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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Note

P-please talk about your Rito OC, please... ramble without any context, please... I have one too... please make me feel less alone...

Ok ok let me just *unloads all of Illeka’s super angsty self-indulgent backstory*

I technically have two backstories, one for botw that I’m gonna use for my fic Where Time Takes Us, and another I use for my dnd campaign. My dnd one is more fleshed out (thanks to my amazing GM) so I’ll probably just share that one.

Warning for super duper long post that is barely coherent and I haven’t checked for typos and also rip to ADHD folks because I have no pictures to ease your brain with. Anyhow prepare for like thousands of words worth of rambles this is not edited at all

This is just a copy paste of the random incoherent shit I sent to my poor DM. Anyhow, I technically have 3 ocs here, but Illeka is the one I play

A weird Rito, that one is. I hear they’ve only cried at birth...

- Illeka was born on the Day of Living Fire, its a celebration of the dead essentially, where you mourn and remember your loved ones and ancestors and all that. It’s superstition to be *born* on this day, because your life/creation takes away from the day that’s supposed to honor the dead, and some people on birb island believe these things, that if you let the kid live it’s a curse. But most people are like no wtf you boomers it’s fine there’s no such thing you crazy old people are weird, which to be fair is kinda true.

- When Talako is around 6, his single mom dies. He’s adopted by a new family, Kala (also around 6 years old) and her parents.

- Illeka meets Talako after he kinda follows her around, because he’s an innocent cinnamon bun that admires Illeka’s calm and stoic demeanor after they help him with some bullies. Through this, Talako, Illeka, and Kala all become best friends.

- The events in Illeka’s life aren’t really helping their whole curse case. Every bad event, from their dad getting injured and having the slightest limp, to their brother, Zekk nearly setting himself on fire— it’s all a supposed punishment for not killing them when they were bored. But at this point most people brush it off as coincidence, besides, nothing THAT bad has happened yet.

- the trio of friends grow strong, becoming some of the best in their arts on the island. And their relationship is seemingly adorable. The serious ~~cursed~~ one, the optimistic sunshine one, and the sarcastic firey one. Prides of their village, set to protect their people from harm.

- Illeka is the best in the village when it comes to physical fights. Trusty halberd, and a keen shot with a bow, they’ve never lost a sparring match on that front. Their personality is offputting to some, there’s a rumour that they’ve never cried. The easiest of jokes, and the vilest of insults don’t spark much reaction from them— except in the presence and topic of their family, Kala, and Talako. But otherwise, the story goes that the cursed kid doesn’t have a soul, and hence, no morality or emotions.

- When they train with Talako and Kala, they never back down, if only out of respect, Illeka wouldn’t want to embarrass them with pity. Talako always laughs at his inevitable defeat, though he tries nonetheless. He promises that one day he’ll be strong enough to beat them.

- Talako is a pleasant soul, but has an nack for adventure and a hint of chaos. He prefers to dual wield daggers, and on occasion a short sword or two. He’s great with the blade, loves the thrill of the fight, but is more skilled with cooking and physical healing and remedies. He’s always the one encouraging fun celebratory hang outs at the tavern, with his two closest friends after a day of guarding the village. Kala always sides with him, and Illeka typical gives in after at least putting on a show of reluctance. He humble and happy and loved by most of the village, if only things would last

- Kala is of wit and cunning, she’s typically the first to speak. She’s headstrong and not afraid to insult whoever she displeases, and a bit too arrogant in her abilities. She laughs at all of Talako’s jokes, if perhaps only to spite Illeka’s groans. She’s also the most strategic of her friends, being the “one with a plan” in battle. While she’s a decent wield of two khopesh, Kala’s mostly gifted with magic. She’s got a knack for conjuring, though is well researched in other types as well. Illeka and her are an even match, with decent win ratios on either end. Illeka doesn’t take it that personally, they suck/hate magic after all. Kala’s a bit more competitive tho.. While her power in magic is certainly the best on all of the island, she can’t help but feel salty/jealous for always being overshadowed by Illeka’s feats, since the people prefer/understand the physical over the magic.

- Oh, and she was born on day after the Day of Living Fire, according to her parents. How lucky.

- In a sense, they’re all a bit of an outcast. Kala the fiery independent one, a bit sidecasted for prefering magic over steel. Talako the weird orphan, for being a chirpy, happy boi, which is a bit annoying for some. And Illeka…well lets just say their situation isn’t going to be improving

- One year, Illeka’s family is expecting more kids, twin sisters at that! It’s the most excited anyone’s ever seen Illeka, thought perhaps that’s not the right word… They’ve still got their usual demeanor, but they did spend nearly a week crocheting little baby hats and tunics and scarves. They threatened to kill their brother if they told anyone, although Zekk was allowed to let it slip to Tal and Kala

- [They are absurdly good at crochet btw. They never do it anymore to try and maintain their “reputation,” but their family will never forget the time they crafted matching blankets and hats to win a little competition in their home town.]

- Then the Day of Living Fire arrives for that year. Theres a little celebration for Illeka’s birthday, before moving on to other activities.

- The twins die that night.

- The village was in a bit of shock…and rumours grow considering the timing of it. The mysterious circumstance of it…well it does turn the heads of even some of the less-superstitious. The rumours, the death, the silent thought that perhaps that cursed bird caused some babies’ death, Illeka endured it.

- Years later would it get worse.

- Illeka is still publically respected at this point, weird rumours sure, but try telling that to the edge of her halberd. Their mother had made the twin’s shrine, but they say Illeka didn’t visit that often. Talako was always by their side, trying to help them, which was always appreciated, even when they tried to hide it.

- Kala was busy in the library these days.

- Zekk had started a family by now, a little baby birb named Mili hatched into the world. Illeka would often steal her away for little cuddles when they (thought) no one was looking. Zekk would jest that they had to fight for the right to hold his own kid. Kala would also occasionally tease them about it, though Tal was mostly happy to see them in better spirits

- Then, another Day of Living Fire.

- Talako and Illeka were usually on guard duty together, the northern patrol by the village edge. But tal was still a bit worried about his friend’s state of mind, he’s not sure he’d even seen them mourn. He pushes for Illeka to take the day off, it’s technically their birthday after all, plus they can pay their respected at the shrines and attend the festivities and do the ceremonies and all that. Illeka denies it, brushing it off like they always do.

- Soon, their nightly patrol begins, and Illeka is about to set off to met up with Talako, but Kala intercepts. She has a talk with them, similar to that of Talako’s, but with…more well crafted and laced words. It’s nearly the same message that Talako tried to tell them, “It’ll be healthy for you, visit the shrines, be with your family, maybe brush off some rumours in the process.” Illeka nearly denies again, joking that Talako would get afraid of the dark if they didn’t show up. But Kala interjects, stating that she’s already made plans to take the patrol that nigth with Tal. Trusting their friends to be safe in each others care, Illeka relents and takes the day off.

- …yeah. so

- perhaps you can see where this is going.

- Kala’s jealousy had been growing over the years. Not only was she being shadowed by Illeka and their non magic ways, but it was irritating even more that all the talk about magic in the town was not of her exceptional abilties, but of stupid rumours and non-existent evil curses. If the people wanted show, she’d give them a show

- This mindset made her spars with Illeka a bit more personal as of late, getting it in her head that she needed to get stronger, strong enough to best Illeka with ease. Strong enough so that there would be no question who was the best warrior on the island, magic, bows, halberds, or no.

- The library had many forgotten books that she had been studying. Conjuring, rituals, illusions, necromancy. It was all…beautiful. Kala soaked in every word, sometimes berating the bookkeeper offhandedly for not keeping them in the best condition

- In her research she eventually found a beast. A..thing, a demon? A monster, the specifics weren’t there, but the gist of it was, if you had the courage to summon it, it would grant you the knowledge for attaining anything you desired. All it asked in return was…to eat some people.

- But not just any people mind you! Supposedly the ritual only worked for the people with the greatest of ambitions, willing to sacrifice the lives of people they might care about. The sacrifices had to be of someone with great trust and bond with the person.

- Kala’s parents disappeared that day, a few feathers laid about, but there was no blood.

- Near the northern border, by a open field, a weird circle dripped the grass red

- Talako waited by the village edge, ready to fly off with their patrol partner when they arrived. When Kala greeted him, he was a bit surprised, but happy when she explained that Illeka had gone off back to town.

- Indeed Illeka was with their family now, as the sun started to set. Occasionally, a passerby would give them a weird glance before walking swiftly away.

- Somewhere in the northern border, a warrior is knocked unconcious, and dragged upon a blood red pattern

- Illeka is by her sisters’ shrine. For the sliver of a moment, they contemplate crying.

- Then an explosion is heard off in the distance

- Talako was wide awake at this point, although his wings being pinned to his sides wasn’t that helpful considering there was a giant, *giant* dark monster in front of him.

- Kala lets off a final remark, saying it was for his own good. The death would be swifter if he didn’t squirm.

- He whipped back at her, glaring with a fire she hasn’t seen before. He calls her a coward for tricking Illeka, a coward for kill their parents, a coward for not even giving him the decency to fight for his life.

- She nearly smiles at the last remark. “Fine.” She tosses him his blades. “You were never much of a warrior anyway.”

- Illeka was flying towards the booming sound at full speed, nearly knocking over their family and other mourning, people in the process. A few others had tried to slow them down, claiming they should suit of better first, before confronting whatever had been the source of the explosion. Illeka didn’t listen.

- They barely had time to grab a weapon, before approaching the northern border. After gracing the crests of the hill tops, they finally saw it. A giant demonic beast, snapping it’s jaws against a flying dash of black feathers, Talako.

- Illeka called out to him, nearly dashing off into the air again, but they stopped when they spotted Kala, standing idlely by next to her.

- Before they could even speak, before they could even question why she was acting so nonchalantly while their best friend was fighting for their life against an evil monstrosity, Kala shook her head and spoke. “You always have to ruin my fun, don’t you?” She struck a magic blow and Illeka, square in the chest.

- It knocked them to the ground, but they got up, setting their halberd and pointing it at them.

- Then insert some dramatic scene where Kala is like “you’re so selfish, hogging all the attention, thinking you’re better than me, but today I’m gonna finally best you mwahaha” and Illeka is like “wtf why did you do this? I thought we were friends? I trusted you?? the fuck? also talako is our friend!!?” and then its “yeah thats right I manipulated your stupid feelings to gain the upperhand. you’re super pathetic honestly for falling for it. anyhow yeah talako will probably die, i tried to give him the luxary of a swift death but he wouldn’t listen, so now he’s probably gonna get brutally slayed lol” and illeka is all “I’ll kill you” and kala is “no u. This whole thing is gonna give me so much power no ones gonna question me again” and then they fight each other

- The duel is nearly a draw, Kala’s magical ability is certainly is certainly stronger, but she’s not as all powerful without that knowledge from the demon monster guy that needs to eat his meal. Illeka is fighting with all theyve got, but all they brought was a halberd, but they are very fueled by rage and spite so it’s still an even match. Illeka eventually lands a blow that’s got Kala bleeding severely, but Kala pretty much almost kills them with a direct attack. Kala’s too weak to finish the job, plus those other guards have finally started to fly and approach in the distance, so she flys off. Illeka finally slips into unconsciousness.

- When they wake up, it’s almost sunrise. Their mom is shaking them awake, part of the party that was investigating the explosion that summoned the beast. Illeka bolts up, they’re still in the field were they had fought Kala, but she and the beast are no where to be seen.

- They run off, trying to find Talako, and ho boy do they find him alright. His body is crumpled by some rocks, his wing nearly ripped clean off, theres so much blood, even a warrior like Illeka can hardly bare it. Some small bit of hope in their head thinks that he might still be alive, and they listen to his chest to see if he’s still breathing.

- His eyes flicker once at Illeka, his chest rises, then falls for the last time.

- Illeka cries.

- Then, still pretty wounded and tired, they collapse again

- The days following are living hell. Kala hasn’t been found, and their her parent’s [bodies]. The rumours are creeping as ever, at the coincidence of Illeka and this disaster. They spend nearly a weak in bed at home, recovering physically, thought probably not mentally.

- As soon as they’ve fully recovered, Illeka’s mind is set. They are going to leave, no more warrior/village protection for them. They’re going to travel far off, train and hone their skills in combat, and find and kill Kala.

- Their family is opposed to this at first, but in the end nothing they say changes Illeka’s mind.

- In a sense, there was another, unspoken reason Illeka was leaving the islands. They didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

- Hell, the rhetoric is even stronger down the line, concerning the fate of poor Mili. Illeka has given in and accepted it, they are cursed to cause pain to the people they care about. [It’s basically that trope of the character isn’t actually cursed but they believe they’re cursed] Illeka will stay away, and go it alone for as long as they can. Then once the deed is done, once they draw Kala’s corpse across the mud, they’ll probably fly off somewhere far to die, before anyone else gets hurt. It’s probably best for their family never to see them again.

- - - - - -

Wow you did it, you made it through the super angsty self-indulgent backstory congrats. Illeka is my lil baby and I love them and I’ve gonna send them on a revenge quest and then they were gonna have a cool character arc probably about learning to grieve and have self worth and all that and to actually allow themselves to show emotions for once in their lives. That’s the general plan I had in my head anyhow

But you know what my dm thought?

