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yukisnowywriting · 3 years ago

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Punishment To The Loved

ModernAU

Diluc x fem!Reader

genre : angst

warning : mentions of death, suicide, sad shit, and angst, ofc the most natural part; cursing.

Masterlist - Pt.2

a/n : gonna get me some hate but- i just love making diluc suffer in angst for some reason... and agan gender is actually neutral but my fingers kept typing female pronous out of habit, so please do change the gender to your own comfort(?)

summary : As the days gets busier, so does Diluc. Youve appreciate his hardworking manner and understand the work he has. He want to make you happy by giving you anything you want... but cant you have a little of is attention? does he not need you anymore? what if he loses you? will that be better? does he not like you anymore? will it fix it if you part ways in your deathbed with your last to be "i hate you"?

-----

"Just how many times do we have to get over this?!?! I SAID IM BUSY. im busy. what you want proof? look at my desk, its full of paper. And of course you know the conditions of the sudden dying people, injured, hurt because of some organization. Im protecting the land, and that includes you. Do you have any complaints? i will not accept those either way." he says as he walks out of the door, towards the his car. And for you, you stand there with tears in your eyes, you just wanted a hug anyways.

Its been like this since a few weeks ago. People goes missing for a few days, coming back not remembering anything. Injured people reporting that theyve witnessed a dangerous organization. And people dead with the clues of some mysterious organization that the security forces cant even figure out. And due to those cases, Diluc joins the investigation with the forces, while still keeping up on work as a CEO of his fathers company. He walks home each night to receive a hug, that was at first, yes you do hug him still. But, As a withering flower loses its beauty, so does you relationship loses its love as time walks by. fewer interactions become none, and none became arguments.

The lack of comunication is the main issue, a thin yet hard paper to rip.

As Diluc continues his research on the accidents, You try your best not to feel the pain in your chest, that lonely pain as you sleep alone once again. But these days you felt as if something or someone was watching, a murderers gaze waiting its time to strike. Youve tried to inform Diluc of this incident, but get cut out with 'later' 'gtg' 'just your imaginations'

----

One night...

"I told you before. this is embarassing that you cant help but make excuses, and more excuses until youve nothing left but try to guilt trip me and the people around y/n. Ive said to you again and again, you know im busy for the sake of both of us-"

"OKAY BUT THEN WHAT IF THE ONLY THING THAT I WANT IS YOUR FCKIN ATTENTION???"

youve done it, raised your voice at him in the most terrible moment. but you did not regret.

you see his pissed off face, the face full of irritation. as he raised his voice.

"do you really think that im supposed to believe someone who started this argument by saying shes being stalked by a possible murderer, and then the next debate, she says that she just wanted my attention?!?!!? guess what? you have all of my attention now. Now speak. continue your lie-"

"I SAID ITS NO LIE! IM SERIOUS! I- i could feel it even at this moment...!" you cut him off again and you werent even lying.

"ah... so you think your a special person, the female lead of a story, the person that could predict the future, to feel some weird aura, the one that gets killed just because of that feeling and at the end gets a kiss from the prince as she wakes up from her death bed? dont expect any of that bullshit from me. By how terribly bad your attitude is these days, i dont even know if i still need you. im leaving, and ill probably leave until tommorow. now go to bed before i actually kick you out of my appartment." he says as he walks away, again to the vast dark night.

tears running down your face, as you feel the aura of murder bigger than before. You shake in fear as the appartment is filled with silence. Your alone.

---

"I get it Charles, ive said some wrong stuff to y/n so i should say sorry before its too late. but you know how busy we are right? ill do that tonight"

"hey you should really visit her now, no one knows when late is"

"were busy. get back to work"

the next day, another busy day in his office. And Charles, his assitant, giving diluc some relationship advices that gets a direct negative response.

Charles of course kept trying to persuade Diluc to no end.

they were typing no end, that was until Miss Jean came in and called for Dilucs time, signing that its about the incident.

Diluc gets to the balcony, a more reserved area.

"how is it?" Diluc asks.

"you see, were at a dead end. they always end up attacking someone, killing someone, and when we tried to dig into the connections of the victim, their family or people their close with always ends up dead by suicide the next day. "

"ridicolous"

"but knowing your the one that has been figuring out most of the tracks, and encountering most of their moves in real time, you should also be careful."

"i get it"

and there their disscussion ends.

---

Works as painful as usual, a meeting was held to discuss the strategies, and outcomes of the organization. But the only thing that was revealed is that the forces decides to stick to the guess that the organization has been targeting people with a relation to the national forces. After theyre targeted, the person that will be a victim is the targets family, bestfriend, or lover. And at the end, they will have the outcome of eliminating a member of the force without many difficulties.

To Diluc, just like how it sounds, it sounds ridiculous. If the organization really does that, he bets that theyre already caught by now. That guess is just like a fantasy novel.

As he gives no shit on the disscussion about that strategy, he only pays attention to the stuff about victims since he himself guessed that the organizations victims has some sort of relationship with the organization. He does not believe that someone could die just because of someone else dying first.

but why does he feels like hes already dying now?

ring* his phone shows that y/n is calling

"tch, excuse me for a while, someones calling."

he stands up from his seat and went put of the room with soundproof walls and a glass door.

---

"you know very well that im in-"

"please... im sorry- hic- im sorry- please come home.... i-"

"tf do you mean?? your saying im supposed to go home while an important meeting is going on?? this could risk lives-"

"w-why are you like this..? please come home? right now PLEASE ITS REALLY IMPORTANT" your cries over the phone as you wail to him.

"this is getting annoying, i said this is more important-"

"it hurts.... it hurts too much... there too much blood, i cant... breathe" you say with the last energy you have.

Diluc freezes as a wave of anxiety washes over him.

"y-y/n where are you? whos there other than you? im heading there- just- your doing good- continue talking- anything- how was your day? what did you cook today-" Diluc says in a panic as he starts taking fast steps to his car, too scared to forget your voice.

"I- lets go to that cafe you said you wanted to go to-"

"why?" you cut him off with a lifeless voice

"y/n how was your day? did you go somewhere? meet with friends maybe-"

"tch" you click your tongue

"y/n....?" he says with fear of whats gonna come up.

"why are you always like this?" "i-" "you always do this" "please-" "you always say everyones wrong and when your wrong you could only say sorry and act like nothing happened" "thats not-" "thats not true? sure hah..." "y/n im right infront- wait for awhile- youll be just fine." he parks his car with his phone still on speaker, as he pays attention to every noise and painful words coming from your side.

"hey remember i love you so-" he tries to say how much he loves you, he tries to say how much he loves you, but your reply cuts him off and the ring of a call ending following your words as he turns off his car and runs to the door.

"i hate you "

wouldve it been different if he trusted you? would it be better f he didnt walk out that night? would it be better if he went home and made up to you just like what charles said?

"t-this is too painful of a punishment... y/n"

he kneels down next to your body, his suit pants getting stained with your blood that was flooding the floor. His whole body shaking like a cat drenched in rain. His hand reaching for yours, bringing your crushed hands that mustve been stepped on to his face, kissing it gently and bringing it back down, putting it on your chest.

"im sorry... please dont hate me..."

and ambulance sirens fill in the silence.

----

hehheheh, part 2 maybe?

#genshin impact #fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin #angst #genshin imagines #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc angst #diluc x y/n #diluc #gi diluc

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bibbykins · 4 years ago

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Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #bts fanfic #bts series #yandere jungkook #bts angst #bts fluff #poly bts au

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rodr1cks · 4 years ago

Text

Sick Day | 2.1k

fluff!! you’re sick and rodrick comes to the rescue.

warnings: vomit, being sick in general

All day you had been feeling extremely ill. The nurse at school was being impossible and refused to send you home, despite your pleas.

“Please Mrs. Williams, I feel terrible you have to believe me!”

She was extremely skeptical, “Child, do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You don’t have a fever, back to class.”

And just like that, you were dismissed. Sent to endure the rest of your classes in misery.

The day went by painfully slow after your trip to the nurse. The fluorescent lights berated your pupils making it impossible to concentrate and worsening your headache.

It was sixth period, the last class of the day. Also your least favorite class of the day. You couldn’t stand the teacher. Mr. Wright. He was your classic asshole history teacher.

You were completely zoned out, trying to focus on not vomiting. Your name being called pulled you out of your haze.

“Miss y/l/n? Do you care to answer me? Unless you’re busy of course.”

Condescending bastard.

You held your tongue, swallowing any smart-ass comments that threatened to spill past your lips. You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question.”

He went through the whole “this is a learning environment” lecture after that. Again, you didn’t listen. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to. Thankfully, he left you alone after that.

Finally, the last bell of the day sounded through the school. You lept from your seat and ran to the bathroom. You practically body slammed the door open. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most kids having already filed out of the main doors, eager to begin their weekend festivities.

You were hunched over one of the white porcelain bowl, tears filling your eyes.

Today could not get any worse.

After taking a few deep breaths, you were able to compose yourself enough to exit the bathroom.

You crossed your fingers, hoping that the halls had been completely evacuated.

You crept through the empty corridors and out into the parking lot. You were especially dreading the walk home today.

You were walking through the parking lot, enjoying the fresh air when you saw him. Rodrick Heffley.

The two of you were best friends in elementary school but you drifted apart after a while. You honestly developed a certain distaste for him, as he had you.

Please don’t notice me, please don’t-

“Y/n!”

Shit.

“Rodrick!” you feigned enthusiasm.

His brow furrowed, “You look… paler than usual?” You rolled your eyes, classic Rodrick. You wanted this interaction to end, immediately. “Yup. Not feeling well.” You deadpanned, providing little detail.

Rodrick hesitated for a moment, “Well, let me drive you home, kid.”

Kid. Who did he think he was?

“I think I’ll pass, weather is nice today.” The weather was far from nice.

“Oh really, the weather is nice, y/n? Where are you right now? Because it’s raining where I am.”

He sighed, “and I also saw that little performance Mr. Wright gave you...”

Oh so he pities me.

“Rodrick, If I get in your van will you stop talking?”

He motioned, pretending to zip his lips up and throw away the key. A small smile spread across your face but you didn’t let him see that.

A few minutes into the drive, you decided you were glad you let him take you home. The sky had opened up and it was storming.

Oh God.

“Rodrick, pull over, now.”

He looked over at you and could tell what was about to happen. He pulled over quickly and you opened the door. You leaned over and vomited right onto the grass patch parallel to the road, in the pouring rain.

Coyly, you returned to your seat in the van. You were unsure if you should apologize, so you stayed silent.

“Y/n, are your parents home?”

He knew they never were. Ever since you were a kid, your parents had been anywhere but home. Business trips, vacations, retreats, you name it.

You looked down at your shoes, water dripping from your hair, and shook your head.

“Alrighty then, change of plans.”

You protested, “Rodrick that’s really not necessary I’ll be fine.” Part of you knew there was no point in arguing. If he was one thing, it was stubborn.

He reached out, placing the back of his hand on your forehead to prove a point, “Y/n, you’re burning up. You’re coming with me.”

You were closer to his house anyways. That’s how you justified it, at least.

His van pulled into The Heffley’s driveway. Rodrick got out and rushed around the vehicle to open your door.

“Come along, y/n. I know somebody who will be very happy to see you,” he grinned.

The front door swung open and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Heffley’s house was always warm and always smelled spectacular. Somehow, Mrs. Heffley was always baking or cooking something.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise this is!” Mrs. Heffley beamed. She had always loved you. “How I’ve missed seeing your face around here!” She said, placing her hands on your checks.

“You’re soaking wet!” You nodded awkwardly in response. “And goodness, you’re burning up! Are you feeling alright?” She felt your forehead and cheeks, then squeezed your shoulders gently.

From a young age, Mrs. Heffley had looked after you as one of her own. Nothing had changed it seemed.

“No, actually,” you smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Heffley frowned at you. “Rodrick, get her some dry clothes, would you?.” Rodrick nodded, leading you up the stairs.

You stood in his room, obviously uncomfortable. He was knelt in front of his dresser, digging around for something.

“Ah! Here it is.”

Rodrick whipped out a t-shirt for you to change into. He grabbed a pair of black sweats from another drawer as well.

“Here you are, mademoiselle.” He stuck out the wad of clothing in your direction. You couldn’t lie, you were happy to have some dry clothes to change into.

You stepped into his bathroom, taking a moment to examine your appearance. You looked rough. Intense bags hung low under your eyes and you truly did look more pale than usual. Fantastic.

You emerged from the bathroom, Rodrick’s clothing drooping slightly from your frame. Rodrick was sitting on the end of his bed and he patted the surface.

You joined him on his twin mattress, only because you were exhausted.

“Rodrick, why are you being nice to me?”

He looked guilty. “You’ve had a rough day, y/n…”

He sucked in a breath, “...and y’know I’ll always care about you.”

How could he still care for you? You completely wrote him off when high school began.

“Listen, y/n, the past is in the past, okay?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face. Before the moment could become too sentimental, Rodrick interjected.

“Oh! Be right back,” he chirped.

He ran downstairs and came back with an orange soda and some cold & flu medicine.

Rodrick explained himself, “Orange! Like, vitamin C, right?” He looked too happy with himself, you couldn’t bring him down. At least his heart was in the right place.

Concealing your laughter to the best of your ability, you accepted the beverage and medicine from his hand.

You hated this kind of medicine with your whole heart. The orange soda could be useful honestly, just not for its nutritional value like Rodrick intended.

Rodrick measured out the appropriate amount of the medicine for you as you cracked open the can. He handed you the small cup full of the thick, red liquid.

You threw back the grotesque cherry flavored solution, grimacing as it coated your throat. You chased the medicine with the orange soda. See, it did come in handy.

You leaned back into Rodrick’s pillows, trying to relax.

About fifteen minutes later you felt extremely drowsy. “Rodrick, can I see that bottle?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, confused.

You read the bottle and instantly threw your head back in annoyance. “Rodrick this is the drowsy kind!” You continued inspecting the bottle, “and it’s extra strength!”

With each second passing, it got increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open.

Everything was blurry and you were teetering between consciousness and sleep.

“Rodrick,” you slurred. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you… stopped being your friend. Felt like I wasn’t cool or pretty enough… didn’t deserve you.”

Rodrick was extremely confused. You thought you were too good for him? He had to hold back a laugh.

He couldn’t conceal his smile, “Excuse me? Y/n, that must be the nyquil talking.” He rolled his eyes and brushed off your comment, contemplating the sentiment for a mere moment.

You eventually drifted off, unable to ward off sleep any longer.

When you woke up, you first noticed rodrick. He was sitting on his beaten up couch with his headphones covering his ears. You could hear the muffled baseline from your spot across the room.

How are his eardrums still intact?

Rodrick had a shoebox on his lap and he was shuffling through the contents, smiling to himself.

You cleared your throat, obtaining his attention.

“Oh, y/n! You’re up!” He smiled at you, ripping off his headphones.

You nodded slowly, knuckling your eyes sleepily.

“What time is it?”

Rodrick glanced at his watch, “It’s only 8:30.” You nodded again, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rodrick stood, picking up the box and walking over to you. “Look,” he said softly. You peered down into the small shoebox and numerous photos and letters.

“This one here is my favorite,” he said quietly. It was a picture of you and Rodrick at the roller rink. You recognized the photo immediately.

“Seventh grade kick off,” you smiled. You took the box from his lap and began looking through each photo, braided friendship bracelet, concert ticket.

You laughed as each item brought back memories you had long forgotten.

You stopped at a photo of the two of you dressed up in ridiculous outfits. You wore a sequined hat and Rodrick held his drumsticks in hand.

“Was this when we saw Good Charlotte?” You asked.

He giggled, “It sure was. I remember thinking I looked so hot that night. Guess not huh.”

“What are you talking about, you looked incredible Rodrick. Seventh grade me was dying to jump you right then and there.”

His face lit up, “Really?”

“No,” you flashed him an expressionless look before breaking out into side-splitting laughter. He joined you.

You missed this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy. Rodrick was the only person who you had truly experienced that with.

You sighed to yourself. Come tomorrow, you’d be back to strangers. Tears welled up in your eyes and your lip quivered. Rodrick was oblivious until a single tear drop fell onto the photograph below you.

He immediately tried to comfort you. He placed an arm around your shoulder, dragging you into his larger frame. It caught you off guard but you allowed yourself to melt into his touch.

Rodrick distracted you from your sorrow. “Look at this one right here.” It was a photo of you and the Heffley Family in their backyard. You and Rodrick were around fifteen, if you remembered correctly.

“This was the day that I realized I had a big, fat crush on you.”

