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shihalyfie · 3 years

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Kizuna itself vs. the two versions of the novel

Written on request from a friend who wanted to remain anonymous. This is more of an editorial than a meta, and while I usually have a policy of “this is an analysis blog, not a review blog” it goes into more of my personal impressions and opinions than usual, but it’s something I write hoping to be helpful.

There are basically three “official” full versions of Kizuna: one being, of course, the movie itself, one being the Dash X Bunko version of the novel, and one being the Shueisha Mirai Bunko version of it. While it’s certainly not to say that any of the three is an “incomplete” version of the narrative, if you really want as full of a picture of the story as possible, somehow, each of all three versions of the story happens to have really important information that the other two do not. If I had to pick only one of these three versions to recommend to people, I would of course pick the movie itself; it’s obviously the base story everything else is based off of and was the one the production centered around as a priority, but the novelizations have a surprising amount of info that provide a lot of insight into the movie’s story and themes.

I get the impression that the creation of Kizuna involved making a lot more story and background details than could fit in a 95-minute movie, so these novelizations, which were based directly off the original movie script, ended up being an outlet for a lot of these details (and as much as I could be harsh on the movie itself for being a bit “reliant” on extra material, I have to admit that Adventure and 02 were both like this too -- a lot of our current understanding of the series comes from the Adventure novels and drama CDs -- so frankly I’m thankful we at least got this with a 95-minute movie instead of a yearlong series). On the flip side, while I'm not going to say that the novels are completely and utterly inaccurate representations of the movie, in a perhaps too-close approximation of Adventure and 02's writing style, this is a movie where even the nuances in a single line or split-second moment carry heavy implications, which become much blurrier or harder to identify when they’re presented differently (or not even presented at all) in the novel’s context, especially when they emphasize very different things from what the movie itself was emphasizing.

The short version of this is that I believe the Dash X version contains the greater amount of “plot and story” information but significantly misses out on the emotional themes and presentation, whereas the Shueisha Mirai version abridges and cuts chunks of content but is much better at conveying the intended message. More on this below the cut. (Note that the following post spoils Kizuna’s plot events.)

The movie itself

Since the following parts are more “in comparison to the movie”, I’m not going to go too much into this in this section, but one thing I will say is that the official English subtitle translation for the movie is really not great. Even if you take out nitpickiness about the fact it misses several significant nuances (the difference between “unchangeable fate” and “changeable destiny”, or the fact that Gennai refers to partnership dissolution as a “case” and not like it’s something that happens overall) at really plot-important moments, some lines (thankfully, usually not plot-important ones) are just straight-up incorrect. And worse, there’s evidence the official English dub was based on that translation! (I’m not faulting the people in charge of the dub for this, but whoever handed them that translation to work with.)

The dialogue in the Dash X Bunko version is transcribed effectively word-for-word from the dialogue in the movie (or perhaps vice versa, given that the novel is based on the original script), so I highly recommend checking that version as a reference for dialogue or if you want to do any intimate analysis on it. I don't want to go as far as to suggest not supporting the official version of the movie because of this, but at least please be aware that the translation used there is not entirely reliable.

Dash X Bunko

If you talk about “the Kizuna novel”, this is the one that people usually tend to be referring to, for two reasons. Firstly, it was translated shortly after the movie’s release, and due to the unfortunate circumstances of Kizuna being delayed in accessibility outside Japan for several months, this basically served as the only comprehensive source of info about the movie outside Japan for a very long time. Secondly, in Japan, this one was marketed as “the one for adults” in contrast to the Shueisha Mirai one being “for kids”, which meant that a lot of people assumed that the latter one was just an incredibly stripped down version that was otherwise disposable or replaceable. (This is very, very much not the case, and is extremely ironic when it comes to a movie that partially centers around the dangers of looking down too much on things associated with childhood.)

When it comes to “plot and story info”, this is the one that probably serves as the best reference (especially for fanfic writers or those who need a refresher on certain plot events or to look up something quickly), and probably has the most “comprehensive” listing of plot events surrounding the movie. The dialogue in it is a word-for-word recreation of the movie’s script, and actually includes more scenes than the movie itself does, including two that I suspect to be deleted scenes (a detailing of the specifics behind the initial plan to pursue Eosmon, and a conversation between Koushirou and Tentomon) and adaptations of the first and second memorial shorts within their context in the movie. It also contains some interesting background details and extra context for some things in the movie that you might think would normally be animation flair or something, but take a very interesting implication of story importance if they’re going out of their way to write this in the script. (There’s a scene where Agumon and Gabumon appear in front of their partners when they’d been behind them a minute before, and it’s easy to think this might be an animation error, but not only does the surrounding context make this unlikely, the novel itself actually directly states that their positions had changed.) Given that, I think it was very fortunate that this novel was available to us for those outside Japan waiting for the actual movie to come out, because this level of detail was very important to have on hand rather than fragmented spoilers on social media.

However, the part where I think the novel is significantly deficient in compared to the actual movie (and also to the other version of the novel) is that it describes the plot events in too blunt of a manner and doesn’t bring out its themes very well. (It’s kind of like having a long and very detailed Wikipedia article plot summary; it definitely got all the hard facts down, but the emotion is gone, which is still a pretty significant issue when media’s all about the feelings and message in the end.) While “considering the movie to be more cynical than it’s probably meant to be” happens regardless of which version someone’s working from, I’ve talked to perhaps an unnervingly high number of people who started with the novel and were absolutely convinced that the movie’s message was about adulthood sucking and needing to just accept it, until they saw how the actual movie pulled it off and the surrounding atmosphere and realized it definitely was not. (I think one really big factor here is that a lot of the visual imagery makes it extremely, extremely hard to miss that Menoa’s mentality is completely screwed up and her way of seeing things was dubious to begin with; prose descriptions really just don’t capture the way they slam this in your face with visual and musical cues during the climax of the movie.)

You can figure this out from the novel itself, but you have to really be looking closely at the way they word things, and on top of that it’s hard to figure out which parts you should be focusing on and which parts aren’t actually that important -- in other words, the “choice of priorities” gets a bit lost in there. Even the little things lose a lot of value; it’s theoretically possible to use the novel to put together that Daisuke is wearing his sunglasses indoors during his first scene, but you have to put together the context clues from completely different paragraphs to figure this out, none of which compares to the actual hilarity of visually seeing him wearing the thing in a very obviously dimly lit restaurant because he’s our beloved idiot. (For more details, please see my post with more elaboration on this and more examples of this kind of thing.)

I wouldn’t say that the movie itself isn’t guilty of (perhaps accidentally) having some degree of mixed messaging, but I would say this problem is rather exacerbated by the novel’s way of presenting it due to its dedication to dropping every single plot detail and event without much in the way of choosing what to contextualize and what to put emphasis on (as it turns out, treating practically everything in the movie as if it has equal weight might not be a great idea). So, again, for that reason I think the novel serves as a good reference in terms of remembering what happened in it and knowing the movie’s contents, but I also feel that it’s really not the greatest deliverer of the movie’s message or themes at all.

Shueisha Mirai Bunko

The second version of the novel was not translated until several months after the movie first released, and shortly before the Blu-ray and streaming versions of the movie itself came out anyway, so my impression is that on this end a lot of people don’t even know it was a thing. On top of that, even those who know about it often dismiss it as the “kid version” -- and to be fair, it did baffle quite a few people as to why this version even exists (Kizuna is technically not unacceptable for kid viewing and its plot is still understandable regardless of age, but since the movie is so heavily about the millennial existential crisis, it’s not something kids would really relate to). So a lot of people tended to just skip over it...which is really a shame, because it contains some interesting things that actually aren’t in the other two versions at all. For instance, did you know that, as of this writing, this is the only thing that plainly states the specific explanation for why Yamato decided to become an astronaut, for the first time in 20 real-life years?

While there are still some things that weren’t in the movie proper (mainly the Eosmon initial plan and the adaptation of the second memorial short), for the most part, the actual events are somewhat abridged compared to the movie and the Dash X version, and other than a few stray lines, there’s not a lot of extra information that would be as helpful for referencing the events of the plot. The version of the novel here is rather broadly interpretive of the scenes in the movie, so several things are condensed or taken out (and, amusingly, because it’s assuming that the kids reading this don’t actually know the original Adventure or 02, it has to describe what each character is like in a quick one-liner).

However, interestingly enough, it’s because it’s so heavily interpretive that it illuminates a lot of things that weren’t really easy to glean out of the Dash X version. For instance:

Some scenes are described with “other perspectives” that give you info on someone else’s point of view. (For instance, we see more of Yamato’s perspective and thoughts when he has his first phone call with Daisuke, or a bit more detail in the process of how Eosmon kidnappings work.)

We get a lot more information on what’s going through everyone’s heads during each scene, and what emotions they’re feeling at a given time. (This is something that you could at least get to some degree in the movie itself from facial expressions and framing, but would often be a lot blurrier in the Dash X version; here, it’s spelled out in words.)

When things are abridged, you get a clearer idea of what the intended point and theme of the scene was because it’s stripped down to include only that part. In one really interesting case, the scene with Agumon finding Taichi’s AVs has a “censored” equivalent where Taichi’s pushed to a corner because he can’t find anything non-alcoholic in his fridge -- so when you look at the two versions of the scene and what they have in common, you can figure out that the point isn’t that it was a lewd joke for the sake of it, but rather that Taichi’s forcing himself into boxes of “adulthood” that are actually meaningless and impractical.

Some of the descriptions of the characters, scenes, and background information make it a lot more obvious as to their purpose in the narrative (it outright confirms that Miyako being in Spain means that her personality is getting overly enabled there).

The scene where the circumstances behind Morphomon’s disappearance are revealed makes it significantly less subtle what the point is. In the actual movie, a lot of this involved visual framing with Menoa seeming to become more and more distant, but in this version of the novel they basically whack you over the head with the final confirmation that Menoa is guilty of neglecting her own partner, which contradicts her own assertions that “they were always together” (maybe not emotionally, it seems!) and helps clarify the commonality between her, Taichi, Yamato, and Sora in what exactly led to their partners disappearing.

Bonus: this version of the novel really wants you to know that the ending of the movie is about Taichi and Yamato fully having the determination to turn things around and lead up to the 02 epilogue. (The movie’s version of this involves the extended version of Taichi’s thesis and the credits photo with Yamato obviously next to a rocket, while this novel’s version involves more detailed fleshing out of how Taichi and Yamato decided to use their experiences to move onto their eventual career paths and what kind of hope they still have at the end. The Dash X version...didn’t really have a very strong equivalent here.)

In other words, while this version of the novel isn’t the greatest reference for plot or worldbuilding, it does a much more effective job being straightforward about the intended themes and message of the movie, and even if the scenes in it are much more loosely adapted, it’s much better at adapting the emotional nuances of the things that would normally be conveyed via visuals, expressions, and voice acting. (Although I would still say that the movie itself is the best reference for that kind of thing, of course.) If you just want lore or plot ideas, I don’t think it’ll help you very much, but since this series is so much about characters that had their ways of thinking fleshed out in such incredible detail, and about strong theme messaging, this is all still very valuable information in its own way.

#digimon #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #kizuna spoilers #shihameta

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little-mad · 3 years

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 10

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

What was going on around Gavin was essentially up to his imagination due to the fact that Rael wouldn’t move his damn hands. While he wasn’t really eager to encounter any more alteons, Gavin was beginning to feel claustrophobic with parts of Rael’s body surrounding him on all sides.

After the interaction with the guard at the entrance, Gavin heard Rael exchange a few more brief greetings as he made his way through the palace. It was bizarre, being so near to other people but being unnoticed or otherwise unacknowledged.

Gavin found it kind of odd that no one had even commented on the weird way Rael’s hands were situated. Surely at least some of them had noticed, right? So why didn’t they mention it? Maybe minding one’s own business was a big staple of alteon culture or something…

The din of voices, rummaging around, and clanging dishes that had been present ever since entering the building began to fade. Only once everything had fallen silent did Rael speak up. “I’m going to remove my hand now,” he stated.

Before Gavin could get the chance to try to prepare himself, he suddenly found himself bombarded with light. “Ah, god,” he complained as he blinked away the spots in his eyes.

Once his vision had recovered from the initial assault, Gavin carefully opened his eyes all the way. The sight he was met with took his breath away. Sure it may have just been a hallway, but it was the most stunning hallway he had ever been in!

The walls were made of smooth gray stone that rose up into arches in the ceiling. Banners of a rich blue color, decorated with a complex emblem hung from the walls on either side. Floor candelabras that looked to be made out of some kind of dark metal stood every few feet along the sides of the hallway--it was impressive how well candles managed to light the area.

The centerpiece of the room was the tall door that Rael stood directly in front of. The thing was made of dark wood that had been carved with intricate designs. It looked as though it would weigh a ton, even to someone Rael’s size.

Gavin had been in a lot of fancy places in his day--it had usually been while he was breaking and entering, but that was besides the point. The point was, none of those places matched the grandiose nature this literal castle possessed. “Think of all the riches I could find here…” Gavin’s thief brain was kicking in and he very nearly smacked himself as a result. “Yeah, like I haven’t gotten in enough trouble for stealing from alteons,” the more rational section of his mind countered.

“Hey, are you listening?” Gavin was abruptly jerked out of his own mental argument by the sound of Rael’s voice, which he only now realized had been going off in the background for the past few seconds.

“Uh--sorry, what did you say?” Gavin asked sheepishly as he leaned back to look up at the alteon’s face.

Rael blew out an impatient sigh. “I said, this door leads to the central part of the palace,” he summarized. “I also said that I’m going to keep you uncovered from now on.”

Gavin wasn’t really sure whether to be pleased or upset by this news. On one hand, he was eager to not be stuck in the oppressive dark. However, on the other hand, being out in the open meant getting ogled at by giants. Plus there was the risk of someone snatching him again… “No one's gonna try and grab me, are they?” He voiced his concern.

Rael’s expression softened so slightly Gavin barely even managed to detect it. “No, the palace is the most secure location in the world, you’ll be fine,” the dark haired giant assured him.

Satisfied with the response, Gavin gave a nod. He relaxed just a bit. Despite the many ups and downs they’d had together, Gavin trusted Rael’s judgement as well as his ability to protect him. Though the giant had managed to handle the Kaydin situation with words rather than violence, Gavin didn’t doubt that the guy would kick ass in a fight--if the definition in the guy’s biceps were anything to go by anyways.