They were like how about mORE ANGSt

Fucking shit you not, session three of the campaign, I’m heading back to birb island because of circumstances, and I’m getting supplies from my blacksmith dad and showing off this sword that says “fuck” a lot that I got from a dungeon that took a selkie’s soul which they gave up willingly in exchange for fire hair...long story

but THEN I meet up with my bro Zekk and it’s like “wassup bro just passing through” but then I find out that Talako’s shrine thing was DESTORYED by some unknown entity and that’s very not good because spirituality and all that

and also I find Mili and they’re a cute lil toddler birb now aww it’s so great hope nothing happens to them because I sure do have enough emotional traume to burden right now. anyhow due to CIRCUMSTANCES our only lead to the thing that destroyed Talako’s shrine is 1) a delinquent named Chesio [that our party nicknamed cherrio because the GM misspelled it the first time i think] who apparently was Talako’s shitty cousin and his only living relative who could build his shrine and 2) the destruction of the shrine lines up with a period of time where Mili went missing but its ok she came back so her parents were like “chill we gucci”

Our party decides we should go down the Mili lead [because I accidentally knocked Cherrio i mean Chesio to near death with a crit roll with my halberd so they’re in the infirmary now but it’s really not my fault that they triggered my emotional trauma by mentioning how I keep running away from grief and never staying around to confront it it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine] so we stop by Zekk’s house and we’re like “hey so remember when you disappeared for like a week where did you go, and then mili was like “oh it’s in this cavern that no one knows about and I can’t really give you the directions but I can lead you there if you take me with you” in which I then glare at the GM for this obvious attempt to force us to take Mili with us to put her in danger and apparently I was the ONLY one who cared about this because everyone else in the party was ready to adopt this birb child, and Zekk was like “sure take the kiddy harness” so here I am, watching my niece run around in a kiddy harness that’s also attached to me, while my Chaotic neutral party someone gets grilled cheese sandwiches in the background

Badabing, badaboom, we come to some crystal caverns. while I, being one of the only members of the party with morals other than one chaotic good dragonborn, am watching the selkie, halfoot, and elf girl steal a bunch of crystals, Mili fucking DISAPPEARS the fucking KIDDY HARNESS fucking NOT GOOD she FCUKING SLIPPED OUT AND SHES GONE AND IM FREAKING OUT

after about an hour or two of searching through the deeper parts of the cavern and tunnel and also fighting a minotaur and discovering an abandoned arena and a cleric, long story. We find Mili fucking laying on A NECROMANCER’S RITUAL CIRCLE WHAT THE FU-

I pull a “I don’t hesitate bitch” on the hooded dude that’s hovering and chanting shit. He’s dead, it’s all swell. Saved the day, the evil’s dead. Mili’s fine she can go back to being a cute lil baby who loves shiny rocks and-

oh wAIT actually Mili is still transformed into a demonic monster and the necromancer dude was actually in the middle of completing a ritual to bring her back to life after he killed her a few times

So turns out, necromancer dead dude was hired by a mysterious someone, to steal something from Talako’s shrine, and to destroy any evidence. Turns out, his methodology for doing so was to kidnap some birb kid who had the misfortune of wander too close, killing them, turning them into some demonic monster that does their bidding, using that monster to steal and ruin some shit, and then when the day’s done he turns them back like nothing happened. Sure do wish he was alive to redo that last part

I’m freaking out, the party’s freaking out, that sword from earlier is cursing to high heaven for no apparent reason. Cleric unhelpfully remarks how it was a bad idea that we impulsively killed the evil dude bro, yes wow thank you for the help

Eventually everything’s fine. After a few round of shouting “NO ONE TOUCH MY FUCKING NIECE OR YOU DIE” after said demonic niece is kinda mindlessly attacking everyone, we eventually do some good ol blunt force trauma and a bit of magic and BOOM. Mili’s back. Although they do have permanent black ritual markings on them but its fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinee (its not)

We find a note on necromancer dude bro that his employer was from another island, so that’s a lead yay Find Out Next SessionTM but at this point I really don’t care as I’ve already started tying Mili to my chest and walking back to the village

I go back to Zekk’s house, hand off Mili, explain everything that happened, give a super heart feel apology about how I pretty much killed Mili (even though I really didn’t but also as we all know Illeka is an angsty birb who’s steadfast in the idea that their existence hurts everyone they love so yay <3) and then I leave as fast as I can before anyone can protest sure was nice visiting my family after i’ve been away for a few months sure am glad that my inner thoughts about staying away weren’t justified whatsoever hmmmmmm

A session or two passes. We try to assassinate and elf’s evil parents and fail, we get into a Fake Dating Being Someone’s Children Au with a dragon. The selkie keeps trying to date everyone, even thought they’re already married to a necromancer princess and a boat (long story) and inbetween we head to that island that note i got was talking about and turns out it was to a place where all your inner demons and anxieties manifest into reality and taunt you, until youre slowly broken down to the point where the evil dictator on the island can “magic” away your problems with puppet strings. fun for the whole family!

Anyways, after our party fights out evil neon-blue clones, I get a lead from dictator dude that the employer I’m looking for is a Rito that’s good with magic, and was last seen headed east, in the same direction we just came from. fun.a

So I’m kinda low on leads, other than the fact that theres a magic school in the east, but in between we have to deal with the fact that husboat (again, the boat that is married to the selkie who is also our entire party’s form of transportation across the ocean. wait a sec did I mention that we weren’t in Hyrule? We’re not in Hyrule, this is a flooded land with a bunch of islands. Think wind waker) was being chased by pirates. also these pirates were the ones that raised the selkie, and also they kinda also slaughtered an entire island of halffoots in their time with the pirates, and also that island was the one that the halffoot in our party grew up in. So basically that’s some cool tension and drama. Anyhow, back to moi

One talk about how “no we cannot kidnap aNOTHER priest” to the selkie and elf later... magic school! Magic school is pretentious and I hate it. Everythings glowy, they don’t allow you to fly over the gates. There’s puffy noble middle aged men and children in bedazzled cloaks. There’s magic in the air and I swear I would choke and die on the glitter and rainbows of it all.

Half the party is off getting into cloak fashion, I head off with my dragonborn friend Ness because highfive! We’re the only one’s with morals in this party! Morality pals! (This is saying something considering I am true neutral and she’s chaotic good but we might as well be clerics in this party...)

My morality pal and I and hanging around, then we catch word that there’s this transfer student that no one has seen in a while and “oh I wonder where she could be” and all that jazz from other students. Mortality pals are like “ok let’s go look for her” so we drag the rest of the party off of their larceny spree and look around.

Eventually, after I spot a tattered cloak roaming the halls that matches the description of the gossip, we find the transfer student.

TURNS OUT (unsurprisingly honestly given the way the dm framed stuff) this transfer student is someone I know. She’s standing there, in the middle of the room, preparing to do some ritual or something. She’s standing there, my life purpose, my one and only goal, literally the only reason I’m still going in life, my arch nemesis, my target, my mortal fucking enemy. It’s Kala.

Ness sees a demon dog in the background and says hi, ruining our element of surprise, but to be fair, she doesn’t know it’s Kala.

Kala whips around from her table thing. We make eye contact. Her face suddenly shift from confusion to surprise to bewilderment to shock to happiness.

Happiness.

“Illeka I thought you were dead!” Kala runs towards me, but I’m too shocked to move.

She’s smiling. It’s not sadistic, it’s not...harmful, it’s just genuine joy. For a moment I thought I saw a tear in her eye.

Kala hugs me for a long moment, before letting go. “So how did you survive?”

...

In my head I’m thinking, “oh you fuck face”

THE. AUDACITY. OF. THIS. BITCH.

“HOWD I SURVIVE” UH NO THANKS TO YOU FOR ALMOST KILLING ME FOR YOUR STUPID RITUAL WHATEVER THAT KILLED TALAKO WTFFF

ARE YOU REALLY TRYING TO PULL THE SAME TRICK AGAIN??? GONNA PRETEND TO BE ALL SENTIMENTAL AND NICE JUST TO TRY AND KILL ME LATER ON? HA OK OK

how about instead, I do the one good thing, the one worthwhile thing I can do in my entire life...just one simple course of action that might hope to make up for the mountain of regret that is my entire existence.

I am finally going to kill you.

Kala’s staring at me, eyes curious, head tilted as if all she ever did was ask what I had for brunch.

I blink once, and my neutral expression, faintly coated with shock morphs into determination.

I roll for initiative.

- - - - - -

It’s 1am.

So have a cliffhanger, kinda.

If anyone bothers to read this far, congrats! Your reward is me being lazy. I’ll tell you what happened sometime tomorrow if anyone really wants to know :P Long story short, it doesn’t end how I, and therefore probably you, would except.

#haha brain go- shamelessly talk about Illeka for 3 thousand words #i actually dont know the word count i didnt check i think it's 4k??#the thing i copy pasted is like 2k and the campaign stuff i added is....idk #not botw kinda #rito oc #kinda #dnd #kip talks for too long #i'd write this better but its 1am #good luck if you can actually read this

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ravenforce · 5 years

Text

Begin Again Pt. 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x OC!Daughter x Surprise!Character

Word Count: 1827

Warning/s: Nothing? Except this will be a multi-chapter because this part is long AF, as per usual. LOL.

A/N: Hey loves, I’m sorry for being MIA for a long time. I bled my heart and soul in this fic, and I guess I’m not really ready to end this journey. This fic is an alternative ending to See You in A minute, meaning Stardust didn’t happen. I hope you’ll like it. If you haven’t read the whole installation, I’ll put the links below. xx

Series: See You In A Minute | I’ll Never Love Again | Stardust

Alt. Ending: Begin Again Pt. 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

It’s quiet hilarious to see a room full of super powered being clamouring to have little Asya on their arms, cooing soft words of love and affirmation to the little miracle that is your daughter but it’s also reassuring. Seeing the Avengers, literally assembled for your daughter’s birth grounds Natasha in a way that she hasn’t felt in a long time since you passed. Seeing her family around your daughter gives her the strength and confidence that she can, indeed, do this because she’s not alone, not really.

***

Raising Asya as a single mother was overwhelming for Natasha. She wasn’t ready, not really. She thinks its infinitely better if you were there waking up at the middle of the night to a wailing child after putting her down only half an hour ago.

There were so many days where she imagines you in Tony’s place, offering to take over Asya so she can catch more than a few minutes of sleep. There were so many days where she wishes it’s you that’s making your daughter laugh instead of Thor. There were so many nights after she put Asya down to sleep where she breaks down and cries because she misses you.

She misses your light, your warmth, your arms around her, your steadfast belief in her ability to be good and your constant reassurance that she’s enough. She misses your undying support that even though she can do everything she puts her mind into, she doesn’t have to because she has you. You stood by her, you fought alongside her, you loved her, you carried half of her burden and God does she wish to have you back in her arms if only the world’s a wish-granting machine.

But Natasha knew a long time ago that the world is cruel. So she allowed herself to break down at nights but come morning, Natasha resolves to be the best version of herself to be the mother Asya deserves.

***

Three

Toddlers are a handful, except Asya’s not like any other kid who yells and wails and pulls a tantrum to get what they want. No, Asya is very diplomatic. Ever since she learned her words, Asya has been a very good communicator since.

How she’s talking way too straight for a three years old was beyond all of them. Except for Tony and the pediatrician and child psychologist Bruce brought in, with Natasha’s approval of course, believe that Asya may be speaking straighter than most kids her age because of the stimulus around her. Asya lives with three adults and an eleven-year-old, no one talks to her like she’s a baby. So she doesn’t talk like one either.

At three, Asya and Natasha have developed a very close bond. Even though they live and share common spaces with the Starks, she’s closest to her mother. She loves following Nat around, and Nat doesn’t complain about it. She’s a brilliant, radiant child and Nat loves being with her because Asya, amidst not meeting you, carries on so much of you in her; not just your eyes, and it makes Nat feel like she has her best friend back.

***

Nat and Asya have established a fairly good routine by now. Every morning, Nat takes her on her morning hike around the property where they sweat and soak up some sun. Asya loves hiking with Nat, where halfway she asked her mother to give her a piggyback ride. Nat doesn’t complain, Asya practically weights anything. Asya also uses this time to ask Nat questions about anything and everything under the sun. Sometimes she makes Nat tell her stories about you and Nat talks her head off until they get back to the house.

After hiking, they would shower and then have some breakfast, mostly with the Starks. Nat's lucky that Asya’s not a picky eater. Breakfast is always a joy, the Starks loves Asya especially Morgan who treats her like a baby sister. Sometimes, Peter would swing by to catch up with Iron Dad, and his adoptive siblings.

***

After breakfast, everyone breaks off to do their stuff. Nat goes to S.H.I.E.L.D three times a week to help Deputy Director Hill on things. It has been a careful deliberation and discussion with her family before everyone agreed that not being coop up in the house is good for Nat. Tony only agreed after Nat promises that she'll do solely HQ work, no mission of any kind whatsoever.

Nat brings Asya along with her. At first, Nat was hesitant but Asya knows how to behave especially when she’s in public. She stays at her mother’s side or Auntie Maria when Nat has to step away for a minute.

After Asya’s first visit, S.H.I.E.L.D gave her an official ID that allows her to enter the premises. On her second visit, Maria gave her a tailored S.H.I.E.L.D uniform with ‘Romanova-Y/L/N' embroidered on it, which she insisted on wearing every time they go to work. Asya strutting around the HQ in her uniform gave her power over all agents on duty, Director Fury included. Nat rolls her eyes lovingly every time Asya bats her long eyelashes to get everyone to scram and procure whatever she wants.

“She is truly both yours and Y/N's daughter,” Maria commented after sitting next to Nat on the command center and watching Asya interact with the other agents.

“I’m scared that she’s this good at three,” Nat said chuckling.

***

Maria never asks Nat to stay in the HQ all day, and in the event does she does, Maria always takes them to dinner. Nat and Maria maintained a very professional relationship between them in the past but without you and before Asya, Nat became more reclusive which worried her family. So Maria took a chance at friendship the moment she heard about Asya. Nat was surprised when Maria herself, without Nick, came down with flowers to congratulate her. They’ve become really good friends since then.

If Nat's dismissed from HQ early, Nat always brings Asya to Stardust Diner – your favorite - either before or after they go to a museums, library and/or the aquarium. Asya’s sense of wonder came from you, which only makes Nat fall in love with your little miracle more.

***

At night, a part of their nightly rituals is either Nat reading one of your books or showing her the scrapbook the team made to Asya. It’s a collection of photos with you that they’re able to unearth on their camera rolls. Most of them are hilarious, especially those photos of you goofing around with the boys. Some of them are downright sweet, like the photo of you and Wanda cuddling one movie night or the photo of you on Thor's back when you sprained your ankle after a recon mission. Looking at the photos always reminds Nat that she’s not grieving alone, the whole team, the whole family lost you too.

Sometimes it’ll be overwhelming for Nat, and Asya - bless her attentiveness and empathy - would close the scrapbook herself and cuddle her mother. On nights like this, Asya always ends up sleeping over in Nat’s room.

“It’s okay mama, I miss mom too,” Asya would murmur half asleep as she lay on Nat’s chest.

Even though it still hurts, Asya’s presence never fails to soothe her aching heart and soul. With Asya secure in her arms, Nat still sleeps with some semblance of peace.

***

Five

Life will keep moving forward whether you get on it or not but life was put on hold one morning after everyone received Thor’s request for an emergency meeting at HQ. The tension in the room is so thick, one can cut it with a plastic spoon. Tony’s pacing the room, Carol’s bouncing her leg on her seat, even Bucky’s tapping his fingers on the table.

“Relax. I’m sure it’s nothing,” Nat tried to assure the team.

“I don’t know how to relax. The last time we were all in the same room the world was ending,” Tony whispered through gritted teeth. Pepper put a hand on his shoulder and he instantly stopped moving and sighed.

“Maybe I should go check on Thor?” Carol asked as she rises from her chair, unable to sit still any longer. She’s nervous too, Tony’s right the last time they were all gathered together they lost you and Vision.

Just as Carol changed into her Captain Marvel uniform, an alarm sounded in the room; signaling Thor’s spaceship landing in the compound. Their collective hearts hammered as strong as the engines of the spacecraft.

“Finally,” Scott sighed.

***

It took a couple of more minutes before the engines died down. By the time, its entrance opened the whole team has gathered at its mouth. Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill are standing a little further, watching the whole scene.

“What’s happening Nick?” Maria asked.

Nick just shook his head. “Wait for it,” he said.

Rocket was the first to board off, he is still salty as per usual. Everyone gave him high fives. When he got to Nat and Asya, he smiled. Asya ruffled his head, everyone’s shock Rocket didn’t make a fuss.

“You’re in for a surprise, kid,” he said as he handed Asya a space rock. Asya and Morgan's growing a collection, most of them are from Carol. Asya thanked his furry little uncle before turning her attention to the rock.

Before Nat could say anything, Loki and Thor walked out of ship together. Nat tried to read the Asgardians but they’re not giving themselves away. The moment Thor set foot on dirt, there’s a cacophony of greetings and questions.

“Woah! Woah! Take a breathe people, there is no threat,” Thor said.

“If there’s no threat then why haul everyone here? Even T'Challa left Wakanda for this,” Sam said a little frustrated.

Before Thor can say anything else, everyone turned at the sound of another footstep inside the ship. When the person whose said footsteps belong to emerged, every single one of them lost their breath and their tether to earth and sanity.

***

Stepping off the spaceship was none other than you.

Taglist: @natthisback @5aftermidnight

#raven writes #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanova x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov x you #natasha romanova x you #black widow x you #natasha romanoff x oc #natasha romanoff x oc!daughter #natasha romanoff x daughter

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: Bedtime Stories

Summary: Every night, Killian reads to his and Emma's twin daughters. What he doesn't know is that Emma sits in the hallway and listens each night.