He followed up, “S’lame I know…”

Heat flooded your cheeks, this time the heat was not a result of your illness. Was it anxiety? Happiness? Both? You couldn’t decide.

“You never really explained why you stopped talking to me and coming by my house.”

You shrugged at him, feeling like your explanation would make him mad. “Well, Rodrick, you started getting new friends. Friends that were better than me or cooler than me.”

“Y/n that is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I could never replace you. To this day, nobody’s ever come close.”

He gave you a playful smack over the head.

“...anyways, to be honest that crush never really went away?”

Before you had time to process the sentence he was gently grabbing your chin, turning your head.

You were facing him now, your lips only inches away from his.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, I think so, yeah.”

He laughed at you and leaned in slowly. Rodrick used one finger to gently move your hair out of your face.

The kiss was gentle and filled with emotion.

You felt like you hadn’t known what you were missing out on until that moment. You felt completed.

“Oh shit, I better not get sick!”

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick fanfiction #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick

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twistedtranslations · 4 years ago

Text

Rook Hunt - The real culprit is... you!

You can unlock this story by getting Rook’s SSR Dorm uniform

Translation under the cut

Rook calls Epel “himeringo”, the Japanese word for plumleaf crabapple. I shortened it.

As we know already, Epel sometimes slips in his country accent, hence the weird wording.

Chapter 1

Courtyard

Vil: …8…9…10! Next up is the camel pose. Push your chest out and lean your upper body backward. Hold your ankles with your hands and keep that pose.

Everyone: Yes!

Epel: Ugh… Rook…

Rook: What is it, monsieur Crabapple?

Epel: I came to help with the shooting of the next work of the cinema studies club, but… Argh! Why are we doing yoga… Ugh?

Rook: Epel, you know, it's because we wanted you to take part in relaxing activities. If people relaxed, they will become more flexible mentally, and more active in discussions and communication. Yoga is the best exercise to improve your blood flow, metabolism and it soothes your mind. Moreso, your posture and physique will become much more beautiful! That's why Vil does yoga before his cinema studies activities.

Epel: I, I see… Is there…. An easier method?

Rook: By the way, Epel. You should bend your back more if you want to call it a camel pose. Okay, I will help you out and pull your arms back!

Epel: Eh, no, I'm fine- OUCH!!!!

Rook: Hahaha, monsieur Crabapple, you're body is quite stiff.

Savanaclaw Student A: Hey, look, it's the guys from the cinema studies. What a weird-looking pose is that! Man, I'd be way too embarrassed to wriggle like that in front of everyone.

Cinema studies Student A: Why are you guys butting in suddenly? This is just yoga…

Cinema studies Student B: Leave it be. Those muscle brains from Savanaclaw wouldn't understand our graceful bodybuilding.

Savanaclaw Student B: Huh? Are you picking a fight!

Rook: Oh please, there's no need to get angry! Why don't you join us? We can polish our beauty and deepen our friendship with yoga!

Savanaclaw Student A: Who'd do that! Beauty won't fill your belly. C'mon, let's go.

Epel: … friggin' irritatin'. Rook, I don't know how or why you could invite those guys…

Rook: I thought they might understand the benefits of yoga if they did it. How regrettable. Oh, me of all people! While I was talking, I forgot to help you out. My bad, let's continue.

Epel; Um, no, I don't need it… OUCH!!!!

Vil: Epel?

Epel: Ah… Vil.

Vil: I thought I heard a crushed frog's ugly cry, but that was my imagination, wasn't it?

Epel: Ugh… I'm sorry, I'll pay attention to it.

Vil: Rook, I think there will be no problems if you are by his side but… If anything happens, I hope you will "properly" discipline him. Not only does he lack in manners and aesthetics, but many other facets as well.

Epel: Is… that so?

Vil: Didn't you get frustrated when the Savanaclaw students reprimanded you? Do not involve Pomefiore in trivial arguments. Understood?

Epel: Understood…

Vil: Rook. If Epel quarrels with other dorm students during the shooting period… I will expel you two from the cinema studies- no, the dorm.

Epel: … I'm only here because you asked me to help.

Vil: Did you say anything?

Epel: Nuthin’- I mean, I said nothing.

Vil: In any case. Please refrain from idiotic behavior that could tarnish Pomefiore's name.

Rook: Oui, Roi du Poison. Leave it to me!

Cinema studies Student A: Those three seem to get along well as usual…

Cinema studies Student C: Epel and Rook are amazing. Leaving out the fact that they're from the same dorm, they can talk to Vil so casually. Perhaps I'm still too nervous because I saw him on the TV and in magazines before I entered the college?

Cinema studies Student A: Right. They're amazing for being able to to talk with him without constraints.

Interior Hallway

The next day

Epel: Ah, Rook.

Rook: Hello, Epel. You're here early.

Epel: Yes. My class finished early…

Students: Congratulations!

Rook: You guys too… We are the most enthusiastic people in the club today.

Classroom

Rook: Vil isn't here today because of work, therefore I will instruct you on the activities…

Cinema Studies B: … Is something wrong?

Rook: La vache (Oh the cow)… how terrible. Look at that.

Epel: Argh! Vil's clothes are torn into pieces!?

Cinema studies Student A: And it's not only his clothes but also the photo sets on the wall…

Everyone: !!

Epel: The heck, what are those weird words written in red…

Rook: "A defective beauty"… It must be a message from the one who tore up the clothes. Fufu, this is quite a case… And a direct declaration of war on us!!

Chapter 2

Classroom

Rook: Fufu, this is quite a case… And a direct declaration of war on us!!

Epel: Is there anyone in the cinema studies club who’d tear up his clothes with ill intent…? Who would do that…

Cinema studies Student A: Hey, those marks on those ripped clothes… Don't they look like they've been made by sharp claws?

Cinema studies Student B: Claws… Then this could be the work of the Savanaclaw students. But why would they…

Cinema studies Student A: … Could it be those guys from yesterday?

Epel: Do you mean the ones who made fun of us..?

Cinema studies Student A: Yeah. The guys from Savanaclaw said it then, right? "Beauty" won't fill your belly.

Cinema studies Student B: So a Savanaclaw student with a grudge from yesterday wrote a message on the wall and tore up Vil's clothes?

Epel: If they didn't like it, they can face us up front. This is cowardly.

Cinema studies Student A: Epel, you are a good person. Even though you aren't part of the cinema club, you still get angry for us.

Epel: I ain't forgivin' them for goin' behind our backs… I mean, we cannot allow them to do this.

Cinema studies Student C: Yeah. We won't stay quiet about these precious clothes being destroyed!

Epel: Yeah! Let's search for those guys from yesterday and have'm complain to our face!

Everyone: Yeah!

Cinema studies Student A: Hey, wait everyone- ... And they went.

Rook: Oho, everyone seems very passionate.

Cinema studies Student A: Rook, are you not following them?

Rook: The sadness of losing such a beautiful thing stunned me for a moment.

Cinema studies Student A: … I see. I'll stop Epel and the others.

Rook: Oh my, to be in such a situation on the day Vil isn't here. Or to be more precise, "because he isn't here". Moreso… "A defective beauty". I should solve this case before Vil returns.

Rook: I should investigate to see if I can find evidence that links to the culprit. Let's start at the place where the fabric was torn. …As I expected. It's not a scratch even though it resembles one. They used 25 cm long scissors with 9 cm long blades to cut it. From the angle of the tears, I can guess that the culprit is right-handed. They held it with their left hand by the torso and used their right hand to cut from the shoulder to the waist with the scissors…

Rook: The culprit is probably around 168-172 cm. That narrows it down a bit! Fufufu… Even though I've experienced the hunt for an animal's traces many times, it still elates me. Oho, I can't let myself get carried away. I have to concentrate on the investigation… … Aha. I see… Fufu, I have deduced the animal. Now it's hunting time!

Courtyard

Savanaclaw Student A: Shut up! We didn't do it. Who gives a shit about your clothes!

Epel: If there's anythin' you wanted to say, tell 's up front instead of harassin'… you're so unmanly, senior.

Savanclaw Student A: What!?

Cinema studies Student B: If we cannot agree and don't progress then… We will have a duel!!!!

Savanaclaw Student B: Hah, come at me. I don't think you culture boys will be much of an opponent though.

Everyone: HAAAAH!!

/Fighting sounds

???: Stop it!

Savanaclaw Student A: Huh…

Cinema studies Student A: All our magic was swept away!?

Epel: Rook!?

Rook: Turn your magical pen in, everyone. It's forbidden to use magic for your personal struggles. Besides, you’re in the wrong by blaming them. They have nothing to do with what happened.

Epel: Huh…

Savanaclaw Student B: Pf! You got us involved in some weird stuff. We did nothin' so we're off.

Cinema studies Student B: … How foolish! If they didn't do it, then please tell us who did such a horrible thing!

Rook: The cause of this tragedy is deep love. The real culprit is… You!

Chapter 3

Rook: The cause of this tragedy is deep love. The real culprit is… You!

Courtyard

Cinema studies Student B/Epel: Huh…

Cinema studies Student C/D: No way…

Cinema studies Student A: …

Cinema studies Student B: He can't be the culprit, Rook! He's the costumer of the cinema studies club!?

Cinema studies Student A: That's right. You saw it, right? That "A Defective beauty", what a disgusting and criminal declaration!!

Rook: Yes, I saw it. That felt out of place. As the Savanclaw students said, they don't only not care , but even negate the very existence of "beauty". Despite that, do you think they would use an eloquent expression like "Defective"? While I was thinking about that, I inspected the garment that seemed to be torn apart by claws carefully.. And followed the clues to you.

Cinema studies Student A: Why… Me?

Rook: The scratches on the garments. They were cut by scissors in the shape of a beast's talons. And by examining the traces of your cut, I could deduce their height and their dominant arm, which happens to concur with yours. And there's more evidence. What I hold in my hand right now is a piece cut from the garments… Look at the lining?

Epel: The lining? What's wrong with it?

Rook: It's loosely sewn. This garment hasn't been used once for a photoshoot, and it's not the only part that doesn't harmonize well on the camera… Vil is the kind of person who strives for perfect quality from the fabric to the sewing and the accessories. He wouldn't have let this shoddy tailoring pass.

Epel: Um, so someone tore up the garments of the cinema studies club. But it was a fake, and not the real one…? I, I'm confused.

Rook: He hesitated at the moment of the crime when he was about to tear Vil's clothes, so he replaced it with a fake. The essential part is that the fake was made intending to fit Vil perfectly. There are only two people besides Vil that know his measurements exactly. The first one is me. And the other one is…

Epel: The costumer… who is in charge of taking his measurements?

Cinema studies Student A: Ugh…

Rook: I suggest you don't make more excuses now. Won't you tell us your reason?

Cinema studies Student A: I-, I did it because… I was jealous! You and Epel get along great with the esteemed Vil!

Epel: Huh! You think we're getting along great? The only thing he does is scold me though…

Cinema studies Student A: That's plenty! I admire Vil, studied what he likes, and devoted myself with all my might to the cinema studies club! Even so, I never got any closer to him since I enrolled! So I tried to make you two fight the other dorms… and have you expelled from the cinema studies club.

Epel: Well ain't you a peach…

Cinema studies Student A: … I'm sorry for causing an inconvenience to everyone in the club. I'll take responsibility and quit the club.

Rook: Quit the club? Non!! That would be outrageous, my dear costumer!

Everyone: Huh!?

Cinema studies Student A: W-Why…

Rook: This case. His love for Vil created and destroyed it. Thus… Love only won't make you able to finish a piece that can be mistaken for the real thing. The way your fingers assembled this with thread and needle, it's actually beautiful. If the cinema studies club were to lose a talent like yours, Vil wouldn't be pleased. Your atonement will be your contributions to the club.

Cinema studies Student B: It's just as Rook says. You are the best out of us at dressmaking, if you weren't here it would stump us. Come on, let's go back to the clubroom. Let's repair this garment before Vil comes back from his work!

Cinema studies Student A: ! Y-Yes!!

Rook: Okay! That settles one case.

Epel: Rook! That was splendid. You are so observant, to tell it's a counterfeit just by the seams.

Rook: Ah. That was a lie! No one hand-sews anything these times. They all use a sewing machine. You can't see that with the naked eye, right? It was a trick.

Epel: Huh… Huuuh!? Then how did you know it was a fake?

Rook: Fufufu, the truth is much simpler. Smell. The counterfeit clothes didn't have a single atom of the characteristic and unique mellow fragrance that Vil has, so I knew immediately.

Epel: What!? That investigation method is kinda… gross, you know?

Rook: Listen, Epel. I regard the information you can get by smelling highly, as it's useful for hunting. You can know the places one visited or in this case, the person's characteristics, by the traces of their smell. For example… sniff sniff. What you had for lunch today-

Epel: Argh!? S-Stop this!

Rook: Hahaha! Just kidding. My nose isn't that good either.

Epel: I thought you were amazing like a detective, but… maybe you're really just a weirdo.

#twisted wonderland #epel felmier #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #translation #personal story

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cuuno-moved · 3 years ago

Text

after it all (or: boomer fucking dies)

inspired by @sleepsart's incredible comic

tws for: a very graphic car wreck and death (but it gets a semi-happy ending)

They woke up in a dark room.

That’s it. That’s all they knew. It was dark, and they were cold. Not cold in a ‘freeze to death’ cold, but in a ‘put on an extra sweater before you go out’ cold.

They didn’t have an extra sweater. They didn’t even have a sweater. They stood there in their baggy white t-shirt and light grey sweatpants, and they shivered.

They missed their hat.

They didn’t even know what their hat looked like, only that they didn’t have it, only that they missed it.

They called out, a few times. A plaintive little cry for help, met with an echoing silent indifference.

It was quiet in a way nothing was quiet.

Not even their footsteps against the ground filled the silence, the quiet thunks hardly doing anything to fill the sickening empty void.

Finally, there was light, and they could breathe.

It was still dark, of course, it wasn’t that kind of light, but there was light.

It was a woman.

It was a giant woman, nearly too tall to take in one look, with a long black veil, and a long red dress. A ring shone on her hand, a diamond the size of their head.

She was watching them.

They weren’t sure how they could tell, but they could.

“Hello.” They murmured, although they were still far enough away that she couldn’t possibly hear them.

“Hello, my child,” She responded, calmly and beautifully, and she knelt. “I’m sorry you ended up here when you did.”

“Where am I?” They asked.

“You’re safe. You’re home.”

“I’m cold,” They said, pulling at their tshirt. “Why am I cold?”

“It’s often cold here,” She said, apologetically. “Sometimes it’s not, but often it is.”

“Ah,” They said, understandingly, although they didn’t understand at all. “Who are you?”

They felt the woman smile, although they couldn’t see it. “I am the lady of the crows, I am the final hope, I am the mother of night, Angelwife.”

“Trixtin,” They murmured, reverently. “Goddess of Death.”

She nodded, and they sank to their knees.

“Who am I?”

“Remember.” Trixtin said, gently.

“I can’t,” They moaned, tugging at their shirt. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Yes you can.” She said. “Now remember.”

And they did.

It was a beautiful day, the day they died, and not just because they were finally going to be free. The sun was a beautiful shade of blue, the sun was shining and there was just a hint of a breeze. It was beautiful. It was freedom.

Hannah had turned on the radio in the car, and as some generic pop song played, she tapped her fingers against the wheel, bobbing her head. Her little pink sunglasses sat on the tip of her nose and she took a sip of her cherry soda as they raced down the road.

They were almost like any other friends on vacation, any other young adults, fresh out of high school, exploring the world.

For a moment, they tried to pretend they were, that they were sat beside Hannah on a road trip across the country or whatever, instead of running from a fighting ring, desperately searching for her brothers, who may or may not have found some sort of paradise-

“Boomer.” She said, sharply. “I can hear you overthinking from here.”

“I just… I’ve been in there for years,” They said, tiredly. “I’m not even sure where we’re going.”

“I told you,” She said, laughing. “Punz sent me a letter. There’s an SMP, it’s safe. He’s on good terms with the admin, we’ve got special permission to enter.”

Boomer hummed, pulling their knees up to their chest. “I miss him.”

“So do I,” She said. “So do I…”

It was quiet for a bit, before they spoke again, quieter this time. “Do you think they’ll send anyone after us?”

Hannah sighed, running her fingertips over the leather stitching of the wheel. “No. Hypixel has so many players, we’re hardly a drop in the bucket. Us leaving is like… it’d make it worse if they admitted that they let us get away. Pretend they’re in control. Pretend we’re not a threat on the outside.”

“Are we?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. They weren’t going to do anything to try to stop Hypixel. They weren’t going back. They weren’t going to try to help anyone else escape.

