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sugako · 3 years

Text

after dinner special

bokuto x f!reader x hinata sum: after seeing the way his teammate looks at you, bokuto comes up with a plan to help all parties cw: 18+ only minors dni i am begging you, established relationship (bokuto x reader), slight manipulation (?? reader/bo make a secret plan to seduce hinata and he wants to so not really but idk what else to tag it as), oral (f!receiving), double pussyjob, nipple play, orgasm denial, D/s, spit roast, unprotected, hinabo if you squint extra hard wc: 4.2k a/n: finally back from the dead with this wayyy overdue fic ive been thinking about/writing for months, no edits or beta bc i'm too impatient and haven't posted in so long

Above all else, Bokuto was incredibly perceptive to other’s emotions. Among other aspects, that quality had really drawn you to him even if it wasn’t as extraordinarily overt as his confidence and enthusiasm. His perceptiveness didn’t end with you, of course, he was well-connected with his teammates, which meant when he saw the way Hinata’s eyes just barely glazed over when he met you he knew there was something more happening in his head. He watched the burning grow in Hinata after he had witnessed the two of you had, quite obviously, snuck off to another room during a get-together at Meian’s, spit still drying at the corner of your dry, puffy lips a week prior.

Even he wasn’t sure what exactly his plan was as he started up in the locker room a couple weeks later, oversharing every little detail he could recall about your body, namely when it was under him. Ignoring Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s groans for him to stop while Shugo and Oliver snickered to themselves reminiscing about their own escapades from a handful of years ago, he focused on Hinata’s reaction.

Shōyō remained uncharacteristically quiet as he rambled on about how cute your soft tits were, only speaking to quietly excuse himself to the bathroom. He was careful, but not careful enough to hide the tent in his shorts.

Not one to keep a secret, the words came tumbling from his mouth when he burst into your shared apartment.

“I think Hinata likes you!” He managed, tearing off his shoes to stumble into the hallway to wrap you in a tight hug like he did nearly every day.

“I-...what?” You choke, wrapping a tentative arm back around him and peeling away to look at him in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Not like… I don’t know, I think he wants to fuck you.” The smile on his face doesn’t waver, only confusing you.

“I’m not sure how to take this.” You deadpan, brows just short of knitting together. “Why…?”

“Well if you would like that I certainly wouldn’t mind.” His teeth graze over your skin as he pecks messy kisses all over your cheeks and neck.

“You wouldn’t mind?” You blankly repeat back, holding his back by his muscled shoulders to make him look you in the eyes. “Because not minding something and wanting something are very different and I just want to make sure whatever we’re about to talk about we’re just being really clear.”

Bokuto inhaled a massive breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he collected exactly what he wanted to say to you. Before he could, the smell coming from the kitchen distracted his senses, leaving him to weakly exhale and blink his eyes open. “Talk over dinner?”

The long talk over the dinner table was eventually fruitful. After he collected himself and stuffed his rumbling stomach, Bokuto was better able to explain what he had seen in Hinata. It made you recall every time you had seen him and you would be lying if you said you didn’t see it too. He wasn’t exactly a subtle person.

When it came down to it, you certainly weren’t opposed. Bokuto certainly seemed interested in the prospect of sharing you, especially with his favorite prodigy as he liked to class him. You recognized that Hinata was attractive and you had to admit that the concept of being squished between the two thick, bubbly men was alluring as long as he was truly interested.

Before the full invitation to come over for dinner - specially prepared by you - had even slipped from Bokuto’s mouth, Hinata was eagerly accepting. Part of you dreaded the entire ordeal, anxieties bubbling up about the lead up and the talking beforehand that you had foolishly agreed to do most of. Over dinner you stayed a little quieter than usual, trying to gauge Hinata’s expression and body language.

When he politely excuses himself to use the restroom after finishing, Bokuto grabs your hand across the table, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles.

“If you’re nervous we can stop right here.” He whispers, grinning softly.

You can’t help but smile back, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay,” you assure him, “I am a little nervous, but I really want to.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but is cut off by the sound of the bathroom door closing and the soft pad of Hinata’s feet down the hallway. Clearing your throat, you give a reassuring smile to Bokuto, and stand to face where Hinata soon pops out of.

“Hinata, would you-”

“Shōyō is fine!” He interjects. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s fine,” you smile, ghosting your hand down his arm and resting your palm against his elbow. “Shōyō, would you mind helping me wash up in the kitchen. I feel bad asking the guest, but Kōtarō has something for you and you’ll get to it faster if I finish this.”

Hinata can feel his heart pounding behind his rib cage so hard he worries you can hear his pulse reverberating. You look so sweet with those pleading eyes staring at him, the warm touch of your fingertips sending heat to his chest.

“Of course, I don’t mind.” He nods, letting you lead him a room away to the kitchen.

“Great, thank you, this is such a big help.” You grin while placing the dirty dishes in the sink before you and handing him a dry towel. “You can just dry and put them in the cabinet in front of you.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, eyeing down your low-cut shirt as you squeeze your arms together and lean down to grab the first bowl. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you turn the tap on a little too fast and water splashes all over the front of your thin, pale dress, making the black lacy bra underneath pop.

“Whoops!” You exclaim, smiling a little too happily, feeling how his feet shift beside you. “This tap is a little loose, I always get messy and wet trying to do anything.”

He has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning, glad that your gaze is in the sink and not on his flushed face. He doesn’t want to feel this way about his friend’s girlfriend, but it’s so hard when you’re standing so close - did you take a step toward him? when did your hip start brushing against his? - and you look so pretty.

“So, Shōyō…” you start, handing him another dish, “Kōtarō talks about you a lot, you know.”

“Really?” His voice is pitched and strained, stopping short of choking on his own words.

“Yeah, he thinks you’re great. He was so excited when you joined the team. He, uh, he pays attention, a lot more than some people give him credit for.”

Hinata nods, carefully placing the bowl in the cupboard. “He’s great, I’ve always loved watching him play.”

“He’s fun to watch,” you agree, “You know he thinks….actually, can I just ask what your type is?” The words tumble out quickly as you try to gain confidence, a small bit of worry creeping into the back of your head.

“My type?” He repeats back, pausing in his drying motions. “I don’t know if I really have one. Just anyone I feel good with. Why?” When he turns to look at you again you’re turned to face him, a small smile lighting up your features.

“That’s a good way to look at things. I only ask because, well Kōtarō seems to think you have some kind of interest in me.” You force the words to come out casually, keeping your eyes on him. Hinata sputters and chokes on his own words, the way your hand comes down over his doing absolutely nothing to help him compose himself. “There’s no good way to say this, but he was thinking you could, uh well take what you’ve been thinking about, if you want to.”

Taking a deep swallow, he took a short deep breath to clear his mind. “And what do you think?”

Tension dissipates from your body at his question. “I think I would like you to do whatever you want. Touch me, kiss me, anything. Only if you want to.”

His fists clench and unclench again, gears turning in his head as he realizes this was planned. All those stories Bokuto told, the glint in his eyes for the past few weeks, the way you put yourself on display for him all night with that sly little smirk - it was all part of some plan. A little worried voice in the back of his head told him this was too good to be true. But you were offering yourself up to him, angled forward so your tits would pop and watching him so carefully as though he were a scared animal ready to run, and he knew it had to be true.

The timid, apprehensive look he had been sporting slowly drained from his face, replaced with a much more confident and delighted one. His hands moved from his sides to dig into your waist, lifting you up onto the counter behind you.

“Don’t tease me.” He whispers hoarsely, lips ghosting over the pulse of your throat. The loose dress Bokuto had purposefully picked out for you to wear for the evening rode up as Hinata settled his thick body between your welcoming knees.

“I’m not,” you pant, “Kōtarō really wanted this.”

A shuddered sigh comes from his chest as he rests his head against your shoulder, just barely kissing the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. You fidget restlessly, trying to pull his still body closer to no avail.

“Wanna know he wants this.” He says eventually. “I trust you, I just…”

“No, no, I get it.” You say a little too abruptly, fishing around for where your phone was tossed onto the counter. With shaky hands you hurried to click it open, immediately going to your messages, scrolling to the most recent chat with Bokuto where he depicted how much he wanted to see you fucked out on his and Hinata’s cocks in vivid detail. You push the phone into his hand. “You can scroll wherever, he mentioned it before that one’s just… yeah.”

“Oh, wow.” He breathes, glancing through a few other messages from earlier in the week. Gently, he sets the phone down beside you before pulling your hips to the edge of the counter. His lips collide with the base of your throat knocking the air right from you.

You wind your fingers up in his hair as he pressed harsh kisses straight down your front, his rough hands pushing the skirt of your dress up even higher, leaving the tops of your thighs completely exposed. He keeps journeying lower until his cheek is flush to the hem of your panties. When his nose presses up against the slowly growing damp patch leaking his shoulders heave as though to hold himself back.

“And he doesn’t want us to wait up…?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know completely. Bokuto had asked to make some kind of subtle move on Hinata in private, he figured it would be less stressful for the both of you, but he hadn’t said how far to go with him, and you weren’t really sure what he was doing in some other part of the house, and Hinata’s fingers were so hot against your skin…

“No, it’s fine.” You pant, desperation evident in your voice. He doesn’t need much more, hand moving to pull the stretchy fabric you had purposefully worn to the side, his wide tongue darting out to lap up the wetness seeping from you.

With an aching whine, you lean into his touch, massaging his head and bringing him closer to you with every burning second that passes. Not that you had expected him to be inexperienced by any means, but you hadn’t expected him to be so good. He was loud, moaning against your cunt as he buried his tongue inside of you, nose tapping against your pleading clit.

The sound of your breathy whimpers and the loud slurping squelches drowned out the steps coming down the hall or the kitchen door swinging open. Bokuto stood there for a moment with a small smile, admiring how pretty you looked like this, even if he wished it were him, but he couldn’t let the moment pass him by.

“Puppy,” he sighed. The first syllable was enough to make Hinata pop off of you and stumble back to turn around, eyes hazy and drunken of the taste of you. Ignoring the hardened look in Bokuto’s eyes, you pouted sweetly, spreading your legs a little more to let him see your soiled panties.

“Kōtar-”

“You’re being greedy, don’t you think, puppy? Going ahead without me like that.” He imitates you with a fake pout, the look never quite meeting his blazing eyes. You can feel what’s coming and make no more attempt to argue. Hinata is taking in the interaction, still halfway in his own daze. “She’s great, huh, Shōyō? Pretty little pussy and she makes the best noises, especially when she’s crying for your cock.”

Hinata swallows hard, absentmindedly palming over his pants where he’s quickly grown half-hard. “Yeah, she’s, yeah no, uh she’s really great. This is still okay?”

Both of you nod quickly, reassuring him, but you remain silent for now, trying to settle before you know what’s to come.

“Totally okay as long as you’re okay.” Bokuto drops the edge in his tone to carefully watch him for a moment, assessing.

“Completely.” He agrees with a dreamy sigh.

Nodding again, Bokuto approaches the two of you. Refusing to meet his eyes you stare just ahead at the door.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, puppy, you know you’ll get what you want in the end anyway.” He jabs as he scoops you over his shoulder and gives you a gentle pat on the back of your thighs. “Let’s at least go to the living room.”

You glance back at Hinata, mouthing a silent whoops, while Bokuto leads him around the corner. Bokuto plops into the corner of the couch, back propped up by the plush arm, and maneuvering your pliable body to sit comfortably in his lap with your back pulled up flush to his chest. You’re gently pushed forward so he can peel the dress off and unclasp your bra. He’s calm for now, at least on the outside, but you can feel his heart pounding through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t need these anymore,” he hums, latching his fingers in the sides of your underwear and motioning for you to lift your hips to let him slide them off. Hooking his elbows under your knees, he pulls your thighs to your chest, high enough so that he can palm your breasts. Quietly whining, you turn your head away so you don’t have to look directly up at Hinata - not that he’d notice your face with the way your cunt was glistening under the low, soft lights of the room. “Shh,” he directs at you before glancing back up at Hinata, “go ahead, but don’t let her cum.”

With a warm grin he gets on his knees between Bokuto’s spread legs. You almost felt too exposed, all power taken from your hands, splayed open like this. Bokuto slots his chin against your shoulder and presses the softest kiss to your cheek in stark contrast to the way his rough hands are kneading and pinching your sensitive breasts.

Hinata eagerly gets back to it, lavishing your cunt with softer licks than before, making your hips shake as they seek out more friction. While your neediness grows so too does Bokuto’s grip on you.

“So pretty,” he coos, eyes glued to where Hinata was firmly pressed against you. Pride bloomed in his chest at the sight of his teammate sloppily eating out his favorite girl so enthusiastically, appreciating you so much as he should.

It’s impossible for him to not get rock hard with the way you’re grinding down into his lap and the crude, wet sounds and groans vibrating from the back of Hinata’s throat.

“Taste so good.” Hinata grumbles, pulling back and forcing his tense hips to stop rutting into the couch cushion. He feels himself making a mess in his pants, hoping that he isn’t leaking through to your nice furniture, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop either. Both Bokuto and you watch the string - you’re not sure whether it’s his spit or your own wetness - that stays connected between your slit and his puffy, glossy lips.

“Good...good job.” Bokuto sighs. You’re not sure if he’s praising you or Hinata, but you don’t have much time to think too hard about it before he releases your legs and wedges his hands under between himself and you to pull his straining cock from his pants. Mind buzzing, still a little hazy from the feeling of Hinata’s tongue, you grab out from him, pulling on the band of his pants. Truthfully, he’s not quite sure what you’re asking for but he does know how tight his balls are and how inviting your cunt looks.

Just as Bokuto is settling his cock between your ass, Hinata’s pants are slipped off, thrown to the ground. He dips his head down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, moaning around you and pressing in close so his tip catches against your clit. At your whiny cry and keening, Bokuto lets out a low, single chuckle. “Don’t let her have your cock, not all the way. You were being so greedy earlier puppy, I don’t think you deserve it yet.”

Hinata keeps his mouth firmly planted on your chest and reaches down to perfectly slip himself between the top of your folds, acutely aware of Bokuto’s heavy head just barely bumping against the base of his own cock. They’re both so thick and heavy as they rabidly hump against you, Bokuto maneuvering your body for you back and forth across both of them. Everything is warm and wet between Hinata’s mouth on your chest and Bokuto’s lips kissing down the side of your neck.

The tease of release that’s been creeping up on you for so long draws closer and closer. Hinata’s cock is catching so exactly on your swollen clit and Bokuto’s tip keeps threatening to slip past your entrance, slick dripping past your thighs.

“Gonna, ahg, cu-cum!” You manage out, hips already bouncing on their own accord against them.

“Go ahead.” Bokuto says with a shaky breath, squeezing you as tight as he could between his body and Hinata’s. One more roll of their hips has you crashing down, pleasure rolling through your body. All you can feel is warmth and overwhelming satisfaction as you twitch between their arms, creaming across their cocks. “Good girl, good girl…” you faintly hear Bokuto coo into your ear as you slump back against him.

The buzzing, quiet moment is quickly squashed as he hoists you out of his lap and onto all fours. He’s talking to Hinata and you know you should be listening, but your pussy is still throbbing and you’re trying to catch your breath.

“...okay, baby?” You catch the very end of his sentence and blink hard, desperate to refocus.

“W-wait, what? Sorry, I just-”

“It’s okay, puppy,” he rubs a soothing hand down your back, slowly bringing you back to reality. “Need a second?”

You shake your head, the last of the fog slipping away. Before you, you see Hinata, his rigid cock slicked up by you only a few inches from your face. “I’m okay now, can you just say that again?”

“‘Course,” he grins, teasing your entrance, “I said I’m going to take your pretty pussy from back here and Shōyō is going to use your mouth. If you want.”

Wiggling your hips back to meet his and craning your neck up to look at Hinata you give a deft nod.

“I do, I want that.” You sigh.

Trembling with excitement, already so riled up from feeling you cum against him, Hinata shuffles the last bit forward. He’s pretty and much thicker than you had imagined. The tight strain of scattered veins and his heavy balls tell you all you need to know about how pent up he obviously is. Reaching out with palms still a bit shaky, you helped to reel him in the rest of the way with welcoming, parted lips.

You wrapped your fingers tightly around where you couldn’t quite reach, sloppily taking more and more of him with each bob of your head. His salty precum meshed with what was leftover of your own mess, the taste making you moan around his length.

Bokuto was trying to move slower now, recognizing that you were easily slipping, but the way you rocked your body back and forth bumping against his sensitive, reddened tip, he couldn’t hold back much more. Digging his fingers into your hip, he eased the motions of your body, lining himself up, resisting from plowing into you at full force.

“Ready?” He asks, nearly whining. At the sound of his voice, you pull off from Hinata, letting your quickly tiring jaw grow slack.

“Uh-huh.” You barely heave out before wrapping your lips around him again. So sure you can take both at once and not falter, you ramp back up to your original pace, slobbering down his cock, the click of your quick motions echoing around your head. Unfortunately for your ego, you’re dead wrong.

Bokuto wastes no time drilling himself into you, setting a bruising pace straight from the beginning. It’s all you can do to loudly moan around Hinata’s cock, still stuffed in your mouth by the slight pistoning of his hips, the way Bokuto is ramming you forward only forcing him deeper down your throat.

As you gag, sputter, and moan down his length, drool dripping onto the already soiled cushions below, Hinata feels the pressure building and building in his core. Electricity tingles down his limbs, aided by the fucked out look in your pretty eyes. He doesn’t even have to move now with the way Bokuto is railing you against him. He wonders if you realize he’s close when you suck a little tight, cheeks hollowing as you take a little more of him, the hand that had been working his base coming down to lightly hold his swollen balls.

You don’t know. At this point, you’re moving on autopilot, simply trying your best. Your brain doesn’t know where to focus - Hinata filling out your mouth or Bokuto as he purposely alternates between hitting against your spongy spot and deep inside of you. It’s all a mess of spit, sweat, and cum, but you don’t think you’ve felt the rush of pleasure that comes with being used so well by more than one person.

Bokuto doesn’t know how much longer he can last. You’re clamping around, cunt fluttering each time his digs in a little deep or Hinata’s cock twitches against your tongue. He can tell by the scrunched up expression on his friend’s face that he can’t last much longer and he doesn’t blame him. Between fucking against your pussy and being wrapped up in your pretty mouth, no one really could. He’s determined to hold out though, a little spark of competition lighting up his chest. When Bokuto’s strokes suddenly slow you groan again, the vibrations dragging a stuttered moan from Hinata’s pretty lips.

“Gonna, hngh, uh gonna cum.” He sputters out, hips quivering as he tries to hold back from fucking too far back into your throat. At that, Bokuto’s hips speed up again, forcing a little whimpered cry, muffled by the cock in your mouth, from you. Still, you force yourself to focus on Hinata, sucking him dry as soon as the first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat.

He cums fast and hard and a lot. It’s seeping out from your lips, making him messier than he already was until he’s pulling his softening length from your mouth and flopping back against the couch, gently rubbing your arm while he catches his breath. With a heavy grin, Bokuto shoves a hand between your shoulder blades, knocking you into Hinata’s lap. Somewhat in vain, you try to clean him off between the pitchy mewls and cries that you breathe out while Bokuto chases his own release.

In no time, he’s there again, his own pressure built up as high as it could just before he burst inside of you. He fucks himself raw, your tight hole sucking him in, his cum only making it easier to slip in and out of you. Knowing he’ll finish when he’s completely spent, you lie limp in Hinata’s lap and he lazily wraps a hand around the back of your neck, soothing the leftover tension. You recognize Bokuto’s nearly done when his cock stops twitching and his hips slot against yours with some finality just before he slumps over you.

Whining when he slips out, even soft his cock is still a tight squeeze, you fall all the way against the couch, legs giving out at last. He falls back against the back, moving your legs to sit on top of his thighs and massaging them with great care. Completely spent and drifting half-asleep you just barely hear him.

“So,” he starts, head lolling toward Hinata who’s still lightly working his fingers against your upper back, “Dinner next week?”

#bokuto x reader #hinata x reader #bokuto smut #hinata smut #bokuto x you #hinata x you #hq smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #hinata shoyo smut #bokuto kotaro smut #hq x reader

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kazutoes · 3 years

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thank you to @nuuneyraegon for letting me basically dump this in her discord chat, I am saddled by unnecessary feelings for this game and I am surprised I didn't start writing for this fandom sooner

might post this on a03 idk

basically: 🌟 hospital confession scene 🌟

pairing: Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth

word count: 1198

———<3———

When Miles Edgeworth walks past those haunting hospital ward doors, it was 20 minutes past midnight.

The smell of antiseptic assaults his senses as he walks through the dark corridors, lit with only the studio lights and the occasional monitor, waiting to log in. Even the nurses had retired to their station for the night, rest assured that their patients would make it through the night.

Hopefully, Miles' unhelpful mind supplies him, and he shakes his head.

The phone call that he'd got off of as soon as he realized what was wrong still repeated in his head, over and over and over. Larry's stuttering voice as he said that Wright was being rushed to the hospital, freezing yet running a high fever all at once.

It took him 10 minutes to pack, 30 minutes to get to the airport, and an hour to get onto a flight back to the States.

Twelve hours later, he doesn't regret a single thing.

It isn't long before he finds the name Mr. Wright scrawled on one of the doors, the number 223 matching with what the nurse told him.

"He should be asleep right now," She said in a hushed voice, angry that she was overruled by Miles pulling the prosecutor card. All of her patients deserved rest right now. "So be very careful. He's gone through a lot, you know."

Wincing at the creek of the door, he pushes it open carefully to find Phoenix sitting on a laptop, his eyes mostly closed. His hands rested on the middle of the keyboard, as if he were about to type something important.

As if his own rest and health wasn't. Miles has to resist the urge to close the laptop and put it away.

Wright's eyes widen as he sees him standing at the door, holding a black leather briefcase. He's sure that even Wright could see through his façade at this point. He came straight from the airport, afterall.