Rating: G for family feels

Note: This story was written before we knew about Hope Jones. They have twin daughters instead in this fic. I am NOT “erasing Hope” (though writers can create any Jones family they wish, in my opinion, and shouldn’t get any hate for it, but I digress . . . )

Words: About 1k

Books quoted (in order):

* Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey

* Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans

* The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton

* Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

* The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf

* Tikki Tikki Tembo by Arlene Mosel

* Horton Hears a Who! by Dr. Seuss

On Ao3 until 11/17/19 but here on tumblr for the first time and here it shall remain :)

Tagging the usuals: :@snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose@shireness-says @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @branlovestowrite @welllpthisishappening @hollyethecurious @stahlop

Bedtime in the big blue Swan-Jones house, like bedtime in many houses, consisted of a ritual of baths, teeth brushing, and kisses goodnight. And like many households, it also included story time. For the Jones twins, it was daddy who did the honors. Snuggling down between them in their wrought iron double bed covered in a fuzzy purple Rapunzel blanket, Killian Jones would read to his girls.

What the girls didn’t know was that their mother listened to story time, too. Emma was fairly certain Killian didn’t know, either. For one, this bonding time between her husband and their daughters warmed her heart. After so much struggle for their happy beginning, it was a balm to her soul to hear the girls giggles harmonize with Killian’s deep laugh.

But it wasn’t just that.

Killian Jones also had a way with words; even with words that weren’t his own. Truth be told, any woman would willingly listen to the man read the menu on the wall at Granny’s. His deep timbre and rolling accent had always been able to simultaneously stoke the flames of desire and warm Emma’s soul like a comforting embrace.

But it wasn’t just that, either.

Belle helped Killian select books on his frequent visits to the library, and she ensured that the Jones children were fed the best of classic children’s literature. Every time Emma saw a new stack on the coffee table, the titles and cover illustrations took her back to her own childhood. Back to all the books her parents never read to her. The books every other child knew as well as the most familiar Christmas carol.

So Emma sat in the hall, listening to her husband read. He did all of the sound effects with dramatic flair.

Little Sal picked three berries and dropped them into her little tin pail . . . kuplunk, kuplank, kuplunk!

The rhymes rolled off his tongue like a melody.

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines. They left the house at half past nine in two straight lines in rain or shine. The smallest one was Madeline.

He made the simplest beginnings sound like epic fairy tales

Once upon a time there was a Little House way out in the country. She was a pretty Little House and she was strong and well built.

Moments of excitement and adventure became absolutely epic under the command of Killian’s voice.

And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws till Max said, “BE STILL!” and tamed them with a magic trick.

Stories seemed to resonant on a deeper level as the words poured like honey over and under Killian’s accented voice.

Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand. All the other little bulls he lived with would run and jump and butt their heads together, but not Ferdinand. He liked to just sit quietly and smell the flowers.

When he read “Tikki Tikki Tembo,” Killian could say the long, rollicking name of the main character so fast and so easily, it would set the girls off giggling every time.

Oh, Most Honorable Mother, Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo has fallen into the well!

And sometimes, like tonight, his voice and the story combined to touch that deep part of Emma’s soul where that little lost girl still resided.

. . . some poor little person who’s shaking with fear that he’ll blow in the pool! He has no way to steer! I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all, a person’s a person, no matter how small!

Emma felt a tear slip down her cheek and wiped at it hastily. To get so emotional over a children’s book! What was wrong with her? And yet she sniffled the rest of the way through Dr. Seuss until finally Horton saved the Whos. Emma was still sitting there, her knees pulled up to her chin, when Killian stepped out their daughters’ room, pulling the door closed silently. When he saw her, he startled, nearly dropping the book. So he didn’t know about her nightly routine.

“Emma, love, what are you doing out here?” he asked, squatting down beside her. He reached out and brushed a tear away with his knuckles.

Emma shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. “I guess you may as well know. I sit out here every night when you read to the girls. Though why I’m crying all of a sudden, I have no idea!”

Killian gave her a soft smile in understanding. She was an open book to him, after all. “These are the stories of your realm, Swan. Stories all children are supposed to hear as they grow, am I right?”

Emma nodded, embarrassed when her chin wobbled and fresh tears filled her eyes. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath to steady herself. “And our girls will hear them all.”

Killian smiled in understanding. “Aye, Swan, that they will.”

“Besides,” Emma teased, cocking her head to one side, “you have a very sexy reading voice.”

Emma expected him to arch an eyebrow and toss her an innuendo. Instead, he took the book he held under his left elbow and waved it at Emma as he blushed, “You mean I make Dr. Seuss sound sexy?”

Emma thought about it for a minute, and then grinned, “Yeah. At Christmas your Grinch voice gets me all worked up.” Then Emma wiggled her own eyebrows in imitation of her husband.

Killian laughed, then stood and scooped her up into his arms. “Well, since you find my voice so sexy, why don’t I give you your own private story time?”

Here was her cocky pirate! “Oh, and what will you read to me?”

Killian swiped his tongue across his lower lip as he gazed at her with lust-filled eyes, “Oh no, love. This will be an original tale about a buxom blonde locked in a tower who taught a cowardly deck hand the ways of the world. If you catch my meaning.”

He winked as he carried her over the threshold of their room, and Emma bit her lip as she looked deep into his eyes, “Sounds like quite the sordid tale. How does it begin?”

Killian cleared his throat dramatically as he deposited her on the bed. “As most stories do: Once upon a time . . .”

#cs ff #domestic cs #jones family feels #daddy killian #lost girl emma #light angst

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vex-bittys · 6 years

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Only Blue: A LamiaSwap Story

This is the third place fic raffle prize for jezziconvair, who asked for a yandere lamia but left most of the details up to me. I hope the finished product makes up for the long wait!

Contains: murder, yandere behavior, hypnosis,drugging, captivity, mentions of abuse

(There is no sexual content in this story. It is under the cut for length only)

Since you were a child, since the first time you heard about the breaking of the Barrier, since you first watched monsters emerge from the Underground to stand in the sunlight once more on your television screen, you dreamed of having a monster friend, and Blueberry, or Blue as you frequently called him, was a dream come true.

You met the rare skeleton lamia at a community center which held events to promote human-monster relations. Blue possessed an irresistible personality, coupled with blue, star-shaped eyelights and an ever-present grin. He fascinated you from the moment you laid eyes on him, and from his exuberant greeting- a tight hug that lifted you right off of your feet- you guessed that he felt the exact same way about you.

Blue referred to you affectionately as Human, and after your first meeting, you got together time and again to go out for food or coffee, partake in hikes and other outdoor adventures, and stay in to binge watch shows and movies. Blue answered all of your questions about monsters in general and skeleton lamias in particular, and you did your best to explain life as a human living on the Surface to him.

You trusted Blue completely, so when your significant other turned violent, you placed a tear-filled call to him in the middle of the night and ended up as platonic roommates. You were too shaken by the attack to talk to the police, but Blue assured you that he handled the situation, and your ex never called or bothered you again. The whole ordeal strengthened your friendship with Blue even further.

Blue, ever the vigilant protector, visited you every day at your job, dropping you off and picking you up and even stopping by for spontaneous check-ins just to set your mind at ease. When you and Blue went out, he often playfully put his arm around you to prevent potential suitors from approaching. If they didn’t get the hint and flirted with you anyway, a warning hiss usually scared them away.

You were grateful to Blue for his big brother tendencies. After your last dating experience, you weren’t ready to put yourself back out on the singles’ market quite yet. Nothing would change your mind until a stranger gave you a shy smile one day. You recognized the person; you’d seen them around town at many of the same restaurants and events that you and Blue frequented.

You struck up a conversation with them, and the connection between the two of you sparked to life in that moment. They seemed to like you, and you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for them. You gave them your number, and they promised to call you that very night.

Their calls became a nightly ritual, and you spent hours talking to them every week. You couldn’t help gushing to Blue about how happy it made you every time you saw a text from them or fell asleep to the sound of their voice. You asked Blue if he minded if they joined you for a movie over the weekend, and he gave you a curt head shake. You thought nothing of it until the day of your date-and-a-half arrived.

Blue’s behavior could only be classified as odd. He acted like they weren’t even there, answering any question directed at him with icy silence. The movie ended with the three of you standing awkwardly in the lobby. Blue glared at your crush, and your crush rubbed the back of their head awkwardly under his scrutiny. You wondered what the lamia’s problem was, and you confronted him about it when you got home.

“Why were you being so rude?” you demanded. Blue never treated anyone that poorly. Did he know something about them that you didn’t?

“I don’t trust them,” replied Blue smoothly. “They creeped me out. I just want what’s best for you. I just want you to be safe.” Blue’s eyelights radiated sincerity, and the longed you locked eyelights with him the more his words made sense to you. Maybe you weren’t thinking clearly after your last relationship? Blue just wanted you to be safe. You trusted Blue. When they called you that night, you didn’t answer the phone.

Your mistrust faded away overnight, however. Your crush called later, apologizing for imagined scenarios, and you relented, accepting their offer of dinner and dessert for tonight, just you and them. They promised to pick you up at seven, and you found yourself actually looking forward to the date. You shared your excitement with Blue,and he smiled, a sweet and genuine smile.

“I’m so happy that you found someone,” he congratulated you, setting your mind at ease.

You were ready for your date by six, picking out a flattering casual outfit for what you hoped would be the first date of many. Seven o’clock came and went. Eight o’clock passed by as well. Around nine, Blue slithered through the door, brows raised in surprise at seeing you still waiting in the kitchen where you’d been when he left earlier.

“No date?” he asked innocently.

“No,” you told him, barely holding back tears. “They didn’t call, and they won’t answer my messages. We made our plans today, why would they cancel?”

Blue wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his ribcage and coiling his long, ecto-flesh around you, surrounding you in his comforting presence.

“Shh,” he soothed, “It’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about. I suspected they might do something like this. You’re better off without them.” You felt so tired. Blue was right. Blue wouldn’t lie to you.

“I’m better off without them,” you repeated softly as the tension left your body. Blue lifted you gently into his arms and carried you into your room.

“I’m here for you. I always will be. It’ll be just you and me,” he murmured as you kicked off your shoes and pulled the blankets over your still-clothed body.

“Just you and me,” you repeated his words again. It sounded so safe and comfortable. Just you and your very good friend Blue, who would never let anything happen to you. Your head nestled into your soft, downy pillow and you drifted off into a dreamless sleep immediately.

You awoke well-rested, but the sadness from being stood up the night before lingered. You checked your texts and voicemails, but your crush hadn’t contacted you at all. You left a vague voicemail for them, asking them if they were ok and telling them that there were no hard feelings over the missed date. When you finally left your room, dressed for work and starving for breakfast, you discovered that Blue wasn’t even home to give you one of his famous hugs. It was going to be a long day.

Fortunately, you shared your shift with your favorite co-worker and high school partner in crime. As soon as you came through the door, she embraced you. With a happy sign, you leaned into the gesture. How had she known you needed this? It took you a moment to realize that she was crying. You pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length while you absorbed her puffy eyes and the streaks of eyeliner and mascara running down her face.

“What happened?” you asked, your own problems forgotten in the wake of your friend’s misery.

“You didn’t know?” she asked in shock. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” You must have looked as utterly bewildered as you felt because she led you into the break room, waving at the TV where news anchors covered a breaking story that held the other workers captivated.

You stared at the TV with an open mouth. Photo after photo flashed across the screen. Over a dozen faces of apparently unrelated men and women slowly filled the screen. You recognized two of the images- your abusive ex and your recent crush. Your eyes darted to the news ticker, attempting to catch up with the words marching across the bottom of the screen.

Anxiety thrummed through your entire body as you picked out words and phrases, putting the story together as different images appeared on the TV. Bodies found. Mass grave. Secluded area. No suspects. No leads. Just victim after victim being exhumed.

How could this be happening? You’d seen your crush yesterday! You collapsed onto the sofa in the break room, processing the information sluggishly. They were dead. They were gone. They were murdered. Numbness swept through your body, chasing away the energy of a restful night’s sleep. You friend shook your shoulder, repeating your name until you regained enough mental fortitude for an eloquent “Huh?”

“Are you ok? Do you want to go home? I can drive you.” You considered it, then nodded. Blue must surely be home by now. He would know what to do. He would take care of you, he had to because you couldn’t function right now. Not after this.

Your friend dropped you off at Blue’s house, waiting outside and watching you through the windshield to make sure you got into the house alright. You fumbled with your key before simply turning the knob in frustration and finding it unlocked. You’d locked the door behind you when you left for work that morning, and that meant Blue must be back from his early morning errand.

As soon as you stumbled across the threshold, you heard the sound of the shower running. You didn’t think you could drag yourself through the house to the bathroom in your shaken state, so you called for him, just him name, but it was enough. The shower noises ceased, and Blue hurried to your side, toweling himself off as he went.

Distress must have been written all over your face because he let the towel fall onto a pile of dirty clothes on the floor- an unusual sight in the tidy lamia’s house, but not noteworthy enough to distract you from the horrible newscast you’d witnessed. Blue held you close to him, stroking your back in soothing circles. He didn’t even ask what was wrong; you’d tell him when you felt ready.

Breaking away from the hug, you sat on the couch and wordlessly patted the seat next to you. Picking up the remote, you flipped through channels until you found the same news story as before, although they were all reporting live coverage of the same event. More pictures had been added to the list of victims, and your stomach twisted as you remembered meeting some of the other victims before as well.

The man in the top left square made beautiful silver filigree jewelry. Blue had purchased a necklace from him for you at a local art fair. After Blue fastened the necklace, with its butterfly shaped pendant, around your neck, the man had kissed your hand and called you exquisite. Blue’s hand laid on top of yours on the couch cushion, and as if he could read your thoughts, he brushed his thumb along the back of your hand where the man had placed his kiss.

A young woman two pictures down on the same side had laughed at a joke you told when Blue took you out for ice cream. She’d even given you an extra scoop for “making her day a little brighter.” Fresh tears welled up in your eyes to join those that had already trailed down your cheeks over the untimely and unexpected death of your crush earlier. In the lower right corner you recognized the face of another person who had held a door open for you and waved you into a restaurant like royalty. How was it possible to be familiar with so many seemingly random strangers? More importantly, who had done such a horrible thing? Someone committed these crimes, and they needed to be found and held accountable!

The newscast cut to a press conference with the chief of police. The shuffling of papers sounded deafening in the pregnant silence as the press waited for an update on the victims or information about a potential suspect. The police chief inhaled deeply, preparing to drop a devastating statement to those gathered around, hoping for swift justice for all of the lives lost.

“We have no suspects at this time.”

The conference room erupted into startled gasps and worried hushed discussions. It took a moment for the reporters to compose themselves and start launching questions. The police chief wore a harried expression as he sifted through the cacophony to answer specific individuals.

“Is there a connection between the victims?”

“At this time, the murders appear to be random and unrelated, spanning over the course of at least several months. Currently, we are only able to theorize on how the perpetrator has been selecting their victims.”

“Does this mean that anyone could be targeted if the killer strikes again?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

You didn’t even notice when your body started shaking, but the warm security of Blue’s muscular tail encircling you with gentle protectiveness made you realize how badly the story was affecting you. Your crush had been murdered while you waited for them to pick you up for a date. You stood in the kitchen, calling and texting them, and at that very moment, they might have been fighting for their life. What if you were next? The killer could be anyone, and their target could be anyone as well.

