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dodo-begone · 4 years ago

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Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

#tw: yandere #c: phil #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #philza x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere #yandere philza #yandere dream smp #dsmp shipping #tw: swearing #yandere x reader #yandere philza x reader #c: quackity #tw: depression #tw: mental health

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heyitmelexie · 4 years ago

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Falling In Love

Din Djarin x riduur!F!Reader

Word count: 3444 Warnings: mention of wounds and blood Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 9 of the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos! ❤️

This was also my first time ever writing for Din!

I know it’s late but I’m currently pretty occupied with uni etc. Hope you enjoy anyway!! ❤️

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The sweet smell of Bantha-butter pancakes tickles your nose and pulls you from your peaceful slumber.

As you open your eyes you see soft beams of sunshine creep through the window, illuminating your exposed legs and bathing them in warmth.

You smile and stretch, hearing the sizzling noise of the pancakes coming from the kitchen, accompanied by soft talking, gentle coos and occasionally one or the other clank.

The door is slightly ajar, but you can still see the domestic scene playing in the other room.

Din, in only his pants and with his hair still mussed, stands with his broad back turned to you. He’s making breakfast while quietly talking to your little green son, who sits on the counter right next to him. You see his ears occasionally perk up, followed by coos and little giggles, making you smile.

“Look, now you flip it. Just like this” you hear Din say, before (you assume) he tries to flip it with the pan. You expect to hear the loud sizzling again, indicating that the uncooked side of the pancake landed safely back in the pan. Instead, you hear a dull splash, like a wet fish falling onto tiles, followed by strings of curses coming from Din and a loud, hearty laugh from that little womp rat.

You laugh softly at that, getting out of bed to make your way into the kitchen.

Upon hearing your laugh coming from behind him, Din turns and looks at you, a sheepish smile playing on his flustered face.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, cyare” he says before quickly cleaning up the mess he made.

“Not really. I woke up from the smell of my favourite breakfast” you hum, before kissing your son’s wrinkly little head. He coos happily and then stretches out his arms to make grabby hands at you. You chuckle softly and then proceed to pick him up. He immediately snuggles against you, one of his little claws clutching onto your shirt.

Din smiles, before gently kissing your lips and then continuing to make the breakfast.

You take the time to go outside into your little garden with the child in your arms.

The sun immediately engulfs you in its warm light and you lay down in the soft grass between the flower beds. The little one moves to get comfortable on top of you, snuggling into your chest and cooing contently.

You smile at him and gently caress his big ears.

Din and you had built this little hut on Naboo together just about a year ago, finally deciding to partially settle down and have a somewhat quiet life. He would occasionally still go on a few hunts to get some credits for the three of you while you would stay home with the child. He would always make sure to not stay away for too long. Din had gotten really used to this simple life with you.

As you now lay there in the grass, admiring yours and Din’s handiwork, you think back to how you two met.

And what had made you realize that you had deeply fallen for this beskar-clad warrior (and honestly sometimes tin can dumb bitch of a man).

You grew up in a very small village that was hidden in the lush forests of Naboo. People there were kind and caring, always helping each other and even going so far as helping out strangers that desperately needed the help.

And that’s what had led to meeting him.

You were some sort of healer for the people of your village. Mixing concoctions, ointments, bacta gels, etc. Taking care of wounded and ill people. They trusted you with their lives and that had filled you with a great sense of pride.

One day, while you were collecting herbs in your little garden, you could hear a loud commotion coming from the marketplace. The noise steadily grew louder until five people stormed in, carrying a person covered head to toe in fabrics and metal, that was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in their lower abdomen. A pool of blood was very quickly forming on the floor and then on the bed once they put the person on it.

You dropped everything you held and rushed inside, immediately starting to cut off the fabric from around the wound to get better access to it, not even thinking about removing the armour and pants. You knew what that would mean.

You had heard about Mandalorians before. Strangers come and go; they spend most of their time at the small cantina. Many of them weren’t very social and would mostly just ignore the questions they were asked. But others, they would talk and then wouldn’t stop, much to the delight of the folks here.

That’s how one day you met a woman called Rook Cava.

She was unlike any other person you had ever met before. Just like this wounded person, she was covered in fabrics and metal armour, from head to toe. The specially shaped breast plate was the only certain physical indication for you that assured you she was a woman. The armour had been painted a very deep purple, the paint was already chipping away here and there. On the helmet, around the visor, there were golden, intricate symbols. She was mysterious and, even though you had no idea what she looked like, you thought she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She emitted such strength and power. The armour made her look bulky, but the fabric underneath laid snug against her skin and you saw her biceps. She wasn’t bulky, no, she was strong and muscular. You had never seen a woman like her before. She rendered you speechless and at the same time there were so many questions you wanted to ask her. But you didn’t want to overwhelm her, so you kept these questions to yourself.

So instead, you let her rest for a bit, she had obviously been travelling for a long time before taking a break on Naboo.

Rook was a step ahead of you though because the next morning she knocked at your door. She explained that she needed a few ointments and new bacta gel for the next few weeks of her travels and that everyone had told her to go seek you out for that.

Without hesitation you had let her in, offering her a seat and something to drink which she politely declined.

You sat in comfortable silence for a bit, while you collected the things she needed and also freshly mixed some of them so she could take a bigger amount with her.

Rook noticed that you held back your questions, always glancing at her, at her armour. She smiled under the helmet, amused and also astonished that you hadn’t drowned her in your questions yet.

She slightly shook her head in amusement and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms behind her head.

“What do you wanna know?”

Your head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Her question had caught you off guard and she had laughed at your shocked reaction, heat creeping to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“It’s fine. I know I’m not a very common sight. Go ahead, ask your questions” she said, her voice warm and friendly. The complete opposite from her fierce appearance.

“Uhmm… what exactly are you?” ‘What exactly are you?!’ You wanted to slap yourself across the face for such a stupid question. But Rook didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Have you ever heard of those?” You shook your head no at that and she nodded, showing you that she understood.

“To be clear, a Mandalorian is not a race. It’s a creed. You can be born by Mandalorian parents and grow up to become one yourself, or you could be a foundling. Those are children who lose their families at a very young age. They can be taken in by Mandalorians so they have a home and protection. They will grow up and become warriors as well, they will swear the oath. They will live their lives in anonymity, protecting their creed.”

You let that sink in and crush the herbs in your little bowl. Your eyebrows furrow and you take in her armour again.

“Anonymity… What exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I know your name. So, that isn’t very… anonym, is it?” She smiles, but you can’t see it.

“I decided to go by my name because I was just tired of everyone calling me Mando. I hated it. Some of my kind decide to keep their names to themselves, only revealing them to their loved ones and children. Others, like me, are okay with sharing that information. And, by the way, do people check if the name is real anyway?” You laugh at that. She was right. She could tell everyone a made-up name and they would believe it. Nobody checks.

“But, unless you are the wife of a Mandalorian, you will never be able to put a face to that name. We don’t reveal our faces to anyone but our families. If a Mandalorian takes off the helmet in front of another living thing, the Creed would be soiled, the oath you swore - broken. And we are nothing without our Creed. It’s our religion, it’s sacred, holy. It’s what makes us who we are. And we will kill anyone who tries to take that from us.”

“Is that why you declined the water? And why you asked for the food to be brought to your room last night, so you wouldn’t have to eat in the cantina? Because you can’t take off your helmet?”

She just nodded and you hummed in response, thinking about your next question.

“What happens when you get hurt and someone has to access, let’s say, your thigh. Do you just have to risk dying or are others allowed to see other parts of your body?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer.

“Technically we aren’t allowed to show any part of our body to anyone. But wounds are, let’s say, a little loophole. If the wound is dangerous and could possibly kill me, then we can let them assess it. Let’s take your example.” She taps one of her thigh plates.

“If I had an awful wound on my thigh that I couldn’t take care of alone and would need help with, I can take off my thigh plate. You can’t take off my pants but you can cut a hole into the fabric so you can access the wound properly. You couldn’t see much of my skin. My Creed would be intact and you can save my life.” A loophole.

This brings you back to your current situation.

“You need to take off his armour! And his clothes! How can you dress his wound like that?” one of the villagers says, not understanding why you just cut a whole into that person’s pants.

You assumed it was a man, his shoulders seemed to be too broad for a woman and his chest plate was quite flat.

“I can take care of his wound like that just fine” you say, telling them what you needed in order to close and disinfect the wound.

It took you a bit over an hour until you had finally finished stitching it up and wrapping gauze around his thigh.

He still wouldn’t move; the blood loss must have weakened him. You had checked his pulse just to be sure he was still alive and then bundled him up into blankets

Just when you finished cleaning the blood stains and tidying the room, he jolted awake, startling you.

He quickly scanned the room before pulling the blankets off of him and attempting to stand up. You saw his knees buckle slightly and rushed over to steady him, carefully pushing him back onto the bed.

“You need to lie down and rest for a while. You lost a lot of blood” you told him, getting him a glass of water and digging out a straw from your drawers.

You held the glass out for him to take but his visor was focused on your face.

“Who are you? Where am I?” His rough and rather deep voice sent a shiver down your smile that you tried to suppress. You just smiled and told him your name, gently pushing the glass into his hand but he didn’t drink yet, still looking at you.

“You’re on Naboo. A few hours ago you were brought to me because you had a very nasty wound on your abdomen, bleeding like mad. I took care of it, but you need to rest or the stitches will break open again and you’ll risk an infection. And you need to drink” you say, pushing the glass a bit closer towards his face.

When you turn around to put the trash away, he tucks the straw under his helmet and quickly empties the glass. He’s relieved to notice that he immediately feels a bit less lightheaded and puts the glass on the little table before lying back down. For some odd reason he feels like he can trust you.

“I didn’t take off your armour or your clothes. And especially not your helmet, so don’t worry. I must admit though that I put my hand under your helmet as best as I could to see if there would be any blood. But I looked away while I did that, I promise. I know it’s forbidden” you turned back to him, a gentle smile on your face.

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You felt relief wash over you, glad you hadn’t somehow done anything wrong or harmful, internally thanking the Force for sending Rook your way those few years ago.

The Mandalorian spent about a week at your house, resting and healing.

You had learned that he was hunting a bounty and somehow they had managed to ambush him. The wound on his leg was caused by a warspear the bounty had rammed into his thigh in a moment of inadvertence.

Din had to admit to himself that he… liked you. You were kind and caring. You weren’t one of those people that would ask him when the last time was he took off the helmet or if he’d ever taken it off in front of someone else. None of your questions or conversations were focused on his appearance or his life, which he was very grateful for. He trusted you, but he didn’t want to share such private information with someone he didn’t know well enough.

You simply took care of his wound, made him drink enough water and you would leave him alone whenever he needed to eat.

Not even the conversations with you felt awkward.

You willingly told him about your upbringing, what you had done so far in your life and you also told him about your encounter with Rook Cava.

He knew that he was lucky you had this knowledge of his Creed. What if you hadn’t known it and would have taken off his helmet? He figured that he must have killed the whole village then in order to somehow keep his Creed intact… That thought sends a shiver through his body, once again he felt lucky that he ended up in your care.

When he felt stronger and healthier again, ready to leave Naboo behind, the thought of you sitting in his co-pilot chair flashes through his mind.

He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t know why, but he wanted you to come with him and stay by his side.

‘I just need someone with her skills’ is what he tells himself.

And when he asked you to come with him, he was surprised at how quickly you said yes, agreeing to leave your home behind to travel through the galaxy with him.

As much as you loved the village, you really wanted to see other parts of the galaxy. So you quickly said your goodbyes and packed your things. You were excited to start this new chapter.

You ended up staying and travelling with him for the following 6 years, before you settled down last year.

During this time, your little green rascal became a part of your family, making you a clan of three. That filled Din with great pride and whenever he looked at his little clan, he felt happy and warm. You two were his entire galaxy and he would make sure that nothing ever happened to you.

One evening, you two had been ‘dating’ for about two years now, the kid was sleeping in his pram and you sat on his lap in the pilot chair, his arms around you. You had asked him a question that had floated through your mind for quite a while.

“When did you know you loved me?” You stared out of the windows, the stars just streaks of light during hyperspace. Din stopped caressing your back for a moment and seemed to think about this.

“Pretty sure it was the first time you smiled at me” he said, making you laugh softly and swat his chest.

“Sure thing, shiny” you giggled, making him smile at you under the helmet.

He held you closer to him and leaned his helmet against your shoulder.

“I think it was the moment I realized I couldn’t leave Naboo without you” he said, continuing to caress your back. “That whole week, you took great care of me and I’ve never felt this comfortable around anyone outside of my tribe before. For whatever reason I trusted you right from the beginning. That first smile you flashed me, if I didn’t already sit I would have probably had to sit down. I never felt like this before I met you. Your presence was calming and kind of made me giddy. I don’t know how to describe it…” You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his helmet.

“Like butterflies fluttering inside you? The constant urge to smile?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Grateful for his helmet covering his face because he was sure it was just as red as a tomato.

“The thought of leaving without you, it… it kind of hurt. I was imagining you sitting in my co-pilot chair while I would fly. I even dreamed about you… Back then, I didn’t know I was in love with you. I had never loved anyone this way before. You changed my whole life. To the better. I thought I would die alone. No family, no friends, nothing. But then you strut into my life with that stupid little smile of yours and you gave me hope.”

Your chest swells with pride at his confession, warmth spreading throughout your whole body.

You gave him hope. Home. A family, even before this little womp rat waddled into your life. You made the love of your life believe in a happy ending for himself and that was more than you could ever ask for.

“But what about you, cyar’ika? When did you know you loved me?” he asked, while gently putting a hand on your thigh.

“I think it was the first time I saw you straddle that speederbike back on Tatooine. That was pretty hot.”

He laughed at that, gently squeezing your bum and tutted.

“You are unbelievable.”

You didn’t realize you fell asleep again until a gentle hand shakes you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you look right into the face of your riduur. He smiles at you and kisses your nose, making you giggle before you gently kiss him.

After a moment he slowly breaks the kiss and sits next to you in the grass, a big plate full of pancakes in front of him and a bottle of chee-chee berry syrup in his hand.

Before you can sit up, the kid scrambles off your chest and goes to launch himself at the plate of pancakes, but Din is quicker. He scoops him into his arms and then puts him into his lap.

“They’re for all of us, ad’ika” he softly tuts, before taking a pancake and slowly tearing it into little pieces to feed him.

You smile and sit up, pressing a kiss to your riduur’s cheek and one to your son’s head.

The Force had blessed you with such a beautiful little family. And soon there would be another little one moving and kicking inside of you. But you had yet to tell your lover.

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@absurdthirst @dindjarindiaries @tangledlove27

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x Reader #Pedro Pascal

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saffron-nova21 · 4 years ago

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XII. Rings and Stuffed Animals

Remember Me Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Strong language, Suna is an asshole, manipulation/blackmail.

You know you were beating the metaphorical dead horse, trying to convince Sunarin that you two had been happy. But you couldn’t help it. You had to try, at the very least.

But you wanted your boyfriend back. You wanted him back. You wanted to be happy with him again. Though, you also knew that you needed to put your foot down at some point. You couldn’t put yourself through the prolonged heartbreak that would surely come.

As you walk down the sidewalk, you can feel a drop hit your head, looking up to notice that it was beginning to rain. How fitting.

Pulling the hood up to cover your head, you let out a quiet sigh, continuing the short walk to your home, soon reaching it. Opening the door, you slide out of your shoes, before walking towards your room, silently entering and shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you did was shower, mostly looking to warm up. Though, as the water hit you, and you were left away from prying eyes, you begin to feel your chest tighten, making it hard to breath. Then, you notice the lump in your throat and the way you’re gasping...

... Or, rather, sobbing. Choking on each breath, you realize you’re crying. Silence fills both your room and bathroom, all except for the water running.

No one knew that the person, just beyond that shower curtain was scared... And hurting... And sobbing silently into their palms as they sunk to to floor of the shower.

No one knew that despite holding your head high as you walked through the school hallways; that despite your polite smile and nod, even to those who you knew were speaking ill of you; that despite you saying you were quitting volleyball to focus on your studies; that despite your hope that Rintarō was going to be himself again and make everything right... You were hurting. You were in a lot of pain. And no one knew. No one cared.

...

It took you a few minutes to collect what you dubbed the most important items from your relationship.

The stuffed silver and melanistic fox he’d gotten you, the first time that you two had to spend more than a couple of days apart. The rings that you both had gotten: silver ones to decorate your hands that matched. The nail polish you guys always painted your nails with. The small box of notes that he had written you, during your time dating.

That seemed to be all you could carry, though. Except for a framed photo of you both, kissing under the mistletoe at the gym, during the Volleyball Club Christmas party.

So, you walked from your home, only pausing briefly to make sure the evidence of your breakdown was gone. Walking along the sidewalk, you glanced at the sky. It had stopped raining, briefly. Though you wondered how long it would be, before it started pouring.

With your gaze on the darkening sky, you don’t notice your childhood friends pausing momentarily at the sight of you, causing you to walk right into a particular blonde’s chest. Your eyes move to his and you take a step back, quickly avoiding the gaze of the two, nodding. “Miyas.”

You move to step around them, though Atsumu throws at an arm to stop you. “Y/N, please. Just talk to me...”

The pure desperation in his voice makes your heart hurt. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you both around.”

Your curt voice makes Atsumu frown. You’d been crying. You might have thought he didn’t notice, but he did. He knew all of your tells. After all, he had been your best friend for nearly twelve years. He had fallen in love with you. He made it his job to know your tells.

And the way your brows were slightly furrowed, when still glistening with the slightest red tint to their corners, the way your hands unknowingly trembled, just talking to him... You’d been crying. And unlike every other time, he wasn’t there to help you. To hold you, while you sobbed.

As he watches your form fade from his sight, his shoulders slump. Before Osamu can say anything, Atsumu shoots his twin a withering glare. “I don’t want to hear it.” He spits, before beginning to trudge back in the direction of his home.

Bubble tea didn’t sound so good, anymore. Not when all he could remember, with every sip of the drink, was your smile and all the days you both spent together in the shop.

...

Rintarō raises an eyebrow as his eyes narrow at the bag, “What’s that?” His voice is wary, beckoning you onto his bed with him.

“They’re... They’re some thing from when we were dating. I thought maybe if you saw them, you’d remember something.” You try, wearing a weak smile as you crawl on top of his comforter with him, sitting with your legs crossed.

Surprisingly, he shrugs, “Alright, then show them to me, why don’t you?”

You nod as you begin to pull some of the items out. First, the fox.

You hand it to him, watching as he looks it over, a sense of familiarity washing over him, in the situation. “I gave you this...” He furrows his brows, before glancing at you. “Because you for upset that I had to leave town for a few weeks, for the training camp. You sure do whine a lot,” he grumbles as he carelessly attempts to toss the stuffed toy away, only for you to snatch it from his hands, before he could.

“We named him Winter. And we said if we ever had any kids, we were going to name them the same thing. Unless we adopt and aren’t able to pick one out.” You tell him, bringing the stuffed animal into your lap.

Rintarō shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted kids.” He mumbles.

“You started wanting them, after you helped me babysit. Because yeah, they’re a handful, but we’d get through it, together.” You explain.

“You must really think you’re something special, huh? Y/N, darling, if I said I wanted to run away and get married right now, you’d follow. Because you love me, even at your own expense. Even if you knew I didn’t mean it. So how do you know I meant it?” He crosses his arms and leans back a bit.

You frown, shaking your head, “Fuck you, Rintarō. As if it’s not enough for you that you lost your memories and I’m hurting because of it, you have to sit here and tell me that you were probably lying to me, the entire relationship.”

You stand up from his bed, jerking the jacket from your frame and throwing at it. “Call me when you take your head out of your ass.”

As you exit the room, you boyfriend — ex-boyfriend? Whatever it was going on between you two, reclined, not catching sight of the picture frame, until you’re gone. As he lifts it to examine it, he tilts his head to the sight.

He hated that he enjoyed your presence. He hated the feelings to wrap you in his arms and tell you it was all going to be okay. Because he didn’t know why he felt the way he did about you, all he knows is he feels them.

You got a cold from walking home in the rain, without a jacket.

You love Suna. But it’s been days of gaining the same bland, disheartening answers, and his expecting you to just fall into his arms whenever he wanted.

After sobbing to yourself in the shower, you realized that you didn’t deserve everything that was happening. You’re not going to prolong your heartbreak and worsen things.

I hope you guys are enjoying!! 🥰 And not too heart broken! 💕💕 Poor Atsumu and Y/N, though 😔

You guys better be getting something to eat, drinking some water, and taking care of yourselves mentally and physically! Remember, no matter what, I’m proud of you and I love you! You’re doing wonderfully, love! So keep it up!

Taglist:

@kookie-doughs @halesandy @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @kac-chowsballs @saltylettuce @its-the-aerieljeane @javj @ash-levi @babyshoyo @hiraeth-z @random-fandom-girl-24 @kodzuklutz @tsukkiswifeey @thollandx

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #suna smau #suna rintarō x reader #suna rintarō smau #suna rintarō #suna x reader

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scarletwidowaf · 4 years ago

Text

Ghost Of You - Chapter 4

AN: this is my favorite chapter so far! Its Mostly fluff and wholesome. Again, didn't checked mistakes so I'm sorry in advance .

words count: 1880

masterlist | story index | AO3 | wattpad

The two ex-avengers were lying on their motel shared bed.

