down at each and every site where things fell apart. He had long since given up on himself, yet Kyoko dismissed all ideas of ever letting go. Somewhere within himself, Makoto knew he had to find that same resolve to keep going. To search for anything with her, so that they may both survive.

Because she said she wanted them to leave this situation together.

“Kyoko, wait.” He called out to her, stumbling forward as she walked. “I’ll help you.”

Within an instant, the discontentment melted off the girl’s face, and she turned to glance back at him. She sniffled once more, folding her arms across his chest. There were no words shared between them, but Kyoko flicked her head forward. With her, that was as good a signal as any to follow. So he did, stepping over any ominous looking puddles he found along the way. If there was any hope to be found for him, it would be with her.

“I’m thinking we should head towards the back of the building,” He suggested, taking hold of her hand again, “Some of the stuff back there might be spared. They could even have a produce fridge. You know, like where they mist the vegetables at the grocery store.”

Kyoko did little more than nod, walking towards the back of the store like she didn’t have a care in the world. With the way her chest was so proudly puffed up, you wouldn’t have expected her to have been crying a minute before. He figured it was safe to assume that was why she was doing it — she always held distaste for crying in front of others. It was sort of understandable, he reasoned. But he didn’t mind comforting her, if she needed to cry. Heaven knew that by then, she’d comforted him enough times.

The two made their way to the back of the building in relative silence, save for the sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor of the warehouse. As they walked, both of them thought it best to avoid making contact with the corpses as they walked. Seeing the beaten faces, some of them frozen in screams of agony or despair, it made the hairs on the backs of their necks stand on end. Could they meet the same fate, if they weren’t careful? Could it just as easily have been them? Would whoever did this come back?

They both shook those nightmarish fantasies from their heads; both too afraid to know the answers to those questions. Instead, they put their focus onto the produce shelf, and what they might find on it.

“For you, there are a few things that we could use.” Kyoko told him, her voice hushed. Whether she spoke so quietly because she feared the return of the killers or showing how emotional she’d been, he didn’t know. “Acerola cherries, for example, make an excellent source. Kiwis, bell peppers, strawberries, broccoli, kale, and oranges are also acceptable sources.”

Makoto tried to keep those in mind as they travelled through the warehouse. The further back they went, the more he scanned for them. On occasion they would think they’d hit the jackpot, finding a lone strawberry or rogue kiwi on the floor. However, once they picked it up, they would discover the flaws. The most common was mold, but other regrettable occurrences did include a kiwi that had several bites taken out of it already; and a bell pepper coated in blood on one side. At that point, there was no other choice but to toss it aside and keep looking. Thinking optimistically, at least that provided them with just a smidge of hope. It did help significantly, seeing how the ideal fruits and vegetables did manage to trail to the back. Kyoko took that as a good sign.

Well, as good as a sign it could be, in an abandoned warehouse full of death. Sure, the stench of it all failed to recede as they ventured further, and the air still burned her throat, and Makoto was still sweating like a pig because of his fever… But in some weird way, she still held out hope that everything would be okay. Some way, somehow, it would be okay. It had to be.

And it seemed like it might, as they came up on the end of the island they had been walking through.

“Oh my god,” Makoto exclaimed, pointing forward. “Kirigiri-san, look!”

Her focus darted around, trying to figure out what he was referring to. Had a nightcrawler made its way in? Was there a resource they could benefit from? She scoured the shelves and the floors, taking in as much information as she could, until finally… she saw it. A round ball of fiery orange, sitting plainly on the ground. Away from any corpses, with skin untorn and full of natural colour.

A healthy, safe orange.

She’s certain that the two of them must have lunged for it; they attacked the fruit like children eager to open a Christmas present. Within mere seconds, Kyoko had ripped the glove off her hand and created an incision in the skin with her nails, tearing it off the fruit with a strange sort of glee.

Makoto sat across from her on his knees; eyeing the fruit like it were a piece of gold. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, for she basically held the remedy to all of his struggle. If she were in his shoes, she felt certain she would have acted the same way too. In her hands, she held the key to fixing everything — no more fever, no more upset stomach, no more fatigue, no more aching joints. She wouldn’t have to hear him cry so horribly ever again, ever see him such deep pain. She supposed she yearned just as hard for the relief of it as he. So when she finally managed to tear the skin off, she shoved the fruit into his hands.

“Go on, Naegi-kun.” She urged, “Eat it.”

For a second, he did nothing but stare at it. Surely he wasn’t having second thoughts about wanting to live or something, was he? Kyoko might have smacked him right then and there if he was, no matter how mean she knew it was to do… but, fortunately, that didn’t appear to be the case. Instead, when he came to his senses a little more, he tore the fruit in half and placed the other piece in Kyoko’s hands.

Her stomach growled in delight at the sight. “What are you doing?”