"Miles…"

With that, he decides to step closer into the room and close it behind him, figuring they'd both want some privacy. It isn't long before he ends up at Wright's bedside, setting the briefcase down on the floor gently. There's more than just court papers in there.

"You came," Wright says, giving Miles a sheepish smile. "You didn't have to."

"Don't be foolish," Is all Miles replies, dragging the chair to get closer to Wright. The way he sounds like Franziska isn't lost on him. He's had a very, very long flight. "I was in the area for some business, and when I got the call..."

Wright squints at him. "You're lying."

His own eyes widen. "What?"

The laptop is closed a moment later, the only light source coming in now was the moonlight from the windows. It only seemed to make Wright's conviction even more solid as he smirks, his eyes resetting back into half lidded.

"If you were in the area, you would've been here sooner. And, I do keep up on the news." He chuckles half playful, half… something Miles couldn't identify.

"'Former Demon Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth finds Japanese serial killer Ita Wazme guilty... Family is relieved to find some justice.'"

I see why you're called the Turnabout Terror.

Before Miles can say anything else, Wright sighs and turns his head, a violent cough wracking his already frail body.

"You should sleep, Edgeworth. I'll be okay." He whispers, voice rough from the assault on his vocal cords.

"I care about you," Is all Miles says, removing the heavy weight of the laptop from Phoenix's legs. He doesn't miss the wince from the movement. "Isn't that enough?"

Wright just chuckles, running a hand through his semi-spiky locks. It was the one unburdened by the rather large IV. "I'm going to live through the night, I promise."

There's a heavy pause. "Larry told me that you were being rushed to the hospital, but nothing else after that. As you already could tell, I packed as much as I could in the least amount of time and... left." He knows he's made a bunch of lecturers and government officials angry. That can be dealt with later.

"I thought you were going to..." The sentence cuts itself off there, unable to be said. The words hang heavy around the room, both men staring at each other. "You fell off a bridge, Wright. How are you so... nonchalant, with that?"

Miles closes his eyes and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the information in front of him finally sinking in like warm, running water. He had all of the evidence, and analyzed it thoroughly. A small, deep part of him is wonderfully relieved at what he has found.

"I thought I lost you, Phoenix."

Wright - no, Phoenix still looks away, looking on the verge of sleep. Maybe he should've waited until morning. Even if Phoenix was alright... that didn't give him any right to—

"You care about me...?" Phoenix asks, the questioning tone only managing to rise up at the very end. "Enough that you'd charter - most likely - a private jet around the world just to see me?"

His dark blue eyes open again. "If I didn't know better, Miles, I would say..." His own sentence cuts itself off.

Something tells Miles that he knew what Phoenix was going to say. "Yes. I did. And I don't regret it one bit."

Phoenix makes quick work of trying to sit himself up, only somewhat managing to fail miserably before Miles manages to get him upright, careful not to budge the heart monitors sitting on the pale skin under the hospital gown. Phoenix mutters a quiet thanks before facing Miles, their faces only a few inches away from each other.

"I'm glad you're well, Wright," Is all Miles can manage before he feels a pair of rather chapped lips meet his, bringing both weak arms to wrap around his shoulders. It doesn't take long before he begins to respond back, settling a supporting hand on Phoenix's back so he didn't fall.

In terms of that being their first kiss, it could've been better. But to the both of them, it felt like heaven.

It isn't long before they both break apart, out of breath but the air around them becoming considerably warmer. As Miles' eyes open up, he doesn't miss the pure joy on Phoenix's face as he wordlessly begs Miles to stay this close to him.

But fear strikes straight into Miles' heart as Phoenix pulls back, clutching his chest.

You're not okay as you thought you were, Phoenix.

Phoenix's eyes drift over to the bedside table, where the magatama and defense attorney badge rested. "You have to help, Miles. I can't do this alone... not any more..."

Phoenix settles back down into bed as Miles pockets the magatama and pins the badge onto his lapel, his own heart starting to pound once again.

"I will do my best," He says, before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto Phoenix's forehead.

There was no missing the contented smile before he fell asleep immediately, those simple actions exhausting him beyond belief.

"I won't let you down, Wright. I promise."

#narumitsu #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #naruhodou ryuuichi #mitsurugi reiji #pls dont kill me for formatting #kaz writes #hospital fic #fluff #i rewrote some of this and actually edited it go me #ace attorney

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mcprincessdiaries-archive · 3 years

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life is fleeting and i realize i may never be able to share the stories i want to as fully fleshed out fiction. but thats ok cause im fine with essay length rambling text posts. so how about some belala lore indulgence :-)

part 1 of ???

some background: belalas spent like, basically her whole life studying to be a chirurgeon. while she excelled in the medical side of the field, her ability to weave healing spells left something to be desired. after learning everything she possibly could at whatever far flung outpost she'd been at, its guildmaster realized the help she needed was simply beyond what he could offer. so he sends her off to where he originally learned his craft, gridania

upon arriving and meeting with e-sumi-yan she immediately gets tasked with the tall order of assisting with the cleansing of the recently-ish-unearthed ruins of amdapor. of course, she wasnt to do it alone, as the guild leader had the foresight to seek help from a band of "incredibly trustworthy adventurers". three guesses at their identities.

sasabe had been approached by the serpent commander i-forgot-his-name while doing business at the adders' nest, asking if she was interested in assisting a newly arrived conjurer with some great arduous task. she accepts, and invites bonana and oranje to help too

so a black mage, a dark knight and a samurai walk into the stillglade fane. this happens during late stormblood, by the way. bonana, upon realizing who theyre helping, is just 100% completely absolutely stunned. to make it worse, she doesnt seem to recognize him (remember, she hasnt seen him since he was still a kid), so he decides to play the cool and stoic act and leave the talking to the other two while he internally panics

its a long, awkward trip down to the south shroud. belala did happen to recognize sasabe as "the girl at the tea shop" that befriended her sister. it prompted her to share quite a few embarrassing stories about said sister, that perhaps he didnt want sas to know about. just as well, belala also spent some time poking and prodding at him a bit, wondering why he seemed to regard her so strangely. but before he caved in to her pouting, they arrived at the entrance to the lost city.

there, they meet a serpent officer casually leaned against the wall, a mighty weird lance upon his back, his collar so high you could fit a number of puppies in it. he proclaims he was sent by brother e-sumi-yan to oversee them to their task, and guide them if need be. a dungeon, basically, theyre doing a dungeon. not lost city though. lets call it ummmmm....the dreamer's assay. sure

the first part is underground where ancient aqueducts flow into a cistern. but after decades upon centuries of being clogged, the areas grown stagnant with mold and decay, the creatures that roam it just as rancid. immediately belala is overwhelmed by the assault on her senses, while the others dont seem nearly as bothered. after assuring shes ok bonana charges ahead, but not too fast cause hes not quite certain of her capabilities yet.

at the end of their path they find an enormous croc infected with all manner of fungi and parasites. not a regular crocodile mind, one of those fucked up hairy ones with the face that splits open

after an intense boss fight the beast is laid to rest, and belala senses a change in the area. grabbing at that feeling, she channels aether through her staff and cleanses the stagnant waters of its taint. as it flowed freely again, she swears she saw someone standing at the other side, leading them onwards

the second part...i havent actually solidified. all ive got is its like a bunch of spiderwebs over a chasm, with a big ol' spider boss at the end. belala cleanses the wind, and she sees the ghost again, taking them even further downwards.

the THIRD area is some kind of sanctum, clearly somewhere important back in its glory days. however, it appeared to have a growing voidsent problem, the fiends forcing themselves to manifest within the power-laden statues adorning the place. after dealing with the infestation, the group comes across a very large, very important and imposing-looking statue, in similar appearance to kuribu. but instead of a faceted red jewel imbedded in its chest, this one was a smooth, pure white.

the serpent officer steps forward, shoving belala out of the way to reveal his ulterior motives. for he was never a real officer, but a black mage of ancient mhach...whose corpse had been roused into undeath by a rather ambitious voidsent. her plans laid bare, she makes her move to inhabit the statue just as it began to stir.

however, she couldnt possess it completely, becoming instead an abomination of marbled stone and twisted flesh, its wings breaking and giving way to a mass of writhing tendrils. the point is its very scary and gross and belala is 100% freaking out cause she has never seen anything like this before. queue final boss music

belala manages to gather herself as the other three make quick work of the fiend. everything goes fairly smooth, until the field is obscured in a cloud of darkness, the voidsent catching all of them unaware in the grasp of her tentacles. with quick thinking bonana shields his sister from the brunt of the attack as theyre grabbed together, afterwards wiggling one his arms loose to protect her with a powerful barrier (blackest night babyyy).

suddenly the conjurer finds herself all alone, that horrible creature gloating as it loomed over her. digging deep to find the courage within herself, she raises her staff and calls out to the stone still clinging on, and the white crystal resonated with her pleas. the statue collapses in on itself, crushing the voidsent within, as a wave of white, holy light bursts out, utterly destroying whatever remnants of it were left.

with victory secured, she rushes to aid the others recovery. none worse for the wear, sasabe starts looking through the rubble of the once-glorious statue. within it she finds the selfsame stone that had been embedded in its chest, completely smooth, save for a single symbol carved into its surface. the soul of a white mage.

she hands it off to belala and upon holding it, she sees the same small ghostly figure clad in white and crimson. this time, however, they take off the hood...revealing a face eerily similar to her own. holding up a finger in a hushing motion, the phantom dissipates, leaving the band to make their way back to gridania.

upon returning belala shows the soul crystal to the guildmaster, and he smiles and congratulates her, revealing the journey had been a deliberate test. it turns out the padjal had already known about its resting place as the ruins were explored, but was asked by the elementals not to disturb it. he was told to wait for the right moment in which a rightful successor would step forward and claim it. reluctantly she accepts, still feeling as if she hadnt quite earned it.

but before she can ruminate on it bonana asks to talk with her alone outside, except its not really a talk he just kind of awkwardly takes off his helmet to reveal his identity. belala is rightfully shocked, wondering why he didnt say so sooner. as it turns out, he didnt because he believed she'd been in cahoots with their mother, as he had seen letter written between them, and knew that she was the one who'd been pressing for him to leave home and study medicine just like she did (the thing that drove him to run away)

belala tries to assuage him and explains the reason she did that was because she knew how unhappy he was at home, and there wasnt much else she could do, being so far away, with no way to talk directly to him without their parents knowing (yet she admits there was an aspect of just wanting to see him again to it as well). but this only irritates him further as he sharply points out hes not a little kid that needed saving, and he definitely didnt need his goody-goody sister being around for others to compare and ask why he cant be more like her

ultimately their little "reunion" ends with him storming off, leaving belala alone to contemplate about just how much time has passed between them.

#bonana bonanza #gold star for reading all this #stay tuned for more of the belala saga

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dukeofonions · 4 years

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hi so i.found ur blog and its honestly like a breath of fresh air to look at so if its ok i might just fuckin,,vent here.

so. ik a lot of other people have been talking abt how pof was really straining to watch and i am.very late to the party but i need to talk abt it bcz holy fuck. when i first watched it i was in a way better place mwntally, also the general excitement of wow,content kinda overrode the headache and the eye hurty and the just. bad. but i was rewatching it recently because i was basing a fic off it and i just. i couldnt finish it because all of it was just so much and there was no fuckin warning?? so that was pog ig

next thing because i have. a lot of thoughts. ive been in the fandom for not-very-long, i joined in the middle of 2019 or something.and it just kinda sucks because im only still here for the fandom. i love the series but i can only watch dwit and compilations of logan/roman being sad so much before i can basically recite them off the top of my head. but i reallyreally love writing for the fandom!! it makes me so happy to do the writing, its just the fact that im not as invested with the series that makes me feel,,idk man guilty ig?? anyway thats too deep for a rant so im.a move on

god so tw me not liking post aa virgil and me talking abt toxic friends but hoooly fuck man. i just. pre aa virgil was fun because he was snarky and sarcastic and i could actually stand the nagst because his character made sense?? he was the 'bad guy' and he wasnt as woobified back then and he was honestly a solid vibe. but post aa virgil gives off the vibe of that one friend who fuckin, gets angry at you when you bring up any of your mental health issues and then blames their outburst on their mental health issuea and its like?? no i hate that character dynamic. people say bad things when the feel bad, sure, ik i have, but its the vibe of 'im gonna threaten you and then blame it on my mental health but if you so much as look at me wrong while ur having sensory overload or something i will smite you with the force of one thousand suns' and i am just.so tired. also ithink someone else said this but we should just call the series 'virgil sanders and the rest' because thats what it is now ksbdjqkbsq

also (all ofthese are my opinions btw and im not trying to say im rigbt im just tired honestly) the way. in pof the way patton's whole thing is 'you need empathy' is not funky fresh for both people with low empathy and high empathy 😎 bcz ppl with too much/too little empathy are always told theyre 'cold' or that theyre 'oversensitive', the whole 'there is an average amount of empathy and if u dont have that fuck you actually' is icky and bad and gross. i do think patton's character is really well done in the series but that episode jjust personally. ick.

and finally the moment uve not been waiting for bcz this is probably really tiring to read but the moment youve been waiting for-fwsa.just. why. its cute and stuff and i love nico. nico is a vibe. also bathroom man john is great. but shouldnt roman still be on shit terms with thomas?? like lk we're just gonna sweep away the whole 'i thought i wad ur hero' shizz? cool cool, glad to know romans arc still aint happening. also i get it, we needed to cement that virgil is a light side now. but like..did we?? actually bcz this is so long im gonna send in a second ask (im sososorry if this clogs up ur ask box if u tell me to stop i will i just. many thoughts) abt how even though i hate virgil, his arc should have been done. so differently. just gonna put like,, a mushroom emoji here so u can put the 2 asks together if u want 🍄

You’re always free to vent here! Sorry it took so long to respond but life has a cruel habit of getting in the way of things I need to do.

So for starters, the POF problem should be talked about more so I can assure you that you’re not late to the party. It never really got the amount of attention it deserved so I am more than willing to bring that back up and trust me, you’re not alone.

And again, you’re not alone in this either! Plenty of people still enjoy creating content for these characters. You don’t have to feel guilty for not finding the actual series interesting because honestly, I’m kinda losing interest too. But I still love these characters and I love that the fandom is still creating stories with them through different mediums.

Honestly I agree with just about everything you said about Virgil and I do eventually plan on tackling a lot of this in a future post. You know, if I ever force myself to just sit down and write the dang thing...

Oh my gosh I’ve been waiting for someone to talk about this because that whole thing about empathy in POF really ticked me off because you’re absolutely right, not everyone is 100% empathetic, and some people can be empathetic to a point where it hurts themselves. Like I get what they were trying to say but it came across as, well, like you said. “If you’re don’t have this exact level of empathy then eff you I guess you’re a bad person.” Maybe that actually wasn’t their intention but it sure came across that way and maybe I’ll go into it a little more in another post because now that I’ve been reminded of it again I kinda wanna talk about it more.

Okay yes, FWSA on its own is a good episode. Heck, it’s one of my favorites. It feels closer to a season one episode than ATHD that’s for sure. The problem with this episode isn’t the quality but the fact that it comes right after POF. And I’ve basically gone over this in my “Problem With Asides” post and how it affects both Roman and Virgil’s current arcs so I won’t go into much more detail here but just know that I pretty much agree with all of this.

Also don’t worry about cluttering up my inbox. It’s here for people to share their thoughts and that’s exactly what you’re doing! Hope to see your part two soon mushroom anon!

#dukeofasks #ts criticism #virgil criticism #pofaffair

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a-crimson-lion · 4 years

Text

“It Makes Me Wanna Keep Him At Arm’s Length” An Overview On Katsuki Bakugo’s Development

[I should by no means be the one writing this analysis, but here we are. Obviously it’s an overview on Katsuki’s character development, but there’s a bit more to it than that. Keep reading if you want the details.]

Table of Contents

i) Prologue

I) A Brief Explanation

II) The “What The F*** Is Your Existence” Phase

II.A) Breaking The Barriers

III) The “I Can’t Let You Get Ahead Of Me” Phase

IV) The “Why Don’t You Care About Yourself” Phase

V) Final Address+Conclusion

Word Count: 4415

[Warning: Contains manga spoilers up to Ch. 284. Will also include spoilers for the movies and OVAs, as well as the special Deku & Bakugo: Rising two-shot manga. Reader’s discretion is advised. Not scared off yet? Good. Let’s do this.]

i) Prologue

Alright, no beating around the bush, I guess.

We all know this has to deal with Ch. 284, and the milestone that came with it. We got a rare look inside Katsuki’s perspective, and we saw firsthand how much his perspective has changed from the start of the story. I don’t think we’ve ever gotten such an in-depth look into Katsuki’s psyche since Deku vs Kacchan 2. It’s honestly impressive.

...which is why I’m so confused by a certain kind of response to it.

When you look past the swarms of tumblr posts absolutely losing their s*** over Katsuki getting further character development, you come across an… admittedly troubling response. The idea that “Katsuki always cared.” The idea that as early as the Battle Trial, if not middle school, Katsuki was secretly keeping an eye out for Izuku in their tumultuous relationship.

...no. Just-. No, what the-

I’ll get to why this particular response pisses me off in a bit, but before that, I wanna give a run down of Katsuki’s development, according to the narrative. Anyone who’s been around my blog long enough knows that I don’t exactly hold Katsuki in good graces. (Pretty much the opposite, actually.) However, in light of recent developments, that’s not what this post is gonna be focusing on. And as such, I’ll keep the snark and branch conversations to a minimum… to the best of my abilities.

So… how are we gonna do this?

I) A Brief Explanation

After we finish this brief “tutorial” section, the next three segments of the post will cover the various time frames of Katsuki’s development. I’ll be going through a general rundown of Katsuki’s perspective and the various evidence points that lead me to my conclusions. It’s essentially a glorified retelling. Sound good? Alrighty then!

II) The “What The F*** Is Your Existence” Phase

Time Frame: Ch. 1-Ch. 116 [Sludge Villain Arc-Late Provisional Hero License Exam Arc]

In case the Prologue didn’t make things clear, let me spell it out: Katsuki didn’t always care.

At least, he didn’t “always care” in the positive sense.

To clarify, this isn’t just 3rd Year Middle School Katsuki to UA Katsuki. This is all the way back to the River Incident. Katsuki has had this mentality for that long and then some when you shift out of backstory territory. We’re talking about the same kid who nearly murdered Izuku in the Battle Trial, blasted Izuku to kingdom come in the Training of the Dead OVA, and decked Izuku during the Final Exams. So…

The following hinges majorly on the line Katsuki stated in Chapter 284, and the title of this analysis: “It makes me wanna keep him at arm’s length.” Contrary to popular belief, this does not just apply to the idea that Katsuki wants to stick around Izuku to keep him from destroying himself.

...it’s also a major contributor to the reason Katsuki bullied Izuku in the past.

So let’s backtrack to the River incident. Katsuki takes one wrong step on a log, slips, and falls down into the river below. Izuku is the only one that goes down to help him. This infuriates Katsuki because he was fine, as was said by him and everyone but Izuku that was present that day. This is also the first time Katsuki becomes aware of something he echoes in the Ch. 284 flashback:

“He just… Deep down, he doesn’t take himself into account, y’know?”

This is Katsuki’s first run in with Izuku’s inherent selflessness. Initially, he takes it as pity; in his words, Izuku is “looking down on him.” And this bothers him a great deal. Then when it comes to Quirks, Katsuki gets one and Izuku doesn’t. This assures Katsuki of something he shortly discovered previously: Izuku isn’t all that special.

It’s a brief comfort. Because Izuku hasn’t taken the damn hint and stopped hanging out with him and his friends. The Quirked kids. The normal kids.

And worst still, he’s willing to get in Katsuki’s way just because someone else is in his line of fire. In the back of his mind, it’s the River Incident all over again, though he’s not being feared for; he’s being feared of. It’s all wrong. Deku isn’t strong like the rest of them. Deku can’t be a hero. Deku knows that.

...he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance, right? He knows how the world really works. Is he… is he putting on an act?

One of the few remarkable traits Katsuki has right from the get-go is his disdain against dishonesty. So, when he sees Izuku putting on a brave face and acting like a hero, and Katsuki decides that Izuku’s just “pretending,” Katsuki takes the matter into his own hands. He’ll get Izuku to show his true colors in due time. That’s what heroes do, right? Take down the bad guys? And Izuku faking about caring for others when everyone else clearly puts themselves first and foremost sounds pretty bad guy-like, at least at the time.

So, Izuku keeps on trucking, occasionally trying to join back up with Katsuki’s group on a near frequent basis. Even when that fails, he tries his damnedest to catch up.

But what many people forget is that at some point, Izuku stopped following, at least actively.

By Chapter 1, he’s making sure to keep from drawing attention to himself. He’s not as enthusiastic as everyone else in the class, he tries backing away from Katsuki and shrinking down on himself, tries defusing the situation. That doesn’t sound like Izuku’s still trying to keep up. Even in the special two-shot manga dedicated to Heroes: Rising, Izuku isn’t the one to draw attention to Katsuki’s presence. And even when he does go after Katsuki and the villain, his attention is more so focused on the villain, thoughts of staying out of Katsuki’s way to not offend him likely somewhere in his mind.

So then why does Katsuki keep antagonizing him in the first chapter of canon proper? And even before that, most likely?

“It makes me wanna keep him at arm’s length.”

...Izuku didn’t stop being Izuku. Izuku didn’t stop being selfless.

And his selflessness is what pisses Katsuki off to no end. So, he keeps pursuing Izuku, keeps trying to get him to “drop the act.” Makes him a “punching bag,” as Izuku states in Chapter 8. Because the way things work, Izuku should not be trying to be a hero. He should not be trying to put on a brave face when he’s scared s***less. He should not be sticking his neck out for others when he doesn’t (or rather, didn’t) have anything to stick up for himself.

