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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Hi, Sorry if this is a bother, can I request Yandere Beelzebub and a Breeding Kink? If not, you can pick anything you want to write, I love this boy so much, I’ll take anything, and you write him so cute and achingly smothering 💖

Hope you like it, I think I found a way to make it more Beel! Thanks for requesting ^^

Rated Lemon!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Of all the things you could have said to him. Of all the jokes you could have made. Of all words to choose from.

Why did you say this?!

“I can’t eat that much! It’s not like I’m pregnant.”

You laughed it off as if it was funny, but Beel didn’t laugh with you. In fact, you had never seen him this serious before as he stared at you for a long time, contemplating your words before getting up and closing the tilted windows shut, pulling the curtains close, and checking if the door was locked for privacy. The chuckles soon got stuck in your throat as he stalked back to you, your body instinctively knowing better than to remain in the same spot, but it was too late to crouch away over the ground as he picked you up by the armpits and threw you down onto the bed.

For the longest time, you had imagined yourself safe with him. Even if he seemed downright needy for your attention lately, would drag you off to his room whenever he had the chance, and hog you all to himself, it never crossed your mind that sweet, gluttonous Beel was dangerous. Even if you two had history, he still seemed as sweet and precious as he always was, making more than sure you were well-fed and cared for, loved even. In his presence, you could forget about the tedious work for RAD and the constant bickering from your ‘roommates’ and just escape your every-day-life for a while. Watch some good movies, have some food, tell him about your worries without having him overanalyze your problems.

It was comfortable.

So you never expected him to snap like this.

“I think I understand it now,” he mumbled as he pulled off his shirt, exposing the muscular build underneath, truly a sight for gods. Beel climbed on top of you, letting his ever-so-hungry eyes wander over your body as if he was estimating your capabilities. A moment of silence fell over you two as he stared deep into your eyes, your reflection in his showing confusion and... fear.

“I didn’t consider that your stomach is too small if you are eating only for yourself.”

Even if you had corrected him about his assumption at that moment, you had doubts he would have listened to you anymore.

»»————————

Of all the brothers, you never had envisioned Beel to be sexually active or even having a clue about what to do in this type of situation. It was your fault that you dismissed hundreds of years of being alive for nothing since he only ever ate or hung out with his brothers. But having him press you down into the mattress assertively, your head in his palm, and ramming his cock into you like a bull, you had your doubts that he was as innocent as you believed him to be.

The relationship you two had before had been strictly friendly; you wouldn’t have thought to bring it to this level. Sure, he had licked some whipped cream off the corner of your mouth before or let his arm hang between your legs, absent-mindedly stroking your thigh, but you had always brushed it off as harmless affections and teases. Perhaps you had been wrong. Maybe Beel saw you two as something very different than you were, and you had ignored his longing gazes and attempts to close in the distance between your mouths for much too long.

But that giant, gritty mess pounding into you from behind was nothing remotely close to harmless.

Your mind was in a weird state of worry. One where pleasure had long overtaken most of the coherent thoughts and concerns you had about sex. The last two orgasms had already burned most of your resistance, making your limbs soft and your body compliant to what Beelzebub was doing with you. Not like there was any chance to struggle your way out to begin with, Beel’s strength coming in handy when pinning you down and destroying any attempt of pushing him away and fighting your way out. From the moment he put his tip against your entrance, his whole demeanor had changed. Suddenly he wasn’t the sweet and somewhat indifferent glutton you were used to having around. Now he was serious, focused, and determined, and you didn’t know how to deal with this side of him as well as the endless waves of pleasure rocking through you undisturbed.

Beelzebub didn’t need your help in fucking you senseless, luckily - you wouldn’t have been able to assist him anymore - one less worry on your mind. No matter how much you had wanted to resist, your body had long melted into the pleasure and desire he spread in you. Perhaps, your body knew more than you. Knew what all this was about. But all you could focus on was the tight grip around your waist, pulling you back and forth in the rhythm of Beel pumping into you and the thick cock spreading and filling you up.

The way he managed to hammer it into you intensely and pull it out slowly, but to the point you felt every vein on his shaft, gave you goosebumps. Every time Beel backed away, you found yourself hoping he’d come back for more, and every time he slammed into you, you wondered when it would finally push you both over the edge.

You didn’t even want to think about the mess you’d be the next day. The aching, pain, and discomfort this would bring you. All you hoped for was that he wouldn’t lose a sense of himself and actually bite out a piece of flesh on you in his trance-like fucking.

No one - not even you yourself - had ever stretched you out so much, explored that deep. No one ever had a taste of you the same way Beel did. And with the way he treated you, you weren’t just a sample to him - you were the whole damn platter of delicacies! No matter how much he worked you to achieve his goal of filling you with white, sticky cum, your body was covered in teeth marks and hickeys, and you found out that was more of his love language than words - which he kept sparse - would ever be.

Still, by the way Beel was groaning and biting back the sounds stuck in his throat, you had no doubts how he was feeling about it all. The sweat of your bodies combined with the pool of fluids between your legs, the sound of your hips colliding over and over enough to fill the room with instead of pesky words. No matter what he’d have said, it wouldn’t have justified or made his actions better. It would only help soothe whatever anxiety you had. But with the frenzy he was in, all you could do was hope that you were special to him nonetheless.

You had expected that at some point, your body would loosen up, adjust to the size of his cock and accommodate him properly. Still, every push, again and again, felt like a tight squeeze and ignited another flame of passion in your depths. You were ready to be done. Ready to receive the seed he had wanted to plant inside of you all this time, prepared to...

Oh, no.

Finally, it dawned on you, your eyes widening as your strength returned back into your body with the clarity of mind you had suddenly. Instantly, you tried to turn and push away from the demon using you like a cheap fleshlight, but while you seemed to regain some sense while experiencing your body being prepared to use it for breeding, Beel wasn’t that far.

“Stop!” you yelled, only for your voice to be caught in a loud moan as Beel pressed deep inside you.

You didn’t want to be pregnant! It had been a freaking joke to stop him from overfeeding you again that night. If anything, you were perfectly fine not bearing children, and you weren’t even sure if your body was ready for it either. Sure, Beel was a demon and must have his way to inseminate you if he so desired, but that was the furthest thing on your mind!

“You’re not wearing a condom!” you tried to reason with him as you felt his pace quicken, perhaps stirred by your sudden movement, encouraged to end it while you still hadn’t been able to escape him. Of course, it was futile, Beel growling a low, “Yes...” before gripping your outstretched wrist tightly, pulling you back into his hips roughly and moaning loudly.

Nothing could have prepared you for yet another wave of electric shocks as you orgasmed, body shivering and making you gasp lustily, the tip of his cock deeper inside you than ever. The position really did make the difference, but you felt your brain fry with this orgasm, causing you to collapse into the soft pillows the moment Beel let go of your wrist. Had he not caught you with his hands on your hips again, you would have slipped off him, messy and completely out of it, like a fulfilled little slut. But this wasn’t over yet.

“That was the whole point,” he muttered with ragged breath. Your body got pulled along as he sat back, pulling you into his lap and crossing his arms over your torso. He didn’t even need to push you down, gravity doing him a favor with pressing you down on his cock. You felt your still convulsing walls spread for him again, making space despite feeling sore and used. But Beel was the one to make sure you’d reach the very base of his shaft for good measures, giving you the final push from below until there was no more inch to dig into you. “We’re doing this for you,” he reminded you, but you were too dazed to understand anything of what he was talking about. Part of you wished for no more orgasm, and the other hoped he’d sent you back to heaven with each push that brought his cock deeper inside you.

Spreading your legs over his, Beel tugged your arms behind your back, using them to pull you back every time you almost slid off him. You wanted it to stop. You wanted him to fuck you deeper. You wished it would end now. But you hoped it would never end. Until the moment you could feel the hot, slimy mess he left inside of you, making your toes curl and your mouth mewl in the desperation that was orgasm number four, you never stopped wondering what you were doing with Beel, letting him fucking impregnate on his own decision.

Who gave him the right to do it, and who gave him the right to be so good at it?

His teeth sunk into your shoulder one more time as he orgasmed, his whole body rocking and trying to go even deeper than he already was, spreading out his semen over every inch inside of you so it would carry far and wide. Your body wasn’t ready for any of this, but it felt so good, so right, to be taken by this demon friend of yours, naturally even. The pleasure was addicting, and you could feel yourself growing to like it as it made you forget even your own name.

It didn’t even bother you when Beel finally let you off, your body slumping onto the mattress as if you were a lifeless sack of potatoes. This man was a monster. A monster you had ignored for far too long, setting it off with just a silly comment of yours. Big, muscular arms snaked under yours, holding your hands while his body settled on top of you, completely smashing you beneath him.

“You think that’s enough?” he asked, mumbling the words into your ear. “Will that make you pregnant? Do you want to have some more food now?”

Even if you wanted to reply, all you could do was let out jumbled groans from your throat. Eyes unable to focus, as were your thoughts, you stared off into the distance. The next thing you felt was the hot feeling of something dripping out of you, and you wished this to be the end of the ordeal. Part of you still wanted to believe that he genuinely, innocently thought this would make life better for you. Help you to enjoy all that he enjoyed in the same amounts Beel was able to consume. You still wanted to believe in the sweet boy that would let you cuddle when you had a nightmare and not tell anyone about it the following day. Believe that he wasn’t aware of what he was really doing.

But his following words completely destroyed that image of him for you forever.

“You know I’ll take good care of it,” he mumbled, and you felt one of his hands wander down your body, fingertips probing against your entrance. “I’ll make sure you and the baby eat enough, and we can have all our meals together from now on, so staying with me will be the best for you two.”

His fingers disappeared inside of you knuckle-deep, making you moan out loudly as they stirred up your insides. “I’ll do my best to be a good dad, too,” he announced, pushing himself up again and giving your lungs back the space to breathe. “So you...”

Only now did you feel a long, stiff shaft between your asscheeks.

Something you wouldn’t have expected to appear after what went down just now. Your eyes widened as you felt it travel lower again, the two fingers getting pulled out slowly, replaced by the tip of his cock.

“... make sure to do your best too,” Beel mumbled, licking his lips before pushing his entire length back in your still wet hole, letting out a loud groan of pleasure on his part.

“Let’s build our future together, okay?”

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the-hidden-pages · 3 years

Text

Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

“I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

“I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

Silence falls over the room.

Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

“You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend. And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

In her connection to himself.

His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before – your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

“You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

“Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

“I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

You freeze. “Doctor-“

“Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

“Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

“You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps…perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

“I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

“Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

“How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

“Would you like to know what else was in there?”

Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

“My dear, I don’t –“

“I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

“I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

Fascinating indeed.

He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

“Wait, my dear, I-“

“Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

“Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

“Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

“I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

“Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

“You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

“You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

“Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

“Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

“My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

“Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

“Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

“Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

“You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

“Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

“Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

#x reader smut #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #Laszlo kreizler fanfic #smut #godpleaseletmerest #Ineedsleep

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ryuuaka713 · 3 years

Text

Bungou Stray Dogs Dead Apple: “You used corruption, believing in me? How Beautiful.” A “DISSECTION” OF THE SCENE

I mentioned before in one of the posts by @nataliaphantomhivesblog, where we were discussing about the corruption scenes in BSD, that the scene in Dead Apple is my favorite. So, I decided (like any SKK trash) to make an “analysis” of that scene, just to make a point why I like it the most compared to the other corruption scenes (as if this post is the definition of being productive like I’ll just wasting my time rambling here LOL)

I divided this post into two parts. Part 1 is the more difficult one where I am attempting to write some “character analysis”. While Part 2 is more about how the scene is composed (it’s pretty boring. I’m sorry)

I will NOT include the infamous Lap scene (I know. I know. We all love that moment. But I would rather focus on the scenes before that).

Side note: I do not specialize in film or literary critique, so really this whole post is just for fun. Thus, why I put quotes on the analysis. Take this is as my personal opinion where I’m attempting to make sense by making it sound “fancy”.

But anyway. Here it goes:

In every Corruption scene, the thematic notion is always Trust—as in Chuuya trusts Dazai well enough to use his ability so long as he is present to nullify it. It is a very life-threatening process, especially for Chuuya since Corruption, despite being one of the most powerful abilities, can cause self-destruction the longer he uses it. So, Dazai should keep a close watch on him at all times, and then even giving him a sense of comfort to compensate to Chuuya’s worn-out body and for his efforts. This is the same trajectory in all 5 episodes of Corruption, but out of all of them, what stood out the most (for me) is the scene from Dead Apple.

This scene has amazed me ever since I first watched the movie. And while it just shows their infinite trust, the whole execution of this scene evokes more than just that thematic concept. What I see in this scene is something that all of us have already witnessed, but there is something unique in the way Dazai nullifies Chuuya’s corruption, and their dialogue may be just them bantering and yet, their tonality is different. It is as if, we just touched a moment that is reserved only for these two and we just happened to have the privilege to witness it. In other words, there is a sort of familiarity (or intimacy) and gentleness going on at this very moment—it is cathartic. This is what I want to look into—like how did we come to this?

PART 1: His Proper Partner.

In the Japanese version, ever since the episode where Chuuya made his first debut, they call themselves “aibou” (相棒), referring to a one-on-one partnership. While “nakama” (仲間)can also refer to a partner, it has a different connotation in which the closest English equivalent of that term would be “comrade” or “acquaintance”. The closest English equivalent of “aibou” is, to no one’s surprise, “partner” (or “pal”). And it makes sense, considering that the first kanji (相) can mean “mutual”, “together”, or “each other”. So, to have Dazai and Chuuya referring to themselves as that, it just manifests their familiarity on each other.

And in their case, their “familiarity” is both their advantage and disadvantage. It is a “disadvantage” because they use it to get on each other’s nerves (both in comedic and serious situations).

However, it also serves to their advantage, especially when they have to cooperate in the battlefield. This comes into light in the Lovecraft Episode where they executed Operation Shame and Toad—Chuuya acknowledges Dazai’s tactical mentality, whereas Dazai (as he referenced Chuuya’s mastery in martial arts) let’s his partner do the grunt work. Interesting enough, this is the same episode we first see Chuuya’s Corruption (but not the first time he uses it).

Using Corruption stipulates that “familiarity”, especially in Dazai’s part who has to be present to monitor Chuuya’s physical state, therefore he is aware, not just the consequence in using Corruption, but also of Chuuya’s limit. This explains why Dazai declares that he is aware of Chuuya’s moves and “breathing pattern”, otherwise, as what he himself says, he “won’t be a proper partner”.

