#this doesn't mean he'd feel no sympathy for someone in a bad situation because “at least you're beautiful” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamerdoesthewritething · 2 years ago

Text

[Did anyone ask for Part 3, aka the sequel to this and this? No? Too bad, you're getting it, anyway.]

Leon has been staying with you for over a week now. It's nice having your best friend in your life every day again, nicer than you thought it would be. This isn't the first time he's lived with you. After his family was killed, your parents brought him home, where he stayed until he decided he wanted to go back to his house. He was a teen when he made that choice. Your parents had managed to gain ownership of the Kennedy house for that exact reason.

He had moved out of that house a couple of years ago, selling it with the help of your father so he could live somewhere smaller with less horrible memories. Turned out his nightmares were worse in the place where the murders happened than anywhere else. Made sense, but he didn't think about that when he chose to return. He wanted his own place, a kind of teenage dream. What teen didn't want a house free from rules? But it didn't work out in that nightmare colonial. He traded it for a little townhouse and put the rest of the money in savings for future use.

That townhouse was his new home, the only one for him...until now, when he found he couldn't go back.

You had returned to work just yesterday. Coworkers offered their condolences, having heard you suffered a terrible loss which led you to take a leave of absence for a month. Some asked who it was. They had their reasons. Prayers, curiosity, sympathy, etc. You managed to get away with, "I don't wanna talk about it," for now, but you had a feeling it wouldn't work for much longer.

The thing is...Leon asked you to keep him a secret. He doesn't want anyone to know he's around. Even if that means everyone still thinks he's dead, he has to remain hidden. It's quite the paranoid request, but he wouldn't make it for no reason. You made this promise. You intend to keep it, no matter what.

Your parents have stopped by once during this week to check up on you. Leon hid in the guest bedroom. That's where he stayed whenever you weren't home. Hell, sometimes he'd be there even when you were, just in case. Can't be seen, or at least has to try to be seen by as few people as possible.

His behavior was like a fugitive, a man on the run. But he's a cop. He committed zero crimes. It's his job to arrest the criminals, not be a criminal himself. You try to imagine Leon doing anything illegal. The worst you can see him doing is shoplifting a candy bar from a gas station, and even then only because he was holding it and forgot he hadn't paid for it yet.

So what is he hiding from?

Maybe it's the press. Surely everyone would want to know how he managed to escape from Raccoon City as one of a handful of survivors of both the viral outbreak and the nuke. He didn't need that shit. Not now, not ever. It reminds you of when reporters kept trying to bother him after the murders of his family. Your mother and father shielded him from that as best they could, eloquently but firmly telling the journalists to fuck off. Leon was a little boy, not a news story. He always told your parents how thankful he was for how much they took care of him then.

Now it's your turn to do the same.

You're unlocking your front door, coming back from work at the end of the day. You feel something hard press against your back as a hand suddenly covers your mouth to muffle any sound you might make. Struggling is instantly impossible. Someone else finishes opening the door and you're forced inside.

Next thing you know, you're tied up on the floor. There's strangers in your house with guns. You're still reeling from being assaulted in the first place, so the shock and fear of your situation hasn't quite caught up to you yet.

"Where's Leon?" one of the armed men demands.

"Leon? Who--?"

"Don't even think about it," the man growls, getting up in your face. "You know exactly who the fuck Leon is. We wouldn't be wasting our time with the likes of you if we didn't know that."

Your brow furrows. "I was gonna ask who the fuck you are, for your information. I'm not so fucking stupid as to try to play dumb with dickheads who attack me in my own goddamn home."

The man backs off, but not enough for you to feel even a little more comfortable. The fear still hasn't taken hold. You press on. "Now, I don't give two shits who or what you work for, but as an American, I have rights! Rights that have been violated the moment you put your damn hands on me! If you think this won't come back to bite you--"

"Your rights don't matter in this," the man says. The look in his eyes has you shutting up, because it's clear if you keep talking, he will hit you and he will take great pleasure in doing it. "Look, princess, I'll make it real simple for you. We need Leon. You tell us what we wanna know, we get outta your hair, and it'll be like this never happened. You get that? Cuz trust me, I don't wanna be here any more than you want us."

"What are you going to--?"

"None of your damn business."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to be strong. This man is intimidating, but he's talking about your best friend. He's with other men and they're all armed and they want your best friend. If this guy knows anything about you, he should know you won't put Leon in danger just to save yourself. You'd never.

"Just kill me. I ain't telling you shit," you say.

It doesn't have the impact you want since your voice is shaking and you can feel tears stinging your eyes, but it's the truth. You won't talk. You won't give up Leon to them. They've disrespected you, threatened you. They're hunting Leon for some reason. You don't need to know the reason, you decide. You can die without knowing, as long as it means Leon is safe.

Before the scene can escalate, your hero swoops in for the rescue, bypassing all the other armed men to put himself between you and your immediate threat. You wish he hadn't. Now they'll take him away from you to do...whatever it is they wanted with him. If he just took this opportunity to escape...

"Mr. Kennedy," the man says. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Yeah, I know," Leon says in a tight voice. "But that's on me, not her. She's got nothing to do with this, alright? Leave her alone."

"You brought her into this. What have you told her?"

"Not a goddamn thing! She's just given me somewhere to stay! That's it! She doesn't know anything!"

It's true. He hasn't told you anything about Raccoon City or the month he was gone after that. He was protecting you by keeping that to himself. Now he's protecting you again. The desperation cuts right through to your heart. Just who are these guys that they've got Leon Scott Kennedy so scared for you?

"Even if I believe you, which is a fucking huge if...I have my orders. We're to take both of you in for questioning." The man shakes his head as the other guys grab Leon and pick you off the ground. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you'd just stayed on base, Kennedy. You have no one to blame but yourself."

You're pushed into an unmarked but clearly military vehicle, still tied up with an armed man on either side of you. Leon is likewise sandwiched in the seat across from yours, facing you. The leader of the squad and another guy take the front and passenger seats. Then you're off to...who knows where?

Leon is seething as he looks at you. It's not because of you, but rather what you've been subjected to by these people. The men are unbothered by his glare. They don't care about his feelings or yours. They'd rather not be here, anyway.

"Why?"

He's speaking through gritted teeth in a dangerous tone you haven't heard before. All the other people in the vehicle look at him.

"Why is she still restrained?" Leon demands. "There's no goddamn reason for it. We're literally fucking trapped in here with you. Untie her. Now."

Despite the odds being very much against him, Leon's unspoken threat is not ignored. The men at your sides undo the bindings around your arms, finally setting you free. Your arms are stiff and sore, but you'll get over it. Well, if you make it out of whatever this is alive you will.

Without warning or care about potential consequences, Leon takes your hands in his. His stare is still so intense.

"Did they hurt you?"

You shake your head. You don't want to talk, not after everything that's just happened, not with these strangers around. Besides, you get the feeling you're going to be doing a lot of talking in the near future, whether you want to or not. His hands give yours a reassuring squeeze and doesn't let go.

"I won't let them do anything to you, I swear."

It's a little late for that, you think. You suppose he simply forgot the word "else" after "anything" since he didn't see how these guys introduced themselves to you. He's also forgetting they have weapons while he doesn't. He's hardly in any position to be making promises to protect you or even himself.

You're both so fucked and the worst part is you have no idea why.

-_-_-_-_

You face hours and hours of questioning from government men, stuck in a tiny humid room with a single bottle of water and no food. They won't even let you out to use the restroom, forcing you to hold your bladder. They want to know anything and everything Leon has told you since he showed up at your doorstep. You tell them over and over. Your story never changes. It's never good enough, though.

What are you supposed to do when they refuse to listen to the truth?

You're tired. You have to piss more than you ever have in your life. You don't even know where these government agents have taken you. Any patience you had before is gone. Your tongue hurts from all the biting you've done to keep from crying. They don't deserve to see your tears. They're not worthy of that victory. You just want to go home. Why won't they let you?

You can't take it anymore. And you just scream. A guttural, screeching sound with no words. All your stress vocalized in one long, distressing noise. Your captors don't know how to react to this, so they just yell at you. Threaten you with physical harm if you don't stop. They're already harming you by keeping you here.

The shrieking is the last straw. Other people come rushing into the room, chewing out your captors for holding you in this shithole for so long. One of them, a woman, ushers you out to the nearest restroom, apologizing for not intervening sooner. She assures you that you'll be free to go and will be compensated for this. Ah, hush money. At least that's what it sounds like.

What about Leon?

She can't say. Or won't say. It's not her place. She isn't allowed. Another secret. You feel sick. You want to go home, but you don't want to go without knowing he's okay.