The place was in a pretty good condition which was a nice change after the last 4 motels the group found themselves at.

Natasha was lying under the covers, her red long hair in a messy bun and a book in hand.

Next to her, Wanda was sleeping peacefully.

The younger woman was finally getting better after the brutal cold she suffered from in the last few days.

Natasha couldn't help but appreciating how cute and peaceful she was.

Her hair messy, nose red and cheeks flushed.

Thats how their evening went.

Wanda peacefully sleeping while Natasha reading a book and glancing at the younger woman every now and then.

At some point, when Natasha glanced at the brunette next to her she met with green eyes, who were watching her curiously

Natasha couldn't help but smiling at the sight in-front of her.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

Wanda nodded weakly.

"You love reading, dont you" wanda asked.

"I do. It was something i loved doing ever since i was a kid."

"Why?"

"Many reasons, its comforting and enjoyable and in a way, its an escape, even if its just momentarily"

"Do you feel the need to escape?"

"Like right now? From this bed?" Natasha asked confused, a small smile on her lips.

Wanda smiled but didn't answer.

"So, What are you reading this time?"

"The Catcher in the rye. Its a classic"

"Is that so? Will you read to me?" Wanda asked, her cheeks getting flustered (even more than it already was).

"You dont have to of course, i didn't really thought how weird it might seem-" wanda ramble and Natasha smiled before moving her attention back to the book.

"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

She read out loud, cutting the girl mumbling.

Natasha looked at wanda again.

The younger girl's body was pressed to her side, as she was clinging to her for warmth. Wanda looked at Natasha with a smile.

"Making sure I'm listening?"

"Something like that" she responded.

Wanda smiled at her. Her eyes sparkle.

That moment Natasha couldn't help but smile.

'Jesus christ', she thought, 'they really can'

____

"Natasha?"

Wanda felt stupid as she called Natasha's name into air.

How do you even call a dead person? She thought.

The young woman stood in the middle of the no where in particular, not far from her cabin.

A red pickup truck parks not far and its headlights illuminate the woods, where it begin to darkened.

The sun was half way down and the sky was painted in beautiful shades of orange, red and purple.

Wanda chose this spot because of the beautiful view it revealed, a small waterfall was pouring from a spot not far from her and into a lake. It was truly a sight.

Wanda really thought things trough this time.

she wasn't sure what the future holds for the two women but she was tired of wasting their precious time with fighting and crying over their bad luck. So she organized a date for them.

She spread a big mat on the floor and layered it with many blankets and pillows and even lit some candles around them, far from something that could catch fire yet close enough to light the space.

She even organized a picnic basket full of food and snacks natasha loved and some surprises for the date.

And most importantly she was definitely dressed to impress.

A high waisted skinny jeans, the ones who made her ass look extra good and she knew Natasha liked (she knew that since she wore it a few days before the snap when the two women traveled in the streets of Paris and natasha's thoughts were very loud while she walked behind her)

With a white top who didn't leave much space for imagination, cleavage and toned stomach were visible and wanda just hoped the weather will stay as warm as it was.

After shouting natasha's name over 10 times the younger woman got frustrated.

Wanda was about to give it up, sit and cry while eating cake but when she was about to turn around she met with Natasha smiling at her.

The older woman was dressed differently, which was odd, it seems like although she was dead she could do almost everything (except touching wanda which was frustrating enough), she could hold a book and read, she could eat food (although hunger was never an issue for her) and she could change clothes.

When they found out the older girl could do that natasha was pleased, relieved to change into something that wasn't the clothes she died with.

Natasha was leaning against wanda's truck, an amused smile painted on her red lips.

"You called?" She said with a lighter tone and wanda sigh in frustration.

"How long where you watching me like a creep, romanoff?"

"Long enough" natasha moved from tree to wanda's side. Her eyes scanning Wanda.

"I was just enjoying the view" she said. Her tone flirty.

To make things worse she even bit her lip, making wanda's cheeks grow red.

Wanda smiled before she sat on the pile of blankets and waited for natasha to occupy the spot next to her.

"Do I'm making you feel uncomfortable?" Natasha asked when she sat.

"Not at all nat. Im just not used to get this kind of attention. You were always holding yourself back and vision was.. you know.. vision" wanda confessed.

Natasha smiled softly.

"Well, i was a coward and vision was vision so.."

Both women smiled at each other. Their eyes sparkle with joy.

"So, what's up with the setting, not that I complain" the older women said as her eyes traveled to wanda's outfit.

"I wanted to arrange something for you. As a apology for bringing you back purely"

"You always arrange a super romantic date in the middle of the woods as an apology? Because if this is the case i think i deserve many of those after all this time"

Natasha joked and wanda rolled her eyes.

"You're an ass you know that?"

"Ive been told"

"So, what's in the basket?" Natasha asked.

Instead of answering Wanda opened it lid and pulled out the first item. A headpiece she made herself.

Natasha stared at the white flower crown with confusion.

"Why-" she started asking and wanda cut her off.

"I made this for you. For your birthday"

"Okay first of all: This is not my birthday and you know it, and two: you remember I'm dead, right?" Natasha said with a raised eyebrow, yet didn't show any sign of resistance when wanda put it on her head.

"I know its not your birthday, but I missed 5 years of life, so i think i deserve an extension"

Wanda couldn't help her smile when she saw Natasha with the crown. The older girl's cheeks were a bit flushed and she bit her bottom lip to hold her smile. Her green eyes sparkle with joy and warmth.

"I love it" natasha admitted

"Good, because there's a cake too"

"Of course there's a cake" natasha said in amusement.

Wanda smiled brightly before she turned back to the basket and started to take out the edible items in it.

Natasha couldn't help her staring, the younger woman was beautiful, just as she remembered and even more. The Wanda Natasha was looking at at this moment was not the same Wanda she remembered.

It was like wanda somehow managed to grow up at her absence and natasha couldn't help but appreciate the women she became.

"Are those burgers from bob and Amy's?" Natasha smiled and wanda nodded

"I know that they're your favorite" wanda said as she pass Natasha her burger.

"You're kinda perfect you know that?"

"Ive been told"

By the time they finished their burgers while holding a general conversation the sun was already gone and the only light that's been left was the from the candles and wanda's truck headlights.

"You should turn off your lights" natasha said with a smile and wanda did as she was told.

It was dark except for the soft candle light.

"Now i can barely see you" wanda pouted.

Natasha smiled.

"Dont pout. It makes me sad because i cant kiss it away"

Wanda stopped pouting.

"I think I found a solution for that" wanda said and natasha raised her eyebrow.

"I found out what went wrong in the first place and i think i can fix it."

"why me wanda? Why not your brother? Your parents? Vision?"

Wanda looked down at her lap, her eyes glitter with tears.

"Its been too long for them, there's only a short window of time where it can be preformed."

Natasha smiled sadly.

"I know there's a catch wanda. What will it cost?"

"Its nothing i cant handle"

Wanda whispered.

Natasha bit her lip.

"No"

Wanda's eyes widened.

"Nat-"

"No." The older woman repeated.

"So what? Do you want to stay like these forever and hurt the both of us in the process?" The pain was visible in wanda's eyes.

"Of course not wanda" natasha whispered while her eyes traveled wanda's face. Aching to touch it.

"Then what?" Wanda asked.

"I think you need to let me go."

"No."

"Wanda-" natasha tried her again but got cut off.

"I refuse to let you die" wanda said with anger.

"Im already dead wanda"

"You dont get it, do you? I love you! Let me save you. You said you're a selfish person natasha, than prove it and choose to stay"

Wanda's tears were smudging her makeup and natasha sigh in defense.

"I love you too"

"So stay" wanda begged.

Natasha smiled sadly at wanda before she pulled the basket to her lap and pulled out a small vanilla flavored cupcake wanda brought and took a bite of it.

"Theres something i wanna try. Close your eyes" she said and wanda looked at her confused.

"Just do it, ill be here when you'll open them again" natasha said before she took another bite.

Wanda did as she been told.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything she felt soft lips ghosting over hers and a hint of vanilla flavored cake.

The younger girl was taken back.

She could almost feel natasha's lips and if she tried hard enough she could almost feel her breath.

Almost.

When she opened her eyes she found Natasha taking another bite from the cake with a small sad smile tugged on her lips.

"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty.. ..you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are." (-the catcher in the rye)

#wanda maximoff #wanda x natasha #natasha x wanda #wandanat #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #Scarlet Witch #Avengers

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amateur-authorial-aspirations · 3 years ago

Text

Another short story! It's about the same length as the last one, around 3k words. I don't have a title for this one, though.

Not sure what trigger warnings to add for this but uh it's about a family that's kinda broken and a mom that was very neglectful, and there's stuff about sickness and hospitals. Oh and food.

~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing I wanted to inherit from my mother was the recipe for her chicken soup.

My mom—well, she did her best with us, I guess, but her best mostly involved working long nights at a lousy job and occasionally showing up at school events to clap for us. The rest of the time, she was either drinking Bud Lights out on the porch or passed out from some combination of exhaustion and intoxication, sprawled on her bed or wherever she happened to collapse. I'd put a blanket over her, sometimes, but usually I was too busy cooking dinner, or helping my younger siblings with their homework, or doing one of the million other things that wouldn't get done unless I did them.

The one thing she always got right, though, was when I was sick. She had crazy good hearing, like an owl or something, and if I so much as sneezed, in an instant she'd have me tucked into bed and a pot of chicken soup on the stove. That soup—dear God, my mouth still waters just thinking about it. It was like she took carrots and celery and a chicken straight from the dirt of a farm somewhere and cooked it in, I don't know, the tears of an angel. A little salty, and just heavenly. And the whole time I was sick, whether puking my guts up in the bathroom or just sniffling a little, she was the perfect mother—she picked Brett and Ashley up from school, cooked three meals a day, helped them with their homework, everything.

Even years and decades after I'd moved as far from her as I could get, whenever I was sick, I'd get an awful hankering for that chicken soup. I'd whine and moan and throw a feeble, snotty tantrum until someone made some for me, and my husband tried, bless his soul, but it just wasn't the same. Sometimes I'd try, too, once I was feeling better, but it was never as good as my mom's, no matter what I did. I thought about calling and asking her once or twice, usually when a bout of illness coincided with a fight with my kids. I'd be aching and shivering, feeling bad enough about my own parenting that I could almost forgive her, and when the craving hit, I'd start to reach for the phone, but—

No. I'd worked so hard to get her out of my head, and I didn't know if I could do it all over again.

I remember it was raining the day Ashley called with the news. I could tell she was upset right away, but when she told me why, I almost dropped the phone.

"Hello?" she said, her voice choked. "Kathy, you still there?"

"Yeah," I rasped, "I'm here. I… I don't know what to say. I mean, cancer? God. Is she okay?"

"Yes. For now, at least. We don't know how long she'll stay that way, though."

"I don't know what to say," I repeated. It was true; I felt like someone had stuck my brain in a freezer.

"Say you'll come see her. And before you say no—"

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Before you say no, think about how much it would mean to her. And to me. To all of us. We could finally be a family again, you know? One last time."

"I'm not putting myself through that so you can get our family picture taken, Ash."

"Come on, Kathy. I know you're mad at her, but—"

"I'm not mad. I just don't owe her anything."

"But—"

"And I don't owe you anything, either."

"Okay, that is not—"

I hung up. Then I threw my phone at the couch. It rang a moment later, but I just took a deep breath in, let it out slowly, and walked out of the room, the tinny music fading as I closed the door behind me. Then it started again.

Brett called about an hour later. I let it ring.

He understood a little better than Ashley, I think, but she was his little sister, the baby of the family. I was sure he'd side with her.

But, after a long talk with my husband and a couple days of stewing, I decided to go after all. I might not have owed my mother anything, but I owed it to myself to not leave any questions hanging. Besides, if she was really dying… it felt bad, felt heartless, to refuse to visit an old, sick woman.

Brett met me at the airport, a box of chocolate in hand.

"Nate with the kids?" he asked.

"Yeah. Those for Mom?"

"No," he said with a small chuckle, "for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Honestly, Kathy, you're a saint. I don't know if I'd have come, if I were you."

"You did come, though."

"Yeah, but it wasn't the same for me. Or Ashley. You know that better than I do."

"Well, I'm not here for Mom, anyway."

It was Brett's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm here to see her, but it's for me."

"And for Ashley?"

"And kinda for Ashley."

We both laughed a little. Then he handed me the chocolate and started loading my suitcases into the trunk of his car.

When we pulled up to the house, Ashley ran out to greet me, but Brett pulled her aside as I went around to the back of the car. I couldn't hear what he said, but her face sank. She nodded tightly and went back inside.

I tugged my suitcase up over the curb and pulled it down a concrete pathway that cut through calf-height grass and weeds to the front of Ashley's one-story, vinyl-sided house that had been painted in a shade of yellow so bright it turned my stomach, though I'm sure my sister thought it "sunny" or some such thing. Part of the roof was sagging on one side.

Looking at that house, part of me couldn't help feeling guilty. I mean, I wasn't rich, and Ashley and her family certainly weren't starving, but it was hard not to draw comparisons to my own home, spacious and immaculate and halfway across the country, and wonder if there wasn't more I should be doing. Not that she'd accept assistance if I offered it; if anything, she'd just get angry, and things between us were already so tense... but, still. I didn't think there would ever come a day that I saw her struggling and didn't want to help.

Lost in thought, I walked in the door and headed straight for the rear of the house, almost passing the small living room on the right, but then a quiet cough sounded. I whipped my head toward the noise, freezing in place as I took in the hospital bed that been set up where a couch used to be. Took in its white-haired occupant.

After a moment, I cleared my throat. "Hi, Mom."

She looked so tiny and fragile lying there, her feet barely reaching halfway down the bed, her skin pale and papery. Nothing like the hard-drinking, loud-talking woman who had stomped through my childhood with the force of a bulldozer, hurtling herself headfirst at anything that dared to stand in her way. No, there was no sign of that woman in this dimly lit room that smelled of sickness and floral air freshener.

"Hi, Kathy," said this person I no longer recognized. "It's so good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same," I blurted before I could think better of it, but she just laughed, a dry, gravelly chuckle that ended in a hacking cough.

"Well," she said after a minute, when she was breathing normally again, "I can't say I was expecting much better, after everything I put you through. And I guess that's what I get for smoking so damn much."

"Wait." My face screwed up in confusion. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago. I tried to quit for years, but it never stuck until I got pregnant with you. I guess knowing I had someone else depending on me was the push I needed."

I let out a sharp bark of laughter, once again reacting without thinking and immediately wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Not because I hadn't meant it; I had, but it wasn't like me, to be so sarcastic and mean-spirited. This tired, bitter woman was just as foreign to me as the little old lady she was mocking.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm sure you thought that was a heart-warming story about one time you actually did take care of me, but that's the thing, right? You did get it right sometimes. Which means the rest of the time… that was a choice. And I could forgive you for being weak or sick or crazy, but you weren't any of those things. Like, when I was sick, you were always so good. And I'd eat your chicken soup, and I'd think, maybe this time. Maybe this time she'll keep it up. But then I'd get better, and you'd go right back to leaving us to fend for ourselves, and it would hurt even worse because I knew what it felt like to be taken care of. You know I've got kids now, right? I'm sure Ashley's told you. So I know what it feels like, when you're tired down to your bones and you don't know how to keep going. But still, every single day, I choose to go on anyway, to be there for my kids, because I love them too much not too. So either you just didn't love us enough, or you did, and you still chose not to take care of us. I don't know which it is, or which would be worse. But I know I can't forgive you."

The words had all come out in a rush, as if some long-stoppered bottle of feelings inside me had suddenly come pouring from my lips, getting bigger and angrier as I went, and I had to stop for a second, take a deep breath in, let it out slowly.

"So," I went on, more calmly now, "I'll be here for a week. We'll play nice, for Ashley and her kids, and because we are civilized people. And I really am sorry about what you're going through. But when I leave, I don't want to hear from you again, and I don't want you bothering Ashley about me."

With that, I turned on my heel, not waiting for a reply, and marched down the hall to the guest room.

Only after I closed the door and collapsed onto the bed did I think about who else might have been in the house. I really hoped Ashley's kids hadn't overheard my tirade. Or Ashley herself, for that matter. I didn't like this nasty streak my mother brought out in me, and whatever my feelings for her, being a good sister and aunt was more important.

But when I emerged a little while later, cool and composed and determined to stay that way, I found everyone gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen, Ashley presiding over it all with a wooden spoon and a hearty laugh.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me in the doorway. "Kathy! Come in, come over here." She was beaming as I made my way past the treacherous tangle of cooking implements brandished by small hands to where she stood at the stove, stirring a sizzling pan of vegetables. "So," she said in a low voice, one that no one else would hear over the general hubbub, "things went well with Mom? Brett seemed to think there'd be some… unpleasantness, but she said you guys talked? Worked things out?"

I cast a wary glance to where my mom sat at the table between Brett and Ashley's husband Blake, but her attention was fully occupied by her grandchildren and the silly song they were singing as they worked on their "cooking."

"Yeah," I said with a small, sad smile, "I guess we did." And we had, I supposed, if not in the way Ashley hoped.

The rest of the visit flew by in a whirl of babysitting and doctor's visits and pasted-on smiles. Before I knew it, the last day had arrived. My flight out was scheduled for late afternoon, but I woke early, intending to take a walk in the cool darkness just before sunrise, for the fresh air and exercise and much-needed time to myself. But when I went to open the front door, something felt off, and I realized I couldn't hear the snoring that that had echoed through the small house every night this week.

With a gasp, I turned and rushed to my mother's side. "Ashley!" I shouted as I fumbled for the switch on the lamp and tried to remember what little first aid I knew. Running footsteps clattered along the floor, then stopped somewhere behind me. "Ashley, I don't think she's breathing."

"Oh, dear God," said Ashley, and then her phone was out and she was talking to someone.

The minutes that passed before the ambulance arrived felt like seconds and hours and days all at once. Blake was there, he was doing something I vaguely recognized as CPR, but I had no idea if it was working. Then it was flashing lights and paramedics in uniforms and Ashley had to stay with the kids so I was the one climbing into the back of the ambulance, and the siren was blaring as we raced through the streets and swerved around corners, everything swaying and rattling as I clung desperately to my mother's hand.

When we got to the hospital, they carted her off through a set of swinging doors, and all too soon it was just me, standing alone under the fluorescent lights, shaking. The air around me seemed to pulse, and the too-clean antiseptic smell of the hallway had me ready to vomit.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring in shock at the big red letters on the smooth metal doors. NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT. It felt like forever.

But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Brett was there, wrapping me in his jacket and leading me to a chair. I think there were tears in his eyes, but I was too numb to cry. Or to talk. So we just sat there in silence, his arms around me, until Ashley came in with a million questions that I couldn't even process, much less answer. Everything the paramedics and doctors said had shot right past me in a blur of unintelligible sound. Ashley seemed about ready to shake me in frustration, but Brett took her to look for the doctors who would have the answers I couldn't give her. He left me his jacket, but I still missed his comforting warmth.

A few hours later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in a cold, drab room, watching over my mother as she slept. She looked even stranger now, with her face all calm and peaceful, content in a way I had never seen her before. In my lap was a tray from the hospital cafeteria, a styrofoam bowl of steaming-hot soup at its center.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, and I leapt to my feet in excitement, launching the tray from my lap and dumping the soup all over the floor.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, looking frantically around the room for something with which to mop up the rapidly spreading puddle of broth. "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to bring you soup, like you always used to make me when I was sick, and I know it's not the same, but I just thought… well, and now I've gone and made a mess of it, haven't I?" My gaze locked on the box of tissues on the bedside table, and I practically lunged for them, but I was stopped by a gentle touch on my arm.

"Forget about the mess, Kathy, just come sit next to me." My mother gestured to the chair that was closest to her bed, and I sat down obediently. She let out a small, quiet laugh. "Goodness, I'd almost forgotten about the chicken soup."

"I don't know what you put in it, but that soup was the best thing I ever tasted."

She looked up at me sharply, confusion etched in the lines of her face. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'm just reminiscing, not trying to weasel any secret ingredients out of you."

This time, her laugh was raucous. "Secret ingredients? Kathy, the only secret ingredient in that stuff was a can of chicken soup from the supermarket."

Now I was the confused one. "What?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry if you thought I was making some special family recipe, but you must've got that idea from some fever dream. Don't you remember what a terrible cook I am? The only things I could ever make came out of cans or boxes or little plastic packets."

After a moment, I couldn't help but laugh as well. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I probably should've known."

I ended up missing my flight and staying for an extra week. Mostly, I stayed at the house, helping Ashley with chores or the kids, but I visited the hospital a few times, too.

When I finally got home, a small, white envelope was waiting for me in the mailbox, my name and address scrawled across the back. Careful not to tear it, I peeled open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper covered in the same messy handwriting.

