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kominum · 3 years

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semoto (corpse x fem!reader)

4 times you think tuxedo mask!corpse could be yours + 1 time you learn to stop feeding your own delusions

pt. 1 + background info can be found here! please read for context.

basic rundown of classic!sailor moon (anime) lore ‘creatively’ used in this two-part:

sailor moon and tuxedo mask are star-crossed lovers/soulmates that faced tragedy in a previous life.

sailor mars (aka you/reader) had a crush on tuxedo mask’s non-hero persona, darien/mamoru, for a while

sailor moon is the moon princess and tuxedo mask is the earth prince.

sailor moon’s non-hero persona, usagi/serena, bickered a lot with darien/mamoru.

fem!reader // tw: death mentions, bodily injury, unrequited love to the very end, some unresolved tension.

1. “Whaddup, baby?”

Without much reason, you and Corpse trade off calling each other whenever a new monster is defeated. You’re figuring out all of this as much as he is, but he doesn’t have much guidance besides some supernatural force within him. He’s not taking instructions from a black cat and white cat like you and the other girls are who can help fill you in on the gaps -- all he knows is that he’s pivotal to maintaining Earth’s existence, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

But the calls are never about the fights, never about your secret identities. In fact, you’d be willing to bet half your grocery funds that he still hasn’t made the connection between you and your Sailor Mars persona and part of you wants to keep it that way. Sometimes you’re mentally exhausted and just want to forget about the events for the day or night, which is why you usually end up calling him soon after everyone disperses or vice versa. It’s almost instinctual these days, and you wonder how long it’ll be before you accidentally crack.

Right now, the rule of thumb seems to be, “Never trust new flashy shops that open with no warning and have too-good-to-be-true grand opening offers.” This time, some luxurious salon opened up by a famous local hairdresser had been the said attraction. All of you weren’t ignorant enough to believe the sham, but the star of the show had taken the chance to say, “Let’s go scope it out!” when really, she wanted that free haircut. You had called her out on it, but she argued that if anything happened, then perfect, you all could take care of it right then and there. Needless to say, you do not want to be attacked by a monstrous version of Edward Scissorhands ever again. Corpse had made a dark, humorous entrance, a style he’s really adapted to because he knows it pisses Sailor Moon off,

About an hour later, you’re home and bandaging up some cuts and rubbing salve on bruises, phone on speaker and dial tone blaring through the bathroom. You’re addressing the scrape on your knee when he picks up, a low drawl of, “Whaddup, baby?” comes through and your heart stutters.

The girls call you a number of terms of endearment: sweetie, honey, love, dear, babe, queen, but the last person to address you as ‘baby’ with any amount of affection was your ex-boyfriend.

You scoff to hide how flustered you actually are, quietly hissing as you attempt to put some Neosporin on the scrape and catch onto some stray skin. “Are you drunk?” You ask jokingly, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“Drunk? Nah. Tired? Yeah. But that’s always.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s old news. But uh, what’s up? Been a while since we last talked.”

“We talked like...three days ago. You called me, remember?”

“Feels like forever. I like talking to you.”

You wonder if it’s irony or plain, cruel fate that this man will probably be the death of you.

2. “Don’t lay a fucking hand on her.”

It’d been a bad day overall. Lack of sleep compiled on by a growing pile of assignments in addition to having to get your tires checked out for an air leak because your car said, “Not today, honey,” -- everything came together in torrential hurricane and the last thing you needed was to be caught fighting another force of evil.

You’re so tired.

Sailor Moon seems to have all the energy in the world as she dodges attacks left and right, but your muscles are screaming in agony. You’re constantly hunched over and panting, but looking for the right openings to weaken the monster. Luckily, the creature has its back towards you when it dashes over to Venus and you muster everything you have to summon a bow and arrow made of fire, pulling back and making sure your arms don’t quiver.

But at the last second, your lack of oxygen gets the best of you and your flame sniper barely manages to graze the monster’s side and narrowly avoid Jupiter. It’s enough to cause a distraction, but the anger in its glare as it’s directed at you elicits surrender in your heart. There’s nothing left in your bones to help you run or hide, and your knees buckle painfully onto the concrete. Everything else hurts so bad that you’re not bothered by the sediments digging through your skin. Venus is running towards you but she’s not quick enough, and you feel your eyes begin to slip. If this is what death feels like, then so be it. You hope that the girls’ mourning will be short, that they can still complete the ultimate mission, and--

“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her,” an angered, frustrated baritone spits out and you’re torn between laughing or crying. In a separate romantic context, you’d like the idea of wholeheartedly leaving your life in his hands. But in this reality when either of you could die at any moment and the world be consumed in darkness, it’s something you would never wish upon anyone. It’s a different situation than your bonds with the girls.

The pain is enough to send you in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes. But strong, warm arms sit you up, though they’re slightly trembling and keeping you awake. “Hey, you okay? What happened to you? You’re stronger than this.”

“G-great way of telling me, fuckthathurts, that I was...shit today,” you joke, but hiss when you try to move your legs and the deep scrapes scream in agony.

“Take it easy, ‘kay? Or your princess is gonna have my head--”

“Thanks man, but we got it from here,” said princess interjects, hoisting you up with the help of the other girls. “You can go.”

“Speak of the devil,” Corpse chuckles and helps make the transfer less painful, a lot less awkward jostling around. “Look, I saved her--”

“And I said thank you. We’ll see you around,” your stubborn friend dismisses.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Not your baby, piss off!”

3. “I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what.”

It’s soft yet sonorous, deep yet light. Twilight hours are cast high above you both, separated by walls and buildings connected over wires and unseen forces. Technology is the sharpest, double-edged sword you’ve seen and used on this planet, because Corpse has never felt so close yet so far than in this moment. Your mind deludes you further by indulging in believing he’s right there next to you, strong arms holding you much like he did when you were on the brink of unconsciousness just two weeks ago.

Wishing, hoping, wanting. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

The one year anniversary of your ex-lover’s death looms over you on another sleepless, caffeine-fueled night. It’s no surprise when his custom ringtone chimes softly throughout your room during these graveyard hours, but it certainly raises your eyebrows when after a minute or two, he asks tentatively, “Are you gonna go visit him?”

There’s no question as to who or where “him” is. You haven’t been since the funeral, if you’re honest, swept up by work, classes, and your new side job. But Corpse doesn’t know that, and you know it’d be the right thing to do. Maybe it’d help settle the storm of anxiety (or guilt?) that swirls in your gut on a daily basis.

“I think so,” you reply quietly after a moment of silent contemplation, already thinking ahead to what the drive might be like. “He deserves better.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Charming, compassionate, thoughtful, absolutely too good for this world -- the three-letter affirmation nearly slips off your tongue without a second thought. You can’t risk him seeing you, putting two and two together, and potentially forever losing him to his long-lost princess. Selfish delusion creeps through your veins and you fight back the shiver of guilt that runs down your spine.

“I think I’ll be okay. Might be a visit made best alone, but I really appreciate you even asking.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what. Right?”

Warmth. Strength. Oblivion.

“I know. Thank you.”

4. “I don’t have anyone else but you.”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we can’t sleep and have nothing better to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you chuckle into your phone, free hand swirling a pot of instant ramen. “I have better things to do at 3 in the morning than watch The Poltergeist with you.”

“Then go fucking do it,” Corpse laughs teasingly.

“And leave you high and dry? I don’t have the heart.”

“I mean, you really don’t have to--”

“Seriously, I was awake anyways. Just giving you shit.”

“One of these days, you’re gonna fucking regret it.”

Ramen done and lamp on, you snuggle beneath your blanket and start the traditional countdown to pressing ‘play’ on the movie. Neither of you really had the technology to screen share on this Discord call (your laptop is almost on its last leg and your apartment WiFi can be spotty at times), so it seemed better this way.

The next roughly 2 hours are filled with laughter, small jump scare yelps, and quiet yelling at the ignorance and twisted logic of horror movie characters. But towards the end of the movie (and arguably the climax), your eyelids start to droop, body succumbing to the warmth of your bed. The screaming and cheesy, orchestrated music are all background noise as your breathing evens out, shifting in and out of consciousness. Ending credits roll on screen before you know it, and the only think that rips you awake is Corpse’s gentle calling of your name.

“Sorry, fell asleep,” you murmur tiredly and squint at your screen, languidly closing out the window and letting the Discord window take precedence. “Tells you how riveting I found this movie.”

“Should’ve just let you sleep, my bad,” he chuckles. “Thanks for staying up with me.”

“Yeah of course -- I wanted to, just got a little sleepy. Wanna watch another one?”

“ ‘m actually gonna try to sleep. Don’t wanna bother you too much. You got work tomorrow?”

“Not ‘til noon so it’s okay. You sure?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’ve only had like...3 hours of sleep lately. Fucking awful.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You do enough by just letting me call at the fucking crack of dawn, seriously.”

“I’m your only option, let’s be real,” and your voice is a mix of fatigue, humor, and some bitter sardonicism. There’s no malice intended, and you really hope it’s conveyed accurately.

“...I don’t have anyone else but you,” he all but murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully, anxiety and fear and love surging through your lungs. Those words don’t hold the connotation you desperately wish for, but what matters most is that he knows he’s not alone and you’re not the only one he’s got. You verbalize as such and he only hums back in a façade of agreement before wishing you a good night.

And sometimes, while you do know that your girls have your back and that you love them to death and would take a bullet for them any day, there are nights where you really do feel the same.

That you have no one else but Corpse.

5. “He was never yours.”

There’s nothing you hate more than psychological monsters. You’d probably take physical pain over mind games any day because at least, it’d heal faster to some degree, or there would be a more surefire way of minimizing symptoms. But sometimes, there are days when the egotistical chess players of hell come to wreck havoc on the world, and you get lost in their trap. It’s annoying, a pain in the ass, and affects you a lot more than it should at times.

This particular instance makes you want to quit. It makes you, Sailor fucking Mars, guardian of the planet of fire and passion and perseverance, leave all of this behind right here and now. You’ve never hated yourself more for feeling so weak.

You’re not sure what to call it -- altered dimension, distorted reality -- but all you know is that you and the princess are kept in separate cages hanging from an endless ceiling, labelled as baits for tuxedo mask/Corpse to come. The enemy lets you both stew in the confines of the metal, watching with glee as your partner attempts to cut through the rails with her tiara and ultimately fail. It seems they’ve thought of everything because you’re not their #1 enemy today. Or maybe you are. You’re not sure anymore, even as they launch into villainous speech.