What she can tell you is they're not going to hurt him. He's a valuable asset to America in a new war and they're not about to do anything that might cost them his loyalty. You're pretty sure they already crossed that line when those men held you captive in your own home, but you keep that to yourself.

After your much-needed potty break, you're escorted into a much nicer room with air conditioning. You're provided with food and drink while they arrange for someone to take you back home. Should you be concerned about possible drugs in this stuff? Eh, fuck it. Hunger and thirst overrule paranoia right now.

When your way home is ready, Leon is there with your escort. Stoic, but his eyes burn with a harsh blue flame. If he could burn this place to the ground, that'd be the ignition. Some of that rage seeps into his expression when he looks at you. The redness around your eyes and your sniffling give it all away. They made you suffer. They made you suffer, because of him.

It's just you, Leon, and the driver. The car they're using is expensive, but it's also a boring black government-typical vehicle. You and Leon climb in the backseat. You haven't said a word to each other since your reunion. Frankly, you're done talking for the day if you can help it. You don't feel safe to do so, anyway. This car is probably wired to record anything and everything you do.

You're so, so tired. You can't keep your head up or your eyes open anymore. You fall over until your head meets Leon's shoulder, using it as a pillow. He lets you. You deserve this rest. You deserve so much. You deserve so much more than to have a friend like him, a friend who shows up when you're grieving his alleged death and pulls you into such a mess.

He doesn't bother waking you when the car pulls up to the house. Instead, he picks you up and carries you inside, laying your sleeping form on top of your bed. He takes off your shoes, then tucks you in more properly. It can't be comfortable sleeping in your work clothes, but he's not about to strip you or change your clothes while you're unconscious. Not without consent. You've been violated enough today...More than enough...Way, way more than enough.

Now that you're back where you belong, the weight of today starts taking its toll on Leon. He can't rest yet, however. He knows your home has been messed with and he'll be damned if he lets them keep their bugs and wiretaps and shit just because he's here. They know that. He told them as much when they confronted him for running away from the training camp. They've already forced his hand. They already used Sherry's safety against him. They're not getting to use his best friend, too.

Minding your peace, he scours every itch and crevice of your house for their devices, tearing the electronics out and stomping them under the heels of his boots. He checks everywhere twice, then a third time, just to be sure. It all ends up in a trashcan, which he tosses outside until he can dispose of this shit more permanently. It's the least he can do.

He returns to your room, taking a seat on the corner of the bed and looking at you. You're restless in your slumber. It's to be expected, he supposes. He lets out the heaviest sigh, closing his eyes. You shouldn't have had to go through any of the things those assholes put your through. He shouldn't have put you in this position. What kind of friend is he?

And when he thinks about that month...

He was beginning the training the government "asked" him to join, a task force for fighting B.O.W.s and other miscellaneous issues. Any connections to the rest of the world were prohibited. They wanted him to themselves, believing he had no one. He let them believe that, just like they let everyone who ever cared about him believe he perished with Raccoon City.

They let you believe he died.

A month of mourning.

For him, too.

He had to come to grips with the incident on his own. So many people met once and lost shortly thereafter. People he never got the chance to meet until after they were no longer human. The mysterious woman in red whose fate he wasn't sure of. Zombies. Monsters. Death. So much death. More than he ever thought he'd see in his lifetime.

You didn't have to see any of it. You didn't need to. You always had an active imagination. What horrible images had you tormented yourself with when you thought he was dead? How much did you cry for him? How many nights did you lose sleep? Just how did you grieve for him, the little boy you comforted during the worst times of his life turned into a man you thought became nothing but ash?

Just thinking about it churned his stomach. Neither of you asked for this. Neither of you wanted any of this. Neither of you deserved what you've been through since he decided to join the RPD.

Your eyelids flutter, then open halfway. He can't stop himself from gently cupping your face.

"Leon," you murmur.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No...You haven't slept."

A small smile. "That obvious?"

"Yeah...Look shittier than usual."

"Oh, you're one to talk."

You grab his arm and pull him down with you, his chest against yours. Your arms wrap around him. As if you're actually strong enough to keep him there if he didn't want to be. Your grip is rather lazy since you're only half-awake.

"Go to sleep."

"Is that an order, ma'am?"

"Mhm."

He shifts his position to get more comfortable. You're unconscious again already. He doubts he'll actually fall out as easily as you are right now, but he'll stay here regardless. Can't risk waking you up, after all. It'll be day soon and you certainly don't need to know that.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#dreamer writes #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

140 notes · View notes

danmeiconfession · 1 year ago

Note

a reply to https://www.tumblr.com/danmeiconfession/729135240003698688/a-reply-to-this?source=share, as the person who wrote the original.

i never said shen yuan broke the cycle as in "had an abusive upbringing but chose to not inflict it on someone else". he did, however, step into the place of luo bingmei's abuser, and instead of giving him hatred, he saved luo binghe through love. he broke someone else's cycle through being forced into it.

it's impossible for a person to break a cycle of abuse without other people caring about them. if you never learn there's a better alternative, that you don't need to choose between being the person who inflicts pain and the person who is pained, then you'll choose to stop being hurt one way or another. shen yuan broke the cycle by being the precise person who showed luo bingmei he had the option to not be a part of that cycle, that it was possible to have kindness without "earning" it through strength and domination.

also, how exactly is luo bingmei "exactly the same" as luo bingge? there are only two scenes i can think of where luo bingmei may have raped shen qingqiu: the first is the scene in the fake bamboo hut, which wasn't even a real attempt and a way to scare shen qingqiu. bad joke, certainly! but not actually trying to rape shen qingqiu. if you meant maigu ridge, that was rape for both parties, luo binghe was too out of his mind to know what happened. hell, he canonically doesn't consider it his first time, probably because he never chose it.

if we're talking about violence, he certainly isn't that. with the human cauldrons, he crippled many people's cultivation, but i don't see where it's confirmed he killed them. meanwhile, luo bingge has massacred thousands. he certainly turned old palace master into a human stick like bingge with shen jiu, but like. this is the guy who killed his mother, lusted after his mother, and there's evidence he likely made some move on bingmei. i am inclined to give him sympathy here. but even if we consider the human stick situations to be the same, the simple scale of the violence can't be compared.

and in terms of the cycle of abuse: its not just shen jiu that bingge hurt. sure, he tortured his abuser for ages, and inflicted all sorts of violence on cang qiong mountain, that by itself is part of it. but we certainly can't forget about the wives. it's the fact that he rapes at least 10% of his wives, its the wives he lets hurt each other as much as they want as long as none outright die. its the common people he forces to server under his iron will. shen jiu was just one early part of it, but he quickly became just another enemy for bingge to crush. and i don't know about you, but i dont see bingge inclined to kill thousands and rape dozens in the extras.

also, in regards to your response to my confession proper. i am certainly willing to give you the quotes to prove that shen jiu abused disciples if you want them, but i get the feeling you'll ignore it. and what suspicions did yue qingyuan not believe? his suspicions against shang qinghua? true, not believing him on that part was a flaw. but if you mean luo binghe, i hardly see how a seemingly-human child was anything to be suspicious of. theres no way that shen jiu knew luo bingge was a demon until he was thrown into the abyss, and assuming he did tell yue qingyuan, what precisely could he have for shen jiu at that point in time? if you mean to imply that shen jiu somehow knew luo bingge was a demon as a disciple, i'd very much like to know how exactly he would think that, and why he'd not have banished luo bingge from his peak immediately upon discovery.

SA is still a SA no matter how many times abuser says that it was a joke and they weren't in the right mental state or some "excuse" like that or how they are sorry that they did that.

I haven't said that they are the same I said they are closer than what we're tend to believe and about circle of abuse my point still stands, he was obsessed with SJ so his torture was worse.

I pointed it out that I was talking about SQH.

#shang qinghua #shen qingqiu #svsss #scumbag self saving system #shen jiu #luo binghe #anti luo binghe

22 notes · View notes

distressednoise · 8 months ago

Text

WIP wednesday

Back on my bullshit (sad brassian in under-described liminal spaces) and actually have a WIP on WIP wednesday for the first time in ::checks calendar:: we do not speak of it.

In which Cassian hits a snag on the way home from Mimban, but luckily Brasso has terrible taste in men.

The code sending the comm belongs to Pellan, a hook up from months ago; a Pre-mor flunkie on a stopover between outposts, half out of uniform when he met Brasso and keen to lose the rest.

The face when he opens it, though, is a stretched-out, scruffed-up version of - “Cassian?”