When Technoblade finally got out, when he was released, he told the news he would never go back. For months, the news proclaimed in big letters: ‘Hypixel legend Technoblade swears to never return.’ The players cursed his name. They told each other that if they ever excaped, they would help each other.

They wouldn’t though.

They weren’t revolution leaders.

They were kids and teens and tired gladiators, sick of fighting, sick of the pain of death and respawning and despairing.

Boomer let their head rest against the window, bouncing off the glass. “You know where we’re going, right?”

Hannah tapped the GPS with one long, acryllic nail. “Yeah, baby. Only two more hours.”

Boomer nodded, smiling. “Okay. Okay, good, that’s alright then. We’re good.”

“Take a nap, Boom,” Hannah said, reaching over to grab their hand. “I’ll take care of us, don’t worry.”

Boomer chuckled. “I know. Night, Rose. Wake me up when we get there.”

They woke up two hours later to Hannah cheering.

“We’re there!” She cried, beaming at them. “We’re safe!”

They stretched their arms up, cracking their back. It was getting dark out, but it looked like rain was on the horizon. It was still beautiful, trees and valleys and beautiful mountains.

They felt their heart swell.

They weren’t sure what happened next.

One moment, they were watching the clouds brush across the sky.

The next, a cow was in the road and Hannah yanked the wheel to the side.

The car went off the road.

Their head slammed back, then forward, and then, suddenly, they were upside down.

Their chest hurt.

Their stomach hurt.

They were bleeding.

They couldn’t breathe.

“Hannah?” They rasped, craning their neck.

She was still in her seat, at least, her eyes unfocused and wide. There was a cut on her forehead, and the blood ran into her hair, turning the brown curls rusty. As soon as they choked out her name, she seemed to snap to attention.

“Boomer?” She murmured. “Oh- oh god.”

She reached down to her seatbelt, rattling it, and finally, it unlatched, releasing her, and she fell hard.

“My seatbelt is stuck,” Boomer choked out. “I can’t… I can’t move.”

“No-” Hannah gasped, and crawled closer. “No, no it can’t be.”

She pressed the latch, then tugged, then yanked, then she let out a scream, ripping at the belt itself.

“Hannah,” Boomer said, grabbing at her hand. “Hannah get out. Go. Save yourself.”

“No,” She hissed, almost ferally. “No, I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“What more can you do?” They murmured. They were losing blood fast.

“...I’m going to get help,” She promised, pressing her lips together. “Just… stay here. Don’t die on me.”

“Okay,” They lied. “Okay.”

She wriggled her way out of the car though the shattered windshield.

They blinked.

It was raining.

They were bleeding.

It hurt.

There were footsteps.

They blinked.

Two pairs of hands were tugging on them.

They opened their eyes.

They were being held.

A man stared down at them.

He was talking in a soft humming tone, his hands pressed against their neck.

They couldn’t feel their legs.

They blinked.

It was all so dark.

They couldn’t see.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Punz laughed, flicking at their forehead. “Open your eyes!”

They did.

They were alone.

No, Hannah was here.

The man was here, too, his voice still deep and reassuring.

His solid black eyes shone with tears.

He was crying for them.

He didn’t even know them.

They were so tired.

They pressed their hands to the ground.

They were laying on the grass.

Hannah was carrying them.

They were falling.

They were in a car.

They were in a tournament.

They were alone.

It was cold.

Trixtin watched them.

They stared back.

“My name is Boomer,” They said, quietly. “I’m Boomer.”

“Yes you are,” She agreed. “You are Boomer.”

“...I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Who was that man?” They asked. “The one who held me, in the end.”

“His name is Sam, he will look after Hannah as long as he can. They buried you, in her garden, by the rose bushes.”

“Will they be okay? Hannah and Punz and Purpled?”

“... I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Can I go back? Please? I don’t- I have to help them. I’m too young-”

“You can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

At that, she hesitated, thought it through. “It isn’t your turn.”

“That’s bullshit.” They spat, even though they knew cursing at a goddess was ill advised in every way that counts.

“Oh?” She sounded almost laughing, like a mother who’d caught her child with his mouth full of chalk. “Why is that?”

“I didn’t get to fucking live, man. I didn’t get to stop all that bad shit from hurting them.”

She seemed to blink. “Oh…”

“Can I at least have my hat?”

There was a pause, then, before she sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” They said. “Thank you so much.”

Death hummed, standing slowly. She towered into the misty darkness above them, and for just a moment, Boomer saw under her veil, saw her skeletal face and shining ruby eyes, and then she turned, and walked away, and they were alone.

Alone.

#boomerna #mcyt #dream smp #toby writes shit #misstrixtin #mumza #hannahxxrose #who else is relavent here...#idk #death tw #car wreck tw

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border-spam · 4 years ago

Note

Does troy really have a split jaw or is that fanon?

It's total fanon!

The design of the split lines across his cheekbones and chin coupled with the cheek clips and v shaped hinge outline next to his ears lead to a lot of people coming to that same outcome, that there is something up with his mouth from a prosthetic/mod standpoint.

So much of his design is never mentioned once or referenced in any way (hightech spinal rig with tattoos under it, neuro connector, mech arm that's much older and doesn't seem related to the spine and neuroport, implants on bicep, face mod etc) that like Tyreen's scars and possible lower body Siren markings, fandom took over when it came to coming up with logical explanations for 'em.

This actually touches ground with some Ao3 comments I wanted to share as they are all Leech Lord compliant, so I'll list them here alongside links to the fics they were related to (note warnings!)

You leave no avenue for characterization unexplored. Troy's facial prostheses finally receiving backstory is amazing

- Maw (Gore/Bodyhorror)

I LOVE the idea of it being not just decorative shit on his face, but my MO for any content I make is always based around asking why, over and over, and trying to make sense of what material I'm using in the first place. The modded mouth is a popular piece of fanon but you know... why? Why would he do that shit to himself. WHY would he want to be grotesque, why would he be chasing the reaction people would have to it when canonically he seems to really not be interested in fan attention the same way Tyreen is, what's the difference to him between being adored as his persona or being lusted after as a monster, etc. I just love deep-diving into the logic behind character and world building? It's what adds meat to the bone for me.

Big 'ol character and worldbuilding / lore responses list under the cut -

He could afford better robots but these ones UNDERSTAND Ty, don't you get it?

- Good night in (tooth rotting fluff)

Hey just because it's mangled and broken, and can't perform its intended function to a degree expected of it by everyone around it... and it's got rusty sharp bits it accidentally hurts you with sometimes... and it's cranky but it doesn't mean it... and sometimes it errors out in a way that's mildly disturbing in a way you can't place.. uh.. doesn't mean you should just GIVE UP ON IT you know? He can fix them :) They will be fine :) No one should just throw away something that's trying so hard just because it's damaged... haha... :')

It's so hard seeing how much they tear each other down when they're the only thing they have left. And what a poor self-image Tyreen has beyond all that glitter and bluster...

- Wolf in sheep's clothing

The twins function well enough as a unit till tensions rise, and I was trying to seed in The Leech's influence on them in earlier work like this too - towards anyone else Ty would become MORE aggressively confident, more assured in her complete and utter dominance of the situation, her flawlessness, but against Troy who see's her for what she is, it turns inwards and eats at her instead of lashing outwards. He switches from relatively submissive around her to almost surgical levels of dissection, he knows exactly how to go for the jugular with words, and doesn't hold back. She's The Leech's mouth but he's its eyes and it's only when they lose control emotionally enough for it to claw to the surface of their psyches that you get an idea of how much it really affects them individually. GB had an absolute goldmine on their hands here of cosmic/body horror and the concept of toxic family when all you have is each other, there's so much to work with, and I figure it's a factor in why some people still really enjoy messing around with Calypso content.

I like how you allow Troy to be a disabled character, how his congenital defects and prosthetics colour his outlook and appear in ways big and small in all these vignettes. It's easy, I think, to see him as largely untroubled by his health apart from when he needs a charge from Tyreen in the game, but you allow him to struggle with his weakness.

- Chronic (Drug use)

I'm really glad to hear that's coming through in the writing because it's something I noticed a lot too. Very often when Troy, or other characters canonically disabled / chronically unwell are written it's "told" and not "shown". Chronic pain, illness, it's not something that is just a little tickbox in a life or some descriptive terms added to a character synopsis, it's something you live and deal with. There are bad days. There are times it is a negative that has to be worked around or faced in ways that aren't pleasant. It doesn't make you lesser or weak to have times where illness does leave you unable to function to a level you want to, it's not a failure for you to be unable to perform tasks when a disability or flair up means it's not viable. I feel personally that by showing scenes like this where his health and body issues do have a very visceral and impossible to ignore the effect on his ability to function, and going through his mental processes of dealing with and managing them, it brings the character across as stronger than if he never seemed to be shown dealing with symptoms or weaknesses. People are more than their disabilities and conditions, those aren't just kinda taglines to add onto a character's description and then never address. I feel like doing that in a way undermines what people deal with who manage chronic illness, pain, and who have disabilities that affect their daily lives negatively. Appreciating the effort it takes to manage them is important.

What I really like about these is that you can really understand as a reader how their dynamic must have evolved. How even before Leda's death Tyreen would have felt demonized while Troy got the attention because of his condition, because he was less willful.

- Starlight, Moonbright

Ah man, absolutely - and that shit stayed with them. It wasn't his fault and he never wanted it, but of course their parents would have had their extremely ill child at the forefront of their thoughts, especially during weeks when he was.. bad. Tyreen by nature even without The Leech's influence is a little attention seeker, she'd be the life of any party and she BLOSSOMS if she's got the spotlight, but as a little kid who's got literally no one but her parents and her brother, and who all three of which can't give her nearly as much time as she deserved? That's rough. That's really unfair. That coupled with The Leech's warping effect on their egos as they grew up and the bitterness and resentment they harbored in different ways created a reverse dynamic. She'd never be out of the Galaxy's attention again, and he'd have no choice but to take his rightful place in her shadow.

I love how you illustrate both how much more, and yet how much less Troy is now. How the blameless child, full of potential, is inextricably linked to the brutal, larger-than-life avatar he fashions.

- DeLeon ( Graphic Violence / Gore / Hallucinations)

He's molded the monster he is now out of the bones of the man he should have been - there's no going back really. There's nothing left to go back to. He broke Troy DeLeon apart to build the persona that acts like an iron lung now, suffocating him breath by breath while forcing him to still take them. That life is over, he killed it before it had a chance, but the idea of it is still there in his subconscious. Somewhere in the absolute trainwreck of Troy's brain is the tiny, flickering belief that maaaaaybe one day this will all be over and he can shuck off the bracer and spines, peel off all the shit he's covered his skin with, and just go back to not being Calypso. DeLeon here isn't some aspect of his mental state or his sins haunting him - it's The Leech, spitting venom at a host it loathes in something that's not sound or comprehensible language. His subconscious has just translated it into something it can understand - his greatest regret.

On if Borderlands Humans originated on Earth -

There's a really tenuous link between BL verse and rEarth, but it's there and can't be ignored. The cultures, accents, terminologies, so many are Earth specific despite these people being spread across galaxies, so hell yes - Earth as an emergence point makes total sense. The next question then, is why is it never mentioned - and you can cover for that with a lot of things like say, tt was so long ago that it's not relevant to anything that would ever be discussed, or it could be a mass evacuation from a catastrophe there is little record of now. I like to go with something along those lines, that the first human Siren host emergence on earth just absolutely decimated the planet. Like, we were doing fine till this random woman somewhere in the ass-end of nowhere develops weird markings overnight, then goes apocalyptic. The first Leech maybe, not understanding her powers and having them rip across continents in a spread of crackling electric death that only left husked shells of plants and animals in its wake, or the first Firehawk who went nuclear and burned the sky, or the first Voidgrasp who lost control and began to collapse the planet's core - some extreme shit that had humans fleeing en masse with barely any preparation and HUGE swathes of history and knowledge left behind. That would cover so many social things surviving into the BL verse, cultures, accents, cooking, that shit comes with us regardless of what we were able to throw into escape ships. Like so much data would be stored on any tech and data arrays within the vessels people would use to leave a dying planet even in an insane rush, but that shit waters down over time - if you're farming barely edible plants on some planet that smells like farts, are you really gonna be that stressed about teaching your kids history from a lost planet when your current concerns are not being eaten by something with 19 legs and 4 buttholes? Don't think so.

On if the other Siren entities are as influential to their hosts as The Leech -

I touch on it a wee bit throughout LL, but the others are FAR more passive and meld more to their host's whims. The Firehawk Siren wouldn't.. like.. care? If the host was burning down a planet or fighting off an evil corporation? They are removed from any nonsense happening on this side, they might not even really be able to tell, it's like asking an amoeba or a collection of sentient atomic particles what its opinion is on Brexit. That's not really its priority. The Leech is so aggressive in its control of the twins and desperation to drive them towards an outcome it desires only cause it's split, broken, removed from the song, and completely lost. We're talking a caged, half-mad animal removed from its natural environment and left totally isolated from its own kind for millennia. It's in pain, it's confused, it wants to find its way back to the song and the others and where it belongs, but it's stopped by a barrier it can't comprehend ( the twins and being ripped between them), so in its impotent rage it feeds back that hatred onto them. It's not really sentient in the way we would describe functional intelligence, but it wants, and craves, and FEELS. And it feels very, very angry.

Big thanks to @undergoingcalibrations for talking through so much of this with me!

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #sirens #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

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goodlucksnez · 3 years ago

Text

a sky full of stars

Hello everyone so I wrote a er//aserm//ic fiction and it’s 5513 words I know right what the fuck I just kept writing and I didn’t want the story to end but it came to a lovely end

TW WARNING it deals with sui//cide depression,anxiety,panic attacks as well as medical surgery

TO NOTE In the story endeavor is not a hero and is a local tea maker and his wife is the surgeon which I just think it’s cute it comes together in the story it will make sense don’t worry

This is using my original AU with the Quirk flu

And lastly I hope you enjoy it I had a lot of fun riding and it has definitely improved since my last fic enjoy

you can read it on A03 or down below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33360760

How Shouta got here was anyone's guess. Sitting on the edge of the roof of UA looking at the shifting colors as night began to fall around him. As the shades of reds mixed with the blues and yellows, how they washed over the buildings and trees with a gentle golden glow, Shouta closed his eyes and smiled. The tear-stained face of the Pro was hidden from view under foundation and tired eyes. With the still night air, he heard the roof entrance unlock and movement behind him.

“Hello, old friend,” Shouta said not even turning to look at him.

“What the hell are you thinking, step away from the edge now.” Mic's voice boomed over the concrete and echoed in the tranquil night air. “Please, people need you…. I need you.”

Shouta took a deep breath and stood to face his old friend. Mic’s face was panicked and he could see the crumpled note in his hand. Shouta was glad to see his friend one last time. He shook with adrenaline as he spoke in a quiet voice barely louder than a whisper. Years down the road Shouta in the confession of therapy would say he said it this way because whispers make people listen while shouting just falls upon deaf ears.

“All my life, I have been in love with the sky. Even when everything was falling apart around me, the sky was always there for me. I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed. Goodbye old friend.” And he stepped off the roof Mic’s voice echoed in the night sky as Shouta plummeted down and down until darkness.

---

That was five years ago. Shouta had been getting better about talking about his depression and the struggles but the one thing he could not do was hurt Mic again. Hizashi also died that day, his cheery disposition of the world changed, and he hasn’t been the same since. He had improved but Shouta still had guilt deep down but would never admit it. Hizashi's confidence was always so fragile, like a child’s, it took him years to return to radio and music. He once in a foggy drunken state told Shouta that music died the day he fell and all the sounds of the world that created such unique and beautiful different melodies, fused into one agonizing wave of sound that made Hizashi hate music and his Quirk. He had gotten better they both had recovered from that day but if they were both being honest, they were still those scared little Pros inside.

When winter came the vows of in sickness and in health were tested. Hizashi got sick first and Shouta played the role of nursemaid and helped him get better therefore it was no wonder Shouta got sick. When he was a child Shouta would hide under his bed to avoid being seen as sick, he had enough of name-calling at school he did not need it at home too. This continued into his adult life even after the accident 5 years ago.

The next time he had woken up he almost suffered acute heart failure from the number of stress hormones that were immediately pumped through his system as long-term best friend and husband Hizashi better known as Present Mic had busted through the bedroom door with a shout of “Shouta” with his remarkably deafening voice. “Wow were you sleeping?”

As if it would be a shock that he was. He has been up most of the night coughing and generally feeling ill. Shouta was having trouble getting out of bed today as a dull pain racked through his body pulsing through every limb. He merely grunted in response and the strawberry blonde-haired man sat down and rubbed his back.