No, no, no, no. This was not her fruit. She couldn’t eat this. Not when he needed the nutrients more. Nearly as soon as it was in her hands, she rushed to return it to him — but Makoto dismissed it. Before she could even get within a few inches of him, he pushed her hand back to her.

“Please.” A slight smile crossed his face as he pushed her hand back. “I know you’re hungry, too.”

She bore down on her lip absent-mindedly. How did he expect her to accept this? “Naegi-kun, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” His grin brightened, and his hand secured itself around her own. “You’ve tried so hard to keep up my hope. Let’s try to keep up yours, too.”

Don’t accept it, she shouted at herself. He needs this more than you do. You know that.

She did know that. She did know that, yet when she looked at him, there was little she could do to resist his begging. That soft smile, those affectionate green eyes, damn you, Makoto Naegi. She fixed her eyes on him carefully, and raised the orange to her mouth.

“That’s it,” He said, raising his piece to his own, “On the count of three, alright?”

She nodded, eyeing the fruit in front of her. God, she hadn’t realized how much she missed oranges until this very moment. The scent of the citrusy fruit almost made her feel like she might start to drool.

“One… two… three.”

Bite.

A rush of flavour flooded her mouth, staining her tongue with its sweetness. She groaned in delight, having long since forgotten how wonderful oranges were. Across from her, she could gather Makoto was having the same experience… although the juices from the fruit were dripping down his lips and chin. She chuckled slightly, liking the mildly embarrassed expression on his face.

“This is… really good.” He remarked, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist.

She giggled at the act. “It truly is…”

“Mmm… Kirigiri-san?”

Taking another quick bite of her orange, she glanced back over at him expectantly.

“Yes?”

He licked his orange-juice coated lips, and flashed her another smile. A real one, with teeth and that signature cheerfulness she had grown to miss amongst his illness. Her chest warmed at the sight, and increased its warmth when he finally spoke.

“Thank you.”

#naegiri2019 #naegiri #kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #kyouko kirigiri #kirigiri kyoko #naegi makoto #thh #danganronpa #DR1 #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #Future Foundation

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chapitre7 · 5 years ago

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Falling Deeper in Longing For You

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

High School AU

Characterization is based on the drama

OST of choice is O3ohn’s Shine Your Star

Read on AO3

“Brother told me you’ve missed every class in the past week. Are you all right?”

A week goes by without an answer. It feels longer when multiplied by the number of times he looks at his phone, the songs that go by in his earphones without interruption, the minutes that he so consciously spends thinking about a Wei Ying that couldn’t show up on the street, waving at him with his bright smile.

Lan Wangji is half a world away now, all around him speaking a different language from his thoughts, all of his classes taking up his time but not all of his concentration. Every time he looks to his side, he expects to see him. He expects to hear him call his name and jump on his back during recess, and he can’t stop thinking about all the times Wei Ying invited him to go out with him after school; to eat a crepe, to watch a horror movie, to choose a present for his sister, out of any possible season, just because he wanted to. He wishes he had gone with Wei Ying. He wishes he had gone anywhere with him, not just for this punishment, not all this distance.

“It rains a lot here and it’s cold. You wouldn’t like it. Have you been sleeping well? Don’t think too much and have nightmares.”

His brother writes reports to him in long e-mails. When he calls, he never talks about anything but Wangji’s well-being, asking how he’s adjusting, tells him to call if he ever wants to talk. His brother knows he’s not a talker but the offer is always there, because he knows he has things to say, choking him up, growing like vines in his chest. He doesn’t say. He just soaks up all the information in his brother’s e-mails, all the details of what’s going on in the city where he no longer exists.

Wei Ying has gone back to Yunmeng. After everything, he didn’t stay. Xichen mentions that their uncle is calmer now, that this is a good sign for Wangji. He may not have to attend college overseas. Wangji can only think that uncle has to be satisfied now that the troublemaker is gone, that he can’t corrupt his family now, with his brazen attitude, his untamed aggression. Wangji loves his uncle but he also has hated him for as long as he has loved Wei Ying. Uncle doesn’t understand. He sees only the transgressions, someone who cannot adapt to rules that cannot be broken. Wangji sees the rules as guidelines, a moral compass that Wei Ying harmonizes with, like his dizi playing, rapid and wild but falling in rhythm with Wangji’s guqin, their eyes meeting over their instruments, speaking of the emotions at their fingertips.

Wangji doesn’t have his guqin in this seclusion. He misses it as much as Wei Ying’s laugh.

“How is Yunmeng? If you focus on your studies, you won’t have a hard time. Make sure to eat well. You must have missed Jiang Yanli’s cooking.”