Mom's Chicken Soup

Ingredients:

1 12-oz can of condensed chicken soup

1 canful of water

Combine ingredients in saucepan and heat over medium high, stirring occasionally, until warm and bubbling slightly. Let cool to your desired temperature and serve with a side of high fever and delirium.

On the back was a brief note.

Thought you should have at least one family recipe.

With a small smile, I tucked the paper back into the envelope and turned to go inside, my heart feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time. And as I looked up to see my two beautiful, wonderful children come running out to greet me, I couldn't help feeling that my front door was not the only one that had just been opened.

#short story #realistic fiction #food tw

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kyber-kisses · 4 years ago

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Through A Mothers Eyes (Part 3)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: crack, cursing, idiots to lovers trope (that good shit)

Summary: When Mary meets Deans closest and best friend, she cant help but see the chemistry between them. . .but she might be the only one as well.

A/n: Its back! It took me awhile to motivate myself to write the next chapter, but I did it! I hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! (gif made by rainbow-motors)

If Mary thought living in a bunker with her two sons and you was chaotic. . . She was definitely not prepared at all for what game night meant. Not. One. Bit.

It was like a fucking war zone.

Halfway through Jenga she almost expected you and Dean to slap on some war paint, she had never seen such competitive people before in her life.

And then you brought out Uno.

“Fuckin demolish him Cas!” You yelled, hands planted firmly on the table as you watched the angel and hunter slap down colored cards furiously. You, Sam, and Mary had all lost already, resulting in you being Cas’s new hype man.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“There are no sides in Uno, Dean!”

“Then why the hell are you cheering on Cas?!” Dean slapped down another card. The two were almost running out of cards to play that it hit the point where Sam had to start shuffling the played cards so they could continue. “As your best friend let me just say; I find that insulting.”

“False. Cas is actually my best friend.” You responded bluntly, raising your hand to connect it with the angels in a loud high five.

Dean paused to narrow his eyes in your direction. “. . . Anyways, as your best friend- I’m telling you, you can’t pick sides.”

“Oh and where pray tell did you get that idea from?”

“The best friend rule book.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah, let’s whip that one out and crack it open, I’d love to read it!” You paused, turning to his mother with a soft smile. “I’m so sorry you have to witness this. He’s just a pain in my ass.”

Resting her chin in her hand, Mary returned the smile, still mildly amused at what was playing out in front of her. “I can tell. But I’m pretty sure he’s a pain in everyone’s butt.”

Deans mouth popped open in shock as his lips momentarily failed at trying to form words. “Now you’re taking her side too?!”

“I mean-“ you paused, flicking your hair over your shoulder. “I am fucking amazing. Plus, your mom just knows who the cooler person is out of the two of us-“

“Oh you little-“ dean growled, rolling up his sleeves after slapping his cards down on the table.

“Is this really necessary?” Cas muttered, eyes still on his cards and clearly trying to plan his next move.

“Oh you fuckin know it.”

“Maybe your mom should just adopt me. I could replace you! I am way more fun!” You laughed, backing up as Dean slowly rose from his seat. “Plus, you’re moms way more cool than you.” You joked, eyes lighting up when you looked at Dean and saw him moving towards you. You maneuvered around the table, the two of you moving back and forth as you tried to dodge Dean, trying to keep the table between you.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“You know it baby.” Shooting him a wink you ducked behind Sam's large frame, using him as a shield.

“Oh no- don’t go bringing me into this.” Sam tried, shaking his head as you gripped his shoulders.

“Just hold him off for me will ya?”

“And what do I get in return?”

“. . . the next time its your turn for a supply run, ill do it.”

A pause. “Deal.”

“Sam!”

The younger Winchester shrugged as he held out his arms, stopping Dean from reaching you. “What? Y/Ns more negotiable that you are.”

You let out a cackle before standing on your top toes to press a firm kiss to Sams cheek. “Thanks Samantha!”

You took off down the hallway before Dean could even attempt to move Sam. The younger Winchester continuing to block his brother as he tried to move past him. After a moment Dean gave up, falling back into his seat. “Alright, fine. I admit defeat. . .you can put your arms down..”

“If I do are you gonna go kill her?”

“. . . Maybe.”

“Dean!” Mary hissed, shaking her head at her sons antics.

“What? She’s a pain in the ass!”

Mary only shook her head again. That was until Cas spoke up again. “Am I supposed to say Uno?”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The rest of the night became much calmer after that, you and Dean were back to your usual shenanigans and held up in the Dean cave watching some old western, Sam had headed off to bed because apparently you and Dean “drain his energy” Or whatever. Cas was for some reason still up cataloging some of the bunkers lore. As for mother Winchester, she found herself seated at the kitchen table, reading a book you had lent her a little over a week ago.

Mary almost didn’t see you walk in at first, with most of the lights still off it was like darkened hallway spit you out. Hands in the pockets of your sweatpants you quietly trudged into the room, pausing at the sight of Mary.

“You liking the book?”

Mary looked up, a small smile gracing her lips at the sight of you. “Yes I am, thank you for lending it to me.”

“No problem. Honestly it was just sitting on my desk collecting dust. I read it and never picked it up again” You admitted with a shrug. Walking past her, you filled your empty glass at the sink before moving back and lowering yourself into the seat across from her. “I’m sorry about earlier. Deans and Is energy can be a little overwhelming at times.”

“You don’t need to apologize. If anything I should be thanking you.” She closed her book, folding her arms over the surface of the table.

“What for?”

Mary let out a sigh. “Even if I haven’t been back for very long, it’s easy to see the effect you have on Dean. He’s happier when you're around, you get him to laugh more than anyone else here.”

“I think you're just seeing his slow decent into insanity.” You chuckled, looking down at your folded hands. “I’m told I have that effect on people.”

“Oh I don’t think that’s true.”

You opened your mouth to answer but stopped when you looked past Mary, eyebrow instantly raising. “What?”

Mary turned in her seat, her eyes finding her oldest son standing in the darkened doorway, your blue blanket wrapped around him. Dean narrowed his eyes at you. “You left me.”

“. . . I’m sorry?”

He stepped down into the kitchen, eyes still glazed over with a slight sleepiness. “It was rude.”

“You were asleep! I didn’t want to wake you up!” You threw your hands in the air, unable to believe the man sinking down into the vacant seat next to you. He yawned, his head falling against your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“But by your didn’t have to leave me by myself. I woke up and you were gone.”

You rolled your eyes, hand coming up to pat the side of his head. “You poor baby, whatever shall you do now?”

“Mmm haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Did you really just come in here to fall asleep on me again? Just go to bed Dean.”

“Don’t wanna.” He sighed, wrapping your blanket tighter around him.

“I swear you like a five year old.”

“I am not.”

“You totally are.” You paused. “But seriously Dean, go to bed. I ain’t dragging you down the hallway to your room when you fall asleep on me again.” You gave him another pat before standing up put your now empty glass in the sink, having practically chugged it moments before.

Groaning once more, Dean slowly blinked his eyes open and turned his attention to his mother. “What are you still doing up? I thought you went to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d stay up and read instead. Y/N lent me a book to read.”

Turning his head to look between you and his mom he shook it in disbelief. “God, I live with a bunch of nerds.”

“Dean you can’t say anything about that. You're like the biggest nerd out of all of us.”

“. . . Shut up. Plus, you're no better. If anything I'm this way because of you.”

“Sure, Jan. You keep telling yourself that.”

Dean paused when he looked back over to his mom, seeing a soft smile on her features. “What?”

“Just the two of you-“

“What about the two of us?” He questioned, sliding the blanket off of his shoulders as he stood up before folding it and handing it back to its rightful owner.

“I just- I think you two would make a cute couple.”

There was a pause as the two of you looked at each other.

“Me? . . .And her?” Dean threw a thumb over his shoulder in your direction.

“Me and Dean?”

Another pause. And then a light laugh was bubbling up from both of your throats- before quickly turning into full bellied laughter. Dean had his hands planted on his knees and your head was thrown back as you grabbed at you gut. The two of you quickly dissolving into fits of hysteria. It went on for a good minute before starting to fizzle out.

Ahaha! Whew-“ Dean chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes as he stood up properly again. “That- that was good.”

“Oh god-“ you bent over, hands still on your sides. “My gut hurts- I haven’t laughed like that in awhile.” You panted.

“Yeah, thank you for that mom.” Dean patted his mother’s shoulder as he passed. “That just made my entire day.”

Once you had mostly regained your composure, you took a deep breath. “Okay, well as much fun as that was- I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight Mary, Dean.” Giving gone last nod you stepped into the hallway along with Dean, the two of you connecting your palms in a loud high five before walking off in separate directions.

Meanwhile Mary sat silently at the table, the only thing running through her mind being what the fuck just happened?

SPN Taglist (Still open!)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #spn x reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing

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margarethelstone-2 · 3 years ago

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Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears | Chapter 2

Read on AO3!

Taichi's gaze was filled with astonishment once more as he listened to Chihaya's nearly aggressive ramble, unable to wrap his head around the situation he'd found himself in so unexpectedly. He heard the words and thought that he understood the substance – he knew what Chihaya was referring to and comprehended the meaning behind her words. And yet... Something about this whole scene was just too bizarre, too unrealistic for him to believe that it was happening for real.

Too strange to have him take it for more than yet another of his feverish dreams.

Had she really gone to his house so spontaneously, after he had as much as ignored her for the past few weeks? Had she really risked meeting eye to eye with his mother, when it was obvious how uneasy the latter had always made her feel? And why had she decided to come see him now, so long after their fateful conversation in the clubroom and with so much happening since that dreadful afternoon?

Was it in any way connected – or worse, prompted – by the photo Arata had undoubtedly sent her as well?

And if so, what was the connection?

It wasn't like the message had contained any special words or wisdom, or even anything particularly nostalgic. It was a simple photo of Arata and his teammates, with a simple greeting meant to encourage them to do their best on their part so that they might meet at the Nationals this time. It was very much like the one he and Chihaya had sent him during their first year... but that was as far as the nostalgia went.

Of course, it was possible that Arata had sent Chihaya a different email, with more than just the few words he, Taichi, had received. After all, he knew for certain that Arata had spoken to her after the Master qualifiers and since that conversation had clearly taken its toll on Chihaya, it wasn't difficult to determine what he had said. He was also aware of the advantage Arata had always had over him and that Chihaya did favour him, even if she didn't fully realise it herself...

...and still, he couldn't help but think that it was not the case this time.

It was the similarity of it to the message they had sent him that made him so sure. It was not a taunt meant at him, or another display of affection addressed to Chihaya and only shared with him for propriety's sake. There was a much simpler, and much more genuine intention hidden behind it: an honest wish to inspire his friends in the same way they had inspired him before, mixed perhaps with the pride he must have felt for both himself and his new charges.

One friend reaching out to the other ones.

Friends.

Taichi's jaw tightened, his soul filling up with disgust and shame.

Had he really forgotten that that was what the three of them were, first and foremost? Friends?

Or was he just too tired pretending that he was all right with such a setup, because deep down, he realised that even as a trio, they had never been entirely equal?

Was he too much of an egoist to accept that?

"What the heck does that even mean?" he said out loud at last, letting out a hollow, mirthless chuckle that resembled a snort more than anything else. Chihaya had already managed to reach the front gate and was just about to step onto the pavement before it but now, she stopped mid-stride; if he had waited a few seconds more – or if she hadn't held back from running like she obviously had – his words wouldn't have reached her. He almost expected them not to anyway, despite her still being relatively close.

They did, however.

In for a penny, in for a pound. He had no choice but to go for it now.

"Why do you think I needed to hear that now?" he continued, careful to maintain the air of indifference or maybe even irritation, while Chihaya slowly turned around. "I didn't say I was a coward, just that I didn't want to be one. And of course I've changed since primary school; I'm not some Peter Pan who never grows up."

He could feel her stare at him, but refused to meet her gaze this time, all too aware of the effect it had always had on him. Feigning nonchalance, he adjusted the strap of his bag, hung over his shoulder and set off, descending the stairs one by one, as if he hadn't wished to get out of there just as much as Chihaya did.

The very sight of her was aggravating to him.

He knew it wasn't fair, that it really wasn't her fault that she could not respond to his feelings in kind. She had never led him on or pretended to care for him when she hadn't. She did care, she always had, and in a way, Taichi felt like an ungrateful scoundrel every time he remembered everything she'd done for him so far, never mind if it was a small smile meant to comfort him or a crazy, complex, completely over-the-top karuta tournament organised specifically in order to celebrate his birthday with him, in the most Chihaya-like way he could think of.

She wasn't the one to blame for all this.

And yet, every time he saw her, the memory of his stupid, impossible dreams came rushing back to him, always accompanied by the one of them being crushed to bits just a few short weeks prior.

It wasn't her fault, and still, he couldn't find it in him to forgive her.

Still, in the corner of his eye, Taichi saw the expectancy painted all over her face, the same perfect mixture of perseverance and dread he'd had a chance to observe more than once now. He went right past her, resolved not to grace her with a single glance, no matter how rude or cruel it might seem, and stepped onto the pavement she hadn't managed to reach in time.

He was indifferent.

He wished to be indifferent.

So why did he still listen closely, awaiting her to make the move, to turn and look after him, to catch up with him and shower – no, bombard – him with another set of half-baked wisdoms and untimely arguments? Why had he slowed down, anxious, restless, apprehensive, aching to hear her say another word, no matter how absurd it might be?

He had been so good at avoiding her lately, at numbing the overwhelming feeling of solitude by simply making sure she did not come into view – so why did he feel like he was missing her already?

Was a fleeting encounter like this all it took to make all of his endeavours worthless?

He was hopeless.

Hopeless.

Just like all of his love for her had been.

Oh, screw it.

"There's a playground nearby, if there's anything else you want to talk about," he offered, the pathetic, self-disrespectful moron that he was. "I doubt there would be any kids there at this hour, and there are actual benches to sit on. Or I can just walk you home if that's what you prefer."

He set off right after, no longer knowing if he wanted her to respond or not. A part of him hoped that she would, that there was more she wanted to say than that random, abstract proclamation she had surprised him with – that there was more thought behind it than she had made it appear at first. Simultaneously, his other half (a third? a quarter? a mere, pitiful percent?) screamed at him to pick up his pace and leave that cursed place before Chihaya could even answer, to run away and pray that the consequences of his stupid decision from the previous minute would not catch up to him.

Torn like this, he walked on, the rationality of his mind battling with the naiveté of his heart and the ardour of his soul. Step by step, he moved forward, hearing nothing but the sound of his blood pumping in his ears and his own sharp, uneven breathing. If he focused hard enough, he could distinguish his own, weary step, but even that seemed to come from a distance much wider than the one hundred and seventy centimetres separating his feet from his ears.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not hear anything from behind him.

So she hadn't followed him.

Of course she hadn't, you idiot, he berated himself silently, clenching his hands into fists and jamming them even deeper into his pockets. She looked like she wanted to get away from there as soon as she could, and only forced herself to stay and talk because she thought it was the right thing to do.

She didn’t come to chat, to pour her heart out or to clear things up with me, mostly because there's nothing to clear up in the first place; she came because she felt she needed to, because at some point, she'd decided that it was something a good person would do and obviously, she decided to spontaneously follow the wacky idea her mind had presented to her.

A totally spur-of-a-moment kind of decision, honest but rash, misguided and ill-conceived, just like about everything Chihaya does.

He felt his heart shrink, as if it was squeezed in quite a literal sense, and yet, he refused to admit to his hurt, even if only to himself. There was no reason why he should've felt surprised, no excuse for the disappointment that was threatening to take over him. He knew her; he knew what kind of person she was. Bright, outgoing, sincere. Blunt to a fault and so very, very caring that it made his head ache at times.

Still, her consideration was just like her entire self: impulsive. She always went all out and never put much reflection behind it.

As for Taichi, he still couldn't quite determine whether he found it frustrating or just very, very endearing.

Perhaps it was a mixture of the two.

The fact remained, however: the only way he could find his way to her thoughts was through incidents like this. After all, he could hardly imagine Chihaya spending her nights lying awake in her bed, unable to stop thinking of him.

Certainly not in the way he thought of her.

He fought the urge to kick the pebbles under his feet, regardless of the fact that there was no one around to see him if he had, much less to care about it. The street he strolled through was empty, and since it was getting late, there was no reason to believe that the state of things should change. However, Taichi knew better than to indulge himself with his whims, no matter how insignificant they appeared to be. He'd been raised to be that way; and no matter how much he wanted to change, no matter how grand was the amount of effort he put into achieving it, there were things about himself he simply couldn't reform.

He couldn't tell if it were those traits that had made him the unlucky loser he undoubtedly was now; but at least they helped him cope with the fallout his misfortunes had brought.

Which was exactly why he needed to stop wallowing in self-pity and focus on getting on with his own life instead, just like he'd been striving to do recently. He'd done a pretty good job so far, studying harder than ever both for his regular classes and the cram school, fooling everyone that it was his exams that had made him quit the karuta club.

Good gosh, he'd actually let Master Suo persuade him into not giving up on karuta after all, and only changed the environment of his practice instead.

He was fine, or at least, he was going to be.

The recollection of his latest, little successes made his faith grow a little, bringing back that tiny bit of optimism he'd been looking for so desperately. His chin rose a little while his pace turned brisker...

...only to have him halt in surprise at the sound of a dull thud and a hiss that came from behind him.

Taichi turned around almost involuntarily, completely taken aback and therefore totally incapable of forming even the vaguest expectation of what he was about to see. Had he had more time to think about it, he probably would have come with more than a few reasonable explanations of the sound.

For one, it could have been an ordinary jogger, whom he couldn't have seen when he'd exited through the cram school's gate, but who'd caught up to him silently while he was occupied with his own thoughts afterwards, and who now tripped over something and now was groaning in pain. It might have been a passer-by who'd emerged from around the corner, carrying an object so heavy that they had eventually dropped it on the ground.

For all he knew, it might have been a kid running from his friends in another round of tag. Out of all people, he surely was aware how fast little children could move; how quickly and unexpectedly they might invade other people's space.

All of these he could have thought of, and yet, he still wouldn't have guessed the real cause of the noise that had startled him so.

Of course, the culprit simply had to be the one person he'd been trying to ban from his mind.

How had she even got there without him realising her presence until now?

And yet, it was her, undoubtedly, undeniably her. Ayase Chihaya, the love of his life and the greatest, most unpredictable dork of a friend, now hunched and squatting, with one knee rested against the hard concrete surface while she eyed her other one attentively, instinctively pressing her scratched fingers against the more severely injured skin on her leg. With the few metres separating them (and his still fresh bemusement) Taichi needed a moment to fully absorb the scene before him, as well as its less obvious details. Despite the initial falter, his instincts soon took over him, however, and pushed him towards the wounded girl, before he could even see the grimace on her face or observe the way in which she chewed on her lower lip.

In no time was he kneeling down before her, pulling her hands away from the wound by her wrists so that she wouldn't accidentally infect the cut with one hand, while he rummaged through his hastily unzipped bag with the other one, searching for the towel and a water bottle he was sure he'd packed in there earlier.

"Taichi, no! Wait!" He heard her protest against his actions, only to ignore it completely. "It's just a scratch, nothing serious, I can handle it myself just fine here!"

"Like hell you can," he muttered in response after he'd finally found the objects he'd been looking for. "You've just pressed your dirty hands against a fresh wound, you idiot. I don't even want to know what you were planning to do next."

"No, but -"

"Just do me a favour and don't press them like that again now, will you?" he cut her off sternly. "I can't exactly hold your hands and dampen the towel at the same time, I'd need at least one other pair of arms for that. So stop arguing and keep your dusty fingers away for just a second, while I do my job over here."

Chihaya opened her mouth to argue with him some more but shut it right after under his severe glare and bowed her head obediently instead. Seeing that her opposition would not last – or at least, that her revolt would not rise again for a while – Taichi let go of her wrists and focused on wetting the fabric in his hands, before applying the now cold towel to Chihaya's injured knee. She winced under his touch, her head jerking up once more and her eyes glued to his intent countenance.

He saw her movement in the corner of his eye, felt the shudder that jolted all of her body, however, he refused to look up himself, instead making sure that his own gaze remained plastered to the cut he was supposed to be taking care of.

Not that clearing up the skin on her leg was doing any good to his sanity, mind you.

"How on earth did you even do that?" he muttered the question under his breath, if only to make his attention shift to something else, desperately hoping it would be enough to drown out his rebellious thoughts for a short while at least. "There's literally nothing you could have stumbled upon and you don't usually go tripping over your own feet; I know you can be careless sometimes, but you're not a klutz."

"I just wasn't paying attention," Chihaya answered him, her tone slightly offended, but still quieter than he might have expected. "My shoelaces had come undone and I stepped over one."

Taichi sighed, almost impatiently.

"And fell like this? What were you doing, trying to break the world speed record?"

"I tripped! Why does it matter how I fell afterwards?"

"Because I've seen you trip about a hundred thousand times since we first met and it was always due to some crazy stunts you were doing and never because you were simply distracted," he continued to parry her arguments; with every second it became more difficult for him to maintain his grumpy, cool attitude and not let his lips curl into an amused smile at both her behaviour and the memories he'd just recalled himself. "You were constantly running around, jumping over fences and climbing trees and half the time your shoelaces weren't tied, and yet you hardly ever let that get in your way. And now you want me to believe that you've hit the ground with your knee and cut it because you'd stumbled over it? When you were walking?"