“Yes! I fucking told you.” This is to someone off screen, presumably Pellan, and in a voice several tones lower than Brasso expected. In profile, Cassian's face is sharper and grubbier than it first seemed, and framed by an embarrassing set of adolescent mutton chops that dream of one day becoming a beard. It'd been Brasso's situation, the last time they saw each other. Maarva has a holo of them from that time, and looking at himself in it makes Brasso feel old.

“Do you know this person?” Pellan asks, shouldering his way on screen.

He doesn't know Pellan that well. He can't tell where they are from the background of the holo: it's just their faces and a patch of suspiciously sterile patch of wall.

“He does! Brasso, you know me and you know how sick my mother is -”

“Stop talking.” Pellan's tone isn't mean enough to raise Brasso's hackles. It's the tone he remembers everyone taking around - fucking hell, Cassian - back when he was mouthy and undersized and keen to bite the underbelly of every bigger kid on the block. “Just. Sit down again. Brasso -”

There's some shuffling and a floating shot of Pellan's jaw as he takes himself and his comm out of Cassian’s considerable range of interference. It has the same mutinous set Brasso remembers from the bar.

“We have a slight situation here, and I do not want it to end up as a full situation, because in full situations I fill out sixteen different scandocs and people with ‘sector’ in their job title learn my name. Your friend is trying to get through the corporate border on a military pass, which is legal but -” a tired grimace “- against company policy, so I'm supposed to tell him it's faulty and he has seven days to fix it, after which I can bust him for loitering if he doesn't find a new chip or falsifying access information if he does, and he'll go to Imperial custody and toward my arrest number, or he can lodge an appeal under the long term residency exemption, which will automatically be approved but he'll be on an undisclosed Imperial watchlist for five years and someone will have to file a report on his movements every forty five days, and that someone will not be me, but that someone will unlock a cross team performance incentive if they achieve a ten per cent uplift on watchlist detentions cycle on cycle, so good luck with that. And then of course you're a named associate of a detained watch listed individual, so you go on the list, and someone reports on you every forty five days, and you also count toward our detention uplift target for the quarter, so.”

There's a pause for Brasso to react. When he doesn't, Pellan feels compelled to add, “That's bad.”

“Right.” It was almost definitely the wrong call to answer this comm before getting dressed.

“Right! So I suggested maybe he'd had his scandocs stolen and I could issue him a temporary pass if he just had a few key details, but they were issued when he was in prison - I should not have heard that he was in prison, Brasso, that's 101 - and he's never seen them, so he doesn't know the most basic things -”

“His mother will have -”

“His mother is apparently deathly ill and cannot possibly get on a shuttle to bring him anything, which would be terrible if it were true. My sympathies to that woman, in potentia. However, because he is technically an unaccompanied minor for the next, uh, seventeen hours, I can notarise an individual known to the family to collect him and produce a copy of his stolen documents on her behalf. So this is me officially notarising you, and also letting you know that if you take seventeen hours to get here I'm going to strangle him.”

Brasso has several questions about an unaccompanied minor being on a military pass and that not being a flag unto itself, but at least he knows how old Cassian is now. “Where are you?”

“Gate B, so like, two moons from you? Hey, should have called more, sorry neighbour. But seriously, whatever operation you're running needs to tighten up because ‘prison’, pri-son, is an extremely automated red flag and if I had bothered to do any basic system maintenance in the last six months there would be a half dozen alerts on their way to Pre-Mor by now.”

Operation, Brasso mouths, dully. He's starting to think he and Pellan remember that night very differently.

#wip wedneday #brassian #my writing #this is largely a deranged corporate monologue for which i can only apologise but will not stop

8 notes · View notes

llycaons · 1 year ago

Text

ep38 (2/3): heartbreaking: the worst person you know just came out

man I feel like xxc is SUCH a romantic. he likes being in love he likes having a partner he's drawn to those idealized fairy-tale romances he doesn't look too deeply below the surface (consciously or not) because he just loves having that kind of connection with someone. and ah he and song lan were perfect for each other. if not for that foolish mistake...! but tragically he's not a main character so his suffering will lead not to a happy ending but to death

anyway. scream? I assume these are yi city residents? fuck, but that's so many. an entire city

he just loves giving those expressions to xy for no reason. unhinged menace

this is honestly hilarious. obviously 'all he wanted was a domestic life with famer's market trips uwu' is a patently absurd claim because look what he DID with that life but I cannot lie this is very funny to me. like sure maybe DEEP DOWN that's all he wanted but my sympathy for him is like. nonexistent because look what he chose to do

also. this man is gasping in fear. does xxc not notice?? willfully ignorant, perhaps

SONG LAN!!!! thank god you're here there is such bullshit going down here xxc needs you. he just lit up so much when he heard about xxc

she's such a little survivalist <3

omg remember that translation meta that described sl's answer as like 'he is world-endingly beautiful' or something? first of all he was right. they casted xxc perfectly, second of all how the hell did she write this and not make them canon gay. insane.

this kills me bc at this point SL KNOWS but I don't think he even considered approaching this with the care he would have needed to. and why not just confront xy? it's not like he knows xy has a tool to make xxc kill him

also sl is standing here in broad daylight and xy just walks past him? I mean his back is to sl but that's weird, I feel like he'd notice him just STANDING there esp if a-qing jerks away and hides

damn I hope she hasn't been hiding every time xy is around. that's her home too. she could technically leave but I doubt she wanted to abandon xxc. and she's not likely to trust any of the sects to intervene either even if she told them. and I don't think she understands that xy is making xxc kill living people

witnessing sl see how xy treats xxc (familiarly, cruelly, lying) is like. that IS a man watching someone he loves involved with someone else who's hurting them. not even jealousy, just heartbreak and righteous anger. li bowen NAILED it

I don't think sl and xxc were ever actually together which just makes this entire thing more exquisitely painful

THE SINGLE TEAR

oohh and the BLOOD

at this point a-qing is distressed enough to grab onto wwx for comfort :(

it's not often that I see the xxc/xy situation described as abuse but xy DID abuse his power over xxc to trick him into murdering people (and then the heavy implication that they were in a relationship too 😬)

I love this expression from SL. no detached justice here. this man is furious and ready to kill

this fight scene is actually good? so many fight scenes in this show are bad and this one just rules. the chemistry, the action, the drama, the tragedy. what a neat and tight little narrative

ohh double-meanings. KILL HIM SONG LAN

this was so insane of xxc to do. man had one great love of his life and he dug out his eyes for him then walked away ��

this is so funny though. he is the worst. oh SHIT THERE'S THE CHEETAH-PRINT ROBES. what a slay

also now xy won't stop rubbing it in his face and playing on sl's insecurities. deflecting from his own crimes. as jgy does, later in the temple. xy probably learned from him honestly. but don't fall for it song lan!!! he is literally using xxc to murder people!!!

this is a taunt eerily reminiscent of wwx. his voice goes up all high, like 'awww, were you SAD? huh?' wwx taunts like this, all sarcastic. but also he's not like, evil

BITCH YOU'RE THE ONE LYING AND MANIPULATING HIM

when sl's tongue gets cut out, a-qing gets all this splashed on her. ugh

NOOOOOOOO XIAO XINGCHEN!!! THAT'S THE MAN YOU LOVE!!!

#cql re-rewatch #this is so upsetting!!! bro!!!!

6 notes · View notes

daichansux · 2 years ago

Note

“ you’re not a bad person, you’re just a little lost. ” // basukee. akashi

aomine doesn’t usually bite his fingernails. it’s stupid, right, but he likes his teeth and was always told that biting his nails would wreck them. his mother had had braces, so what if he had to? so he doesn’t usually have the urge to. but when things are bad, everything is extra annoying. he stepped in a puddle and got a wet sock. no, OF COURSE he would step into a fucking dirty puddle in his NEW fucking sneakers and yellow the white fucking leather, and his fucking sock is wet! it’s so uncomfortable to work like this, it’s totally ruined his fucking mood! or he just caught a nail on something and it’s jagged, which just catches on more things. it has currently escalated to the point where, in his irritation at catching one nail on his clothes, he’s chewing them all down. it’s worse now. his mood deteriorates.

the trouble with basketball is that it’s a team sport. it requires interaction. and on these days, when basketball really is the only thing that can keep him from lying down anywhere and staring at the sky until he falls asleep, it doesn't take much to set him off. it's almost like he knows he doesn't deserve to be happy, to feel his effort strained, and he's waiting for someone to prove him right and piss him off.

the teiko lot have met up. since the game against the americans, they’ve been doing this more often. midorima’s being extra himself today, and aomine was sat next to him at the meal. all that bullshit about horoscopes and fate and how much better than everyone else he is. the motherfucker couldn't have been more annoying if he'd wanted to be. they got into an argument. midorima said something that was an attempt at a cutting remark about aomine inflicting his shitty mood on other people. sharing is caring, aomine had said in a half-assed attempt at a joke, believe it or not. he had been trying to keep the peace at that point. the joke didn’t land, and the situation dissolved into an argument. satsuki tried to remedy it with a change of topic, distracting midorima with a question when it was midorima’s turn to say something.