Wei Ying has changed his number, is his first assumption. His second is that he has blocked him, now that he no longer has any connection or good memory from Gusu. Wangji hasn’t felt like crying over someone since his mother died; he thought he had lost the ability, as much as he had thought he wouldn’t love someone again. Everyone outside of his family gave him empty flattery and coveting looks; his uncle gave him expectations and a life plan. In the monochrome universe of his immediate acquaintances, only his brother was a burst of color, giving him open arms that he didn’t know how to embrace, and enough patience to allow Wangji to create his own space around him, in his own way, his own kind of trust in this unconditional love.

Wei Ying had been red. He had fallen on Wangji on the day they met, only a few days into the first semester of high school, as he jumped over the school wall Wangji was leaning against during the self-study second period. He was the red of pain, the red of warning, the red of the tassel accessory on his backpack. “It is forbidden to enter the school grounds at this hour,” was the first thing Wangji ever said to him, and Wei Ying had covered Wangji’s mouth with his hand, wide eyes pleading for his mercy. Wangji pulled the offending hand and walked away, deciding that he didn’t care enough to tell on him. When their eyes crossed during recess, Wei Ying had looked so grateful, smiling so widely, that Wangji had to look away. He felt so warm from a smile alone, as if Wei Ying was a small sun; Wangji would only understand that he had liked him from the start when it was too late to bask in his rays again.

“Are you keeping out of trouble?”

“The days here are too quiet.”

“I want to play with you again.”

Wei Ying is an urban legend now, his brother tells him. The Wens he had fought — had almost killed with his bare fists — are wary and quiet. All of the students in the building swear they’ve seen Wei Ying in one manner or another, wearing all black, the opposite color of the school uniform, sitting on a tree, arms draped through the gate bars, wicked smile, swearing revenge. Wangji knows it’s ridiculous, Wei Ying has too many things to worry about, has as many expectations to meet as Wangji’s own, and he’s in Yunmeng. But Wei Ying has friends, and a good friend in one Nie Huaisang who’s very good at spreading rumors, so he lets himself be amused at the thought. He lets himself feel avenged too, by this phantom Wei Ying, who defies Gusu’s uptight appropriateness.

That night, he dreams of a black-clad Wei Ying, who speaks with no voice and devours him with a smile. He wakes to the loud pounding of his heart and a physical longing he’d be embarrassed to feel if it hadn’t happened before. He touches himself with Wei Ying’s name on his lips, alone in his dorm room, alone in that place, alone in foreign gray walls and skies.

“Are you well? The year is almost over. Do you have a wish for the new year?”

“I wish to see you, even if you won’t talk to me.”

“I wish to see your smile.”

Time is constant and inconstant. The weeks feel like years, yet the year comes to an abrupt end. Wangji barely feels the cold, not as much as he feels the loneliness he didn’t think he could feel in this intensity. He had always liked being alone yet he can’t stand it now, the silence, brother’s voice gently nudging him for answers he’s too emotionally clumsy to give.

When uncle and brother visit on Christmas, Wangji stays awake in the dead of night with his head on his brother’s lap like he’s seven again, too lost to decide which of the many paths to take, when none of them seem to lead where he wants to go.

If he called him, would he answer? None of his messages was read. They sit in his outbox untouched, unnoticed. He exhales, unfocused eyes resting on the fireplace. His brother massages his scalp, runs his fingers through his hair, noticeably worried but saying nothing without prompt. Perhaps he thinks him still just a child, going through an elaborate tantrum. Perhaps he knows it all ought to pass; brother Xichen has always been better at feeling and understanding and letting go.

Wangji doesn’t want to let go. He’s missed so many things, a proper childhood, a mother’s safe embrace, how could he let go of this? The whole gravity of Wei Ying, his friendliness that attracts others, his jokes, his wit, and the tilt of his smile when they’re alone?

If he lets go of his first love, would it be the natural thing to do, the human thing to do? But isn’t that the theme of so many stories, the regret of losing one’s first love?

He doesn’t want to regret.

He doesn’t know what to do, either, with everything broken around him.

“Talk to me. Tell me anything.”

“If you call, I won’t answer, just leave me a message.”

“Wei Ying, I miss your voice.”

When he had held Wei Ying back that day, there was only a hateful fire in his eyes. If he hadn’t done that, what would have happened? He wouldn’t have been able to save Wei Ying from being expelled. Maybe, he wouldn’t have been able to save Wei Ying from an even worse fate, a doomed future with a criminal record. But could he have saved himself from being the object of Wei Ying’s hate?

Wangji has never wished ill upon anyone. It was against everything he has ever learned. But he fervently wished that the Wens had been properly dealt with before that day, so they wouldn’t have picked on quiet Wen Ning, so Wei Ying didn’t barge into them like a natural disaster, full body slamming against Wen Chao, throwing insults as easily as he threw fists, until Wen Chao opening his filthy mouth to talk about Wei Ying’s mother caused all rational thought to leave him. Wangji held him back, his own trained body barely able to control his friend — his only friend, the one he admired above all.

