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bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

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I’m Still Hurting (F!Reader/M!Orc)

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: (Almost) Infidelity

Word Count: 3376 words

Summary: Your boyfriend does something he’d never thought he’d do, and you’re left to try and pick up the pieces.

Request: can I make a request? About an angst story between an m!orc and f!human. I like the idea of like maybe the orc sorta misses being with other orc women or like she can't fulfill his needs and she hears this. I like the idea of almost infidelity

A/N: Surprise bitches! I’m alive! And back with some delicious angst for y’all!! I really loved doing this request, as I don’t often write full on angst. I am also working on a fluffy request at the moment, if some of you would like some nice comfort after this haha. Hope y’all enjoy!

Honey ❤️: Babe

Honey ❤️: Babe please answer the phone I need to talk to you

Honey ❤️: I know you’re angry, you should be angry, but please talk to me

Honey ❤️: Baby please

“____? Is that my phone?” Brynn yells from the kitchen, already mixing another cocktail for you to down. Her bright red horns peek over the living room divider, bouncing back as she grabs the alcohol from the fridge. Still looking at your bright screen, you don’t even have the energy to respond.

“____?” You throw your phone away as she peaks her head over, giving her a shameful look. Brynn furrows her brow, pulling away from the kitchen island and putting one hand on her hip. “Was that him?” With your eyes darting back and forth from the pillow you shoved your phone under and Brynn’s face, you nod.

“Y-yeah, it was him.”

Brynn sighs, fiddling with her hands.

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, especially not tonight, but I just think-”

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re right, you’re right.” A jolt hits you as your phone vibrates, the vibrations rumbling through the fabric and stabbing right into your stomach. You force yourself to look away, fiddling with your fingers. Brynn shoots you a pitiful look, you’re sure of it, even as your efuse to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t talk to him tonight. Not right now, not when I’m like….this.” A slow, tired breath escapes you. “I’ll make him wait, just like he did.”

The coach cushion bends as Brynn sits next to you, rubbing your shoulder as she leans in for a side each. You accept it, your body like a deadweight as you let yourself go slack in her arms.

“Do you want anything? Chocolate, maybe a movie? I’ve got some leftover cheesecake?”

“A movie sounds nice.” You murmur, nodding against her chest. Brynn hums, her tail coming up and massaging your lower back as she kisses you on the forward.

“Of course, your choice. Do you want me to get your drink?”

You nod once more, letting Brynn untangle herself from the hug and laying back on the couch, grabbing the comfiest blanket and the remote. You quickly flick through you and Brynn’s ‘most watched’ section on Netflix. You need something new tonight, something to get your mind off.

All your regular comfort movies are romances, after all.

By the time Brynn comes back, a rum and coke and a carton of ice cream in hand, you’re already snuggled into a blanket burrito. She hands you a spoon and the glass, which you wordlessly accept. She sits down and throws a hand over your shoulder, trying her best to massage the left over tension in your neck. You sink into the feeling, pressing on your movie of choice.

“Mad Max: Fury Road, huh? I’ve heard this movie’s great.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “It is.”

And chocked full of shitty men getting what they deserve.

As the opening title plays, the deep voice of Tom Hardy kicking the movie off, you snuggle into Brynn’s side. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s drowned out by screaming men and loud engines. Just how you like it.

Honey ❤️: Could you call me in the morning?

Honey ❤️: I’ll leave you alone for the night, I’m sorry

Honey ❤️: I love you

--------

Waruck sighs, his fingers shaking as another small ‘message delivered’ shows up on his screen. No response, just like the last 15 texts. He finds himself typing out another anyway.

I love you so fucking much

It reads, but is quickly deleted. Waruck clicks off his phone, but it stays in his hand, taunting him. The black mirror shows a sad, pathetic boyfriend, getting the silent treatment.

He falls back onto his bed, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. Nothing but worrying and feeling guilty, with the occasional flicking through TV channels and texting his girlfriend.

It’s getting late, his bedside clock cutting through the dark of his room to remind him he’s been up for almost 16 hours now. Waruck slides a hand through his hair and gets up. He’s going to have to camp out in front of the TV, because he knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Not after what he did.

--------

He had gone out with friends. Friends from highschool who he still occasionally chatted with, friends he didn’t even really like anymore. But the past two weeks had him feeling oddly...nostalgic, like something was out of place. So when his buddy Simon had invited him to the bar, he had eagerly accepted.

He remembers grabbing his coat, you sending him a text to have fun, and him not replying. He didn’t know why he didn’t respond, he still doesn’t. The two of you had been going strong for almost 8 months now, with only the occasional hiccup that most couples have. So why didn’t he respond? What made him casually throw your sweet remark to the side like that?

Waruck shakes his head, trying to focus on the movie in front of him. Now isn’t the time to get existential over tiny shit like that, not with how the rest of the night went.

When he met up with the group, Waruck immediately knew that tonight was going to be different. His current group of friends are quite different, less rowdy, than his old posse. At only 10 PM, three of the guys we’re already halfway drunk, saving a spot in line from him outside the noisy bar. The electronic music that thrummed through the concrete and out onto the street reminded him of how much time has passed, how different his usual party-scene is now, and he revels in that feeling of former good-times.

Simon greets him with a hug, the guys shouting his name as he joins them. From the corner of his eye, he sees a gaggle of girls giggling.

And that's where it started.

An orc woman, dressed in a beautiful black dress, winks as she passes him at the bar. Simon nudges his side as Waruck takes a drink.

“Dude, that chick is totally sending you the look”

Waruck furrows his brow, stirring his drink.

“What’s ‘the look’?” He says, taking another sip of his scotch.

Simon rolls his eyes. “The ‘come hit on me’ look dude! That’s the sign you need to go for it!”

“I have a girlfriend, Simon.”

Simon scoffs, throwing his hand out dramatically. “What, that human chick?”

Waruck has half of mind to set down his drink and ask Simon what he means with that sarcastic tone of voice. It pisses him off, but he says nothing, just rolls his eyes.

“No offense, bro, she looks cute and all. But is she really worth missing out on some great ass?”

Waruck grimaces and shoots Simon a dirty look. “Jesus, Simon, are you serious?”

“I’m serious! When was the last time you had fun, y’know? Everyone knows an orc chick can throw down, wild-style.” Simon nudges him in his side, playfully, but it only serves to make Waruck more annoyed. “C’mon, you seriously don’t miss it?”

Waruck should tell him a firm ‘No’, finish his drink, and leave. He should call a cab and go home, call you and rant about his gross misogynistic friend from high school.

But he doesn’t.

The part of him, the part of him that feels slightly off, wonders if this is it. It had been a long time since he had been with another orc. You were a great girlfriend, but so different from in so many ways. Is that it?

Maybe relieving the old days will satisfy whatever longing he has, and then it will leave forever. Would that be so bad, to let loose for one night?

Waruck feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see the orc girl from earlier; The one who sent him ‘the look’.

“Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?”

Between the boosted bass of the music and the orc woman pressing up against him, Waruck doesn’t notice Simon slip away, giving him a pat on the back.

Leave, say no, tell her she’s got the wrong guy, you fucking idiot. His consciousness yells.

“U-uh, sure.” He stutters.

She introduces herself as Naz and says she noticed him the minute he walked in.

“Hard not to notice the best-dressed guy in the room.” She flirts, pressing herself closer and up against him.

He has a thousand little moments like that, to say something; To pull back and apologize, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slips into a corner booth with her, purposely ignoring the texts you send to check up on him. You had remembered that he wasn’t sure how much fun this night would be, and routinely checked in if he needed a convenient excuse to leave early. You’re sweet like that.

Naz is sweet too. She's a great conversationalist, with a good head on her shoulders and an interesting career in zoology. Waruck could see the two of you being good friends.

Is that why she seems so alluring? Because she’s so similar to you? Waruck’s mind does mental gymnastics to try and justify his hesitance, his compliance in believing that maybe she has something different after all, even though he knows that isn’t true.

The two of them talk for a solid hour and a half, Naz slowly inching herself closer and putting a hand on his knee. His body screams in resistance, his stomach tying up into knots, but he doesn’t push her away.

“So, I’ve got a room not too far from here. What do you say we go make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”

This is his final chance to find an excuse and say goodnight. To run back home and forget this ever happened. But the words are caught in his throat and he’s further silenced by the nearby whooping of his asshole friends.

“Yeah, Waruck! Get some!”

Naz chuckles and mistakenly reads his seething anger at himself with embarrassment for his friends. She leans in, grabbing his jaw, and whispers.

“Let's give them a show, huh?” Then, she kisses him.

The noises of the bar, his friends, and Naz all drown away as her lips mold into his. Waruck’s body goes rigid, terrified as time seems to freeze as he kisses someone who is not his girlfriend.

But all of that stops when your ringtone begins to blast in his pocket. It should be near silent when compared to the pounding bar music, but that familiar jingle seems to cut deep into his skin and skewer his heart. Waruck pulls away with a quick jerk, Naz almost falling over as he pushes himself into his seat and away from her body-heat. Every nerve is a light with tension as he quickly pulls out his phone.

There on the screen is a picture of you, your contact name, “Sweetie❤️”, shining through the dimmed light of that bar. Waruck breathes heavily, feeling like he’s just run an emotional marathon, stuck in his own head until Naz slides away from him.

“Wait, hold on, do you have a girlfriend?”

Waruck looks at her, then looks at his still-ringing phone, then back to Naz. He nods.

Naz's face curls up into obvious disgust, quickly directing her body to be as far away from him as possible. “Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck?” She grabs her handbag and stomps out of the booth, not before throwing her drink in his face and telling him to go to hell.

He almost watches her move across the bar, most likely to go complain to her friends about the asshole she just wasted the last 2 hours chatting up, but all he can focus on is your picture on his phone.

--------

Waruck practically runs out of the bar, his whole body covered in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He felt like a 15 year old, goaded into another shitty prank just because he wanted to look cool in front of his friends, buying into their weird bullshit about humans. Was he seriously going to throw away your wonderful relationship over one night, over one urge?