“Nothing brings me more joy than watching you lose all your energy to fight, both physically and mentally. I’ve seen all your dreams and wishes. Nothing’s more fickle and double-edged than love, no? We shall see who the prince really belongs to.”

Mention of the prince has you snapping your head to meet the enemy’s eyes, slowing squinting as they catch yours and begin cackling like your demise is racing at the speed of an oncoming train. Your princess looks confused, but dread is heavy mercury filling your veins because you know, you know, your best held secret is coming to fruition.

“What the fuck are they talking about?” She hisses across the void.

“I don’t know,” you lie through your teeth, eyes flicking toward every corner of the cage now to find a way out. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen, much less happen at all.

“Are they talking about Corpse?”

“Is there any other prince they’re referring to?”

“Do you always have to be a smartass with me?”

“Somebody’s got to,” you allow yourself a slight reprieve of laughter. It’d be dumb to try to set fire to this thing, knowing you’d only burn yourself in the process. Your exorcism tags also have no use and you can hear the clock ticking down in your mind.

“Think it’s pretty fucking rude to keep a couple of girls in cages, not gonna lie,” a baritone voice cuts through. It sends temporary sparks of relieve down your spine. Perhaps you’ll have a fighting chance to get out of here.

“Welcome, welcome! I’d like to get straight to the point, but maybe we’ll up the stakes a little bit before you answer my question,” they tease cartoonishly and you want to roll your eyes.

“Is this a fucking test--”

Both you and sailor moon yelp as the cages drop into a miraculously (or not) appearing large body of water, but still hanging just above the surface so you have enough air to breathe. You look out and down to see how deep this pit is, and though it might be some elaborate illusion seemingly defying all laws of physics, you see nothing but descending darkness. You don’t even have to hear the question to know what the enemy is going for, to know that they’re trying to hit you where it hurts the most, and you loathe how cliché and goddamn unfair this whole situation has turned out to be.

“So, dear prince. Pretend that the fate of the world depends on the princess. Before you are just two girls you know and care for, stuck, captured, and on the brink of drowning. You may only save one. Who would it be?”

It’s fucked up. Corpse seems stunned, perplexed by the question. “What the absolute fuck is this? Just let them go if you had an issue with me.”

“Quite frankly, I have an issue with allof you, so this is only fair. Now, what’s your answer?”

Corpse catches your eyes first. Is it from the water that your eyes seem to be brimming with unshed tears? Is it stubbornness or defeat in the way your hands clench around the cage bars?

And this is why, once again, you hate enemies who strictly play mind games. Confirmation that Corpse would never love you the way you do him, knowledge to the princess that she’s the source of your deepest unhappiness despite the bickering friendship, realization to Corpse that the girl he’s treasured so dearly and maybe unknowingly kept as a bit of a placeholder was doomed to love him -- pain on all of you, lashes and scars on what was once believed to be unbreakable bonds, as soon as the villain explains it all with sick glee.

“Do I have to give you an answer?”

“If you don’t, I’ll really consider drowning them since I honestly wasn’t before.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Ah, just to make things a little more interesting -- I’m aware you and the princess speak regularly outside of all this.”

They what? This was certainly news to you.

“And?” Corpse asks somewhat defensively.

Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. Please don’t--

“Say Mars, don’t you enjoy those late night calls with him, too? Though I must say, meeting in a hospital while your ex-boyfriend is having life-altering emergency surgery seems rather morbid in its own respect.”

You don’t have to look at him to know and hear the gears turning in his brain, the villain allowing this brief silence to let everything sink in. There’s a disbelieving whisper of your name, your real name, but he’s cut off from saying anything more.

“You have 10 seconds.”

You know the stories. You know the couple’s tragic end in their previous lifetime. You know that as much as the princess denies feeling anything but annoyance towards Corpse, she looks forward to seeing him. There’s a certain softness that he treats her with, different from the platonic affection that he showers you in. You’ve lied to yourself for too long.

The countdown has no chance to finish when Corpse spits out a name that’s not yours, your eyes squeezing shut to fight back the tears that threaten to flood over. Everything disappears and you land on your butt -- a quick sweep of your surroundings registers two things: Corpse running over to your princess and the villain standing proudly at the chaos they’ve created. It’s instinct that has brings your powers to surface, arms and fingers quickly notching a fiery arrow with pinpoint aim at the imaginary target on their head. “Move!” You yell at the two and they scramble to gather their bearings and avoid your rage.

They don’t run or cower. The maniacal grin only grows wider and more sinister and you’re this close to screaming expletives.

“Hurts, doesn’t it, to know that he was never yours?”

It’s the last thing they say before you release the arrow, watching with no remorse as they burn and disintegrate. When the dust disappears and the dimension shifts back to some abandoned building with an exit, you run.

You run until your lungs burst, until they scream over the aching of your heart, until your costume dissolves and you’re finally buried under the blankets. You turn on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and only allow notifications from a select few important numbers.

And maybe you’ll keep running. Maybe you’ll go off the grid. Maybe you’ll let your voicemail inbox fill up with unheard messages, apologies that you don’t and never will deserve.

But the love you feel and cherish will never fade. It’ll run alongside you; a bright, burning star, forever bittersweet--

Forever out of reach.

#corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x fem reader #corpse husband angst #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband

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ravens-rambling · 6 years

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No caffeine for Virgil

A/N: This may or may not be another stupid self-insert nnaahhhhhh..... Honestly, though I know a lot of people picture Virgil drinking coffee but like come on won’t all that caffeine make him even more jittery and anxious??? Or idk at least that's what I picture.

This is my first time writing Remy so hopefully, he’s somewhat in character?? And hey some October love!! There isn’t enough Toby content yet that I’ve seen so here ya go!

Inspired yet again by @sanderssidesspook prompt challenge!!

summary: When Remy wants Virgil to try out a seasonal drink he wasn’t expecting the consequences. Luckily his boyfriends are there to take care of him while his caffeine high goes down.

WC: 1,919

ships: Romantic LAMP, Platonic Sleepxiety, Romantic October X Remy (Idk what the ship name is called rip)

warnings: sensory overload, self-deprecating thoughts, anxiety

Tag List: @punsterterry @frostedlover

"Remy are you sure about this? I've never tried Starbucks before and the last time I had caffeine-"

"It's fine babe don't worry about it. There isn't much caffeine in those lattes anyways. You'll be fine! And these are to die for I get them every fall." He winked at him through his sunglasses, "You'll love it trust me."

Virgil still wasn't sure about this but he didn't speak his thoughts up again. After all, he didn't want to upset Remy or anything they've only been hanging out the past few weeks. What if he accidentally messes this new friendship up? Nah, and who knows maybe he will really like this beverage and he finds out he was acting stupid all along.

But of course, he has to be him, he was nervous, to say the least. What if he reacts to caffeine the same way as he did last time? It took him quite a while to recover from that caffeine high of course though that was years ago maybe he's over that by now?

He's told his boyfriends about it once when they were first starting their relationship. Patton had thought that he liked coffee since he always needed something every morning to wake him up. Course he took one sip from the black coffee and spit it back up he had to explain with flushed embarrassed cheeks about why he can't have that much caffeine.

He thought they would laugh at him or tell him that's stupid but to his surprise, Patton apologized repetitively while Logan explained that it's not that weird that he can't have it. Rather it's quite normal for his condition. He hasn't had a lick of coffee since that time and before that for years.

To distract his nervous thoughts he glanced over to the barista who was taking down their orders and looked at his nametag. He did a double take.

Wait, was this guy's name actually... October???

He must be more nervous than he originally thought. But as he looked over to Remy he rolled his eyes as he could clearly see him flirting with this dude. Of course... He can't take him anywhere without him flirting with somebody.

Once he got his orders taken and they were waiting for their beverage he could hear Remy giggling from beside him, "Did you see his name was October? Who would name their kid that, ya think?"

Virgil smirked playfully, "Should you say anything though? What sort of name is Remy anyways? And why were you flirting with him! He's not that cute."

"Aawww! Is my cutie pie Virge jealous? Ain't that the sweetest thing ever!" He playfully giggled.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "Oh whatever you know that's not it. Why do you have to flirt with almost everyone you meet?"

"Because girl everyone's super cute and they need to know it. Including you. But you're already taken so-"

They heard their names being called and Remy pushed himself forward pass the cluster of teens waiting for their coffee and grabbed their drinks not before Virgil saw October winked at him causing him to groan out loud. And as Remy came over he had a plastered smirk on his lips as he held up his drink showing a number and a 'call me soon-Toby' written on the cup.

"And now I have a date for that Halloween party. Easy as pie."

Virgil raised up an eyebrow as he took his latte, "Didn't you have like a billion numbers already?"

"Well yes but he was super cute and he had a goth undertone to him. Did you see those piercings? He could even match your goth look, pumpkin."

Virgil rolled his eyes, "You just like him cause he has a weird name. Which by the way that's properly not his real name who knows he might be some murderer trying to hide his fake identity or some shit."

They exited the large store it taking extra long to get out having to dodge and weave through the cluster of teens and Virgil took a deep breath of the crisp cold air before looking down at his drink. Well...he can't say no now. He took a sip of the warm liquid and shivered before his eyes lit up. It was..delicious!

He turned towards Remy with a bright grin, something that doesn't appear on his face quite so often, "This is amazing Remy! You were right I love it!"

"Told you, girl! Now let's go to that store before we head out I need a new scarf."

It didn't take long before Remy was bursting through the door of the four boyfriends apartment trying to be as quiet as possible thanks to Virgil's pounding headache. Thankfully he didn't have to call out to the others as they were all in the living room but when they saw the state Virgil was in they came rushing forwards.

Virgil had jumped as the door was swung open and hit the wall though with not that much force and he was shaking and sweating even though it was cold outside. He flinched at every movement either he had made or from around him. He kept on complaining about a raging headache and couldn't seem to sit still at all.

He was about to open his mouth when the others rushed forward and immediately bombarded him with questions.

"Virge, why are you shaking what's wrong?"

"My Emo Nightmare are you cold?"