“Shouta,” he asked his voice worried with concern and suddenly Shouta was back on that roof. He shut his eyes and winced at that memory and shook his head. The movement of his head caused the room to spin and he reached out to grab onto something stable the only thing near him being his husband.

The pressure in his cranium had built itself up to the point where he knew he had to get away to get checked out. Somehow, he had to take a trip to get medicine, the question was how would he succeed with such a mission when Hizashi worried about his every movement.

Mic continued to rub his husband's back. After receiving no answer, his usual jovial expression continued morphing into one of pure concern. “Hey, Shouta are you okay?”

The tired pro sighed but when he went to open his mouth the tickle which had been prominent in his sinuses flared to life and he quickly turned his head to the side gripping the side of the bed as the sneezes ripped through his body.

“Heh-R'SSHH! Hh-Hih-AET’SCHHH! ESCCH!”

Hizashi jumped in surprise. “Woah, many blesses,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up some meds, okay?”

Shouta grabbed his arm and said, “no you barely over being sick, I can get some.”

As he went to put on his shoes, he sniffed back the congestion that was threatening to flow. Hizashi watched him gathering his wallet and keys before hugging him tightly and whispered in his ear.

“I know how you get with these things; I call you in a few hours and you better pick up or you’re in trouble. I love you Sky.”

Shouta hugged him back and said, “I love you to songbird.” And he left the house with the sound of thunder in the sky boomed over him.

---

His feet hurt.

It was a stupid thing to focus on. Stupid because Shouta was still heavily limping his way through darkened alleyways and shuffling through crumpled up newspapers and puddles of...something. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the medicine still clutched close to the chest. Shouta had no idea where he was going. He just kept moving- one hand drifting along chipped brick walls and graffiti-stained cement, something to keep him steady. Focused. Home was the mission but it wasn’t the goal. The goal was-

Freedom from the pain.

His knees buckled and Shouta couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forward. He smacked into a dumpster; the weak thump of a body against rusted metal ringing in his ears. The stench of rotten food clawed its way into his nose; the pain now liquid fire in his veins. Get up Shouta told himself even as his eyes started to flutter close. You have to get up. His fingers twitched; they landed in a puddle of something gross. “Please,” Shouta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please~” Thunder rolled off in the distance- a heavy, almost shuffling sound. Maybe- maybe he could get clean in the rain? Maybe-----

“Ah, your awake!”

Fuck! Shouta started, brain a sluggish mess. He- the last thing he remembered with solid clarity was collapsing against a dumpster. Rain pattered against the rooftop- a strange melody that did nothing to put the Pro at ease as he stared at the old man before him. He was heavyset, a long red beard neatly trimmed and a topknot giving him off an old school look. Shouta glanced around the room, just a little more awake now. He still felt like shit, wet from the clothes he had when-

“My shoes,” Shouta rasped, gaze falling to his feet. They were bare, his socks neatly placed on the floor with his shoes beside this...futon. A sad, threadbare thing on the floor. It took all he had not to run his hands over himself-no. No injuries. The only thing Shouta wasn’t wearing was his shoes. Shouta inhaled congestion thick and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. An oven mitt was sitting on the floor between them, a teapot gently clutched in the old man’s hands. “You put band-aids on my heels?”

“I did,” came the quiet hum. “You’ve traveled quite a way. Those blisters are impressive.”

Shouta’s gaze flicked to the two clay cups- one by his feet, the other next to the old man’s knees. Steam started to curl out of the teapot; a fire Quirk perhaps? “...You’ve got a fire Quirk.”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very observant. Yes, I do. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Herbal Spring at the moment it might help with that cold you got.”

Shouta eyed the teapot in question- the steam was barely more than a little trickle of a cloud. Could he have poisoned it while I was out? He shrugged, looking away.

“Ah good!” The old man leaned forward to pour tea- Shouta first, then himself. “Herbal Spring is a very fragile tea, you know. Raise the temperature too much and you’ll ruin it. Keep the water too cold, and it loses its flavor.”

Shouta didn’t reach for his cup. He heard the soft clink of China being set down on the oven mitt. He- he saw the near-empty room he was in. “Where am I?”

“My tea shop! Aaah well,” the old man smiled again as he reached for his cup. “Soon to be my tea shop. This is a storeroom of sorts.”

Shouta watched the old man drink first. A happy hum, a deep sip that made the Pro finally reach for his cup. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. Even with his blocked nose, it smelled sweet. Shouta took the tiniest of sips; the warm liquid sliding down his parched throat with ease. It had a soft note to it; sweet and almost fruity, enough to make Shouta …breathe. “Who are you?”

“Just a simple tea maker.” Another calm sip, the old man closing his eyes for a moment. “Who are you?”

It...it lacked the same venom that Shouta’s question had. The same cautiousness, an almost feral edge to it. The old man’s question was simple. Calm and steady; Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he took another tentative sip. “No one.”

“It is an honor to meet you, No One.” The teapot was held out like a porcelain olive branch. “More tea?”

Was this...a joke? Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he held out his cup. There was still plenty of tea left in the small cup and it took all the Pro had not to wince at how hands were still shaking. Hot liquid sloshing about, threatening to go right over the dull rim. Yet...if the old man was going to say anything, he didn’t. He merely poured Shouta more tea, careful to keep the liquid from the rim.

Shouta brought it up to his lips, taking a bigger sip. “You’re,” this time he winced. His throat was still a raspy mess. “You’re not going to ask me why I was outside?”

“Mmm, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Shouta watched the teapot be set gently on the oven mitt, the old teamaker once more quietly enjoying his cup. The two sipped their drinks in relative silence- only broken by the steady drumming of the rain overheard and Shouta sniffling. An odd sort of silence, almost peaceful; Shouta wasn’t bombarded with questions. The old tea maker was content to drink his tea; he’d already downed three cups by the time Shouta had managed to finish one. He sneezed 3 harsh sneezes and drank more tea hoping to soothe the throat. The teapot seemed to rise without being asked; a second cup poured, a second cup that Shouta found himself willingly drinking. “Aizawa,” he whispered, staring down at the amber liquid. The Pro’s voice was painfully loud in the quiet. “My name is Aizawa Shouta.”

The old man gently smiled; callused hands curled around his cup. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aizawa Shouta.”

“What-” Shouta shifted on his futon; the tremors had finally left his hands. “Who are you?”

“Just an old man with wisdom and regrets,” came the happy reply. “You can call me Enji if you wish.”

Enji? It was a familiar way to address someone he’d just met. Right. “...I’m not calling you Enji.”

“Fair enough,” the old man chuckled and there was something warm in his voice that begged the Pro to relax. Maybe he has another Quirk? Can someone have two Quirks?

Shouta glanced down at his cup, his thumbs brushing the rim. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights~”

That...was not what Shouta was expecting. He frowned; was it too late to make a run for it? He was pretty sure he had strength in his legs now, even if he still felt awful. “That’s some bullshit,” the dark hair huffed, settling on something solid. Something he could trust. He attempted to rise to his feet and he wobbled for a moment. Pain that rolled through Shouta, begging for him to plop his ass back down. “You’re crazy, old man.”

The old man didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He merely hummed, a red eyebrow rising at the uptick of rain against the roof. “You will need a proper raincoat then. You’ll be soaked if you leave now.”

“...You’re not going to stop me?”

“I cannot stop you from your long journey, Shouta. Just as we cannot stop the fire from burning the log or ice freezing a pond.” Shouta watched the old man set his cup down; empty. “But please,” he groaned as he lumbered to his feet and Shouta was pretty sure he heard joints pop. “Let me get you an umbrella at least.”

His chest hurt. Shouta’s throat was stupidly tight. Painfully tight as he stood there, watching Enji dig around in the storeroom for an umbrella. “...You,” Shouta tried to clear his throat. To stop himself from crying like the idiot he was. “You don’t have-”

He shouldn’t have wasted his breath.

The umbrella was pressed into his hands with care. It was an old thing that had seen better days- a raggedy blue thing with a few frayed strands and a scuffed handle. It was old and worn and the most precious thing Shouta had ever held in his life. “Thank you,” the Pro whispered, clutching it close to his chest.

“Of course,” Enji hummed, bowing in return. “Please stay dry.”

---

Shouta descended the step of the tea shop, his body aching with every step. The medicine still clutched to his chest. The words still echoed in his mind. “You tell me when you��re ready.” He found himself walking the feeling of cool water running down his wet body was quite unpleasant. The wind blustered and the rain pattered on the antique umbrella and the way home seemed twice as long as usual. His mind raced, how could a stranger see so clearly into his mind was it that transparent to everyone that he was broken. As his feet hit the sidewalk a single thought crossed his mind. Hizashi. His songbird. His love. He was probably worried sick. As he pulled out his phone, he saw the screen was broken and as the light lit up his face, he could see 54 unread messages. Fuck. He ran, he didn’t even notice the tightening of his chest and the pain in his limbs, as he rounded the corner almost slipping on the wet pavement. He saw the lightly tan building of his home; the outside light was still on. As he unbolted the door and took a step inside, his heartbeat deafening in his ears, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him inside.

As Shouta panted, Hizashi's grip gets getting tighter and tighter. No words were said but the silence spoke volumes. Shouta felt tears spring to his eyes and choked back a sob as Hizashi guided him to the living room sofa and sat him down. Wordlessly Hizashi began to take Shouta's shoes off, gently searching his dark eyes for some kind of answer of where he was. Shouta could not meet his gaze, and just shook from the wet clothes and clutched the sofa tighter. Hizashi nodded and went off down the hall. He returned a moment later with fluffy towels and the first words were spoken.

“Out of those clothes.” Shouta blushed but did as he was told and as each soaked article of clothing was removed from his body it was replaced with a warm fluffy towel. However, it didn’t stop his shivering and Hizashi started rubbing the frozen skin of his lover. After a few minutes, Hizashi suddenly stopped and stood up, turning his back from Shouta.

Suddenly the blond jolted forward. “heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!" and went into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues.

As he sheepishly returned and met the gaze of his husband, he muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

Shouta was at a loss for words. Why was he sorry? It was not his fault Shouta got sick, not his fault he was broken. He had done everything right, Shouta was wrong. He blinked in rapid succession before finding his voice. The voice of Enji filled his head ‘When you’re ready. He spoke with a voice broken and small.

“The day that the rain smelled like ice cream, my cat went to heaven in front of my eyes. The day that the copper pipes in the old building smelled like burnt food, my best friend... went to heaven in front of my eyes. I couldn't save them. It's sad. Neither one had the chance to become an adult. They should have become adults. They should have had children of their own and loved those children. And I want to make that possible for other people. So don’t be sorry. You saved me. I love you.”

He had never expressed that amount of raw emotion in his whole life, not even to his therapist but it felt right. The nerves he felt flowed out of him as his tears decorated his face. As he sat covered in the towel he sobbed, all the emotions he had been holding released like the steam from that teapot that brought him warmth not a few hours before.

Hizashi cradled him, as his body racked with sobs, gently like how a mother would cradle a baby, pausing to kiss him and repeat gentle nothings. As Shouta began to wind down, all the strength he had been pretending he had disappeared and he slumped against Mic and closed his eyes and soon unconsciousness took him.

Shouta slept for hours it seemed like. Each dream he had was confusing and odd as if he had two brains competing for the dream. His tired muscles ached and the dull pain between his eyes had increased to a dull migraine. Truth be told he felt awful. But soon his body had had enough and he felt the being of a sneeze. He tried to hold back for a while longer but found it futile. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the tickle reached its climax.

“Eschht, Eschht eh ugh sniff heh hhh AET’SCHHH!”

The last sneeze ripped through him with such force all the blankets and towel that had kept him warm fell off of him and he was left sniffling chest exposed to the room and his husband who look just as surprised as himself.

“Goodness bless you Sho, you have caught my cold.”

The tired man just groaned and said with a voice still raspy and strained “Not a cold, it's probably the flu, I should have told you sooner, I just- ugh sniff again heh hhh Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

With the last sneeze, he felt his Quirk go haywire and soon his hair was floating above him and his eyes had turned a red hue. Luckily for him, no one was in the radius but he still felt awful. A hero could only depend on two things in this world, their Quirk and the one they loved. If Shouta could take one of those away without realizing it, it could mean trouble.

Mic had knelt in front of the laying down Pro and gently cupped a tissue around his husband's nose. “Bless your hon, come on blow for me.”

Shouta did a wet gurgling blow and groaned as the Quirk deactivated his dry eyes yearning for water. Mic dabbed at Shouta slowly being red nose and stood. He made his way over to the linen closet and grabbed the warmest winter sweater and returned to his sick husband.

“Arms up you know the drill.” As Mic helped the Pro get dressed, he called out to Siri.

“Hey, Siri, text Doctor Green we are coming in an hour.” As Shouta's head came through the sweater hole he simply frowned. This Doctor had treated him after the accident but was a close friend of theirs. As Siri confirmed the appointment Mic sensed Shouta's discomfort and replied to him. “I know sweetie you don’t like the doctor but you know he can help better than over-the-counter drugs. He continued and I will be there the whole time.”

Shouta shook his head. “Together,” he said in a small voice

Mic helped the sickly Pro stand and guided him to the mirror next to the door and kissed him on his flushed skin. “Forever Together.”

The train ride for the first leg of the journey was uneventful. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the moving subway train was distracting enough to distract other passengers from Shouta's constant sniffling. Mic was stood holding on to the overhead bar while Shouta was sitting with his head in his hands. Mic was constantly asking if Shouta needed anything even though he would not be able to provide much relief besides encouraging words. As the overhead speakers announced their stop Mic helped Shouta stand as the train came to a hard stop be cursed in English as Shouta stumbled forward again him.

The misty afternoon after the rainstorm was heavy in the air but still, Shouta shivered a clear sign of a fever and the couple picked up the pace to the doctors. As they rounded a corner a few blocks away they were met with the flashing blue and red of a line of police cars. As heroes, they knew a situation was happening. Mic half dragging Shouta went to them who seemed to be in charge of the crowd of citizens and asked what was happening. The short man with light brown hair replied with the normal answer for any citizen. “Nothing to worry about Sir heroes will handle it.” Mic frowned and dug in his pocket and grabbed his Hero license and flashed it at the man. Taken aback the man quickly responded. “Oh, um sorry, a Jewelry store has been taken hostage, he paused before continuing “my chief might need an extra few hand…he paused and looked at the struggling man Mic was holding up “is he also able to help.” Mic didn’t have time for this and he ducked below the police tape and began walking to the line of cop cars. Shouta followed but sluggishly. As he neared the chief of the police, he quickly scanned the street. He could see the jewelry store in question had a broken window and was heavily surrounded by local heroes as well as other members of the police task force. As Shouta caught up his eyes were half-closed and looked like he was going to pass out any second. Before Mic could attend to Shouta a round of gunshots filled the air and out of instinct he grabbed both of them and they hit the pavement hard. After a few moments, he helped Shouta lean against a cop car tire and checked over his body. ‘No wounds’ Mic thought ‘I don’t have time for this we need to get through this street.’

Mic looked at the task force and saw the numbers had decreased whoever was in the store had an amble firearm. As a local hero approached the car Mic asked what the status was and what they know. The local hero stating that the man inside the store had a bullet-type quirk and could shoot many rounds of ammo and was demanding everyone to leave and no one would get hurt.

Mic thought ‘a bullet type quirk, like Pro hero Edgeshot’ Mic continued to question. Did they have any other people with them? The local hero shook his head no they are alone. Mic could work with this. He waved over the chief, a man he had worked with a few other times.

If they could stop the man quirk do, they have enough to help the hostages and defeat the villain. The chief simply nodded his head and Mic set to work.

He gently shook the arm of Shouta who barely raised his head. “Hey love I know you are exhausted but we need you Quirk right now can you aim your Quirk over to the storefront.

Shouta tried Mic had to give him credit for that, but as soon his hair started to rise it quickly fell. Shouta mumbled a response thick with congestion. “I. Can’t…tired”

Mic rubbed his arms in understanding and replied “What about if we use your illness as an advantage, you can’t control when it happens right, what if we use that.”

Shouta turned to look at Mic. “What are you suggesting?”

Before he could reply another round of gunshot shot at them and he quickly covered Shouta's body with his. He immediately felt the sharp pain as a bullet entered him under his ribs, and he could feel the blood start to spill. With an adrenaline-filled body, he quickly pulled Shouta into a somewhat kneeling position and aimed his head toward the storefront. “I’m sorry about this love this isn’t going to be big on dignity.”