Naz had been strikingly beautiful, in all the ways he was taught an orc like himself should look for. She could probably get any guy in that club tonight, but she wasn’t you. You’re different, but in so many cool, inconsequential, uniquely-you ways.

Waruck doesn’t know how long he walks before he sits down outside a cafe, trying to collect his racing emotions. He feels gross, sticky with the kind of sweat you only get after too much alcohol and too many people. The screen of his phone seems to reflect every smudge and finger-print as he swipes it to unlock it, finally getting the courage to read your text messages.

They start off normal, spread out over several hours. The occasional “How are the guys?” and “Hope you are having fun! Just let me know when you get home safe.” before dropping off into nothing. Right up until 20 minutes ago, where you send a short and curt text that has his heart dropping to his stomach.

Sweetie❤️: Can you call me right now?

Sweetie❤️: Waruck, I need to talk to you

Sweetie❤️: Are you still at the bar?

After that is a notification of your missed call from earlier and Waruck can’t help but feel guilt stir in his gut.

It could be nothing, something unrelated to what he almost did tonight. But the notification he gets from his Instagram says otherwise. It says a mutual of his tagged him in a photo 30 minutes ago.

Waruck feels like vomiting when he opens up Simon’s story and sees a shaky picture of Naz, draped over him in the corner booth, with him looking all too happy to have her there. The caption reads

“At least someone’s getting lucky tonight 🤣🤣 #BoysNight20XX”

But what comes next is even worse; An even blurrier photo of Naz kissing him, both of their eyes closed as she almost sits in his lap.

Waruck can’t even look at the caption, quickly exiting out of the app and calling you.

He needs to explain himself.

But what will he say?

The phone rings, rings, rings….

Waruck waits with bated breath, thinking you’re going to let it go to voicemail, but you answer. There is no cheerful “Hi Babe” or even a tired and drawn-out “Hey.” Instead all Waruck hears is a shaky sigh, waiting for an explanation.

The words stay caught in Warucks throat, trying to find a way to maneuver and swing around to a solid excuse, a lie he hopes you won’t catch.

But he can’t, he can’t. Not to you.

So you make it easy for him, like you always do, and start the conversation off instead.

“Were you flirting with that girl?”

Waruck’s mind doesn’t give him a choice, the truth already spilling out like a tidal wave.

“Yes.”

Waruck hears you suck in a breath, before you shakily ask once more,

“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her back?”

“Yes.”

There's 15 seconds of brutal silence as Waruck sits with his confession. In the moment, Waruck feels like he can hear your pounding heartbeat through the receiver.

You hang up.

---------

You hate the weather outside for two reasons.

One: You had far too much rum last night to enjoy any amount of sunlight. And,

Two: On a terrible morning like this one, it feels unfair that there aren't any dramatic thunder storms.

The bell rings on the cafe door as you walk in, causing you to wince as you pull down your sunglasses.

Thank god for the low lighting of these cafes.

You rub your brow, eyes scanning the menu above the bar. Some caffeine should do you good, at least with your headache.

But when you spot him, tucked away at a table, tapping his foot, all that aching pain seems to fall to your subconscious. Before you can meet eyes, you look away, forcing yourself to re-read the menu and blink away your tears.

You face the inevitable when you put in your order, turning to walk towards Waruck. He’s locked his gaze into the wood grain of the table, his large body hunched up and small, like he wants to sink into the shadows. He looks like shit, with large bags under his eyes and a nervous tension in his face.

He startles when you pull out a chair, sitting down across from him, but quickly curls back into his ball of shame. He looks so guilty, a small part of you wants to comfort him and tell him it’ll be alright.

You punch away that part of you with a baseball bat.

“Why did you flirt with her?”

Waruck says nothing. He looks at you with his tired eyes, big and racked with guilt.

I don’t know. They whisper.

Your fingers dig into your jeans, anger boiling up and through your nerves.

That’s not a good enough answer.

“Were you,” You suck in a breath, trying to control your volume, “Were you going to sleep with her? If I hadn’t called you, would you have-”

“No!” Waruck nearly shouts, shaking the table as his knees bang against the bottom, but he recoils once he sees the way you flinch. “No, I wasn’t going to.”

Those pesky tears press against your eyelids once more. You can feel your nails digging indents into your thighs.

“I don’t know if I can believe that.” You whisper, failing to catch the crack in your voice.

Waruck’s brow furrows as he nervously chews his bottom lip. He tries to meet your gaze, but you seem to look right through him.

“I know.” Waruck sighs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

There's a tenuous silence; Waruck tries to find the words to fix things while you focus on the details of the cafe walls, examining every nook and cranny as you try not to sob.

“I-I understand if you don’t trust me. I understand if you hate me, or you want to break up. But please, please know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve been kicking myself over flirting with that girl because I love you so fucking much. I-”

You hold up your hand, stopping Waruck in his tracks. He realizes how loud he’s been talking and that people are beginning to stare. He huddles back into his corner, tucking his hands into his lap. You let out a long breath. Waruck takes the risk and looks up.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he realizes just how sad you look. A treacherous tear has begun falling down your cheek, sending a lightning bolt of remorse into Waruck’s chest.

You take in another deep breath, wiping away the tear with the back of your hand. You look at Waruck, exhausted.

“I don’t,” You falter, but catch yourself, “I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.”

Waruck nods, fiddling with his fingers.

“Of course, I get it-”

“I’m not done.” Waruck quickly shuts his mouth. “You hurt me, Waruck. Hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget. So I need time. Time before I can even see you again without thinking,” You hiccup, but this time you let the wave of emotion hit you, full force. “Without thinking about that night.”

A lady calls out your order, but neither of you makes a move. You sit in each other's presence, trying to wrap yourselves around the mess of emotions, trying to read the others mind without seeming too obvious.

You both sit here, in the presence of something that's been broken, damaged in a way that’s cut the heart of your chest and slams them on the table. There’s a crack that runs down between you two, inching open more and more with each breath.

But somehow, somehow, you both think you have a chance of fixing it.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #female reader #monster romance #orc x reader #angst #orc

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manjuhitorie · 3 years

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tat - Shinoda’s Hitori-Atelier blog posts - REAMP Digest volume 4

Shinoda’s blog post via Hitori-Atelier! Please consider joining Hitori-Atelier and supporting Hitorie’s ventures today. How-to here: https://boatmanju.wixsite.com/hitorietranslations/hitorie-atelier

It’s already been 3 months since REAMP was released, time really flies.

In that short bit of time we’ve already planned a tour ahead of us, and were given the opportunity to do the opening for the anime ‘86′. Let’s fucking go~~~~~ Is everyone faring well? I've recently rekindled my passion for sampling, I haven't felt like this in years. I'm taking free samples I find strewn across the internet and turning them into techno. I kinda remember mentioning my appreciation for techno in vol. 1 of this blog series, and yeah. I'm finally trying it out for myself. I've managed to make a pretty sick song if I do say so myself. You'll find it on Hitori-Atelier soon enough. (＊This is most likely the song titled 'mad candy', found in 'Shinoda's Contents') It's fun 'cause compared to vocal stuff, I use a whole different part of my brain to make techno. I say "This part of this sample has a good beat to it, I bet if I rearranged it like this it would make music~" and do it. Relatively speaking, this kinda music making matches my personality type really well. I feel like I've found a fucking good hobby for myself here. With that said, even though it’s a hobby, work is still work so the collateral damage of music-making is still vividly affecting my body. Like music is still music, and with the way I tunnel vision I'll end up at my desk for an obscene amount of hours. By the time I'm done with it physically and mentally I'm a wreck. Like the fuck do I mean by hobby, is this some kinda shitty joke Shinoda? Anyway let's talk about 'tat'. The question as to what the title means comes first. Initially I wanted to name this song "刺青(meaning tattoo)". Because the song ‘Perfume’ by ‘Eito’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MjAJSoaoSo) was a huge hit at that time so yeah.. But that idea failed ygarshy's inspection so I had no choice but to look around for a word similar to tattoo.