What is witnessed in the Lovecraft Episode is the standard protocol that Soukoku uses when they are at their last resort. So, it is not a surprise that we get to witness Chuuya using Corruption, again, when he saves Dazai in Dead Apple, except it is done differently.

Even though Dazai is ten steps ahead of the enemy, the situation is still risky and even more complicated in Chuuya’s part since he is using his ability WITHOUT Dazai present. And that he has to save Dazai first before he can get it nullified. With that being said, it requires a careful approach, one in which they know the other’s moves—Dazai knows too well how Chuuya would react. For instance, the manga version of Dead Apple demonstrates how Soukoku communicates in their operation using “codes”. As such when Dazai got himself kidnapped, no one knew about his whereabouts until Hirotsu mentions about Dazai buying a microscope (to which it leads them to a dead end). However, Chuuya—upon remembering that Dazai teases that he needs a microscope in order to see him—demands to see that microscope, breaks it, and finds the transmitter. It is a well-planned strategy in Dazai’s part where all it takes is to leave helpful clues for Chuuya to pick up and catalyze the operation. In the Dead Apple movie, he does it again:

Indeed, for the audience, it is not new to see Dazai planning ahead and having ulterior motives behind his actions. It is not new to see Chuuya executing his plans and understands his motives either. But seeing these two working together despite those four years of absence, and without physically communicating is beyond human comprehension. Almost like the microscope scene, Dazai is not there to directly tell him about his plan. Chuuya doesn’t know about the antidote until that punch as his only “clue” is that Dazai is working alone, so he sees that something is amiss.

Seeing the critical state of Yokohama, Chuuya knows that he will use Corruption, but seeing Dazai’s corpse, it gives this uncertainty on whether they can make it out alive or not. And yet, what did Chuuya do? He jumped off the plane and activates his ability, knowing that there is “no time to chicken out” or else Dazai’s plan won’t work, and they’ll end up dead. Even if it means doing the job to protect the city, it still takes guts for Chuuya to work and place his life on someone he “hates”. Despite those 4 years of absence, the scene in Dead Apple just manifests that they never doubt each other’s capabilities. And to further validate this, let’s check out their dialogue:

Dazai: You used Corruption, believing in me? How beautiful.

Chuuya: Yeah I did. I believe in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.

Dazai: That was a somewhat violent way to wake up Snow White.

Chuuya: Tch. You’re the one who hid an antidote your mouth knowing I would punch you.

Not only does this scene perfectly parallels to the Lovecraft episode where we see Soukoku bantering while still in a critical situation, it also emphasizes the degree of their trust and how that trust has taken root from their familiarity.

Dazai: You used Corruption, believing in me? How beautiful.

Chuuya: Yeah I did. I believe in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.

Dazai’s first line is the main idea of their partnership, echoing Chuuya’s quote from the Lovecraft episode: “I used Corruption because I trust you”. This is a vital aspect in their relationship since it has been stated before in Fifteen and Stormbringer that “no one has trusted Dazai”… until Chuuya comes into the picture. Ever since their first teamwork against Rimbaud, Dazai finally has someone he can rely on both in strength and assurance, even smiling at the fact that Chuuya doesn’t even deny his proposal but merely asks for his reason.

With that being said, then it is appropriate for Dazai to say that line, touched by the idea that Chuuya still constantly trusts him. It just reminisced so much from what they have as children that it seems to this day, they never forgotten about it.

On the other hand, in Chuuya’s end, he confirms that trust and provides a reason, which is appropriate since Chuuya is Dazai’s “reason-living” like in Fifteen:

Chuuya’s line—“I believe in your disgusting vitality and craftiness”—is very similar in the excerpt from Fifteen, and this just shows how that line from the movie indicates his familiarity to Dazai. By “familiarity”, I mean that he knows his partner’s mental process and motives (as I have mentioned above). In this case, it seems like Chuuya has seen something that he and Dazai have in common: the desire to live. Of course, the latter always craves for death, but with his new viewpoint on Death, his mission in fulfilling Oda’s wish, and the fact that he is tethered to someone who wished to live, Dazai just couldn’t die. And Chuuya, being his constant companion, knows this. This is why Chuuya “believes” that whatever plan Dazai has on mind, it will always work, and in the scenario in Dead Apple it starts by taking a leap into Corruption—which is ironically, the very thing that could kill Chuuya, and by extent, would cause Dazai’s death if the plan is not well-thought or if they don’t work together. By referring to his “vitality and craftiness”, Chuuya is acknowledging his familiarity on Dazai, admitting their “rotten relationship”, and justifying his trust on him.

Dazai: That was a somewhat violent way to wake up Snow White.

Chuuya: Tch. You’re the one who hid an antidote your mouth knowing I would punch you.

Another interesting thing I find in the dialogue is Dazai’s line: “That was a somewhat violent way to wake up Snow White”. Fans think that this is Dazai flirting, where he is implying that he wants to be kissed by Chuuya the same way the prince does to Snow White. For me, I think this little dialogue is more than just fanservice since it makes sense, not only in the context of the movie containing motifs of a “poisoned” apple. I think the reference of the fairytale in this dialogue not only foreshadows his “death”, but it also highlights their dynamic whenever they work together with Dazai acting childish and Chuuya knowing that he is actually being serious (or the fact that he cracks some jokes in most Post-Corruption scenes). This is still related to the whole “familiarity” theme that I have been rambling about; as mentioned before, Dazai and Chuuya would use whatever they know about each other just to rile each other up. These moments are generally meant for comedic effect, but these teasing and bickering can serve as their advantage.

Similar to the microscope scene I have mentioned, Dazai makes that microscope comment seem like a childish joke on the surface, however, Chuuya picks this up as a clue and sees his real motive. This kind of synergy is seen again in the prologue of the movie where Dazai jokes about Chuuya getting hit by bullets when he is in close range of the enemy, and yet, the latter takes it as a warning that an ability-user is nearby. We really don’t know if Dazai leaves a Snow White-related clue for Chuuya before the events in Dead Apple (it would have been pretty cool tho), but that dynamic in the microscope incident and prologue is very similar to that dialogue we see in the movie: Dazai is being playful, but Chuuya sees and calls out his ulterior motives. This is how Soukoku works!

PART 2: The Art of Catharsis

The relationship of Soukoku in the battlefield is one of the best teamwork we have seen in the anime. Both parties are synchronized in the way that Dazai’s brains and No Longer Human, and Chuuya’s fighting skills and Corruption perfectly compliment each other. Moreover, we also see the basis of that partnership, and this is something that the creators want to highlight in this scene (in other words, how did the animators deliver this dynamic?)

In my opinion, I think the words “gentleness” and “cathartic” fit in this scene. To start off, before this moment takes place, we have witnessed Chuuya fighting the Dragon.

That scene was intense! Chuuya activates Corruption, generates into pure destruction with him yelling Dazai’s name (despite the fact that he is not supposed to be in a proper mindset). The way this scene plays out is interesting; in the shot, we see the two main figures (the Dragon and Chuuya) mostly in red—which is a very vibrant color—in contrast to the blue and green background. By using the color that pops out, the attention is on them, and it is topped with the amount of action in that moment. Not to mention, the background music, containing a rock music and a rap, elevates that energy. It is a scene that heightens the adrenaline, so the audience can empathize with Chuuya—understanding him as a character that is full of life, and also his hastiness to kill it before he runs out of time.

When that fight is over, we notice that the music alters into a string orchestra. This is a very good change because the tempo is slower—a direct contrast to the rap music—as if it is slowly bringing the audience down from the hype in the fighting scene the same way Chuuya slowly goes down and hovers Dazai’s body. The music immediately stops right on cue when the punch happens, then the audience is left in silence. Usually in films, silence is used for the purpose of anticipation. In this case, the anticipation is placed on whether Chuuya’s punch and/or the pill worked and saved Dazai.

The transition from the white background into a blue background should indicate that Dazai is alive. And yet, the animators did this subtly rather than showing Dazai’s face (like in Season 1 episode 1), just so the audience is still in the state of anticipation (add that with the white noise in the background). Furthermore, there is a fairytale quality in that shot, like this is similar to when Sleeping Beauty (in this case “Snow White”) wakes up, that’s when the colors in the castle come back.

Getting close to that iconic shot, I love how the animators keep the “camera” in the same place (Chuuya’s face), that way we can further empathize with Chuuya by seeing a close shot of his state: he was at his limit! But as soon as the blood starts moving away from the screen, we can see a bandaged hand moving to his face. And then, finally!

Words cannot describe how much I appreciate the details of that scene, especially on Dazai’s gesture. He moves his hand slowly but quick enough to nullify him right on time. Not to mention, he does not just touch his cheek but rather cups it (look at the shape of his hand!). One can say that the gentleness in Dazai’s gesture is the exact opposite to Chuuya’s punch, and this sort of contrast further highlights the catharsis in this scene. In other words, after all of that intensity with the fight and seeing Chuuya’s bloody state, it is relieving to see that familiar hand touching him, indicating that Chuuya can rest. And seeing that we witnessed and empathize with him, we know what it feels like.

With that being said, that’s why the third shot above where the hand is fully placed on his cheek and he made a short gasp is my personal favorite. It is the contrast in Chuuya’s face where we can still see “Corruption”, and Dazai’s hand to which he activates “No Longer Human”. I have seen some people complaining about how they want to see Dazai’s face in this scene; personally, I think this scene is animated brilliantly as it is. It is only fair to see a close up of Dazai’s hand to indicate that he is nullifying “Corruption”, after all, “No Longer Human” is works through touch. To top it off, the beauty in “not seeing the face” is more powerful because it leaves more to the imagination—we don’t know specifically what kind of face Dazai is making, but the way that hand moves alone is enough to tell us what he is thinking at that moment. And finally, upon contact, we see Chuuya making a slight twitch—this is when Corruption recognizes No Longer Human and deactivates. This is when Chuuya recognizes that familiar touch and knows that his partner is finally awake, so he can finally rest.

Then we have that iconic shot! Like the one I mentioned above, the camera stays in one place, only this time, it is a long shot, so the focus is on them (thus they are on the middle). Interesting enough, there is no background music in this scene, and we can’t see their expressions. Usually, in this anime, when a character is seen faceless, in order to determine what they are thinking are feeling, the animators would usually make them do a gesture or a dialogue.

In this scene, where everything is silent and their faces “unseen”, our focus goes to their exchanges. Both Mamoru and Taniyama use their “bedroom voices”, and I think it is appropriate considering that their dialogue contains a deeper meaning in regards of their relationship. In other words, as mentioned before, it may seem like another day of bantering, but with their tone, there is something sincere and intimate in what they are saying. Also, the playfulness in Dazai’s comment and Chuuya’s response hits different compared to their other moments of constant yelling. You really don’t need the close up of their faces in order to see that they are at peace in each other’s company.

In addition, the color scheme of the scene is predominantly blue, which makes sense, not just because of Dazai’s ability, but also because it highlights the serenity in the scene. The blue color, the orb, and the bandages that glide silently are animated in a way that they buffer out the red that we have seen back with Corruption, and also indicates a sense of “protection” (which is later seen in the lap scene when Dazai has to protect Chuuya from the fog). In short, the ambiance perfectly fits with how Dazai is there to give Chuuya a sense of comfort in Post-Corruption, letting him rest so that he can compensate for all that he did.

**********

The scene in Dead Apple is something that lies in between of the familiar and the new—we have seen Dazai and Chuuya in this situation before, we know how they function as a team, and we know the level of risk they are taking. But this is something that we have never seen before; like subtleness in his gestures, the softness in their tones, and the fact that these two are in a position where they are saving each other, which becomes part of their instincts. They show how much they trust each other by knowing how much they knew of each other. They acknowledge the fact that their fates are tethered regardless of the years of absence. And finally, it is not just the Prince saving Snow White, but rather: the Prince saves Snow White and Snow White saving him in return.

OK, I just literally fried my brain. If you’ve read this far, I thank you so much for your time! I am so sorry if this is too long. I welcome for any critiques or discussions. So yeah, that’s my ted-talk

#soukoku #bsd #bsd analysis #dazai x chuuya #skk #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd manga #bsd dead apple #dead apple #bsd fifteen #bungou stray dogs #I dont even know if this makes sense #That moment when I said that I can make a five-paged essay of this and realized it's no longer a joke (*ﾉωﾉ)

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andypantsx3 · 3 years

Note

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself.

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued.

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before.

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it.

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter.

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent.

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan.

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with.

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him?

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway.

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you.

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him.

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now.

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it.

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

#garbage fest 2021 #garbage fest questions

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taehyungsgrowl · 3 years

Note

uhhhh duncan in prison angst 👀👀

hey 👋🏽

i’m sorry this took me so long to answer! but i did make a lil moodboard to go w it :•)

also i've written quite a bit of angst lately so this will be a little angsty, but also smutty.

long distance(?) old school version of sexting, really

hope y'all enjoy!

(yes, i did just discover the indention feature!)

warnings: angst if you squint, h*rny love letters, prisoners cat calling y/n, aaaand smut

word count: 3.5 k (i really don't know how this was supposed to be less than 1,000)

i don't love how this came out but the idea kept floating around in my head so i wanted to share!

Y/N didn't think what started as a harmless little experiment would show her just how powerful words could be.

She scrolled through row after row of photos on the 'write a prisoner' website on a boring evening just for something to do. And now each time she got a letter in the mail from him, her stomach would flutter.

Her finger stopped mid scroll as she came across the photo of the scruffy faced man with cheekbones carved by the gods and eyes clearer than the skies.

Duncan Shepherd.

Her eyes scanned his profile, learning that he was being held in a minimum security prison out of D.C for numerous white collar crimes, including bribery and extortion. He listed his interests as fine arts and finer wines. He'd be out for parole soon but was looking for a way to pass his time in prison.

Out of the hundreds of prisoners Y/N had scrolled past, none of them held her interest like Duncan.

It started off innocently enough. She grabbed a piece of paper from her drawer and her favorite pen and wrote him a simple introduction letter. Even if Duncan didn't seem like a dangerous or violent criminal, she felt a sense of adrenaline in writing him.

Duncan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I like to imagine you get a lot of mail sent to you. I read on your profile that you're a fan of the arts, I'd love to know more about you and what kind of art you enjoy. Truth is, I don't even know why I'm doing this, but figured prison must be lonely so I hope this helps pass the time.

I included a print of one of my favorite pieces of art to hopefully liven up your cell.

All the best,

Y/N

Y/N knew it wasn't much to start off with, but she had no clue what to send to a strange she knew next to nothing about. She printed off a print of one of Monet's Water Lillies and sealed it in an envelope with her first letter.