Everything suddenly felt so unstable and unsafe. You slumped against Blue as alternating waves of anxiety and numbness washed over you. Your eyes fell on Blue’s discarded clothing, and you stared at it, unseeing. It only caught your focus because it was out of place. Blue never left a mess. He even picked up after you sometimes.

“It could’ve been me,” you whispered. Blue chuckled, the sound jarringly out of place considering the circumstances.

“You’re safe. The killer won’t hurt you.” Blue’s words instantly calmed you, the way they always did.

“Safe,” you murmured. That’s right. You were safe. Nothing to worry about. Except you still felt unsettled. You couldn’t put your finger on it right away, but something was definitely out of place. You concentrated, continuing to stare at the clothes strewn across the floor. It dawned on you slowly. The shirt and scarf and the floor around them were smeared with bright red mud, the same color mud you’d seen when the news cameras panned over the mass grave.

“Blue, how did you get that mud on you?” you jerked away from him before he had a chance to answer you, but his coils tightened around you, preventing you from escaping. You struggled, but he overpowered you easily. “Blue, what’s going on? Did you murder them? Did you kill those people?” Hysteria crept into your voice.

Blue’s tail tipped your chin upwards until you were forced to look him directly in the eyelights. The fathomless depths of blue threatened to swallow you whole, but you couldn’t summon the willpower to blink or avert your gaze.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he intoned. “Everything is fine.” Your body sagged; you suddenly felt like you weighed a thousand pounds, as if gravity had somehow increased on you specifically. Blue kept on talking to you, purring reassurances that vibrated through you, right down into your bones until your panic finally subsided. Fatigue tugged at you, and your eyelids, previously reluctant to so much as blink, could barely stay open.

“Nothing… to worry… about,” you managed to murmur, words slurred by exhaustion. Blue’s assurances made sense; they always made so much sense, especially when he stared right into your SOUL with those dazzling eyelights. You didn’t remember going to bed, but you woke up late into the afternoon the next day wearing your favorite pair of pajamas.

You checked your nightstand, your floor, under your bed, and even in your laundry basket for your phone, but you just couldn’t find it. You gave up and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, which Blue had thoughtfully prepared for you. You shoveled down forkful after forkful of Blue’s delicious cooking, wondering why you were so hungry. Did you miss dinner last night? Your memories of yesterday were foggy and distant. You lifted a hand to your forehead to see if you were coming down with a fever.

You couldn’t get your hand to obey you though. It hung limply by your side despite your best efforts to move. You tried to explain your plight to Blue, but you couldn’t get your mouth to form coherent speech; all that came out was a garbled groan. Shadows crept forward from the edges of your vision until everything went black and you collapsed forward onto the table.

Blue made a tsk-tsk sound as he picked you up and carried you back to your bed. As much as he hated using hypnosis on you, he hated drugging you even more. He couldn’t let you leave the house though, not anymore. You obviously didn’t understand the dangers of the world around you. Blue needed to take care of you, to protect you from your own poor decisions, like the possibility of you leaving him for another mate or making accurate by unwanted accusations to local law enforcement.

The lamia had already reported you missing. He’d disposed of your phone in a dark alley already overflowing with trash. He claimed that your whereabouts after you left for work a few days ago were a mystery to him, but he feigned concern like a professional actor, even summoning up some crocodile tears for the officer who interviewed him. Now two officers were planning to visit the house to look for evidence.

Blue sighed, slinging your unconscious form over his shoulder. It was so much easier to hide dead bodies. You could toss them around without fear of harming them, not that he cared about harming those foolish humans when they were alive either. You belonged to him. If they didn’t understand that fact, they deserved to die. Nobody would ever take you away from him. He just had to hide you in his storage unit for a few days until the police lost interest, then he could have you all to himself forever.

The manacles on the twin size bed fastened with a satisfying click. Now you could sleep safely, away from the watchful eyes of nosey neighbors and investigators alike. You flailed listlessly for a moment after he put the blanket over you, but you settled soon enough. Blue padlocked the door behind him with a serene smile on his face. With enough hypnosis and the aide of powerful sedatives, you’d learn to accept him, and he wouldn’t need the restraints anymore.

You attempted to claw your way free of the sludge that clogged your mind. You were trapped, but you kept forgetting where you were and how long you’d been there. You lost track of the passage of time. Dreams became muddled with reality, and all you could truly comprehend were the two mesmerizing blue eyelights that haunted your perpetual twilight.

Your struggles weakened. You saw no reason to fight. You were safe here. Blue protected you. Blue took care of you. Blue knew what was best for you. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

Just you and Blue.

You and Blue.

Blue.

Endless blue.

INDEX

#vexy writes #underswap #lamiatale #lamiaswap #yandere blueberry #yandere trope #hypnosis and drugging #forced captivity #fic raffle prize

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elsaclack · 6 years

Note

This is really random but I saw a fic of yours about Amy being sick (I think the prompt was "Amy yells at the Vulture") but I can't find the full piece anywhere. Is it on AO3 anywhere? I love your writing and I completely understand if you just didn't want it out anymore. Just thought I'd ask! :)

i thought it was but i just went and searched my entire work history (including all 70+ chapters of those god-forsaken oneshot collections) and i couldn’t find it anywhere!! i guess i forgot to cross-post it back when i first wrote it, and it got lost when i deleted the original elsaclack. but i just scoured my docs list and found it buried in a random folder so i’ll repost it here and add it to the newest one-shot collection on ao3 :)

fun fact: this was written almost exactly 2 years ago!!! meaning that my writing skills have developed considerably since i actually wrote this. aka please don’t judge me if this seems like a sudden regression haha

also i wanna tag @phil-the-stone-art bc we actually developed the concept of The List together so she’s at least 35% responsible for this fic lmao

under the cut!

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much. She prides herself on her meticulous nightly hygienic rituals, on the cabinet full of multivitamins and minerals she takes on a daily basis in her bathroom, on the rigorous workout routine and diet she keeps herself on each week to maintain perfect health. She lives her life by a very tight plan (laid out in checklists and carefully organized in color-coded binders) that simply does not afford her any extra time to be sick.

Which is why, when she wakes up one Tuesday morning with a head stuffed full of cotton and violent shivers rolling down her spine, she gets up to start her usual routine in spite of the fact that she feels like she hasn’t actually slept in three weeks. Jake’s still snoring on the other side of the bed, another hour away from getting up to haphazardly dress in whatever flannel he can find lying on her bedroom floor that doesn’t smell too dirty, and he doesn’t even stir at the sound of her shuffling footsteps or running nose.

She drags herself into the bathroom, shuts the door, and flicks the lights on. Her reflection honestly makes her jump back an inch or two; she’s never seen her skin quite so pale, or bruises beneath her eyes quite so dark, or her lips quite so visibly dry and cracked. She reaches out to grip the edges of her sink and realizes that her arms and hands are trembling, and when she leans a bit more weight onto them she notes that her knees are quaking beneath her.

All in all, not a great start to the day.

She presses on, though, ignoring her running nose and congested head and general exhaustion. The shower helps a little, but not much.

When she shuts the water off, she hears Jake moving around in her bedroom, and her heart skips a beat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been in the shower that long. “Jake?” She calls as she wraps a towel around herself. Her voice is coarse and rough.

“Hey,” he knocks lightly at the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, could you, um…there’s a binder out on the dining room table, should say something on the cover about that case I was working on last night -” she clears her throat and winces at the sharp pain that responds “- could you grab it and put it in my bag?”

“Sure,” he’s quiet for a moment and Amy’s left to gently rub at her temples with the heels of her hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound awful.”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

But she’s not. Her knees are still quaking and vertigo has suddenly set in and she’s swaying, reaching out to grab the tiled edge of her shower. Her hand slips against the wet surface and she falls forward, shoulder banging painfully into the tiles.

The door swings open and Jake bursts inside in a panic. “Ames? Oh my God!” She suddenly realizes that she’d sunk down to a crouching position upon falling. He kneels next to her, gently pulling her away from the shower and letting her lean heavily into him. Her head falls against his shoulder, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, and she hears him tut. “You’re burning up, babe,” he says quietly.

“I’m fine,” her voice fails half-way through and she ends up finishing in an unconvincing whisper.

“You’re not going to work today,” he tells her.

“But -”

“You almost fainted just now, Amy. You’re staying home sick today.”

She tries to argue but he pulls her up off the ground, keeping his touch firm and steady should gravity leave her again, and her voice completely dies on the way out of the bathroom. He lets her whisper weak arguments as he steers her gently toward the bed, humming and nodding along as he pulls fresh sweatpants up her legs and eases one of his academy shirts over her head. He pushes back on her good shoulder with just enough force that she lays down and pulls the comforter up to her chin. Her eyelids flutter closed when he presses a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll tell Captain Holt where you are,” he says quietly. His hand finds hers against the mattress, fingers twisting through hers. “Get some sleep, okay?”

She’s asleep before he even gets out the front door.

A few hours later she’s roused by the sound of her phone vibrating on her bedside table. Sunlight streams in through her window and she squints, disoriented, fumbling around with semi-numb fingers for her phone.

From: Jake PeraltaHow u feelin? Miss u at work. Charles says he’ll bring u goat soup later lol

It hurts to even swallow, and Amy has to work really hard to keep from whining at the splitting headache igniting behind her right eye.

To: Jake PeraltaFeel like garbage. I haev a headache. Im afraid to get out of bed for meds. Miss u too

She waits five minutes for him to respond, and when her phone remains motionless, she closes her eyes and lets it fall against her chest.

Precisely twenty minutes after that, she hears her front door open. It closes again and she hears footsteps crossing her living room and it only just hits her that someone is in her apartment when those footsteps cross the threshold of her bedroom.

“Hey, hey, don’t get out of bed,” Jake says soothingly. Amy falls back against her pillow from her struggling half-sitting up position as Jake drops a plastic grocery bag at the foot of her bed and perches on the edge of the mattress beside her. He replaces her phone back on her bedside table with one hand and smooths his other palm over her forehead (and she only just then realizes that she’s sweating) and grimaces. “You’re still burning up,” he says, running his fingers through her hair just above her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, and the words slip out between two wet coughs.

He frowns and gently scratches his short nails against her scalp. “I brought Advil,” he says, casting an absent glance over his shoulder at the bag he brought in, “and stuff to make soup. It’s the recipe for Nana’s matzoh ball soup.” She raises her eyebrows beneath his palm and he grins down at her. “Don’t tell Charles, but it’s literally the best soup you’ll ever have and it’ll cure your dumb cold in twenty minutes or less.”

“Promise?”

He leans down and pecks a kiss against her forehead. “Promise,” he says when he leans away. “I’m gonna go make some and bring it in here and you’ll be back on your feet before the end of the day. Peralta Guarantee.” He winks.

She sinks down into the mattress as much as she can when he stands up, opening her eyes only when he comes back in with two Advil tablets and a glass half-full of water. Within minutes she begins hearing pots and pans knock around in her kitchen, and through her cloudy mind she registers that her stomach is rumbling in irritation.

“Alright,” he announces from her doorway. Her eyes split open and he’s carefully balancing the soup bowl on top of her dresser. “I’ll help you sit up, don’t move.”

He pulls her up with one hand and waits until she’s sitting up steadily before hurriedly stacking her pillows up behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she leans back, not realizing just how much of a strain sitting up is until that moment. He hurries back to where the soup is still steaming and carefully brings it over to her, the tip of his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth for how hard he has to concentrate on not spilling any.

He nestles it in her lap, and she smiles, because he looks so proud of himself and he’s really so adorable.

Jake stays with her until she finishes the whole bowl and then he takes her dishes from her and quickly rinses them out in her sink.

“I’ll be back after work to check on you and to finish cleaning that, okay?” He calls from her doorway.

She hums hoarsely and fades out of consciousness.

An hour later, Amy wakes up feeling half-human. Her head and throat still hurt and she still can’t breathe out of her nose, but her brain doesn’t feel quite so fried and her limbs don’t feel quite so weak anymore.

Jake was right - the soup really did help.

Not as much as Nyquil would, but…still.

She kicks the comforter off and moves to sit up, and her phone suddenly falls into her lap from her chest. She pauses, staring at it, trying to remember when it ended up back there. She has no new calls or texts, but when she unlocks the screen, there’s a new note pulled up.

Things i want t odo to jake in bed

Amy feels flames engulf her face that have absolutely nothing to do with her fever. The list has twelve items on it, each one raunchier and riddled with more spelling errors than the last, and by the time she gets to the end of the note she’s covering her face in embarrassment. She’s got just the vaguest memory of typing it (and it’s really more of a dream of a memory than anything else), but none of it will solidify into more than just faint snapshots in her head.

But the more she rereads it, the more heat begins building in her body - heat from the mental images, heat from the germs ravaging her body, heat from the thick comforter still draped over her legs.

She has got to go get some Nyquil.

Santiago Determination blazes through her as she drags herself out of bed, shoulders set and jaw clenched as she pulls one of Jake’s hoodies over her frame and slides her feet into her rarely-worn flip-flops. Part of her feels guilty, knowing that if Jake was the one home sick she’d insist on him texting her anything he needs so that he would stay in bed and recover faster, but she brushes it off as she grabs her purse.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

She blames her scattered brain on the matzoh ball soup later. She blames her compromised detective skills and her lack of attention to detail and her general disorientation on the soup. Because under normal circumstances, no matter how sick she truly is, she would definitely have noticed the Vulture browsing the low aisles of the bodega around the corner from her house immediately upon walking through the front doors.

But as it is, she doesn’t, which means that he gets a visual on her before she’s even aware of being spotted.

She’s so busy perusing the medicine section toward the back that she doesn’t notice him stalking around the shelves, doesn’t feel him peeking around the Doctor Scholl’s cardboard display, doesn’t hear him mutter at a mother and daughter to get out of his way as he follows her ambling walk down the aisle. She isn’t aware of the danger until he’s basically on top of her.

“Yo, Santiago,” he says, his voice low and curdling. She winces and turns slowly, and he’s leaned against the shelves to her left, leering down at her. A handcart hangs between them; it’s full of at least thirty boxes of condoms, she realizes when she glances down. Her stomach shifts unpleasantly. “You look homeless.”

“Get out of the way,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Peralta got you screaming so hard every night you lost your voice?”

Heat bursts through her cheeks and she glances back, meeting the scandalized look on that same mother’s face with an apologetic grimace. “Shut up.” She snaps as fiercely as she can.

He smirks, because her voice only comes in bursts. “Damn, you really let yourself go, didn’t you?” His eyes rove her body and she’s suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear beneath her sweatpants. She can feel her face blossoming.

“Whatever.” She turns away quickly and digs her phone out of her purse, cursing when she hears the Vulture following her down the aisle. She dials Jake’s number quickly, and he answers after just two rings.

“Hey, is everything oka-”

“I need you go come to the bodega by my apartment,” she whispers. She can feel her hand trembling again and she curses whatever part of her thought it would be a good idea to do this on her own.

“Wait, what? Why are you -”

“I thought I could walk over here and get what I needed without you, but -” she winces at the sound of the Vulture’s laugh, loud and obnoxious behind her. “But I ran into someone and I need you to come save me.”

“Santiago, look - they do make extra-small condoms! Should I put a whole box in for you and Peralta or is that too many?”

She hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Is that the Vulture?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not faint.”

“I’m doing my best, but please hurry.”