That was when I found photos of tattoos on Instagram with the hashtag #tat. This is it, I said. As a slang tat can mean many other things as well but I forget what they were. I'm sure you can find out if you look it up but, take note that none of it has much to do with the song itself. I considered '#tat' for the title as well, but it was too lame so I pulled back. This song was written when the album was almost finished and most songs ready: I reviewed the album as whole and felt that something was missing. I had wanted something with now tat’s tempo and mood to it to tie the album together. It turned out really well, if I may say so myself. Isn't it a great song though? I feel like all my efforts were worthwhile... It's fun to let the creative juices flow and write with whatever comes to mind. I tried to make the amount of guitar notes concise and solid. The tone was supposed to be graceful too but... ygarshy swooped in with a kick and his bass so heavy it sounds like he's blasting music from a little motorcycle. The melody too has the same makings as the hits these days. It’s about someone of the opposite sex with a bold tattoo who’s stuck in days of ennui, and me who’s gazing from afar wondering what these feelings inside me are. It’s about that sorta thing (?) - I think I managed to express it (????) The beat isn’t made to be far off from modern tuning either. I’m sure I could’ve harmonized it even better but, at the time I found good reason to make it more rock band-y, so I have no regrets. I only wish I made the song name something easier to find via search. It’s so hard to find the people talking about it... Starting with a verse and closing a song with that same verse is great, ain’t it. I’ve always liked songs with a bit of a whacky structure to them, Like November in HOWLS, it goes from verse 2 back to verse 1 then into the instrumental break. If you think it’s just any old number then prepare to be sorely mistaken - Or, that kind of fetishy stuff is important for music if you ask me. I received a fair lot of praise from people in the song-writing industry about tat, I’m happy. Though I’m not sure about the lyrics. Someone from our workplace told me that “Mushy gushy heart-wrenching lyrics would fit well”, so I sought out to do exactly that. The only problem is that my expression of mushy gushy made that person from work go “????” so making people’s heart clench is hard shit. This doesn’t leave here okay.. My dismay over the discontinuation of Chikyuu Monogatari is vented in here a bit as well. Though I don’t think Chikyuu Monogatari is boring. Not really. I saw a few people say that ‘tat’ is like the evolution of cakebox. And it makes sense to me now that y’all say it. cakebox was my solo project I did back in my mid-20’s. I made 3 mini pieces with 7 tracks and 1 EP with 4 tracks before stopping. I’m sure only like 10 people in the whole world ever listened to it. If you look it up you can still get it to listen too. Like an offering of random ass songs to my dead school life, I had a phase between my late teens and my early 20’s wherein I was obsessed with making songs using just my voice and guitar. The question of direction was beyond my consideration, I just sorta let the creative juices flow back then too and promptly set pen to paper. That was my creative process cycle. It was kinda like a diary. There’s barely any proper complete songs. The reason being that I completely lacked the skill necessary to make them proper. My guitar was alright but my singing wasn’t up to par, no one ever praised my voice at all. So I resolved that I just wasn’t cut out for it and strove to be a lead guitarist. Instead of my own songs I chose to go do band stuff, thus devoted myself to guitar. Yet still my desire to make something proper stuck with me, and so soon after that I started a band in which I did guitar and vocals. we mashed stuff together and made song proper. Alas. Between creative differences and my own lack of ability, we were barely able to make something that I was proud of. After shit happened I ended up at home immersed in making my own songs. “Surely I could put all my experiences in bands and my own growth to good use, to turn my backlog of WIPs into something proper as well?” I thought to myself, and thus was the beginning of cakebox. I think that was the first time I ever got involved in making my own music through my own power. But my way of intense creation was too innocent for listeners or something, or like I wasn’t conscious enough of my headfirst personality... So I didn’t even have the sense to match the tuning up with modernity, and ultimately my work wasn’t clicking with society’s needs. That reality was crushing me more and more with every piece I made. I didn’t have absolute confidence in myself or conviction to push through either. After 3 albums the feeling of “Why am I even doing this” grew, and I found more purpose in Hitorie instead. From then on I devoted myself to Hitorie. These past few years in Hitorie have been nothing but learning experiences for me. After years of the four of us together stressing over what makes good music, I think my own work has leveled up as well. One thing I learned that has especially stuck with me, even now, is leader’s unwavering stance on “Believing that I’m just no matter what”. For someone with my relative dispositions it’s a nigh impossible stance, and at often times I felt it was egoistic of him but... It’s what led him to create such powerful music, and it’s something we depended on greatly. The other day I gave Unhappy Refrain a full listen for the first time in a while. It’s perfect in every way, what the hell. Vocaloid as a genre was still establishing itself back then, and without a doubt this album served as a monument for the cause. The same way ‘my bloody valentine’’s ‘loveless’ was the cherry on top for the shoegazer genre. It’s made an immovable unsurpassable mark on music history. I really was in a band with a crazy person. To think that when I was in a band with him I more saw myself as the crazy amazing one. What the fuck was up my ass. I understand why felt the need for a band after making this album - why he brought us together - even more now. The obscene amount of notes in that album with a tone reeking of rock band stuff... It’s really flooded with his innocent yearning for rock music. I think the troubles he faced following Unhappy Refrain were the repercussions of him making such a huge monumental piece. But his stout core belief in himself - that he’s just - has stood equally as tall as that monument all the way. Now, after so many twists of fate.. I never thought I’d be writing AND singing my own songs for Hitorie like this. Except, one difference between the me of now VS. the me of old is that I don’t feel even a smidgen of unconfidence. I’m not worrying that I “don’t stand out” or “don’t suit societies needs” anymore. I feel like ‘tat’ might be the best song in the album (sorry ygarshy and Yumao). To the point that when people praise it I merely agree with them, “No lies detected” I say.

It’s all thanks to my time spent with Hitorie, the musical knowledge we sharpened, and the fact that my bandmates’ amazing performances have my back. If I don’t have something as big as this supporting me then I’ll just be a fucking chicken with no confidence in my music, after all. With that said, Music made by you yourself is an irreplaceable treasure, “If you made something good, then be proud”: this lesson of mindset was taught to me by Leader. It’s a really life-changing way to be so... If I mimic Leader at least this lil’ bit no one would make a bad face at me, right? What do y’all think? With that that said, the actual most pure thing that’s naturally come out of my head in years, with my actttual emotions stuffed in, is... The actttttual best song is “Utsutsu” if you ask me so. Look forward to the next entry of this blog series, y’hear me. Shinoda

#REAMP #SND REAMP Blog #Hitorie #REAMP Digest

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kerfufflewatch · 5 years

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Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks.

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee.

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him.

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself.

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him.

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through.

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think.

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most.

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined.

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates.

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all.

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals, he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear.

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food.

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that."

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose.

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely.

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry.

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored.

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

#Kerfuffle Fic #scenario prompts #Overwatch #McHanzo #Anonymous

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crescentmoonrider · 5 years

Text

so uh, i was telling @ishibooty about my daydreams and the fact that somehow in two of these scenarios, marcus ends up joining libra, and all of a sudden it was 5am and i had 3k words of summary of marcus’ arc for one of them

there are two parts to it. this was supposed to be a side-plot. why am i like this

anyway enjoy my ramblings i guess

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Mushroom arc

Marcus and Leo meet at the hospital (Daniel came to visit/interrogate/make fun of Steven and kicked Leo out of the room) and leave a good impression on each other. (“So uh, are you also a cop ?” “Why does everyone assume that ? Is it my name ??”)

Later, Libra investigates on a drug ring. Because the drug seems to incorporate magic in its fabrication, making it as potent on humans as well as all sorts of beyondians, Leo is sent alongside Zapp to get a sample and get a closer look and maybe identify the spellcaster or something. Marcus is in the club and makes himself known, and it turns out he is part of the gang. Zapp and Leo get invited to a private room and meet some of the higher-ups (Marcus included), buy their sample, and are then asked to breathe into a container, of which they are assured it is perfectly safe, just a security measure. Since murdering clients seems like a pretty bad business plan for a drug ring, the duo does what they’re asked. They pass out and wake up in the club, with no memory of the past 30 minutes.

Later, Leo is greeted by Marcus at Diane’s Diner and they have a chat, during which Leo feels like he met Marcus recently but can’t seem to place it ? Marcus makes fun of him, asks if Leo has been hanging with Mushroom beyondians and at Leo’s confusion, mentions the amnesic effects of their spores.

Leo comes back to Libra all “MOM HOLY FUCK”, and the team decide to investigate that memory-erasing spore thing. Also one of Steven’s “contacts” discouraged him from looking deeper into the drug ring geez I wonder why that might be.

In parallel to that whole investigating, Leo goes to eat out with Nej, accidentally bumps into Marcus, and they somehow become a trio of burger pals ? (“wait what do you mean you sold Nej burgers for profit” “it’s money my dude”) Hanging out together during lunch break regularly, all that jam. At some point, following Leo and Marcus complaining about their respective workplaces and co-workers (preluded by Marcus being all like “work ? like, part-time ? aren’t you in high school ?” “… I’m 21…” (quietly) “what the fuck”), Nej mentions having an actual job but can’t seem to remember it. Cue laugh track I guess.

Plot twist it’s not funny it’s actually tragic because the place Nej works at is the spore extraction factory that serves as the center of that Mushroom traffic. Chain, Zapp, and Leo storm the place, Leo gets beaten up, Nej is traumatized, the Mushroom beyondians are evacuated, the building is burned down and so are the spores. Meanwhile, Marcus is allowed for the first time into the laboratory, meets the spellcaster, looks around the place and asks non-suspicious questions, he’s just curious and enthusiastic and kind of dumb in his cleverness but that’s just how Marcus is haha look at him, such a good and loyal guy (we hope).

Someone caught Leo and Zapp on tape while they destroyed the factory and since Marcus is friends with Leo, it’s a bit uhhhhhhh suspicious ? Marcus is all “do I look like I have control over whatever every single one of my friends does ?”, the Chief goes “okay well, would you fucking mind getting that kid over here so we can know where he learned about the spore factory ?”, and so Marcus goes to do just that.

Except he doesn’t. What he does is go see Leo at the hospital, offers to go on a walk in the hospital park, covertly gives Leo a vial of his own blood, and tells him to act like they’re fighting and then run away and bring the vial to Daniel. He then makes as if to grab Leo to take him with him.

Leo knees him in the dick and books it. The gang guy dispatched to make sure Marcus actually did his job watches and comes to the conclusion that Marcus is on their side because, like, yeah.

When he gets the news and the blood, Daniel calls the narc brigade to start the tracking, grabs Leo, gets in the car, and starts driving. The “tracking” is actually blood magic, the vial of blood Marcus gave Leo reacting to sigils he left at the lab and even on the spellcaster and forming spikes in the direction of it all. Turns out Marcus was an undercover narc looking to get his hands on the spellcaster (drug labs are rather easy to make, having a magic user able to apply their knowledge to that kind of craft is a lot less common).

Of course when magic is activated, it risks being picked up on by other magic users, so any intervention needs to be swift, and also Marcus seems to have been under some suspicion (why else would he ask Leo to serve as a middle-man) so things need to move real fast. (“wait so you’re going on a drug busting operation with a civilian in your car ? I know I said I wanted to know what the hell is going on but that’s kind of, like, uhhh” “you’re holding the vial and giving me the directions, I can’t do that while driving”)

Anyway, most of the gang is arrested, Marcus ends up in the hospital because he saw some kids crossing the road without watching and jumped in to save them, ironically saving him from being exposed as a cop to the underworld, and Leo later apologizes for kneeing him in the dick. End of arc

------------------------------------

Boss arc

Marcus takes advantage of his old gang being disbanded, and of him still looking like a regular crime guy, to join another, bigger group. The Boss welcomes him with open arms because 1) Marcus sells himself really well (“yo my brother’s a lieutenant of police, I got some intel”) and 2) they actually knew each other before the Collapse, and while Marcus never worked for him, the Boss has a lot of respect for him.

The burger trio still hangs out together, and sometimes Marcus also hangs out with Leo alone. It’s a nice break from work for Marcus honestly, Leo is a chill guy, and it’s great to not have to pretend to be someone else, with someone who isn’t Daniel, for once. And for Leo it’s also a nice break from the usual Libra madness. They share wacky stories, some gossip, one time Marcus arrives like “LEO HOLY FUCK” because he spotted Steven at Daniel’s flat and they both lose their shit. They also get a little more real sometimes I mean, both of them have some heavy baggage, and Marcus doesn’t have a lot of emotional support outside of his brother (who is married to his work and not great at emotions himself). In short, they’re friends.