She let herself forget she sent the letter, not making any expectations. For all she knew, Duncan Shepherd wouldn't even reply to her. It would be hard to imagine that other people browsing the site would ignore Duncan's profile. His beauty, even in a mugshot was beyond compare.

But before long, she'd gotten a beat up envelope in her mailbox from none other than Duncan Shepherd. Excitement buzzed around her as she took a seat in her bed and tore it open.

Y/N,

Thank you for the lovely picture. I've got it hanging above my bed as a reminder of things I loved about my freedom. My mother has an original piece hanging in my childhood home. I remember staring at it for hours, enthralled by the beauty of it.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the print in your envelope.

You know what they say about great minds.

Sometimes I wonder if my family would have let me pursue the arts if I'd be where I am today.

But I am eagerly counting the days until I am able to stroll through a museum in Paris again.

I am dying to know more about you. Tell me what makes up Y/N.

At the bottom of the sheet, was a rough sketch of a garden Duncan had drawn out for her.

The letters continued like that for a few weeks, slowly learning little bits and pieces of each other through writing.

She'd learned a lot about him very quickly. He told her about how troubles with his app and his powerful family led to him going to prison. And he also told her about all of the things he loved to do. Much to her surprise, she had more in common with him than she thought she would have,

Y/N,

We've been writing to each other for some time now and I must admit, curiosity is killing me. Not to mention, I do believe it's unfair that you've known what I look like from the start.

Tell me, did my photograph have anything to do with your interest in me?

I'd love to see you Y/N.

Y/N re-read the letter over and over trying to justify the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Duncan thinking about her. Wondering what she looks like.

Duncan kept every letter Y/N had sent him using them as a way to fuel his daydreams of the woman behind the letters.

Y/N dug through her things in search of an old polaroid camera she had. - she thought Duncan would appreciate the use of instant film. Even if she felt a little silly doing so, she did her hair and makeup and searched her closet for the perfect outfit. In some way, this would be like Duncan's first impression of her. Little did she know, she'd already made a huge first impression with him.

She settled for a deep burgundy silk tank with a cowl neckline. She tossed her favorite leather jacket over it and put on her favorite dainty gold necklaces, letting them rest above her cleavage.

She made a little set up by the window in her room, where the light came in just right for a photo, and propped the camera up on a pile of books before setting it on an automatic timer to have it snap the photo of her.

She stared at the photo, smiling - happy with the results.

Y/N sat at her desk, writing him another letter and including her photo along with it.

Duncan opened his new letter from Y/N letting the photo fall from the envelope. He picked it up and stared in awe. He couldn't even focus on reading the words on the page as he stared at her picture.

In his mind, he expected her to be beautiful but was blown away by her photo.

He kept it safe, tucked under his pillow. He would take it out every night to look at it until he fell asleep dreaming of her.

Duncan saw her face... eyes clenched shut... pouty lips formed into a perfect "O" as her thighs surrounded his face.

He saw his hands traveling up her legs... kissing up her bare stomach... kissing her lips.

Everything felt so real.

Duncan woke up in a hot sweat from his over realistic dream. He could almost imagine her taste on his tongue.

The moon shone into his room giving him a sliver of silver light and he pulled her photo out, tracing his finger over her face.

He turned on the little lamp at his desk and sat down to write her back.

I can't tell you the time, but I believe it's past midnight and I can't sleep without dreaming of you.

Forgive me if I'm being forward, but I can't get you off my mind.

What I would give to be with you now...

Y/N, I want to feel your skin on mine. I imagine what it must feel like to have your lips pressed against my own.

I can't stop myself from thinking of all the ways I want to make you mine.

D.S.

I want to make you mine.

Y/N kept going back to those words.

If it weren't for the prison bars keeping Duncan away...

Her daydreams of spending the afternoons sipping coffee and strolling through colorful cities with Duncan began to change after the last letter. Knowing that he wanted her sent shivers down her spine.

I can't stop thinking about you either... Especially your last letter.

I want to know all the ways you'd make me yours.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it as well. I'm counting the days with you until you're able to get out and do just that...

Y/N colored her lips with her favorite lipstick and kissed the bottom of the page, leaving the perfect kiss mark on it.

She had unlocked something with Duncan with the last letter. Ever since he and Y/N started to exchange letters back and forth, he hadn't even bothered to open mail from other admirers. He only had eyes for Y/N.

Y/N.

Wish you could hear how your name falls off my lips as I chant it over and over when I bring myself relief - picturing your lips around my cock.

God.

It's hard to think clearly when you're on my mind.

You want to know of all the ways I'd make you mine? My hand would fall off by the time it took to write out each and every way I'd do that, sweetheart.

For starters, I'd love to skin my teeth into your skin. Leaving sweet love bites along your neck. Would you like that?

I wouldn't want you to worry about a thing.

You'd let me take care of you, right baby?

Maybe I'd tie up your wrists to make sure you keep still while I work on making you cum.

I hope you know I plan on keeping these promises the moment I get out.

Y/N touched herself as she read Duncan's letter again. His words making her pool between her legs. She dipped her hand into her panties and imagined everything Duncan described that he'd do to her.

Y/N wanted to do something special for Duncan.

She changed into a lacy lingerie set and grabbed her old camera again. Her heartbeat was beating fast with excitement. She held one hand up with her finger on the shutter and pointed it towards her bottoms. As she dipped her free hand into the waistband of her panties, she took the teasing shot of her hand inside her underwear.

Her cheeks felt hot as she took a look at the photo.

She took a few more. A few more teasing pictures - like the one she took wearing her leather jacket barely covering her - along with more R- rated photos.

She grabbed her small stack of photos and tied them with a piece of ribbon in order from least to most risque and added them to the letter she sent off to him.

Do you know what you do to me?

My letters make you touch yourself? What I would give to be able to see it in more than just your pictures. To be able to hear you for myself.

You don't know how much I loved your photos. You make my cock throb, thinking of just how much I want to fuck you.

I need to see you. Hear you.

How would you feel about coming to see me?

I can arrange with my assistants (the ones not in prison) to arrange a flight for you...

Please let me know what you think.

Love, D.S.

Love D.S.

"Shepherd. You got a call," the guard buzzed Duncan out of his cell and took him to the phone booth where the phone was waiting for him.

He wasn't expecting a call from his lawyer until later this week so he wasn't sure who would be calling him. Not like he and his family were on great terms at the moment.

Y/N tapped her foot anxiously on the other end of the call, trying to fight the nerves off.

"Hello?"

His voice was lower than she expected.

"Hi," she spoke barely above a whisper. "It's Y/N," she continued.

"Y/N? Y/N? Oh my god." Duncan smiled in a way he hadn't since he stepped foot into prison. "Your voice!" he laughed, "I'm hearing your voice! Wait, how? I - why? How?" he was at loss for words at the surprise.

"I hope it's okay. I called the office where I send my letters to and asked to call you," she bit her lip. "I like your voice."

Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow. It's so good to hear yours."

They knew they didn't have much time but they were both so wrapped up in the fact that they were hearing each other for the first time.

"I, uh, also wanted to talk to you about your... proposal from your last letter... about visiting you I mean." she paced back and forth in her room. "I'd like that. A lot."

His cheeks would be hurting from how hard he was smiling.

"You've got it, baby. We'll make it happen, I promise."

There was a brief pause, "Don't know how I'm gonna control myself when I have you in front of me, princess."

"Two minutes, Shepherd," the guard called over making Duncan roll his eyes.

"I have to go soon. But include your info in the next letter and I'll have my lawyers work something out with you, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled. "And Dunc, it's so good to hear your voice too,"

"You'll call me again?" he asked, desperation almost bleeding into his tone.

"Yes. I promise."

"Good." he grinned. "I'll talk to you soon. Bye, baby."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Duncan continued to have phone calls more often, but their letters never stopped. He got in touch with his attorney and passed along Y/N's information for him to follow up and help arrange a trip for her.

Before she knew it, she was being flown out in a first class seat to D.C.

They had her stay in a luxury suite the night before she got to finally meet Duncan.

The morning of, Y/N had piles of clothes tossed around the room as she searched for what to wear.

She'd known Duncan and his taste pretty well from his letters and phone calls to know what he liked. Y/N put on a baby pink silk mini slip dress that tiptoed the line between streetwear and lingerie, and strappy heels.

"Damn, baby. Haven't seen you around here..."

"Are you here for me?"

Along with countless other cat calls flooded her ears as the guard led her to Duncan's cell.

Duncan heard the commotion down the hall and he knew Y/N would be there any second. He frowned, wanting to take her away. None of those creeps deserved to even look at her, and here they were harassing her. It was his fault for bringing her there. He tried to tune them out, wanting to be okay when he saw Y/N.

Y/N was standing behind the guard as they came to Duncan's cell.

"Follow me, Shepherd. You both have an hour," the guard let Duncan out and he could finally lock eyes with Y/N.

She froze, finally seeing. His photo on the website did him no justice. The piercing stare of his eyes couldn't be recaptured on camera. His pink, full lips were even prettier in person.

"Hi," Duncan broke the silence between them. He was handcuffed immediately so he couldn't touch her the way he wished he could have right away.

But they were taken to the parloir where they would finally have some sense of privacy. Duncan's lawyers had worked out for this conjugal visit. They might have slipped the guards a few extra bills to ensure Duncan and Y/N had extra privacy for a moment. But Duncan had been a model prisoner (in one of the comfiest prisons in the country), so the guards had no reason to say no.

"One hour." he reminded Dunc, as he removed his handcuffs and left the room, leaving Y/N and Duncan alone.

"You're here," he closed the gap between them and embraced her. She smelled even better than he imagined.

"Duncan," she smiled with tears in her eyes, "I can't believe it's really you," she giggled.

"It's me," he pulled back, holding her hands as he admired her. "God, you're gorgeous."

Y/N couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around Duncan and kissed him.

Duncan stumbled back a little before steadying them. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss. He could feel her pulse quickening under his hand.

"God, can't believe you're here," he mumbled against her lips.

It'd be so long since he'd be this intimate with anyone - let alone someone he liked so much. He tried to push back the thoughts of the ticking clock counting their time and the cold industrial feel of the room they were in.

"I'm here... I'm yours," she tangled her fingers in his hair before kissing him again.

Duncan led her to the table, setting her on top of it. He towered above her, his hands on her thighs, slowly inching up her dress. She was everything he imagined and more.

"Open your legs for me," he instructed, parting them open.

He lowered himself until he was face to face with her dripping cunt. Her panties, if they could even be called that - they were a piece of barely-there cloth - were soaked. Duncan pressed her lips to the wet spot on her underwear and kissed it slowly, letting his tongue poke out through his lips and coat them with his saliva as well.

"Taste so sweet," he murmured, pulling her panties aside and putting his tongue on her wet pussy.

He lapped her wetness with his tongue, letting it massage her clit. Sucking and kissing her - watching how every move he made caused a different reaction from her.

Y/N tried to keep quiet, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans.

Duncan peeked up at her, holding in her sounds. He remembered the way the other prisoners hollered at her.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Please," he begged. He kissed along her thighs, "Want everyone in this god damn prison to know you're mine."

Y/N let the sounds she was holding in fall freely.

"Duncan. Duncan..." she called his name over and over getting closer to the sweet relief his tongue promised.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

Duncan felt her heels digging into his shoulder blades as she trembled, finishing on his lips.

"Good girl," he praised, kissing along her thighs.

Duncan stood up as Y/N watched him with her hands pressed on the table, leaning back slightly to watch him.

"What?" Duncan chuckled, slowly undoing his jumpsuit.

"Just can't stop looking at you! You're real!" she laughed.

"Sure am," he grabbed his shaft, closing the gap between them. "I don't know when we'll be able to see each other.. like this again," he leaned down to kiss her. "Wanna make sure I make you feel good,"

He rubbed the end of his cock against her pussy. "Are you ready?"

"Waited so long," she whined, nodding her head.

Duncan pushed inside her, slowly. Savoring the way he stretched her open.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight," he panted, feeling her clench around his length.

He focused on the way he snapped his hips into hers, keeping a steady pace trying not to finish before she did.

But it had been so long. It had been a long time coming for this moment.

His head was in the crook of her neck, panting heavily. "Fuck, baby." he sunk his teeth into her soft skin. "Gonna cum," before he could finish his statement, he shot his load into her.

He stayed inside her as he rode out his orgasm.

Flushed Duncan faced her; embarrassed for finishing before he wanted to. "I'm sor-" she stopped him by pulling him in for a hard, deep kiss.

She pushed his hair out of his face, bumping her nose with his, "Nothing to be sorry for."

She had Duncan lay on the floor, using his jumpsuit to hold his head up, and then straddled his waist.

Her silky mini dress was bunched around her hips. Duncan found himself getting hard again as she climbed on top of him.

"Thought about doing this for so long," she kissed him. "Can't tell you how often I touched myself reading your letters... thinking about riding you," she sighed, positioning herself over his cock and sinking down.

She rode his cock, bouncing up and down his length. Her nails dug into his chest as she used it for support. The curve of his cock hitting her core made her eyes roll back with each roll of her hips.

Hot sweaty bodies had the coldness of the room forgotten.

Y/N grabbed Duncan's hands, intertwining their fingers, "Gonna.." she started, her legs shaking as her movement got sloppier.

"Me too," he grunted.

She felt Duncan fill her to the brim for the second time.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N finally stood up, helping Duncan up with her. Her legs were shaky and Duncan helped her sit down.

She reached into her purse for a rag she brought. Duncan took it from her hand and got on his knees again. He cleaned their cum off her thighs, stopping only to give her small little kisses on her legs.

He heard Y/N sniffle and looked up, concern painted across his face. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Is she regretting it? He thought.

"No! Of course not," she sniffled again, "I just wish... you could come with me. Leave this place with me."

"Oh, baby," he stood up and kissed her forehead. "Soon. I promise," he tilted her chin up to kiss her.

And Y/N knew he meant what he said. Soon they'd be able to be together all the time, but it still broke her heart to leave and have to see him stay behind the metal bars.

tags:

@desertsunflower00 @celestialrequiem @dhampiravidi @ritualmichael @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @xavierplympton @langdonswhoreprobably @feralthoughtdump @wroteclassicaly @melodylangdon @bloodcoatedeclipse @kitty4860

bonus: screenshot from a very good point drunk!anon made vkfsjk

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd smut #duncan shepherd angst #duncan shepherd x reader #cody fern #house of cards #hoc #i didnt know who would like to be tagged or not so lmk if i need to make changes to the tl #thank you!!!#submission

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watevermelon · 4 years

Text

Expectations | Shirabu Kenjirou x Reader

✧ Summary: Having attended Shiratorizawa Academy from junior high, you were familiar with most of the students in your year. They were average, nothing special — until a certain vbc setter, from god knows whatever small town junior high he crawled out of, changed up your world. -> Tag: maybe language cause it’s shirabu; fluff and jealousy + slight angst

---xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx---

Shirabu Kenjirō was a living, breathing pillar of salt. And it was rightly so. He was the friend, the shoulder to cry on, and the person that everyone viewed as reliable. This was not entirely a bad thing, since he was viewed as much more dependable than others. And this idea was not limited to volleyball. But being placed in that category separated him from the very people who put him there. The girls viewed him as, at most, a friend. He was the king and leader of the friend zone.