Amy starts pacing up and down the aisles, doing her best to block the Vulture out. He trails along behind her, alternating between making lewd sexual innuendos about random items on the shelves they pass (“Everything’s a sex toy if you try hard enough,” while pointing out a plastic broom) and insulting her general appearance (“Y’know, you were much sexier before Peralta dragged you down to his level of ugliness. Just make sure your ass doesn’t get as fat as his”). It’s around the time they make it back to the medicine aisle that he turns to making fun of Jake himself.

“I still can’t believe you’re with that loser,” he laughs as Amy finally swipes a bottle of Nyquil off a lower shelf. She stands up slowly, gripping the shelves above her firmly, as a wave of vertigo hits her once again. “You’re hot as shit usually - not right now, obviously - I bet you could sleep with any guy you want.”

She clenches her jaw and tries to calculate how long it’s been since she hung up with Jake.

“I bet the sex is really boring, too,” the Vulture continues. “I bet it’s all missionary and full of, like, eye-contact and shit. I bet he tells you he loves you because you don’t make fun of his tiny weiner.”

“Okay, y’know what?” She snaps, and suddenly her voice is half back. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with missionary if you do it right. Secondly, you’re full of crap if you really think eye-contact is boring. Third, you’re right, he does tell me he loves me, because he actually loves me, you sexist pig. And fourth, he’s not tiny.”

“Whatever. He’s a joke, just like you, and I bet the sex sucks and you’re both so bad at it that you can’t even tell that it sucks.”

She knows people are staring, but her brain just isn’t functioning right. She yanks her phone out of her purse and quickly scrolls over to her list. “Jake’s the best sex I’ve ever had, okay? In fact, he’s so good that I made a list!” She shoves her phone in his face and scrolls quickly, grinning in manic triumph at the dumbfounded look on his face. “I made a list of all the things I want to do with him because he’s so unbelievably good. You wish you were as good as him.”

He is, for once, speechless. Amy locks her phone and steps back, smug grin on her face. The Vulture’s eyes flicker to something over her shoulder and she sees the spark of recognition in his face; when she turns, she feels her stomach drop down to her toes.

Jake’s standing at the end of the aisle, looking just as dumbstruck as the Vulture. She gasps, and the sound comes out like a ragged squeak. His mouth is hanging open but his brows draw together at the sound.

“Ja- Jake,” she says hoarsely.

This seems to snap him out of his stupor. His mouth snaps closed and he immediately begins striding down the aisle toward her and there’s something new in his eyes - smug and barely-contained glee, maybe - when he throws his arm around her shoulders. “Hi, honey,” he says, laying a kiss against her temple and pulling the bottle of Nyquil from her grasp. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Yeah, well, you’re both a couple of losers!” The Vulture shouts after them. Jake twists around and flashes his middle finger at him and grins into Amy’s hair at the sound of his splutters. “I’m buying thirty-five boxes of condoms!”

“You’re amazing.” Jake murmurs once they’re outside of the store. “But next time, just call me instead of trying to go get stuff on your own. I really don’t mind doing it for you. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

She sinks into the passenger’s seat of his car and sighs in relief; her body is already aching from the exertion of just a lap around the bodega. She feels Jake slide in on the driver’s side, feels the engine roar to life beneath her and the air conditioner tickle across her face. The car lurches a little when he puts it in drive and then his free hand finds hers and interlaces their fingers.

“I’m sorry about…that.” She whispers once he’s pulled away from the curb.

“It’s fine, but I really mean it about calling me next time, okay? ‘Specially since you almost fainted this morning and everything, like, what would’ve happened if you’d fallen and hit your head and they took you to the hospital? They would’ve called Manny and it would’ve taken him three hours to get here and -”

“Wait, no, they’d call you,” she interrupts. “Manny’s not my emergency contact anymore. You are.”

He turns his head toward her and stares.

“I changed it two years ago, Peralta. Way before we started dating. I just figured, y’know, since you’re my partner and everything, you’d be able to get there the fastest. And, besides, that’s not even what I was talking about. I meant…the stuff I said to the Vulture. The list.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care. The guy’s an ass. I could hear him yelling all the way from the front doors. Besides, you weren’t lying.”

He squeezes her hand a few times in quick succession and she snorts. “So you’re…not mad? About any of it?”

“I’m more curious than anything else. Do I get to look at the list, too? Or is that just between you and the Vulture?”

“I can’t stand you.”

She does let him see it once they’re back to her place. He reads each item carefully three times over without ever saying a word, and then stands and grabs his laptop and a notepad off of her dining room table. When she asks what he’s doing, he responds with a muttered “research” and then promptly tells her to finish her soup.

The night passes in a haze that has nothing to do with the cold or the soup or the medicine, and the next morning she wakes to the sounds of Jake’s congested voice explaining through chest-rumbling coughs that neither he nor Amy would be making it into work that day.

#em answers #brooklyn nine nine #amy santiago #jake peralta #jake x amy #my b99 fics #god i've been writing for b99 for a Really Long Time #sos #Anonymous

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alexiela73 · 7 years

Note

Hello! I loved your imagine about Hanzo’s daughter dressed up as a dragon. The line about her bringing out the most protectiveness & tenderness from him is something I agree with; he would be very affectionate w/ his child b/c it’s probably not something he had a lot of. Could I request headcanons or an imagine about Hanzo’s general interactions w/ his daughter? Does he shamelessly coo at her & kiss her even when at work, etc. Lol does he get her a binky that looks like a dragon? Thanks!

Thank you, and I love Hanzo soooooo much that I’ll do something unusual and do a hc and a small fic. Hope these are okay.

Fic:

The night was quiet and stars shone bright in the sky. The moon was only half full, and a soft breeze caused the branches of the cherry blossom tree to dance gently. It’s peaceful, Hanzo thought to himself, content as he meditated below the tree with his eyes closed.

The last seven years had been probably the best of his life. After meeting his lover, the two had gotten married and something had happened that Hanzo had never dreamed possible, something he never thought he deserved.

The two of them had a child.

Hanzo had known for the longest time that he wanted to have a family, where he would be free to raise his children as he wished and could lead a life without any doubt. After living as he had, having to uphold the Shimada name as was expected and living a life ruled by others…Hanzo wanted a family that was not held hostage by expectation or honor.

No, the elder Shimada wanted a family that was raised and led by love. As much as Hanzo had lived his life cold and full of remorse, led by a steady hand and a burning self hate….Hanzo had know, especially as the engagement ensued, that if he was ever lucky enough to have a family…he wanted to be different from his clan. Different from his father.

Different from the man who had tried to kill his brother.

Now that the two were reconciled and nearly comfortable together, Hanzo’s next big step in life had been when you had told him of your pregnancy… So many fears had run through his mind. Would he be a good father? Would his child grow to hate him, as he often did when thinking of his father? Could Hanzo make his family proud?

Hanzo had to grow out of those fears, though once in awhile he would remember something from his past and worry about his skills as a father….and then there were other moments where he could look into his child’s face, and all he felt was pride and a love so strong that he sometimes thought his heart might burst… like right now.

“Papa?” said a small voice behind him.

Turning, Hanzo saw his six year old daughter standing there, blinking at him sleepily. She stood there wearing a pale purple dragon onesie, the hood up on her head with small little horns and soft spine flaps that went down to a little tale. Disheveled black hair fell out around her neck, and she was hugging a little stuffy that looked like one of Hanzo’s dragons.

Looking at his beloved daughter, Hanzo could remember sitting down in the weeks following her birth and taking the time to stitch it. Every Shimada was born with a dragon, but since he had turned away from the clan, Hanzo knew for sure that no matter what, he would be the dragon to protect her.

Eyes softening, Hanzo got up. “Is it time for bed already?” he asked gently, walking over and felt his heart quicken with satisfaction as her small hand automatically grabbed his, the two walking for the house.

Immediately his daughter nodded, bright blue eyes lighting up happily. “Oh, yes Papa! Will you tell me another story?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement and she tried not to bounce in her little bunny slippers as they walked up the porch stairs and into the house.

A chuckle escaped his lips. Every night Hanzo would tuck her into bed, and almost every night she managed to squeeze a story from his lips with but a bat of her lashes. Though it took an hour sometimes, Hanzo enjoyed telling her stories and telling her of old traditions.

“Yes, my little cherry blossom. I do believe there is time for a story, but only if we can tame that unruly mane of yours,” Hanzo said, voice soft. He could hear his partner in the kitchen, and walked up the stairs to his daughters bedroom.

Beaming, she nodded eagerly. “Okay. I just need to brush my teeth!” she squeaked before running off.

It was bright green, picked out this year because it made her think of her uncle, and surprisingly Hanzo had not minded her choice. The place was littered with toys and dolls and in the corner was a child’s archery set, a gift that his daughter had picked out for her birthday.

Remaining in his heart were her words when she’d chosen her birthday present. “Can I please have a bow for my birthday? I want to be a great archer, just like Papa!” The words always stayed with him, always lifted his spirit to know that she looked up to him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hanzo waited while his daughter went and routinely brushed her teeth before running back to the bed. Instead of getting into bed, she crawled right into his lap and made herself comfy.

“So what story shall I tell you tonight?” Hanzo asked, picking up the brush from her night table and pushing down her hood. How similar we are, Hanzo thought as he carefully brushed her hair. It sometimes is like looking into a little mirror, except more precious.

Biting her lip in a manner like that of his lover, Hanzo couldn’t helping smiling as she made her choice. “The great dragons!” she exclaimed, turning her head up to look at him.

“But I have told you that story nearly a dozen times,” Hanzo said in amusement, managing to get free a few knots before brushing the hair back from her face carefully. “Are you sure you do not wish for me to make up a new story tonight??”

Immediately his daughter shook her head. “No, Papa. This one is my favorite story,” she said, sitting still in his lap like a good girl as he started to braid her hair as he does every night.

When the braid was done, it fell down to the middle of her back and Hanzo gently lifted her. Cradling her in one arm, he lifted the sheets with the other and put her in the bed, before tucking her into her quilts.

How lovely she was, Hanzo thought, knowing someday his daughter would be beautiful and intelligent, and live a long life. Too soon she would be all grown up. The thought made him sad, yet all the more determined to cherish his time with her as a child, which he could still hold and protect her.

“If that is what you want, my little cherry blossom,” Hanzo said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently petting the hair from her face. “Now close your eyes, and picture the great dragons, high above the earth…”

Story time lasted about forty five minutes, as Hanzo once more explained the tale of the two dragons to his beloved daughter. Each time he told it, she would stare at him with these big eyes full of wonder, always eager to ask little questions. And as always, by the end she was nearly asleep.

Leaving on her night light, Hanzo turned off the main light and slowly crept toward the door, his daughter’s eyes barely open.

“Papa?” she mumbled, and Hanzo froze in place.

“Yes, my little cherry blossom?” Hanzo asked softly, turning to look at his daughter as she rubbed at her eyes, yawning.

Once more his heart gave a squeeze when his little girl offered the most serene of smiles. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered, before turning to snuggle into her pillow. It took Hanzo a moment, because one more all those thoughts flashed through his brain…then he looked at her sweet little face, heard her soft words ,and realized that there was nothing to worry about.

“I love you,” Hanzo said softly.

Ta da! There is the fic. Quick and hopefully enjoyable. Nightly rituals with is daughter, pretty damn cute. Here is a hc for this now too. Ps. I wouldn’t do fic and hc together normally and won’t do it again if asked. I decided to do this for myself.

Hanzo:

Hand stitched a little stuffed noodle (dragon) for his daughter

The day his daughter was born was the first day Hanzo cried since his brother died

When he first held his daughter, he was afraid he would break her

Hanzo was the first to hold her when she was born, and the moment he held her in his arms, it was love at first sight

Nothing had made him feel so complete

During the following months, Hanzo was up as many nights as his partner to take care of her whenever she cried

Was always the first one awake in the morning to take care of her

Her first year for Halloween his partner dressed her up as a dragon to get Hanzo to participate in the tradition of trick or treating

The two went in matching dragon onesies

The first birthday Hanzo bought his daughter a little bonsai tree to keep in her room

As she got to her toddler years, Hanzo stepped up his game. In the morning he liked to hold her on his hip while making breakfast, and at the end he’d say ‘You made breakfast!’ and give her a high five

When its nap time, Hanzo initially tried to put her to sleep in her room.

Always tired too, he’d go lay in his room but every time his daughter would come in fifteen minutes later, crawl into the bed and fall asleep against his side

Liked to go on quiet walks with his daughter by the river, taking her in the stroller on the paths there and he would show her little things (butterflies, smooth stones, little bugs ect ect)

Hanzo was the kind of dad who let his daughter braid and play with his hair when he couldn’t find anything else to amuse her

Hanzo taught her how to draw with a ink brush

He gave his daughter the nickname “Little cherry blossom’, because of how much she loved the cherry blossom tree he meditated under

Whenever his daughter came down with a cold, Hanzo was the parent who would rock her to sleep when her cold made it difficult, and was the parent who was up 20 hours a day worried about her health

When his daughter got her first knee scrap, Hanzo kissed it better and then told her that she was incredibly brave

Hanzo taught his daughter how to love and stop being afraid of thunder storms

Once five years old, Hanzo went with her for her first week of kindergarten. He was afraid the kids would be mean to them

Instead his daughter showed in small words his tattoo and impressed the kids. Bonus: she taught him how to play with lego for the first time.

Hanzo was the parent who went to every concert and small school event once his daughter was out of kindergarten. He never clapped or jumped up, but each time he would take a picture of his daughter on the stage and every time after the concert or performance he would catch her outside and swing her into the air

His daughter loves his butterfly kisses

Every night Hanzo tucks his daughter in and tells her a story

Hanzo is a dad that dreams of a bright future for his daughter where someday she can make her dreams come true with pure willpower

This dad loves his daughter no matter what

#Hanzo #Hanzo as a dad #Hanzo Overwatch #Hanzo Shimada #Hanzo Shimada Headcanon #Hanzo Headcanon #Hanzo loves his daughter #Dragon onesies #Cheesy nickname #That dad who braids daughters hair #Overwatch #Overwatch Imagines #Overwatch Writings #Overwatch Stories #Overwatch Headcanon #1 dad (sorry Jack)

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sugarpinecrews · 7 years

Text

title: scattered word count: 1,795 ship(s): n/a, implied minor ot3 if you squint warning(s): detailed discussions of necromancy, death, murder, violence, body horror, gore, decomposition, and possible desecration of the dead a/n: prequel to this fic.

Steven stands straight, hands buried deep in his front pockets, gaze colder than usual. In the moonlight, his eyes have a strange sort of glimmer, as if tears trying to hide, or, a more likely reasoning, the unknown striking fear in his long stopped heart. At his side stands Cib, his eyes dancing erratically between the ground, his feet, and Jeremy, who responds to this sight only with silent anticipation, an opening for the pair to explain whatever mess they’d found themselves in this time.

Emotional withdrawal came with few downsides, especially given his current lifestyle. Although his friends easily passed as typical humans, Jeremy knew their secrets; the vampire too stubborn to acknowledge a body turning feral, a werewolf too ignorant to distance himself when instinct takes hold, the demon who has gone through countless expendable bodies in his centuries spent in this realm --- Jeremy lived as a lone necromancer, a specialist in the dark arts, and this lifestyle came with its own set of secrets. The collection of bodies hidden in the freezers downstairs, the organs lining shelves and tables, the vials of indiscernible contents --- his roommates knew to never step foot in his work space, as did they know to never question the chanting, the strange scents emanating from behind closed doors. The others knew even less, only that remains, rather dead or dying, could be given to him with no questions asked. He would find a use for them, and that would be that.