“nobody gives a fuck, satsuki,” aomine had snapped, then she’d retorted something pathetic, and the others told him to shut up himself. all this when akashi was absent from the table, naturally. the arguments didn’t last when he returned. not that akashi has anything like a calming aura about him, but arguments rarely continued when he was there to regulate them. go figure the green-haired ass kisser would explain the tense atmosphere with a pointed, “aomine has decided that his bad mood is everyone else’s problem.” which is super cool! aomine leaves before midofucker can embarrass himself any further.

cut to now, sitting on a wall a good mile away from that restaurant, a little bit lost and a lot miserable. he’s waiting until he’s bitten off the rest of the annoying tips of his nails, flicking discarded shards on the floor. he’s not listening to traffic or passers-by ( until he hears someone talking about roommates and he remembers that one video kagami translated into japanese and now he knows how to say they were roommates in half-passable english ). akashi enters his line of sight and aomine enters the present again. it’s a relief that the company isn’t satsuki, because she’d only want to talk about everyone's feelings and he doesn’t want to. doesn't care.

“satsuki finished talking about how shitty of a person i am?” she wouldn’t. or, she would, but she would temper it with the understanding and compassion of a lifelong friend. midorima would say it and mean it, which is why aomine isn’t joking about that.

"you're not a bad person," akashi replies, "you're just a little lost."

aomine doesn't betray that he even heard. his eyes remain averted as they were before, and his frown doesn't shift. it's sympathy, or empathy, or something like that. it doesn't matter. the teen feels exposed by the phrase, and really fucking tired.

"people say i was a nicer guy in teiko," aomine says eventually, kicking a shard of nail off his sneakers. he examines his muddied shoes as something to do, and lets his hand fall to rest upon the wall. his shoulders meet his ears in a slow shrug. "maybe we all were. 's funny," he knows not to say the following to the likes of akashi, but he does it anyway in search of a rise. aomine looks over at his ex-captain. "everyone says midorima has more of a heart now, so how come he's so fucking insufferable? like, jesus. shut the fuck up sometime."

he looks away again. aomine is jealous, if anything. he knows that he was a lot easier to be around when he was younger, and he wishes he could find his heart again. find the desire to want to make people laugh instead of making them angry. what is it about his constant need to rile people up? piss people off? it's funny, sure, but it doesn't exactly breed much friendship. he doesn't see what anyone else sees, either. satsuki said once that meeting kuroko again on the court had done him good, and that she'd glimpsed the happy kid playing with a smile. and sure, he smiles sometimes. playing against kise, playing against kagami. it's fun again. but then they leave the court and he feels just as he had before meeting that big freak ( kagami ). heavy. unwanted. isolated. he sighs, and awaits the wisdom of his old teammate. akashi has the soul of an old man who probably spent his whole life as a gangster. he'll know what to say. or maybe he won't say anything, and that would have been the right thing for the moment. // @sociieties

#answered.#is... is that your old @... i forget #anyway here's a DRABBLE???? I FOUND IN MY DRAFTS??? NEARLY FINISHED?? so yeah. idk #sociieties #drabbles.

1 note · View note

bexalex · 1 year ago

Text

"fuck!" more than anything, jindallae's shove surprises alex, who nearly spills his drink as his arm is jostled from the impact. he stumbles but he's not so drunk that he completely loses his footing, righting himself easily enough and fixing his friend with a scowl before shoving him back. he's sure that his 'attack' wasn't half as effective, it was somewhat half-hearted to begin with, but what sort of man would alex be if he simply let himself be pushed around? "you spilled half my drink, you owe me a new one." he swaps hands holding the cup and flicks his wrist out, trying to get some of the beer off of his fingertips. is he actually mad? maybe a little, more annoyed than anything. but not enough to really do anything about it.

he rolls his eyes at jindallae's assertions; alex is not nearly as domineering as his friend is, but he's stubborn enough that he knows that they're inherently incompatible in what they both want out of a physical relationship. no one, not even jindallae, has been so physically tempting that alex has considered that he'd enjoy trading out his usual role. "sure you could," he shakes his head, obviously sarcastic. "maybe i'd believe you if i was ugly or something. i'll just go down in history as the only man you were never able to take to bed." he's mostly joking; alex is sure that there's others who could claim the same title. but he just talks sometimes, even more so when he's drinking. "good to know, though. i'll be sure to call you at three in the morning next time i'm hungry after staying up way too late. you'll really appreciate that." he snorts at the thought, picturing a disheveled jindallae answering his phone in the middle of the night after being roused from a deep sleep. maybe he will actually do that someday.

"are you gonna have the same conversation with ren about me?" jindallae asks, and alex actually takes this question seriously as he pauses to think about it. "you're both good friends to me," he agrees, sticking to facts before he develops the 'what if' situation. "but you're also different people. i'm not saying he's better than you or anything like that, but sometimes being different means you hurt someone. maybe by accident." his mind flickers elsewhere; he had been different, wanted something different, and been hurt because of it. does he blame the person? no, never. even now, he still wants more than he should have ever dared to hope for. but the differences between them had ultimately proved too much to compromise on.

"maybe i should warn him not to be an ass though," alex admits, "he's kinda got this way of speaking that just makes you feel bad sometimes. you can't let it get to you." he's learned how to handle it over time; he just hopes that the surprisingly sensitive jindallae doesn't blow a fuse or something because of it.

alex sighs, accepting the joking at his own expense even though he resents it. he elbows jindallae again, half-hearted in his retaliation. "yeah," he admits, lips falling into a soft frown. "same guy. i know you think it's stupid." he doesn't know if his friend actually thinks that but he doesn't really hope for any more sympathy after it's been so long since the split. "i don't know. hopefully just say hi, chat a bit, and move on to something else. i hope."

the difference in their levels of sobriety has become pretty obvious, and each time alex speaks, jindallae can tell that his speech is more slurred, and his train of thought is getting derailed more frequently. it’s not something that he minds, per se, but being that he’s nowhere near that level yet, it’s more tedious to keep up with the conversation than it is for him to digest every word. that, and well, at this point in their friendship, it’s gotten easy to completely tune alex out when necessary. it’s not that he wants to be rude to his friend, but at times, some of the shit he says is more grating and facetious than it is sensical and sound. however, not wanting to direct his attention elsewhere just yet, he nods along to alex’s words, and even finds himself laughing at them. alex can be annoying, but jindallae will never deny that he isn’t funny and entertaining. if anything, that element about him is what’s caused him to keep his fists to himself. there’s been plenty of time where a swift right hook to the jaw would’ve been an appropriate retaliation for the bullshit alex spills, but being that he loves him too much, jin’s chosen not to meet his smug remarks with violence.

instead, he rolls his eyes at him and pushes him; a firm palm ramming against alex’s bicep to see if he stumbles at all. if he can’t even remain mostly upright, then jindallae knows it’s likely time to find him a ride home. “honestly, if i really wanted to fuck you, i already would’ve—and could’ve—by now.” he taunts, his signature devilish smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. the fact that the two of them haven’t slept together is largely what keeps their camaraderie in a good place, and he can recognize that, even if he does think alex is incredibly hot. “if you ever need or want food though, you can always come over. you know that, right? the restaurant, and my place, are always open for you. you just gotta let me know you’re on your way.”

he’s taken to feeding a lot of his friends. money’s hard to come by for everyone lately, and if there’s one thing he can do to help them out, it’s making sure their bellies are full. however, as their talk veers back into the realm of prospective romances, and ren, jindallae begrudgingly listens to what he’s being told. “yeah, but tell me this,” he begins, looking over to alex. “i’m supposedly one of your best friends, right? are you gonna have the same conversation with ren about me?” he’s not an idiot, he knows what the answer is, so the question is mostly rhetorical. alex will probably try and find a way to respond though. “i’m not mad that you’re worrying about him, i’m mad that, regardless of who i’m interested in, i’m always the villain. i’m always the fuck-up.”

then, when alex tells him that he has an ex that’s set to arrive shortly and doesn’t want to make bad decisions, jindallae laughs in his face. “you? bad ‘drunk’ decisions? i didn’t think you were capable...” he quips; condescending. “are you still fucked up over the same guy, or is it someone else now? what do you think you’re gonna do?��

#p: you're on your own kid #jindallaebe

7 notes · View notes

whimsicallyreading · 3 years ago

Text

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.