Katsuki was born with something that made everyone consider him prime hero material. Izuku was born without that, and was considered the opposite… and yet, he still tries.

And this character trait, this selflessness, it drives Katsuki insane. And it continues to do so well beyond the Battle Trial Arc. Even when Katsuki is able to begrudgingly accept that Quirkless Deku has a Quirk now, somehow, his selflessness continues to bring Katsuki grief. While it’s never inherently brought up, this is the dividing factor between Izuku’s fight against Shoto in the Sport’s Festival and Katsuki’s fight with Shoto in the Sport’s Festival.

Izuku was willing to go all out at the cost of himself just so Shoto could accept what was his. Katsuki just wanted a good brawl, to be the undisputed first place.

This even continues well into the Final Exams, though the fact that Katsuki is running high on arrogance and anger does nothing to soothe matters. It takes a deck to face and later an explosive kabedon wall smash to get Izuku and Katsuki working together, and let’s not forget that when Izuku was trying to get Katsuki to realize they were still fighting All Might, regardless of whatever handicaps he may or may not have, he gets decked in the nose for his efforts. While it’s technically a subtler play on Izuku’s selflessness and concern for others, Katsuki likely took it as further mockery, another attempt for Deku to try and get under his skin and throw him off.

In any case, throughout this time period, Katsuki cares f*** all for Izuku or his philosophy, opting to brute force things up until the very end of the time frame. But what causes the eventual shift?

II.A) Breaking The Barriers

A number of things, actually.

None of the proceeding events ever do a clean cut on Katsuki’s worldview. It’s more like chiseling through a wall than breaking it down with a hammer.

The Sludge Villain is the first hint that Izuku might not be faking and Katsuki might not be at the top. While many claim that Katsuki leaves Izuku alone because he feels indebted to him but doesn’t want to admit it, it’s more than likely that he’s more focused on his own self-loathing. This incident is what defines him for a good chunk of the series, to his chagrin.

The Battle Trial is just another nail in the eventual coffin. Katsuki thinks he’s finally got Izuku right where he wants him, only for Izuku to pull a 500 IQ play and prioritize the exercise over his and Katsuki’s squabbles, taking the brunt of Katsuki’s attack and attention while giving Ochako the opportunity to capture the bomb. That look of frustration is Katsuki realizing that not only did Izuku get ahead, he got ahead with the very thing Katsuki despises. Needless to say, it f***s with him well until the aftermath outside of UA’s gate.

Shoto refusing to use his flames is another chip off the marble that is Katsuki’s pride. It reinforces the idea that Izuku is doing something that Katsuki isn’t, something that Izuku shouldn’t have in the first place, beyond a Quirk at least. So, Katsuki rages, because he can’t understand why it’s such a big deal, in both Izuku’s and Shoto’s cases.

The Final Exams just hammer the point home further. Katsuki’s one-track minded attempts to bring down All Might are met with no results. He would have failed that exam if it wasn’t for Izuku’s selflessness or Katsuki “lowering himself” to cooperate with him. Had Katsuki not gotten decked in the face and dragged off or got saved at the last minute while he was knocked out, he definitely would have failed on account of becoming a liability.

The Training Camp attack is an odd mix of Katsuki’s current philosophy and the next stage in it. He knows Izuku’s gonna go and save his ass, and he wants no part of that because hasn’t he made him suffer enough already? Hasn’t he already proved time and time again that he’s getting better, despite the fact that Katsuki doesn’t want or believe it? Despite the fact that it shouldn’t even be happening if things were right in the world? Izuku does recognize Katsuki’s wounded pride, however, which is instrumental in getting him out of All For One’s clutches during Kamino.

If we briefly direct our attention to the Make It! Do-Or-Die Survival Training! OVA, Katsuki is pretty adamant on claiming he only got the power back on in the underground mall to complete the exercise. And I don’t think that’s Katsuki’s “tsundere” talking, either: I genuinely believe that Katsuki’s only thoughts at the moment was getting the exercise done. Everyone else was just secondary. And remember, Katsuki hates dishonesty, which is probably why he doesn’t take credit for “saving” Izuku and Shoto. While his actions did save the two of them and everyone else in the mall, that wasn’t his intention, which is an interesting flip on Izuku’s performance back in the Battle Trial. Couple that with the fact that Katsuki is injured (and therefore weak, and in need of help), and it’s no wonder he’s in a sour mood towards the end of it all.

And this sour mood carries over to the final nail in his coffin: the Provisional License Exam. He only gets by the first half because other people had the sense to tag along, but the second half regards his undoing because he still doesn’t get the whole selfless aspect of saving people in the second half of the exam. This was also foreshadowed back in the aforementioned OVA with Katsuki’s excessive animosity towards the victim dummy. Whether they be real or fake, Katsuki’s disregard of either victim doesn’t grant him his hero license.

This is the straw that breaks the camel's back for Katsuki. And ultimately, this sparks the start in his shift to the second phase of his development.

III) The “I Can’t Let You Get Ahead Of Me” Phase

Time Frame: Ch. 117-~Ch. 257 [Late Provisional Hero License Exam Arc-Early Paranormal Liberation War Arc]

Since this is only the second phase of Katsuki’s development (and given that this is Katsuki we’re talking about), don’t expect to get much of an upgrade with this shift.

Essentially, it boils down to two things: Katsuki stops viewing Izuku as an annoyance, and starts viewing him as an obstacle. Simultaneously, he starts seeing the viability of saving, at least as a tool in a hero’s kit.

Let me explain.

While Deku vs Kacchan 2 is the first time Izuku and Katsuki have attempted to talk out their issues… not much gets addressed. Sure, Katsuki becomes aware of Izuku not looking down on him, but Izuku is never made aware of the deeper issues regarding Katsuki’s loathing beyond that. It primarily serves as a half-barebones narrative checkpoint, a segway for Katsuki to get in on the secret of One For All.

...let’s also talk about that, shall we?

So Izuku’s been getting better as a hero and with his Quirk. Then Katsuki finds out after he gets kidnapped and rescued that Izuku is the successor to their mutual idol. And that’s after essentially being told he can’t be a hero in his current state due to the PLE. And what is his usual response to adversity? He decides to get ahead of it.

He’ll surpass Class 1-A so there won’t be another Battle Trial. He’ll surpass Izuku and One For All so he can truly claim that he’s the best of the best.

Unfortunately, we don’t get to see more of this development until the Joint Training Arc. However, keep in mind that this is only the second stage. Katsuki wants to prove that he’s the best, so of course he’s gonna step up his game. That means taking advice from the LITERAL (former) #1 HERO, and making the victory as flawless as possible. After all, Katsuki himself said in Chapter 208:

“I’ve decided! We’re gonna win this match with a perfect victory! 4-0, with everyone unscathed! That’s the kind of victory there is for the strongest guys out there!”

...it might be a slight exaggeration when he says he’s hardly changed at the end of that chapter, but then again it is a stretch to even call it an exaggeration.

That aside, Katsuki also makes it part of his agenda to keep tabs on OFA. This would fit into the “Katsuki secretly cares” agenda, but we haven’t reached that point. Right now, in these moments, Katsuki figures that if One For All starts getting freaky, he wants to know about it so he can get a leg up. And maybe part of him still wants to call Izuku out.

He was minorly ticked when Izuku allowed himself to make a mistake during their unauthorized fight. And he constantly reminds Izuku to not forget that he’s supposed to surpass him (or the other way around).

Taking off the rose-colored glasses for a moment, it does make sense for Katsuki to say this beyond the context of positive motivation. We are talking about the same Katsuki who lashed out at Shoto for holding back. It’s reasonable to assume that he doesn’t want Izuku to do the same, and lagging behind more or less equates to holding back.

And Katsuki still isn’t completely invested in Izuku’s training for Izuku’s sake. After the Joint Training, Katsuki tries getting Izuku to manifest Black Whip again, and nopes out shortly afterwards when nothing comes of their sparring sessions in Chapter 217. This still isn’t the Katsuki we see in the 284 flashback. He’s still got a ways to go.

Yes, this even rings true for Katsuki during Heroes: Rising. While the film might be the ultimate Bakudeku dream come true, there really isn’t… much depth in regards to Izuku and Katsuki’s past. Y’know, the thing that most people are hoping gets resolved? It only gets referenced a few times in the film, but doesn’t overall factor into anything meaningful. Most of the time when Izuku and Katsuki team up, Katsuki only gets to the fight because he wants to throw hands with villains on an island where (if the status quo had remained unchanged) was likely selected because it had little to no serious villain activity. It just so happens that protecting and working with Izuku is an unintended byproduct of these fights. Katsuki even drops the infamous “lowering myself to work with Deku” line just before the big climax. And even with the transfer of OFA to Katsuki, it strikes less as overcoming a longstanding obstacle and more as plot convenience, especially since by the end of the fight OFA nopes back into Izuku so hard that Katsuki gets mind wiped about the whole thing.

Even during the Endeavor Arc, we don’t see much growth beyond the Ending fight, where Katsuki prioritizes saving Natsuo over throwing hands like he usually would, learning to take saving as more than a tool. This is significant considering it’s Katsuki, but unfortunately, there’s not much else thereafter. The entire arc won’t get referenced as an overall stepping stone until Ch. 284.

And thus, we head to the final phase.

IV) The “Why Don’t You Care About Yourself” Phase

Time Frame: ~Ch. 257-Ch. 284 [Early Paranormal Liberation War Arc-Paranormal Liberation War Arc (Present)]

So here’s an interesting tidbit: Katsuki can’t handle nonphysical confrontation.

Leave him with the fact that his kidnapping could have gotten most of the class expelled because they decided to go rescue him or avoided such while knowing of the operation? He’ll pay back Eijiro for the expensive night vision goggles and make Denki suffer Quirk overuse so he doesn’t need to be reminded.

Get stuck in the middle of a Todoroki Family Drama scene? He’ll try bragging about how he did better than the current #1 Hero to attempt curbing off the situation.

Put him in a discussion with Izuku where they address his additional Quirk manifestations and the full weight of his potential/legacy? Katsuki will brag about having a skill already in his toolkit to ignore the fact that he has the potential to fall behind.

This defines the earlier days of this phase. We don’t see what happens in the timeframe between that and the start of the War Arc until the Chapter 284 flashback. I believe that during the gap between 257 and this flashback, Katsuki allowed himself to process the full weight of what he and Izuku were told during that meeting.

And this marks one of his biggest revelations to date.

Izuku’s selflessness is no longer something annoying. It’s a potential fatal flaw.

For the first time, it’s hitting Katsuki that Izuku is no longer an obstacle, or just an obstacle. Izuku is a person who is working himself to the bone and past that, who would die at the drop of the hat if he thought the payoff was well worth it. He’s finally starting to see that what Izuku is doing to himself is dangerous, and he wants to know what he can do to prevent the serious ramifications.

This is a big phase in his development, no doubt, but um… it’s not the last phase.

If I’m being honest, we’re nowhere close. Why? Well, two reasons:

A) Katsuki still has yet to properly take a loss.

Any and all of Katsuki’s losses are either in his head or narratively negated. And his disproportionate win/loss ratio doesn’t do him any favors either. He’s culminated a philosophy that he can’t and shouldn’t lose, but losing is a crucial aspect of improvement and being human in general. In the case of the story, Chapter 275 suggests that Katsuki wants to face off against Tomura as payback for Kamino. He essentially wants to extend the narrative and treat that loss like a delayed win, as if the loss hadn’t happened yet. Many people claim that this is a bluff he used to cover his true intentions of keeping an eye on Izuku, but I don’t think that’s the case. While sticking by Izuku is a contributing factor, getting a win is equally so, because Katsuki hasn’t properly adjusted to a loss. His strategy for dealing with any kind of loss is just to bulldoze through it like nothing happened, instead of taking the time to understand why he lost and to apply that knowledge for future encounters.

Be aware of your surroundings during the Sludge Villain.

Focus on your priorities and communicate with others during the Battle Trial.

Don’t ignore the situation just to focus on your own intentions during the Training Camp attack.

HELP PEOPLE during the Provisional License Exam.

There are so many lessons Katsuki could have learned sooner if he had taken the time to properly digest his losses. But he didn’t. He still doesn’t. He might have learned some of them eventually, but the fact remains that he nearly ran head first into a suicide mission just because he couldn’t take the loss and was dead set on getting even.

And keep in mind, Katsuki was lamenting on struggling to keep up with Izuku earlier before their encounter with Tomura, and how he couldn’t afford to stay a loser, so this is likely less far-fetched than you think.

Okay, so then what’s the second reason Katsuki’s development is far from over?

B) He hasn’t fully connected the dots on what he did to Izuku.

So far, Katsuki has recognized that he was off-put by Izuku’s selflessness, and that he bullied him over that.

What he hasn’t recognized is how much of a role he played personally in that part of Izuku’s personality, or at least it’s present day incarnation.

Let me clarify a bit. Katsuki is aware that he was distrubed by Izuku’s selflessness. He is aware that bullied him and that, at some degree, was wrong. But I don’t think he’s quite connected the dots on how his intervention has led to Izuku’s current brand of martyrdom.

At the start of the series, Izuku just cares about others. After making sure he gets down to the river safely, he’s willing to lend a hand to Katsuki, who fell from a pretty concerning height ig we’re being honest.

But this unnerves Katsuki. And it leads to his physical altercations with Izuku from time to time.

Remember, Izuku followed Katsuki at the time, but somewhere down the line he stopped. But he never stopped being Izuku, so Katsuki continued to pursue him. Izuku had already been willing to give up in some degree on ever keeping up with Katsuki the way he used to. He knew, at some level, that he wasn’t accepted.

That he wasn’t worth as much as everyone else.

Katsuki bullied Izuku because he was selfless. But Katsuki’s bullying, coupled with the rest of society’s ostracization, twisted and warped that selflessness with low self-esteem, low self-worth, and self-destructive tendencies. Katsuki wasn’t the sole bully of Izuku, but he was a primary perpetrator. And his actions only made the very thing he despised so, so much worse.

...and until he can recognize THAT aspect of his relationship with Izuku, his journey is far from over.

So yeah, Katsuki’s making progress, but we’re still not out of the woods yet.

V) Final Address+Conclusion

So now for the obvious question: why did I write all of this?

I said it at the beginning, about how some people claimed that Katsuki cared all along. I brought up a bit about how it pissed me off. Why, exactly?

Because when people insist that Katsuki threatening Izuku to not go to UA comes from a place of concern, they disregard Chapter 1 Katsuki’s gigantic ego and utter disregard for others, much less so for Izuku.

Because when people insist that Katsuki’s shocked face at the end of the Battle Trial was because he was upset with how he hurt Izuku, they disregard the fact that Katsuki was willing to almost murder Izuku, and if not that then brutalize him, and that at this point Katsuki absolutely loathes getting shown up, which is what Izuku inadvertently did.

Because when people insist that Katsuki always cared from the very beginning, they (un)intentionally undermine one of the few things that draw people to Katsuki’s character: his character development.

On his own, Katsuki is an prodigious, antisocial and angry teen looking for fame and fortune in the industry who grows into a dedicated source of confidence and understanding as he finally allows himself to branch beyond his initial handicaps. If you insist that Katsuki always had the awareness and concern he displayed in 284’s flashback, what do you get instead?

A selfish, self-centered, fickle, emotionally-constipated asshole whose growth is more comparable to a ramp instead of a mountain.

...not as impressive, is it?

While I’m pretty sure this is just a minor trend, that doesn’t excuse the lack of care it demonstrates. If you aren’t willing to admit and live with the fact that Day 1 Katsuki is the worst of the worst and that he did progressively get better through trials and tribulation, why bother? When you insist a character like Katsuki was fine from the start, you take away part of what makes that character so endearing. If they were never an ass to begin with, then what the hell was their problem at the start, or even now? Why the hell would we condone that? It’s important to recognize character flaws and to give them their due, because seeing a character grown out of them is far more self-fulfilling and relatable than insisting that they were always in the right place from the start.

...but then again, that’s just me. Thanks for reading.

-Crimson Lion (20 September 2020)

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (6/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Every morning even before he opens his eyes completely, Levi would reach for his phone on the side table.

His first connection to reality was always the time written out on the lock screen of the phone and the blue light on his screen as he checked all his notifications. He never remembered when exactly he had gotten into the habit of doing just that. Regardless, the clean interface and the clusters of notifications on real life topics and class announcements were effective ways to forget whatever dreams he may have had the night before and focus on real life obligations and responsibilities.

That morning was a little different. As he motioned his right hand that familiar distance from bed to side table, he found a barricade in the form of a metal bar and as he maneuvered his hand beyond it, all he felt was air and a wall. Levi opened his eyes to his left to see the sky just outside, a familiar mix of purple and pink.

That was at least enough for him to conclude that it was probably around six in the morning. With no quick fixes of gratification, Levi found himself taking stock of whatever was at hand. He allowed himself a long look at the sky, long enough for the blue to start peeking through and the light be enough for the room to illuminate enough for Levi to be able to make sense of his surroundings without the help of artificial light.

Levi slowly sat up. It was the white covers and the white ceilings that clued him to it first. The IV attached to his arm came second. Then Levi was suddenly aware of the weight on his left knee, the dull pain and the bindings.

He sighed and threw himself back down on the bed, wincing as the immobilized leg protested that rough movement. His mind was racing. Memories were starting flooding back to him much faster than he could connect the dots to what was in front of him at that moment. The white ceiling kept all the stimuli at a more manageable level at least.

If everything had gone according to Levi’s expectations, that Saturday morning, Levi should have been on the train to meet Hange. His anticipation at meeting Hange had him planning every intricate detail. As he looked up at the clear slate above him, he imagined the quick jog to the station that should have been reality if he hadn't been so careless the night before.

Everything after crashing on to the ground was a blur. It was as if the searing pain then the numbness on his left knee had interfered with his ability to process the world around him.

He remembered Hange talking to him, but not what she was saying. Soon after, there was a stretcher then sirens.

His grasp of the world around him only got worse as he arrived in the hospital and they hooked him up to an IV. The rest of it was blank save for a few loud voices, the moving of the gurney from one room to another. his coach's voice, Erwin's voice and Hange's voice.

As Levi contemplated his situation that morning, he couldn't help but ruefully note as well that at his current state, he probably wouldn't be able to even manage the lighter tests Hange had wanted him to do that day.

I’ll only find out more if I get out of here.

Levi pulled the blanket off. How bad was it? Over his knee was a piece of thick cloth or possibly layers of it, held together with velcro on top. As Levi swung his legs to the side of the bed. He could not help but note how unnaturally heavy his casted leg was.

The prospect of placing his bad leg on the floor and the uncertainty of what kind of injury he had Levi scrambling for support and he found himself, hopping awkwardly on his good leg while leaning on the hospital walls as he made his way to the door of the room.

He never really found out how long it took him to make the few meter journey to the door of his hospital room. The frustration at the unfamiliarity of his situation only had him disregarding time. To him, it felt like ages. He had stopped a few times and leaned on the wall, his head spinning from exhaustion, fear or maybe even the medicine they had been pumping him with since last night. On the way to the entrance, he did not notice the door that had silently opened and only realized someone had entered the room when they were right beside him already.

“You shouldn’t be standing...” It was one of the voices from last night. Fortunately, it was the one he felt most comfortable hearing.

Hange should know everything. “What happened last night?” Levi spared not time asking that question.

“Let’s get you back in bed first.” Hange seemed like she was in no hurry to tell him. Her movements were slow as she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided him to a position where he was barely putting any weight on the floor beneath him.

As soon as Hange had made sure he was settled on the bed, her pace suddenly quickened as she turned on the lights of the room, pulled out his phone from the drawer, placed it on his side table, pulled a chair to his bedside and sat on it. “I can’t stay for long actually. I have to go to campus, do some work in the lab. If you need anything important… You’re covered at least by the insurance plans....”

If you need anything important from your dorm, you better tell me now… That was the last sentence Levi had made sense of. Hange turned on the lights and the gravity of Levi’s injuries became clearer. The bruises and the abrasions on his knees and hands were raw and fresh. Some of the worse ones had been bandaged up. He had gotten those same injuries before but having been an athlete for a long time, those were easily brushed away and he had mistaken the aches for stronger and more painful manifestations of exhaustion. He could not tell from then but his back had that same familiar ache, maybe even a little stronger.

“Levi, listen.” Hange put her hand on his, catching his attention. I know you’re probably angry with me… And you probably don’t want to see my face anymore. Just allow me to help you get settled at least and I’ll get off your back and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Never see you again?” Somehow those words hit harder and rang more painfully in his ears than the rest of his injuries. That was when Levi noticed the small signs: Hange’s back was a little straighter, she kept herself a little more distant and even the way she placed her hand on his was more hesitant. In fact, it was back on her lap as soon as he had processed that action on her end.

It was as if they were back to where they started.

“I’ve gotten these types of injuries before. I’ll just ice them, forget about them and go back to training,” Levi assured. In the end though, it was more for himself than for her. Levi looked to Hange and although he had hoped for a smile and a nod in agreement, he wasn’t surprised when she looked towards his legs, keeping a sullen face.

Hange shook her head. “ I saw what happened. You hit your knee on the bar pretty hard then you fell at an awkward angle.” For a moment, Hange looked dumbfounded as if she was replaying it all again in her head. “I don’t know how bad it is yet but they had to temporarily set it last night. You were in a lot of pain…”

“Then they’ll prescribe pain killers.” He was probably on some pain relievers already.

“You don’t get it do you? This competition season is out of the question. Hell, your whole career is probably out of the question.” Hange looked away. “And it’s my fault.”

He should have been angrier at Hange.

The way she had explained it, from when he had fallen on the hurdles, her shitty stitching skills which could have delayed the healing process, all the way to encouraging him to change his form, his injury could have been traced back to her. It was still a long shot though. In the end it had been Levi’s decision and he was completely aware of that.