Anyway, Leo may or may not be developing a crush – whatever the truth is, Zapp has decided to go on Big Brother mode and drag Zed along to stalk Marcus and make sure he’s an okay guy. (“are you sure this is necessary ?” “this is HL, and this is Leo, he’s like, a trouble magnet ! and if things turn out badly, guess who will have to deal with the fallout ?” “… you actually care, don’t you” “shut up !”) Of course, Marcus publicly performs as a Crime Guy, so that’s a little… well…

Zapp and Zed follow Marcus to a shady pub where Marcus has a meeting with the Boss (“wait isn’t this guy like, a crime lord” “god fucking dammit”), get spotted, but since Marcus isn’t about to out them as Libra if he can avoid it, he just ironically buys them a drink. And that’s how a hot mess and a merman end up sharing a table with a Crime Guy and a Crime Lord. Zapp, always the diplomat, asks Marcus to break up with Leo. Marcus is obviously very confused because, like, they’re not ??? A thing ??? So Zapp instead tells him to not start a thing, while Zed sits there nervously and very obviously tries to not look at the Boss.

Marcus laughs it off, but he ends up a little shaken by the encounter honestly, not because Zapp said anything particularly clever, but because it echoes doubts he’s been holding about himself for a while now. He’s been doing his job for quite a long time, has done quite a lot of shitty things to keep his cover up, and he – he isn’t quite sure he’s really helping. Sure, he’s lead to the dismantling of some drug rings, but was it worth it ? If he looks at what he did for the past years, how exactly is he different from the people he targets ?

Also there’s like, Collapse trauma, which in his case is also closely related to that whole issue. For three days, Marcus walked around with a suitcase of “merchandise” from whatever his gang was at the time, doing his best to survive and get that thing where he was supposed to get it and not lose it and not act like a servant of the people who would actually help, or try to help at least. Marcus made it out of the Collapse with his cover intact, his gang mostly dead, and a suitcase full of shit he didn’t know what to do with because the people he was supposed to bring it to died and he did it all for nothing. He let people die for nothing.

And he does feel a kinship with some of his “co-workers”. He’s friend with some of them. He slept with one of them, at a time when he had just lost whatever purpose he’d had for the three days the Collapse lasted, at a time when he couldn’t get in touch with his family and make sure they were alive and he was just so desperate for someone he knew, for some human warmth, for whatever comfort he could get. And the Boss (at the time not his boss, but someone he knew and who made business with whoever he used to work for) was kind and praised his determination and good work and just held him with no judgement.

Marcus enjoys the Boss’s company. What happened after the Collapse was a one-off thing, but they’ve been in touch ever since, drinking out sometimes, sharing some quiet comfort together. The Boss introduced Marcus to a new group in exchange for his merchandise. The Boss keeps on vouching for him, trusts him, and Marcus almost feels a little guilty.

He feels guilty a lot, he finds, whether that be when he enjoys drinking with his co-workers or when he works at home on a spell that would identify the caster in charge of their drug.

One time, Steven comes to the Boss with a deal, information for whatever price the Boss gives and Marcus sits there, at the Boss’ right, watches Steven and the apparent friendship between him and the Boss and thinks “ah”. Same fucked up hat, same dilemma, same constant walking a line you can barely see.

At Daniel’s place (Steven has been there a lot more often lately, and Marcus a lot less, but they still end up meeting at times), neither of them mention that moment of recognition. But Marcus mentions being a little tired, and Steven half-jokingly offers him a place in Libra, should he ever want a change of pace.

And Marcus thinks maybe, just maybe, this would be better. Maybe he could help, really help, the way he wants to. He just needs to finish this job. Just this one job.

It’s not that he means to isolate himself, he just really needs to figure this spell out, and anyway Zapp was exposed as Libra and that brought suspicion on Marcus because of the whole “don’t date my friend/colleague” incident and while the Boss trusts him, there’s this one guy who has some amazing instincts (and maybe holds a grudge for that time Marcus beat him up for trying to sell stuff to kids), and that means hanging out with Leo is probably a terrible idea. And he has work. And he is so, so tired. He has nightmares, too, a little more than usual. Maybe more than that.

It’s a good thing that there are spells offering protection against nightmares, really, a good thing there are spells that provide energy too. Marcus has a rule against ever consuming something he sells, but he’s been so tired lately that he gets close. But there are spells for sleep that work better than alcohol, and spells for energy that work better than cocaine, with none of the less appreciable side-effects, and it’s a shame the only magic he knows is blood magic because drawing blood to activate them is a pain, literally. But it’s a small trade-off for the ability to keep it together and finish his work.

Leo actually seeks him out once, and while the encounter is short because Marcus can’t afford to hang out with “most definitely Libra” and tells Leo that (and also mentions Zapp and Zed’s visit because he is petty), it’s also nice to have Leo be all “if it’s because you’re afraid of getting me into trouble, friendly reminder that this is HL and that I am Libra” at first and just. Miss him, apparently ? Marcus will have to treat him to lunch once he is done.

After that, after his eyes pick up on the weird magic going on over Marcus’ shoulder, Leo looks up spells by shape, and if he was worried about Marcus avoiding him before, he is now worried for an entire different set of reasons. Square-shaped spells are reinforced exponentially, and there’s no way anything stronger than a level-1 energy spell (the equivalent of an espresso) can be healthy. Also he is going to kill Zapp.

And finally, finally, Marcus gets his breakthrough. He finalizes his identification spell, drops a little blood on the powder in the middle of the circle, and gets a signature. He can track this caster. He grabs paper, a pencil, writes down the signature sigil, calls Daniel to tell him that he got it, and – and there was a defensive spell inside the drug because of course there was and Daniel needs to come here right now.

At the time, Daniel is wrapping up a case with Klaus and Gilbert nearby, and there is no question what the fastest vehicle here is. The others can manage without him. Daniel reaches Marcus’ flat in record time, Klaus on his heels, and they find Marcus unconscious on the floor, left arm injured, in a state that seems much worse than it should be.

Daniel grabs the paper Marcus is holding, Klaus compresses the injury and carries Marcus to the car, and Gilbert drives as fast as possible in these conditions. Calls are made – to the narc brigade, sending them the signature so they can do whatever it is they need to do with it and so they can prepare to start the tracking of what Marcus left for them to find, and to Steven, who is currently free and can absolutely help in the capture of the higher-ups of the gang (Leo definitely helps spot anyone who escapes).

Luciana welcomes them with the same determination she has at all times, and the slight annoyance she always expresses at seeing Daniel, and hurries Marcus inside. “What did he take ?” she asks, and Daniel could strangle her. Marcus doesn’t take anything, he is a professional, how dare she – but he is overdosing, Klaus was the only thing keeping his heart beating during the drive there, and the powder on the floor of his flat seemed weirdly crystallized, like it had solidified and broken. And there was no weapon that could explain Marcus’ injuries. And the conclusion Daniel and Luciana reach is. Bad.

He answers Luciana’s questions, asks for a small sample of Marcus’ blood, shouts at whoever he has on the phone at the time, and goes for the car. Luciana is baffled, Gilbert readies to drive, and Klaus says he will stay at the hospital and call if anything happens. It’s not a pretty arrangement, but the look on Daniel’s face was one that promised death to anything that tried to stop him, so.

I could go into length about the capture, about the way Daniel almost killed the Boss for his words, about the return to the hospital and the gruelling wait for news, about the way the Luciana on coffee break duty told Daniel off for criticizing her devotion to her work when he isn’t much better himself, about the relief Daniel felt at it being personal, a revenge of sorts, instead of something he’s heard much too often about his being heartless. He isn’t, if Marcus died it would break him, but he simply doesn’t know any other way to deal with these emotions than drowning them in work.

Later that night, after Steven has dragged him home to make him catch at least some sleep, he will tell Steven about the death of his grandfather, back when he was a kid, about Marcus crying for an hour, about himself not shedding a single tear, instead finishing the model boat the three of them had started because he needed to do something. It will be the first time they have that kind of discussion, the first time it feels like whatever they have going on is a serious relationship. But that is a story for another time.

When Marcus wakes up, a few days later, he asks Daniel to transmit his resignation letter. His recovery will take time, months even, to get back to a functioning state both physically and mentally, but that is the first step towards that. Another step will be to buy Leo and Nej lunch when he gets discharged, reconnecting with them. And another will be to ask Steven if the job offer was serious, and to accept it.

Marcus joins Libra as a blood mage with some background information on drug dealings, and he thinks, for the first time in forever, he can help.

(Also he hasn’t told Daniel anything about that last part and he is not looking forward to that conversation, at all.)

