#and my summer is like. extremely busy. as in ill probably have one day off per week if even that fjkfkd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap. I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion. It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue. In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Well, not a stranger. Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic. Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived. The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless. Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey. For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness. Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door. Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots. A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well. I wouldna squander yer food. I have all we need right here.” Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist. An experiment.”

Two saucepans were set on the stove. Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed. To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken. After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates. Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model. “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure. Variability,” my teacher argued. “See here? If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key. An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic. It was otherwise quite bland, though. When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good. Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know. Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken. If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing. Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one. “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp. Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?” I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour. Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result. It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones. From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist. Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch. Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour. Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking. When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour. We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route. “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside. Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door. He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November. Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics. I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them. There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided. Honey-crisp apples. Peppery radishes. Herb-infused venison sausage.

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours. Still, I complied immediately. A rubbery moisture tickled my lips. “Open,” he said simply. I opened. “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy. Thick. Salty. Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises. His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction. The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough. Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser. My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile. Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one. Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium. Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure. Closing my eyes as I ate, every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold. Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks. It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door. Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway. No-one was there. Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch. As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam. Homemade cock-a-leekie soup. I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever. Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest. I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted. I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself. As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm? Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry. Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.” He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What! Jamie, what are you doing here? You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles. An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist. Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep. Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth. Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon. We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith. Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him. We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity. I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station. He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces. Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks. I chopped. Mary baked. Angus filleted. Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall. Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs.

Music played in the background. Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings. Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside. The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved. One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done. Claire, ye were a godsend. Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing. Glancing down, I felt my face fall. I’d completely forgotten about Frank. Now he was texting, asking me where I was. I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse. As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger. “Congratulations.”

He said the word as though every syllable pained him. I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

70 notes · View notes

horansqueen · 3 years

Text

New Angel - Chapter 5

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1 ☆ chapter 2 ☆ chapter 3 ☆ chapter 4

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.5k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

☆ you probably noticed that my chapters are shorter, which makes it tough because I feel like I can’t write everything I want to write in one chapter. so ill probably update this soon with the next chapter that will just be the continuity of this one.

NIALL

It took a few days before I received a text message from Summer who was inviting me to the movies. It was not really original but I was happy I'd get to spend some of my time with her. Millie had convinced me to go back to work and I had to admit that keeping my head busy was a nice way to get a break from my heartache. I preferred Summer to keep my mind off Grace but I would use every way possible to get over my heartbreak as soon as possible.

"You're not eating diner with us?" Louis asked, making me look up after playing with my keys.

"Nope!"

"Ah, you're gonna get laid." he just pointed out with a nod, making Millie chuckle near him.

I glanced at her and sent her a small smile before looking back at Louis and sending him a smirk. I wanted to joke and ask him if he was jealous but it would be useless since I knew he pretty much had sex whenever he wanted to. Instead, I just shrugged with an amused smile and raised my eyebrows.

"Hopefully."

"D'you need condoms?" he added to tease me.

"Naa, thanks, we're clearly not the same size."

Louis raised his hand up, showing me his middle finger and I started laughing, taking a few steps back, doing the same to him, my middle finger up in the air. I smiled more when my eyes met Millie's and I shook my head slightly.

"Not you Mills, you know I love you!"

She jokingly blew a kiss at me and I pretended to catch it and push it in my pocket, making her laugh. The only good thing beside Summer that came with the fact that Grace broke my heart was that I was getting close to my friends. I was always quite close to Louis, but this whole thing made me realized that we didn't talk much anymore, and we didn't hang out much either. Now that I was single (or something?), I got to spend time with him and I had missed him. Millie was also a good addition to my life. She was still slightly annoying but the more time i spent with her, the more I liked the side of her that made her say things the way they were. Her bluntness was refreshing. I felt like most of the time, everyone around me tried to be sorry for me, or would tell me what I want to hear. She was not rude, she just told me when I was going too far, or shook me when I needed to be, and I realized that true friendship was not pretending the people around you were perfect, it was helping them move on, grow up, and be a better person. Millie was doing just that with me.

"I guess you're also not going to be there tonight, or when we wake up." Louis added as I shrugged again.

"Hopefully." I repeated, making both my friends smile more.

"Have fun!"

---

The movie was boring but I spent the whole time glancing at Summer who seemed to be focus on the screen. I wanted to wrap my arm around her but I was scared of the message it would send so I decided not to. I also didn't dare kissing her for the same reason, and I took a mental note to ask her about the kind of relationship she was looking for on the same night. I just wanted to make things clear and get rid of that restraint inside me that made me think twice about everything I wanted to do or say.

Near the end, I stared at her as she reached very slowly for the popcorn, groping around to find it, and it made me smile. There was no doubt in my mind that I liked Summer and that I wanted to get to know her, I was just scared she was going to be some sort of rebound and I felt extremely guilty about it.

I don't know how the movie ended but when we walked out of the theater, she sent me a big smile and my heart twisted in my chest.

"So, did you guess that they would end up together?" she asked, making my lips part.

"Uh, no."

"Me neither." Summer admitted, raising her nose up slightly. "I'm not good at guessing these kind of things."

I pushed one of my hands in my pockets and chuckled, feeling slight embarrassed. I brought my free hand to scratch the back of my head and I glanced at her. "The truth is, I didn't really watch the movie. I was focused on you."

Her eyes got bigger with surprise and finally, her lips curled slightly to the left. I liked the way she was looking at me and I also liked how oblivious she was. She didn't see the way I looked at her, and she didn't seem to realize how pretty she was. Somehow, it made her prettier. Perhaps it was only because I was used to date confident girls who knew their worth and it was not a better or worst thing, it was just different.

"You really know how to sweet talk women." she pointed out before letting out a short laughter. "But I like it."

"Seriously. I mean it."

"Okay." she nodded, licking her lip before her eyes got smaller. I felt like she was studying me and I liked it. "Then how about you come over to grab a bite? That way you can spend some more time watching me?"

I let out a louder laugh than intended and finally nodded too. "That's a great idea!"

I drove us to her place when when we walked in, I let my eyes roam around. The apartment was small an decorated with pastel colors. It was clearly not the colors I would have picked but it was clean and welcoming, and it fitted well with Summer's bubbly personality.

"Okay, let's see what leftovers we have..." she said in a soft tone, opening the fridge and bending down to look inside.

I suddenly wondered if she did that on purpose but I just shook my head and closed my eyes for a few seconds. From what I knew of Summer, it was not the kind of things she did, but it reminded me that it was exactly the kind of things Grace would do, and I liked it.

"Pasta good for you?"

I opened my eyes when I heard her voice again and blinked a few times before nodding. "Yea, yea it's perfect."

She handed me a beer before putting the food in the microwave and started it. I took a sip of my drink as she turned around and leaned her butt against the counter. She sent me a small smile but I couldn't help and let my eyes move down on her. The necklace she was wearing was falling gracefully between her breasts until her navel but unlike the dress she was wearing at the club, her outfit on that day was pretty simple: a black pair of jeans and a pink shirt that molded her upper body perfectly. I was pretty sure she looked good no matter what she was wearing and it made me smile. She tilted her head slightly, playing with her hair falling down from her high pony tail down to the middle of her back and licked her lips.

"If you want I can tell you what happened in the movie while you stare at me like that."

I looked up and our eyes met again but when I saw her smile, I mirrored it and walked closer. "I'd rather know more about you."

Her amused smile faltered slowly, changing into a loving one, and she tilted her head just as the microwave beeped. She chuckled a bit and turned around, making a bowl for me and one for her, and we sat down at her table, facing each other.

"Okay, tell me what you want to know." she just proposed before taking a bite.

"Okay... age, last name, siblings?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and making her laugh as she chewed.

"You're right, we don't know that much about each other." she admitted with a nod. "We talked at the club but we quickly ended up in your apartment."

I smiled more. "I know you study in fashion and that you used to live with a few friends but that you recently moved here by yourself. I also know that you've only been in two serious relationships, one of them when you were still a teen, and that you've been single for two years. But I have no idea how old you are."

"Glad to know you can stare at me and listen to what I say at the same time!" she joked.

"I'm a multitask guy." I shrugged with a chuckle, making her laugh too.

"I'm 23." she admitted. "I have two older sisters, and my last name is Carpenter."

"Good to know. And apparently, you like romantic movies."

"Don't we all?" she asked with a shrug but chuckling when she saw me raising my eyebrows. "I mean, most of us want to find real love and live happily ever after, right?"

My smile faltered as Grace invaded my head again. I felt a wave of sadness invade me but when I looked up at Summer, I realized she hadn't noticed anything.

"Yeah, I guess it's human nature."

I tried to push my ex girlfriend out of my mind and we kept talking about each other for a while and when she got up to bring her dishes to the dishwasher, I followed her and helped her. She turned my way and looked up in my eyes as I felt my heart jump in my chest at the proximity of our bodies. She smelled exactly the same as she did wat the club. It was that perfume that lasted for 3 days on one of my pillows but I couldn't tell what exactly it smelled like. She started nibbling on her bottom lip while staring at me and I couldn't take my eyes off of her either.

"I want you to know that I normally don't do that."

"Don't do what?" I asked very low.

"Sleep on the first night." she confessed in a whisper. "But you're special, I don't know."

"Is that a good thing?"

Her lips curled and she chuckled, nodding slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Mhm, yes."

I was not expecting it but she got on her tiptoes and kissed me gently but firmly. Her lips moved against mine and I tasted her lip-gloss when my tongue ran on bottom lip. It was sticky and it smelled like strawberry, telling me that it was probably her favorite.

"Summer," I murmured between two kisses. "We need to talk."

"I know, but we can do it after."

Her arms wrapped around my neck and I kissed her deeper, pulling her closer. I don't know how we ended up in her room but I knew I went a bit too roughly when I pushed her against the door and she stopped me.

"How about we go on my bed?"

I nodded quickly and grabbed her hand, pulling her gently but quickly with me. I layed on top of her, grinding down against her as she whimpered in my mouth, and I couldn't help but tell myself that it felt even better than the first time. Her shirt and her pants ended on the carpet and I let my lips run down her neck, sliding between her breasts and on her stomach until I reached for her panties. I wanted to taste her, and I could tell how aroused she was just from the way she smelled, but when I pulled her panties down with two of my fingers on the sides, she tensed.

"Niall, please, not today, okay?"

My heart skipped a beat, hoping I didn't ruin the moment, and I moved back up to press my lips on hers. "Okay, anything you want."

"I'll remember that." she joked with a chuckle, making me smile against her mouth.

She grabbed my shirt and moved it over my head before her hands ran in my hair and down my naked back, making me feel the same burning sensation I had felt the first time and when I finally lied down on top of her naked, I realized how similar everything was.

"Summer, baby, you want to ride me?" I asked in a murmur, moving away slightly to look in her eyes.

Her lips parted and she held her breath but after a few seconds, she nodded and licked her lips. I lied down next to her but quickly sat back up, searching for my pants on the floor and grabbing the condom I had brought with me. I could feel guilty for even bringing it as if I expected to have sex with her but my mom always said 'better safe than sorry' and I would have hated myself if I hadn't brought one and didn't have the chance to do that again with her. I lied down on my back and when she straddled me, the sight made my dick twitch and my heart jump. She was hot and watching her move on top of me was definitely going to bring me to an orgasm fast.

I ran my hands on her thighs and when she moved on her knees to sit on my cock, It was my turn to hold my breath while my lips parted. She felt so good around me that I let out a low curse word and blinked a few times, trying to see her better as I became dizzy. She had a small shy smile and I let my hands slid up until her waist just to feel her skin against mine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing."

She started moving over me, riding me gently, and she bent down to kiss me again. I ran my hands on her, wherever I could touch, but she didn't move back her and stayed laying on me. I enjoyed the way her hips were moving against mine and when I felt myself reach an orgasm, I held her waist tighter. I felt her start shaking over me a few seconds after I came and when her body went limp on top of me, I sighed with a smile, running a few of my fingertips on her spine.

"Now, we have to talk." I repeated in a gentle tone, bringing my hand up to move her hair out of her face and press my cheek on the top of her head.

She remained silent for a few seconds but I felt her lips press on my chest and it made me smile. "Mmhm, we can talk now."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan au #niall horan love story #my fanfics #newangel

69 notes · View notes

some-dr-writings · 4 years

Text

Korekiyo, Ryoma, Kazuichi, and Gundham’s S/O steals their clothes

Korekiyo Shinguji:

· Given the man traveled a lot for his work he kept some of his clothes at your place. It was just convenient should your apartment be closer to where he was working than his own home, it also made for a lovely excuse to come see you.

· After double checking everything was prepared at the excavation site one last time and several day long train rides he was finally back in town. The sun still hung high in the sky, its warmth being carried along by the summer breeze. Kiyo felt exhausted. Though it was a perfect day to go for a stroll through the city or an adventure through a park, all he wanted was to collapse on the bed or couch with you in his arms. So he went trudging through the city, the sounds of idle chatter passing by enough to keep his attention so he wouldn’t zone out completely and lose his way, simply walking on and on.

· Normally he’d warn you of his arrival with a quick text but that slipped his mind. Slipping the key into the lock, then turning it, hearing that distinctive, familiar click sound he was reminded he was home. As much as he loved work, it was nice to just lounge around and relax, to not think of anything beyond what to cook for dinner or what to do with you for a date. “Greetings Y/N.”

· Slowly he went about placing things away, tossing some clothes into the laundry, and taking a nice long shower. By the time he was finished with everything he was slightly perplexed noticing you were still absent. “Perhaps work is keeping them?” Though unlikely it was a possibility. He decided to wait for you at the balcony, surprise you with a wave from on high as you returned home. Upon opening the glass slider door he finally noticed you, sprawled across the outdoor lounge chair, his hat perched atop your head, shading your eyes as you peacefully napped. “… so cute.” He couldn’t hold in that light chuckle seeing you there when moments prior he thought you were gone. Seemed he was more tired than he thought. “Hmm… Kiyo?” “Ah! I apologize, go back to sleep. Don’t mine me.” He tried stifling a yawn, but you still caught it. Slowly you sat up, then took his arm, laying back down, taking him with you. Laying on your sides, faces only millimeters apart you took off his hat placing it over both your eyes. So a nap in the sun was it? That sounded perfect and before he had even realized it, Kiyo had already fallen fast asleep.

Ryoma Hoshi:

· It was your favorite game. At first Ryoma didn’t play along but once he realized what you were doing, he’d indulge you. Now this game, you needed to go about it tactfully, if you played too often Ryome would be prepared all the time and you wouldn’t even get a chance to start, so no matter how often you wanted to play, you had to keep it to a minimum.

· It was an awful summer day like any other, hot, humid, sticky. The air conditioning broke, AGAIN and the Super High School Level Mechanic was busy fixing other air conditioners, and no one was going to allow Miu around those things again after how she had… “improved” them last time so you and Ryoma were sprawled across the floor in your dorm room both trying to cool the other off with some paper fans you had made. You groaned, flipping over and pulling at the collar of your tank top, even the thin fabric of your top feeling suffocating. Hearing a sign escape our partner drew your attention to him. You had no idea how he could still wear that beanie even in this insufferable heat. You were genuinely worried that with it on it would send your boyfriend’s body over the edge and succumb to heat stroke.

· And the game began.

· With the hat clutched between your fingers you dashed through the door, almost knocking it off its hinges and sending it crashing into the wall with a loud clattering sound, there was even enough force to send it bouncing off the wall, closing itself in the process. You almost tripped over yourself, your feet either getting stubbed on the ground or getting caught on your legs several times as you ran, almost falling onto the steaming stone ground. You threw yourself onto the field desperate to save your burning feet. Then you saw it, that blur, and the moment you caught it in the corner of your eye you immediately threw your hand in the air, keeping the beanie out of Ryoma’s reach. Sure this game of ‘capture the flag’ was not the greatest game for such a miserable day, but the moment you thought of taking his hat off you bolted with it as if instinctively.

· For several minuets this continued till Ryoma finally got the upper hand and took his hat back. Normally your game would last much longer, but the pair of you were already exhausted and out of breath. Ryoma was about to place his hat back on till he abruptly stopped. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be wearing this today.” Instead, he used it to wipe some sweat off his brow as the pair of you made some light chatter, considering going to the school cafeteria and seeing if you could get some bags of ice there.

· “… Race you there!” Ryoma simply shook his head with a smile chasing after you. Only you of all people could manage to be antsy on a day like this, but no matter how awful the day, he was with you, which made it a little bit better.

Kazuichi Soda:

· A sigh escaped you as you glanced out the window, seeing how the snow just kept pilling and pilling. You wondered how much longer this dreaded snowstorm was going to last, with the wind crashing and thrashing about, knocking over near by trees and the like. It scared you honestly, the though of some tree just collapsing through the roof or a large branch to pierce through a window and knocking over a wall in the process. Leaning back in your seat something caught your eye. How your husband could manage to sleep even in this racket was something you could never figure out even after years together. As a yawn escaped your lips you wished you could lull off to a restful slumber like him, but it was just too loud.

· With a stretch you stood up, opting to find something to occupy yourself with other than looking out the window. Taking Kazuichi’s beanie from the end of the bed, you place it on, leaving the room.

· Now… what to do during a power outage… without heat… With the snow covering the windows the house was almost pitch black. One could still see due to some soft light, but certainly not enough to read. Sure, you could do whatever on your phone, but you wanted to keep that in case of an emergency.

· Suddenly you heard a giddy giggle as heavy, warm blankets, as well as a pair of arms were wrapped around you. “I thought you were asleep?” “How can I sleep when you’re gone.” There was a whimper or a wine in the man’s voice as he hugged you tighter. “And what are you doing looking so cute with my stolen hat out here and not our room?” “… You’ve seen me wear your hat a thousand time over, you don’t have to say I’m cute every time. Besides wouldn’t you be used to the sight by now?” “Excuse me, but your cuteness is ever lasting and something I can never ‘just get used to’. Now please come back to the bedroom. It’s lonely without you.”

· You hugged him, nuzzling into his embrace, adoring how firm his hug was and how warm you felt. “Okay, okay, I’ll come back.” Lifting you off your feet he carried you back, trying to remember if the pair of you had any card or board games stashed somewhere to occupy the time.

Gundham Tanaka:

· Gundham awoke with a groan that freezing winter’s morning, his whole body stiff and felt to be on the verge of collapsing. And he felt so heavy. Was the weighted blanket atop him? He couldn’t remember whether or not you placed it on the bed the night prior. Though his mind seemed to be fogged and his ears muffled he could still clearly hear his own heavy breathing and slightly racing heartbeat. Shakily he sat up and looked to the alarm clock that sat perched atop the headstand of the bed. “… How could time escape… escape me so.” Somehow it seemed he got up too quickly, the world seeming to twist, turn and spin in an attempt to knock him to the floor. As he laid back down, desperate for balance he kept thinking of the time, eleven o’ four, almost noon, how could he have slept in so long? “e-even should a curse have b-been place… upon my being…” A cough erupted from him interrupting that sentence.

· “M-my Emperor… stay back, this… I don’t wish this curse upon you too.” Short of breath he staggered to the bathroom. He leaned against the sink for a moment before washing his face with freezing water, hoping the shock of the chill would at least somewhat make him more alert. He examined himself finding every feature of his simply looked awful and exhausted. No matter how he tried he couldn’t disguise it, not wanting his creatures to see he was weakened. Running his hands through his hair he noticed something glinting in it. He was so completely confused till he realized it was just his engagement ring. He realized just how bad this illness was for him to forget about THAT of all things!

· Flopping back onto the bed he noticed other things he very much should have sooner. Firstly you were gone, for a moment he panicked, you were always still asleep by his side when he awoke- but… it was the afternoon not daybreak, of course you were gone, probably at work or something. The other was his scarf being missing. His Devas lived in the thing and both his companions and their home was missing. Where were they? He searched and searched but no matter where he looked around the house he could not find any sign of them. It was extremely unlike them to wander far so where were they? Where did they go!? Were they alright!? Did they go outside into the snow!? It’s snowing right now! Where they buried out there!? But why would they go out there in the first place!? But what if they did!? They’d be freezing to death they-

· “Gundham?” That voice! That soft, sweet, concerned tone- “Gundham! What are you doing up, you need bed rest!” You were already by his side, huddled close. You showed Gundham your hand before slowly placing it on his forehead as to not surprise him, fearing that when sickened he was possibly more sensitive to touch. He had improved a lot in being okay with you touching him, but it was something you were extra weary of in the moment. However, you instead were the one caught off guard, Gundham hugging you. “The Devas, they-” But then he immediately backed up, looking affright. “M-my Emperor! Stay back, this curse-” “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We got you some medicine, just get back to bed, and I’ll make you some food.” Before Gundham could speak more you took off something you were wearing, wrapping it around his neck, quickly dusting off the snow that had collected on it. He trembled, relief overwhelming him feeling all of the Zodiac generals scurrying about in the scarf. “Oh dear, you’re paler than before.” You gently coaxed him back to the bedroom.

· He simply huddled in bed, holding his dear Generals and their home close. He just barely noticed the creaking of the door, seeing you have come back with a hot soup. “How are you feeling? Is the medicine helping?” Gundham simply stared up to you, his eyes half lidded and watery. He just looked so dazed and exhausted. He reached out, taking one of your hands into both of his own, holding you close. A chill ran down your spine feeling his hot breath against your skin. “… Y/N, please stay… a-and don’t catch this curse either” His eyes fluttered shut as he so tenderly kissed the back of you hand and palm. “never disappear again… don’t... scare me… please… i… need you… now and forever… I love you…” Still clutching you close he finally allowed himself to drift off, knowing all he loved was safe.

· And you were left feeling flustered, that heat radiating from your cheeks. You didn’t think Gundham could be this unabashedly, and directly lovey-dovey with you. Being sick just knocked down certain sensibilities of his you supposed. “Of course… I am going to promise ‘in sickness and in health’ not long from now, aren’t I?” You laid beside him, giving a kiss to his forehead, gaining a soft, content hum from him.

118 notes · View notes

astrovian · 3 years

Text

the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking, “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1) allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2) judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh…

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

#richard armitage #yes this is a multi-part one because uh... there's a lot of photoshoots guys #also yes most of the early 2000s ones ended up at the bottom and I refuse to apologise for that

34 notes · View notes

varietysunsets · 4 years

Text

My Right Hand Man

Pairing: Diavolo/Kira Yoshikage Rating: T Tags: Domestic AU (with stands!), canon-typical violence, vague descriptions of murder, fluff, enemies to lovers? 👀 Word count: 7700

Description: Kira gets blackmailed into spending Christmas with his new neighbours.

A/N: happy holidays @doctorrosalia, here’s your @jjba-secret-santa ! sorry that this is so long, i havent written since last year’s secret santa so i was a little backed up lol. try to stay safe and relax in these bizarre times 🍹

Read on AO3!

August 28th, 1999

It all began when Kira spotted the moving truck next door.

It was fancy—a name brand with about three or four men in matching uniforms hauling furniture inside the house. Nice-looking furniture, at that. Mostly black leather or white suede, practically new. Modernist style.