Would he have tried that hard? Would he have taken all those risks if he hadn’t met her? He was sure that it was at least possible to twist logic and delude himself into thinking it was her fault. The Levi of a month ago would have done just that. At that moment, when he put two and two together though, surprisingly, he felt no anger. In fact he felt nothing.

It could have been from shock or confusion. It was as if for a second Levi had forgotten how to feel. Hange left the room as silently as she had entered with a quick reminder to just send it through chat.

Levi wrote it out as coldly and professionally as it was requested and sent it before locking his phone and placing it back on the side table.

For the first time in how many years, he did not even have the energy to look through his phone.

A Tale of Two Slaves

The emptiness he felt festered to something else with each and every test they put him through that morning.

Every nurse and every intern who wheeled him from room to room and did the tests always had something to ask. They asked about training, records and tournaments.

How he had learned to jump so high. How he had polished his form so well. How he maintained consistency with every attempt.

Suddenly they were theorizing the injury.

You probably hit your leg hard on the bar while it was extended... Landing awkwardly from that height is more than enough to dislocate your knee.

Their tones were kind as if to make light of the situation he was currently in. They had done the complete opposite though and with every test and every conversation, Levi was forced to face his emotions head on, the future that awaited him.

And Hange. What was Hange planning?

He had sprained his ankle before but that was the first time he had experienced such comprehensive testing for one limb. They had explained the tests as they went about it: mobility tests, nerve tests, vascular tests all for his left knee.

As they rambled on and on about him, Levi found himself thinking of the only tests that had mattered to him, the ones Hange would ramble about.

She wanted to test his vertical jump, his horizontal jump, the power in his legs, the strength. He was miserably failing every test the therapists were throwing at him. Putting minimal weight was enough for Levi to realize that his knee was fucked. Just a small movement was enough for his left knee to buckle under him. Levi wondered how less than 24 hours ago, he had managed to use that leg to jump two feet in the air.

By the time Levi had arrived back in the room, his lunch was waiting for him on the table by his bed. He pushed it aside, instead going for his phone.

Multiple Ligament Injuries. That was what one of the nurses had casually mentioned.

Levi found himself digging up all the way until scientific journals. He had wanted to see the words cure, recovery and heal but all he found were outlooks and prognoses.

9-12 months of no physical activity. Pain and stiffness his whole life. There was no direct cure. There were no straightforward answers, only arguments and well thought-out opinions on treatment plans.

The details were in and out of his brain within seconds after he read them. If they differed for every case, there really was no point in memorizing or even trying to set his expectations. He had spent the whole morning in chairs and in bed but somehow, Levi was exhausted. He opened his phone to the different chat groups. Others had asked about him.

He only composed two messages that day as replies to the tens or even hundreds of notifications. One to his parents and one to his coach.

Don’t visit...Was he ashamed? Was he exhausted? Terrified? Confused? Levi could not pinpoint the exact feeling but somehow his body felt heavy and the only thing he wanted to do was roll over and sleep.

He had managed not to cry but for a few minutes he was blinking back tears.

A Tale of Two Slaves

ACL, MCL, LCL. A string of letters recognized from the internet.

The doctor had given the meanings of those acronyms as he explained them. Levi was quick to forget them though, there were more important things than that. Like who was explaining it to him and what exactly the injury meant for him. Or for Hange.

The doctor that had taken over his case was Erwin. The last time Levi had seen him, he had been in a civilian wear. The blonde wore a white coat over his polo and dress pants as he stood next to Levi’s bed side, looking more powerful and more authoritative than he did back in the laboratory.

As he talked, Levi felt no need to listen. Erwin after all was only confirming the fears and the doubts that were running through Levi’s brains.

This season is out of the question. Reconsider whatever plans you may have as an athlete.

What about Hange’s research? Levi had wanted to ask. It just did not seem right then, as Erwin continued to explain the prognosis.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Erwin said as if he hadn’t been honest with Levi the past few minutes. “There’s no right way to go about this. Knee injuries are pretty complex and the treatment I’m suggesting now is just my own opinion. It’s probably even a gamble.”

All medical advice is just someone’s professional and educated opinion. Levi was quick to figure that out when he had read the abstracts of articles, discussion evaluations, prognoses and never exact cures for his own injury.

It was at that moment that Erwin mentioned the gamble that Hange had entered the hospital room with Levi’s overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She was looking down and from his angle, her face was unreadable.

Erwin had mentioned surgery and strict physical therapy afterwards. With Levi graduating that year, it meant he was out of the running for collegiate championships anyway.

But if it works out, maybe, just maybe he could go back to jumping. And somehow, Levi realized just the movements he had gotten used to and the sensations they had allowed him to experience, actually made him consider the gamble worth taking even if it was a longshot. Only a small percentage of the population actually regained full control of their knee after a devastating injury like that.

“Shouldn’t he wait a few months before getting the surgery?” Hange suggested. “I’ve read some articles about it before…”

“There’s some damage in his nerves and in his vascular system which needs to be addressed soon if he wants to gain control of his knee. If we divide this into multiple stages, Levi will be back to square one after every surgery. It will only delay the healing process.”

Hange kept quiet. For a moment, everyone in the room was silent.

Erwin spoke up. “Hange’s not wrong. There are more conservative ways to go about treatment. In the end, it’s up to you whether you want to listen to me or request a second opinion. I’ll wait for your answer in the morning.” He turned to Hange. “And Hange, we’re going to have to talk about your plans for your thesis. First thing Monday morning in the lab.”

“What’s your plan?” Levi asked. Since Erwin left the room, Hange had been standing too awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortable at the turn of events. How much had she heard?

“What’s your plan? Erwin always has a good reason for everything but… I’ve seen articles about rushing into this surgery and I’m just unsure about it,” Hange said. “To be honest, no matter what happens, these types of injuries don’t leave people and if you’re going to live with it for the rest of your life, might as well not risk something so unnecessary?”

“Hange, answer me first what’s your plan?” Levi had stopped listening at “but.” He was already dead set on getting the surgery anyway. Somehow he knew, Erwin’s gambles were never baseless.

I’ll get off your back and you’ll never have to see me again. Those words only echoed again in his head as he focused on the panicked look Hange was giving him at that moment.

“My plan on what?” Hange asked.

You’ll never have to see me again. Levi had realized even before they had met that afternoon that her thesis was the only thing that had kept them talking and contacting each other. With that gone, what next?

Levi found himself scrambling for excuses, for a reason to see her. “Your thesis.” You heard Erwin, I’m gone for the next nine months or probably even the next few years. Are you going back to Elijah? Are you gonna find some other athlete to study?” It was unintentional but Levi heard the venom in his own voice.

Hange gave Levi a wry smile. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’m planning on talking to my parents and ----”

“I’m not asking what your parents plans are. I’m asking about your plans.” Levi interrupted.

“They’re paying for my tuition, for my home. I at least wanna get their approval for something as heavy as what will be my graduation. Besides, It’s not just about my parents, I have to consider Erwin…”

Levi slammed his fists on the bed in frustration. The Hange in front of him was avoiding his gaze, as if looking to find an answer elsewhere, maybe on the white walls or the tiled floors. That was not the Hange he knew. Hange knew how to make decisions on a fly, hell, Hange was a squad leader. She was the commander of an army. Suddenly for the first time, it felt like he was talking to a completely different person. Levi felt duped.

“Your plans Hange,” Levi emphasized. “What kind of crapsack household did you grow up in that you can’t make decisions for yourself. Your research is your decision. Relying on someone else to make decisions? That's not the Hange I know.”

Hange shook her head looking dumbfounded. “Why are you talking about me like you’ve met me before? What do you know about me? Or my home? We’ve only been talking for a month.” Hange paused for a while, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not angry. I’m just curious. I mean, as far as I remember we only started talking a few weeks ago back in the track. I’m flattered really because I’ve been following you for a long while but, why are you so invested in my plans?”

Why are you so invested in her? Levi looked away as he felt the blood rushing into his face. “It’s just that… I guess...This is just not the Hange I expected you to be.” He managed to say.

In the end, a voice still lingered inside him, a voice saying that there was some truth to his silent expectations for the type of person Hange should have been.

A Tale of Two Slaves

A few days later, on a Tuesday morning, Levi did have the surgery.

On the days leading up to it, he was alone. Hange had told him then, that she would be spending Sunday with her family, Monday in the lab.

There was a nagging feeling inside him that Hange was avoiding him. It could have been paranoia. There wasn’t much to think about after all. His unchanging view the next few days leading up to the surgery were the white ceilings and the white walls of his room, decorated with a few visits from a nurse and the hospital meals which at least had some variety in appearance but little variety in taste.

He had finished most of his schoolwork by Monday afternoon and even finished the readings for the three classes he was taking that semester. Soon, there was nothing much to do but look through his phone.

By Monday night, he was told by the nurse that he wouldn’t be served any dinner in preparation for the surgery.

By Tuesday afternoon, Levi was making sense again of the white walls and the white ceilings, the sky through the window that was all too bright, and the smell of flowers.

The smell of flowers.

“You know Levi, I was thinking of something…”

Levi looked towards his bedside to see Hange sitting there and behind her, flowers sitting on a vase, a simple arrangement.

“We’re taught that humans are at the top of the ecological hierarchy and at the top of the food chain. We’re apparently the greatest creations. But, we’re so easy to maim or injure for life” Hange said, as if she hadn’t been avoiding him the past few days. “Flowers can grow from stem cuttings. They can patch themselves up even after we pull out the flowers or some of the leaves. But you sprain your ankle once and it’s never the same ankle again.”

“Why are you here?” Levi asked, as soon as he finally had control of his voice. He didn’t want to play along.

“For a visit.” Hange said matter of factly.

“You said I wouldn’t have to see you again.” Levi challenged. Hange trying to lighten the mood with random conversation had left a bad taste in his mouth. He regretted his words though soon after he saw the slight wince she made.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking about my thesis. And I talked to my parents about it…”

“I told you before, I want your decision, not theirs.”

“Yes, if you had let me finish last Sunday instead of being angry, I would have told you. I’m making the final call. I just want to consult,” Hange said, looking exasperated. “ I have funding, tuition, time and logistics to consider and I’m back to square one. I don’t live on an island, Levi. Just because you can live in one, doesn’t mean everyone can.”

She was right. Somehow, the way she had said it, the way she had explained herself was convincing enough for Levi to realize that the Hange he knew was still inside her. Levi felt his stomach drop in embarrassment at his immature outburst rooted in the frustration he had felt. He wanted to look away from Hange as she narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him expectedly.

What’s your plan? Levi had hidden how he felt behind a veil of a casual conversation, behind a fundamentally neutral question. At that point, he had given up. For three days, just bringing up such a vague question was not giving him the answers he wanted.

"Then what’s going to happen to us?” Levi asked. “I mean, we won’t have much reason to see each other after this.”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been wanting to do this type of thesis for a while so it’s gonna be hard to change.” Hange admitted.

That confirmation was all he needed. Am I being selfish? Levi had to make the conscious effort to stop himself. In a perfect world, he would have wanted her to adjust, to find a way to work with his current limitations. He had held on to a hope that somehow she would suggest something to keep them talking, keep them seeing each other.

Suddenly, the rest of the things he would have wanted to open up about were all taboo.

If Hange were to change her topic for him, if she were to do anything just because he suggested it, he was sure he wouldn’t be satisfied with it. . At the same time, just imagining that phantom athlete doing the jumps for her, recalling how Hange had been left speechless watching Elijah’s jump, how she had stood up and clapped her hands slowly then quickly had Levi’s heart racing and his head spinning. His human inhibitions, as weak as they were at that moment, were the only thing stopping himself from begging her to stay, hell, from demanding that she considers him when making her decision.

Levi turned his eyes towards the white ceiling above him, a futile effort to clear his mind. As his inhibitions and desires waged a war in his head, he couldn’t even grasp for a reply, an emotion to articulate.

Hange took the initiative. “Levi, I want to ask you something…” She started. “Do you still want to see my face? After everything that happened?”

Levi gave a small nod, the only movement he could manage without letting out a wave of emotion.

“Then I’ll consider that when I make my decision.” At least she noticed it.

A Tale of Two Slaves

It was Erwin who had informed him of Hange’s decision.

Since Hange had visited that Tuesday, she never did come back. Levi had convinced himself at least to accept that that Tuesday afternoon would be the last time he saw her.

Wednesday afternoon, Erwin visited, informing Levi that he would be released from the hospital that Friday. Levi found himself almost ecstatic at the news. The white room was depressing. He never did get comfortable or familiar with the hard mattress beneath him and the barriers of the hospital bed.

“Also, Hange sends her apologies. She’s been busy working on a new proposal this week,” Erwin added.

“A new proposal?”

“A thesis proposal,” Erwin clarified. “She had to do everything from scratch, so she’s been spending a lot of time in the library.”

“She changed her topic?” It was a question of confirmation for himself. Levi noted then that most students could only access online journals for free using campus wifi. An oddly comforting fact which at least justified their lack of interaction the past two days and consequently, quelled his doubts..

Erwin nodded. “She told me a few days ago.”

“Why?” Levi felt guilty for the wave of relief that washed through him.

“Why what?”

“Why did she change it?” For a second he was happy. As quickly as it came, that bout of joy morphed into guilt.

“I'm her thesis mentor, not the one who makes the final decision.”

By Friday, Levi was at least independent enough to do the packing he had been raring to do himself since that weekend.

To be able to maneuver quickly and efficiently on crutches though, Levi had spent a good chunk of Thursday learning how to maneuver his way around with the crutches he was prescribed. By that day at least, as he cleaned out the dresser and packed his stuff, he had enough skill to balance on one crutch while emptying the dresser or dragging one of the chairs to his bedside without putting any weight on his bum knee.

Late Friday afternoon, Hange was the one who picked him up. It was no surprise, she offered to take him back to campus only that morning.

They exchanged pleasantries and after that, Hange did all the talking. Somehow she understood that after having spent a good morning cleaning out the room, Levi was exhausted. He probably could have fallen asleep on the taxi ride on the way back to the dorm if Hange hadn’t been so loud and the taxi hadn’t been so cramped.

“You sure you don’t need someone to take you up?” Hange had taken his bag from the backseat and slung it over her shoulder as they arrived at the entrance of their dormitory.

“It’s fine.” Levi knew she meant well but her initiative to take the bag before he could even attempt to carry it was insulting.

Despite her insistence, Levi forcefully took the bag with his right hand, keeping his left knee heavily planted on the ground. He swayed a bit as he balanced his weight with his overnight bag slung on one shoulder.

“Just tell me when you give up.”

Levi looked away as he said that. He didn’t know what face she was making as she said that but he opted not to look to save himself whatever exasperation or stress it would have caused him. Instead, he focused on trying --yet failing -- to gain as much distance as he could as he hobbled into the dormitory building.

He was disappointed to see that Hange did not follow.

I can always thank her later. Another excuse to text her at least. He had other things he wanted to ask her like what had made her decide to change her thesis. More importantly, what did that mean for him?

At that point in time though, he had more important things to think about like the fact that his room was on the second floor.

It was late afternoon on a Friday meaning most students were out, while others were cooped up in their rooms already and the hallways were empty. He probably wouldn’t have asked for help anyway. In fact, he was relieved to see nobody had seen him stare at the stairs for a good few minutes.

Although he had spent most of yesterday learning to move with crutches, nothing had prepared him for stairs.

He hobbled back towards the lobby where there were at least a few places to sit. If he were going to be thinking of a next plan of action which would be less embarrassing than asking for help, he concluded it would be better if he didn’t expend energy balancing on crutches.

As it turned out, Hange hadn’t left. Levi found her leaning by the entrance of the dorm with a knowing smile on her face. An annoying and mocking smile. An “I told you so,” in the form of a subtle gesture.

Levi was annoyed for a split second, a little peeved. The initial feelings were quickly washed away though by the wave of relief that followed.

He was just glad to see her there.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #fanfic #levi x hange

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rpf-bat · 4 years

Text

Have You Heard The News That You’re Dead?

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Horror

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 23. Prompt: “Afterlife”.

You’re a cancer patient. You’ve travelled to Hawaii, for an operation, that you hope will save your life. But, while you’re in the hospital, your nurse tells you the story of the Night Marchers. Legend has it, that anyone who sees their parade, will die. When you begin hearing phantom marching-band sounds at night, you start to wonder if the legend could be true.

It had been a year now, since you were first diagnosed with stage three leukemia. Chemotherapy alone had not slowed the disease down. So, you had travelled to a hospital in Honolulu, for a transplant procedure, that you hoped would save your life. You’d been receiving radiation conditioning for a week now, to prepare your body, to receive the donor’s stem cells.

Today, your favorite nurse was on duty. Her name was Leilani.

“Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani smiled, as she entered the hospital room, to bring you your daily dose of busulfan. “How are you feeling today?”

“Tired,” you said sleepily. “The drums kept me awake last night.”

“Drums?” Leilani repeated curiously.

“Yeah, I could hear music, outside my window, all night,” you explained. “Was there a concert, or a luau, going on in town, or something?”

“Maybe the sound that you heard was the Night Marchers,” Leilani said mysteriously.

“What are the Night Marchers?” you asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, it’s an old Kanaka Maoli legend,” Leilani chuckled. “There were these warriors, who served the chief, in ancient times. They say that after sunset, they rise from their graves, and march through the streets, towards the site of the battle they once fought.”

“Ghost warriors?” you blinked. “Now, that would be interesting to see.”

“Oh, no, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “You do not want to see them. Legend says, that anyone who watches the Night Marchers, parading through town, will die.”

“I...I would die?” you gulped. Just for looking at a ghost?

“That’s how the story goes, anyway,” Leilani shrugged. “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes. But, it’s only a folktale, so don’t worry about it. Give me your hand, and take this pill, okay?”

“....Okay,” you frowned. Something about this folktale, made you very nervous.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, you tried your best to fall asleep. You knew you needed your rest, but the hospital bed was so uncomfortable. What was worse, your illness had left you in severe pain. Leilani had gone home for the night, and you didn’t feel like calling the other nurse, for a dose of painkillers. You tossed and turned, trying to just be still.

Then, you heard the sound again, in the distance. A drumbeat, outside your window.

Could it really be a parade of ghosts? you wondered, staring up at the ceiling. No way - it’s probably just some street performer.

The bed creaked, as you turned away from the window. The drums grew louder, and, if you were not mistaken, you could hear trumpets joining them. Seriously - what the hell was that?

Your curiosity overwhelmed you, and you gingerly stood up from the bed. You padded over to the window, and peered through the blinds. You gasped at what you saw.

It really was a parade. But, these were no grass-skirted warriors. They looked like a high school marching band. From the second story window, you could just barely make out their black and silver jackets. The leader, in front, had short-cropped white hair. You were too high up, to see his facial features. Who the hell was he?

You watched, fascinated, as the band marched past a stop sign. Your blood froze, as the parade leader phased, intangibly, right through the sign post.

“A...a ghost?!” you gasped. Were these really the Night Marchers, after all?

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit you, and you felt faint. Your vision faded to black.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You woke up the next morning, in your hospital bed. Leilani was standing at your bedside, adjusting your IV bag.

“Leilani!” you gasped. “I saw them last night!”

“Saw who?” Leilani frowned.

“The Night Marchers!” you shuddered. “They’re real!”

“You must have had a bad dream, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “I’m sorry that my stories frightened you.”

“B-but…,” you protested.

“Ssh,” Leilani interrupted. “You have bigger things to concern yourself with, right, Miss Y/N? Your transplant surgery is today.”

“That’s right,” you realized. Today, you would finally be infused with the bone marrow, that would hopefully send your cancer into remission. You were lucky that a donor had been found for you. You knew that many people succumbed to the disease, without ever making it to the top of the waitlist.

“The doctors here at Hawaii Cancer Care are very skilled, Miss Y/N,” Leilani assured you. “I’ve watched their surgeries save many lives.”

“You think that the surgery will be successful?” you gulped. The truth was, that you were still nervous.

“I’m sure of it,” Leilani said positively. “You have nothing to worry about.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, after the surgery, you once again found yourself struggling to sleep. Your time in the hospital was not yet at its end. The doctors needed to observe you, a little longer, to make sure the procedure had done what they hoped. And your body, of course, still ached.

Suddenly, you heard a noise. This time, it was not coming from outside your window. The music sounded like it was emanating from the hallway, outside your door. But, the military-ish drumbeat was unmistakable. It was the ghostly marching band again.

You stood up, leaning on your IV pole for support. You felt unsteady on your feet. You knew it was unwise, to be moving around, so soon after your procedure. But, you couldn’t shake the compulsion to look.

You shuffled over to the edge of the room, and hesitantly opened the door. You poked your head out, and that was when you saw them.

A whole parade of specters was marching through the hospital corridor! There were phantoms in masks, at the back. But, the five men at the front, caught your attention. Their faces were uncovered, and they were playing instruments, as they stepped forward in time.

The one in front, with the pale, white hair, clearly seemed to be the leader. He raised his baton in the air. The phantoms followed him.

Was this real? you wondered, shaking. Or, were you dreaming?

Your IV pole rolled away from you, as you accidentally released it from your grip. The wheels made a skittering sound, on the linoleum floor.

The marching band leader’s head snapped up, and he turned around, seeking the direction of the sound.

You dropped to the floor, remembering Leilani’s warning: “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes.”

You trembled with fear, as you covered your eyes with your hands.

Don’t see me, you pleaded, heart pounding, as you lay as still as possible in the doorway. Don’t see me…..please don’t see me…..

“Miss Y/N!” gasped a familiar voice. “What are you doing out of bed?”

You opened your eyes. The parade of ghosts was gone. There was only Leilani, looking down at you with a concerned expression.

Am I going crazy? you wondered, eyes wide. Did I hallucinate that whole thing?

This didn’t seem possible. The blonde man’s piercing gaze had felt all too real.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You opened your eyes, hours later, and saw someone standing at the foot of your hospital bed. It wasn’t Leilani. It wasn’t any of your nurses. It was the blonde man, who had appeared to you in the night.