To be honest, Rael would have preferred to keep Gavin hidden until the moment he delivered him to the Emperor. However, he knew that while the servants he’d passed by already had known better than to intrude upon a soldier’s business, most of the people in the central part of the palace would have no qualms in doing so. If he were to walk in, clearly hiding something, he would no doubt get stopped at least several times. At least with Gavin on display, everyone would instantly know the situation. Of course that may not prevent them from interfering, but Rael could only hope for minimal interaction.

After a quick glance downwards to ensure his passenger was secure, Rael pulled open the large door that separated the servant’s section from the rest of the palace.

The decor and architecture in this area, while similar to that of the previous section, was far grander and more extravagant. Rael didn’t even have to look to know Gavin was stunned by the sight. He took a small bit of pride in knowing the human was impressed by alteon craftsmanship.

The room they were in was the front entryway, it was where most visitors would first enter the palace. A handful of guards dotted the room, and of course, as soon as they all spotted Gavin, their eyes were glued to the little man.

Rael could feel Gavin fidgeting nervously in his hand, and honestly, the feeling was somewhat mutual. While Rael wasn’t the focus of anyone’s stares, he was still getting far more attention than he would prefer. Imagining what they could all be thinking about him made Rael feel sick to his stomach.

“Just...try to ignore them,” he advised himself as he began to walk further into the entryway. Avoiding making eye contact with anyone, he made his way towards the grand staircase that was the focal point of the room.

After ascending the steps, Rael was met with the enormous doors that would lead into the throne room. Rather than going through them, he made a right down the hallway that would take him to the Emperor’s office. The throne room was only used for official, large scale events. The Emperor was far more likely to be working in his office at this hour.

Unfortunately, there was no shortage of people milling around, and while so far everyone had refrained from approaching Rael, that streak was about to come to an end. “Ah, so this must be the human who attempted to rob Lady Elyth,” remarked a woman he recognized as being one of the Emperor’s scribes.

The scribe stood in front of Rael, effectively blocking his path. He sighed internally. Despite having no actual title, the Emperor’s scribes were well respected around the palace, and as close servants of the Emperor, soldiers like Rael were expected to defer to them. This meant he would be forced to humor this woman.

“Yes, I’m on my way to bring him to the Emperor now,” Rael stated, hoping the scribe would want to avoid getting in the way of Imperial orders.

Rael had to fight the urge to look down when he felt Gavin inching backwards on his palm. The little guy seemed to be trying to put some distance between himself at the unfamiliar alteon that was currently staring at him.

The woman gave a nod of understanding but still didn’t move. “This one certainly appears younger than the other ones I’ve seen,” she commented as she leaned in for a closer look.

Rather than jerking backwards as he reflexively wanted to, Rael remained still. He glanced down to see that Gavin had retreated all the way towards his chest. It was evident he was trying to keep a calm expression on his face, but it was easy to tell the man was highly uncomfortable. “Just hang in there,” Rael thought, wishing he could mentally send the message to the human.

Finally, after several long moments of ogling, the scribe pulled back and straightened up. “The Emperor is currently meeting with one of his advisors in his office, so you’ll have to wait until he’s finished” she informed him. “Anyways, enjoy the rest of your day, soldier.”

“And you as well, miss,” Rael replied. He waited until the woman had walked past him and out of sight before he started forward once again.

Gavin let out a deep sigh of relief, but otherwise kept quiet, which was for the best considering there were still guards about. Rael didn’t fail to notice that the human hadn’t moved away from his body. Even through his clothes, Rael could feel the slight movements that brushed against his chest. Were he not a man of fortitude, he may have reacted to the ticklish sensation.

After turning a corner, Rael made it to the more secluded area of the palace that housed the Emperor’s personal office. He was surprised to find the small sitting area outside the office completely vacant. Typically, there was at least one guard stationed outside the door so long as the Emperor was inside.

Rael furrowed his brows. Had the scribe not confirmed that the Emperor was indeed in his office, he might have suspected the ruler was elsewhere. But, since Rael couldn’t risk potentially barging in on a private meeting, he wouldn’t be able to check to be certain. “We’re going to have to wait,” he told Gavin in a low voice.

“Okay, yeah..good,” the human replied, not bothering to hide his relief at getting to postpone his impending judgement.

Being sure to keep Gavin steady, Rael took a seat on the stone bench across from the door to the Emperor’s office. It was only once he was seated that he realized how cramped the hand that was holding Gavin was. For quite awhile now he’d been making a concentrated effort to keep the appendage still so as to not accidentally exacerbate the human’s injuries.

“I’m going to set you down beside me, alright?” Rael waited for Gavin’s nod of confirmation before carefully relocating him onto the bench. Once the human was safely settled on his own two feet, Rael gratefully shook out his aching hand.

“Nothing like a giant castle to make a guy feel small,” Gavin remarked with a nervous chuckle as he sat down.

Rael glanced down at the human thoughtfully. Sometimes he forgot that in Gavin’s eyes, humans weren’t unusually tiny and weak creatures. To him, humans were normal sized--therefore he perceived alteons as giants. It was strange for Rael to imagine, because he couldn’t help but see Gavin as anything but tiny. “It’s quite large even to us alteons, if that’s any consolation,” he said honestly. “Anyone unfamiliar with the layout is bound to get lost.”

It had taken a good few weeks after beginning work at the palace for Rael to get a hang of navigating the expansive property. The winding hallways and innumerable doors made the place a virtual maze. He could only imagine how daunting it must be for someone of Gavin’s size. It would be effortless for the little guy to get hopelessly lost.

Just then, Rael’s attention was drawn to the office door, which had begun opening. The person who exited was familiar--he was a fellow member of the Imperial Guard. Rael quickly realized that he must have been the one who was meant to be on duty outside the office, though that didn’t explain what he’d been doing inside the room.

“Rael, there you are,” Ashryn greeted as he swiftly shut the door behind him before Rael could even get a glimpse inside the office. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

Ashryn was tall and well muscled. His skin was a touch lighter than Rael’s and his braided hair was of a chestnut brown color. Judging by his broad shoulders and sharp jawline, the guy would undoubtedly make for an intimidating adversary.

“The Emperor just asked me for some insight on a few matters,” Ashryn explained, gesturing back towards the office. Rael suppressed a look of confusion. He had never really heard of a guard of Ashryn’s rank being asked for input from the Emperor himself. “But enough about that,” Ashryn declared, interrupting Rael’s contemplation. “I’m eager to meet this human criminal.” In an instant his gaze was upon Gavin. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and there was a glint in those pale green eyes of his that Rael didn’t like in the slightest.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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heyo friend, I hope you’re doing well 🖤 What about the “You know I hate it when you do that, right? Keep doing it” smut prompt + shigaraki? With a gn!reader?

✧ pairing: tomura shigaraki x gn!reader

✧ warnings: brat taming themes, smut, references to violence, blood mention, handjobs, villain!reader, 18+ minors DNI

✧ word count: 1.5k

✧ a/n: hey mootie! thanks so much for your request. I know you were looking for some brat taming so take my subtle, sleep deprived attempt at some lowkey bratty behavior.

“You idiot, what the hell was that?”

The door slammed hard enough to reverberate through your chest. The momentary shake in your ribs was nothing compared to the adrenaline trembling in your fingers as they flailed in front of you, catching your fall. The bar top was cold and unforgiving in your grip.

Just like the floors under your feet and the roof over your head and all the people uneasily asleep upstairs.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

Tomura Shigaraki cut a menacing figure—and when didn't he?—as he stood cloaked in the darkness of the hideout. You could still feel the ache of his grip on your arm, can feel the dull throb of forming bruises there. He left faint crimson footprints behind when he stepped fully into the dim, overhead lights.

The short, baby curls around his head shone in the glow like some blasphemous halo.

But he is your savior tonight, so the comparison seems a bit less jarring.

“You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, boss,” you tried to sound less winded than you are.

For someone so skinny, Shigaraki had some fucking stamina. Both beaten and well bloodied, the two of you certainly cut a striking image. And while you were panting from your escape—legs on fire after carrying you down innumerable alleyways and feet numb from the slap of the pavement through worn out soles—your boss seemed barely winded.

Untouched by the fight and subsequent flight halfway across the city while tugging you along at his heels.

Though, he also didn’t get his ass straight up hyperdrive blasted into a brick wall. You’d give yourself some credit where it was due.

“I don’t need you taking hits for me,” he snapped, coming nose to nose—well, hand to nose with you.

Every muscle in your body protested as you stood straight and stared him down, feeling how the bruises cut deep through your skin and stained your ego like rotting fruit.

“Really?” you asked, not quite delusional enough to be incredulous, but getting there. “Cause that fucking black eye says differently.”

There was a nasty red and purple mark spreading from the side of his temple that disappeared under the hand that hid most of his face from view. You’d watched him take that kick straight to the side of his head and not even stumble.

He was right.

Shigaraki didn’t lie—that’s why you followed him.

That’s why you couldn’t help the strange, second nature movement of your feet as you had watched one of the dozens that ambushed you wind up to fire a super-powered punch off at Shigs chest. The whole moment existed as a slow motion memory, something you watched from above—a voyeur in your own mind. The way your boss’ eyes went horribly wide, the glow of the man’s fist, the way your body went limp like a rag doll in mid air and slammed against the adjacent wall.

How your assailant was nothing more than a pile of ash only seconds later.

Though you tried not to read too much into that particular detail.

“You know I hate it when you do that right?”

You became peripherally aware that the ache in your chest was being exacerbated by his body weight pressing you back into the polished wood of the bar. As two hands caged you in with their pinkies comically raised to keep you trapped, you felt a familiar rush of defiance in the face of this show of superiority.

“What? When I save your dusty ass?” you tried to smile but his unwavering gaze made it die on your lips.

To be completely fair, you had just watched him take so many hits that should have killed him outright and keep fighting like the inevitably fractured bones were nothing but pinpricks.

You’d always known Shigaraki was intimidating, in his self-assuredness and confidence you knew was not unfounded. But you’d never seen him put his money where his mouth is before, only heard the stories from the rest of the League.

Now you understood.

“When you talk back to me,” he hissed.

He didn’t bother to correct you. He didn’t need to. You both very well knew that if anyone had been saved tonight, it was you as he retreated from the fight, pulling you to safety and not stopping until he—and doors of the bar—were firmly placed between you and feral city streets.

“Oh come on—” you were halfway through an eye roll even Dabi would be proud of when he reached up to grip the hand on his face and pulled it aside.

The smell of formaldehyde dissipated as it landed with a thunk on the bar and Shigaraki stared at you with newly unencumbered intensity.

“Keep doing it.”

You blinked in stunned stupid silence.

“What?”

It was only then that you realized it, and once you saw the subtle flush of his cheeks and the twitch in his fingers, you weren’t sure how it had ever escaped your notice.

Villainy had always been attractive for the rush, alluring in the sense that it afforded you the feeling of being so painfully alive. The adrenaline fueled, full body shaking that flooded you with invincible endorphins—that made your face hot and your blood sing. That was what called to you. That was what had you flinging yourself in front of punches and sprinting down the worn out city streets.

And that was what Shigaraki was feeling now as you held your own against him.

Challenged his authority.

Took what you were given and gave just as well.

You could imagine most people would have given up the smartass act after one too many brushes with a dusty end, but you were a stubborn piece of shit.

In fact, you were a little fucking brat.

And Tomura Shigaraki liked it.

“I won’t tell you twice,” he said, and when exactly did that gravel road rasp in his voice become so spine tingling?

His chest was flush with you now, and the familiar firmness pressing against your thigh only confirmed your revelation.

And only strengthened your resolve.

A grin on your face, you locked eyes with your boss.

“Oh, Shigs,” you mused, shivering at the way he smirked down at you in all his bloody, beaten glory. “I think you absolutely will.”

The bar behind you creaked under his grip and you suddenly missed the power in those deadly hands, pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin. You doubted you’d have to wait much longer for that though, not with the he twitched against your hips as you shifted to press back into him.

“Maybe you’ll listen better with your mouth full.”

One of those long fingers was trailing softly through the gashes in your top, running across your chest and tapping at your lips. He rolled what was undeniable a fucking unfairly large dick against you just so there would be no mistaking the direction this was clearly going in.

And what a hot fucking turn of events it was.

“Now boss, if you want me to keep talking, you’re gonna have to fill up something else.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little proud of yourself at the ability to formulate comebacks even as the hand at your lips slipped down to yours and drew it to the fastenings of his jeans.

“Don’t think I’m going to reward you for being so fucking irresponsible.”

He seemed at once so simultaneously wrecked and completely untouched by you that your head spun. Shigaraki kept his voice even, his face stuck in that same pleased expression. The only thing that gave him away was the raging hard cock you now palmed easily through his underwear and the pink flush that was spreading slowly down his neck and under the low collar of his shirt.

“Bold of you to assume this isn’t a reward,” you muttered, entranced by the way the blush lit around the razor edges of his scars, thin silver lines prominent against the blood rushing under his skin.

Your mouth watered and Shigaraki—Tomura? Should you call him Tomura now that his length was falling free into your palm and leaking across your fingers?—did nothing to stop you from leaning forward and latching onto one of the rough patches of flesh.

Shigs didn’t seem ashamed in the least or try to hide the gasp you yanked out of him with your tongue pressing deeply over the veins in his neck.

However, he also didn’t allow either of you to indulge for long. Seconds later a hand gripped the back of your shirt and the wrist that was currently pumping your boss’ deliciously heavy dick, stopping your movements entirely.

The rational part of your brain was not quick enough to catch the whine that left you when he moved to step away.

Shigaraki’s rare chuckle almost made it worth the embarrassment.

“Yeah,” he was grinning again but it was different this time. Predatory—a beast caught scent of blood, ready for the newest struggle to the death. “That’s what I thought.”

When he finally guided your hand back to his cock, warm with a beautiful red tip that gushed enough to slick your palm, you found it incrementally harder to formulate a response.

But you hadn't quite given up the fight yet.

When you smiled back at him, it was all teeth.

All claws.

Ready and waiting to be tamed.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #bee.writes #bee.requests #tw blood #tw brat taming

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1rintooru · 3 years

Text

Little Agreements

Pairing: teacher! Sugawara Koshi x gn! reader

Themes: fluff, enemies to lovers

Word Count: 2k one-shot

Warnings: light swearing - that’s all!

