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woozisnoots · 4 years ago

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svt in college! | alex edition

° pairing: ot13 x reader ° genre: fluff(?), what my stream of consciousness finds funny, college!au ° word count: 1034 ° warning: slightttt violence ° a/n: i know i have requests to write >< but i really needed to write smth fun :( act as a shot of of serotonin into my veins ahahaha [insert fratboy emoji] disclaimer tho - this was ENTIRELY SELF INDULGENT and very very catered to me which is why vernon’s is unnecessarily long SO IM SORRY !!! i still hope you guys think its fun :D

° masterlist!

seungcheol: a business major, minoring in international relations. has the slightest crush on you but suppresses it pretty well without you realizing because he knows you like someone else. he likes to take you on what he calls bestie dates to a nearby arcade or places to eat when you’re stressed.

jeonghan: a psych major, minoring in communications, whom you oddly spend a lot of time with because he asks for homework help every other day when you’ve only taken 1-2 psych classes in your entire life :P but he’s a good listener and subs in as therapist on the weekdays so you let him stick around.

joshua: an english major. doesn’t know why and slightly regrets it but if it means he can keep the tinie bookshelf he has in his doom to make it look like he’s smart, then that’s motivation to keep him going. you tolerate him because you guys randomly go on trips at 2am and buys you food :D

jun: a childhood education major. the friend of a friend of a friend of someone’s cousin that happen to be your friend and so you see him at parties sometimes :) actually really fun to be around when you’re not too much into the party scene and play hopscotch or bean bag toss outside the persons’ backyard.

soonyoung: the loud dance team captain that won’t give you 5 minutes of quiet time waiting for your chem professor to open the door to the lab room because he has his speakers on at max volume dancing to kelly clarkson,,,, he’s pretty chill otherwise, he’s in my math class. claims hes the eye of the tiger when he comes to class in leopard print

wonwoo: premed that’s somehow taking enough classes to graduate with a literature minor. he and cheol talk a lot because they’re in the same broadcasting club or something of the sort. you guys acknowledge each other’s presence and share a moment of tea together sometimes with cheol.

jihoon: double majoring in music composition and theory. says he absolutely hates it because he thinks the work he does is completely pointless. but then goes on to write you like 27484737 love songs within a week for a single assignment. denies to other people that you’re his best friend and that he hates your guts but you’re the only one allowed in his private studio on school days and can fiddle with his equipment sometimes :3

minghao: an art major minoring in history. eventually wants to be a gallery director so he can hold his own. you make him drag you everyone for his work when you’re bored or have free time bc he takes pictures for the school newspaper/website. you guys strike a negotiation that you drive and he buys snacks.

mingyu: you only know him for playing in your uni’s (american) football team. his tall ass is like linebacker or some shit you don’t even know his major. you had to take a kickboxing class for PE credit and you swept him to the ground and put him a choke hold. you never let him live that down everrr. you also steal his lunch money from his bag when he’s at practice.

seokmin: a musical theatre major, minoring in music composition. you guys met through jihoon. you were absolutely FLOORED when you heard him sing as the lead for the school’s spring musical. it is now tradition that you guys get crepes after every show and make jihoon pay B) he hangs out with you and jihoon a lot and randomly make music together. and ahahaha people think jihoon and seokmin are fighting over you!! >:( that’s absolutely preposterous, seokmin is too good of a soul (you say this as you help him kneed dough for the pizza you guys are making together)

seungkwan: an education major, minoring in music because he wants to teach music to little kiddos ^-^ THE BESTEST OF THE BESTIES!!! like if you’re not hanging out with jihoon/seokmin or cheol, you crash at seungkwan’s apartment and raids his kitchen when you run out of groceries ;D he keeps making fun of you for your car until you remind him that he can’t drive. on the weekends, you guys love to bake muffin, cookie, or cake recipes to prep for the daycare on mondays :3

vernon: okay actually, he doesn’t go to college SHDJSJSHS you met him on the side of the road once when you decided to walk instead of using your car (silly you!) and you saw vernon doing some cool graffiti art (IT WASN’T VANDALISM!!!). which was a total coincidence because at that point, you were ready to take a bus and wait right at the bus stop where he set up. since it was a long wait, you guys talked and he kept you company. you learn that this is actually a big project he’s been working on and is finally getting paid big bucks for something he really likes doing. you learn that he’s a great conversationalist and you miss the bus first bus ride home and have to wait another hour or so whoops! this becomes more and more of a daily thing, slowly getting to know each other. fast forward months later and it’s your birthday :D and you don’t expect anything at all because how would he know, you don’t really like your birthday anyways UNTIL vernon surprises you with a spray paint drawing of your favorite animal! and then asks you out on a date and you guys fall deeply in love

chan: a linguistics major. yeah, he doesn’t know why either, he’s just rolling with it. says he’s liking it so far, but no one really knows if he’s lying or not, including yourself. you drag chan to college events like club fairs and rallies because you’re too embarrassed to go alone and no one else wants to go LOL he begs you to drive him places during your three day weekends because he always wants to go off campus and do stuff with you and the guy pals, but he doesn’t like the freeway :/ its fine though because he pays for gas.

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

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Inferior

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: angst / self-growth / established relationship au / fluff

Warnings: an argument / inferior complex and self-sabotaging mentioned

A/N: So Jinyoung and I had a fight… in my dreams haha. And I was surprisingly really affected by it so I had to write it out to get it out of my head. Of course, I should have left this completely angst due to how much he annoys me, but I wanted to be cheered up so it has a fluffy ending. Sigh. If he could stop infiltrating my dreams now, that’d be good thanks. Special thanks to Zili and Nim for letting me use them in this story.

Word count: 3645

“Are you really going to let it end here?” your friend Zili asked incredulously, your eyes unable to lift from the mug you held within your hands. “Y/N, you love him.”

“I really do.”

“Then why aren’t you racing to Jinyoung’s office right now and letting him know?”

“Because love can’t save everything,” you announced sadly, smiling weakly at your beverage instead of your friend. Even the warmth radiating into your hands couldn’t take the chill away from your soul.

The fight, although frustratingly stemming from something mindless, had shown you the truths you hadn’t wanted to admit all along.

You could love Jinyoung with every breath you took but if you couldn’t love yourself first, the problem between you would continue until he finally did what you worried so often about – leave you.

It would be best if you called it quits now.

“You need to at least resolve the fight, Y/N,” Zili urged and you nodded, blinking back the tears. “He must be feeling lost right now too.”

“I hurt him.”

“He hurt you too,” she reminded, and you sighed, leaning back in the chair and closing your eyes, a tear finally slipping down your cheek.

“I couldn’t get any closer to you if I tried,” you proclaimed as you threw your leg over Jinyoung for good measures. You grinned when his laughter reverberated against the cheek you placed over his chest, your eyes closing in content. Even if you were a tangled mess with your boyfriend, you were already comfortable.

Sleep wouldn’t take long to arrive.

“Am I your pillow?” Jinyoung wondered and you nodded repeatedly. “But what if I don’t want to be?”

Reluctantly lifting your head up to pout at him, he chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. “Love you even if you give me a dead arm.”

“Love you even if you complain before I give you one,” you retorted, nestling back down and kissing his warm chest. “It’s been a long day.”

“What do you have to do tomorrow?”

“I’m going out for lunch with Zili,” you mentioned, imagining your good friend and her infectious smile. “We’re going shopping for her engagement party outfit.”

“It weirds me out to think my junior will beat me down the aisle.”

“It’s not a race,” you told him but when you glanced up at Jinyoung, he seemed unconvinced. You laughed. “You need a ring in order to propose to someone, Jinyoung.”

“Who says I don’t have one already?”

Propping yourself up onto your elbow, you nudged your boyfriend as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Can’t do that if I’m not,” Jinyoung replied with a smug smile, leaning in to nuzzle you with his nose. “Zili and Yugyeom might beat us but we’ll have the better wedding.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ll be marrying you,” he announced proudly and you melted back to your previous position over his chest.

“You and your words,” you mumbled, trying not to get too far ahead of yourself. You couldn’t wait to tell Zili about this over lunch tomorrow.

You yawned, and Jinyoung patted you gently on your back. “Time to sleep, hm?”

“But I want to talk more about this ring.”

Jinyoung laughed heartily. “No, you need to rest.”

“Why?”

“You need your beauty sleep,” he answered and you smiled.

“Beauty sleep?”

“Mm, if you’re going to be hanging out with a glowing bride to be, you need to sleep peacefully tonight.”

Giggling, you poked Jinyoung in the chest. “Then you don’t need any sleep.”

“Hey, I need some, I have work tomorrow!”

“I mean beauty sleep. You’re too handsome; it would be unfair if you got even more ridiculously good looking. But just one night isn’t enough for me. I’d need weeks of beauty sleep in comparison.”

It was meant as a joke, the humour evident in your voice and lit up expression. However, even with the dim lighting in the bedroom, you could see the way Jinyoung’s eyes grew harder, the smile now long lost from his tightly pressed lips. It confused you.

“Why did you say that?” he asked, shifting back from you, the warmth you were experiencing leaving with his retreating body.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you have to say that about us? About yourself?”

“Jinyoung, it was a joke!” you attempted but his eyes were now dark obsidian, and you recoiled from the intensity.

“I don’t find it funny. I didn’t find it funny the first time you did it, and I certainly don’t find it humorous now.”

“Why are you taking it so seriously? I honestly meant no harm by it!”

“You know, if this was the first time, maybe I’d be okay about it. I’d tell you to stop being so silly because to me you’re gorgeous. But how many times do I have to do that? Even if you don’t intend to, it hurts to hear you degrade yourself.”

“I was just telling the truth!”

“Well your truth and the way you see us is painful for me.”

Sitting up as you willed the rising tears not to spill out of your eyes, you let out an exasperated laugh. “Jinyoung, come on, this is ridiculous to fight over.”

“What’s ridiculous is even after two years together I still have to hear you put yourself down physically. You’re the woman I love and I wouldn’t love you if I didn’t find you amazing inside and out.”

“Okay so I’m sorry I said the wrong thing,” you announced, your nostrils flaring with how heavy your breathing was. You didn’t like confrontation and even if Jinyoung meant well, his words carried a sting that felt as if they were lashing right down to your soul.

You knew you suffered from an inferior complex. And you had in the beginning of your relationship confessed to feeling out of your depth dating him. You hadn’t expected someone like Jinyoung to even look in your direction, let alone find something captivating about you. Although you had battled through it, those insecurities remained and caught you out even when you weren’t consciously aware of them.

But… you had been genuinely joking. You couldn’t believe how serious he was being right now, his cold demeanour making you shiver, your arms wrapping around yourself, seeking out comfort.

“Will you ever see us as equals?” he questioned, swallowing visibly. “Will you ever let it go and realise what we have together is what I see a future with? Or will you keep doing this because of some incessant need to point out I’m handsome and you’re, what, just average? Ugly even?”

You didn’t answer, ashamed that he felt the need to scold you like this. You could hear the frustration and pain in his voice, the strain in the latter half of his statement causing you to bite at your trembling lip. You didn’t want to hurt him.

You didn’t want to be hurt yourself, either.

“Please, just let it go.”

“Why, for it to come up another time in the near future? Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to okay! It’s my problem and-”

“You can’t even open up about it anymore?”

“It’s not that I can’t, I just don’t want to. As you said, I’m the one who thinks I’m inferior to you!”

“And I’m asking you if there’s a way we can move past this!” Rubbing his face, Jinyoung then sighed. “Why be with me?”

“Wh-what? How can you ask a question like that?”

Jinyoung stared at you. “I was just talking about marrying you before but if you can’t see us on an equal playing field as a couple, why would you say yes?”

“Because I love you!”

“I’m flawed too. I have insecurities also.”

“And I accept them,” you assured, Jinyoung shaking his head at your answer.

“I can’t accept you constantly putting yourself down at my side though. Could you if I did the same?”

“It’s hardly the case-”

“Can’t you see how hard it is for me to hear you like this?! What more do I need to do to show you that you’re the one for me? I couldn’t love someone more than I do you!”

“We’re getting nowhere apart from more upset,” you managed to say, closing your eyes. “Let’s just drop it and go to sleep.”

“And avoid it? Should I just swallow back the feeling each time you feel the need to bring it up? Just let you have your moment and let it slide even if my heart is breaking from hearing you talk like that?”

It was too much, and the tears now streamed down your face. “Please Jinyoung, just stop.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. But sometimes I wonder why you are with me if you can keep pointing out reasons why we don’t match.”

You lowered your head, your hand clutching at your damp nightshirt. You wondered if this was how it was meant to go. Over the time together, you had suffered from moments where you were painfully aware of how your relationship could end. Your self-sabotaging ways were always right behind you, waiting for a moment just like this. You knew all couples fought, and you and Jinyoung weren’t immune to them. However, when it was on this topic, you could feel a defence mechanism kicking in.

You’d had a good run together, and the end was always somewhere around the corner waiting for you both.

“Why be with me?” Jinyoung breathed, his emotions getting the better of him and he roughly wiped at his face.

There was no comforting answer that you could give him or yourself right now. Nothing stood out in the middle of the night to assist you. The love you felt so deeply for him was crippled by your inner critic, telling you what more did you expect.

It was all so unfair, so heartbreaking.

“You need to sleep for work tomorrow,” you told him in a detached tone, reaching for your pillow.

Jinyoung was faster, yanking his own up and throwing the blankets back. “Don’t bother, I’ll leave first.”

As Jinyoung got up and retreated to the couch in the living room, you clung to the blankets you drew up around your chilled body, shaking as the tears and pain consumed you.

Jinyoung didn’t come home until late the next evening and you had already gotten into bed without him. You listened to the sounds around the apartment, hearing him heating up the meal you had left for him, the low hum of the television as he ate. The shower turned on and off, and the sink ran for brushing his teeth.

Still, when all was done, he never came into the bedroom.

You fell asleep waiting for Jinyoung and when you opened your eyes again, it was just after four in the morning. Slowly, you padded out into the living room, expecting to find Jinyoung asleep on the couch. It was vacant, the blanket he had folded up from last night untouched at the end of it. You went into every room of the apartment, finding it devoid of the man you loved. Dropping to hug your knees by the front entrance, the sobs racked through you, sending an indescribable pain throughout you.

With Jinyoung lost from your world, you hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Didn’t believe you would feel this empty so fast. You hadn’t comprehended just how the man had grown into every part to you, depleting your lungs of oxygen, your heart of blood to pump and your mind of any logic.

The end you had often worried about now felt too real, and it frightened you entirely.

The sun rose and yet you were still stuck in the same position by the door, waiting for Jinyoung’s return. You didn’t even know what the time was when you heard your phone ringing from the other room, your limbs protesting when you stood up and went to answer it.

You noticed it was Namra who had called and you sighed, not having the energy to try and converse with anyone aside from Jinyoung. However, you knew her persistent nature all too well and your phone began to ring again, her name flashing up on the screen. You connected the call and lifted the device to your ear.

“You know, if you hadn’t answered, I would have come and found you, right?”

“I’m amazed you’re not at my front door already,” you admitted with a sigh, climbing onto the bed. “Did Zili tell you?”

“Jinyoung himself,” Namra confirmed. “He stayed at ours last night. He didn’t say much but he’s a wreck, Y/N. I’ve known Jinyoung for almost as long as I’ve known Mark and I’ve never seen him cry before. He couldn’t stop.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you willed yourself not to cry for the umpteenth time, wondering where the tears even came from with how many you had used up already. “It’s so stupid, Nim,” you mentioned, clasping the blanket at your side to anchor yourself against another wave of crippling emotion. Composing yourself, you tried to laugh but it sounded like a choked on gurgle. “It came from something so dumb and yet, I get why he reacted how he did.”

You really did. Even if you were so frustrated that a joke had ended up being the reason for the fight, you could understand his frustrations. Sitting at the front door waiting for him had lent you enough time to process it all.

“Still, everyone knows how much you love that man like no other,” Namra pointed out. “You’re the couple that even if you’re saying contradictory statements at one another, are madly into one another.”

“Well, we’ve derailed now,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I … I have a problem with how I see myself, don’t I?”

“When it comes to anyone else, you accept compliments well enough. Why do you always have to make it harder for yourself when it comes to Jinyoung?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I didn’t expect to love him like this,” you whispered, cheeks wet with the tears streaming down your face. “I think he has a ring somewhere and I want to wear it. Yet that’s off the cards now if he’s going to leave me.”

“You and I both know if there’s a ring, Park Jinyoung won’t leave you.”

“He asked why I’m with him. I said because I love him but when he asked again, I couldn’t answer him with anything else. My mind was blank. Ever since he asked that, I’ve been looking for the right answer.”

“Have you found it?”

“Only a bunch of reasons why I don’t want to be without him.”

“One time I didn’t realise I had made Mark feel insecure about us, and when I finally found out, I figured the only way to fix it was to tell him how I felt about him. Sounds to me, Jinyoung might have reacted as big as he did because he’s feeling insecure himself.”

You pondered the idea. Whilst your boyfriend maintained an image of being in control of himself and his feelings, you knew that he was just as indecisive and troubled as you could be. Smiling softly, you got to your feet.

“Nim, I have to go.”

“To your man?” she guessed and you nodded determinedly despite her being unable to see you.

“I have to let him know right now how I feel.”

You knew that during this time of the day that Jinyoung would only be at the office. It didn’t take you long to change into clothes and dash out of the apartment, taking the quickest route you could to him.

You had expected to be nervous. You were never the best at approaching a situation first, even if you had all the opinions in the world about it. You always waited for someone to open the floor first, ensuring that you didn’t speak out of turn or cause any harm to yourself and what others viewed you as.

But right now, you didn’t care for any of that. You walked through the lobby of the company he and Mark ran together, not stopping at the reception as you usually would to ask if now was the right time.

There would never be a time dedicated to speaking how you truly felt scheduled into a workday.

You barely greeted those who recognised you as you walked down the hallway, hitting the elevator button at the end. When the doors opened, you stopped momentarily, Mark appearing from behind them. His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything to throw you off. Nor did he step out of the elevator and so you climbed inside, hitting the floor number he had no doubt just come from.

“This is unexpected.”

“Is it really?”

Mark grinned. “I can’t say I’m not grateful. He’s been an asshole to deal with all day.”

“When he’s moody he’s insufferable,” you agreed, however you smiled, adding another reason to your list.

When the doors opened again, you stepped out with a wave to your friend, your eyes now firmly attached to the office door ahead. You saw their secretary from her desk pick up the phone to call in your arrival but you shook your head to deny the announcement, going right up to his door, twisting the handle and entering quickly.

“Mark, I said that I didn’t want lunch,” a monotonous voice stated, and you continued to move across the room until Jinyoung swung his chair around. He was surprised, hitting his knee against the desk and yelped in response. He then stood up rapidly, hitting his thigh this time.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I thought I was the clumsy one.”

“Y/N,” he breathed in disbelief, blinking constantly to wash away his stunned expression. “What are you… I mean… and you’re-”

“I’m here,” you stated, stepping over to the frazzled man, taking his hand. It shook in your grip and you squeezed it. “I’m here for you.”

“But I was such an asshole and I haven’t apologised yet,” he mentioned, looking away from you as the guilt surfaced in his eyes.

Your fingertips brushed over the side of his jaw as you slid your hand up to guide him back to looking at you, smiling encouragingly when you saw the hesitance in his eyes. He blinked slowly. “You’re not mad at me?”

“I think we both overreacted in the heat of the moment and took things to the extreme, but no, I was never mad with you.”

“But you went to bed before me yesterday.”

You nodded. “I had no energy to wait up for you. I’m not here to pick at what happened. I just want to answer your question.”

“My question?” he echoed, his forehead creasing with thought. “What question?”

“Why I am with you.”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You held up a hand to silence him. “I need to tell you this. At the time, I couldn’t believe why you asked me that. It was obvious to me, at least, why I am. Because I love you. That’s what I told you. And yet, there’s so much more to it. I’m with you because even if I thought I was always ready for an end, I don’t ever want there to be one. When I came out and found you gone last night, I was faced with the reality that you and I could actually end. And the idea of you not being in my life was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m sorry, I should have left you a note or something for where I was.”

You shook your head. “I’m grateful because even though I was struggling to breathe, it made me realise all the reasons why I can’t leave you. The list is endless, you know.”

“It is?” You could tell Jinyoung was beginning to relax, his thumb over your hand now tracing circles over your skin. He even smiled. “You could continue to think of reasons why you need me?”

“Even Mark helped me just before,” you confirmed with a laugh. “How could I possibly manage going a day without your insufferable ways?”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“I love you, Jinyoung,” you confessed, shifting closer. “I love you even when I want to kill you.”

“A passionate demise.”

“See, how could I go without your witty comebacks?”

“Is there something else you’re forgetting to point out?” he wondered airily, pursing his lips together and jutting them out.

You nodded in agreement. “How would I go back to sleeping on just a pillow instead of your arm?!”

“Y/N!” he whined despite laughing, pulling you into him with one arm whilst using his other to brush the hair away from your face. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll try harder to not feel low about myself but when I do, I’ll tell you upfront.”

