#I ask to the uncaring wall of bricks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostforwhat · 1 year

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post it post it post it or i'll take all your controller batteries

malcom....think of the children (stardew farm animals) also i guess if i'm doing this @petrowriting hiii i scraped the rest of what i was rambling abt together but it's still rough

The thunder crackles and booms, chasing after Will as he hurries to the stoop of Hannibal’s office.

It’s been a hell of a day.

He woke up before dawn, shivering, standing in his living room with the front door behind him open and off its latch, his legs caked in mud. He had felt the beginnings of panic before he realized the only reason he came back to the waking world was his phone wailing on the nightstand.

It was Jack, of course, no one else would call before the sun rises, even though today, it never did. He had driven through the morning dark and arrived at the crime scene just as the clouds split open and drenched everything. Not ideal for a display placed in some remote forest preserve, the investigators had groaned and hurried, snatching what physical evidence they could before it was compromised.

Will had jumped when Jack asked, not bothering to question how high, imparting what he could divine but there were gaps. Not enough intention to point in any solid direction and he had been stuck there until Zellar protested that the weather would affect the body.

He had tried to jump, again, that time off the ship, but Beverly had asked him to tag along back to the lab to help collect and catalog the larva that had hatched in the disemboweled corpse. Will couldn’t think of any excuse fast enough and grumbled assent.

After all that, he had just needed a little release. A quick stop at a gas station on the way here had easily produced what he was searching for; a soft pack of cigarettes now bulging in his shirt pocket, hidden from the downpour as he ducks under the small awning over the office door.

Will’s early, a good fifteen minutes before his appointment. He could have smoked in his car but then the smell would linger and he knows it would irritate him later, a reminder of momentary weakness and a siren call to indulge again.

There’s a slight problem with this plan, there’s no real shelter offered here, the rain being directed harshly against the building by the howling autumn wind but he can shield it enough to light up.

The filter fuses readily into Will’s lips and he draws his shoulders up, cupping the cigarette and lighter until the red orange glow catches and holds.

The first drawn breath makes his body thud back against the door, exhausted but eased into a slight moment of relaxation. He lets the hand holding the cigarette fall limply and brings his other up to wipe tiredly over his face as he breathes out the smoke.

It never once occurred to him to cancel this session, seeing Hannibal every other week has buoyed him through the worst of his increasingly erratic tendencies. There’s slight shame at how willing he is to use the man as a crutch and at Will’s growing interest in him.

There’s an odd sort of shadow that clings to Hannibal as though Will’s only ever seeing him through a fog, it clashes with Will’s empathy, forcing him to draw blanks or bouncing off entirely in a harmonious echo. It makes Will want to hold him still and try to peel back the politeness, find what lurks beneath.

He straightens, moving over slightly to lean against the brick wall instead of the door, taking another puff and sighing, the smoke weaving in and out of the sheet of rain.

He brings the cigarette up again and freezes when the door suddenly creaks open.

Hannibal watches him from the foyer, his gaze quickly flicking up and down before settling on the cigarette hanging out of Will’s mouth.

He steps out onto the stoop with Will, closing the door behind him and seemingly uncaring of the rain as he turns to face Will, slipping his hands into his pockets and propping himself sideways against the door.

Hannibal tilts his head, the ghost of a smile flitting over his face, “I was wondering who could be haunting my doorway, although, you’ll forgive me if I don’t express any surprise.”

The smell of wet pavement and leaf decay melds easily with the charring scent of tobacco. There’s a half second where Will almost puts out the cigarette in a panic, as if he’s eighteen again and sneaking smokes in the backyard before his dad gets home. There’s a familiar little nervous pitch in his throat that signifies juvenile guilt but he can only stare wide-eyed at Hannibal with the cigarette clamped between his teeth.

Hannibal sees his slight panic, Will knows he does, but Hannibal lifts off the door and takes a step closer. He ventures another when Will continues staring at him like a deer caught in headlights and then the damn man plucks the cigarette delicately out of Will’s mouth and brings it to his own.

Before Will can protest, he flicks a tongue out to wet his lips and slots the cigarette between them, a carefully drawn suck before exhaling the plume of smoke between them. His lips lift in something that might be smirk as he asks, “Long day, then, Will?”

Will’s mouth is still open, the missing unhealthy coping mechanism lost to his psychiatrist, and he can’t find the muscles to snap it shut because it’s one thing for Will to indulge in bad habits but Doctor Lecter? The man who sources his own ingredients, the man whose office is spotless and smells always of cedarwood and vanilla, the retired surgeon? The sight is making puzzle pieces pop out and twist shape, it’s throwing Will off more so than the earlier crime scene, and beyond that, it’s sinfully attractive.

Hannibal’s sculpted lips purse around the cigarette to take another drag, his cheeks hollowing, while his heavy stare stays half obscured by secondhand haze. There’s a practiced ease in the motions and Hannibal’s shoulders have laxed minutely.

Will’s stomach lurches hungrily.

Hannibal looks so oddly decadent and while he always has the faint air of hedonism around him, this is significantly more pronounced. A vision of excess, debauchery poured neatly into a plaid suit and paisley tie.

“You could say that,” Will finally answers, swallowing roughly as he looks to the side and wonders if he could get away with adjusting himself in the shadows of the dripping alcove.

Hannibal smiles pleasantly, offering the cigarette back, caught in the gap of his long fingers.

Will’s hand threatens to shake as he takes it back and fails him entirely when it’s passed over, the cylindrical stick falling to the damp cement.

The smoldering cherry of the cigarette winks out immediately when it hits the wet steps and Will can’t help the slight pout down at it but then Hannibal’s hand is reaching out, brushing along Will’s chest and Will locks up again.

Hannibal is unbothered by his stiffness, simply sliding out the pack of smokes from his shirt pocket and opening them. He draws out another and sticks it loose against his mouth, his lips barely kissing around it to hold it in place as his warm hand comes back to Will’s chest and fishes out the lighter.

Will raises an eyebrow at the soft rasping sound of the metal clicking a flame to life but Hannibal’s movements stay unhurried as he lights it, another calculated inhale before he demands gently, “Open your mouth.”

Will blinks rapidly, feeling his jaw unhinge without his permission.

Hannibal rewards the action immediately, leaning in at an angle as he pulls the cigarette away from his mouth. Will’s heartbeat rabbits, tilting his head in answer, his body moving before he can think it through, his hand reaching out to clamp around Hannibal’s arm as their noses almost brush.

The stream of smoke that unfurls from Hannibal’s plush lips barely makes it into the chilled air, Will gasping it into his lungs with an almost frantic need.

He’s never seen Hannibal’s eyes this closely before. They look like wine in a glass, spilled blood on hardwood floor; burnished and bright. They crease around the edges and Hannibal leans away to offer the new cigarette, his voice a teasing rumble, “Try not to drop this one.”

Hannibal goes to pull away after Will takes the cigarette, successfully this time, but Will tightens his hand around his arm.

Will knows he’s treading a thin line, there’s a boundary they should be maintaining, he’s here for a therapy appointment. But another part of him is more focused on the attraction that’s been festering between them, untouched and pushed aside in favor of what? Professionalism? Like that’s ever gotten Will anything he wants. Would it really be so bad to forget about it? Just this once?

He flicks his gaze over Hannibal’s face, searching and finding something there. Confirmation, maybe, or perhaps he’s projecting but he still tips his head down, eyes peering out through raincoated lashes as he asks quietly, barely above a whisper, “Let me?”

Hannibal pauses, glancing at the cigarette in question before he gives a slight nod.

Will keeps his grip firm around Hannibal’s arm, resisting the urge to squeeze as he lifts the cigarette to his own lips. The wet paper of the filter sticks and pulls when he places it there, the inhale he takes is a dizzying rush, nicotine filling his lungs and burning when Will doesn’t breathe it back out.

He leans back in, closer than Hannibal had ventured, trailing the hand holding him in place up to grasp Hannibal’s chin. Will gently depressing his thumb against Hannibal’s bottom lip, prying open his mouth for Will to access.

Will moves his lips to hover over Hannibal’s, his hand still holding Hannibal’s jaw, and when he exhales the plume, it’s more of a content sigh shared between lovers. Hannibal’s draws in the gifted smoke, his pupils blow wide in the dark and his top lip catches the barest of hints of Will’s bottom lip.

Will’s other hand surges up, cupping underneath Hannibal’s ear, the cigarette carefully pointed away with his first two fingers while the other two tangle in Hannibal’s hair and his thumb smoothes along the start of Hannibal’s jaw.

Hannibal has gone unnatural still in his hold, watching Will with gleaming predatory eyes. Another beat goes by before he murmurs, “Will.”

Will swallows, again, his throat clicking loudly, and his words coming out breathy, “Can I?”

Hannibal doesn’t bother answering, lunging forward and claiming Will’s mouth with fervor, crushing their lips together with a soft moan. His tongue licks the taste of smoke from Will’s lips, asking for entrance as his hands find a bruising purchase around Will’s waist.

Will opens for him immediately, his own groan spilling into Hannibal’s mouth as their tongues stroke against the other, it’s good, it’s better than good. It feels like the rain pelting them has doused him with heat instead of chill and he suddenly wants nothing more than to map out Hannibal’s mouth, to memorize every molar and lick across sharp incisors and he can, he realizes, so he does.

The kiss is rough, the scrape of Hannibal’s shaved chin rubbing raw against Will’s stubble causing delicious stings from the spit slick friction.

Will rears back, not far, just enough to take another drag and share it, before diving back in after Hannibal releases it to fade into the night.