Recognizing signs of death became second nature as time passed by, impromptu autopsies occurring in a darkened basement in the middle of another Friday night. A vampire’s attack presented much different destruction than an accidental gunshot, or vehicular manslaughter, or strangulation, and Jeremy knew to never question his friends’ decisions. He could only assume the raw, feral drive a vampire must experience, and he saw no need to pry for the details; just as he didn’t question their motive or reasoning, they knew to never question him, never asking what occurred once a body has been taken in by their friend. This was probably for the best; he doubts the men, even despite their immortal or supernatural instincts, could quite stomach his nightly routines and rituals.

Often, regardless of the one responsible, the delivery would be made by Steven. A simple text would be sent --- a short ‘on my way’, or a quick ‘got you another one’ --- and Jeremy would free the space necessary to house the newest addition to his collection. Typically, too, the body would still be in decent enough condition; if a vampire has killed a victim, fatality usually didn’t lie in blunt trauma, or disruptive entry against a cavity somewhere --- it would be blood loss, bite marks against the throat or shoulder blades, and Jeremy could work with this. Cleaning blood from skin was a simple job, one he could busy himself with once the evening has fallen dark, or when the world has yet to awaken.

It was rare a body was gifted to him that wasn’t the direct cause of Steven’s rage. There was the handful of mistakes --- the ones Cib accidentally shot, or found himself drunkenly beating to death outside of another bar somewhere --- but those tended to be the only exceptions. Jeremy knew the third member of the group committed atrocities, knew James more than capable of doing so, and always wondered when he would receive one of these all too unlucky victims. Curiosity, though unspoken, piqued at just the thought of the damage a werewolf could do to a body; still, this didn’t strike him with any unnecessary concern when the full moon again cycled their way. He even joked with his roommates about the supposed dangers of its influence, taking pleasure in scaring the more timid of the two.

Night fell hours ago, and Jeremy retreated to busy himself downstairs well before this occurred; he intended to reach out to the spirit of one of Steven’s latest victims, a woman in her early twenties that appeared to be in pristine, healthy condition prior to the attack. He had no pressing matters to discuss with her; perhaps he could ask of her death, receive details regarding his friend’s M.O. --- he wouldn’t ask the man himself, as he didn’t think the topic that dire, but he had nothing better to do tonight. His roommates busied themselves upstairs, presumably with a movie or video games, and he considered, more than once, sneaking up behind them, frightening them once more of the horrors awakened by the full moon shining bright outside. These ideas were quickly dashed, shoved aside in favor of his work, and the joke was soon forgotten. It isn’t until his phone buzzes on the table nearby, vibrating with a new text message, that he remembers his friends possibly missing his presence upstairs.

The phone vibrates once, then again. Upon the second message, he decides to humor the men upstairs, hoping the response will dissuade them from coming to physically find him. Materials are placed aside, and he moves to grab his phone. Immediately, he is puzzled by the messages. Both from Steven, they contain little Jeremy has come to expect from him.

We have something for you, on our way.

We’re so sorry.

The latter of the two is strange, something Jeremy, in all his time knowing the vampire, has yet to experience firsthand; what would the man have done to have any guilt over? Even when corpses are gifted his way, another victim of the immortal’s latest anger, there was never any regret, never any negative response. Then came the inclusive phrasing, the ‘we’ rather than ‘I’ --- who was with him? Cib, James? He didn’t like the idea of a group coming into his home, much less his personal work space; he opens the text message completely, ensuring the read receipt will appear, and then places his phone back onto the table. He leaves this here as he leaves the room, heading upstairs to see if his roommates were still up --- it was nearly eleven in the evening, but he wouldn’t put it past the pair to stay up even later.

Upon entering the living room, he finds the space abandoned. Assuming the two went to bed, he busies himself cleaning up the mess they left behind, ensuring that he’ll be near the front door when the company finally arrives. He hopes the encounter will be brief, just as each other drop-off has been; Steven will park nearby, hand the cadaver over, and then disappear into the night. He wouldn’t have time to do much with the corpse tonight, given the spells and rituals he still intended on participating in once this interaction has ended, but it would give him something to do tomorrow, and for that he was thankful.

Perhaps a half hour passes by before a knock at the door is heard. Jeremy approaches, readying himself for whatever nonsense was soon to envelope him, but nothing could prepare him for the presence awaiting him on the other side of the door.

Uh, shit, Steven starts, stuttering his way into an explanation. He bites his bottom lip, takes in a shallow breath; Jeremy is surprised to see such a distressed presentation, but he doesn’t express this, only allows silence to give way to more of an explanation. He had a busy night planned, after all, and didn’t wish to waste any more time than necessary with this.

It’s the full moon, Cib interjects, and Steven’s expression paints one of annoyance at the words. Jeremy supposes the moon has something to do with their odd behavior, but has little time to focus on this possibility before the men before him continue.

James freaked out and, uh, Steven pauses yet again as he explains, takes in yet another fearful, short breath. Minuscule mannerisms create an air of regret, one that is rather foreign to Jeremy, but this, too, isn’t rightly expressed, mostly due to his lack of interest in reasoning. Offhandedly, he hopes they’ve brought him one of James’ victims; he will soon curse himself for such a hope.

He killed Parker, Cib interjects yet again, and it is met with the same response as before; Steven looks to him in astonishment, as if saving those words for a later date, but Jeremy just continues to stand there stoic. He wonders, distantly, if this is what regret, or loss, or anger is meant to feel like. He wonders, too, if the pair standing before him truly did feel bad for the act --- if James would later feel guilty for such a deed --- but, as could be expected, none of these thoughts are spoken aloud.

Show me the body, he says, and he is met with an awkward sigh from both men standing before him. He is led to Steven’s car, to the newly opened trunk; in it lies a trash bag tied loosely shut, and another bag left wide open. In the latter, Jeremy can make out what appears to be entrails, organs ripped from their typical resting places --- silently, he reminds himself to clear his coming plans. It was going to be a long night.

The sun rises above the city, and Jeremy continues to labor over a bloodied table. He has stayed here all night, cleaning limbs clear of blood, organizing organs and muscles, stitching skin together where applicable. Many wounds would require more resilience, time that he didn’t have available right now; decomposition has already set itself in motion, and he needed to get certain tasks finished before he placed the body over ice. His mind focused on little other than his work all evening, even doing so well into the morning. It isn’t until there is a knock at the door that he snaps out of his precise haze and remembers a factor he hasn’t yet considered.

You in there?, he hears on the other side of the door, mentally kicking himself for forgetting the existence of his remaining roommate; how was he to explain this loss to his friend? Typical humans experienced emotional attachment, and he knew this all too well --- with little knowledge of sympathy and loss, he decides to do the unthinkable, never once pausing his work as he does so.

Yeah, he says, currently with both arms reached into the chest cavity of their shared best friend. Ribs stab themselves into the air, flesh ripped apart, exposing empty space where the organs setting on the table across the room are meant to be. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself to be understanding of whatever reaction this sight receives, and continues to speak. Come on in.

#ship pine 7 #spooky pine 7 #the winter and the wolves. | my writing.#❛ have you ever seen a corpse? how about an exquisite one? ❜ | spooky pine 7.

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rxxshintaro · 7 years

Text

hatred

a/n: posted this on ao3 for the kagepro secret santa a while ago and yet i still cannot find my gift recipient?? i know that they wanted canonverse kanoshin angst??! where are you!?! ORDER UP ONE KANOSHIN

anyways if you’re reading this uh merry christmas?? i hope you enjoy.

tw for this fic include massive amounts of blood, but no explicit violence.

Kano is fairly certain that he hates Shintaro.

The reason he’s limiting himself to the usage of the word “fairly” is simply because, well, there days where Shintaro does something nice, and it sets him almost completely off guard.

Like right about now.

Peering over the edge of his magazine, Kano spares a glance at Shintaro, who is assisting Kido poorly with various tasks, but he’s trying, at the very least. Whatever Kido’s making smells absolutely delicious, and she holds out an empty bowl expectantly in Shintaro’s direction, to which he tosses in some chopped vegetables in a somewhat awkward fashion. Kano is pretty sure that he sees a slice of cucumber drop on the floor.

Nonetheless, Kido seems satisfied enough, and she waves the walking train wreck out of the area not long after. Fumbling around for his phone, Shintaro walks out of the kitchen, and for the briefest of moments, he and Kano make eye contact. They look away from each other just as quickly, but the way Shintaro walks shifts slightly under the newfound knowledge that he’s being observed.

Kano decides to forget about the jerk for now, settling in to finish reading the rest of his magazine article- which is about sea urchins, by the way- as he purses his lips and does his best to ignore how Shintaro doesn’t seem to be planning on leaving his damn house any time soon. (After all, Momo’s still mucking about in the other room, and she doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush to leave, either. Apparently, she still needs to finish marathoning some American cartoon with Hibiya.)

Shintaro meanders about into the living room, finally settling into a chair across the way and shoving an earbud in rather forcefully, tapping around his screen. Whatever music he’s listening to is turned up high enough to the point where Kano can almost sing along to the lyrics.

The sea urchins will have to wait, Kano supposes. “Hey, can you turn that down?” He asks almost sweetly, grinning as he sets down his magazine. “It’s really noisy!”

“What? Oh. Sorry.” Looking up from his phone, Shintaro merely nods, shrugging it off with a barely there murmur of an apology. This effectively ends the conversation, with Shintaro messing around with the volume until it’s at an acceptable level, before popping in the other earbud and absorbing himself in whatever’s on his screen.

The moment he looks away, Kano can’t help but scowl, rolling his eyes as he flips up the cover of his magazine again, because that’s just so like him to do that. Shintaro isn’t the type of guy to take the feelings of others into account for just about anything. In fact, even though he had helped out Kido several minutes earlier, it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if he only reason he did so was to present the image of himself being a good person to the others.

(Now, who else does that exact same thing…? Kano can’t help but think bitterly.)

What an awful person.

Shintaro hasn’t changed at all from his middle school days. He’s still just as selfish, just as inconsiderate, and just as oblivious to the feelings of everyone around him. He hasn’t learned a damn thing.

There’s no doubt in Kano’s mind now that, yes, he definitely hates Shintaro.

“You should hurry up,” Shintaro tells him over the phone. “The last train leaves in ten minutes. If you don’t make it, you’ll-“

“I’ll what? Have to wander around for the night? Have to walk home in the dark? How terrifying,” Kano laughs breathily into the receiver, though he hastens his pace slightly. “This is normal for me. Kido and Seto aren’t going to be worried!”

Truth be told, Kano isn’t sure why he bothered to pick up the phone. Shintaro’s number doesn’t even have a contact name attached to it, but it’s always easy to tell when he’s calling. The last four digits of his phone number just so happen to coincide with Kano’s birthday, so there’s never been any reason to change it.

“You should pay more attention to them, then,” Shintaro informs him coolly. “Whenever you run off like this, they both sit around the kitchen and wait until they hear you coming up the stairs before they head off to their rooms.”

How arrogant for someone as emotionally stunted as Shintaro to say, Kano thinks, though as irritated as he is, he isn’t stupid enough to say something that would put the entire gang’s tentatively forming bond in jeopardy. Gritting his teeth, he widens his stride and tries to not say anything biting, which only sort of works.

“Really! I should pay more attention to my family, huh? That’s pretty ironic, don’t you think?” Kano chirps. “Considering the way you are and all…”

Shintaro says nothing for a long moment, and Kano almost thinks he’s hung up before there’s a quiet voice on the other end.

“Just come home already. I want to go to bed. I’m not in the mood for your… jokes,” Shintaro mumbles. There’s something underlying his tone that Kano can’t place. “I’m hanging up now.”

Before Kano can even get another word in, the line goes dead and Shintaro’s gone. He pulls the phone away from his ear, takes a look at the time, and decides to sprint the rest of the way to the station. If he misses the train, he reasons with himself, then it’s all Shintaro’s fault for distracting him. A lot of things are Shintaro’s fault. Most things are.

Thankfully, he does end up making the last train home, although he has to practically jump through the doors as they creak shut. Plopping himself on a bench, Kano closes his eyes and tips his head back, breathing heavily and idly pushing the chipped edge of his phone case around with his left thumb.

This final race to catch the last train, coming from a destination that Kano never needed to travel to to begin with, is slowly becoming a ritual that he appreciates. It’s a bit of excitement, at least. There’s some sort of satisfaction in just barely making it through the doors, allowing his legs to falter and his muscles to burn. It’s a strange sense of accomplishment that Kano doesn’t care to name.

Shintaro, of course, doesn’t have any indication of these nightly races that he sets for himself, and it’s with this knowledge that he can safely say that once again, Shintaro has proven that he knows nothing about him, nor the dynamics of his family. Kido and Seto have almost been encouraging him to try and pull himself around the town more, though Kano wouldn’t consider himself to be a shut in by any means. It’s not like he’s personally told them about his escapades, but they wouldn’t particularly care about him sneaking off, anyway.

It’s not as if Kido and Seto don’t care about him, Kano says, it’s just that they aren’t particularly concerned over every little thing that he does.

Shintaro should really stop trying to interfere with his business, especially when making such bold-faced statements about “paying more attention to his family”.

But just for fun, when Kano arrives home that night, he blinks slowly and shifts his form into that of a slender black cat’s. From there, it doesn’t prove a challenge at all to jump from ledge to ledge, balcony to balcony, until he reaches the sliding glass balcony door of his home. Strangely enough, Seto and Kido appear to be sitting at the kitchen table, nursing cups of tea and talking amongst themselves, occasionally sparing a sideways glance at the front door.

When Kano shifts back into his only slightly modified normal form and steps through the front door, neither of them are there, the cups still sitting on the table as if they had been left behind in a rush.

Kano hates Shintaro. He’s sure of it, now.

It’s weird, really, because he’s spent over two years being certain that he hated Shintaro with all of his being, from the moment Ayano had begged him to disguise himself as her and attend school with him. Shintaro was never warm to her, never praised her for her hard work, and never once tried to see if everything was going well for her in her personal life. Not once. The Shintaro from back then was a selfish bastard who never even deserved to have Ayano in his life, let alone have the title of being her “best friend”.

Chewing on the inside of his mouth, Kano has to keep reminding himself of this as Shintaro chats with Seto, flipping through the latter’s frankly obscenely large collection of animal photos that would scare most people off the moment the topic came up. It’s so disgusting, he assures himself, the way that Shintaro’s eyes light up every time Seto swipes to a new screen. The two of them laugh about something together, and from afar, Kano shoots Shintaro a sharp glare.

Seto really, really shouldn’t be talking to him. None of them should. All he’s done is contributed to the overarching misery of their late sister and has just generally been a bad person, all things considered.

“Kano, you should come look at this one!” Seto smiles, looking up from the phone to wave him over. “This cat looks almost exactly like you. The way that you look as a cat, anyway.”

To an outsider, that last sentence would probably seem completely insane, but Kano is intrigued nonetheless, and moves closer to the table, avoiding Shintaro’s line of vision. Not that it helps get the feeling of his eyes off of him.

“It sort of does, doesn’t it?” Kano muses, leaning on the edge of the wood. “Too bad it doesn’t have my dashing good looks!”

“Right,” Shintaro nods unenthusiastically. “Your dashing good looks.”