His anxiety was spiking up as the seconds ticked by before they even had arrived home. He felt bad that Remy had to drive him here and that they had to leave early at all. Then seeing their worried expressions and their loud questions making his headache worst he could only shake his head his hands going to his ears to try and block everything out.

Their voices immediately stopped at seeing that and Logan took a step forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Virgil? Can you look at me?"

Very hesitantly and slowly he raised his head looking to Logan's face. His breathing was becoming harder as his chest kept hurting him. God, why does everything hurt.

Without looking away from Virgil Logan asked, "Remy? What happened?"

Remy was silent this entire time, Virgil had thought he left honestly, he seemed nervous almost unsure if he should intervene or not when he blinked at Logan and shrugged, "I don't know... He was fine until we hit the last few stores then he just started shaking?"

Logan squinted his eyes his fingers curling around Virgil's sweaty face and him leaning into the cold touch before he mumbled back, "Did he eat or drink anything weird?"

At that Virgil shuffled his feet knowing that Remy would tell him about the latte. Would Logan get mad at him for drinking that? Would he yell at him for being stupid and illogical?

He shut his eyes as he heard Remy voice up, "We didn't eat anything though we stopped at Starbucks why?"

"Did he get anything?"

"I had him try a latte. Though why would that cause him to freak out like.." Virgil could hear his sweater ruffle, he must be motioning to him.

He heard multiple intakes of breath as Patton mumbled, "He can't have caffeine, kiddo. It heightens his anxiety. He told us even a small amount of it can make him jumpy.."

A swear, "He had the entire thing... I'm sorry I didn't know he tried to warn me but I thought he was just joking or something. I'm truly sorry."

Virgil was stiff as a board as he listened to their conversation he was waiting for everything to explode, he was waiting for yells to be thrown his way. He knows he's a fuck up and he's not sure if he could take it from them. Or from Remy to call him a freak.

He heard Logan's voice speak up again still holding his face, "Somebody get a water it'll help it flush out the caffeine."

A rustle of movement which sounded more like a rather loud and instant movement causing him to jump a bit. Logan shushed him as he gently pulled him into a hug and placed a hand into his hair rubbing gentle circles into his skull.

"You don't need to apologize, Remy, you didn't know. Is he going to be okay Logan?" Roman's voice this time.

"Yes, he will be. That was properly too much for his system to handle but nothing a few hours can't fix."

"Remy, would you like to stay for a bit? We could all watch movies together? It was going to be a movie day anyways."

He heard Patton say as Logan moved him to the couch settling him on his lap so he could curl up into his chest.

"Oh no, I don't want to intrude on this love fest. I've already done enough damage as it is. Hey Virge?"

Virgil glanced up fear spiking through him for a second.

"I did have a good time girl. I truly am sorry. Maybe same time next week but this time no caffeine how does that sound?"

Even though it hurt to even move his head he gave a nod and a smile. "S-Sounds great..."

Remy gave his own smile and finger guns before waving to the others and making his leave. Virgil made a mental note to apologize to him later, he did feel bad that they had to cut their time short cause of him.

Though it was a painful few hours as he kept jumping at any loud noises and his entire body kept hurting despite any position he tried to move to, he couldn't say it was the worst ever. He at least had his boyfriends surrounding him, taking care of him and just being there made him feel slightly better. Plus Logan didn't move at all which was nice as his chest was a rather good pillow and breathing in his scent was comforting, to say the least.

While he recovered they followed up on their plans and watched some movies, thankfully Disney moves that he's seen a billion times so he didn't have to pay too much attention to it, and the sound was turned down almost all the way with the subtitles on. That helped his headache at least.

Logan knew exactly what to do to relive his pain as best he could even if that was rubbing his neck or head or mumbling sweet nothings to him. Roman kept holding his hand and rubbing it in circles while Patton laid his head on his shoulder an arm lazily wrapped around him. They all wanted to hold on to him despite his shaking and restlessness. Anytime he had to get up to relieve his hyperness often all of them came with him to keep him busy, or really so he doesn't hurt himself he was for sure. But even so, it warmed his heart knowing that they cared for him.

Even though he properly wasn't a blast to deal with and he kept expecting something bad to happen but it never did, they were always there as they will ever be.

After what felt like decades he drifted off to sleep being held in the comfort of his boyfriends as his caffeine high slowly deteriorate down. He knew he was safe in the arms of his boyfriends as his dreams were full of softness and warmth and finally, happiness.

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here-there-be-drag0ns · 5 years

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It's A Good Kind Of Madness

The first thing Curtis saw when he when he stepped into Midnight Caffeine was her. She was leaning against the decorative bookcase in a tank top and ripped up jeans. She was shivering. Of course she was. Sandy Hollow got cold after sunset and the sun had set hours ago. He wondered why she didn’t put on the flannel shirt tied around her waist.

She looked up when the bell above the door rang and his eyes met hers. She seemed to stand straighter. He pulled out his earbuds and looked away, choosing instead to approach the tired-eyed barista behind the counter. “Small coffee, one cream, two sugars,” he requested. The barista nodded and tapped a few buttons on his screen, then silently moved away to busy himself at the coffee machine.

He spared the girl a glace out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him. He looked away.

The barista put his coffee down on the counter. Curtis passed over the cash and took a seat on one of the plush chairs.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His psychology test tomorrow was going to suck. He’d been running on six hours of sleep for the past three days. Staring at the ceiling for hours was getting boring.

When he blinked his eyes open again, someone was standing in front of him. The girl he’d seen before lowered herself into a chair across from him. He startled, but she didn’t seem to take notice.

“For 10 p.m. this place is busier than I would have expected.” She said nonchalantly.

Curtis paused for a moment and looked her up and down. He realized that although she was wearing makeup, it didn’t coat her face the way most girls he saw wore their make-up. Her brown eyeliner accentuated her deep blue eyes. And her hair was dyed similarly. The end of her braid – swept loosely over her right shoulder – faded from brown to a brilliant navy blue.

He gathered himself and smirked. “You must be new in town. Welcome to Sandy Hollow, a town full of insomniacs,” he swept his hands around the shop, gesturing to the clusters of people around them.

She laughed. “I’ll fit right in, then,”

Curtis chuckled. “I’m Curtis,” he said extending a hand.

The girl tilted her head down almost imperceptibly. Looking up through her eyelashes in a way that sent shivers down his spine, she took his hand. “You can call me Ava,”

“Alright, Ava, what brings you to Sandy Hallow? We’re not quite a touristy place.” He asked, mulling over her word choice. Was her name actually Ava? Or was it just a name she gave people until she got to know them?

Ava shrugged, humming. “I’m checking out the campus for this coming semester. Switching colleges.” She waved her hands in the air. “Change of scenery and all that,”

Curtis nodded and sipped his coffee. “I can’t tell you much about the scenery, but Jordan University is pretty good.”

Ava furrowed her brow. “Are you new here too?” She asked.

“No, I’ve lived here my whole life. Why do you ask?” He said, confused.

Ava’s mouth had dropped open. The look she gave him made him shift in his seat. He dropped his eyes down to the coffee in his hand. He took a sip and met her incredulous gaze again.

“You’ve lived here your whole life and you never explored?”

Curtis shook his head.

“Why not?”

Emotions swirled in his gut, clichés he’d tried to explain before, a feeling he couldn’t put into words, an explanation that he could. “It just… doesn’t feel right to do it on my own. Exploring is something that I want to share with someone else, if that makes sense,”

Ava nodded, threading her fingers together in her lap. “It does.” She stood up and stuck out her hand. “Come on,”

Curtis blinked dully at her hand for a moment, his brain sluggishly trying to process what was happening. “What?”

“We’ll explore together,” she said.

“Together,” he said, nodding. He smiled and took her hand. She hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go then,”

The street was dark and quiet under the moon. A few houses had lights on, but most windows showed no signs of activity.

“So what do you study?” Ava asked, hands in her pockets. Curtis could see her fighting back shivers and was tempted to offer her his sweatshirt but she didn’t seem like the kind of girl to look for clichés.

“Psychology,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve also got a minor in creative writing,”

“’Colorless green ideas sleep furiously,’” Ava murmured.

“Noam Chomsky,” he said with a jolt. Eyebrows raised, he looked to her and saw her smirking back.

“Also a psychology major, but I have a minor in songwriting.”

“Written any hits yet?” He asked curiously.

Ava laughed. “I’ll get back to you on that one,”

“Okay, okay,” he snorted. “So what’s the plan here?”

Ava paused and seemed to think a bit. “You said this is a town of insomniacs, right?”

Curtis nodded. “I did, but it was a bit of a general statement-”

“I want to see how busy it is downtown. It’s…” she flicked her wrist up and tapped the screen of her smartwatch, “almost 10:30. I’m curious,”

He considered downtown Sandy Hallow for a moment. It wasn’t much, just a slightly more business-oriented couple of streets in the small town, but he could think of a few stores that were probably still open. “Okay, let’s go,” and he took off running.

He heard her shriek but she was laughing, and so was he. She caught up to him quickly with long, fluid, powerful strides and his breath caught. She was intimidating and beautiful; a lioness chasing her prey. He started to notice the lean muscles in her arms and realized they must be the power in her legs too. She was almost overtaking him and yet she didn’t seem anywhere near out of breath. Beautiful, he thought again, beautiful.

The colorful lights of downtown painted the pavement a myriad of colors. Curtis slowed and doubled over panting. She jogged back toward him, having overshot by a few steps.

“You,” he wheezed, “are fast,”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ava said with a smirk.

Curtis gestured vaguely at the storefronts around them, varying in lights on or off. “Where to?” he asked. He was curious to see where she chose to go.

She set off on the sidewalk ahead of them, pushing past several groups of people, swinging her hips and her head held high. Despite having lived his whole life in Sandy Hollow, Curtis felt as if she were showing him around instead of him leading her. “There,” she said, pointing at the music store across the street. The light was on and he could see various instruments in the window.

He crossed the street with her, thankful for the lack of cars on the road at this hour. Most people walked after 9:30, anyway, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Ava was nearly pressed against the glass windows of the store. Her eyes were blown wide, a grin on her face as she examined the guitars set out for display. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

Like you, Curtis thought.

“We can go in if you’d like,” he said instead, drawing her attention to the ‘open’ sign hanging on the door. She was inside before he could even realize she’d moved. He laughed and followed her inside.