Will feels a quick stab of amusement, his smile curling against Hannibal’s mouth and threatening to interrupt them. Shotgunning cigarette smoke between hungry kisses with his psychiatrist is not how he thought this day would end but he’s a bit enamored with the outcome.

They stay out in the rain far past Will’s session start time, the kiss growing syrupy slow as it prolongs. The urgency is still present but dim in the newfound curiosity, more eager to linger with each other. Hannibal’s hands take to roving up Will’s sides and back, slipping underneath Will’s coat to press his fingertips against Will’s shirt as if he could merge right through it to get to the skin underneath.

Will drops the long since dead cigarette, cradling Hannibal’s head in his palms and tenderly threading his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, caressing until it falls from the swept back style and yielding to Will’s exploratory brushes. He scratches his nails against Hannibal’s scalp and grins into his teeth when Hannibal keens in answer.

When Will finally pulls back, he sees Hannibal’s hair all mussed from the rain and Will’s hands, he sees parted lips that shine red from all their kisses, sees the distant unfamiliar shock on Hannibal’s face. He sees all this and feels such an overwhelming rush of affection. He’s just messed up the perfect picture that Hannibal Lecter presents to the world and Hannibal had let him.

Will hadn’t realized how huge this thing inside him had been growing, every call of his name another bud of interest, every reassurance given unprompted making petals unfurl until his stomach felt fit to burst with vivid thorny blooms. He knows this isn’t something that will fade, if he thought he could only let himself have a taste then he’s more delirious than he originally thought.

Hannibal clears his throat, another uncharacteristic thing for a man so usually well put together, and his voice is notably deeper when he rasps out, “Is that all?”

Will’s chuckles low before he hauls him back into smiling biting kisses, “I can think of a few more things.”

Hannibal nips him, hard, and leans away again.

Will lets him, suddenly unsure, and goes to step back but Hannibal’s hands lock him in place.

There’s a strained silence where Hannibal’s face is pensive before worry bleeds across it and his hand comes up to press against Will’s forehead.

Will frowns and Hannibal returns it, his hand carding back through Will’s hair as he whispers, “You’re burning up.”

Will opens his mouth to reply but Hannibal shakes his head, extricating himself from Will’s hold and requesting, “Let me get my keys, I want to get you checked out.”

Will freezes for the last time that night, his mind coming back online fast to replay the calculated gaze from moments ago. It had looked an awful lot like Hannibal had come to a decision.

There’s more there, strands connecting and overlapping, an epiphany trying to claw to the forefront.

Will cocks his head, licking his lips, before he nods, “Alright.”

He does, after all, want to know what is behind the veil.

#smoking tw #this is so...impulsive #hannigram #hannigram fanfiction #long post #ghost fic tag #SORRY #LOOKS ROUGH AS ALL HELL #copy & paste my beloathed

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 9 months

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WIP Wednesday Things I'm Working On Thursday

It's still Thursday for some of y'all so I'm not calling it 'fuck it Friday', I can still make it 😅

I didn't think I had anything to share this week but then I remembered I have multiple secret projects going, and I only shared a bit from one of them after I did that poll before! So this is the beginning of a different secret project. It's a new fic in the OPCU - a prequel of Mingjue moving to Montana and getting the ranch 😌 (it's...significantly sadder than the main OPCU fics, but it will get better!!)

--//--

The answer to the question, ‘Why Montana?’ that Nie Mingjue has gotten fond of giving is, “Why the fuck not?”

Not that he’s given many people the opportunity to ask it. Of course Huaisang knows, and Zonghui since he’s taking over the company. And he couldn’t just disappear without telling Xichen, either; if anyone outside of his family deserves to know where he’s gone it’s his childhood best friend.

He’s dying, is the thing, and the thought of doing it in his apartment in New York City — where everyone who’s ever known him can watch — is so viscerally disgusting to him that he can’t stand it. Well – couldn’t stand it, past tense.

Before his latest heart attack, he’d never really thought twice about Montana. It’s a state, he knows where it is on the map, and that’s about it. He’s heard before that it’s nicknamed ‘Big Sky Country’, and when he’d woken up in the hospital again, when he’d been told that the rest of his life can really only be measured in months if he’s lucky, he’d thought well. Why not go see it? He can die under the uncaring eyes of dingy skyscrapers and the people in his life taking turns to cry or tiptoe around him, or he can die under more open sky than he’s ever seen in his life, somewhere no one will ever have to watch it happen.

The choice that seemed to baffle everyone else had been perfectly clear and easy to him.

He’d stayed in New York long enough to get his affairs in order, at least, and to get it in writing that Huaisang wouldn’t want for anything so long as the company is still up and running, and to say goodbye to Xichen who doesn’t deserve to have to take care of a dying man on top of everything his uncle expects from him. It had actually all been easier than anticipated, except the part where Xichen had clearly been heartbroken and trying desperately to hide it, and Huaisang hasn’t stopped crying for weeks.

But that’s exactly the problem — if he had stayed in New York, it would only have dragged the process out that much longer, it would only hurt them that much more. It’s better like this, he tells himself as he gets off the bus in the middle of nowhere. It’s better to give them a clean break, to let them start grieving now, so that by the time they hear that he’s actually gone it hopefully won’t hit quite so hard.

Mingjue grabs his duffel from the storage under the bus, pulls a few bags out for the other passengers as well when they seem to be struggling with the weight of them, and doesn’t stop on his way through the little one-room bus station to get out onto the street.

Well, they were certainly right — that’s a pretty damn big sky. It seems to stretch on forever, the low buildings that line the street doing very little to block it from view. Mingjue steps to the side of the door and leans against the brick wall of the station, his head tilted back and his eyes squinted nearly shut against the bright sun, the bright blue — so much to take in, especially after so long spent cooped up on the bus.

It almost feels close enough to touch. He doesn’t try, of course, he’s not stupid and he doesn’t want to be That Guy reaching up to touch empty air in the middle of town. But it’s novel, to look no higher than two or three stories maximum and suddenly there it is, fluffy white clouds and blue that’s never been blotted out by smog and steam and the general miasma of too many people all crammed together like sardines in a can.

He takes a deep breath in and it smells like dirt and the breeze and sun-warmed green things growing. This is definitely better, he thinks. If he has to die at least he can do it in the middle of so many things living.

#WIP Wednesday #The Untamed fanfic #Orville Peck Cinematic Universe #Nie Mingjue

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ladyshivs · 1 year

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If that prompt is open for asks then 8 for Rohid and Chen

Thank you for the prompt!

I was in a 'sidestep days' mood, and I need to iron out more exactly how they may have interacted back then

Fandom: Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden

Characters: Steel, Sidestep (Rohid Chenthilmurugan)

It happened before Sidestep could fully appreciate it. One moment there’s a wall of debris coming straight down on top of them and then next? There’s dust clogging up their mask, enough to make them retch and tug the fabric up just enough to expose. Mouth. Chin dusted with unkempt and prickly facial hair. Gasping in the. Close air. Metal. Flesh. More metal all around them and that’s when they open their eyes.

Half of their mind expected to be pinned. Crushed and trapped in some pocket under the weight of the building façade that fell in on them. Concrete and rebar and shitty decaying plywood and fake brick.

They weren’t expecting Steel. Armor making his already wide shoulders and back next to inhumanly large. Filling the pocket he had created when he shielded their body and took the brunt of the impact clean on his armored back.

A stern, even through the helmet, Rohid could tell, face glared down at them.

“You’re alright.” Not a question. An evaluation. The façade was all that had come off the building. Not a crack in Steel’s. Rohid could see glints of sunlight and the distinctive shape of Sentinel’s shadow pass by through a few breaks in the crumbled ceiling over Steel’s right shoulder.

“I’m alright,” just as blank and uncaring as Steel was. Knee jerk. Ingrained. Fuck. “You good?” because they were not going to sink to his level, they were not going to be an uncaring dick just because.

“Yes,” solid as rock. More than.

“Thanks,” be polite. Be better than him. “That was close,” shoulders starting to inch up. Elbows starting to press into earth. Pressing up. Getting closer to the helmet and...huh. There was a flicker there. Something in Steel’s head that was rapidly and violently tugged back and away into his depths.

“Don’t mention it,” helmet turning away. Of course not. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you give a fuck about me beyond another casualty prevented, eh?

They don’t bite it back in time. “Not gonna be a problem. You feel like moving any time soon, or are you hoping to wait out the fight here?”

The shift of Steel was a highly concentrated earthquake, rubble and detritus falling off his shoulders like Atlas letting the earth down. “Your mask is still up,”

Fuck.

#fhr fanfic #flash fiction #thanks for the prompt!#rohid chenthilmurugan #steel #wei chen

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rosescries · 10 months

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Hello, idk if you've done this yet but since the last ask about the mob skeletons, I've been wondering what are the horror skeletons' reactions to finding their soulmate and if they all share the same one, how do they feel about it?

Well I believe the post you're referencing is actually from an abandoned story. That's not really how the mob skeletons would react to meeting their SOULmate normally, just how they would react in that context. (Mc, their SOULmate, is dead and hanging on by a thin thread that Guns forcibly wrapped around her SOUL.)

But I'll still answer. Just had to say that for clarification.

Grey (Horrortale Sans) is thrilled honestly. He.. honestly didn't think he'd ever be lucky enough to have one, much less be able to find them. He does.. feel a little bad they're stuck with him, but he's still content. And he'd be happy to share, with his brother. Thinks that'd probably be for the best honestly! Not so much anyone else. Sharing with his dad... that's weird.

Lunar (Horrortale Papyrus) would be thrilled too. He shares the same doubts as his brother, but he's better at masking it. He doesn't mind sharing either, he'd be delighted that his wonderful SOULmate has so many people that care for them. But also... he'd prefer it's just him and his brother. Less nerve wracking that way.