“It’s not worth it!” He had told him, and perhaps that was the worst of it, because Wei Ying, always red like a day in autumn, struggled like a feral dog, yelling insults at both Wen Chao and Wangji. When the school staff found them, Wen Chao was crying like he had been wronged, and Wei Ying was too out of control to explain himself. And even when Wangji told the principal — uncle — what had transpired, he was still adamant Wei Ying should be expelled.

No.

That feral, wide-eyed look was the last Wangji had seen of Wei Ying before he accepted to study overseas in exchange for Wei Ying to stay enrolled at the school. He never told him. Perhaps Wei Ying thought Wangji didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Perhaps Wei Ying didn’t actually want to deal with him anymore.

Not knowing consumed him. He sends messages like a lifeline, and Wei Ying keeps him drowning at the sea.

“Come back. Wei Ying, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Come back to me.”

The moon brings a new year. The chat window with Wei Ying is no longer a conversation, but a journal, a confession, his heart. He molds himself in the words, in the admissions that might never be spoken, but still make themselves known to him. What he wants, what he regrets. It’s a mirror where he finally recognizes himself, so he no longer has to burden his brother with the weight of his own shortcomings. He still aches with the riddle of how everything could have gone differently, with every thought of how Wei Ying might be living, away and without him. Was he living well? Were his foster parents treating him well? Was his sister showering him with the affection their brother Jiang Cheng was incapable of, and that Wangji hadn’t learned to show?

As soon as he’s done with his last year, as soon as his uncle allows him, he returns. He still has dreams, still has a heart to be broken.

At the Gusu airport, he inhales deeply, ready to take one of the many roads before him.

And along the way, he’s taking the detour that takes him back to Wei Ying.

If he’s to be rejected, he needs to know.

He needs to see him again.

“I love you. I love you.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, drawing out the nickname he made for him, leaning his upper body against the railing of the rooftop. It makes Wangji nervous and he knows, mischievous as always, but right then he’s contemplative as he rarely is. “Do you think my foster parents will ever be proud of me?”

Wangji looks down at the students below, eating their lunch out in the sun. Wei Ying is smarter than all of them, but he can’t sit still during a test so it never reflects on his grades.

“If you behave,” he says, making Wei Ying groan and lean his head against Wangji’s shoulder. Like with every physical contact — and there’s always so many with Wei Ying —, Wangji struggles to grasp the reigns of his emotions and self-control.

“You’re supposed to pep talk me!” Wei Ying whines, but he’s facing down, so he misses Wangji’s smile.

“The sports festival next week...”

“Hm? The one you always win in every category?”

“You can win.”

Wei Ying rises his head, and by the time he locks eyes with Wangji, the star student has already controlled his expressions and looks solemn again. Wei Ying raises an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna let me win?”

Wangji shakes his head, placating Wei Ying’s annoyance before it can surface.

“We can... practice together.”

There’s a special light in Wei Ying’s eyes that shines with understanding, every emotion of his always ready to burst at the slightest instigation. Wangji feels privileged when he gets to see it when they study together, when they find a particular piece of music that is perfect for their style, and even when he doesn’t quite understand why, when he’s pushing Wei Ying forward, bold enough to walk by his side.

“If I can work together with the great Lan Wangji, Gusu High’s Light-Bearer, then that gives me renewed confidence to try and beat him!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Wei Ying laughs, and it’s melodic and beautiful.

“Wei Ying.”

His brother had agreed to pick him up. Then they’re going over their plan to tell their uncle about how Wangji is going to study music, and not become a scholar, like his uncle expected of him. Because music brings him joy and he’s confident he can live off it, because if he can play, anywhere in the world, a song tjay he’s once played with Wei Ying, then he’s never going to feel like a stranger again, stranded. He can carry home on his back, the summer of his life, even if... If Wei Ying...

He shakes his head and picks up his phone, ready to message or call his brother when he opens the window to Wei Ying’s number out of habit and freezes.

All of the messages are checked and read.

“Do you think of me?”

“Lan Zhan.”

He’s enough tuned to the sound of Wei Ying’s voice to pick him easily in the crowd. Even if he can barely believe that he’s there, hands in the pockets of his pants. He’s still registering it all when Wei Ying starts moving, too fast, throwing himself at him and almost making Wangji drop his luggage before he catches him. Wei Ying’s arms squeeze around his middle and his ponytail tickles Wangji’s nose. It’s been so, so long, he knows they’re making a scene, that it’s summer and his hair is clinging to the sweating skin at the back of his neck, but he holds onto Wei Ying just the same.

“Why... Weren’t you at Yunmeng?”

“I met brother Xichen in Yunmeng. He was there for a conference or something, although not even sister had heard about it, but suddenly I met him outside the school gates and...”