She was walking slowly between guitar models, running her finger around the edges, plucking a string and watching it vibrate before moving on to the next one. Finally, she stopped in front of a pretty acoustic guitar. It was a warm golden brown with an etching of leafy vines crawling up the front and decorating the fretboard. She picked it up and turned it in her hands so that she held it as if she were playing it. Then she put it down and checked the price, nodding.

There’s no way she’ll buy that now, Curtis thought. He was proven wrong a few moments later when Ava purchased not only the guitar, but a gig bag with backpack straps, and a notebook.

“How did you afford that?” He asked incredulously. As a college student, he could barely afford rent. He would never be able to buy a guitar.

She shrugged, adjusting the straps of the bag. “I do gigs outside of my usual job. I have some money set aside for treats like this.” She seemed to ignore his stare. “So, to the desert?”

Curtis leaned back on his elbows, smiling. Ava was playing her new guitar blissfully and her voice was just as beautiful as she was. Her eyes were closed and her lips quirked up into a smile around the words of the song and he could not look away. Even with every star in the sky visible against the darkness, he could not stop watching her.

She paused and scribbled something down in her notebook, open in front of her crossed legs. She brushed away some sand that had blown onto the pages. There wasn’t too much sand as the deserts nearest Sandy Hallow were more rocky than sandy. Currently, he and Ava sat on an overhang that looked out on the rest of the desert.

“Your song is beautiful,” he said softly.

She smiled and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, pulling it out of reach of the breeze. “Almost. There are some adjustments I need to make.” She closed the notebook slowly, leaving her pencil between the pages she had been writing on.

“What about you? You have a creative writing minor, don’t you?” She asked. “Have you written anything?”

Curtis paused. The last time he’d shown people his poems they’d thought he was crazy. Ava, though, might not. In fact, Curtis realized, she was the most likely person to give him some actual feedback. He nodded. “Some poems,” he said, pulling his phone out and opening one of his poems.

She took the phone gently and read through it. Her face remained passive as she read and he felt his heart quicken its pace. What if she didn’t like it? He shifted forward to sit in a mirror pose to her.

Finally, she handed him back the phone. “It’s very good. Provocative.” She said, tilting her head. “Your word choice is incredible. It painted a clear picture while also leaving some of it up to interpretation. All I would say is that it almost sounds like you wrote it with a Thesaurus.”

Curtis pursed his lips. He decided not to tell her that he had. She didn’t need to know that. Definitely not.

“Maybe switch out a few – not many, just a few – of the more complex words for a more common synonym.” Ava tapped her lips. “You know, you could probably make a song out of that. We could perform it,”

Curtis smiled. She’d given him useful feedback. It felt so good to hear someone actually talk to him about the poem rather than around it. He laughed. “Perform that? In Sandy Hallow? They’d think we’ve gone mad,”

She laughed and leaned toward him. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but it’s a good kind of madness.”

He hummed in response. “Maybe it is.”

Ava didn’t pick up her guitar again. Instead, she shifted to lean against him. He could almost feel her shivering. He cautiously put his arm around her, giving her time to tell him not to. She didn’t. He pulled her closer and tipped his head back to stare at the stars.

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thedistantstorm · 6 years

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A SteelPoncho Dawning - Part 1

A Dawning romance featuring the Commander and the Clan Steward, their feelings for each other coming to a head during the first Dawning celebration following the Red War, featuring Lord Saladin, city food, eventual smut, and a whole lot of pining.

Just before he adjourns the Consensus, Commander Zavala says, “A reminder that Lord Saladin will be arriving next week with the intent of hosting the Iron Banner through the Dawning. I would remind everyone that with the Faction Rallies, Crucible, and Iron Banner all inevitably inspiring competition that we remember what this time of year is about. Dismissed.”

Per usual, Hawthorne is waiting for him when he exits the hall. Usually, one or both of them are too hyped up to do anything productive after the hostilities that typically consume these bi-weekly gatherings of the powers that be. Especially with her adjusting to her new role, specifically the responsibilities, protocols, and expectations that came with, Suraya had taken to asking the Commander questions or voicing her concerns afterward, and he found that such discussions were best done either over a meal, or at the very least, some caffeine. The walk down to the City usually gave her some freedom to think through her questions and, more importantly, get some fresh air after spending hours locked up in the Vanguard Hall.

It was getting colder, scant flakes of snow breezing by as they fall into step together. They are almost to the area of the Tower reserved as residences for the Vanguard and any other high-ranking officials who chose to keep a flat atop the wall when her steps slow and she looks at the swirling snow around them.

“It’s a long walk down there,” She says to him. “You want to ditch the armor and put on something that actually keeps you warm?”

He laughs. “I will be fine, Suraya. The Light is useful to Guardians for more than battle.” He puts a hand on her cheek. She is frigid. He is pleasantly warm.

He feels the grumble she makes through his palm before he removes his hand. “Okay, got it. Awoken furnace.” She rolls her eyes in mock irritation. “Must be nice.”

“I learned very little about solar abilities aside from this,” Zavala hums back. “It certainly has its advantages, but burning hammers do not interest me.”

“I thought it was a maul?”

He shrugs. She giggles. “Of course,” He backpedals, suddenly self-aware of his flippancy, “All of the Titan orders and abilities are of equal importance, do not get me wrong-”

She nudges his forearm with her elbow. “No need to explain it to me, Zavala. I am the last person to be passing judgement. But, speaking of judgement,” She segways for as much for his personal comfort as for sake of moving the conversation along, “This meeting was way lighter on it than the others, thankfully. Anyway, I would like to know more about Saladin-”

“Lord Saladin.”

“Yeah, him-”

“No, I mean Lord Saladin. He was my teacher, Suraya. He is deserving of your respect.”

“Sure. Lord Saladin,” She agrees, with a roll of her eyes that he'll never break her of, “Tell me about him over lunch. Especially stories about both of you. Also,” She leans over to him conspiratorially, falling out of step with him to do so, “This diner we’re going to? It has amazing pie.”

Of course it does, Zavala thinks. That earns her a laugh as he shakes his head. “I'm beginning to think this is all a rouse to coerce me to take you for a meal. Do you actually have things you need to discuss?”

“Please. If I insisted on doing this every time I needed help, we’d go at least three times a day.” She ducks her head, giving him a sheepish smile. “I actually have questions I save up, since, y’know, I haven’t been alive for more than this age of the city and you’re ancient enough to remember most of them - I think.”

He rolls his eyes. “I might be old, but I’m not senile, Hawthorne.”

“Most of the time,” Suraya teases, brown eyes sparkling with a playful glint. She pulls her hood closer to her neck to abate the cold, and his eyes narrow on rosy cheeks and a pink nose. Ignoring her jibe, he can’t help but wonder if she would prefer a scarf in periwinkle or red.

He enjoys spending these afternoons(and the occasional evening) with her, following meetings of the Consensus. Over the last few months since her appointment as Clan Steward, he's had the distinct pleasure of watching her come into her own. He'd asked her to stay and monitor the clans because she had owned them since they were civilian flags waving in the refugee camps at the farm. She excelled at bringing people together, at inspiring unity amongst the Guardians as well as the general population both inside and out of the walls.

Hawthorne, for all her reputation as someone who flew off the handle - there were rumors amongst FOTC about what she could do with a frying pan that she always brushed off(which meant they were true) - was surprisingly poised in Consensus meetings. She'd come in humble but firm, and eager to debate things for the benefit of her people - all people. Instead of screaming when someone voiced something that contradicted her beliefs, she backed up cool statements with fact.

Secretly, he liked to believe he had rubbed off on her - a little. Of course, the last time he'd thought that in a meeting, she'd thrown an absolute fit at something he personally had said, refused to meet with him afterward, and come back hours later to debate with him until the early morning hours.

He remembered fondly taking her to breakfast once they’d finished going round after round of mental warfare. She’d apologized quietly into her tea for the myriad of insults she’d volleyed at him, saying that she was only trying to do what was best for the clans and their people. They looked to her, and she was beholden to defend their best interests wherever possible. His reply was to convince the waitress to bring her the largest slice of apple pie, fresh from the baker's oven, and make her promise never to change.

It is undeniable that he values her opinion, her spirit, her company. She is invaluable to him. A friend. It has been quite some time since he’s truly had a friend. Despite technically pulling rank, they regarded each other as equals, she being his civilian counterpart in all but name.

Not that he needs a sounding board. Certainly, they discuss major issues, and he’d be remiss if he denied ever asking her opinion on items he’d been pressed to decide for the City, but theirs was an easy camaraderie.

She would spend hours reading up on the City’s history, that of their enemies, the Factions, and even the occasional recreational story he’d send her way when he felt she needed a break. In the same way, she’d know exactly when to clear her throat, pull the tablet out of his hands, and force him to take a break - even if she cleverly disguised it as needing him to tend to her until he was out of his own head. His Ghost was certainly pleased with the arrangement, Zavala’s mental health had never been more in hand.

It had probably been a century - maybe more - since he’d looked forward to more than just work. His work was important, irrefutably so, but he found he had a clearer resolve with more anchors than those constantly being forced upon him by political bodies who would see him rip himself apart to please all their whims.

He found himself eager to set aside his reports in lieu of spending quiet evenings lost in crochet while she thumbed through a book, journalled, or tended to Louis. More likely, she’d do all three with the day’s crucible matches playing quietly in the background, take-away containers scattered across one of their kitchen tables if she was feeling adverse to cooking. And oh, if there was something that was incredible about Suraya Hawthorne that was not humanity or clan related, it was that the woman could cook.

At first it had come as a surprise, her casual refusal of more enthusiastic plans for a night spent in his company, sometimes exchanging few words and almost always ending in him waking her to send her home or to her bed while he saw himself out. The rough 'n tumble vibe others so commonly appointed to her could not be further from the truth. She drank very little, hated large, boisterous taverns, and kept a small circle of friends. There was something comfortable about their arrangement, their companionship. Something that came from not discussing, not making it any more than it was.

...Something that was easily avoided, but fierce and strong, exhilarating and new. He refused to really think about it, for fear of ruining the balance they’d managed to attain - that stark contrast from their original interactions during the war, at the Farm. He knew he trusted Suraya Hawthorne with his life, she’d certainly saved it a time or two. He knew in his heart of hearts that she too trusted him implicitly. That was enough. He dared not consider that soft edge in her glances, the occasional brushes of fingertips(or arms, or legs, or her head on his shoulder), their ridiculous ability to wind up on the same wavelength despite varying experiences.