Kira couldn’t imagine why someone would move into their Morioh subdivision if they could afford furniture like that. Either they were broke and trying to overcompensate for the fact, or they recently came into money but still weren’t sure how to handle it. Personally, Kira hoped it was the former; if this new neighbour had exorbitant amounts of money, they would probably try to remodel the house. Kira dreaded to think about listening to a construction crew for weeks at a time.

Kira watched the moving crew for a good fifteen minutes while he sipped his coffee. The crew hauled in a large, plastic-wrapped mattress, followed shortly by another, much smaller one, too.

Kira nodded his head. His new neighbour had a child. That wasn’t surprising. A lot of people in the neighbourhood had families. This was a relatively safe place, after all.

The thought made Kira smile a bit. With another sip of coffee, he checked his watch. Almost time to leave.

The movers continued to do their work, steadily unloading the huge truck. As Kira went and rinsed out his mug, he realized that he hadn’t yet seen his new neighbours. And then, it came to him that he would need to learn the schedule of these new neighbours, too. That left a sour note in Kira’s mouth—before, an old man lived there with his extremely young girlfriend. It was easy to bypass them and do what he needed, because the man was senile and the girlfriend was never home, probably partying or seeing other men.

Kira drew a steady breath, calmed himself. He turned to the table, where his girlfriend sat. Stiff, perfect, angelic, almost. All negative feelings washed away from him.

Lovingly, he scooped her up and held her to his face. He kissed the back of the corpse hand, savoring the feel of her soft, cold skin against his lips. She was fresh and delightful; really, he didn’t need to worry about the new neighbours for now, his current girlfriend would last for a good week or so. Maybe longer.

With another quick kiss, Kira wrapped his girlfriend back up and returned her to the fridge. He straightened his tie, collected his briefcase, and went for the door.

He took his time locking the door outside, if only hoping that he might catch a glimpse of his new neighbour. Unfortunately, the curtains were drawn tight and there was no sign of them outside, so Kira began his commute to work curious and unsatisfied.

—30—

September 5th

A week passed. Still, Kira hadn’t seen any sign of life from his new neighbours’ house. Kira tried to break it down rationally, to find clues to tell him anything about these new people; he assumed there was only one parent, given the fact that the furniture brought in was near-immaculate, but missing any feminine touches. Possibly a single father. The problem with that was Kira hadn’t seen a parent or even a babysitter come or go yet. Given the time of year, the child would be out of school, so someone needed to be watching it.

There was so much mystery surrounding these people that it made Kira nervous. He tried to mind himself and rationalize his anxiety, but every time he passed a window, he found himself staring out at the neighbours, desperately grasping for anything he could find.

The only thing different he could see since the neighbours moved in were the slightly open purple butterfly curtains in one of the second-floor windows. Every other set of blinds or curtains were drawn, blocking the inside off from the rest of the world. It was frustrating, so frustrating.

After waking up, Kira did as he always did; he dressed, went to the kitchen to start his coffee, and pulled his girlfriend from the fridge. A rank smell followed her; black rot began to take the edges of her wrist. Kira’s heart sank with despair and disgust.

He couldn’t focus on this right now, otherwise he would get frazzled. Kira shut the fridge door and walked through the house, all the way to the back porch.

The early-morning air was fresh and warm outside. Calm emotions ebbed through him as he breathed steadily.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Kira caught movement in the neighbours’ backyard.

Kira tensed, though he knew he wasn’t in any danger. Killer Queen materialized behind him, set and ready as it peered over Kira’s shoulder. In the neighbours’ backyard was a young child walking around, easily only a kindergarten student or younger, with bright pink hair wearing a sundress.

Kira relaxed, even laughed inwardly at himself. He waved Killer Queen away, though the Stand stayed where it was. Curious, Queen drifted to the porch railing and leaned over, as if closely observing the child. At this point, Kira could have gone back into the house, but there was a strange nagging feeling inside him that made him stay put.

A quick survey of the neighbours’ backyard told Kira that this little girl was completely alone and unsupervised; no one was on the back porch, and as always, the blinds were drawn. Kira knew that he was the most dangerous thing in Morioh, yet he felt uncomfortable leaving the girl alone. Odd, because she wasn’t his responsibility in the slightest. Perhaps only to keep his illusion of being a good person, Kira quietly observed the girl a little more.

She explored around the yard, plucking grass and dandelions. Her curly hair was cropped short around her head, bright pink. Kira had never seen anything like it. Queen beside him stared intently, unblinking, like a cat watching prey.

The girl knelt, scooped another handful of flowers, then happened to turn around. Kira jolted slightly as they made eye contact. Queen jumped to hide behind Kira; the cold feeling of its hands grasped Kira’s shoulders. Without any idea of what to do, Kira waved at her gently.

The girl didn’t smile. Her chubby cheeks perched in an almost-frown, but her yellow eyes were bright. She raised one grassy hand and waved back.

Kira thought she was cute for a child. He never caught onto the baby craze or any particularly paternal instincts, but perhaps now he could understand why women swooned over them. He waved again, smiling softly, then lowered his hand. The little girl put her hand down, too. She kept staring, then decisively started walking towards Kira.

There was no real divide between their yards, only a small grassy slope leading to a shallow valley. Kira kept his yard immaculate and mowed, the neighbours’ grass was almost to the girl’s knees.

The girl made it within three feet of the divide when a man came around the corner of the house. Killer Queen dematerialized, and Kira stood up straight again.

The man was tall and lanky, but despite that, his arms were obviously defined under the sleeves of a black rock band t-shirt. He had a wild mat of long pink hair, and a sharp face with dark circles under hard set, black eyes.

At first glance, Kira could tell the man was his age, but somehow, he seemed much younger.

“Do you have a problem?” The man asked sharply, with an obvious Italian accent. He walked past the little girl and stood partially in front of her.

Kira was taken aback, but he kept his cool. He smiled slightly and bowed his head a little.

“No problems,” He assured the man. His mouth felt dry. “I was just standing here.”

“You were watching my daughter, like a pervert.” The man accused.

Kira almost reeled. His stomach curled at the accusation. “I wasn’t watching her... That way. She looked alone; I was just making sure that she didn’t wander off. No ill-intentions, I assure you.”

Kira sweat bullets under the hard, distrustful stare of his neighbour. It felt like forever before he finally spoke.

“You mind your business next time.” There was no threat attached to the end of the man’s statement, but Kira felt it in his tone.

Shivers rushed up Kira’s spine. Nothing normally scared him, certainly not people, but this man made him feel things. A little bit of fear, maybe excitement at his audacity. It wasn’t the type of attitude people usually took in Morioh, especially not with mild-natured Kira Yoshikage.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.” Kira offered, trying to recollect his composure. “I apologize that this is our first meeting.”

The man narrowed his eyes. He glared Kira up and down.

Kira forced a smile, even as he held his breath.

Without a word in reply, the man grabbed his daughter by the shoulder and ushered her back towards the house. “Come on, Trish,” he mumbled, so quiet Kira almost didn’t hear.

Trish went willingly, but not without casting one last glance at Kira. Expressionless, she waved.

Kira considered waving back, out of politeness, at least. But soon Trish and her father disappeared into the home again.

Killer Queen’s presence radiated behind Kira’s shoulder. Glancing back, Kira saw that Queen had its hand up, waving back at Trish. Kira rolled his eyes.

“Stop that. She can’t see you.”

Kira returned to his own house. Queen lingered a second longer, staring out unblinking at the lawn, before dissipating and following Kira.

—30—

October 12th

Summer fully ended, and with it came mild Autumn days. As always, Kira went to work, did his errands and chores, and over time he stopped thinking about his odd neighbours as much. He caught glimpses of them here and there, but hardly enough to focus on. Sometimes in the morning Kira saw Trish leave the house for school and join the other neighbourhood children for the commute. Other times, just after dusk, Kira caught glimpses of his strange neighbour creeping to the mailbox.

Through vague conversations with the mailman, Kira pieced together that his neighbour went by the nickname Diavolo. That was about the extent of what Kira really cared to find out; he knew this Diavolo’s schedule and that was all he needed.

So, life went on as usual for Kira.

He met a waitress at a restaurant with exceptionally beautiful hands. He stalked her home to a bustling apartment and strangled her before she had the chance to scream. Killer Queen disposed of the evidence, and the TV playing perfectly hid the sounds of carnage. The exhilaration from killing carried Kira all the way home as though he were walking on air. Kira kept his new prize nestled in his suit pocket; the lingering warmth from the corpse hand was delicious, and her skin was so soft when Kira stroked her.

Kira’s new girlfriend was exactly what he needed in his home; she fit in perfectly, like the missing piece to a puzzle. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kira was completely at peace.

Though every day of the following week was identical, Kira savoured it. Perfect peace in his quiet life, unnoticed and left alone—he couldn’t ask for anything more.

Before work on a Thursday morning, Kira checked his mailbox. He flipped through, sorting the junk from the important letters, almost mindlessly, until he got to an unmarked manilla folder at the bottom of the stack. Curious, Kira pursed his lips. He set the rest of his mail aside and opened the folder.

His heart stopped.

Inside were photographs. Photos of himself, taken through a window, kissing his girlfriend in his kitchen. Photos of him lovingly painting his girlfriend’s nails. Even photos of his girlfriend, from all angles, sitting out on the table and in the fridge, taken from inside his home.

Violent nausea washed over Kira. His stomach twisted into a knot, his chest clenched with anger. He wanted to collapse and scream and throw up all at the same time. Not only was he being watched, but whoever took these photos was inside his home. They touched his things and invaded his space, handled his girlfriend.

As Kira slid the photos back into the folder, he noted a letter tucked inside. Despite the waves of sickness washing through him, he managed enough coordination to read it.

And then he read it over again. And again. And Again.

The letter detailed extremely specific instructions for Kira. A time and place to be, down to the minute, and a gracious description of a man Kira was to kill, “however he usually does”. Then there were threats at the end—promises that Kira’s life would be upturned with the photographs and more if the task wasn’t completed, or if he tried anything suspicious. And that there would be more tasks to come later.

Kira couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Almost in a daze, he brought his mail into the house.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kira gnawed his nails until blood seeped down his fingers and dripped onto the table. Easily, Kira could see himself falling into a slippery slope, constantly running around killing for this blackmailer until he either got caught or got himself killed. Unless he figured out who the blackmailer was and struck first.

When Kira snapped back to consciousness, his hand was covered in blood. He licked his lips, and then went to wash up.

He called out to work that day, his first sick call in months. Kira faked a cough and apologized profusely. His boss wished him well and told him to get some rest and feel better soon.

Kira had no intention of doing either. He spent the day fretting, thinking and mulling over the letter—one part on how to kill and another on how to find his blackmailer.

—30—

October 20th

All things considered, the kill was easy; the target was passed out drunk when Kira arrived. Kira rigged the home with bombs as instructed, and quickly he discovered why his blackmailer wanted this man killed.

The target’s home was littered with photographs—ironically, Kira assumed they were to be used for blackmail, too. He took a moment to examine a few and found that both his and his neighbour’s homes were pictured. Another showed his neighbour leaving the house, in one of his mad dashes for the mailbox.

Though he had many questions unanswered, some of the mystery clicked. Kira finished his task and fled the scene. He was long gone by the time firefighters arrived to put out the blaze that was the target’s home.

—30—

October 22nd

Another letter arrived mysteriously in Kira’s mailbox. Just as Kira feared, the slippery slope had begun.

Once again, the letter listed everything down to the minute detail; Kira was to leave his home at 1:35pm that day and arrive at a nearby park by 1:48. Apparently, the sender had measured the exact time window it would take to get there. As with the last letter, this one was incredibly detailed and well-written, until the very end, that is. The final line read,

Find a young man named Doppio.

Talk soon.

Kira was given no description, no call to action, nothing. What was he to do when he found this Doppio? How was he even supposed to find him? What if he couldn’t?

Worry wrought Kira’s body. He chewed his nails the entire walk to the park, despite trying his best to remain calm. The signs of a beautiful fall day were around him; golden leaves tumbled from the trees and danced in the gentle breeze. All he could think about was whether his not-so-secret blackmailer would expose him completely.

Kira got rushed by violent thoughts of what he might do to this Doppio person when he found him. He wanted nothing more than to use Killer Queen and erase this fool completely, but he couldn’t. There was too much he didn’t know yet. And there were people walking around everywhere in this park.

Most notably, a younger guy with purple hair and a matching sweater struggled to keep a little girl, wearing a backpack and child-leash, in check. He laughed nervously to himself and chided the child gently.

At first, Kira paid them no mind, until he looked closer; the child looked strangely familiar. He paused to observe and realized that the little girl on the leash was his next-door neighbour.

Trish noticed Kira staring first. She glanced over her shoulder and stopped tugging on her leash; instead, she waved her hand at Kira, expressionless and silent. The man with her glanced back as well.

He looked Kira over, then his eyes lit up.

“Oh! Oh!” He said. “You’re mister Yoshikage? Um— Kiri— No, Kira, right?”

Kira bristled slightly. He dug his nails into his palm, in an attempt to soothe the desire to chew them. “Kira Yoshikage, yes.”

The boy sighed deeply in relief. He smiled a weary grin and dropped his shoulders. “Oh, thank god. I’m Doppio. The boss told me to come find you. He said— ha! He said I’d find some old blond guy in a suit walking around the park like a creep. But you’re not— you’re a lot younger than I was expecting.” Doppio laughed awkwardly.

Kira stared at him. His expression slipped into something intense and unimpressed.

Doppio’s laughter petered off. He cleared his throat. Trish tugged viciously on her leash, in a desperate attempt to chase a stray cat strolling by.

“Um... Should we... Walk and talk?” Doppio offered. His body jerked as Trish pulled. “The boss gave me some stuff to talk about with you.”

Kira couldn’t explain the feeling inside his chest. It was a seething anger; not only was he being blackmailed, he had to deal with someone like... This. It was almost insulting, in a very specific way.

Outwardly, Kira tried to seem calm. He bowed his head briefly to Doppio.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

For the most part, Trish led the way. She jerked Doppio every so often, in some violent pursuit of this or that, and without fail every time Doppio laughed awkwardly and gave Kira a ‘what can you do?’ sort of glance.

There were a few people in the park, strolling around and enjoying the day. Normally, Kira blended in well with the crowd, but he felt now that walking beside Doppio and the unruly child made them the centre of attention. Kira’s palms sweated; Doppio remained oblivious that people may be staring at them.

“So... You got the boss’ letters pretty easy, huh?” Doppio said, as though he were making small talk. Trish jerked his arm again, as she rushed towards a small playground in the middle of the park.

Everything about this felt surreal to Kira, like he was living in a fever-dream, or inside a carnival mirror. Maybe this was an elaborate prank, or Kira’s tailored personal hell.

“I did.”

Doppio waited a second for Kira to say more, but when it became obvious that he had finished his statement, Doppio awkwardly filled the silence.

“Well, the boss told me he respects how quickly you got the job done. And effectively! He’s really impressed by you, mister Kira. He thinks you have a lot of potential.”

“That’s... Good.” Kira approached the conversation carefully, lest he accidentally offer unknown information.

Together, they approached the edge of the playground. Doppio knelt and unclasped the leash from Trish’s bookbag.

“Stay where I can see you,” Doppio said to her, but the moment she was free, Trish took off in a sprint towards the jungle gyms.

“If I can ask... Why didn’t your ‘boss’ come out here to meet me?” Kira inquired.

Doppio rolled the leash up in his hand and stood straight. “Oh, uh— he doesn’t really like being out in public, he’s kind of a hermit. But! This is confidential, I promise you can trust in me. I know everything, I won’t rat you out.”

Doppio led them over to some benches on the outskirts of the playground. No one else was around. Despite his weariness, Kira sat beside Doppio.

“I know I don’t seem very trustworthy, and you probably think I’m kind of a dork,” Doppio continued. Kira side-glanced at him. “But I’m Diavolo’s right-hand man. The only reason he sent me out here is because he doesn’t want any more paper trails, get it? This whole ordeal is pretty hush-hush.”

“Diavolo.” Kira repeated softly to himself. That confirmed it. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbow on his knee. “What does he want from me?”

Doppio fiddled with the leash in his hand. He watched Trish run around closely, in case she made a break for it.

“More jobs. The boss has a lot of enemies, you know? But he’s lying low right now, he can’t risk dealing with it himself.”

“Then why would he pick me, a complete stranger?”

Doppio laughed a little. “It’s not like you’ve never met. You live right next door, after all. It’s easier to keep track of you and everything.”

Silence settled between them. For a long second, Doppio and Kira stared at each other. In the background, gravel crunched as Trish fell off the monkey bars, only to quickly jump up and try again.

As the silence and its implications seeped in, Doppio’s expression dropped. Horror etched across his face.

“Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that. I— I...”

“I already figured that out,” Kira offered. His methods were always perfect, he had no enemies, no reason for anyone to suspect him; it only made sense that his new neighbour, Diavolo, the only new thing in his otherwise perfect life, was the cause of it all.

Doppio seemed slightly relieved, but still there were some hints of terror in his expression. He fiddled more with his hands and glanced around nervously. Then, he started to mutter, “Ring, ring, ring...”

Kira blinked. Doppio got up and paced, all while muttering to himself.

That was one way to leave a conversation cold, Kira thought.

“Ring, ring... Where is it...?”

Almost triumphantly, Doppio picked up a crushed, empty soda can. He put it to his ear and said, “Hello? Doppio speaking.”

Despair settled in Kira’s stomach. He was supposed to trust this man? This entire interaction already felt like a slap in the face, but this was too much. Kira hoped even more now that this was an elaborate prank, or maybe even just a long dream that he would soon wake up from.

Doppio’s eyes lit up. “Boss! Oh— yeah, yeah, he’s here. One sec.”

Doppio turned to Kira and held the can out.

“He wants to talk to you,” Doppio said.

At this point, Kira didn’t know what to think. He felt a thousand eyes staring at him, even though there were only a few people walking around, ignoring them.

Despite the absurdity of this, Kira took the can. Under Doppio’s expectant gaze, he put the can to his ear and said, “...Yes?”

“Yoshikage.”

Kira jolted. Directly in his ear was the voice of his neighbour—Diavolo. Deep and calm, yet heavy and serious.

Kira jerked his eyes to Doppio; the man stood there smiling, waiting patiently. Only then did Kira notice that one of Doppio’s eyes wasn’t quite right—the pupil was darker, twitching, in an uncanny familiar way.

“Listen to me, Yoshikage.” Diavolo whispered to him. Kira watched Doppio’s face the entire time; his lips moved with the speech. “You’re going to do exactly as Doppio says. If you lay a hand on my Doppio or my daughter, I will ruin your life in such a specific way that you will wish you were dead.”

Panic and fear gripped Kira’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Doppio has more power than you realize, and he will not hesitate to use it against you. And don’t forget, I have your life in the palm of my hand. Check your mailbox when you get home.”

Kira lowered the can from his ear and stared, shocked, at Doppio.

Doppio smiled back innocently. Both his eyes matched again, the irises a bright golden colour.

Kira couldn’t find the words to speak even if he wanted to. Doppio’s smile was almost haunting.

“Let’s talk about your next task then, mister Kira.”

—30—

November 1st

A woman this time, and a pretty one, at that. She had beautiful skin and excellent, gorgeous hands. Manicured. Adorned in expensive rings and a bracelet. Kira imagined she was a pianist, or even a harpist. Something about the delicate nature of her hands led Kira to believe she played an equally regal instrument.

Even though he was there on business, Kira saw no problem with keeping her hands. It would be a waste otherwise, he thought. After some quiet contemplation, and comparing them both, Kira settled on taking the left hand; her right index finger had a broken nail, while the left was completely intact.

Kira finished the job with a quiet blast from Killer Queen. He went home satisfied, with his new girlfriend safely tucked into his blazer.

As soon as Kira stepped into his home, the phone rang.

Confused, Kira glanced at the time; it was late, far later than when he usually got calls of any kind. Wearily, Kira moved to the phone on the wall and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Kira Yoshikage.” Diavolo greeted. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Kira felt shivers go down his spine. He considered hanging up, but something kept him standing there, waiting for Diavolo to say more.

And he did.

“I assume you did. Did you bring home a souvenir, by chance?”

Kira’s stomach wretched a bit. “What do you want? Can’t I have an evening in peace?”

Diavolo laughed. “Oh, sure. I don’t have another task for you yet, I just wanted to thank you for your work. Based on your reaction, I assume you got my gift.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I picked her out special for you, couldn’t you tell?” Diavolo stated, as though it were obvious. He laughed again, a haunting sound. “You’re a despicable man, Yoshikage, pretty perverted, but your taste is obvious.”

Suddenly, the corpse hand in Kira’s pocket felt impossibly heavy.

“No need to thank me,” Diavolo continued. “I’m sure you’re beyond grateful. I have nothing else for you right now, but we’ll be in touch. Ciao.”

Diavolo hung up, leaving Kira standing there, stunned into silence. Up until now, he assumed that everything about Diavolo was despicable. Weird and despicable. This, however, felt bittersweet; possibly the strangest gift anyone had ever gotten Kira, but also... The most thoughtful.

Kira didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. He did his best to push it out of his head, to Zen out while he went about his nightly routine.

Still, his mind wandered back to Diavolo. The strange gift. His deep voice.

It all haunted Kira, but not necessarily in a bad way.

—30—

December 10th 1:15pm

Over the course of the next month, Diavolo’s tasks shifted from murderous in nature to more... Domestic.

It was frustrating and borderline insulting at first that Kira was expected to go around collecting dry-cleaning and groceries—Kira was much more than someone’s errand-boy—but at the same time, Diavolo found intriguing ways to reward Kira for his service. Money and dropped hints to help him find new targets, always beautiful and model-worthy, in Kira’s opinion.

Though originally he despised Diavolo, now Kira couldn’t help but see some merit in the strange man, at least as far as his taste went and little else.

That being said, Kira’s next task was... Unexpected.

Kira got the call while he was at work, which jarred him, but he supposed that he shouldn’t expect any less from Diavolo at this point.

“Hello, Yoshi.” Diavolo’s voice pierced through Kira, giving him a gut-reaction shiver.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Does it make your skin crawl? You should consider it a term of endearment. I think more people should call you it.”

Kira sighed. “These calls are recorded, you know.”

Diavolo sounded amused. “I figured. I need a favour of you.”

Kira glanced casually over his shoulder. Though his expression remained calm, his palms started to sweat.

“A favour?” Kira ventured carefully.

Diavolo hummed in his ear. “I need you to pick Trish up from school today. And then take her to go get Christmas decorations for an hour or so.”

Kira furrowed his brows. As Diavolo spoke, Kira poked his pointer finger to his lips and chewed the nail.

“This is an odd favour from you,” Kira muttered, choosing his words carefully.

“I know. But you’re the only person I trust to do this.”

Kira wanted to laugh. Diavolo trusted him? Given the chance, Kira would strangle him and chop him to bits, then use Killer Queen to erase all evidence that he existed. He wouldn’t hesitate.

Yet at the same time, deeper down, Kira felt hesitation. He tried to play it off as self-sustaining worry, but he knew better.

Eventually, Kira replied, “I get off work at four.”

“Good. I’ll see you later tonight, then.” Then, Diavolo teased, “If anything happens to Trish, I’ll skin you.”

Kira chuckled at that, even though he knew that Diavolo was completely serious.