Teddy (Horrortale Gaster) is just happy to have someone. He'd probably be a bit clingy, and worried about scaring them, but happy after being stuck in the void for so long. But he'd... pretty much not infer if his sons have the same SOULmate as him. He won't get in their way.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans) is practically in tears, but he probably startles his SOULmate on first meeting. His brother will probably have to explain what's going on to them and why he's basically crowding them. He'd be more than happy to share with his brother, but only him. He'd rather dust his father for real than share anything with him.

Birch (Horrorfell Papyrus) is..... a bit overwhelmed. He's pretty happy and content to find them, but he doesn't actually really know what to.. do. Or how to go about this. He does think they'd be better off with someone else, but it's.. Well, he'll see where it goes. He wouldn't mind sharing with his brother, but not his father.

Brass (Horrorfell Gaster) is ecstatic. He's been alone for so long, he's so happy to find his SOULmate. Someone who couldn't leave, or so he thinks. He will not share however, with anyone. And it's... pretty overwhelming for his SOULmate.

Stone (Horrorswap Sans) is very happy. He feels very fortunate and maybe a bit.. unworthy, but that's just a passing feeling. He wasn't expecting them, but how could he not accept if they're willing too? He wouldn't mind sharing, as long as they make time for him too.

Silence (Horrorswap Papyrus) is in a bit of.. disbelief. He can't believe he actually has one, nor that they'd really be willing to be with or get to know him. He may unintentionally put up a bit of a wall between them. He's not much of a fan of the idea, but he'll share. He'll really only want to with his family though.

Bird (Horrorswap Gaster) is a bit in shock, but also a bit... uncaring? I wouldn't say he isn't happy to find them, but he's not really.. all there? Well, he'd actually find it a good thing that he shares his SOULmate with others. He tends to disappear for long amounts of time, so they'll have others to distract them from his absence.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans) is kind of relieved, but also a little wary. He's definitely going to charm and get to know them, but it'll take a bit before he feels close to them. But he's happy to have found them all the same. He won't share with his father though, he'd rather kill the bastard officially and be done with him. And he'd only be willing to actually share with a select few people, after extensive talk about it. His brother definitely though.

Wolf (Horrorswapfell Papyrus) is really happy, though he may not seem like it. But he'd act so casual that it seems like he expected this to happen all along. He feels incredibly lucky and can't believe this is actually happening. He wouldn't mind sharing.

Wraith (Horrorswapfell Gaster) "doesn't care." He's more annoyed than anything, but mainly by the way he's desperate to cling to them. He doesn't want to care, but he simply does. He won't share either, absolutely not.

Sunny (Horror G!Sans) is absolutely delighted! He's very happy to find them! What a stunning person, and they're his too. What luck! He wouldn't mind sharing them, after all they're so wonderful. Anyone would be lucky to have them by their side!

Briar (Horror G!Papyrus) is kinda shocked. He'll be a confused concoction of distancing himself from them, at least as much as the bond can take, and being overwhelmingly protective to the point no one with even a drop of ill intent will be able to get within a mile of them. His SOULmate will be getting a lot of mixed messages. He'd actually be relieved for them to have multiple SOULmates, especially if one was his brother.

Poppy (Horrorlust Sans) is actually a bit overwhelmed by the realization. He'd likely avoid them for a certain time, as long as he can take. Simply because.. he doesn't know what to do about it. He doesn't know how actual relationships work and there's no damn way he wants to be touched by anyone he doesn't know anymore. But then there's the opposite feeling of wanting them now. He'd be relieved to share them with someone else, mainly so he can figure out what the fuck to do.

Rose (Horrorlust Papyrus) feels pretty much the same as Poppy does. He confused and full of conflicting feels. An overwhelming sense of relief and curiosity, but also a lot of dread and apprehension. He wants to figure it out though, and get to know them. After all, this is the person that was supposedly made for him. They wouldn't hurt him, right? He wouldn't mind sharing either, it'd be a bit of a relief.

Dahlia (Horrorlust Gaster) is actually pretty happy. He's not as reserved as his sons, he'd be pretty happy to dive right in and welcome them with open arms. He's very curious about them, wants to get to know everything about them. He'd be happy to share too, and help his sons get comfortable with them.

#one thing about the gasters is that they're all intensely lonely after being stuck in the void #they're mostly happy to have someone finally #horrortale!sans grey #horrortale!papyrus lunar #horrortale!gaster teddy #horrorswap!sans stone #horrorswap!papyrus silence #horrorswap!gaster bird #horrorfell!sans brick #horrorfell!papyrus birch #horrorfell!gaster brass #horrorswapfell!sans pitch #horrorswapfell!papyrus wolf #horrorswapfell!gaster wraith #horrorlust!sans poppy #horrorlust!papyrus rose #horrorlust!gaster dahlia #horror gaster!sans sunny #horror gaster!papyrus briar

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grokebaby · 1 year

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More notes on Maiju, actually

- Most people kinda think she really just Doesn't Care, per her unfazed attitude and blunt demeanor. And well, she.... Doesn't care, tbh? But that's fine. Don't take her uncaring for apathy or hatred, she's literally just vibing. It's not the negative kind of "Idc and I don't wanna be here, go away", it's the "I'll be fine with whatever, and if I'm not you will know, and I will not stand for it. If I wasn't fine with it, you literally could not make me." kind.

- People call her fearless and that's also true but that is also just, part of her uncaring. She hadn't thought to find danger scary, she's focused on surviving or avoiding it, and if she doesn't, well then her problem is something much bigger than simple fear..

- Does she have a fear response?? Maybe?? You'd think so, at least? When asked what she's afraid of she'll shrug. To her, the question is too vague, irrelevant, or a trap. She's not out to reveal compromising information about herself. You'll have a better time getting an answer if you ask her if she's afraid of some specific thing (most of her answers are No). She acknowledges that she doesn't know everything about everything and thus there could still be something out there she would fear but she can't say that from here.

- As you might imagine it's really hard to get a substantial answer from her, there's rather few things she's able to talk about at length. To be fair, she's also just not very talkative at all. She's kind of a brick wall; stoic, untalkative, not outwardly emotional. She has a balance between formal and polite, and blunt and upfront. If she doesn't have anything to say to something, then she doesn't. Ergo, everything she does say is something she's sure of. Even if that something is "I don't know".

- She is in fact not the usual size for an orc, she's pretty small. Why is this? Who knows. Genetics possibly, but she didn't know her bio parents, so she can't say.

#my ocs #demon oc #character notes #Maiju #Orc oc #She's actually a wonderfully fascinating character actually. Nodding.

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rmwb-fanfics · 1 year

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8 & 18 🍨

I lika lika these ask boxes haha.

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose, and how would it go?

I would write about a cat walking in the rain. The sounds, how he's missing things through the downfall. The feeling of his paws on the cobblestone road. Where he's headed, why he's headed there. How it feels to be weighed down by the water, and what that means to the cat. I honestly think I could write a 5k-word thing for this damn cat.

No action is the hard part here because you can convey a lot through basic-basic action, but it's still action nonetheless. Like, I write silences a lot, and I like going into how people think and why they're thinking about it. Footsteps. Dreams. Regrets. Etc. Those all contain some element of action, technically.

Hell, the cat walking could be considered action. Hmm.

Then I'd probably write about a father sitting on a bench, thinking back on his life and how it made him feel.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

My absolute favourite one doesn't happen for another two chapters BUT I have some others.

I have two (three) that I'm very fond of. So I'll only talk about one of them 😂. It's from Regretfully Uncaring and it's a similarity in description that I got all excited about.

"The magic expanded out around her, taking every brick, every atom, and reshaping it. The rock and charms of the enchanted cellar walls shifted. The ceiling disappeared in a flurry of white flowers. The wind picking them up as they soared out into the night sky." - Chapter 31: New, Crescent, Quarter, Quibbous, Full.

So, in the scene above, (which is still the coolest part of this entire story. Fuck, sometimes I reread it just to hype myself up,) Ginny is breaking out of the Riddle House. Doing multiple impossible feats of magic because she's afraid and distraught. She wants to save Harry, but this is about her. This is about saving herself. She's breaking out of more than just that cell, she's breaking out of the mental prison she's locked herself in since the diary. She's, in some part, accepting what happened between her and Tom, and is taking what he taught her and putting it into effect. It isn't supposed to be this grand heroic moment, it's supposed to shock the reader. You're supposed to feel holy shit, this is really bad because she just killed a man by draining all the water from his body to create a storm to force the world to hear her, to listen to her, and complete the animagus transformation.

BUT I use very similar imagery later with Lily's death.

"And then she was gone. Her body transfigured into thousands of white lilies. The wind picking them up and swirling them around the collapsing mindscape." - Chapter 35: Always

THIS. WAS. DELIBERATE. And I remember my dad reading it (because he reads all my chapters, love you dad,) and he was like, "Why'd you use this again," and I panicked because maybe I just didn't convey the similarity well enough or whatever but then he figured it out on his own and I was like omg bless.

Lily leaving Harry's mind, letting his werewolf bond with Ginny's soul, is obviously laced with themes of coming of age and the whole part of the Hero's Journey™️ where the mentor character dies to let the main character come into his own etc etc. BUT, he's also escaping a prison of sorts. He's leaving the protection of his mother's mind. He can't rely on her knowledge or her guidance anymore. Lily even SAYS this:

"In a sense, she was beyond pleased. Because she'd done her job. She'd accomplished the task any mother would wish to accomplish. She'd raised a phenomenal man. Someone who could truly thrive in this world. She'd brought him to a point where no matter the guidance she could provide, he could still go higher.