Zavala is pragmatic, rational. He knows better than to look at things through the lens of what he wants, and instead to see them as they are. But so much of it really seems to be the same, no matter how he looks at it. Which is why he refuses to think about it, and instead cherish whatever interactions they have, for what they are. No reading into it allowed.

Even if it meant ignoring that warm, tight feeling in his chest at her successes, or the lack of air in his lungs when she'd look at him a certain way - the way that said she sees him as a man who is more than a title or an immortal or a weapon or a leader, sees beyond arcing fists and too-bright eyes into a soul that is old and new all at once. Or, even still, holding her heartbreak close to his own when she failed, allowing her space when all he wanted was to hold her close and chase it away.

No, he absolutely couldn’t think about it, because he’d be in way over his head, and everything would change.

#destiny fanfiction #SteelPoncho #zavala x hawthorne #suraya hawthorne #commander zavala #the dawning #dawning romance #mutual pining #feels and fluff #steelponcho dawning fic #my writing

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aliciapvlmeiro-archive · 6 years

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WILMINGTON TASK 002. - QUESTIONAIRRE

ARE YOU A WILMINGTON NATIVE? IF NOT, WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? TELL US ABOUT YOUR CHILDHOOD.

With her long legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded on her knee Alicia flashed a proud smile. “I grew up on my father’s family estate over in Forest Hills. You could say Wilmington is in my blood. Both of my parents grew up here, as did their own, and so on and so forth.” Her mother, Gabriella, was a Herrera by birth and her family had their hands in multi-billion dollar businesses. Her father, Rafael, currently served as North Carolina’s State Attorney and hailed from a family deep in politics. “My grandfather was the Governor for awhile, so he and my grandmother still live near Raleigh, and I have a few uncles and cousins scattered throughout the bureaucracy in Cuba where my family originates. The rest are stretched out between here and Florida. I’ve been to visit, but this has always been my home.” She’d never go as far as to call it a happy childhood, but to the public eye it certainly looked like a perfect one. “At the risk of sounding spoiled,” Ali tittered out a laugh, “growing up I had everything I could ask for.” Aside from two loving, supportive parents, of course. “Toys, ponies, pretty dresses— if I wanted it I got it. I’m not sure any kid would complain about that when they’re young.”

WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP LIKE WITH YOUR FAMILY? DO YOU HAVE SIBLINGS? A LARGE EXTENDED FAMILY?

“I’m an only child, and I think that’s why parents have always been… extremely invested in my future. Even now they’re never too far away.” How else could they micromanage every aspect of her life? “Our family is pretty large, though. Not so much in Wilmington these days, but in general.”

DESCRIBE YOUR HIGH SCHOOL EXPERIENCE.

“When I started high school I transitioned from Cape Fear Academy to New Hanover High.” Even now, all these years later, the memory of her parents’ faces when she demanded the switch made Ali snicker. They were appalled at the idea of their daughter ‘slumming it’ which, of course, thrilled her to no end. “I wanted a change of pace and scenery. I was bored mingling with the same kids I’d known since we were in diapers.” That younger version of herself believed things at public school would be different, that wealth would stop being the topic of discussion at every turn, but she was wrong. More than half of the students resented her for her lifestyle, and the rest only took interest in hopes that they could benefit from it. “It was--- challenging at first, but I took the changes in stride and made it work for me. In the end I guess you could say I was part of the quote unquote popular crowd. I was on the cheerleading squad, had plenty of friends, and every weekend there was more than one party to choose from. I kept my true inner circle small, but I’ve always thrived in the spotlight.”

WHAT WAS YOUR YEARBOOK SUPERLATIVE? WHY WAS THIS SO?

Alicia didn’t have to think very hard to remember. “I was voted female ‘Best Dressed’ in my class, as well as ‘Most Likely to Seek World Domination’. Honestly, I think they hit the nail on the head with those.” One look at her was all you needed to realize she took her appearance very seriously. Unless she was hidden away at home taking care of her son Ali always dressed as if the world was watching. In some ways, with her father’s public career, it kind of was. As far as the rest? “I don’t make it much of a secret that I’m ambitious and want the best life can offer. You could also say I’m pretty tenacious when there’s something I want. I don’t give up very easily. I won’t settle for having enough, I want everything.”

WHAT DID YOU DO AFTER HIGH SCHOOL? DID YOU GO TO COLLEGE? IF NOT, WHY?

“Immediately after graduation was a rough patch for me. There were some things going on that... changed what I anticipated for my future.” Leading up to the commencement ceremony she had wild dreams of ditching her parents, letting go of their fortune, and running off with her boyfriend. She’d paint to make money on the side, as it had always been her biggest passion, and no matter where they ended up they’d be happy because they were together. Unfortunately, those plans were destined to only remain a fantasy. When she got her diploma in hand and searched the crowd Jaxon ( @jaxnmartins ) was gone. The months between that day and the start of her freshman year weren’t pretty.

For a second her head drifted back to the moment she realized he wasn’t waiting, forcing Alicia to swallow. That day changed everything. “In a way I guess I always knew where I’d end up. My father all but planned it before I was even born.” Like nearly everything else in her life. Banishing the waves of bitter nostalgia she curled into a smile, focusing the conversation on the reality of what came next. “I stayed in North Carolina and got my law degree through Duke University.” Pursuing her love of painting, even with so much natural talent for the arts, was unacceptable to her parents. That wasn’t a career--- it was a foolish hobby. She’d follow in her father’s footsteps or else everything they provided would be ripped from her fingertips. Without Jaxon it was a future she couldn’t bear to face. “It was a lot of long over-caffeinated nights studying, but Duke is only two and a half hours away so I was able to visit home all the time when I needed a bit of a break.”

WAS THERE AN EVENT IN YOUR LIFE THAT GREATLY IMPACTED WHO YOU ARE NOW AS A PERSON?

Several, in fact, starting with her switch of schools as a teenager. It was the first time she openly challenged her parents rule, as well as the first time she got a taste of what life could be like outside of their little bubble. The second was graduation when she realized escaping their world wouldn’t ever happen. Something in Alicia changed in those weeks leading up to college. She stopped fighting the inevitable and let herself mold to the image they pressed so hard for her to maintain. In a way she could argue that the next life altering event was seeing Jaxon again, because it inspired a years long secret relationship that ultimately revealed her father’s true colors, but she wasn’t about to admit any of that. It unveiled emotions that left her vulnerable--- weak.

No, the only real thing she could mention that was both safe and expected was the birth of her son. “January 26th, 2018. It was the day of my car accident and the first time I got to look into Wyatt’s eyes. It was two months ahead of schedule but I’d never seen anything so perfect in my life. I wouldn’t wish having a child in the NICU on my worst enemy, but every sleepless night and worried thought was worth being able to hold him when he was strong enough to leave the incubator.” Smoothing her hands over her lap Ali paused, deciding what else to offer. “I--- never expected to enjoy motherhood, I’ve always been married to my career, but it changed me in ways I’m still discovering. I finally have something I care about more than myself.” Excluding Jaxon, Wyatt’s father, but there were days when even he hadn’t conquered her own self preservation instincts. With Wyatt it was different. “It also brought about the end of my engagement to Callum ( @calxmckenzie ),” not many men appreciated learning their fiancée was having an affair, “but while that was messy it was... good for me. Being on my own again forced me to take a step back and look at what I really want. What really matters. I’d grown too comfortable in routines, but now everything is different in my day to day. I’m starting fresh and that’s an incredible feeling.”

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? IF NOT, DO YOU THINK THAT IS POSSIBLE FOR YOU IN THE FUTURE?

This was perhaps the question she dreaded answering the most. Ali’s mouth went dry and her palms began to itch. How was she supposed to respond to that? The expected answer was yes. She’d been with Cal for two years, after all. But when she really thought about it she had to admit that while parts of her loved parts of him, she’d never been truly in love. It was harsh, but true. There were days when Alicia worried she wasn’t actually capable of falling in love. Her parents weren’t any example of what that might look like, and they groomed her to separate her emotions from her actions. Everything they taught her about forming relationships had been rife with selfish intentions and manipulative games.

When she tried to picture what the genuine kind might feel like the only thing that came to mind was calloused fingers brushing back her hair in the early morning, or thumbing streaks of paint from her chin. The sound of a gruff voice singing soft and low to soothe away a child’s sleepy cries. She recalled the rapid hammer of her heart and the anxious flutter in her veins when the sound of heavy boots stepped through the door--- the all consuming terror that knocked the air from her lungs when she thought she might never hear it again. After a moment she realized what she was picturing was Jaxon. Even after fifteen years of a back and forth relationship neither had uttered the words ‘I love you’, but she knew when she thought of him he felt like home.

Was she in love with him? Ali wasn’t confident her grasp on the subject was strong enough to say for sure, but she couldn’t picture a world without him in it. Weeks ago she’d been forced to and it made her physically sick. "I think,” she slowly began, wetting her lips to stall while she struggled for an answer that didn’t give much away, “that everybody hopes some day they’ll fall in love. And I think that if you do, if you even think you have, you should do whatever it takes to hold onto it.” It might be your only chance. She’d lost her opportunity with Jaxon but didn’t realize until it was already too late. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that there are things that don’t have a price. You can’t just go out and buy it at Neiman’s if you lose the original. Whatever you find to replace it might make you happy, but it’ll never be the same.”

WHEN WERE YOU BORN AND WHAT IS YOUR ASTROLOGICAL SIGN? DOES IT INFLUENCE YOUR LIFE IN ANY WAY?

“I was born on August 16th, 1989.” When it came to astrological signs she didn’t put much stock in that sort of thing, but reading what the stars predicted for her made Ali laugh. The only thing that dictated her life was herself--- her and her parents, at least. “According to all of the magazines I’m a Leo. I definitely don’t make choices based on what that means, but it’s interesting to see how I match up to the stereotype. Apparently they’re a passionate, dominant group who have expensive taste, love being admired, and hate being ignored. When it comes to myself I can’t say that’s wrong.”

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE TIME OF YEAR? TELL US SOME OF YOUR FAVORITE ACTIVITIES TO DO DURING THIS TIME.