Wei Ying loosens his hold on him so he can back away and look at his face. Wangji is confused to see he’s almost on the brink of tears, and Wangji is nothing but controlled panic, again at a loss. Everything about Wei Ying is new and unknown and he doesn’t know how to tread, but Wei Ying has read his messages and...

“Is it true?”

He blinks slowly, heart breaking as he raises a hand to wipe away a single tear that falls down from Wei Ying’s eye.

“You’re not mad at me? Disappointed? You really accepted to go overseas so I wouldn’t...”

He sniffs and Wangji cups his face with both of his hands then, feeling Wei Ying’s fingers tighten their hold against the back of his shirt.

“You should have stayed at Gusu High,” Wangji says, kind like his touch. “With your music skills, you’d probably get a scholarship at a good college. Your parents would be proud of you.”

Wei Ying makes a strangled noise and Wangji has the peace of mind to pull him away from where they stand in the middle of the airport to a corner with less eyes. He wishes they were having this conversation at their rooftop, Wei Ying talking over their lunch while Wangji listens, his heart thumping with every word of adoration he wants to tell him.

“I didn’t want to stay there after Wen Chao...” Wei Ying shakes his head, frowns for a moment, as if speaking the name soils the moment. “You weren’t there, so I didn’t even have a reason... I didn’t know, or I would’ve...”

Wei Ying bites his lower lip and his rambling, this sweet mess that is Wei Ying and that Wangji had missed so much, makes him smile.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Wei Ying looks up at him then, one of his hands moving to touch Wangji’s wrist, the hand that caresses Wei Ying’s wet cheek the way he’s wanted for so long. Wei Ying has read his messages so he knows and if he’s not running, if he’s not hiding, then he can... Maybe he can...

“Lan Zhan, you really...?” Wei Ying licks his lips and Wangji’s eyes are drawn to the motion, incapable of looking away. “I... I’ve liked you for so long—”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought as Wangji, still holding his face, pulls him at the same time as he leans in to kiss him. Their heights are not so different, and the movement is so fast their noses clash almost painfully, so at first it’s nothing but an awkward touch of lips. Then they adjust. They’re both quick learners so Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, one of Wangji’s hands falling from his cheek, down to his neck, lips opening and closing around the other’s, still pecking, still at the beginning. Their pulses feel like dams, waiting to explode, but it’s not the time or place, it’s just the airport, and Wangji has only just returned, there’s so much he wants to say now that he has found the words to say, and Wei Ying’s smile, with lips slight flushed like his cheeks, is every encouragement he needs. Wangji laughs, briefly, light-headed, and Wei Ying’s eyes have that light again, that Wangji is only learning he can cause to shine. I’ve liked you for so long, Wei Ying had said. Maybe Wangji has an idea how long. He wants to know all about it.

“I’m back,” Wei Ying says, and it’s hilarious in its incongruity, in how it’s exactly what Wangji wanted to hear.

He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and then his temple, and smiles into his hair as they embrace, Wei Ying a sweet, rambling against his ear of “Lan Zhan, I like you so much, Lan Zhan, don’t leave, I’ll stay, I’ll be good, Lan Zhan, I love, love, love you.”

I did.

I do.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #fanfiction #Alternate Universe: High School

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arcanaapprenticecatherine · 5 years ago

Text

Julian’s Apprentice, Asra’s Fight, Apprentice’s Death, Apprentice’s Return

Subject matter: fighting, disease, loss, burning, death, angst

MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME

I WARNED YA

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

Dr. Devorak continues to live in his office at the palace working relentlessly to find a cure. As an apprentice, I can leave to my own home. Ever the gentlemen, he frequently walks me home to my shop. Not much of a shop anymore, as a ban on public gatherings had taken place as a measure to stop the spread of the plague. My shop has been closed for months now. Had Dr. Devorak not taken me in as his apprentice, I wouldn't have been able to afford food and other necessities. Thank gods he showed up that day at my shop looking for particular ingredients for medicinal purposes and research. We got to talking about the different properties of different herbs, from flavor to medicinal to magical, distilled or deluted, taken with or without food. He said that I might be helpful to him in his research. Gods know I wanted to help the city, those affected by this awful plague, and it certainly beat wasting away in a store I couldn’t operate.

At the palace I officially got the title "apprentice" so that I could deliver reports from the city. Sometimes I was even granted access to assist Dr. Devorak with research in the palace library. I wasn’t permitted wherever they worked on patients or carried out experiments and treatments.

He really struggled with the passing of the younger patients. Adolescents, children, toddlers. He tried to make sure they never fell to Valdemar. Most of the other doctors had become desensitized to death by plague since it happened so frequently and in such numbers. But he hadn’t. He seemed to take every death personally, as if this entire disaster was his fault, or that he was a failure.