Summary: You and Sugawara are rival teachers at a reputable elementary school. Even though you can hardly stand each other, your students have started shipping you together and it’s just awfully annoying! Little do they know, you’ve been keeping a secret from them the entire time.

a/n: teacher suga is good suga... this was so fun to write and purely self-indulgent - i can't get him outta my fat brain🥴 but enjoy anyways..!

You clicked your pen once. Twice. Three times. Perhaps to an outsider it would appear that you were annoyed – impatient even, but you knew it was nothing more than a habit, much like the restless tapping of your foot or improper care kept to personal belongings. You eyed the worn-down mathematics book that was currently being hastily shoved into a backpack, the spine barely keeping the pages glued together.

“Looks like you’re all set to go,” you proclaimed, putting down your pen and eyeing the student in front you. The boy beamed, yanking the zipper of his backpack shut and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Couldn’t have done it without ya, teach!”

You nodded and smiled appreciatively. You were flattered but you couldn’t take all the credit. The boy you were tutoring for a couple weeks now always claimed he didn’t care for school; you still remembered how he once told you that sports were ‘where it’s at’ – whatever that meant. However, the improved grades paired with the purple shadows under his eyes told you an entirely different story. He’d made his way to the door, his hand already grasping the handle before turning around, an impish grin plastered on his face.

“Even though you and Sugawara-sensei are cute together, we’re still gonna beat your butts!”

You bolted out of your seat and glowered at the young boy.

“Don’t you have other classes to tend to?”

He smirked at your chagrin.

“I’ll see ya around!” he shouted, sending you a quick a wave goodbye before finally leaving the room. You plopped back into your seat upon hearing the door close behind the student, rubbing your temple discontentedly.

Ah. Of course.

How could you forget the school speed quiz? It was an annual event that the school implemented three years ago as a means to motivate students and raise class scores. The idea was that a group of children would be chosen to represent their class and be quizzed on a variety of subjects – the questions becoming increasingly difficult as the game progressed. At the time you sneered at the idea and even complained to the school director that it would only waste funds and resources. Now you were glad that he didn’t listen to you, though he could have skipped laughing in your face. With that being said, the event was a double-edged sword. It made you incredibly happy and filled you with pride seeing students find the joy in learning again, but on the other hand it only exacerbated the teasing comments from the students. They adored seeing you two together and you never could quite wrap your head around it. After all, you and Sugawara were rivals.

Your eyes darted down to your wristwatch: fifteen minutes left until next period. Not a whole lot of time, but just enough to shotgun a coffee and have snack in the solace of the staffroom. You hurriedly tidied the mess on your desk, arranging everything to your liking for the next class before finally stepping out into the bustling commotion of the school hallway. Excited chitter-chatter and non-discreet gossip filled halls as you found yourself surrounded by young children. Each face was familiar and you could have assigned a name to every single one. Even the tall one with fluffy gray hair and gentle brown eyes with the recognizable birthmark.

Wait, no – that’s no child; that’s Sugawara.

He walked towards you with a pep in his step and a bright grin, parting the busy hallway like Moses as students stared at him slack-jawed and awestruck. He was the school celebrity, proven by the sheer number of students that called out to him as he passed – and he loved it. You tried to swerve around him, but it was surprisingly difficult to escape through a sea of grade schoolers.

Damn it, just when you were looking forward to that coffee!

“Here, like I promised.”

Sugawara’s voice rang clearly as he firmly pressed a stack of essays into your hands, the weight of the stack momentarily catching you off guard. Your eyes instinctively scanned the first page laying on top. As per usual, your students performed well in academic pursuits but that wasn’t what bothered you.

“Green glitter gel pen?” you teased, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

His hazel eyes gleamed confidently. “Hey, we agreed that I would help grade assignments that you couldn’t catch up on – you never said I couldn’t use my colored pens!” He mirrored your teasing lilt before continuing. “Besides, from a psychological standpoint the color green is more uplifting and motivational than a harsh red.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. You both had agreed that you would tutor his students in mathematics and sciences while he would help grade assignments to take some of the workload off your plate. But that didn’t make his claim any more convincing and it only made you roll your eyes disparagingly.

“That pseudo-science is why I’m the one tutoring your students.”

“Geez, point made Y/N!” he scratched his head embarrassedly, the other hand defensively creating a barrier between the two of you.

“Y/L/N,” you quickly corrected him.

Sugawara’s posture visibly deflated at the curtness of your words. As mature and gentle as he was, he had a tendency to have his heart on his sleeve. You felt a little guilty and even considered saying something to mince your words, but the opportunity was stolen from you as a group of young girls skipped past, snickering as they went.

“Oh my god, Y/L/N-sensei and Suga-senpai are flirting again!”

Your secure stance faltered as the unsuspecting comment hit you like a brick, nearly making you drop all your papers. Sugawara’s eyebrow quirked upwards, thoroughly amused by your loss of composure. You hoped that the heat you felt in your face couldn’t be seen from the outside as you gingerly smoothed out the folds of your sweater.

“Suga-senpai?”

Sugawara’s playful grin immediately dropped as he noticed the daggers you glared at him.

“Huh?! A-ah it’s not like I told them to call me that! It – it just kinda happened.”

Seeing him so flustered would normally have made you smile, but you weren’t going to give him any kind of reassurance. Besides, it would have only worked as ammunition for privy students stalking your conversation. So instead, you simply shook your head, an exasperated sigh just barely escaping from your pursed lips.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I have a coffee waiting for me – and you have recess duty, have you already forgotten? So, if you’ll excuse me.”

You gave him a patronizing poke on the shoulder as you moved past him, beelining towards the staffroom.

The two of you were so vastly different in your teaching methods. You took your work seriously and prided yourself in the academic success of your students – your class always scored extraordinarily well. You were stern but incredibly ambitious and dedicated to your craft. Sure, Sugawara was popular with the kids, but playing the role as best friend wasn’t going to help them pass their classes. You failed to understand why most of the schoolchildren were obsessed with you two being an intimate couple; even prior to the school speed quiz event the two of you were rivals. His laissez-faire teaching methods didn’t mesh well with your own – in fact, you resented them. That’s why it was akin to pouring salt into a fresh wound when each year your respective classes tied during the annual event.

You decided to ignore the thought. This year was going to be different.

****

Oh, how you loved being the one responsible for cleanup duty.

At least, that’s what you would say if it weren’t that you were the only one responsible for cleanup duty.

As you watched one of your students – a petite girl with long dark hair – collect a pile of dirt into a plastic dustpan, you began to wonder how Sugawara roped you into this. Again. You and him had a lot of agreements, for the sake of professionalism of course, but this was not one of them. The school day seemed to drudge on forever and you were not spared from any incessant comments, even in its final moments. Ironically, one of your pupils turned into somewhat of a teacher as they explained to you what ‘shipping’ and ‘OTP’ meant.

Why on earth would they consider you and Sugawara something like that?

You dismissed the remaining students after carefully examining the room. The floors were cleaned and the whiteboard was spotless, but the wastebasket hadn’t been emptied and the desk arrangement was crooked. It wasn’t exactly up to par with how you usually left the room, but you were no heathen and you noticed just how lethargic everyone was becoming.

You also needed to find a certain someone that deserved to be chewed out.

That certain someone was found in the school’s gymnasium, excitedly talking to the school volleyball team that was retiring for the night. The frustration you felt immediately melted once you saw how animated Sugawara became as you overheard his motivational tangent. His passion was infectious and easily fired up the young boys in yellow and blue jerseys listening to him.

Was this where Sugawara always disappeared off to?

It was a silly question, really. Seeing him zealously offer game strategies with the biggest grin on his face made the answer obvious. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling awkward as all the children – and Sugawara – turned to face you. The boy you had tutored earlier today, now clad in a yellow jersey spoke first.

“Well teach, did ya know that Sugawara-sensei was a volleyball player in high school too? He was a setter, believe it or not!”

You could only stare dumbfounded as your eyes bounced back and forth between the braggadocious athlete and a proudly grinning Sugawara. The lack of response on your end began to unnerve the gray-haired man as the corners of his mouth began to twitch downwards and his eyes glossed over with doubt.

You shrugged, “I don’t really see it, honestly.”

The both of them gasped in unison. The young teen stared at you dumbstruck – his jaw would’ve hit the floor if it could, while Sugawara staggered backwards as if a spear had punctured him in the chest.

“She’s a tough cookie, Sugawara-sen–” the teen’s underhanded comment earned him a swift kick from his teacher.

“Well, I think it’s time to call it a night. How about we tidy up and retire for the evening?”

And just like that, Sugawara had roped you into another cleaning duty. Thankfully the volleyball team was still so fired up from his speech earlier that the tidying up went by remarkably fast. Eventually you and him stood alone in the building, after finally saying your goodbyes to the remaining kids.

He looked at you and cocked his head to the side, to which you nodded in response. Perhaps it was a simple unspoken agreement or maybe it was just a force of habit to head home together. Regardless, it was hard to imagine it any other way.

The cool autumn air greeted you the moment you stepped out of the gymnasium. Goosebumps pricked your skin as a crisp autumn breeze embraced you, sending a shiver down your spine. The sky had turned into a watercolor of fiery oranges and deep purples as evening drew closer. You glanced over to Sugawara, nestled in the layers of his scarf and his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat.

“Do you have regrets?”

Sugawara paused, brown and orange leaves twirled with the wind just short before his feet, but that wasn’t what stopped him. He was clearly perplexed by your question.

“Regrets?” He scrunched his nose as though the word itself repulsed him. He dug his hands deeper into the depths of his pockets and his features visibly softened as he pulled out a golden ring. It gleamed magnificently as the rays of the setting sun reflected off the band. Seeing him fit the ring snugly onto his finger prompted you to do the same, pulling out the velvet pouch that protected the ring within it. Sugawara smiled as he watched you slip the ring on, fondness etched into his features as he extended his hand towards you. You happily obliged and entangled your fingers in his.

“How could I ever have regrets with the life I have now?”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #sugawara koshi #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #selfmade

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rissynicole · 3 years

Text

DTIYS Contest Prize: Rllyaangrlly

Here is the first of the one-shots promised to the three winners of the DTIYS event I put on recently. (Thank you guys for being patient with me, btw. I’m a very slow writer, and you’re seeing it in action). Just as the title states, this one is for @rllyaangrlly, based on her requests.

This was a ton of fun and gave me an opportunity to not only shake some writing rust, but work with topics I don’t normally explore. More than anything, I was able to try to emulate the vibes Brit gives these characters in her own art/writing. I wish I had a better word for it, but I’ve always felt like Brit has a certain “aesthetic” with the IZ characters through her drawing style, the situations she puts them in, and her overall portrayal of their personalities. I’ve always adored it, and it was an honor to be able to try my hand at writing it.

Story is under the cut.

Characters: Dib, Zim, Gaz

Relationships: ZaGr, ZaDf

Warnings: minor injuries

Words: 3,706

Absurdity

The car’s engine and the drone of its wheels on the highway were the only sounds that passed between the three. The radio hadn’t been turned on, and no one had the gall nor the desire to change that. Not Zim, who was turned almost completely towards the window in the passenger seat, nor Gaz in the backseat. They drove along in heavy silence as Dib stared stonily ahead of him at the stretch of road, hands gripping the wheel numbly.

Dating. They’re… dating.

The idea was positively absurd to him. Not only did it feel weirdly out of the realm of possibility, but it felt wrong, somehow. Like some sort of tasteless prank. When Zim had told him, he’d half expected the camera crew from Punk’d to come parading around the corner, led by Ashton Kutcher, to point and laugh at the look on Dib’s face. “Can you believe it?! Your best friend—alien best friend—and your little sister! You totally fell for it!”

That almost would have been better. Cruel and mortifying, maybe, but better. At least then, he wouldn’t be sitting behind the wheel of the car trying to make sense of it while the two pretended not to notice from inches away. But it wasn’t a prank. Hell, Dib wasn’t famous enough to be on Punk’d anyway. Maybe someday… but not today.

A little part of him had high hopes for the series of paranormal investigation videos he and Zim had strung together. Lately, that little part of him had stopped feeling so childish, too. Their following had risen significantly over the last few months, gaining more and more traction as people tuned in. Suddenly, their modest little support net of viewers was in the hundreds. Then the thousands. Then the hundred-thousands. Truth be told, Zim and Dib hadn’t really come across anything of substance in their investigations, but their newer viewers weren’t exactly around for solid proof of the paranormal, anyway. It hadn’t taken long for the two to realize that most of the channel’s appeal came from the dripping sarcasm and witty banter directed at one another.

“Chemistry” was an apt word, and it got thrown around a lot. Zim and Dib, quite by accident, had become the up-and-coming best friend duo in the paranormal community. And with each new investigation, they garnered more and more recognition.

That’s where they were headed now, towards Ottawa National Forest to investigate the latest hot spot Dib’s research had led him to. The “Paulding Light” was a strange phenomenon, appearing in a single spot in the woods and taking form of a bright glow before fading off into the darkness of the night. Though plenty of locals could attest to having seen it, no one could feasibly explain it. Dib was determined to catch it on camera. Or at least he had been, before Zim had dropped the bomb on him right before leaving the house.

Dating. They’re… dating.

His thoughts rounded back, and he felt his hands readjust themselves on the steering wheel. Behind him, Gaz sighed quietly and cross her legs. He almost swore he could sense her and Zim exchange a glance through the rearview mirror, but he really had no way of knowing. He didn’t really want to know.

Dating.

“What’s the exit?” he asked, jarring them all back to reality.

Zim paused before answering. “It’s a couple down. Not this one, but the next.”

They returned to silence. Even as Dib’s blinkers resounded through the car and they exited off the highway. Even as the smooth highway turned to bumpy asphalt, then later, dirt roads.

At last, Zim spoke. “Dib—”

“I’m not mad,” he interrupted. “I’m just…I don’t know what I am. I need to process this. Just…” He trailed off, his mouth a thin line.

Zim and Gaz glanced at each other through the rearview again.

Eventually, they pulled into a dirt lot and spilled out of the little hatchback, glad for a break in the tension that had been all-consuming throughout the entire car ride. Gaz leaned back, popping her joints before heading to the trunk of the car where the camping supplies and camera equipment was. Zim took over, gathering it up and taking inventory of what they had brought along.