He could always go higher."

Lily sees herself as Harry's prison/cage/cell WHATEVER. Whether that's true or not can be debated. I don't think there will ever be a time in my life when I haven't got anything to learn from my mom, but Lily is also like... 22 here, so her insecurities still have room to be relatively naive and childish. The point is, that's what she thinks, and so her fading into a bunch of white lilies isn't just a pun for her name, it's meant to mirror Ginny escaping her prison.

(Also, the fact that Ginny thinks about all the Diary and Ginny x Tom stuff as a mental block, (literally a mental prison) is just another thing for Lily to believe of herself. She lives in Harry's mind, she's HIS mental prison. UGH this story is so damn good if only my vocabulary wasn't horrifically repetitive, and the start was readable.)

#Asks!#Regretfully uncaring

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and-so-he-rambled · 2 years

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An excerpt from the Love and War au, where Kaz, Skylar, and Olive fight the war on Caldera.

(Scene: They have been fighting the war for some time, and are worn down by it. They share a moment of remembrance on the outskirts of a militant camp. Note that scenes may be slightly or wholly different in the fic when it comes out.)

Beautiful Sadness

Time worked weird on Caldera. Dates were hard to keep, and they often forgot events on the earth calendar as they passed. Oliver kept one in the tent, but occasionally he messed up and they’d have to find time to figure it out. Trips to earth were too risky, and they didn’t trust the rebels not to launch an assault the second one of the big three was out of the game. They knew there had to be at least one spy in their ranks, and the tides of the war could turn in an instant.

Today however, they almost knew in their bones. Today was the anniversary of the fall of Mighty Med.

How long had it been? A year? Two? Did it matter?

Nobody had died in the explosion, but things would never be the same and they all knew it, even then. Their home was gone, and even if they rebuilt, it would never feel the same again.

“It’s like the death of someone I loved that I’m grieving all over again.” Oliver pulled his bandana down as they set to watch the suns set on either side of them. The constant storm barely registered anymore, and they watched the lighting crackle in the dimming sky with a bored sort of peace. No matter the storm, is would always be a quiet moment when there wasn’t battle. Peace no longer meant silence or stillness, it meant a moment to breathe.

“I get it.” Kaz set his plasma rifle in the sand as he took his place next to Oliver. Skylar sat on the other side, always bracketing Ollie even if he wasn’t small and weak anymore. In fact, he was the strongest of all of them, but habit died hard.

Mighty med wasn’t a building for any of them. To Skylar, it had been a home when she needed one, a safe space to heal and be a kid for once. For Kaz it was a dream, to see a world he desperately wanted to exist and to be important in it. For Oliver, it was a cause, a place to be useful and escape from the overbearing presence of his mother or distance of his father.

There would be a new Mighty Med one day, a new building, maybe with new staff and maybe with some of the old, but it would never be quite right. Those hallways that they knew so well, the cracks in the walls that never got fixed, and the memories set in every brick and tile.

Skylar had tears in her eyes next to him, uncaring to hide them from the boys who, by now, knew her so well. They had been fighting this war for too long to care about shed tears.

She understood that loss clearly because it was happening again, to her only other home. Her safe space, the place she had been born and that led her to be what she was, torn apart by a stupid war. Jealousy and hate were a disease that ruled her life, and this was just another nail to her coffin.

But she wasn’t alone.

When Mighty Med fell, when they returned to the smoking rubble and had to help dig out the injured, they had been there. When she screamed, a wail so heartbroken and gut wrenching and straight from her soul, they had held her. When she needed comfort, they were there, and when she asked them to help her fight a war that they had no obligation to fight, they abandoned their vengeance to help her.

Kaz sighed, his own mask missing as he puffed smoke into the air, goggles pulled up on his forehead, making his hair stick up at odd angles.

“I’m sad, but…” He got a small smile as he looked up at the storm. “I'm happy that something could make me feel that sad. It makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin' really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I'm feelin' is like a, beautiful sadness.” His voice was soft and melancholy, but he had a smile on his face, one of mischief mixed with the pain.

Skylar smiled, wiping away her tears.

“Isn’t that poetic.”

“He stole it from South Park.” Oliver couldn’t finish the sentence before a giggle broke free, a manic little laugh that he couldn’t stop. The whole situation, this entire war, maybe they deserved a good laugh.

And so they did. They lost their collective shit in a little canyon as the suns set beside them. They laughed until they cried, until they were laughing just because the other was. Skylar didn’t even know what she was laughing at.

Eventually the laughter dissolved into tears, and they shared a moment together of grief.

It truly was a beautiful sadness.

Mighty Med was like an analogy, in a way. They had been different people when they met, young and hopeful. They were wide eyed and ready to face the world together! Now? They were adults. They were soldiers. And when this war ended, they had another to fight back home.

Maybe it wasn’t truly the building they missed, maybe it was the people they had been.

Still, there was a war to fight, and no matter what they would face, they would face it together.

#mighty med #kaz mighty med #lab rats elite force #oliver mighty med #mm #kaz #kaz mm #oliver mm #lab rats #kazimeras #skylar storm #kaziver #skaziver

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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A CHANGE FROM THE PAST ENCOUNTERS, HOW NORMALLY THE BOLD GIRL WOULD JUST REACH OVER, ‘PRINCESS-LIKE’ IN HOW SHE TOOK BEFORE ASKING. At first, he’d hated it. He disliked how touchy she was through reaching out to grab at his hand or clasp her hold like a shackle around his wrist to stop him from leaving. Smaller things, dainty — so very different than his own which dwarfed hers. It’s enough of a reminder he knows he could have just swatted them off or shoved away like he’d done in other past instances.

Hands clapping harshly against his shoulder, hands held his way in greeting, friendly gestures shown through celebratory bumping shoulders after a training session gone well—

He hated being touched back then, even if it was for something so mundane, normal — only being able to stomach any of it when it was violent, aggressive — sparring matches that grew too heated, anger sparking behind his cold eyes, flaring beneath his skin like a raging wildfire, fear chilling his blood when he’d stumbled or faltered, needing to regroup & reevaluate his next move — it was all he’d known. The only time he’d allowed himself to really feel what he did in the moment knowing the other party he’d faced would be too busy parrying for their own life to notice. It bore less of a risk of growing attached in his mind, staying distant, disconnected — ultimately safe.

But she was different. Always had been in the way she’s simply existed as herself no matter the trials faced. While he used to hate how she’d approach him, uncaring of his boundaries, at least in his mind, he’d come to learn that’s just how she was. Like him, that was all she’d known to do to garner affection, to connect in a way completely opposite to him. In a way it’s because of her—

( ‘No.’ )

He stops himself, correcting his line of thought with a small smile as he meets her sights. It definitely was because of her that he’d begun to break down his raised walls, brick by brick, enough to feel again, to learn to try, to be more human in his empathy over bearing a weapon-like mindset. He felt alive, unafraid of that old threat of connection the longer he’d been around her. Learned from her over what he’d been taught since he was young within Garden’s walls enough to willingly reach out once things had calmed down again. Drawing her in close, arms winding around her frame in a loose enough hold she wouldn’t feel smothered — it’s him who reaches out this time after she asks — Squall leans in to bump his nose against hers in a wordless acceptance, lips quirking high enough to reveal the peek of dimples & the private melting of his usual cold stare.

❝ . . . Can I? ❞

❝ Yes. ❞

For all the growth he’d gone through, in learning to accept affections more freely, in working through his own repulsion to it in the past, he’s proud of her for her own share of it. For asking in the more quiet, fragile feeling moments over simply approaching things how she did in the past. It’s a small thing, but he appreciates it more then he can express.

*Send “...Can I?” for my muses reaction to yours asking to kiss them. ➤ @timewilleskapeyou [ ; ] “...Can I?” - rinoa

#╰┈➤ IN CHARACTER.#TIMEWILLESKAPEYOU #➤ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒. ◆ POST FINAL FANTASY 8 VERSE

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denverneumann · 5 months

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fight or flight; a self para

"The park is now closed. Any trespassers will be removed by park security."

The guards came back. They were the same as the previous night, hunting in packs of two, with most of the tributes scrambling to hide lest they end up like Phila, head on a pike in front of the castle. Denver honestly didn't pay them much attention.

Ordinarily she would be glued to a screen for the entire duration of the Games, but the lights and the glamour of the ball and the intrigue of each carnival booth distracted her. Denver was tipsy, colorful drinks flowing liberally. She won a goldfish. She met Montgomery freaking Cannon. Denver spoke with her new friends. Time passed. She danced the night away. Denver caught, from the corner of her eye, the onscreen image of a guard delivering a blow to a tribute's face.

Denver dropped her cocktail, glass shattering silently beneath the din of the crowded room.

"Do you think I'm a fool, Ms. Neumann?"

The pastel gauze of Denver's skirts quickly and easily soaked up the vivid blue of the cocktail, but she paid that no mind, her gaze now fixed on the screen. Her face was beet red and it was certainly from the combination of the alcohol, the dancing, and the heat of the room, but her cheek stung anyway, as though the blush was the aftermath of a slap, delivered by one of two Peacekeepers in a dimly lit room.

Denver'd never liked Peacekeepers. They went too far in their jobs. She'd always thought that, especially as a teenager, following more than one close call with them. But this, this was beyond dislike. The mutt on the screen was faceless, but as anxiety began to ripple through her, Denver could have sworn it looked just like Captain Valorant.

The tribute screamed, and Denver felt tears prick her eyes. It wasn't Farina, she tried to tell herself. This wasn't some payback for sneaking out of the Tower after the Reaping. The guard snarled. Denver was sure she could hear the snarl even as far as she was from the speakers. Snarled just like the captain, and for a second she almost felt his breath in her ear.