#throne of glass #rowaelin #fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelinmonth #angst #tog #sjmaas #throne of glass fanfiction #song fic #rowan x aelin #fenrys #day 29

132 notes · View notes

lethargicsunlight · 3 years ago

Text

🥀 Chapter 4 “Big... and Bulky!”

“It’s Beauty and the Beast, but You aren't the monster..” (Fem!Reader X Kirishima)🥀 Chapter 4 “Big... and Bulky!”

(Second time's the charm?)

I totally just decided to go back to my laptop to finalize this post...

Anyways! Please enjoy this plot heavy chapter! I've been falling on most of my fics lately, so I hope to make up for it~

Find the other chapters here: LINK

Aaaan join the Tag List here: LINK

WARNINGS: Lotta plot, SFW, sulking.

What the hell is that?!

Kirishima holds both arms out in front of him, hardened and sharp like blades. He eyes the monster ahead of him, watching in his peripheral as the people it had been attacking ran back to the other end of the alley and out unto the street.

Honestly, he hadn't expected anything to happen his first night doing this. Usually after a big event, things die down for a while due to the surplus in hero and police presence--but this was something else!

"Like I said, if you come easily.."

He notices the creature's eyes are closed, despite it's head being turned his direction. There's a strange, pitched whine that comes from it, and he can see blood oozing from about it's feet. There's an obvious wound on the arm opposite his position--but that shouldn't matter, he thinks, trying to draw himself out of any sympathy.

They would patch it up, once detained.

"I see you're wounded.." He un-hardens one arm and reaches for his cell. "Once the authorities get here, they'll--"

He flinches at it moves forward, extending an arm with another strange melancholic whine. He could swear there was a please, please don't, within the hollow noise of it.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he hesitates. Then, the creature begins to shrink.

Going back to it's original form, he notes, feeling at least a little victorious. FatGum has always been one to instruct diplomacy over violence. Cautiously, he moves forward, still ready to take on the brunt of any attack this beast could dish out--

"It's you.."

Standing, shoulder clutched by a shaking hand and eyes still closed to him, is definitely you.

"…This looks bad, doesn't it?" You ask dryly, while glass shards tink against the pavement as they leave your arm, the flesh shrinking and spitting them out.

"I-I mean--what..?" He shakes his head, "What happened?"

You open your eyes then, sure that your quirk had fully stopped. Staring, you converse with yourself on what to say. Would he even believe you? With everything he already knew, you were pretty sure it didn't matter. Hell, the fact he'd conveniently been around for this event had red flags all over it.

"…Self defense." You say, reluctant to move toward him. "They followed me from the restaurant. Someone used an illusionary quirk and lead me to this alley way."

"Wait, they attacked you?" He asks, putting effort into relieving the 'you' in his sentence of any emphasis.

"…Yes."

Kirishima isn't sure if your hesitancy is because you were telling the truth, or lying. Bakugou's warning goes off in his mind, but the memory of it angers him. Gah, why can't things just be simple!

He blinks, and he's caught soaking in the moment for several seconds before he settles on doing the one thing he can do. "Alright… Well you're uh, you're pretty banged up. C'mon, you need to go to the hospital."

"You aren't taking me in?"

"Why would I?"

"…" Well, he had a point, all things considered. In fact, blurting the question was more suspicious than him indeed choosing not to turn you in.

Kirishima weighs the decisions of his movements, in the end doing away with his hardening quirk and approaching you outright. Less because he was afraid of your possible retaliation, and more because he could harden in an instance anyway--but he didn't want to appear threatening. Even with the situation being what it was, he wanted to take Tsu's advice to heart. "Like I said, hospital."

"That's honestly the last place I want to go right now." You admit, allowing him to come up on your wounded side.

"I'm not really good with sutures.." He mumbles while evaluating the damage.

He reaches out gingerly, taking the upper part of your arm and twisting for a slightly better look. You wince. "You might get away with some bandages. I don't know what your quirk does, but it seems to have an effect on the damage you take. These look a lot smaller now." He gives you a stern look--a look you hadn't previously thought him capable of making--and lifts his hand from your arm to point a finger. "But, you will need actual medical attention in the morning. Even if I have to escort you myself."

"Ugh, fine." You murmur, wincing.

With a satisfied noise, he moves to the other side and goes to put your arm over his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" He asks.

"Of course." You bite back, but immediately regret doing so afterwards. He remains unphased, following through with the action, and that makes the guilt worse somehow.

🥀

There were some looks from the hotel's night manager, but otherwise you two had been left alone.

By the time the door to your room was opened, you were ready to hit the floor. You had not used the offensive side of your quirk for years, and it had taken a toll on your body.

"Here we go," He says, voice soft despite your sharpened edges, leading you to take a seat on a barstool. It puts you up a little higher, and given his massive height, it's to help him clean up your injuries.

His massive height. Had you noticed before? Why was it so important all the sudden? He turns away to grab a white wash-cloth from the counter and drench it in the sink.

"There should be a first aid kit in here somewhere.." He mumbles, looking around the expanse of the hotel room as he shuts the water off. "Any idea where it is?"

You realize you'd been staring when he locks eyes with you.

"Er--I think it's on the wall in the bathroom."

"Got it."

He folds the cloth in his hand then goes for the bathroom door. As the light turns on, the fluorescent bulbs outline his broad shoulders and jagged hair--jagged hair that had begun to settle with time, and no longer stood straight up like it usually did when he wore his hero costume.

You force your gaze away.

Now you knew why you had accidently described the prince in your novel to look like him.

You also felt yourself growing nervous beneath the weight of his presence. When he finally returns to the bar with a little red and white box, you can feel your foot wanting to tap against the metal of your seat and sweat pooling on your upper lip.

"Okay, so.. I'm not going to lie to you." He starts off, voice all even and unaffected--if anything, he sounded as cheerful as he had the first time you met him. "I wasn't really the best at medical training, but I remember the basics."

You swallow, and he grabs the cloth while tracing your figure with his eyes--your wounds with his eyes--not your figure, idiot.

"Alright. Arm first? I'll just clean it with this to get the grime off, then alcohol after."

You nod, silently sucking in a breath of preparation.

"Cool."

His palm, also massive, presses against the clean part of your arm for leverage as he uses the other to wipe blood and grime from your skin. It's practically torturous for the first few seconds, being so close, but you adjust. And of course, he seems fine.

He probably does this a lot. You remind yourself, letting your eyes wander off of him. …And for all kinds of people.

"This might burn a bit." He warns, reaching for the cotton and alcohol. When he looks back at you, he flashes a charming smile. "You can hit me if you need to. Since my quirk is Hardening, I won't feel it."

"I have a high pain tolerance."

"If you say so."

Minutes of awkward silence extend into the night as he cleans and bandages your wounds. Your nervousness ebbs and soon all you can feel is tired and achy. By the time he'd finished, your eyes had grown droopy and your saltiness had dissipated.

Despite the odd connections and coincidences, his actions for now seemed sincere. Not to mention advantageous for you, seeing as he was acting as your personal nurse. It would only take an instant for you to use your quirk and know the truth, but.. Something stopped you.

For once, you didn't want to know.

Satisfied with his work, he dusts off his hands with a proud toothy grin. "All done. Pretty good, if I do say so myself." He removes himself from in front of you, circling back to the sink. "How ya feeling?"

"Tired, but fine." A second beats by before you add: "Thank you, by the way."

"No problem." He checks the clock on your wall, "I better head back and put this in a report. I'll get with you tomorrow, okay?"

He washes his hands and you watch him.

Why didn't you want him to leave?

You hated everyone.

You'd fought it before. Fought it like a caged lion, like the beast you had been in the alley--you beat on the bars and remind yourself: they aren't all bad, they aren't all bad. Yet, you'd always end up right back in your room, locked away, imagining better, kinder realities from the safety of your cozy castle walls.

Realities with real heroes, that weren't backed by ridiculous penchants and advertisement fortunes.

Yet, despite how the evidence pointed towards his eventual betrayal.. You wanted him to stay.

"It's…" Your mouth opens involuntarily. It's late, you want to say. Stay.

And it grieves you, the way he looks up from the sink expectantly with optimistic ruby eyes, and knowing you can't actually ask him to.

"It's getting cold at night." You deflect. "I noticed you weren't wearing a jacket.."

"Oh," He waves a hand after shutting off the water. "Puh, I can't feel it really. It's part of my endurance training for my quirk."

Then he takes on a look of surprise, giving you a bit of a suspicious side-glance.

"What?"