You screamed.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” the man whispered.

“H-how do you know my name?” you gasped. “Who are you?!”

“I’m Gerard,” the man introduced himself.

“I mean, what are you?” you demanded. “Are you a Night Marcher?”

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I am the captain of the Black Parade.”

“What do you want with me?!” you asked, shaking.

“We’ve come to guide you to the afterlife,” Gerard explained.

“What?” your eyes widened. “You’re saying….I’m dying?”

“Yes,” Gerard nodded. “I’m afraid that you’re fated to die of a stroke tonight.”

“There’s no way that I’m going to have a stroke!” you denied.

“I’m afraid that you’re already having one right now, in your sleep,” Gerard revealed.

“No!” you cried. “If this is a dream, then, I have to wake up right now!”

“You won’t,” Gerard said calmly. “It is your time.”

“But...that doesn’t make any sense!” you argued. “I just had a bone marrow transplant! It’s supposed to cure my cancer!”

“You’ve developed what’s called graft versus host disease,” Gerard explained. “The donor’s cells see your body’s tissues as something foreign. They’re attacking them.”

“So…..you’re some sort of Grim Reaper?” you realized. “Where’s your scythe? Aren’t you supposed to look like a skeleton?”

“I took this form, in hopes that I would not frighten you, Y/N,” Gerard explained. “Do you not find it comely?”

The truth was, you found the phantom’s appearance, extremely handsome. You could see his strong-looking arms beneath his black jacket. Above the jacket’s high collar, he had a beautiful, almost angelic-looking face.

But, he’s an angel of death, you reminded yourself grimly. You wanted to cry.

“I...I can’t die yet,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m still so young. There’s so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ve never even fallen in love.”

“A surprise, and a tragedy,” Gerard said softly, gently stroking your cheek with this thumb, and wiping away your tears. “For such a beautiful woman.”

“You...you think I’m beautiful?” you sniffled.

“I do,” Gerard confessed. “I’m sorry, that the powers that be, have given you such a short time on this earth. It is not for me to decide. My job is simply to walk with you, to your destination.”

“You mean, the afterlife,” you guessed.

“Yes.”

“What’s going to happen?” you wondered, feeling scared. “Are you just going to drop me off in some limbo, a-and leave me there?”

“No,” Gerard promised, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. “Y/N, I will stay by your side, as long as you need me.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you sobbed. You found yourself clinging to the specter, holding onto him tightly and sobbing into his chest.

He stroked your hair gently. “Sssh,” he consoled you. “It’s alright. You’re not alone. My marching band is waiting for you, just outside this room. We’ll all walk with you, to the Other Side. You will have as many friends there, as you wish.”

“You want to be my friend?” you asked, staring up at him, with wide eyes.

“I want a great many things from you, Y/N,” Gerard confessed. Suddenly, he grabbed the collar of your hospital gown, and pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, like a living person’s. There was no coldness of the grave, in his touch.

You kissed him back, soothed that, at least, someone was by your side, until the very end.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The heart monitors screamed, as Leilani ran into the room. The flatline on the screen, told her that her favorite patient was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she stared down, at the woman’s terribly still form.

“A-Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani sobbed. A word that could mean both hello, and goodbye.

There was one small comfort, as she pulled the sheet over Y/N’s head. Her final expression was a smile of bliss, as if she’d just received a pleasant surprise.

#gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #gothtober #it's very fitting that I posted this on the 14th anniversary of Black Parade being released #if you enjoyed today's story - please consider donating to Be The Match #they're a very cool charity that helps leukemia patients find bone marrow donors

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dr-who-said-lgbtq-rights · 4 years

Text

Hey so ive been writing recently (I know gasp lmao) I find I can really stick with writing if I do it between 9-10 pm so thats what ive been doing and i have three chapters written so far??? Im so happy with myself :)

Anyway I wanted to share the first chapter on here with yall, I’ll put it under a “keep reading” thingy, but if you could read it that would be amazing!!

tw: death

Chapter 1: It Had Begun

The air was cold and damp and quiet as the grave. A breeze drifted through the air, too weak to be felt but strong enough to slowly push the pillowy clouds of fog that had formed over the river. The lazy currents passed by small, moss-green foothills that eventually grew into formidable sapphire mountains. The river was also wide, wide enough that, in order for someone standing on one pebbly shore to see the other, they would have to squint their eyes nearly shut and tilt their head just so.

While it may have been hard to see the opposite shore, it was certainly not hard to see the gargantuan creature dwelling in the river. As wide and flat as the river, the beast resembled a koi fish, with its long barbells and patterned scales. This fish, however, was more of a greenish-blue hue than koi fish tend to be. It also had six eyes.

This remarkable being was the Guardian, a creature with both incredible power and wisdom, as well as a good sense of humor. Its duty was to swim the river, called the Stream of the Stars, and make sure the multiverse was taken care of. It had done so for nearly three googol years, and it planned to do so for the rest of time.

But, as anyone could tell you, plans never work out the way you want them to.

It was the 3.2978534^100th year of the multiverse (for you non-math people, we’ll call it the “Really Bad Year”, for reasons that might be elaborated on later). The Guardian was doing what it always did: swimming in the Stream, laughing at its own jokes in between looking out for potentially universe-ending situations. While it never paid much attention to the shores (as one who lives alone tends to do), an odd disturbance coaxed the Guardian to one of them.

To its surprise, a figure stood firmly on the slick shore. Their dark cloak was drenched, making the Guardian wonder just how long the being had been standing amid the fog. It could hear the figure’s breathing: quick and raspy, like a smoker who had just won a marathon would sound.

“Who are you?” The Guardian asked, though not in the way you humans do. As a fish being, it couldn’t form words with its flubbery lips and fish tongue. Instead, it spoke telepathically, its words seeming to boom in the misty air.

“I am the End,” the figure replied. They appeared to talk like a human, despite not having a face.

“Ah yes, the End. My immortal enemy and shadow; the one to kill both me the multiverse I hold so dear.” The Guardian laughed, ignoring how morbid that might have sounded to you readers. “You’re about...”

The Guardian paused. Not a thoughtful pause, as a scholar would take when pondering a paragraph they had just read. No, this was an awkward pause, the kind well-meaning children make when they have to weasel their way out of trouble, the kind that twenty-somethings make when they have to tell their Aunt Gertrude why they won’t be attending her birthday. After this awkward pause had lasted a horrifically awkward time, the Guardian continued.

“...about 300 million googol years too early.”

It was the End’s turn to laugh. Their laugh was surprisingly nice, considering the proportions of their evil. While one might expect their laugh to be akin to nails on a chalkboard, the End’s laugh was more like that of one’s favorite grandfather, deep and joyful. Of course, considering their role in the Guardian’s life, the grandfather laugh didn’t really help matters.

“I assure you, I am right on time.” The End wheezed, recovering from laughter. “I have been looking forward to this moment since the beginning.”

“The beginning. Boy, that sure was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I was only the size of a large boat, and you had the loveliest voice voice. I wonder, do you still sing?” The Guardian reminisced.

“Quit stalling.” The End said, letting their impatience extend past their generally stoic exterior. “I’ve come to kill you, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

The Guardian sighed. “I suppose it would be rude to deprive you of your very point of existence. But would you please do one thing for me?”

The End said nothing. They only raised their hand and spun it a little, the universal sign for “well, get on with it already.”

“Would you please write this prophecy down for me? And then send it to the Center? Pretty please?” If the Guardian were capable of making puppy-dog eyes, it would be.

“And why,” The End said, “would I do this for you?”

“Simply to humor me, I suppose.” The Guardian mused. “After my death, the multiverse will only have six days until it is wiped from existence. It’s entirely likely that this property will yield nothing more than frantic scrambling.”

Silence ensued. The End was taking a scholarly pause, considering what the Guardian had just proposed. Finally, they spoke. “Speak quickly. I’ll only write it down once.”

“Splendid!” The Guardian cried, almost giggling. “The prophecy is as follows:

“In six winks of a serpent’s eyes,

Universes will fill with the sound of cries,

All will end in fire and torment,

Leading up to all that is silent.

“The first to go will be on the edge,

The next slipping off a delicate ledge,

The third crying through pain and blood,

The fourth drowning in flaming flood,

“And the final will last, through days five and six,

Praying helplessly to Gods in Heavens,

All will die, all will burn,

If not for the one whose eyes will turn.”

The End scribbled the final words on to a summoned scroll of parchment. As soon as the pen left the page, the paper began to burn. It smoked until nothing but an ash or two remained, a sure sign of its delivery to the Center.

“Some of that was rather... cheesy.” The End finally remarked.

“I know, I know,” the Guardian said. “Now that my business has been taken care of, you are free to take care of yours.”

The End bowed. They reached into their cloak and pulled out a sword. It was long, almost to the point of comedy, but a sword must be long if it is to cut the Guardian.

The fish blinked its eyes several times, the way you humans do when you try to erase your tears.

The End raised their sword and brought it down in one quick, smooth motion.

The Guardian laid still, its eyes unblinking. The gentle breeze that had been animating the fog ceased, giving the scene an increasingly eerie feel.

The End disappeared from the Stream of Stars.

It had begun.

~END CHAPTER 1~

YEEEEEE I WROTE A CHAPTER!!!! and as of me finishing transferring this I have six chapters written! If this post gets 50 notes I’ll post Chapter 2! plz don’t let this flop i’m really excited about this

#i wrote something #!!#writers of tumblr #fantasy #also don't be afraid to leave advice i'd love to improve my writing #if you read this i love you #tw: death #cw: death

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romana73 · 4 years

Text

REYLO FANFIC: YIN AND YAN. PART 5

WRITER: Romana73 TIME: One year after Star Wars. Episode VIII. The Last Jedi THEME AND FANDOM: Star Wars RATING: Explicit TITLE: Yin and Yan CATEGORIES: M/F COUPLES: Kylo Ren / Ben Solo and Rey CHARACTERS: Rey, Kylo Ren / Ben Solo, Anakin Skywalker (nominated), BB - 8, Knights of Ren, Chewbacca, Darth Vader (nominated), Finn, General Hux, Han Solo (nominated), Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, boys from Canto Bright, Snoke (nominated), various Resistance and First Order fighters WARNINGS: Star Wars characters, world and stories AREN’T MINE AND DON’T BELONG TO ME, but they are created and owned by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Disney, J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson and the actors who play the Star Wars characters and their stories. I’M NOT IN ANY WAY LINKED TO THESE PEOPLE AND CINEMATOGRAPHIC HOUSES. I DON’T KNOW NO ONE OF THEM and I’M IN NO WAY IN CONTACT WITH THEM

WARNINGS 2: violence, also in terms of language. The starting idea of this story derives from a leaks I read last year and which struck my imagination CHAPTER I can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189784450126/reylo-fanfiction-yin-e-yan CHAPTER II can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189959876431/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-part-2 CHAPTER III can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/190301208881/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-3-part CHAPTER IV can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/190662591396/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-chapter-iv

CHAPTER V (PART I )

- Thanks ... nothing ... yes, I know. No ... don't bother me - Rey heard distant, muffled voices breaking through sleep blanket enveloped her, until one voice became stronger and more distinct than others, managing to shake her completely. Kylo Ren had ordered someone don’t disturb him. His voice and footsteps seemed terribly close. She snapped her eyes open, tensing herself like a violin string. Sweating cold and standing still, Rey tried to focus on situation. Praying he wouldn’t notice her awakening, simulating sleeping breathing, Rey narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what condition she was in. First thing she noticed were her wrists free of anti-Force handcuffs. Under soft, shiny sheets, her feet were bare. Her body was stretched out on a hard but comfortable mattress. Rey wasted no time wondering who could have arranged her in that way, her memory worked all too well. By time Kylo had picked her up, frustration in her from situation had grown, causing her to rant slowly against him. She didn’t want to make scenes and show, giving satisfaction to new Supreme Leader and his men. Nonetheless, Rey could barely contain growing irritation animated her. After insults, she had changed tactics, also trying to kick and make sudden and sudden movements with her body, but nothing had seemed to scratch Kylo’s calm, who had limited himself to absorbing her blows and tantrums, continuing to walk undeterred and in hush. Glancing behind boy's shoulders, Rey was startled when she noticed dirt road stretching endlessly. Rebel base had disappeared and landscape had lost its well-known outlines. Rey had felt tears burn her eyes once more. Memory of desperate expressions of Finn, Poe, Milo and Cleena as she gave them one last look, before Kylo took her away from them, Leia’s eyes full of love and tenderness... that time she hadn't been able to restrain herself. Before she could notice, loud sobs had come out of her mouth , filling her ears. Tears ran freely over her face. Her head had given way, touching Kylo's wide chest, sinking her face, until crying turned into deep sleep. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kylo Ren had laid Rey on his bed, pulling her shoes off and throwing them on the ground. Angry, he had raised a hand, using Force to slide covers from under girl's body and place them on top of her, without touching her. Kylo had snorted, touching his torn shirt, still wet with tears. At a firm pace, he had reached his private bathroom, nervously taking off his clothes and throwing himself in shower, washing himself frantically, as if an acid was burning his skin, ending up hitting wall in front of him with a punch. Panting, Kylo had stood watching wall pieces fallen at his feet. If there had been no Rey and intruders who had followed them since they left Resistance base, Kylo would have vented, destroying something and, perhaps, blowing some heads of those fanatics in his service, but he had imposed himself not to lose brackets, at least for moment. He had a plan and goals and was determined to carry them out, going all way, at any cost. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -Vicrul, get ready. Let's go to Canto Bright. You have to hunt down some Force-sensitive kids. Scare them, exhaust them, but don't kill them. - Kylo had instructed succinctly three days earlier, entering quarters of one of his Knights. Blond man, with cold gray eyes and a square face, furrowed by various scars, had opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, merely nodding. It wasn’t up to him to investigate why their Leader had decided to show up in person, asking don’t to kill any more brats, while until recently he was wandering intolerantly for Finalizer, barely looking at them, ordering through Hux or sitting on throne to kill all Force-sensitive kids and anyone else who went against him. Ever since Jedi girl and Resistance escaped him, Kylo seemed to be swinging between being an efficient and cold God of Death and looking like a volcano ready to erupt. Vicrul had watched Kylo's tall and powerful figure on his back as he walked out of room. For sure, characteristic their leader wouldn’t have lost was gloomy. Vicrul shrugged and, reaching out, grabbed his shining vibrating scythe leaning against wall near his bed, started to fix it. Few vibrations of his weapon was enough to scared worst of monsters, let alone immature and inexperienced children...

Kylo had continued to walk down corridor, thowards Cardo's quarters, when he had met General Hux from opposite side. Pale, tall and thin, red hair combed back, small and pale eyes, he proceeded stiff, tight in his black military uniform, with puffy pants and high leather boots. While crossing Kylo, he stopped, snapping to attention and beating his boots heels together quickly. Kylo had folded his mouth in an annoyed grimace, irritated by sound of soldier's shoes. To tell the truth, he detested Hux and only man's dedication to cause made Kylo leave him alive. That feeling could come in handy. - Supreme Leader, excuse me for bothering you, sir - Hux had apostrophized Kylo, holding one hand out to his temple and looking at an invisible distant point in front of him. Supreme Leader had stopped, turning only his head to look at his interlocutor, waiting for him to continue. -I heard you was ordering to head to Canto Bright planet ... - Hux had made a cautious debut. -Did you hear? Did you eavesdrop as usual, General Hux? - Kylo had cut short, frowning. Man’s embarrassed expression, mixed with irritation and anger he felt for what he considered pure insolence on part of young man amused Kylo, although he didn’t let him shine through. -It wasn’t my intention, sir, I assure you... - Hux had swallowed strong desire to whip that attractive young face, despite oblique scar marked left side, starting from forehead and crossing cheek, neck and disappearing under shirt. Only power Kylo Ren had over him was sensitivity to what everyone called Force. If he had been a normal person, situation would have been very different and, perhaps, he would have considered boy just one of many ants to be subdued or killed with which universe seemed populated. Kylo kept his stoic expression, although he had sensed Hux's thoughts. Young Leader had felt itchy hands from desire to lift one his hand in Hux direction and strangle him using Force, without even touching him, as after Snoke’s killing, when General had tried to oppose his seizure of power and he had raised one hand towards him, bending thumb and forefinger as if he were really tightening his carotid artery. Hux's face had been tinged with a red similar to his hair and he had bulged his eyes, gasping and holding his hands to his throat in search of air. Kylo had released his grip suddenly and General had returned to breathe, following him in silence, like an angry dog, but too hungry to abandon master from whom he received brutal kicks, but also a decent and safe meal. Kylo had shrugged, giving up on suffocating Hux and had approached him, arranging stiff collar of his uniform with his hands. For second time in ten minutes, Hux had swallowed empty, looking straight in front of him, avoiding direct contact with Kylo Ren's dark brown eyes, at that moment animated by a sinister and amused light. -We will go to Canto Bright for a mission, let's say...crucial - Kylo had sighed, anticipating officer's questions. - Whatever happens, what you have to do, is send a handful of Stormtroopers to scare and confuse and, in my absence, follow Cardo and Vicrul's instructions - Kylo was done, leaving collar of Hux's jacket and peering at him, face with stern eyes. -Yes, but ... in Canto Bright there is a handful of children sensitive to Force and if Resistance came to save them? - Hux had insisted attentively. "I hope so," Kylo thought to himself. He had shrugged. -I don't see problem. I'll take care of it - he replied, walking away abruptly. Hux had remained motionless, moving only when Kylo Ren was at a safe distance. Soldier had cast a murderous look in boy's direction, gritting his small white teeth. Being unnatural, that's what Jedi, Sith and other Force-sensitive people were to him. They believed themselves superior to others, awarded with who knows what mission only because they possessed special faculties. He had always wondered what such individuals would do if they lost their precious skills. He doubted they would be able to combine something good and useful. Kylo Ren was one of worst specimens in that category. Not only he have great sensitivity to Force, but he was a direct descendant of one of the most important families, whose members had always enjoyed playing chess with life and destiny of galaxy, indelibly marking its history, but this seemed not enough for young man. Kylo had considered himself a victim of who knows what wrongs and stepped on his feet, until he became Snoke's pupil, stealing his power and bending entire First Order to his personal purposes. No. True superior being was common people like him who, without need of strange powers, were able to conquer, build and destroy. Normal people were natural, those with strength weren’t. Not for him, at least. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vicrul had only needed to appear in stables under Canto Bright Casino, face covered with his shiny helmet of mineral pastillion and long black coat of monstrous reptile skin, vibrating his shiny silver scythe a couple of times to make Force - sensitive children run away on all sides. Stormtrooper had invaded Casino itself, causing panic and confusion, so no one would notice boys'escape. Kylo had observed scene in a serious and shady way, flanked by a displeased and upright Hux who didn’t understand meaning of all that and seemed to tremble with the desire to intervene in first person. A smile shadow had appeared and immediately disappeared on Kylo's face when he felt Rey and Resistance arrival. He had extended his senses, letting her feel his presence, guiding her to where he was. Kylo had watched Rey use Force to throw Vicrul busy chasing a girl, then he intervened before she threw herself on his Knight. - Stay here, General - he had ordered Hux amused, before reaching Rey and starting to duel with her. Vicrul had taken opportunity to reach Hux on Finalizer, where he had exchanged a nod of agreement with Cardo who had immediately got off ship using a secondary exit. Cardo had hidden in forest beside battlefield, where he had remained silent and motionless, waiting. Kylo was blocking Rey's blows, when his head had been invaded by pain. He had breathed deeply, extinguishing lightsaber, planting his feet on the ground and stiffening his legs, in an attempt not to fall, but pain had been stronger. Taking his head in his hands, Kylo Ren had flown to ground, rolling in excruciating pangs, gritting his teeth. With narrowed eyes, Kylo had seen Rey stirring on ground, in equal condition. Kylo had tried to control, if not overcome, pain just enough to look around, until his fatigued gaze settled on an intense white glow. Supreme Leader had stretched out an arm in an attempt to use Force against annoying light, when a cold ring had closed around his wrist with a dull click, suddenly blocking his faculties. Kylo had folded his arm and, with a tug, had thrown his assailant away. He was fumbling with the cuff around his wrist when one foot had planted himself in center of his back, locking him on the ground. Kylo had folded her lips in a sarcastic smile...he could have blown them, but it wasn't his intention. Kylo had moved as if to shake off his limb when other rebels had landed on him. Someone had kicked him, others had hit him with blaster’s handle. One person out of all had pulled his arms firmly behind his back, finishing locking his wrists in anti-Force handcuffs. Kylo had spied out of corner of his eye to find out who had handcuffed him. Poe Dameron. Quite right. He had captured and tortured pilot, now Poe was returning favor. His smile had gone wild. Apparently, Resistance had lost some hesitation, taking hasty and less elegant methods, at least with him. Wandering around, sensing his darkening gaze and hearing a soft growl coming out of his closed lips, Kylo had had time to see FN-2187, who was carrying Rey suffering in his arms, away from him, when a kind of shiny, black and technological eye mask had descended on him, obscuring his sight. -Really?- He had grinned provocatively as they dragged him away. - Do you think I don't know where you're taking me? I know all your bases and tricks ... ouch! - A strong blame in abdomen had cut his breath in his throat. Kylo had coughed, without ceasing to smile. -Where did you get it? - Kylo had heard Rey's faint voice asking in vain. "Rey!" He had tried to call her telepathically with her, but she had already passed out.

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awashsquid · 5 years

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Part 3 of @sittingoverheredreaming‘s commission series! Group post is here, if you want to catch up (which I recommend doing before this chapter!). This part is right around 2400 words. If you like it, thank Sam for commissioning it, reblog, leave a comment - y’all know the drill :) If you’re interested in commissioning me, click on this handy lil link!