He grabbed the end of his ponytail and brought the split ends to the underside of Shouta's nose. The already irritated organ began to twitch as the strands of hair slowly twisted around.

Shouta tried to ignore the incessant prodding of the frizzy hair against his sensitive nose, but with each swipe, the tiny hairs that shook loose were soon sucked up into his twitching and quivering nostrils. He shuddered and froze in place a tear slowly trailed down from his eye to his cheek as his nose began scrunching and wriggling from the irritation.

“Come on Shouta you can do it,” Mic said. Shouta’s chest heaved and he couldn't help but give in to the itchy and tickly urge to expel those irritants from his nostrils.

“H...hhih...” The beginnings of a sneeze showed as his eyes began to droop. His chest expanded further “Haaahhh! Aaahhhh!” His eyes fully closed, head tilting back and signaling the oncoming release. Mic aimed his face toward the storefront and sent a silent prayer that this would work.

“Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”

As Shouta sneezed his hair lifted with ease and soon the storefront was temperately Quick free. Mic activated his Quirk and told the task force to go. Shouta was still panting from sneezing but his eyes were open however Mic didn’t know how long he could keep them open. As the task force ran in the subject found his Quirk would not activate and soon found himself being put in handcuffs and a medical device being placed that would stop his Quirk without the help of Erasure.

As Mic received the thumbs up, he spoke to his shaking husband who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Bless your hon you did it, you can relax now.” As Shouta did all the energy slipped from him and he lost consciousness and slumped over on the wet pavement. Mic grabbed the fragile man and began to walk to the nearest ambulance, as he stepped into the back of the ambulance the medic and himself helped Shouta into the gurney, and soon the siren wailed and they were finally off to their destination.

As they entered the hospital fast lane and the medic was ready to receive both of the ProS, Mic was insistent to be placed near Shouta as he wasn’t comfortable around hospitals. The medic nodded and escorted them to their joined room. Shouta was seen to first. They took blood and gave him fluids; they also provide pain medicine and sadly they had to wait until he woke up.

Mic surgery was quickly scheduled. He met with the surgeon while sitting next to Shouta and rubbing his arm. The female was fairly tall and had blue tint to her eyes and white hair. She explained the surgery before Mic consented.

“Upon examination, we identified 1 cm diameter entry wound at the left lower abdominal wall, Sir. The images we took showed the bullet in the peritoneal cavity but no injured intraperitoneal and retroperitoneal viscera. We decided to remove the bullet laparoscopically.” Mic nodded. She noticed the band around his finger and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”

Mic smiled and replied “4-year next month, but I have known since we were 14 that this is what we both needed.” He paused before swallowing hard “We've been through a lot but I can’t imagine life without him. He is my whole life, my Sky. He bent down and kissed the sleeping man's hand. The surgeon smiled and spoke “I see, well that must be hard with both of you rushing into battle all the time,” she looked down at her clipboard before continue “I have treated a lot of patients in my day but never have I seen a love quite like your, it’s very special.” A monitor beeped and the surgeon motioned him to follow. “Well, shall we take care of the bullet Mr. Hizashi. Mic kissed Shouta’s hand before leaving the room.

Shouta was hot. It was too bright wherever he was. His mind was foggy. He groaned as he sat up, he immediately recognized the smell of a hospital. What happened. The last thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and Hizashi…Shit Hizashi he jerked into a sit-up position and looked around. The nurse that had been changing his fluid jumped back. “Calm down you’re okay! Just relax.”

“Where is he…what happened?” He asked rage filling his croaky voice. The nurse replied, “Sir he is in surgery he will be out soon don’t worry he is okay.” She laid him back against the pillows before continuing “We need to make sure you’re okay Sir make sure you don’t have a concussion. He pulled out a light and shown it in his eye without much warning. The tickle flared to life and he turned his head.

“Issh’iIEWW!....hhh..heh… “TSCHTIEW” Thankfully his Quirk did not activate he wiped his nose on the back of his arm as the nurse apologized.

“Sorry Sir, but the good news is you don’t have a concussion so you will be out of here as soon as we can get some medicine and your husband is awake.”

Shouta relaxed slightly and closed his eyes and tried to keep the panic from getting too much to handle. Within the next 2 hours, Shouta tried to not be a bother to any of the staff but his flu had proven a little too much for him to handle.

As a nurse with a gravity-type quirk was walking down the hall with floating plates of dinner, he groaned as another tickle forced him to sneeze and he felt his quirk activate and he heard the crash as the dinner plates fell and crashed on the floor. Many of the nurses were understanding but he still felt awful. When his husband was wheeled into his room Shouta's eyes began to water and he had to fight back tears. The surgeon explained the surgery was a success and he would be discharged later today. She told Aizawa in a voice soft and comforting. “He loves you so much, you are a very lucky man.” She sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes. “I know you feel broken but he is trying so hard to make sure you are taken care of. The world is a cruel place and I know you have suffered more than most. But know this, he loves you and has sworn to protect you. You might be a Hero to the public but he is your Hero, let him save you. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned to leave. Before leaving the room, she said “Oh and you have a gift make sure to grab it before leaving.” And placed a small box on the counter next to the door before leaving him.

When Hizashi woke and passed all the discharge tests and Shouta had his medicine they left the hospital holding each other’s hand and holding a box of tea that they would use for the rest of their life.

The end.

#Vic writes #vicwrites #bnha fic #fanfic #my fanfiction #My fic #sneezefanfic #sneezefic #sneeze fic #mysneezefic #bnhafanfic

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joonkorre · 4 years ago

Text

They got a plan for (you)

@drarrymicrofic prompt: Dangerous by Big Data (ft. Joywave)

this song emits a very, hmm, being-in-the-middle-of-a-conspiracy vibe. so. here we are. enjoy. AO3

Harry knows the person standing in front of him. Or maybe he doesn't. If anyone else knows, well. They're not supposed to.

“Cormac McLaggen? Haven’t heard of him in years.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Ron replies, twirling his quill. Harry tries to copy it and gets ink on his face instead. “The bloke’s fucked off to the Mediterranean for some consultant work. He came in, I helped sorted out his paperwork, and he’s gone. It’s been, ah, five years, I think.”

“Right, right. Remember how he was back in Hogwarts?”

“A fucking nightmare.”

“I know,” Harry agrees. “The Sorting Hat should’ve put him in Slytherin— wait, maybe not. He and Malfoy would tear the school apart.”

Ron looks at him odd for a moment before snickering. “The things you say, mate…”

Harry stills. Has his sense of humor changed in some way for Ron to say that? And not just him, a few others of his friends have remarked along the same lines as well.

He sips his tea and grimaces. It’s gone cold.

“Anyway, hopefully his attitude’s improved somewhat.”

“Oh, it has to,” Ron says. “I mean, he’s assigned as your partner. Soon, you’ll be stuck with him here while I’m halfway across the building. So I’m not scared he’d do you in,” Ron points at Harry. “I’m scared you’d snap and end up in Azkaban within an hour.”

“Your trust in me is astounding, Jesus Christ, Ronald.”

There’s a knock on their office’s door. It swings open, revealing Head Auror Robards. Harry and Ron stand up in unison and bow.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you both are working?” Robards taps his cane on the floor, and the door closes with a quiet clack. His bad leg is acting up, it seems.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Diligently?”

“There might have been a bit of discussion,” Ron says, his shoulders loosening, “all about work, I assure you.”

“Mhmm,” Robards says. As his retirement looms, he’s more like a grumpy grandpa than a boss these days. “Smart mouth. Potter.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry straightens.

“You’ve gotten the news?”

“I have, Sir,” Harry says, slipping the document from a folder on his desk. “My new partner is Cormac McLaggen while Auror Weasley is transferred to admin.”

“Correct. How are your lungs doing, Weasley?”

“Ah,” Ron shrugs, but a sheen of sweat can still be seen on his forehead, “same old, same old, Sir. I can’t say I won’t miss fieldwork, though.”

“I know,” Robards nods, a rare sympathetic expression on his face, tapping his cane once more. “Your eye for detail and diplomatic abilities will serve everyone well. Just because you can’t jump all crazy and shit anymore doesn’t mean you’re useless, Weasley, remember that.”

Ron bows and start collecting the piles of paperwork he’s packed up on his desk. Harry reaches over and clasps him on the shoulder, getting a teary smile in return. For a moment, nothing is heard except the rustling of paper.

“Well, gentlemen.”

Harry retracts his hand and turns toward Robards.

“I’m just here to check in on you both. It appears that McLaggen’s encountered some trouble with his International Portkey, so unfortunately, he won’t be—”

There’s another knock on the door. “Excuse me, I was informed Head Auror Robards is currently here?”

Robards lets out an audible sigh of relief and twists the knob. Over his shoulders, Harry can see a head of blonde. Very, very fair blonde.

“Yes, I’m here. Apologies, I had some matters that need to be discussed in person with Mr. Weasley and Auror Potter, so I wasn’t in my office.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I was at fault, anyway. My Portkey was on the cheaper side, so there was a bit of malfunction. Thank Merlin I made it just in time. Your secretary— Miss Brown, is it?— was lovely. You ought to give her a raise.”

Robards laughs politely. “Everybody always says that about her. A hard worker, that woman, I’ll inform her of your commendation.”

He invites the man inside, and Harry feels his world roll upside down.

“Potter, here is Dr. McLaggen. He will be here as consultation, and with your upcoming case,” Robards peers at him over his thin glasses, “his expertise in Potions and International Law will help immensely.”

The man grins, all teeth, but completely non-threatening. His waistcoat fits him snugly, highlighting his tapered waist. The silvery specks in his eyes— not blue like they should be— glint in the summer sun, almost colorless, as he offers a hand toward Harry.

“Malfoy.”

Harry grips those long, pompously manicured fingers of Draco Malfoy tightly, barely registering the growl that rips out of his throat.

“Pardon?” Malfoy— not McLaggen, never McLaggen— tilts his head. His look of confusion is almost convincing.

Something sharp jabs Harry’s side. He doesn’t flinch, but he does drop Malfoy’s hand, who holds it with the other to his chest protectively.

“Mate, what is wrong with you?” Ron hisses in Harry’s ear. The latter whips his head to stare at him. Ron stares right back as if Harry is the one being insane here. “McLaggen was a douche, yeah, but he’s not even doing anything. Why’re you antagonizing him?”

“Antag— Ron,” Harry stresses, aware of a keen gaze flickering back and forth between him and Ron. “That’s literally Draco Malfoy standing in front of us. Tell me you’re not buying this.”

“What?” Ron strains his head back, eyes wide. Harry’s ears pound, and with the way Ron is shaking his head, he can tell he’s not going to like what’s coming out of Ron’s mouth.

“Who the fuck is Draco Malfoy?”

Harry tries and tries and tries. Tries to make sense of this. He fails.

All he can do is watch, numb in a detached sort of way, as Ron shakes Malfoy’s hesitant hand and apologizes for his best mate’s behavior, really, he’s been feeling ill these days, you know how the weather is. Malfoy lets a generous smile stretch across his cheeks, dimples deepening, and Harry hasn’t seen his face look like this before, hasn’t seen those dimples once in all the years he’s known and remembered Malfoy. It looks unnatural. Ron is sold.

Harry swivels to Robards, disbelieving. Robards has to know what’s going on. He’s too good to let someone like Draco Malfoy cast such a blatant Disfigurement Charm or whatever else he did to fool everyone. He can’t be falling for a criminal’s tricks. Yes, this must be a test, or a covert mission only a few are aware of.

Robards, who has been silent during the whole ordeal, catches Harry’s eyes. A presence pierces through his Occlumency shield, clean like a well-sharpened blade through unsuspecting flesh.

You will be dealt with, Auror Potter.

The presence leaves.

Robards says something dry and witty to the other two occupants in the room, and they laugh. With one final shake of hands with McLaggen—no, Malfoy— he wishes both Harry and his new partner a good day. Ron follows him out, a briefcase and a large box in his arms, desk now void of everything ‘Ron.’ He throws Harry a look, that signature ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’ look, before closing the door behind him.

There’s no one else in the office but Harry and someone called Cormac McLaggen.

“I’m… sorry,” that person says, putting his briefcase on the surface of Ron’s desk gently. He tucks a messy strand of hair behind his ear, allowing Harry a better view of his face. “You must have mistaken me with, ah…”

“Yes. Draco Malfoy,” Harry says after a moment, putting his hands behind his back. A test. The person only blinks. “You’re both blonde and your facial structure is. Quite similar.”

“I see,” the person nods in understanding before sending a quick, warm smile at Harry. He looks honest. The past decade of Auror work clears out the fog in Harry’s brain, and he sees it; he really is honest. “It happens, don’t worry about it. Let’s just take a few moments to get to know each other, shall we?”

There’s no sign of recognition in the man’s eyes when he talks to Harry. Whoever did this to him, to everyone else, was sloppy. Arrogant. Harry makes a mental note to bring his backup wand from now on, especially in the event that he’s called to Robards’ office.

“Sure,” Harry sits down and gets comfortable, gesturing for Malfoy to do the same. Whatever is going on, he’d be damned if he won’t get to the bottom of it.

“Let’s.”

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #prompt: dangerous #harry potter #draco malfoy #aurors #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #government conspiracy #hope i put enough plot in this mf #i've always loved things that makes the government look like ass #bc they are lmao #and memory loss/alteration is also to my taste #so boom here it is #joonkorre writes

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

Text

“You may want me, but you need you.”

seokjin x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 1.7K

a/n: This drabble includes talks of therapy and anxiety so possible trigger warning. In this, Poopsie is just kind of realizing her struggles with her insecurities and how she projects it onto Jin. And as always, Jin is an absolute sweetheart. Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoy! :))

YOU were doing it again. You knew you were. Jin was just busy, his job was stressful at the moment. They were preparing for a fucking comeback, for godsake, it wasn’t about you.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from sending the text.

You: Can we talk when you get here? If you’re even still coming over.

It wasn’t volatile or aggressive, but you knew he’d read it and know that you were upset, and therefore you’d receive his attention, and that’s all you wanted. Well, that’s what you thought you wanted.

Waiting for the response was the worst, because you couldn’t take your text back. Your emotions were high when you sent it and you knew it was a destructive thing to do, but it felt like the physical illness from the anxiousness sitting in your stomach wouldn’t ease until you hit send.

It had been fifteen minutes since you sent the message, and Jin hadn’t even opened it. God, you were acting like a fucking lunatic, checking the conversation repeatedly to see if he had read it yet.

Trying to distract yourself, you grabbed the drawing pad Jungkook left at your apartment from a few days ago, sifting through the sketches to find a blank page. The kid could draw, you thought as you appreciated his work.

Landing on a blank page, you picked up the pencil from the coffee table and began dragging it across the page. You were not an artist, you just needed the mental break that watching the graphite appear on the white page provided.

Half way through your child-like drawing, your apartment door opened, a very tired Jin stepping inside with his bag thrown over his shoulder. Kicking his shoes off, he lifted his gaze to find you staring at him from the floor in front of the couch.

“Ah, my love,” he sighed out, trudging forward until he reached the couch, plopping down on top of it, his face pressed against the cushion right beside where you sat against the furniture. You turned your head to look at him, smiling slightly at his puckered lips and closed eyes, swaying his head a bit as he cutely tempted you for a kiss.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his sweetly, but quickly, sitting back and watching as Jin opened his eyes.

“You ok?” He asked, his eyes pulling together in concern.

“Did you get my text?” You asked him, hoping it had somehow not made it through.

“Text?” He asked, digging in his pocket to fish his phone out. Holding it up to you, he showed you the darkened screen. “It died about three hours ago, I didn’t have a charger with me.” You nodded in understanding, a bit of relief flooding your feelings at the realization he hadn’t seen your message. “Did something happen?”

“Just me on my bullshit again,” you said with a small humorless laugh. “When you read it, just ignore it.”

“Hey, what happened?” He asked, rolling from his stomach onto his side to face you.

You lip quivered at his concerned expression, fighting back tears as a result of the realization of what you were doing to him, as well as the frustration with yourself for doing it. “I’m projecting again,” you told him, shaking your foot quickly to release some pent-up anxiety and emotion.

“What’s going on, my love?” He already knew. You could tell. He was sweet to pretend to be clueless to your ridiculous doubting.

“You’ve been busy and I’m taking it personally,” you said sadly, frustrated with you and your mind.

“Did I do something to make you feel less loved?” He asked, the question breaking your heart. Why was he taking blame like this?

“No, Jin,” you whimpered, tears flooding your bottom eyelid.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tried to calm you, bringing a hand to soothe through your hair. “It’s ok, we’re ok, just talk to me.”