It was the end of his second-year and he would soon be taking over as captain of the boys’ volleyball team. He justified lack of love life on the fact that he had bigger things to focus on. And after their crushing defeat, Shirabu reasoned that Shiratorizawa needed a focused captain to lead them to victory.

But the road to triumph was… rather lonely.

Shirabu had his team with him one-hundred percent and silently appreciated them for their confidence and own unfailing determination (he won't admit out loud!) But it seemed like he was surrounded by couples. His kouhai, Goshiki Tsutomu, found comfort in another first-year that was a regular on the women's volleyball team.

Couples were disgusting.

Of course, majority of the members of the male volleyball were single. Ushijima was a super volleyball idiot and his focus seemed to never stray from the sport. But even with his cinnamon roll personality, the female base of Shiratorizawa seemed to flock to him. He was undoubtedly very handsome and tall. His grades were well above average and his fan club was incredibly prominent. Ushijima had all the makings of a great man and was noticed as such by a large pool of the student body. The difference was that Ushijima was willingly single.

Shirabu, deep in the non-explored depths of his heart, wanted to be noticed like his Senpai. When playing volleyball, Shirabu strived to be the type of setter that went by unnoticed and drew out the strength of his ace. And he knew the consequences of such. But still. He was the main setter on a highly prominent team and his skills are not hard to notice.

Maybe it was his rough personality? Pft. He would never change that for a person, no matter how special.

Shirabu was above average height and had amazing grades in a prestigious powerhouse. What wasn’t there to like? His sense of style was trendy and he was complimented on his clothes more than once. He as not too preppy like Goshiki and not too wild like Tendou. Was it his looks? His bangs were unusual, but they weren't as bad as coconut-head/bowl/Goshiki. Since entering adolescence, he failed to ever break-out and was blessed with marvelous clear skin. On more than one occasion, he would stare at the mirror and truly wonder just why.

Why was no one interested?

Enter you.

You attended Shiratorizawa in both middle and high school. Coming from a wealthy family, there was nothing standing in your way. You were fairly popular and had seen the multiple personalities flit through your advanced classes. And in your first-year came Shirabu, an outsider to Shiratorizawa from a lower-class middle school. After being in the system for three-years, you knew almost everyone and seeing a new face was refreshing.

From the very start, you wanted to bet to know him more. But he was incredibly reclusive and mysterious to the general student body. Nobody could answer your questions. Well. Nobody except a certain Salami and volleyball idiot. You shared an advanced statistics class with the two third-year volleyball players in your first year and from them you were able to peer more and more into the life of Shirabu Kenjirō.

“Why do you want to know, (F/N)-chan?” Tendou instigated, “You have a crush on him?”

“Please, Salami calm down.” He raised his hands and gasped, “Come on. There isn’t a single person in this school who I don’t know and suddenly nobody knows anything about him?”

“He is smart and adaptable.” Ushijima chimed in.

“And a little shit, that’s for sure.” Tendou stated. You rolled your eyes and returned your attention back to the statistics teacher. Sure, you wanted to learn more. But this class was hella hard and you still needed good grades. Eventually, you were able to gradually acquire more information and Kenjirō. You learned that he was the only player from the boys’ volleyball team to not get into Shiratorizawa with a sports scholarship. Instead, he got in on his own accord through the arduous exams and good grades.

The more you discovered, the more you liked him.

Shirabu had a work ethic that you hadn't seen in a while. Being in this particular school-system for so long ruined your perception of it. You perceived most of your classmates to have a truly pretentious or judgmental personality, but showing to be as sweet as honey to your face. Of course they wanted to be your friend, who wouldn't with your last name?

He hadn't.

Shirabu was straight-forward with a tongue laced with salt. Sign you the fuck up!

He had no qualms about talking back to you and you looked forward to your daily banter with an odd smile. It was strange. You could get any nice, sweet boy in the whole school. But what was the point if they didn't mean it? Shirabu was honest - a trait that should never be given up, even if it offended others. You would rather have someone give you genuine advice - even if it was mostly mean - rather than an empty friendship.

You had majority of the same classes together for the second year in a row. And you were the only person who would had the immediate desire to sit next to Shirabu as a partner. You silently viewed him as a friend, but there was always this barrier that you could never get over for your friendship to deepen. His time was always dedicated to volleyball. And you did not play any sports anymore.

You watched the volleyball team's crushing defeat to Karasuno and the heartbreak it caused to so many people, Shirabu included. The women's team was resorted to tears and you could not even look at the men for too long. Reon and Semi were so sweet and you wished you could protect them for all the bad in the world. You had never seen Shirabu cry before.

Shirabu... He seemed to only display emotion around his team. And this made sense since those were the people that he was closest too. The rare occasion you had seen his smile was when you had watched a game. They had an overwhelming victory against Johzenji High and you spotted the small grin on Shirabu after he scored the winning point. Your heart could barely take it. You only wished that he showed that side more to you...

He was friendly, but distant enough for you to want more. Shirabu was not cold to you and his harsh chitchat did not hold any true malice behind his words. But he never opened up to you. You wanted to learn more about him personally and if you wanted to, you would have to pry and almost force him to speak. He would give curt answers and then be done with the conversation. But, on more than one occasion, you would spot him typing away on his phone. It was no secret that the boys’ and girls’ volleyball team were fairly close and had a groupchat shared amongst them. You silently wondered if he was texting a girl from the team.

That thought had you instantly deflated and made you wondering if you ever had a chance with Shirabu. You were not one to be easily defeated, but with every brief conversation and blank expression he gave you, you considered giving up altogether. This happened around Valentine’s Day of your first-year. Shirabu was abnormally delighted and even smiled in the classroom at someone’s joke. You figured that sure, it was the day of love and he probably had something lined up for himself and his significant other – that was why he was so happy. And it hurt your heart. He smiled, but it was never because of you.

From there forward, you tended to avoid him to evade the imminent heartache every time you saw him. This was hard since you literally sat next to each other in most classes, but something entirely doable. You would leave the classroom immediately after class, show up right before it started, and not initiate conversation. It was always you that had previously opened up discussion, so when you had stopped there was little to none at all.

Shirabu caught up to your change and silently questioned it. On multiple occasions, you would catch him observing you from the corner of your eye and you silently hoped he would not question you outloud. Within a week, he was ready to corner you.

You were at your locker right after class, ready to pack-up and head over to photography club. He was silently bounding towards you and when you closed the locker he was standing right-there before your eyes.

“Did I do something to offend you?” He asked the moment your locker closed.

“No…” You stated haphazardly, clutching your backpack.

“You’re never his quiet or shy.” He noted, “Did something else happen?”

“I have to get to photography club…” Shirabu put his arm on the locker and blocked your exit. He was tall and there was no way you could out-run him, you were trapped.

“Don’t lie. We know it starts in twenty-minutes. You might be on the executive board, but you have a lot of time.” He sighed out, locking to the ceiling and then back to you. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“… Am I your friend, Shirabu?”

“Of course.” He did not hesitate to answer. “And it’s Kenjirō.”

“What?”

“Call me by my first name.”

“Oh.” You paused and let the name roll of your tongue, “Then you should call me by my first name too, Kenjirō-kun.” His eyes widened at the added suffix and a rosy dust covered his cheeks.

“Was that it?” He asked, “Come on, (F/N). That’s an immature reason to ignore me.”

“How was I supposed to know?” You questioned, “It never seems like you actually want to talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you now.”

“Outside of this!” You were beyond frustrated, “Ugh I’m fine now go away.” You lightly pushed his arm, but he did not budge.

“As if that would convince me.”

“You are so annoying.” You commented, “You never initiated conversation. I thought I was just bothering you.”

His gaze on you softened and you could not break the eye-contact, “You’re an idiot.” He teased and then ruffled your hair. That was the first time he had ever done physical-contact with you and you almost exploded then and there.

“I’m an idiot?” You repeated before walking away mid-sentence, “I’m hoping you treat your girlfriend better.”

He paused and let us hand drop down to grab your elbow before you go away. “Girlfriend? Where did this come up?”

“I thought…” Shit, you let that thought slip out-loud, “The men and women volleyball teams are close. And I’ve only ever seen you hang-out outside of class with them and those girls. I just assume...”

“You assumed wrong.” He quickly cut-off, “Ugh. What am I going to do with you?” He asked as he grabbed you into a hug. You returned the affection and you knew that a blush must have stained your face! And what was that question?

Shirabu continued, “So was that the real problem? You were jealous of my supposed ‘girlfriend?’” He laughed at his question and you were going to die from his smile. God it was so rare and you wished he graced you with it more!

“No! Don’t get too ahead of yourself!” You yelled back, but it was muffled against his chest. He leaned back to see your face and teased you for your embarrassed expression.

“You’re an idiot.” He laughed again.

Since then, your friendship with Kenjirō was gradually improving. But it seemed that there was this silent barrier that you could not overcome. You could talk about your problems, but not about his. And since then, he had not initiated any physical contact. If you ever brushed hands or simply leaned against him, he should shift away and pretend it never happened! Did you really make any progress?

Finals were coming up and that was giving you one last chance to spend time with Shirabu before the end of the schoolyear. Sure, you could always ask your father and he had the power to put you two in the same class again next year - But! Did you want to waste your last year together pinning after him?

Your study group was comprised of yourself, Shirabu, Kawanishi, and two people from his class. Kawanishi was in Class 5, which was also advanced, but he was so damn lazy! You saw his potential and only wished that he tried harder and quit fucking around.

The three other members of the group were missing that night and the two of you were left alone to grovel over English. Your English was better than Shirabu’s but the opposite could be said about history. You paired each other well and aided the other's faults.

You commented on this once jokingly, saying, "You complete me!" He simply rolled his eyes and brushed it off before continuing to study.

Damn. This boy cannot take a hint.

You attempted to show the boy your advances. But it seemed Shirabu would shut you down at every try, almost like he knew what you were doing and was firmly against it. A part of you considered backing down. He had made his intentions clear for two straight-years, maybe you should not waste another year on someone who obviously does not want your attention?

That thought last for a second before you waved it off. There was no one else you were even remotely interested in. If he said no, that’s fine. But you were probably not going to peruse anyone else.

Both you and Shirabu were spacing out from over-reading the textbook and happened to make eye contact. "What's on your mind?" You asked.

"Things you cannot understand."

"You really think that low of me?"

"No. I'm going to be the captain of the volleyball team in a few weeks."

"Wow."

"There's no way your pampered ass would get it."

"You think about my ass?" You teased, but he pretended to ignore the question. You spent enough time with him to notice the minute narrowing of his eyes and the slight curve in the corner of his left lip.

Damn, this boy had you bad.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Kenjirō." You comforted, "You're very smart and reliable. I believe that your training won't betray you."

"Reliable..." He murmured. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"What do you mean?"

He scoffed at your question, "Exactly. You won't understand."

"Then explain it to me!" You exclaimed.

"Why should I?" He seemed just as inflamed.

"Because I care about you! You big, dumb, idiot!"

Shirabu paused before fully looking at you, surprise evident. "Well, everyone expects this idiot to be reliable and lead the team. But..."

"But...?"

"That's all that people expect from me. To be the smart one. To live to everyone's expectations and shoulder the border of living up to the name ''powerhouse.'" He was getting more agitated and louder with each word.

"Woah, calm down."

"I can't calm down! In a few weeks, I'll lose the ace that I've admired for years and majority of our regular team! How am I supposed to fill in their shoes when we're losing one of the top 3 spikers in the country?"

You had no shame in grabbing his chin and turning his full attention to you. "Listen here you idiot. Don't interrupt me! I said don't! I stopped sports, but I know this is something entirely inevitable. Your senpai's are moving onto the next phase of their lives, but it's not something you can stop or change. You have to accept the future and make the most out of it and I know you will. Shiratorizawa is not the only school with graduation. Your rivals and others will lose their precious third-years and its then will you be able to analyze them and attack. But you need to calm the fuck down."

Shirabu was hanging onto every word. Nodding at some parts and fully taking in what you were trying to convey. At the end of your speech, he pushed your hands away from his face with a slight rosy dust on his cheeks. No woman, outside of his mother, had ever done that to him before.

"You're a real pain, (F/N)." he started, "But thanks. I needed that."

"No problem, I just want you to know that I can be here for you." You extended your hand to cover his own on the desk.

His eyes latched onto your hand before he averted his gaze and attempted to pull his hand away. You kept a tight enough grip to keep it in place, but not enough to hurt. "Must you touch me so much?"

"You are such a tsundere, oh my god." You commented, "Of course, I had to like you."

He stilled and looked directly into your eyes, as if that would confirm your previous statement. "Are you really that surprised?" You asked. "You're really handsome and you have the type of personality that I find most attractive."

"Tsundere?" He joked.

"No. You're honest." You admitted, "You're not like the rest of them, who only see dollar signs when they see me. You've roasted my ass multiple times in class and I wouldn't have it any other way. You say the truth and don't sugar-coat your words for anyone."

"I like you." You simply stated. You watched the words seem to finally reach something in his mind and at this point he seemed to panic. He pulled his hand away and you did not hide your outward hurt. Shirabu made a lame excuse and quickly packed up his stuff to leave.

You never felt more sad and alone.

XXXXX

Shirabu was freaking the fuck out. He wanted someone to notice him and it had to be you??? You were beautiful and nearly perfect in every way. Your beauty went beyond the physical level and you were blessed with intelligence and an even greater family tree.

None of this mattered to him before. You were his friend and classmate and probably the one person in class who did not endlessly irritate him. How could you possibly have feelings for him? He didn't deserve you, not a bit. He had an endless list of faults, including his knowingly sarcastic personality, and you were the friendliest person in school! No way. You could be happier with literally anyone else.

He could not deny all your positive traits, even though he made an effort to ridicule you. You were an overall amazing person and he could not deny his latent crush on you. But he had squashed it since your friendship was mostly comprised of friendly banter. You could never have feelings for him, he previously thought. So he would rather treasure your friendship and watch you from the sideline.