Not that he ever said these things to me, but I could sense it. Having my magical abilities, I could even feel those emotions myself. Though I could see it in his eyes after reporting another death. Discussing what wasn’t working, which seemed to be everything. You didn’t have to be an empath to know it.

I’m delivering another report to the palace. There’s little whispers, rumors of another cure, another treatment. As always. One of the palace servants escorts me to the library where Dr. Devorak is waiting. He greets me in his kind but professional manner.

“Ah, right in time! I’m glad to see you well,” he smiles politely at me, not seeing any signs of the plague. The palace serve the leaves the room once they know he knows me.

“And you as well! But, are you doing alright?” I can see he looks more tired than usual. His eyes cast down, considering my question.

“I lost two patients today. Siblings. A boy of ten and a girl of six,” he confides in me. “I... I can’t stop thinking about my own sister. She doesn’t live in the city, thank gods.”

“Doctor, I’m so sorry...” I begin, but I don’t know what else to say. I can sense his pain from losing the two patients, and his worry for his sister. Does he know I can sense it? I wish I could make him feel better, but how can I? Would he even want me to help?

He abruptly cuts me off, “please, call me Julian. I’m tired of hearing that title.” He looks at the papers and documents in my hands, and then looks back up to me with a trying smile, “we’ll just have to work a little harder, hmm?” He takes the papers from me and we walk over to the desk and chairs to go over the reports, but I can’t help but wonder if he was trying to make me feel better with that smile and question.

As we’re going over the reports, I catch him glancing and looking at me and when I turn to look he has quickly turned away or back down at the reports on the desk. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this. Sometimes I doubt myself but I can’t be imagining all of it. The hand on the shoulder for just a little too long, or a touch to the arm. I’ve also noticed his demeanor is different with me than his other colleagues, but he’s never been blatantly unprofessional around me.

By the time we’re discussing the reports and his ideas for treatment, the sun has already set and it’s dark out.

“I didn’t realize how late it is! Let’s get you home,” he exclaims rising from his desk. He brings his cloak about his shoulders as we leave the library.

Once we’re outside, I can feel how brisk the night air is. It’s refreshing from the warm library, but once we’re beyond the palace gates I begin to get cold. I suppress a shiver, but there’s no hiding it from a trained doctor.

“You’re shivering! Here, take my cloak. I can’t have my apprentice getting sick,” he places his oversized cape over my shoulders. I wrap myself up, holding the edges to myself. Was... was he flirting? The tone of his voice when he said ‘his apprentice’ was a little too fond. Or was I just imagining it? Or maybe he’s just being nice. What if I...

“What about you? Surely this city can’t have it’s best doctor catching a cold,” I test the waters. He quickly glances at me, his cheeks and nose flushing.

“No need to worry your pretty head over me, I’ve got my jacket,” he puts his arms out to show me. A quiet moment goes by. “You think I’m the best?” He asks quietly.

I pensive smile stretches across my face. “Well, let’s see, you do care about your patients,” I begin, “you still feel for the loss of each patient, unlike some of the other doctors.” I take a moment to think, “and you try so hard when it’s seems as though everyone’s given up.”

“I’m afraid flattery won’t get you a raise,” a hint of sarcasm in his face, but he stops and turns to face me, more sincere, “I do appreciate it though. I... it helps to hear that. Especially coming from you.” I hadn’t realized he’d taken my hands in his while we was talking. He looks down at our joined hands. Was that sadness in his expression? No, longing? He lets his hands fall, breaking the connection. He places a hand at the small of my back, lightly, as we turn to continue to my place. He joins his hands behind him as we continue.

We reach the front of my store when he abruptly turns to me. He obviously has something on his mind by the expression in his face, and I turn to face him. He looks me in the eyes with sincerity. “I... hm.. it’s not proper for doctors to fall in love with or date those studying under them or working with them, and this may not be the best time with the plague rampaging the city, but...” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “I... I do like you. You’re more than just an apprentice to me. Perhaps...” he’s cut off by the shop door opening.

Asra is just stepping outside the shop door, Faust about his shoulders. “I was just about to go looking for you!” They exclaim as their eyes land on me. Then they notice Julian. “Oh, you brought company?” Asra’s tone changing, the faintest undertones of hostility in their voice.

I open my mouth only to be cut off by Julian. “No, I was just leaving,” he quickly glances at me. “Good night,” he nods to both me and Asra, not waiting for us to respond, taking off for the palace.

“Wait! Julian!” I call out, trying to catch up with him. “Julian! Your cloak!” He stops and turns, in a moment I’m next to him, just within Asra’s hearing range. “Thank you, for lending me your cloak and walking me home,” I hand out the cloak to him, but I hold on as he tries to take it from me. He looks me in the eyes. I can see the disappointment. I give him a longing, apologetic look. I hope it conveyed the message. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. Then more audibly so Asra can hear, “Good night Julian.” He nods and takes his cloak, taking one last glance at me as he takes off into the night. I watch his tall, slender figure disappear. I hope he has someone to talk to.