The nerve of this guy. Speaking to him and playfully teasing him as if they’re friends, or something. Kano’s stomach twists slightly before he slowly turns to the other.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Shintaro?” He sneers in a way that comes out much harsher than he intends for it to, and almost immediately regrets it. Not because he’s afraid it’ll upset Shintaro- far from it, actually. Anger just simply isn’t an emotion that meshes well with the personality Kano’s taken so much care in crafting over the years.

Shintaro glances at him through his dark bangs, opening his mouth to say something, before ultimately shutting it down and looking away, letting out a heavy sigh. Looking between the two of them, Seto’s eyebrows furrow in worry, and he slides the phone away and into his back pocket. Seems that they’re done looking at animal pictures for the day.

“… Well! I’m going to go out and get some groceries,” Seto says casually, though his tone carries an unusual amount of weight to it. “Would either of you be interested in tagging along?”

It’s a strange sight to hear Seto speak so formally. Maybe it’s just a few leftover habits remaining from his younger self, but typically, Seto tends to avoid saying anything even remotely formal for Kido’s sake. It usually only comes out when he’s trying to act as a mitigator, which Kano finds ridiculous.

“It’s actually getting a little late, so I’m just going to head home. It was nice talking with you, though,” Shintaro responds from across the room. Kano’s eyes follow him as he calmly puts on his shoes, reaching over for the small umbrella that he had been toting around with him earlier. “See you.”

Seto only barely manages to get out a passing goodbye before the door is closing and the two of them are left alone in their foyer. The room suddenly feels smaller, more quiet, but Kano’s body doesn’t relax even a bit. His shoulders stiff, he releases a long breath and turns away from Seto, who is watching him carefully. At least Shintaro’s gone. That’s a plus. Though, there’s certainly something to be said about the after effects of his presence- The following hours after seeing Shintaro are always something of a mess for him mentally.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much,” Seto crosses his arms. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Poor, misinformed Seto. He doesn’t know about how flippantly Shintaro treated Ayano in school. He wasn’t there. He never experienced it.

Unlike Kano, who was actually there, and therefore, has a decidedly more informed opinion than someone who blindly strives their best to see the good in everyone.

“Can’t you see how awful he is?” Kano snorts, and begins to walk away, only to be tugged back by the forearm by Seto. He stumbles backwards, meeting his brother’s concerned gaze.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Seto asks.

“Nope! He’s just awful, and I hope you can see that for yourself soon enough. That’s all!” Kano forces a grin, pulling at his sleeve a rather futile attempt to escape.

Seto makes a distasteful expression- an unusual look for him- and lets out a long sigh. He seems content to discontinue the conversation there, but then steels himself, as if coming to a sudden realization, and looks back up at Kano.

“It isn’t like you to hate people like this,” He says. Kano opens his mouth to protest, because really- when Seto continues. “You’re a better person than that. Shintaro isn’t leaving the group anytime soon, and as much as I support you- you’re my brother- I can’t say that I like the way that you’re treating him.”

A dark feeling bubbles up inside of him, bitter, and Kano swallows it down with a smile after a moment of gaping like an idiot. Seto’s unwavering gaze peers into him, and for a moment, Kano feels his smile falter, before steadying his ability and crossing his arms.

“You don’t know him like I do, okay?”

“And how do you know him?”

“I just do, okay? Is that a good answer for you, brother?” Kano snaps, which only elicits a drawn out sigh from the other.

Frowning, Seto looks away, contemplative. Now that’s an expression he recognizes, Kano thinks, that’s the same one he gets when he’s weighing out the pros and cons of weighing out his ability. It’s a rare expression, but he’s seen it before. Only in extreme situations. Never around the house, and certainly never around his siblings.

There’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

Watching for the glimpses of red in his irises, Kano’s stomach is tight as he makes the decision for him, closing his eyes and relaxing his arm in compliance.

“You don’t need to do that,” He says, and Seto honestly seems relieved at the prospect of not having to read his mind. While the other visibly relaxes, Kano tenses up further in turn, speaking with no small amount of hesitation. “I… I can’t talk about it in detail, but I know that he didn’t treat Ayano the way that she deserved when she was alive. She deserved better than to have a friend like him.”

Seto’s eyes soften, and he suddenly doesn’t look so upset, which isn’t saying much, as he never really even looked that upset to begin with.

“That’s it?”

Kano nearly chokes. “That’s it?” He repeats, sputtering. “What do you mean, that’s it-“

“Shuuya.”

The usage of his first name wills him into silence.

“Shuuya,” Seto grabs both of his shoulders firmly and rocks him back and forth, gently, as if trying to bring him back into reality. Kano looks up at him dully, raising an eyebrow, before Seto laughs softly and speaks. “You haven’t seen Shintaro in years. You don’t know what kind of person he’s become between the last time you saw him and up until now.”

“But-“

“-And if you’re going to say something about how you don’t think that there’s anyway that he could have changed, then why don’t you just look at me? Or Tsubomi? Tsubomi actually trusts people now. She’s practically attached to Momo at the hip. And as for me, I barely cry anymore. Only at those touching animal rescue videos online!”

Seto’s smiling so genuinely that Kano can’t help but snort in amusement, looking away for a brief moment.

He tries again, confidence in his previous statements vaguely shaken.

“You guys changed because of Ayano,” Kano furrows his brows. “He stayed the same despite her. It’s different.”

“Even so,” Seto pushes on. “Change is possible. And he hasn’t been rude to us at all since he’s started being around us, and always helps out around the house, and always wants to know if you’re getting enough sleep-“

“He what?”

Seto puts up his hands defensively, chuckling. “You didn’t hear it from me. But he seems to be a genuinely good person. Why not give him a second chance?”

As hard as it is to admit it, his brother has always been pretty persuasive when it came down to it. If he didn’t know any better, Kano would almost call that gentle smile of his downright manipulative, always warm and melting anyone who dared to get within its range. Seto’s hands come back down to his shoulders, tapping back and forth rhythmically as he waits for a response.

“I’ll try. No promises, though.” Kano eventually agrees, and almost immediately, he’s pulled into a warm embrace. It lasts for only a second before it’s gone, and Seto’s beaming at him.

Maybe Shintaro has changed.

It’s always possible. Kido and Seto changed with time.

(But then again, while they were evolving, Kano had remained stagnant, like a flower whose stem was suddenly severed halfway through its growth. Shintaro, he thinks, could easily fall into either one of the two categories.)

The next day, Shintaro’s back in his house.

It’s not just him, actually. Momo has apparently tagged along, but from the moment that she walks in and slides off her shoes, it becomes rather obvious just who she came to see. Kano doesn’t particularly mind this, and watches in amusement as she makes her way down the hall, yelling out some passing greetings before barging into Kido’s room.

It leaves a heavy silence between the two of them in the foyer, and Shintaro only endures it for a second before he clears his throat with a soft “hello”, moving to step around Kano. He isn’t intending to cut him off, but before he knows it, his arm is sticking out and blocking the small passageway. Shintaro, the asshole, doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised, either.

“The living room is that way,” Shintaro says without so much of a second glance at Kano. “Unless you’re blocking me out of your house now?”

Kano shakes his head, thankful for his veil of an ability. It hides the way that grin wobbles with uncertainty, and for that, he couldn’t be happier.

“Nope!” He chirps, leaning against the wall. “I just thought that, maybe, you and I should properly introduce ourselves.”

That seems to stir some confusion out of Shintaro, and Kano can’t help but feel almost proud at the way that the other’s eyebrows raise in question. When no response immediately comes, Kano continues with manufactured confidence and a grin in an attempt to ward off the quickly encroaching silence.

“My name is Shuuya Kano. My eye ability relates to…” He furrows his brows beneath his disguise, unsure. There’s really no good description for it. Eventually, he settles on the best answer that he can find, though it still doesn’t feel entirely accurate. “Shapeshifting, in a sense! My favourite colour is black. Nice to meet you.”

Shintaro’s still eyeing him curiously, even after he finishes speaking. It takes him a moment- an agonizingly long moment, at that- but eventually, he seems to pick up on what’s going on.

“Sure. My name’s Shintaro Kisaragi. My eye ability is to…” He hesitates. Kano has to wonder if all of their powers are equally as hard to describe. For a brief moment, he can swear he sees Shintaro’s eyes flash crimson, but it’s gone as soon as it he notices it. “Remember, I guess? I can remember everything. My favourite colour is red, and yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too.”

Their gazes meet, and it strikes Kano that this is the first time since meeting him again that he’s actually gotten a good look at him.

For lack of a better word, Shintaro looks tired.

The bags under his eyes are practically begging the boy attached to them to hurry up and get some rest, and that’s not even touching the subject of how messy his hair is- does he even brush it, Kano presses his lips together, wondering. It dawns on him that it probably isn’t a good idea to bring up trivial things like the other’s appearance now, not after he had resolved himself to trying to be nicer, but the temptation is still there.

Ultimately, Kano decides against it, lifting up his arm and allowing the other access into the rest of the house.

“You’re now free to move about my house. Congratulations.”

Shintaro makes a noise that almost sounds like a laugh, and when he proceeds to longue on his couch, unmoving, for the next 5 hours, it suddenly isn’t so irritating.

Nothing much happens for the next week or so. When Kano asks where everyone is, Kido crosses her arms and mentions something about how Mary and Shintaro have been hanging out together quite a bit recently.

Hate is a strong word.

Kano has decided that he doesn’t hate Shintaro. Probably. Maybe? He’s at least forty percent sure.

It’s never been hard for him to hold a grudge, but strangely enough, Kano can feel his resolve weakening every time Shintaro shows back up at the house, either to help fix something that Mary broke, or to help Kido with dinner. (Not that he’s much of a help with the dinner, but there’s not nearly as many stains on the kitchen floor after he and Kido finish, so Kano can only assume that that means that he’s improving.)

He’s ruminating on this one day, contemplating putting on his shoes and just leaving for the night, despite the torrential downpour outside- maybe to take a train somewhere, or something- when the doorbell rings.

It’s Shintaro, because of course it is, and he looks like a drowned rat. His hair sticks to his cheeks in uneven strands that somehow don’t look entirely unfitting for him, but it still takes all of Kano’s restraint to not laugh at the sight.

“Shut up,” Shintaro grumbles, though there’s no real anger behind it, and pushes inside, kicking off his shoes and wringing out his sleeves onto the laminate floor. Rude. Kano narrows his eyes, and when the other notices, he waves him off casually. “I’ll clean it, okay? Don’t give me that look.”

“I’ll kick you out if you don’t. Back into the rain you’ll go!” Kano says, taking a step back as Shintaro uses the only dry part of his jacket to dry off his hair. It isn’t very effective. “This is almost painful to watch. You’re not coming in until you’re dry, so give me a minute to grab some of Seto’s old clothes.”

There’s less than thirty seconds between the time that he leaves the foyer and returns with some sweatpants, but somehow, Shintaro’s managed to get even more water on the floor. He’s standing in a small puddle, staring down at the offending water and glaring at it intensely while shaking the droplets off of his phone when Kano shoves the clothes into his arms and walks away, leaving him be to change.

Everything is well until Kano comes around the corner with a basket for the wet clothes, only to find that Momo has apparently arrived as well. She greets him with a very much idol-like grin as she shuts her umbrella, her clothes completely dry. Not a single hair on her head is out of place. Her arm slings around her soggy older brother’s shoulder affectionately.

“It’s really raining pretty hard out there, isn’t it?” Momo comments offhandedly, tapping off the excess water from her folded umbrella onto Shintaro’s sock.

This time, Kano really can’t help himself from snickering, walking off and leaving a disgruntled Shintaro and oblivious Momo in his wake.

“Well, stay as long as you want. Your sister is probably going to want to stay up late with Kido, so you might have to be here for a while,” He nods, before turning on his heel and making his way towards the couch. For some reason, the words come out easily, which is confusing, to say the least. Kano had fully anticipated at least some sort of awkwardness between them. Yet, Shintaro isn’t demanding an apology, or anything for that matter.

More than anything, Shintaro’s acting as if it’s all completely normal. He’s almost too relaxed, and it would be suspicious if it was literally anybody else.

Yet, for some reason, this is just the way that he’s always been. From the time that they had met at the department store up until now, Shintaro’s never had any qualms about finding his way around the house, nor monopolizing the TV or even talking to anyone, really. Which is a surprise, considering his personality. If he’s remembering correctly, wasn’t Shintaro something of a loner for the two years proceeding Ayano’s death? Two years without any form of social interaction besides Ene, and he’s already up and about, talking to everyone like there was no gap in his life at all?

There’s something strange about it, but he can’t quite put his finger on the root of it.

Kano swallows his breath, irises flitting from side to side as Shintaro stands up and stretches.

“I sort of figured. I remember Momo telling me something about how she’d ask Kido if she could stay the night, too…” Shintaro says, his tone devoid of any sort of interest in his sister’s love life. “Blame my ability.”

“Remembering is kind of a dumb ability. And you had to die for that, too…” Kano chuckles sardonically as Shintaro pulls out his phone. Patiently, he waits for Ene to appear, maybe to scold Shintaro for forgetting to charge her last night, but she doesn’t arrive. Maybe she’s busy, as busy as Takane Enomoto could really get, anyway. “Ah, sorry. That came out a little more rude than I meant for it to be.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not a fun ability,” Shintaro answers quickly, thumbing through articles before ultimately letting the device drop to the couch cushions.

“You know who has a really shitty ability, though? Hibiya. I mean, I already have a GPS on my phone. That’s pretty much the same thing as what he does, right?” Kano shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “Though, mine is better than yours. I have a use for mine, at least.”

(To be honest, changing his form constantly and hiding over his scars probably isn’t the healthiest use of his abilities, but as if he’s going to admit that.)

“I have a use for mine,” Shintaro responds quickly, but doesn’t elaborate further, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. It takes a second for him to regain his footing, and Kano can practically see the tire tracks from all of his mental backpedaling. “I know everyone’s birthday.”

“That’s not useful. That’s just something that you remember if you care about someone even remotely,” Kano laughs shortly. It sounds fake even to him. “But sure, whatever! Of course your ability is useful.”

“Nice sarcasm,” Shintaro quips, and begins to walk towards the door, leaving his phone to dry against the cushions. There’s already a wet depression in the shape of a rectangle on the upholstery. “I’m going to the coffee store across the street. You want anything?”

That captures his attention. There’s nothing like a warm drink on a cold day, Kano thinks, and he sits up to mentally go over the menu in his head. It doesn’t take very long to make a decision, but even so, Shintaro patiently waits for his response. Patiently, in this case, meaning “not groaning in frustration”. The most basic form of courtesy that you can offer to a person.

“If you’d be so kind, I’ll have a hot chocolate. With whipped cream-“

“Chocolate shavings and cinnamon?” Shintaro finishes for him.

There’s a moment of silence in which Kano begins to nod, before the oddities of the other’s sentence begin to sink in, trickling down slowly like water seeping through soil. His expression drops slightly, though his outer façade remains the same, or so he hopes. Shintaro must notice the fault within his rather innocuous comment as well, as his face suddenly seems to drain of all colour, pupils constricting.

Kano raises an eyebrow.

“How did you know that? I never told you that,” He says, more of a statement than a question, and pulls himself off of the couch. It isn’t initially that worrying or suspicious- The flavor profiles work well together, so it could have been just a lucky guess on Shintaro’s end- but the other’s expression quickly twists into something unreadable.

Things only seem to get stranger.