However, Shirabu had to admit that it was a dick move of him just to leave you there after your confession. He was usually the type to speak his mind and your feelings must have blinded his brain. He set-out to clear the air and admit why.

In class the next day, you were nowhere to be found and refused to respond to calls and texts. Seeing you so affected, Shirabu could not help but feel like a huge ass. He owed you big-time, but he had to start somewhere: an apology. Shirabu had to clear the air and make it known that he appreciated your affections, even if he had to deny them. He was not above annoying you and did such continually.

Knocking on your dorm room, he showed up right at your front door.

Shirabu heard movement inside, but not closer to the door. He called your phone again and heard the ringtone go off from within, just for you to mute it. He knocked about eleven more times before you opened the door.

"What do you want?!" You asked as you swung the door open with full force.

"To clear the misunderstanding, (F/N)."

"God, you are so annoying. Did you know that?"

"You are too. Now hear me out, you crazy."

"Excuse me?!"

"Please." You sighed and moved aside for him to enter and he did such. He uncharacteristically took your hand and guided you to sit-down on your bed.

He paused, as if to fully think about his words, before sitting next to you. "You need someone who has time for you."

"What?"

"I'll be the captain soon and I do not want to disappoint anyone. I'll be busy and unable to be the proper boyfriend."

"Is that your only complaint to this relationship?"

"No."

"What else?"

"You deserve someone who can make you happy."

You gave a small laughed and asked, "Who says you don't already make me happy?"

He stared at your for a moment before asking, "What?"

"I don't want someone who you think will make me happier with kind words or bullshit. I want someone honest." You candidly admitted, "And we are friends already. I know you're dedicated to volleyball and I don't want that to change. I already know how you are and that’s why I like you more than anyone else. You alone can make me happy. For someone smart, why is this so hard for you to understand?"

He sputtered, unable to give a cohesive reply and for once you saw be great Shirabu struggle over his usually articulate words.

"Wait." You realized that he had multiple complaints about this relationship before you interrupted him. "Just be straight with me. Do you have feelings for me?"

It was at this moment that Shirabu had the clearest view of you. You were in the closest proximity than ever before, sharing a seat on your bed! He could gaze clearly into your eyes and sense the distress and vulnerability from your previous words. He stretched the silence and you took that as a rejection. He immediately rectified the situation by grabbing your hand and placing a light kiss at the top.

"I never thought you were interested in me." He admitted, "I thought I was deep in the friend zone. So I would have rather kept your friendship than risked ruining it."

"You're an idiot." You smiled grabbing his wrist to pull him closer. He obliged and allowed you to place a light kiss on his cheek.

"Now will you be my boyfriend or will I have to convince you?" You whispered in his ear to tease him and could literally see the shiver go down his back as he stiffened.

When you pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded and you silently wondered if his dominant attitude translated romantically.

You didn't have to wonder long since he returned the favor and went even further, nibbling your ear lightly before placing butterfly kisses around your neck. "Maybe you'll have to convince me."

You laughed before wrapping your arms around his neck, quickly taking command and enveloping his lips against your's. However, you did not have it for long and the setter was quick to flip the positions and hover over you. He gave one his rare smiles and you felt one breaking out across you'rs, stretching from ear to ear. Shirabu, who was in no rush, descended back down to your silky lips - noses bumping and hands fisting into each other's hair. His grip was firm, but not tight enough to hurt. You moaned, unintentionally, and he took that as an invitation to lick the entrance to your cavern. You parted your lips quickly, eager to feel his tongue against yours. The rest of the day went by ignored, the two of you enveloped in each other's affection with not a single care in the world.

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commentaryvorg · 2 years

Text

Digimon Data Squad Dub Comparison Episode 42 - Thomas Bursts On The Scene!

This is a companion to my commentary on the original Japanese Digimon Savers! Reading my commentary on the original version of this episode (which you can find here) is recommended before reading this dub comparison.

Original name ~ Dubbed name

Masaru Daimon ~ Marcus Damon

Tohma H. Norstein ~ Thomas H. Norstein

RhodoKnightmon ~ LoadKnightmon

Shawujingmon ~ Shawjamon

Yggdrasil ~ King Drasil

[Since several characters share the same name between the original and the dub, quotes from the dub will always be in italics, while quotes from the original will not, in order to distinguish them.

Recap Marcus: “Somehow my father convinced himself he was the king of the Digimon…”

Marcus recap! As it 100% should be given the focus of last episode. (Well, that and his voice actor would have nothing else to do in this episode otherwise.) We’re going with this narrative that he’s telling himself is the truth, of course.

Recap Marcus: “So I’m gonna head back there and try to talk some sense into my old man, even if I have to use my fists to do my talkin’ for me!”

They’re still really unsure whether Marcus is going to talk with literal words or with his fists. He’s sounding here like using his fists is going to be something to resort to only if words don’t work, rather than the main approach.

Narrator Marcus: “The good news is, we were able to evacuate the entire city, so at least the people were safe! I wish I could say the same for the buildings.”

In the original, we continued to have the narrator talk over some shots of Royal Knight destruction that weren’t part of the recap. Because the dub doesn’t have a regular narrator, they just kinda awkwardly have Marcus continue his recap duties, even over these events that he’s very decidedly not present for.

Of course, the dub has to stress that everybody was definitely evacuated. There’s an apocalypse and an attempted genocide of humanity going on, but don’t worry, kids, nobody’s actually gonna die! (This line is added in over a silence which didn’t have any narration in the original.)

Narrator: “Meanwhile, the Royal Knights, with their subordinate Knightmon in tow, begin their invasion in every city around the world.”

~~~~~

Narrator Marcus: “…the Royal Knights and their army, who my dad sent to destroy the Earth.”

Destroy the Earth, not kill the humans? Hmmm, not convinced that’s actually what they’re trying to do, but fair that Marcus thinks that.

(And perhaps that’s a better line than trying to convince us they have enough numbers to attack literally every city in the world.)

Yushima: “The man is crazy! He’s planning to take off?! After all I went through to stop him!”

~~~~~

Yushima: “No! Don’t go! You’ll never make it! Thomas’s father is so stubborn!”

The dub’s line reads a little bit like they’re trying to exposition to us that, hey, it’s Thomas’s father responsible for this, as if the viewers couldn’t wait like twenty seconds to find that out for themselves.

Franz: “That’s…”

~~~~~

Franz: “Thomas?”

Franz immediately verbally acknowledges that his saviour is Thomas as he sees MirageGaogamon flying past outside the plane, which is a tiny and probably lip-flap-driven thing, but it hits slightly different.

Tohma: “No matter where you run off to right now, the situation will be the same.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “Why didn’t you evacuate? It’s not safe any more!”

Slightly different point here. Tohma seemed to think that his father might have actually seen what he just tried to do as evacuating, in that he might think it’d be safer if they left the country, and was telling him that this is not in fact the case.

Tohma: “Please stop exposing Relena to unnecessary danger.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “You suddenly had the urge to fly your plane through a warzone?”

I am a little sad that we lose Thomas making this about Relena’s safety. The idea that his dad just suddenly felt like doing something this reckless suggests he feels like there’s no remotely justifiable reason for it. At least Tohma seemed to understand that Franz might have thought he was taking Relena safely back home, albeit in a way that wasn’t actually safe and wasn’t worth the risk.

Franz: “That can be fixed just by mentioning the Norstein name.”

Tohma: “That’s not what you should be saying!”

~~~~~

Franz: “I’ll get authorisation just by dropping my name.”

Thomas: “You mean the last name I’m ashamed of having?!”

Thomas is being a lot less subtle about his issues with his name here. Tohma snaps at his father here in part because the invocation of the name gets to him, true, but he’s not quite so transparent as to immediately make things about his own issues out of nowhere. Thomas’s retort feels almost uncalled-for. Like, bro, that escalated a bit fast.

Franz: “You dare to challenge your own father?!”

~~~~~

Franz: “How dare you say that?!”

Franz then snaps back about the uncalled-for jab at his family name, rather than simply at Tohma challenging him at all, so this makes Franz just slightly more reasonable in this instance.

Gaomon: “Master…”

~~~~~

Gaomon: “We’ve gotta go…”

Somehow this “Master” managed to be enough lip-flaps that they changed it to this. It makes Gaomon sound potentially more like he’s focusing on the practical side of things, rather than that he’s noticing Tohma getting riled up and trying to snap him out of it, as his friend. (Though of course he could be deliberately saying they need to go as an excuse to cut the conversation short, and that is still implied by his expression.)

Tohma: “I’m afraid a second squadron of troops will arrive.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “We have reports of another attack.”

I’m kind of surprised that there’s anywhere for Thomas to get this report from, given that everyone’s evacuated and DATS is only a tiny handful of people.

Franz: “Then you’ll act as our escort.”

Tohma: [grimacing in frustration] “You are really…”

Franz: “What? Don’t you at least want to protect your sister’s life?”

~~~~~

Franz: “Then you will act as our escort.”

Thomas: [grimacing in frustration] “No, I won’t.”

Franz: “I thought you were worried about protecting your sister’s life! I guess not.”

Thomas really is notably less worried about Relena in this scene! He outright refuses to escort them, seemingly needing his father to remind him that Relena’s safety is even on the line. His grimace doesn’t fit so well with a simple blunt refusal to comply. Tohma was grimacing because he already knew he’d have no real choice but to go along with this for Relena’s sake, and he hated the way his father was being so entitled and willing to exploit him for his own ends. This is a much more appropriate point in the conversation for Tohma to start almost lashing out and getting into uncalled-for personal remarks.

Also, Franz is being way more passive-aggressive about Relena there in the dub line. In the original, it was a lot more of a genuine “well I know you don’t like me, but what about your sister?”

Tohma: “Then… Then, what about you?”

Franz: “What?”

Tohma: “What have you ever protected so far?”

~~~~~

Thomas: “Well, then. I can say the same thing about you, Father.”

Franz: “What?”

Thomas: “That’s right. What have you ever protected in your whole selfish life?”

Thomas’s more specific phrasing of “say the same thing about you” implies he specifically means that his father has never protected Relena in the past, which is not the point of the flashback he’s about to go into (it’s about his mother). Though he still does then make it about protecting anything at all in his follow-up line.

The “selfish” is a lot more overtly vicious of him than Tohma was. Thomas is generally coming across as completely unafraid to voice the full extent of all of his issues and frustrations with his father, whereas Tohma seemed like he was at least trying to keep things politely bottled up, to some extent.

The BGM for the flashback of little Thomas leaving his mother’s house has a weirdly ominous vibe to it. I guess they were going for that because him moving in with his father was going to be a bad time, but it doesn’t quite feel right for it.

In one of the very few times the dub has left some noticeable Japanese text intact, the writing on the wall marking Tohma’s height at different ages and milestones has been left as Japanese. This is also one of the few times some text really properly mattered to the narrative in a way that can’t be replaced with dialogue. Dub viewers aren’t going to know what those markings on the wall are and why Thomas was excited about showing them to his father. They really, really should have edited that text into English.

Little Tohma: “Dad, wait a…!”

~~~~~

Little Thomas: “One second, Father…!”

The dub doesn’t keep the heartbreaking implications of the fact that Tohma was going to call him “Dad”, until he got completely brushed off and ignored by him.

Wow, Thomas’s grandmother’s voice sure is a thing. She sounds like some kind of cackling Disney villain, rather than a refined and distinguished woman. Like, I know she is the villain of this story from Thomas’s and Franz’s perspective, but come on, there’s a human reason for it. Nuance, guys.

Franz: “Mother!”

~~~~~

Franz: “Oh, Mother!”

In the original, Franz’s tone was that of desperate protest against her insistence that she didn’t have to meet Tohma. In the dub, he just sounds… annoyed. Like, oh, typical mother of mine, always being so stubbornly posh and racist – as if she doesn’t have any power over him. Not the dynamic they’re meant to have.

Grandmother: “His eyes are just like his mother’s.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “He certainly does have his mother’s eyes.”

The way she words and delivers this, it sounds somewhat more like the compliment that such a remark is usually meant as, rather than the opposite, which it is supposed to be.

Grandmother: “I’m sure it must have been easy for you to mislead that young and ignorant exchange student.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “This is how you repay us, Franz? By bringing such *common* blood into our family? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Her line in the dub sheds less light onto how Franz ended up making a baby with a Japanese woman, and also kind of insults Thomas’s mother less – she only accuses her of having “common blood”, rather than insulting her as a person, saying she was “ignorant” and “misled”. And yet, she’s also being a lot more direct about her displeasure, which I don’t think works as well. Posh people like her are especially liable to indirectly dance around their real point and keep things implicit when they’re being rude about someone.

Franz: “Do something, Tohma! Since you’re a Norstein, you should be able to do something!”

~~~~~

Franz: “Well don’t just stand there, Thomas. If you really want to be considered a Norstein, then do something!”

The dub completely changes the meaning of this. Franz is instead using the Norstein name as like a backhanded bribe – if you do this, maybe I’ll consider you good enough to be a proper Norstein. That’s not at all supposed to be the point! Despite his awkwardness in showing it thanks to his own issues, original-Franz already thoroughly sees Tohma as deserving of the respect and importance that he sees that name as conferring! It’s just that that’s kind of the last thing Tohma wants to hear right now.

(Hmm, actually. I think the Japanese phrasing might be ambiguous enough that it could be read in the way the dub interprets it? But I prefer the subs’ take on it, because the point of this episode is that Franz does love his son and respect his skills and always has; he’s just really really bad at showing it.)

Doctor: “Miss Relena is going into spasms!”

Franz: “What?!”

~~~~~

Doctor: “Your daughter is going into shock!”

Franz: “Well, save her!”

Extra lip-flap made Franz’s response to this come across as more entitled and controlling, ordering the doctor to save Relena when that’s obviously already his job. Dude, he just wanted to let you know what was happening with her.

They actually add text of Shawjamon’s name to the background of his evolution animation, even though in the original there was no text of Shawujingmon’s name there at all (like the more elaborate animations always have).

Shawujingmon had a long elaborate Japanese attack name that apparently translates to Descending Magical Staff: Waterfall Formation. I don’t blame the dub for not translating that directly; it’s called Hydra Descent, which keeps the gist of it.

Relena: “Brother…”

~~~~~

Relena: “My brother… I want my brother…!”

It’s perhaps a little questionable that she’s asking for her brother like she doesn’t already know he’s literally right there beside her (which she clearly does, because she reaches out to his hand). But also the fact that she’s actively saying she wants him there does give this even more of a feelings-punch.

Doctor: “However… both the mother and child were in danger during the labour process.”

Grandmother: “Very well. Do everything you can to save the child’s life.”