“I’m so fucking sick of doubting you any time you can’t dedicate as much time to me, I can’t keep doing this shit,” you told him, and yourself, in frustration. A tear slid down your cheek and you wiped it away with the side of your hand.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you all my time,” he apologized sadly, and the comment not only shattered you, but it made your self-loathing accelerate. If you love this man, why do you keep doing this to him? You thought to yourself.

“Don’t fucking apologize, oh my god, Jin, this is all on me, I’m fucking crazy,” you cried, Jin shaking his head adamantly.

“You’re not crazy,” he told you calmly.

“What if something is wrong with me? Like, what if nothing will ever be enough to stop the insecurities?” You asked him desperately.

“What will be enough? What do you want?” He asked you. He was trying to give you more and more, but he was already giving you plenty. The doubting his love was all in your head, you knew that, but it didn’t feel any less real in the moment. That was the problem.

“You,” you told him, bursting into tears, burying your face in your hands as Jin continued stroking your hair, dragging his hand down to your shoulders before repeating the motion.

“But you have me, my love. You’ve had me for a long time, and my feelings have not faltered. Not even once,” he told you with a sigh. Jin was trying so hard to be understanding, but you knew it hurt him deeply whenever you doubted his feelings for you.

“I know that,” you insisted, looking up from your hands at the man. “I do.”

“Do you?” He asked, his own securities peaking through.

“Yes,” you assured him firmly. “And I can’t keep doubting you. You’ve given me no reason, it’s just me, it’s all in my head.”

Jin grabbed your hand and gently ran his thumb across the back of it, peering at your face thoughtfully. “Can I be honest with you?” He asked, a nervousness in his tone.

“Always.”

He took a moment to think about how to phrase his words, his eyes scanning your features as he did so. “You may want me, but you need you,” he finally spoke, the words hitting you harder than either of you expected. A sob racked through your body, Jin scooting off the couch to sit next to you on the floor, pulling you into his arms. As you cried against his frame, he gently rocked your bodies.

Speaking into the shirt against his chest, you admitted, “I think I need to talk to someone.”

“Someone?” He asked calmly, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Professionally,” you clarified, though you both knew he already knew what you meant.

“You want a therapist?” He asked, making sure you were on the same page.

“I think I need it,” you told him, pulling away from him to look at him. Jin took your hands in his as he looked at you with understanding and maybe even pride. “What I’m putting us through isn’t fair to either of us.”

Jin stared into your eyes, and you tried to avert eye contact but he dipped his head to hold your gaze. “I don’t want you thinking you’re putting us through something we can’t overcome, ok? I wouldn’t walk away because your mind gets mean toward you sometimes. Do you understand that?” He spoke the words so sincerely, it had you wondering how you could ever doubt him. You nodded, and he nodded back.

“But I think therapy is a good idea if you do,” he told you, you watching him intently as he continued. “You shouldn’t have to become overtaken by your thoughts like this, and if therapy will help you manage that, I support it completely,” he told you, more tears gathering in your eyes at his words. “I want you to be healthy. I want you to be ok. You and I? We’re ok, I promise,” he insisted, moving your hands with his as he spoke, as if talking with his hands would more firmly plant his words in your mind. “But now it’s time for you to focus on yourself.”

You sniffled, nodding. “I love you.”

“And I love you. You do know that. And I’m proud of you,” he told you, kissing the back of your hand.

You scoffed, a tear rolling down your cheek. “Why would you be proud of me?”

“For stepping up for yourself,” he said simply. Grabbing your thumb, he gently guided your hand toward your face, wiping your tears away with your own digit. “You’re an inspiration to me, my love,” he told you sincerely.

You let out a small laugh at his words, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks, which Jin quickly used your own thumb to wipe away again. “I hope I can understand why someday.”

“You will,” he smiled warmly. “I know you will.”

Giving him a single nod, you leaned against his shoulder, Jin wrapping his arm around you as he looked to the open drawing pad. “Did Jungkook draw that?” He suddenly asked in confusion.

“I think Jungkook would be horribly insulted if you asked him that,” you giggled, Jin chuckling with you.

“No, you’re really good,” he told you, a bald-faced lie.

“See, that’s how I know you’re being sincere when you tell me you love me,” you smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Jin let out a squeaky laugh, leaning into you to kiss your temple. “I’m actually a great liar, I just can’t lie to you.” You hummed in response, nuzzling closer to his side. “Might want to rip that out though, Jungkook will be relentless with that one,” he teased you, you slapping his abdomen gently.

“You’re right though, get rid of the evidence,” you giggled, reaching for the drawing pad and ripping out the drawing. Before you could crumble it up, Jin stole it from your grasp, you staring at him in surprise.

“I’m gonna hang it on the fridge,” he smiled, you glaring at him. “People will think we have kids.”

“You’re the worst,” you laughed, Jin smiling proudly.

“I know, little one.”

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peakascum · 4 years ago

Text

The Room Where It Happens

Request for: @slither-in-a-half I know this is a bit different than what you asked for and it’s way different than what I originally intended to write, but I really do hope you enjoy it!

Two politicians stand on opposites sides of each other for a Charity event, something to do with children or painting the Parliment’s ceiling. Thomas Shelby sips a chilled Merlot as he eyes the posh MP’s that mingle alongside him, noses turned up and head in their ass. In front of him lurks another MP, a much snobbier one at that, whom galavants his wife like a bloody medal. You don’t mind, at least not publicly. Always playing the trophy wife, always sporting a smile, always curtsying a ‘What a lovely evening’. Thomas knows he’s playing a dangerous game as he eyes your cherry red lips gulp down yet another glass. It’s the urgency in which you consume the devil’s drink that always catches his attention. He knows how soft your hands are and how delicately you maneuver them from the countless times you've touched his.

The condition of being stuck in a loveless marriage would drive anyone mad. Add a little bit of brute force and a make-believe smile, and that would be enough to send cries for help. Which you had done so on several occasions, but no one took them seriously; instead, they deemed you as a bored housewife. You had heard the tales, everyone had, of the countless wives of esteemed families that suddenly had public outbursts which were deemed as hysterical. You were familiar with the stories, about Mrs. Dormer’s dull complexion and Mrs. Hastings’ scarred wrists, all whispers of misfortune were now your reality.

Tommy and your husband had never seen eye to eye on any particular topic. Both were stubborn men who belonged to different political parties and lived completely different realities. Your husband was born with a silver spoon in hand while Tommy built his kingdom out of wooden sticks and cut stones. But those eyes, those adoring blue eyes wrapped you in from the first time they met. It started with stolen glances and escalated to a passionate night shared in his office as you delivered some papers on behalf of your husband. He decided you had the loveliest broken smile he had ever seen. The most delicate laugh and the wittiest humor, one he would not mind hearing time and time again.

‘Did you listen to a word I said Mr. Shelby?’

‘I- I don’t believe I did, no.’ He remarked, clearing his throat.

She smirked. ‘I-I-I’ She mocked. ‘Stuttering is for children and tight-lipped fools. Are you a fool Mr. Shelby?’

You exhaled words of pleasure in each others ears. Bodies molding together like clay and fingertips eager to explore. Exhaustion came after and a simple kiss was placed upon his lover’s lips as if it were already a routine. Both clinging to the affection you so desperately craved.

Months of passion were spent in secrecy up until the moment your husband caught on, almost crushing your wind pipe and blinding you out of rage. Not because he loved you, oh no, but because he craved power and dominance. A poor little rich boy does not share. So when the venue and seating were arranged for the gala he made sure to have Thomas Shelby in front of him, to taunt you, to dangle his prized possession in his opponent's face. To give you a glimpse into the life you wanted, yet gripping your thigh beneath the table as if saying ‘Don’t you dare’.

The torrid affair you shared with the Shelby man had ended a few weeks prior with a handwritten letter, but your absence from such events told him what he couldn't decipher from your words.

‘Dear sir,

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I hope you understand my reason for ending this relationship. I love my husband, you see, and the idea of breaking this marriage is enough to make my heart weep. My whorish ways have brought misery to my house, but be not alarmed by this, for my husband is very generous and will gladly offer you a sum of money for your silence. You must excuse my behavior these past few months and, therefore, understand the severity of the situation.

Best wishes, Y/N.’

The letter sat in his pocket weighing heavily against the floor. He rejected the money, of course, but it didn't save his heart from breaking any further, and his mind from wandering to the atrocious acts your husband performed out of hatred. Thomas was a dangerous man, but your husband was worse, and his wrath would treble his political career, crease his business, and ruin his family. Polly had warned him many times about the dangers of thinking with his cock, but it was more than that. Arthur had payed for other whores to keep him company, but he could bed no other. It was the way you said his name in wonder whenever you saw each other after weeks apart. You were a wondrous creature shrouded in a mysterious, yet inviting, aura. One who sported a smile, such a sweet smile on those cherry red lips that made his own twitch and heart clench.

It was the way you grimaced as your husband squeezed your arm that made his feet have a life of their own. He marched confidently up to you both, eyeing him with brutality, but switching to you with softness. Your eyes widened pleadingly at him to stop, to stop at once, to turn around and save himself from trouble.

“Ah Mr. Shelby, what a pleasant surprise.” Your husband said, sporting a tight smile and a poised stance. Tommy nodded, “Mr. Crooke, Mr.s- Crooke”. Your eyes bore daggers into his. Your husband shook his hand firmly in a weak attempt to exhume further dominance, when, in truth, all of them knew who really owned the room.

“Excuse my wife’s appearance, say. She’s not been her best these past few weeks, isn't that right darling?” Your husband said as he ran the back of his index finger gently over your cheek. Your once shimmering eyes appeared lifeless under the yellowish glare of the chandelier- a shell of the woman you had been, the woman you should be. “Wonder why that is sir,” Tommy bit back. Your husband chuckled, “You’re a bold man Mr. Shelby.” The men stared down at each other down as men tend to do.

“So they say.” Tommy replied.

“You've caught my attention, Mr. Shelby,” your husband started, “and in a most ill-manner may I add.” Tommy quirked a brow and urged him to go on. “Mr. Shelby I do not think it is in anyone’s best interest for me to comment on my wife’s extra curricular, is it not?” Your posture remained stoic, eyes trained to the expensive champagne in your hand praying that somehow you could shrink ten sizes and bathe in it. Stretch your arms and do laps on the clear glasses that British aristocracy drank in sighs and content giggles. You had silly daydreams like these. Some not so silly. Ones drenched in crimson liquid as if you were a butcher at the end of your shift, only to look around and see your husband’s body displayed in all his fat glory.

You sucked in a breath and uttered, “Gentlemen you must excuse me, I need to use the powder room.” Your husbands hand stopped gripped your forearm as you made your exit, “Don’t be long dear.” He uttered menacingly.

You leaned up against the green wall that lead to a long corridor, away from prying eyes and the clink of heels against expensive tiles. Lungs heavy, hands trembling, and mouth parting like a fish out of water. You felt foolish. You had lived years below your husband’s scrutinizing thumb, surrounded by words of empty headed strangers on how lucky you were to have married such a bright and clever man. A man who rejoiced at the sight of her trembling figure and got off on her agonizing screams that left her feeling like a vegetable for days. A man who curiously spit false facts with such emotion that caught the ears of the rich and the weak. And then she met him. And then life ripped that away.

As if on cue, Tommy hurried towards her with that ever prominent scowl on his face, “Y/N, love-“

“No! No Tommy we cannot speak!” She pushed his hands away, further encouraging the scowl to become two tattooed lines in between his eyes. “Listen to me Y/N, stop fighting and fuckin’ listen ey?” He grabbed her trembling hands in his careful not to hurt her further. “What? What could possibly be so important to tell me right now that would make tonight’s punishment worth it?” You growled in contempt.

“In about three minutes I will go into a room with your husband to bargain your freedom.” He grabbed your plum face in his hands, urging for your eyes to meet, for a reassurance, a peace of mind, a promise.

“He won’t give me up Tommy, he won’t.” You noticed his eyes waiver in a way that only a heartbreak could cause. They were filled with urgency, a sense of dread, because how could you not trust him? How could you not see that everything he is and everything he does is for you?

“The greatest grief in my life will come if I leave you in the hands of that monster. All of this,” he said gesturing around him, “all of this is collateral, Y/N. I’ve accepted that risk of dying, I do it every day for stupid shit Y/N, for really stupid shit.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” You moaned, crying in despair. You shook your head as tears coated your frosted cheeks, unable to comprehend the thought of freedom and actual love.

The orchestra started playing in the dining hall soliciting the guest’s attention to a melodic grace. The violins struck their cords in an unruly manner, insisting on being heard. Your husband whistled as he came toward you both making you separate. “Mr. Shelby, I believe we have pressing matters to attend?” He said. In his shifty brown eyes lied an expression you could not read. And so both men entered the room with the big fireplace and oak chairs. The mahogany door closed with a thud that coincidentally resonated beautifully with the melodic sound of the band.

The doors opened just as quickly as they had closed. Or had the hours flown by? You couldn't tell. In the torturous time you had been left outside, a small crowd had gathered around you. Whispers of ‘mistress’ and ‘foes’ and ‘ruins’ had been said, but most just repeated the few phrases that could be heard from inside the room. The two politicians stepped out having reached a mutual decision. One having lost a sum of money that would leave him in financial ruin for the rest of his life. The other with promised assets that would change his family’s fortune and the value of his name.

Your eyes met the Shelby’s blue ones, a smirk adorning his features as he stared at you. His woman. “Now, what’s this I hear about you doubting me love?” He murmured. You shook your head in disbelief, a small smile itching to be seen as your eyes darted over to your husband. “I don’t- I don’t get it Tommy, what did you do?” You asked grasping the lapels of his evening suit. Your hands tugging and caressing them ceremoniously as anxious tears pooled in your eyes.

“Don’t concern yourself with business Y/N-“

“No! No, I will most certainly concern myself with business. Business that involves me. Business that has a means to freedom and life- a life Tommy, a-a life without fear.” She insisted, but he only smiled and kissed her lips gently, ignoring the ever growing fight that surrounded them. Your husband had drawn a gun in contempt, only to be tackled by Tommy’s men. He never was quick on his feet.

It happened months later in the middle of an uncertain spring, when his face popped in your mind again. You had seen him in the shadows and in every drunk that passed you in the street. You saw him beneath the knife of the butcher, when rain fell from parted skies, and in the ominous sound violins made when played. But worst of all, you had seen his face in Arthur Shelby’s as he screamed at you yet again for getting in his way. Most of the family had accepted your relationship, as they pitied your cold sweats and silent demeanor, but mostly because the deal didn't ruin the Shelby empire.

Once home, you stared aimlessly at the crackling fire, allowing the warmth to envelope you like a protective hug. Tommy made his way towards your figure and sat cross legged, whisky in hand. “Where’s your mind today, bird?” He whispered, tenderly stroking your pinned hair.

“Thinking about the night my husband sold me like cattle.” Tommy side eyed you, clearly tense about the topic. “Did he?” you pressed again, “no one’s ever told me anything about it. I know we technically won, b- but Arthur’s been up my arse again and I can’t, not for the life of me, continue to be a prisoner of utterly worthless and untrue remarks!” She grew agitated withe very word, but all were true, and he knew this. His hand continued rubbing circles in the back of her neck and chuckle, a small one, escaped his lips.

“Do you take me for a fool Tommy? Because I assure-“

“I don’t.” He cut her off. “You're no fool. I think you've proven that a few times now, right? You weren't a fool when you were with him and you're not one now.”

“Then what, Tommy? What could have possibly been said that guaranteed my freedom and his ruin?”

He sighed sensing her desperation, but he couldn't possibly tell her. In fact, he hadn't even told his family. Arthur’s distaste for Y/N was shrouded in mystery itself, more so a rendition of the protective older brother, a one man play. Any other man would have disclosed the information to a close confidant, but not Tommy- never Tommy. It is why under the fire’s glow and the tenderness of your flesh beneath his fingers, he promised himself yet again to never speak a word of it to anyone, not even you. It would remain an active memory buried in the inner, darkest corners of his mind. Each time he visited Mr. Crooke, in a most disclosed location, he would remember to discard the clothing used and have an alibi prepared. A pesky little thing he was, a washed up creature that would receive every punishment he gave; but no one should know, least of all her, because just like that night, no one else was in the room where it happened. No one knew the words that were spoken or how the deal was made.