Haruka had returned in a matter of minutes after Hotaru’s exit, so quickly that Michiru wondered aloud how they had not ran into each other in the hall, to which Haruka just shrugged. The nurse had acquiesced to lowering Michiru’s pain medications, and she could feel the fog dissipating from her vision. Though this should have been a relief, the intense pain of her wounds healing at accelerated speeds acted as a hot knife, slicing and searing through each agonizing moment. She could taste blood on her bottom lip from biting down to hold in a scream when a particularly bad wave had hit, the coppery aftertaste lingering even after the wound had stopped bleeding.

After a few minutes of Haruka whispering reassurances from beside her, Michiru began to regain enough sense to fill her in on the updates from Hotaru. The act of explaining kept her mind somewhat distracted from the sensation of her bones knitting back together, and Haruka seemed to sense this as she quietly listened, simply nodding when Michiru would pause.

“And thus, here we are,” Michiru concluded, the somehow still perfect manicure on her left hand digging deeply into her palm as she clenched her hand into a fist from the pain. “The handful of us against Serenity, with Mercury at her back besides.” The pain mercifully dulled to an acute throb - impossible to ignore, but more manageable as her body and mind adjusted to its presence. “Will you join us in killing the would-be Queen? Of ensuring that Crystal Tokyo never comes to pass?”

There was barely a pause before Haruka’s answer came, delivered with a small smile. “Michi, you don’t even have to ask. You know I would follow you anywhere, even into Hell.” She punctuated this statement by moving a piece of hair back from where it had stuck to Michiru’s cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear, the touch as soft as a quiet wind.

Relief swelled in Michiru’s chest as the tension in her shoulders sagged. There had not been an argument, as she had assumed there would be, and for this she was immensely grateful; she had not needed to defend the fact that Usagi, too, had died on that battlefield, and an imposter now wore her corpse. She allowed the balm of her lover’s assurances, more effective than any medicine the hospital had to offer, to wash away the twinge of fear that the argument had been too easily won. She almost allowed herself to believe that Haruka’s love for her meant more than her devotion to their Princess, but her brain stopped short of such blatant optimism, the serpent’s voice in the back of her mind whispering that it must be too good to be true, that she needed to ask; she could not remain blissfully ignorant in the Garden when such fruit hung inches from her face.

Michiru smiled, forcing those thoughts down, focusing only on the deep green of Haruka’s eyes as they twinkled, the brightest stars amidst the constellation of freckles on her nose, her lips wishing to explore every inch of the galaxy that her love contained. “I’m glad to hear it. This will be challenging enough with you; I do not wish to imagine without.”

“You’ll never have to,” Haruka replied easily before standing, the bed barely moving with the smoothness of her rising. She leaned overtop of the resting woman and pressed a gentle kiss on the sweat-dampened forehead, and Michiru knew she should be appalled that Haruka was seeing her in such a state, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about anything more than the lips on her brow.

As she stepped backwards, Michiru’s skin immediately tingling from the memory of those lips, gentle as a ghost, Haruka deftly plucked the call button from where it rested and placed it underneath her right hand. “Now that’s settled, why don’t you call the nurse and ask for more pain meds? You look like you need them.” It wasn’t said unkindly, her lover’s eyes sympathetic and warm, but Michiru still felt the sting of the words, a cold spray of seawater splashed onto her cheek by an aggressive breeze, her cheeks flushing with the impact.

“I - perhaps it is unwise to…” her sentence drifted off as she stared at Haruka’s face, brow quirked and mouth still wearing that gently teasing smile.

“You already got approved to leave tomorrow, right? Why make yourself suffer in the meantime?” The corners of her mouth ticked downward and her voice took on a somber tone, losing the playful lilt of a moment before. “I hate seeing you like this,” Haruka murmured as her eyes darted around Michiru’s body, carving out a path from the bandages on her chest to the IV in her arm, and every bruise and cut in-between. “It’ll be easier if you just take the medicine, Michi.” Haruka’s expression was somewhat forlorn, and Michiru found that if a suitable argument existed to the contrary, she did not know it.

“All right,” Michiru whispered, index finger lightly touching the call button. The smile returned to Haruka’s face and she leaned down to give another feather-light kiss, the sweet temptation of her breath overpowering all traces of blood on her lips.

When Michiru awoke the next morning, eyes squinting with the effort of not simply succumbing back into blissful sleep, her vision cleared around the sight of hawklike eyes, watching her every breath intently. It took another moment for her to realize that it was Haruka’s gaze that met her own. “How are you feeling, Michiru?”

Michiru forced her eyelids to open and shut several times, her vision still dark at the corners despite these efforts. “Tired,” she replied plainly as she stared at the clock, brain initially almost too sluggish to determine what it read. “Isn’t it a bit too early for visiting hours?” She knew that her memory wasn’t currently at its best, but a memory stirred involving someone trying to see her and a nurse shooing them away, citing the policy as their argument faded into the blackness of sleep.

“Not if you’re family,” Haruka answered with a grin, although she took that moment to glance down at the watch on her arm. “Visiting starts soon - bet the girls will be here right as they open it up. Are you sure you feel well enough to leave?”

“I don’t feel as though I have much option,” she sighed, head sagging against the pillow behind it, the one that hadn’t improved from Haruka’s dozen or so attempts to fluff it up. Hotaru had been correct; she was healing more quickly than a normal person would. The doctor attributed this progress to his own qualifications, unable or unwilling to see what was there instead, and Michiru had allowed him to think that was the case. But a few of the nurses didn’t seem to trust the good doctor as much as he trusted himself - the woman who had changed the bandage over her heart where the defibrillator had scorched her flesh had made a few too many comments about the now-unblemished skin for Michiru’s comfort.

“You can do anything, Michiru. We can do anything.” Haruka looked to the doorway, ensuring that they were alone before continuing in slightly hushed tones. She leaned forward co-conspiratorially, eyes alight with mischief and promise. “We could run away together, just the two of us. Let them sort out all this mess. Didn’t you say you wanted to go back to Paris this year?”

“But you hate Paris,” Michiru blurted out, her forehead crinkling as her limited cognitive function struggled to the surface, each thought threatening to sink back down to the ocean floor. “And if Serenity is allowed to rule, there will be no Paris, besides.” She pictured the Eiffel Tower replaced by a huge crystal shard and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Maybe - or maybe they can beat her without us. We could be eating pastries and drinking wine this time tomorrow, if you wanted.” It was a careful argument, measured and thought out and so unlike Haruka’s usual rash insistence that it seemed somehow more logical than the alternative.

Because of this, Michiru was running out of arguments against the temptation of flight. She had always known herself to be selfish, and often a coward besides, and she could think of no better Eden than the penthouse suite of a fine hotel, Haruka ordering copious room service between rounds of intimacy under the silken sheets -

She forced those thoughts out of her head before they threatened to swallow her up, definitively shaking her head in response to the proposition. Michiru had bitten the apple long ago, the first time her fingers touched the warm metal rod and felt the call of the sea at her command; she knew that she could never remain in that garden paradise after knowing such destruction, lest she decimate its beauty. “What about the Mission, Haruka? Were you not always the one who loved the Princess so?” The argument was all wrong, all backwards - shouldn’t she be the one wishing to flee, to escape the destiny she had so loathed?

“My Princess is dead. I have no one left to protect.” Haruka leaned forward, eyes smoldering with heat and intensity as she swore her next words, a devotion deep as prayer falling from her lips. “No one - except you.”

Michiru felt her heart thud and flip wetly in her chest, a combination of joy and confusion that muddled the ability to feel either emotion in its entirety. A reply did not come swiftly, but mercifully she was saved the trouble by a knock from the doorway of her hospital room, Hotaru’s pale fist rapping against the wooden doorframe and lingering there.

Without waiting for an invitation, Hotaru entered. She was followed by Minako, the cadence of her walk almost military, and then Rei, her usual stomping footfalls louder than the rest as she bustled in behind.

“You got everything fixed, right?” Hotaru asked as she stopped at the foot of the bed, crossing her arms impatiently.

“And good morning to you all as well,” Michiru snipped, knowing that perhaps she deserved no niceties but wishing for them all the same, especially from the girl she had once looked after as though she were her own. “Yes, everything is taken care of.”

“Good,” Minako answered, ignoring the snide remark. “Once we get you home, Hotaru has volunteered to use her healing powers on you intermittently. It’ll help the healing happen even faster.”

“Thank you,” she replied frankly, trying to catch Hotaru’s gaze as the younger girl pointedly looked out of the window to her right.

Minako snorted. “Don’t take it as a favor; we need all four of us if we have any chance of taking down Serenity, especially now that she has Mercury with her.”

“Five,” Michiru automatically corrected, also choosing to ignore the slight handed to her, the two exchanging blows in a more intense version of their usual verbal sparring, the training foils replaced with thin, sharp blades that required a deft ballet to dodge.

The three women standing at the bottom of her bed looked at one another with indiscernible expressions before Rei stepped closer to Michiru, eyes fixed firmly on her own. “Michiru, there are four of us.”

Michiru shook her head and looked at Haruka, still sitting in the corner, her expression neutral as she watched the exchange. “Unless the fundamentals of basic mathematics have been altered during my absence, I am counting five. You, Hotaru, Minako, Haruka, and myself.” She punctuated each name by gesturing loosely towards the corresponding woman, their eyes following her movements.

“Shit,” Minako cursed under her breath.

“I told you,” hissed Hotaru at the same time. Rei was silent as she turned to glare at them both, and Minako turned away from the bed, her expression hidden from view. Rei inhaled deeply before perching on the bed next to Michiru, the mattress sagging under her weight.

“Michiru, where’s Haruka?” she asked, her tone that nearly-gentle lilt she sometimes used with Usagi when she was being particularly difficult, a patient schoolteacher imparting a lesson on some unruly child.

She huffed somewhat, unaccustomed to being patronized by anyone, let alone one of very few people that she would consider a friend. “She’s right there,” Michiru indicated, again pointing to the corner where Haruka sat sideways in the chair, her back resting against the wall. “She’s been here since I woke up.”

Rei opened her mouth to say something, but Minako whipped around in a flurry of blonde hair and raised her face up to meet Michiru’s gaze, tears streaming down her cheeks even as her eyes were filled with fury. “Haruka’s dead.”

Michiru felt her heart burst open and drop, hemorrhaging blood and bile into her stomach as it twisted and roiled in her gut. Her eyes moved unbidden to the corner chair, where Haruka was casually engaged in staring at the ceiling. “That’s not possible,” Michiru whispered, the words shaking as her breaths heaved unsteadily.

“Oh, it’s more than possible,” Minako answered coldly, her voice a sword as it was unsheathed, the metallic scraping present over every syllable. “It happened. You didn’t stab the monster; you stabbed Uranus - you stabbed Haruka - instead.” She let out a bitter snort, and it was the sound of the blade pushing through flesh. “You’d think you’d remember killing your own partner.”

Michiru shook her head wildly, hands clenching the hospital sheets as they balled into tight fists at her sides. “Whatever idea of a joke you are presenting, it is not funny, Minako,” she hissed, never taking her eyes off of Haruka, almost afraid that if she looked away, the woman would disappear into the wind.

Rei took hold of her hand and Michiru startled slightly at the contact, her gaze moving to the woman on her bed instinctively. The hand squeezed hers carefully, avoiding the IV line, and all Michiru could focus on was the fact that Rei’s middle finger’s nail polish was chipped, a piece of the red missing to reveal the pale pink underneath, naked and exposed. “She’s telling the truth, Michiru,” Rei said in tones almost hushed enough to be a whisper, a sort of pleading in her eyes that Michiru pretended not to see as she looked back to the chair where Haruka still sat, handsome and smiling and real.

“I told you we should have run away together,” Haruka murmured sadly, a wry grin on her face. She pulled a perfectly red apple from her pocket and took a bite, letting the juices run down her chin.

#DUN DUN DUN #my writing #commissioned work #sittingoverheredreaming #fanfiction #sailor moon #michiru kaioh #sailor neptune #haruka tenoh #sailor uranus #hotaru tomoe #sailor saturn #rei hino #sailor mars #minako aino #sailor venus #character death mention #i have been SO EXCITED to write this part #y'all do not even KNOW

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artemis-entreri · 5 years

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[[ This post contains Part 3 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization (you are here) III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

Poor Characterization

Boundless sees an overall regression from Timeless in terms of quality of characterization. It almost feels as though Salvatore is saying, "I don't have room for character development because Boundless is such a non-stop action novel". Most of the page space is taken up by the many unfolding events, with opponents one after another that Zaknafein has to duel in the past and a full on war fought on at least three separate fronts in the present. However, even putting aside the fact that so many of those pages could've been truncated and space dedicated to character progression, instead, what we find in Boundless is shallow, self-inconsistent, lazy, and really, just mediocre. I'm not sure what effect Salvatore was trying to achieve through the cursory and flat overviews he gives to all of the characters in his Dramatis Personae section that precedes the body of the novel. Descriptions like the one for Briza Do'Urden, which reads, "Malice's eldest daughter. Huge and formidable" makes me wonder if Salvatore was going for humor. Yet, there isn't anything funny about the rest of the characterizations, except in an ironic sense in how bad they are, as though they were the words of someone trying to explain the characters to a not very bright child. I suppose it's an appropriate precedent, given how the "fleshed out" characterizations go in the novel.

"Maestro"

As suggested by Boundless' cover art, there's a lot of Jarlaxle in the book. Sadly, this manifests as a sort of butchering of Jarlaxle's capability and characterization in both the past and present timelines of the novel. Overall, Jarlaxle is very flat-footed, constantly doing the proverbial rocking back on his heels and falling on his butt. A character rocking back on their heels is one of Salvatore's favorite descriptors, and while, ironically, that phrase doesn't appear in Boundless, Salvatore does an excellent job of showing that Jarlaxle does it a great deal. This would be great in terms of showing instead of telling, except that, unfortunately, it happens when Jarlaxle's supposed to be doing something clever or there's some great revelation that manages to escape his masterfully strategic mind. I'd often joked that Salvatore isn't smart enough to write a character who's supposed to be as smart as Jarlaxle is, and this is very much evident in Boundless, except there's nothing funny about it. It's really just disappointing to see a character who is actually a nonconformist dragged down and forced to conform to Drizzt. Jarlaxle is also becoming more like Drizzt in the sense that he acts very differently from how he's supposed to be, all while we are being told over and over how he is truly, for real, pinky swear that certain way. In Drizzt's case, it is a judgmental, sanctimonious, pretentious, self-aggrandizing and presumptuous twat hailed to be the shining hero of goodness and virtue. And now, sadly, in Jarlaxle's case, a dopey, shortsighted, reckless, inattentive and not very bright clown wrapped in the cloak of one whose flair is matched only by his genius.

As he is presented in Boundless, Jarlaxle would've been wholly consumed by the perils of Menzoberranzan almost immediately. The Jarlaxle in the past timeline should be closer to how he was in the Legacy of the Drow trilogy, but he's been tempered to beyond how he is in The Sellswords trilogy. He's even more tame than how he appears in Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, where he features as a genteel, at worst mischievous, sort of villain. Jarlaxle has become closer to Drizzt than even Zaknafein, with Zaknafein being more brutal. The Jarlaxle of the past is nearly identical to the Jarlaxle of the present, as though he were transcribed across the hundreds of years. I don't understand the reason that Salvatore did this. The current version of Jarlaxle is unpalatable enough, with all of the "intrigue" and the being for himself stance as nothing but empty posturing. It makes no sense that Jarlaxle would be that way in the past, for supposedly, experiencing the personality-altering phenomenon that is Drizzt Do'Urden hadn't even happened then.

That said, let's look at some details. First, Boundless introduces an activity that Jarlaxle and Zaknafein enjoyed together, "cavern jumping", which is what we call free running or parkour in our world. They first partake of this activity in a super inspired and uniquely-named chapter entitled "Running Free". I was sarcastic just now, but I'm absolutely not sarcastic when I say this: parkour is dangerous. Even in our world, experienced traceurs can and do get hurt, and they don't normally run in an environment where many individuals stand to benefit if a fatal accident befalls them. Despite Jarlaxle saying that the risk is what makes the activity fun, this seems like a weak justification injected by a paranoid narrator who's aware that they're recounting a very unlikely event. For, the reality is, it's already dangerous that Jarlaxle and Zaknafein perform risky acrobatic maneuvers in one of the deadliest cities of Faerûn, they're doing it without any of their magical equipment. The very fact that Jarlaxle engages in this activity is reckless, and what makes it even more unlikely is the lack of assurances that are put in place to minimize potential "accidents". Zaknafein and Jarlaxle's cavern-jumping escapades aren't at all like when they pillaged Barrison Del'Armgo's armory. Although both are adrenaline-seeking activities, the latter was a controlled simulation that Jarlaxle had engineered and pulled strings to achieve. Jarlaxle might be a daredevil and an excitement-seeker, but he's not stupid, and he's supposed to be prudent, else everything that he's worked for would be for naught. He takes risks but we've been told that they're calculated ones, ones in which he's already figured out and examined every possible outcome. There's nothing calculated about cavern-jumping, and the only aspect that's even approaching consistent is their route. Even then, "consistent" can hardly be applied, for the two are constantly one-upping each other, pushing one another to quicker paces and more daring maneuvers. There aren't even Bregan D'aerthe scouts watching every turn, keeping an eye out for any parties of ill intention that might target the two high profile male drow. Heck, Jarlaxle isn't even aware of who's watching them, and he should both know and care, especially since Zaknafein is big enough of a target that many individuals wouldn't care about implicating Jarlaxle while attempting to "cavern-jump" Zaknafein. In fact, we even see in the same chapter one such interested party, and given that so much of the book is about people wanting to kill Zaknafein, I feel like the whole free running thing was just an excuse for Salvatore to show off his action scenes, except that there isn't anything to show off there. Simply showing off to this degree puts both of them at a disadvantage given how cutthroat and scheme-based drow society is supposed to be. Shouldn't Jarlaxle be worried about illustrating how flexible and agile he is, and doesn't Zaknafein want opponents to underestimate him?

Far from being circumspect, Jarlaxle doesn't seem to think at all. Even obvious things that would've occurred to a novice strategist escapes the one indirectly dubbed as "maestro". Following the fight between Zaknafein and Duvon Tr'arach, a holder of a century-long grudge against the weapons master who destroyed his house and humiliated him in combat, Jarlaxle is surprised to find that the drow whom he thought were ambushers were actually reinforcements brought by Zaknafein. This is not evocative of a streetwise genius maestro super spy. Of course Zaknafein would bring back-up, he knows the way of his society and knows how many want him dead. It would have been more reasonable for Jarlaxle to be surprised if Zaknafein hadn't brought anyone from his house with him. Salvatore has Jarlaxle thinking Zaknafein clever, but what should've happened is that Jarlaxle should have known about Zaknafein's backup in the first place, and have had agents monitoring them the whole time instead of embarrassing himself with his lack of foresight. Even better would have been if he feigned being surprised and impressed while we see Jarlaxle's agents melt back into the shadows without them alerting Zaknafein's assistants.

Jarlaxle being blindsided by the relationship between Zaknafein and Dab'nay, while more reasonable than the previous example, nonetheless doesn't belong to the same drow who, during the Crenshinibon era, knew immediately that his two lieutenants were conspiring together against him. It's true that Jarlaxle is younger and less experienced during the flashback scenes of Boundless, but there's already a rapport between him and the members of his band, a trust that would not have built up solely based on individuals sharing the same plight. Jarlaxle's followers are fiercely loyal to him, and not solely because of his charisma. Jarlaxle shows these second-class citizens of his society something they've never known before, that someone is interested in who they are. He wins their favor because all they've known previously is that their worth is measured by their bloodline, their aptitude in combat and their aptitude in the bedroom. Even if Jarlaxle's intellect wasn't enough to allow him to foresee Dab'nay and Zaknafein hooking up as a possibility, his personal knowledge of Dab'nay should've suggested the probability to him. There's another poor characterization in that if Zaknafein's hatred of priestesses was as absolute and blinding as we've been told that it is, the only dagger he'd have plunged into Dab'nay wouldn't have been the one that's permanently attached to him. However, the relationship between Dab'nay and Zaknafein being what it's forced to be, surely, Jarlaxle would've known Zaknafein well enough to at least suspect the possibility.

Although Jarlaxle is only literally stated to have "for once, seemed at a loss for words", his demonstrated lack of cleverness fails to back this up. Even in the scenario in which that is explicitly written, it's uncharacteristic of Jarlaxle to not know what to say. The passage reads:

So, from this we are to believe that the genius Jarlaxle can't produce an answer to that simple statement, when even I can think of a number of things to say on the fly: that Jarlaxle's not just any drow, that there are varying levels of trust that should be adjusted based on the circumstance, that there's such a thing as "trust but verify", that, fundamentally, the drow word for "trust" isn't as black and white as what Zaknafein is demanding. Jarlaxle's int score is a staggering 20, and he should easily come up with everything I've come up with just now and many many more answers that I can't even begin to think of with my far less staggering intellect. Things like these are just downright embarrassingly inept portrayals of Jarlaxle's alleged brilliance.

In the current timeline, Jarlaxle is even more dull, which I suppose is appropriate given the nerfing of who he was in the past. In addition to being just as flat-footed and shortsighted as his past incarnation in Boundless, Jarlaxle draws some really inaccurate conclusions. For instance, "Jarlaxle knew, of course, that Bruenor was more friend to Drizzt than Zaknafein had ever been, and indeed, more father to Drizzt than Zaknafein had ever been." Really? He knows, of course and indeed, this totally untrue assessment, does he? The first might be true, for Zaknafein wasn't present in Drizzt's life for nearly as much as Bruenor was, and even while he was there, the interactions between him and his son was restricted. But when did Bruenor risk his life on numerous occasions to simply ensure that Drizzt's moral compass and free will were not tainted? When did Bruenor sacrifice himself so that Drizzt might live? Bruenor was never even in a position to entreaty an assailant to take him instead of Drizzt. Perhaps if Salvatore defines father figures as aloof and distant presences in one's life who give tough love but never direct validation, then certainly Bruenor has been more of a father to Drizzt than Zaknafein was. However, the reality is that Bruenor never protected Drizzt the way that Zaknafein did and never guided Drizzt the way Zaknafein did. The only way that it would make sense for that assessment to belong to Jarlaxle is if Jarlaxle's own understanding of parent and child relationships is so incomplete that he doesn't know better, or if he's as stupid as he is shown to be in Boundless. The first possibility is most likely true from a personal angle for Jarlaxle, but Jarlaxle has lived long enough on the surface, mingling with enough surface folk to know, especially with what should be his level of perceptiveness, what it means to be a good father. He would need to have a good understanding of those kinds of dynamics, because they contain weaknesses that can be exploited. So, really, the only thing that would make all of this consistent is the latter possibility, which sadly, is where everything is trending anyway.