“And I’ll try my best to accept a joke when you make one.”

“I’m sure you want to kiss me now,” you pointed out and he nodded happily, lowering his mouth to yours, sweetly encompassing you with his love. When the kiss ended, you sighed in content. “I couldn’t go without that either.”

“There’s a whole lot about you that I can’t give up too.”

“We’re stuck with one another even if we have our insecure moments, huh?”

Jinyoung smiled, nodding softly. “Thank you for coming here. I was struggling with knowing how to fix things.”

“It’s not all on you to do that. I can do it too. We are more balanced than we thought.”

Jinyoung kissed you again before resting his forehead on yours. “You know what? We really are.”

_________________

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lenacker · 4 years ago

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To Raise an Eaglet

Kuchel and Levi’s life in my Meet The Ackermans Modern! Rivetra AU

This is my longest work yet, Word count : 2654 words

"So you're not coming here for Christmas?" Kuchel holds her phone to her ear with her shoulder, while cutting the vegetables on the cutting board. She was preparing some special stew from her beloved son’s cute, little family.

"No, I’m working on a very important case, Mom. I.."

"Wait, wait," Kuchel wiped her hands to her apron, re-do her ponytail, and now holding her phone with her hand, meanwhile the other was on her hips. "don't say you're not even coming home to Petra for Christmas Eve? For fuck's sake Lev, that's intolerable! That’s your very own birthday! Don't put your work before your family! If they're gone then who are you working for?! What's the use of money when you have no one to spend it with? Seriously, I don't remember raising a man that's ........"

Levi took a deep breath, putting his phone on the desk while his mom kept rambling here and there. He loves her so much, but she always talks too much for her own good. Sometimes he even wondered how they share the same genes with the difference between their amount of words they can say in one breath.

When he put the phone back to his ear, he didn't hear the nag of his mother. Instead, the woman he heard since he remembered sounds like she's on the verge of tears.

"..... but I guess it can't be helped, huh? It's okay then, it doesn't like I've prepared anything, anyway. Say hi to Petra and the boys for me."

Kuchel sighed, pushing herself with her hands against the countertop, and looked to the ceiling to prevent her tears from falling. Why is she crying, anyway? It's not going to be her first alone Christmas! She spent plenty of them alone, trembling from the cold (and starvation if there are not enough customers in the brothel).

Until one Christmas when she’s 20, she got a great gift she never even dared to imagine, a beautiful, little bundle of joy she named Levi. He came with such unbearable pain, blood, and tears but the moment she heard him scream and laid her eyes on him, no, even from the first time she felt her baby's move, she knows she wouldn't be alone anymore.

I'm gonna protect you, she whispered while cradling Levi's tiny head against her chest, tears streaming from her tired eyes, We’ll live a better life together.

Life felt less ugly for a while. She had to hide her baby whenever a customer came, but it gets less lonely with a cute baby looking at you with such wonderful blue eyes. She hopes he doesn't grow up so he won't understand what kind of world they live in.

But of course, he grows. And in the process, Kuchel saw how unfit the environment they're in for a child's development. She saw how Levi started to laugh less, his skin pale and almost translucent. He stopped saying 'I love you' back when he's around four, instead, he would just hug her silently. He stopped moving when he had to hide from her customers in the tiny cupboard, not moving an inch. Not making any sound. It made her worried sick, she couldn't see if he's ok from the bed. Can he breathe properly? Is it normal for a 4 years old boy to stay still for hours?

At the age of six, he looks like a very malnourished four years old vampire-boy. His voice became raspy, his eyes darken, his cheeks sunken. In their city, it's difficult enough to find decent food when you have money, it's even harder when you don't. Sometimes he would give her some crumpled money he somehow finds, tells her to keep it to buy a new house so no scary men come to hurt mommy. That's also the year when she realized she has the disease that has been spreading around. Of fucking course. The disease takes over her entirely. In just a month, she can't even get up from her bed, her body feels like it's on fire.

And the worst thing, she can't work nor provide food for little Levi. But he never asks for it either. He stayed with her on the bed, caressing her face with his bony hand. Around midday, he would get up, go for an hour or so, and come back with some half-decent food and bruises. Her heart ached every time he put the food inside her mouth, whispering 'please get better, mommy' with his raspy voice.

She hoped she could ask him where he got the food and the bruises, tell him there's no way she could get better without any treatment, or simply say thank you because she's the one who was supposed to find food, but she couldn't force any sound out of her throat. Sometimes she sheds some tears, which Levi always reacts with a sad 'sorry mommy, I can't find better food'. It hurts even more. Sometimes she wondered if keeping him and bringing him to this cruel world is a mistake. Or if she's being selfish to want a friend in her lonely life.

Then she decided to give up. She kept her eyes shut, feeling how her body struggled to keep her alive. She let the darkness consume her.

But she didn't die. She didn't know how much time was passed but when she started to gain consciousness she heard the beeping sound beside her.

Where am I? Her body does not hurt as much. She opened her eyes and was welcomed with Levi's beautiful blue-grey eyes right in front of her own.

"Levi?"

Wait, did she just talk? Did she really make a clear, understandable word? Well, that’s the first.

She observed her baby's face and noticed how he looks .....more like a normal child. She raised her hand to touch his surprisingly slight chubby cheeks, but he's faster. He moved down to hug -more like crushes, actually- her. He buried his face to her cheeks, mumbling long incoherent words to her cheeks. She felt how her cheeks moisten by his warm tears, how his body trembled, and wondered how she even thought of leaving this precious boy.

"There's Kenny," Levi said once he calmed down, "he brought Mommy here and taught me to fight" then he proudly showed her some of the moves she recognized as Kenny's with a paring knife.

Kenny was a weird one, he always was. He's her only brother, but he never acted like one nor was there for her. He went to jail for killing some folks when she’s about ten. The last time she saw him was when she's pregnant, and he told him to abort her pregnancy. Of course, she refused, so he left without saying anything.

"What did you do with Kenny, baby?" Did he teach you anything bad? killing people? He's a little bit psycho. Much to her relief, they just have some knife and martial arts training, then eat whatever food Levi wanted. Well at least her brother gave him food and brought her to the hospital. At least he keeps Levi alive even though he never approves of his presence.

A few weeks later, she's allowed to leave the hospital. She has been unconscious for three months, apparently. Kenny came, he took care of the administration and payment, drove them to a simple-clean apartment, left some money then left without any unnecessary words. They have never been a normal sibling with a heartfelt relationship but still, Kuchel hoped he would say something, where does he live now, why did he come, does he have any wife and kids, anything.

And so, their brand new life began. In the morning Kuchel would bake some simple cookies, walk Levi to school while giving her cookies to shops along the street then she went to a supermarket near their home, where she worked as a part-time cashier. Then when her shift has finished, she picks her son home and takes her money from the shops.

Years passed, their life gets better every day. Levi had poor social skills, but he managed to befriend two nice, orphan kids; Farlan and Isabel. Like everything he loves (Kuchel herself, a hand knife he got from Kenny, multi-functional stain remover, etc.) he was a bit overprotective. She had to meet the headmaster more than three times during Levi's first two months because her son 'created a commotion' when the only thing he did was protect his friends' dignity with his fists. She didn't think it's bad. Kuchel always knows Levi is such a kind and sweet boy, he just prefers to show his crude side (from Kenny or their previous place, she's not sure). So instead of telling him to stop fighting bullies, she told him words can hurt more than any blow. And it turned out surprisingly well, he never 'created trouble' again. (Saying hurting words is not considered trouble, how weird).

In the blink of an eye, Levi became a handsome man wearing an immaculate suit, kissing Kuchel's cheek before leaving to go to his office for the umpteenth time.

"Don't forget to find me a daughter-in-law," she said teasingly, handing him lunch. Her son pretended to look disgusted, then smiled softly "I don't think I can find someone as pretty and amazing as you, Mom. See you!"

Ever since he turned 30, she kept reminding him that 29 is the average marriage age for a male and he would answer with the answer he just gave her this morning, or "Nobody would want to marry a grumpy, constipated looking man, Mom" or, "I will once I find the right one".

Kuchel knew her son was admired by many (he always bring home at least two bags of chocolates on Valentine's Day), he's good-looking (not that tall due to the malnutrition in his early years, but still, even the old lady next-door had mentioned that he's hot). His salary as a detective at the Criminal Investigation Department is high enough to afford both of them that he forced her to quit working and enjoy life. But she's as stubborn as he is, so she sneakily still bakes some cookies and sells them to a bakery far enough from his office.

About two hours later, right as her oven timer rings, the front door of their apartment opened, revealing a furious Levi. He only wears his shirt and trousers, the suit he initially wears this morning in his hands. Thankfully he didn't notice the freshly baked cookies because he’s too busy muttering curses angrily, something about an airheaded, bitchy woman.

Woman? Well, that’s interesting. Kuchel couldn’t recall when’s the last time her son mentioned anything about women (never). Aside from Isabel and Hange 'shitty-four eyes’, that is. She raised one of her eyebrows, wondering if this could be the beginning of the hater-into-lover relationship she often watches at Korean dramas.

“Oh, you’re home early. Something happened?” she asked as neutral as possible despite her giddiness, leaning against the doorframe of Levi’s bedroom. He was buttoning his white shirt, annoyance still clear on his face. However, he forced a grin.

“Nothing, Mom. Just a friend of Hange’s. She smeared some cake cream on my suit. Don’t know what she’s thinking.” Kuchel nodded understandingly, what a daring girl to do that.

“Is she pretty?” She asked once more, already imagining a scheme upon how they would fall madly in love.

Her son looks surprised, or somehow like someone who just remembers he forgot something important. He took his tie and walked to her, letting his mother tie it around his collar. (She secretly appreciates how he let her do it, despite knowing how to do it himself. It makes her feel needed) While she ties the red garment, Levi looks intensely to her eyes and mumbles, “ShehasbigeyeswiththesamecolorasyousoIguess.…”

Throughout the years, Kuchel noticed that despite being sweet and kind (to her, at least), her son has difficulties showing feelings he deemed ‘bad’ or maybe ‘weird’. He usually mumbles lengthy sentences that she learned to interpret. Like that time when one of her customers hurt her, 4 years old Levi tried to wash the blood and mumbles how he wanna be stronger and hurt the man back, and how he loves his mother. Or when she woke up in the hospital. Or when everybody in his class praises him for shaving his head when one of his classmates had cancer. Or every time he presented her with a bunch of flowers on Mother's Day. That habit is still there, evidently.

She simply smiled, deciding to not tease him any further. She patted his chest, telling him to go back to his office, and let the topic go.

But apparently, the Hange’s airheaded friend story doesn’t stop there.

About a month later, Levi went to watch a musical titled Hamilton with Hange. He always likes musical shows, mainly for the elaborate choreography. She didn’t expect her son to get home so late, and grumpier than ever. She asked him why, but he dismissed her. She didn’t need to wonder for long, because Hange called her (it’s not even a rare occurrence, they’re so close that they often call her randomly in the middle of the night).

"I tried to set him with my roommate," they said, "Petra is a very sweet girl, not to mention that she's clean and pretty short. She's pretty much perfect for him. I tried to push them into the stuck-in-the-elevator scenario, but I guess Levi ended up saying the wrong thing that Petra smeared her cake -that I ordered- to him. Of course, I didn’t just give up. So, I ordered two Hamilton tickets -it was soo expensive and hard to find!- anyway, I gave one to Levi and another to Petra, and pretend that I'm the one who'll go with them" They talked in a very Hange way, fast and passionate. They sounded really proud of their plan. “Do you want to meet her too? I bet you two will connect instantly, Imma send you her bakery’s location, how’s that?”

So, the next day Kuchel visited Petra’s bakery and immediately fell in love. She’s like….a sun personified. Like, even her entire appearance was so bright and fun. Her hair was shoulder-length wavy hair, the root was strawberry blonde and it got lighter that the tip was light blonde. Her eyes are big, round, sparkling light brown eyes, and freckles peppered her cute face. She wore an ankle-length light yellow sundress with small blue flower patterns that complement her pale skin perfectly. She talked with a lot of hand motions, and she slips her hair behind her right ears every once in a while.

Yes, this one’s definitely perfect for her Levi.

December 22, 5 days after that (surprisingly) emotional phone call. Kuchel woke up to the loud sound of her doorbell. Seriously, the shameless guest was ringing the bell like some kind of madman in the middle of the night. Wait, what if that's a real madman?

Ah, screw that, she thought sleepily, whoever that is they definitely need to be taught some lesson. She got off her bed, picked a frying pan from the kitchen, and then opened her door.

It's not a shameless nor mad man.

In front of her door, Leo was sitting on Levi's shoulders while still ringing the bell vigorously with a big grin. Beside him, Petra was fixing her hold to Liam, while the ginger-haired toddler calmly eats his lollipop.

"Gran-Gran!" Leo greeted (gosh, that boy has too much energy for his own good), while his little brother just waved his hand that wasn't holding the lolly.

Kuchel put down her frying pan, "Hey, guys! Come in!"

She moved to the side, letting the little family inside. Leo immediately ran off to his favorite playing spot, the cabinet under the stairs. His brother tottered sleepily behind him.

“So…...what happened to the case?”, she asked with as much sarcasm as possible, while locking the front door again, “Finally realizing your family’s more important than some ruthless murderer?”

A/N : I love Hamilton.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #kuchel ackerman #my OC ackerman babies #Meet The Ackermans AU #rivetra fic #more like backstory actually #this literally took years #this one was abandoned for like 2 years?#anyway I love mamachel #hange zoe #the ultimate rivetra shipper

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mamabearcatfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Summer Sweat

A little gift fic for @underwater0phelia after a conversation on the discord. This is part one - there will be a second part later, when I catch up with all the other writing on my calendar!

Kagome bit her lip, trying to think of a solution as as she walked along behind Inuyasha. The hot afternoon sun was still beating down on them as he led them along a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. She racked her brain, trying to think of a tactful way out of her predicament, but nothing was coming to mind. She was the first to admit she didn’t smell like a rose garden herself after walking all day in the scorching Summer heat, but… there was no way around it. Inuyasha stank. And she had no idea how to tell him.

He didn’t usually smell bad; he didn’t usually seem to sweat very much at all. It wasn’t like being constantly trapped in a room with high school boys her own age after lunch when they all came in off the soccer field – now that stank. Usually he tended to smell like the cedar trees he spent so much time in, with a base muskiness that she actually kind of liked. Okay, she kind of liked it a lot.

But this last week, as the temperature climbed higher than she’d ever experienced in this time period, he’d been sweating just as much as the rest of them. And while her and Sango and Miroku had been sure to bathe and wash their clothes whenever they came across a stream or a pool or even a hot spring, although that wasn’t quite as enjoyable in the summer heat, he hadn’t. Shippou hadn’t either, but his scent didn’t seem to have the same… ripeness… that Inuyasha’s had.

Miroku ambled past her, his attention firmly focused on Sango’s shapely rear, and she halted his progress by reacing out one hand to tug on his sleeve.

“Yes Lady Kagome?” he asked, dragging his eyes away from their intended target with an effort.

“Miroku”, she whispered, keeping one eye on Inuyasha’s ears to make sure they didn’t turn in their direction. “I need your help. We have to tell Inuyasha.”

Miroku answered in a puzzled whisper. “We have to tell Inuyasha what precisely, Lady Kagome?”

“We have to tell him... he needs a bath.”

Miroku held both hands up defensively, taking a step back and shaking his head.

“And why would ‘we’ need to tell him anything of the sort? I value my existence, my Lady, however little of it I have left. It would be irrational in the extreme for me to tempt fate in such a way. And as much as care for you as a friend, my dear Kagome, you’re definitely on your own in this.”

Kagome made a small whimpering sound.

“It’s alright for you. A lot of the time you’re up with Sango and Shippou on Kirara’s back – he’s not carrying you around, up close and personal.”

She usually loved being on Inuyasha’s back. It was one of her favourite things, holding on to his strong shoulders as he leaped above the trees at breakneck speed, his large hands wrapped firmly around her thighs. But at the moment, she really didn’t want to get anywhere near those sweaty clothes of his. It probably wasn’t even his fire rat that stank, because he’d told them often enough that was self cleaning, but getting close to the smell of that under kosode wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. Not to mention the body odour that seemed to wrap around him like his own personal scent cloud.

Miroku patted her on the shoulder in a commiserating fashion, and bowed his head in prayer. “A blessing upon you, in your time of need. Perhaps it will rain soon?”

Kagome shrugged his hand off her shoulder with a grumbling growl worthy of Inuyasha himself.

“Some friend you are. I just don’t understand how he can’t smell himself. He’s always bragging about his sense of smell; it’s a wonder he doesn’t knock himself over with his own stench!”

“Perhaps it’s a demon thing?” Miroku suggested, his eyes now drawn irresistibly back towards Sango, who had paused at the side of the road for a moment, bending to pick a handful of daisies. “Excuse me Lady Kagome, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

‘A demon thing’, thought Kagome, pondering as she walked along, watching Inuyasha’s ears flick a fly away, and ignoring the sudden familiar sound of a loud slap in the background. ‘Or, maybe a dog thing. Or a boy thing. Maybe all three?’

She remembered helping Ayumi bathe her dog once, finally getting him washed and mostly dried, only to have him escape and roll in the grass as soon as they loosened their hold on him. Ayumi had explained that most dogs didn’t like the scent of shampoo, and liked to smell like ‘themselves’. So perhaps that was it. She just wasn’t sure how much more ‘concentrated Inuyasha’ she could handle. The situation was slightly ridiculous, but she was avoiding him, and she didn’t like it.

“Hey Inuyasha”, she called out, “do you think we’ll be able to take a break soon?” She quickened her steps so that she was walking beside him.

“Why do ya wanna stop so soon?” he asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “It’s not even close to sunset yet.”

As he turned his head towards her, a fresh wave of sweaty body odour was released under her nose, and she held her breath for a second, closing her eyes. Something definitely had to be done. But she wanted to be tactful, and not hurt his feelings. Even though he put up a hard front, she knew just how fragile his self esteem was, and she didn’t want to do anything to damage it, or their closeness.

She forced a laugh, pulling at her own sweaty clothes and then waving her hand in front of her nose in an exaggerated fashion. “Well, I need to wash these and my other clothes, and it would be nice to have a bit of sunlight to get them dry before nightfall. I don’t have anything clean left, and with it being so hot, I’ve got all sweaty. I must smell pretty bad, huh?”

She saw his nose twitch slightly, and he got the strangest look on his face before coughing slightly and turning his face aside, eyes averted. “No, you smell fine to me.”

“Oh, come on. I reek! It’s okay to say it Inuyasha, I don’t mind. The sooner I scrub myself and my clothes the better I’ll smell.”

He huffed out a grumbling sigh.

Kagome bit her lip. “You know, I could wash your clothes for you too. I wouldn’t mind. In fact I’d like to do it for you.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Why would I wanna smell like a bunch’a flowers? I’m half dog youkai Kagome, in case you hadn’t noticed. And that’s how I should smell. Not all girly and shit.”

“Oh.” Damn. There went that plan.

“Besides, if I smell like that soap you use, I won’t be able to properly scent anything else. It’s hard enough as it is, with you-“, he broke off with a cough. “Never mind. If I come across a stream or anythin’ I’ll let ya know alright?” She tugged on his sleeve in concern.

“Wait, what were you going to say Inuyasha? Does the soap and detergent I use bother you?”

He rubbed his nose self consciously. “Uh… not all the time. But at the moment, you’re washing a lot, and it’s just… if you use too much soap, you don’t smell like you anymore. Right now, you smell like you. And it’s…” he coughed again.

“Bad?”

“No! I… I like the way ya smell.”

Kagome grinned shyly at him. “I remember you told me that once before.”

“I… did, didn’t I.” She bumped her shoulder against him, and he bumped her back.

“It’s just that in my time, we’re taught that the smell of sweat is a bad thing, that we need to wash it away or cover it up”, she explained. He grunted, shaking his head.

“People smell for a reason. How does anyone ever find out who they like when they wash their scent away?”

“What do you mean, who they like? Oh, do you mean pheromones?”

Inuyasha grunted again. “I dunno any fancy words for it. But if someone smells good to you, they’re more likely to be a good mate.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Or… so I’m told. Not that I’d know anything about that.”

They both blushed, looking away from each other to the opposite sides of the road. Internally Kagome was squealing in excitement, adding all those comments together. ‘He likes how I smell!’ She wanted to giggle out loud and dance an excited jig on the dusty road, but held herself together.

“What do I smell like to you?” she asked curiously. He made an embarrassed grumbling noise in the back of his throat.

“Kagome…”

“What if I tell you what you smell like to me, will you tell me then?”

His ears twitched, trembling slightly, and he inhaled harshly. And she realised, that this answer was important to him. Very important. She took a deep breath of her own.

“Usually, you smell like cedar. Sort of woodsy, which I guess makes sense, seeing you spend a lot of time in trees. And there’s another smell underneath it. Kind of musky.” She couldn’t help the blush that heated her cheeks then, remembering what it was like to bury her nose into the back of his neck as he ran, tucked underneath a waterfall of hair. “I like that smell”, she said softly, and her eyes lifted to Inuyasha’s. The look he gave her was burning and intense.