Only assumptions were made. And with one last stroke of the cheek and a light kiss to the lips, Thomas Shelby and Y/N stood up in silent agreement and retired to their newly marital bed.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #peaky blinders tommy #Tommy Shelby x reader #peakascum #arthur shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby #John Shelby #finn shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #polly shelby

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teyvattherapist · 3 years ago

Note

Another one, set directly after the one where Sandrone finds Childe~ :)

Sandrone-- by a feat of miracle-- snuck Ajax into his Academy room and squirreled the boy away into the cramped bathroom while he snuck into the infirmary again to retrieve a first aid kit. When he returned, Ajax had stripped off his coat and scarf, leaving him in a shirt that was more holes than fabric and his bloodstained shorts. Wordlessly, Sandrone handed him an energy bar he'd swiped from the cafeteria and wetted a towel, rubbing away the dirt and grime that layered Ajax like a second skin. As the dirt washed away, the wounds were brought into stark relief. Hundreds of them, layered over each other and crisscrossing Ajax's skin like gaping mouths. Some were fully healed, nothing but thin, silvery lines. Others were an angry red and purple, bruised and swollen around the edges. All had clean cuts, suggesting an expert hand behind the blade. "Who did this?" Sandrone asked. He wasn't really expecting an honest answer, anyway. But Ajax was always one to surprise him. "The Abyss. I fell into a hole in the ground, and I was taken away to somewhere." "Was it scary?" Sandrone didn't look up from his ministrations, choosing to focus on the mangled mess that was Ajax's knees (how hard did he fall?) "It was," Ajax sighed dreamily. "But the things I saw down there... it spoke to me. The Abyss spoke to me, Sulien. It told me things that scared the everloving hell out of me, but I'm grateful to them." "Why?" Sandrone finally looked up. There were a hundred questions packed into that one word. Why are you still alright? Why are you thanking the Abyss? Why do you sound so different?

And from the bloodied fragments of Ajax's face, the eye of the Abyss stared back at him, milky and purple. Ajax smiled, a pristine tear in the mangled visage of a beast rebuilt from the ground up. "So I can protect you."

IM SCREAMING, ALMOND, THIS IS

KJFDSKJDFS??

SULIEN BEING A SNEAKY LIL SHIT IS SO TRUE, THAT'S JUST HOW HE WAS-

BUT THE SO I CAN PROTECT YOU?? SO I CAN PROTECT YOU!! OH MY GOSDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. THE ?? JFDDF YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!! I KNOW YOU DON'T KNOW THE LOFE, BUT THAT FITS SO WELL IM SCREAMING

as promised. Part two of Desiderium under the cut.

Another nightmare, another sleepless night. This nightmare was real though, it wasn’t like his usual ones, the ones where he was bound by chains and forced to- No, he didn’t want to think about those. His mind wandered to the latest one. He had given thought to Zhongli’s words, he was longing for somebody. But who? The God had never brought it up again, so he didn’t know. It had to be Lumine right? She was pretty, sure. Strong, good with a sword, her eyes were a nice shade of gold. But something still felt off.

He needed to take a walk.. He stopped when he reached the living room, blinking at.. Lumine? Asleep on his couch? The blonde stirred and pushed herself up some, blanket falling around her shoulders. “Sandrone? Ah- your mask- I- Sorry.” She averted her eyes and Sulien realised he wasn’t wearing his mask. This was his house! Of course he wasn’t wearing his mask. He cleared his throat.

“I thought I heard voices.” Ajax commented from the hallway, hair messier than ever from sleep. “I hope it's alright I invited Lumine to stay with us while she’s in Liyue Harbour. It's closer than the inn.” Ajax explained, seeing the panicked body language only he could understand on his fellow harbinger made him feel bad that he forgot to bring it up. Paimon snored away on the armchair, clearly unbothered by it all.

Without his mask, without his gloves, his scars and face on display. He felt uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m going for a walk.” Sulien pivoted and made a beeline for the entrance. Lumine rubbed her sleep riddled eyes, a small yawn escaping her as she looked up at Ajax who was busy staring at the archway into the entrance.

The door slammed shut.

“I’ve only known him for a month or so but,” she yawned, “I take it this is abnormal?” She sat up properly, tightening the blanket around her though. Liyue evenings could get quite cold. Ajax nodded his head in response to her question. Abnormal indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such an influx of emotion. Perhaps when they were kids? That was probably it.

Sulien breathed in the fresh air, late at night, he didn’t need his mask, he didn’t need to be his rank. He could just be another nameless person in the streets, he preferred it this way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked down the streets. Very few people were out and about so late at night, but he enjoyed watching them. A ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched lovers enjoying a late night getaway or a tired sailor returning home late.

But despite his usual late night activity that often cleared his mind, his mind began to fog once more. Trailing back to his dream, it wasn’t even that bad, especially compared to the usual ones. But being abandoned in a dream, he supposed, tied into the feelings he had been having recently. The stabbing pain in his poor heart, the squeezing of his lungs, stripping his body of blood and air.

There was no way it was about Lumine though. He didn’t feel anything when he looked at her except the pain, there was nothing underneath. He sighed, finding himself at the docks. He looked out on the dark water, lilac eyes searching the depths for answers. He furrowed his brows, all he could think of when he looked at the water, all he was reminded of.. Just one thing.

Ajax.

Sulien shook his head, no, he shouldn’t think of Ajax of all people. He couldn’t, that wasn’t allowed as far as he was aware. Well no relationship was allowed in general, he was their puppet after all, he couldn’t have any strings except to Her. But still.. This seemed somehow worse. His heart lurched at the thought and he hissed in pain, bringing his hand up to his chest, scarred fingers digging into the black fabric of his shirt.

All the books he had read, all the research he did. None of it had any answers for this. And he wondered why he felt wrong. Sulien sighed, sitting on the edge of the docks, legs dangling above the water. Ajax seemed happy with Lumine either way, right? They were much cuter together. Sulien never really belonged anyways, an outsider looking in on everybody else. He sighed, leaning back on his arms.

There were footsteps on the dock behind him and he tensed his body, ice already forming in his fingers. Then the familiar scent of cologne hit him and he watched as Ajax sat down on the docks beside him, wrapped up in Sulien’s coat of all things. Sulien’s heart hurt and he looked out at the water, it was becoming so frequent that it was more of a dull ache. Ajax deserved better than him, better than some man who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Talk to me.” Ajax whispered, dull eyes trained on the ocean. “You’re hurting and I want to be there this time.. I wasn’t.. I wasn’t last time.” The man hesitated, pulling one knee up and rested his arm against it. Sulien wished nothing more than for the waves to take him away, drown him until there was nothing left. He could not tell the man beside him how he felt, it was wrong. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m just sick, I’ll be fine.” Sulien manipulated his voice so he sounded more hoarse, as if to hammer in the point that it was nothing more than some freak illness. “We have field work tomorrow, you should go back home and sleep. I’ll walk you back.” Sulien stood and Ajax slowly followed him. But before Sulien could head off the docks, Ajax grabbed his elbow, stopping him.

“Please talk to me when you feel ready.” Sulien merely smiled, one of the ones that Ajax knew was fake and full of lies. But the ginger accepted it in the moment.

Sulien sighed as he summoned his claymore, flipping the massive weapon in one hand. The conversation from the day before played in his head, over and over. But he had work to do now. Why did Ajax care? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t there last time? Sulien swung his weapon, the frostbitten blade slicing clean through the arm of the Ruin Guard. He didn’t expect to be smacked by the automaton’s other arm, he barely protected himself with a wall of ice.

“Sandrone, pay attention!” Ajax called, utterly confused on why his colleague was so lost in thought. Ajax ripped apart his bow, the hydro blades forming as he slashed at the ruin guard. It was a simple side mission, really. Destroy the ruin guard near the skirmisher camp. Easy peasy between the two of them. Hell even alone, just one of them probably could have done it. But it was rare they both were allowed into the field together.

Sulien froze the ruin guard and Ajax’s daggers turned back into his bow, he nocked an arrow and drew his string back. Right through the core, bullseye. “Alright that’s that!” Ajax’s bow dematerialised as the automaton fell. There was a whirring nearby and Sulien narrowed his eyes, Ajax didn’t seem to hear it. But he did.

A wall of ice protected Ajax from the incoming missiles of another automaton. Sulien barely dodged the drill of a ruin hunter. Why were there so many all of a sudden? Ajax easily flipped out of the way of the hit of the ruin guard that had attacked him, sliding back to where he had been when fighting the first one. His bow appeared in his hand and he got into position again. “Tartaglia! How many did the Skirmishers report?” Sulien questioned as blocked an attack with his claymore.

His arms shook as the hunter tried to keep cutting downwards with its long sword-like attachment. He had to yield, ducking underneath it. Ajax bent down on his perch, pointing his bow upwards he released multiple hydro arrows into the air. “They only reported one ruin guard! There was no mention of multiples, let alone a hunter.” Ajax called back as another hydro arrow appeared between his fingers.

Now underneath it the ruin hunter decided this was the time to use lasers. Sulien barely constructed the dome around himself in time, manipulating the frost in the air and creating a solid ice dome. A fourth automaton had Ajax seething, how in the hell did their subordinates miss this? When the one he had been fighting slammed its hand onto Ajax’s perch he used its arm as a bridge, bow turning into a polearm.

The ice around Sulien melted but before he could react a second ruin hunter was slamming into him, sending him flying backwards. “Sulien! Careful!” Ajax called, stabbing his polearm into the core of the ruin guard. Sulien got back up, dodging out of the way of one of the hunters. He ran for his claymore, weaving between various attacks as quickly as he could while Ajax struggled with the ruin guard.

Sulien picked his claymore back up and adjusted his grip on the weapon, he slashed at the legs of the ruin guard Ajax was battling, sending the automaton to the ground, the whirring of its body stopping. Two ruin hunters left- Sulien turned around and was faced with three. What in the world- “Something is summoning them here, Tartaglia. This is abnormal.” Sulien adjusted his grip on his blade, peering through the new crack in his mask. He’d have to fix it again.

A bright light beside him blinded him and Sulien hissed as he turned away from Ajax. He didn’t really have time to focus on the transformation as he shielded the both of them from the incoming missiles. A wall of ice reinforced with vines splintered and exploded, the shards turning into snowflakes as they fell from it. At least the wall had lasted against the missiles.

While Sulien thoroughly distracted one of the ruin hunters, Ajax focused on the other two, he brought his hand down, summoning multiple thunderbolts onto one of the ruin hunters, causing it to collapse to the ground, stunned from the electricity. His bow turned into a water spear as he dashed forward, the water from his weapon spraying the automaton, thoroughly frying it. Sulien’s claymore became encased in ice once more, and the ruin hunter he had to deal with was down for the count.

Ajax turned his attention to the last ruin hunter, turning in time to watch the missiles coming at him. He used his ability to blink, reappearing closer toSulien who was looking worse for wear quite frankly. Ajax lunged forward once more, a wheel of electrified water surrounding the ruin hunter, tightening on it. Sulien stepped forward, releasing a blast of ice that froze the machine, causing it to fall from its awkward frozen position, shattering upon contact on the ground. Ajax was beaming, still in his Abyss form but he let himself actually touch the ground rather than float and he turned towards Sulien.

Sulien's claymore dug into the stone and he used it to keep himself up. Ajax closed the distance between them, his weapon floating beside him. Sulien collapsed onto his knees, the large weapon giving out underneath his weight and clattering to the stone floor of the ruin. Funny.. This didn't hurt as much as the heart problems had been hurting.. Life was funny that way. "Hey, hey what happened?" Ajax shifted back, he was exhausted from the fight and using foul legacy. His eyes trailed down to where Sulien's hand was pressed against his side. Ajax gripped the man's hand, pulling it back. The dark green of his palm stained even darker.

"The ruin hunter hit me." Sulien's head hung low, the mask he wore finally giving out, falling to the stone floor, the crack that had started to form fully breaking through the fragile mask. Ajax wished that Sulien didn't look so void, maybe it could help him assess the extent of the wound. Ajax helped Sulien out of the coat he wore, discarding the heavy material onto the ground. The touch was electrifying to Sulien, whose heart only clenched more. So many things unsaid.. But even now, he figured, he didn't deserve the right to say them.

Ajax pulled the man's shirt up, inspecting the wound. It was bad. Really bad. Sulien didn't even flinch when the man used his hydro vision to try and get rid of some of the blood to see better. "I never wanted this." Sulien mumbled as he stared up at the sky. Yes that much was true, Sulien never wanted to be on the battlefield. He was not a warrior. At one time he wanted to be a scholar, he wanted to teach. All of that ripped away with his memories. This was the end Ajax wanted, surrounded by bodies on the battlefield. Ajax ripped the banner he wore, pressing the fabric against the wound.

"Sulien, keep your eyes open, okay? I'll get you help." Would he be strong enough to carry Sulien and his weapon all the way back to Liyue Harbour? Sulien laughed, it was bitter though and it made Ajax's heart hurt. They both had so many things left unsaid. Ajax grunted as he lifted Sulien, the man hadn't listened. Though, when did he ever listen, Ajax mused. The harbinger had to use foul legacy again, there was no way he'd be able to get from the ruins all the way back to the harbour. The warm blood on his hands made the decision for him.

The stares he got as he moved through Liyue Harbour meant nothing to him, he kept Sulien's coat over the man in question, shielding his face and wound from the general public. The claymore in his free hand as he quickly moved through the streets. There were so many things Ajax hadn't said, so many things he felt, so many things he wanted to do. He gripped the man in his arm tighter.

Ajax kicked the door open, much to the surprise of Zhongli and his guests who watched as the large abyssal creature ducked to get through the doorway. Ajax dropped the claymore in the entrance way, letting the weapon clatter to the ground. He then shifted back, all but falling to his knees, Sulien’s still body rolling from his arms. Ajax slammed his hand into the ground as he tried to push himself back up.

“Help, help him please.” But he found himself unable to get up, breathing too unsteady, his own wounds catching up with him as the adrenalin was all but gone. Zhongli dropped his teacup, moving quickly he picked up Sulien, bringing him further into the house. At least Ajax could rest now, leaning his head against the hallway wall.

“Lumine, go get Baizhu please. Paimon, could you bring me the medical kit from the kitchen?” Zhongli lowered Sulien down onto the couch, pulling the fabric away from the wound the God grimaced. Lumine nodded, stepping over Ajax to get out the door as fast as she could. Paimon also listened, despite her small frame she managed to drag the medical kit into the living room. Zhongli peeled his gloves off and rolled up his sleeves as he tried to stop the flow of blood now staining his furniture.

“He should recover if he doesn’t get an infection. But do you think it is wise to treat Fatui? One less Harbinger may be-”

“I appreciate your concern, but Sandrone is a good friend no matter his occupation. He can’t help his work. Thank you for coming. Have a good night Baizhu.” Zhongli shut the door soon after and then returned to the living room. Sulien was asleep on the couch, a thin blanket covering his lower half while his torso was wrapped in multiple bandages. Ajax, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, holding Sulien’s hand, head resting against the couch.

“They look kinda cute.” Paimon’s whisper was absolutely not a whisper, but at least she tried as she floated between Zhongli and Lumine, a smile on her face despite the fact it was two harbingers in front of her. She couldn’t know, there was no way for her to know what the two men in front of her have been through. Both alone and together. The scars could give her a hint. But that was it, and she was too naive to get it. And so to her, they were just bloodsoaked warriors who fought in the name of something she did not understand.

To Zhongli though, he’d seen this story play out thousands of times throughout history, and all he could muster was a frown, especially as his eyes traced the scars on Sulien's bare chest. As he retraced their previous conversations, he had first thought maybe it was Lumine. But as he watched the way Ajax nearly killed himself for the man. Zhongli sighed softly. What a tragic position to be in indeed.

“I’ll bring him home. Thank you for helping.” Ajax stood slowly, wincing at the pain he felt. He was in a bad state himself. Lumine held out the tattered coat, the black and navy fabric stained in hidden crimson. Ajax took it, wrapping it around Sulien before hoisting him up with a grunt. Sulien stirred in his arms but remained asleep. “I’ll pick up his claymore tomorrow.” Ajax couldn’t carry the weapon right now.

“Be safe.”

Sulien blinked at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was light outside, but the room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. His side hurt like hell, the events of what happened melding into his fragmented memory though, and he couldn’t quite recall at the moment. He felt weight shift in the bed beside him and he tensed immediately. There were very few he’d ever let close enough to him who-

“I know you’re sleeping but..” Ajax started with a soft sigh and Sulien promptly squeezed his eyes shut and evened out his breathing as if he were sleeping. “I think I know why you’ve been sick lately.. It’s the same reason why I’m sick.” Sulien wanted to furrow his brow as he quickly grew confused but opted to continue pretending he was asleep.