“I’d probably have to go with summer. It’s a busy time at work, but perfect weather for taking vacations and the seasonal menu they come out with at Tavern on the Green is phenomenal.” Alicia was about as indulgent as they came. She appreciated any time of year that brought with it leisurely down time and an excuse to buy a new wardrobe to fit the season. “My family has a boat over in the Taylor’s marina, so sometimes I’ll take that out for a day with friends or I’ll catch an early morning run over at Blue Clay City Park. This year I’m excited to take Wyatt there and to the beach. Naomi ( @naomi-owens ) and I just bought this to die for property an hour outside of town so I have a feeling we’ll be spending a lot of time there now that the interior decorator is finished making her final touches.”

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TEN YEARS AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE HOPED TO ACHIEVE?

“In ten years I’ll be a full partner at the firm.” That wasn’t a wish--- it was something Alicia stated as a fact. She was already a junior partner and had no reason to believe the rest wouldn’t fall into her hands within a decade. “I’ll be squeezing PTA meetings with Taylor ( @taylor-carson ) in between Pilates and court, and Wyatt and I will be nicely settled into our new home. He’ll be on the youth soccer team, so that will take up my weekends, but I’ll always make time to still see my friends. Weston ( @weston-taylor ) refuses to go away as it is,” she paused to smirk, “and Annabel ( @annabelxw ) and I already make a great team when it comes to the charity circuit. By then maybe Alana ( @al-martins ) will have chased after culinary school and opened her own restaurant, so we’ll make weekly visits there for dinner so he can see his aunt in her element, and Naomi will probably wrestle him into a piano lesson or two just for laughs.” What she didn’t mention was anything involving a husband or more children. Deep down Ali longed for that outcome, but she could only picture it with one person. Considering things were at an end with Jaxon she wasn’t sure she’d ever find herself in a white gown or cradling a baby girl staring back at her with soulful, brown eyes. It was better not to dwell on it. “There are a lot of things I know will happen, like progression with my job, but the only thing I hope to achieve is being the mother my son deserves.” The kind of mother she never had. “Wyatt’s my life. Everything in ten years will be about him. It already is.”

#wilmingtontask #wilmngtontask02 #tw: car accident #tw: preterm labor #( ⇾ task. )#( ⇾ headcanon. )#FAIR WARNING--- both me and alicia never shut tf up so this got obnoxiously long #i actually had to cut out pieces to narrow it down and now parts probably don't make any sense. yikes.

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sunken-standard · 7 years

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Drabble Ask Meme Fill

Requested by @mizjoely: Oh, here's my prompt #6: You drank a gallon of milk over night

Tom!verse; pure, unabashed fluff. I don't even know who I am anymore. (Also, these are scenes that span the pregnancy, so it doesn't fit very neatly in the chronology; some are before Janine's visit and the very last one is after, because reasons.)

"You drank a gallon of milk over night," she asked flatly. The space where her two bottles of milk had been were now empty. So much for that rice pudding she was going to make. And so much for breakfast.

"Drank? Not exactly."

"So it was for science." It was always for science, not 'I'm actually ten years old and do the first thing that strikes my fancy when I get bored,' even if that was the more accurate descriptor.

"No, it was for the long-term psychological well-being of our child."

"Wh—?"

"Fine," Sherlock groaned. "I wasn't going to mention it yet, but after you go back to work I'll be taking over most of the daytime care of the baby, which will include feedings. 'The breast is best' on a number of fronts past nutrition, including infant-parent bonding and brain development from holding a mother's gaze. Bottle-feeding is clearly the inferior choice, what with the potential for ingestion of air leading to a host of digestive issues, future orthodontic problems, what-have-you. So I've been looking into alternatives. I did some shopping and I've been road-testing."

"This is the slings and baby carriers all over again, isn't it? Just attach a bottle to the side of his cot like in a pet store, he'll be perfectly fine," Molly said, looking morosely at her dry, tasteless muesli, made even more dry and tasteless by the lack of milk.

"And people think I'm the unfit one," Sherlock muttered. "When our child has a healthy spine and fully developed musculature, you'll be thanking me because we went with the mei tai instead of front-facing carry."

It was entirely too early to be having this conversation. Or any, really, especially with an up-all-night Sherlock who was obviously (enviably) caffeinated.

"So what were you road testing?"

"Harnesses that allow for the simulation of breast feeding."

Delightful, she thought. She should be more surprised, but at this point, she didn't think there was much that could surprise her. He would probably volunteer for an experimental uterine transplant to carry the next one himself if he could.

"Do you call it 'The Mannery Gland?'"

"That's not one of the brands I found, I suppose I'll have to look again later..." He frowned.

"It's from a film."

"Oh."

"I'm not doing pregnancy yoga with you."

"It's good for the mind as well as the body."

"Both of which are still just fine, thank you. I hate yoga. It's all bending... and uncontrollable rude sounds," she said, remembering the reason she quit her first (and only) yoga class years ago.

"Molly, I've already heard every rude sound you could possibly make."

"Trust me, you have not. It's like having my very own set of bagpipes between my legs. I'd rather keep some element of mystery to the relationship, at least until your screaming, fat-headed baby rips its way out of my vagina."

He looked at her in horror, affronted that she could describe their child thus. Then again, he wasn't the one with an angry bowling ball resting on his kidneys.

"I smell paint. Why do I smell paint?" Molly yelled from the door as soon as she walked in.

"Because I've been painting," Sherlock said, crossing from the kitchen to the lounge to greet her. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt like any other person, which was always a bizarre thing to see; of course he didn't have a single drop or splatter on him. It was like he was magnetized to repel dirt.

"Going to go out on a limb here and guess you finished the nursery. Which we haven't talked about at all."

"It's a surprise. So, surprise. Also, I packed you an overnight bag because we're sleeping at Baker Street tonight. These fumes probably aren't good for 2.0."

"Oh goodie. I love surprises," she said, following him up the stairs. "Aren't I supposed to be the one nesting?"

"That's late in the third trimester. And this isn't nesting, this is preparing. Better to do it now before we know the gender so the decor doesn't reflect our own inherent biases, no matter how unconscious they may be," he said, stopping outside the door. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Sherlock grinned and swung the door wide to reveal—oh dear God. It was... she didn't even know what it was. Black, white, and red stripes and dots and geometric patterns spread over the walls with no real rhyme or reason; it made her eyes hurt and she wasn't even inside the room yet.

"So what do you think?"

"Are you trying to hide the baby from Nazi submarines?" she asked.

"Dazzle camouflage wasn't actually meant to hide, it only misled. Kind of hard to miss."

"And so is this paint job."

"This 'paint job' is to provide visual stimulation in the first few weeks of life, when a baby can only process high-contrast and the colour red, thus aiding bra—"

"—brain development. Yes. But no. I'm not sitting in this migraine-waiting-to-happen while nursing our son or daughter, you're repainting it."

"You can nurse in our room. Or on the sofa," he protested, deflated. He looked like she'd kicked his puppy.

She huffed a sigh. "Fine, you can keep an accent wall. Everything else gets repainted a colour we can both agree on."

"This is Rosie's nursery all over again," he said mostly to himself as he rolled his eyes looked away theatrically.

"There's nothing wrong with Rosie's nursery. Mary changed her mind about the fish, she's the Mum, she's allowed."

"That coral took me six hours, and then you just stencilled apples and birds all over it willy-nilly and topped it all off with some frankly alarming wall stickers."

"The stickers were a gift, she wanted to use them."

"They weren't a gift, they were a curse. What better way to instil coulrophobia? I bet they came from Janine, probably some kind of revenge."

"Uh huh," Molly said. She paused a beat for dramatic effect (Sherlock was rubbing off on her, it seemed, though if he'd just done that in the first place they wouldn't even be there...). "So, DIY store at the weekend."

"If we must. At least that gives me time to pick out a new theme."

"Which we will both agree on before you buy so much as a mobile."

"Already have that."

She raised an eyebrow.

"...Which we can take back if you don't like. Dearest."

"...And if you'd've let me get a proper a cot instead of this flatpack abomination, we wouldn't have this problem," Sherlock said, ruffling his hair as he looked at the debris field in the (newly repainted) nursery. He was taking the fact that he'd been bested by IKEA entirely too hard.

"We're not spending £200 on a cot that can only be used for six months when Mary's already said we can use Rosie's Moses basket."

"Co-sleeping has been shown to—"

"I don't care. If nursing is a problem through the night, we'll keep the baby in bed with us. It's more practical to—"

"Yes, yes, practical. You sound like a Yorkshireman. When is Mary getting here?"

"Mary? Who said anything about Mary?"

"You phoned her, I assume, as she's the one that put all Rosie's things together."

"I helped."

"Yes, and your talent for handing over the correct screwdriver in a timely fashion is second to none. Mary?"

"Left twenty minutes ago. And she's bringing Rosie so you have something to do while the grown-ups work."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Sometimes I wonder why I fell in love with you."

Time stopped dead; he'd never said the L-word before. "You—you're in love with me?"

"Yeeeess..." he said as though she were a particularly dim child. "Why else do you think you ended up pregnant?"

"Because you're what some in the Old West might call a quick draw?"

He frowned, which turned into a scowl when he saw her get out her phone. "What are you doing?"

"Phoning Mary. Telling her to circle the street a few times. Your 'abbreviated stamina' is actually going to work for us this time. And, for the record, I love you, too," she said, stretching up to press a kiss to his lips before Mary answered her phone.

#mizjoely #drabble ask meme round 3 #sherlolly #tom!verse #sunken's secret stash

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fatcatsarecats · 7 years

Text

Bossy Boots Strikes Again

Madara & Tobirama Words: 3,051 A/N: Kid!Tobi is back to serve your daily dose of fluff! Huge thanks to @redhothollyberries for giving me hc’s to run with, and beta-ing this fic into shape! Send her all the love :D - Sequel to Bossy Boots -

When Hashirama specified that Tobirama will eventually ‘revert’ back into an adult, he never included an estimation. There’s a reason for that. It turns out, there are no estimates to when Tobirama will eventually become an adult again. Time moves on, and the small group of people Hashirama trusts to look after Tobirama return to the responsibilities they have to attend to.

Their days off hardly ever coincide. The days where everyone happened to be working, Tobirama had stuck to Madara’s side like a leech. Not going to lie, Madara preened a bit.

There’s something sweet about being chosen by Tobirama, time and time again. Even though Tobirama sometimes chooses to sleep with Hashirama at night.