Just as before, everything was done without a word. No one really knew what to say. Gaz and Zim were giving Dib his space, and the latter still seemed to be at a loss. Driving hadn’t really cleared his head as he’d lamely claimed it would; it’d just made him more flustered.

Before long, they were off. The hike through the woods was only marginally less uncomfortable than the car ride had been, but the open air helped. Dib led the way, walking along the dimming trail as dusk settled in. The plan was to find a place to set up camp near the area where the Paulding Light supposedly made its appearance. Then, they’d hike again—this time under the cover of darkness—with the cameras rolling.

As the daylight slowly dissipated and the cool air settled in, Gaz paused to unhook her backpack from around her shoulders. Her jacket was inside, probably balled up beneath all the other crap she’d packed for this little excursion. Before she could even get her bag unzipped, though, Zim handed her his own sweatshirt.

She glanced up, and a wordless argument passed between them.

Now you’re going to be cold, her glare told him.

He gave her a challenging, almost haughty glance in return. Just put it on. I’m fine.

Gaz huffed a little and rolled her eyes, but ultimately acquiesced. She bunched it up and pulled it over her head. It was an overlarge navy hoodie with their college name and emblem branded on the front in bright, almost obnoxious yellow font. Zim had been wearing it almost religiously since October had arrived and the first freeze of the year had swept through their neighborhood.

When her face appeared at the neckline, she made brief accidental eye contact with Dib. He averted his eyes quickly. His mouth was still in that tight, thin line.

They continued on, walking until they’d found a suitable place to set up camp. Just as agonizingly silent as before, they set to tidying up the area, pulling out their sleeping bags, and taking inventory of the food they’d brought.

At this, Zim reached into one of the backpacks, eyes lighting up at a bag of jumbo marshmallows. Gaz slapped it away, all pretenses forgotten for a second. “Knock it off. We still have to film,” she said.

He snagged one anyway, popping it in his mouth defiantly before chuckling at her wavering attempt at a serious expression. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Gaz finally dropped it and began laughing along with him.

Dib cleared his throat.

They both turned and looked at him, smiles dropping instantly.

“Let’s get going,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking up at the smattering of stars up ahead. “You have the camera, Gaz?”

She nodded and held it up.

Dib did his best to not look behind him at Gaz and Zim as they walked on. Suddenly, any playful or even amicable interaction between them had taken on a whole new meaning. Because it wasn’tjust amicable.

Dating. They’re… dating.

It made him feel like the last few months had been a lie. It wasn’t just him, his sister, and his best friend anymore. It was him, his sister, and his sister’s boyfriend.

He visibly shuddered as he stepped over a fallen tree branch. Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that.

About a mile in, they began to hear running water. Sure enough, only about five minutes later they came upon a fallen tree that spanned about the width of the trail. Some quick observation showed that it was acting as a sort of bridge over a shallow stream about five or six feet below.

“I guess this is sturdy enough,” Dib muttered, testing the strength of the log. He peered over the edge at the water. At this point, night had fallen proper. A small slice of moon illuminated the sky, casting down on the stream. Dark water glinted here and there as it passed over rocks.

He began to walk over it, arms held out for balance. He hadn’t said much at all, despite Gaz currently filming. She held the camera up anyway, sighing inwardly.

What a waste this trip was. Who the hell would want to watch a video of Dib moodily wandering through the woods all night?

As for Zim, he had hardly uttered a word, either. And he was usually the comic relief of their little program. The fact that Zim was quiet wasn’t just bizarre; it was unsettling.

Zim stepped up on the log, followed by Gaz, who was still holding the camera out in front of herself. The disproportionate weight made her lose her balance for a moment, which was then exacerbated when the entire log rocked along with her. On instinct, Zim reached out and caught her by the wrist.

Dib turned, still halfway across their little bridge over the stream. He glanced at the two blankly. Then, his eyes narrowed. Even in the darkness, the intensity of his glare met Zim’s eyes.

“Would it kill you to not fondle my sister in the middle of the night while we’re trying to film?” Dib muttered.

“What are you talking about, Earth-stink?” It was clear Zim’s already-thin patience was running dry. These days, nearly a decade after arriving on earth, he only pulled out the immature nicknames when he on the verge of arguing.

Dib simply gesticulated at Zim’s hand, still grasping Gaz’s wrist. Zim looked at him incredulously and then let go of her.

“Dib…” Gaz growled, “You’re acting like an asshole.”

I’m acting like an asshole?!” he said, the hours of tension suddenly bubbling to the surface. “You’re the one who decided to… to…” He was at a loss for words.

Gaz darkened nonetheless, eyes glinting. “I didn’t ‘decide’ to do anything! And if I knew you were just going to sulk the whole time, I would have stayed the fuck home! Do I even have to remind you that I do this shit as a favor to you?” She waved the camera in front of her, and Dib paled at both her words and the prospect of it slipping from her grip and into the stream several feet below them. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t even want to go camping right after my midterms?”

“A favor for me, sure!” Dib shot back. Maybe some people could be perfectly silent for hours on end and be perfectly calm. His temper had never allowed for that. He was speaking without thinking, and he could feel it. It still didn’t stop the word-vomit from coming. “You sure it’s a favor for me and not a favor for your little boyfriend over there?”

He gestured vaguely towards the “boyfriend” in question, who’s face was beginning to match Gaz’s. Before Zim could open his mouth, though, Gaz lunged forward, right into Dib’s face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up right now!”

The fallen tree they were balanced on began to rock a little, and Zim’s eyes went wide as he clambered to keep his footing. “Gaz—”

“Stay out of it, Zim!”

“I will not!” he shot back. “Not when you’re both acting like complete—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. The log rocked again, and this time, Gaz’s balance didn’t withstand. The little hand-held camcorder slipped from her grasp, and she instinctively lurched towards it with her hands outstretched. Zim, operating on the same instinct, tried to catch her again. His foot slipped out from under him along with a crumbling of tree bark that had split off the log

“W-woah!” Dib shouted. His eyes bulged from behind his glasses. He reached for both of them, catching the sleeve of Gaz’s hoodie and Zim’s arm to try to keep them from falling over the side. He only succeeded in making the sorry excuse for a bridge rock yet again. At that point, it seemed, the log decided it was no longer interested in keeping three fully grown adults upright and out of the water. It rocked, crumbled, and then slipped from where it had been wedged between the two ends of the hiking trail.

Dib, Zim, and Gaz went tumbling off. High, clipped shouts preceding their fall, then a series of splashing.

The water below was cold, but not terribly so. It was a shallow, slow-moving stream. Almost more of an inconvenience than anything. Even so, the drop was high enough that Dib landed on the balls of his feet, skidded out, and skinned both elbows as he fell clumsily onto his rump.

He groaned, cupping one scraped elbow in his palm. Already beginning to internally bemoan his soaking-wet clothes, he turned to Gaz. His anger was beginning to return to him in place of shock.

“Great. That’s a new camera down the fucking drain.”

Instead of an onslaught of choice words back at him, however, Gaz didn’t respond. She wasn’t even looking in his direction. Instead, she was turned away, hunched over something in the darkness. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. At her feet, Zim’s body was lying halfway in the stream, completely motionless.

Gaz whipped around to look at Dib, soggy tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks. She no longer looked angry. “I think he hit his head. Help me get him out of here!”

Dib’s eyes widened, and without thinking, he hurried around Gaz’s other side, grabbing Zim’s shoulder and hauling him to the grassy bank a few feet away. “Is he okay?” he shouted.

“I don’t know. Move!” She dropped to her knees in front of him. His wig sat like a sodden mop on his head, and she pulled it off before it could burn his scalp any more than it had. The worry she so evidently felt was plastered all over her face. Even in the darkness, Dib could see it. He was worried, too, but it was strange to see it so plainly on Gaz of all people. She had always been the more level-headed of the two, and seeing her normally morose, carefully composed poker-face fall away so quickly made Dib feel like he’d entered some alternate dimension.

Seconds later, Zim came around. With a moan, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal one contact and one overbright pink eye.

Gaz didn’t fuss or wring her hands, but she sighed noticeably in relief, then began asking him questions. (What is your name? Where are you right now?)

Zim answered in turn, seemingly fine. His hand wrapped around to the back of his head to absently massage at a growing bump, though. He groaned again and sat up.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Dib said. He could hear a distant sizzling—the awful sound of water against Zim’s skin. Even in their days of mortal rivalry, that sound had always had a visceral effect that could pierce through any bluster and leave Dib cringing inwardly.

Gaz nodded her head in agreement. “Come on,” she said. She rose to her feet, then helped Zim up.

“I’m fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened on this filthy planet,” he muttered. The fire that had been in his voice just moments before had been snuffed out. He tugged at his soggy clothing and scratched at the rashes that were beginning to form on his arms and torso.

Before Dib had time to realize what was happening, they were walking ahead of him back to their camp. Gaz was leading the way this time. Zim managed to keep up, wincing in pain occasionally.

When they got back, Gaz beelined to Zim’s bags. While he ducked behind some brush and changed into new clothes, she pulled out a small first aid kit with the Irken insignia printed on the outside.

“He’ll need the—” Dib started. He stopped when he saw Gaz pull out the exact tube of antibiotic cream he had been about to gesture towards. She glanced at the Irken characters—Irken characters Dib hadn’t known she could read—and opened it.

“Can you hand me the bandages from your bag?” she asked.

Dib shot her a weird look but reached for the bandages anyway. “You know, his PAK heals him pretty quickly. I don’t think he even really needs them.”

“Yeah, but bandaging it up makes him whine about it less,” she said. She tried to hide the smile that had begun to form on her lips.

Dib handed it over and began to build a fire for the three of them.

Zim returned then, dressed in clean, dry clothes. While Gaz helped treat and bandage the worst of the burns, Dib kept silent. This time, however, it wasn’t out of whatever conglomerate of frustration he’d been feeling earlier. He was watching his sister coyly.

Gaz was not the maternal type. Throughout their entire lives, Gaz’s words and actions had been laced in a gruff sort of outer layer that warned others she was not to be trifled with. She kept her circle small and very rarely expressed any emotion other than cool apathy or outright anger.

The way she was acting towards Zim was a far cry from her normal self. Dib had only ever seen her like this on a handful of other occasions. When those memories drifted to him and he realized the common denominator, he suddenly felt uneasy. The tenderness in which she wrapped Zim’s forearm was with the same silent, admonishing tenderness she’d shown Dib when he’d gotten injured during his own idiotic exploits over the years.

Meanwhile, Zim sat slumped against a tree, letting her bandage him up without a fuss. While he was making an attempt at nonchalance, it was clear he was practically falling asleep where was sitting.

That was another little thing Gaz seemed to either know already or manage to take in stride: something about injuries made Zim unusually tired afterwards. For as long as Dib had known him, he’d been this way. Dib had deducted it was because his PAK was using more energy than usual, and Zim had more or less confirmed it. Even so, it was rather unsettling to see anyone sustain an injury and then drop off to sleep moments later like a narcoleptic.

That’s precisely what Zim was doing now, now. As soon as Gaz finished with the last bandage, she shook his shoulder to wake him. With the last of his energy, he shuffled to his sleeping bag and practically faceplanted onto it. Within seconds, he had dropped off to sleep.

Gaz patted his hand.

Dating, Dib thought yet again.

It was absurd. That was the only way he could put it. It didn’t make any sense. Almost…almost as absurd as the idea of him being friends with Zim in the first place.

He frowned and began to pull at the loose strings of a bracelet he’d worn on his wrist for the last year or so. Zim had an almost identical one that he, too, never removed.

Hadn’t there been a time when he couldn’t imagine himself being anything but Zim’s enemy? And now they were almost inseparable. If he could get used to that, why couldn’t he get used to this?

He glanced down at the bracelet and sighed. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he said finally.

Gaz glanced up, her face guarded. “I wouldn’t be with him if I didn’t.”

“And he treats you well?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” She made a face, but it wasn’t entirely hostile. “I wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t.”

Dib’s eyes fell on Zim, who was snoring lightly. He didn’t doubt that. “Okay,” he said through another exhale.

“‘Okay,’ what?” Gaz said, raising a brow. “I don’t need your ‘blessing,’ Dib. I just want—”

“—No, no, no. I don’t mean it that way,” Dib said quickly, “I mean ‘okay,’ I will get used to this. And I’ll stop being such an asshole.” He quirked his lip upward in a humorless smile at the last part. “I’m sorry, Gaz. I could have handled that a lot better, and I didn’t.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the crackling fire. “Apology accepted.”

Zim began to stir then, one hand reaching out to scratch at his bandages.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Gaz said softly, taking the hand and moving it away. She made to rifle through their bags but was stopped when Zim’s hand closed around hers. He held her in place and began to murmur incoherently.

Gaz smiled; a sweet, serene smile Dib very rarely saw. “Just give me a minute,” she told Zim. She squeezed his hand and pulled away, unzipping the bag closest to her and retrieving what she was looking for—the marshmallows Zim had been after earlier.

She pressed one into his palm, and his fingers wrapped around it groggily.

Over the next hour, he slowly came out of whatever fog his PAK had put him through as it worked to heal him. By morning, the irritated rashes from the water would be gone and the bump on his head would be nothing but a distant memory.

Not for the first time, Dib thought about how strange Irkens were.

Over the rest of the night, the three gathered around the fire, roasting marshmallows. Even through the lulls in conversation, the tension that had practically been a permanent fixture earlier was gone. Instead, they slipped into their new dynamic. A dynamic that was, as Dib had claimed, absurd. But when hadn’t it been? Not when Zim had first arrived on Earth. Not when years and events had passed them by, and enmity had melded to friendship. And not now.

Absurdity was their specialty, and they were learning to wear it proudly.

~The End~

#invader zim #dtiysparade contest prizes #zagr #zadf #my writing #rllyaangrlly

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majimemegoro · 3 years

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just finished watching a playthrough of saejima's hunting storyline and i get why you like okudera so much now. he's a pretty minor character in the eyes of the game's main storyline but damn, he's genuinely really compelling, alongside the entire hunting storyline...i really fuckin like this dude now. anyways, i wanted to ask, do you know of a timeline or anything of his backstory? cause its. a little confusing for me to understand

WE CAUGHT ONE LADS

jokes aside I'm so glad you watched, so glad you liked it, and so glad you took the time to let me know. for anyone else who wants the chance to discover the joy of MR OKUDERA, whether or not you have a ps4 or steam, you can do that here.

as for the backstory timeline... buckle up, because it's convoluted as heck. We learn about the events of 9 years ago partially through the false story of the villagers and partially from okudera (whose tell-all story at the end is also, I think, a bit cagey and perhaps deliberately vague). these in-text obstacles to determining The Truth are exacerbated by the fact that the remastered version has at least one egregious translation error, and hence the possibility of other errors.