Denver kicked off her shoes and ran from the ballroom into the cold night air.

It wasn't long before Denver was winded and uncomfortable. She wasn't used to so much physical exertion, much less so in bare feet on the rough sidewalk. It was too far to go back to her apartment. God, she was an idiot. What had she been thinking? The guards on the screen were not going to hurt her. She was fine.

Slowly, she turned back in the direction of the ball, still hesitating to return when a voice sounded in her ear.

"Are you okay?" the man's voice asked, and Denver didn't think, just reacted. She elbowed the man in his gut and took off running again, ignoring the pain in her gut and whatever dirt and debris was clinging to her feet. Her hands were in her skirts, hefting them up to keep herself from tripping. She was gasping for air, and the Tribute Tower was far closer than her apartment, so that's where she headed, uncaring of whoever saw her in this moment, so long as they didn't try to follow her.

She burst through the front doors of the Tower like a woman on a mission, ignoring the night guards who said she couldn't be there. They must have recognized her from her booth, because the didn't press, didn't try to stop her when she stalked down the hall to the first door she could find.

She thought she'd made it to a viewing room.

It was a supply closet.

No, no no no one no one no one no one. Denver screamed and kicked a mop bucket.

"No one!" she shouted, fists flailing at the exposed brick of the wall. "I wasn't meeting anyone," she said, softer as her hands began to smart from their impact on the bricks. It wasn't helping, and Denver grabbed and shoved at the shelf next to her, tilting it. The room was to small for it to fall over, but as the cleaning supplies fell on top of her she screamed again, and again, and again, until her voice was hoarse.

Her beautiful gloves were ripped to shreds and she tried to kick the various cans and bottles at her feet until she made enough room to collapse in a heap, various chemicals joining the cocktails in ruining her dress.

Denver sobbed, picking up bottles and throwing them the two or three feet to the wall, and then throwing them again when they inevitably came to a stop within arms distance from her. It would be fitting to say she was imagining it was Captain Valorant she was hitting with the bottles, but all Denver saw was red and anger and fear and pain and a damned brick wall and no way out.

Exhausted, Denver found herself leaning against the mop bucket, and cried until she fell asleep.

#self para #135 #135mb #panic attack tw

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ducknotinarow · 1 year

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[totally not Kezzie meaning to send thsi the other day but kinda forgot cause she got mad about work lmao]

Oh Summer, poor sweet Summer, such a shame isn't it? That from day one, you were tainted. Oh? Did you not hear? Your biological mother and father have been named...not that your mother is that important. but your father? Well, he's the leader of the Purple Dragons.

Hun.

How beautifully ironic, that you were raised by the man that Hun hurt the most. I can only imagine how much Casey hates you, now that he knows where you truly come through. Perhaps it's time you go to your true family, considering you never belonged as neither a Hamato or a Jones. Find your place, accept you are a Dragon full on through.

| Anon Ask @aflockoffeathers

Summer was on her way out of the apartment she wanted to go hang out with Ariel, but forgot her cd player on her way out near missing her Dad returning back himself from stepping out, she didn't much of it when Raphael wasn't on the couch still like when she left he might be out on the fire escapes. She dose quirk her lips a little at that, he better not be smoking again. She swears her dad's had awful habits, from Casey living off energy drinks, how they hardly slept properly okay yeah Summer shouldn't be one to talk when it comes to all of that. She was just as bad but hey kids are like sponges so she was bound to pick up on their habits. That thought did make he pause a moment to smile to herself.

She still pays a second to look out towards the fire escapes the window wasn't open however? And was lacking the sigh of a five footish turtle outside. She hums a bit curiously to herself before head down towards the bed rooms. Werid it didn't seem like he was around?

Not till she heard Casey's voice coming from the bed room.

"Ew gross guys, I jus' left." Cleaely having the wrong idea, she tried to walk as fast as she could past the door, hoping not to catch a dingle sound of anything they were up to. She did, and for all of two seconds, she wished it had been what she assumed they were up to in thoer bedroom. Instead though she hears far worse.

Something about her? Light on her feet like sensei sayd as she crypts in closer towards the door. Ear pressed in against the door before stepping back as if something bured her hands fast to reach and cover her mouth so to cover any outburst she might have. Her vision was shakey, her breathing was unsteady, she felt dizzy. She can't stay here is the first thought that came to mind booking it back out uncaring if she's heard now though it seems she may have gone unnoticed. Summer isn't sure just how long she spent sprinting long passing the nears ways to take her towards Ariel hidden place. She found her self needing to stop and set her hands to her knees.

Every breath taken in burned so bad. Not once had she ever cared to learn who they were. She never needed to know where she came from or better said who she came from. But now? Bow it's all she can think like a taunting voice echoing in her mind. Taunting her with the news.

"Hun.." she manages to breath out. Hun was her father.

Of course she knew who Hun was how could she not the purple dragons were Casey's main foe near his whole life summer knew they burned gramps shop and killed him. Knew her Dad spent a life time trying to take them out heck Hun worked for Shredder even! He was up there with big bad guys. He legs felt weak but she figured that was due to how fast she ran as she leaned against the nearest brick wall. Hand set over her chest fuck her heart felt like it might explode given the chance.

She's heard this voice before asking about her parents in the alleyway but now it's voice was chilling.

Hand flew up to her ears trying to block them out, eyes squeezing shut so she would see them. "Go away!"

Hun.

"Don' say 'ih name!" She shouts trying to fight back the why her voice shakes.

Eyes snap open there nothing there but even if there was she wouldn't see it as she slowly found her legs giving out till she landed on the ground. Eyes staring out to nothing just an image of a face she only knew to ever hold kindness to care a look of hate on it.

"....hate me?"

#muse| summer jones #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #table reading || anon ask #ic reply

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coollyinterferes · 2 years

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The sound of frantic, stomping hooves filled the air, along with heavy breathing and whimpering.

Nonono, this wasn’t happening. he was NOT about to start changing in front of so many people. Fear of being hurt wasn’t the issue, no, it was fear of accidentally hurting someone. What if they saw him and went mad? What if his scary appearance made them sick, or terrified, or.. ugh. He needed to stop thinking about it.

Running into the back alleyways, Adam stopped when he believed he was alone. His legs gave out, the morphed goat like features of them making it hard to stand, he felt like a newborn dear.

Huffing and panting from the panic and trying to calm down, a few curses came from his mouth, though in a warbled, distorted version of his own voice.

He’d been preoccupied enough to miss the sound of walking, despite his senses being achingly heightened. What he didn’t miss though, was the paranoid sense that he wasn’t alone.

Looking around, he indeed was not. Square eyes met human ones as Adam stumbled to his hoof-like feet.

“I’m gonna.. go now.. i won’t hurt you- please don’t be scared— I don’t wanna hurt you. just.. stay calm..”

Starting to back away without losing eye contact, Adam wondered if what he said would even mean anything, or if they’d go mad, or— if they’d still try and fight.. god, he didn’t wanna do this right now.. if there was some kinda tech around that’d be an easy escape, but his own dumbass decides to run to the most deserted spot, with nothing but bare walls and cold street floors. Great.

plotted ask/thread 【always accepting】 @mandelasmurray

A rather calm night this one had been so far. The different businesses Speedwagon’s gang had pending for the day had been dealt with and properly taken care of just a while earlier. While the man was slowly working on bettering himself and putting some distance between him and his criminal ways, the truth was that that was much easier said than done. Simply stepping down and leaving was not an option. Not only crime still made part of his income to this day, but it would also be a foolish mistake for him to cut all those ties and nexus he had cultivated over the years. He knew those would remain as valuable in the long run, even after he managed to crawl out of that underworld (if he ever managed to).

There was also the issue of his gangmates. Tattoo and Li were all for bettering themselves, too, yes, but the rest of the men in his gang? Not so much. And while he couldn’t fully call them all ‘friends’ in the same way he would Li or Tattoo, Robert wasn’t ungrateful nor uncaring to simply leave his men to their luck. And certainly not after the countless times they'd had his back, whether it was due to genuine sympathy for their leader or simply as some kind of survival tactic. This was a job, after all. A dishonest and often dirty one, but a job nonetheless. There were also the many enemies and rivals he’d made over the course of the years (first during his time as some hoodlum working his way up as part of a gang, and then when he’d become the boss of the entire place), one too many people who wanted to see him dead. Robert knew already that simply leaving would definitely not be enough to end that bad blood.

Too many things were now occupying his thoughts as he went to kill a little time, hidden in the depths of an abandoned alley downtown, surrounded only by pitch black darkness and a lingering smell of rain from the previous night mixed with soaked wet cardboard coming from the empty boxes that someone had most likely thrown there in recent days. Robert had plans for the night and so he tried to focus on just that. Nothing out of the ordinary, just going out to some pub with his mates to relax a bit. All that was a couple hours away still though, hence his ‘need’ to kill some time until then.

Leaning back against the tall brick wall behind him, he produced a slightly battered pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets and pulled a cig out, letting it rest between his lips as he put the small box back into his pocket and fished for his lighter, finding it only a moment later. The small flame the little device produced was the only thing cutting through the deep darkness, but only barely, as one of Robert’s scarred hands shielded it so he could light his cig. Honey brown eyes slipped closed once that was done in some attempt to let the taste of cheap tobacco be the one thing filling his senses instead; the lighter was put back into its place with trained ease. His head tilted back as he slowly let the smoke out of his lungs. Whatever sense of peace he may have reached in those few seconds that went by dissipated just as quickly as the smoke he’d just exhaled did into the cool night’s air when the sound of heavy and frantic stomping disrupted the silence that had been engulfing the alley.