“Uh… I just, you know…” Shintaro stammers out, moving his hands about frantically. “You already mentioned that you like your hot chocolate like that, so-“

“No, I didn’t. I’ve never had any hot chocolate around you, Shintaro!” Kano moves in, approaching him slowly. Shintaro’s beginning to look like he’s being strangled, turning away just as soon as he closes in by a mere several feet apart. It’s not the reaction that Kano would have expected from him, and if he’s being honest, it’s a little frightening to see Shintaro taken so off guard by a simple question.

(Luckily, he’s not being honest.)

“I found a receipt? Of yours? Near the trash can, and I just sort of read it out of habit, sorry…?” Shintaro tries, though every part of his “explanation” ends up sounding more like a question than a statement.

“I never ask for receipts when I buy things,” Kano tips his head to the side. “So I’m not sure how you could have found a receipt that even I never had to begin with!”

There’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him to just drop it already; it’s not that big of a deal, Shintaro probably just heard it from Seto or something, but if that was the case, then why didn’t he just say that from the get go? It’s strange, Kano thinks, really strange. Shintaro doesn’t look any less panicked than before, and instead of answering, makes a beeline for the door, grip faltering slightly as he grabs Momo’s umbrella and he slides his shoes on.

“I’ll be back-!” Shintaro’s shaky voice resounds, and with that, he’s gone.

The room is empty again, and Kano’s left to wonder what in the hell just happened.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal, he thinks again as he returns to the couch. Shintaro’s just being weird, because that’s pretty much how he operates. Making a big deal out of something that could have been solved just by spilling the beans on his source.

At least, that’s what Kano tells himself as he flips on the television and mindlessly clicks through channels.

Shintaro returns with his drink. They don’t speak of what happened earlier.

There hasn’t been a day within the past week that Kano’s gone without seeing Shintaro in some shape or form. Somehow, he’s always around, though Kido’s earlier statements about him hanging around Mary prove to be true. More often than not, he’s usually found speaking with her, their voices hushed and soft in the corners of the house.

It’s almost annoying, how the two of them sneak about, like they know something that the rest of them don’t. Kano barely contains his pointed glare when Shintaro emerges from Mary’s room, looking far more tired than what is usual. At least, for him, anyway.

Shintaro makes an irritated sounding noise, muttering something about how he needs to get some sleep for “tomorrow”, whatever “tomorrow” entails. It’s not something that Kano particularly cares about.

“Did you have fun with your girlfriend?” Kano asks dryly, flipping a page of his novel. “You two have been awfully close lately. You’ve been coming here lately just to see Mary, then?”

Silence ensues.

“… Well, alright! Be like that. I would have thought that your parents would have taught you better than to act so flippantly!” He sniffs, silently praying that the irritation he’s feeling doesn’t seep through the safety net of his ability.

Still nothing.

Kano is starting to consider why he even decided to give Shintaro a “second chance” to begin with. How he’s behaving is just downright rude.

(Rude. Ha. That’s a laugh. Calling someone rude when you’ve personally ruined their life. How like you to stoop so low, Kano chastises himself, before fleeting confusion takes over him. Is this guilt? Towards Shintaro? That feeling’s never really been in the forefront of his mind; it’s always instead preferred to lay dormant in the back of his brain and creep up when he’s trying to get some damn sleep. The confusion fades as he remembers that Shintaro is just as guilty as he is when it comes to regretting past actions, and ultimately decides to back off of the topic for now.)

The tension is the air is so thick that Kano thinks he may just be able to grab it, cut it into pieces. Fry it up for lunch. Store the leftovers in the fridge to have an equally as disappointing meal later. Anything’s better than sitting, waiting for the other to speak. With a very pointed sigh, Kano closes his eyes, crossing his arms in irritation and flops his head back over the side of the couch. Two can play at this game.

“Kano,” Shintaro speaks abruptly, making him jump in his seat. The other continues without waiting for an indication that he’s being listened to, or even heard, for that matter. “Do you like me?”

The statement takes a moment to settle in before it hits him like a truck, and his body seems to move on its own, sitting up and slamming down his book against the table as gently as he could manage.

“What?” Kano asks blankly. The ability isn’t enough to mask the surprise hidden within the general vacancy of his tone.

“Do you like me?” The other repeats flatly.

“I… I- What? What?”

Shintaro takes a long, deep breath, like he’s somehow upset with the time that Kano’s taking to answer. Apparently done repeating himself, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘I know you heard me’, and settles into the back of his chair.

Kano can only stare, fumbling around with potentially witty answers in his mind and mulling them about, but no words form on his tongue. He’s left sitting there, feeling utterly dumbfounded and thoroughly confused as Shintaro watches him with that same expression on his face.

“Uh.” He eloquently says, the filler word definitively cutting off, as if he had meant for that to be the end of the sentence.

It’s humiliating, to say the least. Kano’s entire body feels uncomfortably warm before his senses seem to come back, all at once. The heat coursing throughout him stays as he manipulates his ability to his liking, twisting his face into a smirk. The laugh he gives off only barely sounds like himself.

“That’s hilarious, Shintaro! Maybe you should be a comedian! You really seem to have a knack for coming up with super funny jokes!” Kano snickers, doubling over in what he hopes looks like hysterical laughter. It provides a good opportunity to hide his face, though he doesn’t really need to, what with being able to look however he wants and all.

Shintaro’s apparently gone back to pretending to be a doll, or something, because there’s no response, yet again. In what he thinks may be curiosity, and partly because he may have a death wish, Kano peers up at the other, only to find Shintaro staring down at him with a serene expression that’s difficult to describe. It’s neither upset nor content, just… there. A half step above his typical dull stare.

“Don’t think too much about it. I was just curious,” Shintaro murmurs, and reaches out to ruffle Kano’s hair before he can do anything about it. His fingers are only there for a fraction of a second before pulling away, leaving Kano gaping.

“What the hell was that?” Kano says, his voice coming out much squeaky and higher than he ever remembered it being. “I didn’t say that you could touch me- And…! And, uh… You…”

The words die out on his tongue in a surprisingly short amount of time. The muddled up mess of thoughts in his brain just doesn’t seem to be able to reach his mouth properly, despite his best efforts. It’s not a feeling that Kano particularly enjoys.

Shintaro is no longer looking at him. He appears to be particularly fixated on the ground.

“Force of habit, sorry,” He says in a somewhat remorseful tone. “It won’t happen again.”

Kano notes that he doesn’t appear to be that sorry, but currently, he can still feel his cheeks and ears burning, and now is probably the best time to divert the conversation to something, anything else before he starts to feel even more strange. When he speaks next, he isn’t quite sure if he’s completely able to work his ability properly. The words come out much more disjointed than he’d like.

“Force of habit?” Kano chokes, settling himself back down into a comfortable position on the couch. “Force of habit for who? Whose hair do you mess up so often to the point where it becomes a habit?”

As expected, there’s no response.

Whatever. Shintaro’s been weird from the start. It’s certainly none of his concern if today he’s decided to be weirder than normal.

Even if Shintaro being weirder than normal goes hand in hand with embarrassing the hell out of him- Not very fun.

Despite the lingering fluttering feeling in his stomach, Kano shifts onto his side, flipping his book back open. The words dance along the pages, and he can barely concentrate. Shintaro’s prolonged silence isn’t exactly helping, either.

It’s silent for another minute, during which Kano must have read the same paragraph at least five times, until he notices it.

Shintaro has his hand slapped over the front of his face, head just barely tipping over the back of the sofa’s armrest. The way his chest rises and falls is uneven- ragged, perhaps, and wheezes with every breath he takes. It sounds like he’s choking on his own breath, drowning.

Even with the hand obscuring his expression, it’s obvious that Shintaro’s expression is distraught. Panicked. Worried.

“Just ignore this, okay? It’s fine,” Shintaro mumbles, obviously not fine. He’s either talking to Kano or himself. Maybe both. “It’s just something that happens; it’s no big deal… Everything’s going to be fine this time.”

Kano officially gives up on understanding anything else for the day.

As easy and as tempting as it would be to reach out for the other, give him a hearty pat on the back or give him some reassuring words, it probably isn’t any of his business. (Not his business? Or not his problem? Kano has to wonder. An answer does not float out of thin air.)

“Uh, everything’s probably going to be fine…” He begins to say, but Shintaro makes no indication that he hears him, and the rest of his sentence dies on the tip of his tongue.

It’s probably for the best. The only thing that Kano can do to calm people down is to turn into a cat and dance around, but he thinks that that’s probably off of the table.

Kano spends the next hour trying to read as Shintaro tries to recompose himself on the couch.

Truth be told, though, he’s not really trying. His attention is much more focused on keeping appearances up, averting his eyes and pretending like he somehow hasn’t noticed Shintaro’s breakdown.

It’s much harder than it looks. At some point, Kano has to plug in his headphones and turn around. Face to the cushions, volume turned up, ignore it, pretend it’s not there, push it all away.

It’s happened before. The sensation is almost familiar, wrapping him in a warm blanket, his limbs twitching as the pain sweetly envelopes him.

Kano’s pretty sure he’s dying.

… No, he’s sure. This is no time to be insecure with himself! It’s time to have confidence in his conclusions, specifically when the evidence is sharp and impaled fully from his back and poking out the front of his shirt.

He looks down, feels his knees turn to jelly and registers the coolness of the obsidian of the laboratory floor before the new wash of pain surges through him. It’s burning, throbbing, searing, and Kano can feel it, but his voice comes up as a bubbling, gurgling mess when he tries to scream. His words are red- no, those aren’t words. Stupid. Of course, he can’t physically see his own words; that’d be silly. That’s just his blood, he thinks with some small amount of glee, it’s just his blood, that’s all!

Why did they even come here?

Did Shintaro bring them here? Or was it Konoha? Maybe Hibiya?

Kano can’t really remember. He can’t remember much of anything, actually. His fingers are wet and slippery when he tries to elevate himself slightly off of the ground, unable to grab anything. The blood smears against everything he touches, and god, there’s so much of it. Everything tastes like copper.

“Kano, Kano, Kano…! Shit, fuck, I- Fuck-“

Someone’s swearing.

“Dirty mouth.” Kano murmurs, and it comes out with another mouthful of blood. Ironic. He could almost laugh, if it didn’t hurt so much.

(Does it hurt? He’s sure that it should hurt- and it does, to a certain extent, but not nearly as much as he thought it would. Being stabbed- now that had been an experience, but Kano’s pretty sure that his current predicament of being impaled is worse. Maybe once he dies, he’ll be able to leave an angry review in the online forums of Hell.)

“Don’t talk, just… Stay still, okay? There’s still time for Mary to fix this, just-“ The voice is cut off short by a blood curdling scream from somewhere else in the building. It’s a familiar voice, feminine, but he can’t place just who it belongs to. Ene? Kido? Momo? Mary?

Either way, he knows that it’s someone that he loves.

The anger that boils up inside of him is almost enough to push him up, to desperately hobble over to the source of the noise, leaving claw marks along the otherwise perfect floors. He snarls when two hands gently cup his face, and acting upon immediate instinct, Kano bites down as hard as he possibly can. Which isn’t very hard, considering his situation. Regardless, the hand recoils.

“Dammit- Don’t… Hey, Kano…” The voice creeps lower and lower, until they’re face to face.

Shintaro’s there, his voice somehow still steady, his eyes somehow still clear. He’s not impaled by anything big and sharp and bleeding out, Kano notes vaguely, and a muddled feeling of relief washes over him.

The screaming from the other end of the building has stopped. Does that mean that she’s okay? Kano certainly hopes so. As much as he’d like to, his attempt at crawling out had pathetically gotten him an astonishing distance of zero meters. The only peace of mind that he has is in assuming that Ene/Kido/Momo/Mary are now safe, and making their way out of the facility.

(Lies.)

“How are you, uh… doing?” Shintaro asks. Kano only stares, because really? The expression seems to get through to him, because the other only gives him a wobbly, broken smile and continues speaking. “Here, I’m going to help sit you up, okay?”

When Kano nods, because it’s not like he has any other ideas, Shintaro wraps his arms around Kano’s limp body to help pull him up, cradling his head gently within the crook of his elbow. The angle of the pole doesn’t give much to their efforts, and at the slightest bit of resistance, Kano grunts and flops his head down into Shintaro’s lap.

“That’s as far as I can go,” Kano breathes out, staring up at the other. There’s blood catching in the back of his throat, bubbling up again. Maybe it’d be better to just lay on his back and choke to death on his own blood, rather than slowly bleeding out. Before he gets the option to decide, Shintaro cups his face with both hands and turns him slightly to the side. The blood soaks into Shintaro’s already red jacket, but he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

Shintaro’s always been weird like that.

“I’m sorry. We, uh, we didn’t do it right this time. Mary and I should have… I don’t know. I don’t know. We fucked up. Again. But next time, I promise…” Shintaro says, and his shaking fingers come up to work their way through Kano’s knotted hair. It must feel gross. Sweaty, bloody, dirty, who knows. Still, Shintaro strokes him gently, like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and Kano’s heart skips one of the few beats it has left.

“I think I’m going into shock.” Kano laughs.

He barely registers the press of lips on his forehead, and maybe if he had any energy left in him, he’d feel embarrassed, confused, something, but there’s nothing that immediately comes to his mind. Something’s wet, and dripping onto his face, and it’s not blood.

“Sorry, Shuuya. Just hang on. Mary should know that it’s about time, now,” Shintaro croaks, his fingers gently pushing Kano’s bangs out of his eyes. Tears- that’s what the liquid is- streak down his face, barely noticeable in the dark lighting of the room.

There’s laughter from somewhere. It’s deep, and Kano recognizes it, but he also doesn’t.

The few pieces left of his mind connect that the source of the laughter is probably the same person that unceremoniously left him for death. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at the face of his attacker- just some footsteps, and then bright, visceral pain.

(Pain? That’s right. His scars are showing, aren’t they? It’s so like him, to be a disgusting monster even in death. No dignity at all.)

“Shintaro, you’re surprisingly not so bad,” Kano chuckles breathlessly. He really is running out of breath now. “Thanks… Ah, thanks for helping me out here, I guess. I haven’t known you for very long, but I didn’t really apologise to you for everything, did I?”

The words spill out with more blood. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and Shintaro’s fingers are shaking violently.

“Sorry for treating you like garbage… And for being Ayano, too. You probably already know about that. You’re a good person, I think? Also, weird… really weird…”

Shintaro chuckles humorlessly, and there’s more of his tears dripping onto Kano’s face.

“Am I making any sense?” Kano drawls on. It’s fading. It’s dark, so dark. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”

The other only hesitates for a moment, before nodding. Kano thinks it’s a nod, anyway. Shintaro tangles their fingers together with his one free hand.

“You can sleep,” Shintaro whispers to him, his broken voice far off into the distance already. He’s breathing hard and uneven, yet still making a concentrated effort to provide a soothing presence, and Kano isn’t sure why. None of this makes any sense. “I’ll see you soon, Shuuya.”

There’s no point in trying to decipher whatever strange code that Shintaro’s speaking in. There won’t be a next time, Kano wants to point out, as they had already cheated death once, and lightning never strikes twice, but what good would that do?

“I don’t think that I’ve ever really hated you, by the way,” Kano manages to get out, and that’s the last of what he can say.

Just as everything fades out, as the feeling of Shintaro’s fingers in his hair becomes less and less pronounced, Kano can hear a girl (Mary?) screaming, yelling, crying. There’s a blinding light, and hissing, and then-

His heart stops.

Kano’s heart stops, and Shintaro’s breaks for the umpteenth time, and the entire world is wiped clean once more.

Kano is fairly certain that he hates Shintaro.

#kanoshin #shinkano #kagepro #kano shuuya #shintaro kisaragi

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