"I don't know why you find that so improbable," she replied, shifting her eyes up at him for a second only to have them cast down a moment later. Unlike her most recent retort, this one was once again quiet, so much so that it was almost a whisper.

"I never thought Chihaya was capable of speaking quietly enough to be drowned out by a bell."

Was that it? Was that how she was now?

Was he responsible for that change in her?

He shook his head resolutely and lowered his own gaze onto her knee once more. He realised he was giving in to his nonsensical fears again, finding alterations where there were none, simply because he'd felt the change so acutely. Sure, Chihaya's voice was much softer than what he was used to; but to think that it was a general transformation was a little too much. It wasn't like she couldn't speak loudly or even downright shout at him – she had proven that much with the entire 'you're not a coward' scene, and even with the little comebacks she had thrown at him a short while earlier.

She wasn't mad at him, she hadn't taken offence. She wasn't avoiding him like he had avoided her, nor was she trying to daunt him with her curt, frosty answers; if anything, she'd given him the impression that she wished to talk to him but had no idea how to do it without overstepping his boundaries.

As if she had been afraid of him.

Was she?

Taichi risked another glance at her and saw that she still wasn't looking at him or even at the wound he'd been treating for her. Instead, her gaze was turned to her right, focused on some distant spot he couldn't name unless he followed her gaze with his own eyes. Afraid she might catch him staring, he looked down again quickly, however; he could figure out what had arrested her attention later on.

He had enough to think about as it was, without adding any additional information to the mix.

"There, it's all clean," he announced after a moment, taking the wet towel in his hand away; he pressed it back to her knee almost immediately when he saw that the seemingly unserious injury hadn't stopped bleeding. "It looks like it's a pretty deep cut you've got there. Nothing that would need stitches, but you certainly should have it wrapped up, and not only because of the possible infections. That is, unless you actually want to walk around Tokyo with bloody streaks all over your calves. I don't have anything of the sort so-"

"I do!" she cut him off, energetic again. Taichi raised an eyebrow at her sudden cry and she turned away, blushing. However, she continued, "I do. Just hand me my bag, please?"

He did as he was told, and passed on the bag that had somehow ended lying behind him. Chihaya grabbed the item zealously and began to search its insides, flipping the books and other tools she kept in it with as much hurry as if her life really had depended on it. Taichi regarded her curiously, suddenly indifferent to whether she decided to meet his eye this time.

It took her a good while before she found what she'd been looking for; it was a perfect opportunity for him to have a closer look at her at last.

No matter how silly his behaviour was, Taichi made good use of that time.

She was a mess; there was no doubt about that. No longer panting like she had when he'd seen her first (something Chihaya had been trying very hard to conceal and perhaps even thought that she'd succeeded, only Taichi obviously knew better), she still seemed to be anything but relaxed. Her hair looked as if she had combed them with her hands (which she'd done often enough in the past to make his guess more than likely) and her cheeks were grey from the dust, though again, it looked like she had attempted to clean it in some amateurish way.

He wondered if the slightly darker traces he saw on her cheeks really might have been the remnant of her tears, like he feared they were.

Gosh, she really cried too damn much, never mind how serious the reasons were.

He was roused from his meditation when Chihaya finally pulled out the small first aid kit which she'd been looking so frantically for and straightened up a little, relieved. She sure was glad with herself, a softer, more placid expression finally reflecting on her face as she opened it and drew the bandage and gauze packs she needed from it, and even waved them before his eyes as if to tell him that she could take care of herself now.

That darn moron.

"I can deal with it now," she said, confirming his suspicions. "If you just take the towel away from my knee I can wrap it up just fine. But you really have to move away."

"And how do you plan to do that with your leg bent like this?" he asked, simultaneously ignoring her suggestion completely. "You're still kneeling."

"I can straighten my leg anytime, so-"

"And lay it flat on the ground? Good luck moving your hand underneath when you try to go around it. Also, are you really carrying a first aid kit in your school bag?"

It was the first time Chihaya met his eye since her unfortunate fall and boy, was she vexed. "My mum made me carry one around after I stepped onto a nail and had to block the blood flow with my classmate's spare t-shirt in middle-school. She wasn't very happy with that."

"Your mum or the classmate?"

"Neither. But at least I learnt to carry these things around, and since I know how to use them, I'm going to wrap my own injury now. I just need to stand up and-"

Without a word of warning, she leaned on one arm and pushed herself off the ground, leaving the startled Taichi to stare at her helplessly. She hissed at the pain when she put more pressure on her wounded leg but said nothing, determined to carry out the plan she had formed in her head without letting her friend interrupt.

Only, his hand was still pressed against her knee... and he wasn’t going to do anything to change that.

"You're impossible," he told her instead, the faintest shadow of mirth flashing in his eyes.

"Move your hands, Taichi, I'm bandaging my knee," she ordered him, feigning deafness.

"You'd need to dry your skin first."

"I know that!"

"Not what I heard."

"I am, but I still need you to move away. Why aren't you moving away?"

"Who knows." Taichi shrugged, raising his eyes so he could meet Chihaya's weary glare. "Maybe I'm just being awful for the fun of it. Or maybe as usual, I'm the sensible one here and realise that you're gonna need help with that stupid cut. And since the only way to make you give up is by this kind of opposition, it's exactly what I'm doing now."

Chihaya's fingers tightened around the packages. "But why?"

"Who knows," he said once again. "Perhaps I'm just too used to looking after you to simply walk away and leave you to deal with it on your own. After all, I know you well enough to realise how incompetent you are."

That little jab at the end of his reply was meant to lighten the mood, to avoid a situation in which his earlier words would sound like yet another confession on his part. He wanted to make sure it didn't sound tender – that the 'looking after you' part was a statement coming from a long time buddy rather than from the love interest he so wished to be, from an easygoing, disinterested comrade and not a suitor she was so afraid of.

He wanted to turn it into a joke, and yet, it only took a second for him to realise that his tactics hadn't worked.

She didn't answer him; didn't snap or turn away, didn't huff, offended by his remark – but she didn't laugh, either. He saw her knuckles turn white as her grasp tightened even more and opened his mouth to apologise...

...but then she straightened her arms, shoving the bandages right before his eyes, while she looked away from him, again.

She nearly hit him on the nose and yet, he was too stunned to care.

"You do it then," he heard her mutter under her breath as she moved the package even closer to him. "Just... be quick about it. It doesn't need to be that precise, I only need it to last until I'm home."

He wanted to contradict her, to say that the main reason why he'd insisted on helping her out was to make sure that the dressing around her wound would not be a shoddy one; but something stopped him. Whether it was the way in which she was so determined not to meet his eye again or how her hands trembled when he finally took the cursed bandages from her, he couldn't tell; but he couldn't be more sure if Chihaya had told him that directly.

His jokes hadn't been too terrible a strategy overall – one more challenge, however, and he could lose it all.

So he remained silent, attentively drying her skin with fresh gauze before pressing another piece against the injury and wrapping it up with utmost care. It didn't matter that it was her bare skin anymore, or that the rim of her skirt was moving gently right above his bowed forehead. He was a friend, a companion. He was willing to call himself a nurse, for goodness' sake – as long as what he did was of any benefit to her.

Now wasn't he a failure.

Bet someone else, someone like Sudo, would never let anything like that happen, he thought to himself. He probably would have left her at that gate and walked away without a word, unless it was to roast her with one of his terrible lines. Actually, I'm sure nobody I know would've acted as stupidly as I have, whether it would be Nishida or Komano, or – Arata...

"All done," he announced a little too hastily, deliberately breaking his own train of thought before it could take him too far, and stood up. "I hope it's not too tight, but if it is, just tell me and I'll fix it. We don't want your leg to go all stiff and blue while you walk back home, right?"

"No, it's good. It's perfect," she answered, shaking her head. "Thank you."

Her head and gaze were still lowered when she spoke to him, so Taichi couldn't quite tell what her expression was and so he couldn’t use that knowledge to guess how she actually felt. At first, he was sure she would turn away as soon as he was done treating her wound, and just set off towards home without further delay, or that she would at least step back, no longer needing to stay in his close proximity like she had before.

They really were standing quite close now, so close that one step forward would make her forehead rest against his collarbone, literally.

And yet, she still didn’t allow him to see her face. He waited patiently for another moment, even though his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest any moment now. He stuck around, motionless and quiet, giving her every chance to flee like he expected her to, awaiting the moment when she would leave his personal space.

He couldn't imagine her wanting to be there, not after how he had treated her today – how he'd been treating her ever since the day she had rejected him.

And yet, she was still there.

"Chihaya," he whispered eventually. "Do you want to talk?"

It was a simple question, an obvious question. It was a ridiculous one, too – after all, they'd been exchanging statements back and forth, so technically, it was way past time for asking it. However, he certainly knew that it was not a simple chat he'd had in mind; and maybe it was naive of him, but he still believed that Chihaya understood it, too.

She didn't answer him immediately, and not even after some time had passed. It wasn't because she hadn't heard him, of that he was sure... but that didn't mean that he had more than the vaguest idea of why she tarried, either.

Was his question not so simple after all?

He didn't dare to lean forward, on the off chance that she would decide to look up at him after all, in which case their closeness really might become too much for him. His eyes remained fixed on her, however, boring into her hair as if to jinx her into replying at last. She didn't move; she didn't look up.

And for the longest time, she didn't make a sound.

Until...

"Yes. Yes, I do."

#Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears #chihayafuru #taichihaya #mashima taichi #ayase chihaya #more reposting #more new arrrrt #margaretwrites

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jamielea81 · 5 years ago

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When We Were Young

Chapter 1

Description: Leaving the only home your daughter had ever known wasn’t part of the grand plan. But then again, sometimes taking chances can change your whole life. And you should know that, you’ve been doing that since the start.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, maybe a curse word or two.

Word Count: 2,271

A/N: Super nervous about this one. As always, this is strictly for fun as I know nothing about the personal life of Chris Evans. This series takes place in 2018.

*Italics are internal thoughts*

This is it. This…is…it. Okay, deep breath. Plaster on that smile.

“We’re almost there,” you sing-songed.

“Mom…” your daughter Ellie groaned.

Turning your head to the side, your co-pilot was currently nose deep in a book.

Better than her phone.

She’s a great kid and you really couldn’t complain. At fifteen you were pulling away from your parents as were most of your friends. It had been the two of you for so long that you were closer than ever. She didn’t keep secrets from you and you didn’t keep any from her. That had been your deal for years.

“I’m hoping we beat the moving truck there. Would hate to pay them to sit around,” you said eyeing the clock on the dash.

“It’s a moving truck and you don’t exactly have a light foot,” she replied, tucking in a bookmark and setting her book on her lap.

“What are you implying Ellington?” Smirk ever-present in your voice.

“It’s just that you tend to speed mother dear. When we were on the open roads in North Carolina that was one thing, but I don’t think you’ll get away with that in Boston.”

“Just wait until you start driving. You’re going to be worse than me!” you laughed. “But your probably right.”

“Don’t forget to sign me up for classes. You promised after the move you’d enroll me.”

“I know and I will. Let’s just get the school tour and the first few days of classes settled first. One step at a time,” you replied, giving her a soft smile.

Where did the time go?

“And are you ready?” she questioned.

“Ready for what?” you asked, small frown appearing on your lips.

“You’re new job. The new house. It’s an entirely different part of the country. It’s a lot,” Ellie sighed out. “Even I know that and I’m the one that wanted this change.” She placed her hand over your right hand that held the steering wheel.

“I’m ready.” You nodded your head because you really were. “This is for you, baby. But a little part of this is for me too. Change is good,” you said shrugging your shoulders. “That’s what they say right?” You gave her a questioning look which she chuckled at.

“Absolutely, mom,” Ellie agreed.

Despite your concern, the two of you made it to the townhome before the movers. The car was unloaded and food ordered before they even pulled up.

All of your furniture had survived the move, but now that you had it in the house, the beach vibe really wasn’t matching with the old brick row home. If your savings weren’t mostly depleted, you’d consider purchasing a new living room and dining room set. Only one box of miscellaneous knickknacks was damaged beyond repair from the move up the coast. According to your daughter, it was just an excuse to go shopping.

Ellie was tucked away in her new room organizing her clothes, promising she’d actually go to sleep in the next thirty minutes. It was a big day for her and you as she would tour her new school. The school specializing in engineering was the reason you were here. While Ellie didn’t inherit the social awkwardness you experienced in junior high and most of high school, she was also incredible smart. How your beautiful daughter turned out so well rounded only being raised by you was a bit of a mystery, but you thanked your lucky stars every night.

When Ellie came to you ten months ago with a glittery pink folder filled with the school’s brochure, a list of courses she planned to take, a breakdown of tuition cost, nearby neighborhoods, and a recommendation for one of her teachers, you knew she was serious. She had been talking about Harvard since she was nine years old when her school had a special speaker that had mentioned graduating from the esteemed university. She reminded you that when she did start her college career there, because she knew she’d get in, it would be a lot easier on you if you lived locally. Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

Reaching out to a of couple old NYU classmate who lived in Boston was the easy part. Getting your small two-bedroom bungalow solid was the tough part. The house sat on the market for two months without so much as a nibble. The two of you got to work painting every room, replacing light fixtures, baseboards, and outlets. It paid off in the end as your house was in escrow a month later.

While you liked having a detached home, it wasn’t in the budget in Boston or in any of the surrounding suburbs. Your old classmate Hillary, who was happy to reconnect really steered you toward a row home. After searching Google for months, you found a rental in the town of Belmont that was conveniently located near Ellie’s high school. And just like that, you were saying goodbye to the only town she had ever known.

Wine. You needed wine if you were going to stop worrying and get some sleep yourself. If only you could find a wine glass. Digging through the one of three boxes labeled “dishes”, you gave up your search when you came up empty after the first box.

“A coffee cup will do.”

Filling the mug three quarters of the way full, you headed back to the couch, resting your feet up on the cushions and thought about how your lives were going to change. Ellie was excited for a new city and school, but you were sure she also held onto some anxiety on the inside as she tended to do.

When you were three months pregnant, you moved to Wilmington North Carolina with your college classmate Peter who was nice enough to offer you a place to stay. You certainly couldn’t go home to Kentucky. Not when you were pregnant and single. Not that you wanted to anyway. Wilmington is where you built your life for the last sixteen years and you missed it already.

You grew up in a very structured home. Middle child to wealthy parents who weren’t shy about how much they had. They had goals for you and for the most part, you obeyed. Piano lessons, cello lessons, dance, although, that one ended shortly after you started. Private schools, tutors, math camp, really anything that would help you succeed. You did well in school because you worked hard. Not that you had a choice really. College and then back home to work for your father’s company. No doubt they had a short list of potential husbands handpicked for you by your sixteenth birthday. You’d be engaged by twenty four, married, by twenty five, first child by twenty seven. It wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to plan out the rest of your life, not have it planned out for you. Having a child on your own terms was very much a part of your plans.

Leaving work early after only two weeks at Hayward Financial was not on your calendar for the day. Two appointments with new clients had to be canceled with new ones set up for the following week. Receiving a call from Middlebury Engineering Academy that your daughter missed third and fourth period was most certainly not a call you expected to get. She loved school. Always had perfect attendance except for that one year where she got very sick with the flu and had to miss three days. Missing class was more painful to Ellie than the illness itself. Maybe you missed something. Maybe she wasn’t as happy as she seemed. She already had a small group of friends but maybe they weren’t good kids. You slammed your hands on the steering wheel.

“Where are you Ellington Rae?”

You had already called her cellphone three times and texted her twice as much but she wasn’t responding. Home was your first stop but she wasn’t there. The coffee shop was next. It was a favorite for the two of you, stopping there at least four days a week. Unfortunately, they hadn’t seen her. The pizza place, sandwich shop, frozen yogurt kiosk, library, that clothing boutique she had been begging you to take her to since her friend Carmen had mentioned it, all turned up empty. On the verge of tears, you pulled back into your driveway for the second time that day and called your best friend who not only felt a thousand miles away but actually was a thousand miles away in Wilmington. This was the hard part about moving somewhere new. You hadn’t met the neighbors, hadn’t introduced yourself to the parents of Ellie’s friends, barely knew her teachers. You had never felt more alone than you did at that moment.

“Gwen…” you said, voice barely holding on.

“What’s wrong? Shit. Give me a second, I’m going to step outside,” she said.

You got out of the car, walking up the stairs with the phone attached to your ear and your bag in your other hand. You pushed your shoulder up to hold the phone in place while you dug for the keys.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on.

“It was a mistake coming here,” you sobbed, dropping the keys on the kitchen island. “I miss Wilmington.”

“Oh babe. You love it there. You already told me you do,” she sighed.

“Not anymore. We’re coming home. I just need, um I just need to get out of my lease. We can stay with you right?”

“Always. But that’s not going to happen. Now tell me what’s bringing this panic on.”

“I can do this. Just act like you know what you’re doing,” Ellie said to herself, taking a big breath, straightening her shoulders, and walking out the door.

Leaving campus after second period was a lot easier than she thought it would be. Between the hustle and bustle of the hallway, watching the exits apparently wasn’t a thing teachers did. She walked three blocks from campus and ordered an Uber. The app was already on her phone from when her mom’s car got a flat and they decided to get lunch rather than sit around the repair shop. Her mom would be mad at her, but this was worth it and she would apologize for it later.

Her driver dropped her off in front of the booming convention center. She’d always wanted to go to one of these things, just never figured she’d be ditching school to do it. The building was massive with an impressive architectural roof. The engineer in her was beaming, but she wasn’t here for that. No, she was on a schedule. This was her one chance and she wasn’t going to blow it standing outside. Walking past the dozen or so smokers, she made her way inside the convention center, making a stop at the registration table to grab her credentials. While most attendees lined up early to be let in as soon as the doors were open, Ellie was not the average attendee.

Checking her phone for the time, she saw the dozen or so missed calls and texts. She was going to be in so much trouble when she got home and she honestly hated herself for making her mom worry. Ellie had an hour before she could line up for the one photograph she purchased months ago. Deciding to kill time in the vendor room seemed like the best option. Maybe she could buy something for you to make up for giving you wrinkles at an early age.

After browsing for some time, Ellie settled on two matching beaded bracelets in your favorite color for each of you. Maybe when you finally forgave her, you’d wear them and go to brunch like the two of you enjoyed doing back in Wilmington.

Combing her fingers through her hair for the fourth time, Ellie leaned to the side to check the length of the line once more. There were maybe twenty to twenty five people ahead of her, so she knew it would go fast. But if she had to hear how hot Chris Evans was one more time, she was going to scream. Ellie had rehearsed what she was going to say a million times in her head, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able verbalize the words. An opportunity like this wouldn’t happen again, at least not one this easily.

She was led into a room with two other girls not much older than herself. They were here together and couldn’t stop giggling. Chris said hello and both said hello in unison causing Ellie to sigh.

“How do you want to pose for the photo?” Chris asked.

“Could we both hug you?” one of the girls asked.

“Yeah, that would be okay,” Chris replied, giving them each a smile which only caused them to giggle more and Ellie to roll her eyes.

After the girls said goodbye, two more people were ushered in the room behind Ellie. The assistant urged her forward to a smiling Chris.

“Hi sweetheart. How would you like to pose for our photo?” Ellie gulped in reply. “Don’t be nervous. How about I just give you a side hug?”

Ellie nodded her head as Chris wrapped his arm around her waist. She turned her head to face him, seeing that he wasn’t looking at her, but at the camera.

“You’re my dad,” she exclaimed.

Chris whipped his head to the side to face her. “What?” he whispered.

“You’re my father.”

Chapter 2

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#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x single mother reader #chris evans x you #chris evans reader insert #chris evans fan fic #chris evans fanfic #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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mangolover · 4 years ago

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Can Blood Piece Broken Glass Back Together? - Ikesen Kenshin angst fanfiction

Title: Can Blood Piece Broken Glass Back Together?

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku / Ikesen

Pairing: Kenshin X F!MC

Genre: Angst

Warnings: This fanfiction includes sensetive themes like: suicide, mental illness, depression, self harm, blood and excesive drinking, Please proceed with caution!

Spoilers: There are some spoilers here, one of them being really important for Kenshin’s character development and to better understand him.

Word Count: 1700+

Description: F!MC has been feeling depressed and suicidal lately and Kenshin isolated her due to his jealousy problems, leaving her with no other option to escape her darkness, but taking her own life and breaking his fragile heart.

Enjoy!

It was hard to face life these days... It wasn’t the first time she had felt like giving up. Even before she travelled 500 years back into the past and found the love of her life, those thoughts were like an annoying guest to her, coming and going as they wished. Back in the future it was alright, times were much more peaceful and she could go to any of her friends or to her family, sometimes even seeking professional help. But now… Now her family wasn’t even born and her friends were mostly his enemies, enemies of the one person she was ready to call her own world, Kenshin Uesugi, the man who had imprisoned her heart, body and destiny.