“You smell sweet. Like fruit”, he blurted. “Sometimes… you smell like sweet sesame oil. I like that smell too.” The blush on his face was so intense it had even coloured the tips of his quivering ears. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. You said usually. I don’t smell like that right now?” Kagome’s eyes widened, glancing around for a way to change the subject.

“Ah ha ha! Look at that – I think Shippou needs me!” Kagome said, pointing over to where Shippou was leaping through the long sun bleached grass at the side of the road, chasing grasshoppers and trying to catch one in his little paws.

“Oi. You’re not goin’ anywhere until you tell me what you meant by usually”, he grumbled, his hand tugging down the one she’d used to point towards Shippou with.

“Oh”, she stammered. “Well. You see the thing is…”

“She doesn’t want to tell you that humans don’t enjoy the smell of sweat when it’s a few days old”, piped up Shippou. “Basically, you stink.”

“Wat?!”

“Shippou, that’s not nice!” Kagome protested loudly.

“It’s true though isn’t it?” said Shippou matter of factly, his eyes still focused on the softly waving grass in front of him. “Humans don’t like the smell of stale sweat. I heard some of the village women talking about it when they were washing at the river, trying to get the smell out of their husbands’ under kosode.”

He leapt for the grasshopper he had his eye on, then pouted when it slipped out of his grasp.

“Predator type youkai like Inuyasha don’t care, it makes their scent stronger and warns off potential threats, especially if they have a pack with young pups to look after.” He stood up, dusting off his tiny paws on his hakama.

“How do you know so much runt?” grumbled Inuyasha, crossing his arms defensively, his eyes flicking between Shippou and Kagome.

“Because my Otōsan told me. Kitsune need to know all about humans and other youkai so they can trick ‘em better”, he grinned. “And he told me that when I was older and my scent started changing, that I would need to wash more often to make sure my scent didn’t give me away, especially to youkai bigger’n me.”

Shippou snorted in an exasperated fashion. “Besides, it was easy to tell. Kagome usually walks right next to you and drops hints about being tired so you’ll carry her because she wants to be close to you. But she’s been hanging back next to Miroku.” He made a gagging face. “That should tell you everything you need to know.”

“Eep.”

Inuyasha’s head swiveled towards Kagome at the sound of her nervous squeak, his eyes narrowing at her embarrassed expression.

“This true wench?”

“Um, which part?” she said in a small voice, trying to avoid his focused gaze and twisting her fingers together.

“The part where I stink”, he said, tapping his foot on the ground. Kagome sighed, her eyes dropping to the ground.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings”, she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Inuyasha huffed out an exasperated sigh.

“So, how long have I stunk to you?”

Kagome shook her head keeping her eyes downwards, and he marched over to her, lifting her face gently with one long clawed finger under her chin.

“I wanna know, so I don’t do it again. Me scarin’ off other youkai don’t mean squat if it also means you don’t wanna be close to me.”

Shippou made another loud gagging noise in the background.

“I think you’ve got somewhere else you need ta be right now runt, unless you wanna get up close and personal with the stink of my fist”, growled Inuyasha, not taking his eyes off Kagome.

“Gotcha.”

Shippou sprinted off through the grass, back towards Sango and Kirara.

“Little twerp.” Kagome giggled, and Inuyasha gave her a lopsided grin as they began walking along the road again, side by side. “So, that offer of clothes washin’ still up for grabs?”

Kagome nodded. “I promise I’ll just use the tiniest bit of soap, just on the bits that smell.” Inuyasha halted mid-stride.

“You’re gonna sniff my clothes?”

“Uh…”

“Fucking hell”, he groaned. “That’s…” Kagome reached out to take his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers.

“You like that idea, huh?”

“Yes”, he said, his voice a strangled whisper. Kagome’s heart began beating faster. Could she do it? Could she say the idea that just popped into her head out loud? Grabbing her courage with both hands, she closed her eyes.

“What if… um. What if I washed the clothes while you were still in them?” she squeaked, opening one eye to peek at him.

“Fuck, that’s… that’s…” His eyes were wide, and his mouth opened, like a fish out of water gasping for air. “Kagome…”. Then he gave her that lopsided grin she loved so much, one fang peeking out over his full bottom lip. She shivered at the heat in his gaze, butterflies churning in her stomach, and then lower. Much lower. Inuyasha sniffed deeply, licking his lips, and she whimpered.

She jumped in surprise as he turned and hollered over his shoulder to Miroku, Sango, Kirara and Shippou.

“Kagome said I stink and I need a bath! Set up camp somewhere around here. We’ll be back later.”

Kagome shrieked as he picked her up and flung her onto his back, sprinting off into the forest towards the unmistakable scent of a hot spring.

“Much later if I have any say in it”, he purred just loud enough for Kagome to hear, and she giggled, tucking her face into his neck.

“Well”, said Miroku in a surprised voice, “that went much better than I expected.” He winked at Sango. “If you ever think that my smell is unpleasant to you dear Sango, please let me know. I’d be happy to take a bath at your leisure.”

“In your dreams Houshi”, Sango grinned, setting off down the road to look for a suitable camp site.

“Both fortunately and unfortunately for me, yes”, sighed Miroku, following along behind her.

#mamabearcat fanfics #inukag two-shot #inukag fanfic #gift fic

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

Text

champagne coloured

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #95 Champagne

Ship: Sully/Sumia

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Word Count: 1,476

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Proposals

Sumia squealed with laughter as Sully gave the reins a good stir. The horse they shared, a beautiful darling with a free spirit and a champagne coloured coat, gave a buck. Its excitement roused by how Sully commanded it, it huffed and snorted as it continued to race through the countryside.

Sumia’s arms tightened their embrace around Sully’s midsection. She was stocky and warm, it made Sumia smile as she buried her face against Sully’s back, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the ride. She felt the sun on her back and every rock to the horse’s gallop.

No matter the time of day or how frequently she rode, Sumia never got sick or bored of the sensation of riding a horse or pegasus. In tandem, sitting in the saddle behind Sully, she could never tire or grow dull of that. She adored spending time with her beloved, being whisked away over hills and moors that she would not typically explore by herself or with her own mount.

The picnic basket that Sumia had packed rattled and jangled against the saddle. Her stomach growled, too. It felt like they had only been out and adventuring the verdant countryside for a handful of minutes but maybe it had been a lot longer than Sumia had guessed. Enraptured by the fun and excitement truly made it last, Sumia felt. She tapped Sully’s shoulder and Sully turned her head slightly.

“Hankering for lunch, are ya?” sully asked, her voice razed by the wind that they were dashing through.

“I am a little peckish.” Sumia replied.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, there’s a lovely little gully nearby. We’ll set up camp there.” Sully assured her.

Sumia beamed, “I can’t wait to see it then.”

“Heck yeah,” Sully raucously replied, “c’mon boy, giddy up, we’re almost at our rest stop, bud.”

She gave the reins another jostle and then held them back tight to warn her horse not to over exert itself. Sumia felt the pace shift and took the time to lean out over the side of the horse. She watched as more of the landscape became known to her. Clean, trickling creeks and mossy trees on their banks choked and cluttered with all sorts of blooming wildflowers. All whilst under a demure and cloudy blue-grey sky.

Sully had the horse halt up ahead and dismounted with ease - and all without giving Sumia an accidental smack with her leg, too. She tied the reins to a branch and pet the nose of her companion mount, whispering to him that he get his rest whilst she and Sumia had their lunch.

Sumia dismounted next. Her foot tangled with one of the stirrups and so, her awkward dismount ended in a flop. Sully screeched and Sumia whined that she was fine, even though she had face-planted into the soft ground. At least it was soft.

“Are you okay?” Sully asked as she helped Sumia to her feet.

“Y-Yeah,” Sumia brokenly replied as she tried to wipe dirt off her face, “its very cushiony here.” She even bounced on her heel to emphasise.

“Yeah, unexpected benefit of all that good rain we’ve had recently, I s’pose.” Sully replied.

Under the discarded and swatted away muck, Sumia did look fine. No broken nose or anything, not even a busted lip or a little bit of blood. Sully sighed with relief but she decided to unhitch the picnic basket from the saddle instead of Sumia, lest she drop it, too, or worse. Sumia didn’t mind, she appreciated the courtesy and instead pulled the rolled up blanket free from where it had been fixed upon the saddle.

Sumia trotted around inquisitively as she looked for a good spot to unveil the blanket - it was thick and tartan, and was unlikely to get messy anywhere regardless of where it was placed - but she still wanted to choose the best spot. The best spot, she decided, was adjacent to the tree that Sully had affixed their horse to. She sprawled it out and as soon as the fabric settled on the ground, Sully plopped down the picnic basket, popping it open.

“Let’s dig in, eh?” Sully asked.

“Sounds good.” Sumia smiled.

She knelt down softly and perched herself upon the blanket. Sully’s hand fished through the contents of the picnic basket: Sumia had packed them both a verifiable feast. Sandwiches, pies, and fancy looking drinks, too. Sully could hardly choose where to start. However, given that Sumia had chosen a sandwich first, Sully thought to do the same thing.

Sully tucked into mashed egg sandwiches and cold meat sandwiches, too. At least three at a time and ate with much gusto. Sumia could hardly eat her own as she was so entranced by the enthusiasm that Sully had for the food that Sumia had made for them both. All her hard work was most certainly satisfied by watching Sully so eagerly eat. So, not wanting to be left behind in Sully’s crumbs before she charged onto the second course of the dessert pies that Sumia had made, Sumia made some effort to eat at least half as heartily as Sully.

Somewhere in between the sandwiches and pies, they also poured themselves some drinks that Sumia had brewed herself. Cold tea with sparkling water, flavoured with all her favourite berries and fruits. It was all so very delicious, bright and vivacious.

Sumia had done well to pack just enough food between them to leave them more than content. Sully laid down by the empty basket and bottles of drink, staring up at the sky. Though it was murky with clouds, there didn’t seem to be a hint of rain. It was just dim but cosy, only in the way big, thick clouds of white and grey could be. All because here and there, great shafting sunbeams peeked out from behind those blanketing clouds like glimpses of heaven.

Sumia laid down beside Sully as well. She stole a glance at Sully and slowly inched her hand closer to Sully’s. Their pinkie fingers entwined. Sully beamed whilst Sumia felt the pitter-patter of her heartbeat increase. Even Sully’s pinkie finger felt sturdy and tough, just like the rest of her, it was comforting.

“D’you think there’ll be a good harvest this spring?” Sully asked.

“I would hope so. We’ve had a good winter for it.” Sumia replied.

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Sumia agreed. “I reckon I’ll give a hand where needed. Its nice, this peacetime thing.”

“It really is.” Sumia murmured.

“Then, when everything’s done an’ dusted, we’ve put down all the shears and reaped all what we’ve sown, we’ll have more food than we’ll know what to do with, don’t ya think?” Sully asked but her question sounded rhetorical.

Sumia only hummed there, letting Sully continue to speak her stream of consciousness as she admired the sky.

“Since we’ll have so much food, and everyone’ll be so tired, I think having a huge shindig with all the Shepherds would go down a treat.” Sully said.

Sumia shifted her head slightly, her eyes were sparkling, “Just for the occasion of a good harvest?”

“Nah.” Sully replied and she turned her head too, her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “The occasion will be a wedding. Ours. Whaddya think? Sumia, will you do me the absolute honour of being my wife?”

Sumia felt every nerve in her body alight. She propped herself up, reefing her hand from Sully but Sully got up as well. She smiled a cheeky smile whilst her other hand rummaged through a pack at her rear, attached to her belt. She pulled out a little black-purple pouch of velvet and there was only one thing inside of it.

Sully offered the ring to Sumia, “Well?” she prompted her.

“Well, what? Of course, I’m going to say yes, dummy.” Sumia replied, tears of joy already spilling out the side of her eyes as she embraced Sully into the biggest embrace of either of their lives - and hard enough to crack Sully’s spine by the feel of it.

Sully laughed from the bottom of her belly and she hugged Sumia back, keeping a careful hold on the ring. It was just a plain little band of champagne coloured gold. It didn’t have a gem atop it nor did it have any inscriptions. It didn’t need anything like that and neither did Sumia or Sully. The way Sully saw it, it was going to get beaten and scuffed by everything Sumia did with her hands, thereby imbuing it with a lifetime of love better than any jewel could ever signify.

Slowly, Sumia let go and she gave her hand to Sully. Her eyes were soft but determined as she slipped the ring onto Sumia’s finger. It was a perfect fit and Sumia’s thrilled expression was one that Sully would sooner die than forget.

#100ships challenge #femslash #fire emblem awakening #fea #fire emblem #sumia fire emblem #sully fire emblem #sulmia #sully x sumia #sumia x sully

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denotday · 3 years ago

Text

Maybel Rhodes: Protectress

Itchy arms. My armbumps bumps take over life and chew my head off like a black mother. Even the sleeves of this sweater craddle these potholes as an english muffin craddles butter. But I'm more than my bumps and I'd make a quip on Fergie, but I'm no Joan Rivers. I'm small, meager. At eighteen, trying to find myself, live my own life. Typical teen drama, boring narrative, sob story. bored already. But know what isn't boring? I like strawberry shortcake and cheeseless pizzas. I have hopes of becoming a journalist and actually leading a career as moreof a Clark Kent than a Mary Jane or whatever the fuck that bitch's name is. Mary Anne? That used to be the name of one of my teachers. Going off; just thinking these thoughts while skateboarding to highschool.

Stay on the sides, away from cars, on the sidewalk, not too close to the white kids. White kids mean white mess, white messes mean cops who sweep the streets and take all the black kids with them in the process. I'm not a racist, just a black kid trying to stay alive in white america. Thank god I'm a weak bitch, one who cries for black men, one who doesn't face real issues like projected aggression. I'm a butterfly, something that men swat away and don't care about until MeToo movements. Gotta be careful but not too careful, kind but not too kind, firm but not a bitch, bitch but not a faggot. faggots suck.

No one thinks to ask these questions, here this thoughts. They see a black woman, better yet, a black female child. Worse thing to live in a ghetto. Sike; I say that I'm black and in a ghetto and get sob points. Fucking racist. I'm skating to one of those Fresh Prince schools. Didn't move on up, I'm simply moving; parents are mid class well grounded and guess what? My parents are still together. Probably breaking up soon but still breaking barriors of broke baby daddies and black slutty whore mothers who don't believe in abortion.

That's humor in of itself. A black kid skates into a white neighborhood with white sidewalks and doesn't have a nigger daddy and nigger mommy. What can be said by those PTA suburban soccer moms who want to demonise me and my own? Or am I palatable and a token black?

Making good grades, going to class on time. Only thing is, I don't have any friends to call. Even if I had one of those top quality iPhone 411s, I still wouldn't want to burden myself with filling up those high-techy contact lists. It's all bullshit after all, just capitalistic bilge. Something to fill the void without actually trying to let the public know that the void they're filling chalks up to capitalism. But again, those little tangents? "What does this have to do with having friends?" Everything. I don't give a shit, I accept shit. I tell things like it is, speak with lisps or change it up by sounding like an oxford professor.Not going to just abandon stream of consciousness 'cause class just started. This aint sims 4 and life ain't something that can be controlled; sped up or slowed down for the sake of an other's pleasure. I'm learning about shit that I'll never use like economics. That's shit that the government gives the state to teach, a little but not enough for highschoolers to overwhelm the system and decide "fuck student loans".

Not too bad here, though. Not all just "fuck hyschool" and teenaged angst. I go to the library, read books, go on my computer, listening to some Biggie and MFDoom and Tribe. Guess I am a nigger. Nigger-me and my nigger music. Even tththough it's they inspiration for they cracker music. Hate on us enough to keep us down but keep us up enough to steal from us. Today I'm reading some teen dystopian fantasy novel that I don't feel inclined to share with you guys. And no, it's not Hunger Games. It's Gunger Hames, the cousin of the franchise. Whoops just gave ya'll the name sorry. Either way I'm into that. Idea of a not-so-distant-future; humans making mistakes that fuck up the planet---disregarding that fact long enough so that the white main character can get it on with someone from the other side. Modern day Romeo and Juliett.

End of lunch, going back to class. It's back to back all day; boring teen shit that nobody cares about. Raising hands, answering questions, not understanding anything by the end of the day. Getting by is my motto. Long enough to get an A in the class and be on those ivy league watchlists. Even if I have to bust my ass to pay for student loans. Leaving highschool after all that non-work---no friends to lie to, no one to walk with, just me and my skateboard. These white paths not dirtied by brown except for my dirt body moving at the speed that a skateboard will go. Shift right here and there. Move away from rocks so that I don't fall headfirst. It's good shit. Here and there there are stone pebbles, blunts from---ironically enough--- the white kids and sharp object that I can't identify. FUCK. I don't have time to move around it and I can't just run offf. My leg'll get cut by it. Gotta just build up enough speed to roll over. Rolling...rolling...here it comes. Crouch down, focus, focus, pump speed anddddd....it stops my speed and loosens one of my bearings. Now I gotta walk the rest of the way back to my white little house with a white picket fence. Man screw--haha pun---this object. I have to use my 20/20 vision to find some small silver bolt that'll practically blend in with this bright ass sidewalk. Fuck white America.

In a little patch of weeds growing like black fists raising in the air I see the bolt and the responsible party for tossing me off the board. I raise my foot to crush this sonnofabiscuit like a bug so that some white kid's bike tire doesn't get licked---mind you this should be considered community service---and I figure that I won't ruin my rubber soles on the glass, so I'll just pick it up and toss it into the sewer. I put the bolt in my sweatpants pocket to keep it safe. I bend over again to peer at the crack in the sidewalk that I'll punt to the other side of the street where the other half of the street lives. It has tribal markings on it and must be, gasp, an ancient arcane ruin that'll give me superpowers. Kidding, you dumb bitch. "Why am I talking to myself this way? Jeez, some self-improvement classes would be nice". It's a bracelet made of some sort of beads. Kindof pretty but caked up with dirt and sand like no-one's business. I'm no Rocket Racoon so I just leave it. Even if I felt that it was interesting enough, I'd have to clean it off and disinfect it. It would just ruin the material underneath. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Lemme stop; for real, in this white bread neighborhood, I might be able to get it appraised and pawn it off for some money or at the very least, see if it's worth keeping. I know; "this is the start of every horror movie", every tv show. I get it, but I'll cleanse the jewelry before wearing it. It's fine. It's fine. Hope it's fine. Jeez.

I put the bracelet in my other pocket away from the bolt and walk back home. The soles of my feet hit the white pavement and my feet move in the fashion of jubillee ferris wheels. Slowly rise in a circle, fall in perfect arch. Walking is divine poetry in of itself. Not too long now. A little further. Feels like the day is stretching. Still light outside and the summer-brink of fall--air is warming my rectum. "Oh god, what's with gays and their rectums". You know your g-spot is in your ass, men. It feels good for us too you know. Nice coolness for the butthole----rectum is for men, butthole is for women. I think. See? Not a Cliff Huxtable type; don't know everything. Not an Urkle. Conversations with myself like this are truly golden (ponyboy).

Fondle the silver piece, twist it in lock, get somewhere new. Novel design, simple concept. My rubber soles give me cat-walking abilities and I edge up the stairs. Hear shuffling downstairs in the kitchen. But the smell of musky forest wood with a hint of olive tells me that it's just my father. I'd announce my presence but this isn't a sitcom and I have a phone that I can use to text. Who talks nowadays?

On the table near the keyrack, I scoop into my pockets in search of the goods. The warm cotton touches the cool silver bolt. Set it aside to attach it to the skateboard later. "Why not now?" That'll be a problem for me to solve tomorrow. "Procrastination isn't good" Yeah I know. I've read the same 1990's health pamphlet that the health teachers give out. I hug my side to reach around for the other pocket. Same warmth, same feeling of comfort except...it's a new sensation. Hollow and porous. It's either bone carved into beads or plastic. Hope to...Well, not God, maybe I hope to goodness? Goodness? What am I? A preacher? Maybe that's why I like 16 year old boys. Anyway. It's too white over here for it to be bone. Unless it's some cracker who brought over some hoodoo shit and dropped it somewere. Great. Gonna burn some incense to cleanse it. Then gonna toss it somewhere so that it can't hurt anyone. Wait. It doesn't FEEL menacing. No darkness, no coldness, there's a comfort to be had. I don't see any visible engravings, no bite marks no arcane symbols. It may be safe. Just to be sure, I'm keeping it downstairs for it to curse someone else in the house. I rise up the stairs into the wide landing. Step, rise, step, rise, step, rise. Before I get to the top, I feel funny. Not sick funny or CURSED funny, but someone-is-in-my-presence funny. Strech my neck to look over my shoulder. Not too far to show interest but far enough to see what's going on---it's my dad handling the bracelet.

I whip my body around and I suppose this gives him a start.