#kekkai sensen #blood blockade battlefront #marcus law #leonardo watch #yumi writes #note : blood magic and blood fighting techniques are not the same and actually dont have much in common #yes i actually made some magic theory for this. its. somewhere in my unscanned sketches #my naming conventions for most characters are. terrible. if i dont know your name ill just call you by your job #idk if read mores are still as buggy as they used to be on mobile but it they are im very sorry #body heat AU

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ghoulstars · 6 years

Text

i Sure Would Like to not have to be literally relieved/excited when my mom goes to bed every single night because otherwise i feel constantly tense and at risk of something happening to make my living situation unsafe, again, even if we’ve had a good/normal day

shes back on her fucking bullshit today and she usually confronts me on things that have made her Mad(tm) that ive “done” but today she hasnt said jack shit to me. all i can figure is: shes upset that i didnt get up and help her stain the wood for the porch we’re building where our old shitty side deck was shes upset bc i didnt wash all the dishes ?????????? who fucking knows

heres the kicker though folks: i didnt wash all the dishes because for some reason, since replacing our water heater, when the water from the sink starts getting cold it doesnt gradually get cold, it literally goes from like scalding hot (even thru gloves) to hardly lukewarm and i was only washing dishes for about 20? 30? minutes last night before the water temp fucking plummeted so i couldnt finish. bonus is that there were literally only like 5-7 things left to wash and it was literally just 3 styrofoam cups, one pot and like...2 or 3 forks/spoons. absolutely incredible and worth spitefully giving your daughter the cold shoulder over, am i right folks

and me helping stain was only even a fucking a possibility because she gave me an open ended offer to help her last night and i gave an open ended response. she asked me if i wanted to try to go to bed early enough and she would call me in the morning and just see if i wanted/felt up to come out and help, and i said i would be willing to try and id do my best. so when my manic ass had a manic moment and i slept for 3 hrs from 6 am to 8 and was dying and couldnt pass back out for any reason of course i texted her and told her i couldnt fucking help lmao. my fucked sleep schedule is a result of my Crazy Quirky Wacky Bipolar 2 anyway and like she refuses to help me or sympathize with me abt my mental health so ??? guess ill die?????

i didnt get back to sleep around fucking like 12/1 pm and i noticed that she stopped fucking replying to my texts literally right after i said i couldnt help and then every time she walked past my room, where i was Clearly Awake And On My Phone With My Door Open, she flat out ignored me. wouldnt even spare me a side glance.

and when i woke up at 5 pm today, no matter how late i wake up my mom always comes and wakes me up no matter what, today she walked by my room twice EVEN WHEN IT WAS THAT LATE AND I WAS STILL IN BED without saying jack fucking shit to me, and only came in on her third time walking back by to her sitting room and just blankly went ‘youre not laying here in the dark’, turned on my light, then swiftly left

then before that she’d texted me, after telling me for weeks to just use our limited data even if it runs over bc our wifi cant handle my phone being connected along with all our other devices anymore, that im going to have to use my laptop now bc she isnt paying another 200$ phone bill this month. here’s kicker number 2: after literally outright giving me her food plans for tonight and tomorrow yesterday she also texts me that she didnt cook. just a flat “I didn’t cook”. im so fucking depressed all the time that i physically and mentally cannot handle getting up to find and cook myself my own like ACTUAL MEALS and making food that requires actual cooking is often times out of the fucking question, and shes been not cooking for SEVERAL nights here recently, sometimes days in a row, and with my depression being wholly unacknowledged by her, once again, guess ill fucking perish??? unless i can miraculously find the energy to make chicken fingers or ramen noodles im going to be doing what ive fucking done almost every goddamn night this past month she hasnt cooked which is live off of snack foods and ensure lmao. KICKER NUMBER 3: she promised me that either tonight or tomorrow, bc she has a Big Foobaw Game, she wouldnt cook and would instead get me my alltime favorite chinese food from my alltime favorite chinese restaurant that she knows i love a lot, and regardless of what night her game was, she didnt cook tonight and i LITERALLY heard her say less than an hr ago that she’d be cooking tacos (which she intended to originally cook tonight) tomorrow. that being said, her specifically saying she ‘didnt cook’ today when she promised to get takeout in general at some point this week makes me think tonight was just supposed to be tacos (esp if what i think i can remember serves). and now she hasnt cooked anything at all! and tomorrow its gonna be tacos! :) fucking knowing how she is and how she works and functions with her abusive behavior towards me i would not be surprised and am also partially convinced that for whatever reason she’s all DooDoo Angery at me that shes doing this on fucking purpose to deprive me of the treat she promised out of spite/as some kind of passive aggressive ‘punishment’ HAHAHAHA ECKS DEE SO FUNNY XDDD

the only other time shes acknowledged my fucking worthless existence(tm) today was to pull one of her Iconic “im only saying this really ridiculous shit that ive never said before and we’ve never talked about before, ever, just to take digs at my daughter bc she Displeased Me” moments, where she walked by, almost totally ignored me again but stopped like. like she was gonna just keep walking but caught herself and she ended up like...halfway obscured by my doorway anyway and quickly said to me “i need you to sweep.” and then she went to the bathroom and i hear “and take your (cat) poop out too. litterboxes get done every night.”

we have two litterboxes. never in the history of ever has she said anything to me about they get done Every Night >:( and that has never been an established rule, nor have we ever even spoken about me doing that. i do them every few nights, usually on different days, bc there’s Two Litterboxes. and surprise surprise my depression impedes my ability to keep up with them without her having to tell me to clean them most of the time which pisses her off, except i literally did them 1-3 nights ago and theres no way that they both need cleaning again already and now shes suddenly on her shit like. they get done. every night. in that fucking vaguely militant voice she gets when she’s mad like that and is fucking with me on purpose

but fucking like even regardless of all this other shit, point blank, she is the one who has not expressed any of her annoyances with me today to make her act like this. how can i fucking communicate about the issue when she doesnt TELL ME WHAT HER ISSUE IS and instead opts to mentally and emotionally screw with me for her own satisfaction--and even then!!! she has no right to be this mad with me over not helping with the porch bc SHE left it OPEN ENDED and NONCOMMITTAL, SHE could have easily asked me why there were dishes left (though bc i have to do them so late at night/early in the morning bc im fucking depressed shed prolly just blame me FOR doing them at that time bc if i do them TOO LATE at night then the WATER TEMPERATURE GOES DOWN because its COLD AT NIGHT or something like that) but she didnt and now like everything else, fresh off my period, still manic, always rapid cycling, just got off the manic depression train slightly after being on it for two days and then before that it was Severely Uncomfortable Euphoria, feeling just so fucking wrong in my own skin and feeling too many emotions that are too strong that i dont want, so on and so forth, im the one whos suffering because of her unresolved neuroses and narcissism

and like....to be honest, real shit? with how fucking unpredictable and fucky she’s become since our Big Fight i also would not be surprised and sort of have half a mind to think she’s just mad for literally no reason (related to me or otherwise) and is doing this just because lol

#personal #dont reblog #long post #abuse tw #parental abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #mental abuse tw

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lisatelramor · 6 years

Text

Ok, this wants to be something longer and if I manage to write more and finish what it wants to be, I’ll post it on AO3. In the meantime, this is for Natsume Yuujinchou week’s Youkai and humans/ species swap. So basically I took characters and Nyanko-sensei’s our protagonist as human along with Takashi as ayakashi. Not proof read, I just wanted to post SOMETHING for Natsuyuu week and this was as much as I could get done by today ^_^;;

Madara groaned as the train came to a stop at the station. Despite napping most of the way there, his hangover was just as strong as it had been that morning, leaving him with a pounding head and a vague nausea upsetting his gut. It had been a hell of a way to get kicked out of an apartment, but that’s why he’d been drinking in the first place. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back to this middle of nowhere town, but here he was, a decade and a half after leaving.

He left with just a suitcase full of clothes and a couple hundred yen in his pocket. He was coming back with even less, so what did that say about his life?

There was an ayakashi in the train station, lurking in the corner. The people coming and going avoided the spot on instinct leaving a meter of space around it in all directions. Madara avoided looking directly at it. Wasn’t his problem. Hell, it could start throwing the trash can and it still wouldn’t be his problem. He didn’t give a damn so long as it wasn’t trying to eat him.

Humid summer air hit like a brick after the air conditioned rail car. With it came the smell of green things and the stink of too many sweaty bodies crowded onto a train platform. He hadn’t missed this. Well, he corrected once he’d dragged his suitcase with him in a shortcut through the woods, he hadn’t missed it too much. There was a great big wide world out there and Madara had gone out and experienced it. There was so much more than a rural town full of backwards hicks that threw sticks and stones with their hurtful words.

He’d only stayed as long as he had back then because, well, he’d stayed that long because of reasons and those reasons hadn’t been there anymore.

He’d forgotten how many ayakashi were in the country though. Floating amid the tree branches. Hiding in underbrush. Lurking with teeth in the dark crevice of a rotted out tree trunk. When he was younger, it had been a problem. Now? Now Madara couldn’t give two shits. So long as he didn’t look and he kept a firm grasp on his powers, nothing would notice him and he could pretend he didn’t notice them, just like how it was supposed to be.

“Years,” Madara muttered, climbing out of a bush back onto a main road. “Years and this place looks exactly the same.” There was the post office. There was the road to the school. There was the house of that older lady that used to chase him off her lawn for picking persimmons she’d let rot on the tree. The green fruit were a long way off from being ripe right now, but Madara was willing to bet they’d still be rotting on the tree come November.

And speaking of things that hadn’t changed, the bar at the end of the street looked exactly how he remembered it, down to the hairline crack in one of the windowpanes and Hinoe’s precise handwriting on the signboard showing the daily specials.

Madara headed for the bar. He was making terrible life choices these days, why not make another?

It was dim inside, even though it was the middle of the damn day, because Hinoe’s bar had the atmosphere of a noir film with half the class. There were a couple people scattered in the corners of the room drinking their sad, pathetic lives away with whatever swill Hinoe served to the day-drinkers and perpetually drunk. Or maybe she’d changed that policy over the years. He kind of doubted that.

Hinoe was at the bar, idly flipping through a magazine and smoking a cigarette. The smoking was new. The magazine full of attractive women was not. Madara sat down at the bar, suitcase thumping against his legs, like it was a normal Tuesday afternoon and it hadn’t been over a decade since he’d stepped into her business. “Hey.”

Ash fell from the tip of the cigarette into an overloaded ashtray as Hinoe looked up. “Huh, well look what last night’s storm drug in. Madara. Long time no see. You look like hell.”

“You look the same as ever.” The same long hair tied up in a bun. The same too-dark makeup. The same bastardized kimono-style top with the sleeves tied back by some brightly patterned strip of cloth. If there weren’t deeper crow’s feet around her eyes, he could almost pretend he’d never left at all.

“I’m immortal, didn’t you know?” Hinoe said, grinning. “I thought you were never coming back. It’s been, what, ten years?”

“Fifteen,” Madara grunted.

“Right, right. I remember you saying something about leaving us losers all behind and finding your true greatness or some shit. Or was it that you’d prove that greatness to the world? How’d that go for you?” By her sly smile, she knew exactly how it went. He wouldn’t be here if his plans went the way they were supposed to and they both knew that.

“I went, I saw the world, the world witnessed me,” Madara said haughtily. “It couldn’t take my greatness so I magnanimously decided to return to share my glory with all of you again.”