I turn back to Asra whose leaning against the doorframe. Their arms are crossed with a stern look on their face. I can feel an argument brewing as I cross the threshold into my shop.

“We need to talk,” Asra starts, closing the door shut, locking it for the night. “Doctor Julian Devorak is just my instructor...” I begin, but they cut me off.

“No, not about that,” Asra shakes their head, “the plague is getting worse. We need to leave the city. Soon.”

I’m startled. Leave the city? Abandon our home? MY home? What’s left of my parents?

“I have a place far away enough, it’s just a night’s ride. We’ll be safe,” they bring their hands to my shoulders. But I’m not listening to a word their saying.

“You would leave our home!? Abandon people who need us!? Neighbors, friends? Asra, you can’t really mean that...”

“No, I’m trying to save us! I’m trying to save you!” They shout, almost screaming at me. I’ve never felt so much anger towards him, I spit out whatever comes to mind.

“Save me from Julian more like it, you are so controlling and jealous,” sarcasm and seething anger dripping from my voice. I know it cuts them right in the heart to hear me say it. “HOW CAN YOU ABANDON YOUR HOME? ASRA YOU’RE ALWAYS RUNNING AWAY! THERE ARE SOME PROBLEMS YOU JUST CAN’T RUN AWAY FROM!”

The look on their face says it all. Hurt, anger, disgust. I’m still so mad at them I don’t try to stop them from leaving.

“THEN GO AHEAD AND DIE WITH THE REST OF YOUR CITY!” They yell before slamming the back door shut. I’m still fuming mad. I’m so mad I break down crying, suddenly all alone in my shop.

Days pass and there’s no sign of Asra or Faust. I go about my business, collecting information and data and write reports to deliver to Julian. As per my usual routine, I go to the palace to deliver and discuss the information with Julian. A palace servent stops me at palace entrance.

“Necessary personal only,” they say.

“But I’m Dr. Devorak’s apprentice? I need to discuss this report with him...” I start, only to stop when the servent shakes their head.

“Only doctors and palace staff are permitted in the palace. The Count has fallen ill. Palace personnel are to take reports from assistants and apprentices to the doctors, per Valdemar’s instructions.” They finish with a note of finality.

Somehow that doesn’t sound like Valdemar, but I hand over the papers. Defeated, I return to my home. I surrender to my situation. I plop down in the mound of pillows and cry until my head hurts. I finally fall into a restless sleep. I wake up feeling miserable and groggy. I set about my usual chores, skipping the tea that Asra always made. I go about collecting data and information again, writing the reports, delivering them to the palace guards who won’t even let me past the front gate.

I didn’t notice the symptoms at first, I was just so miserable. Then a knock at the door came. I suppose it was palace personnel coming to collect the reports I hadn’t delivered. I open the door to the frightening sight of plague doctor masks. They took one look at me and at each other. Neither of them have the familiar auburn hair.

“Come with us,” is all they say. I nod. I feel terrible, but my eyes must be blood red for such a response.

“May I write a quick letter? I have a friend away, I want them to know,” I bargain with them, they must have seen it so many times.

Surprisingly, they nod. “Make it quick,” the short one says.

I write as quick as I can. “Asra, I’m sorry about the fight. I care about you more than you know. I’ve contracted the plague. By the time you’re back I’m sure I’ll,” I take a moment to breathe, holding back tears, “I’m sure I’ll be gone. The shop and it’s contents are yours. What’s left of it. Do me a favor? Watch after Julian for me. I love you.” I sign my name, and leave it by his tea pot. He won’t be able to miss it. I lock the door and muster what magic I can to seal it, and place my key where Asra, Faust and I only know.

I turn to the masked figures. The motion for me to follow. I know we’re headed for the docks, but I’m so weak one of the more sympathetic beaked figures supports me weight enough for me to continue walking down to the docks.

The ride to the island for the condemned plague victims was short. I grounded myself. My breathing techniques are painful, my lungs only able to take in small amounts of air. I feel oddly calm. I know my end is nearing, but I’m at peace with it.

A couple days the plague confines me to a small bed crammed with several other victims who are barely alive. Some are hallucinating, others crying, some won’t accept death. Yet amongst all this chaos, I’m at peace.

I can smell the charred flesh, the fire of the furnaces. I take my last breath as my body is being pushed in.

My consciousness is elsewhere as the flames claim my body so horribly ravished by the plague. I don’t even recognize it. I don’t have a physical shape. I’m bobbing like I’m in ocean surf beyond breakers. Simplicity. Freedom. Light. Then, a voice from nowhere said “no, it is not your time yet.” Whatever, I’ve been done. I continue to float in this White Sea of other consciouses. Something summons me. I answer. I’m in my shop, but I don’t touch or feel anything. I see or sense Asra. They got my letter. Faust is wrapped around their arm tightly, reassuringly. They’ve been sobbing a while.