"Hey, just got back from school. I'm pretty tired which is why I didn't want to talk. Found that bracelet in the sidewalk cracks before my skateboard broke. I wouldn't touch it if I were you. Don't know if it's cursed or not."

"Cursed? Bee, this is a genuine Sudanese artifact."

"Huh? When'd you turn into a archeologist? Or are you just nerding out about a 'special interest'"

"Har har. Nothing like that. This area used to be an auction town for slaves shipped from Sudan. Martinsville, Pennsylvania wasn't necessarily known for it's 'clean hands' you know. Gentrification made the area look nicer but its history is still pretty shit-covered."

"Ah, I remember now. I heard about this in history class" No I haven't. I don't even have history. Just want to stop talking to him about some dumb bracelet. "Can it sell for big bucks at a pawnshop?"

"I mean, sure if you'd like to get rid of it. Better to give it to the local museum though! It looks to me like it's made out of elephant tusks. Pretty well preserved too! The wearer must've been some warrior. They only wear these types of jewelry if they're the village's protectors. That's what I've read online anyway. You know how the interweb is though. Could be false."

"Oh wow. Ivory? That's a pretty dirty trade. Don't want to give something like that up to white people who continue to promote the trade. This'll just make the ivory market worse. I may keep it; I just wonder if it's cursed or something. I'll ask a local witchcraft practitioner to check it out tomorrow. Can I have thirty bucks for an appraisal along with an after-school snack?"

"Thirty? What're you going to buy? A salmon dinner with asparagus and steak? I'm not giving you Carabbas money. I can do 18. Enough for some street food."

"Not enough for the appraisal!"

"I'm sure the person will be able to work something out for you. You look twelve. You can play the 'Uwu I'm a baby who has no money, please help me out adult!' card. Or, how about this: pretend to be doing a research project for school on Sudanese slaves in the area. Just act like the school lent you the bracelet for the project"

"So lie?"

"I call it embellishment."

"I see"

I reached into his calloused palm and stole its contents, As a thief, I ran upstairs away from the site of the crime, away from the demons that lurked beneath the stairs. That's customary practice when going up stairs, right? To haul ass like there's no tomorrow like we're that black chick from Scary Movie? Sounds about right. I heaved and ho'd swinging my body back and forth up the stairs. Snaking my way into my room where I burrow for my after-school nap. That's what I tell my parents anyway. What I really do is blaze up in my room and turn on the fan. Gotta keep the smoke minimal. "Such a typical teen". Yeah, whatever. Like your generation wasn't popping ass and drinking bathtub wine when ya'll were young, Get outta here.

It's a good high. Kind where you'd listen to lofi and eat peanuts just for the fun of it. Another bong hit. Satisfying. I'm just leaning back on my sofa; it's firm and uncomfy but when I'm blazed, don't none of it matter. I could lose all of my words...give up....let....go.....

"...."

"What is this energy I'm feeling? So warm and electric. Is this love? Am I so sexually frustrated that I'm in love with a bong? Shit, I fuck with that. That's pretty words. 'I'm in love with my bong'. Such nice love. haha."

I'm hungry and it's four am. The weed has worn off. So tired man. Gotta go downstairs for some chips or something. Hungry to the max. Munchies munchies munchies for the weed monster. What a drug.

I creep down the stairs and up once more. My bare footpads cling to the hardwood and leave sweat prints in the shape of my stompers. During my ascent I leave crumbs. Have the house feeling like a Brother's Grimm story. I satisfy my snack desires as I prepare for school in the next hour.

Running water on my arms. Three passes of lotion on arms and legs. Can't be the ashy black kid that look like they an African living in a dirt house. Ain't able to help the rough patches that coat my body but I can help keep my skin moisturized.

A'ight. Got my fit got my board. Just have to screw the bolt back on and find the bracelet. Shit. Left it upstairs. I'm already late as hell. Rushing up the stairs. Search for the bracelet, find it, get out house. Objectives objectives. I spot it from afar and gravitating toward it, put it gingerly in my pocket. Kindof like someone would with a used tissue. Aren't humans gross? I mean, snot? Bacteria-filled snot? Nasty. Thoughts gone, make brain go from thinking to doing. descending now. Board in arm, door opens with the flick of the wrist and just like that, I'm outty. Deck on ground I put my best foot forward and ram it onto the hard cement to push myself forward. Sorry foot, betrayals sure do suck.

School begins, in class siting in a chair. All day, several hours. Ah, the beloved system at work. Great to know that there are adults who "work" all day by keeping kids seated in a chair. Very progressive, America. Library break? I think so. On my laptop, I pull out webpages on the pocketed---the word reminds me of 'closeted---bracelet. NOW I'm imagining a gay bracelet. hilarious. Great. Typing 'Gay Bracelet' into the search bar and am getting rainbow plastic bands. Ya know, the ones that they sell at Hot Topic during pride month.

"Damn, I'm getting sidetracked" She mutters to herself. Imagine if life were a story being told by some omnipotent force? omnipresent? Think that's the word.

With a bit of typing and a bit of focus. Swift movement of hunched fingers. All is complete, then some. Ogdle: "common of the Azande warriors were pieces to signify their status such as septum tusks, mouth disks, necklaces and other adornments. Bones and tusks were common materials of such articles."

Crazy how this history is hidden. Power was taken from us and buried so deep. We're the originals but every piece of history buried underground. Hidden, secretive Big Bad America. Tale fit for young people all over. Democracy, boo yah.

Train whistle blowing through the air. No train nearby, just the sound of a change in the block. I put it all away, sweep it into my bag. Everything is so messy, so fast. On schooldays like this, it feels hard to even take time to breathe. But I get by since the system wants me to. Think I'm going to skip. Not that the next two classes even matter in the long run. "Such a poor black baby, representing her race so poorly". Yeah yeah. Not the black chick that highschools would put on a recruiting card.

Just another push....door after door falling at my fingertips. The same once that touch the coarse sandpaper of my board. Foot on, foot off. kick once, twice, thrice, now we surf the cement. Now it's time to visit good the kind old black woman who practices witchcraft on dolls. That's what you'd think right? No, they're native and keep old customs within the community. Everyone calls them---agender--- Sage. Nonbinary native americans are actually more common than people think.

Before selling the bracelet to some old rich white drudge of society, I wanna be sure that the bracelet can be cleansed first. I mean. To give away black history to the white man? Hellll no with multiple "l's". It is a pretty long ride there, even on a board. Rumbly road. Pebbles everywhere. Thousands of little rocks acting as smaller wheels vying to fling me off. It's too much.

Mumbling of my own. "Where's gentrification when you need it?" Alright, yes I get it. It's a bad joke. Of course gentrification is bad. Blah blah. Time to pick up my skateboard I guess. Walking on this ground feels just as bad as suicide. Feaful of getting my ass flung into the afterlife. Few yards left....or at least fifty feet. Forty eight, forty five, forty-however-long.

Ended up reaching it after twenty minutes. This trip better be worth it.

"Hi there, Miss Sage. Mind checking out this bracelet for me? I need to check it for a curse or evil energy. My cheap father didn't give me enough for a full appraisal but what can you do with nine dollars?"

"For nine? Not much, doll? What was your name again? You look young, do you have an adult's approval for this?"

"Oh, right. You've got me. It's for a school project. School each student a historical object to research. I figured you'd be able to help me get an 'A' on the project, you know?"

"Your manners are lacking but you seem young, so I'll let you pass. Allow me to take a look at it, if you please?"

God. Full-fledged adults really are something else. I'm only eighteen, not eight. Guess I look younger than I am----

Sage starts burning this wood that's tied with string. Incense maybe?

"That incense?"

"It's a closed practice really, so I don't want to expose anything. But it is a form of incense that I prefer to use to cleanse the spirit of objects and areas."

"Ah, didn't mean to intrude. I'm glad that there are still practices that you keep to yourself. Nothing like the White Man stripping us of our culture."

I got a soft chuckle out of them. Glad that they're able to lighten up a bit.

"..."

"OK, so here's what I've found. There's immense energy here; the power coming off of this thing is tremendous. There's nothing negative about this piece. How'd you ever come across it, again? School, you said? Shame that you'll have to give it back. Something like this would provide a large power surge to spirituals. I'd pay a pretty penny for this."

"Mhm"

"Wonder how the school even came across this. I tell you what. Ask your school where I can find something like this and perhaps I'll give you a little something for your intel, huh?"

"Oh. Sure. I'll just--uh---"

"Right, right, right. The bracelet, I'm sorry. Really, it's more an anklet truly, but--ya know what? I'm sorry. Here ya go"

"...take it from ya. Thanks."

"No problem. Come back with more info on the anklet. That'll be your payment for my time"

Got 'caught in a lie it seems. Don't know how I'll snake my way out of this one.

"Brrrrrzzzzz"

Shit, it's five. My dad's probably looking for me.

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

Chapter two:

" You skipped class? Bee, I know that you're better than this."

God moms bitch too much. Must be the nursing job coupled with her daily acting gigs that make her so aggro.

"I hear ya, mom. I just had some research to conduct after school..."

"Research? Which kind---?"

"The school kind. I don't know what else you want me to say. I'm sorry for skipping lasses. I got too overzealous and went in over my head. It won't happen again."

"Tskk. Better not. I know that I'm gone almost every hour of the day, but please give me a break, baby. Please just listen to your father and follow the rules. All I ask."

"Mhm, even though he-----you know what, nevermind. Am I dismissed? I have to write up today's school report to type"

Phew. Gonna hit the bong now to calm down from this encounter.

Fuck homework. .... ..... Mhm.

Five minutes passs. Fifteen, twenty. Maybe not minutes. hours? seconds? Time is too funny. With LEDs on, the vibe is fatallll. Still have to open a window to let out the smoke but gosh is this magical.

Mhm magic. Does it even exist? Doubt it. It's all science, right? ....

.....

Right. Like, this anklet. Not real power. Not real magic. Just something people believe in. Like God. It's all faith.

"So, theoretically, I could even put it on my person and nothing would even happen"

"And, so it begins"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT VOICE" and why am I screaming?

Get off, get off, get off! Something's dripping on me.

"Tears, they're tears"

Oh god, I fucked up. I knew that I shouldn't have smoked that much. Knew it'd bite me in the ass one day. Now I'm fear-crying. I NEVER FEAR CRY.

It's all a dream maybe. Go to sleep, Bee. Just take a weed nap.

"Ba ba bang"

A booming voice raspy from coffee withdrawal.

"Everything OK in there Bee? You're about to be late for school."

Shit!

No time for conversation. Move it move it move it.

"'Cmon Bee. I'll drop you off at school on my way to the college".

Bookbag? Check. Board? Check.

I feel the rush of air against my cheeks as I fly out the door and jump into the getaway car. Fast, but atleast I'm not Furious. Dad and I chat it up all the way until the tires cross the smooth pavement of school grounds. Departing words are exchanged along with "I love you's" and "knock 'em deads".

That familiar sound. Principal as the school conductor. "Chooo". Just as it drones, my body moves to the steps of teens dragging their feet toward their dreaded first classes of the day. The light of morning cradles the marble arches of the school entrance until the sun starts to suck in the morning cold to blow out midday warmth.

"So, who are you, voice? What's your angle? Typing ensues. The screen watches my fleeting pupils; left, right, side, side. Wouldn't be surprised if the computer got whiplash from me. One scroll, two, three. Read a page. Nothing. Another website. Up and down; my fingers are cramped now. Nada. New Oogdle search: "Can I hear voices with weed smoking." Now I have a hit; "yes weed can have you seeing voices. Many aren't even your own. Maybe lay off the TV for a while."

"Thanks 'BouncyNina29'. Quora is one hell of a place." Guess it must've just been the drugs then. Hilarious, me hearing some voice. "Gotta lay off the bong smoking".

"Shhh!!" Some nerd in a striped beanie raised a finger to pursed lips.

Sorry, sorry....Jeez. "My bad" You know what? Maybe I can visit----

the train whistle interrupts my 11pm "ball" with myself. "Dammit". OK. Maybe I can bribe one of the delinquents behind the school to take my place in English. Teacher's not there anyway; the sub won't know the difference. Time to go pay someone off.

"..."

"Here ya go, five dollars."

"A'ight and you said what room that English class in?"

"301 B man. It's at the end of the third floor, right wing. Hard to miss and---remember---my name is Maybel Rhodes. Just fake like you're doing some work and no one will even notice that you're not me. I'm a loner, so, that'll work."

"Mhm hmm. I hear ya Maple"

"MayBEL"

"Yeah, that's what I said"

Scoff. In a smooth curvular motion, I plant my feet on the board and race to Sage's before their store closes.

As I approach, they're putting a silver key in a lock. Gah! The store closed.

"Miss Sage---"

"Gah! Don't do that!! Scaring me and sh--I mean, 'crap'. Scaring me and crap. Look kid, I'm closed right now but we open tomorrow. By then, I'll have the energy to discuss your school's anklet with you. Actually, about that. Do you have intel on where the-----"

"Yes, yes. About that, see...I lied. I didn't really get it from the school. I found it on the ground somewhere."

"'Found it on the ground somewhere' is code for 'I don't have money to pay nor do I have anything else to provide'? Am I getting warmer?"

"Look Miss Sage, I'm really sorry. Hey---look at it this way. I'm in debt to you. If you'll just help me with one teensy little thing, I'll ask my dad for some food money and will give you every cent he gives, alright?"

"Kid, that's not how an adult runs a business. Call what I gave you yesterday a 'freebie'. You're banned from the store. Good night."

Wait. "Wait" Their stride is aimed toward their silver camry. Yeah, I know a camry. Did you expect them to be riding a horse? Racist. Sage acts as though they don't hear and gets into their seat, key in ignition. One twist away before exiting the rocky parking area.

"IT SPOKE TO ME" Yup. That is how I yelled it. All caps, woke some birds up even. Just like in those Loony Toon cartoons. Is that why they're called "Loony Toons" 'cause they're loony cart----

Now they exit their car, slamming the heavy metal door. "What did you say? It...SPOKE...to you? What do you mean 'it'?"

Mhm Mhm. Just prepping my throat. "I wore it on my ankle and I heard a voice that has never existed before in the chasms----"

"Stop the theatrics"

"....Chasms of my mind. It was a male. Around your age in old-timey-ness."

"Har har."

"But it's the truth!" Why won't they believe a magical voice but insist that sage, a random plant, purifies the air?

Their chest contracts and expands in a sigh. Sage closes their eyes for a second. I could practically smell the gears turning. Need some WD-40, really. "Fine. Come by the store Saturday. That way, no one will be in to eavesdrop."

"Deal!"

"And bring actual MULA this time or else we won't have our little discussion". Crud.

"...."

"What are you thinking Sage?" No response. I paid one hundred fifty dollars for this after BEGGING both my folks (who think I'm using it to enroll in some after school sport) to slide me some cash so that I can 'better myself as an individual and actually do something with my time as well'. Lies are no good.

"Shh! Let me think, please!" Sage subverts their attention from me back onto the tarot cards laid in front of them----exactly where the bone anklet (bonklet) lay in silence

Ten minutes pass before Sage gives me the break down. "So, as I've said before. The anklet carries some heavy energy, something similar to passion and justice. Very potent stuff. That's what the spirit realm is saying, anyway. When you were---ahem--- HIGH----"

At this point I look away

"...You honed into that energy and that's why you heard the voice"

"Hm. So, how do I hone in on that energy now? Is it something I can control conscious?"

"Look, I dunno kid. Just, be safe. Meditate beforehand so that you are actually able to chime into the anklet's power source. Don't want to darken the talisman's power or anything."

"Sure, sure" I am literally out the door before Sage utters the second part of their sentence. I buzz with excitement at the opportunity and the best part is? I'm basically a super! Hoo ho. This is awesome.

There's an empty industrial facility near by Hawesome Li Cosmetics. It went bankrupt several decads ago. I'm pretty much the only one who knows about the place. Excellent ground to skate on---smooth as butter. Either way, it's empty and no harm will come to anything or anyone nearby. Any damage that I do will be to the building nearby, which no one cares about anyway. "So, it's just me and you buddy." Blunt in hand, I blaze it up. "Time for the magic to happen."

It's a slow high. The high takes as long as a flame reaching the wooden stick of an incense rod for the high to hit. Upwards of thirty minutes. So I wait. It feels like time warps. So I meditate. So I clear my thinking and reach out to the anklet.

"Mhm, Anklet, tell me who you are?"

"What?? You can hear me?"

"Yeah man. Who are you, why you speaking to me?"

"Why would I tell you? I don't even know yer name"

Tiring. It's like talking to a wall.

"Hey, I heard that!"

"Maybel. My name's Maybel. What's yours? Let's start there."

"Nat."

"Like Nat Turner? The rebel slave?"

"Don't know who that is, this 'Nat Turner'. Just knew my master gave me the name." How progressive. "So...I suspect that I'm dead."

It's not easy news. I get it. But hey, the north won. That's something, right?

"Well, I guess it is....you know, I had a name before all of this...."

"......"

"......??"

"......."

So, are you going to tell me?

"You may call me 'Asim'."

"I'll call you Ase."

Don't call me 'Ase'. Too late, Ase. Hey, how old are you anyway? 12? 11? My name is ASIM, nothing else. Fine, grumpy. ASIM. I'll call you Asim, Asim. Where'd that name come from anyway? What does it mean?

"Let's find out, shall we?"

"...It feels electric! (Boogy woogy woogy). Such power, this wade in...glory."

Are you a God?

"Blasphemy!" Then what are you? How are you able to lay such energy unto me?

Look, I don't know either, alright? But what I do know is...we're both negr---

Black. We don't say that word anymore.

"Black, then... Perhaps I'm connected with you due to our shared skin?" We stopped being related millenia ago. Millenia? Not familar with that word.

"Long, long ago. We don't share any common ancestors. It was all a lie." A lie? You don't believe in a God? I'm moreso spiritual; creation is a possibility not something I'm invested in. I believe in forces of the universe. "But not a God? So, this can't be some spiritual connection. We're too different." So perhaps a soul connection? A link between our spirits.... What else do we have in common? A slave and a black kid?

"Hatred of the white man? Wanting justice against them?"

"War. Destruction"

"Yes."

"No, I don't want that. I'd prefer peace." There may be no PEACE without WAR.

"A lie. Violence is not the answer. Kindness is."

"'Kindness' doesn't resolve problems. 'Kindness' doesn't end racism. 'KINDNESS' was the one that slept at my feet while I was lashed! "

"..."

Asim?

"..."

Andddd you're gone. Great. Well, I'm going to head back home, then. We can hang out again tomorrow. "Head back" means leave. All right, see you.

#fiction #original story #writer #writing #tumblr #writers on tumblr #BLM #Politics #Teenagedom #Teen angst #superhero #comicbook writing

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foramomentonly · 5 years ago

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@spaceskam So, your Jealous Michael stream of consciousness fic was so good it inspired me. And then I got angsty. I humbly dedicate this to you since basically I’m just copying your brilliant style.

If you are reading this and don’t know what I’m talking about do yourself a favor.

It’s not that Michael doesn’t like this new guy Forrest, per se. He doesn’t, but personal incompatibility is not the biggest issue. He’s not trying to be best friends with the guy. He just wants to go twenty minutes in his own damn town without seeing him. Is that really too freaking much to ask? And maybe also to not constantly find him hanging around Alex like a puppy on an invisible leash.

First, it’s Bean Me Up, where Michael stops in one early morning to pick up coffee and pastries with which to woo a justifiably still frosty Maria. There’s Alex, dressed for a run, nursing what Michael can only guess is a black coffee. And he’s with someone. Someone familiar. Someone with a really bad dye job and a very stupid cardigan. Seriously, this is small-town New Mexico, a place full of unironic cowboy hats, functional boots, and ugly plaid and turquoise everything. The only individuals with a real sense of style are Maria, with her boho patterns and bright colors and flowy pieces, and more recently Alex, with his military-fashion boots and dark, tapered jeans and that fucking leather jacket. At least he’s not wearing the jacket. But all this to say you can’t just throw on a dull, shapeless cardigan and dig up some boxed hair dye from Alex’s high school medicine cabinet and call it a look. But Alex doesn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t seemed to mind at the ranch when they first meet Forrest, either. When Forrest was two steps from getting on his knees if Alex so much as asked to borrow a pen and Alex pretended not to notice and Michael glowered at them both. And now Alex is smiling at something Forrest says and raising a perfect brow, and when he catches Michael’s eye he doesn’t hold his gaze. Michael grabs his order and stalks off, and of course, it’s Forrest who runs out to tell him he forgot to pay.

***

Bean Me Up is just the first time. A few weeks later he’s finishing up at the lab with Liz and Kyle, and Isobel is hanging around because she’s not working right now and she doesn’t have much else to do.

“All right,” Kyle says, “if we’re done, I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting Alex at the high school track.”

“What for?” Isobel asks.

“Cardio,” Kyle beams, and Michael rolls his eyes. Who gets that excited about a hamster wheel for adults?

“Can I join?” Isobel asks, and, oh right. Isobel does these days.