—30—

December 10th 4:25pm

Trish had no emotion and no expression when Kira came to pick her up. She left the other children playing on the playground without looking back and willingly approached Kira’s car. She was bundled up warmly in a jacket with matching splash pants and a knit hat.

“Hi Yoshi.”

Kira pursed his lips. “You ought to call me ‘mister Kira’ instead.”

Trish frowned and took an attitude to her tone. “Papa told me to call you Yoshi.”

“It’s more respectful for you to call me Kira.”

Trish paused a long moment. She pulled the knit hat off her head, revealing a tangle of short, frizzy pink hair.

“I’m gonna call you Yoshi,” she said decisively.

Kira couldn’t believe the audacity of this brat.

“At least call me ‘Yoshikage’.”

Trish wrinkled her nose. “Yoshi.”

Kira gritted his teeth. His mind was plagued by violent thoughts, and his hands twitched at his sides. Inside his chest, he felt Killer Queen itching to be released.

“Didn’t your father teach you to respect your elders?” Kira asked calmly instead.

Trish glanced up at Kira. Her expression soured further, and she stuck her tongue out.

“He told me I’m not s’pposed to go anywhere with strangers. Where’s uncle Doppio?”

“I’m not sure,” Kira said, holding in his annoyance. He opened the car door and ushered Trish inside. “We’ll have to ask your father later.”

Trish crossed her arms and pouted. After getting buckled in and settled, she stared angrily out the back window as they drove.

“...Is your ghost still following you?” Trish eventually asked.

Kira glanced back at her through the rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry? My ghost?”

“Yeah. The pink one.”

“I don’t have a ghost following me,” Kira lied.

“It waved at me,” Trish continued to say. She stared hard at the back of Kira’s head, as though it would make the ‘ghost’ in question appear. “It was big and pink and had kitty ears.”

Kira’s hands were clammy. He felt Killer Queen swell inside his chest, almost desperate to materialize after being talked about. Kira pushed it down.

“You have a wild imagination. There are strange things in this world, but I doubt ghosts are one of them.”

Trish didn’t seem satisfied with that answer fully, but seemingly she took it. To stave off further questioning, Kira turned the radio on. It worked well enough, until they reached their outlet mall destination.

Normally, Kira avoided the mall whenever possible, especially around the holiday season. It was too busy for his liking and the appeal of Christmas never really resonated with him personally; if anything, it felt like a waste of time. However, his anonymity laid on the line, so Kira put forth a forced smile.

“Your father wants you to pick out some Christmas decorations.” Kira told Trish. “Do you have any ideas of what you’d like?”

Trish shook her head. She intentionally looked away from Kira as they walked through the bustling mall.

Kira seethed quietly. He led Trish towards a specialty knick-knack store and shooed her in. “Well, think about it. Let’s look around.”

There was no shortage of Christmas decorations in the store. Everything was covered in red or green tinsel, doused with fake foam snow. Sparkly ornaments and colourful decorations flashed and sang everywhere. Kira couldn’t help being a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure, unadulterated Christmas spirit he was surrounded by.

Finally, Trish’s expression shifted slightly. Though she didn’t smile fully, she did seem mildly impressed by everything. She wandered further into the store, following singing snowmen and dancing Santa’s.

Kira tried to follow, but easily became distracted. For the most part, he wondered about how anyone could find these annoying traditions endearing. Personally, Kira preferred modest, if any, Christmas decorations and quiet nights by himself throughout the holidays.

While Kira wasn’t paying attention, Killer Queen materialized. It lingered behind Trish, glancing around and inspecting her as she admired a wall of Christmas tree ornaments. Curiously, it reached its hand out to swat her shoulder.

Kira caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could stop Queen, a separate entity appeared. All Kira saw was a flash of hot pink before it reeled back and punched Queen full force in the mouth.

At the exact same time, Kira also felt the punch being delivered on himself. The force made him reel, lose his balance, crash to the ground. Thankfully, no one else was in the aisle to stare and gape. Pain ebbed through Kira’s face, anger and confusion welled up inside his chest.

Kira stared at Trish in utter disbelief, clutching his jaw.

For the first time since Kira had met her, Trish emoted. She decisively picked a sparkly, pink disco-ball ornament off the shelf and held it close to her chest. She looked Kira over, and then said with a smile, “I have a ghost, too.”

—30—

December 10th 6:01pm

Kira wanted to drop Trish off on the doorstep and vacate. However, before he could he even ring the doorbell, Doppio threw the door open. He seemed flustered, his face slick with sweat and his smile wild and nervous. He had his sleeves rolled up his elbow. Kira noted a small, dark stain on the bottom hem of his sweater.

“Oh! Mister Kira, perfect timing. I was just cleaning up. Come inside, won’t you?” As Doppio spoke, Trish took the chance to slip inside. She brushed by Doppio, and he acknowledged her by ruffling her hair and saying, “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Kira awkwardly held a paper bag of assorted ornaments and decorations by his side. His jaw still throbbed from the assault earlier.

“I don’t want to impose,” Kira said, though deep inside he wanted nothing more than to see the inside of Diavolo’s home; even just a glimpse would suffice.

Doppio opened the door further. He ushered Kira inside. “Not at all! Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

Kira did come inside, and though normally he felt uncomfortable in barrages of social settings, he felt quite relaxed now. Maybe it was the relief of moving from a bustling mall to somewhere much, much quieter. Maybe it was that in combination with the excitement of finally seeing Diavolo’s home.

Doppio motioned Kira in and closed the door behind him. He smiled, and led the way towards the living room. The walls were crisp white and mostly clean; Kira noted a few criminal spots where crayon was smudged low on the walls.

“Did you want a coffee or a tea or anything?” Doppio asked. Obviously, he was just as excited about having guests as Kira was to be there.

“Tea would be nice. Whatever you have.”

Doppio grinned and nodded. “Okay! Sure, one sec. The boss’ll be right down, too.”

“No rush.”

Kira glanced around the living room, openly taking in everything that he could see. There was an odd dissociation between the niceness of the furniture and the children’s toys laying around on the floor. A collection of Barbie dolls lay discarded in the middle of the floor, along with an open case of pink glittery makeup, dangerously close to spilling on a lovely white carpet. In the very-most corner of the living room was a tall, fake Christmas tree; unsurpising, Kira doubted Diavolo would manage to find a real Christmas tree in Morioh. Upon closer inspection, Kira noted that there were drops of blood on one of the branches. And below, the floor was sparkling clean, but still wet; obviously recently cleaned.

Kira couldn’t help wondering what happened here. Potentially something to do with the fact Diavolo needed someone to pick up and distract Trish.

“Good to see you again.”

Kira twisted around. Diavolo stood in the doorway of the living room, and it occurred to Kira then that he hadn’t actually seen Diavolo since their first meeting. Kira’s heart skipped a nervous little beat, which he chose to ignore.

Diavolo looked much more well put-together than he did before. His hair was combed and fell neatly across his shoulders, his lipstick looked rushed but still befitting. Kira noted that along with a mesh shirt, he wore the same pants as Doppio.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Diavolo continued. He offered out a mug of tea to Kira. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable while you’re here.”

Kira took the mug cautiously. Kira couldn’t help noticing that Diavolo painted his nails black; sloppily, at that. Kira tried not to let it linger in his mind, but as he sat down on a white suede chair, he couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, he could have painted Diavolo’s nails much nicer. That thought, Kira realized, would probably haunt him for a while.

Diavolo took the paper bag of ornaments and brought it to the tree. He rooted through it, nodding his head.

“Excellent. I appreciate your help, Yoshikage.

“You know, you’re the only person who calls me by my first name.” Kira stated over the lip of his tea. “Everyone else has enough respect to call me Kira. I don’t even know how you found my full name.”

Diavolo grinned. He procured a box of white Christmas bulbs from the bag and turned it over in his hands.

“I respect you,” Diavolo said. “People I don’t respect don’t get referred to by name at all. And it wasn’t hard; I have my ways.”

“The same way you found my work phone number?”

“Exactly. You’re quick, Yoshi. That’s why I like you.”

Diavolo opened the box of bulbs. Kira’s eyes followed his hands; they were slender, with long fingers and smooth skin. Hands that hadn’t seen a day of hard labour in a long time, Kira figured. Aesthetically, they were perfect.

Kira forced himself not to stare. Live hands seldom intrigued him, but something about Diavolo’s seemed different. Perhaps it helped that he was an attractive man, even if his personality could be annoying and almost abrasive.

“Doppio said you liked me because I’m easy to control and watch over.” Kira said, to distract himself. He looked around the room, away from Diavolo’s working hands.

“Give yourself more credit. That’s only part of the reason.” Diavolo said. He placed another bulb on the tree. “You’re self-motivating, and handsome, too. I like surrounding myself with beautiful people.”

Kira sputtered on his tea. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. It left a mixed-feeling in Kira’s chest, wherein he felt pleased by the acknowledgement but also startled.

Diavolo looked back over his shoulder. “And look, you’re good with children, too. I took a chance on you with that, but I didn’t have many options today.” He smiled. “Work related business, you see.”

“I see,” Kira muttered, still processing this all. Deep down, Kira felt... Giddy. Excited, almost. He shouldn’t have, but he did. He couldn’t help it.

Little footsteps came running down the hall. Trish appeared in the living room door, having ditched her school uniform and winter clothes in favour of a princess play-dress.

“I wanna decorate the tree.” She said, intensely.

As if nothing had happened up until then, Diavolo nodded. “Go ahead. It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Kira then sat there, quietly processing the entire interaction, while Diavolo helped Trish decorate the tree with sparkling, mis-matched ornaments.

—30—

December 24th

The phone rang. Thinking nothing of it, Kira pulled himself up from his seat and went to answer. He kept his eyes on his TV program the entire time.

“Hello, Kira residence.”

“Ah, so you are alone tonight.”

Kira pursed his lips. “Can I help you, Diavolo?”

“I want you to come over.”

“Right now? I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re watching TV by yourself. Christmas is a time to spend with friends and family.”

Kira quirked a small smile. “Are we friends and family? Also, it’s considered rude here to spy on your neighbours.”

“Close your curtains next time. Are you coming?”

The TV shifted into a commercial. Kira turned towards the window instead; through a crack in Diavolo’s curtains, Kira spotted a sliver of pink hair peeking back at him.

“Why not come over here and ask me in person?” Kira inquired. He picked up the remote and flicked his TV off. “Or leave a letter under my door.”

“This does just as well, doesn’t it?” Diavolo shot back. His smirk could be heard through his tone. “I’ll see you shortly?”

Kira hummed. “I suppose.”

“Good.”

Life was certainly strange for Kira right now. He hung up the phone and slipped his shoes on instead. Over his shoulder, he casted a glance towards his girlfriend, sitting still on the table in front of the TV. Kira blew her a little kiss; he didn’t want her to become jealous, after all.

Snow blanketed the ground outside; it crunched under Kira’s shoes as he crossed the lawn to his neighbour’s home.

With Kira’s help earlier that week, Doppio had outfitted the porch and doorway with sparkling Christmas lights. They glittered and glowed as Kira knocked on the door.

Diavolo appeared almost instantly. He was dressed nicely in a dark button-up and matching pants.

“You could have just come in,” Diavolo said, stepping aside.

“It feels more professional to knock, I think.” Kira replied.

Diavolo smiled. “This is a professional visit?”

Kira quickly looked Diavolo up and down. “You’re dressed like it is.”

“I enjoy looking nice. And you look...” Diavolo stepped close, more into Kira’s space than Kira would allow from anyone else. He plucked the shoulder of Kira’s purple sweatshirt. “...Comfortable.”

Diavolo’s fingers only barely brushed Kira’s shoulder. A small shiver ran through him, unnoticed.

They stood close to each other for only a moment, before Diavolo took a half step back.

“Glass of wine?” He offered.

“I don’t drink, really.”

“It’s wine, Yoshi, not hard liquor. Children drink wine.” Diavolo said that as he slipped into the kitchen.

Kira followed him with his eyes and said, puzzled, “No, I don’t think they should.”

Diavolo laughed at that. Kira smiled to himself, pleased, as he went for the living room. He sat on the couch, facing towards the TV and the twinkling Christmas tree.

“Trish is asleep, I take it.” Kira said.

“Long asleep.” Diavolo replied, as he came into the room. He sat down beside Kira and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. His hand laid close to Kira’s shoulder; close enough that Kira almost felt its presence. “Waiting for Santa now.”

Kira nodded towards the plate sitting on the coffee table. “That explains the milk and cookies.”

“Trish insisted. I can’t stand sweets, so help yourself.” Diavolo sipped his wine, then said, “Maybe next year we can leave Santa a bottle of ‘92 vintage.”

Kira chuckled. Diavolo’s hand was in the very corner of his vision, close enough to touching him that it made Kira’s heart race. He tried to play it cool, though he had no doubt Diavolo knew exactly what he was doing.

Diavolo lifted his glass to his lips again. Kira glanced, then shifted his gaze between Diavolo’s perfectly painted black lips and how delicately he held the glass stem. Effortlessly. Kira wanted to stroke and hold Diavolo’s fingers the same way he held the glass.

“It’s not... Easy for me to make genuine connections with people,” Diavolo admitted. Kira quirked his brow with interest. “But meeting you... It’s been nice.”

“Meeting is a bit of a stretch,” Kira commented. Despite this, he still clung to every word Diavolo said. “Blackmail is more accurate.”

Diavolo waved his hand dismissively, dangerously close to Kira’s face.

“It still stands. I’m glad I met you, Kira Yoshikage. I feel like we’ve helped each other in a lot of different ways.”

Kira nodded his head. “You aren’t wrong, I suppose...”

Diavolo grinned. He raised his glass of wine and shifted ever-so closer to Kira.

“Here’s to another year of violent success for us,” Diavolo said.

Kira leaned forward and took the glass of milk left out. He raised that and clinked it against Diavolo’s.

“No pun intended, I hope.”

Amused, Diavolo drank. His lipstick left a black mark around the rim of the glass. Then, with a sigh, Diavolo leaned forward and set his glass down. When he came back, he gave Kira a cocky look.

“...Would you believe me if I said that there was a mistletoe above you?”

Kira scoffed with a smile. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Diavolo smirked. “Would asking for a kiss be out of place?”

Kira, amused, lowered his glass. Diavolo did the same. With a carefully practiced elegance, Kira swept up Diavolo’s hand in his own. He wrapped his fingers beneath the wrist, his thumb stroked the soft flesh there. Likewise, he felt Diavolo’s pulse pump.

“Not... Per se.” Kira sighed, his heart racing to hold such a warm hand. It was unusual, but in a new, exciting way. He brought Diavolo’s hand up to his lips and adorned it with a kiss.

Diavolo smiled. Kira smiled back.

#jjba secret santa 2020 #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #kiraboss #kiravolo #kira yoshikage #jjba diavolo #jjba doppio #trish una #this fic was brought to you by my butt buddy johnathan who wrote the ending while i got ready for work #and my partner who harassed me until i let them read it < 3

48 notes · View notes

too-gay-for-marvel · 5 years

Text

routine

a/n: look i know im crankin these suckers out, i swear i have a life. ive just got a lot of thots and need to get them out asap or ill forget and then cry. so here, have some married mob boss Natasha and Carol because i love them

Word Count: 2151

Warnings: implied sexual content

Pairing: CarolNat x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4)

Your routine was a simple one when you were single. An early morning where you get up at 6, make your bed, and start the coffee before taking a cold shower. You’re out by the time the machine beeps and it only takes minutes to put on your pre-picked outfit. One cup of coffee (lots of cream, no sugar) while you read the paper. Your phone tells you it’s time to leave and you head to work.

The day is always filled with work work work and it keeps you busy. You can force yourself to focus, working through lunch and staying at the warehouse until it’s dark. You buy an apple and two oranges from the bodega on your way home.

Back home you start another pot of coffee before eating your apple at the counter. You cook a small meal, usually a frozen dinner but sometimes you cook real food, and eat it with your coffee. Sometimes it’s a disgusting combination, sometimes it’s not too bad, but it’s never good. But it’s routine and that’s what matters.

You hand wash the few dishes you have before changing and heading down to the apartment gym for a run. Sometimes you’ll talk with the doorman, sometimes you won’t. Either way, you go back to your apartment and take a hot shower before putting on some pajamas. You lay on the couch and put the news on your laptop while something else plays on the TV. You’ll eat the oranges while you relax and save the peels to boil on the weekends. A lot of times you fall asleep on the couch, always around 2am. You rinse and repeat with little to no variation.

But when you got involved with Natasha and Carol, routine was nothing but a word.

You understood, you really did. They were married, you accidentally wormed your way in, you all had different days. They went and commanded a mob, you were a carpenter. There was no telling what all they dealt with on a daily basis, and you just went to work and back home every day.

They could have at least tried to fit your schedule.

Now it was almost impossible to enjoy the walk to and from work because you were acutely aware of the people Carol and Nat would have follow you. “To keep you safe,” they had said. You didn’t care, it was an interruption.

When they would stop by, you couldn’t just heat up your one meal and be done with it. You had to make enough for three people, with three plates and three cups and three sets of silverware. And then you couldn’t even wash them right away because they were only coming by for a fuck. Which was more than fine with you.

But it messed up your routine.

And now they had the nerve to sleep over? They never stayed the night! Sure, sometimes they would stay until extremely early in the morning, but they never slept over. You would fuck, they would leave, and you’d rush to get back into your routine.

You couldn’t even get out of Carol’s arms to take a shower.

Maybe you liked the feeling. It had been a while since you had woken up in someone’s arms, and it was nice. It felt safe. Nat’s arm was slung around Carol’s waist and resting on your hip, and it was comforting. Any other person would have loved to wake up the way you did.

But you had a routine.

It was almost impossible to slip out of Carol’s grasp; she was a lot stronger than you had thought. She could pick you up and carry you around, but she was asleep! She shouldn’t be able to do this while she was sleeping! You were already late for your morning shower and it took almost 15 minutes to worm your way out of Carol’s grasp.

You froze on your feet when you got out of bed because you heard Carol sigh. If you had woken her up then you knew you wouldn’t be getting to shower. Horn dog, you complained to yourself. But she just shifted and rolled over to pull Nat closer before staying still again.

If only they could see you now, you thought to yourself. The fiercest couple in the mob game. Cuddling in bed.

Maybe them sleeping over wasn’t so bad. How else would you get to see them like this? Vulnerable, peaceful, almost even innocent. They weren’t mob boss legends, they were just people. People that were in your bed.

Dammit.

Now you couldn’t make your bed before a shower. Damn them. Never mind, having them sleep over was hell.

Well, at least you could still start your coffee. You spared one more look at the women in your bed and smiled to yourself before grabbing a shirt from the floor. It wasn’t clean and it wasn’t yours, and you hated knowing you were wearing an unclean shirt. But you liked that it was one of theirs. Maybe that was enough.

It wasn’t, but maybe it could be.

You snuck into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It was bigger than usual and you knew it would change your grocery plans. Yet another part of your routine that they were changing. Maybe that could be okay, too.

You were halfway across the living room when someone knocked on your door. Looking at the clock in your kitchen said it was 6:47 (far too late for your shower). Who would come by that early? What else was going to ruin your routine??

With a sigh you walked to the door. If your routine was ruined you might as well ruin it properly. Your hair was pulled into a lazy ponytail, you were only in a dirty shirt, you couldn’t make your bed, and you were already… 36 minutes behind schedule. Might as well have a little small talk, right? So you opened the door-

“-Mornin’ sunshine-”

-And immediately shut it again, holding the handle in case they tried to open the door.

Why were they here?

“Y/N?”

No no no they couldn’t see your apartment like this! The coffee wasn’t finished, you didn’t have pants on, you hadn’t washed your hair. There were still dishes in the sink, a few blueprints on the table, two women in your bed-

-two women in your bed. Two married women in your bed.

Oh no.

“You alright, kiddo?”

“Just fine!” You called out. You didn’t let go of the handle until you locked the door, and then you ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

It was a bit ridiculous to wash the dishes first when there were so many other problems to deal with, but it was the most obvious. You could probably make an excuse for not wearing pants and the blueprints. But the dishes? That was way too out of hand.

You didn’t even dry them before shoving them into your cabinet and making your way to the bedroom where Carol and Nat were sitting up and rubbing their eyes. The sheet was down to their bare waists and you stared for just a moment too long.

“You okay?” Carol asked when she cracked one eye open just enough to see you starting to pick up the clothes on the floor.

Three more knocks on your front door.

“One second!” You shouted before rushing through your room again. You didn’t see Carol and Nat flinch from the loud noise.

“What’s going on?” Nat asked, and they both held their hands up as you tossed some clothes at them.

“You need to leave,” you said as quickly as you could manage.

“Kicking us out already?” Carol teased.

“Yes,” you huffed out with a single nod.

“What’s wrong?” Nat asked. She stood and pulled on some jeans before walking over to put a hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off.

More knocks.

“I said one second!” You shouted again and turned back to Nat. “Please leave.”

“We can chill in here,” Carol said as she finished tugging a shirt on. It was yours and it was just a little too small on her. She didn’t seem to care.

“I’m not out yet,” you shot back before shoving a shirt into Nat’s arms.

“Just lock the-”

“-Unless you want to meet my parents, I suggest you leave.”

That shut them up. Quickly.

Five knocks.

“I’m coming!” You shouted before looking at the shell-shocked faces of Carol and Nat. “Fire escape goes all the way down,” you said before shutting your bedroom door and running to open the front door.

They didn’t look happy.

“May we come in now?” Your mom asked. She looked more pissed than your dad, who looked amused at your ragged state.

“Please,” you said with a sheepish smile as you stepped aside and let them in.

“Nice shirt,” your dad whispered as he passed you. Damn him.

“Coffee?” You asked. You didn’t wait for them to answer before making your way to the kitchen and getting down two more mugs.

“You’ve already got three on the counter,” your mom pointed out, and your eyes shot to where she was pointing.

She was right. You had three mugs on the counter right by the coffee pot. And they were dirty. Because you had made Carol and Nat coffee yesterday when they had come over. And you hadn’t cleaned because they had ruined your routine. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice, please don’t-

“-You use all these yesterday?” Your dad asked, and you could feel your heart jump into your throat. You missed the small smile on his face.

“Long day,” you said nonchalantly as you tried to physically wave off the ideas he probably had.

“That why you haven’t showered yet?” Your dad pointed out, again, and you finally glared at him. He needed to just keep his mouth shut or your mom would get suspicious.

“Long night,” you explained even though you knew he didn’t buy it.

“Must have been,” your mom mused as she poured herself a cup of coffee because you had taken too long. “It cut into your routine.”

Why did they have to know you so well? Why couldn’t they just be distant and not care?

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask as you hand a mug to your dad.

“We can’t just come see our daughter?” Your dad asks from behind the mug.

“Not at 7am,” you tease, and he shoots you a wink.

“Your grandparents want the whole family to spend the summer together,” your mom says, her voice much softer than usual. You know what that means.

“And you’re bringing it up now?” You ask. It’s the middle of January; summer wasn’t even on your mind.

“So you can plan your routine,” your mom answers with a gentle smile. Maybe her respecting your schedule wasn’t quite as awful as you thought.