~~~~~

Doctor: “However, there were complications. Maybe even some permanent damage.”

Grandmother: “Well, I suppose she’ll have to do. Save her, Doctor.”

Unsurprisingly, the dub loses the implications that Relena’s mother probably died in childbirth, and that her grandmother asked the doctors to prioritise saving Relena over her, effectively sacrificing this poor woman’s life for the sake of an heir.

Grandmother: “She is a precious child who has finally been born into the Norstein family.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “This child must carry on the Norstein bloodline.”

Her line here, over a shot of little Thomas listening in, doesn’t have any of the same bite to it that the original line does. Thomas surely can’t care much about “carrying on the Norstein bloodline” and isn’t going to feel excluded and unloved by hearing them say that about Relena when he already knew that’s why she was being born. The original line was simply about her being important and part of the family, with the painful implication that Tohma never was.

Tohma: “I will do something… for Relena’s sake.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “Alright, then. I’ll save us. But for Relena.”

Despite him saying he’s only doing this for Relena, it hits different that he says he’ll save “us”. It sounds like an “us” that implicitly includes his father as well, which means that on some level he’s also subconsciously admitting he doesn’t want to let his father get killed either? Tohma doesn’t imply as much here, but I wouldn’t call this out of character. Probably unintentional of the dub writers, but I kinda like it.

Tohma: “But I won’t be doing it because I’m a Norstein!”

~~~~~

Thomas: “And not because my last name happens to be Norstein!”

Thomas being slightly more biting here – he only happens to have the name Norstein; he certainly doesn’t want to think about it as something he is. I kinda like this too.

(Originally, this was Tohma referring back to his father’s earlier line of “Since you’re a Norstein, you should be able to do something”. Because that line got changed to using the name like a bribe in the dub, this doesn’t work quite as well as a reference to it.)

Gaomon: “Master…”

Tohma: “It’s all right.”

~~~~~

Gaomon: “Uhh, you okay?”

Thomas: “Yes, I’m perfect.”

Thomas’s wording (and tone) makes it sound a bit less like he actually wants Gaomon to believe it? You don’t usually say “I’m perfect” when you really are; normally that’s an exaggeration because you’re being deliberately sarcastic and you’re really saying you’re not at all doing perfect.

Tohma: “Yushima-san! I apologise.”

Yushima: “Hm? For what? This is just beginning.”

Tohma: “Yes, sir.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “I’m sorry about my father, sir.”

Yushima: “Hm? It’s not your fault. You’re just his son.”

Thomas: “…You’re right.”

Quite a different point to Thomas’s apology here! He’s specifically apologising for his father being kind of a stubborn idiot. I do like that this gets Yushima to reassure him that it’s not his fault he was born into such a Complicated family, and that he seems to take this on board a little.

But I also did like what was going on in the original version, in which Tohma was apologising not for his father but for himself, for something insignificantly tiny like showing up to the battle a minute or two late because he was caught up in his dad issues. That was a fun little moment of Tohma’s perfectionism being extra sensitive right now after having been in his father’s presence, expecting criticism for the slightest thing. Yushima’s reassurance that he didn’t need to apologise for anything was very correct, but maybe didn’t hit as deep at the real core of the issues here. Plus sides to both versions.

Can we talk about how, of all the possible ways to romanise roodonaitomon into a name that makes sense for this pink fancy knight guy, LoadKnightmon is probably one of the silliest and least fitting? I mean, I guess “load” because digital data, sure, but that’s really generic. RhodoKnightmon makes sense for him and is a fun pun when you realise it’s a play on rhodonite, a pink gemstone.

Digimon Analyser Yushima: “…and a member of the Royal Knight brigade.”

Since when were the Royal Knights a brigade? Pretty sure that’s not a word that’s been used for them until now.

Okay, so, RhodoKnightmon’s voice was vaguely effeminate, but LoadKnightmon is going all out into completely cartoonishly camp territory. Very difficult to take this guy seriously. Not that it really matters because he’s barely a character and practically a Monster of the Week, but still.

RhodoKnightmon: “You will pay for laying your hands on my subordinates.”

~~~~~

LoadKnightmon: “You will *pay* for attacking my squadron, *and* for *betraying* your *kiiing*!”

(…No, seriously, this is what his intonation sounds like, he’s that camp.)

His added point about, presumably, MirageGaogamon betraying King Drasil is a new one that I don’t think any of the other Royal Knights have mentioned (or ever do, in the original). I guess it makes some amount of sense that the Knights think that all Digimon ought to be loyal to the king of Digimon, just because it’s the king, but it feels kind of unreasonable when most Digimon don’t even know that this king exists.

Yushima: (His composure is breaking… Just as I assumed, he’s agitated about something.)

~~~~~

Yushima: (Thomas isn’t his usual focused self. Something must be bothering him.)

I mean, yeah, Yushima, you know something’s bothering him, you just reassured him that he can’t help who his father is. Bit weird that he phrases this like he’s only speculating, and not that he already suspected Tohma wasn’t okay.

(To continue my weighing up the pros and cons of that earlier bit with the apology to Yushima – I guess I’m gonna come down on the original’s side after all. While I like the reassurance Yushima gave Thomas in the dub and the fact that it seemed to help, I think it’s more appropriate for this part here that Tohma hasn’t been properly reassured of anything that matters and is therefore still being too reckless and agitated.)

Franz: “I… I…”

~~~~~

Franz: “Was everything… all my fault…?”

I would complain about the dub losing subtlety here, but the lip-flap necessity of Franz’s Japanese word for “I” being three syllables meant they had no choice but to turn this line into something with more substance. “All my fault” still seems a little bit on-the-nose and making Franz out to be more of a complete bad guy than he really is, though. It really kind of wasn’t all Franz’s fault; if anyone’s, it was his mother’s.

Grandmother: “Instead, arrange for a lady of suitable pedigree to become Tohma’s wife.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “There’s no choice. I want you to start looking for a young lady of suitable pedigree for Thomas to marry.”

Bonus lip-flap meant that she got to add that she’s only choosing Thomas as the heir because she has no choice. Just helps to rub in the fact that she wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t have to, ouch.

Grandmother: “Choose one that will prevent others from talking behind our backs.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “Choose one that is above prejudice, so no-one will talk behind our backs.”

It’s a little weird that she’s actually more or less admitting that what’s going on here is prejudice. You’d think she wouldn’t frame it that way. Obviously it’s just Correct that a Norstein should marry a person of proper and equal pedigree, right? Nothing petty or prejudiced about that at all.

Franz: “But Mother!”

~~~~~

Franz: “I won’t do this, Mother.”

…Wait, so in the dub, Franz… didn’t want Thomas to be the heir? I mean, granted, Thomas himself doesn’t actually want to be the heir and have all that pressure on him (to say nothing of the arranged marriage) – but Franz sees being the Norstein heir as a good thing!

In the original, this must have been a pretty conflicted moment for Franz. On the one hand, Tohma is finally being given the recognition and status that his father’s always felt he deserved (albeit only on a technicality). But on the other hand, Franz tried so hard to do the Proper Norstein Thing this time and have a child with a proper pedigree woman whom he probably didn’t even love in order to produce a pure-blood heir – and now he’s being told that all of that was for nothing, it still wasn’t good enough, and he’ll have to work to cover up the blemishes of his inferior back-up option of a son instead. He’s protesting, but he's not actually specifically protesting Tohma getting to be the heir in and of itself.

The fact that that is what Franz is protesting in the dub makes him come across entirely like a flat asshole father who just thoroughly doesn’t think Thomas deserves any kind of recognition as a true Norstein, apparently even more so than his mother.

(I mean, I suppose we could also read this as Franz specifically objecting to the arranged marriage and refusing to do that to Thomas, after having gone through it himself. That may well be what the dub means by this. But still, surely he would have also been expected to arrange a marriage for Relena if she’d been the heir. It’s very easy to read it as not really about that part in particular.)

Grandmother: “Understood?”

Franz: “…Yes.”

~~~~~

Grandmother: “Yes, you will.”

Franz: “Nrgh… *Fine*.”

Franz’s expression here wavers for a long moment before he acquiesces. In the original, it seems like he’s almost on the verge of tears; all of this is him suffering under the weight of his mother’s expectations and feeling like he’s failed them at every possible turn and yet still wanting to do whatever he can to not disappoint her further. It’s not really about agreeing to make Tohma the heir in particular, it’s just about not feeling like he can let her see his feelings on any of this.

But in the dub, despite the wavering expression, Franz is very clearly growling and sounding angry before he reluctantly agrees to do as she asks. This whole exchange comes across a lot less like it’s about Franz’s feelings about any of this and a lot more like a simply disagreement on what to do about Thomas being the heir, which his mother won out on because she has higher authority than him. It’s much less humanising for Franz, which is supposed to be the entire point of this scene.

Doctor: “Preparations for departure at the terminal are completed. We must get Miss Relena there quickly.”

~~~~~

Doctor: “The plane is ready for take-off. We must get Relena to a hospital as soon as possible!”

…But she’s in a hospital? Or something with enough equipment to function as one, at least. I can’t imagine many actual proper hospitals are staffed right now, with everyone having evacuated. And whatever better makeshift hospitals there may be elsewhere, it surely wouldn’t require getting on a plane to get her to one. This is two weirdly contradicting statements in the dub (whereas in the original they were still sticking to Franz’s initial reckless plan of “just get to Austria to protect the manor by getting on a second, functional plane”).

I still can’t quite get over the fact that Kamemon is pronounced “Kay-ma-mon” in the dub, by the way.

Tohma: “MirageGaogamon!”

~~~~~

Thomas: “No!”

Somehow Tohma’s exclamation was only a single lip-flap, so it got changed to a “no!”, which incidentally makes it come across as more worried, as MirageGaogamon gets downed.

Relena: “Brother!”

~~~~~

Relena: “Tommy, please don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

I guess the dub makes it explicit that the reason Relena rushes to her brother was because she was afraid he was going to leave her, rather than possibly ambiguously because she wanted to protect him somehow like I read it as in the original. (Yeah, uh, about him leaving you, Relena… bad news for you about the end of this episode…)

Franz’s “Aaaaaaah!” as he rushes towards Relena to try and protect her is, uh… not very well-delivered. It sounds unintentionally silly, rather than raw and desperate like it ought to.

We go to a commercial break as Franz collapses, before we see that Relena’s okay. I guess that’s a good place to put one!

Franz: “Even I… Even I have acted out of desperation. I always did everything in my power to protect the Norstein family’s name!”

~~~~~

Franz: “I’m sorry… Sorry for treating my children like I owned them… I’ve spent my whole life trying to protect our family name, and for what…?”

On the one hand, it’s nice that Franz gives an outright apology for his behaviour here – he pretty much was treating his children like he owned them. On the other hand, I feel like this takes some of the nuance out of this moment. Like he was just a Bad Person doing a Bad Thing, and now he’s admitted to and apologised for doing the Bad Thing, so he can start being a good person now. The “and for what?” makes it seem like he’s now thinking that he obviously never should have cared about protecting the family name at all in the first place.

But… there should be no question to him as to why he put so much effort into protecting the family name – because of all the pressure from his mother to do so and make up for his “failure” in conceiving a child with a common Japanese woman. It’s that same Norstein family pressure and perfectionism and inability to tolerate mistakes that Tohma also knows far too well. That’s supposed to be the real point of this moment: Tohma finally seeing that his father’s imperfect and human and has been suffering under these same pressures as him, that they’re not so different after all. And yes, that’s what caused Franz to ultimately treat his children like he owned them until just now, but that part isn’t the main point. There’s so much more to this than just “Thomas’s father apologises for being a dick, so Thomas cares about him more now”.

Tohma: “Father…”

~~~~~

Thomas: “Don’t cry…”

This is sweet, but it also feels a little odd that he’d tell his father not to cry here, when really, seeing his father crying is what lets him empathise with him and finally begin to see him as a fallible human person. Crying is good and healthy, actually!

MirageGaogamon: “Yes, Master.”

~~~~~

MirageGaogamon: “Ready when you are, sir.”

I was expecting a “Sir, yes sir” here, but I do like MirageGaogamon’s slightly more nuanced phrasing.

Tohma: “With my name, Tohma Norstein, on the line… I will defeat you!”

~~~~~

Thomas: “I swear on behalf of the Norsteins, I will win!”

This is slightly different, in that he’s swearing on behalf of the Norstein family instead of on his own name. But I still think it can appropriately be read as less about the Norstein name and all of the high-and-mighty baggage that comes with that. It’s really more about the Norsteins as people, as in his sister and father; of course he’d swear on them.

RhodoKnightmon: “Such a sin is punishable by death!”

~~~~~

LoadKnightmon: “You won’t be laughing after I *delete* you and your Digimon *partner*!”

Yes, because you can totally delete a human, obviously, what is death. (I mean I guess LoadKnightmon might be used to thinking of murder in those terms, being a Digimon, but come on.)

Still really like the Burst Mode version of the evolution music, by the way! It almost gives me goosebumps sometimes.

Digimon Analyser MirageGaogamon: “You did it, sir!”

Okay, that’s an adorable way for him to start off the description of his own Burst Mode, by praising his partner for getting him here. What a good dog.

Tohma: “Go, MirageGaogamon!”

~~~~~

Thomas: “Attack pattern 15-A!”

Huh, Thomas is pulling out one of those attack pattern things where Tohma didn’t. This shouldn’t really work in a context where MirageGaogamon’s only just gained this new form with new abilities that the attack patterns aren’t designed for… but then they were always a little silly anyway, so, hey.

MirageGaogamon proceeds to attack pretty straightforwardly by swinging his new moon-flail, so it really doesn’t look like one of Thomas’s fancy attack patterns, either.

In his frustration at MirageGaogamon’s new power, LoadKnightmon appears to have forgotten that he’s supposed to be ridiculously camp, and now he’s just sounding like any generic shounen villain. (I mean, maybe it’s a fun thing to imagine that the campness is a front he puts on when he’s feeling confident and pompous, such that he loses it here, but I doubt we’re supposed to be thinking that hard about the characterisation of this one-off antagonist. Probably the answer is that his voice actor/voice director just didn’t care.)

I’m not sure why MirageGaogamon’s attack where he swings and then strikes with the moon-flail is called Meteor Shackle in the dub. He’s not… shackling anything? What was wrong with the original name, Full Moon Meteor Impact?

The BGM as King Drasil floats LoadKnightmon’s egg up into the sky is weirdly ethereal, for what is effectively just the big bad bailing out one of its defeated henchmen. …I suppose said music does then continue into the final conversation between Thomas and his father, but it starting over the egg feels like it was highlighting that, of all things.