Nothing particularly bad happened, she just woke up one day and felt… empty. It haunted her from when she was a teen, ever since she lost herself because she wasn’t like other girls on Instagram... She didn’t know how to express her emotions, that was one thing she always struggled with. And being with Kenshin didn’t help her with that.

Kenshin had his own demons that haunted his mind. They left his dreams after she had helped him, but he was still helping himself and couldn’t help her. That’s why she was really happy when she had a chance to see Shingen and Yukimura. Shingen was wiser and older and dealing with his own demons so he could always spare some advice or lend a hearing ear which was helpful to her. She could barely go anywhere alone to scream and release every damned emotion she felt, so she’d find her antidote in her friend Yukimura. Yuki would always bring a smile to her face and to that she was very grateful.

But that bugged Kenshin. He was sickly jealous and didn’t want them to hear her beautiful voice, to smell her beautiful scent, to fell her warm embrace as they hugged her to make her feel better, but he couldn’t be there for her. He was a busy warlord with many enemies. So, the only way to stop those haunting voices in his head was to cut them off. He asked his once arch enemy and his vassal to never show up again or there will be a problem. Shingen understood the hidden motive behind his threatening request, he was painfully aware of his demons and didn’t want his friend that he cared about so deeply going down that damned spiral of self-destruction again. So they retreated back to their own land, silently apologizing to her in their heads.

With no one there for her anymore, a new wave of hopelessness washed over her leaving her in even worse state, but like a sign from any gods there are, Sasuke, her buddy from the future, was there with her. He was a busy man, after all he was Kenshin’s employee, his own ninja, but he could always find the time for her, because she was the reason he endured all those four long years of ninja training, only hoping to meet her again and be able to help her. And even if their plans have changed, they were still in this together. Sasuke would listen to her and help her, even whrn she was at her lower points, when she was too close to the rock bottom, he would be with her. He could see her pale face and how much skinner she had become in the last months compared to a year ago when she first arrived in this time period. She didn’t eat properly, she didn’t sleep enough and those thoughts, anxiety and stress were eating her from inside out, she even left her job as the seamstress and decided to sit out her days on the veranda, looking out at the miserable garden that was once full of beautiful flowers with prickly thorns that made her bleed and hurt Kenshin.

Kenshin was once again hurt by her relationship with Sasuke and he didn’t hesitate to pull his trusty sword Himetsuru-Ichimonji on him. He cared for Sasuke, deeply, but he couldn’t shut those horrible, distorted voices in his head that were growing louder by second, telling him the curse and blessing that followed him. He could not be harmed and killed in battle, but everyone around him that he cared and loved ended up getting hurt or dying out of his reach to help them. It was eating him inside out, leaving behind only a shell of a man he once was or could be and a glass heart in his chest, hard to break, but once broken, hardly put together again, slowly killing him…

Sasuke was forbidden from seeing or touching her, only if she was in immediate danger and Kenshin wasn’t there to run to her aid. That broke her, leaving her with barely any hope, not strong enough to outshine the darkness in her mind and soul anymore. With all her loved ones now abandoning her or being forbidden to see her due to the side she chose, she was almost completely alone. There was one last chance to stop it all, to prevent the turmoil that was coming.

She had been alone for a week now, looking for a way to punish herself for being so weak without hurting Kenshin. She looked at that dagger she received from Oda forces before she departed from them in case she ever needed to save herself. ‘Should I do it?’ was her thought as she stared at its blade, pressing it to her fingertip, testing it’s sharpness. It could easily slash someone’s throat in an instant without much pressure applied, she was sure of that as she almost cut her finger and dealt another punch to Kenshin’s still fragile heart. Healing process was never going to be easy, if she wasn’t aware of that before, she was now. She just hoped it would be quicker, but she knew better than to rush him and risk all the progress, all the baby steps they made, going down the drain…

She snapped out of it when she heard the footsteps down the hall, announcing the early return of her healing lover. She frantically hid the dagger. Making sure she doesn’t cut herself, for the sake of both of their sanity. He greeted her as he slid open the door, shutting it behind him when he saw her face with a plastered smile. She is glad he was home in one piece, but she couldn’t find a way to really smile again. Kenshin must’ve been tired because he sat on the futon waiting for her to come and cuddle with him, but she was holding herself back. Maybe she should just talk to him about her demons, he promised to protect her all his life after all. ‘Yeah, I should just talk to him, I love him. He deserves to know what’s going on.’ However when she saw that beautiful true smile on his face when he hugged her, placing an affectionate kiss on top of her head, she lost all her courage to tell him and risk losing this happy Kenshin she loved so much more than his sad side.

That proved to be a fatal mistake on her part.

She couldn’t fight her monsters when it was too dark for her to see ahead anymore. The last light of hope extinguished its flame and left her completely alone and lost, this time with no resort to turn to. The antidote was now useless, nothing could save her. She was too far gone. She finally broke.

She was standing in the middle of her room, finally wearing the kimono she sewed last night using the fabric the Oda clan sent her, the fabric Kenshin would rip off her and burn out of his jealous rage. She wrote him a letter, explaining her thoughts in the best way she could and begging him to not blame himself. This time, it was completely her mistake because the only one getting hurt was him. She took a deep breath and muttered an apology under her breath before she slit her wrist, deep, causing her blood to splatter everywhere, quickly leaving her body. Sasuke was worried about her and he finally found some time to meet her with Kenshin being occupied hunting down some bandits in town. He silently slid into her room and saw a horrifying sight…

There she was, wobbling on her legs, losing conciseness by seconds, he froze to the spot, only to see her holding a bloody dagger with a pained smile on her face. He had to act quickly, he ran to her side, tying a piece of fabric around her wrist doing anything to try and stop the bleeding and, in an instant, he was out in the hallway, running towards the medic’s room, begging her to keep her eyes open and stay with him, he couldn’t lose her when he could’ve helped her. After dropping her of there he practically fell backwards down on to the floor, still covered in her blood and running his hands through his hair, drowning in unbearable guilt. His usually stoic expression was now painted with hurt.

Vassals learned about this and Kenshin was soon brought back to his castle, demons running wild in his mind. ‘What the hell was she thinking? How could I let that happen? Why was fate punishing mr once again, wasn’t the first time enough?? Wasn’t Isehime enough of a punishment for me??!’

But nothing could bring Isehime back… He is the one responsible for her death… He failed to protect his first love from himself and his damned curse that still kept him alive, only to torture him more…

Few hours passed that felt like they were years, he couldn’t bring himself to go to her side now, not when she was still ragging her war, fighting, the only question was to die or to survive. She may thought this was the best way to hurt him, one quick and hard punch to that glass in his chest, but it was the worst torture he could imagine. She was still visible, dying out of his reach. He sat at the veranda where she spent so many nights with her demons, downing bottles of sake, one after the another, and poured himself another cup, the one brewed in Azuchi, one he shared with her. Now it lost its special taste all of a sudden, causing him to push it off the table and shatter into millions of pieces, just like his heart when the final blow was finally delivered… One of those shards from his heart must've flew and stuck in her wrist, deepening the cut and therefore preventing the blood from stopping...

But, sadly, blood can’t piece broken glass back together…

The end.

#kenshin uesugi fanfic #ikemen sengoku #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikesen #ikesen angst #ikemen sengoku angst #ikemen sengoku angst fanfiction #ikemen sengoku angst fanfic #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin #🥭

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

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⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

#bloodbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #serafine dupont #vlad tepes #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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luna-loner · 4 years ago

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Kanzaki Yukiko Character Analysis

So yesterday, I saw @nuggxxt's post asking if anyone's done an analysis on their favorite characters. I've done one myself for Kanzaki, but never actually wrote it here. Then, I had a dream that I made an analysis here....guess that means subconsciously, I want to share my analysis. (Plus more Kanzaki content, yay!)

Okay, I'll make that dream come true.

Note: Very long post. (Because once I start talking about best girl, I can’t seem to stop)

Kanzaki Yukiko

Words fail to express how much I love this girl,so I’ll settle with a simple *chef’s kiss*

What’s intriguing is that in Episode 7, we actually get two Kanzakis:

When we first got to meet Yukiko, we met the graceful and elegant class idol who has most boys fawning over her. A very kind and seemingly perfect girl.

But later in the episode, we see another, contrasting side: A rebellious gamer girl, albeit, in flashbacks only. Here, we realize that there’s more to Yukiko than meets the idea.

So the question on my mind was: Who’s the real Kanzaki Yukiko?

It was just one question that got me breaking down her character, scavenging for the tiniest of details, all just to get to know this girl.

Background:

Yukiko comes from a conservative and high class family. She had a strict upbringing coupled with countless expectations from her lawyer father.

We should note the kind of relationships she shares with her family members. Her older brother is kind to her, her grandmother was the one who introduced her to video games, and relationship with her mother is unknown. (In fact, barely anything is mentioned about her mother other than the fact she works at her husband’s law firm).

So really, she only has a terrible relationship with her father.

At some point in her life, Yukiko’s grandmother fell ill and Yukiko was the one who tended to her until the end, and because of the grateful look she received from her, Yukiko became aspired to be nurse for the elderly.

However, her father had other plans for her. He wanted her to excel at school and earn a prestigious title. He actually wanted her to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. And since frivolity was frowned upon in their society, she had to hide her gamer side as it wasn’t suitable for a girl of her status.

In her second year, she was unable to handle the pressure anymore. She wanted to run away from it all and be her own person, so what does she do?

She changes her appearance and frequently visits arcades with complete disregard for her studies. That eventually landed her in E Class, and Yukiko does regret her actions, and rightfully so because, while reason for her rebellion is understandable, neglecting your studies is irresponsible.

Generally, Yukiko is responsible, and a good example of that would be when she tended to her sick grandmother (presumably by herself). However, at the end of the day, she’s still young and bound to make mistakes. Ryuki mentioned that the photo he had of Yukiko is from last summer, meaning Yukiko was still 13 at the time (She was born in March, making her one of the youngest in class).

After landing in E Class, she starts attending to her studies again and although she and rest of her class fail to reach the top 50 in the first trimester midterms, she is ranked 85th place, which is actually a good grade and would place her in C Class. (Each main campus class has 40 students, so the first 120 students are A, B, and C Class combined)

Also, she is among the best 5 in class on the girls’ side, right after Kataoka. Kayano and Korosensei mentioned how she is diligent and that’s demonstrated when puts together an itinerary all by herself and researches Gion.

As she narrates her story to Kayano, we see the regret painted all over her face. At this point, she’s lost all hope, even saying she doesn’t know where she belongs anymore.

“Be they in a clear stream or a muddy river, the fish who swim forward turn out the finest.” (Note: This is the actual quote from the sub)

Korosensei’s words were what Yukiko needed to break away from her guilt and depression. They made her realize that it doesn’t matter what happened in the past; what’s important is to keep on moving forward, and that’s exactly what she does later on in the series.

Post-Kyoto

For most part, Post-Kyoto Kanzaki remains the same, expect for a few things.

For starters, she is much more confident in herself and no longer cares what others think. She also gains the confidence to stand up to her father by flipping him off and stating she will become a nurse rather than a lawyer.

Her gamer side becomes public knowledge to the class. First, we see her happily playing in front of her friends in Episode 8. Next, Takebayashi gives her the code name “Mistress/Grandmaster Kanzaki” (Which according to @ansatsu-database, is a reference to the famous gamer, Toshiyuki Takahashi.) Also, during the Civil War, Chiba remarks how she is a champion in an online war game.

So, yeah, Yukiko grows much more comfortable in her own skin. We also see her grow stronger as demonstrated when she stood up to Takaoka even though she had seen how violent he truly is. We also saw how deadly she can be such as when she elegantly held up a pencil to Ren’s eye, and in both scenarios, she does it with an elegant smile.

My own thoughts:

Okay we are no longer in canon territory. Here, I’ll be talking about some of my theories and interpretations:

The first is Yukiko’s fashion style. When I first saw her gamer look, it made me wonder which kind of clothes is Yukiko truly comfortable in.

Looking back, that was a stupid question because the goddamn answer was in the roll book!

Irina notes how Yukiko is conscious about dressing up modestly and her tights are an essential part of her attire, be it her school uniform (Both winter and summer) or her street clothes.

Heck, in the first episode of season 2, Rio tells Irina if she wants to attract Karasuma, she needs to more “neatly dressed” just like Yukiko.

So, why would she dress drastically different from her usual, neat style?

Here’s my theory, and it has to do with her line “I don’t know where I belong anymore”

Gamer girls have it rough. Everyone has their own idea of how a gamer girl “should be like”...how they should act...how they should look like....and if a girl doesn’t mean this criteria, then she’s simply not a “real” gamer.

Yukiko, with her girly style and elegant demeanor would be considered the furthest thing from a “real” gamer. She probably felt the need to change her appearance (Maybe her personality as well, given that uncharacteristically hard look we saw on Ryuki’s phone) o fit into the gaming community. Plus, she wanted to run away from her prestigious lifestyle so by dressing differently, it was like she was separating herself from her family.

Remember, Yukiko does mature after Kyoto, and she becomes more assertive (Even if it’s not shown that much), if she can flip off her strict father and no longer care about how others view her, then she can dress in whatever style she wants.

But she doesn’t, she still dresses elegantly and modestly. In fact, she doesn’t even bother changing her style anymore when she hits the arcades:

She no longer feels the need to fit others’ idea of what a gamer girl should be. She’s a gamer girl no matter how she acts or dresses, and if someone’s got a problem with that....well, they can always step in ring against her.

Honestly, I feel like there’s a tendency to understatement her due to her soft, gentle appearance. I imagine she likes this since this gives her the element of surprise. Remember the Civil War? No one expected her of all people to score three kills, even being the first on Blue team to do so.

In the roll book, Karma feels like Yukiko is very confident in her gaming prowess, to the point, she feels like she’s better than everyone else. I’m not sure if it’s just Karma, or if Yukiko really is that confident (Maybe to the point of being consider arrogant?), but I think the latter is possible. Maybe she got a little too confident?

Conclusion:

Between the elegant class idol and the rebellious gamer girl, I feel like Kanzaki Yukiko is somewhere in between, though she seems to lean more towards the former.

She is the sweet girl we met early in Episode 7, but by no means does that make her weak. She’s mostly quiet, but can stand up to herself. She’s kind and compassionate, but can be deadly when she wants to be. But most importantly, she’s confident in herself and doesn’t care what others think.

***

Honestly, I feel like I got carried away, but it can’t be helped, I just love this girl to death <3

Also, this is actually my first time doing a character analysis, so...I’m not sure if everything I mentioned was necessary. There were more things I wanted to talk about, but I wasn’t sure how relevant they are. Maybe it’s probably a good thing I didn’t put them because this is by far, the longest post I’ve ever written.

#assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #kanzaki yukiko #yukiko kanzaki

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handsofdarkness · 4 years ago

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Sharon den Adel (Within Temptation): "Emotions are the most important ingredient in music"

A few days ago we interviewed the singer of Within Temptation – Sharon den Adel. We talked with the artist from the Netherlands about what her life in the lockdown reality looks like, about her band's publishing plans and hopes for the coming months. Enjoy your reading!

The interview, which took place on January 14, 2021 was conducted by Mateusz M. Godoń via Skype.

MATEUSZ: Hi Sharon! First of all, how are you doing? How is your life during the current lockdown?

SHARON: I'm fine, thank you. Yeah, of course it's not the ideal situation, but, you know, we have to cope like everyone else. And that's just what it is.

MATEUSZ: So what do you do when you have to spend most of your time at home? Have you discovered any new passions recently or are you just developing some older ones?

SHARON: I'm mostly developing the older ones. But we've redone the whole house, for instance. So that's one of the things that I never thought I would enjoy that much. But if you are at home that much, it's nice to have something to do. So we’ve been redecorating, painting rooms and stuff like that just to keep busy, but obviously, we also devoted a lot of time to music.

MATEUSZ: Quite recently you guys have released your new single called "The Purge". Can you tell us a bit about this song? What is this piece about?

SHARON: Well, it's all about looking back on life and dealing with situations and decisions made in the past and living on – and because of dealing with it, you can live better. You know, sometimes you really need to look certain things in the eye to cope with it again and not take the burden along with you throughout the years – and it will be easier in life if you do it. And that's something that we had a lot of time for, I think, when we were in a lockdown to overthink life. Everybody's in a roller coaster, the whole year long and every year, so when there's a lockdown like this, you get a chance to re-evaluate your life itself and also directions and decisions made, of course. And that's, I think, why "The Purge" came together.

MATEUSZ: This is the second song after "Entertain You", which you are releasing as a part of series of singles. Why did you choose this form of sharing new material this time instead of waiting for a whole new album to be ready?

SHARON: Well, the first reason was to have some new songs while being on tour again, of course, when we are doing this co-headline tour with Evanescence. We felt like we've just been on tour, so it's nice to have on the new tour some new songs to surprise everybody that we don't just play the same - or more or less the same – setlist again, but we have some new songs added to it as well, which is always nice, I guess. And then of course, a lockdown came and we felt like: OK, you know what, we're just going to continue doing this and we're not going to release an album, because we don't know how long it's going to take before we get out of the lockdown again. And we need something to look forward to. And it's also an experiment in a way, and started with the fact that we wanted to present some new songs on tour. But, yeah, now it became a bigger experiment than we thought – it was going to be a longer one anyway [laughter]. But it's nice, because now we're right in the moment and that's good also, I think.

MATEUSZ: But after all, do you plan to release an album with all the singles you are now releasing in digital form? Fans still like to have all their favorite bands' songs on physical media, and I'm sure they'd love to have another release to add to their collections!

SHARON: Yeah, well, we are planning that still. It is still the plan to release eventually an album, but it will take us some time to get together and also record everything, of course. But we have enough time. Getting together is a bit of a problem – but we can do a lot already and we'll see how far we get. And you know, there's a lot of touring ahead of us when we are able to go on tour again. So that needs to come first, but of course, there will be an album eventually. But we're still going to keep on releasing some new songs here and there as long as this takes.

MATEUSZ: Not so long ago, you have created your own label. Why did you decide to do that? Does it have anything to do with trying to release songs in a different way than before?

SHARON: Yes, you know, we artists have different goals than record companies sometimes. And for us, this was very important to do it this way to try this out. And then you have to be, well, you know, on the same page with your record company, of course. And when it didn't happen, we decided to do it on our own.

MATEUSZ: Right! Not so long ago, because just two years ago, you have released your last longplay, "Resist", and it came out five years after the previous album. What it took you so long to release a follow-up to "Hydra"?

SHARON: Well, it was because of the fact that I had a little bit of writer's block. Little was a big one – and it was not just me, but I think the whole band was in a small identity crisis, I guess. In a way, it was a little like a lockdown for the band at that time. In a way, it was a little like a lockdown for the band at that time. You know, life can always be one big rollercoaster for everyone in this world – and sometimes, at a certain age, or maybe because of some problems (like in my case, because my dad got really ill), you can just have enough. I got into a vibe like I wanted to look back on life and started realizing: do I still want to do this? So I was a little bit in an emotional crisis in a way. And also together with this writer's block, I think, which was, of course, glued together, it was one big problem. Of course, it was all connected to each other. And it wasn't just me – I think a lot of them were like: OK, we've been doing this for so many years in our adult life, what else do we want to do? In the band, I'm one of the writers – not the only one, of course – but everyone was struggling to find a new direction, a new goal, a new challenge, I guess. And so I decided in the meantime that, just for therapy, I was going to write a few songs and it didn't have to be for Within Temptation. And it really opened the doorway of writing new stuff that I normally would never write and would come out of me. And so it helped me get rid of the blockage, this writer's block that I had. And I wrote a different album in the meantime. So that also took a lot of time. And releasing it was for me, a personal project that I needed to do for myself. It was called My Indigo. And yeah, and it helped us back on track with this, not just me, but I think everybody, because I also got some help from the other members. Everybody was, of course, in the same kind of ship and we were a little bit shipwrecked [laughter]. So it was, yeah, time for some cooling down and some distance, I guess. And that’s why it took us five years to come back with "Resist".

MATEUSZ: I'm glad to hear that the crisis is over or it's getting better at least. You've already mentioned this sideproject of yours, My Indigo. Do you plan to continue it and release more albums under this brand name?

SHARON: I'm only working for Within Temptation at the moment, but I hope to write someday again for My Indigo when I feel the need for it. It should be a project that is spontaneous and should come to me when I am ready for it, I guess. And at this moment, I don't have the inspiration for My Indigo. I hope I'll get it again – but it's also not always a good sign [laughter]. When I'm working for Within Temptation, I'm not working for My Indigo – and vice versa. I think I need both, probably, but at this moment I'm more in the vibe for Within Temptation.

MATEUSZ: Great! So, as you've already mentioned, last year you were planning to go on a big tour with Evanescence, but the pandemic thwarted your plans and the tour had to be postponed to fall 2021. Hopefully this tour will take place and there would be no more problems – but how do you envision the post-pandemic touring?

SHARON: I think people will be more fired up to hear music live! Fired up because of the fact that they're finally out of their houses, you know, everybody is out there and wants to be together again. And I think that it will bring a crazy kind of fire that will bring it to the next level. You know, people are really going to appreciate being outdoors again, not just for us, of course, not just our own shows, but every show that's going to happen after this lockdown. I think it is going to be crazy and so much fun. So I'm really looking forward to that. I'm really hoping that will happen soon.