“We want you to have time to set things up in case-”

-your dad is cut off by a thud coming from your room, and all of your heads snap toward the sound.

“What was that?” Your dad asks as he immediately moves into his protective mode.

You don’t have time to answer before your dad makes his way to your bedroom. He doesn’t even ask for permission to enter because you usually never shut your door. You’ve never cared before, so he doesn’t ask now.

But what if Carol and Nat aren’t gone?

Blood is rushing deafeningly in your ears as your parents open the door to your room and look inside. You expect to hear gasps and immediate yelling, maybe some accusations. You’ve even got an escape plan ready and an alibi set up.

But the room is empty. There’s no clothes on the floor, your hamper is out of sight, and the bed is made. There’s no one in your room. The only thing that’s out of place is the open window.

“I thought I taught you to keep these closed,” your dad mused as he walked over and shut the window.

“Must have forgotten,” you mumbled.

“Long night,” your dad repeats your explanation, but he sounds completely unconvinced.

“Right,” you whisper before running your fingers through your hair and pulling your arms in tight.

“We should let you get ready,” your mom says after an extremely awkward amount of silence. You shoot her a relieved smile and nod.

“I’ll call you,” you say.

They each give you a kiss on the head as they walk by and say their goodbye’s before leaving your apartment. As soon as the door shuts you fall to the floor and just lay there staring at the ceiling. There were too many thoughts running through your head.

None of this would have happened if no one had ruined your routine.

449 notes · View notes

omgkalyppso · 4 years

Text

Honeyed Words

How many fics have this title? Probably a million. I wrote something featuring @esaari‘s tes breton oc Philip, and my imperial oc Oretia. Enjoy!

The grass was cold and wet from vestiges of the midnight frost puddling under the weight of the midday sun. Summer at Winterhold. The worst possible time to be a tome, or scroll, or a visitor. Inside the College, papers were kept magically dry and well kept, but as soon as you stepped one foot into the city, everything wilted with the humidity, including the people.

The citizenry was more amenable to the mages and their initiates since the reconstruction, after the civil war, but that did not forestall all of their prejudices, Philip had noticed. They phrased their suspicions of foreigners, of which he was no longer considered, as warnings of unstable mountaintops, roads that were thin with ice and awaiting unwary travelers, and beasts that roamed beyond their hibernal caves, but he heard the truth behind every bitter courtesy. ‘You are as unwelcome by the land as by our hospitality,’ they cried.

It was why they still lacked a dedicated blacksmith, a tanner, a wheelwright, fishermen — and Nine help that poor dentist who’d tried to move in four months past.

There were new bodies to fill the houses that had been built — carpenters and farmhands, tailors and midwives, but it was no wonder they still had to rely so heavily on the summer caravans.

The largest of the year was present now, the one that circled from Windhelm to Whiterun and Dawnstar, leaving Winterhold with both the last selection from Windhelm and the benefit of what the caravan had collected on its journey, just before they finished their circle and headed back home. The gamut of their venture was nearly complete, and so Philip felt triply insulted by the price being demanded of him to carry scroll and missive — which included a painstaking transcription of an extremely valuable book — to the new astrologer in Windhelm.

“Thirty gold is more than fair,” he insisted. “Twenty would cover a gold a day for the service, and fourteen was the cost last year.”

“Thirty might be fair,” replied the nord man, who was clearly dealing with other problems — but none of them were Philip’s, “but eighty is the cost.”

“Set by you, unreasonably.”

“Are you calling me unreasonable, my lord?” The title had been wrong, but Philip’s choice of words had been fumbling. He needed this, it was important.

“I misspoke. Surely, you are a man who knows his worth and his services, and so, you must know, that it is not up to the College to champion the losses of your caravan. You are headed to Windhelm anyway. I will offer forty, far more than you’d require.”

The nord nodded to someone standing outside of Philip’s periphery, and his shoulders tensed. The temptation to invoke others to grant weight to his title and his person was present, for he was on good terms with his Thane and his Jarl, and Skyrim’s champion of the war; but so too was he Archmage now, and whatever his personal insecurities, knew that he demanded his own respect. He shrugged his elbow towards the person who approached from his side, striking them, if lightly.

“I am not some common miscreant. Do not look to demean me. There are other couriers.”

“Then find one,” replied the nord.

Philip looked to the imperial woman at his side as she spoke and frowned in surprise. She was hobbling a little, unsteady on her feet, and not the manner of muscle he’d expected the nord to be summoning.

“And I wasn’t hired to help with customer service, Herknir. This doesn’t look like a case of banditry.” Her accent was thick and southern, and Philip flinched to look at her more directly as despite her words she still laid a hand upon him — but it was gentle, so much so that he couldn’t even feel it through his robes, on his upper arm, a signal to wait and not a reprimand. Philip took a step away from her anyway, disinterested in her reassurance.

“Take the illustrious Archmage for a walk, Oretia. I can smell the enchantments on him, and I won’t risk the safety of our men to the whims of secret, magical documents without collateral.” Philip blanched, he hadn’t expected Herknir to be thinking of anything beyond what he could get with the money. Herknir pointed a finger at him, to further cement his point, “If it were a message from one of your initiates back to their parents or their sweetheart in Windhelm, then that is one service; but you should know that your time is worth more, and you should be prepared to pay more in the future. Cool your head. Try Tilly’s honey-pops, and come back to me when you’re willing to talk business.”

“Sorry about him,” Oretia sounded exasperated, and Philip had to wonder if she had felt suitably chastised by Herknir over the course of her time with the man, as he did now, sent for a walkabout like a petulant child — though one who had been flirting with the crackle of magic on the edge of his fingers. “And me, I had assumed you were a nobleman. I should not have placed my hand upon you.”

“It is nothing,” Philip assured her, dismissing the perceived insult with a smile — tickled by the idea that she would more readily lay her hands on a Thane. They wove their way through a crowd, where the locals parted naturally by his presence. There was nowhere for Oretia to hide her stumbling.

“But perhaps I owe you an apology? Did I set you so off-balance?”

“Oh!” she laughed. “No, I— My legs are sore. I’d spent the last four days climbing up and down your mountains.”

Philip snorted, infected by his companion’s good humor. “Whatever for?”

She sighed, smiling, wistful. “To see my sister. It had been a few years and she’s settled up there. I thought that, seeing her would make it easier to accept, but now I’m less sure than ever about leaving; but you don’t need to hear about that. What was Herknir so upset about? Do you really have secret, magical documents?”

The way she exaggerated the word was light, teasing, and free of ill-will Herknir had managed to fit into the word.

“I—” Philip scoffed, “I suppose I do. The documents themselves aren’t magical, but few things that leave the College can be described otherwise.”

“Secretive?” Oretia prompted.

“For certain,” Philip assured her.

She seemed to take a measure of him then, a once over with suspicious eyes. Philip wondered what she saw.

“I could leave you now,” she suggested, tilting her head. “I rather doubt you need my company.”

Philip thought of the trader and patrons, and wondered whether for the moment she might need his. He wondered if she was asking for the freedom of privacy or to socialize with a friend from the caravan, but outside the College and inside Winterhold, his friends felt ever fewer, and Oretia had been friendly enough as to prove distracting from his other worries.

“There are a great many things I don’t need, but enjoy regardless. Of course, you’re free to go, and I’ll make my way back to Herknir in due time, but if you’d like to point me towards those honey-pops…?”

Philip felt any lingering stress melt off his shoulders when Oretia brightened.

“They’re very sweet, but delicious,” she insisted, directing them now with purpose. “There are some with raspberries caked in which are wonderful in tea, but they’re just as fine as a little delight.”

Philip bought ten for a gold piece, a strange assortment of things to pocket, even wrapped in wax paper as they were, but Oretia was right, they were good, as the two of them found a bench shielded by the cold of the sea, but still hidden by the warmth of the sun, as they each enjoyed one of the candies for a few silent seconds.

There was something about the way others seemed to have more time for trysts, and he wondered whether another person might take this time to proposition their companion. The pair of them with lips flush and spit slick from their choice in dessert, people might even think they had done something elicit when they returned to the main road. The air was thick and the blossoms were sweet, and Philip wondered whether he’d simply been surrounded by familiar faces for too long, that the blush upon a stranger’s cheeks would send his mind so far from his original intentions. He pat himself down, confirming the location of his missives, before plucking the honey-pop from his lips and assuring Oretia, “Thought I’d dropped something.”

He sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “Tell me about your sister? Might I know her?”

“No,” Oretia answered quickly. “Wylla Cosmotius — err, Wylla Ienith now, I suppose. She might have spent some time here, but wouldn’t have made a name for herself. Found the Shrine of Azura by accident, and then spent a few years “adventuring,” or whatever you might call it, with the priestess, to whom she’s now married.”

“Cosmotius?” Philip echoed. “‘Of the stars?’”

“Mm,” Oretia hummed in agreement. “A name I imagine Wylla was glad to be rid of. Pretentious ancestors. Not that the title of Archmage is any less assuming.”

“I?” Philip hesitated. “I didn’t choose that. And it’s practical, the position is what the title says, I oversee other mages, and am one myself.”

“I didn’t say it was wrong, I said—”

“You implied it was pretentious.”

“And you became defensive,” Oretia observed, amused. “Is my good opinion so important?”

“As important as any other,” Philip said, dismissive, shrugging. “There are a lot of things said about The Archmage, meaning both myself and my predecessors. I do my best to improve those rounds of gossip.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

Oretia bumped a knee against him. She went on, “My sister went through a lot, as a mercenary and … well as an imperial in Skyrim during the civil war. When I was a child I would think of how one day marriage might separate us, but I hadn’t expected to be lost to her when she needed me before that. To be treated as a guest, and not as family, when I would see her again. I worry that she could die on that mountain, and if I were to be in Windhelm, I should never know.”

“And so you’re thinking of staying?” Philip remembered. “Do you ply a craft? There are still incentives to settle in Winterhold.”

“The city is known for surviving winters without me. I don’t know how useful I could be, or how interested people would be in buying leathers, or how abundant the game is year round for the purpose of gathering supplies. I feel I don’t know much of anything lately.”

“If it’s any consolation I find that to be more true with each passing year.”

“Even for the Archmage?”

“Especially for the Archmage,” Philip groaned. “There’s much to learn and more to discover. That’s why I need to see my post sent to Windhelm.”

“I could take it,” Oretia suggested.

“As a reason not to stay?” Philip inquired, furrowing his brow.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t just stay all at once. I have employment and friends and possessions. But I might come back. Settle. It wouldn’t hurt to be owed a favor by the Archmage.”

He hesitated, surprised and unsure. Philip wondered whether he could get her in trouble with Herknir, and whether she was even trustworthy to begin with.

“I couldn’t make a pact like that,” he said quickly, in regret.

“I’ll take the fourteen gold?” Oretia offered. “And no favor.”

“Thirty then,” Philip suggested. “And maybe dinner, if you return?”

#tes #skyrim #oc tag: oretia #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #bless esaari's approval and excellent oc's #i'll probably write more of these two sometime #<3333333 #esaari's oc: philip

10 notes · View notes

thesculptedflower · 4 years

Text

Sweet dreams and strawberries

Hello! Can you do a platonic Jim Gordon imagine where Jim is always trying to catch this street kid (probably like 15-17 years old) but never manages to do so and the street kid has started to break into his apartment to step food and one day he catches her in the apartment? (kinda like he caught Selina in 1x14) thank you!

Sweet dreams and strawberries

Your teeth were clattering quietly as you ran swiftly on the rooftops of Gotham. You knew how to get around up there, almost better than you did on the ground. Being above everyone else, away from prying and pitying eyes, gave some sense of security. You and your little brother were abandoned by your parents when you were just little, forcing you out on the streets, begging for food and a place to stay. Ever since your parents left, you felt like you had to hold the world on your shoulders, to keep you and your brother safe and fed. And you did what ever you had to do.

Your clothes were clinging to your body and the rain just kept on getting stronger. The wind was much colder up on the roofs, but you had no other choice. This place you were headed at, was a goldmine. You had been breaking in to this penthouse for weeks now. The owners seemed to be extremely busy and rarely spent any time at home. You didn’t know much about them, just that they were a young couple, just moved here. You couldn’t help but think what kind of person would even want to move to Gotham. Most of the people you knew, wanted desperately out of there. You and your brother included.

The familiar balcony of the penthouse got your feet moving a lot faster. You could almost feel the warmth of the apartment. Carefully and soundlessly you hopped down and hid next to the wall, making sure that the apartment was empty. All the lights were out and the place seemed empty, so you tried the handle. Open, again.

’’These people never learn.’’ You muttered to yourself. The door on the balcony was almost never locked, which made these food-runs so much easier. Sometimes you felt bad for the couple who lived there, but every time you got back to your brother and saw the smile on his face, you knew you were only doing what you really had to do. You always tried to take stuff that wouldn’t be that noticeable, few fruits from the bowl, cans of soda, slices of bread and cheese for example.

You stepped in and closed the door quietly behind you. The warmth felt so comforting after such an icy trip. Something glowing caught your eye, and you noticed that he fireplace had few embers still trying to stay alight. You hurried over and picked up few logs and placed them gently over the embers, careful not to suffocate them. Slowly but surely the logs started crackling, bright red flames taking over. You let out a small laughter, happy and relieved to feel the warmth on your face.

You took off your jacket and shoes, laying them down near to the fireplace, so they would dry at least a little. Luckily, your shirt was still somewhat dry, but your pants were soaked. You shimmied out of them and laid them down next to the other clothes. The couches were filled with decorative pillows and blankets, so you picked up one that looked the comfiest and wrapped it around yourself.

The growling in your stomach pulled your thoughts away from the fire. You grabbed your backpack, flicked on one light and started to search the kitchen. The fruit bowl was once again filled with different kind of fruits, so you took few and arranged them again so that the bowl looked full. You filled your water bottles and gathered a nice amount of items that would last you for a week. You even found some chocolate. You smiled at the thought of your brother’s face when he’d see that you brought back chocolate, his favorite. Everything looked fine and the kitchen seemed like no-one had touched anything. As you took a final look in the fridge, you noticed a bowl of fresh strawberries. They had been your favorite when you were younger, but you hadn’t had them in years. Strawberries were expensive because they didn’t grow in Gotham, and your brother was allergic, so there was no point. But now, you were alone on a food-run, in an empty apartment, and no one could stop you. ’’This is probably going to come back and bite me in the future but I really don’t care right now.’’ You talked to yourself, picking up the bowl and walking back to the living room. You tossed another log into the fire before sitting down on the couch and popping one of the red berries into your mouth.

The taste brought back memories of summer, when everything was alright. The glow from the fireplace felt like the sun on your face. You pulled the blanket around you tighter and ate another one. In this moment, you felt safe. You only wished you could bring your brother here. You knew he was okay, you two had a great hideout on one of the roofs that wasn’t cold or wet, but you still hoped that someday, you would have a real house again. Real beds, real pillows and blankets, real roof above your heads. You could feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier, you felt so unbelievably tired. And in a short moment, you fell asleep.

You had so strong sleep deprivation, that you didn’t wake up when the front door opened. The dreams you were having, had a strong hold on you, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to wake up yet. Somewhere in your head you knew that you should, but against your own judgement, you decided to drift deeper. After what felt like days, you started to wake up to a sound of heated but whispered argument.

’’Jim you have no idea who that person is!’’

’’She’s just a child, and I’ve seen her many times near our apartment. I think she’s a friend of Selina’s.’’

’’Well isn’t that just great, so she’s a criminal too.’’

’’Barbara, please..’’

The loud slam of the door definitely pulled you from your slumber. You jumped up from the couch, trying to pick up all your clothes as quickly as possible. You needed to get out.

’’Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to be scared of me.’’ The man you supposed was Jim said calmly, taking a few steps towards you, but staying back enough not to frighten you. You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to hold all your stuff.

’’What’s your name?’’ He asked.

You took a few moments to decide whether you should be honest with him. You tried to search his face and demeanor for malice, but found none.

’’Y/N.’’ You answered carefully.

’’Hey Y/N, I’m detective Jim Gordon, and I’m-.’’

The mention of him being a detective got you nervous again, your eyes trying to find a way out of the apartment. Jim could see the horror in your face.

’’Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m not going to take you anywhere or do anything to you. I just want to help.’’ He said after realizing how scared you still were. He took a step back as to show you he had no ill intentions.

’’Can I just go? My brother needs me.’’ You said hurriedly, trying to get out of the situation. Jim looked at you and then picked up your backpack that was still open. You let out a sad sigh, fearing that you had just lost all the food you so desperately needed.

’’We can go together and bring him here.’’ Jim said suddenly, a gentle smile on his lips. He picked up the backpack and closed it. You were confused and scared. Did he want to bring your brother here to get you both at the same time so he could give you to the system? Did he want to arrest you? Or did he truly want to help?

’’I’ve seen you around the building, and every now and then, our food cabinets seem a little different that how we have left them.”

You could feel yourself blushing a little. He had known for a while now. But still he hadn’t locked the door to the balcony.

’’You’ve had a few rough weeks haven’t you?’’ He asked.

And he was right. You had been running on fumes for the last few days, trying to find something better to eat for the both of you. Getting to Jim’s apartment last night was like a safe haven for you. You felt calm and safe, and you finally managed to get a good few hours of sleep that you desperately needed. And now you had a chance to offer the same to your brother.

’’Do you promise you won’t give us to the child services?’’ You asked demanding. If this was your only hope for a better life for you and especially to your little brother, you were ready to take it.

’’Yes, I promise.’’ Jim answered, holding out your backpack to you. ’’Get dressed and we can go get him.’’

He was new to Gotham, and in your heart you could feel that he was one of the good ones.

#Gotham #gotham series #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #jim gordon #jim gordon x reader #Jim gordon x y/n #James gordon

60 notes · View notes

ssvgawara · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu characters as things said in the hhcu

a/n: this is pure humor and just something fun, the hhcu is wild and says stupid shit more than once a day so i complied a ridiculously long list of quotes and put them together in this list to share with yall so please enjoy, read more because again this is so long also pt 2. some of these r pretty nsfw so uh yeah <3

Oikawa: When he gives up his torso 😍

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya: Fisherman daddy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: I trust no condiments

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Osamu: YELLOW BAD OIKAWA IS NOT ALLOWED IN MY KITCHEN

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: Give ass in shiratorizawa?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu: Garlic air freshener

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya talking about his sex life: ITS THE GOOD OL FASHIONED POW POW GRUNT GRUNT WINDOW WASHER ULTIMATE FRISBEE DICK CONNECTOR

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata: thank you!! also my oven melted??? and caught on fire 😰

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yaku probably thinking abt kuroo while saying this: not gonna front im terrified of the live action grinch and if i ever see him its on sight

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kageyama: Except that one mustard faze I had

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Lev after yaku kicks him yet again: NO INCH ACTIVE INCH VERY ACTIVE

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Suga after Kiyoko holds his hands: premarital eye contact is already a sin

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Iwaizumi realizing Oikawa probably wouldn’t know the difference between hawaiian rolls and milk bread: when he says hit it till it breaks, he means the packaging of hawaiin rolls

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

All of Seijoh to Oikawa: You know whats really sexy? Self care.

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hoshihumi: like a three year old. still baby but also evil at times🤡

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa right before his death: "MORNING HAJI!~" slaps tiddie

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Anyone falling on love with haikyuu boys: hey a good reverse harem never hurt anyone

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Idk who says it but terushima would do this: places his hand to my heart but then hes like heh heh boob squishy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: centrepical force saved my bag of chocolate!!

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Lev thinking it was a literary masterpiece: *reads about a fourth of the bee movie*

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata making fun of Kageyama: milk is better than the feeling of the ball touching your fingertips during a perfect set

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata and Kageyama failing tests: thats just the dumbass in me babey!!!

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu simply trying to annoy Osamu: Are y’all meaning to tell me you DON’T take your raw chicken on walks through the city?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yahaba: PUSSY ALWAYS LEAVES

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Mattsun just to annoy everyone: yall ever think about how in the 50s and 60s they just put raw hotdogs or shrimp into jello and ate that shit and enjoyed it???

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Suga: i am now crying and my boyfriend is concerned and i can’t tell him that I’ve lost my husband and children

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma; Smh my head

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: Sorry not all of us can have double decker extra stuffed bottoms up extra large super sized t n a like me🥰🥰💅💅

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Everyone to bokuto: titty enthusiast ✨✨

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Me to kuroo: sorry babe youre a scorpio you dont have any rights anymore

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: i accidentally lit a baby on fire

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu: This feels real human centipede

Bokuto: theyre not ass to mouth

Atsumu: Close enough

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto when a minor inconvience happens: Why are we still here? Just to suffer? Every day, I wake up....

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Sakusa: Remove your lips from my penis

Atsumu: I use a gluestick as chapstick i cant

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Goshiki: Arson or boot in my book, set fire to something live a little

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tsukishima: I don’t like recieving pain. It hurts

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma annoyed w kuroo: Put your dick in the fucking catfish’s pussy then

Kuroo being annoying: How deep is catfish pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Makki to Mattsun: Ayo babe what if we fucked on the catfish tank

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kiyoko tiredly, to Tanaka: I’m not putting salt and pepper on my pussy lips

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Saeko: I’ve got that Deep dish, super soaker, wet, succulent dripping honey suckle like sweet marinated mooseknuckle, extra thick, slip n slide, water park, waterbender, extra ribbed, the seven seas, gorilla grip, flex tape, primordial soup Dwayne the Rock Johnson, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu not really knowing what cooch means: I got the body builder cooch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa after not sleeping to train, extremely sleep deprived: youre got unending

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Goshiki; Commit arson

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Akaashi: I leave for 10 minutes and Bokuto is 240v (mouth edition) fuckmaster pro 4000 with semen drip collection tray, automated self-lubricating 6 speed pulsating pussy and built in Polycrystalline floatable silicon

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa; I’m coming to murk your ass xoxo

Iwa: I will literally shiv you bitch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kindaichi: ✨ bob duncan exterminates you asmr✨

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Makki: I’ll try to find my favorite about Jacob sartorius vampire babies with Hillary Clinton

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma after playing some obscure video game: also i can’t sleep😔 too busy thinking about human sized bats

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

ME fuck yall im carpetting my bathroom: you already put rugs in the bathroom might as well carpet that bitch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kuroo talking abt something sciency idk: LIKE A BODY WIG

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Seijoh when iwa throws balls at oikawa: spousal abuse right in front of my salad

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata making up some new stupid song: Ants on a log ants on a log

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu to piss off Osamu once more: world f amous allegra chicken

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Semi: Gay little Ushijima’s left hand

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: Are you disagreeing with the fact that I am thicc as phuck

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kiyoko: Guys is it uh... is it possible to sprain a titty cause.... Uh....

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Terushima: He laughed at the end of his own joke what a fuckin chad

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: IS THAT THE DOG FROM ZOOTOOIA

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kageyama: milk is kinda like organ paint huh

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya: i don’t think socks taste good

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: out of your mummy, into my tummy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata; shout out to me who thought chickens had four legs until last summer

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa Hanger: I WANNA HANG MY CLOTHES ON HIM

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma: What a little pissbaby

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yamaguchi: i am literally so curious about what it's like to kiss a boy that it's almost killing me

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Daichi about Suga: he may be cute, but istg there’s some kind of raging devil trapped in him

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Saeko: fuck society my titties are out

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata after getting lecture by everyone for sneaking into the training camp: GOOD NEWS MY DAD IS NOT GOING TO PUT ME IN THE OVEN

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Just me thinking abt any first years: children. toddlers. Tikes.