“I thought spending time with Lumine would take my mind off of you but it didn’t.” So he had been doing it on purpose. “Lumine is nice and all. But she’s not you.” Sulien could feel Ajax’s warm hand against his cold one, his long slender fingers playing with the scarred skin of Sulien’s hand. “I just don’t want to ruin the friendship we have if you don’t feel the same. So I tell you when you’re asleep like a coward.” Ajax sighed to himself. “This is so pathetic of me.” He mumbled.

“And then it’s my fault you’re hurt, they were my subordinates and my mission.” Ajax’s voice cracked and he didn’t even try to hide it. Though, Sulien supposed when you’re talking to somebody who is asleep, there’s nothing to hide. “All I do is fail you, what kind of friend am I? If I can’t even be a good friend, how am I supposed to be a good enough lover to tell you how I feel?” Ajax intertwined their fingers, but his touch was so hesitant. His hand was so warm, too.

“You say it all the time.. We’re just pawns in all of this.. This is one choice I have control over in this mess and yet I can’t even make it. You deserve so much more.” Ajax pulled his hand away and Sulien missed the comforting warmth. “You deserve somebody who can help heal those wounds, not.. A bloodthirsty monster like me. Whew, okay.. That helped. Good job Ajax.” Ajax mumbled to himself, a soft sigh of relief now that the weight was off of his chest.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Ajax sat up, dull eyes wide as he looked down at Sulien whose eyes were still closed. “I don’t really know how love is supposed to feel. But I think I feel it.” The man sighed, he didn’t know very much it would seem. “Could I have your hand back? I like how warm you are.” Sulien finally opened his eyes to Ajax staring at him, a range of emotions on the ginger’s face. Huh.. Had he always had that many freckles on his face? Cute.

“How much did you hear?!”

“All of it.” Ajax inhaled sharply, panic setting in. Sulien reached out, grabbing Ajax’s hand, warm. “You deserve somebody who understands the things they are feeling. And I’m not that. But I can try to learn..” Sulien cleared his throat, it hurt to speak but he couldn’t really remember the last time he had. He must have been hit pretty hard. “Te-” he hesitated, looking away from Ajax’s shocked expression and out the window. “Teach me.”

Ajax settled back down on the bed, intertwining their fingers once more. “Okay.. I’ll teach you.”

#moots #asks #Almond<3 #Tandrone #Lane's ocs #Sulien Ambros #Sandrone #p1 of Desiderium is on my main btw #this is p2

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kirnet · 4 years ago

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32 for benny/raiden!

32. things you said right after hello, taken from this prompt list here

1.8k words

Benita’s nailless fingers burned as she dug them into the guard’s cheeks, but she was well practiced at ignoring the pain. It might have been more threatening if they hadn’t been ripped off one by one by the torturer a few minutes before; she could have clawed, drawn some blood to mix with the guard’s pitiful tears and mucus. But ultimately it didn’t matter. Her torturer lay dead on the floor of her cell, and if his sniveling was any indication, this guard knew exactly what she was capable of.

“P-Please,” he sniffled, bringing a hand up to grab Benita’s wrist. “I just work here! I have a -”

“The storage room,” she interrupted, her voice hoarse from all the screaming, barely audible over the blaring alarm. The guard whimpered as she pushed against his face. “Where is it?”

“And you’ll let me go?”

She didn’t deign to answer him, instead letting the light build behind her eyes. “I will not ask again.”

Moments later Benita had her answer and the guard’s body lay spasming on the floor, the electric charge she had forced through his skin still making its way through his muscles. She dropped to her knees and rifled his service belt, passing over his firearm with disgust in favor of a pocket knife. It was much smaller than the spear that had been forged to fit perfectly in her hand, but she would make it work.

Pushing down the pang of sadness at the thought of her sacred weapon, she started down the corridor, her bare footsteps muted by the alarm. Anti-Themi reinforcements would be arriving soon, with Benita their top priority. If she wanted to leave this station alive, she would need what remained of her armor. With any luck, the prison break would engulf the whole station and her fellow escapees would be willing to give her a ride out of here.

And if not, she could make them.

Despite the urgency, she slowed as she passed her neighbor, Cell 46. It was open and empty. Odd. Hers had been the only other cell opened on this block, though most of the cells here were empty. This was the maximum security ward. The “Gallows,” as the guards had called it when they dragged her sedated body to the cell, was reserved for either the most dangerous inmates or the ones with the most information to be tortured out of them. Benita had the misfortune of belonging to both groups. Who escaped here?

She shook the thought away. Storage room. Armor. Spear. Escape. That was all that mattered.

The guard had spoken true, and soon Benita found herself at the down the hall from the storage room. The journey had been easier than expected. More and more detainment blocks opened as she moved, overwhelming any resistance she would face. The sedatives they kept her constantly pumped full of dulled her senses, but adrenaline and pure rage had given her enough power to dispatch any guard that had crossed her path. The knife has been abandoned, imbedded in an enemy’s chest. She had no more need for it. Not with her spear within reach.

“I need the-”

“Could you hold on a fucking minute?”

Benita paused outside the ajar door. Guards? Or other prisoners?

“My father will hear about this.”

“Not if we’re all dead. But please, keep screaming and alerting any guards who weren’t already aware of us.” A new voice. So not guards.

Remembering her hunting training, Benita silently inched the door open. The storage room was filled with stacks of crates, most of them carefully organized and arranged in aisles. The exception was in the middle of the room, where four people riffled through individual crates that had been brought down from the taller stacks. Two of them, a pale redhead woman and a dark haired Asian man, were dressed in ill-fitting guard uniforms. The other two, a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a lab coat and a tan man in the same prison jumpsuit that Benita wore, were quietly arguing as they searched. Recognition tingled at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t quite place where she knew the other prisoner from.

The redhead gasped and pulled something from the crate, the excitement on her face falling as she held it up. “It’s a… cylinder?”

The light surged behind her eyes again, matching Benita’s rage. A cylinder? It might appear as such to the ignorant, but that weapon had been created by the finest Justiciar craftsmen for- Benny relaxed her fist. This should not matter to her anymore. She had forfeited all claims to any Themi glory. Still, she wanted the spear back.

Dropping low, she stalked forward behind the redhead, the others too invested in their own tasks to notice. Rising, Benita wrapped her arm around the redhead’s throat, her arm just short of crushing her windpipe. Her victim gasped and dropped the collapsed spear, which Benita snatched from the air with her free hand. Sucking in a breath of her own, she tucked the spear under her arm and pressed her palm against the woman’s head. Her companions seemed not to have noticed, their noses still in their respective crates. “If you comply, I will not harm you,” she whispered in the captive’s ear. She could feel her heart hammering through her throat.

The man in front of them, still seemingly unaware of her presence, gasped and tore something from the crate. “Holy shit,” he muttered as he held it aloft. Benita’s grip tightened on the woman’s neck. In his hands was a light breastplate scarred by both blaster bolt and spearpoint. To Benita’s relief, the small orange nodes on the shoulder straps seemed to be intact.

Ignoring the sudden heaviness of her body, Benita cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

The dark haired man jumped, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. He turned smoothly on his heel, a hand inching towards his sidearm. “Well,” he looked her up and down, an audacious smirk forming on his lips. “Hello, there”

“If you want your friend to live,” Benita rasped. “Put that down, along with your rifle.” She shot a glance at the other woman. “And anything that you have.”

“You’re not seriously going to-” the woman in the lab coat silenced as the man gently set the mangled breastplate down, then removed his rifle sling and side arm. His smile remained, though Benita noticed that his hands trembled as he brought them up from the weapons. Good. So he knows what I am.

“It’s alright, Doc.” The man leaned back on the crate as the doctor dropped her weapon, his hands still in the air. “It’s ok, Esther. She won’t hurt you.”

“You sure about that, Raiden?” the redhead - Esther- croaked feebly against Benita’s arm.

Raiden raised his hand to silence whatever outburst the other prisoner was about to make. “Oh, sure. If she wants off this station, why would she kill our star pilot?” His smirk grew wider.

Benita scowled. She released Esther, who fell to the floor gasping. The doctor rushed forward, dropping to the ground and gently checking her throat. Benita ignored them, pushing past Raiden and snatching up the breastplate. She had to force herself put it on slowly. “You are responsible for the prison break?”

“Yeah. Thanks for being such a great distraction. They’re scrambling to find you.” Despite Raiden’s relaxed pose, Benita could feel the tension radiating off him. He unclenched his jaw. “So where’s the rest of the armor?”

She slipped the breastplate over her head. Despite the added weight on her shoulders, she felt lighter than she had in...weeks? Months? When had she first been captured? She shook her head. That wasn’t important right now. What was important was how much this man knew of her. Few uninitiated could distinguish the truth of the Themi from their bloated mythology. Fewer still could identify one on sight. “Whatever you think you know of the Themi-”

“I know enough to strike a deal.” He turned to her fully now, sparing a glance at Esther as she got off the floor. “I need to be somewhere else. These guys need to get to the ship safely, and I can’t be there to protect them.” His companion’s protested, the other prisoner the loudest, but Raiden just leaned in closer. “We have a ship in the hangar and one hell of a pilot. Get these two and our cargo,” he nodded towards the prisoner, “through any guards or prisoners and we’ll drop you off on some backwater colony. You can start over.”

Tempting, but...“And stoop to your level?” Benita palmed the spear, grateful for its comforting weight. “Why should I help you escape with him?” She closed in on the prisoner, the “46″ visible on his chest as he backed away from her. Ah yes, I remember now. “Don Lepora’s son, no? I am certain the Themi have a warrant out for your execution.” She tapped him on the chest with the collapsed spear, tilting her head as he whimpered. “I could do it right now,” she growled.

“And I’m sure you would if you were still a Themi, right?” Raiden slung his rifle strap back over his torso, ignoring Benita’s glower. “Oh, come on. No armor and you’re in prison? You’re just as bad as the rest of us.” His scruffy face suddenly changed, smile dropping. He pulled the glove off of one hand and extended it towards her. “You could put that behind you. Or at least escape the torture.”

The Themi code was quite clear about how to proceed. She should kill Raiden, then Lepora, then the other two women, then everyone on the damned prison station. There would be no redemption, no exceptions, just pure justice. But Raiden was right: despite the code’s persistent hold on her, she was no longer a Themi. She had spat on their code and spurned their traditions. Now she was nothing but a common thug, naked without her power armor. Perhaps this was her divine punishment.

She took his hand, her bloody fingers staining his own as she squeezed. “I will escort them.” Raiden had the audacity to wink.

She would hold up her end of the bargain, that much was only honorable. And she would go as far as that ship would take her from this accursed station. But one thing was clear to Benita as she unsheathed the spear from its collapsed state: this man was her enemy.

#i could keep adding to this but for everyones sake i will stop #i hope this like makes sense lmao?? im bad at language i was just gonna drop some sketches in where i couldnt describe things lmao #ignore any typos this is not proofread #hmm not sure i nailed bennys catholic guilt well enough #and yes she doesnt use contractions. bc shes insufferable <3 #ideally you would have the context of halin erin and raidens pov before this but uhhh that would just be an entire comic chapter #also is this a minific? like its shorter than a book thats how that works right???#basically like no one knows the truth abt the themi so the fact that raiden knows that she wont lie and knows abt her code and armor is #highly suspect #actium #raiden mare #benita #my writing #baodurs #ask #ok to rb if u want :3c spread the good word of actium #benny/raiden

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wittykitty21 · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Together

//Shanexfarmer HarveyxFarmer Sebastianxfarmer??

TW !! Talk of self harm, suicide, drinking, abuse!!

Chapter One - Escape to the Past

As I got off the bus to my new home, the fresh mountain air filled my lungs. It smelled sweet like wisteria and honeysuckle. Everything was so green here, mossy, grassy, leafy, flowery. I missed it so much. Lewis and a ginger haired woman were waiting for me smiling brightly. I almost broke into tears seeing a familiar face. They both welcomed me with a warm hug, and Lewis introduced me to the woman. Her name is Robin, and she’s the town carpenter.

“I’m so happy you chose to take over Destriu Farm. You’ll love it here in Pelican town, everyone here is friendly. Your grandpa would be so proud of you-”, Lewis stopped when he looked into my eyes.

“Oh my. You have his eyes. You look so much like him, -- I mean! You don’t look like a man! I just see the family resemblance stronger in you than your mother.”

I I did, I had the same dark brown tousled hair as grandpa, along with the same exact reddish brown eyes with golden rings around the irises. And the biggest tip off that I was his granddaughter, one of my eyes was lighter than the other with a hint of green in the lighter colored iris.

“It’s okay Lewis, I get it, you think I’m manly” I chuckled.

“What? No!” he exclaimed, not catching onto my sarcasm.

“I’m just kidding around, I know. I’m a walking mini female version of my grandfather.” I smiled gently. Robin was chuckling at my satire.

“It’s nice to know the old farm will be carried on instead of being turned into Joja Corp land.” she said as she helped with one of the suitcases.

“Man, I hate Joja Coperation. I worked for them for 3 years. “ I grimaced at the thought of the long hours, passed promotions I deserved, and workplace animosity.

Lewis and Robin both looked at me in surprise.

“You did? What did you do?” Robin asked quizzically.

I nodded, “I was a regional department head for Zuzu City. Lots of money, no ethics, no personal time and shit people.”

“I can imagine that and worse from that place. We have a Joja Mart trying to take over land here, hopefully with the farm back up, the local economy will boost and Joja will leave.” Lewis said as he hauled one of my suitcases down the path.

The trio of us walked down to my grandfathers old farmhouse, errr, well, my farmhouse now. A sense of nostalgia and comfort overwhelmed me as we neared the log house. The land was overgrown and wild, but still recognizable. The old log farmhouse still made out of spruce wood, and while it was definitely a fixer-upper it wasn’t unsalvageable. Robin and Lewis offered to help fix up the house a little bit, help with minor repairs until I was settled. I thanked them and told them I’d pay them back with some of my grandfathers famous apple preserves.

“You should come down to the Saloon tonight and introduce yourself to some of the town, they’ve all been waiting to meet the new farmer and Thomas’ granddaughter. I think you’ll recognize some familiar faces. Sam and you used to play together as children, he’s still here. So is Emily, and Haley. Oh! Marnie will be so happy to see you.” Lewis rattled on excitedly.

I stopped him, “Marnie?? She’s still here? Oh my god, I’ve missed her cooking so much. She was like an aunt to me when I was little. She always made my birthday cakes and they were the bomb. Didn’t she have a son or something?”

Robin and Lewis looked at eachother, “No she’s never had a son, she used to let her nephew visit her farm a lot though. He’s here too, I’m sure he’ll be at the Saloon.” The tone in Lewis’ voice changed to something of contempt, but I thought nothing much of it.

“Really? I can’t remember his name because of some memory loss..... but i remember we were almost inseparable.” I said.

“Memory loss?” Lewis asked.

“Uh, yeah, a lot happened. I’m not one to want to really talk about it. Just excuse me if I’m a little air headed. “ I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bruise I covered with makeup earlier.

Robin nodded with an understanding that was deep, she noticed. She saw my bruise, but just didn’t say anything about it. “If you ever get bored or lonely,” She said, “you’re always welcome to my home. I have a son about the same age as you, and a daughter who’s probably a few years younger. I think you and Sebby would get along super well. Seems you two have the same style.”

“I’m sure we will. Say, Lewis? Is there a doctor’s office in town? I should probably get set up with everything to do with that.” I asked.

“Ah yes, Dr.Harvey Smith is one of the best doctors. He’s right next to Pierres as soon as you walk into town. Can’t miss it, big blue cross above the door. Well, we’ll leave you to get settled. Will we be seeing you at the Saloon tonight?” He smiled.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I just have to get a nap and a shower in. And make myself look decent haha.” I noted my ragged appearance, I had on plain black leggings, and a large band shirt with a black jacket on.

“We’ll see you then!” and off they went.

I sighed as I entered the house and plopped down on the old green, white and plaid couch. I stared at the ceiling fan for what seemed like forever before dozing off. I woke up a few hours later around 5 pm. I hopped in the shower and then picked out an outfit. I wanted to cover my wrists where my injuries were. I didn’t want my first impression to everyone to be a weak and mentally ill cutter. I put on a light long sleeve grey shirt then a large black guns n roses shirt over it. I paired it with a pair of ripped black shorts. I put on a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to cover the bruise on my eye, and used purple eyeshadow under both my eyes to make it appear as if it was on purpose.

After I was satisfied with how I appeared, I braced myself to meet the town.

-------

Okay guys, like and reblog if you want me to continue writing more to this story. I’m going to try to put a part two up this morning. This is my first time writing a fanfiction so bear with me! <3

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