So much for a peaceful and quiet moment, huh…

But it was not only that. The sound those footsteps made… It was very similar to the sound hooves would make against concrete. Despite the limited lighting inside the alley, from where Robert stood -and aided by the streetlights on the sidewalk outside-, he could see the outline of a person (or who looked like one, at least), collapsing to the ground just as they entered the alley. The evident distraught state in which the stranger seemed to be in as they seemed to struggle to get back up on their feet prompted the blond to come out of the shadows, stepping closer to the newcomer in case they needed some help or something, letting out a “You okay, mate?” as he did so. The rest of his words got caught halfway in his throat as he stood there, only a couple feet short from where the stranger was on the ground. Being that short distance away from the other, he was able to notice the very specific particularities in the stranger’s appearance, leaving no doubt that something was completely off. His eyes widened a tad; thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What the hell….!?” And, of course, his voice doing a wonderful job at conveying the utter shock and confusion rushing through his mind at the sight. Instinctively, mostly as a result of his years in the streets and the supernatural experiences he’d dealt with months prior, Speedwagon's posture became defensive, with the man still keeping the remaining distance between the two intact. The other’s words fell on deaf ears; a natural response after what he’d been through, one could say. Life had taught him in the hardest -and harshest- ways over and over again that it was impossible to trust someone else based on words and “nice intentions” alone. It was also at this time, away from the smells in the alley, that his heightened sense of smell caught up a scent that was definitely not human…

His free hand went on instinct to grab his trusty knife from where it was concealed in his waistband, though he didn’t right away pull the weapon out completely, instead opting to let part of it show. A glint cut through the dark as the light from the street lamps outside reflected on the steely surface of the blade. All this was merely a sign to let the other know this was not an invitation to fight while also making it clear that he was ready to get his hands dirty if he had to. A hint of apprehension in his tone as he let out an otherwise stern,

“...What the hell are you…? Speak up!”

#mandelasmurray #;answered #[eeey~]#[hope the reply is alright!!]#[i went ham with the descriptions to establish some general stuff but pls never feel pressured to match length or anything!]#[also pls let me know if there's anything you'd like me to edit or change!]#;long post

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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

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Trust - John Wick

My Masterlist.

Hurt/comfort, angst, uhh lovers to enemies to lovers kind of?? , x gender neutral reader, x assassin reader

Word count: 3.8k (I got REALLY carried away lmao sorry)

Warnings: Injury, injured reader, blood, canon violence. Not proofread.

Summary: Prompted by the classic "I didn't know where else to go" trope.

I stumbled down the sidewalk like a zombie, leaning heavily on the buildings as I passed by. I clutched my arm to my bleeding side, favoring my ankle that I was pretty sure had been broken. My matted hair clung to the edges of my face, both my hair and my clothes drenched by the steady fall of rain. I shivered uncontrollably, frozen to the bone; a combination of blood loss and the cold rain that soaked into every inch of my skin. I stopped suddenly, breathing heavily. Pain washed over me and I grunted, hunching over and pressing my palm into the steadily bleeding wound.

I straightened up as much as I could before quickly ducking into an alley, allowing myself to sink down to the cold pavement with another shiver. My teeth chattered slightly and I clenched my jaw.

I recognized the area as near the infamous assassin's retirement home, John Wick. My former 'co-worker' if you will. Before our agency had all but sold me off to another they were in debt to. Transfer, was the word they used. I had, against my will, gotten passed around between agencies, somehow ended up at an enemy agency. Every time I tried to get out of it though, I was reminded of my numerous outside debts. The agencies I worked for were the only thing keeping them off of my back.

By then, John and I had both made multiple attempts at killing each other for our conflicting agencies. He seemed to ruthlessly carry out their orders, uncaring that I was his former ally. I was nothing but an enemy, now; and soon, he became the same to me.

After he nearly killed me once, it seemed to dawn on him just what he was doing. He had dropped the fight and spared me, but I didn't know just how long this 'truce' would last. I had been careful to avoid him after that, knowing that crossing his path purposely would only be tempting fate even more.

As I considered the idea of showing up at his doorstep foggily, my hand dropped from the bullet wound in my abdomen, alerting me to the fact I was starting to lose consciousness. I took a deep breath, attempting to bring myself back. I knew going to him would most likely be a death sentence, especially in my current state. He'd finish me off, I knew that much. There was no way in hell the heartless boogeyman would tend to the wounds of someone who had tried to kill him. Former ally or not.

But I was across the city from my apartment, and I also knew if I didn't get help soon I wouldn't make it to see morning. I weakly raised my hand back up to my stomach, barely able to put any pressure on the injury. I leaned my head back against the cold brick, my head swimming, and suddenly felt warm. I closed my eyes, sighing.

The hospital wasn't an option, not for people like me. They would ask too many questions. My apartment was more than a walk away, even uninjured, let alone the condition I was in now. A taxi was out of the question too. Weighing my options, it seemed I had no other choice. I knew it was a bad idea, but I was going to die anyway. If my memory served me right, his house was only a couple of blocks away.

If it didn't? I'd end up dying in some alleyway.

I staggered to my feet, gasping in pain and running straight into the wall, bracing myself against it. I doubled over, clutching my middle and panting as dots swam across my vision. I blinked over and over again, trying to clear them.

I walked unsteadily down the deserted street, keeping close to the building for support. My footsteps echoed in the silence, the busy sounds of the city now fading into the distance.

A few more twists and turns and the noisiness of cars and the wailing of sirens grew louder. I came out onto the sidewalk of a busy street, glancing around. I recognized a street sign. I stumbled to the curb, steadying myself on the light pole and not even bothering to look before I crossed the street.

A car roared up on me, the bright headlights making my head pound. The tires of the Toyota squealed as it came to a sudden stop. I heard cursing before the driver blared their horn. I hastily staggered to the other side of the street, unable to see. White hot pain filled my pounding head.

I stumbled on the curb, sticking my arms out in a last desperate (and stupid) attempt to break my fall. I couldn't muffle my cry of agony as my body came into contact with the unforgiving pavement. I rolled onto my side, clutching my side and balling up defensively. I whimpered pathetically when I felt the wound tear even more at the sudden movement.

Not allowing myself a moment of rest, I feebly pushed myself onto all fours before lurching to my feet. I leaned wearily against the building, gaining a fraction of my sight back. The dots had turned into entire dark spots and the edge of my vision had a sort of vignette to it.

Even through my blurry vision, I recognized his porch immediately. I stumbled unsteadily up the stairs, my head suddenly swimming with second thoughts. I immediately realized what a horrible, stupid idea this was. He would kill me on sight, no doubt about it.

I had been standing in front of the door, finger resting on the doorbell. I pulled away, swaying on my feet, and took a step away from the door. My legs buckled underneath me, unable to support me any longer. I barely had the energy to utter a quiet noise of pain. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The sound of a dog barking brought me back to reality seconds later, along with a man's voice. Both were faint but I was unsure if it was because I was on the verge of unconsciousness, or because they actually were further back in the house. I felt a pang of fear, struggling to my forearms. I fell back down to the porch, all my strength leaving me. I feebly curled into a loose ball in a last desperate attempt to protect myself. I fought to keep my eyes open.

The barking quieted before I heard heavy footsteps from inside the house. The door opened and I flinched, curling my arms around my abdomen.

I heard John's voice and I managed to turn my head slightly. "Are you being followed?" He repeated sharply, his eyes withdrawn and calculating.

"I don't know." I whimpered out pathetically. I coughed, the mere action of speaking irritating my lungs. I wheezed, curling into myself and tucking my chin to my chest.His body language was that of an assassin as his sharp eyes carefully took in his surroundings.

I heard his bare feet hit the floor as he took another step closer to me. A strangled, fearful noise escaped my throat, and one of my arms hastily unwound from my waist to shield my head, as if that would protect me. When nothing happened, I looked up carefully, my head pounding. He walked right past me, down off of the porch. I almost felt..afraid; but not of him. Afraid that he would just leave me here to die. That was somehow a worse scenario to me than if he just finished me off himself. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my eyes fluttering open and shut, watching the silhouettes of small insects flutter around the porchlight. His concerned face came into a blurry focus the next time I opened my eyes. He crouched beside me. I suddenly noticed him tucking something into his waistband, what I could only presume was a gun. I weakly pushed myself back with my arms, panic seizing my chest. I panted, my eyes wide in fear.

"I'm going to help you. Don't worry." His voice was softer now; it had lost its harsh edge from before. That still wasn't enough to reassure me though, and as he reached for me, I flinched back.

"I'm sorry I- I didn't know where else to go." I choked out painfully. I struggled onto my forearms, adrenaline flooding into my veins and giving me the little bit of strength I needed to brace myself up. I somehow managed to push myself into a sitting position. He hovered over me, reaching out as if to help me but not quite touching me. I leaned against the wall, slumping against it in exhaustion. I instinctively crossed my arms over my torso, weakly pressing a hand to my wound. All the energy seemed to drain from my body at once, and my eyes tried to shut against my will. I shivered. My body began to tilt to the side. I made no attempt to brace myself against the concrete, instead embracing it and slowly lying down, curling into a wheezing, miserable ball.

I watched wearily as John hesitantly reached for me again. I flinched slightly when his large hand rested carefully on my waist. I tightened my grip around my wounded stomach, using the last bit of energy I had. His eyes were trained on my face, gauging my reaction. My vision blurred and darkened dangerously around the edges.

"It's okay. You're okay." He promised when I shrank further into myself.