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Me waiting for the fever: When is malaria?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Uhhhhh probably tendou his vibes: Ill electrocute his cock

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Akaashi just go w it probably about bokuto: Why is he shoving cheese up the pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Osamu tiredly: Ooey gooey cheesy chicken vagaina

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya trying to catch a very large fish: Dom the Crab

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bonus crabagraph: The crabs death reverberated and struck fear into the hearts of all crabs in existence because of this one 60+ year old mans volatile universe-crunching swing. Dude defied the laws of gravity by simply getting pinched by the crab. Man just reinvented the laws of physics and all of science due to the sheer force of will and untapped wellsprings if potential unleashed by the crab. If aliens show up it’s because the supersonic radio waves released by the banging of the crab against the cabinet are the first ever created in the universe. Man could cause a ripple in space-time with his crab launching abilities. Guy probably opened a gateway into another universe when he launched the crab. You see how the cabinet door opened and stayed open? It’s because this elder tore a hole through the fabric of reality to the Other Side simply because he experienced a minor bit of pain. The way he released a defeated roar of agony. The ancient gods awoke from their deep slumber and this old man single-handedly revived all his ancestors. New wars are about to start because of the way this man broke the barriers containing this reality into one fixed area. This universe is now expanding at such a rapid rate the the geosphere will now be reshaped. This man probably unknowingly blasted a hole in the other side of the planet because the shockwaves of the aggressive rippling effect of this poor crustacean slamming at lightning speed into a small wooden frame. The crabs insides were probably fused into the shell because this man’s angry, rage filled, pain filled battering ram of an arm throwing him through every known dimension and re-arriving in this one at the mere moment to experience the most pain a crab ever has or will in the rest of the existence of crabs. This elderly man probably has phased through and broken every human limiter known to man just because he got a minor pinch by a crab. He probably is bio-medically fused with crab DNA at this point. A legend.

20 notes · View notes

clairecolemanoriginals · 3 years

Text

Prologue

Rain pelted hard against the windowpane, melding with the sound of gunfire. A battle raged on the doorsteps of the small town. The women were forced to stay behind, as usual, to tend to the children while their sons, husbands, and fathers fought for their homes. Screams of the wounded could be heard on the wind haunted the worried. For days, the women sat in their homes with the crying children waiting for silence to come. All she could do was stand there and look out the window at the chaos that insured. Even as she waited for silence, she dreaded it. There was no way to tell which side was winning, to her, all dying men sound the same.

A loud crack echoed in the winds of the storm startling the dreamer awake.

Yellow streetlights shone through the translucent curtains. The pale lighting proved enough light to see around the room. Clothes, video games, and junk food packages littered the floor. On the bed, two figures could be seen. The first a young man, dead asleep the sheets pooled around his narrow hips. The other was a young woman who eyed the room wide-eyed, the sheets clutched tightly to her chest. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her skin in the mood light and her heavy breathes broke the silence.

She sighed heavily; another night went to waste with the consumption of alcohol.

Dessera barely remembered where she was or who she was with for that matter, but the pounding in her head suggested that she wasn't at her apartment like she had hoped. Swinging her feet off the side of the bed and glanced around the room. What she saw disgusted her. At the center of the room was a gaming chair with open packages of all types of food. A soda bottle lay on its side, its contents having been spilled on the floor and never taken care of. The urge to puke washed over her at the sight and she took a deep breath as she looked for her clothes. She quickly found her discarded clothing next to the bed where the man had tossed them, and she pulled them over her body. The tight dress was a nuisance as she danced around trying to get the zipper up her back. As she stumbled around, she stepped on an empty package of chips and she froze at the sound. She glanced over her shoulder at the man on the bed, scared she had brought him out of his sleep but to her relief he simply shifted around in his sleep to hug his pillow.

"Typical." She muttered as she searched around his room for her clutch. She found it slightly tucked under the bed next to her thigh holster. Her eyes widened, remembering that she had been carrying. A cloudy memory crossed her mind of the man seeing the gun on her inner thing and calling her a badass. He had been way too drunk to even care about the fact that she'd had a rather small 9mm strapped to her throughout the night. She strapped the gun back to her leg, this time with the weapon on the outside and her dress over the top of it, not caring if it was covered or not.

She left the house as silently as she could, being careful to lock the bottom handle before she left to be courteous. Just like her dream, the weather seemed to be unforgiving in its downpour on her. Not that she minded. She loved the rain, preferred it to the hot days of summer. She did not like to be too warm and it was easier to layer up than cool down. Before she stepped off the porch, she checked her phone for the time and saw that it was three in the morning. And that she had 18 missed calls, 30 unread text messages, 3 voicemails. Panic bubbled in her chest as she brought the phone to her ear to listen to the message.

'Serra! I need help. I just got done with a hunt but I'm severely injured. Your place is the closest. I am headed there now, hopefully, I don't bleed out before you get this. Hurry! Please!' The answering box beeped and asked her what she wanted to do with the message, and she starred at the phone. The message had come through over thirty minutes ago and it was quite possible she was too late.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed. A chill ran through her body and she desperately wished she had a coat, but she couldn't think of that. Her little sister was very possibly bleeding out on her porch, and she needed to get to her as soon as possible. Luckily, there wouldn't be anyone on the roads at this time of the day and no one to question why she was running through the street.

As she ran, her heels dangling from her fingertips, she thought about where she was. Looking at all the signs she passed her foggy brain was able to tell her she was not too far from her apartment and her sister whom she hoped was still alive. She smelled like the guy she had woken up next to and it was suffocating her. Her friends had convinced her to go to the club last night and she had gotten very drunk on scotch. She danced the night away, and some of the mornings, the rest was a blur in her mind. She knew exactly what had happened after her fourth round. Her flirtation skills must have come out because she vaguely remembered catching the eye of some other highly intoxicated guy in glasses. He had been attractive, so she went for it. Next thing she knew she was waking up in a dark room from an extremely weird dream. Just a typical Sunday morning for her.

A loud honk brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see a very expensive looking car inches from her legs. She looked around and realized she had run into the middle of an intersection in her haze. Stumbling out of the way, she yelled her apology and continued on her way. The pounding in her head still had not ceased and it was beginning to make her nauseous. "Fuck this hangover." She grumbled to herself shielding her eyes as the car she had almost run into pulled up in front of her.

"Miss?" A car door slammed, followed by the opening of an umbrella, and she stopped her feet where they were. "Miss? Are you alright?"

"Stop. Stop right there." Before the man could get any closer to her, she brandished her heels at him threateningly. All her running had tossed everything in her stomach and while she had been ignoring nausea for the last 5 minutes, she couldn't hold it in any longer. Without hesitation, she leaned over and, let the contents of her stomach hit the pavement. The man stopped where he was and held up his empty hand to show her, he meant no harm. She stood straight, eyes squinting as she wiped her mouth with her free hand and eyed him up and down looking for any signs of a supernatural being.

"Um... are you ok?" He asked her, tentatively taking a step closer. She lowered her 'weapon' after a moment, satisfied that he wasn't anything dangerous, and nodded. She met him in the middle and dropped her hand to her side, letting her heels dangle again.

"I apologize. I'm a hunter and not feeling the best. Can't be too careful." She stated in a rush and looked up at the man.

"That's alright, but is it normal for you to hold someone at heel point at 3 in the morning? Especially since you have a gun on your hip?" He inquired amused. She took a moment to really take a look at him and she realized that he was in a suit and tie. His features were hard to see in the low-lit street but assumed he had a mischievous look on his face from his tone of voice. She could see that he had dirty blonde hair, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.

"What can I say, strangers bring out the best in me and I wouldn't need my gun to take you down" She finally answered.

Surprised by her blunt response he asked "Well, are you ok? Would you like a ride?"

"No, I'm alright. My home is close to here, I can walk just fine. Thank you for your concern." She gave him a small smile and made to go around him. A gentle hand shot out and caught her by the arm, stopping her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, a small flicker of fear started to grow in the pit of her stomach. Just because he was in a suit and showed no supernatural signs didn't mean he wasn't a threat. However, he knew she had a gun and that she was a hunter. He would be stupid to try anything. She let her fear simmer back down and turned it into a cautious awareness.

"Are you sure? You seem upset. I promise I mean well and you clearly can handle yourself." He was trying to look her in the eyes, but something told her he could see right through her attempts to hide her miserable state of mind. She was annoyed with herself for getting into the situation that had led to this. She knew better. On top of which her so-called "friends" had left her there.

"I live a ten-minute walk from here. I'll be alright." Her reply seemed to be lost in the pouring rain, but his ears seemed to pick up on her words.

"It's pouring and you're soaked. Allow me to get you to some heat before you get sick." His grip on her arm tightened for a second before falling to his side. She looked him dead in the eyes. There was no lie in his eyes, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he held no ill will towards her.

"Alright. But if you pull any funny business, I will use my gun." She threatened, pointing at him with one hand and patting her gun with the other.

"I believe you." The man chuckled, seemingly unfazed but her threat. With a nod, she allowed him to help her into the car. He turned the heater up the moment he got in and she eagerly placed her hands against the vent. She was still on her guard but with her gun on her thigh, she figured she would probably be alright with this man.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. Do you mind me asking why you seem so upset that you run into the street?" He asked her as he set off in the direction she pointed to. She glanced over at him, wondering how the man didn't question why she was barely dressed and out so early this morning. He glanced at her, a look of pure innocence on his face and she raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion. Does this man live under a rock? She thought to herself before she responded.

"I...went home with a man earlier this evening and decided not to stay the night." She told him as she stared out the window, completely missing the knowing smile on his face. This was all the information she was comfortable sharing with him. They lapsed into silence aside from the directions she gave him.

In reality, the car ride was only maybe three minutes long, but it felt like an eternity. She had her hand on her weapon the entire time as a precaution, but he made no move towards her. As they pulled into the apartment complex, she directed him in the opposite direction of her apartment. There was no way she was going to let him see which apartment she was in, especially since her sister was there injured. He pulled into a vacant spot and she turned taking the seatbelt off. He put the car in park and looked over at her.

"Thank you for the ride." She said as she put her hand on the door handle.

"Of course. I assume you would like me to leave the parking lot before you go to your apartment." He stated and she laughed. That is exactly what she had planned on asking him.

"How did you know?" She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Lucky guess. Here," He reached behind him into the backseat and grabbed the umbrella he had placed on the floor. "take this. No need to get any more soaked than you already are."

"...thank you." This time she was shocked by his genuine kindness and took the umbrella from him. She smiled and opened the door. As she stepped out of the car, she opened the umbrella and held it over her head. Before the man could say anything more to her or ask her name, she gently closed the door and made her way over to the walkway. He gave her a small nod and a smile before he turned around and pulled out of the spot. As he turned back around to face her again, she saw a flash of dark hair and horns and a chill ran down her spine. The moment she registered what she had seen though it was gone, and the handsome young man's face was back smiling at her. He waved goodbye at her and she stiffly waved back.

Was she just seeing things or had that man been a demon?

2 notes · View notes

fantranslatorbychoice · 4 years

Text

Kakuriyo no Yadomeshi Volume 6 Intermission 1 - Another Worthy Opponent

T/N: Hey there Kakuriyo fan-fams, how are you doing so far? Anyway, here's the first intermission of the volume, as an o-make/bonus for everyone, before this month ends. Thank you for noticing this blog, I appreciate it very much. I wouldn’t know if this has notes though, my tumblr app is basically non-functional anymore so I just get surprised when I login. Anyways, I hope you have fun reading.

As always, I mostly didn’t translate some of the names of the ayakashi/youkai, as well as the proper nouns because uhm... They’re basically nouns. It’s like how some translated manga are done. It’s my style, I guess. Links to references at the end of the post.

Also if you like this translation, you can heart it, share the link, reblog, I just respectfully ask that DO NOT REPOST ELSEWHERE. This is my contribution to the scant English content of this fandom, and I worked really hard to finish this thing, it’s not like I just copy-pasted everything. I even had to build the kanji in Jisho one by one. Try it and you’ll see what I mean.

You can rave about this, rant about this, but if possible please link back to this page. If you’re unsure how to do that, just copy the web address of this page. If you’re on a blogsite just insert the web address as a hyperlink as a link back to here. Honestly if this light novel was officially-published in English, I wouldn’t even be doing this right now... And if it did, I’d take this offline to support the publishers and Yuuma-sensei. Creators support creators, is what I believe in.

As previously-mentioned in earlier chapters, if you stumbled upon this one, the two seasons of the anime covered volumes 1-5, so other than the extra details, you didn’t miss much stuff. OK, this intermission is a fun and light chapter. Not much food though. I want some pizza lol

P104 I, Ginji, the Young Master of Tenjin-ya whom it was entrusted to, with regards to the Autumn Festival activites at the end of October, have finally accepted the fact that I couldn't think of anything else to include in the programme and this time I don't know what to do anymore. Odanna-sama suddenly called for me, and I immediately went while I was in the middle of work. "Really, Ranmaru is coming to Tenjin-ya?" "Yes. It's because Aoi succeeded in the matters at Orio-ya, he's coming here to pay back with rewards. He just accepted Byakuya's unreasonable payment demand as it was. If Aoi hears about it, she'll surely be horrified. Regarding that payment." "Hee hee. Even now, Aoi hasn't realized the magnitude of her doing the ceremony in Orio-ya, hasn't she?" According to Odanna-sama, the fruits of Aoi-san's rewards, after covering the losses and deficits due to Tenjin-ya's prolonged break, there's still probably enough to deduct for Aoi-san's bonus commision. Naturally, it seems that the remainders will be alloted to repay the debts. "Wah, is that true?" After reading out the detailed particulars, it caused even me to unconsciously react. P105 Byakuya-san, how on earth were you able to negotiate such sums? No, it's not that but, as even I was involved in the ceremony at Orio-ya many times and I understood why, Aoi-san going there for us, the achievements of what remained to be done were enormous. Surely, Ranmaru seemed to be aware that the reward was reasonable. "By the way, Odanna-sama. Yesterday, how was your date with Aoi-san? Although called as such, it probably wasn't one." "It's not like that. Aoi was worshipped by the mountain's Kaku-zaru, we conspired with the extermination of bandits... The plans to make the fruits all around us to make a heartwarming date progressed into a disaster, but thankfully we were able to gain some information. Moreover, Aoi made cooking seem fun. We acquired ingredients from the mountain that we rarely have, it was delightful. Aoi's obsession for cooking is probably her greatest cure." "Ah, ahaha. That's Aoi for you. Anyhow, in any case, I'm relieved that you were safe." Odanna-sama just said, "Yes, I guess," and smiled so happily. Sighing, his smile just looked so youthful. I just suddenly thought it was. "Alright Ginji, your brother is arriving very soon. It's a rare opportunity to meet up with him, you’re gonna be with him." "Really, is that fine?" "You're too formal with Byakuya and I. When you're not around, it becomes deathly quiet."

P106

"Is... Is that so? I mean, yes, it is." Although Tenjin-ya and Orio-ya combined their strengths to get through difficulty, there's still a sense of tension. It's for this reason that there's still a business competition, anything that happens as a result of the rivalry, surely when imagining as such, it can lead to painful stories. No, but my worries are probably unnecessary. "Wahhhh! It's been a long time, Tenjin-ya! It's summer since we last came? Today we brought a lot of souvenir gifts-- Now where is Ojou-chan**? I want to have something to eat--" "Hattori, you're being too boisterous! Shut up--" "What the heck Ranmaru-- I just brought you here--" It seems that Hatori went along with Orio-ya's Ranmaru. Surely, due to their extreme inability to read the atmosphere, I wonder if they can fulfill their roles this time. Perhaps... Ranmaru has become like Odanna-sama, and probably doesn't like it when it gets quiet? "We appreciate you coming from so far a distance, respected Head of Orio-ya.** We welcome you." "Whaat. You're damn heartless to talk, Tenjin-ya's Master. But we want to immediately return the favor. For disturbing you lowlifes**, we apologize. Hey, Hatori." "Hey, hey" T/N: Hopefully, by this time it's easy to pinpoint out who's calling Aoi. If there's no honorrifics, it's Odanna-sama, or O-ryo. With -kun, it's Byakuya. With -san, it's Ginji, and everyone else lol Hatori calls her Miss=Ojou-chan yeah you probably get it now lol Yeah Ranmaru is technically not the master of Orio-ya's he's more or less the chief officer for operations, but he's still under Ougondouji-sama, the original founder of Tenjin-ya. Odanna-sama is more or less the chief executive officer or everything because Ougondouji-sama left Tenjin-ya in his care. Something like that. This part was explained in the anime too, before the start of the Orio-ya arc.

Also I didn’t choose to translate temee - てめえ for what it really is, I find it too harsh so I just went along with the more milder ones lolol Ranmaru is a potty mouth guys P107 Hatori-san pulled out his bag. It is totally wrapped in mystery, and our chief accountant Byakuya-san solemnly accepted it, and his sharp-sightedness was surely awakened by the contents. "Yes, it is good..." After that, the chief accountant and Odanna-sama, who do not exempt a lot of things other than this, stamped the magnificent receipt with Tenjin-ya's very important golden seal. "After this, we need to make a written report to Aoi-kun. We also have to include her bonus commision with it." Byakuya-san's sour mood seemed to have lifted somehow. The large payment was deserved, and opening his fan, he leisurely looked up. "This is Aoi-san's first commision, isn't it? She'll be ecstatic--" Once she learns that the bonus has been given, she'll be very surprised. I could imagine her shocked face, and I could only laugh about it silently in my head. "Young-master, can you hand this over? That girl can finally embezzle a lot of ingredients--" "You can't say that.." Odanna-sama couldn't help but say it with a sarcastic laugh, and bizaarely showed it to Ranmaru and Hatori-san. The two looked at each other with a side-glance. P108 “Also, Tenjin-ya's Odanna-sama. Ougondouji-sama, did she came to Tenjin-ya sometime ago?" Ranmaru decided to cut off the conversation, and changed its direction. Odanna-sama immediately shook his head. "No... I wanted something returned to the girl, and I was thinking of getting in touch. I couldn't get the whereabouts of that person, that's why it wasn't easy." "Wanted something returned?" While sipping some of Tenjin-ya's tea, Hatori went "What could that be?" "The Tengu's Uchiwa Fan.** At present, that is Aoi's property, and Ougondouji-sama should bring it here." "Ah, that, yes, yes." It seemed that up until now, Hatori-san seemed to have forgotten about it, and asked Ranmaru about it with his gaze. His eyes read "Hey, what should I do?". Ranmaru kept quiet for a bit, and opened his mouth. "Ougondouji-sama, she said that she was going to the North-western Lands." "The North-western Lands?" Odanna-sama and Byakuya-san's facial expressions changed. The North-western Lands. It is also called the Land of Bun-mon, Scholarly Gates. In that knowledge gate metropolis, there are multitudes of academicians and doctors. Really, they send out so many civil officials, there are just so many politicians in charge of that place, even inside the Hachiyo's centers and nearby areas, that land is said to have strong political powers. T/N: OK, so this explains why Aoi didn't just use the uchiwa-fan to get rid of the bandits. The leafy fan wasn't returned yet. OK, so if you're wondering too, there you go. P109 "Likewise, that place hates anything-that-is-easy-to-understand." Byakuya-san nonchalantly said that in distaste. "Ahh. In Youto's imperial court, the political authority has swayed, it's under the territory of the Minister of the Right, Ieyasu. Anyhow, Ougondouji-sama traveling to the Northern Lands must be related to her calling out for something, but it doesn't seem likely that the Tanuki would easily get moved. She probably doesn't know how to handle that." Odanna-sama placed his hand on his jaw, and let out a long exhale. "It's connected to the Northern Lands. Two days ago, even I heard the stories of the people living the mountains of the Northern Lands. For a long time there, the Great Old Sage has been a go-between in ruling that region, but that person has been bedridden with an illness and no one has been elected to be the successor. It's because of that it seems, that the insurgent forces have increased." "That grandpa, he hasn't died yet?" Hatori's lack of reading the mood appropriately went out with just a few words, and Ranmaru stared at him sternly. Hatori just pretended to be ignorant by whistling.** "I daresay Ougondouji-sama went to the North-western Lands for the sake of resolving the chaotic situation in the north. There's also the issue of opening up a vacancy in the Hachiyo ranks. There's a chance for the aristocrats in the imperial court to increase their power and influence. Currently, owing to the Hachiyos' command, each of the eight districts's sovereignty were held together by each Hachiyo, but there have been calls to abolish the Hachiyo system, and the supremacy of the Central Government will become absolute, as more people will have to make the decisions." After Ranmaru finished talking, he huffed a bitter smile after thinking, and brushed up his hair. T/N: Hatori is such an adorable dumbass, srsly, I wanna be annoyed at him but he's a sweetheart inside, apart from flirting with anybody, I mean ANYBODY lololol Also Ranmaru is such a softie with Nobunaga, I just can't - gahaha you can't stop me you all P110 "Tenjin-ya's Odanna-sama, have you ever imagined that we will be talking together like this?" "Certainly. Surprisingly, your edges have been trimmed off and you're now softer**, Ranmaru." "Tch... Leave me alone!" "Gyahahahaha--" Hatori-san started laughing. After that even Odanna-sama did too, and the intense atmosphere was flipped over, and as everyone around started making playful faces, Byakuya-san cleared his throat and silently glared at Odanna-sama. Don't destroy your dignified attitude, was what I could read from his wordless plea. Even Odanna-sama considerably had a cold sweat vibe. "I give up, can we get over with the tiring conversation? If so, let's talk about more delightful things. Here's a joyous report from Orio-ya. As a matter of fact, our Young Master and Young Mistress have been engaged, somehow." "Really, aren't they Hideyoshi-san and Nene-san**?" Up until now my calmness levels have been fine, but because Hatori-san abruptly revealed an auspicious news from my old stomping grounds, I unconsciously reacted spite of myself. Hideyoshi-san is a goblin monkey Ayakashi, and his position in Orio-ya is Young Master. Nene-san is a fire rat Ayakashi, and is Orio-ya's Young Mistress. T/N: This literally was written like "your horns/corners have been taken out and you're now rounded" but again, probably a pun because maru=round and well, Ranmaru has MARU in it. Oh well. And yeah I ship fire rat girl and monkey boy lol canon shipping ftw P111 During the time we worked together in summer, I didn't feel that kind of atmosphere around them... I saw that Nene-san especially admired Ranmaru, but this awakening of one's love is probably an exceptional case. "But, isn't this development happening too fast?" I was stunned, in reality the time period that elapsed since the engagement happened was at most, two months. "That dumbass Hideyoshi is different, he's a late bloomer." "Whaa... But in your dreams you wouldn't say something like that to the dog you're raising, won't you Ranmaru?" While Ranmaru was smirking, the profound meaning in my words propped him up, and he thoughtlessly replied. "Nonetheless, I heard it from Nene-chan, who was the aggressive one!" "Really?!" What on earth is up with that two...? "That definitely happened, when the two went back to their hometown, during the break after the ceremony." "Oh well, since the beginning those two have been comrades in their old hometown, and having surpassed the ritual, likely they were drawn towards each other. But it was a good thing for Orio-ya. If the connections between the managing staff gets stronger due to having more trust, then it's going to be more rock-solid." P112 Both Ranmaru and Hatori-san were receptive to the engagement of the two trustworthy management staff. Especially Ranmaru, his face may not show it but his speech and his demeanor shows that he's happy. Even I realized that. "Gahaha-- Well, I told Hideyoshi to mess about some more. But he seems earnest of only one way. Because he was raised in the countryside, he only knows that when you decide to get together with someone, then you get married. Even Nene-chan too, one way or another says that if it's Hideyoshi, then it's good. If it fits, then it must be suitable." "Not playing around is definitely the opposite of what you are, Hatori." "Geez, I think you're absolutely stabbing me. Leave me out of this, Odanna" Hatori-san just destroyed himself. But Odanna-sama was smiling, then he just dared to speak calmly. "Ah, I get that. From now on, it's wonderful that as employees they will be giving their best to gain happiness. But in Tenjin-ya's management staff, ever since Kikuno’s marriage, nobody has ever been married. Also, there's nobody who wants to...**" "..." Kikuno-san was Tenjin-ya's former Young Mistress, and was also doubtful about O-ryo being the current Young Mistress. It's a fact that ever since her marriage, there has been no other celebratory news from Tenjin-ya. Even hints, there's mostly nothing... Anyway, nobody was saying anything, and it got awfully quiet. "Speaking of someone, aren't you dumbasses instantly forgetting about that Shirou's granddaughter's marriage?" T/N: This is just funny AF, salty boi is salty lol but seriously if this ogre-boi just stopped messing around with Aoi maybe he's gonna be the next one to get hitched lololol well IDK what do you think y’all P113 ".. what?" Although Ranmaru pierced through and broke that silence, Odanna-sama's laughing face got frozen stiff. "If that was easy, shouldn't I be working this hard? But since I couldn't do just that, I am in trouble right now." Everyone in here went "ohhh..." and greatly understood what he meant. Guys, right now Aoi-san's thinking about that. It seems that the girl's personality and Odanna-sama's huge efforts can be easily understood in 10 minutes. "Ahahaha-- Odanna, you dumbass can't handle a young girl by yourself, that's an amusing story. It's hilarious--" "Well, that IS about Shirou's granddaughter. That Ojou-chan, no matter how often she falls, she just stands up again. Kakuriyo hasn't been more enlivened by that before." Ranmaru and Hatori-san kept hitting their knees as they laughed. Afterwards, for some time there was chatting about public news, as well as exchanging information about Kakuriyo's affairs, and apart from Orio-ya's payment contract, all sorts of souvenirs and presents were given out. Those were Orio-ya's pride, the famous products from the Southern Lands. Of course there was seafood, Kiseki beef that has a little fat and is famous with the ladies, mangoes that only grow in Kakuriyo's south, and other snacks like that. Lately there has been additional efforts in growing what is called an "avocado" and other fruits from Utsushiyo. P114 I think that with regards to Aoi-san, she'll be happy with these, but Odanna-sama and Byakuya-san seemed to be annoyed by it. "Lately, the topic of interest about Orio-ya is that your souvenirs and products have increased, and we're jealous." "Then Tenjin-ya has to quickly produce and release new products and souvenirs. People asking about old and ancient products are dwindling, you know. With regards to that aspect, Orio-ya has strength. Although we're still continuously on the road to improvement, it's because we're changing to become your worthy competitor." Byakuya-san whispered to me "Even if so..." "Young Master-dono, I have heard your plea that you haven't thought of what to prepare with regards to the Autumn Festival, have you formed any plans right now?" "About that, I think that what we usually have annually aren't interesting and fun. This year, we'll use agricultural produce of the Land of Ogre's gate, such as rice, sweet potato, and pumpkins**." "P... Pumpkins?" Odanna-sama's face became unusually disgusted. "About that.. Odanna-sama doesn't like the texture of pumpkins." "It's sweet, but can't you think of anything other than side dishes?" While we were seating together in the banquet, Odanna-sama, Byakuya-san and I were thinking about it a lot. T/N: Goodness Ginji, no wonder your catering business got whacked. I adore you but really... just hire Aoi in the creative department lol Also if she gets to make Odanna-sama eat pumpkin I really can't say so much about her now lol P115 There weren't any other things that he didn't like, and though Odanna-sama appears to be a flawless ogre, when there's boiled pumpkin I have seen that he casually places it on Byakuya-san's plate. "...Pumpkin, is it..?" "Ginji, why is your expression that of an evil fox's?" "It's not that, Odanna-sama. I just thought of something after a bit." "Ohhh, that's wonderful!" "Whooo.. Those are the words of our genius planning department manager, Young Master-dono. That is certainly going to be a fun plan!" What on earth, Odanna-sama and Byakuya-san were they hounding me for such a plan right after that. "That, uhm..." After the banquet we huddled in a circle and sneakily talked about the scheme. The three people in the management staff planned together in hushed voices, and silently laughed. Chiaki-san, the doorman in charge of footwears, after looking at the night scenery, went by and we must have made him say "Well, that's scary".