Kyle says, “…yes?” uncertainly and Isobel flutters her eyelashes at him like good answer. Liz announces she’s coming to “the ab parade” too, and Michael wonders if she’s been sampling her drawer wine already. But the whole gang is game, so he is, too. He’s a joiner.

They get to the track and Alex is stretching idly in one of those sporty bro get-ups—shorts, athletic shoes, and the tee-shirt that’s been cut into an extremely baggy tank top that has more functionality as a wind tunnel than actual clothing. He looks relaxed and tan, and he has a prosthetic Michael hasn’t seen before; he guesses it’s specifically for athletics. He’s objectively admiring the view when Alex grins at someone to his left and Michael looks over and it’s fucking Forrest in a college tee-shirt and a fucking sweatband. He points to their group and Alex turns, smiling uncertainly.

“Do we have an audience?” he asks.

“Isobel asked to join us. I don’t know what these two are doing,” Kyle explains, holding his hand out to Forrest like it’s the most natural thing in the world for Alex to have company that isn’t one of them or dressed in army fatigues and letting him order them around. “Good to see you again, man. You running with us?”

Forrest grips Kyle’s hand, and these two fuckers would be BFFs.

“Yeah, if it’s cool with you,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to get more active-”

“Been pretty active lately,” Alex murmurs, smirking, and Michael literally gags. Alex shoots him a dark look.

“-and Alex suggested a run would be a good place to start.”

Kyle is spouting off fitness theories or whatever to Forrest and Isobel, and Liz wanders toward the bleachers, leaving Alex and Michael effectively alone.

“You got a problem, Guerin?” Alex asks, tone forced casual.

“You pick up a boyfriend since I saw you last, private?” he replies.

Alex, little shit that he is, has the audacity to laugh.

“No,” he says, “but I’ll be sure to update my Facebook status for you the second I do.”

***

That’s the thing, too. Alex won’t admit he’s dating this tragic librarian loser. He doesn’t say anything to anyone. He brings F-word to The Pony where they sit on stools at the bar facing each other and practically fellating their bottlenecks from what Michael can tell from over the pool table, where he’s pretending to line up a shot; Alex has apparently introduced him to all their friends and Arturo, if their biweekly lunches at the Crashdown are any indication; and they text non-stop, Alex’s phone constantly buzzing in the pocket of his fatigues or the cupholder of the Jeep where he stores it while driving them to the library or the Project Shephard bunker, or dropping Michael off at the Airstream.

“Want me to check that for you?” Michael asks when it buzzes three times in a row during a food run for what they now call the Secret Science Lab, thanks to Cam’s big mouth and Liz’s continuing mortification.

“No,” Alex says easily, “it’s Forrest. It’s unrelated.”

“Could be an emergency,” Michael goads, “what if he needs you to help him touch up his roots? ”

Alex glares.

“Spoiler alert: He needs you to help him touch up his roots,” Michael says in an exaggerated whisper.

“You could be a little less subtle, you know,” Alex says.

“What?”

“This whole ‘jealous ex’ thing,” he says, jaw clenched. “It’s getting old.”

“We’re not exes,” Michael says, “we’re bros. And I’m just looking out for you. Bro.”

Alex rolls his eyes.

“Well, look somewhere else. I’m good.”

Michael grits his teeth, tries to forget that they once told each other I don’t look away and that Alex absolutely remembers.

***

It officially becomes too fucking much when Forrest is at his house. Not the actual guy, though that would be bad enough, but his junk. Michael drops off some documents for Alex one night and asks to use the bathroom. Alex shrugs and steps aside to let him pass. Alex likes a neat space; he grew up in a military household with his fucking psychopath of a father and old habits die hard or sometimes not at all. So Michael notices immediately when there is just stuff lying around. Some folders scattered across the low coffee table; a glass on the side table still dripping condensation onto the wood; an ugly Forrest green sweater draped over the back of a chair in the kitchen. These things are very much not Alex’s, but there they are strewn around Alex’s space like half of a What’s Different About These Two Images puzzle come to life.

Michael scoffs and says, “You know if I find his toothbrush in there I’m gonna use it to clean the toilet?”

Alex stiffens and his knuckles go white around the handle of his crutch.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he hisses, and Michael realizes too late that Alex is carrying all the markings of a crappy day in the rigid set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, and the way he leans heavily on his crutch as though he’s too proud to admit he would rather be resting. But they’ve been dancing around this massive, electric blue elephant between them for too long, and Michael isn’t going to back down now. Not his style.

“Oh, just that you apparently have a live-in boyfriend you didn’t bother to tell anyone about,” he says, lifting his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “No big deal.”

“So what if I do? Where are you parking your Airstream these days, Guerin?”

Michael avoids the question by pointing at the glass still sweating on the table and asking, “Be honest, did he jump out the back window when I knocked?”

“Why would he?” Alex spits. “He belongs here. You don’t.”

They both pause, their anger deflating at his words that hit a little too close to the core of what they definitely are not actually arguing about.

“You can’t just bring someone into our lives like it’s nothing, Alex,” Michael says, switching tactics.

“I would never tell him anything,” Alex answers, taking a hesitant step forward. “You know that. I would never.”

I would never tell.

I never look away.

I loved you. For a long time.

Michael hates the past tense. But the present sucks pretty hard right now, too.

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles and turns back toward the front door. “Think I’m just gonna hold it. Have a good night, Alex.”

“Guerin-”

“Tell Forrest I said hello.”

#malex #malex fic #rnm #rnm fic #forrest #alex manes #michael guerin #angst #jealous michael #my fic #kylexbrotp

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mnetruinedmylife · 4 years ago

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Untitled Gang AU

This is just my need to write an AKB Gang AU combined with shameless Yuunaa. It’s written in mostly stream of consciousness writing, so the topic jumps to whatever connection my brain jumps to, it can get a little disorientating at times. It’s also kind of unfinished, but I didn’t want it sitting in a file collecting dust, so here it is.

Warnings: this piece includes: mentions of violence, though nothing too graphic; traumatic flashbacks; mildly sexually charged scenes, though nothing truly nsfw.

_____________________________________________________________

The town of Akihabara is a place of conflict and contradictions.

Located in the central ward of Tokyo, it has the highest rate of organised crime activity in all of Japan. The police will claim that there are no gangs in Akihabara – after all, the businesses are flourishing and the tourists come in droves, there is no safer place. Yet, every denizen knows that the infamous 48 Gangs originated in there, and it’s even a point of pride for a few.

If the press interviews a resident, they’ll swear up and down that they’ve never felt safer anywhere else. But more than once has a tourist revealed that they’ve been told by locals scuttling about to either stay on the nearby streets north and west of Akihabara train station after dark, or else not go wandering about at all.

The Akihabara sect of the 48 Gangs themselves are full of conflicting information too.

Sometimes, when the residents manage to acknowledge that they exist, one may hear them whisper in hushed tones about how they’re vigilantes, heroes who do the right thing when the police can’t or won’t. But in the same breath they’d tell you to stay away from one particular café in the Hanaokacho district, and the theatre near Taito station. The members of the AKB sect themselves would laugh themselves sick at the term, all the while shooting a defenceless man in the head without batting an eye, because they’re not heroes. They have their own goals, their own plans, most of which revolve around protecting their own, their members, their family, and if some things extend towards heroism, than that’s just a coincidence, and if some things stretch closer to the other side, well, that’s fine too.

Word on the street says it starts during the days when multiple factions ran rampant all over Tokyo. When kids were recruited right out of high school (and some still in it) into the Project gangs and prostitution rings. Some say a man rose up to create a force that could clean up the streets and keep the gang violence where it belongs – between gangs and not involving civilians.

Aki-P they called him, the man who swept up the capitol’s underbelly.

People say also he’s the same man who created the Sakamichi Syndicate and started the bloodiest turf war Tokyo has ever seen. Some say he did it because he gave up on the AKB sect, when they started losing their way and becoming more dangerous than the gangs they rose up against. Others say he did it after losing control of the 48 Gangs, that he was ousted from the inner circle and so created a rival faction as vengeance.

No matter how different the stories get, they all have one similarity. The 48 Gangs are dangerous, the sect in Akihabara doubly so, and anyone who gets in their way, or harms anyone in their sphere, or dares to challenge their grip over Tokyo, take heed and be on the lookout.

They’ll come for you.

__________________________________________________________)

Okada Nana is fifteen when she boards a train from Kanagawa to Tokyo and doesn’t look back.

Kojima Mako and Nishino Miki are similar ages, and in similar situations when they run into each other, having decided to pickpocket the same mark, and the three of them decide to run together. The streets are a little less intimidating with two sets of eyes to watch your back, and two bodies to keep you warm at night.

Mako’s the devious one, with her heart-melting gummy smiles and disarming laugh, she’s able to charm any passer-by and con them out of their hard earned money.

“Sorry sir, I’ve lost my parents, can I please borrow three hundred yen for the train fare?”

It works more often than not, there’s never a shortage of businessmen willing to play hero and help out a stranded school girl. And if she steals the rest of their wallet when they’re not looking, well they usually don’t notice until it’s too late.

Miki is bolder. She takes items right off of shelves when she walks by, and isn’t afraid to go after other street kids who wander into the space they’ve claimed as their own.

Sometimes she’s a little too bold, “Let’s get lunch from there.”

And that’s where Nana comes in. She’s the cautious one, the voice of reason, the brains behind the operations as small and simple as it is.

“We can’t go in there,” Nana hisses, grabbing the other two by the backs of their collars before they do something stupid.

“Why not? The foods cheaper in there than anywhere else in the city,” Miki points out, not unreasonably.

But Nana is adamant, “Yeah for good reason. That café belongs to AKB.”

The innocuous street side café about a minute’s walk from Akihabara station is something of a local legend in the area. Anyone above thirty avoids it like the plague because of the rumours of it being owned by the 48 Gangs, or perhaps it simply just serves the members of AKB. The little number 48 carved into the brickwork above the café doors is a symbol of that.

However, it is popular amongst the youth of the city for that very reason. With many hanging out there to bask in the rebellious feeling of danger, or on adventurous dares from friends. Whispers fly about AKB recruiting from the youth who flock there. A few yankees even claim to be initiates recruited from there. They’re all bald faced liars. No prospective recruit would be stupid enough to loiter in a known gang-owned establishment.

A few have, however, been known to have been recruited around the station. Our little trio of street rats like to linger around the area, pickpocketing the stupid school kids, the otakus heading to the Gundam café across the street, and the rich folk visiting the golf club on the other side of the block.

They do that for months before they’re approached by a member of AKB.

Okada Nana is sixteen when Minegishi Minami approaches her and her friends with an offer they can’t refuse.

Her first job is with Mako and two other recruits. They’re tasked with the simple job of delivering a package and Nana has to wonder what’s so important that there needs to be four of them for this. Or maybe it’s not so important, considering there are four barely trained, fresh faced initiates on the job.

They scuttle about the train line, Mako skipping along merrily, Hikari following behind quietly, with Nana and Ayana bickering the whole way. They deliver the package without any issues worth mentioning to one Itano Tomomi at an upscale bar in the heart of the city. It turns out to be cold hard cash, and Nana goes white at the thought of possibly losing that much money. Or rather, what the gang would do to them if they lost that much money.

The next few jobs follow in a similar manner. Nana gets to know the names and quirks of her fellow runners. Innocent, seemingly useless things like:

Iwatate Saho is stronger than she looks.

“Oh god he’s unconscious…are you planning on joining Team K?”

“No, too dangerous. I’m thinking Team B. You know, manning the cafes and the casinos and stuff.”

Mogi Shinobu doesn’t do so well under pressure.

“What the-!? Mogi-san why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“I panicked!”

“I can’t believe you want to join Team A, you’ll die in a week.”

Murayama Yuiri is stupidly pretty.

“Yuiri-chan…We’re half an hour in the wrong direction. You had the map upside down.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry, usually Naa-chan corrects me when I do this, I mean, I’m not blaming Naa-chan! It’s just she…Naa-chan what are you looking at?”

“Err nothing. Nothing, I got distracted.”

Takashima Yurina has somewhat of a crush on her.

“Naa-chan I bought drinks.”

“Where’s one for the rest of us?”

Uchiyama Natsuki knows a ridiculous amount about the law.

“Article 13: every individual has the liberty of protecting his or her own personal information from being disclosed to a third party or made public without good reason.”

“Somehow I doubt beating him up would fly as ‘taking the liberty to protect our property’.”

Apparently they do a somewhat of a good job, because Nana finds herself selected as part of a joint project between all the 48 Gangs. She, Mako and Miki are the representatives of the Akihabara sect and Nana wonders how the hell the upper echelons decided on that.

“So, what are your specialties?” somehow it falls to Nana to lead this ragtag group.

The Namba sect representative Shibuya Nagisa is actually the oldest (by a few months) but she’s no more experienced than they are – Nana finds out later, the reason why all of the sects sent their freshest recruits. It’s all internal politics, and a mission too important to turn down, but not important enough to ensure successful. In short, they’re expendable and they weren’t even expected to make it home.

The job is in Tokyo, so Nana takes the reigns by default.

She finds that leadership suits her.

It feels like a natural extension of what she was already doing when they were just three idiots on the street, planning operations meticulously so that they come back in one piece, and utilising the skills of her teammates in the most efficient way possible. There are three more idiots to account for now, but she is familiarised with them soon enough.

Nagisa is the strongest in hand-to-hand combat amongst the seven of them, Sakae’s Ryoha the most accurate shot, Hakata’s Meru joins Miki in being the loud charismatic distraction, while Mako and Hakata’s Mio are swift and sneaky with their hands. It’s the perfect team for covert operations. Which makes sense, considering they’re being sent south of the Kanda river, into Sakamichi territory to gather intel on the new gang that’s popped up by the Roppongi hills.

It seems like a simple mission.

Get in, look around for suspicious activity, get out. There isn’t supposed to be confrontation or combat involved.

But no plan survives contact with the enemy, and no one cares about supposed to be’s when there are guns pointed at their heads.

When she’s desperately wrestling with a knife that wants nothing more than to dig into her flesh, when she’s slammed against the wall, breath knocked out of her, when a pair of hands wrap around her throat and squeeze, and her lungs scream as her legs thrash uselessly underneath, her vision blurs, and the terrifying realisation that she won’t actually get out of this situation alive sets in – oh god is that Miki screaming she hears in the background? – the air is rushing out her lungs and –

“Naa-chan. Naa-chan! Snap out of it, you’re not there anymore.”

Nana eyes fly open, as she dashes up, heart still thudding in her chest. She has to make sure everyone’s okay, what happened to Miki, and oh god Mio was stabbed, and where the hell is Mako, and they lost contact with Ryoha half an hour in, and Nagisa is unconscious, and no matter how deep a breath she takes, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Her chest burns, she can’t breathe and – a hand lands on her shoulder, the accompanying scent of hinoki pine only just barely manages to stamp down the instinct to lash out.

Yuiri’s concerned face drags her back to reality, “It’s okay. You’re home. You’re not there, you’re safe now,” to the little hole in the wall apartment she has (firmly on the AKB side of the Kanda river), to the bed she’s sharing with the pretty distraction on her team. Though, perhaps that would be unkind to say, even if she refuses to think of what they’re doing as anything more than just stress relief, blowing off steam.

Belatedly Nana realises that she has a death grip on Yuiri’s upper arm, she loosens her grip but doesn’t let go, “S-sorry,” her hands are shaking, she’s trembling and she can’t get it to stop, and Yuiri’s murmuring nonsense things in her ear.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot,” Yuiri apologises with a grimace. They’ve established early on that Nana does not like hands anywhere near her neck, that one horrendous mission spoiled that forever, but sometimes Yuiri forgets, and the resulting post-traumatic flashbacks are the most mood-killing thing possible in the bedroom, or sometimes out of it too.

The first time it happens is in a street by the AKB theatre of all places. It’s after a job with just the two of them, when they’re both high on adrenaline, breaths heavy, eyes glazed, still in the heat of violence, fresh from a near-death scuffle. Nana’s not sure who jumps whom first, but suddenly they’re in each other’s space, hands tangled in hair, and tongue against teeth. Yuiri tastes like citrus that night, some kind of lemon mixed, and the deeper she kisses her the more she can taste the metallic tang of blood and the salt of sweat mixed in.

Nana closes her eyes tightly, a low, throaty moan of approval rumbles deep in her throat as her back hits the wall with a light thud, the moan turning markedly louder as the elder girl’s fingers slip inside the waistband of her shorts and shoves them down over her hips. Strong, forceful fingers dig into her and pull her in even tighter as her mouth is once again claimed in a desperate, hungry kiss.

“Yuu-chan,” she moans, gasping at the feel of the other girl’s tongue against her throat.

“Yes?” Yuiri’s lips curls into a smile against Nana’s, she groans low and deep as Yuiri’s hips grinds into her own.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s easier with Yuiri, they understand each other in ways her other teammates simply don’t. Maybe it’s because the most of the others are like what Nana was at first, just street kids and lowly thieves dragged in way over their heads. When Nana and Mako come back from that FUBAR recon mission with their hands soaked in blood, the others look at them different. With wariness in their eyes, with guarded stances, with hints of fear in their faces.

Mako’s stupid grin thaws their hesitance soon enough. But Nana has never been that kind of charismatic. Not in the way that makes other at ease. She’s always been harder, more serious, and that only makes her look much more intimidating now.

“You’re still here?” Nana raises an eyebrow when she realises that Yuiri is still lingering about. These days, most of her team disappear faster than a blink of an eye the moment the job is done, not wanting to be around for longer than necessary.

But Yuiri only looks at Nana like she’s the one being unreasonable, “Don’t we usually go for kakigori after a job?”

“You want to have desserts with me? What, not afraid I’ll snap and kill you?” Nana asks, sadly only half sarcastically, because with the way the rest of the team treat her, it seems that’s exactly what they’re thinking.

The other girl snorts and actually has the audacity to chuckle, “You’re going to have do a lot more than be traumatised to scare me. I’m sure I’ve killed more people than you.”

Yuiri wasn’t some street kid when she got recruited. She was born into this world, her family neck-deep in the underbelly of Japan, and she’s no stranger to violence. There’s only one other like that on their team, Nana would’ve overlooked Mion entirely if Yuiri hadn’t pointed her out.

“You can always tell when someone’s killed before,” Yuiri says, “It’s in the eyes.”

The months blur into years, and before Nana knows it most of her team have the same eyes, the ones who are still alive anyway. The ones who are left split off into the different teams of AKB eventually. Mako, Ayana, Mogi and Komiharu are sent to Team K, with their dangerous combat orientated jobs and Nana just hopes they keep coming home. Saho and Saki are off in the relatively safer B, the front jobs, manning the caf�� and the casinos and the above-board stations. Yukari and Mion end up in A, and Nana hopes beyond hope that they don’t lose themselves in there.

Nana and Yuri themselves never leave 4. They’re the ones chosen to train up the newbies, and she has no idea who thought that is a good idea. She never actually does anything too important in the gang – up until the moment she accidentally founds an entirely new sect.

She’d been in Fukuoka visiting Mio and Meru, and it’s in Hiroshima, on her way back to Tokyo that Nana manages to get herself recognised and chased. She hated cults with a passion. Why did they have a problem with her anyway? It’s not like the 48 Gangs had territory claimed in Hiroshima –

Ow.

She falls off the fence the she’s attempting to climb over and lands on her back with a dull thud. The grass is soft at least. She spends a few moments just staring up at the night sky, it’s actually quite breathtaking when you’re far away enough from the city lights to appr—

“Are you okay?”

Oh, there’s a kid in pink and purple. A teenager really. Nana can’t tell ages anymore.

“…m’fine. Sorry didn’t mean to land in your backyard,” she says. An apartment complex’s backyard anyway, she realises when she sits up. It’s a rundown building that’s clearly not in official use. It appears there are kids squatting in it.

It’s difficult to tell in the dark, but when Nana squints she can make out maybe two more teens peeking out from behind a window.

“Wanna come inside?” the girl asks, and Nana really really shouldn’t.

A gunshot sounds in the air though, and Nana quickly scrambles to follow the kid inside. Being noble is all well and good, but it definitely doesn’t beat being alive.

When Nana awakens the next morning, she hears furious whisperings back and forth between the teens – and there’s clearly more of them this morning than there was last night.

“—it’s dangerous, she’s clearly a member of the 48 Gangs! You saw that tattoo!” an unknown voice hisses, and Nana wonders when and how they saw the little 48 tattoo on the back of her neck. That’s not usually visible and she’s usually a light enough sleeper to wake up if they touch her.

“Yeah, that means she can help us!” that’s Chiho, one of the girls she remembers half-heartedly greeting the night before. The one with the bruises on her face.

“We can’t trust a gang member!”

“So what else are we going to do? They took Yumirin, we’ll never get her back ourselves!”

Nana’s always had a soft spot for stupid kids. It’s probably why they never took her off Team 4, and how she finds herself hopping all over the setouchi region, rescuing girls from a fox worshipping cult.

Girls who somehow end up forming the Setouchi sect of the 48 Gangs – Sashihara-san comes down from Fukuoka to make it official and everything.

Mogi never lets her forget it.