Franz: “Will it be all right?”

Tohma: “Set your mind at ease. Relena has already settled down.”

Franz: “No. I was talking about you.”

~~~~~

Franz: “What’s the prognosis?”

Tohma: “Relena’s fine. The doctor said she’s over the worst of it.”

Franz: “I meant you.”

Franz’s original ambiguous question doesn’t work quite as well in English where subjects are more of a thing, so it got changed to this. I guess it feels kind of fitting, given Franz’s awkwardness about this whole showing-concern-for-his-children thing, that he can’t help but ask about Thomas’s safety in such a detached, clinical way.

Franz: “Will you be able to come back home safely?”

~~~~~

Franz: “Are you coming back? Because I worry when you’re away.”

Finally, something which implies that Franz has always worried about his kids. I don’t think the rest of the episode did a good job of implying that compared to the original, but I appreciate that bonus lip-flap allowed them to put this in here; it’s sweet.

Tohma: “After all… I am a Norstein.”

Franz: “I see.”

~~~~~

Thomas: “After all, I am a Norstein, right?”

Franz: “You are.”

Also nice, that Franz is finally openly expressing that yes, he thoroughly considers Thomas to be a Norstein.

The music has shifted into Probably Marcus’s Theme: Heartwarming Piano Edition, which is cute and fitting mood-wise, but a little weird if you know it’s probably Marcus’s theme.

Thomas: “Let’s go. Marcus needs us.”

Gaomon: “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

Gaomon leaning so hard into the army grunt speak makes this sound weirdly backhanded, like he doesn’t actually believe Thomas is right to say this but is going along with it anyway because he’s obligated to.

Yushima: “He’d rather face the danger than wait for it to come, is it?”

~~~~~

Yushima: “Interesting guy, that Thomas H. Norstein!”

I like this, too! We know that Yushima’s all about observing people he finds interesting, so it’s neat to have a nod to the fact that that’s part of why he started hanging out with the Norsteins and helping Thomas out.

(Though that doesn’t hit so well in the dub, actually, where the dubbers utterly failed to grasp this about Yushima for the entire first arc where he was observing Marcus and instead got it into their heads that he existed to give Marcus advice, ughhh. I’m more saying I like this in the context of how Yushima is in the original, if nothing else.)

Overall differences

There’s nothing too different here; we know the dub’s decent at Thomas. It’s just nuance and subtlety stuff, as usual, but then this is quite a nuanced episode, so that matters.

Thomas is distinctly less worried than Tohma was about Relena at the beginning of the episode, for some reason. He’s also a lot more openly harsh at his father, in contrast to how Tohma seemed to be at least trying to keep a lid on his issues to some extent.

The bit where Thomas apologises to Yushima is very different, because instead of implicitly apologising for his own imperfection due to feeling surrounded by his father’s high standards, he’s apologising for his father. Yushima reassuring Thomas that he can’t help being Franz’s son is a nice sentiment that I enjoy, but perhaps it doesn’t work so well for the context of the moment. Tohma was getting too worked up and distracted by his issues, and hearing some measure of reassurance from Yushima would make Thomas less likely to be in that state.

The biggest difference here is the handling of Franz. He’s much less humanised and treated a lot more like a straight-up Bad Guy in the dub until his turnaround. The way he uses the Norstein name like a bribe to Thomas rather than a mark of Tohma’s ability already; questioning if everything was “all my fault” like we’re supposed to assume that’s just it; his flashback having him protest against Thomas being the heir and barely show vulnerability at all; his apology being just him admitting he Did Bad Things instead of that he was struggling. It comes across more like Thomas reconciles with him purely because he finally apologised for his behaviour, and not because Tohma finally empathises with his father and realises he’s suffered from the same pressures. At least the conversation at the end does show us that Franz has always cared about Thomas, but the rest of the episode is not great at getting that across.

#digimon #digimon savers #digimon data squad

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

What use is a Memory Compared to a Future?

Day 1 Dannymay: Memory

He woke up slowly, feeling like an empty pool of water catching rain for the first time. His thoughts were short, tiny little things pittering and pattering around in his mind. His senses came back to him in fragments, the feeling of cold stone solid against him and surrounding his body entirely, an electric unrecognizable smell mixing with the faint scent of death and decay, then sound.

“Pariah?” a voice said. It was a nice voice, low and deep with a touch of gravel. He liked listening to it.

“By all means, you can stay in the sarcophagus, if you wish.”

Was he in a sarcophagus? He cracked open one of his eyes. The other simply twitched and sent a twinge of pain across his face. It took a moment for the image before him to come into focus.

When it did, what he saw was breathtaking.

Ruby red eyes and smooth blue skin hidden under a deep purple cowl framing the most beautiful face he had ever seen. At least, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing a face quite as beautiful as this one. If features like this were common then he would probably greatly enjoy his existence surrounded by them.

“Ah,” the beautiful stranger with the beautiful voice spoke, “you’re awake. I was beginning to worry.”

The stranger’s voice was dry, and held a touch of familiarity that he filed away as important for later. It was likely that something was amiss, if the stranger knew him while he did not yet know himself.

He wet his lips and tried to speak, his voice rough with disuse, “you needn’t lie.”

It had been a lie, or at the very least, it had not been the full truth, that this stranger worried about him. It was likely a quip, a sarcastic comment meant to rile him, and Pariah felt it best to respond in kind. The last thing he would ever admit to was any kind of vulnerability, especially in front of something so seemingly perfect.

His eyes caught on the scar that snaked its way through the stranger’s eye and along his cheek. It was the same eye that refused to open for him and he wondered if there was a connection. A history that was held out of his reach. And then he wondered exactly why he seemed to lack any memory or solid knowledge at all.

The first step, of course, would be figuring out who he was. The next would be figuring out where he was, and then figuring out this stranger, and what relationship they might have had. Whether he needed to do something to drag this handsome stranger closer to him.

The stranger scoffed, “I see you haven’t changed much, Pariah. Too much to expect you to believe someone might have anything resembling affection for you-“

“Do you?” he asked, testing the name Pariah in his mind. It fit surprisingly well, clicked into place and was pleasant to hear spoken in the stranger’s deep voice.

The stranger blinked. “Do I what?”

Pariah stepped fully out of the sarcophagus and into the stranger’s space. “Harbor affection for me?”

A flush spread over the stranger’s cheeks, a deep purple spilling like watercolor in the soft blue and creating a tantalizing contrast. “I hold no such thing!” he hissed, sharp fangs on display as he scowled.

A shame. Pariah would have to make moves to change that somehow.

He acknowledged the stranger’s discomfort and took a step back, taking the chance he had to observe in his surroundings. It was a castle, large and mostly European. Upon further inspection, however, influences of ancient Egyptian tombs could be found in the details, and particularly the traps . The deep red of the brick was at contrast with the slight green of the ambience around them- ectoplasm. As for where he was …

His mind drew a blank. He could recognize the ambient ectoplasm for what it was, but could not name the location itself. How frustrating.

“Pariah?” the stranger asked as he stepped away to more closely examine the castle’s structure.

Pariah turned his attention back towards him, taking in the stranger’s appearance once more. Beyond the beauty and piercing red eyes, he had a clock embedded into his chest, and his legs dissolved into a wispy tail, his cloak floating gently behind him. A ghost. He was a ghost.

From the soft thrum of the core in his chest, and the lack of any beating heart or need for air, Pariah was likely to be a ghost as well. Objectively it made sense, and when Pariah attempted to stop and think about it, there was little else he could have been.

He wondered, if he should ask a question, would the stranger answer? Would it be best if he attempted to hide his lack of familiarity? Would admitting it plainly be equivalent to holding out a dagger with which he may be attacked? But how much could he discover without fully tipping his hand?

The sarcophagus… Clearly he’d been sealed away in it somehow, and possibly for some time. Pariah tilted his head before turning to his companion and asking, “How long?”

Best to keep it vague, bank on assumptions made.

He watched as the stranger’s expression twisted, just slightly. Enough for Pariah to read the guilt, the discomfort, and he found himself wondering exactly who this was, floating in front of him almost close enough to touch but far enough to flee.

“Longer than I can justify,” he finally answered. “In all honesty I’m surprised your core is so intact. I would have expected some kind of damage, locked away as you were.”

Damage, yes, that was certainly likely. He turned away. Would the stranger follow if he left?

There was really only one way to test it. He started walking towards the entrance of the castle, looking around and taking in everything he could, each puzzle piece and missing bit of knowledge. Something clicked into place. He recognized the structure, could describe the ambient ectoplasm outside the windows, and he could feel his age. He knew there was a history here that he had once been privy to. A history that was lost to him now.

Being that he was a ghost now, it was likely that at one point he had been alive. That was how ghosts worked, right? Then again, it seemed unlikely that his companion had ever been constrained to something as fickle as mortality.

His companion had followed him, at a distance and clearly uncomfortable with his actions, but following nonetheless. It settled something inside Pariah, a hum of affirmation in his core. Now if only he could find a way to discover his name, or at the very least a moniker by which to call him.

“No more questions, Pariah?” Suspicion laced his words, and Pariah glanced back at him, not bothering to stop. There was too much he didn’t know, too much he could give away. “I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type.”

“Everyone experiences things that might change them,” he offered accusation, interested in whether the barbs he planted would pierce.

His companion flinched, small, almost imperceptible. An admittance of guilt, something that Pariah should probably hold against him. It was entirely possible that the one who released him from his sleep had been the one to force him into it in the first place.

Was his loss of memories intended, then? Or merely a side effect? Was he refusing to admit something already well known, or keeping his companion in suspense? What an interesting dance they were in, a tug of war where Pariah had no rope to spare and no reason to admit it.

“You seem more subdued. Seeing my face when you first awoke, I expected for you to fly into one of your rages,” his companion said, offering an accusation of his own right back.

Strange though, flying into a rage didn’t sound like him. It seemed too sudden a thing for Pariah, a quick burst of uncontrolled emotion. Was that something he should expect from himself? He’d have thought himself in more control than that.

But he need neither admit nor deny anything here and now, so instead he switched tracks entirely, turned towards his companion and said, “Why would I awake in a rage, when the first thing I see is as beautiful as you?”

The other ghost sputtered, the same colorful blush splashing across his cheeks, and Pariah longed to follow it beyond where the hood hid it away. He wanted to uncover him and see his ethereal companion in his entirety, every feature unobscured and available for Pariah to peruse at his heart’s leasure. He desired to trace his fingers along every feature, to catalog them properly so that he might not forget them again, no matter how pleasant the discovery.

“Is this some ploy to win me back into your arms?” his companion said. The ambient ectoplasm swirled around them, drenched in his emotions. Twisted, complicated things painted in thick layers of history and intimacy that Pariah was a stranger to. “Did you forget I betrayed you? That we saw your fall, orchestrated it twice over? Do you think perhaps I might trust you, when I have no reason to expect anything but bitterness and resentment from you?”

“So you’re saying I’ve succeeded before?”

There was a pause, a moment in time where nothing moved, and his companion stared at him, incredulous. Pariah dared not move himself. As skittish as the other ghost was, there was no reason to risk scaring him off so soon. Especially when Pariah had only just now admitted to lacking the history his companion was so clearly drowning in.

“You don’t… remember?” he asked, his voice soft. Pariah tilted his head, an admittance in itself, and watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions seemed to play upon the other. It was fascinating, to watch the scowl melt away and be so easily replaced with increasingly more complicated emotions. Hope, anxiety, distrust.

It was intoxicating.

Pariah had him before, in his previous life, and lost him. He’d have to be sure, this time, not to let go.

“...Your name.” It could have been a question, or a statement. Pariah answered either way, easily offering the name he had inferred. Judging by the way his companion’s face crumpled though, he hadn’t been entirely correct. “It’s Pariah Dark.”

Ah, yes that sounded more complete. A full name for what was once a complete identity, not the tattered shreds held together that Pariah was now. He nodded and his companion nodded back, guilt quickly overtaking his features.

Well that wouldn’t do. Out of all the expressions he’d seen so far that was certainly the least attractive. The coy smirk from earlier, or the flustered blush, those suited him better by far. Pariah stepped closer and spoke softly, “I’d rather know yours, I think, so that I needn’t call you handsome stranger in my head.”

The blush came back easily and Pariah smiled, reaching a hand to tug away the damned hood blocking his view. A gloved hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and Pariah stilled at the contact. He purred, touch starved in his long captivity, and the other ghost looked up, caught, his eyes wide and startled.

Pariah lifted a brow, his question unanswered, and his companion released his arm and backed away, out of reach. He didn’t let the disappointment show, simply followed with his eyes. They tracked every movement, every shift of his shoulders, the ticking of his clocks. It was some time before he was able to answer at all.

“Clockwork. My name is Clockwork.” He frowned, clearly hurt but unwilling to show it. “Are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”

That wasn’t accurate, Pariah mused, it wasn’t so much that he did not know who Clockwork was, but rather that Pariah could not remember him.

“I know who you are,” he argued. That was, if anything, what he knew most assuredly. It was there, etched into Pariah’s core and written plain as day upon Clockwork’s features.

“Oh?”

“You’re mine.”

#Danny Phantom #Pariah/Clockwork #Dark ages dp #dark ages #clockwork #pariah dark #bee's writing #dannymay2021 #dannymay

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years

Text

the ghost of unbroken love pt 1

Summary: Thomas pays the Carstairs home a visit once the dust has settled (COI spoilers!)

Read it on AO3 | Fanfiction Masterlist

CW: PTSD, implied child abuse, bullying

thanks to @littlx-songbxrd for the title :) (it’s a line from “silhouettes” by sleeping at last)

Alastair’s eyes widened in surprise when he opened the front door to see Thomas Lightwood standing before him. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Alastair’s hands. “Why do you have a hedgehog?”

He turned away slightly, gently stroking the hedgehog in his palm. “Excuse you, don’t be rude to Alfred.”

Thomas gave a slight smile. “My apologies, Alfred. Wait- Isn’t that Christopher’s hedgehog?”

Alastair’s eyes flared, clearly offended. “He is not! He was merely watching him for a few days.”

“Ah, I do think he mentioned that. My mistake.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Since when do you have a pet hedgehog, though?”

He tried to focus on the feeling of Alfred squirming in his palms and not on the tall, handsome masterpiece of a man standing before him, or on the memory of what his lips and skin tasted like. “If you’re here to try to change my mind-”

“I’m not, don’t worry. I just… I thought that perhaps we could talk, now that some of the excitement has passed.”

Alastair sighed. “Fine, come in, then, before you freeze.”