“Uh huh. What’s the real story?”

“I went out into the world. The world wasn’t ready for my amazing person. So the world kicked my ass and now I’m living out of a suitcase.”

Hinoe blew a smoke ring. “Wow. Sucks to be you like usual.”

Madara sneered at her. She grinned back. She was a sad excuse for an almost friend and he definitely hadn’t missed her at all. “Speaking of living; my family home still there?”

“That piece of crap?” Hinoe raised an eyebrow. “The roof of that place collapsed two years back and the neighborhood health and safety group decided to tear it down. Since no one had lived there in over a decade anyway. Which, by the way, means the city reclaimed the land since no one was paying taxes for it.”

“They can do that?” Well shit, there went the last place he had to go. “Guess I really am living out of a suitcase now.” And he still had a hangover. Maybe he could get a pity drink from Hinoe. Hair of dog and all that. “Don’t suppose you’d lend a man a couch?”

“I don’t invite men over,” Hinoe said in the tone of voice that said she’d rather scrape gum off the bottom of all her tables than let Madara stay in her living room.

Harsh. “Right, you only invite pretty girls over,” Madara said, a cheap shot. Hinoe, being impervious to that sort of thing, flipped another page of her magazine. Madara scowled at the scuffed up bar top for a few conflicted moments. Thinking of Hinoe and pretty girls made him think of one thing. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know if he was going to be in this town for a while. (Okay, he did want to know. He’d thought about it a lot over the years.) “And speaking of pretty girls,” he ground out, “how’s Reiko doing?”

Hinoe gave him a long, hard look before stabbing her burnt-out cigarette into the ashtray. “I don’t know, Madara. Haven’t seen her longer than I haven’t seen you. Not since you two got into a fight.”

“Not at all?” he asked. The semi-permanent scowl he’d had on his face since he got off the train turned to an expression of surprise. Reiko had run off on him after their fight, but Madara figured she was just mad at him. And when a month went by without her popping back up, he figured he’d finally run her off like everyone else, and left her in the dust with the whole shitty town. Reiko’d been the only reason to stick around and without her why keep trying in a place that hated you?

“Nope. No one’s seen her since then. Not even the poor souls she used to terrorize. I was pretty damn mad about it back then too. You somehow managed to scare the most perfect beauty out of town, you inconsiderate ass. She was a shining brightness on humanity!” Hinoe glared at him. Apparently she still was infatuated with Reiko even after all the years.

On humanity, Madara thought wryly. If Hinoe only knew. “I didn’t know she left for good. I thought she was just mad at me and ran off.” A mix of old anger and sadness filled him, along with a newer mix of relief and disappointment. Part of him hoped that he’d see her again. Part of him was terrified of if he did. Part of him still missed her terribly, but he would never admit that out loud, let alone to Hinoe.

“Well she ran off just as much as you it seems since no one has seen hide or hair of her since.”

“Huh.” This town had been her place for years. Why would she leave permanently? But then again, who knew what went on in the minds of spirits? She probably left on purpose just to mess with all of them one more time. The thought was a bitter one and his scowl came back even deeper than before. “Probably better that way.”

“For you or everyone else?” Hinoe asked.

Madara ignored the question. “Hey, Hinoe, you wouldn’t happen to have anything I could drink, would you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What could I possibly have to drink at a bar?” Hinoe said with heavy sarcasm. “I don’t give out free booze, Madara so either cough up some money or you can have a glass of water.”

“Not even for old times? I’m broke and homeless.”

“Then wanting to get drunk is the least of your problems.” She set a glass of tap water in front of him.

Madara gave her sad eyes. She slid the glass a few centimeters forward. He took it and drank some because at least it would help some with the hangover. “You’re heartless, Hinoe.”

“Uh huh. Sure am. So heartless that I’ll even tell you old man Misuzu’s looking for help at the shrine. Since you’ll be needing a job.”

“I’d starve before I work for a priest,” Madara said, knocking back the water. “If you know of anyone else needing a hand, let me know, but you know Misuzu and I don’t get along.”

“That’s all on you.”

“Tell that to Misuzu.” No home, no Reiko, and no booze. There was no reason to keep hanging around here either. “Thanks for the news and water, Hinoe. I’ll be around.”

“Don’t die in a ditch.”

Madara waved and left. He’d have to find a job but Misuzu couldn’t be the only one in town looking for another set of hands. He could look for something tomorrow. Today, he’d swing by his old home and see if there was anything left at all he could salvage or make into a shelter. If not, he’d figure something out. He always got by somehow. He ignored the tiny niggling voice in his head that said his luck had been a lot better back when Reiko was still around. That voice was lies because clearly he’d managed to live almost half his life just fine without her.

It seemed there were more changes than he initially thought because when he went to take his old route home, there were buildings that didn’t used to be there and a construction site pulling up trees that used to stretch for almost a kilometer, right up to the back of his house. The buildings he could deal with, but the construction site meant he had to either go into deep woods—with all the spirits therein—or circle around town.

Madara dreaded running into someone that might remember him, so he chose the woods. Ten minutes in and he was regretting it.

There had been a kind of trail, like someone’s grandparent came all the time to collect herbs or firewood or something along this tiny, threading path. That path had gotten overgrown quickly, and then the underbrush kept getting caught on his suitcase and the humidity levels kept spiraling upward with oppressive July heat.

“This is hell,” he grumbled to the trees, definitely not to the tiny woods-spirit ducking away from him tromping through the undergrowth. “Sweaty, dehydrating hell.” The last time he went through woods like this had been years ago and he’d been running for his life at the time because he had slipped up and some power hungry ayakashi noticed his spirit energy and thought they’d use him as a tasty ticket to the top of the dung heap. He was better now at hiding so nothing was looking twice at him. Well, no more than anything with eyes would look at something disturbing their home. “I’ll find the house, find a stream, and hope the water doesn’t kill me with parasites.”

Up ahead was a bit of a clearing, a path to somewhere worn into the earth. He made toward it. He was almost halfway down a slope when the suitcase caught something and jerked his arm back. Trying to tug it free was enough to unbalance him, and next thing Madara knew he was tumbling and stumbling to an abrupt stop as he hit something with his shin, hard.

“Ow, shit!” He curled around his leg, achey all over, but only that a hot flare of pain. “No house, no money, no job, and now a broken leg!” He prodded it. It wasn’t actually broken but it was going to have one hell of a bruise later. Could the day get any...worse... There was a straw rope with white sealing charms ripped in half on the ground next to him. Either it had been half rotted through already, or he’d ripped through it when he fell. That didn’t really matter though. If that had been sealing something and he broke it...

There was a stirring of energy and Madara turned, realizing that what had stopped him was a small, run-down shrine, just big enough that he could have sat in the bottom of the structure with his knees tucked up against his chest.

“Shit.” He started hobbling away quickly. He didn’t have anything to seal it again on hand, and recently unsealed spirits tended to be angry as hell and not too picky about who or what they took it out on. “Shit shit shit.” Terrible luck was going strong for him today.

Behind him the tiny shrine door burst off its hinges, flying off somewhere into the woods and breaking a lot of underbrush in the process from the sound of it. Madara hobbled faster only to pause as he realized that the growing spirit power felt familiar. Too familiar.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see a silver-haired body fall out of the cramped space like someone’s discarded rag doll. The color of the hair matched what his spirit senses were already saying. “Rei...ko?” he said into the sudden silence. No birds, no animals moving, just the building presence of spirit energy and a fragile-looking body sprawled on the ground. Who could have had the power to seal Reiko of all ayakashi?

Madara turned back toward her, drawn like metal to a magnet. “Reiko?” he said again. He reached out to touch and only years of ingrained fighting for his life kept him from losing an arm when the figure on the ground lashed out.

Raw spirit energy crackled between them, hot-bright, and his own rose to meet it on instinct, making what could have left a nasty burn fizzle and die in the air between them. “Reiko, it’s me! Madara!” Surely even after who the hell knew how long sealed in there she’d still recognize him. He left a bit more of his energy out into the air around them, hoping she’d recognize how he felt like he recognized her, but that was apparently the exact wrong thing to do as wild, green eyes snapped up in his direction and the unstable energy in the air doubled.

It was like a hand trying to squash him flat.

“Stay away!” she yelled. Only the voice was male. Young, pitched high with tension, but definitely male. If Madara didn’t know Reiko could shape shift...

“Look, I know we parted on bad terms, but I’m kind of concerned here.” Madara ignored the air pressure and moved closer. “How did you get sealed in there?”

Another bolt of energy almost took off his head, aimed just shy of his ear, or maybe not aimed at all. The concern turned to full blown worry. “Shit, Reiko, that could kill someone. I mean, I’m strong, but tone it down, would ya?”

“I’m not Reiko!” the silver haired—boy? Being?—yelled, arm back and ready to let loose another bolt of energy. “Get away or I’ll... or I’ll hurt you!”

“Real funny,” Madara said, gut twisting. “Good act, Reiko, almost fooled me. You can beat the shit out of me later in a proper spar, just...calm down okay?”

Madara stepped forward, reaching out and the ayakashi flinched back, green eyes going wide with fear.

Madara froze.

Reiko had the pride of ten men and would rather die than let someone see her afraid. “What the hell...?”

“I’m not...I’m not Reiko. I don’t know any Reiko. Please go away!”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Hands up, look defenseless. “I just unsealed you. I wouldn’t do that if I was going to hurt you right?”

There was a flicker of conflict in those green eyes before some kind of backbone showed through that fear. “I’m not going to make a contract.”

“I...don’t want one? I’m not an exorcist.” The boy relaxed slightly, but not enough, not so much that the air returned to normal. It felt so familiar... “Are you sure you’re not Reiko? Because you feel like her and this is just the sick kind of joke she’d play to get back at me for running off.” It had to be her. The longing ache in him that had never really gone away over the years rose up and Madara couldn’t help but reach out again. “Please tell me it’s a joke...” He touched a wisp of silvery hair and green eyes went impossibly wide, torn between fighting and getting as far away as possible. “Please.”