But I've spent a LOT of time trying to figure out the timeline. like a stupid amount of time. and while i still plan to do a serious methodical review of the story and determine the possibilities once and for all, I'll take this as an opportunity to lay out what I currently figure is probably the case.

disclaimers: y5 spoilers for the okudera/hunting storyline follow. i also havent systematically reviewed the evidence before posting, so it's possible that there will be errors. if anyone notices them, PLEASE point them out! meanwhile I will do my best to specify what is fact and what is interpretation: events I am 99-100% sure of, and are stated more or less explicitly in the text, will go in normal text, while I'll put my own filling-in-the-blanks and original notes in [square brackets]. I have some pretty detailed personal headcanons to do with these events, but I will NOT bring them up. Here I promise I will only bring up speculation that has a textual basis and is strictly necessary to fill in the gaps of the accounts given by mr okudera and the other vilalgers.

I will refer from now on to mr okduera as Sato, and to og okudera as okudera.

~10 years ago

the upcoming changes to hunting regulations are announced, and a hunting boom begins on the mountain [this could be more than 10 years ago]

sato breaks out of Abashiri, either crashes or abandons his snowmobile, and is saved by okudera

[Nishina recovers the snowmobile at some point]

okudera teaches sato how to hunt "as I (sato) was losing hope of living"

meanwhile the natural balance on the mountain is decaying due to overhunting, and bears are becoming vicious

~9 years ago, 6 months after sato's arrival in the village

yama-oroshi, the giant-size bear, is first spotted and starts causing trouble

~9 years ago

during a blizzard, okudera goes out after yama-oroshi. [the villagers give conflicting accounts of his intentions. i think sakurai says okudera wanted to help them, while nishina says he was after money. unclear whether sakurai is telling his honest opinion or a cover story]

sato goes around begging the villagers for food with "hat in hand" and is given some by mrs nishina [note that he apparently didn't have any, even though, if you accept this timeline, yama-oroshi hadn't yet attacked the village and destroyed its food stores. mrs nishina tells the story of okduera begging, and she doesnt specify when it happens, but i think it was probably here? not sure though.]

sato follows okudera into the mountain, intending to kill him

sato finds okudera; okudera reveals that he already knew sato was planning to kills him, and tells him that it's okay to carry out his mission

sato decides not to kill okudera

Okudera is attacked by Yama-oroshi. Sato passes out. [was he attacked???]

[okudera fights off yama-oroshi alone, defending the unconscious sato and succeeding in driving the bear away]

However okudera is grievously injured

Sato awakens on bloody snow. [presumably the site of the original attack, though its not for sure.] the dying okudera holds his hand and tells him to take his name and continue living in order to atone for both of their crimes.

[at some point here okudera presumably dies. it is possible that sato buries him at this time, but perhaps more likely that sato immediately follows yama-oroshi, who is headed towards the village, presumably having been driven in that direction during the fight against sato. saving the village from a demon bear would seem like a good way to begin atoning for a life of crime.]

Yama-oroshi attacks the village, ruining buildings and eating/destroying all of the food stored up for the winter, including the buried food

(still 9 years ago, but after this the order of events gets really fuzzy. the remaining events may shift slightly in order, depending on one's stance on the next bullet)

sato saves the village somehow [this bit is really vague. possibly this comment is referring to ways in which sato helped revitalize the matagi principles of conservation and mutual aid in the village. but I think it is more likely that he did something more concrete, namely, luring yama-oroshi away from the village. otherwise why did Yama-oroshi leave before killing anyone? someone did something, I think, and I think it was sato.]

[sato reports to the villagers that okudera ("sato") is missing - probably NOT that he is dead. the villagers then presumably report this to the police, since sato cannot be seen by the police, who would surely recognize and escapee from Abashiri.] [Note that sakurai tells saejima that sato (mr okduera) went into the mountain after og okudera BECAUSE og okudera was already missing, but I don't think this makes sense unless it's part of the fake cover story. it's also possible that sato told the villagers okudera was missing & he was following him for that reason, since he wouldnt have admitted he was planning to kill him...]

[some of] the villagers realize or suspect that sato/”okudera” is the escaped convict. [because they would know WHEN sato showed up, and when the escape occurred, and they would know that the bigger guy who disappeared had been with them for too long to be the escapee]

the villagers decide to protect sato (”okudera”) by secretly following him on the mountain, and by shunning him so that they have an excuse for not knowing him well and hence not reporting his identity to the police.

[it seems that Sato never admits to the villagers that he knew okudera died. OR the villagers pretend not to believe that okudera is dead?? which is weird since youd think after almost a decade, “went missing on the mountain during a blizzard” would entail “presumed dead”... but i digress]

the village spends the rest of the winter and perhaps longer on the “brink of starvation”

at some point the new hunting regulations go into effect.

and that's the events of 9-10 years ago, as near as I can figure them.

Thoughts? questions? me too !!! please speak up, and thanks for the ask, comrade.

here is a user badge for you:

#okudera #sato kiyoshi #meta #yakuza 5 #frozen roar #frozen roar spoilers #y5 #memecomradeoriginal #majimeta #whew that was a lot #edited and hopefully somewhat complete now...

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 3 years

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(Submitting these all together, rather than my original plan to post them bit by bit as parts, since the reaction/addition thing seemed like it was wigging out on me a little bit. Treat this as a reaction/addition, if you can. :P)

Okay, so as there's a cut off now, you're getting my ideas together in bulk, so apologies for that. Some might be a little patchy, as i've not had much time to think over it all. First, though, I want to tell you how fun reading Scattered has been. Only discovered it yesterday, but its been great. Even if you're closing it now, I hope you either open it again in future or do something of a similar vibe.

Anyway, first on the list of random ideas is something that pertains to the changes some of the Hermits have gone through. At first, and for a long time, it seems as if its just Hermits who were stuck in death loops or in a single place for a long time and were forced to adapt who took on these traits... but after over a year of being stuck in the glitched world, it becomes clear its happening to everyone - those with extreme circumstances just had it happen faster.

The first time this becomes apparent is with Stress.

She and False managed to escape from both their coral situation and the months spent travelling - both on their own and with Keralis and Cleo - without any alterations, but after several months back at spawn... Stress begins to feel the cold in a way that she hasn't since Xisuma helped to fix her ice glitch at the start of Season 7. She knows this feeling, and she doesn't like it, but its not exactly the same this time. It feels more malevolent and structured than her free flowing chill was... almost like the powers of an Iceologer. It makes it clear that these adaptations aren't just adaptations. People are just overall reverting to states more reminiscent of the non-player mobs. Death and environment are just catalysts that speed it along. Soon or later, this begins to happen to everyone, to one degree or another.

Changing tack a bit (as I said, putting all my ideas together, now :P), the time they spent together led to them basically being each others' best friend in the glitched world (not shipping, FYI. I appreciate that's not allowed). This experience has changed them, the most explicit shift that Stress' sword skills come along in leaps and bounds under False's guidance. Even long after they reach spawn, if either needs someone to watch their back, they go to the other before anyone else.

Switching tracks again to the outside, as that's something else I still find interesting, I imagine the whole "people not noticing the Hermits are missing at first because they're as the name suggests" thing is exacerbated by this occurring between seasons of MCC (though probably not the current break). A lot of the community gets their news at events like this, so its only really the people who know the Hermits well who notice within a month or so. By the time MCC starts up again, the Legates and a few others are already convening with the Noxcrew to try and figure out a way to find out what's going on, but the first time the wider community catches wind of something being up aside from a Hermit non-attendance is when Noxite pulls Dream aside before the 2nd MCC of the new season - along with any other admins they can get a hold of - for help with a problem. The Dream SMP group are nervous when the green man comes back from that chat seeming rather worried.

Another point to the wider MC universe. If this glitched world issue becomes known, there might be concern that it could spread, depending on what the identified cause ends up being. There could be talks of containing it, only to realize too late that because it snatched inactive Hermits from other servers, whatever it is is mostly likely already out there in the wild.

Seeing a couple of the Sci-crafters end up on the gltiched server of their own will, and you wondered why they'd want the Infinity Portal to send them there, perhaps it was part of a group effort. The groups aware of the rough details of the situation made the journey to the Season 6 world and made a base camp there. Lots of different players pooling their skills and strengths, working together to try and use the Infinity Portal to rescue the Hermits. Mango and Methodz were just the two who volunteered to travel through the glitched world and let the Hermits know that there's a plan to free them. They know there's an almost certain chance they'll be trapped, but between saving their friends, potentially setting up a proper means of communication to the outside, and stopping whatever this is from spreading to other servers, its a sacrifice they're willing to make.

And that's about all the major ideas I have, I think. Wish I had more, and I did have the small thought of the glitched world phenomenon basically being almost like a natural disaster with no surefire way of stopping its effects - the best the Hermits and anyone else can do is damage control, and even that's difficult - but I hadn't given that massive amounts of thought.

In the meantime, i'd like to repeat that I really hope you open this AU again in future given the amount of potential it has, even if that reopening ends up being more of a continuation, with everything before set in stone. For now, though, i'd just like to let you know that i'm attempting to go through the master-posts and other content to put together a visual infographic meant to chart each Hermit's actions and journey through this AU. There's every chance I won't finish it, but given you said you'd still take art after the close time, i'm not going to rush it.

Regardless, this has been great. Thanks for putting this thing together. :D

#false #keralis #stress #zombiecleo #submission #scattered au #Hermitcraft #mod shade #i love all of these ideas so much #also #infographic????#!!!!!!!#it really does feel like it needs one doesn't it #some kind of colour coded diagram #that would be glorious my friend #good luck!!

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frogsmulder · 3 years

Text

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 3 All The Colours Cannot Brighten

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

2.1k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

Scully shuffled awkwardly, walking into the department store, having foregone underwear. Currently, it was at the top of her mental list as she tried to discreetly pull her slacks down to stop the seam irritating her. Mulder's hand was at home on her back, to make matters worse, the usually comforting gesture making it more difficult to shift her pants.

Mulder chuckled quietly, seeing her fidget. She elbowed him to remind him he was in the exact same situation and it wouldn't be hard to exacerbate it if she wanted to. He squeezed her hip in apology, but she could still feel him laughing.

Leaning up, Scully whispered in his ear, "This needs to be quick. There are security cameras everywhere; we don't want to increase our chances of being recognised." Her pulse quickened at the prospect. "So, a set of clothes, toiletries, and we get out."

He nodded. "We should split up to save time."

"Agreed."

They parted without a single word more, Scully heading up the stairs to the women's and children's section and Mulder staying in the men's. She watched him, as she climbed the stairs, grow smaller and out of sight, feeling that gnawing in her stomach swell in his absence. Sucking in a breath, she focused her mind and steeled herself for the rest of the operation.

On the second floor, Scully was greeted with a bombardment of bright colours. Keeping her head low, she ignored gaiety and headed straight to the lingerie section, picking up the first packet of black briefs she found in her size. Practicality over style reminded her of her childhood, her father's strict orders, how she both embraced, and rebelled. She was conscious of that storm brewing in her again. With her plain clothes, she could hide from the world and its prying eyes. Yet a niggling thought told her that no-one would notice if she picked out some lace, no-one would see beneath her exterior armour: she could have something for herself again. She brushed her fingers over the delicate material, daring to imagine the power she could have. A small piece of control regained. Perhaps she could banish her contrition from the bedroom. Take control.

Ultimately, she left the lace behind, opting to match her plain briefs with a couple of plain t-shirt bras; the peril of public exposure was starting to take its toll. Every tick of the clock marked a drip of anxiety pooling in her lungs and the water levels steadily rising. Time was marching on.

Just socks, t-shirts, jeans, a coat, and maybe a jumper. She wondered if it looked suspicious buying a whole wardrobe in one, but was too drained already to consider changing tactics.

She grabbed a pack of socks whilst hunting for some t-shirts and jeans.

Two t-shirts: checked.

One pair of jeans: checked.

Coat.

Scully wandered surreptitiously through the floor, doubtful it would have a waterproof, when she stumbled upon tiny hats and boots.

Her insides crumbled.

It had been so long since she'd set foot in this section, buying small clothes to wrap her small child snuggly in. He would be a year old now, she reminded herself, learning to walk, starting to babble. Walking slowly, as if in a dreamlike state, she found herself subconsciously heading for the 12-18 months; no control over the path her feet chose. She was surrounded by a sea of cotton soft baby clothing: yellow cardigans, baby blue t-shirts, miniature dungarees... She imagined his ginger hair in a red sunhat. He'd be a year old now, Scully reminded herself as she picked up a white whale soft toy. It was something that she could have bought for his birthday and watch him chew the tail off when he was teething; tuck him into bed with and read bedtime stories.

----------

Mulder went upstairs to find Scully, having got all he needed. Not finding her anywhere obvious, he started to panic.

"Sc–" he called, but his mouth closed around her name, stopping himself, aware of the crowd of other shoppers who would easily hear him. Forced into silence, he picked up the pace, scanning all the rows of clothes for his familiar sign of red hair.

They are coming for you, son...

The sound of his pounding feet was mimicked by the rush of blood in his ears.

If you want my advice... leave your pretty, little partner...

He felt dizzy and disoriented, not knowing where to look or which way to turn.

get out of there while you still can...

He heard the giggle of a child cut through his mind with clarity but he dismissed it. After all, this was a department store, not a house haunted by unexplained phenomena; he had left those behind in his past. Yet he heard it again, closer, and he could have sworn it was from inside his head.

He stopped and turned around slowly.

Mulder saw that familiar red hair, peeking out from behind a rail, only it was more of a strawberry blonde and just above knee height. He crouched down to see her properly, but she moved away, only her blue eyes fixing sharply on his through the clothing.

"Em?" he whispered.

She made no response but turned away around the corner.

When Mulder rounded the corner himself, she was already at the other end, turning another, her bob of hair only there for a flash before she disappeared. He followed her winding trail, curious where she was leading him, until she stopped, standing next to someone, trying to tug at her shirt.