"…Nothing. You just, mentioned the weather. Actually, you warned me about the weather." He crosses his arms, thumb at his chin, a pedestal for his childish grin. "I think I'm growing on you a little."

"I was just being polite."

"Which, you pointedly weren't doing before."

"Considering what you've done for me tonight, this is a logical way to act."

"Fair. Fair." He resigns, dropping his arms. But he doesn't leave immediately.

"I'll check back in tomorrow, and.. If it's alright with you, I think we need to talk about this whole thing again. I'm not directly insinuating these bombings and attacks are revolving around you, but.." His hand goes to his neck and he looks off, "it's just a little weird, y'know?"

"I know." You respond flatly, "Isn't this police work though? Investigation, interrogations..?"

"I'd like to think I'm not doing that. I'm just.. Doing whatever it takes to make sure everyone's safe." He gives you an apathetic look, "To be honest, after the way Detective Gina spoke to you, I'm not sure you would get treated fairly. It's something I plan to talk to his superiors about, when this is over."

There's an argument you want to start then and there, but you're honestly too tired. Telling Detective Gina's supervisor would have as much effect as pouring water on a rock. It looks shiny for a moment, but it grows dull again after some time.

"…I don't mind." You say, bypassing his last statement for now. "I'll help as much as I can."

"Thank you." He says, and he does so with that toothy smile that feels too genuine to be real. "Alright, I'll.. See you tomorrow, L/n."

"See you." You mutter, lifting yourself from the bar as takes his leave.

For once, being alone didn't feel so nice.

🥀

"She turned into a what?"

"Some kind of animal. A really big one. Anyway, I'm just worried she's being targeted. Everything's just.. Lining up all weird."

"Hm.." Fat Gum's voice hums through Kirishima's speaker, and he almost regrets asking for advice. He should be able to handle this on his own.

"And you're sure she wasn't the one that perpetrated the attack?"

Kirishima hesitates with his answer.

He wasn't sure.

"I wasn't there when it started, but I think she's telling the truth."

"You have a big heart Kirishima, but don't let that blind you. You need more information. What did you say her name was again?"

"Oop, someone's asking for me, gotta go. I'll call you later!"

"Alright, be careful--"

-click-

Kirishima sighs, slumping into the small office chair. He hated to lie, especially to someone so important; but he knew that once that name was uttered, he'd get dragged through the coals again.

He hated this.

Most of the time, his heart aligned with his hero work. He'd met so many people, and rarely did he meet heroes or police workers that gave him any inkling that they might be doing something bad, or had previously done something bad.

But now, when he utters that name, everyone changes. They get guarded. Angry, even. Like Gina.

And, he should probably do as they say. He shouldn't trust you, shouldn't entertain the thoughts he has of you.

But his chest always hurts when he thinks about your defeated downward glances. The natural downcast nature of your expression--like you've given up. Your sour voice and sharp words, defensive before conversation even starts.

Except that one moment the night prior.

"It's.. Getting cold at night. I noticed you weren't wearing a jacket."

There's someone else in there, and he knows it. A kinder, happier version that's been smooshed out like one of Gina's damned cigarettes.

Hand pressed into his chin, he glares daggers at the wall ahead. Upon it, a makeshift map of the area this station was in charge of. There's a picture of you and a red pin placed at the corner of the ward where the bomb had gone off. Another pin in the alley where you'd been attacked, and some more of recent sightings brought into the station.

He knew Detective Gina had the same board in his office. He also knew, that he probably shouldn't have his own, nor be conducting anything akin to an investigation on this subject without Gina's direct knowledge.

…He also knows that if he's wrong, if everything goes south, it'll end badly. His reputation with the Commission, the Police Force, and probably even Fat Gum's Agency, would essentially go into the toilet. He was intentionally being indirect and underhanded--words that no one thought to be in Kirishima's vocabulary.

But he was also tired of being held back.

This wasn't like the time he and his classmates had gone to save Bakugou when they were kids, when they were young and weak and naïve. Now, he had the experience, the ability, and even the jurisdiction. It felt like everyone was trying to keep his nose in the dirt, like he just doesn't understand. Like he's not enough.

She's dangerous.

"Well, so am I." He says aloud, realizing the intensity of his grip that had slid up to his hairline. His fingers had become points, digging into the skin above his temple.

"Red Riot?"

Someone pokes their head in through the door to his makeshift office, a clip board in their hand.

"Yeah?"

"Pro Hero Dynamight is here to see you."

🥀

"It's a new gang."

A stack of papers is slapped unto Kirishima's much-too-small desk, pressed into it by Bakugou's thick green and orange gloves. On top, a picture held to the rest by a paperclip.

It shows a picture taken in motion, where grey and black streaks the page. It appears to have been done with a night-vision lens, grainy, but the central focus was still crystal clear. Someone turned away, running from a package on the ground, with a strange symbol painted unto their jacket.

"Another one?" Kirishima asks, standing at the desk's opposite end. "It's like they keep popping up all over the place.."

"This one's different." Bakugou growls, "Most gangs are just a bunch of idiots with quirks that they think gives them an advantage. These have been organized. And there's a'fuckin lot of em too."

"You mean.."

"Yeah. It's getting worse."

There's a tense silence that follows, where Kirishima picks up the papers and Bakugou takes a step back to cross his arms and lean into the nearest wall. Flipping through the pages, Kirishima reads time stamps and reports regarding the same symbol being seen in equipment heists and bank break-ins. Small crimes in comparison to some, given the nature of their world, but even he could make sense of the pattern.

"Someone's stocking up." He says, gaze returning to his friend.

"There's a few bust-ins that include regular grocery stores. They cleaned out the cash registers, but they took cleaning chemicals with them too. That explains the explosives." Bakugou moves around the desk, pointing at locations across Kirishima's map. "Somehow, they're hitting areas at opportune moments and slipping past pro-heroes with ease."

"Do you think they could have a group with specialized stealth quirks?"

"Well, that's just the thing. Every time we've actually come in contact, we haven't seen their quirks. They don't use 'em."

The statement makes Kirishima's brows furrow. "You've made contact?"

"A few times." Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, and Kirishima can tell the subject really bothered him. "We keep losing track of them. It's not a coincidence, I know that. They're hiding themselves from us so we can't get an I.D., and they have to be getting away with some kind of.. Teleportation quirk or something."

Another thoughtful silence. Finally, Kirishima asks the question that had been eating at him from the start.

"…Have you spoken to Midoriya about this?"

Bakugou sighs. A pent up, frustrated breath that he lets out between his fingers as he grips his own jaw. "…I can't."

"What? Why?"

They were rivals for the Number One hero spot, but they weren't stupid. They worked together when they had too, and usually they were damn near invincible. Thanks to Midoriya's unmatched team of sidekicks, he took on most of the worst crime investigations across Japan--just like All Might had when he'd started his organization with Night Eye.

"I… I have a hunch." Bakugou's voice lowers an octave, "Someone knows where the patrols are. At all times. Unless someone is doing something off the grid, I'm pretty sure everyone's patrols are logged and kept somewhere."

"So.. Do you think someone from Midoriya's group is leaking the information?"

"Maybe. They don't have direct access, but the Hero Commission would bend over backwards for him. If his name is dropped, the officials will give them anything. But.. That's not the big reason." He takes a deeper breath. "Right now, he's so far up the Commission's ass that if I say anything against them, he gets real defensive. To the point I'm.. I'm not sure I can trust him not to mention it to them."

"The Commission." Kirishima says aloud, but he's lost in deep thought.

He's thinking about you.

You who had been a young woman trying to become a secret service investigator for the Hero Commission. You, who had tried to out someone in the elite, then ended up being pulled into a court case, ruled over, then kicked out unto the streets with the worst reputation in history.

What if you were right?

The Hero Commission doesn't claim to be innocent, but it does claim to have the best of intentions for helping the people, and in that there is no room for corruption.

Yet, that is exactly what Bakugou is proposing.

"Wait.." Instinctually, the blonde points at him. "You better not be.. You're not thinking about that woman are you?"

"So what if I am?" Kirishima turns on him, more poised than usual. "What if she's right? We know for a fact there were rats in Tartarus. I know All for One is gone now, but if someone really wants change.."

"Then they would start there." Bakugou finishes for him, and he finally acquiesces to the idea. "Have you gotten anywhere with that?"

"…Well," Kirishima looks off, "Now that you mention it.. I haven't been able to get any details no. But she was attacked."

"What? Directly?"

"Yeah. Last night."

🥀

You peer angrily at your reflection.

You were absolutely, positively, NOT looking forward to the Pro Hero Red Riot coming back to your hotel room for some kind of 'talk' that you essentially likened to an interrogation.

You were NOT.