A snarl somewhere off in the near distance broke them from staring each other down. The boy flinched back and Madara’s hand was left touching open air. His hand closed on a fist as he realized he’d been projecting his energy for the last half a minute with the futile hope that the person in front of him would respond to it. Between the two of them, they were a beacon for any ayakashi wanting to test its power or grab a spiritually gifted human as a tasty snack. He snapped his control back down so fast that it hurt.

The boy looked dazed.

“We need to get out of here,” Madara said. “Either the local exorcist is going to wonder what the hell is going on or something’s going to come looking for a snack.”

“I’m not going with you. I don’t even know you.”

“Look, I was a friend of Reiko’s and I don’t know why you feel like her, but like hell am I letting some ayakashi or exorcist get you. So just trust me ok?” Madara held out a hand, palm up in offer.

The boy looked at it and looked at him, then gave a neutral smile that was so fake it was pathetic. “I think I’ll be fine.”

It would be less insulting if he’d slapped Madara’s hand away. “Suit yourself then. But you might want to calm down before everything from here to Tokyo knows where you are.”

The boy frowned and the pressure decreased to normal. Madara could still feel the ayakashi, but he wasn’t broadcasting his powers to the world anymore at least. That would have to be good enough. Madara made a show of looking around the area before stepping onto the trail.

“I’m going to take this back toward town; most people would expect a strong Ayakashi to run toward the mountains.” He turned and started walking, his limping gate evening out as he got used to the bruised leg. The suitcase was overturned at the base of the hill, but nothing had fallen out of it. Madara walked and didn’t look to see what the ayakashi did. Didn’t really have to because half a minute along the trail, he felt the boy start to follow.

Halfway down the trail the presence vanished. Either the boy left or he’d figured out how to mask himself properly, which was a good thing since Madara saw more than one ayakashi making its way toward where they’d been. He didn’t hear any fights though. He’d turn back in a heartbeat if it sounded like the boy was being eaten.

At least when he stumbled back out into the outskirts of town he was closer to his old home. Close enough that he just stayed on the side streets to get there. Well. Where home used to be. There wasn’t much left of what had once been the house his grandfather built. It hadn’t ever been a very nice house when Madara lived in it, all a bit falling apart even back then with Gramps either too drunk or too aching to fix things, and Madara either too young or too busy trying not to die from his own powers and unwanted spirit attention back then. But it had been home in its own way, familiar in its peeling paint and rickety steps. Now it was just a foundation left bare, all the rest of the building taken away.

“Shit.” His shoulders slumped. Part of him had really thought that there would be something. Something he could use, or at least something that matched what he remembered. Even the overgrown flower gardens had been torn up and overtaken by weeds. “Bet they sold Granny’s old rose bushes too.” Or maybe that weird guy that used to go by and pointedly say how they used to be so much nicer finally went and dug them up in some weird plant rescue operation. Who knew.

He didn’t really have human friends. Didn’t have many friends in general really, never had, and probably never would. Ordinarily that didn’t bother him, but it was frustrating not to have anyone to turn to. The only thing left were the few ayakashi he knew... Who might not even be in the area anymore either. Reiko had been the main one, and without her...

Well, there was one final avenue to pursue before he gave into despair and found a bush to sleep under until things sorted out. He didn’t really want to, but she did owe him.

“I’m too old for this.”

Any hydrating benefits of that water from the bar were long gone by the time he trudged back deep in the woods again. Here, at least, it didn’t change in any way except the way that nature does, trees growing higher, bushes coming and going, streams shifting minutely as the earth eroded with time. But the big white birch tree with its peeling bark still stuck out as an anomaly among the rest of this area of the forest. Here, he felt like he was twelve again and sneaking off in some childish act of rebellion.

There wasn’t anyone immediately visible at the base of the tree but that didn’t mean they weren’t nearby. Madara tossed down his suitcase and sat back on the familiar, moss covered roots. There was an ayakashi nearby. Maybe more than one if they were close together. He sighed. “Hey. Touru. I know you’re there.”

There was a pause. Then Madara had to flinch at the sudden spike in spirit energy right before an ayakashi all but fell into his lap.

“Fluffy-kun!” Touru shrieked, catching him in a crushing hug. His spine protested the action and he wheezed, unable to fend her off with his arms pinned. So, pretty much as usual with her. “You got old! Older!” She leaned back and tugged at Madara’s unkempt hair. “And less fluffy and more shaggy. It feels like it’s been a long time since I saw you. You’re not as cute as you used to be.”

“I would hope not!” Madara pushed her off his lap and she went willingly, smiling like it was a big game. Her cat ears didn’t even twitch at his volume. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Aww, but you’re still cute,” she said. “Just a grumpy kind of cute. Though I guess you were kind of a grumpy kid too. Ah, yep, you’re scowling again! I’m so glad to see it. You’re still you. How long has it been?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Eh? That long? And you didn’t visit once? No wonder it felt like forever.”

He couldn’t tell, not with Touru and not with many other ayakashi, how sincere the enthusiasm or the sadness were. Ayakashi didn’t work the same way as humans. Time didn’t mean the same thing to them either. “Isn’t that amount of time like blink of an eye to you?”

“It could be,” Touru said. “But I’m not that old yet. I’m barely past a hundred; decades still mean something you know.”

But they would mean less and less. How little did time mean for spirits that were old, spirits like Reiko had been?

“I’ll take your word for it.” Right. He came here for a reason. “Touru, I know I am amazingly self-sufficient, but I am going to have to cash on one of those favors you owe me.”

“Ah, so not a social visit.” She looked a little sad and it made tendrils of guilt ping at him, but living was a bit more important than wondering how much he could or couldn’t hurt her feelings. The cheerful smile shifted to something more serious.

“No. Another time it will be. You still remember the sort of things humans need in a shelter, right?”

“Yes.” She tipped her head to one side. “I do still pay attention to humans, Fluffy-kun.”

“Right.” And she had a collection of human things somewhere, started by her grandfather who had studied them. Right up until his curiosity had been the death of him via an exorcist. Still, that curiosity had stuck with Touru and it had once gotten her into a lot of trouble too. She was an ayakashi that spent time with humans over the years so she should, theoretically, know what sort of thing to look for in finding Madara a place to stay. “Despite taking on the world with all my talents in the years since I left, at the moment everything I own is in that suitcase and I’m down a house. You know of anywhere I can make a home in until I earn enough money to get a proper roof over my head?”

“Hmm...” Touru tapped a finger alongside her chin. Behind her, her split tail tapped the ground in double-time. “Actually I’m pretty sure there’s an empty shrine in the woods right now you could use. It’s a little run down, but it has a roof and walls and enough space to sleep in. The one near the offshoot of the creek where that big willow tree is.”

“Touru, you’re amazing,” Madara said with conviction. “How empty are we talking?”

“The minor god that lived in it died a few months ago when his last follower passed away, and no one has moved in yet. I doubt anyone would object to you living in it.” Touru smiled.

Madara grinned back. Finally a bit of luck! To be expected from a maneki-neko. “I can think of a few humans who’d object but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Touru mimed locking her lips like a child with a secret, not an action she’d learned from him. She must still watch humans when she wasn’t here at her tree. She glanced past Madara, into the woods, and on reflex he glanced with her, just catching a glint of silvery hair before its owner managed to hide again. Huh. So the boy had followed him after all. Whatever he was doing to stay hidden still made him impossible to sense.

“Is he with you?” she asked, curious.

“Not exactly. Feels like Reiko but says he’s not.”

“He feels human from here.”

A startling implication; only the strongest ayakashi could convincingly take human form. That was yet another thing the boy shared with Reiko. “Well he’s not human. I accidentally unsealed him earlier today.”

Touru gave him a worried, sideways look. Most ayakashi got sealed because they were a danger to humans, and ayakashi that were dangerous to humans had a funny way of attacking Madara a lot as a child.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, I just fell down a hill and got bruised up. As if some ayakashi could hurt me,” he said, arrogant smile on his face that he didn’t feel in his heart. “I told you, I’m not some little kid anymore.”

“You’ll always be that angry, fluffy little kid in my head, Madara,” Touru said, ruffing his hair like he was still twelve instead of almost forty. She used his name so rarely that it was surprising enough for him to forget to duck.

“Whatever,” Madara said, swatting her hands away as she giggled. “Thanks for the heads up on where to sleep; I’m going to go pass out there now. It’s been a long day. If you need a drinking buddy anytime in the future, I’m your guy.”

“This from the person who said sake tasted like shoe polish smelled?”

“Hey, a lot changes in fifteen years!”

Touru laughed and waved as he left. This time he was more aware of his light-haired shadow. Madara had been so conscious of ayakashi in the area he hadn’t been paying attention to more mundane sounds. So long as the ayakashi was pretending to be completely human, he was just as noisy as any other human teenager walking through the woods. Madara was still louder, but Madara was hauling a suitcase and felt like his arm was going to get torn off heaving it around, so he at least had an excuse for it.

***

The shrine was nothing much to look at. Flat paving stones surrounding it were overgrown with weeds, the door was crooked and coming off its track and there were signs that something had started building a nest inside of it. But it had a roof—overgrown with moss, but intact—and four walls, and the inside was dry. Madara couldn’t stand or lay fully stretched out in it, but it was big enough that he could curl into a comfortable position and there was a little well with water meant for purifications. There wasn’t a bit of spirit energy lingering in the shrine. The god that inhabited it must have been all but dead for a long time before it bit the dust.

Madara swept out the mess of leaves and fur and twigs that had accumulated, shooed off centipedes and beetles, and claimed that space for himself. He had a pillow and a couple blankets, and if he gathered up leaves or grass or something he could make it a bit more comfortable to sleep in. Probably. Provided that didn’t bring in fleas or ants or something. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. It was only until he had a job and enough cash to afford a few months’ rent for an apartment. It was summer; until then he’d manage and eat what he could scrounge up or beg off Hinoe.

The sun was sinking down and Madara’s stomach grumbled; it was a long time since that glass of water and longer still since he last had anything to eat. He was too tired to get up from the shrine floor and do something about it though. He’d just have to suck it up. There was still fat to burn from when life was still going pretty okay. He’d manage.