"What happened?" He questioned. I felt his hands begin prying my arms from my middle. I whimpered in protest but I was too weak to fight him. A faint wave of panic washed over me. I choked out a cry of pain when I felt an agonizing pressure on my stomach. I clawed feebly at his hands, blood bubbling in my throat. I coughed.

"Stop." I begged, my legs kicking uselessly. This was it. "Please." I gasped out.

"Sorry, sorry. " He apologized breathlessly. A hand reached up to stroke my cheek for a brief moment before returning to my stomach. I choked out a sob. I stilled reluctantly, my breaths shallow and painful. I knew there was no getting out of this now; I was at his mercy.

"Who did this to you?" He asked harshly, his voice faint. I tried to mumble out an answer but my lips wouldn't part and my tongue swelled in my mouth. My shallow breaths slowed, my eyes fluttering shut. I let myself drift off.

I groaned, rolling onto my side and clutching an arm to my torso. The blankets entangled me, causing me to panic as everything came back to me. I bolted up, immediately regretting it and falling onto my back with a choked whimper.

I heard the door open. I weakly shuffled over to the far side of bed, my face screwed up in pain and my breath hitching in my throat. John rounded to the other side, already seeing what I was trying to do. My pulse quickened, panic clawing up my throat as he neared. I pushed myself back with a weak cough.

His hand rested firmly on my shoulder as I braced myself on my elbows, my body shaking pathetically with each cough.

"Get away from me." I choked out, still attempting to shuffle away from him. I turned onto my side, grasping my stomach in pain with one arm. I fell back on the pillows weakly, winded. I noticed he had sat in a chair by the bedside, reaching for a glass on the nightstand.

I watched him wearily as he offered me the glass of water, my throat raspy and begging for relief.

He sighed. "If I wanted to hurt you in any way, I would have already. Drink. It's just water, I promise."

I couldn't argue with that, though I wanted to. I took the glass from him, sipping at first, hesitant of any weird tastes, before gulping it down. He hastily pried the glass from my hands.

"You're going to make yourself sick." He explained.

"I'm thirsty." I protested weakly.

"I know. Slowly." He said carefully, handing the glass back to me. I took slow sips this time, even though all I wanted to do was chug it all down. My entire body ached and throbbed as I handed him the glass back, falling onto my side in exhaustion. I wrapped my arms around myself and buried my face into the pillow. I let out a shallow sigh.

“How are you feeling?” He inquired, his eyes glancing over my form.

“It hurts.” I mumbled into the pillow.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. I raised my head suddenly, propping my upper half on my elbow.

“It’s not your fault.” I said. “I should be the one apologizing-”

“No.” He cut me off. “No, I mean..I scared you. You were scared of me. You shouldn’t have been, you came to me for help.”

“We weren’t exactly on best of terms the last time we saw each other.” I reminded him, unsure how else to reply. The man I had worked with years ago - the assassin - hadn’t been this apologetic or caring. He had his moments, but nothing like this. It surprised me.

“I know. I regret that.” He sighed, scrubbing his face and leaning forward. He hung his head, his long hair covering his face. He was quiet, but I could hear the gears turning in his head as he thought of what to say. He never had been a man of many words, but I had known him better than anyone.

“I regret allowing you to continue this..this way of life.” He admitted quietly, raising his head to meet my eyes again and slightly gesturing over to me. I could see guilt in his eyes, and pain. Too much pain. So much that it hurt me, too.

“John, it’s not your fault. It’s not like you could have really stopped me anyway.” I gave him a half smile. We both knew how stubborn I could be. I reached over to place my hand over his in a comforting gesture. I let my instincts guide me, unsure how else to act. I had never had to comfort anyone in my life, let alone the formerly stoic and withdrawn assassin.

He flipped his hand over, capturing my cold fingers in his warm palm. I sighed. "You have no idea. I hated leaving you behind.I hated myself for getting out of that life and not taking you with me. You don't deserve it." He said, sucking in a shaky breath. He averted his eyes from mine, staring at our intertwined hands.

"I was too caught up in that world, you know that. I still am. The normal world just isn't for me." I said quietly.

"So was I. I got out of it, so can you. Let me help you." He pleaded. The vulnerable, caring man in front of me was nothing like the one I had worked with years ago.

"I can't. I can't involve you in any of this, you know that as well as I do, John. You're going to get dragged back in." I shook my head. I suddenly winced, inhaling sharply. I laid back down on the mattress, my energy drained. He hovered over me in concern.

"I'm fine." I tried to reassure him. I broke off with a cough, a sharp pang irritating my lungs. I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. I erupted into a coughing fit. Tears of pain welled up in my eyes. I shifted onto my side, then onto my forearms, resting my forehead on the pillow as my body shook with each cough. I felt his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. He said soothing words that I couldn't make out.

As the coughing fit subsided, I relaxed limply into the mattress. I felt him slide his arm across my chest, gently pulling me up against him. I leaned into him, sighing. His body radiated heat compared to my own.

"Thank you." I slumped against him completely, exhausted. I closed my eyes, a feeling of safety washing over me, with his arms wrapped protectively around my injured body.

"I missed you." He said softly, resting his chin on the top of my head. I felt him dip his head down, pressing his lips to my hair.

"I missed you too." I murmured, beginning to nod off. He must have sensed my exhaustion. Still holding me to his chest, he shifted, lying sideways and carefully pulling me down with him. The movement startled me at first, but I quickly settled down, pressing myself closer to him. He laid still as I drifted off my hand falling away from his. Right before I fell asleep, I felt him untangle himself from me, pulling away. I whined in protest.

"Stay here." I mumbled.

"Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly. He may have been a killer before, but he had always been a gentleman, and apparently he had never stopped.

"Please." I turned onto my back, my arm draping across my stomach. Wordlessly, he settled back down beside me, carefully resting his arm over my own and entwining his fingers with mine. I hummed contentedly, falling asleep.

"It's too soon for you to be up and walking around!" John ordered as I limped into the kitchen.

"John, I'm fine. I'm feeling better, I'm healing! It wasn't that bad." I argued, sitting at the island with a wince.

"You showed up on my doorstep nearly dead less than three days ago, scared shitless. Don't tell me it wasn't that bad." He said lowly, turning away from the coffee maker. His face was hard as he sat across the island from me.

"I can't keep taking up your bed forever."

"You're not." I couldn't argue with that. He had slept by my side the past few nights, and they had been the best nights I sleep I had had in years. No night terrors. It helped my healing immensely.

I sighed in frustration. "I have a life to get back to."

"That's not a life." He frowned.

"I know. I don't have a choice." I said softly, looking down at the table.

"You do. Stay with me." He was serious.

"I already told you; I'm not dragging you into this. This is my problem. You're retired, old man." I added jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. In reality, there wasn't a big age difference between us. Life just had different plans. He was smarter with his, while I had gotten too caught up in the underground world; and now, it had caught up to me, and I was going to be forced to pay the price.

"Who's after you?" He asked suddenly, ignoring my attempt to clear the tense atmosphere.

"I can't tell you that." I argued.

"Yes you can."

"...My company." I sighed in defeat.

"Why?" He pried.

"I owe a lot of people, you know that." He nodded, his frown deepening. "Well..that's why I had no choice but to be passed around. That's why I had to leave. Believe me when I say I wouldn't have left you if I had a choice. You were the one person in that world I felt I could trust." I admitted quietly before continuing.

"These people I always worked for, they were the only thing keeping these other people I owed off my ass. If it weren't for their protection, they would have collected their debt a long time ago." I didn't elaborate; I didn't have to. He knew exactly what I meant. "I fucked up on an assignment. Bad. I cost them big time. That's why they want me. My own company is on my ass now." I laughed humorlessly.

"Do you still work for…." He trailed off, not daring to say the name aloud.

"Yeah."

"They're ruthless."

"I know."

"They're ruthless." He repeated. "They're not going to stop looking for you until you're dead."

"I know." I repeated in irritation.

"You can't go back out there." He said softly.

"I told you, I don't have a choice. If I don't, they're going to come looking for me. They're going to come here. I don't want that."

"That's not your decision to make."

"What, do you want them to come here? Do you want to get involved in this?" I spat at him, standing abruptly. I doubled over, gripping the countertop with paper white knuckles. I hissed in pain, curling an arm around my stomach. He was quick to round the island, coming over to me. I ducked away from him.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Sit." He ordered. I backed away from him, stubbornly refusing to follow his orders. I was still swaying on my feet, having just evaded death mere days ago. My body ached, begging for rest.

"Listen." He sighed, softening his tone. "I don't want you going out there. It's not safe. You know what they're going to do."

"I know exactly what they want to do, and I'm not letting it happen. I've evaded all those assholes I owe for the better part of my life. I'm still here."

"You've had people helping you. Covering for you." He pointed out.

"Not always." I argued, slowly straightening up. "And I never trusted them."

"Is that really how you want to live the rest of your life?" He asked. I didn't miss the slow, deliberate steps he took towards me, but I didn't back away.

"It's a little too late for second chances, John." I laughed dryly. "I'm knee deep in all this bullshit. More than that, actually."

"It's never too late." He told me quietly, placing his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, meeting his sincere gaze.

"You said I was the one person you could trust?" I nodded wordlessly. "Then trust me. Let me help you. Please."

"Okay." I agreed softly.

I trusted him. I had never stopped.

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angelplummie · 3 years

Note

I read your Bully stories and honey they were so good *chef kiss* can i request a Bully!Tsukishima😭 please

AND FOR WHAT?

BULLY TSUKKISHIMA X READER

masterlist

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader calls herself ‘girl’, violence, smelly teenage boy that doesn’t know what emotions are, mind break???, jealousy

“Say it again. Slower this time.”