"So what if he's.. Tall. And, bulky. Bulky! Too bulky--he's far, far too big. Of a person." You say, lip curled at yourself. "He's.. Loud. Too smiley, for sure."

The list of half-hearted so-called-unattractive properties dies in your throat. Unfortunately, that hatred turns inward, and instead you pick yourself apart.

"It's just.. Hormones." You try to reason. "I've been alone a good while, that's all."

And what were you going to do about it?

Sulk.

In the main room of the hotel, dressed in nice clothes and wearing more make-up than usual. Holding a pillow in your lap, and looking around at the furniture like it's going to help you vanquish your internal despair.

But, alas, time only drips by.

Unable to eat from the nerves (that are totally not good nerves!) you waste away there on the couch, eventually encouraging yourself to write a few chapters.

It's around noon when there's a knock at your door.

You hop up, thrusting the laptop aside, checking your appearance in the wide mirror set on the wall by the door. Despite everything you want to think, your heart is pounding.

I wonder what he'll look like.. You ponder, as another rap is made at the door. You're standing in front of it; nervous.

You breathe, deep, then pull the latch.

"Hey!"

The first thing you notice, of course, is that big sharp-toothed smile.

The next thing you notice--is that he's not alone.

"What's up?"

You deadpan.

"Uh.. Hey?" You respond, giving Kirishima a look.

"This is Pro Hero Dynamight. He's just here to help." He nods back towards him, but the blonde didn't need an introduction. You were well aware of Japan's symbol of Victory.

Along with his terrible attitude and unmatched combat prowess.

Help. Right. You think sarcastically, and it takes an immense effort to control the scathing look you want to give them both. Instead you turn on your heel, going back inside.

"Come in I guess." You quip, arms crossing over your chest.

At least I'll be going to hell looking my best, you think, back turned to them. Why else would he bring someone as strong as Dynamight? This is it. Either I'm being taken in alive, or he's here to kill me.

You peek over your shoulder as they awkwardly shuffle inside. Their Hero costumes combined with their athletic physiques really made them.. Too big for the room.

"Well?" You ask, voice sharp. "You wanted to talk?"

"Actually.. We were thinking. Lunch first?" Kirishima asks, voice a little quiet like he could sense you were ornery.

"What?" You turn back to them, brows pinched.

"You've been up here since last night right?" Bakugou pitches in, "I heard hotel food is shit."

"Right--and, you've been through a lot. It's the least we can do."

You stare, openly gawking at them. Lunch?!

You motion a hand at them, "With the two of you, dressed like that? We'll be swarmed."

Bakugou lifts a duffelbag you hadn't noticed before. "We're prepared for that. You got a bathroom?"

What is happening--"Yeah. Down the hall.."

"Thanks." And he disappears first, with the door closing behind him.

Now alone, Kirishima seems to shrink a little.

"Lunch?" You ask him, shaking your head.

"Well, you know--" He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Bakugou's been a big help on this case, so I wanted him here, but I also thought that might make you uncomfortable if we, ya know, cornered you up here and all. At least out there you know we won't hurt you." He rambles.

Some tension in you releases.

So they really aren't here to kill you. That's nice at least.

#@chandiewashere #@leahvengeance-blog #@lionheart2318 #@falling4fandoms #@sora-rozu #@kiribakuslilpebble #kirishima x fem!reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x you #kirishima eijiro x y/n #eijiro kirishima #bnha fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

Note

I would have loved if Ironwood broke down a bit during the argument with Ruby. Maybe telling her that he wishes there was a magical solution that didn't get more blood on his hands, begging her to convince him of her amazing plan that will get them out of this, because there's nothing he'd like more then to have a day where he doesn't have to hurt someone because some bastard decided there wasn't enough suffering in the world. "Convince me, please... Please, save me from this choice."

Given the direction the story took the ethics in - AKA: Ironwood’s flimsily hopeful but sacrificial plan = objectively bad whereas Team RWBY’s suicidal lack of a plan = objectively good - I’m rather fascinated with how they animated Ironwood’s emotional state. Meaning, he continually displays emotions that are easy to view with disdain: he’s angry, stern, cold, etc. Despite the occasional nod to how he’s struggling (pinching the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall, coming back with the skin of his arm sloshed off and the whole thing hanging useless in a sling) Ironwood manages to keep it together. For the most part he maintains his calm focus. Any outbursts are quickly stifled. Above all Ironwood doesn’t allow himself to break... which should be an indicator of what a good leader he is. Without fail he has put his own needs/emotions aside in the name of helping others. Exhausted trying to run a kingdom all on his own? Never mind that, I’m so glad you’re here please let me welcome you. Angry that these kids kept such major secrets and strung me along? Never mind that, we have deadly cold to deal with here. I just destroyed my remaining arm? Never mind that, the important thing is Watts is captured. Two of you betrayed me again and are now threatening to attack? Never mind that, I have to go and save what lives I can. It’s not healthy for Ironwood as an individual, but it’s incredibly indicative of how good he is despite not being all smiles and sunshine like Ruby. At least it should be. Instead, the story (furthered by many fans) twists his outward displays into “proof” that he doesn’t care. Ironwood is never allowed to cry, to beg, to tell Ruby outright as you say, “Give me an alternative and save me from this horrific decision” and thus it’s incredibly easy to paint him as someone who is actively choosing to kill the people of Mantle as opposed to someone who is actively choosing to save what people he can. Those two things are not the same, but Ironwood’s animation/dialogue makes it easy to assume it is. A character who looks uncaring more easily comes across as actually uncaring, despite how much their actions contradict that assumption. I brought up in another post the difference between Raven and Ironwood. It’s a conscious choice to have the murdering bandit cry to get the audience feeling sympathy and the sacrificing hero making an unimaginably hard call dead-eyed as he shoots a kid. Superficially RT did a lot in Volume 7 to make the “Ironwood is bad now” ending seem palatable, despite failing to actually write him as a bad person in any way that actually mattered.

However... this is RWBY and things are often more complicated than a straightforward “Media uses visual cues to try and override what’s actually happening in the story” situation. Because this imagined scene where Ironwood looks as scared as he feels, appears vulnerable, lets himself break in an “acceptable” way (that is, not with anger), begs Ruby to give him a magical solution to a currently impossible problem... we got that with Ozpin. All of it. RT wrote his scene in the snow where both his actions and his visual presentation said, “Hey, this is a guy who is heroic and human. He’s doing his best and should be supported through this dark time he’s going through” yet still the show insisted that this conclusion is wrong. We’re suppose to ignore what we see on screen (Ozpin’s status as a primary protagonist, a loving mentor, a hero in the past, then a passive party to Salem’s horrors, then an abusive victim) and his current dialogue/animation (crying in the snow and apologizing) to come to the conclusion, “Ozpin is horrible and we need to ignore him for two volumes.” Like... how? RWBY flip-flops constantly. Vulnerability isn’t enough to generate sympathy (Ozpin). Then it’s suddenly necessary for sympathy (Ironwood). Angry people shouldn’t be trusted (Ironwood). Except when we arbitrarily decide that anger is justified (Yang, Ruby). I’ve spoken at length about the hypocrisy regarding how Team RWBY is written vs. the male leaders in their life, but beyond the very obvious “We get to keep secrets but you don’t,” this extends into how they’re presented emotionally. When Ozpin begs he’s supposed to come across as pathetic. (Why haven’t you solved the Salem problem yet? Wow, this is our fearless leader? We can do so much better). When Ironwood doesn’t beg it’s supposed to be evidence of his cold nature. (Someone who really cared would have shown it more. Any man who can make that decision without sobbing wanted to make it in the first place). And then when those emotions are given to Team RWBY we’re supposed to flip the script again: Yang’s illogical fury is suddenly meant to be inspiring, not evidence of a larger problem. (How dare you question her decision to blindly trust a dangerous figure?) When Ruby collapses sobbing it’s supposed to generate compassion, not disgust. (This poor baby hearing about her mother! Let’s just ignore how this breakdown is a) erased during the Ace Ops fight and b) impacts her reckless decision to fight Salem). Emotional displays and their corresponding cues are all over the place because each character is following a different set of rules. Ironwood simply didn’t have a chance. No matter how he did or did not express his emotions, RWBY was determined to erase his characterization for a simplistic “This plan is The Worst™”) and “He shoots kids now.”

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #drtwit

55 notes · View notes

ma-gic-gay · 4 years ago

Note

A few hours, two kisses, and one nap later, he begins plotting his escape. It mainly consists of signing a discharge form and then hunting down Cyrus. Then, he'll kill him. Fairly simple, and does provide a good distraction from the chaos his personal life has become. His business/mob life has been fairly normal, no new competitors yet.