“Hey Naa-chan, remember the time you went to visit Mio and Meru and ended up playing prince charming and rescuing ten damsels in distress?”

_____________________________________________________________)

Might finish it later, might not. Who knows...

#akb48 #gang au #fanfic #yuunaa

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poptod · 5 years ago

Text

Weight of a Songbird (Snafu x Reader)

Description: It's all hazy, and you never fully realize your own condition. You hallucinate and dissociate during battle, during mealtime, frequently and at the expense of your own health. You're saved by a man who's just looking out for you, but he's not exactly entirely neurotypical either.

Notes: I wrote this a while ago. It’s depressing, and to be honest I don’t like it at all, but I haven’t posted in a bit so here it is. Gender neutral.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306608

Word Count: 5.3k

Everything collapsed into a tiny world. Isolation without being isolated, trapped in the confines of a tiny world too minute for your thoughts. It was just too small, all the same things over and over again, nothing changing, nothing ever differing, like seeing the same color forever. An expanse of bright red. Bloody and beautiful. The ringing in your ears is eternal, and wondering if it ever will go away is a waste of energy.

There’s voices but you can’t hear them, they don’t speak loud enough to be heard over the ringing, to be called to attention over the vastness of your world. Then you get pushed by an invisible force, shoving you out of the way, and you hear voices, louder and louder, growing closer and closer. They shout in your ear, and then it’s not just voices but the sound of bullets.

The mud drenches you, sticking all over your skin and drying over your clothes despite the fact that it’s still raining. In the darkness you can’t see a thing, as shining a light would give away your position. Only the flare of firing guns gives you any idea that you’re still alive.

No one’s even specifically shouting at you - it’s hard to notice someone crouched in the mud, clutching their gun like releasing it would surely make them slip from the dregs of sanity. You don’t have to look around to know you aren’t the only one positioned like that, and you don’t have to even think to know you should be shooting. So you turn, cock your gun, and you start shooting blindly into the darkness, praying that you don’t get hit.

It doesn’t occur to you to have a plan, to move from your position, to maybe even try to look for a specific target. You just move your gun every now and then and shoot, aiming for sounds when they come.

When day breaks they’re dead and you’re alive. It’s as simple as that.

All the people you know hold guns now. All you knew seems so distant, like all your life was was a dream and that this was reality. This shivering wasteland, seeping into your skin and poisoning your blood with every movement. When you try to speak, all that comes out is a gush of dry wind.

Despite the cold, nothing felt real. The frost covered your skin, and it numbed every sense you had till nothing remained but the bones barely holding you up. You tried to cover your arms with your hands, to try to rub some warmth into them but your hands fall off in the freeze, and though you wanted to cry, the tears come out hot.

They burned into your senses, and you come back to yourself.

It hasn’t rained in days. The sun beats hot above but you’re sitting, eating lunch, dissipating into the background like the trees swaying in the sweet ocean breeze. You don’t think, but you realize your hands have not fallen off. You lift your fork to eat, and as your head leans forward, you feel the slightest wind brushing against your cheek, and you feel the tears.

They were there. But painted into the background, no one notices, so you don’t pay any attention to it either. You eat, you don’t know if it’ll be a while till your next meal. When you finish, you sit in front of your empty plate and you do nothing but stare at it. You hope to God that you won’t slip away again, because despite everything in this world, the other one is worse. It’s constant. In this world, the sun can still shine in a beautiful sort of way, even burning your eyes open.

When you breathe and close your eyes, you find peace, but the anxiety gets to you in an instant.

They’re watching.

They’re just waiting for you to rest.

Close your eyes.

Relax your sore muscles.

They’re shooting.

Everyone goes for their guns, no matter how far away they are and the man is dead in an instant. An intruder sneaking into the camp and shooting dead a man you did not know, and when you look down, your gun is in your hands, and it’s just been fired, and you haven’t even broken a sweat.

You drop your gun and close your eyes into darkness. When you try to open them, it doesn’t work.

Darkness consumed you, filling every crevice you had, spilling out and choking your thoughts. You couldn’t breathe, but you were at peace for once. You relaxed into the control of the ink, letting it clog your lungs and fill up your mouth with its’ bittersweet taste.

And then you saw yourself, your eyes black with the darkness, the goo spilling from your mouth as your body hung lifeless in the empty space. Like a puppet you began to speak, but it wasn’t your voice, it was your commanding officer. As much as you trust him, you couldn’t seem to trust him now as he controlled you.

As you watched a gun fell into the hands of the puppet version of you, dripping with the void covering its’ body. It raised its’ gun to you.

Shoot, your commanding officer said. You can trust me.

When the puppet shoots, you can open your eyes again, and when you do it’s evening but you haven’t moved from where you were in the afternoon. The feeling of distrust lingers with you and you glare at people who look at you before remembering your place.

The shaking in your hand doesn’t stop but you can see again, and you thank God for that. You never want to close your eyes again. You never want to sleep again. You can’t end your stream of consciousness.

Your eyes stay on the ground, but you know the stars are above you. They’re always there, watching over you, but they don’t care. They’re distant, cold and apathetic to any plight, just like people, though stars don’t pretend like they care.

When you regain your hearing just a moment later you hear people talking, conversing quietly, and the strumming of a guitar. For the first time since afternoon you divert your attention from the dirt at your feet, looking up to the man playing.

He’s shirtless, covered in dirt and grime, and his pants are slacking way below the belt line with boots that are too big for his feet but he’s playing a beautiful song you’ve heard before. Or maybe you haven’t, but the tune reverberates through your empty bones that are calloused from living.

You realize he’s been playing for a bit now. The men surrounding him have gone quiet, and it’s not a happy, appreciative quiet, it’s a silence that hits too close to the heart, and you know it’s not about love or drinking.

“Terrible is the day when I return to you, an open shell, a broken ghost of the person you once knew,” he sings, and you can feel the stinging in your gut spill up into your eyes, but tears don’t fall. Not yet.

“Love me or leave me I’ll love you just the same, though memories have faded I’ll always know your name,” he sings, and his voice is beautiful, and it petrifies you.

“I know you see me different now. Pain has a way of changing what heaven’s endowed,” he sings, and he moves onto the chorus. You only know it’s the chorus because the men gather themselves together again like they hadn’t been struck down by the thought of home.

“Burning through my veins I feel you, like I exist only to know you,” is what the song ends with, and the men get back to talking. You watch, noticing as they try to act normally. It’s not an easy thing to do.

You decide to move your body, and it’s an incredibly conscious decision in the way that you almost have to convince yourself. I need to move my body, you think, but do you? I need to go to sleep, you know, but you can’t let your guard down.

A sharp pain flows through your chest, starting in the heart and flowing down to your legs, numbing them. Your eyes grow hazy and you can’t see, all you can feel is the ragged breaths you take, and the hand on your shoulder that’s suddenly come. You can’t balance, and it feels more like you’re dying than falling. It’s not how you expected to go out.

Unlike all the other times, you’re too grounded in reality, but your head’s far off in the sky. It’s like you’re being stretched beyond the limit, beyond the atmosphere till you’re nothing but a thin thread of a person. The pains flowing through your system keep you awake, keeps you in reality but your breathing sends you off. It’s all too much, a stark difference from the times when all you can feel is one sensation. Whether that’s cold or loneliness, it’s better than feeling everything at once.

There’s a nurse hanging above you, her hair in tight curlers, dressed in a nightgown. It’s scandalous but you don’t really care as she helps you to your feet. Your head pounds like someone’s playing drums with your skull, and your legs don’t hurt but they don’t work right either.

“Looks like a panic attack,” the nurse says offhandedly, and clutching your head with dizziness you hear the men around you sniggering. It’s just panic. You aren’t being sent home.

“I’d advise to have someone lookin’ out for ya. If you have another one a’ these episodes in the midst of fightin’, you’re gonna need someone to pull ya back t’ reality,” she says, and half comprehending her words you nod. She’s basically telling you to get a friend, to find someone to look out for you, but no one looks out for anyone but themselves. It’s only common sense. You don’t lose the sheer panic of being shot at but it becomes numb, and nothing feels quite real except the bullet whizzing past and lodging into the tree you’re crouching beside.

Nothing feels real till you’re feeling the jump of the gun in your hands again, realizing as it fires off that you’re killing a person. A human, with a wife and children, with a whole other life they were praying to get back to. It’s hard not to think that the other side isn’t thinking the same thing. As soon as you start to sympathize with them, it gets harder to kill them, and you can’t have that.

You don’t want to kill them, but they want to kill you, you repeat in your head like a mantra as you see a rocket fly into the air. It’s not true, you know that, but… there’s no other way you’d pull the trigger. Really, you’re aware that the other side is thinking the exact same thing.

There’s bullets colliding with blood and dirt alike all around you, but what gets you is the slip of your foot in a patch of not yet dry mud. Your stance falls and your heart quickens, breath growing short as you lose yourself. The panic is senseless, just move your aim to where it was before but you can’t seem to think. Heart palpitating, palms sweaty, you lose the ability to fire, and in doing so, the ability to protect yourself.

“Hey, watch it kid,” a man elbows you, shaking you, but it does little to stop shaking hands. It does stop you from going any further though, and he notices this, so for a moment he looks at you.

“Snafu.”

“What?” You say, and you realize it’s the first thing you’ve said in ages.

“My name, Snafu. Now pay attention,” he says, shoving your head towards the enemy line. You don’t hear him muttering about you being a fucking idiot.

You pay attention to the jump of the gun when it fires. That night, you sleep in the trenches, taking shifts and never really falling asleep. It’s your turn to guard first, and the man from before who called himself Snafu sleeps. His gun is clutched tight into his chest and you realize with cutting awareness that you absolutely cannot slip away, you cannot go off into the world of feeling everything or only one thing. Either one tears you away from reality, and if you stray from reality, it’s not just you who’s dead.

You have little trouble staying awake, your eyes peeled open wide, dry with unblinking. The silence is stifling in the air like a heavy cloud of fog over the mind, but you dare not make a noise.

Halfway through the night Snafu wakes up and without word he stands guard. You hesitate to fall asleep but he nods, and you do so, and your sleep is dreamless. When you awake your knuckles are sore from clutching your rifle and your jaw feels numb from grinding, and the headache you’ve had all day is worse than ever.

“Morning Songbird,” he says when you stir, the nickname sending you into your own curiosity.

“What?”

It’s the second time you’ve said that.

“I said, good mornin’,” he chuckles, and it’s clear that he’s been informed the fighting is over for now. In the clearness of the day you hear an accent, not bothering to identify it as you watch him clean his gun.

“No, the other thing,” you say as you sit up.

“Songbird?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, you were moanin’ like a songbird all night,” he drawls, punctuating with a pointed look to your crotch.

You say nothing but you cover yourself with your too large shirt, turning away from the vulgar man. You didn’t remember having any dream like that.

For the next few days he looks out for you. You weren’t sure if the nurse had asked him because you certainly hadn’t, but you appreciate it anyway, though sometimes he was odd. He never let you slip away, and it almost drove you insane, as it was the only release from reality. Like a man starved for cigarettes you needed to get away, if only for a moment. Just to dream. To be somewhere else.

You let yourself do so as it pours down rain. There hasn’t been any fighting for a while and it puts you on edge, wondering in anxious worry when it’ll come back. If you’ll be the first casualty that warns the others to be on alert. Still you lay down outside your tent, being pounded by heavy sheets of rain whipping over the island. Snafu is nowhere to be found, so you close your eyes, and all you can see is blue.

It was a bright blue, pastel almost, faded and beautiful in a way that abandoned buildings are. Nothing else existed in the void, overrun by sheets of white falling from the sky. They came down in gentle drifts, lying down across the puddles on the ground. You watched in amusement as they got soaked, turning a shade of grey as the puddles no longer reflected blue, the sheets no longer bright white.

Far off in the distance there’s blackness. In large chunks it grew closer like lights shutting off in a giant warehouse, until you’re running as fast as you could, trying to stay in the light. It’s of no use, light is faster than footsteps, and you eventually get swallowed up in the dark. You just stand, unmoving, unsure. All you felt was the anxiety creeping up your shoulders, caressing with gentle touches that reverberated into your body with loving hatred.

When you wake up, you’re shaking. Full body practically vibrating, being slapped awake by Snafu.

“What’d I tell you? Don’t drift off,” he hisses at you, standing up to tower over your lying form. You sit up, still staring at him, glaring, actually. He sits down in a chair beside you, taking his godawful knife out and picking at his skin. It’s gross, but some people think you’re fucked up in the head, so you try not to say anything.

You sit up against the tent, your back leaning on boxes inside. Every now and then he looks down at you, making sure you’re not drifting, and you back up with a tired look. Whenever you close your eyes and breathe deeply he punches you, which doesn’t help for any of your calming techniques but you assure yourself he’s not an asshole, he’s just looking out for you.

Of course the only person to look out for you is the biggest asshole you’ve ever met.

The rain doesn’t stop for a few hours. When it does he sits down beside you, too close for comfort, still picking at the hard skin of his lower palm till it bleeds.

“That’s gross,” you say, grimacing as you have to watch him up close.

“Your singin’ is gross,” he mutters, not looking up from his skin. He’s now cleaning his nails, still with the knife.

“I don’t sing,” you say quickly. You don’t, you never have. It’s never been something that interests you. He just looks up at you with a confused glare for a moment before looking back down, shaking his head.

You don’t. You don’t know what his problem is.

He only explains a week or so later, though your grasp on the days is flimsy at best. You’re not one for keeping calendar notebooks.

“What’s that song you sing anyway?” He asks you as he leads the way back to the tent. You’d be leading if you were faster, but you can’t find it in you to care. The only thing keeping you vitalized and alert was your other world, and it’s gone now thanks to the shining asshole who won’t stop talking.

“I don’t sing,” you repeat yourself from days ago.

“Yeah you do. Y’ close yer eyes and start mumblin’ some shit with a tune. Can’t make out the words though,” he notes at the end, looking back at you. “It’s when y’ don’t sing that I get worried.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who picks at his skin.”

“Guess we all got something fucked about us,” he says, seeing he’s not getting an answer. You don’t have an answer, though he doesn’t believe this.

You feel less willing to slip away knowing that you apparently mumble to yourself.

There’s a skirmish in broad daylight, and even though it makes it easier to aim, it sets everyone on edge. The sun makes you an easier target, and the trees do little to shade you from the overbearing heat. In the short five hours you don’t talk, you don’t phase out, and your finger doesn’t move from the trigger except to load more ammunition. By the time it’s done, every movement sets you off and you notice every little thing.

The dirt is riding up your back, mixing with the sweat of the intensity of it all. Your hands are shaking, and with them clutched around the gun pressed to your chest you can feel your dog tags digging into your skin. It’s the first time in months that you’ve felt hunger boil away at your stomach, grumbling like a cauldron. Your breath passes ragged between your lips, even and repetitive in a sickening way.

“Hey Birdie,” Snafu calls out to you, and though his voice grates against your nerves it pulls you back down. Of course your nickname has to have a nickname.

“Hey.”

“It’s quiet,” he says simply.

You don’t reply, but you follow the others when they dig themselves out of the pit. Behind you, you hear him grunt as he follows you.

Thoughts blurred your mind, changing a colorful palette into a mix of everything, eventually ending up in an odd looking brown. Nothing was distinct from the other, obscured by the fog of your mind. There’s a subtle pounding at the back of your mind but it wasn’t really there, more of a sensation making your mind fall flat. Eyes rolled into the back of your head and your breath seemed deeper, encasing your body in the lightness it brought.

Everything was brown. An uncreative color, swamping your sight, blocking your thoughts from being real. It seemed the whole of the world was covered in a fuzziness, and everything felt numb. Too numb to be real, but it was the only thing that existed, so you felt it despite it’s lack of feeling when it graced your fingers. Like holding air.

He kicks your leg, waking you up from your trance.

“You’re helpless without me,” he says, and you glare at him again. He’s used to the look and doesn’t react with anything but a dirty smile. Despite his dirty face and unruly hair, his teeth are pretty much perfect.

“I’m fine without you,” you mumble, resuming eating. He’s sliding in next to you, crowding your space even though there’s plenty of room on either side of you. His thigh and arm are right up against you, open skin on the rough cloth of your jacket.

“One a’ these days, I’m not gonna be there and you’re gonna get shot,” he teases, and you don’t think about how he’s not wrong.

You don’t think about it at all.

When he’s waking you up in the dead of night from your slumber inside your tent, you don’t think about him. You don’t think at all, grabbing your gun from your bedside immediately. He jumps back as you grab it, holding his hands out like you’re about to shoot him.

“Careful there Songbird,” he says, coming slowly closer as you let your arms drop.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as soon as he stops talking.

“… Nothin’. You were tossin’, thought you were having some kind a’ nightmare,” he says, looking confused at you as he steps back to his own cot.

“No,” you say.

“Alright, fine.”

He sits back on his cot, but you don’t put your gun back down, and you don’t lie back down. He doesn’t either.

“Why do you hate me?” He asks, but you have an immediate answer in the form of a question.

“Why do you like me?”

He scowls like you’d offended him. In one quick movement he lies down, the flimsy blanket over his shoulders, his back turned to you once more.

You want to leave it at that. You want to put the stupid gun down and go to sleep, ignore the whole conversation, but you can feel animosity and contrition stinging the air, thick with emotion as it drifted over to you. You know you said the wrong thing.

“Good night,” you say, never having said that to him before. You weren’t sure when the last time you said that was in general - probably when you were back in the States. As you lie down you hear him breathe deeply.

“‘Night, Birdie,” he says, and all is forgotten.

There’s nothing to do when you wake up. You sit there, staring at the ceiling. Snafu asks what you’re doing, but you don’t reply for several minutes, so he leaves you alone. Your eyes are open, you’re not drifting off. He stays in the tent for a while with a few of your other tent mates before wandering off, leaving you in your sleep clothes, still covered in your blanket, staring at the mesh ceiling.

You don’t think too much. Thoughts infect you despite your attempts to ward them off, whispering doubts into your head, and you wonder.

This man is helping you. You’ve never done a thing for him. You’ve never even been nice to him, and still he’s helping you, waking you up, making sure you don’t spiral, making sure you’re still firing.

Even through all your thoughts you don’t shift a muscle. Sometimes your eyes twitch slightly to the left or right but they stay still for the most part. It’s only when evening comes that anyone asks you of anything.

“C’mon, gotta eat something,” Snafu says, pushing you with his hand. He then turns back around, flipping his ripped, dirty shirt around in the air.

It’s a conscious thought, moving every muscle in your body takes up an enormous amount of both mental and physical energy. As soon as your finger twitches though, a panic seizes your heart and every emotion inflames ten times it’s normal size. Everything overcrowds your air and your heart beats too fast, breaking away at the bones holding everything in place.

You choke on your own tongue, losing your breath with every blink of your eyes. It feels like there’s anvils covering your body, pressing you into the ground with their unrelenting weight. But there’s a touch on your shoulder and for a moment, it feels like there’s nothing but clouds.

“Come back down Songbird, come on,” he says, and you can feel his heat coursing through your blood through the contact he makes, even through his breath speaking right next to your head.

When you can finally breathe again, your head pounds intensely, making you sick like your brain was replaced with vomit. Snafu’s hanging over you, his brow furrowed and mouth parted just slightly.

“You okay?” He asks, his hand on your cheek in a much more intimate manner. It’s weird, and the contact is unlike anything you’d felt in months, if not all your life. Shivers course down your spine, and it does nothing for the anxiety reverberating through your veins. You bolt upright, the sudden movement sending a pulse of pain to your head that debilitates you.

“I’m fine. Lost my breath,” you say, a flimsy excuse. You knew what it felt like, it felt like you were dying, but it was just a panic attack. Just a panic attack.

“You were choking.”

“And you’re ugly, we’re all a little obvious aren’t we?”

You stand, forcing him off your cot. He doesn’t move past that though, standing chest to chest with you, though he’s slightly shorter. You wait for him to move, slightly winded by your movement, but he doesn’t, his own breathing quickened. You frown, confused as hell as to why he’s like this - why does he insist on bothering you all the time?

Instead of asking him, you push him out of the way. It’s a gentle push but he still looks as offended as he did last night, like he’s saying to himself how dare you not put up with my bullshit without complaint?

Still, he moves, and the two of you eat, him still sitting uncomfortably close as he touches as much of you as he can. His thigh is pressed against yours, the naked skin of his arm still hot against your jacket. You don’t mention it, you try not to act like you notice, like it’s not crowding the processes of your mind. It doesn’t bother you.

You have a hard time convincing yourself of that.

Especially, when out of sight of anyone else, he starts using his left hand sitting beside yours to trace the veins of your arm. You swallow thick, and suddenly you can barely even taste the food anymore.

He loves to piss you off.

Yeah, you tell yourself, that’s what he’s doing. Pissing you off. In fact, he can’t get enough of it, because every meal from that point on, when no one is looking, he traces your skin. Nonsensical shapes most of the time, lines, tracing from freckle to freckle but sometimes you swear he’s writing letters. Scribbling down something with feather touch, drawing something he never wants seen.