The world went dark. Out in the woods, fireflies lit up. Real or ayakashi, he couldn’t say. The pale green lights were pretty. You didn’t get fireflies in the city. Couldn’t see the stars either. Focus on the positives... Somewhere in the dark a fox yowled, eerie and hair-raising. A twig snapped in the woods to the right and for a second he could see the green reflection of eyes. Tapeta lucida, some far off portion of his brain that had looked it up once upon a time informed him. Reflecting moonlight. Madara tensed, senses reaching out for ayakashi, animals, anything. Nothing...no, something that felt human but—ah.

“You can come out,” Madara said to the dark woods. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Five...twelve...twenty, Madara counted firefly blinks, waiting.

Bushes rustled and parted. The boy that looked like Reiko stepped out of them. He looked like he would run at any second. He looked like he was lost. Madara felt very tired. “You can come closer. It’s not like I’m going to do anything. I just want to sleep.”

The boy crept closer. “She said you helped her,” he said, standing all hunched over and wary right outside the shrine steps. “From exorcists.”

Touru. Madara closed his eyes against the intent gaze picking him apart. “Yeah, I did. I was a child and idealistic and angry enough to do things for spite back then.”

“She called you caring but blunt.” The boy shuffled closer.

Madara’s eyes slit open, met his bright green stare.

“She said you don’t hurt ayakashi unless they hurt you first.”

Madara gave him a humorless smile. “Yeah. Most of the time. Touru thinks too well of me considering how I almost ended up being an exorcist.” The boy flinched back a little. Bad memories of exorcists, or a healthy fear of their threat. “I’m not nice. I’ve sealed ayakashi for hurting people before and I’d do it again, but mostly I just want to be left the hell alone, eat good food, and drink nice sake.” The boy didn’t look away. He didn’t run. “You look a hell of a lot like Reiko.”

“I’m not her,” the boy snapped. “Everyone is always Reiko, Reiko, but I’m not Reiko!”

“No,” Madara said heavily, “no, you’re not.” He wished it was just some mean joke Reiko was playing, but he didn’t think that was the case; she’d have swapped out her disguise and started bragging by now. “You got a name?”

Just like that the boy was tense again and Madara had to roll his eyes.

“I’m not going to steal your name. Or...force a contract. You don’t even have to give me a true one, just something to call you.”

There was a long pause, then, “Takashi.”

“Cool. Call me Madara.” Madara rolled over so his back was to the door. “Now either stop stalking me and go away or just get in here and let me sleep. Today’s been a hell of a day.”

“You won’t seal me?” Takashi said. “Or try to make me your shiki?”

“What the hell would I do with a shiki? I’m a bum camping out in an abandoned shrine. And so long as you don’t try to kill me I don’t give two shits about what you do. Try to off me in my sleep and sealing becomes a lot more likely.”

Farther off, the fox yowled again. There was a soft scuff of cloth on wood and the rattle of the door closing most of the way. The boy, Takashi, settled into a corner of the shrine, as far from Madara as the small space allowed. He was paranoid as hell for how strong he had to be.

There was a part of Madara that didn’t like having his back to an unknown ayakashi. At least that discomfort wasn’t one-sided. He closed his eyes and despite his misgivings, eventually he fell asleep. For the first time in years he dreamed of Reiko, her presence all around him, confident grin on her face and him looking up at her, beautiful, powerful, and untouchable.

Takashi wasn’t sure what he was doing here, curled up in a dead god’s shrine with a human. A human that could have been an exorcist with how strong his spirit powers felt in the brief moments he stopped shielding them. He’d called Takashi Reiko, just like so many others had before, but he hadn’t tried to hurt him for it, and he hadn’t tried to bind Takashi to his will like the exorcists had before they gave up and sealed him instead.

The man, Madara, was an anomaly and Takashi wasn’t sure where to categorize him yet, potential ally or enemy. For now, it wouldn’t hurt to keep track of him. There was something about him, something that was familiar in his spirit senses, like they’d met once a lifetime ago. The vague warmth that had flashed through him, that spark of recognition was gone as Madara snored, curled into a tight ball in the cramped space. Humans, ayakashi, neither made sense. Not this man, not the ayakashi who recounted the story of this man as a child saving her from an exorcist that bound her when she was researching humans, and not any of the others he had run into before in his brief span of memory. They hurt without provocation and lusted for power and would walk over you to get what they wanted without remorse.

Still, Madara had unsealed him, Touru had been kind, and Madara offered shelter instead of chasing him away. It meant something, something that Takashi didn’t understand yet.

He meant to stay awake, but little by little, he drifted off, feeling strangely safe with a sleeping stranger.

Takashi woke to muffled swearing. At some point in the night he had slumped to the ground. One of the blankets Madara had been using was draped over him, an unnecessary gesture but surprising in its kindness. The man in question was bent over his luggage, searching through it for something. Takashi stared.

“Stupid thing has to be in here, I packed it. I know I—” Madara cut off, either feeling Takashi’s stare or some other sense catching his attention. He whipped around fast enough to make Takashi flinch. “Oh. You’re awake. Uh. Just go ahead and go sleep as long as you want I’m just...” He jerked a hand at the warped door, still most of the way shut. Takashi kept staring. Madara’s hand dropped. He grabbed a pieces of cloth from the luggage and scooted to the door. “Breakfast. I’m going to find breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“Food. That you eat in the morning.”

Takeshi frowned. “Every morning?”

“Yes, if possible, every morning. Eating might be optional for most ayakashi, but humans don’t exactly live long if they don’t eat.” Madara rolled his eyes like it was something obvious. Maybe it was; Takashi was hardly an expert on humans. “You should try it sometime.”

“It seems impractical.”

“Impracti—” Madara sputtered and froze in the doorway. He jabbed a finger in Takashi’s direction. “You know what, I’m getting you breakfast too. If there are three things worth living for, it’s food, sake, and sleeping as much as you want. Nothing better than that.” He stomped out of the shrine and slammed the door behind him.

Takashi stared at the closed door. He could go back to sleep, sleep for longer than he’d been sealed if he wanted to. Or he could leave and follow Madara and the vague feeling of familiarity his presence pulled at his subconscious.

He followed Madara. Yesterday it took Madara ages to realize he was being followed. Today it took all of ten minutes before he turned around and glared in Takashi’s direction. Takashi almost flinched back into the middle of a bush.

“If you’re going to come, at least do it in the open!” Madara complained. “It’s creepy being stared at behind tree trunks. C’mere.” He beckoned imperiously.

Against all instincts telling him he should head back to the shrine or run for the hills, Takashi crept closer.

Madara pointed at a plant on the ground in front of him. Its leaves had jagged edges. “Look! Shiso. You can eat the leaves in a salad.” He proceeded to pluck a bunch and stuff them into a cloth object shaped a bit like a bag. “And that—” Madara pointed to bright purple blossoms of thistle where the trees were a bit thinner. “Azami. You can eat the leaves if you boil them a bit. I can’t find my pan though, so raw food it is for this morning.”

There was something weirdly familiar about what Madara pointed out as they walked through the woods; knowledge slotted into place like it was something Takashi already knew, but had forgotten.

“And of course there are always dandelions,” Madara said, pulling up new green leaves from the tenacious weed at the edge of a clearing. “You can always find dandelions. Bitter as hell, but better than nothing.”

“Purslane,” Takashi said, the name of another common weed popping into his head. There was some growing a bit further into the clearing, paddle-shaped leaves on a low-growing plant. “You can eat it raw or cooked.”

Madara stared at him for a moment and Takashi wondered if he’d remembered wrong. Then Madara huffed. “Right. It also tastes kind of gross, but it’s healthy.”

“Isn’t the point of food to taste good?”

“Not everyone has the luxury of being something that doesn’t require food,” Madara said. “Now pay attention! I’m teaching!” He grinned. “You should call me sensei.”

“Why would I do that?” Takashi complained. Madara wasn’t terrifying anymore; the more he talked, the more Takashi thought he just liked the sound of his own voice. He wasn’t terrible company even if he was kind of annoying.

“Because I’m teaching you life skills, brat! You never know when you might need to know this!”

Those words tripped something in Takashi’s memory. A woman and a small child in the woods and a handful of warabi, the fern stems still tight and new held close to her chest. It’s a life skill, brat! Takashi blinked and the feeling of being two places at once vanished, but the moment lingered, exasperated fondness tinging his emotions. How odd.

Madara had an eyebrow raised in challenge and his hands on his hips.

That echo of fondness swelled and for a moment Takashi could see Madara as something other than a potential threat, just a ragged man with a bit of an ego and a soft heart under a gruff exterior.

“Well?” Madara said.

“Nyanko-sensei,” Takashi decided on.

“Excuse me?!” He puffed up, just like an offended cat.

“Your eyes are gold like a cat’s,” Takashi said. And Touru’s nickname of ‘fluffy’ wasn’t wrong; he was a bit fluffy.

“Why is there a ‘ko’?!”

“It sounds better,” Takashi said, amused as the man sputtered and grumbled about ayakashi and demeaning nicknames.

“Fine!” Madara threw up his hands. “Whatever! Help me find something that isn’t god-awful bitter to make up for the rest of this.”

Takashi didn’t point out that he had no idea what to look for. He’d let Madara remember that on his own.

#natsume week #natsume yuujinchou #species swap #i hopefully will come back to this #i have like 10 wips at the moment tho #i want to look at a bunch of different human/ayakashi swaps in this universe #if anyone is curious takashi IS reiko reborn after something went wrong with an exorcist #debating about how a book of friends works in this au #reiko's diary?#she beat up ayakashi or a literal friend book to remember humans she's fond of?#People think takashi's madara's child #hinoe's devastated thinking reiko had a kid with madara or something #maotoba's an unsettling and powerful ayakashi with a grudge against humans and a weak spot from an exorcist encounter #said exorcist is the ayakashi that wants to eat him in canon and is TERRIFYING #and maybe had something to do with Reiko becoming Takashi #the real question is if Madara's family name should be Natsume #since ayakashi don't have family names #tanuma is the son of a minor local god who is a fairly frail spirit and v sensitive to exorcists #there are endless possibilities and my brain half wants to run off with them

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