End of Intermission 1, Volume 6. Previous - Chapter 3 Next - Chapter 4

References:

Wonderful site for the youkai references

Other stuff I used to do this: Kodansha Kanji Learner’s Dictionary (you can buy here, I’m not sponsored btw). I was about to buy the older edition but then the newer one came out 2013 so I bought that instead. Worth buying since I was able to find nearly all of the words I needed just by stroke pattern alone.

Merriam-Webster's Japanese-English Dictionary (the red-covered 1996 version is apparently out of print right now). This is what I have been using for a very long time, I bought it when I was still a fetus (yes I am old so what lol), and after so many years, when compared to newer editions, I still prefer this one since its entirety is Japanese-English, the English to Japanese gloss are just 16 pages tops, so you get more Japanese words for your buck. But that’s just my opinion, maybe other people prefer the Jap-En x En-Jap IDEK.

Basic online dictionary, Jisho. Knowledge of verb conjugations and other words are necessary since not all have entries.

If you can read Japanese, you can buy the whole set in Amazon Japan, they’re shipping worldwide now, I think.

#kakuriyo no yadomeshi #kakuriyo no yadomeshi volume 6 #kakuriyo no yadomeshi volume 6 intermission 1 #kakuriyo no yadomeshi english fan translations #kakuriyo no yadomeshi volume 6 english fan translations #kakuriyo no yadomeshi light novel translations #kakuriyo no yadomeshi volume 6 intermission 1 english translations

33 notes · View notes

sincerelyreidburke · 4 years

Note

ooh also 4 for Bri and Reid because I love them

Friends! Romans! Countrymen! ARE YOU READY for some good shit?!?! I say this because this is my very first time writing Reid/Bri! I mean, they’ve been in the background a few times in drama club stuff, but I’ve never actually gotten to focus on them. Toby enables me, because xe loves me.

“Who’s Bri?” Reid’s girlfriend!

In today’s episode of prompts, you will get a glimpse into Reid’s post-graduation life! If you want to read more about what’s in store for him after Kiersey, you can check out this post. And even this one, too, if you’d like.

Here, you’ll see a Reid two years removed from graduation and a little down on his luck. You also finally get to see inside his brain. *Slaps hood of Reid Burke* This bad boy can fit so much mental illness in him.

From this list of sappy prompts, which I am still accepting and filling as we speak!

4. “Shut up and kiss me.”

two years after (reid's) graduation | may

Reid considers himself spectacularly efficient when it comes to fucking things up.

He knows this. Has always known it. He figures it’s a good thing to be self-aware, at least. He’s probably one of the more self-aware human beings to ever have a conscience, come to think of it, given the amount of time he spends policing his own every action. But still. There has to be some benefit in being so well aware of your own flaws that you can constantly predict your fuck-ups before they even happen. It’s like damage control when the damage hasn’t even set in.

Anyway. Reid knows he’s good at fucking up. But if there’s one thing he would really prefer not to fuck up, it’s Bri’s birthday.

Easier said than done.

When midnight strikes on the day she’s turning 24, he’s not even home, which is the first reason he feels guilty and useless. He’s at work, apron around his waist, tie done up too tight, sneaking glances at the clock across the room in between customers and refills. He wishes he had his phone on him, as the minute hand lines up with the second hand at the 12. He could at least text her. He could make up for the fact that he’s not there in person, to ring in the first moments of the day. But his phone is in the back, in his locker, because this is the best-paying place he works at, and he doesn’t want to risk his employment by getting caught with a phone by his manager. Or worse, a nosy customer, who will subsequently rat him out to his manager, and, well— yeah. Not to mention the fact that it’s usually so fast-paced in the bar that there’s no time to check your phone anyway.

The point is. He wishes he could text Bri. But he can’t. It’s probably for the best. She’s probably not even awake. It would actually be bad if she were awake. A healthy sleep schedule is something she deserves.

Actually, she deserves a lot. The entire world. A lot more than Reid has ever been able to give her, and there isn’t a day that goes by when his brain fails to remind him of that particular fuckup in his life thus far. But tonight, he shouldn’t think in huge terms. Tonight, he should just worry about her birthday.

Man, he wishes he were home in bed.

The strike of midnight, although it provides something to focus on, isn’t even the sign of his shift nearing an end, because the bar doesn’t close until 2:30, and the latter two and a half hours of work wind up passing by even more slowly than the beginning of his shift did. When he finally sees his last customer out, after last call, and he’s the only lonely, lingering person in the place— then, the end is in sight. He has closing chores ahead of him, but at least he doesn’t have to wait around to go home anymore.

It’s nothing that out of the ordinary, really, to be working this late. Between three jobs and sneaking in open mic nights between them any chance he can, he can’t remember the last time he had a night entirely off. Or a day, honestly, and tomorrow— or today, since it’s past midnight— isn’t any exception. He has the lunch shift at the street diner he works at, and the jury’s still out as to whether he’s going to bag his shift at the second bar he works at tomorrow night.

All of this is to say: he’s working a lot. Which is fine. Work means money, which means staying alive, especially with the New York cost of living he’s gotten used to since they moved here after graduation. It’s a necessary part of life. He just wishes life could stop, for one day, so he could do this right. So he could at least give her something, to make up for all the areas in life where he’s lacking. Where he’s an extremely underwhelming excuse for a future husband.

And, look— he did actually get her a present, so that’s not the issue here. It’s more the lack of time. It’s more the overwhelming sense that, despite her stability, despite the fact that she’s stuck with him for six years, he doesn’t deserve this patience, and that one day she might finally come to her senses and decide that she doesn’t feel like waiting around while he slums it in New York and tries to make it big, that she wants, like, a normal life, with a partner who makes a salary and a house or at least an apartment with more than one room and, like, basic predictability and success—

Ugh.

For now, for this very early morning, he won’t think about all of that, no matter how much it rings in his ears as he cleans up and closes the bar. For now, he just wants to make sure Bri has the most perfect morning possible. And to do that, he has a checklist.

Step one: finish work. He considers that done as he locks the front door of the bar, and steps out onto the street. It’s kind of breezy but not exactly cold out, since Bri’s birthday marks the last day of May, and summer is pretty much here. It’s not really busy outside on the street, but he’s not the only one out, either. Rule number one of New York City: you are literally never the only person out and about, no matter what time of day it is.

Step two: the bodega. It’s on his walk, open twenty-four hours, and he stops there so often at weird hours of the night after work shifts that he’s established a rapport with the cashier who works the red-eye shift. “Eyyyyyy,” he sings, as he swings through the door into the small, artificially lit space. “What’s up, Charlie? You working hard, or hardly working?”

Actually, it’s not so much a rapport. It’s more that he’s constantly the loudest customer who graces this place between the hours of midnight and four in the morning, and Charlie probably hates him, but still tolerates his presence. So.

He needs flour, half a dozen eggs, a tied-up bunch of yellow and white flowers, and rainbow sprinkles. He also slides three Red Bull onto Charlie’s till, and then grins across the counter to remark, “The necessities.”

Charlie grunts or maybe chuckles, and scans his stuff. “Right.”

Step three: get home and get to work.

It’s, like, six minutes on foot from work to the bodega, and then four more to the subway stop, and then the subway is a whole host of issues that land him back at the apartment building around 3:30 in the morning. Bri’s alarm goes off at 6:30 for work, and he figures he can intercept her for a proper birthday breakfast before she goes to the gallery. Given that he kills one of the Red Bull from the bodega while he’s in transit to get home, he is at least ninety percent confident that there’s no point in not pulling an all-nighter.

It’s fine. He’s not even tired. He has stuff to do, anyway.

The apartment is dark when he gets in, and he tries to make the smallest amount of noise, which, when you think about it, is kind of pointless because it’s only one room and any noise he makes could count as a disturbance, but— but— Bri isn’t a light enough sleeper to wake up at that kind of stuff. A fact he is grateful for. So he puts the bag of groceries down, gently, on the counter, and turns the light on over the sink while he loosens his tie. Or more like yanks it off. The uniform at that job is seriously not his style, but you take what you can get.

Across the room, where their bed is tucked up into the corner, Bri is asleep. Thank Christ. He would be concerned if she weren’t. While he gets out of his work clothes, he looks at her in bed— she’s peaceful, and looks comfortable, and he kind of wants for a second to just crawl into bed with her, but if he does that, he’ll never get anything done in time, and she’ll wake up to a normal old morning. With nothing special. On her birthday.

She doesn’t deserve that.

When he’s finished changing, it’s 3:41 Apple time. The morning is young. He sneaks a kiss to the top of her head and pulls the covers a little higher over her shoulders, then slides across the room in his socks, back to the kitchen side of the apartment.

Sure, he’s great at fuck-ups. But he’s not going to let this one be a bust.

It’s a quick three hours.

He blames executive dysfunction. Time passes too quickly when he’s on a crunch, literally every time. He starts with her card, which he bought a few days ago— writes it out, seals it into its envelope, and weighs it down with the corner of one of her vases, which he fills with water and puts the flowers in. It’s glass-blown, psychedelic colors; she made it in the glass studio junior year at Kiersey, and it followed them to New York.

With that done, he gets all his ingredients out for breakfast. He can’t start cooking at 4 in the morning, but he can get ready— a bowl out on the counter, their one good frying pan on the griddle, dry ingredients for pancakes measured out. He’s not the most versatile cook in the world, but he makes a mean Kraft Dinner, and this, too, he can do— birthday cake pancakes. With sprinkles. It’s Bri’s favorite breakfast.

He doesn’t know how it winds up being 6:30. He loses time, doing all of this and also nothing at all. He’s two and a half Red Bull deep, mixing up the actual pancake batter, when Bri’s alarm tone across the room pulls him out of his haze.

“Shit,” he hisses, and nearly knocks over his frying pan. It’s 6:30 already? The kitchen is a mess, and he’s been stuck in the distractible part of his brain for the better half of the past two hours, and now he looks like he’s made a huge mess, and—

The alarm stops going off, and he hears the mattress shift. He’s rinsing off the questionable spatula he’s been using to mix the batter in the sink when he hears her voice. “Babe?”

“Hey— hey, good morning.” He turns, and puts his back to the counter, like it’ll hide the actual disaster he’s created. “Happy birthday,” he adds. “Did you sleep okay?”

Bri is sitting up halfway in bed, and she doesn’t answer his question. “What are—” She yawns, and holds a hand to her mouth, which is really fucking cute, the way her eyes get all wrinkled up like this, and he just— loves her, and wishes he weren’t so useless, wishes he could give her the world. When she finishes her sentence, her voice is raspy. That’s cute, too. “What’re you doing over there?”

“I’m, uh.” And busted. He might as well own up to the mess. “Well, I realize now that it looks like a bomb went off in here, but don’t worry; I’ll fix it. I was just— well, breakfast. I’m making breakfast. But it’s not ready yet. It will be. Promise.” He lets all his breath out at once, then tries a grin. “But did you? Sleep okay?”

Again, she doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she swings her legs off the side of the bed, and gets up to walk across the room. He meets her halfway, as she’s combing back her hair, a blonde, wavy, bedhead-y and beautiful mess. She’s in pajama shorts and a tank top, and he may be sleep-deprived and totally useless, but he is the luckiest guy on this planet. “How long’ve you been up?” she asks.

He rests his hands, gently, on her waist, and looks down to meet her eyes, which are hazy with sleep but always so fucking pretty. “I… don’t know if you would love the answer to that question,” he replies, because she’d see right through him even if he wanted to lie about it.

She smiles, but it’s a sympathetic expression, like she can see the Red Bull coursing through his veins or some shit like that. “Answer anyway.”

“Um.” Okay, busted. For real this time. While she hooks her arms around his neck, he tries to gather an explanation. “Okay, so I may not have slept, but hear me out, okay? I wanted to make sure I had stuff in a row so that when you woke up, it’d all be good for you, since I know we kinda have, like, a limited window here, and I didn’t want you to just have to eat, like, peanut butter toast on your birthday, right? Like, that would suck, and also, I was already up because of work, and I had stuff to do anyway, so basically, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t sleep at all, but on the bright side, there is pancake batter ready for you, and I promise I’m gonna clean up all the cooking shit ASAP because I know it looks like a war zone in this kitchen right now—”

“Reid.”

He stops. Her voice is gentle, and she’s smiling— it’s not the pity smile anymore, but just a regular smile. She threads her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he breathes, almost instinctively. “Sorry. That was so much. You just woke up. Hi. I love you. Happy birthday. You look really hot right now.”

Bri laughs, and leans up, on tiptoe, until her forehead is right on his. “Reid,” she repeats, even more gently, and he lets out all his breath again, closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He tries to do as she says. It’s really not hard to breathe; he just forgets that’s a necessary bodily task from time to time. No big whoop. “I promise I’ll clean it up. And I’ll make the pancakes, and— wait, shit!” The realization hits him all at once, and his stomach sinks. “Shit. Fuck. I don’t think we have whipped cream.”

“Whipped cream?” Bri asks, and she sort of laughs, like she’s confused, but this is very bad, because that’s a necessary part of any balanced pancake breakfast, right?

“Fuck,” he repeats, and then groans, bumping his forehead against hers lightly. “Fuck, babe; I’m so sorry. I knew I was forgetting something. I can go out, though. Maybe while you shower? I can get it on the corner—”

“Babe,” Bri says, and it occurs to him that he has once again forgotten to breathe. But when he meets her eyes again, she’s smiling, kind of laughing, and she shakes her head. “Shut up.”

“What?” He blinks. His glasses fog up a little, with how close their faces are, and he squints through them toward her. “I really will go out and get it. What are birthday pancakes without whipped—”

Bri slides her hands up to either side of his face, and she shakes her head again. “Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

The pit leaves his stomach, and he stops in his tracks. “Oh,” he says, and then laughs, too. “Okay. I can do that.”

It’s a kiss that stops the racing in his brain, which it really always does; she just knows how to do that by existing. It becomes two, and then three, and when they pull apart, Reid can breathe normally again.

“You didn’t have to stay up all night because of me,” she tells him, voice still gentle, eyes still on him.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t really— I mean, I really didn’t want you to have a lame morning.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” she replies. Her eyes are catching the sunrise light that edges in through the window. He could get distracted by that. By her body. By every freckle on her face. He is, after all, easily distractible. “But,” Bri adds, “as long as my morning has you in it, I promise you, there’s nothing lame about it.”

He laughs, and kind of feels sheepish, like he might be blushing. “Okay.” He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll take her at her word.

“C’mere.” She pulls him down for another kiss, and, yeah, this he can do. The apartment is way too small, and he is a human disaster, but she loves him anyway, for some reason he still can’t figure out, and he’ll never stop being grateful for that.

“Thank you,” she says, when they pause to breathe again. “I’m excited for pancakes.”

“I’ll make them good,” he assures her, and she laughs.

“I know you will,” she replies, and then smiles with half her mouth, so her one dimple shows, and that is fucking adorable. Holy Christ. He might be sleep-deprived, but if looks could kill… “But,” she adds, with that smirk still lingering, “not yet.”

“Not yet?” he echoes, and blames the sleep deprivation for how slow the realization is. “Right, yeah. Because you should shower, right? Get ready for work?”

“I think I have a distinct amount of time before I actually have to be ready for work,” she replies, and ohhhh. Oh. Okay.

This, too, he can do.

“I think I understand you,” he tries.

Bri winks. “You definitely understand me,” she says, and then grabs him by the hand and pulls him back toward their bed. “And plus, it’s my birthday.”

He almost makes a birthday suit joke, and then decides that puns are not an effective method of seduction today. Not that Bri really needs seducing. Right this second, anyway.

“I’m so honored,” he says, instead, and grins when she pushes him down to sit on the edge of the mattress. He holds her by the waist and waits, still smirking. “You mean to say you want me to be your present?”

“Something like that,” she replies, with a shrug, and then pushes him so he falls backwards, and he gets exactly three seconds to laugh at the ceiling before she’s kissing him and he gets to move on to something much, much better than rambling about his failures as a boyfriend in the middle of the kitchen.

Breakfast can wait.

#sappy prompts #breid #kiersey college #the insanely cool reid burke #ficlet #my writing #bri doesn't have a tag yet but #that's okay #mel writes

8 notes · View notes

afoolforatook · 5 years

Text

A RWBY V7 Ep12 rant.....When I say this is long..... Legit was fucking 37 pages double spaced at one point. Sorry....

Before this gets started I want to warn you, this is long (even longer than I thought it’d be going in). It’s probably too long ... actually it is definitely too long but if I agonize over editing it down again and again I won’t get it up before the finale. It’s probably repetitive at times, and most certainly not anything I’ll be showing off as an example of my top essay writing. And I want to be able to say that the length pays off because I have some grand hopeful insight at the end. I want to say I know things will be okay. But the fact that I can’t is exactly why I’m writing this, and why it’s so long. So if you need this to have a hopeful ending, I’m sorry, I don’t have one for you currently. I want to, so badly. But to me false hope would be even worse. So if you can’t handle another long post that doesn’t end with a way to fix things, it’s okay, take care of yourself. But maybe the most hopeful thing I can tell you, and tell you up front, is that you aren’t alone in your pain.

I want to preface this all with one more thing: I don’t hate CRWBY. I respect them, support them. I’ve wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt as much as I could. That doesn’t mean I can’t criticize them or expect more from them or just be plain angry with them. I can be vocal about all of that without harassing them, without hating them. I don’t think they’re just plain evil or homophobic. I still want to believe that they can do things that will allow me to trust them again. Maybe it’s naive, but I want to, at the very least, still have hope that this wasn’t malicious, just very poorly conceived and executed.

And I know that other people who are hurting like me are lashing out towards CRWBY. And while I don’t at all condone that kind of reaction, I can understand it to an extent. Because I’m very, very hurt and angry and it would be so easy to let loose and say all the awful stuff I want to in my anger. To yell and call people out and not care how I come across. It would definitely be a lot easier than spending all week writing this long thing and agonizing over making it perfect. There is nothing wrong with venting and being raw and open and angry, but just as we want CRWBY to be aware that their actions can truly hurt people, we need to be conscious of the fact that so can ours. Many people are very hurt right now. And whether or not you think it was queerbaiting/BYG or not, or even whether or not you just think it was bad writing, no one has the right to invalidate the people who are hurting right now, many of whom are queer people dealing with personal traumas and mental illness.