It’s raining hard this morning, wind blowing sheets of rain against the tents. Whenever you go outside it hits like tiny daggers, so you elect to stay inside, only going out for necessity. It’s a quiet day, so most of your tent mates are in as well. Snafu is sitting across from you on his cot, reading a book you know he’s read over five times.

It’s the perfect time to drift off, to only feel one thing. It’s addicting, but lately you haven’t been doing it as much as you’d like to. Lying down on your own cot, looking over at Snafu, you find you don’t want him to worry.

It’s an odd feeling.

The next time you’re in a shootout you can’t find him anywhere, and for the first time in a long, long while you felt fear. Actual fear, the kind that flows freely through you without hesitation, like all the experience suddenly meant nothing. Even with your shaking hands and blurry eyes you manage to shoot, keeping aim, keep shooting, keep shooting.

You keep shooting blindly as the mantra repeats chaotically in your head, repeating over and over, overlapping on itself as you feel your breath quicken. Everything is a blur and you can’t feel a single thing.

All you feel is the weight in your hands.

All you feel is the jump of the gun.

Till all you can feel is the bullet in your chest.

You fall, blinking rapidly as the sky seems to change color. Your breath escapes you in rapid pants and you desperately cling to what little air you can. Bringing your hands up to your chest, they get painted red.

Then he decides to show up.

“Birdie, fuck,” he says immediately, his words slurred in your head as he crawls up next to you, out of the way of the fire. He clings to you like it’s the only thing grounding him, like holding you closer to him will save you.

“Snaf,” you whisper out with the little air you have, grasping his arm. It’s all you have. It’s all you’re going to know. There’s spots in your vision and you can’t feel anything below your torso - you know this isn’t going to end well.

“Hey, hang in there, you’re gonna be okay,” he says, and one thing you see clearly is the red in his eyes. He’s crying. For someone who’s never been anything but mean to him. You wonder with your own blurry eyes why he cared so much. He looks up, his cold tears falling onto your face as he searches desperately for a medic.

“Merriel,” you murmur, still clutching his arm with your death grip. You tug, and with that he looks back down at you, his entire face a mess, all covered in dirt and cut up. He leans in, pressing his head into your neck. It’s embarrassingly hot on your empty skin, such a stark difference from the cold numbness of everything else.

“I love you,” he cries softly into your skin, and it all comes crashing down on you. As he repeats the words over and over again you remember every single thing he’s ever done for you and you wonder how you could’ve been such an asshole. And as he presses a wet with tears kiss to your neck, you realize you love him too.

You try to get the words out but they won’t come, the breath wasted on the begging of his name on your lips. With cruel fate his tears fall upon your lips, taunting you for your own inability to speak causing his misery.

With what little energy you have you expend it on raising your hand, bringing it to his face to direct him. He follows where you lead and, in the pouring rain, knee deep in mud and bullets and mortar shells, you kiss him. He weighs heavy against you but so do your clothes, so does the rain, so does the gun in your lap.

So does the weight of everything you missed out on.

It’s heavier than anything.

The last thing you feel is his lips, and the last thing you hear is him whispering against them, saying ‘I love you,’ over and over again.

What could’ve been haunts you to your last breath, which comes sooner than a kinder God would have allowed.

#snafu x reader #snafu shelton #the pacific #rami malek

51 notes · View notes

geniedocroe · 5 years ago

Note

I was wondering if you could a do a request for me. A BoB request? Just a fluff for Joe Toye. Kind of like how Gene met Renee in Bastogne. But Toye met the reader by saving the reader from becoming a POW. The reader is a french allie sent to help and has trouble with English at times, but is sticking to the platoon and Toye follows her around, trying to protect and get to know her more.

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

(joe toye X reader)

fluff & angst

wc: 2256

you were absolutely terrified. first you were brought to normandy, then you became a prisoner of war. the americans really took no pity on you. they had interrogated you for hours before bringing you outside and handcuffing you to some random pole. soldiers stared at the you as they walked past. one even offered you a cigarette.

“non, merci. je ne fume pas.” you politely declined, shifting away. he must’ve understood that you said no because he backed off.

no, thank you. i don’t smoke.

the other american soldiers seemed afraid of the man that offered cigarettes. you overheard them talking about how he killed 20 POWs after offering cigarettes to them. suddenly you was glad that you could understand some english.

eventually, you aloud yourself to sit on the floor. your legs were aching but the soldiers drifting past you seemed to suffer more. a couple soldiers approached you, but one stood out from the rest.

“where are you from?” the soldier asked.

it took a minute for your brain to translate his words. “france. you?”

“pennsylvania. i’m american.” he eyed you, taking all of you in and you looked back wearily.

“yes.” you motioned to his uniform. you seemed very out of place. you wore a floral buttoned up dress with mary jane shoes. the shoes were heeled and very uncomfortable. something in you wished that you had one of the outfits the american soldiers war. it seemed ten times more comfortable than what you had on at the moment.

the soldiers cheeks flushed as he gave you one last look before turning to walk away. your gaze fell to the floor. you wished that you could be back home in france with your family. you had been hoping to fall in love with some foreign trooper but it was clear that wouldn’t happen. you didn’t even know anything about the war and now you were a prisoner! it was unfair.

right now your life depended on your persuasion and english skills. the american soldiers probably had plans you and you definitely weren’t excited to see what they were. you were tired of being catcalled. even though you couldn’t understand the men, you knew their intentions.

it had been hours and you were still handcuffed to the same pole. it was snowing and you were sure you were in the beginning stages of hypothermia. you had been constantly shivering. all of your movements were incredibly slow. at one point you even lost consciousness. luckily a few officers were near by and they alerted a medic. you didn’t know why they cared about you but you were glad they did.

when you awoke you were in a building, handcuffed to a table. it was clear that you had been laid on the floor with blankets piled around her. there were a couple other people in the room. they all stared at you as you pushed herself up slightly. one of them rushed to your side.

“vous devez vouz allonger. vouz souffrez d’hypothermie.” the man had a stark white band on his upper arm with a red cross sewn on. you assumed he was a medic because of how he spoke to you.

you must lie down. you have hypothermia.

you groaned but didn’t move. your mind wandered to places that asked important questions. those questions yearned for answers. most importantly you wanted to know why these men would want to help you.

“pourqoui?”

why?

“hm?”

“pourquoi m'aider?”

why help me?

“vous avez un admirateur. celui qui ne vous laissera pas mourir. en plus, je suis censé vous aider.”

you've got an admirer. one that just won't let you die. besides, im supposed to help you.

———

as time passed you had decided to stick around the americans. one of the officers declared that you were no longer as prisoner of war after your admirer had a word with him. the identity of admirer hadn’t been revealed but you were very grateful for that soldier.

your closest friend had been eugene roe because he too spoke french. he was the easiest to converse with. he made your life 10 times easier. he had also been checking up on you daily after he determined that you had a bad case of hypothermia. no matter how much you insisted that you were fine, eugene was always there to tell you otherwise.

you had also become very close with one other soldier. it was the one soldier that stuck out to you. he was the one you remembered out of the hundreds you saw every single day. you were glad to have him around because he was such a genuine guy. he was named joe toye.

joe toye had changed your life. he introduced you to all the other soldiers when he saw that you had no one else to talk to. when you had no food he would give you some of his own. you weren’t good with english so he had tried giving you lessons. however, you were nearly a lost cause but persisted anyways.

“come on, y/n. say it again. my name is y/n and i am from france.

“my name is . . . y/n. am . . . i am from . . . fran - france.”

“that was better. now, can you say this is my friend joe?”

“this is joe. joe is . . . joe is my . . . friend?”

“yes. that was good. good job!” joe reached forward to give you a bone crushing hug. you were grinning from ear to ear. hopefully these lessons would help you out in the long run. joe was glad to be able to help you. it was a great way to pass time.

“good!” you smiled back brightly. english was a difficult language and you didn’t think you’d ever understand it but with joe’s help you were doing better than you had in years.

the two of you sat back and just stared at one another. it was a while before either of you looked away. both of your cheeks were burning. something was there. something neither of you could see.

after that moment, your relationship was never the same. joe was constantly around you. you couldn’t turn a corner without him being right there. he wanted to protect you and honestly you didn’t mind him being around all the time. it was like you always had someone to talk to. it was comfortable being around him. his presence never bothered you.

all of the other men noticed joe’s absence when they sat in groups as they waited like sitting ducks. to find him they had to look for you. the two of you were connected at the hip. when one wasn’t with the other, it had an affect on the other mentally. without joe you felt as if a part of you was missing. you weren’t complete.

even eugene knew something was up. you were never one to talk about boys but you were one to talk about joe. eugene didn’t need to ask joe how he was when he could just ask you. you went to eugene when you didn’t know how to feel.

“gene? j'espère que je ne vous attrape pas au mauvais moment.” you approached the medic during mealtime.

i hope i’m not catching you at a bad time.

“bien sûr que non.” he motioned for you to sit.

of course not.

you smiled and sat on the ground beside you. this was one of the times when joe had decided to leave you. you were extremely bored so you went to find your second best friend. eugene roe.

“que penses-tu de joe?”

what do you think of joe?

“toye?”

“non, liebgott.” you rolled your eyes.

“joe est un homme bon.”

joe is a good man.

“je le pense aussi.”

i think so too.

———

when you found out that joe had been hit you lost all feeling in your body. time stopped. you collapsed to the floor. you felt like you were the one that had been hit. lewis nixon was really regretting telling you the news.

once you calmed down you demanded to leave with joe. you couldn’t stay in such a place without him. nixon told you that he would have a talk with the other officers and get back to you as soon as possible. however, you wouldn’t take no for an answer. you marched up to dick winters and told him that you were going to joe no matter what. you didn’t belong to the u.s. army and you weren’t a prisoner of war. you could do as you pleased.

dick told you that you could leave immediately. he told you to take care of yourself and to take care of joe. you still had tears streaming down your face as you said your goodbyes to the other men. you didn’t think it was going to be the last time you ever saw them but you couldn’t take any risks. the hardest to say goodbye to was eugene. you spent the most time with him. the two of you embraced for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than two minutes. you promised to meet up as soon as the war was over. he wished you luck and told you to make sure joe lived a good life.

you spent everyday at joe’s bedside when you returned to a hospital in the states. you had learned the unfortunate fate of your family and you knew joe was all you had left. you owed the world to him and he owed everything to you. over the time you knew him your english had gotten ten times better. he was on so much medicine that he didn’t even realize you were by his side until his second week of being in the hospital.

you had returned from lunch when he was sitting up fully for the first time since he got hit. losing a limb was never an easy thing to comprehend. you could tell he was different. this wasn’t the man you met in normandy. this man was broken and you knew it. he was very shocked to see you enter the room.

“y/n?”

“joe!”

you ran to him immediately. he pushed himself up as much as he could and threw his arms around you. once again time stopped. you could’ve stayed in that moment forever. both of you were crying but didn’t notice it until you pulled away. you stared at one another before joe pulled you in and kissed you.

your entire stomach felt like it was an olympic gymnast. you entire body felt like it was on fire. you didn’t think you were on earth anymore. you must have ascended to some other wave length. your lips moved in sync and they fit together like a puzzle that took ages to be put together. however, some things just took time and eventually you knew you would end up with your soulmate. your soulmate just happened to be joe.

you were the first to pull away. it might’ve been your first kiss but there was many more to come. joe was reluctant to pull away from you. his hand rested on the back of your shoulder and you had no intentions of moving away. you did what you had to do. you hugged him tightly. joe cried into your shoulder and you cried with him. neither of you could believe that you made it out of the war alive.

if you thought you and joe were inseparable before you returned to the states then you had another thing coming. you couldn’t leave a room without joe asking you where you were going. he could just feel your presence missing. some people would say he was clingy but you knew he was too afraid to be alone. last time he was alone he lost a limb. you couldn’t leave him alone in that state. so you decided to immediately move in together. you and joe bought a house in pennsylvania. it was down the street from bill guarnere (who had also lost a leg at the same time as joe).

some days he couldn’t talk. most days he would cry for hours. it was difficult to adjust to life. but you were always there. he could always count on you. some days you felt like you were back in normandy. you could feel the chilling air and you could see the shattered soldiers. sometimes time would slow and you would have to sit down and look at what you had. you had to sit down and appreciate the fact that you made it home even thought so many didn’t. most days everything felt like a dream but somehow you knew it was reality.

you knew you had made it the moment you stepped foot into your new house with joe beside you. you knew you had made it when joe sat you down on the couch and told you that he was in love with you. you knew you had every single thing you needed when you looked at the man that would throw everything away for you.

when the news of the war being over spread to your house you nearly threw up. you and joe had gotten married two months before. it was a small wedding. it was all you needed. you were three months pregnant when the war ended. you were the happiest you could be when the war ended. you were content.

what a wonderful world.

#joe toye #joe toye imagine #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #hbo war

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 7, Stream

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series, started under the Untamed Spring Fest 2020 event:

Please see the reblogged version of this under the my-writing and songxiao-fix-it-series tags on my blog - will be a pinned post for the next little while - for links to previous chapters/the Ao3 version!

3,447 words

Chapter 7: Wen Ning helps Xiao Xingchen through some difficult questions.

“How was your week?”

Wen Qionglin’s question was the usual one. Simple. Straightforward. Conversational. And Xingchen was sure he had plenty to say. All week he had had myriad thoughts swirling through his head, nipping at his every waking moment, scrambling every sleeping one. They had been begging to be set free, but Xingchen had refused to let them out, unable to tell one from the other, and unsure what exactly would come out if he tugged at the edge of even the mildest seeming one.

But now, in front of Wen Qionglin, who sat silently, expectantly, ever happy to help untangle even the messiest strands of thought, Xingchen’s mind was numb.

So he fell to his default and smiled softly, even though the forced expression only barely reached his cheeks, “It was good.”

“Hmm. That’s good, Xiao-daozhang…” Wen Qionglin’s voice never chastised, but Xingchen thought he heard disappointment. Xingchen’s answer had been far from the openness Wen Qionglin encouraged, that they had been building for weeks now.

It was different without Zichen here. Someone to lean on but also someone else who might draw Wen Qionglin’s marksman-like targeting of delicate subjects. Xingchen was now left alone, now the only target of Wen Qionglin’s sharp aim. But he knew why he had agreed to this. Xingchen still recoiled from addressing certain topics, but the wounds they created were festering. And Xingchen could not let Zichen see just how deep they were, how the corruption might hardly be considered a foreign body to this present Xingchen. Because then Zichen might see through the façade. Might see that this Xingchen was not the one he knew 20 years ago. Xingchen hoped that Wen Qionglin could help stop the spread - because if he let this go on longer, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep Zichen from seeing… He wasn’t sure if Zichen hadn’t already seen… That he hadn’t started to put together that Xingchen had pulled his own shattered soul together, but that that soul had been mutated into something else even before it had shattered.

“Last week,” Wen Qionglin began gently, “We talked about… about Shuanghua.”

Xingchen breathed in sharply, and nodded.

“I was hoping to pick up from there,” Wen Qionglin continued, “If that’s ok?”

Shuanghua.

Xingchen had tried, really tried, to push himself to pick up the sword. At least once. That’s all he had wanted. To be able to come into this session and laugh it off, tell Wen Qionglin he was dealing with it, it was getting better, not to worry, he was sure it was just another readjustment to the living world after all. But every time he had gotten up early, had slipped away from Zichen’s still sleeping form, had tried to make himself do it. To just grab the sword. Just do it. No big deal. No? Ok. Maybe just touch the hilt. Maybe the sheath? Of course you can do something as simple as that! What, not that either? Fine. Grab the strap alone and get it onto your back, your hands don’t even have to touch the sword itself.

But not even these compromises had worked.

Once, his fingertips had brushed the sword’s hilt. In his early morning drowsiness, he had misjudged how far his hand was from the weapon and the contact had happened when he still thought he must be inches away. He had recoiled instantly, struck by a biting, fierce cold. In his panic, he had knocked into the side of the bed, but he hardly noticed. He had sat on the floor, trying to catch his breath and clutching his hand. It felt burnt, frostbitten by the energy and memories radiating off the sword. Betrayal. A touch on his shoulder, and he scrambled away, before he realized who that had to be.

“Zichen,” he had said, and swallowed, breaths still coming in short bursts, “Don’t worry. It was uh… a dream. Must have… must have fallen off the bed.” He didn’t know if Zichen had believed him, but he hadn’t reached for his shoulder again. Xingchen didn’t know whether that was what he wanted, torn between the desire to be wrapped up in Zichen’s calming embrace and the equal lure of isolation, to hide, to make sure Zichen didn’t have to see him in such a shameful state. A cultivator who broke down if he so much as touched his own sword?

Despite the early hour, neither had gone back to bed after that. Xingchen stayed on the floor until his breath evened, then tried, and failed, to meditate. Zichen had gotten out of bed, sliding off from the foot of the bed, avoiding the place where Xingchen sat. Xingchen heard the sounds of him dressing, the door opening and closing, the only announcement of Zichen’s departure.

When Zichen returned, Xingchen was already dressed, sitting poised in what he hoped sufficiently mimicked meditation, despite the bitter tingling in his fingers, the frustration filling his heart. He thought he might have gotten away with it, if not for his treacherous stomach, rumbling and revealing his less than focused state of mind. Zichen had offered him a bun and some tea, the procurement of which, despite Xingchen’s darker thoughts, had apparently been the sole purpose of him leaving earlier. Xingchen had chewed and sipped self-consciously. He usually liked thinking that Zichen might be looking at him. But now he knew he was, and the burning he felt at the surely pitying look only seared his shame into him more deeply.

“Shuanghua…” Xingchen repeated back to Wen Qionglin, slowly, trying to figure out just how to put reality into words when even he didn’t fully understand it, “Zichen carries Shuanghua these days.”

“Why?”

“He carries it if I don’t.” Xingchen knew Wen Qionglin would have a more direct question for him soon, but as long as he could get away with avoiding a direct answer, he would. He wanted Wen Qionglin to ask directly. Wanted to be able to answer with a simple yes, or no, letting the Wen healer find the words that Xingchen could not, or at least did not want to, unearth in himself. At the same time, a part of him hoped that the session would just end, that Wen Qionglin would be called away, that so much time would pass in silence that they couldn’t justify sitting and waiting any longer, that they would have to go to eat lunch and Wen Qionglin would be unable to further the conversation outside the privacy of this office.

“So why don’t you?”

“I don’t… I don’t feel like it.”

Wen Qionglin let out a puff of air that might have been… laughter? “You sound a bit like someone else right now, Daozhang,” he mused, more to himself than to Xingchen, “So why don’t you feel like it?”

Xingchen frowned, “I just… I don’t know. I just don’t want to.”

“Ok… We can try this a different way. Have you tried to pick up or touch Shuanghua recently?” Wen Qionglin pressed.

Xingchen hesitated, then nodded.

“And how did it feel when you did?”

Xingchen unconsciously reached for his neck before realizing what he was doing. He withdrew his hand quickly, “It hurt.” He admitted this bluntly, easier to spit out the two simple words than to contextualize them.

“Emotionally or physically?”

Both. He thought. Neither? “…Emotionally, I suppose.” he admitted.

“Ok.” Wen Qionglin seemed satisfied, happy to have made progress, “Ok. If you can, imagine you are about to touch Shuanghua. What do you feel, Xiao-daozhang? Physically or emotionally."

They had done this exercise before. Xingchen understood the intent was to keep him grounded, in touch with which parts of his body tensed, which could signal or which could be soothed in case of some kind of distress. But he didn’t want to describe the tightness in his heart, the echoing sounds of blade meeting flesh followed by muffled groans, the mounting pressure of tears, difficult to prevent from spilling, the tremor in his hands, the pounding of his head. Memory of a sharp pain, a feeling of his self falling apart. Shuanghua and himself finally united, finding each other once again, confronting what they mutually understood as the true source of evil in that moment.

“Afraid.” Xingchen answered.

“Ok. And do you know what you’re afraid of?”

“I am afraid of… I’m afraid of hurting again.” Xingchen replied.

“Of hurting people or feeling hurt?”

Both. Xingchen thought again. “I don’t know,” he said.

Wen Qionglin hummed passively, “So do you think that Shuanghua has made you or others hurt before?”

“…Yes.”

“And you’re afraid it will do the same again.”

Xingchen nodded slowly, even though this had sounded more like a statement than a question.

“But Shuanghua is safe in Song-daozhang’s hands.”

“Yes.” This, Xingchen could answer with confidence.

Wen Qionglin sighed, “I hurt people. You know this.” Xingchen did. Late in his first life, isolated as he had been, he had not missed the stories, the whispers of the Ghost General. Stories clearly exaggerated, but based on grains of truth. Wen Qionglin went on, “Someone told me once that I am, or was, a blade. What do you think this means?”

“It means that it is the wielder, not the weapon that is to blame, I suppose. So,” Xingchen frowned, “It is the wielder’s fault if he lets the blade make his decisions unquestioningly. So Shuanghua is safe in someone like Zichen’s hands.”