I'm not very emotionally invested in Jarlaxle, though I prefer him to most of the rest of the somewhat bland characters we see in Boundless. So when this many things make someone like me unhappy about Jarlaxle's characterization, I'd hate to see what someone who feels towards him like I feel towards Artemis Entreri will take away from Boundless. I'm sure that I'm missing a lot of irksome things, but the ones that I've pointed out are what stood out to me, and I'll end the discussion of Jarlaxle with one final example. In both Timeless and Boundless, Jarlaxle has this strange and decidedly non-Menzoberranzanyr perspective regarding "married couples" of drow. The usage of "husband" and "wife" in these books is extremely weird, because as we know from all D&D and Forgotten Realms source material, including Salvatore's own books, that there is no formality in Lolthite drow relationships. Females take males at their pleasure, abandoning them as whimsically as they pick them up, and being a Patron of a house means nothing. What's even more strange is that Zaknafein isn't even the Patron of House Do'Urden, Rizzen still holds that title while Zaknafein and Malice are sexually active together, yet since Timeless, Zaknafein has been referred to as Malice's husband. Furthermore, while, as far as we know, Jarlaxle has never slept with the partners of people that he likes, it was always more of a strategic decision rather than a moral one. For instance, he found Calihye and Dahlia unstable, thus not cuckolding Entreri and Drizzt, and the closest he'd come to showing interest to a "taken" partner was with Catti-brie, but even then, morals aren't what prevent him from pursuing her. Yet, steeped in the degenerate society of Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle prefers not to have sexual contact with Malice because Zaknafein is his friend. Where did this belief come from? It certainly doesn't exist in drow culture, males are sex objects for the females, perhaps sometimes rising to the rank of favored toy, nothing more. In a society like that, the toy doesn't have delusions of possession. Jarlaxle is one of the few, if not only, male drow in Menzoberranzan who even has a choice, who can even say no to a female without being killed horribly. I get that Salvatore is trying to show that Jarlaxle is honorable towards his friendship with Zaknafein, but he doesn't have to break the character in addition to his own world-building, as well as that of other creatives', to do so. There are so many ways to do it, but I suppose those are less obvious and require more thinking.

Lieutenant

The poor characterizations extend beyond what's done to Jarlaxle. The number of times that an inconsistency arises between what a character is supposed to be/know and how they perceive things or act is staggering. In the past, there is Arathis Hune, Jarlaxle's first and only lieutenant for a long time, and presumably, one of his most trusted friends. Arathis and Jarlaxle should understand each other quite well, so the fact that Arathis didn't foresee that Jarlaxle would assist Zaknafein during Zaknafein's rigged duel with Duvon Tr'arach is unlikely. Arathis might've had an ace in the form of psionic assistance in swaying the match, but unless he is a total fool, he wouldn't think that Jarlaxle wasn't aware of his dalliances, especially with potential allies as powerful as Oblodrans. Furthermore, Jarlaxle's fondness of Zaknafein is enough of a thorn in Arathis' side that Arathis would've certainly anticipated Jarlaxle intervening on behalf of Zaknafein, even if Arathis didn't specifically guess that Jarlaxle would do so by means of lending Zaknafein his eyepatch. Even if Jarlaxle had never explicitly told Arathis about the functionality of his eyepatch, Arathis, who would've certainly witnessed Jarlaxle constantly escaping the various mind-manipulating magics of the priestesses of Lolth, should've been able to deduce that Jarlaxle has a magical item that protects him against such intrusions. Arathis might not be a master genius like Jarlaxle, but he is a drow, who are supposed to be masters of intrigue in their own right as being able to survive in Menzoberranzan requires such of them. Moreover, he is a capable enough drow that Jarlaxle chose him to be at his side, rather than tending the bar at the Oozing Myconid. Yet, Arathis doesn't foresee any of what he should've known immediately, nor did he have a backup plan, which to a drow is something that one possesses as certainly as keen eyesight.

Barbarian

In the present timeline, Wulfgar suffers from the same treatment given Arathis, which is really saying something since Wulfgar's characterization has been all over the place even before his rebirth. Nonetheless, two things that Wulfgar is supposed to be, are one, a good guy if not a hero, and two, not dumb, if not intelligent. Yet, Wulfgar's portrayal in Boundless shows him as possessing none of these positive traits. For the first trait, it wouldn't be the first time that a member of the Companions of the Hall thought or performed something dishonorable. In Hero, this manifests as Regis and Wulfgar literally kicking people who were already down. In Boundless, Wulfgar is surprisingly nonchalant about the possibility of Kimmuriel committing casual murder, even hoping for it:

The only thing that Calico Grimm is guilty of, that we're shown anyway, is being boisterous and foolish, which is hardly grounds deserving of death, unless it was early Artemis Entreri doing the adjudication. But this isn't early Artemis Entreri, or even current Artemis Entreri harboring such thoughts, it's Wulfgar, a returned hero. Calico Grimm might be obnoxious, but he's still a comrade in arms whose ship Wulfgar boarded. Even if it were the case that Calico Grimm is actually a pirate, one of the ne'er-do-wells that gives Luskan its shady reputation, it doesn't change the fact that they are on the same side. After all, the Companions of the Hall are supposed to stand for noble self sacrificing values like not randomly murdering people that are even temporarily on the same side as them.

Not only is Wulfgar's moral compass unaligned with how it's supposed to be, apparently, the damage that he'd done to his brain during his The Spine of the World alcoholism managed to stay with him through the reincarnation. That, or Drizzt and his supposedly tight-knit group of friends aren't as close as they're made out to be. During Wulfgar's duel with the demon-possessed captain of the fleet besieging Luskan, Kimmuriel imbues Wulfgar with a psionic shield that absorbs all damage and releases it all at once at the absorber's will. It's the same mechanic that's been used countless times in the past, including but not limited to saving newborn Jarlaxle from Matron Baenre's sacrificial dagger, preventing Calihye's blade from piercing an otherwise defenseless Entreri's heart, and, of course, allowing Drizzt to strike down Demogorgon with one hit. That last scenario is pretty monumental, and the kind of thing that Drizzt would've told his friends every detail of, for even if he didn't volunteer, surely they and others would've pried and pried about how he defeated Demogorgon. Yet, Wulfgar has no idea what's happening when his opponent's blows fail to scratch him. It's just mind-boggling that he doesn't make the connection, especially since psionicists are rare enough already in the Realms, even more so in Salvatore's corner of the Realms; Kimmuriel is literally the only psionicist that the Companions of the Hall know. Wulfgar's failure to put one and one together really leads me to wonder if the whole purpose of making him so obtuse is to perform yet more tedious review and Drizzt-flattering.

"Hero"

Most painful to me, of course, is Artemis Entreri, who only appears a bit more in Boundless than he does in Timeless, but what's done to him in Boundless is pretty bad. Entreri's characterization kicks off on the wrong foot from his entry in the Dramatis Personae section, which reads:

For the umpteenth time, Entreri would not have a concept of "friend", especially how it is presented in the Drizzt books. It's an oversimplification and kills the nuance of a character who would still have significant psychological scars and trust issues, even if he were truly and completely over his childhood traumas, which in itself is highly unlikely. I can forgive this bad summary of Entreri, but I can't overlook how, quite frankly, melodramatic, he's presented to be in Boundless. While the assassin seems to talk the talk, calling Regis a fool and ridiculing him for his naiveté, he definitely no longer walks the walk. The aura of intimidation that's so integral to his character no longer feels present. Entreri is quick to reassure Regis about the safety of Donnola, something that even his tempered down self seems unlikely to do. Regis and Entreri have history, and not all or even most of it was pleasant. It's as though Salvatore forgot that Regis found a helpless and broken Entreri dangling precariously from a branch, and rather than finishing him off quickly as would be the honorable thing to do, Regis stole Entreri's most prized possession, then cut him loose so that his final moments would be spent in fear and helplessness. One as fiercely protective of his own free will as is Entreri would not forget that so easily, and even if he doesn't actively hate the Companions of the Hall anymore, just as it makes sense that Regis is uncomfortable about the stub of his pinky that Entreri had inflicted on him in his previous life, Entreri should've let the little rat squirm before perhaps mentioning off the cuff that all the citizens of Bleeding Vines survived.

The worst thing done to Entreri in Boundless, however, is worse than the physical trials and travails that befall him. Given that the situation that ensnares him is that he's trapped in an unbreakable cocoon being stung on every mentionable (and unmentionable) part of his body by vicious demonic wasps, more and more I feel that it'd be best for Entreri if Salvatore just killed him off before ruining him more. While Entreri's plight is pretty dire, still, it doesn't seem like enough for him to launch into Drizzt journal entries' level of melodrama. Entreri has high levels of pain tolerance, as we've seen countless times in the past with him losing none of his agility or fighting prowess even after taking a blade through the ribs. Furthermore, the amount of psychological punishment he's endured far outweighs what he's gone through physically, such that he shouldn't resort to wishing for death right away, or cursing everyone, including himself, so quickly. I can maybe accept that he'd do so after a couple of tendays, but we only see him in the cocoon for a few days during Boundless. Furthermore, the impression given by how the pain is described in Boundless is significantly less than the pain that Herzgo Alegni inflicted upon Entreri by striking a tuning fork against Charon's Claw. It's more likely that someone of Entreri's discipline and willpower would've found some way to put his mind above the constant pain to focus on figuring out how to get out, if not simply detaching himself from the sensation. Instead, right from the get-go, the first soliloquy we see from him in the cocoon is:

In addition to being too weak, Entreri's portrayed as being too dependent. As a person who's lived twice as long as he should have and endured much more than his fair share of torment, one who is used to depending on no one save for himself, how quickly Entreri cries out for Dahlia, how quickly he wishes for death to be spared the pain, just doesn't fit. Instead it simply completes Salvatore's neutering process, now not only is Entreri a good guy, but he is no longer even a disciplined warrior. Salvatore's handling of Artemis Entreri is akin to what I'd said about Salvatore being not intelligent enough to write someone as brilliant as Jarlaxle. It's clear that Salvatore doesn't have enough understanding of trauma and physical pain thresholds to do justice to Entreri.

Mother

Another poor characterization in Boundless has to do with Dahlia, who seems to have completely forgotten about Effron. Effron doesn't make an appearance, or is even so much as mentioned, despite some portion of the novel dedicated to the Hosttower of the Arcane, where he currently resides. While I can buy that Effron isn't significant enough for Gromph to even think of him when declaring the position the Hosttower will take, he is, or at least should be, important enough to Dahlia for her to at least think of him. The relationship between Dahlia and Effron might have started off at a badly, but throughout the entirety of the Neverwinter Saga, Dahlia is tormented by guilt over her son. Seeing what she believed to be the remains of Effron broke Dahlia's mind and will, causing the normally fiery and irrepressible elf to docilely accept being dragged away for further torture. Seeing that Effron was safe and being reunited him would've granted Dahlia closure, but closure doesn't mean that she wouldn't want to see him and be near him. We've seen that Dahlia tends to be very clingy to those she cares about, so it seems unlikely that she'd accept living in a different city from Effron. Given what Dahlia's like, she should be torn between her love for Entreri and her love for Effron, especially as the two male characters don't much care for each other and most certainly wouldn't want to live together, which Dahlia would likely prefer so that she can be close to both. It should be a cause for tension, not Dahlia simply following Entreri around like a pet, not that Entreri would've allowed that anyway. For all of his dislike of Effron and his brusqueness with the general populace, Entreri has shown himself to be extremely devoted to the women that he's loved. Just as he looked for Calihye after she tried to kill him and accepted her back into his life years later, Entreri would've made certain that Dahlia wouldn't be miserable choosing him over her son.

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thepointofthestory · 5 years

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Pressure Release Valve

I’m starting this blog as a way to release some of the pressure I’m experiencing. A journal to help me process what’s going on and deal with it. I process verbally a lot, which is good, but I can’t afford a therapist right now so I’ve been leaning heavily on friends - and they’re amazing for listening to me, but, I just keep going over the same shit again and again and they have to be getting tired of me. I can’t vent on Facebook anymore - because that’s just so fraught. Anonymous venting onto Tumblr seems like it’s worth trying. So, here we go - first real post. This is some background about one of the topics that’s got me deeply wound.

My father is an elderly man. He is 71 years old with Type 2 Diabetes, Severely Reduced Kidney Function, and Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea.

A Quick Medical Overview about 15 years ago my dad was in a long term relationship with a woman and was living in her home. During that period he was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and, because he snores to wake the fucking devil, she made him do a sleep study and he was diagnosed with Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea and given a CPAP machine. About 4 years ago my father’s kidney’s failed. He had a UTI and went in for a contrast dye test for some other issue, and, the combination of those things plus my dad’s unchecked Type 2 Diabeties (and very high blood sugar levels) made his kidney’s throw up their hands and go “Fuck it, we’re done!”

He spent THREE FULL WEEKS in the hospital. At first trying different treatments to see if they could “reboot” my dad’s Kidneys, then, after a day or two doing Dyalisis and getting his bloodwork stabalized. Three full weeks. And he nearly died.

He was released to Hospice/Rehab care where they assessed his abilities and capabilities. They recomended a walker. Set up on-going out-patient Dyalisis treatments. Literally helped him get back on his feet. The Rehab center was wonderful and recomended that he move to a facility with nursing staff. Not that he go into a “Home” or Hospice care, just... a place with medical staff on hand. Someone to help him manage his diet and medications. He refused. Because he’s a grown man, see.

THREE days later he called me at 2 am hysterical. Utterly freaking out. At the time I had a 5 month old baby and I was awake when he called because I was nursing my son. But also I lived an hour and a half away from him and could not understand what he was saying or what was going on. I was sleep deprived. I hung up on him. My sister ended up calling an ambulance to check on him, which was good, because his blood sugar had crashed out so low he was having a delustional episode.

He went back to the hospital. He got stabalized again and relased to go home within 48 hours, but, with the caveat that he take a Diabetes 2 education class. I agreed to go with him to the classes - which were at a location close to his house. So I drove an hour and a half to pick him up, sat through an hour of class, drove him home, made him fucking dinner and then drove an hour and a half back home with breasts that were, at that point, painfully full of milk - because there was no possible time to pump in that whole mess of activity.

The course was 5 classes long, after the 4th class we got into an argument about how he couldn’t just eat McDonalds all the time anymore. Because the class had focused on how fast food was an especially bad choice to make for Diabetics who have other health issues. The teacher had specifically pulled up the nutritional information for a BASIC McDonalds Hamburger and talked about all the reasons why it was bad for blood sugar, even though - yes, there was a high protein count, there were all these added sugars. Our argument began by me basically saying “Now that someone else has said it, will you please stop doing this?” The argument ended when he OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR OF THE CAR WHILE IT WAS IN MOTION AND THREATENED TO THROW HIMSELF OUT.

I had to pull the car over, get out, shove him back into the car (as he wasn’t able to right himself) while he hit me in the shoulders and threw a tantrum like a toddler about how all the women in his life have ever done is screw him over. I didn’t go to the 5th class. I’m not sure if he did. And I didn’t talk to him or deal with him for months.

During those months my sisters (both younger) discovered that he was so deeply in debt that he was going have all his utilities shut off and to be evicted from his apartment if he was late on another payment. So, they took over his finances. Like, litterally took them over. My youngest sister (who we’ll call Teri) is his Trustee for his social security payments, and, all his money goes into an account that she has access too but that he does not. My middle sister (Who we’ll call Beth) now manages the day to day bill paying and distribution of the account, including putting money weekly onto a pre-paid debit card that my dad has access too for shopping and miscelaneous expenses.

About six or nine months passed and things had evened out a little. My father was coming out to see my son on a fairly regular basis. I was ignoring him to the best of my ability. Working. Raising my son. Ignoring. And then I got a call, while I was at work, from my father. He needed to go to the ER, he said. To schedule a surgery apointment. Huh? He had a wound on his big toe that wouldn’t heal. This happens with Type 2 Diabetics, so it wasn’t a surprise. I was already aware of the wound and that he was seeing doctors about it. He had assured me that he was taking care of the wound and he was having apointments reguarly to have it dressed and assessed, so, I hadn’t done any digging into it. Apparently his doctor had recomended surgery and told him that he should go to the ER in the morning and get scheduled for a surgery apointment... which doesn’t make any sense at all. That’s ... not how that works?

So, I took a break at work and called Kaiser. I spoke to someone who read me the visitation notes from the doctor. Basically, the doctor had come to the conclusion that the tissue was damaged enough that it needed to be abraded and recomended that my father be transported to the hospital and admitted and scheduled for surgery that night. My dad, who was STILL paying off the ambulance bills from his last two hospital stays refused to go. He said he’d drive himself in the morning. His doctor recomended against that and suggested that, if he didn’t want to be transported via ambulance he could get a family member to pick him up. He refused. The doctor made a note in the after visit information that this course of action could result in serious issues up to and including DEATH and that my father was refusing/leaving the office against medical advice.

So.... I got a friend who drives Uber to pick my dad up at his apartment and take him to the closest ER. I met them there. There is a whole story associated with this pick up and my friend had to get his car detailed afterwards. Whee.

When I got to the ER they had my dad laid out in a hospital gown and had done some initial blood testing and my dad was waiting in a curtianed area. His blood sugar was all out of whack. He had an infection in his toe that threatened to spread to his blood - and if you don’t know, blood poisoning is fucking deadly. They were running fluids and antibiotics via IV. The toe was necrotic. Unsaveable. They needed to remove it ASAP. It was a good thing I had gotten him in tonight, the doctor told me. If he had waited until morning he might have fallen asleep and never woken up.

They ended up removing his big toe from the first knuckle to the tip, and wrapping it up. He went back to Hospice/Rehab and spent another 3 weeks learning how to use a cane to help him walk. He was instructed to use the cane all the time, but especially while he was recovering from surgery. He never used it, still doesn’t.

Another six months pass. It’s December now his toe has never healed from surgery. Refusing to use the cane has put too much pressure on the toe and it won’t heal. Being diabetic makes it important that he keep it clean and dry, but, he continues to stand up to pee ... and misses the toilet regularly. So... he’s peeing on his open wound and not changing the bandage or cleaning the wound.

And, so, there’s a need for a second surgery. This time they take the whole toe. And it’s back to rehab. Again. Where he ends up pushing for release early - and ends up getting authorized to go home on Christmas Eve. This time he promises he’ll use his cane. He does not.

It’s been two years now without any catastropic injuries or events. He’s mostly stabalized but his kidney function is in the 24% range (which is a failing grade on any test I can think of) but means that he doesn’t require regular Dyalisis. His Diabetes is under control only with the help of medication, and his A1C is generally in the 6-7 range, which is boarderline and if it gets any worse will not be able to control it with the meds he’s on. He’ll have to do insulin injections - this is an ineveitablity. But he doesn’t test his blood sugar.

He continues to ignore the dietary recomendations for both his Diabetic and Renal conditions. He refuses to use his cane. My father comes out to my house on Tuesdays to spend time with my son. Mostly he naps in the chair in the living room and we feed him dinner, so at least he’s getting one good meal a week. But, recenly, over the last three months he’s been falling more. He shows up to my place with new visible scrapes and bruises every week. He always wears slacks and a button up shirt, sometimes with a sweater. So, the visible bruising is on his wrists, hands, and face. In addition to that he *falls down* in front of me once every two weeks or so. These falls are not little falls. He trips, looses his balance and just CRUMPLES into a heap on the floor. Usually face first. Often he doesn’t even have time to put his hands out to slow his fall.

Recently, I suggested we move his recliner so that it was out of the walk-way into his living room. I have noticed that he often bumps into it or starts to stumble when walking through the narrow walk-way to get into his living room, because it’s in the way. I suggested we move it to the other side of the coffee table, about 2 feet to the right. And then, before he could protest, I said that if that meant he was too close to the TV, that we could then swap where his desk and TV sit, which would clear his desk chair out from in front of the entrance to the kitchen - removing another hazard.

Keep in mind: I DO THIS FOR A LIVING. I am a personal organizer and I help reorganize and reorder people’s spaces for better work-life flow. I am not simply making random suggestions. I’ve thought about this for a while, and, it was a soft suggestion, not an order or an edict.

But he flipped the fuck out on me. He dug deep into the past to pull out some horrible bullshit he *did do me* as a kid and tried to weaponize it like it was shit I did to him. It was dramatastic and awful, and, in hindsight probably an indication that his blood sugar is way off. Because he was super irrational and kept saying he was shaking.

I just get to sucked into his fucking tantrums and bullshit, because of a life-long dynamic of screaming fights and hysteria on his part. I try. I really do. But I never recognize the possible low/high bloodsugar behavior until after the fact.

#bitching #venting #parents #diabetic #diabetes #kidney failure #renal #diet #cane #falling #falling hazard #tripping hazard #over reaction #over reacting #frustration #medical drama #death and dying

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takingcourage · 6 years

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The Start of Forever - Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Drake x MC

Word Count: 2,387

Series Summary: The wedding has passed and the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria are free to begin their lives together away from the constraints of court. While honeymooning in Texas, they’re confronted with questions from their past that raise implications about their future. (Slight AU)

Chapter Summary: Drake and Jena spend some time alone after a difficult conversation with his mother.