MATEUSZ: Yeah, I understand you totally – I'm also looking forward to the return of concerts, because I'm a photographer during the shows here in Poland and I miss it so much!

SHARON: I can imagine! [laughter]

MATEUSZ: So do you do you miss playing live yourself?

SHARON: Yes, of course, I miss this interaction. I miss the people. I miss the crew. I miss the band, obviously! I miss everybody. The whole picture isn't complete without one or the other. So we need everyone and every single person that was involved in the past and hopefully will get on board again with this new tour, because there's also some problems ahead, I guess! Also because of the fact that you don't know if everybody is going to survive this lockdown – meaning like truck companies, the catering that we used to have... We know every each and every person almost who travels with us. You know, it's one big family – and that goes for every person who supports our team, like truck and bus drivers who travel with us from one city to another and to any country. And so you need everybody on board to be able to get this picture back in place again. And I really hope most people who'd worked for us, are still able to work for us when we start again, because everybody will start up at the same time more or less and there will be a lot of work. But you have your favorite team, of course, and they work for several people. So it’s just wondering, like, can we get the dream team together again? Hopefully they will choose us.

MATEUSZ: Yeah, sure! Let's hope that everybody would be available when this nightmare ends and there would be no more problems. So you are planning to perform in Poland again during the Worlds Collide tour. You have played here many times before. Which of those visits do you consider the most important? Do you have any special memories from here?

SHARON: Well, I love the city Cracow, because I think that's one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been to! So I like the Polish fans because they have a drive for music like no other, I guess, especially not in up north in Europe. You're very passionate people! And that's something that I love, because we feel the same passion for music when we are on stage. And it's easy to get in contact with Polish audience because they are so enthusiastic, so outgoing in their passion. And I really admire that because, you know, not every country has that. Not every people express themselves that easily. And that's really beautiful!

MATEUSZ: Thanks, that's very nice what you say! I've heard that you and your parents traveled to a lot of countries when you were a child. What did these experiences give you? Which of the places you have visited do you like to come back the most?

SHARON: Well, as a child I lived in Surinam, which and I think that's one of the most beautiful countries I've ever been to, and also in Indonesia. I've lived in so many countries, but also I've traveled to a lot of countries. But still, I like the people very much in Surinam. They were very relaxed, very sweet. They were very easy going to get to know and very loving people. So I'm hoping to come back to that country one day again. But there are so many beautiful countries as so many beautiful place on Earth. I've been to Australia, I've been to Africa. But I think it's the people you meet in a place that make you find it beautiful. And I met a lot of beautiful people in Surinam.

MATEUSZ: What you say made me want to go there one day!

SHARON: Yeah, it's a really beautiful country, with such a nice jungle and the people are just really lovely! You should definitely go there someday!

MATEUSZ: OK, I hope I will be able to! Speaking of memories of your youth – you started your career in the fashion industry. What made you finally decide to switch to music?

SHARON: Well, you know, music was always my biggest passion, and you guys from Poland know about passion, so that's always leading. So in fact, fashion was a second plan, more like I needed a job – I needed to get bread on the table, like they say here in Holland. So you need to have your priorities first. And music was always a hobby to us, because at the time that we started there wasn't a big legacy of bands that were world famous. There weren't bands that could live from their music. And so we felt like: OK, you know, let's be realistic – the kind of music that we make, you know, how many people will like it? [laughter] That's what they told us also from the start! Our parents were like: OK, come on, guys, you know, be realistic, you're never going to make it in music. And not only your parents, but everyone around us was saying: OK, what do you do in your life? You make music? Yeah, OK, but what's your job? And they did make us think. And so everybody has their degrees. Robert did a study for education, for human resource management, I had this fashion management. We also had some whiz-kid in our band, a guitar player, who was developing websites and stuff like that. So everybody had their jobs besides the band. And all of a sudden we broke through and then everything changed – we had a huge hit with "Ice Queen" in the Netherlands and Belgium, we felt like: OK, why not go for it for just for a certain time and enjoy this? Because might never come back, and this is our passion – so let's leave the job and go for it! [laughter] And so we did, and we never had to go back to the job again, luckily for us. But, you know, since then, the music industry in the Netherlands has been getting bigger and bigger also not just because of us, of course, but there was so many different kind of styles developing at the same time, like the dance scene was huge in the Netherlands, and it still is quite big. And so, you know, it's something we never thought would happen. Also, besides us, there are so many other bands who started touring and believing in the fact that might be a chance to do this for a living, you know, to have your passion as a daily thing.

MATEUSZ: All right, thanks for such a long, nice story! So as a songwriter, as a stage artist, where do you get your inspirations from? Do you have any favorite other acts whose work has influenced what kind of artist you are?

SHARON: Oh, many! You know, as a small girl, I lived in Indonesia and one day I went to a drive-in show with my parents, where I first saw the movie "Grease". And afterwards I wanted to have the record with the songs from that movie, because I fell in love with the vocals of this lady who could sing so well, whose name was Olivia Newton-John! I just wanted to sing those songs from "Grease" – and I did, for many years, on a daily basis! [laughter] I know every song from front to back and back to front. I was Olivia's fan for a long time, and also from her music I got into country music. My parents were playing a lot of Eagles and, you know... I'm sorry I forgot the question when I started to talk! This is a very big story. What was the original question? [laughter]

MATEUSZ: Where do you get your inspirations from?

SHARON: Which people inspired me, yeah! So, as I already said, I started with Olivia Newton-John, and then when I grew older, I got into Tori Amos. But I also liked Mariah Carey, for instance, very much because she was for me "the Steve Vai amongst vocalists". It may not be the type of music you would expect from me – and it is certainly not my favorite – but Mariah was the most technical singer I've ever heard in my life. And I think that for many singers, a great way to practice your vocal cords is to sing her songs. I have never taken singing lessons myself – but practicing on my own, I was always trying to get that really idiotic high notes from Mariah Carey and try to replicate it. And I drove my parents crazy, but she was one of my inspirations, more on the technical side. And I also love Janis Joplin. During the concerts, she was all over the floor and she was crying on stage. She was so emotional. She was giving all her passion to the audience, and that was so beautiful! I was inspired by her – and I was inspired by Kurt Cobain, who did the same thing, but with a heavier music. And that was my first encounter with really heavy music – because, of course, I knew Alice Cooper, but he was more pop or pop-rock to my opinion. So Nirvana was my ultimate favorite band. So different artists inspired me in different ways, but especially how they expressed themselves on stage and made me aware of the fact that emotion is maybe the most important ingredient in music. So that way, yeah, I was really inspired by all these artists in a different way, I guess.

MATEUSZ: It's not good to ask about plans right now, because we can plan anything and the pandemic would always destroy our schedules. So what can I wish you for this new year that have just recently started?

SHARON: Well, the tour will go on at least and hopefully also the festivals. But, you know, that's quite close in the year, and I'm not sure everybody will be vaccinated or there will be a plan for that yet, but I hope that at least some festivals will happen and the tour will happen in September, but it's quite far away. I just want to believe that it will be real to come back on stage, and I wish that to every band because everyone is waiting to somehow get back to normal life. And it's you know, it's for some people even more important because it's the only thing they have. So for me, the best wish is that we can be playing life again, not just for us, but for everyone, just as that would be such a beautiful gift for 2021.

MATEUSZ: Yeah. Let's hope that it would happen! So is there anything that you would like to say to your Polish fans at the end of this interview?

SHARON: Well, I really hope they will hold onto that passion of theirs and I hope that we'll see each other sooner or later. Hang in there and stay tough! And, yeah, we'll make that bonfire together when we get there!

MATEUSZ: Thanks! Thank you very much, Sharon, for this conversation. It was quite an honor to me to speak with you today. And as you've already said, I hope to meet you on tour this year in Poland to gather with all the fans and to celebrate the return of normal life.

SHARON: Yes, totally! Let's do that. Let's hold on to that picture, that's very important!

#Sharon den Adel #within temptation #2021 interviews

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pitter-pattering-ink · 4 years ago

Text

They call us “Angels”

She has no name but is known by all in her village. She is the woman who weaves baskets faster than anyone else. She is the the one who knows exactly when to pick berries to get the perfect ripeness. She is the mother of a boy who refuses to paint with the other children because the texture of paint against his hands doesn’t feel right. She is the creator of the first paintbrush.

She is my first human, my first assignment as a protector. I guard her from all I can and hope I do well. When she grows ill I hold her hand while she begins to nod off. Her son is in the other room- she did not want him to see her like this. I will look after him too.

In her sleep, she smiles, lacing her fingers through my own. To have a body is still foreign to me, but I manage to squeeze back. She should not be able to feel this. I don’t let go.

Our task is simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we can as to not stall their progress.

And goodness, do they make progress.

He is the first to learn how the scraping of flint and steal can cause sparks to fly. I watch as he grows- he’s a curious one, this one. Many times I lead animals away from where he sits, always too distracted to notice. He has many names, for the grunts and murmurs of vocal chords are still adjusting, and sound is something they are still trying to find the boundaries of. “Ma” seems to be his favorite. When he figures out how to turn sparks to fire I put myself between him and the flames to keep him from being burnt. They don’t leave marks in the same way they would him.

Everything is fast after that. Suddenly things can be cooked. Meat is much more edible than before. Suddenly water is safe to drink without the risk of disease. Suddenly warmth can be found in places other than the curves of another person. He hands it to everyone he knows and they take it with clumsy footing, no doubt leaving singed earth along their path. We will worry about it later; they learn quicker than anything we have seen in a long, long time.

They won’t stop growing. There are so many- we are in the millions but it is only a matter of time before they surpass even that. There are many other species that grow at similar paces. But none of them take so much time to mature. None of them have so much to learn- none of them have all that and more.

We were not built to worry. We do, however, wonder.

They tell stories. Nothing has ever done this before.

Then again, I imagine nothing has ever been this lonely either.

I am assigned a boy named Jack. He is born on a ship, the moistness of wood replacing the soft of grass while the world moves beneath him. When night falls and the waves grow rocky everyone gathers in the middle of the deck, taking turns weaving tales under the stars. They discover religion. They discover us.

We have a name, now. Angels. We have never had a name before- nature never referred to us with anything close to that. It feels foreign against my tongue, yet it’s surprisingly fitting. We grow into our new labels.

Jack slips and nearly falls off deck, but I am there to keep him steady. His mother thanks me for my efforts. Calls it a blessing from the gods. I am no god, but I appreciate the sentiment. She tells him, “Be more careful next time. These waves will only grow more rough.”. She tells him, “The sea is no kind beast. She will balance us above the dangers below but she is not to be held responsible for anything- or anyone- who sinks further.”. She tells him, a bit teary up, “I may be the captain of this ship, but not even I could save you from waters like this.”

He learns how to stay standing when the wood beneath his feet refuses to still. We listen to stories together.

The children’s favorites are the ones told by his mother. She leans against a cane and speaks of adventures she has had, run ins with other pirates, loves she has cherished and betrayals she is still bitter from. Most of them, I’m sure, aren’t half true. Jack does not seem to mind.

Eventually she grows too old to run the ship. He takes her place, leaning against her- his- cane and telling tall tails of danger, run ins he has had with other men his age. Men who he had a fondness for and those expected better of. Most of them, I know, aren’t true in the slightest. The children do not seem to mind and the crew are not the type to ruin a good story.

He dies in his thirties after a particularly rough storm. As careful as he was, nature does not hold back or those who are weary. I keep the pressure off his lungs for as long as I can. I try to make every gulp of water taste sweet and calming. It takes everything in me to make his death peaceful.

But some people are simply not ready. He trashes till he can’t. Panic only clears when his vision darkens.

His body is never found. The crew mourn him like they mourned his mother. They keep the cane in their honor.

They won’t stop dying. They pass from the tiniest things, always so quick, always before we can do anything to help. Sometimes we can’t, even given the time. Sickness is everywhere now. People are dying in the streets. We can’t do anything to heal them. The best we can do is prolong the inevitable- that, however, is much too painful a death to seem like a blessing.

They call it the plague. They call it a punishment from god. Our names go from ‘angels’ to ‘demons’ very, very quickly.

We are only able to bless things that already exist. You cannot eat a cake when you have no ingredients. The doctors don’t know how to fix this- they are not yet advanced enough to deal with something this big. We can only sit and watch, horrified, as those we have been sworn to protect die by our feet. I am assigned more people than I can count. Their names become a blur. By the time it’s all over, humanity has changed. They have lost so many. We have lost so many.

For a while, each miracle leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The most stressful assignments, although also very amusing, are the ones who need to be protected from themselves.

His name has been passed down from generation to generation, yet he much prefers to go by Eric. I help him breathe through his corsets and let time pass faster when he’s forced into a face full of make-up. On the few occasions he steals pants from his brother’s room I make sure his footsteps are quiet, because such things are life or death in times like these.

His family is rich and he is tired. They throw parties of plenty, and I hold his tongue when he’s pressured into dancing with the other men there. He steps on their toes and I laugh. Eric is all too ready to rebel in ways that girls his age get disowned for. I let the small things through, smiling at his internal dialog, filled with sass and curses and things that would make his father turn purple. Nothing too big. Never what he really yearns for.

A boy lets go of his hand and gives a terse smile, excusing himself to the food table. We watch him limp away. Eric grins.

He dies young. With a tongue that sharp, it was to be expected. He is caught kissing a woman with undamaged shoes while they both are wearing pants. It was the only time I let him. Witches, they call them. I do my best to save them both, but it’s useless. Heels are not meant for running.

They are buried in unmarked graves. It’s the only blessing I can give.

They recover their numbers quickly. It seems no matter what, they always bounce back in a relatively short amount of time. It’s amazing. It’s terrifying. We get assigned more than one person at a time.

My first household is a family of three. It’s a mother, a daughter, and a child that’s somewhere in-between. Mostly I look over the children- their mother works from home and is much less prone to mistakes than them. And goodness, are they reckless. Their names are Rose and Julian. Rose is a night owl and I have to make sure on more than one occasion that she doesn’t spill mugs of hot coffee on herself. It’s a brutal task, especially when she refuses to sleep when she should. I urge her to drink colder drinks. She refuses.

She is stubbed toes and dropped papers, noise when it should be quiet. She is clumsy. A long, long time ago, this would have been a dangerous trait to have. But things have changed. This world was built by people like her. She will be okay.

Julian is young but they are not stupid. They know more about the ways of the body than any human I have watched over before, bookshelves filled to the brim with pages upon pages filled with the morbid details of what makes humans blood flesh and bone. They flap their hands when they’re frustrated and chew on whatever they can get their hands on. This world was not made for them. I hope it will be rebuilt by the time they’re old enough to live in it.

They are experiments gone wrong and the urge to learn more, even when it becomes less than safe. I bless their hands to stay uncut while experimenting on a dead frog, holding knives that are much too sharp for someone their age. I don’t stop their mom from waking up to scold them. I do make sure they get to keep the frog.

I grow more connected to these children than anyone else I have ever looked after. Jack would have liked them- he would have told them so many stories. I’m with them while they take their driver’s test, pressing their feet down with just enough pressure on the gas petal for smooth sailing. Rose refuses alcohol for the first time and I am there to make sure she doesn’t give into peer pressure. Julian studies for a medical degree, studies how to make this world better for people like them. They don’t need much help on their tests, but I’m still there to lead their pencil on particularly hard questions.

They move out but they stay connected. I watch them bring new people into their lives, watch as their create families of their own. Over the years they change, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. But they are always kind. They are always Rose and Julian.

I’m not as foolish to say I forget how they died. However I don’t like to think about it, so that’s as close to forgetting as I’ll get.

They were good.

I was not built to miss people. Yet they still linger.

Our task was simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we could do as to not stall their progress.

There were many we could not save, and even those that we did were still doomed to the same end. Fate has it’s limits- you can only bend it so much. We were already testing it’s patience by simply existing. And that was fine. Death is normal, death is natural.

But these humans- these humans are different. They create and they are kind to a fault and there is nothing else like that. We did not expect to learn from them. We did not expect for this to hurt.

We did not expect to care.

There’s a woman who lives to be 94. She is one of the lucky few to make it so far. She has grandchildren of plenty and their parents are happy. We all call her Nana. I watched over them for generations, the longest I have for any family before. In her last moments she prays. She tells me I did a good job.

Her grandson dies at age seventeen because I am busy helping his brother clean up glass. I do not pray- such things are better left to those who have faith. But I do hope she forgives me.

13.

I try my best to keep them safe. But this family, this family is not meant to last. There is always something wrong, always something broken, always something that needs to be blessed. It wears me out in ways I have not experienced for centuries. I can’t- I can’t help them all.

In the end there is only one left. She cannot bear to be alone.

No miracle can help someone who does not want to be helped.

21.

The sweetest boy I’ve ever protected is in a family full of rotten people. He is the best thing in that house. I give blessing after blessing, miracle after miracle, and he lives to be happy. He finds a husband and a wife- I bless them too. When he dies it’s a shock even to me. The world seems to dim. I protect his spouses and everyone else he cared about. It’s the first time I come dangerously close to grieving. He would not have liked that.

56.

While the family sleeps, their cat nuzzles into the couch and gives me a slow blink. I always end up sitting with it for the next hour. I cannot touch it, but it seems to appreciate my presence anyway. I miracle it mice to catch.

73.

They are sisters- there is nobody left but them. How reckless they are, spray cans routinely clanging against the cement while they take off from the police. They laugh while they run, and it would be sweet if it weren’t so dangerous. They get caught, once, because I feel they need to know just how serious this is.

The cop lets them off with a warning but also makes the one with darker skin lay on the floor while the other stands.

I do not let them get caught again.

When they pass I make sure their graffiti stays up, soon surrounded by many similar pieces by people like themselves. My next assigned family passes it on the way to the subway and I have to pause for a moment. I come very close to smiling. It would have made them happy.

We love them,

We grieve them,

We miss them.

We are angels. We are guardians of humans, protectors of families. We are the small miracles, the big blessings, and we play a balancing act with death just for them. Because they are growing and they are evolving. Because they love in ways we did not know were possible and they love us in ways that can only be described as ‘human’.

They have taught us so much. They have taught us to feel.

There is nothing we would not do for them. Challenging fate is just one of our many favors.

We are angels, and they are human. They are learning and so are we. Because of them we know love. We would not trade them for the world.

Our task is simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we can as to not tall their progress.

And my goodness, do they grow.

But to our shock, so do we.

#writing #angels #guardian angels #queer writing #lgbt writing #a mix of poetry and prose tbh #trans and gay characters #yeet #this was inspired by a post by what-even-is-thiss! check them out!#i really liked this concept #just #angels loving humans #:)#humans are weird #humans are... dare i say it.... cute

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beerecordings · 4 years ago

Text

Poison - Chapter 5

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

So this was going to be the final section but it was longer than I expected! So there will be one part after this, I think, or one part and an epilogue. It should be posted next week :)

Marvin is, at last, rescued. But whether or not his brothers have been quick enough to truly save him - and what is to be done with the broken amalgamation of Anti and Chase, bound together in confusion and agony by a possession which out-stayed its welcome - is yet to be seen.

Trigger warnings for trauma reactions and hospitalization, including intubation, major illness, and forced psychiatric hold with restraints and drugging (Anti-Chase is the one in psychiatric holding). There are parts of this that could be interpreted as soft!Anti, but mostly it’s just Chase’s influence on the merged character they’ve made.

All that being said... hope you enjoy and thanks for reading :)

-----------

white

room.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, whispers the machine pumping oxygen into his lungs with a hiss.

The only noise.

Silence and oxygen.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Hisssss.

Can't feel anything at all.

Even his skin is a stranger.

Untouchable.

Colors and images and words with a vile sound to them – memories, realizes some part of him – filter through his mind like dust through the air.

Meaningless.

Empty as a white

white

room.

White coat. He stares up at it. It moves. Someone's wearing it.

White sheets. They do not fidget. His body is frozen beneath them.

White man.

His blue eyes are the only color in the room.

White

room.

Dark.

Cool.

Silent.

“Schneep,” his mouth attempts, just once, and then he is asleep again.

Henrik lets himself touch his wrist. Only for a moment. Just to feel the heart still beating beneath his own fingers.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, and hopes it reaches him somewhere, a light in dark dreams. “Stay with me, my brother.”

The first night is the vital one and he’s done everything he can.

Now he has to wait.

“I’ll finish up the last of it,” murmurs Kaashif, a nurse he’s worked with for two years now, touching his shoulders. “Go check on your brothers. Get something to eat. Your hands are good ones to be in, Henrik.”

“You can say that if he survives,” answers Henrik, clapping him on his shoulder and sending one look back at Marvin, small and as white as a gutted bird in that great blank bed.

Stay with me, my brother.

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

The cool walls of Henrik’s office surround him, comforting in their familiarity. The table is glass, a customary splattering of papers discarded across the smooth surface. A Newton’s cradle with smiley faces on the balls that Chase bought for him rock back and forth, back and forth, soothing white noise to Jackie’s ears. He stares up at the abstract blue and orange painting on a full meter of canvas pinned up above Henrik’s chair. Jameson made it for him himself. Just some nice colors. Just something to brighten up his office. For you, Schneep.