“Maybe.” Wen Qionglin admitted, “But I think we might be talking about different blades here. I am not talking about Shuanghua, Xiao-daozhang. And the wielder I speak of would have found a different weapon if not for this blade.”

Xingchen froze, “A-another wielder?”

“Mmn.” Wen Qionglin affirmed, “What do you think? Is there someone else we should talk about?”

Xingchen could think of someone else. Could, but did not want to. Xingchen had not spoken the name. He had not even spoken the name of the town they had lived in. The town where his second life had started.

Xiao Xingchen, this was your fault ever since the beginning. You shouldn’t have meddled with other people’s business.

No… He had thought… If only he hadn’t…

You think I’m disgusting? Very well. Would I care if anybody thinks I’m disgusting? But… are you in the position to be disgusted by me?

Yes but… Only as disgusted as I am with myself.

The young and the elderly.

It had been his hand. His blade. His naïve trust in second chances, in a blade’s ability to avoid deception. He had been careless. He had done those unforgivable things.

If you still think it’s my fault when I’m finished, you can do whatever you want.

“I did!” Xingchen let his too-late answer to the decade old statement slip out, as he clutched his ears, as though trying to block out the voice echoing in his ears, “I did!”

“Xiao-daozhang, Xiao Xingchen!” Wen Qionglin’s voice cut through the memories, “Breathe.”

“I…” Xingchen choked, shaking hands again reaching for the scar tissue on his neck, “I can’t.”

“You can.” Wen Qionglin insisted, “In.” Xingchen gulped in some air, forcing his stomach to expand, but the air caught in his throat. “Out.” Xingchen obeyed, blowing the air out slowly, shuddering as he did so, “In.”

They carried on like this for a few agonizing minutes, until Xingchen’s breath returned to something approximating regular.

“Please. Drink this.” Wen Qionglin said somberly, and Xingchen heard the sound of pouring before he was handed a steaming cup of tea, “We have obviously touched on something important here, Daozhang.”

“I’m sorry Wen-gongzi.” Xingchen sniffed, accepting the cup, “I… I don’t know what came over me.”

“You were a blade.” Wen Qionglin said, “It wasn’t your fault, but it’s something that I think is usually very hard to come to terms with.”

“But it’s more than that.” Xingchen said quietly, surprised at his own willingness to say so aloud.

“Hmm? How so?” Wen Qionglin asked.

“I wasn’t just a blade. I could have left, could have asked questions.” Xingchen chewed his lip, “I… I chose to do those things, even without all the facts, I just… I just trusted because…”

“Because?”

“Because I was alone. Because I wanted to.” Xingchen gulped, “I wanted to think… to think that I could.”

“Is that so wrong?”

Xingchen didn’t know.

They ended the session not long after. Xingchen could tell Wen Qionglin wanted to do some more digging, knew that that person would inevitably be the topic of further conversations. And as much as Xingchen wanted to just ignore him… He knew he was dead… That Xingchen had a whole new life now and that person had nothing to do with it… He knew he was dead.

But simply knowing this fact didn’t make it make sense. He could still feel the grip on his mind, squeezing, hurting. Reminding Xingchen of who he had become, of what Xingchen was capable of. Of just how many signs Xingchen would ignore, simply to fulfill his own selfish desire for connection. Of how easily Xingchen could be made into a puppet. No demonic cultivation required.

Wen Qionglin had insisted on walking Xingchen back to his and Zichen’s room. It was quiet, not a word spoken between them beyond the casual “This way” or “There’s a rock” from Wen Qionglin. Xingchen focused on his shuffling feet, one in front of the other, all the way back. He felt the scraping of his shoes against the dirt path and knew he should lift his feet higher. But they were just so heavy.

Wen Qionglin knocked on the door, which slid open in short order, “Song-daozhang,” Wen Qionglin said, speaking aloud for Xingchen’s benefit, “Xiao-daozhang and I had a hard conversation today. I think he is tired.”

Gentle hands touched Xiao Xingchen’s wrists. Hesitant, asking.

“Z-Zichen.” Xingchen stammered, grabbing for the other’s wrists, and the two stepped into the room.

“Have a good day, Daozhangs.” Wen Qionglin took his leave, closing the door behind him.

A finger stroked Xingchen’s wrists, wondering, but not asking, what was wrong. Something about the soothing motion, the reminder that they were both here, with arms, not blades, crossing…

Xingchen took a breath and forcefully tucked away the session, locking it behind a door in his mind, far from Zichen. Zichen didn’t deserve this. This was why he had wanted to do the sessions alone, to protect Zichen from this part of the mess. This part that may never be fixed, but could maybe be contained.

There were so many things Xingchen wasn’t sure of any more. So many rotted roots he would have to pull out, to make space to plant something new. But here was Zichen. And Zichen, he knew, could be trusted, could be leaned on. Zichen was the sturdy and reliable thing in his life. And as Xingchen felt the other’s hand on his cheek, he realized he had not changed the cloth wrapped over his eyes, tainted now with spots that must by now be drying to ugly rusty browns. He had once again neglected to account for something so obvious to anyone else.

Zichen pulled Xingchen closer, resting his face into Xingchen’s robes. Xingchen reciprocated, the choice to comfort Zichen always an easy one, and felt the other’s tears soak into his shoulder.

Still, Xingchen worried, thinking about his own now saline-wet shoulder compared to the bloody mess Xingchen was soaking into Zichen’s, whether he was more of a reassuring or a chaotic force to Zichen.

Weeks passed. Wen Qionglin’s solo sessions with Xingchen were clearly having an effect, but not one that Song Lan thought seemed particularly pleasant for Xingchen. Song Lan trusted Wen Qionglin and his methods, though, and could only assume that this must be a normal, hopefully temporary, part of the healing process.

Xingchen had a reputation for being kind, gentle, warm. And unlike many Song Lan had encountered, the reputation suited the man. But this did not mean Xingchen did not have his edges, that he wouldn’t snap. It just meant that, inevitably, when he calmed down after such an outburst, his anger would be turned twofold back in on himself. It was on this last bit of the cycle they seemed to be at right now.

“I’m sorry Zichen.” Xingchen whispered, emerging finally from the room he had so unceremoniously demanded Song Lan leave a short while ago. Though Song Lan’s lip was chewed raw with worry, he couldn’t help but warm at Xingchen’s unquestioning expectation that Song Lan would be there, just outside, sitting, waiting.

Of course they had been through this before. Song Lan had begun to track time not by the passage of days and nights, but by the shifting tides of Xingchen’s moods.

Song Lan could guess what Xingchen and Wen Qionglin were talking in sessions. Even without being the scholar that he was, it was not a stretch to imagine what events would lead Xingchen to feel this way. But Song Lan wished he did not have to guess. He saw the moments Xingchen almost told him, noticed the shifts in expression Xingchen had never been good at hiding, especially now that he didn’t even have the benefit of taking others’ responses as a cue to restrain them. Xingchen wanted to talk. Song Lan wanted to listen. And the most frustrating thing was that even though Song Lan was now an expert in alternative ways to speak, neither sign language nor guqin chords could make this any easier for Xingchen.

Xingchen sat in the same spot he always sat after he had calmed. Song Lan knew Xingchen thought that his fits of anger were far worse than they were. But to someone who valued maintaining an even, kind, tone, for whom even the most insignificant of violent acts or words must be justified, he supposed that Xingchen must imagine his slight to have been terrible.

“I’m sorry…” Xingchen repeated.

No apologies needed, Song Lan had learned weeks ago to take the guqin with him when he was told to leave, You were surprised and… Song Lan hunted for the chord, fingers hesitating before strumming, scared.

“You’re too forgiving of me, Zichen,” Xingchen smiled faintly, but the expression was hollow, “You should not have to deal with such behaviour.”

If Song Lan was as unrestrained in his expressions as Xingchen, he might have laughed, My temper is worse than yours. He had played the chord for “anger,” not “temper,” but that would have to be close enough. His guqin training and progressed well, but the nuances still escaped him. Luckily, their shared memories of Xingchen’s teasing of his sharp tongue, of his impulsivity when someone he cared about was at stake, would bridge the lingual gap.

Xingchen laughed, but said nothing. There was something missing from the laughter. Or rather, something added to it, like a thick dust spoiling what should have been a pleasant breeze.

No matter how many times this happened, no matter how many bursts of anger, tears, shame, or frustration Zichen watched Xingchen go through, no matter how many opportunities to practice, to be a source of reassurance, Zichen never felt any less helpless. He had never seen Xingchen like this. Perhaps it was comparable his own swirl of emotions after he arrived at Baixue Temple for his Master’s birthday all those years ago, but all that meant was that Song Lan knew better than anyone how little could be said or done to relieve the guilt of redirecting anger and blame where they didn’t belong.

He knew the only thing he could do now is to make sure Xingchen knew: no matter how many times Xingchen’s past burned into his present, how often the thoughts, the guilt, the pain took over, Song Lan would forgive him, would never blame him. Song Lan would be there waiting for him, ready to defy the monsters that haunted Xingchen’s thoughts, to show them that whatever pain they caused his beloved could be lifted. That whatever comments or snipes they forced out of Xingchen’s mouth were forgiven or addressed, never allowed to wear away at the bond between them.

Because, at the end of the day, Song Lan too needed to live in a world where a moment of irrationality, a brief outburst, could never again take away all that he loved. That even the strongest words, with the direst of unforeseen outcomes, could still be forgiven.

That he would never again be in a position to fear that the final words, the last wish, he had spoken aloud to Xingchen had come true.

Next and final: Chapter 8, Memory (to be posted this Friday!)

#songxiao #the untamed #cql #xiao xingchen #song lan #songxiao fix it series #my writing #wen ning

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nonoahstop · 6 years ago

Photo

Here ya go!❤ I’m assuming you also wanted Asra included into the mix so I put him in as well, hope you like it! Also, I'm so happy that I'm getting so many asks all of a sudden thank you! Also, I know Lucio would have thrown up hands and choked them out then and there but I feel he would have to water everything down when you're in the public eye, also it couldn't get too long haaaa... s:’

The guys + Asra reacting to MC taking a wound for them

Asra:

You both had the day off from your readings and decided to go out for the day and fill it with activities.

You stopped by the palace to say hello to everyone and Asras parents even spending lunch all together.

You then head to the market to get groceries and herbs for your home.

You hold hands as you visit many various stalls and even stop to get some bread from Selasi.

“Do you think we need any more tea?”

“You know the answer to that! You drank it all.” he gives you a sheepish smile in response.

You walk a little further into the busier side of things and spot a stall of wool giving Asra a light tug in that direction.

“Oh, Asra we need to get some of these colors, a new sweater for Faust would look adorable!” you turn back to him with an excited grin and he smiles back warmly.

Asra looks around the stall searching for a few colors of his own a focused look on his face.

“You hear someone calling out from behind you. “OH NO OH NO OH NO WATCH OUT!”

You turn to see a stack of heavy crates slowly toppling over, but not over you, over Asra.

“ASRA!” you push him out of the way before the crates touch him inevitably they end up falling on you.

You feel the heavy weight of the boxes crush you as you lay there on the floor among the knocked over the stall.

You let out a deep breath as you slowly pass out, Asra’s voice circling around in your head as well as the commotion of people around you slowly fading away.

“...Y/N!?... NO, NO, NO... PLEASE, I CAN’T-”

“Oh my... Are they okay... They're not moving?!”

You slowly regain consciousness as well as tight arms wrapped around your body one hand coming up to support your head.

You come into focus. Someones crying?

You open your eyes to see the sunshine through Asra’s white hair...

His eyes red and puffy looking back at you.

“Oh thank you... I was so scared...” he tucks his head into your chest as you hear him sniffle.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been paying attention!

You weakly bring your arms up around his back.

“Asra I’m okay... Everythings fine, I’m here.

His breathing slows down as you comfort him, rubbing small circles into his back.

“I just thought what if that was it? What if I lost you again... I can't it's taken so long for you to love me again... I don't... I can’t...”

You both lie there for a while trying to avoid all of the watching eyes.

You let out a small wheeze... “Let's go home... I think we both need a lie-down.”

You give him a weak but reassuring smile as he picks you up helping you to stand.

You cuddle up in bed for the day as Asra tends to you.

“It's fine I don't think I bumped my head, maybe it was from shock?”

It still doesn't stop him from staying next to you for the rest of the day.

Asra ends up falling asleep snuggled into your side as you watch the rise and fall of his chest.

Overall the panic today he finally looks peaceful.

I mean so much to him, it warms my heart so much it hurts...

Or is maybe that love he feels for me radiating through?...

Julian:

Bored of the bars in the South end you decided to try a few in the red market like your last visit to find Muriel.

Was it a good idea? Is anything with Julian?

Making your way through the crowds of people you spot a stairway going down into a dark room, a sign hanging up on the wall as you go in shows the picture of a gauntlet and a bear. Julian points to it.

“Rowdy?”

“Yup. Rowdy...”

You both shine a mischevious grin at each other, linking arms as you make your way down the stairs.

You settle at the bar taking in your surroundings as Julian orders something from the bar for you both.

This place seems familiar...

“Julian, is this the place we went to last time?”

He looks around “I believe it is, then again we never got to stay for long to be sure” he gives you a playful nudge.

“I wonder if these are gonna be as good as Barth’s salty bitters”

“Oh god, I hope not! They are awful, Julian, it's like liquid depression!”

You pick up the two tankards, as he laughs, making your way over to a booth in the corner when suddenly you trip over something hard.

Hold on... This has happened before...

“Hey! ...Look its the woodwind instrument!

Oh no, this has definitely happened before!

“How about a friendly welcoming?” he cracks his knuckles as he stomps closer to you both and Julian steps in front of you guarding you with his arm.

...Wait... Julian doesn't have his mark anymore...

“Lets put those stick legs to the test.”

In one swift motion, you push Julian out of the way with a bump of your hip as the man swings his leg in your direction hitting your knee.

You fall to the ground. “Julian you don't have your mark, we need to go!”

“Oh, so there is something funny about you!” A panicked expression now taking over Julian.

You chuck the remnants of what's left in your tankard onto the man's face and wobble to your feet.

You feel Julian's arms scoop you up as you dash out of the bar and around the corner into the alleyway.

He places you down on a crate looking over you in worry

“Oh, are you alright!? Let me see your leg!” he inspects the big red mark on your knee his hands shaking.

“Julian it’s fine I can tell its not broken... I think it's going to bruise that's all...

He sighs planting a kiss on your knee before resting his head on your lap hugging your legs.

You run your hands through his hair.

“You stepped out in front of him for me... You should take your safety into consideration, my dear...”

“Me!? Julian, I don't want you to get hurt either, you don't have your mark, I couldn't let you get hurt... Last time he stabbed you, what if he did it again? I can't lose you...”

A smile forms on his lips through teary eyes. “I don't want to lose you either...”

Cupping his face you kiss his cheek as a tear rolls down.

You are both a wreck and still, in shock from what happened.

You now know what happens when you put two emotional messes in an alleyway together.

After a quick agreement, you decide maybe that bar isn't the best place to go and should stay in the comfort zone of the Rowdy Raven.

Muriel:

To help Muriel get out more and to show him some love and care you decided to go on a trip downtown to spoil him.

Walking from his hut you make your way to the East district.

You stop for snacks and little treats for him.

“Oh look, Muri! It’s got little chickens on it! What do you think?” you pick up a blanket and wrap it around you, smile beaming.

“... It’s... cute...” he blushes and gives you a small tug.

You pay for the blanket and tuck it into your bag making your way down to the south end of Vesuvia.

You notice the small stream that cuts the path in half. “Hey let's go to this district.”

He gives you a soft nod as you intertwine your fingers together.

As your making your way down the path you hear shuffling behind you.

“HEY, YOU!”

You look at Muriel who frowns and keeps walking, you decide to do the same.

“HEY DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?!” you hear them start stomping up to you, grabbing Muriel by the arm.

You instantly get defensive, standing in front of him. “Did you not get the idea that we don't want to be bothered?”

You look over the Muriel who is clearly uncomfortable by the stranger's touch and decide to separate them both.

“Don't touch me!” they snarl back.

“I could say the same...” Muriel stays silent pulling you by the arm to leave.

“I’m not finished, wimp!”

As you leave you to hear the unsheathing of a small dagger and turn just in time you catch them by the wrist.

You squeeze their wrist as hard as you can causing the ruffian to drop their weapon.

“OUCH!” They soon bring their leg up to kick you in the stomach making you skid down the path now winded.

You sit up wheezing as you watch Muriel step closer and closer to the ruffian staring them down.

Their legs begin to tremble from Muriel's hulking figure.

He lifts them fireman style and throws them into the small ravine, he glares for a second to make sure they can swim.

He finally turns to you extremely concerned.

“Are you okay? Is anything broken...?”

You lie back down on the ground grunting as you lift your shirt.

He looks over you and the feeling of his hand brushing over you softly makes you shiver.

“Nggh... I’m... Alright...” You give him a weak thumbs up.

You stretch out your arms and he pulls you into a hug, wrapping you in his cloak.

“You saved me, my mountain man...” you give him a weak smile as you look up at him...

“W-what!!?!... Don't call me that...” His face turns bright red as he looks away even adding to color when you nuzzle your face into his chest.

“Why did you do that?

You look back up at him “What do you mean? They were going to stab you I couldn't let that happen! I like you too much to let you go yet”

You give him a playful wink and he blushes again.

“Stop that...”

You decide that's is enough for one day and head back to the hut

You get together snuggling in front of the fire with Inanna in your new chicken blanket.

Lucio:

Lucio’s way of showing his affection was boasting about everything he knows and offering it too you.

He thought a good way of trying to impress you would be to take you to the market where you love that bread so much...

You watch as he pridefully strides down the market place head held high.

“Pick out anything you want- I practically own this place!”

He watches your gaze carefully seeing if it lands on anything.

There are so many things to look at but nothing particularly catches your eye...

“Hmm... You know what, Lucio? How about you pick something out, you have great taste” you knew that would boost his spirit.

“Mmm... Indeed I do, my dear.” His eyes land on a particularly sparkly booth.

Of course, he would go for something like that, you watch as he scans the ruby encrusted section.

You try to hide the smile spreading across your face as he hems and haws over everything, even rolling his eyes in disgust...

You hear someone call out a wolf whistle and turn to see a figure walking towards you.

You turn back around and pretend you didn't notice them when a hand suddenly wraps around your side, a little too close for comfort.

“Hey, there gorgeous... What do you say I take you somewhere nice?” a snakey grin now spreading across their face.

You give them a small smile shaking your head and pulling away now heading towards Lucio.

Suddenly you feel a tight grab on your wrist causing you to spin around.

“Not even a thank you? Tsk, arrogant ass...”

I now feel a hand rest on my shoulder accompanied by a kiss to the side of the head.

“Take your hands off my lover.” I can practically see Lucio’s glare burn a hole right through them.

“Oh wow, the count... Really?” I can feel Lucio’s grip tighten slightly as well as a stressed sight escaping him.

“Yes really, I think it would be best if you’d leave or perhaps the guards should get involved?” I can feel the tension rise between them.

“I’m not scared of you, you have nothing to show for, you're a failure, look at the flooded district. Are you gonna do anything about that or just sweep it under the rug, pretty boy?” They pull a disgusted face and fling your hand away taking a step closer to Lucio.

“What!? You have no right talking to me like that I am your count!”

You grab Lucio’s hand “Don't mind them any business, please, let's not make a scene.” Lucio responds in a grunt.

I feel the person's shoulder barge me, a bit too roughly, as I fall to the ground.

“Who said this was about you?” They glare down at me.

Lucio now enraged grabs them by the neck and chucks them onto the path. “Don't you dare treat them like that!” he turns to you, brows furrowed, a worried look on his face as he reaches his hand out.

As I stand up I see a fist approach the back of Lucio’s head.

“Watch!” I quickly push him out the way now taking a smack to the face.

“Owww...”

Lucio’s face contorts into a raging snarl as he stalks closer claw raised in the air, a murderous fire in his eyes.

“Lucio stop, everyone is looking!..” he snaps out of it now looking around in shock.

A guard that was patrolling the area comes running over to the circle of townsfolk formed around the three of us.

He smooths down his hair taking my hand and pulling me close.

The situation ends up resolved and the person is taken away, Lucio ends up whining over me making sure I'm alright on the way back demanding staff to be ready to check me out when we arrive at the palace.

Now sitting in the infirmary I hold an ice pack up to my head.

“Lucio you can't pull that kind of stuff, you have a reputation to uphold.”

“The last thing I want is for you to get hurt... I would have killed them I swear!”

You shush him bringing his hand up to your mouth and kissing it lightly.

“Mmm... I know and I thank you for caring about me, but you have to think about yourself too!” he lets out a noncommital sigh.

You try to take fewer trips out to the market together as well as working on what to do if you somehow get into the same situation again.

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra #asra alnazar #the arcana asra #muriel #the arcana muriel #julian #julian devorak #the arcana julian #lucio #count lucio #the arcana count lucio #montag #national poetry month #headcanons #or is it scenarios #idek anymore #enjoyyyy

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