"Sc– Dana," he smiled, using her given name under some perceptive veil that it was safer. Emily nodded shyly. "You found her."

Scully turned around, still clutching the white whale. "What? Mulder? What are you doing here?"

"E–" He looked to Scully's side where Emily had just been but now was nowhere to be seen. "... I came to find you," he said, which was true, he just didn't want to unravel the traumatised inner workings of his brain in the middle of the baby section.

Then he realised where they were; where Scully had been; what Scully was holding in her hand.

"Dana," he whispered, a lump of worry caught in his throat, distorting his voice.

Scully looked down at the stuffed toy in her hands like she had her hand caught in the cookie jar. "We didn't buy him anything for his first birthday..." she tried to explain.

He wordlessly took the whale from her grasp and put it in the basket with the rest of his clothes like it already belonged.

She shook her head, searching his eyes for some understanding. "No, we can't... The money... We can't afford–"

"Yes we can," he interrupted her. Everybody grieved in their own way; maybe it could soothe him too. "Toiletries and then we're out of here," he reminded her.

"I haven't got a coat yet. Though, I think we're better off getting blankets for the car."

"You find the toiletries, I'll get the blankets. Meet back... by the stairs?"

Scully sighed.

Mulder stepped closer, wishing he could vanquish her hurt. "You sure you're okay, S–?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing." She brushed off his fussing, feeling like a small, incapable child herself under all the attention.

Mulder held her cheek in his palm and dried a stray tear.

"I'll be fine," she amended.

Trusting her, he gave Scully the basket and watched as she left him, walking quickly like she was running away. Her stiff gait so un-Scully-like and alien it was a physical embodiment of her grief. Himself feeling like cement, stayed, weighed down, swamped by a tide from slowly opening floodgates. Mulder looked at the row of white whales lined up on the shelf, each flopping with individual personality in the way that stuffing could make it appear so.

"Do you think he would like it?"

The bob of strawberry blonde hair nodded out of the corner of his eye before vanishing, leaving him to navigate the labyrinth alone.

----------

Scully was vaguely aware of what she's putting into the basket: deodorant, soap, razors, tampons– she hadn't even thought about those until she saw them. Her hand briefly hesitated over a box of condoms but she clenched it back into a fist. It would just be a reminder, an admittance, an avoidance.

At the checkout, she remained stoic and silent, resisting Mulder's touch at the small of her back. Ignoring the numbers as they flew by on the till, she handed over the money, too much to be paid in cash without raising eyebrows. If the cashier said something, she didn't notice. It wasn't until they were back on the dust-roads, alone, dressed comfortably in their new, plain clothes that Scully lowered her guard. By then, the day was long behind them, Selene cresting twilight in her silver, moon chariot. Night darkened their paths heading south, the chill creeping to tuck them in.

Curled up in the seat, Scully wrapped herself in the scratchy woolen blanket, it in no way kept the cold at bay. The white whale they had bought was tucked under her chin, squished closely to her chest as she held it tightly. She gazed out of the window, turned away from him, watching the last of the colours blur. At first, Mulder thought she was shivering from the cool air, so he rubbed her arm, but when he did so, she gasped and sniffed, retaking air like she would drown.

Mulder clenched his jaw and his fist on the steering wheel, angry with himself for not noticing sooner. They used to trek over the country all the time; long car rides filled with easy talking and comfortable quiet. Times were different, but their silence was a symptom of something more fatal. He wondered how it was so simple to forget that they had changed. He pulled to the side of the road and turned the key on the ignition.

"What... are you doing?" Scully whispered, choking on the sound of her broken voice.

He tried to reach for her hand. "Scully, please..." His plead faded into the stillness.

She remained looking out the window, focusing on the darkness. "I'm fine."

It was a knee-jerk reaction, taken from a box of samples she'd collected over the years. Scully cringed when she heard the old habit spill from her lips. It was an obvious lie– she knew it– risking exposure, especially to Mulder, who knew her so well. Feeling she had to was worse. Did she want Mulder to tell her she was wrong or was she only trying to kid herself?

She expected his words to follow swiftly, felt them on her tongue as he was going to say them. Yet they never came; his hand settled still on her elbow, the silence growing louder.

He continued to give her his undivided attention until she crumbled under the weight of his worry.

"I just..." She paused, licking her lips, trying to find the words to explain when her head was an empty void. She turned around to face him, yet she bowed her head, failing to hold his gaze. Huffing, Scully collected her feelings and imagined holding them in her chest. They trickled through the cracks in her hands, slipping as she struggled to understand them. What she had left in her palms was the guilt that tainted everything she touched. She tried again. "... Want to be happy... I'm not sure I can do that again. Not when there's so much missing."

Mulder gulped, running out of words to comfort her. I'm here, he wanted to say, You have me. But deep down he knew it was pointless saying it; it wasn't enough for her, even if it was for him. He couldn't deny that they were different people– very different people– despite all that they shared.

"It's going to come back for us," she stated simply and braved a glimpse at him. "We shouldn't have gone to the store. We shouldn't have stayed in the motel, Mulder."

He melted in her gaze, hating to see her burn herself in penance for all the things she couldn't control. Only that morning had he put a smile upon her face; things seeming hopeful. The way she had giggled wrapped in his arms now a distant dream.

You know she's right, Mulder. How do you save her now? the grizzled man chuckled, but Mulder ignored the voice.

"You said it yourself, Scully, we needed those things: 'practically speaking'." He felt cruel for using her own words against her, but they were the only ones he had.

She didn't turn away like he was expecting her to. Instead, she trained her eyes on his in the darkness. It wasn't a cold, hard stare but it wasn't filled with warmth either. She reached for his hand, locking their fingers together: a last act of hope. Mulder held onto the feeling, closing his eyes to the darkness.

"Maybe I was wrong."

#my fic #Maybe there's hope #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #on the run #xf fanfic

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steppedoffaflight · 3 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 14

Catch up on Chapter 13 here

Van is done shaving, and comes into the living room dressed and ready for his ride to arrive. He ignores you as he peeks out of the front window blinds, before fussing with his sleeves, rolling them up to his forearms. You realize that his entire shirt is one button off, and he was about to head out to the bar like that.

“Van,” You sigh, standing up. He doesn’t respond, only looks at you like he’s ready for a fight.

“C’mere,” You urge him softly, but you walk to him instead. You swallow down the lump in your throat as you start to unbutton his shirt, tears threatening to form behind your eyes. “You messed up a button.”

He realizes what you mean as you correct it, watching your fingers rebutton him.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, desperate not to leave the night on a bad note. “I was a bitch.”

Van’s heading out for the night.

Word count: ~8.2k

A/N: content warning for some (pre-discussed) sex where one person is high but the other is sober

Chapter Fourteen August 2019

Van flew in on a Tuesday and is gone by Thursday, back to the U.K. to headline another festival. He promises to be back soon; August is full of sporadic free time between the festivals and radio events, a chance for the boys to recharge in preparation for the second leg of the United States tour that would be commencing in the fall and carry them until the Christmas season.

On that following Wednesday you’re curled up on your couch, drinking your coffee and scrolling through social media when your screen goes blank. There’s a moment of confusion before it lights up with Van’s call.

“Hey,” You answer hesitantly, expecting this to be some sort of mistake. He never calls this early.

“Hey!” Van sounds cheery and awake, the exact opposite of you at the moment. “You’re up! I timed it right!”

“You what?” You laugh, pulling away to look at the time. He’s called you at 6:15 on the dot. “You planned this?”

“Yeah! I wanted to catch you before you went to work!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, brightening up your mood slightly. You were currently wrestling with the dread in your stomach reminding you of all that would need to be done once you get to the office today. Even your usual avoidance tactic of mindlessly scrolling through social media wasn’t working that well.

“Good job,” You congratulate him before taking a sip of coffee. “How’s it going with your parents?”

Although Van could have flown back to the States immediately after the festival performances on Saturday and Sunday, he’d decided to spend a few nights at his parent’s place during the week, before coming back to California on Friday.

“Good,” Van hums, and you hear rustling in the background as he moves around. “They’re out at the shops right now to get stuff for tea.”

“Bet they love having you all to themselves.”

“Oh, they fucking do.” Van’s tone implies he doesn’t quite feel the same. “They’re cornering me every chance they get to give me a talking to.”

You think of the way Van described his parent’s adoration for him, and try to imagine what bone they could possibly have to pick with him. “A talking to? Why?”

“Because I don’t have any little ones!” His voice is high. “They’re asking me about getting married and shit! The farthest I’m looking into the future is January!”

Van had already started to express his excitement for the new year to you, when the band had a couple months of a clear schedule to get into the studio for the fourth album. Knowing his one-track mind when it comes to music, you actually feel sympathy for his parents trying to discuss anything else with him. It was a lost cause.

“Aw,” You coo, “They just want a little Van to hang out with when you’re on tour! Don’t be mean.”

“M’not tryin’ to be,” He sighs. “But I’m not worried about that stuff. I’m trying to get us selling out stadiums.”

A typical Van response. “Yeah,” You hum, feeling pity for him as well. As different as your lives were, the difficulties of being surrounded by family after being away for most of the year were one thing you shared. You know how the incessant questions and demand for every second of your free time gets to your head.

“Unless you’ve got a little one for me?” Van jokes before lowering his voice. “After last week?”

A startled laugh bursts down the line from you. “No, no,” You assure him quickly, before pausing. “Well, my period hasn’t come yet, so we’ll see.” You’re teasing, of course. It wasn’t due for a couple of days, and you were so religious about your birth control you had no doubts it’d arrive.

“Fingers crossed.”

“Van!”

“That it comes!” Van laughs. “Christ!”

You’re laughing with him, the heavy feelings of dread having been chased away. But if you didn’t get off the couch soon you’d be running late. “I gotta go get ready for work,” You tell him, still grinning.

“Yeah, alright. I just really needed to speak to someone sane,” Van sighs. “Have a good day.”

“I will,” You lie, finishing off the rest of the coffee in your mug with two gulps. “You can text me anytime you need some extra sanity.”

“Keep me in your prayers,” He says dryly. “See you Friday.”

Your period arrives that night, light and pleasantly early. Even without any doubt, Van’s joke had put a niggling sense of worry in the back of your mind, and you were relieved to put it to rest.

Thursday is business as usual, but on Friday your excitement about seeing Van is dampened significantly when you realize you’ve bled through your tampon overnight, rushing to throw your soiled underwear and sheets in the washer before work. Things only get worse from there; the entire day at your desk you’re seized by merciless cramps, accompanied by the constant need for trips to the bathroom. You’d wanted to surprise Van by picking him up at the airport that evening, but instead you let him Uber over, hoping he’s not too disappointed.

As soon as you hear the knock at your door you launch yourself off of the couch, hurrying to answer it.

There’s been a post-airplane Van McCann delivered to your porch, complete with all of his luggage. His face lights up as soon as the door swings open.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” You reply as you help him roll his two suitcases into the living room. His backpack has slipped off of the one shoulder it was resting on, and you grab the handle of it, untangling it from his arm. There’s some commotion as Van shrugs his leather jacket off, hanging it neatly on the hooks on the wall next to the door, and shimmies out of his boots, but after that small delay he goes for his usual hug, you two clinging to each other.

“Sorry I didn’t pick you up,” You say into the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Van brushes you off as he pulls away. “I wouldn’t wanna deal with the airport after working all day either. I’m here now, right?”

You smile at his optimism. As you grab the television remote, pausing your show and shutting down the TV, Van rolls his two suitcases into the empty guest bedroom before taking his backpack into your room.

“Are you washing the sheets?” He calls from the other room, and you realize that you’d been so caught up in Netflix you’d forgotten to make the bed before Van arrived.

“Yeah!” You call as you head to the small laundry room adjacent to the kitchen. “They’re done now, though!”

You hear the soft footsteps of Van in his socks as he follows you into the laundry room, prepared to help you carry the dried bedding to your room.

When you hand Van the rumpled ball of your comforter, he takes a moment to sniff it. “Clean sheets for me? You shouldn’t have!”

You knock the dryer door closed with your foot, trailing behind Van with the sheets. “You wish,” You tease him, dropping the pile of fabric on your bare mattress. “I bled through them, actually.”

You weren’t one to coddle grown men when it comes to the reality of periods, but once the words were out of your mouth you found yourself hoping they didn’t gross Van out too much.

“Ah.” Van nods in understanding, starting to unravel the fitted sheet. “So no little ones?”

“Will you stop?” You laugh, assisting Van in the task of attempting to get the elastic wrapped around the bed. “If you keep jinxing it I’m going to make you wear a condom again.”

“Consider my lips sealed, then.”

You smile to yourself as you two finish up the bed. It’s amazing how much Van coming over feels so natural; You’ve missed the constant joking, and forgotten how easily you two coexist in the same space. You wonder if it ever gets less exciting to see him after trips; each time it feels like a dream that he’s physically here with you. So far, that sense of wonder hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s only exacerbated the longer you two are friends, not to mention the way he’s always so happy to see you.

“Does pizza sound good for dinner?” You ask him. You hoped it did, because you had been craving it terribly all day. Also, it was the only thing that sounded even remotely appetizing with the way your hormones were causing chaos in your stomach. Besides ice cream. You wonder if you still had a carton in the freezer, or if Van would be in the mood to go get some at the soft serve place down the road.

“Pizza sounds great.”

Van does the honors of putting the order in via his app, so that dinner is his treat tonight. You two spend the rest of the night curled up on the couch, plunging back into your favorite Netflix show together as you both chow down on your spectacular dinner choice. It occurs to you for the first time tonight that you share a Netflix show with Van; one that neither of you watch when you’re apart. You wonder if there’s even a small chance that he’ll ever see you as more than a friend with benefits.

You’re awake before Van on Saturday morning, and thankfully haven’t bled onto the sheets.

Your period is still excessively heavy, and you curse the universe for doing this to you the weekend Van has to be over. There’s plenty of days he isn’t around! Why must you bleed yourself to death the days he is?

It’s one of those mornings that feel like a car stalling, refusing to get moving. You have a cup of coffee, check the news on your phone, like a few instagram posts, and watch some morning talk shows before deciding to nestle back in bed. Van’s still dead to the world as you tuck yourself in, his body wiped from the jet-lag.

The second time you wake up is to a very disoriented Van fumbling around by your nightstand.