Hospitals can be scary. Jackie knows. But for his family, this place in particular has never been an omen for them. This is where they come to pick up Henrik after long days of work. This is where they’ve shared over-priced cafeteria food and smuggled-in Taco Bell at four in the morning. This is a piece of their city, of their home, of their family. Most of the staff know them by name, or at least as Henrik’s brothers. They can get roof access just by begging Cameron the security guard hard enough. And even when they’ve come here because someone was sick or Jackie broke a bone or that one time Marvin stepped on a piece of glass after breaking a crystal ball that wasn’t working, this was never the place to come to out of fear. It was the place to come because they knew Henrik was in the hospital, and Henrik would make it better.

JJ signs something incoherent and burrows deeper into Jackie’s shoulder, sighing against his shirt. Jackie wants to smile at his sleeping face, but he’s so tired, and so full of adrenaline, and so, so, so scared.

They’ve waited for hours by the time Henrik finally slips into his office behind them, letting the door shut behind him with a tired click. There’s a long silence. Jackie closes his eyes. Please don’t let them be gone.

“You made yourself at home,” Henrik teases, stepping forward, though his voice cracks slightly on delivery. He has a point, however. Wrappers from vending machine candy and a couple bottles of fizzy drinks lie abandoned around the chairs in front of his desk, the drawers of which have been ripped open in search of entertainment – or, better put, distraction. Not that the caffeine or the many drawings of sheep given to Henrik by Chase’s kids were enough to save Jackie from the full, shaking weight of his fear. He strokes his thumb across his little brother’s wrist and reminds himself to breathe steady.

Henrik moves to Jackie’s side and puts a hand on his free shoulder. He doesn’t even look up. His tired eyes have drifted down from his painting to the glass that makes up Henrik’s back wall, where snow is drifting out of the sky.

Henrik crouches down beside him and puts his head against his arm, and for a long moment they just rest, together, listening to Jameson breathe.

“Can you talk?” asks Henrik. “Do you need somewhere quiet to go? The lights off?”

“I’m okay, Schneep,” whispers Jackie, touching the bandage over Henrik’s cheek where Marvin burned him. “Just worried. Is he…”

“He’s alive.”

Jackie’s gloved hand squeezes around Jameson’s, making his little brother’s sleepily-clutched rosary clink and glitter in the starlight. Henrik looks up to see Jackie’s face squeezed just as tight, his eyes closed.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“I can’t make any promises,” whispers Henrik. “JJ seem okay to you?”

“You heard that he fainted just about as soon as we got here?”

“Magic is exhausting. I could have gotten him a bed somewhere.”

“He just wanted to be in your office. He likes it in here. There’s been a nurse checking in on him anyway. You know how much all the nurses here love him.”

“Yeah, cause he’s always bringing baked goods to the break room for ‘my big brother and his coworkers.’”

“Aka, being the cutest person in the world.”

“Yeah. Well, when Marvin is better, he’ll know what to do to take care of magical exhaustion better than I do. And he can teach JJ everything he needs to know. And everything will be okay.”

Jackie stares up at him, seeing himself reflected in Henrik’s glasses. His fear reflected – shared – in Henrik’s eyes.

“What happened?” he whispers. “Tell me everything.”

What a fucking night. What a fucking night. Henrik laughs without knowing why and goes to sit down on his side of the desk, burying his face in his hands.

Jackie waits, watching him. Eventually he leans down and picks up a Dr. Pepper, sliding it towards his brother.

“I’m going to pretend this is whiskey,” says Henrik, and he pops the cap and chugs the half that remains, making Jackie give him a faint, amused smile, which is all that matters to Henrik right now, really, because it’s all he can do.

He explains to Jackie what he can, trying not to go too fast. Jackie sits there holding Jameson and listening quietly to Henrik talking about things like renal failure and sedatives for seizures and a cool white room with all stimuli set to a minimum and muscle relaxants pumping into their brother to stop any more convulsions – not to mention what sounds like enough activated charcoal to detox a sickly elephant. Marvin’s intubated, Henrik explains, and extremely unwell. He won’t know for a couple days how bad the damage to his body will be. He could still die. And no, they can’t see him. No one can. Not for days.

“I could wear all white,” Jackie tries to bargain, voice rasping. “I could be really quiet and not touch him.”

“You can’t, Jackie. The risk is too high.”

“I can’t just sit with him? I can’t see him through the window of the room?”

“There is no window to the room. He has to rest. Alone. Quiet. No color. As little movement as he can. He won’t even be conscious for a couple days.”

Jackie bangs his fist against the arm of the chair in an effort to be contradictory, but he doesn’t take his head off Jamie’s. He buries himself against his brother’s hair, hoping Henrik won’t see him cry.

“Listen, Jackie… I need to give you the medical professional talk now, okay? I need you to know this. I’m not trying to be pessimistic and I’m not giving up hope, just – ”

“It’s okay, Schneep,” says Jackie softly. “I already know most people who get poisoned this badly die.”

A silence falls between them. Henrik stares at his own hands and says nothing.

“Cottonmouth?” he manages eventually, looking up at his brother.

“Dead,” mumbles Jackie. “I’ll let the cops handle that one. It’s horrible, really... even for her. Wonder what Moccasin will do.”

“Right,” says Henrik, his voice a little dark, and Jackie thinks that his little brother doesn’t think it’s so horrible at all, that she got what she deserved. “Yeah.”

Jameson shuffles sleepily on Jackie’s shoulder. The snow is quieting outside.

“And Chase?” Jackie whispers.

Found after all this time. Found after all this time.

Found like this.

“What did the police say?” asks Henrik.

“They almost tried to take him back to the station! I could have pounded them for it! But I looked after him til the emergency responders said he should go to the psych ward of the hospital. Wasn’t going to let pigs touch my little brother.”

“Is he going to be arrested once he’s better?”

“I don’t think so. Max is pulling some strings for us. He knows Chase isn’t… himself. He’s going to buy us time to deal with this.”

“Well, if they do try to put him on trial, I can always smuggle him back to Germany.”

Jackie laughs despite himself, covering his face with his hands for a moment, trying to keep it together.

“I won’t let anything happen to him. He can’t, like, glitch away, right?”

“As far as we can tell. He’s heavily drugged.”

“And how is he?”

“I, um. I don’t know.”

“What?”

Henrik looks up at him, face drawn and guilty.

“Schneep, they told me you were looking after him.”

“I meant to. I mean, I wrote up his treatment plan and everything and I had the nurses give him everything he needs. But I couldn’t go in there. I got – I got…”

Henrik trails off, mouth pursed. Jackie sighs and pulls his face up from JJ’s hair.

He got scared.

“He doesn’t really look like Chase, does he?” he murmurs.

“Or act like him,” Henrik all but whimpers, clutching at the white sleeves of his coat that hide the pale string scars underneath. “He acts like… like him, and I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” says Jackie. “It’s not your fault, Schneep. I’d be nervous too.”

“Will you go with me?” he asks.

“You still want to see him?”

“Yes.” Henrik tries to look resolute when he nods. “I do, yes. I need to help him with this. I need to find a way to save him, Jackie. I think I can do it. If you’re there.”

Jackie grins at him, hallowed by the stars and the snow outside. There’s his Schneep. That’s his tough little brother.

“Course, man. That’s what I do. They don’t call me Jackieboyman for nothing.”

“They call you that because you are a dork. Come on. He’s in the psych ward.”

“Wait, what about Jamie?”

“Oh, I talked with the nurse. He’s just sleeping. For once. So he should be okay to keep resting a while. Call me when he’s possessed and/or someone’s fed him gopher poison in revenge for imprisoning their drug lord partner.”

“Don’t even joke, von Schneeplestein. Don’t even joke.”

He picks Jameson up and readjusts him in the chair, leaving him sleeping deep and dreamless beneath blue and orange canvas, warm with Jackie’s hoodie wrapped around his shoulders.

At least Jackie gets to see this one resting.

Now it’s time to go poke a bear.

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

“Where am I?” he asks himself, staring at the ceiling above him.

White ceiling. White bedsheets. White light, painful on the eyes after so long in unconsciousness.

“I think… a hospital?” he answers, his voice weak, his tongue terribly thick in his mouth. “Please, no words… oh, I ache…”

He’ll think instead. It’s easier.

This is a hospital?

I think it is.

I don’t want to be here! Let’s get out.

Look, in the doorway… the men who look like me.

He turns his head more fully towards the door, breathing anxiously.

Those are the men I ran away from?

I don’t remember… did I? Oh, our head… we have to lie back down.

He sinks into the pillows and nearly passes out again, his head throbbing and his limbs sluggishly motivated, tasting blood in his mouth.

He doesn’t remember much of that day he went away.

In fact, he doesn’t remember much at all.

He thinks there was a train that day, or maybe not a train. A train underground. He was holding… something soft. He was holding something soft. He was smiling.

He was on his way to see his children.

He was on his way to see his kids. Yes, he was smiling. He was smiling very big.

The subway rattled merrily around him as he sat clutching the stuffies he had bought them to his chest, his eyes bright, grinning at the exhausted assemblage of people headed to work around him. Things were good, and Hunter had been excited to see him on the phone, and Stacy was going to go out of town and let him stay with them, and everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be better than okay. Everything was going to be perfect.

And then he wasn’t who he was anymore.

There was nothing theatrical about it, really, nothing like in the movies, with throes of passionate fighting against the thing inside your head or a look of horror as the eyes turned black in the mirror. Anti did sit suddenly down beside him, yes, emerging from the crowd though he had not been there when the subway doors closed, and Chase’s heart took flight like a bird after a gunshot cuts through the air. He said nothing. Clutched Izzy’s stuffed seal tighter to his chest. Tried to breathe. Anti did not speak either.

A few minutes later, he was aware of a change in himself, and then he was lost, and as time went on, Chase only grew more and more lost within the dark tangle of trees and bristle and thorn in which he found himself. He cried out for his family. No one could hear him. He struggled. His hands tore open on the sharp wood and blood would seep through, moment to moment, staining together his consciousness and Anti’s, embedding him deep within the forest until, at last, he looked up and found Anti looking back at him, gripping his shirt, his arm, his hair, his body, desperate to tear him out of the forest they shared.

Entirely without success.

This was not what either of them meant to have happen. They were bound and bolted together, both caught in a constant recoil and a constant coming together. Anti was as tangled up as he was. Their blood seeped into the earth. Eventually the creature that remained – fae and man and monster and brother – forgot that there had ever been two to begin with at all. There was just him.

In pain.

And in confusion so great as to match it.

But despite that confusion, he thinks, now, as his eyes flicker open, that he recognizes the man in front of him, the one who has come into the room, leaving the other out in the hall, looking anxious and defensive.

He had recognized the other man a couple days ago, hadn’t he? Hanging from handcuffs? Convulsing with poison? They had stalked him, he thinks, and then, when he saw him in those chains, something in inside him snapped like a tree branch on the forest floor. Who was he? What was his name?

I wanted to see him die so badly.

He… loved me…

“Chase?”

He blinks drowsily, trying to come awake.

“Let me the fuck out,” he hears his own voice, thick and strained. “No…”

He is hand-cuffed to both sides of the white bed.

Confinement. No. Not this. He can’t bear it. To be chained down. Filthy mortal flesh, keeping him stuck, keeping him static, his whole being drowning under muscle and bone, unable to get out from the man’s body, from… his body?

We’re okay. I’m okay. Stay calm. Here I am.

He’s nothing but a sniveling excuse for a healer anyway.

Yes. He’s pathetic. I am strong. I’m here. We’re here. Hold on to me.

“Chase. It’s me. Are you okay? Please say something.”

He looks up again, eyes burning.

“Oh,” he says, feeling a smile, a sneer, grow malignantly across his face. “I knew I recognized you somewhere.”

“Yes,” the man whispers, eyes warming with relief. “Yes, my brother. It’s me. It’s me.”

“Of course,” he whispers back. “I still remember how beautiful you were chained to my basement floor. My lovely little torturer. I knew you’d come back to me one day, my doctor.”

Henrik’s body tenses, his pupils going small, his heart caught in his throat.

“I’m not scared of you,” he manages after a minute, but his eyes turn down to the ground, his posture shrinks small and submissive, and his hands clutch together as though he can hold his own heart and protect it inside of them. In the hallway, Jackie puffs up with worry, not allowed into the room by the shadowy figures Anti can see guarding the door. “I want Chase. Give him back to me.”

“Give him back to me,” he mocks, tilting his head, and when his eyes flash black Henrik whimpers and leaps up from his chair, jerking back towards the door and almost falling over his own feet. “Stupid little doctor.”

“Where’s Chase? I want him! You’re not him! You stole him from me!”

“I am and always have been the AntiJack,” he laughs, tearing against his restraints, panting as he tries to force the flesh to glitch, but, oh, he feels so heavy, so sluggish, so pinned down. Needles protrude from his arms. He cannot reach back to tear them out. “The one who is not him and the one who pretends to be. I am the reverse and the imposter. I… I am… ungh, Schneep, what did you even give me?”

“Enough calmatives to keep a horse on its knees,” spits back Henrik, wiping his hair shakily from his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Little fucker,” he mumbles, feeling his head drop onto his chin. “Bet you had to have the psych ward nurses do it, huh? Little man? You were always such a little coward, Schneep… letting everybody else do the big boy work… sitting in your little office, sorting through your papers, pretending you can do anything to save anyone. You just… you… fuck, I h-hate this flesh… fucking let me go.”

He tries to palm at the old scar on his head, groaning as pain lances through his brain. Another one of the random aches the body gets. He needs to lie down and sleep through it if he can. That’s what he does when the body is in pain. Maybe get some of the bitter, fermented liquids that humans like to help him quiet himself down. He’s gotten such a taste for whiskey. He can hear himself mumbling, trying to reorient himself, and his hands burn for his neat little notebooks. He has to keep track. He can’t just lose himself. He can’t just keep losing such big pieces of himself.

Hold on. Hold on to me. We’re okay!

I’ll get out of this like I always get out of trouble.

Yes, I’m okay. Focus on this little bastard. Confining me… who does he think he is?

We should rip him open like a candy bar wrapper.

“I can’t let you go,” the doctor tells him, slipping nervously back towards him. “Don’t scratch at your palms like that.”

“I’m going to cut you up like the little sardine I always meant to make of you,” he purrs, sing-song, scratching away at his palms until the blood comes, relieved for the pain to focus on. “I’m going to pluck the feathers off you, little bird, alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai.”

His own singing begins to calm him, his exhausted eyes flickering shut. He thinks the song was an old lullaby anyway.

“I will pluck your feathers out, I will pluck your feathers out. On your head, on your head, and your neck, and your neck, and your back, and your back… and your chest, alouette… ungh, too much medicine, Schneep… my head hurts. I’m going to skin you and make you into a hat for Jay… for J… for the other boy, the one with the… what’s his name, I…”

Henrik touches his bloodied palm.

He stills.

The doctor wipes the wet blood gently from his hands and bandages them. The soft pads of his fingers drift along the veins of his palms. Of his wrists. Of his fingers.

Someone is touching him.

Someone is touching him, touching him gently.

“Marvin?” he hears himself say. “Brother? Are you there? Where are you?”

“He’s resting,” whispers Henrik. “I am looking after him.”

“Yes,” he says. “Schneep. Look after him. Alouette, gentile alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…”

A needle is jammed into his throat. He screams, his fingers tightening around the hand holding his own and digging down into the back of it, his black eyes flashing open to stare at Henrik even as the world seeps rapidly away.

“You won’t be in control much longer, Anti,” murmurs Henrik, some deep and agonized fury glowing in his eyes as he shoves him back onto the bed. “Don’t pretend to be my little brother. I am not your slave anymore. I will find a way to set Chase free too.”

Anti can hear himself laughing as the darkness swallows him up.

“Please,” he thinks his mouth moves to say before he loses consciousness. “Yes, please, someone set us free.”

He is so lost, and this forest is blacker than blood.

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

“What do we do?” whispers Henrik, hiding in both the stairwell and Jackie’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Jackie whispers back, letting himself slump against his little brother. “I don’t know.”

They stand in the cold of the stairwell and they hold each other.

“Try to remind him who he is,” suggests Jackie finally. “Try to help him get himself free, since it doesn’t feel like we can do hardly anything. And… wait for Marvin to wake up?”

If he does wake up. Henrik grinds his teeth and presses closer into Jackie’s shoulder. “I hate waiting,” he growls.

“I know, man. Me too. Me too.”

But they’re doing everything they can already.

Please let it be enough.

Please don’t let them be gone forever.

They stand – for a long time – in that cold stairwell. They hold on to each other.

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

Marvin sees, in his dreams, the poison.

On his handcuffs he is immobilized as an insect in dark amber, his blue eyes glittering, agonized, in his skull. There is nothing left in him. He can feel death like a dog at his throat.

“Marvin,” sobs Chase. “Marvin!”

“Here I am,” he needs to say. “Here I am, amata! I’ll help you. I’ll fix it!”

But he can’t speak and he can’t move. He can barely stare down at Chase beneath him, watching the poison fill his little brother up.

“Marvin, there’s something in my head! Please help me! Where are you?”

His eyes flicker and drip blood and Chase whimpers, clawing at his head as his irises move through a dance of different colors. In the end, they settle on black. He heaves and something like ink comes pouring out of his mouth.

“I don’t know what to do,” Marvin croaks. “I don’t know how to help.”

He can feel his body convulsing on a bed and strong arms holding him gently, protecting his head. He can feel their heart beating through the point of contact. He can feel Henrik’s hands.

“Here I am, here I am,” he is whispering to him. “I’ll help you. I’ll fix it. Just hold on for me, my brother.”

“Schneep,” he tries again. Maybe he could speak this time, but something cold and plastic has filled his throat up, and his pain is so high his whole body trembles from it.

“Here I am. Here I am. Marvin, don’t die. I can’t lose you. Just rest. Here I am.”

A needle slides into his throat. Fog fills his head like a lake at dawn. He sleeps.

But he doesn’t sleep forever.

-----------

Someone is whistling softly around the room.

Back and forth, back and forth with a sweet song Marvin doesn’t recognize. Maybe he’s just too tired to search his brain for the sound of the song and find its name. Memories have been painful recently anyways. He will just stay right here in the present. And listen to the pretty song.

He lies there for a long time, feeling stunningly comfortable and incredibly cozy for the first time in days. Being awake is nice. He thought it would be scary again, but it’s nice. Nice with pretty music. He can tell he’s been taken out of that silent white room where he was all alone for so long, and he’s glad of it. His eyes slide open. Nice with pretty music and a comfortingly familiar figure wandering across the room, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a rush of dazed fondness through Marvin’s head. He hears himself giggle strangely, his head flopping back against his pillows. He’s so sleepy but he feels so nice, really nice.

Jamie’s whistling cuts off and his nice shoes tap against the floor as he hurries to Marvin’s side, sitting down in a hard plastic hospital chair at his side and reaching tentatively for his hand, though he doesn’t quite touch him. Marvin turns his head again to look at him, smiling dizzily. He sees the trepidation in his little brother’s face and tilts his head quizzically, his fingers twitching for his hand. Jameson should know he can always hold his hand if he wants to. Everyone has different boundaries in their family, but Marvin doesn’t think he’s ever been bothered by Jameson touching him, at least not since they first became friends.

Jameson smiles softly and touches his hand. Or his fingers, more like. Marvin frowns and looks down his arm.

Did he break it? There’s a stiff white cast from beneath his wrist all the way up to his knuckles. Jameson makes a soft, soothing sigh of a noise and scoots closer to him, cradling his weary fingers and rubbing his arm above the cast.

Marvin decides he feels too nice to be distressed about it. He smiles again and tries to make the sighing noise back at Jameson. Jamie smiles and Marvin feels delighted about it. He finds his other hand after a moment of mentally searching his body for all of its parts, and this hand is only bandaged around the wrist, so he reaches out to touch Jameson’s face, carding his fingers lovingly through his beard. Jameson’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, but he doesn’t protest, still smiling gently down at him.

Is Marvin in the hospital? He doesn’t know why. He feels great.

Jameson’s free hand reaches up to sign, but Marvin snatches it out of the air and draws it fondly to his face. Jameson looks surprised for certain at that, but he only laughs. In his right mind, Marvin would probably realize it was rude to stop him from signing, but he isn’t exactly in his right mind right now.

Jameson frees his other hand from Marvin’s broken one and holds it up flat above his head. It’s a sign that usually means “tall.” Right now, Marvin’s pretty sure it means “high.”

He giggles wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s so funny. He is, yeah. He’s so high. He’s high like a teenager. Henrik must have gotten him the good stuff, the really good stuff. Mhhh. It’s nice. He’s high! He laughs and runs Jameson’s fingers across his cheek, though a sting of pain stops him and he jerks in surprise, opening his eyes to look up at JJ, alarmed.

“Broken,” signs Jameson gently, bringing Marvin’s hand back to his cheek. He feels bandages and, beneath them, scratchy stitches. “Healing.”