He thought Hashirama would sulk at the idea, but when Madara strode into the office the next morning with Tobirama in his arms, there was an extra table with a high chair beside his Police Chief desk. Tobirama’s glower is still unparalleled. And Madara is shameless about utilising it for theatrical effect.

Thus began one of the strangest games of hot potato between Konoha’s elite, with small, chubby Tobirama being shuffled between the people who happened to have time off for the day.

Surprisingly, this is the most smiling Madara’s seen Tobirama do in years.

“Alright, Hikaku,” says Madara as he flicks a folder across the table. “You’re officially the senior officer in this case. Remember that the trainee is your responsibility. Do well, and there might be a promotion in your future. Flop, and, well–”

Tobirama doesn’t blink. “Say goodbye to your career.”

Hikaku, the poor teenager sitting across from him, actually breaks out a sweat. Madara cackles. Tobirama is unmoved, but Madara can see his lips twitching.

Hikaku basically flies to the door when he’s dismissed. Only then, does Tobirama let himself giggle.

Kagami pokes his head through the door. “Should I inform him that you’re kidding, Shishou?”

“Nah, wait till the afternoon.” Madara looks at Tobirama for confirmation. Tobirama nods in approval. “Fear is a good motivator.”

Tobirama goes back to his scribblings. He’s scribbling with such focused intent with the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration, that curiosity tickles Madara. Slowly, he leans over his desk, trying to take a peek at Tobirama’s drawings.

Tobirama slams his drawings blank-side up.

Madara frowns. “C’mon.”

“No.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not ugly.” Tobirama scrunches his nose. “But I can do better. I know I can. It’s just not going the way I want it to.”

“Adult you can do better,” Madara agrees. He’s not known for coddling kids, and it would be a particularly idiot thing to do with a kid as smart as Tobirama. “The you with around twenty years’ worth of extra hand-eye coordination can do better, of course. That skill will come back as this jutsu fades. However, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure your current skills are better than what I can do.”

Ever so helpful, Kagami pokes his head through the door again. “It’s true. Every time Shishou tries to draw, the paper sets itself on fire. It’s a more merciful fate, to be honest.”

“Okay, new rule.” Madara points at Kagami. “Keep opinions to yourself, unless they support my statements.”

That tickles a smile out of Tobirama. “Well,” he says. “I guess if you’re so sure it’s better than Madara’s…”

Being better than him – the usual motivator for most of Tobirama’s actions.

Kagami and Tobirama break off into snickers. Madara levels them with flat stare.

“I’ll be finished when Kagami takes me to lunch,” Tobirama says. “You can flip it over then.”

It’s a good compromise, so Madara agrees.

When lunchtime comes, Tobirama orders to be carried with his customary arms-up. After melting into a puddle (“I can’t believe I’m carrying, sensei!”), Kagami and Tobirama heads off to fetch his lunch. Madara leans over, and flips the drawing.

His breath hitches.

It’s a drawing of a red and black dragon, curled in the air and breathing fire. It’s a bit more cartoonish than Tobirama’s usual style, but there’s shading in each scale, and the details that differentiate the dragon’s mane.

Guess Madara’s correct about it being better than anything he could produce. Actually, it’s better than anything he could produce with training.

Incidentally, red and black are his favourite colours. He was thinking, just the other day, of how drab his office walls are. Maybe it’s time to decorate a bit.

Madara makes his way to the stationary closet to see if they’ve got some spare frames.

Almost two hours later, Kagami strides in carrying a half-comatose Tobirama in a new set of clothes and a bento box. Madara feels his blood pressure rise at least three notches when he spots an Uchiwa sewed on Tobirama’s armband.

“Before you panic,” says Kagami, “this is a food coma. We took a detour to get yakidori, then dango, then a bit of sashimi, and then some rice cakes, and then yakidori again because I underestimated how good it was–”

“Kagami,” Madara interrupts, “do you have any idea how much trouble I will get in for dressing up a prominent Senju member in an Uchiha Police uniform?”

“But sensei insisted on wearing one so he could be part of the team, Shishou,” Kagami emphasises. “Part of the team.”

“Uniforms encourage solidarity,” says Tobirama.

Kagami grins at Tobirama. “Exactly!”

Madara cannot deny that Tobirama looks damn good in Uchiha colours. Still, propriety.

“You should’ve seen what happened when we walked in,” Kagami tells him. “Half of the squad doubled over in pain, like they overdosed on cuteness. The other half is still terrified of sensei, but I can totally feel the morale rising.”

Madara narrows his eyes at Kagami. “We don’t even stock uniforms in a size that small. Did you throw a bunch of our uniforms into the drier?”

Kagami’s face doesn’t twitch. “No comment.”

(Although, in Kagami’s opinion, it’s so worth it.)

Before Madara can groan his frustration, Tobirama’s eyes are drawn to the frame hung on the wall to his left. His eyes brighten. “You like my drawing?” Tobirama asks, half surprised and half sheepish.

Slightly caught off guard, Madara answers, “Of course.”

His eyes crease in a pleased smile. It’s a good thing that Madara’s already sitting down, because his knees feels weak.

Tobirama tilts his head to admire his drawing. “I guess it does look better when it’s framed. You can have your lunch now.”

Squirming, Tobirama slides out of Kagami’s hold, careful not to knock over the bento box. He then tugs the box out of Kagami’s hand and delivers it to Madara, holding it up with a blinding smile that shows how proud he is at such a successful delivery.

Madara is pretty sure Kagami passed out on the spot. Overdosed on cuteness, as he said before. Baby Tobirama is lethal. That smile should really be outlawed, for the sake of Konoha’s constitution.

Accepting the bento box, Madara nods his thanks, and tries his hardest not to follow in his apprentice’s footsteps.

Tobirama is slippery at any age. At one point, he went beyond slippery and decided to literally disappear from air by inventing a space-time ninjutsu just to escape from his grasp. It’s debateable, however, if twenty-four year old Tobirama is more slippery than the little child that’s currently leading Izuna on a merry chase across the rooftops of Konoha.

Of course, Tobirama is thinking that this is just one huge game of tag. Izuna is panicking out of his mind.

“Tobirama, come back right now!” he orders. “Don’t you run away from nap time. Get back here and face it like a shinobi! And watch where you’re stepping!”

Ever since child Tobirama became a constant present in their household, they started stocking on caffeine-free green tea, because Tobirama at any age is also a tea and caffeine addict. The sneaky child almost took a sip out of Izuna’s own cup of coffee, but Izuna managed to switch their cups at the last minute. He gave himself a pat on the back at a job well done, and for averting disaster.

Izuna did not realise that he made the tea from the wrong tin.

He regrets making the tea from the wrong tin.

How he’s paying for it now.

Tobirama ignores his yellings, giggling as he zig-zags at impossible speeds. How the hell is he so fast? His legs are literally a quarter of Izuna’s. This is just shameful.

Charging chakra into his feet, Izuna springs into the air. With this much chakra, should be able to land about two steps behind Tobirama–

–only to be jerked back by the back of his collar to meet furious brown eyes.

“Why,” Tōka chews out the words in a way that suggest imminent death, “is my five-year old cousin cartwheeling across dangerous rooftops when he’s supposed to be sleeping?!”

Izuna winces. “I might have…given him the non-kid friendly green tea by accident.”

Tōka is on the verge of shrieking. She grabs his collar with both hands and shakes him with each word.

“You gave my five year old cousin caffeine by accident?!”

“I’m sorry! I made a huge mistake! The caffeine was an accident! And now, he’s so damn slippery! Look at how easily he’s jumping over the roofs. Tobirama’s not a normal kid – he’s already so adept with chakra. The first day he turned, he climbed to the top of Hokage mountain! I was doomed from the start!” Izuna manages between each shake. Although, his head is starting to get woozy. “Please don’t tell Madara.”

“Tobi’s already very active for a five year old! He doesn’t need caffeine to amplify it!”

“But look at how happy he is right now!” Izuna points at the blur of blue and white soaring through the sky. “He’s tiring himself out. I bet he’ll sleep so much better after this.”

Tōka snarls, looking pretty close to ripping his throat out using her bare teeth.

Izuna resigns himself to dying. He’s had a good life. At least he got to die with Toka taking a bite out of him, even though it’s not quite in the way he had wanted it to be.

Evidently, Tobirama realised that Izuna stopped chasing him. He doubles back towards where Toka and Izuna are without them realising. Izuna feels Tobirama tugging on his robe.

To their surprise, Tobirama puts a small hand on Toka’s leg.

“Tag, Tōka-nee!” he says, grinning like crazy. “You’re it!”

A second ticks by. Tōka melts into goo.

“You have to count to ten first because some people,” Tobirama side eyes Izuna, “need all the advantage they can get.”

Izuna squawks in protest.

Stern and solid, Tōka may be, but she is nowhere near invulnerable. Tobirama at five, the first time round, was inquisitive. He used to waddle behind her like a duckling. Tōka was too swamped in her duties to indulge him back then: when she finally earned to luxury to take a breather, Tobirama had long outgrown his habit of following her around.

But this Tobirama – this Tobirama is looking up at her with his huge eyes, and a cheeky grin that makes her feel like she could bench press an entire army. This Tobirama makes her will crumble into debris.

She sighs in defeat and releases Izuna to flop to the ground. “Alright,” she says. Tōka makes a big show of putting her hands over her eyes and, quite dramatically, takes a huge breath.

Before Tōka could count to one, Tobirama is already fleeing as if the Shinigami is at his heels.

It’s not Madara’s turn with Tobirama today, it’s Izuna’s. Yet, his nerves itch away at his concentration.

The silence is his office is stifling.

He taps his fingers in sync with the ticking clock. Then he glances at the empty table beside him, looks at the crayons all in their neat box, before looking at the picture hung on the wall.

It’s silly, Madara thinks. Three days straight with him, and suddenly Madara’s getting separation anxiety.

Madara has no claim to Tobirama, and Tobirama doesn’t belong to him. He might be Tobirama’s favourite, but officially, he’s not Tobirama’s anything.

“It’s silly,” Madara repeats to himself. “You’re being silly. Stop worrying. He’s fine with Izuna – it’s probably his nap time, anyway.”

Izuna wishes he was better at de-escalating situations. First it was the great naptime escape, then it was the rooftop tag. Now, he finds himself chasing Tōka and Tobirama through Konoha’s wide, expansive forests in an attempt to supervise their impromptu ‘stroll’.