“What are you doing?” You groan, pulling your pillow over your head to try to block out the blaring afternoon sun shining through the cracks in your blinds. You knew it was futile, and you wouldn’t be able to return peacefully to sleep now.

“Charging my phone,” Van’s voice crackles as he speaks. You peek out from the shade of your pillow to see him shove your charger into his phone, setting it on your bedside table next to yours.

“What time is it?” You mumble, regretting it when Van nudges the pillow off of your face.

“Hm?”

“I said what time is it!” You whine, tugging your pillow back into place. Your cramps hadn’t been around while you were having coffee, but they’ve definitely arrived now. Maybe you could just suffocate yourself with the pillow and be done with it.

There’s the soft tap of Van checking your phone screen. “Almost one.”

“Let’s go back to sleep,” You try. Maybe if Van lays down again you could get him to cuddle you.

“I just slept for thirteen hours,” Van snorts. “Come have a cig. Do you have eggs?”

You heave yourself up dramatically, nodding as you wipe the hair out of your face.

“Do you want some eggs and toast? I can fry up some mean breakfast potatoes too if you’ve got some.”

Your stomach growls. “Yeah, I’ve got potatoes.”

You mope to the bathroom before meeting Van in the kitchen. He’s left a cigarette and his lighter on the counter for you, and you take your first puff as he shuffles around in the fridge, his own cigarette already dangling from his mouth.

“Can you reach up into that cabinet?” You ask as he starts to lay out his ingredients on the counter. You’re grateful you remembered to get a fresh carton of eggs the last time you were at the store.

Van swings the cabinet open. “Pass me the ibuprofen. No, other bottle,” You instruct him, before he passes over the correct pill bottle.

“Not feeling well?” He asks, watching you wash your ibuprofen down with a swig of his coffee.

“These cramps are fucking killing me,” You complain as you pass the bottle back, Van tucking it back on its shelf. “They’re not usually this bad.”

Van hums to show he’s listening, but you leave it at that.

You prep the potatoes while Van makes you both a plate of eggs, peeling and slicing them exactly as Van demands. He didn’t lie about his potato-frying abilities, and soon you’re both seated at the table with heaping piles of fluffy eggs and crispy potatoes, ravenous after sleeping way too late. Neither of you realize you’ve forgotten to make toast until you’re done eating.

Afterwards, you two pass the rest of your afternoon away on the couch, watching television. Van lets you nestle yourself under his arm, cramming your legs into the depths of the couch cushions so that you can press your body against his, your head resting comfortably on his chest.

When TV starts to get boring Van maneuvers to the YouTube app, determined to show you a few of the band’s performances. He’d only recently become aware how much you really didn’t know about them, and was determined to bring you up to speed. You had tried to stay clueless on purpose; you figured if you went full-on-fangirl, scouring social media for content and insider information, that you’d probably look at the boys in a different light. You liked that you hadn’t been a fan of them when you’d met Van, and that you had no social media persona to compare to the boys you hang out with in the flesh. But you figure there’s no harm in watching a few performances of the setlist you’d already seen three times, especially when Van is so proud to show them to you.

You’re watching on-screen Van belt out Twice when you realize Van’s been texting through the last three songs. Obviously, watching videos of himself is probably not the most entertaining thing in the world for him, but you couldn’t bear for his attention to be elsewhere.

“Stop texting,” You whine, rubbing your cheek against his shirt.

“Sorry,” Van mumbles, but he still doesn’t put his phone down. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

Despite feeling like hell warmed over, you perk up. “Where?”

“Out to the pub. A couple of mates are in town and want to catch me for some late birthday drinks.”

You sink back into Van’s chest, disappointed. You were hoping Van had been proposing a dinner for just the two of you, like you hadn’t had since the first time he ever took you out. You were craving something romantic like that from him. Why hadn’t you ever gone out on another date? It must be because that’s when he realized he wasn’t interested in you romantically. Sure, you two have had some romantic moments in the comfort of your own homes, but there was something about getting dressed up and going out that felt so much more official and exciting.

“Nah,” You tell him. “I feel like shit.”

“You’ll be okay if I go?”

You rest your chin on his chest, peering up at his concerned face. “Yes! I can even pick you up, if you want.”

At this, Van breaks out into a grin. “You’d do that for me? That’d be ace, actually.”

You push the hair from his face, realizing you’d just agreed to stay up tonight waiting on his call. “Of course,” You assure him, before pressing your cheek back into his shirt. “But if I’m gonna have to wait up then let me sleep on you until you’ve got to get ready.”

You hear Van set his phone down on the coffee table. “What about a li’l kip? Throw that blanket over us, will ya?”

You unravel the blanket in question, draping it over both of your bodies as you two wiggle into a comfortable position. Van is warm and soft, and the sound of his breathing creates the perfect conditions for you to doze off almost immediately.

You both wake up to the alarm Van’s set, your domestic bliss ruined by Van needing to get ready for the bar. You stay slumped on the couch, watching in amusement as he hauls one of his suitcases out of the guest bedroom, rifling through it for his toothbrush and the least wrinkled button up he’d packed. He’s such a chaotic, last-minute type of person, and there’s something about getting to enjoy the show without actually having to get yourself ready that cheers you up.

Van is blow drying his hair into his typical waves when you shift on the couch and swear you feel the familiar warmth of your tampon leaking.

You try to hold still. Van will be leaving soon, and you can worry about it then. But then you cringe as you feel the sensation again, and then you remember you’re not wearing a liner right now, and you stand up from the couch.

“Hey, can I steal the bathroom for a sec?” You ask, hesitant to disturb Van. He’s got shaving cream on his face, and he looks at you in disbelief.

“Right this second?” He asks, but his tone lets you know it’s a trick question. He’s rushing to run the razor over his jaw, and you cringe, expecting him to cut himself moving that quickly.

“I just need it really quick,” You plead, dreading the surprise that awaits when you pull down your underwear.

“Y/N,” Van huffs. He hasn’t even looked over at your reflection standing in the doorway, too focused on shaving. “I’m in the middle of having a shave and I’m gonna be late! I don’t care if you take a fucking shit in front of me! Have at it!”

“Okay, oh my God, fine!” You snap, stomping behind Van to the toilet. You tried to be polite, but if he was going to be a jerk, why even bother?

You yank down your underwear, and predictably they’re soiled with a nice-sized red inkblot where your tampon had leaked. You kick off your sweatpants in order to get your underwear off. Guess you’d be doing a load of laundry tonight while you waited on Van.

You tug your tampon out, which is horrifically, overly full. You’ve got to dispose of it in your bathroom trash, which you keep in the cupboard under the sink, which Van is currently blocking as he stands in front of the sink.

“Can you move?” You snarl, still annoyed with him for not giving you privacy. His head jerks down to look at you, and you can see the anger flash through his eyes at your words. Just as he’s opening his mouth, no doubt to chew you out, you see his eyes dart to the tampon precariously dangling between your fingertips, stained and dripping onto the toilet seat.

He shuts his mouth and steps back, allowing you to open the cupboard with one hand and dispose of the tampon in the other. You scowl as you wipe yourself and insert a new tampon before snatching your underwear and sweats, marching out of the bathroom pantsless.

You immediately treat your underwear with stain remover, throwing them directly into the washer. Then you storm room to room, looking for other articles of clothing to wash with it. You weren’t going to go through all this hassle over one fucking item of clothing.

But even after emptying your bedroom hamper and throwing the kitchen hand towels in for the sake of it, there’s still only enough clothes to coat the metal bottom of the barrel. You decide to go through Van’s suitcase sitting out on the living room floor. You angrily sniff each stupid button up and matching black shirt, throwing them with all of your might towards the kitchen so they’d be easier to get into the laundry room. Why was this entire suitcase full of identical clothes? Why didn’t he ever wear any fucking color except black or navy blue? At this rate he might as well just keep two of the same outfit and rotate through them!

With his dirty jeans, socks, shirts and underwear, there’s finally enough things to consider starting the washer worthwhile. You’re still upset, pouring fabric softener over Van’s clothes at the top of the pile as if you’re dousing them with gasoline, and slamming the lid shut with a loud metal echo as you get the water running. Then you head into your bedroom, get some fresh pants on, and resume your spot on the couch.

Van is so fucking annoying!!! You immediately send to Mary.

You wait for her to respond before you send her the scalding paragraph explaining the situation that you’ve already started mentally drafting. In the meantime you flick through other apps, angry at everyone living their perfect little lives on instagram, and tweeting about their perfect little significant others on twitter.

But the longer you sit there, the more your anger starts to fade. You think back to Van’s face when you bitched at him, and how he didn’t even react. He hadn’t even been that rude, now that you reflect on the situation. He was only in a rush. Soon you’re left with just a cold pit in your stomach, and the embarrassment of realizing you’d completely overreacted.

“Van,” You sigh, standing up. He doesn’t respond, only looks at you like he’s ready for a fight.

He realizes what you mean as you correct it, watching your fingers rebutton him.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, desperate not to leave the night on a bad note. “I was a bitch.”

Van snorts at your words, tugging you in. “I should’ve just stepped out for a sec.”

“You were in a rush,” You excuse him tearfully. Why are you on the verge of crying? You realize you sound pathetic, but there’s nothing you can do about it. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I feel really bad.”

Van gives you a soft smile, before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You’re forgiven.”

“I hope I am. I’ve got all your dirty clothes from your suitcase in the washer.”

“Oh, you’re definitely forgiven now,” Van grins. There’s the shine of headlights against the blinds, and Van peeks out again. “Okay, gotta go. I’ll call ya!”

And with that he’s bouncing out of the front door, and the countdown starts until you’ve got to go retrieve him from whatever state he drinks himself into.

You can’t doze off. You’ve just gotta stay busy. That’s your mantra as the hours pass. You finish up the load of laundry, you clean the bathroom that Van’s ripped through like a tornado, and then you get engrossed in the book you’re reading. It’s tempting to think that you’ll wake up to your ringtone if you turn your phone up, but you know better. Once you’re out for the night you sleep like a rock.

At one A.M. your contacts are dried out for the day, and you exchange them for your glasses. At two you have to force yourself to sit upright on the couch, because sprawling out is making your body feel too warm and heavy. And at three you decide to step out onto the porch and have a cigarette for some fresh air.

Your phone is wedged in the crack of the couch, and as soon as you’re in from your cigarette you check your notifications. In the few minutes you were away from your phone there’s now one new notification, a missed call from Van. Before you can return the call, your phone is ringing again.

“You ready?” You greet him. You feel more awake, a fresh bolt of excitement shooting through you at the fact you’re going to see him again, and get to sleep next to him tonight.

“I am,” Van confirms. “I thought you fell asleep.”

There’s a slur around the edges of his words, and you’re excited to get to converse with drunk Van tonight, even though he’s not so different from sober Van.

“Nope! Just having a cigarette. Where am I going?”

There’s some commotion on the end of the line as you listen to Van ask another person where he’s at, but then he’s able to give you someone’s address. Apparently someone had decided to keep the night going at one of their houses rather than head to another bar.

There’s never a time that L.A. is fully asleep, but if you had to pick a good time to be on the road it would be now, at three in the morning. The traffic is minimal, and although you struggle to find Van’s friend’s place amidst the subdivision of identical homes, eventually Van steps outside and you see his lanky silhouette stumbling down the driveway a few houses down the street. You pull forward and he climbs into the front passenger seat.

“Have fun?” You ask, as Van buckles himself in.

“Yeah,” Van nods. His voice sounds a bit dreamy, like his head’s in the clouds. “It was nice catching up with them.”

The ‘them’ in question were a few other indie artists signed to the same label as Catfish. Van mumbles for a bit about their conversations and a new single they had played him that was supposed to impact radio in the next week or so. You’re not listening too intently, humming along in response as you get back on the main roads.

You suddenly spot the bright golden arches of a McDonald’s sign, and your stomach growls. You know if you don’t have a late night snack now, your stomach would never let you sleep.

“Hungry?” You ask as you start to turn into the drive thru. Whether or not Van wanted something, you were definitely getting some fries. And maybe a McChicken, come to think of it.

“No, I’m fine,” Van says, tapping away at his phone. He was texting someone, his fingers composing a message at rapid speed before you watch the bubble slide up as he sends it. Who the hell was he texting this late?

“Who are you texting?” You ask as soon as you’re done placing your order at the window. You keep your voice light, hoping to seem conversational rather than nosy.

“Um, Bond.” Van tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, was he out with you guys?”

“No. I just wanted to send him a quick note about a riff before I forgot.”

You roll your eyes to yourself, even if you feel a swell of affection for him. Van McCann, classic workaholic even when he’s drunk.

“Can we turn the air up?” Van sighs suddenly, shifting around in his seat. “It’s sweltering.”

There’s a breeze flowing through your open window that’s giving your arms goosebumps, but you suppose it probably feels humid for Van since his window is closed. “Yeah, turn it up.”

You don’t expect him to crank the knob to the highest setting, sending ice cold air blasting through the vents.

You leave the air conditioning alone as you pull forward to get your bag of food, but as soon as your window is closed the cabin of the car is freezing. You click the knob back a few settings, so a snowstorm is no longer roaring at you.

“What’d you do that for?” Van huffs, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m dying!”

“I’m dying!” You protest, “You’re trying to freeze me out!”

“Freeze you out?” Van argues, “You’ve basically got it on heat!”

You look over at him in utter confusion. The temperature setting was set to coldest and the vents were blowing at a higher setting than you ever bothered to use. In the glow of the red light you were currently stopped at, you could see that Van was very visibly sweating.

As you continue the route back to your house, Van goes so far as to undo all his buttons, tugging his shirt off of his shoulders so that he was sitting there in only his black t-shirt. So dramatic.

“Can I have some chips?” Van asks, but without further ado he’s pulled a few fries from the brown bag with his fingertips, chowing down. You sigh, but let him get away with it.

When he goes to take another handful, you reach over without looking, snatching the bag from his lap. “You said you didn’t want anything!”

“I don’t! They just smell good!”

The road is empty, so you glance over at Van in frustration. He’s staring at you in annoyance, wide eyed like he doesn’t see a problem with him helping himself to your food. Maybe you wouldn’t notice on someone with darker colored eyes, but immediately you’re startled to see there’s almost no blue to his irises.

It all clicks together in your head suddenly. “Are you high?”

Van’s jaw hangs open slightly, but he doesn’t dispute it. The overheating, the dilated pupils, being an absolute spaz texting Bondy about guitar solos in the middle of the night. All of the signs are there.