The few people who are attacking CRWBY and other fans (and there is a difference between being angry and vocal about that anger and just attacking them) do not invalidate the hurt people are feeling. If you are hurt or angry you have every right to be. You have every right to stop watching the show or leave the fandom, or communicate your hurt to CRWBY. But communicate means just that; communicate. Talk. You can be as angry as you are, you don’t have to temper your pain to be more tolerable to the people who caused that pain. But there is a difference between being harsh and honest about how hurt you are, and harassing real people. And I won’t say “harassing real people over a fictional character/show” because I know it’s more complicated than that. My hurt this past week isn’t over a fictional character or a ship. It’s about me and what I’ve been through and the fact that the very thing that gave me strength in hard times was turned into something that confirmed my biggest fears and hurt me immensely.

The world always gets so sentimental when we see things about fictional stories giving people some comfort, and we celebrate that. But as soon as people say they can be hurt just as much by media, we lash out, say they’re overreacting, that they’re just getting upset over fictional characters. But you can’t have it both ways. We can’t want fiction to be important and inspiring to people and then belittle people who are negatively impacted by the same material, especially when often that vulnerability comes from a history of trauma and/or being neurodivergent. I am extremely hurt. I feel betrayed and abandoned and angry. And it will take time for me to process all of that and move past it. But I can be all of those things without attacking CRWBY or the people who might disagree with me.

To me, this isn’t about disagreeing. We can argue forever about whether or not this was queerbaiting or bury your gays or poor writing (and I honestly at this moment don’t even know what I think about all of that because I’m not in that headspace currently) but the fact is that there are many, many people who feel it was, and who are hurting because of that, and whether you believe it was or not does not give you the right to invalidate the real pain that they are feeling. Who is right is less important than the fact that people, people who were already vulnerable, have been hurt. So, please. Respect each other. Respect those who are hurting. Respect those who aren’t and don’t understand, and respect CRWBY. You can still be angry and speak out without attacking others.

With that said, to fully understand why this has affected me so much, and why it’s going to take a long time for me to get back to where I was, regardless of how the volume ends, there are things you need to know about my history. It’s a lot of background and this is already going to be a longer post than I’d really like, but it’s important to understanding why RWBY is so important to me, and thus able to have such a negative effect on me. So please, bear with me. Also, fair warning, though at this point it’s probably obvious, but my story isn’t happy. I still haven’t found my own positive ending to it. If it’s too much for you to read right now, please, like I said before, take care of yourself.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Farley. I’m 24, nonbinary (they/them), biromantic, demisexual. I have MDD, GAD, ADHD, Panic Disorder, OCD, Comorbid PTSD, and am trying to get an official autism diagnosis. I’m a full on alphabet soup. I struggle with imposter syndrome, intrusive thoughts, self-isolation, dermatillomania, and multiple trauma related phobias. My queer and neurodivergent identities are huge parts of my life and I try to be as open as possible about them, in the hopes of helping end the stigma around them. One of the main ways I cope with my mental health issues on a day to day basis is through hyperfixations. While it might not technically be the healthiest method, it’s what I’ve found to work for me when I’m in a really bad place and unable to practice more active coping skills. Through stories and characters that I relate to, I can separate my problems from myself a little and both escape from them for a while when needed, and view them a little more clearly from a new perspective.

That’s some important info about me, but what really matters here is the past five years of my life and the trauma within them.

In October of 2015, a few months into my sophomore year of college, I went into a deep depression, mostly brought on by multiple family deaths and stresses over the past summer that I had not properly had time to process and recover from. I quit my job as an RA and withdrew from school and moved back home with my parents. While this was the right decision at the time, it wasn’t easy. I left a very close group of friends at school, and didn’t really have a strong support system at home aside from my parents. My friends from high school had all gone off to college themselves, and the few that still lived in town were often busy with work or school. And because I have an intense fear of driving and needed time to get myself in a better place before starting a job, I ended up spending most of my time home alone. I became more and more isolated, to the point of verging on agoraphobic, and my parents and I started thinking about ways I could basically get my life started again.

But isolation messes with your head, and makes you want to just isolate more and more. In mid February of 2016 I started to really work on being social again. Mostly because I started talking to my best friend from high school, Emma, regularly again. She knew I was struggling, and while I’ve always had a hard time keeping in touch with people, Emma has always been the person I never felt self conscious about going to. We talked everyday. After high school, Emma’s mom and younger brother had moved to Ohio (I live in NC) and Emma had gone to school in Oregon. Her father lives in Germany. So between visiting her family in Ohio and Germany she didn’t have a lot of time during breaks to come back to NC to visit friends. Since we graduated I’d only seen her once for about 12 hours during that awful summer. But now we were skyping and chatting everyday. And slowly I started to be less and less scared of being more social. I wanted to hang out with friends. I was excited about going back to school in the fall.

Something important to understand about me and Emma is how close we’ve always been. We’d been best friends since 8th grade. We told each other we were soulmates, soulfriends, when we were 15. Nearly everyone in our small high school thought we were dating at one time or another. I always knew I loved her. I was fine with our relationship being “only” platonic. Because platonic wasn’t “only”. It was absolutely perfect. It was having her as one of the most important people in my life, and me in hers, and that’s all I wanted. But I also knew that if she ever wanted to try a romantic relationship, I’d be open.

Around the time I left school Emma had been going through a lot herself. She was finally getting help for her own mental health issues and she was, for the first time, really thinking about her identity and sexuality. On May 4th 2016 she texted me like always, but this time she was nervous. She wanted to tell me something. She said she was still confused about her sexuality and didn’t know where she fell. But when she tried to think of being with someone, the only person she pictured was me. And I told her basically what I just told you. So we started talking about testing out us being a couple. She had already been planning to come to NC to visit after she went to Ohio later that month for her brother’s high school graduation. And my parents were going on a two week vacation around that time as well. So we decided that she would come and stay with me for two weeks. We would keep this to ourselves until then, so that we could see if this was really the best thing for us. And if so, then we’d tell people. We’d always talked about living together after school, but now we wanted to see exactly what we wanted our relationship to be. She bought a bus ticket for May 26th and would stay through June 10th or so, which would mean she’d be there for her 20th birthday on June 5th. We talked everyday about our plans for her visit. How excited we were, how we could cook dinner together and dance around the house in our underwear, and just get to be Us again. We talked to friends, planning to visit friends from high school and maybe even my friends from college.

On May 18th I texted Emma around 11 pm. I hadn’t heard from her all day which was unusual but she was in Ohio celebrating her mom’s birthday and getting ready for her brother’s graduation that weekend, so she was probably just busy. We’d told each other goodnight every night for months at that point. So I told her I loved her and was so excited to see her in just over a week.

The next morning it was a bit odd that she still hadn’t texted me back but again, I just assumed she was busy with family. And then the mail came, and the last part of a birthday present I was making for her arrived. So I got to work, giddy.

Around 2 pm my other best friend from high school, Juli, called me. For some reason I decided I’d just call her back later, I was too engrossed in making Emma’s present. About 20 minutes later I heard a knock on my door and turned to see my parents standing in the doorway to my room. I vividly remember spinning around happily and saying “Hey! Everything okay?” even as I noticed the tears on my dad’s face and how pale my mom was. My stomach knotted and I stood as my mom said “N-no. Honey…..” and walked towards me. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for her to say that a grandparent or aunt or uncle had died. But as she got closer and put a shaking hand on my shoulder, I got a little more confused, a different kind of scared. One of my cousins? One of my baby cousins?

Nothing could have prepared me for her telling me that there’d been an accident in Ohio. That Emma, and her mom, and her brother, and her aunt had been in a crash…. And that all four of them had been killed on impact. The only thing I remember about the rest of the night is the pain of continuously screaming, punching the wall until my dad stopped me, and calling my friends from college, trying to have someone to talk to, someone who I could call who wouldn’t also be mourning. I couldn’t handle my own grief, let alone anyone else’s at that moment.

There’s a lot more to that story. There’s the memorial service in Ohio and meeting her dad and stepmom for the first time. There’s the service we put together at our high school and seeing our friend group all together again, except not. There’s the panic attacks every time I saw a garbage truck, or my parents drove off to work.

But most importantly for what you need to know right now, is my sliding back into isolation. I barely ever saw my friends from home and every time I did for the next two years it had something to do with mourning Emma. I saw my college friends a few times; them coming to visit or me taking a bus to stay the weekend. But eventually they went back to school and I stayed at home. I drifted away from high school friends because I didn’t know how to handle being with them when everything we did together reminded me of what I’d lost. I didn’t know how to talk to them because I needed their support but knew I didn’t have it in me to be supportive of them, and that wasn’t fair. I drifted away from my college friends for the same reasons, and even more so as the group dynamic that I had left slowly changed and faded until I didn’t know who was talking to who anymore and I again felt bad for dumping my shit on them when I couldn’t do the same. I began to think that all I brought to any social interaction was my pain and hopelessness. I would just bring everyone else down. They shouldn’t have to deal with my pain. So a year after I left school I was even more alone. I’d lost or pushed away all the people in my life that I’d expected to be lifelong friends, family. And I didn’t know how to begin to fix that. I didn’t know if I wanted to. I didn’t know if I deserved to.

The only reason I was even still alive was because anytime I even got close to thinking about hurting myself, I could just sense Emma glaring at me, yelling at me, telling me that I couldn’t let this stop me from living out all those dreams we’d talked about. And I knew that my life wasn’t just mine anymore, that all those dreams, that bond, the parts of my favorite person that only I knew, would be lost if I died.

But I didn't have my friends to vent to, and as supportive as my parents were (I’d told them and a few close friends about me and Emma that first terrible week) I needed friends. But I didn’t know how to reconnect and I was too scared to go out and meet new people, especially knowing that at some point I’d have to drop the “dead girlfriend” bomb on them, and who’d want to stick around after that? So I tried to use media and hyperfixations to pull myself out of spirals, like I always had. But it was hard. Because most of the things that had been comforting before were all things I’d shared with Emma, and so now they were just more reminders of her absence. And even new things I found soon turned rotten because I couldn’t help but think about how I wish I could show it to Emma. Everything that made me happy for even a moment would pretty soon make me sad.

Eventually I found things that comforted me and helped me be creative again and that led me to starting school again, nearly three years after I’d left, at SCAD. I loved the classes. I wanted to be there. I’ve always been a fiction writer but now there was so much in my head that I needed to get out, to process, and to share with people, especially people like me dealing with an unimaginable grief. Those past few years had been made even more difficult by the lack of representation I found in grief material. Everything was either about grieving the elderly, not someone who’d barely even gotten to live. Or if it was about someone young it was due to suicide or disease or violence; in other words things that at the very least, left the grieving with some cause to care about, or something to be angry at, some real world outlet. I didn’t have that. I didn’t relate to that. And even harder was finding anything I could relate to that included the complexities that my queer identity put on my grief; there were people I could and couldn’t tell about our relationship. Did I say I lost my best friend or my girlfriend? What if her family didn’t approve and wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t let me have any of her things, wouldn’t want me around? And one of the biggest things I kept thinking those first few months; why had my life become a ‘bury your gays’ soap opera plot line. Was Emma supposed to just be my tragic backstory now? Was I just supposed to use this as angsty fodder for the rest of my life? What about her? What about her dreams, her potential? What about her progress? She’d just gotten to a place where she was accepting herself. Where she was overcoming her mental health issues, where she was proud of who she was. Why was I allowed to keep going and she wasn’t? I couldn’t find any support for these feelings. Not books or groups or forums. So I decided to make them myself. I started writing and drawing, putting together what I called my Grief Scrapbook. I was working towards the thing that mattered to me more than anything; telling our story. I was getting the chance to create the content I’d so desperately needed.

But I was still alone, even at school. I was 23 living with mostly 18/19 year olds. And while there wasn’t anything wrong with them, I was struggling with a strong sense of dissociation. Everywhere I looked I saw Emma, forever 19. And there I was, continuing to age and getting further and further away from her.

My first year at SCAD I made two friends, and while I love them, they didn’t fulfill the hole left by the large close knit groups of friends I’d lost. I tried to get back in touch with my best friend from college, only to find that she was no longer talking to me. And I don’t blame her really. Yes I’d been going through things, but so had she, and I hadn’t been able to be a good friend for her. So if she needed to move on for her own good, no matter how sad that made me, she had every right to do what was best for her, just as I had been trying to do.

I’m now in my second year at SCAD and recently started hanging out with a new group. And they’re great and I’m slowly feeling more confident and secure around them, but I still struggle. I still miss the relationships I held so dear, the relationships I let dissolve. I still worry I’ll never have that kind of connection with people again, and that if I do somehow manage to find it, I’ll mess it up again. Some days are particularly rough, when I sit with my thoughts too long, or see something that reminds me of any one of the many people I miss, and I ache for the happiness I had. And it’s those moments when I turn to hyperfixations (I do promise this is getting to RWBY).

This past February the final How To Train Your Dragon movie came out. The HTTYD franchise holds a very dear place in my heart, as it was my main hyperfixation during high school, and something I shared with Emma and other friends. The second film came out the day of my graduation. It was the last movie Emma and I saw together before she moved to Ohio and then went to school in Oregon. It was the last movie we saw together at all. I knew it was going to be very emotional for me to see the final movie, alone now. But I had to see it opening night. And (spoilers for The Hidden World I guess) the movie ended up being about the reality of having to let go of the important people from your childhood as you grow up. About dealing with the fact that sometimes the people you expected to always be a part of your life, aren’t. I loved the movie, but it destroyed me. A few months later I had to get through May, the 3rd anniversary, away from home for the first time. And it was extremely difficult. I’d had to take a break from HTTYD and process things.

So my main hyperfixations weren’t helping me get through a really difficult time. But around the time HTTYD 3 came out I happened to get back into RWBY. I’d watched the first season or so when it first came out, but then had just kind of forgotten about it. And so, in the absence of HTTYD, I got caught up. And I can’t say there weren’t things that hurt, that made me have to take a moment and collect myself. Watching the end of volume three, watching Pyrrha and Jaune finally kiss, and then watch their relationship die with her before they even had a chance to be together, hit way too close to home. Logically I should have projected on Jaune more than I did but I think I couldn’t, because it wasn’t just similar, it felt like I was literally watching the worst moment of my life play out. He was too much like me to handle. But there was Qrow. And at first I just kind of latched onto him because I liked him. I like his characterization, his design, and I was a fan of V*c ( I hate to even mention him here for fear of causing a totally different discourse, but Emma and I were big fans of his and high school and met him and when everything happened with him it was just another thing that felt like a good memory of Emma had been tainted.)

And so I was watching while the last half of volume six was airing. And I was watching Qrow slip further and further into his depression. I watched as he felt betrayed by Oz after grieving him and then getting him back. I thought more about how he’d basically lost his sister, about how he’d grieved for Summer (regardless of whether it was platonic or romantic), how he lost hope in having strong relationships ever again. How he felt cursed and how he pushed people away to protect them and himself from more pain. I saw how the Apathy affected him and how close he was to giving in before Ruby and Weiss snapped him out of it. I saw him struggle to get himself back together for Ruby and the rest of the kids, but not know how. I saw every single fear I’d struggled with those past few years in him. I related to Qrow more than I’d ever expected to. And so my hyperfixation on RWBY grew. His addiction was my isolation. His insecurities of hurting others and thus pushing them away was my fear that for the rest of my life, I would be alone because I was always going to be too broken to be worthy of friends and love.

And then everything happened with V*c and for a bit everything hurt again and I had to get away from RWBY and the toxicity within parts of the fandom. And when I was able to come back I was excited but worried. I hoped that Qrow would continue to develop, continue to progress alongside me, that I would like his new actor enough to finish healing the sting I’d felt over V*c. I just wanted Qrow back, I wanted this character to be there to help me again.

Because Qrow Branwen gave me hope. He gave me hope that I could get better. He gave me hope that even with my insecurities and trauma, something I’ll never be fully free from, I can deserve people who care about me, and that there are actually people who will care about me. He gave me hope that good things can still happen to broken people. And not just people who were once broken and have healed, but people who are still figuring out how to heal, who know they will never fully heal, but also know they still are worthy of support and care. And then volume 7 started and I got more than I’d ever dreamed.

There was the hug with Ironwood. And even though I shipped Ironqrow, the idea of there being a romantic aspect to that hug wasn’t what made it important. It was the fact that we got Qrow connecting with an old ally (and an adult), finding that he even still had an old ally. That despite everything that had happened with Oz and Lionheart, despite all the trust he’d had broken, maybe he wasn’t actually alone yet. And then we got Clover. I’ll admit I was wary of him at first. I was worried about the traitor theories, the death theories, and then the theories that he’d negatively affect Qrow, making him feel worse about his semblance. But then he grew on me so quickly. Because he smiled at Qrow. He got him to talk about himself, called him out when he was putting himself down, told him how well he was doing. And while it’s wasn’t because of Clover, he was sober, and Clover had to at the very least help him stay that way. Qrow was hunching less when he walked, opening up, being more vulnerable and social. He was smiling, laughing, making jokes. He had a steady partner that he trusted and worked well with, likely for the first time since team STRQ. And yes, I shipped them, but honestly while I would have still been disappointed if it was never canon, given how blatant it really seemed like it could be, it would ultimately have been okay. Because again, it was less about Qrow finding love and more about him finding support. And then I saw Qrow and Clover and Robyn team up, and whether it was canon or just fandom I felt represented. Not just in the way I had with Qrow about my mental health, but as a queer person struggling with complicated grief; the exact thing I had never been able to find and had taken upon myself to create for others. I saw Qrow being loved (again, whether platonic or romantic isn’t as important) and healing. Even if Fairgame never actually happened, I could still see them as queer characters helping each other process trauma. And maybe I set myself up in a bubble part of the fandom that fully convinced me that Fairgame was possible, but at the very least I truly, undoubtedly thought that Clover would side with Qrow.

And as I watched episode 12, I could feel my stomach sinking. Okay Clover didn’t side with Qrow at first, but maybe he’ll come around. Okay maybe he won’t come around, but maybe he’ll take Qrow in and they’ll have time to talk, maybe even with Ironwood. But then Clover abandons the ship, abandons Qrow and I was scrambling even more for hope that things would be okay. Maybe he’s trying to get away to diffuse things. But then “Never pegged you for the manipulative type” the first sign of Qrow doubting their entire relationship, of feeling betrayed again. And then Clover calls Qrow cynical? Maybe I’m forgetting something, cause I haven’t gone back and analyzed every scene with them, but I can’t remember Qrow ever being cynical around Clover this volume that we’ve seen. Self-deprecating yes, but this is legitimately the happiest and most secure we’ve ever seen Qrow. But okay maybe they’ll reason and Clover will come around. But then “We don’t have to fight, friend.” and it’s friend not Qrow. And then “You don’t know my friends. That’s how it always goes.” and I broke. I almost stopped there, a part of me wishes I had. Because it was already so broken, this thing that had even in the past few weeks, been a main pillar of hope for me. But maybe they’ll come together to fight Tyrian. And then Qrow goes after Tyrian and Clover keeps attacking Qrow. Well maybe he’s really trying to protect him, or has some plan. But then they continue to fight each other. And they don’t have even a moment of “who’s the bigger threat here? Us or the serial killer?” And then Qrow works with Tyrian?! Tyrian the serial killer? Tyrian the unstable maniac? Tyrian who tried to take Ruby? Tyrian who nearly killed Qrow? Tyrian who fucking worships Salem, who Qrow has spent most of his life fighting, has lost Summer to, and countless other traumas? (and I get the possible reasons, realizing that Clover won’t lay off of him so Tyrian is his best bet and then he can take care of Tyrian, but I still don’t like it. But this isn’t even about whether or not I think it’s good writing or characterization and it’s too long already to get into that.) And then Tyrian and Qrow fight so well together and I honestly felt sick. We haven’t seen Qrow work that well with anyone. Not RWBY, not Ironwood, not Clover. And now we see it with fucking Tyrian? And maybe it’s a stretch but it honestly felt like another nail in the “Qrow attracts bad” coffin that is his insecurities. Qrow and Tyrian fight nearly perfectly together and it felt so damn wrong. Clover’s wrong here, Qrow’s wrong here, and it all feels so very very wrong based on the entire progression of their relationship throughout the volume. And then Qrow takes down Clover’s aura and I’m just empty. There’s no hint of him trying to just beat Clover and not kill him. He has no reason to think that Tyrian won’t actually go for the kill during this fight. But they continue to have these snippets of “We don’t have to fight” or “I want to trust you” while showing no signs of holding back and still caring about the other’s well being. And then Qrow’s voice breaking during “Why couldn’t you just do the right thing…”. We’ve literally never seen Qrow this emotionally compromised, let alone during a fight. He’s crumbling because he finally had someone who made him think he could get better, that he could have close relationships, that he could be good for the people around him. And now he’s losing it.

I was broken here, I was already spiraling. I knew Clover would get hit. I knew I would be struggling to deal with this episode because I had so fully expected a different course. But I thought there could still be hope. There had to still be hope. CRWBY wouldn’t give us all that development, wouldn’t show Qrow finally happy without leaving some hope for things turning around in the finale. He’d get hit by Tyrian’s stinger and Qrow would have to work to save him and they’d work things out. But then “I trust James with my life… and I wanted to trust you.” And I’m sobbing. Because I get it, Clover’s loyal, but when Qrow’s face hardens I know what he’s thinking. What he’s trying not to think but it’s so hard to fight: “Maybe it is me. Maybe I can’t be trusted. Maybe I’ve ruined things again”. Even though he knows what James is doing is wrong. But he trusted James, he trusted Clover. And he thought they trusted, cared for him. And now they’ve both turned against him and no matter how much he knows he’s doing the right thing, he can’t help but worry that he’s still the thing broken here, that he still messed up somewhere and ruined the relationships he needed so much. I was breaking more and more as I watched this source of my own hope lose all hope.

And then Harbinger. The weapon Qrow built himself. That he modeled after his hero. The literal extension of his soul. And only moments before, Qrow destroyed the one thing that might have protected Clover. Clover’s emblem falls. Tyrian with “Like you killed Clover”. And yeah yeah Qrow being framed is heartbreaking. But it’s more that he’ll believe it. He did. He fucked everything up again. He tried so hard to do the right thing and still managed to hurt the person he cared about. And if Clover, the foil to his bad luck, could be destroyed by his semblance, how does anyone else stand a chance? And then blaming James. Swearing to make him pay (I honestly don’t remember if he says make him pay or kill him but I physically can’t rewatch that scene to see which it was). And yes he blames James. He hates James. It was the last straw breaking on someone he wanted to trust so much, wanted to have as a friend. But he still blames himself. He still knows he’s cursed and all the progress he’d made with Clover’s help is ripped away.