Your hand held over his awkwardly as he pushed you to the wall by your throat, you wanted to move it away but you were petrified. The beat of your heart pounded in your ears. You winced when his finger dug in harder to the bruises that never left because of him.

“Shoyo asked me to be his girlfriend,” you spoke slower slight tremor in your voice, “and I said,” the look in his eyes did not invite you to finish, but finish you had to. “...yes.”His grip on your neck was the threat he always kept when he spoke with you. It must’ve been first year the last time he spoke without threatening you in some capacity, if he even spoke to you at all. One day, he just decided he hated you, and that was that to your knowledge. You don’t know what you did to upset him so much.

His burning scowl deepened and your shuddering exhale was the only sound.

It was quite nice seeing a reaction out of him once in your life. He always had that uncaring, slightly annoyed blank face, if you weren’t so terrified you’d be pissed off. You wanted him to give you a reaction to making you have more sick days than you could rightly justify to your mother. For making you wheeze in pain when you moved in a certain way, sat at a funny angle, breathed too deep. He beat you black and blue. For no reason other than fun. He liked that he could, so he did, and that was your lot. What you didn’t understand was why he only did it to you.

“Why?” he said imperiously.

“He’s nice to me. And he’s handsome, and he makes me happy.”

He scoffed. Drops of spittle hit your face.

“Handsome? He’s half my height.”

“I don’t mind,” you say weakly. It doesn’t matter what you say anymore. You know what you’re getting, you just wish he would just skip the humiliation and get to kicking the shit out of you. You didn’t know why he wanted to scrutinise your love life, you were just his punching bag. He knew you weren’t going to tell Shoyo, so what was the big deal?

“Break up with him.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words catch in your throat.

“What?”

“Are you deaf?” he keeps his cool tone and, to the untrained eye, he’s calm. But you can see he’s seething.

“Break up with him.”

“Why?”

His head retracted indignantly.

“Why? Because I just told you to.”

“But why do you want me to?”

You were getting bold, but this was strange. And either way, no matter what you said, he never beat you harder. He beat you hard, just not harder. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing you pissed him off, that you got under his skin, that you mean anything to him, anything at all. He wants you to know that he’s better than you, that he could not be moved to action by such a lowlife.

He grit his teeth.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

He hit you hard across the face. The sound of the slap bounced off the concrete ground, the brick walls of the back of school. Your cheek sting, but no less than any other day. You held your resolve. He was being weird, it had intrigued you. given you something to think about in the murky haze your life was becoming.

“Why can’t I have a boyfriend Tsukishima? You know I won’t tell him.”

Another slap. This time your head jerked with the impact.

“I just said I’m not explaining myself to you.”

“Why not? Do you want me to be miserable even when you’re not there?”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

“Be quiet.”

You were so tired. Shoyo was the only light in your life right now, you could hardly bear to break up with him. You didn’t want to, not even a little bit. The thought made you sick. You really liked him. He was the first boy to actually be nice to you. He said you were ‘cute’, whatever he meant by that. You didn’t really know what he was saying sometimes, but you liked his enthusiasm. You liked that he was the exact opposite of his stupid teammate. You couldn’t stand to lose him.

But you wanted him to be safe. You didn’t want Tsukkishima to hurt him too. For all his enthusiasm, Shoyo was still quite small. Maybe you would break up with him.

Tsukishima was going to make you lose the only thing that brought you joy. You hated him, but you couldn’t find it in you to be angry. You weren’t scared anymore either, just numb.

You sighed, cheek throbbing, sleepy eyes boring into tsukkishimas eyes. You could see your reflection in his glasses. You looked ugly.

“Do you have a crush on me or something?”, you said dryly.

You were joking. Clearly you were joking. But Tsukishima didn’t seem to think so.

His eyes widened and his brow furrowed with rage. He yanked you by your neck, hauling you onto the ground. He was surprisingly strong for such a string bean, you thought distantly as the impact of your fall shot through your spine, making you wheeze, the wind knocked out of you.

“Shut up!” he yelled, putting his lanky legs either side of you, resting on the knees and bending down so his face was over yours. It was the first time you heard him yell. His face was red and wore the most emotion you had ever seen on him. You were shocked into silence.

That was a reaction and a big one too. The only reason he’d be that insulted by what you said was because... because it was true.

The emptiness behind your eyes was lit by something, if only for a moment. He stared into them, angrily trying to read your mind. Was it just shock? Was it hatred? Was it... disgust?

He grunted and hit you again, this time lighter.

You laughed hollowly.

“Touch a nerve did I? Don’t tell me it’s true, Tsukishima.”

He seethed silently.

It began in first year. You were the volleyball teams manager. You were cool. You were nice. You were cute. Everyone on the team adored you.

His infatuation began 3 weeks after he met you. He didn’t understand it, or like it, not for a second.

It didn’t take long for Tsukishima to realise he could never have you. A person as bright as you could never want someone like him.

So, naturally, he hated you. He hated you for being better than him, a better person than he could ever be, a better student, friend, child, sibling, anything. He hated you for making him feel, making him want. Forcing him want to be close to someone. He hated you for making him want and long and feel, and he hated that you would never ease his yearning, never satisfy his true fantasies.

So he did what came most naturally of hatred. He destroyed you.

Any way he could. Anything he could get his spindly hands on.

He destroyed your body, pushing you to the ground and letting his hurt and fury overtake him. His mind would go blank, and when he came to he saw you, everyday, curled up like a baby, bloody and quivering.

He destroyed your life. Back when you still cared about things, he threatened you with more unless you quit the club. You agreed, and he said good, and walked away from you on the floor again.

He destroyed your mind. The inner workings of you had changed. You weren’t the same, anymore, you didn’t seem to fear anything. You weren’t bright. He wasn’t undeserving of you anymore. This made him feel big, good. After he ruined you, he was better than you. And he couldn’t get enough.

He always felt guilty. Always. The more harm he caused the worse he felt, the imagine of you on the floor, sometimes crying, always bleeding, burned into his retinas forever. Whenever he closed his eyes to sleep he saw the damage he had done to you, and he hated himself, even more than he hated you.

But still he came back for more after you were broken. Maybe a sick part of him just liked seeing you suffer, but really he knew that wasn’t it. He still wanted you. He had decimated any chance of being your boyfriend, he knew that much. If this was the only way to be around you and avoid suspicion, then so be it. Sometimes he wanted to kiss you when he held you against the wall. Even your dead eyes made his stomach flutter. But that would be embarrassing. And Tsukishima doesn’t do embarrassing. He can’t care about things, it’s lame.

Then, when that little shit hinata came bouncing around announcing his and your relationship, he had never felt more betrayed. He didn’t want you to understand why he did this to you but... he thought you’d have some sense of loyalty. He was a man, and he put his hands on your body everyday, doesn’t that mean anything to you? He thought in this way, you were kind of his, he was the one making you suffer and he was the one who could make it stop, doesn’t that mean anything to you? The thing he wanted most (although he scarcely let himself think about it, hid it with rage) was your adoration, your trust.

Your love.

He knows really he has done nothing to earn it, but Tsukkishima was furious at the thought of you with another man, no matter how inferior to him.

“So you do? Really?”

He blinked and remembered where he was, pulled out of thought.

He had to review his options.

He could tell you the truth.

No.

He could hurt you extra and send you on your way.

It was tempting, he was furious right now. But then, wouldn’t that tell you the truth either way? If he told you verbally and walked away, then you’d know it really didn’t effect him. Which was completely bullshit but it comforted him, so he sighed and shook his head, eyes closed casually.

“Fine. I do. But only a little kid would say ‘crush’.”

You cocked your head to the side.

So what did this mean?

All this time... he... you didn’t understand.

If you think about it, it’s quite funny.

There was a brief pause. Until you burst out laughing.

“You are such a weirdo!” you laugh, smile creeping up on your face.

He grit his teeth, but didn’t say anything.

“Can’t talk to to girls, I know, let’s fucking beat her up-“ you continued laughing until a hand was placed in your throat once more.

“Shut up.”

You sniffed, stiflingly your giggles. You thought you’d humour him for the time being, this must be very embarrassing.

“Ok. So what are you going to do now?”

“I said shut up!” his voice cracked, and he wanted to die.

He took a deep breath in.

“Get up.”

He pulled away and you got up, wobbling on your bad leg from yesterday. He stood nonchalantly, hands deep in his pockets, glaring to the side.

“Leave. You better not run your mouth.”

“Mkay.”

You hooked your arm around your bag strap and dragged yourself away. This was what it was like everyday. Dragging yourself through it, living to the next day, and the day after, and the day after.

“And I’ll... I’ll let you be.”

That stopped you dead in your tracks. You trudged to a stop and turned to face him slowly, a disbelieving look on your tired face.

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

You scoffed.

“That would be nice.”

“Alright.”

He stood awkwardly under your shocked studying gaze.

“Well, what more do you want? Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Now this was unexpected. Whatever could have changed his mind so suddenly? If anything, you had assumed things would get worse now that you knew, you assumed he would be even angrier at you. But the truth was, he was humiliated. So unbelievably, unbearably humiliated. He couldn’t stand to see you anymore. You had gone and ruined it. He would have to watch you from afar, torture himself instead of you this time.

You turned on your heel and began to walk away, staring puzzled at the ground. It had hardly dawned on you. He was going to stop. You were going to be free. You could keep seeing Shoyo, it would be like before it all happened.

You weren’t so sure about that, now you thought about it. Maybe everything else could be the same but... you were different. You were hollow now, changed by nearly 2 years of brutality.

Well, you had to give it to him. Tsukishima had done what he set out to do. And as he watched you go, leave his life forever, he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

reblogs appreciated!! @aragon-of-royalty

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