Their stroll across Konoha’s trees that are substantially taller and more dangerous than any building found in Konoha.

The height would scare any other child, but Tobirama is, as usual, unlike any other child. He’s perched on Tōka’s back, laughing like there’s no tomorrow, impervious to the palpitations of Izuna’s weakened heart.

“I don’t think this is good idea,” yells Izuna, the wind attempting to muffle his voice. “And this is coming from me. You know, the Emperor of Bad Ideas. We should go back and put him to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Tōka calls out. “He’s using chakra to stick on to me, he’ll tire out soon! Hold on tight, Tobi. We’re going to freefall!”

They jump out of a tree that’s at least twenty metres in height, hollering in delight as they plummet through the air.

Somewhere in the village, Izuna is sure that a civilian mother is collapsing from shock.

He knows that something is wrong when Tobirama asks if they could skip work and sit on top of the Hokage mountain for a bit. There’s a weariness to Tobirama’s tone, one that indicates his past experiences are causing some confusing emotions. Helpless to anything that would make Tobirama feel better, Madara agrees.

Madara takes a day off – perks of being in charge – and carries Tobirama up to the mountain. It’s that time in the morning where the sky is a mesh of blue and pink. They sit in silence as they watch the first trail of people blink away their bleariness, the village breathing up to life.

“I dreamt about Itama and Kawarama last night,” Tobirama says. “It was – I don’t know, so vivid. I thought I was back in there with them, but I know they aren’t here–I thought I was–”

Tobirama curls into himself, and the action is so painful, Madara draws Tobirama into a hug. He knows what Tobirama means – how Tobirama thought that he had moved on from his grieving. That the feeling of their past and future lost, and the endless missed opportunities had become more bearable throughout the years. He thought he moved past it, only to have the memories smack the hollowness straight into his gut again.

Tobirama buries his face in his chest and takes a shaky breath.

“I miss them,” he finally says. “I wanted to be the best big brother ever. I wanted to be their favourite. The one they’d go to if they were sad or scared. I promised I’d always protect them.”

Madara just holds Tobirama tighter in his arms, and rests his chin on top of his head.

“I don’t know–I don’t know how to feel. This is–” Madara can feel Tobirama frowning, “–confusing.”

The thought of Tobirama trying to decipher something as complex as feelings makes Madara laugh.

“It gets bearable after a while,” Madara says. “Izuna and I, we do things to make it bearable.”

Sniffling, Tobirama peers up. “Like what?”

“Like singing, old kid’s games, and eating their favourite food. Our youngest sister loved it when Izuna sang. She’d always clap along to Izuna’s lullabies, which completely defeated the purpose of a lullaby, but she was happy. And Izuna’s quite a skilled singer. You might think that Izuna’s a tenor, what with all his undignified shrieking hitting those high notes, but he actually has a very rich, baritone voice.”

“Oh.” Tobirama shuffles closer. “Do you sing too?”

Madara squeezes the small bundle in his arms. “Not as good as Izuna, sadly. I like to press flowers. Hanabi and Tsurugi liked to collect them and make flower crowns, so I like the preserve the ones I think they’d like. I try to grow my own, but sometimes I don’t have the time. ”

“Can we do that?” asks Tobirama. “Can we have a Kawarama and Itama day–can we have a siblings day?”

Like he said, he’s helpless to anything that makes Tobirama feel better.

“Anything you want,” Madara tells him.

Honestly, Madara’s just straight out helpless to Tobirama.

So Madara digs through their attic for their old card games, falling Buddha blocks and spinning tops. Being a hoarder comes with perks, especially when Tobirama’s face lights up when he sees them.

They spend the better part of their morning playing. The plan is to play till lunchtime before going to a barbecue house, since Tobirama said that’s where his family liked to eat when they were younger. Madara sends a messenger off to Tōka, Izuna and Hashirama to – quite politely, in his opinion – clear their lunch schedule under the threat of amputations and fire and pain and suffering. No threats of death this time. No need to defeat the purpose of Siblings’ Day.

An hour before lunch, a knock rings through Madara’s door.

He opens it to find Hashirama smiling sheepishly.

“I heard we’re having a siblings’ day today,” says Hashirama. “I hope I’m not too early.”

His tri-cone hat is nowhere in sight, and he’s out of the Hokage uniform. Dressed in his casual black robes, Hashirama might have done the impossible. Hashirama might have pulled a miracle; Hashirama has found a sudden substitute for the rest of the afternoon.

Truly, his friend never ceases to amaze.

At hearing Hashirama’s voice, Tobirama comes running to the door, halting himself right in front of Hashirama. He schools his face into a blank expression.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to let him in. He is my brother, after all.” Tobirama sniffs, pretending to be unaffected by Hashirama’s sudden appearance.

They’re not fooled, of course. Tobirama already looks a lot brighter than he did this morning.

Tobirama lets Hashirama through the door. Instead of just entering, Hashirama swoops Tobirama off his feet and hugs him tight to his side. Squeezes him like Tobirama’s the only thing that matters to Hashirama right now.

Tobirama doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he melts.

- A/N: The Great Sphinx of Giza is about 20m high. Rip to all those who thought that Tōka was a Responsible Adult™. She’s just as weak to kid!Tobi as the rest of us are. Also, I’ve become very enamoured with the idea of a Konoha/B99 spoof.

I’m basically Madara with drawing so I’ll stick to writing.

#senju tobirama #madatobi #uchiha madara #tobirama #madara #writing #uchiha izuna #senju touka #senju hashirama #izuna #touka #hashirama #uchiha kagami #kagami #the crew is here!#tobirama senju #madara uchiha

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ethereal-aeitherea · 7 years

Text

Today in class someone made a wonderful presentation on a story he had written. I wasn’t sure it was autobiographical until the end, when he showed photos of the people he had included in his story. His story related to his past of drug use and drug selling. He took the same drugs he was selling and began lacing what he was selling with tylenol, and his brother got beat up by a customer for something he didn’t do. He suffered for what he didn’t do.

Then randomly a snapchat story features a girl who ripped her own eyes out due to hallucination/thoughts she had while high on meth. Going from an honors student to dropping out of school and alcohol/drug addiction to clawing out her own eyes....

And yesterday evening I was watching one of my go-to daily vloggers talk about his (brief) past of going clubbing with people who would go to 2-4 clubs in one night, go to a day party, then go out to dinner and start all over again at night, only going home to freshen up..... How he described that the only way they had that much energy was because they were doing drugs...

Then today on the bus ride home, I saw one of my friends biking who I know has taken drugs in the past but has since quelled it down substantially...... His skin looks so much clearer.

I’m like why is this suddenly happening? I look at the space on my desk where my large coffee was, but I put it in the fridge. Am I drinking too much coffee or something? Did I indulge in too much sugar recently?

I’ve been stressed out with the amount of work I have to do and feel a strange sort of numbness, like I need to get some sleep but stay awake in zombie mode, but all-day from the time I wake up. It doesn’t set in later. Some factors that might be contributing to this feeling is that daylight savings time happened this past sunday as well as my abnormal sleep hours each night. I slept 14 hours last night for example, but 5 the previous night. But yesterday I got a huge boba, one of the sweetest ones (that actually doesnt have any caffeine), and drank basically the entire thing; I had sips of this peach fizzy drink I bought ((for the cute bottle packaging) but its literally corn syrup water), and idk... I’ve been throwing chewing gum into my backpack before going to class? Not much added sugar there but still? My mom once said I have sugar addiction. Not sure if that’s what I’m getting at here.

These strange occurrences, I wonder if its trying to tell me something. OR is it not a premonition from a higher power? Like the girl thinking she heard a sign from god that she was chosen as the person who was to make a sacrifice, and that sacrifice she felt was removal of her eyes..... I saw my friend biking past whose skin looks brighter due to quitting. The story given by a classmate was a story from the past. He says they’re good now. Same with the daily vlogger, he heard himself say “you need some sleep, you can’t do this, you can’t do this, you need to go get some sleep,” a voice he heard in his head while completely sober, which is something I completely recognize. I’ve heard that kind of clear voice before....... I remember hearing it once after drugs. I’ve also heard it at other times in my life, when I really truly needed to leave or do something, or if something was bad for me.... Is this another one of those times? The answer is not clear, I’m being analytical.

I thought I had so many things due tomorrow but turns out two of those things are due next week completely. I actually have nothing “due” tomorrow in fact..... I have things due in two days. I previously described it as a sense of numbness but perhaps it is an induced sense of calmness because I know I will get everything done that needs to be done. I know deep down that it will all come together in the end, and I don’t have to suffer on no sleep to do it. I can get the sleep that my body needs while still getting my work turned in. I can finish everything without stress, without self-hatred, and without anxiety or freaking out.

Last quarter when I asked myself what I should do, the answer that arose was “go shopping.” I felt so strange shopping the racks and rows of Forever 21 when I had my final project in one of my classes due the following morning. I actually slept through the final class and turned my work in online that late afternoon. Even turning that in went against that inner voice. I turned it in online “just in case” (rational brain / anxious mind) and emailed my professor asking if I could turn the project in late. He responded after the weekend had passed saying, yes, I could. So I worked on it a bit further and turned it in a second time. I passed my class. I could have passed if I didn’t rework it either of those times. All I needed to do was pass. Sure, I didn’t get an A+ in the class, but that’s not my goal.

My goal is to graduate and learn as much as I can about whatever I’m interested in. Doing tedious work while losing out on sleep (sacrificing health) is not going to help me fulfill that goal. Perhaps that is the sense of calm that I feel. Even typing this out trying to find out if there’s some ulterior thing to figure out is a result of my past tendencies to overanalyze things and overthink. But I could have left this to the side and gone to sleep. Who knows. My friend plans on doing an all-nighter in the lab tonight. I forgot that tomorrow is when our project is supposed to be due, but our 3-hour class has also been turned into a workday. So I thought I needed to have a presentation written out, scripted, and recorded, as well as the final working project to go along with it, but I don’t even have to make any progress if I didn’t want to. It’s a very strange feeling. It’s the final week before final exams week, and one of my classes finishes this week. Yet I’m not freaking out.... not so much. Idk, it’s weird. I see my fellow classmates and they ask how I’m doing. I say “I don’t know.” They nod their head in concurrence.

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