And then “Good luck”. I’ve seen people saying it’s sweet, that it’s a moment of reconciliation, of Clover showing he still cares. And I don’t necessarily disagree. But I hate it. Because Qrow won’t take it that way. It’s just another reminder that good luck is out of his reach. And then the goddamn sky and the bi flag colors. And then we see Qrow cry for the first time. And then…. The scream…. I literally nearly vomited and that was the thing that sent me over the edge into full blown panic attack. Because I know that fucking scream. I know how it feels. I hear it ringing in my ears, I feel my throat getting raw. I could hear and see and feel myself in the same position. The nightmare I’d fought off for years; kneeling over Emma’s body and there being nothing I can do but scream and scream as the last of the hope I was clutching to faded with her… with Clover’s eyes.

It wasn’t that Clover died. It wasn’t that my ship won’t happen. It was how traumatizing it was. It was that Harbinger was now defiled. It was that Qrow set it up to happen. It was the sky. It was seeing the light go out of Clover’s eyes. It was Qrow’s scream. We’ve never seen a death like this on RWBY before. Yes we watched Pyrrha’s death. But there was no blood. We didn’t see her bleed out. We didn’t see the exact moment the light left her eyes. We saw Adam stabbed and some bleeding and then hitting the rocks, but we weren’t right there, seeing the exact moment of his death close up. If Clover had been stung by Tyrian and died I’d be upset still, and many of the issues I have would still be relevant. But using Harbinger like that, playing directly into Qrow’s own insecurities like that, after having him do things that felt extremely out of character in order to set things up for Tyrian to kill Clover like that and blame Qrow? It felt vile.

It didn’t just feel like bad writing or different narrative choices. Hell, it didn’t even just feel OOC. It felt malicious. It felt like twisting established plot and characterisation completely in order to make it fit some tragic climax that was only chosen because it would have the biggest emotional impact, not because it was the best way to continue the plot. And they can’t say that they didn’t expect people to be so attached to Clover. Because if they didn’t expect that to be so emotional for viewers, then why do it like that in the first place? Why put in the climatic cinematic shot that mirrors when Yang lost her arm? Why have Qrow screaming over Clover’s body be the final shot? If Clover was never meant to have significance to both Qrow and fans, why make his death so painful? They can’t say that they didn’t know fans would get so invested at the same time that they say that it was necessary to make it that traumatic. It’s not that you can’t kill off beloved characters, no matter how long they’ve been in the show. But if you do, it’s got to feel important, it’s got to feel necessary, and it’s got to make sense for those characters, or else it just feels like you’re playing with peoples’ emotions for no reason other than shock factor.

I’ve seen a bunch of theories and discourse. Arguments over whether or not it’s queerbaiting or bury your gays. Over whether or not it’s bad writing or out of character. And I’m sure I’ll eventually have a stronger, more thought out opinion on that, but right now I can’t even get there.

I’ve seen theories as to why CRWBY did this, why it’s important to the plot. And maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’ll be just as surprised in a good way next week as I was in a traumatic way this week. But it will take a lot, and I will still need time to recover and dig myself back out of my own intrusive thoughts that saw this episode and rejoiced because “See!? See, good things can’t happen! You’ll always lose whatever good you find. You’ll always ruin whatever good you find.” And none of the theories I’ve seen make that better. Maybe they’ll bring Clover back with the Staff of Creation or some other method: doesn’t matter, the damage is still done. Qrow still is betrayed and traumatized. And even if Clover came back and Ironwood realized he was wrong and stopped, even if everything went back to exactly what it was, Qrow still would have lost all the progress he made this season. Because even if everything was fixed, Qrow would still have to fight down the newly boosted fear that everything will fall apart again. And similarly even if I come back to RWBY and things are good, I will still have a hard time trusting the show, and will still have to climb my way out of a hole I had just gotten out of, except this time I won’t have the comfort of RWBY to help me.

Or maybe Clover won’t come back and Qrow will relapse and try to kill Ironwood and lose his mind like the scarecrow he is. And what will that do but reinforce the fear and idea that “broken” people can’t escape their vices? That they’ll always come back to pain. Yes, it’s important to show that people can relapse and still get better, that relapse doesn’t mean all hope is lost. But there’s a difference between a relapse and new trauma that directly undercuts all the progress you’ve made. That’s not inspirational, it’s exhausting. Yes, you can come back again, but what about the next time and the next and the next? When will you just get to be secure in your happiness without worrying that at any moment you’ll thrown back to square one?

If it turns out there’s some great plot point this creates, some big revelation that fixes things, I still think it wasn’t done properly. Fine, have that, have that pain. But don’t end on that and leave people for a week. It’s not about it being a cliffhanger. It’s about people who are traumatized being abandoned. (Again, I’m not even getting into how, if this did happen, how episode 12 would still feel off from a characterization standpoint and whether or not it was poor writing. It’s an analysis I can’t currently do.)

And maybe my least favorite theory and the one that I might see as most likely; that Qrow won’t relapse. That he won’t completely lose it and instead Clover’s death and influence will be what keeps him going. Because yeah, that sounds great, that sounds heroic and strong and like the progress that came from knowing Clover did make a difference. But it feels wrong in this instance. Qrow’s had that. He’s had loss that hurt him but he kept going to finish something or honor them. He kept going after Summer died. He kept going for Ruby and Yang and Tai. If he didn’t have that, why would he have kept going when things were so bad? But Qrow doesn’t need that again. He doesn’t need another pain to spur him on. He needs support. He needs proof that his hard work, his struggle, has been worth it and that he still has allies. And not just the kids. Because as much as he respects them, as much as he believes in them and their abilities as hunters, he’s still protective of them, they still aren’t on an equal level. He still feels responsible for them. And that’s good for him, but he needs adults too. He needs people who aren’t his responsibility. He needs adults who can call him out on his shit. He needs adults he can lean on, who can take care of him. And now who does he have? Summer is gone. Raven is gone. Tai is back at home. Oz is gone. Lionheart betrayed him. James has now betrayed him. Winter has sided with James and might not be alive much longer? Robyn is there, but also hurt, and we haven’t seen anything to suggest that they are particularly close. And now Clover is dead. Clover, the only person we have ever seen Qrow let his guard down around like we did this season.

And it’s not that the “Staying alive for the person you’ve lost” is a bad plot line, and if I’d trust any show to do it I would’ve thought it’d be RWBY. But I can tell you from fucking experience, forcing yourself to keep going in honor of someone? Yeah, it might keep you alive. It might give you meaning and even lead you to do great things. But when it’s just you and your head? When you’re alone because you’ve lost everyone who kept you going and now you have to keep going without them, for them? It fucking sucks. It’s not poetic. It’s not this heroic strength that lifts you up. It’s a crushing weight of fear that you will fail again, that you’re the only one who can carry this burden, but this time you’ll let down the person most important to you. And then not only will you have fucked up your life but you’d have made their suffering and loss meaningless.

And I can see why CRWBY might take this route, what their message might be, and maybe for them and for some people it’s good, but personally it’s crushing. Because it can be a good thing to have the desire to honor someone spur you on, that’s literally why we still have RWBY. But if that’s the only thing you have? It’s toxic. You have to have other support and motivations of your own to keep you going without becoming hollow inside. And right now, Qrow doesn’t have that. Right now, if Qrow uses this to push him forward, it’s not recovery, it’s not avoiding a relapse; it’s falling into a new, much harder to spot, addiction.

Yes, shitty things happen regardless of whether or not you’ve recovered from previous shitty things. Yes, life isn’t fair and sometimes it feels like you just get hit down over and over. And yes, people die in war and it’s ruthless and unfair. But RWBY is still a show. It’s still a show about hope. It’s still fiction, an escape from the cruelty of reality. And to me there were multiple other options for the plot to create conflict and sacrifice without doing it in a way that seems so needlessly cruel.

This is complicated and layered and I think there have been mistakes made on multiple sides, and in the end, we still don’t know what CRWBY has planned and how things will go from here and why they chose this. Because everything has a meaning in RWBY. At least I want to believe that. But right now it’s very hard to think that all the meaning that was what made this my favorite volume, was anything more than a trap to make the end that much more painful. And that hurts. I want to believe that’s not the case. But it’s very, very hard. And like I said before, even if they pull it off amazingly and everything makes sense after next week, damage has still been done. No matter what happens, there were ways things could have been handled either throughout the volume or in this episode that, while still having emotional significance and sacrifice, could have been less traumatizing to a large portion of the fandom who supports CRWBY specifically because they trust them not to do something like that to them.

In the end I’m hurt because right now it feels like the entirety of this volume was just a build up for the shock value of tearing Qrow down again. And I’m just tired of it. I’m biased I know, and maybe for some people it’s an important narrative. But to me it just feels like angst just for the sake of being cruel to a character who can’t catch a break. Since Emma’s death I understandably haven’t been a big fan of really angsty fanfiction. At first seeing fics where a character lost their partner made me irrationally angry. Because why can’t good things happen in fictional worlds? Why do characters I care about have to suffer like I do just for the sake of being angsty? Why would someone do that to a character they love? Why inflict that absolute agony onto a character when you could just, let them be happy? Yes conflict and sacrifice are crucial to good storytelling, but you still have to leave a character some hope, or else what’s the point of just watching them linger in misery? This kind of pain isn’t just a plot point that gets addressed for one or two episodes and then is fully dealt with. It’s a part of who you are now and will be for the rest of your life.

I’ve been sad over shows before. I’ve thought plot lines were bad and like I’d lost a character that deserved better. But I’ve never had something take me from a (relatively) stable mindset to a truly frightening spiral like I’ve been in this week. If this had happened when I was younger (granted if it had happened before Emma’s death it wouldn’t have had the same meaning), if it had been during that first year? It really might have been a breaking point for me. The final straw. The only reason I’m able to know that as truly devastating as this has been for me this week, I’m not in actual danger of getting to a critically low space, is because I’ve learned how to deal with those low places these past four years. I’m still in a dangerous headspace but I know how to handle it. I know to reach out, to vent, to ask friends to keep an eye on me, to keep an eye out for critical signs that I’m getting worse and I need more professional help. But if I’d had this trauma as a teen and saw this, or if I’d seen it before I’d built up this method of keeping myself safe even when in the worst headspaces? I don’t know that I would have been able to deal with it.

There’s a loud part of my head that is berating me for letting this affect me so much. For letting a show and fictional characters be the catalyst for me having to actively ask my friends to keep sharp instruments away from me for the first time in years. I’ll have a moment of clarity of “It’s not that bad, you’ll get past it” before being swallowed back up by the hopelessness. I have moments of “How could you let a fictional character’s death put you in this place, but not Emma? How is he more important?”

But it’s not about RWBY or Clover or Qrow. It’s about my brain, and how I as a neurodivergent person deal with things. It’s about this how thing that I use to filter parts of my life through so that I can handle them in more reasonable chunks, is now a trigger itself. I currently don’t have any other hyperfixations, which means every time I have a moment of silence, or start to get feeling down again, my brain goes to RWBY, because usually that’s how I pull myself out. But that just reminds me of the loss RWBY currently represents. Not just the trauma this has brought up, but the fact that I’ve lost this source of comfort. And then I’m left scrambling for anything as I spiral further and further. I’m at the point where unless I am having constant outside stimulus to keep my brain occupied I go right back into a nosedive. And there’s nothing I can do on my own to stop it. So I just have to ride it out, fight back dozens of overwhelming intrusive thoughts, and try to think that I won’t always be this miserable, even though the current thing that was helping me believe that has just shown me the opposite is true.

And no, creators can’t be held responsible for the mental states of fans of their work. But when things are done that directly hurt so many people, that even if not intended to, feel so calculated and malicious, they have to acknowledge the part they played in that trauma.

The point of whether there was queer baiting/byg, and mlm representation and how its handled, is very important, but it is also something I just can’t even begin to look at right now from an analytical viewpoint. I can’t begin to come at this from an activist place right now. And I know there are plenty of other people who can speak on it better than I could currently. My queer identity is largely wrapped up in my grief and how it affects me, but that also means that when I’m spiraling, it is very hard to focus and make good points about things that are not issues I’ve directly experienced. The only reason I can write this at all is because these are really just emotions I’ve dealt with for years that were dragged back up.

RWBY has always been about finding hope when it feels impossible. But this feels like it’s becoming “keep finding new hope but know you’ll lose it too and have to start over”.

RWBY has been what gave me hope that even when bad thing after bad thing happened, there was a reason to keep going, that eventually something good would come your way and you don’t have to live in fear of losing it. That you can still be broken and be worthy of good things. But this episode ripped that all away and told me that sometimes a person is never meant to be happy no matter how hard they try.

A big reason I have clung to RWBY so much, and admired CRWBY so much, and in turn been so forgiving of plotlines or details that I maybe wasn’t the biggest fan of, was because I see myself in them. They lost Monty so suddenly and tragically and I understand that as much as anyone who isn’t them can. I understand the drive of keeping the show going. When I’m working on my own writing and art about my story and my loss, they are a huge inspiration to me to keep going even when it feels impossible. I can barely listen to Indomitable because, much like Jaune losing Pyrrha, it is uncanny how close to home it hits. They have been through more than we as fans can or should ever expect to know. Because even as someone very open about their grief, who wants to get rid of the stigma of expressing grief, I know that everyone deserves to keep as much of their grief and pain private as they need. And I can't even begin to imagine how hard it is to work on a show that is literally a feat of love and honor to a person you’ve lost, and then have people attack it and you, and make huge accusations, even try to use your loved one’s memory against you. It’s my biggest fear in creating something so incredibly personal but so important.

And I know that everyone handles grief differently, and no matter how many people you have to support you it can be an extremely isolating thing. I know that no one has the right to tell someone else they are grieving wrong, and I would never dare do that to them. Because I know that the ways I grieve and the things that piss me off about grief and people’s reactions to it, will not line up with everyone else’s, and that’s okay. So the exact things that hurt me so much may be the things that CRWBY find cathartic.

But I still think it’s important to talk about something that hurts you. To help people understand a facet of grief that might not be what they’ve experienced. Because even people who want to help, who want to provide representation to those hurting, can never please everyone, and even can even hurt people. I want to trust CRWBY. I want to believe they care about the queer community (even if they don’t always succeed in providing good representation), I want to believe they wouldn’t purposefully try to hurt queer fans with queerbaiting or byg. I want to believe they don’t actually hate mlm.

Narrative is complicated and sometimes things are done that will unknowingly cause harm, or that were topics that the writers didn’t understand enough to properly execute. Things that may seem so obvious to the people who were hurt could truly be things that hadn’t occurred to the writers. And that’s not to excuse those writers from acknowledging their mistake, but to give them a chance to learn and improve. I think a great example is The Adventure Zone (slight spoilers ahead), and how Griffin McElroy handled the fans’ reaction after Sloane and Hurley died in Petals to the Metal. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone but he made a decision that was very upsetting for many people and that wasn’t okay. But he listened and apologized and from there on not only tried to provide better representation, but asked about how he could do so, consulted the people he was trying to represent in order to do everything he could to not cause that kind of pain again. Creators are human and deserve second chances, as long as they show they are actively trying to improve.

Things will be learning experiences, but the people who are hurt in those learning experiences, and who are often the ones hurt in such things over and over, are still allowed to be hurt and upset. Intent is not effect. And for creators who want to be inclusive and supportive, it is their responsibility to accept criticism and work to avoid making the same mistakes. Like I said at the start of this, criticism is not harassment and harassment helps no one. Be as angry as you are, be as open as you need, but cruelty to people who are honestly trying to do good but will still make human mistakes just creates more pain and conflict. You don’t have to like it or forgive it but you can’t invalidate the people who are hurt, who do.

I love RWBY. I want to love CRWBY. I want to keep watching. I want to keep supporting and trusting them. And maybe I’m letting a show have too much influence over me. Maybe it’s unhealthy to project so much on a character. Maybe things will prove to be necessary to tell the story they want to tell. But speaking as a neurodivergent, traumatized, grieving, queer person, I still feel betrayed and hurt by something that I trusted enough to be vulnerable about and I don’t want to sugarcoat or hide that.

I can’t say I hate CRWBY or I’ve lost all hope in or respect for them, because I’ve related to them so much and know how complicated things like this can be. And because I don’t think I personally can write someone off while still in such an emotionally raw space. I’ll have to take some time to see if I’m able to watch the finale this weekend, but I will most likely watch it, if not just a bit later than I usually would. And RWBY has thrown big surprises at us before, and I can’t know what will happen in the finale and how it will feed into or try to heal some of the pain we’re feeling. But regardless of what the narrative intent is in Clover’s death, it needs to be acknowledged that episode 12 alone, ending on such an intense scene that wouldn’t be resolved for at least a week, hurt people. And CRWBY needs to acknowledge and take responsibility for it. I can’t say that I’m the most up to date on social media and what each person involved with volume 7 has said in the past few months. But I know that numerous official twitter accounts posted things that led people to put more credibility in Fairgame, myself included. And that even after seeing how big the ship had gotten, and knowing what the outcome was, some of CRWBY continued to seemingly feed into the excitement, even teasing about how hard episode 12 would hit us.

That’s honestly one of the reasons I think this feels not just like bad writing or something, but betrayal. Of course RT can’t control everything everyone involved with RWBY posts, but for a company that has tried to seem so supportive of lgbt and mentally ill fans, they should have, at the very least, not have fed the flame and given people hope and supposed credibility that they knew would crumble after this episode. It feels like, even if they hadn’t intended this entire plot point to come across the way it has, they saw us going down this path and egged us on for added shock factor.

And even if somehow the finale fixes everything, it doesn’t undo that hurt. It makes me think of the trailers for Insatiable when it first came out. How toxic and fat shaming they seemed and how people reacted poorly to it, but then all the people involved responded with how positive the show was, and that people shouldn’t judge it before they saw it. Or those “joke” videos or posts of kids coming out and the parents getting angry but then it’s about some stupid other thing. It’s meant to trigger a very sensitive issue, that people who have gone through traumas related to those issues are all too familiar with seeing over and over. So why would they have faith that this wasn’t just another one of those times when everything they see points to the opposite? Why trigger people who have already been hurt, for the sake of shock factor? It’s poor and callous writing.

And that’s what this feels like. It feels like we were exploited in order to make this hurt more. And maybe that was a very unfortunate accident. But CRWBY still needs to acknowledge that they made mistakes, and do what they can to prove to the fans that they still deserve our trust. And that’s not going to be an easy one and done thing. For some it may never be enough, and that is completely valid.

Of course everyone has different histories and issues that can lead them to be drawn to a certain show or character. And creators can’t ever know for sure that they won’t bring up painful things for any of their fans, and often trying to do so can make the content and message suffer. But even though everyone might not have a story that is as “obviously” traumatic as mine, might not have things they so directly relate to in Qrow and in Clover’s death, they’re all still valid in the pain they’re feeling. One of my least favorite things about living with grief is people thinking that their traumas and struggles aren’t as big or important as my own.

This week I’ve told people how hard a time I’m having, and why. And the people who know my backstory understood. The people who didn’t know though, brushed it off as crazy fangirl, tumblr discourse drivel. Even to my face after I told them how much I was hurting, they would groan about people getting so obsessed with fictional characters. You shouldn’t have to know why something negatively affects someone the way it does in order to respect the fact that it does. And I’m not more valid in my pain than people with “smaller” reasons. The fact is that a lot of people are hurting. A lot of queer and mentally ill people are reliving trauma. And like me, many of these people trusted CRWBY to be supportive, to be a comfort in a world where it’s hard to find sometimes. And that makes it hurt all the more.

I wasn’t in the fandom when Monty died, so I don’t know a lot about how CRWBY handled it, what they said publicly, what inevitable fandom discourse there was about how to navigate things. The only reason I bring him up at all, (because I’ve seen people mention him in discourse posts before and it’s usually hurtful and out of line and I truly hate it) is because he, and how CRWBY continues to honor him by keeping his creation going, is a huge part of why I feel so attached to it. My creative focus is on talking about Emma, about honoring her, telling her story, about sharing my grief with people. And while it’s extremely important to me, it’s also terrifying to think about people one day saying I let her down, or that because I made certain decisions I ruined the work or anything like that. And whether or not I am currently happy with every member of CRWBY doesn’t affect the fact that I will always keep in mind that RWBY is something directly tied to someone they’ve lost and it can be extremely difficult to have that kind of work criticized and not get defensive or angry (that’s not to say we can’t criticize things that are made in honor of someone, but that we need to remember there are still people dealing with grief on the other end of what we say). They’ll react poorly to certain things, they’ll say the wrong things, they’ll but heads with opinionated fans. And that’s not to excuse them for that, or to say we shouldn’t hold them accountable and communicate our problems with them and expect them to learn from past mistakes. But they aren’t faceless monsters in some big corporation who just make this for the money. They have real emotional investment in their work and I honestly believe they are well intentioned and want to support lgbt and mentally ill fans. But good intentions don’t ensure there won’t be negative impact, and if they truly want to keep, or regain fans’ trust and support they need to show they understand that.

It may be naive and there may be things I don’t know that might have changed my view but until now, even with some writing choices I didn’t love, I've really liked CRWBY and trusted them. I personally can’t say I hate them and write them off right now. I understand if you can, if this was the last straw or just proving your view, and that’s all valid. But I want to, as much as possible, believe that they’re well intentioned. RWBY is far from perfect. CRWBY is far from perfect. But that’s ok. As long as there’s effort to improve and acknowledge mistakes and try to make amends

It’s possible that things I’ve said here may anger some people, and unfortunately, as much as I tried to avoid it, may hurt CRWBY. Because as hurt and angry with them as I might be right now, I don’t want to hate them or hurt them. I’m human as well, and I’m very passionate about this and have a very personal attachment to it. So I acknowledge that it is totally possible that I have said something here that I could have handled better. If so, please, let me know. Constructively. If you need to, privately. Don’t attack me for it. I know when a conversation is toxic to me and I will not put myself in that position and will block people. But I want to be open to criticism, just as I want CRWBY to be. I want to know what I did wrong and how I can work to do better in the future. There are also certain things that I firmly believe that I know not everyone will like. And that’s okay. I have my own ways of dealing with grief and pain that will inevitably conflict with others. In those cases, while I won’t apologize for being honest about how I feel, I will understand and listen to how I may have hurt you. Different opinions and ways of coping will always be a part of grief conversations and it is less about making others agree with you and more about giving people a place to express their pain.

This is ridiculously, stupidly, long and honestly I’m not sure there’s a clear point and if you read through it all the way, you’re a saint. But I just needed to get this out, and I hope that maybe, somehow, through the ranting, it might help someone feel less alone in their pain, or feel validated. I started writing this on Sunday and wanted to post it before the finale. It’s now Friday and who knows if there’s really any point to posting it now, but still.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know how I will handle it. I’ve seen discourse that made me anxious all over again all week. I’ve seen jokes or edits or trolls that made me sick. But there are people out here for you. There are people to talk to who will just listen. You aren’t alone. And while I can’t promise you that everything will be okay, I can promise you that there will be people here to help you get through it. There are ways to get through it. They’re not always fun or ideal, but they’re there. And eventually you’ll be able to feel okay again. The pain might not be gone for good, but you’ll have good moments again. You’ll learn how to create good moments. I still want to believe that “broken” people can be happy again, even though the world may try to show me otherwise over and over. It’s not easy, and sometimes I honestly just don’t see how it can possibly be true. But I keep trying to get back to those good places and appreciate them, for as long as I can.

50 notes · View notes