“I’ve got to go, maybe, just maybe,” Asra says aloud to Faust, not finishing the thought. Asra leaves the shop and sprints down to the docks. I follow. He boards one of the boats over. I just float above. I listen when he speaks to one of the workers, saying my name, describing me to the last detail. “I’m sorry,” is all the worker can muster. I feel sorry for the worker. He’s seen too much. Asra tries to keep their composure, and runs for the shore. The ashes and soot from the furnaces have mixed with the sand. The surf is tainted.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” Asra screams, tears streaming down their face. Faust has curled into a ball in the bag that Asra dropped beside them. I can’t reassure them. Suddenly, Asra bolts up right. “I’ve gotta fix this,” they say aloud. They fill their hands with sand and ash, letting it spill between their fingers. “I’m going to bring you back, I swear it. I’ll find a way. Whatever it takes,” they whisper into the falling sand and ash.

Oh HELL NO.

I flee back to the sea of noncoporal consciousness. There’s no pain here. Only collectivity. Just floating. Peace. Tranquility.

Some time passes. From time to time I check to see if the city I died trying to help is getting better. This occasion, it seems the annual masquerade celebrating Count Lucio’s birthday has started. I float through, thinking how funny it was that while the plague is still raging and businesses and public gatherings are banned, the Count can still throw his big birthday bash. After death, it doesn’t matter. I see Asra walking off somewhere. I follow. Some sort of special banquet? I see Asra spill something red into a large goblet.

I no longer care.

I hadn’t checked in on Julian. I seek out he I once studied under. I sense him, but something isn’t right. I’m in the library, passing through an entire bookshelf. A passage way. The energy is grim, grimy, rancid, and toxic. No wonder Julian never let me down here. It repeals me, but I go down anyway, curiosity having the better of me. There’s a mechanical lift. I float down past it. I float through the rooms and finally come to a corridor with cells. I find one locked from the outside. I sense him. I float through the door. He’s writing feverishly. His hair is damp with sweat, I can see breads of sweat on the back of his neck. I move to see his face. One eye is crimson red, the signature sign of the plague. Anger contorts his features as he scratches out whatever notes he’d just written. “Why isn’t it working!?” He’s so frustrated. Then for a moment, he seems to know I’m there. “Is this how you felt?” He asks aloud. He mean’s me. At least we can be together soon. In the sea of consciousness.

I suddenly feel a pang of emotion and pain. What’s happening? I haven’t felt pain since... Julian is slumped over his desk, the inkwell knocked over and spilling it’s contents. But... he’s not here? I look over the sheets of paper and documents on his desk. One of Asra’s books is open to a page with a drawing... I’ve seen that figure before. It’s... it’s the hanged man from Asra’s Tarot deck. Did Julian make the connection to the hanged man’s realm? Is that why he’s not here? I hear the doors to the rooms and corridors being opened and closed. Someone is coming. Julian stirs, there’s a glowing mark on his throat, and there’s anger in his eyes.

The door to his “office” opens, and a large, hulk of a man at the door. “Asra sent me,” he says. I know that voice, it’s Muriel. Why did Asra send him? Julian rises, pocketing a good size dagger, putting on his jacket and cloak. I’m feeling unsettled, what’s happening? I follow Muriel and Julian back up to the library, down halls and corridors to a wing lined with pictures of Count Lucio. I can smell smoke. I can smell smoke? I can’t smell! I don’t have a body! Julian throws the door open and heat keeps him from entering. Muriel has disappeared. Everything is happening so fast, I feel liked I’m being pulled elsewhere.

I’m pulled at unnatural speed. Out of the palace, through the city, right into my shop and I see a new body before Asra on the table, the ritual circle glowing. I’m fighting as hard as I can to not enter the new body. I know every second that passes I will lose memories if I don’t enter the new body, but I don’t want to come back. I sense Julian’s blood in the ritual circle. Asra is chanting, saying something. “I give half my heart so you may live, I give half my heart so you may live, I give you half my heart so you may live” over and over again. I’m overcome by the combined love from Asra, Julian’s blood, Julian’s love, and half of Asra’s heart. I can fight no longer. I let go.

*****

I open my eyes. Purple eye’s look down at me. A smile spreads across the face. Pretty white fluffy hair. Looks familiar. Water dripping down the face. Warm arms lifting me to warm chest. What’s happening...? Who am I...? Who are you...? Why can’t I speak? What’s that slithering thing? It’s cute? My eyes sting, I can’t keep them open. I think I’m safe. The fluffy white hair person is carrying me. What are these? How are you going up? I can’t even hold on. I’m placed on a soft thing. The person is next to me. Tired, happy purple eyes look at me. I close mine, I can’t anymore.

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