"What are you planning?" Carly asks, looking up from the iPad she's probably planning Morgan's return from the dead party on.

"How long until I can get out of here?" Hospital rooms inspire him to run very far away from them. They keep him cooped up, they're boring as all hell, and there's really no choice as to who can walk in at any given time.

"Probably tomorrow," she answers and he groans. "It's not the end of the world, Jason. It's one more night in a hospital bed." Debatable. It's a whole twelve hours, minimum.

"Or I could just sign my discharge form now and break out of here."

"No, you need to stay at least for tonight. Break out tomorrow."

"I don't want to."

"Just let them monitor you. Sleep. You won't be able to do much out there anyways. I'm pretty sure the doctors are going to tell you to relax and take it easy, which means taking a short leave of absence. Brando can handle it for a few more days."

"There could be a takeover-"

"Not without any talk. Come on, if I thought there was any threat, I'd be breaking you out of here myself," she reminds him. "Take a nap."

"I'm not sure that's the best decision." Actually, it's more time that he'd be a suspect in Cyrus's murder (that, rest assured, he will commit) and more time Cyrus gets to breathe the same air as him. "Stop the thoughts about it being unsafe because you're not going to be able to do anything. You're recovering from surgeries and a gunshot wound."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing everything," he responds, fidgeting again with the stupid IV. He'll break that thing out of him if that's what it takes.

"I'm sure you are, but stop pouting. Sleep. Take a nap. Enjoy your break from reality for a day or two and just relax," Carly reasons. You know it's bad when Carly's being the reasonable one.

"This isn't pouting, it's captivity."

"No one's holding you captive."

"I'm being forced to be in a room against my will. This could be a hostage situation," he says dramatically.

"Well, as cute as your pouting is, you're spending the night. Take a nap. Enjoy it," she smiles. "Oh, and by the way, you're not killing Cyrus."

There's a lot to take in there but we'll start with the obvious: "I didn't even say I was planning on it."

She rolls her eyes, "You didn't have to, I can see the plan formulating in your mind. No murder. Cyrus will live for the rest of his miserable life in prison without you sending someone to rough him up or kill him."

Sometimes it's a shame how well she knows him. It genuinely sucks sometimes because she can read him like a book. No matter how successful he is at hiding everything from, well, pretty much everyone else, she just rolls her eyes and lets him know exactly what he's doing. Half the time, she knows before he does. The other half, she's informing him it's normal to express your emotions.

"I don't think he should even be able to walk around," he admits, struggling somewhat to voice the hatred he feels for the other mobster. "I've wanted to kill the guy for years, ever since I laid eyes on him. Going after you, kidnapping and raping you as some sort of sick revenge against me was the last straw."

"It was stupid to go after me and he'll pay. For the rest of his life, he'll be in prison. Solitary, you said. He can't run his business in solitary. Cyrus will never be able to hurt me or anyone else again," Carly says, grasping his hand and squeezing it. "He's a piece of shit. I look forward to the day he's in jail, serving his sentence. But it's probably going to be a few weeks."

"Which provides plenty of opportunity-"

"He lives. You're not going to jail because of him, Jason. Cyrus isn't worth it, alright? I don't care if he dies tomorrow. If you go to jail, I'll have to break you out of there myself and that probably won't go too well," she laughs at that. "So, save us all the paperwork and don't kill him. Besides, I confronted him."

She- confronted- "You did what? Carly, that is a man who could kill you and threatened to! He's very much capable of keeping that threat! Did you want to die?"

What inspired her to go confront her kidnapper/rapist? What made her think that was the sane thing to do while he was unconscious in a hospital bed?! She could've died and he can't have that happening because it'd be his fault. It's also such an ugly thought he can't stand to think of it. Carly cannot die.

"I brought guards, I threatened him, I yelled and screamed, I also cried for a while," she summarizes. "And to answer your question, I don't have a death wish. There's children I have to take care of and I'm not done complicating your life yet. I've got at least ten more years left in me."

"You confronted a man who could kill you."

"With guards, Jason."

"That doesn't make it okay! Carly, you can't act like there wasn't a good chance you could've died! You can't reason with people like Cyrus, you can't go in on your own."

"I. Brought. Guards."

"And they could've died too. He took out a whole group of them once, an entire warehouse of the Novak crew."

"You're acting like I didn't know what I was doing! I knew exactly what I was doing and it was either that or wonder if you'd live to tell me I'm being stupid again, Jason. Which choice would you have made?" Carly asks, tears building up in her eyes. No, he's mad, don't start crying. That'll make him sad. No crying, Carly, please don't. "I'm not so unknowledgeable when it comes to the business, you know."

"No, but you don't know how the business works. Things like that, impulsive things, they get people killed! They're the things that cause people to die and not the type you can come back from. You can't be doing things like that and pulling stunts like threatening Cyrus. He has nothing left to lose, which means he has everything to gain. If he can kill you, which is what he wants to do, that'll be a win for him and a final way to get back at me. That's what he wants and you're playing right into it." Jason exclaims. Emotional outbursts are rare for him, which probably made the point more clear. He hopes so. Losing her-

That's a thought almost too painful to bear thinking of.

"I was worried you would die! Jason, I couldn't spend another hour in this room or getting harassed by Sam. I needed to do something, make some statement," Carly argues and he shakes his head. Does she not get it? She could've died.

"And you couldn't go to work at the Metro Court? You had to go and confront a man who wants you dead almost as much as he wants me dead, Carly! It was stupid. You could've died."

"I was safe-"

"You don't get it! Doing that, no matter how many guards are there, isn't safe. I don't care if you had the place full with guards, he wants you six feet under and he wants me even further. What if he shot you? What if he hurt you? What if he killed you?" Emotions just seem to flow out of him like water does down a river at this point, anger and hurt and worry and sadness all combined into one.

"He didn't-"

"Not this time. Next time, he could. You could've gotten hurt or killed or shot at and I'm not going to be the reason for that."

"Well there won't be a next time."

"How can you be so sure about that, Carly? You don't control him. He's his own person; he does what he wants, exactly when he wants, exactly how he wants. And he could've hurt you."

"Every single time you agrees to one of those meetings with him or left to go, seemingly, anywhere, I thought the same thing. He's tried to get to you a million times. But you didn't die."

"I didn't die because I'm aware of the intricacies of the business! You're not and, as much as I'm grateful you're not, I can't have you running around picking fights with people who want you dead, who want me dead."

"Do you want a fake apology?" Carly snaps. "Do you want me to pretend like I didn't know that? I'm all too aware of the fact that everytime I leave the house, I could get shot at and die or that everytime I see you it might be the last time because of your line of work. I am intimately familiar with the anxieties of waiting in a hospital room to see if you're going to wake up or not from yet another injury. You're acting like it's my first day as someone who cares about people in your line of work and you're wrong. It's not. I knew damn well what I was doing and I know you would've done the same if they'd shot me."

Well. He didn't think of that. Anger sort of half drowns inside of him, flopping but still very much there at her beyond dumb move. "You're right. I would've killed him if he'd shot you or hurt you. But that doesn't make that you get to go out and pick fights with him because you're worried. It means you've got to be careful, stay in groups. It means-"

"Don't tell me what I should've done."

"What would you like me to do, congratulate you? Congratulations, Carly, you could've died! You could've died and if I woke up to that knowledge I don't know what I'd do."

"You'd keep surviving. Probably throw yourself into the business even more, to a point I don't think it'd be healthy." Carly shakily says, clearly having thought about it. "You'd tell Donna all about me when she started to forget I existed."

"You've thought of this?" Jason asks, incredulous. "You've thought about what I'd do if you died?"

"When we thought you were gone, I thought about what you would've done if roles were reversed."

There's a solid 20% chance she's pulling at his heartstrings right now to get sympathy and it's working. 100%. She could be completely playing him and he'd believe it at this point.

He hugs her as best as he can in the hospital bed. "I wasn't dead. You're not dead, thankfully. But you can't take risks with your life, not like that. Your kids need their mom. People need you. I'd miss you."

"How nice, I sobbed myself to sleep for weeks because you were gone and you'd miss me." Tugging at the heart, yet again.

"Oh come on, Carly. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah I do."

It's a strange bond they've got (and a strange life he's got), but at least they can count on one thing: their friendship. Hence why kissing and stuff can't mean anything or complicate things. They've been in each other's lives so long, if they dated or something and it went south, he doesn't know if they could bounce back. And that's a terrifying thought, that they could be,,, not friends.

To be continued after I change my tampon and sleep because I'm fucking tired :)

@ryleighjosephine

4 notes · View notes