“You took ecstasy, didn’t you?” You grin in delight at having figured it out, poking at his chest. His body is radiating heat. “You did! Admit it!”

“I didn’t lie!” Van crosses his arms, slumping back in his seat as he offers you a lopsided grin. “I never said I didn’t!”

You pull onto your street, Van trailing behind you as you head into the house with your bag of food, not trusting him with it. “Well, you can stay up all night, but I’m going to bed.”

“M’not gonna be up all night,” Van tells you, but he’s vibrating with energy as he sits down on the couch next to you.

You tug your McChicken out of the bag, unwrapping it immediately so you can take the first bite. You only shrug. Although you had occasionally been around others who were on molly, Van was the only one of you two with first-person experience.

“Hey,” Van says suddenly. “You’re wearing your glasses.”

“I am.” He’s seen you in them on rare occasions, but tonight he’s looking at you intently like he’s seeing them for the first time.

“You look hot,” He says finally.

You almost choke on the fry you’re swallowing. “Yeah right. Shut up.”

“You do! Like a sexy secretary.”

You roll your eyes, not justifying him with a response. There was a distinct difference between a secretary in a revealing button up and a short skirt, and you sitting there on your couch in one of Van’s crewnecks you’d stolen on a night you’d stayed over and baggy, shapeless sweatpants. But if Van was high enough to confuse the two, more power to him.

“I’m going to bed,” You announce after you’d finished off your McChicken. There’s a handful of fries left in the red cardboard packaging, and you shake them at Van in offering. He takes them gratefully.

“Not without me,” He says with his mouth full, inhaling your leftover fries and standing up from the couch with you. You gather up all of your trash, piling it in the bag before heading to the kitchen to throw it out.

Van follows you into the bedroom, and you startle when his fingers sneak under the hem of your crewneck.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, elbowing him as he brings his hands to your stomach, pulling you backwards into his chest. “Let me get ready for bed!”

The more you struggle against him the tighter he holds you, his fingers trailing up your ribs and to your chest. You continue to attempt to fight him off, giggling the entire time.

“Don’t you try to sneak second base,” You tease, his hands coming back out of your sweatshirt, although he still wraps his arms around your middle, his nose coming into your hair.

“You’re soft,” He whines, running his hands up and down your front over your clothes. “And you smell good.”

“If you wanna cuddle me, get in bed.” You finally shake yourself free of his embrace, shedding your borrowed sweatshirt and heading for the dresser to grab a sleep shirt. Van isn’t discreet with the way he’s staring at your topless figure, practically drooling as he peels away his own shirt and undoes his belt.

Climbing into bed after your long night waiting for Van feels like heaven, and you’re relieved to fold up your glasses and perch them on your bedside table, the true mark of a day ending.

Van climbs in beside you, and you click the lamp off, the room going pitch black. You flip on your side so that you’re facing Van. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, the streetlights glowing through the window and barely illuminating his face.

“Can I have that cuddle now?” He asks quietly, and you laugh, wiggling closer to him as a yes.

You expect him to wrap his arm around you, but instead his fingers sneak right back under your shirt, before he slides his palm against the small of your back, rubbing up and down. You close your eyes, soothed by the sweep of his hand, before you feel his hair tickling your nose and his lips on your neck.

“Van,” You huff in surprise. “That’s not cuddling!”

“Sure it is.” You can hear the laughter in Van’s voice as he resumes kissing up and down the line of your neck. It feels pretty fucking good, so you close your eyes and relax against your pillow.

“It’s not,” You still reply, not willing to let him have the last word. “But you’re lucky you’re good with your mouth.”

Van moans against your skin. “I can’t get enough of you,” He confesses as he stops kissing your neck in favor of joining your lips. As he licks into your mouth he starts to maneuver you onto your back, his hand now rubbing your side as he starts to hover over you. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

His words send a shiver up your spine, even though you’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to. The kissing? Your skin? He’s kissing you with more urgency now, and your hand comes up to his cheek. His skin is smooth and soft from his shave, and you swipe your thumb back and forth.

“Oh shit, that feels so good,” Van groans, and you feel it right in the depths of your belly.

“This?” You ask, swiping your thumb again.

“Yeah,” Van pants, kissing you harder. “Just touch me. Touch me everywhere, fuck.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement to get your hands on him. Your hands roam all over, scratching his scalp, the back of his neck, his shoulders. You feel him break out in goosebumps as you trace your fingertips against the bumps of his spine.

“Don’t stop,” Van pleads when you pause, lost in the kissing for a moment. You think back to that conversation you’d had on the patio about how much he liked taking ecstasy. You hadn’t realized he enjoyed it this much.

“Are you gonna come?” You can’t help but ask, because you realize now he wasn’t kidding about simple touches putting him on the verge. He was still in his briefs, but he was clearly rock hard.

“Fuck if I know. It feels like I already have,” Van nuzzles against your chest, practically purring when you put your hands in his hair again. “Oh, fuck, just like that.”

You laugh in surprise at his words. “Is it really that good?”

Van swears again as you give the back of his neck and gentle squeeze, and you take that as a yes.

“Let me fuck you,” Van pleads, sitting up so he can look directly into your eyes. He’s clearly out of his mind with desire. “Please.”

“You won’t last,” You joke, stroking your thumb over one of his nipples. He shudders helplessly.

“Don’t I know it,” He laughs at himself. “But you’re so fit. Please.”

“I dunno.” Your hesitation looks like it’s causing Van an excruciating amount of pain. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“We’ve talked about it when I had my head on right,” Van begs, watching as you trail one single finger up and down his stomach and chest. “Plus, you’re my best friend.”

He must be extraordinarily high if he’s slipped on his favorite British slang of best mate. You can tell that waiting for your word is intensely tortuous for him.

“Uh, no to fucking,” Comes your ultimate decision, realizing that’d be logistically hard to navigate with your period and a hazy Van. “But lay down. And get your underwear off.”

Van scrambles to do as you say, all of his limbs vibrating with need. When you climb down between his legs, nudging his thighs open, you feel them try to close instinctively.

“Don’t smother me,” You warn him, but your voice is lacking any actual threat. Van pants as you press his knees open, and after a moment’s consideration you sneak your fingers underneath them. It’s a sensitive spot for him on a regular day, but he jumps out of his skin at your gentle touch tonight. God, ecstasy-high Van was so fun to explore. Even in the extremely low light of the room you can see how badly his dick is craving to be touched, flushed and curved against his lower belly and shiny with precome.

You knew that foreplay wasn’t an option here, so with one calculated motion you’ve pulled Van’s foreskin back with a flick of your wrist, wrapping your mouth around his dick and swiping your tongue over the ridge of his head as he cries out.

He’s shuddering against the sheets like any moment might be the last, and you know that there’s no way he can give you an accurate warning in his current state. You lap up each spurt of precome, the hand not holding his dick in place reaching down to touch his balls. You decide not to give them their usual attention this time, instead sneaking your fingertips underneath them, and up towards the base. Maybe Van’s never been touched here, or maybe he’s just enjoying it to the extreme, but his dick twitches inside of your mouth, his toes curling.

When you feel you’ve given him a decent amount of head, surprised he’s held off like he has, you pull back, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the head of his dick. You wipe your mouth dry with the back of your hand before wrapping a palm around Van, jerking him off quickly. You retract your fingertips from behind Van’s balls, instead running your nails up and down his inner thigh.

With a gasp he starts to come, and you continue to jerk him off as he comes onto his stomach in heavy spatters, his whole body contracting through his orgasm. You’re careful not to release him prematurely, jerking him off until he’s cringing with sensitivity, writhing away from your touch.

You lean your torso off of the bed, snatching Van’s shirt from the floor. You wipe him off with careful strokes, soiling his shirt with every last drop. You offer him a clean corner of the fabric so that he can wipe the sweat off of his face.

“Are you good?” You ask once he’s tossed the shirt back onto the floor, and he furrows his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Good? I don’t think I’ve ever felt this fucking good in my entire life,” He insists.

You grin at the compliment, poking at his hip. “I mean, are you overheating? Do you need some water or, like, ice or something?”

“I think I’m alright. I’ll grab some water after I piss.”

While Van heads to the bathroom you stumble around in your dark kitchen, preparing him a glass of water. You hear him groan from the bathroom, the door hanging open.

“Even pissing feels incredible,” He tells you when he comes out. You pass him the ice water as you take your turn, laughing as you do.

Your body feels like a block of lead as you climb back under the covers this time, actually ready to sleep. The only thing preventing that from happening was Van sitting upright smoking a cigarette, lamplight beaming into your eyes.

“Have a fag,” He tells you. “Get ready for round two.”

“Round two?” You sputter, shaking your head. “You fucking wish!”

“I meant for you!” Van laughs. He kindly offers his cigarette out to you, and you prop yourself up on one elbow to steal a quick drag. “Gotta make sure you get off, don’t I?”

“What a gentleman,” You joke, nestling back under the sheets. “But I’m going to sleep.”

“No fair. Even for head?”

“I’m on my period,” You remind him, rolling over so the lightbulb wasn’t shining in your eyes. “I already told you you’d be up all night alone.”

Van sighs. You doze off immediately, only to be woken up an indeterminable amount of time later to Van clicking the light off, and leaving the bedroom after grabbing your guitar.

You’re up around ten the next morning, feeling amazingly refreshed after sleeping like the dead. Van, on the other hand, is sitting on the couch, puffing through a cigarette, looking considerably less refreshed.

“Morning!” You quip cheerfully just to piss him off. It works. He offers you a death glare. “Write any good songs?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Guess we’ll see what the lads think.” He trails after you into the kitchen, where there’s a pot of coffee already brewed and partially gone.

You marvel at the sort of friendship the band has. You didn’t think anybody could pay you enough to write songs on drugs and then present them to your coworkers. But then again, maybe it was worse when they were sober songs that Van had really poured his heart into.

“Having fun on your comedown?”

“I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. Not to mention the hangover.”

“Can’t sleep it off?”

“Not yet,” Van sighs. He’s got deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his cigarette is trembling where he’s holding it between his fingers so he can take a sip of black coffee from the mug he’d just refilled. “But once my head shuts up, I will.”

You understand the terror of intense anxiety and panic attacks, and that’s without any drugs. Watching Van’s hyperactivity transmute to panic is hard to watch. You’ve never seen happy-go-lucky Van less like himself. You feel bad now for teasing him.

“Do you wanna try? I can lay back down with you,” You offer out of pity. He shakes his head.

You finish up your coffee before getting the water running for a shower. Mary was making a trip to Costco today, and since you didn’t have a membership you were planning to go with her this afternoon.

“Can I get in with you?” Van calls from the living room.

“Yeah!” You yell so that he can hear you, your voice echoing against the tile as you start to strip.

When Van comes in his eyes wander up and down over your body. “Is it still your time of the month?” He asks, smiling weakly.

“Unfortunately,” You sigh, tugging your tampon out right in front of him. Clearly as of yesterday you two were at this level of familiarity. You realize he’s still smiling. “Why?”

“Gotta return the favor, remember?” He reminds you as his own clothes start to litter the bathroom floor.

You haven’t been in the mood lately, too frustrated with the bloating and the cramps and the bleeding to feel even slightly attractive, but something about Van always pushes those worries aside.

“Hm, I guess you do,” You singsong as you step behind your shower curtain into the warm spray of water. “But you better hurry, I gotta go to Costco with Mary.”

Van is incredibly efficient, bending you over so that he can fuck you while also sneaking a hand around to keep warm, wet circles over your clit. As much as you usually despise doggy style there’s something perfect about it today, the water pounding down on the small of your back while you brace yourself against the tile with your forearms, struggling not to slip as Van thrusts into you. You’re deliciously sensitive because of your period, and after only a few minutes of Van’s concentrated attention with his fingertips you’re groaning through your orgasm, your knees trembling as Van’s fingers continue to move against you.

Van pulls out, jerking himself off until you feel him come on the swell of your ass. Then his waterlogged palm flushes water over your skin, carefully cleaning himself off of you.

“That was very pornstar of you,” You tease breathlessly when you’ve stood up straight, soaking the rest of your scalp so you can finally wash your hair.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Van admits sheepishly. “Thought now would be the perfect time.”

You wonder if he means he’s always wanted to do that to you, or if he’s never done it in general. But then you remember that you’re the only one that’s ever fucked him while he was on ecstasy, and decide to be happy with that win regardless.

After sex and a shower Van is looking a little more normal. His cheeks are flushed pink from the heat, a welcome change from the pallor of his complexion when you’d greeted him this morning. He’s looking a little more content, a little less like a walking panic attack, and after he changes into some clothes he hasn’t sweat through you convince him to try getting into bed.

He’s a grown man, and doesn’t need you to oversee his nap, but that doesn’t stop you from following him into your room, and getting into bed with him. It would be perfect if you could calm him down enough to sleep in the next half hour, so that you could get ready and go shopping without having to worry.

You sit up against your headboard and nudge his head into your lap, playing with his damp hair while he tries to settle in.

“Are you mad?” He asks, his voice muffled against your thigh.

“Mad about what?” You giggle softly, rolling your eyes.

“Have I ruined your Sunday?”

“No!” You scoff. “If anything, you just made it a lot better.”

Van grins against you at that. “You’re my best mate.”

“I know.” You sigh, half from fondness and half from the desire to be more. “You’re mine, too.”

“Don’t forget about me when I’m touring next month.”

“I could never,” You laugh, ruffling his hair in punishment. “I know you’ll come by when you can.”

Van relaxes against you, some of the demons in his head clearly appeased at your words. You wonder what other anxieties are swirling around there, if he ever has to worry about finances or forgetting to mail something or whether or not he left damp clothes in the washer or the stove on at home. It feels like he sails through life unhindered by such tedious worries, but now you’ve seen first hand he has them like everyone else. He worries about burdening others with his hangovers, and being replaced by his best friend while he’s working.

Slept in way too late, you lie to Mary after picking up your phone from the nightstand. I’ll go with you next week!

You’re grateful last night you left your book on the nightstand instead of putting it away on the shelf, your glasses and book perfectly within reach without you having to disturb Van. This was a way better way to spend your Sunday rather than pacing through crowded aisles in a warehouse. You hold your book with one hand, still fussing with the ends of Van’s hair with the other, and enjoy your last day of the weekend.

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