Author’s Note: Whew! Apologies for the unexpected hiatus on this story. Now that I have some free time again, I should be able to finish posting this story. I appreciate your patience through the long delay!

Tagging: @andy-loves-corgis, @carabeth, @speedyoperarascalparty

All things considered, Karen Walker had been rather more understanding than she’d expected. As Jena loaded her cereal bowl into the dishwasher, she thought back over the painstaking conversation that had ended less than an hour before.

Drake had not underestimated the effect that their news would have on his mother. On learning that her son had been given a duchy, color had drained slowly from the older woman’s face until a dull white shell was all that remained. In spite of her polite responses, the visceral reactions had been painful for all three of them.

Shortly after their previous discussion had finished, Karen had pulled Drake aside for a private word. After what she'd seen over the past eighteen hours, Jena could only hope that the woman was doing him no further damage.

She tried to convince herself that she’d done nothing but hurry along the inevitable, but guilt assailed her all the same. This certainly wasn’t the way she’d envisioned this day going. At this point, so much of their morning had been consumed by unpleasant conversation that she wondered if Drake would want to leave early for their night back in Dallas. She glanced a the stovetop clock, trying not to get her hopes up.

The quiet intonations from down the hall were at least somewhat reassuring. There had been no yelling -- of that was certain. If she was venturing to guess, she didn’t think she’d heard anything that sounded like crying either. Both seemed like signs in favor of productive conversation between mother and son.

Jena found a rag draped across the head of the faucet, dampened it, and set about clearing crumbs from the table. As she finished the final swipe across the width, she sensed a presence coming toward her.

“You don’t have to do that, Wittman.” The soft-spoken words startled out of her thoughts, despite her intuition.

“I know. But I needed something to do.” She cupped her hand underneath the cloth and shook the contents into a nearby trash can. “You doing okay?” Having rinsed the rag, she returned it to its former spot and rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans.

“Fine.” His brown eyes were trained on her, and she raised a quizzical brow as he opened and shut his mouth. Eventually, the words ventured forth. “Would you be interested in going riding? I was hoping to get the chance to show you around the ranch…”

“I’d like that a lot, actually,” she assured, still taking in his appearance.

Drake looked tired. It was evident in the exaggerated slackness of the skin around his eyes. A pang of guilt plagued her as she contrasted this with their time at the cabin. He’d been so peaceful there. After all of the stress she’d seen on that face in the past months, it sickened her to think that she’d been the cause of more.

“Good. We may as well get over to the stables. Have you ever actually saddled a horse, Wittman?” He raised his brow in challenge.

“No, but I think I’m about to learn how.”

“Just as long as you don’t go scaring the horses. I don’t want to have to reenact that rescue from the derby.”

Jena scoffed at the slight, shaking her head in disbelief as she followed him out the front door. “You know that’s not how it happened, Walker.”

“Of course not,” he acquiesced, treating her to a half smile. She rolled her eyes and fell into step at his side, slipping her fingers into his.

Jena had only ridden horses a few times during childhood, but she’d adjusted to the practice fairly quickly after coming to Cordonia. When she wasn’t taking day-long treks for foxhunting, she found that she actually enjoyed it very much -- especially when she was fortunate enough to have her husband’s company.

Riding around his family’s property spawned memories of exploring Valtoria with him on horseback, and she felt a pang of longing for their home. There was so much waiting for them when they returned. As much as she had enjoyed the honeymoon, some part of her was giddy at the thought of starting real life together.

Today, however, she was focused on Drake’s wellbeing. Other than the extremely thorough instructions as he’d guided her through the process of saddling the horses, he’d been fairly quiet since coming to find her in the kitchen. Jena's mind overflowed with words that could fill the silence, but nothing felt right. She breathed a grateful sigh when he chose to speak instead.

“I was pretty upset with you this morning, Wittman. I was sitting there drinking coffee and thinking that you were being unreasonable -- that you’d judged my mom too harshly. I’m not so sure anymore.”

The uncertainty in his voice halted her instinctive response. Jena breathed out slowly through her nose, biding her time in case there was more he wanted to say.

“I’ve never felt so angry with her before. She can doubt me all she wants, but doubting you -- I never thought she’d go that far. That’s a line she shouldn’t have crossed. I feel like I don’t even know her anymore...”

“For the record, I didn’t want to be right,” Jena admitted softly, grateful that they kept their horses at a relaxed pace so that she could meet his gaze. Her heart clenched at the distance in his deep brown eyes. “I just know what it’s like to defend someone who doesn’t deserve it. Finding out they’re not who you thought they were...it’s a hard pill to swallow.” She fiddled with the leather reins between her fingers, hoping that she was treading lightly enough to cause no offense.

“Your dad?” he asked simply.

Nodding, she met his eyes. The distant look gave way to a tenderness that mirrored her own worry for him, and she was struck by just how broken both of their families had been. “I wasted a lot of years making excuses for him, Drake. When I finally forgave him, it wasn’t because he’d done anything to deserve it. I just needed closure.” Drake stretched out a hand and she took it gratefully before continuing. “I don’t want you to have to go through all of that with your mom. I hope you’re able to figure things out and find a way to start over, but please don’t beat yourself up about it if you’re not.”

Her husband sighed, taking his time to respond as he turned his gaze to the horizon. “I sort of have to. I mean, dad’s not around any more. She doesn’t exactly have anyone else.”

Jena shook her head in an attempt to clear the conflicting emotions. She’d realized long ago that his protective instinct would have a propensity for getting them in trouble. She just hadn’t expected the trouble to take this form. “You always want to defend the people you care about, Drake. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you -- one of the things I love most about you too. But sometimes you have to think about protecting yourself. Sometimes that may even mean letting others protect you.”

“I don’t like to have people worrying about me.”

“We’ve been over this before…”

“I know. And sometimes having you around to worry about me is a good thing. I wouldn’t have come clean with my mom if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I hope it was the right decision.” She’d spent the past several hours second guessing her encouragement from the night before. “Did things...go okay?”

“Heh.”

She waited several moments, but he elaborated no further. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she ventured finally.

“Just that I think it’s going to take some time for her to adjust to the idea that I’m a noble and that I’m staying in Cordonia for good. But I think some part of her is proud too. Maybe someday she’ll come around to the idea that I’m not just wasting my life over there.”

“Does she really think that?” The words felt strangled as Jena worked them out of her throat. So many of her early interactions with Drake became clearer as she considered Karen’s likely influence.

He clicked his tongue to encourage the horse, but her question remained unanswered. Several paces later, he came to a sudden stop. Jena pulled the reins gently and dismounted to stand beside him in the tall grass.

“We’ll let the horses graze for a bit.”

She stroked the mare’s bony cheek and dropped the reins, putting her hands in her pockets instead. Squinting against the mid-morning sun, she followed Drake to a line of fencing nearby. Green stretched before them on every side, the light wind stirring long blades of grass into mesmerizing waves. She wondered vaguely if this was the sight that had enticed Karen to come back from Cordonia. Out here, in the warmth of late spring, it wasn’t hard to imagine the appeal that this land must have held.

Drake leaned against the nearest post, a wrinkle forming between his brows. With ease, Jena mounted the fence beside him, steadying herself with a certain hand.

Did I cross a line? Why hasn’t he answered my question? Jena hated the thought that her carelessness might have caused such distress. A week ago, she wouldn’t have been so bothered by the thought. Now, as this man’s wife, she felt some measure of responsibility to read his mind. The notion was ridiculous, but present nonetheless. Just as she was clearing her throat, he spoke.

“I’m not sure what my mother thinks anymore. She didn’t take it very well when I moved back to Cordonia. Wanted me to forge my own path instead of running back to the palace.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Going back?” At her nod, he continued. “I had a lot of questions at the time, but in a way, mom’s right. I’d been following Liam around for so long that it was easier to just settle back into that when I came back from the States. It took me a while to find where I belonged in all of it. But no, I don’t regret it. Cordonia is home.”

“You’ve found your way now. And with or without the courtly graces, you’re still Drake Walker,” she beamed encouragingly. “I just wish your mom had taken the chance to get to who that man is.” A fresh sting of remorse accompanied the words, and she looped her fingers around the hand that rested beside her on the fence.

Drake interlocked his fingers with her own and lifted his face tentatively. “I think I’d like for her to get the chance to.”

Her pulse quickened at the meaning that underpinned his words. Biting her tongue, she shifted her weight toward him and took in his pensive expression.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He hiked a hand through his hair. “But I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself if I cut the relationship off completely. I’d always wonder if things could have been different. I’m not saying that I want to come out here for Christmases or anything, but--” preoccupied, he ceased speaking as she squeezed his hand.

“I’ll support whatever you choose, Drake. I can’t say I have a very good first impression of her, but I respect how much she means to you. If I had any hope of my dad changing for the better, I’d probably make the same choice.” Her tone grew wistful at the impossible notion. “But I think we’re going to have to find a compromise. I don’t want you bending over backward to make her a part of our lives if she won’t even meet you halfway. You can’t do that to yourself, Drake.”

“Agreed.”

“So she’s going to have to understand that there are boundaries she can’t cross. It’s going to take some time for us to establish trust again.”

“Sounds fair to me,” he considered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he looked to her face. “She’s been through a lot, Jena. I don’t want to put her through more than she deserves.”

“I know,” she responded quickly to the flash of pain in his eyes. “But if she puts you through more than you deserve, she’ll have me to contend with.” Although her tone was light, they both knew that the threat was genuine.

He hoisted himself onto the fence beside her, dropping his hands to his sides. “I never thought I’d be so happy to get back to Valtoria, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

She offered a wry smile. “I am too. I know we’re going to try to work things out here, but I can’t wait to get back to Dallas and then home.”

“It’s the last night of our trip, Wittman. How do you want to spend it?”

“Seeing as it’s the last night of our honeymoon,” she emphasized, “I was thinking room service, hot tub, and…some drinks.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

“I’m not going overboard though. We’ve got a day full of traveling tomorrow.”

“We’ll sleep it off on the plane.”

“Maybe you will," she joked, hopping down from the fence. “I’ll be awake for it all.”

“Even if I keep you up all night?”

Jena threw him a look over her shoulder. "That didn’t exactly work for the trip out here." He extended a hand toward her and she settled into the space between his legs, running her palms against toned thighs that were stretched taut from his heels pressing into the lower rail.

"I’ll take that as a challenge.” The glint in his eyes sent tendrils of heat through her core.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Walker.”

Drake shook his head at her accompanying wink.

“Ready when you are,” she announced, rising to the tips of her toes. Drake cradled her cheek in his hand and leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft and warm, heated by the morning sun. She snaked her arms around his waist and melted into him with pleasure. When she finally pulled away, it took several moments for her head to clear.

The kiss told her all she needed to know. They would make it through this. Together.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #trr #drake walker #drake x mc

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kokomatcha · 6 years

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Vigilante!All Might x Reader snippet

Here’s a snippet of the first chapter of my Vigilante!All Might x reader AU. Again, it’s self indulgent, but I’m not sure if I’ll be focusing on this one, or my other ones, but this is the one that kind of just started flowing so I went with it. Again, I only have my iPad and touch keyboard, which gets very moody so sometimes it’s hard to type. I just wanted to post a sample of my writing so people know what I offer and not get too excited so they won’t get their hopes up because I haven’t even really posted anything and have people following me/liking my posts, but I guess I’m worried about being disappointing as a writer so here’s a sample for you to decide if you like my writing or not! Cheers!

*edit* whoops forgot a synopsis that might help!

You’re an ER nurse, quirkless, and on the verge of burnout.

At least, you thought you were quirkless until an opportunity arises that shows you were never quirkless, it’s just that you were never in a situation that utilized your quirk. All your childhood dreams of being a super hero with an amazing quirk were effectively dashed at a young age, but upon the horrifying truth of your quirk, you realize that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie and that being quirkless was not the worst thing in the world.

Now you’re mandatorily enlisted to support the supposed law enforcement that was meant to protect and serve civilians and the general population, but you find yourself entangled in the corruption. You’re only hope is a chance meeting with a strange man, and the infamous villain All Might. But is he really the villain that the media and government paints him out to be?

You repressed what would have been an obscenely large yawn, briefly raising the back of your hand to hover over your mouth, a strangled noise resulting in the back of your throat and the warmth of creeping tears welling up behind your eyelids that you blinked away before they threatened to spill over. You let your hand drop limply back to your side as you stepped out of the emergency room into the waiting room, or what you and your coworkers most commonly referred to as ‘The Pit,’ with a clipboard clutched to your chest.

It was packed with a variety of different potential patients, all of whom jerked their gaze to you the moment you entered, you’re stethoscope hung around your neck over you’re patterned scrubs (it was the only real choice you had to show your individuality so you’re damn right they were cute) marking you like a giant target out in an empty field. It never failed to make you feel like a piece of meat on display to a pack of wild animals. You could practically feel them humming with anxious energy as they all individually willed you to their direction, to be the lucky ticket holder to be able to walk through those double doors and have their emergency dealt with.

‘Sorry,’ you thought dully with no real sincerity as you walked past a few people before stopping at your intended target, ‘but the lucky contestant is—‘

“Hello,” you greet with a smile plastered onto your face, stretching the corners of your mouth turning it into more of a grimace than a genuine expression of greeting. It was a sort of instinctual mechanism you’ve developed over time in your career, all teeth and no tongue, a reminder of the harsh reality that the medical world cared less about actual medical practice and more about customer service (and money). However, you had plenty of time and situations to practice pulling off that award-winning smile of false assurance in even the most dire situations that could fool most.

For example, it had the intended effect on the young boy with a mess of wild dark green hair and freckles dotting over his small cheeks, still rounded with residual baby fat. His already impossibly large eyes widened as you now stood before him, a nervous smile returned in response to yours as he fidgeted with a tattered note book in his hands, something he clearly used to distract himself while waiting. Your smile softened a small bit out of genuine concern. He was probably a preteen, barely even twelve, but admittedly you found looks and age never coincided well in your line of work.

He seemed to sense your sincerity, his smiling becoming less stiff and his shoulders relaxing as the hands in his lap were no longer ringing the poor notebook to confetti.

Your gaze drifted over to the man at his side just in time to see him double over in a coughing fit. Without even batting an eye you grabbed a box of tissues sitting on top a table full of outdated magazines, as well as fished out one of the unused disposable mask from your scrub pocket. You held them out to the man as an offering, but he kept his gaze down and only glared at your proffered hand in response, opting to use a closed fist as his means of infection control.

It was clear who your patient was as the scent of copper assaulted your senses, and it was fairly obvious how your shift would play out if this would be your first patient.

Wonderful, you thought without any trace of humor as you placed the mask and box of tissue on the table and waited patiently for his coughing fit to subside.

The boy seemed to jump to his feet, hovering over the clearly emancipated form of the man hunched over in his seat. His eyes were heavy with dark shadows, cheekbones and chin sharply defined from his sunken cheeks, his teeth bared and stained with blood as he struggled to control his coughing fit. Your assessment was running through your head, assumptions already swimming to the surface of your mind as you surveyed him from head to toe.

Loose, ill-fitting clothing hung from his skeletal frame, decorated with an array of damage and stains from long term use. His skin stretched thin over bony prominence in his joints, including the nape of his neck and down his spine that you managed to catch a glimpse of while he was hunched over. He wore a long sleeved black shirt with khaki colored cargo pants, cinched together with a belt around his thin waist with a large, gaudy looking belt buckle. His blond hair was unkempt, probably dry and fragile from poor nutritional intake, sticking up in all directions aside from two distinctive locks that flopped about his face during his coughing fit.

Drug user? Addict? With his long sleeves you couldn’t tell if there was any injection sites. Hemoptysis indicated something with the respiratory system or maybe digestive system? Obviously lung issues were present. Pneumonia? Cancer? Definitely need to start IV fluids—

“—fine.”

You must have been lost in your thoughts because the man was now standing and you had to take a step back, your eyes widening as you took in his full height. His posture was poor, but god, he still towered over you. He was clearly well over six feet, maybe seven? Now that he was standing, you almost flinched at how obviously malnourished this man appeared to be. The shirt he wore was three sizes too large and hung very loosely around his neck, giving you glimpse of his clavicles protruding sharply above his chest.

But his eyes were still what unnerved you the most.

You realize that the sound of his voice, a deep rich baritone that you hardly expected to come out of such a fragile looking man, was what pulled you from your reverie. He had been brushing off the young boy when he waved the tissues out to him almost frantically.

You realized you must have been staring, frozen in place from his gaze, but the moment he turned to address the boy at his side, you seemed to regain your senses, feeling a bit shaken. You really didn’t think you’ve ever met someone with an eye color that was such a shockingly bright shade of blue.

Slightly intimidated by his height, you regained your composure as you put on your best assertive, yet friendly customer service voice.

“If you could please follow me? I’ll guide you to your room and then we can triage you, Mr—?”

You already knew his supposed name (from the shoddily attempted paperwork that was scribbled in by the boy at his side. You highly doubted this man would have bothered to even look at the paperwork given his current attitude) but you trailed off, giving him a chance to fill in the blanks to try and build rapport in the short amount of time you would have to assess him. However, judging by his posture and resistance to the offer of even a small tissue, you could already tell how smoothly this interaction would go.

He scowls in response, those shockingly bright blue eyes contrasting sharply with the dark shadows overcasting his gaze, piercing you from their depths.

Right.

“Alright, Himawari-san, if you and your son would just follow me,” you motioned them towards the silver double doors.

The expression on the man’s face was absolutely priceless and you thanked the higher powers above you to help turn your day around, because this reaction alone was definitely enough to help you handle whatever would be thrown your way the rest of the day.

You really should have known better than to jinx yourself like that.

“My name’s not... He’s not—“ the man didn’t seem to know where to begin, his protests flying at the same time as the boy spoke, but a coughing fit overtook the rest of his response before he could finish.

“I-I’m not his son!” The boy supplied quickly, flustered as a dark hue spread across his cheeks, his freckles even more prominent in his embarrassment.

You felt a little bad for teasing. You knew this was obviously not the man’s name, and it was probably a struggle for this boy to find a suitable name to use in the interim. In addition to the ridiculous (yet ironically, strangely fitting) name chosen, you knew this could not be the man’s son. But it did put into question why this boy was trying so hard to help some stranger who didn’t even seem to want to give him the time of day, let alone his own name.

You’ve been surprised before, but this time your assumptions were correct and you were more than entertained by the results.

Your patient was less than amused by the way he gruffly passed his sleeve over his mouth to wipe away the remnants of blood dripping down his chin and shot a dark look at both you and the boy, who flinched in response.

“Alright, my apologies,” you attempted to placate the man as you directed him in the direction of the emergency room. Surprisingly, he let you lead him by the elbow with no resistance, though a glower was still present on his face. You heard movement from behind you and saw the young boy was getting ready to follow. You paused before turning to the boy with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not family and he doesn’t consent to your presence, I think you’ll have to go home,” you told the boy, a twisting in your chest at the drop in his expression. “But thank you for your assistance. You’re very kind.”

“O-oh, you... you don’t have to thank me, I just... uh,” the boy stuttered, flustered by your praise, gaze darting to his shoes as he fiddled with the straps of his backpack. “I-I understand. But, um... c-could you update me later? Just... just so I know he’s okay?”

His voice sounded so hopeful and you felt your heart sink. Due to legality, you couldn’t very well volunteer any information to anyone that wasn’t approved by the patient unless they were incoherent or had some sort of power of attorney, and even then it could be complicated. Especially if your patient was a stubborn gentlemen who refused to even give you said basic and pertinent information.

The dour man was already at the emergency room entrance and was looking at you impatiently, ready to get this experience over with. Quickly you grabbed the boy’s hands and offered your pen as you gestured to his notebook.

“Tell you, what, kiddo. Write your name and number on a piece of paper and I’ll give it to Sunshine over there so he can call you and update you himself?”

The young boy beamed at the suggestion and hurriedly scribbled down the information before ripping out the piece of paper and handing it to you excitedly before giving you and your patient an enthusiastic wave. Turning and stumbling out of the waiting room, he waved once more from outside as the doors closed, effectively cutting him off from sight.

You carefully folded the piece of paper and placed it in your scrub pocket before turning to your patient. If possible, his expression had darkened significantly with his hands clenched into fists at his side, most likely at the promise you had forced upon him.

“Ah, sorry. Did you prefer to give me your real name after all?”

As expected, your only response was a glare with those unnerving, piercing blue eyes.

You tilted your head and walked over to him before pushing open the doors, gesturing with a flourish to keep the doors open for him as you smiled widely. For once, it was genuine and this seemed to catch the man off guard, his expression relaxing from its furrowed brow to that of wary confusion.

“Himawari-san it is then! Shall we?” You gave an exaggerated bow, attracting the attention of your coworkers and patients alike who began to giggle at the display, amused by your antics.

The scowl back in full force, your patient shoving open the doors roughly, probably hoping they would slam in your face or on one of your limbs after he passed through. You couldn’t hold back your sigh, catching the doors so that they would swing gently closed behind you.

If looks could kill, you’d probably be dead a thousand times over.

Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoyed it! I take a while to write tho given my situation with my iPad also I have an old man back with no desk or chair so I hunch over to write which can be tiring, haha.

Also I decided to keep the Japanese honorifics to keep things uniform for later because I’ll probably use things like ‘-kun’ ‘-chan’ and such and it’s kind of hard to find English equivalents for them so I hope that won’t be a huge issue to some. Also, Himawari means sunflower which is, of course, a little jab at how the Vigilante!All Might in my fic is kind of grouchy compared to use usual sunflowery authentic self, but he’ll become warmer, if I ever get around to it!

And of course sorry for grammar and spelling errors, but other than that thank you for taking the time to read! Have a wonderful day!

#All Might x Reader #Yagi Toshinori x Reader #AU Vigilante!All Might #BnHA #All Might #Yagi Toshinori #kokofic #self-indulgent fic #Boku no Hero Academia

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