He doesn’t want his cheek to be broken. That’s so mean and sad and he’s going to look so ugly. He scowls at Jameson and shakes his head, tears prickling in his eyes. Jamie smiles with real sympathy and sighs at him again, massaging his good hand.

Okay, that’s nice again. Marvin takes the hand and puts it in his hair and Jameson runs his fingers across his scalp without protest, close enough that Marvin can feel his familiar warmth. Marvin blinks sleepily and touches his mouth. Jameson chuckles and begins to whistle for him again.

That’s nice.

That’s all really nice.

He feels good.

Everything’s okay.

“Okay?” asks JJ.

Marvin nods, a dopey grin fixed on his mouth.

“Talk?”

Marvin pauses, confused.

“Talk,” repeats Jameson slower. It’s a sign that means speak or sign. Communicate. “Feeling okay? Talk to me?”

Oh, yeah, talking. That’s something people do. Marvin coughs and looks up at the ceiling.

Um… talk.

He can do that.

It’s easy. You just kind of open your mouth and make sounds. For words you know the meaning of. Or you just put your hands up and move them. Come on, Marvin. You’re a fucking linguistics major. He has to be able to find the right words somewhere in his addled brain.

But he just… can’t.

He looks over at Jameson, who’s assuring him it’s okay if he can’t talk or doesn’t want to. “Just need to rest,” he’s soothing, and Marvin can read the words perfectly on his hands, understands and processes immediately. “Just take it easy, okay? Should I get Schneep?”

He understands everything he’s saying. He’s not intubated anymore and his throat is sore, yes, but not sore enough to silence him. But he can’t speak. He can’t find the right words.

Something’s wrong.

“It’s okay,” promises Jameson, moving forward quickly to thumb away the tears sliding down his face. “Poor Marvin, big brother, it’s okay. Love, love.”

But it’s not okay. Marvin stares up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words, and he begins to realize just how not okay everything is.

This is the hospital. He’s in the hospital and he’s high on morphine or whatever it is Henrik gave him. He’s in the hospital and his cheek is broken and his wrists are bandaged and beneath the warm haze of the drugs there is an undercurrent of pain waiting to swallow him whole the moment his medication is reduced. A thrill of fear squirms down his aching spine.

Something bad must have happened to him.

Something bad happened and then… and then…

In his dreams, poison.

“Ch-chase.”

Warm water runs down his face. He stares up at the ceiling, mouth trembling. Jameson leans in close to him, his face sad and worried, and all Marvin can seem to do is reach out and touch him, running his fingers through his hair as his memories float back to him, faraway but painful still.

“Chase,” he whimpers.

In the whole of his brain, it seems to be the only word he can find, and he clings to it, staring up at Jameson, begging him to make it all better and tugging at him, trying to bring him closer, closer, wanting to know that his little brothers are safe.

“Chase. Chase.”

JJ sighs his soothing sigh and climbs carefully into the bed beside him. Marvin’s never been more grateful to have someone next to him in his whole fucking life – except, maybe, when Jameson and the others arrived in that cold and terrible basement to save him from his torment. The memory turns his tears into quiet sobs.

Jameson wraps his arms around him and puts his head in his chest. Marvin runs his fingers through his brother’s hair and cries against his pillows, exhausted and unhappy, feeling broken and sick. Jameson’s body and the soothing of the drugs are his only protection against everything that happened, and he clings to them like the lifelines they are, repeating Chase’s name in a soft, miserable daze no matter how many times Jameson tries to tell him he’s alive and receiving treatment in the psych ward.

That’s how Henrik finds them perhaps an hour later, though Marvin can’t seem to get any track of how time is moving around him. He’s gone quiet, but still the hot tears are dripping down his cheeks. Still he’s stroking Jameson’s hair and remembering all too clearly the things that happened to him and the sight of his little brother filled up with Anti’s poison.

“Marvin,” Henrik whispers, real fear in his voice, and Marvin looks up and sees his own mortality in his friend’s eyes.

I’m not okay, am I? he wants to ask, but even for this, he cannot speak; he cannot find the words.

Henrik touches his unbroken hand. Marvin wraps his fingers around Henrik’s and Jameson cuddles closer against his chest. The three of them breathe together, in silence.

Eventually, Henrik turns Marvin’s medication back up, and the world becomes warm and pleasant again, and he listens to Jamie whistling for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

--------

“This place really is a shithole,” says Max, teething at his lip as he stares around the trashed little apartment. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Jackie tears the drawers open and then slams them shut again, shaking his head as he continues his ransacking. “Just anything that’ll help Chase, I guess.”

“Couldn’t you get something from his room back home? This place is a dump. I don’t think Anti’s been buying him souvenirs or anything, you know?”

“I tried bringing him stuff from home. Actually he played Animal Crossing for a little while after I had the nurse bring him his Switch, but he didn’t even look at the pictures of Hunter and Izzy and he doesn’t really seem to… get it. It’s like he doesn’t even remember.”

Jackie sighs and closes the fridge, tossing out a couple packs of rotting deli meat. There isn’t much else in there and the cupboards are bare of anything but an empty pack of Oreos and half a jar of black olives.

“Schneep won’t listen to me when I tell him about the journal,” he says. “About how Chase and Anti both got, like, mashed together. He thinks Anti’s trying to trick me and Chase is just tucked away somewhere in their head, sleeping or watching or trying to get out.”

“Well, there’s a chance he’s right, right?” In his boredom, Max has begun cleaning, wetting one of the abandoned shirts on the floor with water and wiping the counters down. “Schneep probably knows Anti better than you do, to be fair. Maybe that journal was just moments of weakness.”

“Okay, yes, he does know Anti better than me. But I think the fact that Anti’s done so much to him is making it really hard for him to see anything but Anti in that person. Even when he acts like Chase, he thinks it’s a trick. I don’t know. I just want to try everything I can.”

“That’s fair,” says Max. “I mean, he can act all he wants, but we found those toys still here, so he can’t be entirely immune to some cute shit, even if he is mostly Anti.”

Jackie stands up straight. “Max, you’re a genius.”

“Oh,” says Max, flushing dark and shifting his weight from side-to-side, a shy smile on his mouth. “What did I do?”

“Where are those stuffed animals? They were for his kids. If he kept them, they have to mean something to him, right? Or he would have destroyed them. Plus they’re just nice to cuddle with, I bet.”

“They were by the mattress.”

Jackie moves over to the mattress and finds the stuffed animals flopped against the wall where he left them. He takes them back in his hands and buries his face in them, rubbing against the soft fuzz of Izzy’s dragon and the smoothness of Hunter’s squished seal.

“I hope you guys have been keeping my little brother company while he’s been trapped,” he mumbles, shoving them into his hoodie pocket. “Let’s get these back to the hospital.”

“Get you a coffee and a snack on the way?” offers Max, still dark in the cheeks.

Jackie frowns up at him, getting to his feet. “I should really get back.”

“You’ll make Schneep more stressed if you don’t take care of yourself,” says Max.

“That’s… true.”

“Come on. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Jackie can’t help but smile, chuckling as he steps towards him. “You’re too good to me, man.”

Max is definitely blushing now, but Jackie’s always known him to be shy. “That’s what, uh, friends are for,” he answers, smiling back. “I’d, well. I’d be happy to get you something, Jackie. I like to.”

“Hey!” A voice in the doorway makes them both turn to find a disgruntled-looking old man regarding them uncertainly from the hallway. “Here to tell me why my tenant’s gone missing? He’s about three months behind on rent and now he’s disappeared.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replies Jackie easily, picking up Chase’s old bracelets from the windowsill and heading towards the door. “I’ll pay you that and however much it is to end his contract. He’s not living here anymore. My little brother’s coming back home.”

“And if Anti comes back here,” adds Max. “Call the cops. He’s wanted for murder. Like… a lot of murder.”

“What?”

“Send us the bill! Bye!”

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

“Hey, is that Jamie?” asks Jackie, still shoving fries in his mouth. He hasn’t eaten all day. Luckily he funneled all of the rest of Henrik’s leftover pasta into his mouth while crying last night at eleven while home alone because Schneep forced him to go try and get some sleep at home, but other than that he’s been missing meals. It was pretty good pasta. Salty.

“What?” says Max, tilting his head.

And then, after a moment:

“Yeah, that’s definitely Jamie.”

“I wish that just once it wasn’t one of my little brothers being weird in public. Just once!”

“Says the vigilante!”

Jackie snorts and rolls down Max’s window. “Hey! Dippin’ dots! What are you doing standing mysteriously in front of a random alleyway with a tray full of hospital cafeteria food? You okay, Jamie?”

Jameson turns around, blinking down at the tray of food in his hands. He looks confused as to how it got there and looks up to shrug at his brother. His eyes are burning silver.

“Fuck,” swears Jackie, leaving his fries behind and getting out of the car. “Here, give me the tray. Another vision?”

“I just felt like I had to come here,” mumbles Jameson’s hands as he stares dazedly down the alleyway. “Like it was important.”

“You walked a couple blocks from the hospital in a trance?”

“I… guess I did?”

“That sucks, bud, I’m sorry you got confused. We’re going to have to keep an eye on you while you get this magic stuff figured out. Got your location on on your phone?”

“Yes, Jackie, like you always tell me.”

“Thatta boy. Come on, poor guy, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Max grins at Jameson as he gets back in the car. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he teases.

Jameson smiles back weakly and rubs at his quieting eyes. “Thanks for picking me up. It smells like Wendy’s in here.”

Max looks at Jackie. “Should we turn around and go back to Wendy’s?”

“We should turn around and go back to Wendy’s.”

“This must have been what my trance was for,” signs Jameson cheerfully, setting aside the cafeteria food, and Jackie laughs and passes him the rest of his French fries. He’s glad Max made him take a break. He’s been stressed. In retrospect, the crying into his pasta might have been a red flag about his anxiety levels.

But everything will turn out okay. It has to. It has to.

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

Marvin needs surgery on his wrist.

“Just going to put you under for a little while and I’ll do it myself, okay?” says Henrik, sitting at his side. “Quick surgery, not too many wrists. Risks, I meant. Dammit. You had some tearing from the convulsions while you were in the handcuffs and it’s broken, but it should heal okay in a few months after this gets done. Does that sound okay?”

He tries to smile at Henrik. His little brother smiles back, rubbing his shoulder slowly. Marvin can tell he’s scared, but not about the surgery. He wants to ask him more questions, but he still can’t seem to speak, and Henrik isn’t offering up a lot of information. Probably for his own good. He’s still on a lot of medication and Schneep keeps saying he doesn’t need to stress. Just rest and keep fighting. Rest and keep fighting. Marvin doesn’t know how to choose to do that.

He doesn’t know if he can.

But a surgery on his wrist isn’t too scary, not while he’s this high and Henrik is here reassuring him.

“Sign this for me, okay? Saying you’ve been informed.”

He hands Marvin a form on a clipboard. Marvin can read it just fine – basic shit about informed consent and risks involved. Apparently there’s a chance of losing all feeling in his hand, but he figures he’s a lot more screwed over if he doesn’t get the surgery, and he trusts Henrik anyway, even if he probably shouldn’t be performing on family. He signs the paper with his good hand.

Or tries to.

All that appears on the paper in one long squiggle.

He stares down at his attempt at a signature, faintly alarmed through the haze in his mind, and then up at Henrik. A faint whine falls from his mouth, a weak attempt at his brother’s name. Henrik frowns and scoots forward, worried, looking at the paper as he holds it out to him.

His mouth purses. He looks back at Marvin and doesn’t speak for a moment.

Marvin touches his throat. “It’s probably just the drugs,” murmurs Henrik, trying again to smile for his sake. “But I think I’ll have the speech specialist come see you when you’re ready. Lie back down, alright? I bet Jackie will be a ball of energy as soon as he hears you were awake, and I’m going to schedule your surgery for tonight. Okay?”

Marvin nods.

“You can understand me just fine, right, my brother? Can you blink twice for me?”

Marvin blinks, once, twice.

Henrik smiles and grips his good hand, eyes warm and concerned. “Okay,” he says.

And then, to Marvin’s surprise, he takes off his coat and he stays.

“Technically I’m on my vacation days,” he murmurs by way of explanation. “So I told Nadia you’re the only patient I care about. Okay, you and that really cute kid on third floor. He’s my favorite.”

Marvin smiles wide and earnest this time, and Henrik smiles right back.

“Should I read to you?” he asks.

Marvin nods. He would like that. Henrik gets out Life of Pi. Marvin’s been meaning to read it.

“This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain.”

His accent is so warm and familiar these days. Marvin remembers long nights spent up with him, Henrik home from a graveyard shift and Marvin home from a night with his friends. A night like the other night, but without getting kidnapped before he could go home. A good night, and Henrik’s dry wit and unspoken love when he came home maybe the best part of it.

“In the spring of 1966, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada. It didn’t fare well. Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise…”

Marvin listens to him read and thinks that he could write a book of his own, just about his wild little family and everything they’ve been through. He thinks about how this could have been the end of his book. Maybe it still will be. He made his peace with it when he was in those handcuffs, or at least when he got the chance to see Henrik and the others one more time. Maybe they should have let him go then. Maybe that was the end of it, and the chapter closed, and the book would leave you feeling sad, but also moved by it in a way that mattered more than you had realized it would when you began reading.

“… Green hills heavy with mists would lie at my feet and the shrill cries of monkeys would fill my ears. The weather would be just right, requiring a light sweater mornings and evenings, and something short-sleeved midday…”

Green hills heavy with mists. Monkeys and clean warm air and bright light somewhere on the horizon. He daydreams to Henrik’s voice and Martel’s words and thinks that this isn’t so bad, not really. Yes. Maybe this is meant to be the end of him yet.

But Chase.

Chase.

The only word left on his tongue.

He has to help his little brother. He can’t end the story without him. Without knowing he’s safe, and well, and maybe even, if Marvin can swing it, happy.

Marvin registers vaguely that his eyes feel oddly swollen, and then he lets himself loose in the world Henrik is presenting for him, and drifts without fear, on a boat in the ocean with a tiger still sleeping in the empty bed on the other side of his hospital room.

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

He stands in the doorway in black and white, with a pair of stuffed animals clutched to his chest.

“What do you want?”

His voice is loud and slurred, his head rolling back against his pillows, straining his neck and coughing. Determined wrists pull weakly at their restraints. The ferocity of his words is undermined by the low, agonized groan he gives out afterwards.

“What do you want?” he repeats again, shrill and screamed. “Let me go, let me…”

Jameson sits quietly down beside him, the seal and the dragon on his lap.

“Little fucker,” mumbles Anti, mumbles Chase, looking up at his big blue eyes and his all-too-sweet expression, so soft and concerned. “Pinned me down. Gave me a concussion. Little brat. I’d be home right now if not for you.”

Jameson nods, tilting his head back and forth a little as though admitting it.

“I’m tired, Jamie,” he says, thunking his head back against the pillow.

“You’re on a lot of medication.”

“How are you in here, anyway?”

“Jackie’s friend is distracting the cops for me.”

“Jackie having a friend,” he growls. “There’s the real shocker.”

“You and Jackie are friends,” answers Jameson calmly. “You love him.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sappy, weepy, pathetic little child of a man. What you come in here for, huh? You want to see your papa? Does Chase take care of the little baby? Everybody knows you can’t take care of yourself, after all. You’re just a whining, mute, needling little – ”

“Is your pain very high?”

Jameson can see him trying to breathe. It doesn’t look easy. He’s stressed. He’s scared. He stares at Jameson and doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Anti,” he says, his hands clear and careful. “Chase. I know you both very well. And the truth is that I don’t want to see either of you in pain, even after everything Anti did to me. I still remember the days when I thought of you as my family. When I loved you.”

He stares down at his bedsheets. Jameson sighs and gets to his feet, standing over him, and he shudders and gives a soft whine, curling in on himself, his face pale and frightened.

“Do the nurses treat you well?” asks Jameson. “The cops leave you alone? Have you been out of this room at all?”

“I want to go,” he whispers, licking at his dry lips. “I want to go back home. I want to – I want to – I’ll make you all pay for this. I’ll slit Henrik’s white throat like I always meant to do and you and Jackie can writhe for trapping me here. Your fault, your fault… please let me go, p-please, I’m…”

Jameson places the seal stuffie on his lap and the dragon on his shoulder.

He breathes in the smell for a moment, his hollowed eyes flickering. The last six months have not been good for him, for either of his fighting parts, but they did manage to hold on to some things here and there – most importantly, a place to stay, a place where he wasn’t trapped and no one hurt him, where there was a soft, if broken mattress and a couple soft animal toys that made him feel happy somewhere in the back of his mind. This dragon smells like home. His fingers touch the soft body of the squished seal.

“I don’t know what you think this is going to accomplish,” he mumbles, wishing he could wrap his arms around himself, because he is the only person who has held him in months and his flesh is aching for it. “I’m not… I’m not… not what you think I am.”

“Like I said.” Jameson sits down beside him again, his hand resting gently on the bed beside Anti’s. A little closer and he could touch him. “I know you both pretty well.”

His fingers touch Chase’s.

He goes very still.

Jamie holds his hands and they sit together for a long time.

The lights buzz above them. Outside the window of the room, a pair of finches flicker back and forth. The sunlight touches their skin.

Jameson draws away a moment. His brother chokes, shaking his head, groaning for the loss of him, but he only gets to his feet and places his body against him, wrapping him into a careful hug. Warm arms encircle him like a sweater and squish comfortingly against his body, and all he wants to do – all he wants to do in the whole fucking world – is wrap his arms around JJ in return and pull him into his lap and be held for hours. He’s panting and burying his face against Jameson’s chest, whimpering to be touched at last, to be kindly touched at last.

“Chase,” Jameson signs against his heart. “Chase, my Chase.”

Chase clings to his hands and cries.

“Please let me go,” he begs. “Please, please, I can’t get it out!”

“I’m right here,” promises Jameson, kneeling down to look at him and stroking his hair. “You’re going to keep fighting, okay? You’re going to cast him out.”

“No, I can’t,” he cries. “We can’t tell each other apart anymore. You have to help me, I can’t, I got lost, I got stuck! I tried, I promised, I wanted to go home. Now I can’t even remember what home is. We’re too tangled up!”

“We’re going to help you get him out, okay?”

“There’s nothing you can do. Please, you have to let us free. Kill us, JJ, we’re tearing each other apart.”

“Hey.” Jameson takes his hands in his own for a moment and squeezes them before drawing away again to speak. “Don’t say things like that. You will only get yourself stuck in this place longer if you do. Besides, Anti’s always said things like that to manipulate me. You won’t move me with words like that.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he screams, and when he grabs Jameson by the side – the only place where he can reach him with his hands restrained – and digs his overgrown nails as hard as he can into his little brother’s stomach, Jameson does not so much as flinch, just closes his eyes and waits for the rage to go away. “Stupid little boy! This isn’t something you can remove with kind words or Henrik’s scalpels.”

“Then we will find another way,” answers Jameson, soft crescent moons of blood welling against his shirt. “You have to trust me.”

“You betrayed me,” he hisses. “Left me behind to go be someone else’s family. Left me alone!”

“You didn’t treat me well, my brother. I’m happier without you. Without Anti, at least. I gave you everything I was. If you had been kind to me, I would have stayed.”

He scowls and shoves him away, gritting his teeth and seething, nuzzling his face against Izzy’s dragon, tears running down his cheeks. “Look how weak we are,” he cries. “We both broke each other. There’s nothing you can do… nothing anyone can do… I’ve been trying to get free for so long.”

Jameson sits down again, tucking away the small bloodstains on his shirt without anger in his eyes, and when he takes his brother’s hand again, he does not try to dig his nails into his palms. Just holds on to him.

“I can’t promise you I have everything figured out right now,” says JJ after a moment of comfort. “I don’t know exactly how to save you, Chase. But here’s what I do know – you are touch-starved. You are scared and you have every right to be. You’re not well and you’ve lost a lot of weight because you’ve never known how to take care of human bodies well. So here’s what we can do. I’m going to make sure you’re getting some Cymbalta, because that was Chase’s prescription when he was suicidal. And I’m going to sit here with you as long as I can so you’re not alone and I can touch you. And I have Wendy’s. And you’re going to eat it.”

He holds up a brown paper bag with a pig-tailed girl on it and smiles. “Because the hospital food is pretty shit and I don’t blame you for refusing it.”

He stares at him, eyes wide. Jameson stares back, smiling.

“You’re out of your mind, baby brother,” he says, and then he laughs despite himself, weak and shaken, and takes Jamie’s hand again.

“Probably,” he signs with one hand, and gets up to kiss the side of his head and feed him a handful of fries.

There’s only so much he can do. But he will do it. He will do it. And he will love him with every moment that passes, harder and harder, until Chase can find his way back to him.

“When did you get so grown-up?” he whispers, when an hour has passed and they are sitting together in silence.

“When someone gave me the chance to grow up,” Jameson replies gently.

“I loved you, you know.”

“No,” says Jameson, and his eyes still love him, but his heart knows better. “No, Anti, you didn’t.”

They rest together, hand-in-hand, and the finches come and go, singing.

#writers of jack #jacksepticeye #jse egos #bee writes #see tws #poison

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