Thomas followed him in, shaking some of the melting ice and snow from his hair and hanging up his coat. His nose and ears were red from the cold.

“It truly would not kill you to wear a hat, you know,” Alastair commented.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve a reputation to uphold, don’t I? What would my friends and I be known for if not our aversion to hats?”

“Besides being a nuisance, you mean?”

Thomas smirked. “Kit did look after Alfred for you.”

“Believe me, any time I mention you and your Merry boys, I never mean Christopher.”

He chuckled. “That’s fair.” Thomas’ eyes drifted to the piano. Alastair cursed silently to himself, realizing that he’d left the fallboard open earlier. “You play?”

“I…” Alastair hesitated. He certainly used to. He wanted to, again. He could play music from a sheet without much effort, though he was still rusty, but playing written music was never what Alastair had enjoyed about playing. He’d always found his joy in creating, in taking written words and crafting it into a beautiful melody. That had been what he was attempting earlier, before he’d gotten overwhelmed and abandoned the project to fetch Alfred to calm him down, before Thomas had arrived at his doorstep. But it was a lost cause, for the part of Alastair that created, the part that dreamed, had died long ago. “Sometimes. Sometimes I do.”

Thomas pulled something out of his coat. “I, uh, I brought you something. I thought… Well, I’m not sure what I thought. I’m certainly not an expert in dealing with grief. But this is one of the books I read after Barbara died, and I thought it was a helpful distraction, and I figured at the very least you could amuse yourself with my trying to make sense of it all in the margins.”

Alastair gave him a small smile while placing Alfred down on the sofa and accepted the book. It was a volume of Sufi poetry, written in Farsi and Arabic. “Thank you, this… it means a lot.”

The conversation stumbled awkwardly for the next few minutes until finally Thomas made a pensive noise. “May I… May I ask you something?”

Alastair paused. “You may.”

“Why are you still friends with them?”

Alastair cast a dark gaze away from him. “I already told you, I-”

“You have no friends, I know. But you certainly pretend to be friendly with them, at the very least. You certainly don’t treat them anything like the way we’ve treated you.”

You don’t treat them anything like the way you’ve treated me, he wanted to say, but he knew that he would be deflecting to bring it up now. The truth was that Alastair asked himself the same questions. Why was he civil with them, friendly even? Why did he placate his father knowing how he would still treat him? He was sure he could see the wheels turning in Thomas’ brain, though his face betrayed none of it, wondering how badly they could have truly treated him if he was able to stay so amicable with them. Alastair, too, often worried if his own memories were lying to him, tricking him. “I can hardly blame them, can I? When I myself have done horrible things?”

Thomas hesitated. “That- That’s not really fair, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, it sounded like, at the time, you hadn’t done anything yet. At least, not to them.”

“What’s it matter? What goes around comes around.”

“More like what comes around goes around. Life isn’t just some twisted justice system, paying for crimes you hadn’t yet committed. What reasons did they have for treating you the way they did? Have they apologized?” Alastair’s brain stalled as Thomas added, “Do you think they owe you one?”

Alastair could feel his heart beating, blood rushing to his head, his chest constricting. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded a little too forcefully. “I told you to leave me alone!”

Thomas took a daring step towards him. “I think you think you deserved it. You think that you’re a monster, that you’re dangerous, a terrible person. You think that means they were justified in hurting you. That’s bullshit, Alastair. No one deserves to go through what you did, even someone who is terrible, and you are not. You’ve done bad things, certainly, but you’ve had reasons for doing each of them, and not one was that you are a terrible person. You are none of the things that you call yourself. You are strong and resilient and compassionate, and you love with your whole heart even those who do not deserve it.”

Alastair took a step back. “You’re wrong.” He wasn’t. Alastair hated feeling so seen, so vulnerable. He wanted to scream. Why wasn’t it enough, then? His love was never enough to make his father want to change, to get better. It was not even enough to get him to stop throwing things at him whenever the night quit going his way. His love was not enough to make Charles love him back. Even the boys at the Academy, Augustus and the rest, he’d spent so much time and energy trying desperately for them to genuinely like him, but it was never enough. He was fairly certain that it never would be. Thomas was wrong, Alastair was none of the things Thomas believed him to be, he was weak and pathetic and whatever love he held inside of him was broken at its core. “You ask me why I treat the boys from school better than you treated me, but why do you? You and your friends have never given them a fraction of the grief you’ve given me, even Augustus after he hurt your sister so terribly. Why?”

Alastair could see the defenses light behind Thomas’ eyes. “Don’t talk about Eugenia as if you know what happened!”

Alastair looked him in the eyes without a hint of expression on his face. “I do, and I know because she told me.”

Thomas stumbled on his words, unsure of how to respond.

“I told you why I was cruel to you lot at school, but I did not tell you why I spread that rumor. The truth is that I was hurting and I was scared and all I wanted was for you to leave me alone, but you wouldn’t. And then Matthew came, running his mouth with his endless nonsense, poking fun at the way I looked and reminding me yet again that there is not a single person on this Earth who sees me as anything more than an afterthought. And so I repeated that rumor to him. And I repeated it again, and again, because I was angry, because when Matthew blew up my belongings, my father decided that the cost to replace them was more than simply the coinage at the shops.” Alastair inhaled, pushing away the memory of the fury in his father’s eyes when he came home that semester.

Releasing a shaky breath, Alastair continued, “And I know. I know that wasn’t fair to him, or to you, or to your parents. But I have been trying to apologize for five months, only you decided without even hearing my apology that I did not deserve forgiveness. What now, Thomas? Now that you know my secrets, you’ve seen my scars? Do I deserve forgiveness? Do I deserve to be hated? Because truly I cannot keep track.” He gestured to the door, his voice now angry. “Who are you to decide what is deserved and undeserved? You do not get to come here and pretend like you understand me or my life. You and your friends think that you’re better than everyone else, but I have a secret for you: you are not morally superior simply because you are less broken than the rest of us. Get out of my house.”

“Alastair-” Thomas tried, but he was cut off.

“Leave, Thomas. And put me out of your mind. I left Charles because I did not wish to be his secret, and I will not be yours, either.”

Thomas looked like he was about to speak, but stopped himself. He looked hurt and confused, something like a wounded puppy. Alastair would not flinch. Finally, he obliged, though he turned at the last moment. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, though not ingenuine. Alastair shut and bolted the door without responding.

Once the door was secure, Alastair sank to his knees, a million thoughts and feelings flooding his brain, from relief to anger to utter despair. Shaky breath after shaky breath, he attempted to piece the world back together again.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added and, if so, whether for every TLH fic I write or just for this series or something else): @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #chain of iron #coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #coi #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #fanfic #cw ptsd #cw child abuse #cw bullying

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Puppet Strings. Yan Ghost Josuke x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Josuke’s temper flaring, typical yandere elements, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 3.1k

You didn’t think much of it when you saw your window wide open.

No, it wasn’t that particular moment that sent alarm bells ringing. It’s remarkable what the human mind is capable of scrounging up to justify an otherwise horrifying situation. Moving from one place to another is an exhausting effort -- you reasoned to yourself -- maybe you reopened it and forgot. That sounds perfectly plausible. Sleep came easily to you that night and all was forgotten the next morning. There were some other minor occurrences, cabinets being open, the television flickering. Nothing incriminating, nothing to worry about.

For a time, this logic worked in your best interest. The last straw was when your personal belongings started going missing. Lip glosses, shirts, and even some sketchbooks. Contacting the police served to be no help. When they asked who could hold a vendetta against you, you had no solid leads. You’d only been in Morioh a little over a month. Earning an adversary in that short a time felt unlikely, if not impossible. Classmates were interviewed, their alibis clearing them of possible suspects, the investigation stagnant. Your neighbors hadn’t seen questionable figures lurking around your home. Days went by, and a few patrols later, the police claimed there wasn’t much else they could do. There were no signs of breaking and entering, no fingerprints, no leads.

No peace of mind.

You’ve explored every logical avenue. Not knowing what to do next is the worst part, it’s what serves to frustrate you the most. Sighing, you dry your hands off, mulling over what to do next. Now that you’ve finished washing the dishes, there are no other chores to procrastinate with. Guess I better get started on that project, you think. God, but it’s so hard to focus anymore.

Without noticing it, you felt drawn to the living room. Anyone would understand, that from the stress you’ve suffered, it’s fine to take a break. A distraction from reality sounds great right about now. Your PlayStation 2, which has been collecting dust, can finally get used. The multiplayer games are bugged -- a Player 2 shows up even when you play it with yourself -- so you haven’t used it in some time. Scanning over the various game choices, you never get a chance to pick one out.

“Huh, so they released a sequel to that?” An unknown voice, masculine and lighthearted, chimes in behind you. Your immediate reaction is to whip your head back, searching for the source. Heart pounding, you realize this is exactly what you feared. That whoever was stalking you would eventually come to settle things for seeking help from law enforcement. You don’t see him, even though the voice had been close enough to assume he’s behind you. There’s no way you imagined it. Where is he?

That’s when you see him.

Whether or not it was intentional, he stands blocking your path to the kitchen, where your phone is. A young man of imposing size, easily dwarfing you. His style throws you off, it’s like he was ripped from another time. That hair… a pompadour? Narrowing your eyes, you stand from your kneeling position, preparing to hold your ground. He might be blocking your ability to call the police, but there’s still the option of running out the front door to alert your neighbors. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. Just don’t panic.

“Who are you?” Is the first question that slips past your lips. There’s unfiltered hostility in the words, despite your hesitation to aggravate him. Your eyebrows furrow when he puts his hands up in defense. It gives an impression of mockery in an otherwise grave scenario.

“Woah, calm down there,” he lets out a nervous chuckle that further irks you. “You can call me Higashikata Josuke.”

This person -- Josuke -- is acting too casual about this. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s the source of your torment these past few weeks. How else could he be standing in your home, acting in such a deplorable manner? For your own best interest, you bite your tongue, that’s dying to hurl numerous insults his way. In contrast to his polite speech, he’s dressed like a stereotypical delinquent. Who knows what Josuke would do should you provoke him. You’ve heard rumors of rambunctious youths in the area and don’t want to test the validity of those claims.

“Alright, Higashikata-san, I’m going to ask you to leave. This is my house. If you just… leave me alone, I won’t contact the police. Alright?” You feel like your proposal is a considerate one, even if you don’t intend to follow through. Once you get to safety, like hell you’re going to let this punk get away with it, he just doesn’t need to know that yet. Josuke shifts weight from one leg to another, contemplating your words.

“I can’t do that. Besides, the same way you feel this is your house, I equally feel like it’s mine.” Josuke replies, scratching his cheek. His tone almost sounds… apologetic. As if it isn’t completely within his control to leave. You gulp when you realize your approach might not work. Maybe he’s not mentally sound? That’s the most plausible solution. Taking a deep breath, you shift to a less combative posture, still hoping to talk him down.

“Is there someone I could call? A guardian, a friend? Let’s figure this out.” You will yourself to keep each word steady to lure him in. The innocent inquiry doesn’t have the intended effect, Josuke frowning as soon as the word guardian left your lips. Shit. Was that a sensitive topic? The scowl is gone in a split second like it never existed. He takes a step closer to you and you take a step back.

“There’s not much to figure out. I’ll be honest then since I’m sure you’re freaking out right now. Which makes sense. I’d be freaking out too…” he trails off, going deep into thought. Finally, Josuke manages to choose the proper words. “How do I go about this? Alright, I’ll just come out and say it.”

“Well, to put it in simple terms, I’m dead.”

You blink. Tilting your head, you conclude that this Higashikata Josuke is not mentally well. Getting in contact with a professional is your new top priority. Josuke picks up on your hesitant body language and rushes to give credence to his claim.

“I know, crazy, isn’t it? I’m sorry about your stuff, by the way. Felt like the best way to understand my new housemate without sending you running right away. I’ll return it now,” Josuke’s demeanor doesn’t give you the impression of a liar. Still, a spirit? You don’t know what to think anymore. He sighs at the sour expression on your face. “How to prove this to you… ah, I know. Hey, check this out.”

Josuke points to the controller sitting on your couch. Not a second later, it starts levitating in the air, your jaw-dropping at the unfeasible spectacle. Josuke lets out an airy chuckle at your bewilderment. “Sorry, that was pretty lame. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“There’s… really a spirit, in my house.” You struggle to say it aloud. The people living in Morioh could be superstitious, a view you attributed to living out in the country. This paranoia, or sometimes reverence, never fell in line with your beliefs. There was no solid proof that the supernatural existed. It made for riveting local stories, for youths to gossip and movies to adapt, but the line was drawn there. A timeline plays in your head of the past few weeks. It would explain how no one in this active community spotted an intruder, or how the police never found physical evidence.

“Our house, actually.” He corrects with a beaming smile.

ii.

Maybe it’s not so bad.

Josuke, with whom you have an unusual relationship, makes for decent company in your otherwise uneventful life. You still can’t help but feel on guard around him for his earlier behavior. As he explained it, borrowing your belongings was just a way to get to know you. He apologized wholeheartedly for the stress he put on your life. It felt genuine, but an apology doesn’t make everything go away at once. Little by little, Josuke’s grown on you, worming his way into your heart. Memories and feelings fade, your first few weeks after the move are no different.

“Have you seen my red scarf anywhere?” You call out, peeking underneath your pillow. Josuke appears from thin air -- an element that took some getting used to -- helping to look around your room. One of your conditions for remaining here was that he’d show up in your room only when invited, a condition Josuke was more than happy to agree to. You guess everyone is lonely in their own way.

“It’s not over here,” Josuke yells from beneath your desk. “What do you need it for, anyway? Can’t you just turn the heater on?”

“Well, I could, but that wouldn’t do me much good. Some friends invited me to karaoke tonight, and the weather report said it’ll drop to four degrees celsius.” Feeling defeated, you plop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Josuke leans over, popping into your line of sight. He’s lacking the trademark smile you’ve grown used to seeing. For such a minor change, it packs a punch. Josuke sulks like a kicked puppy.

“Karaoke, huh?” He mutters, more to himself than you. “My old classmates used to do stuff like that. Sounds fun.”

You sit up and cross your legs. Josuke’s tone is a longing one, wishing to fulfill a dream that can never be, visage painfully bleak. Guilt bubbles up in your stomach for the insensitive comment, not realizing he has a lot on his mind too. Josuke’s bubbly personality stood on a thin sheet of ice, ready to plunge into the depths at any moment. You wrack your mind to try and appease him.

“It really isn’t anything that exciting. I was going to say no, but they insisted. Just imagine it as a bunch of tone-deaf people drunkards belting, that’s all it is.” You console. Josuke doesn’t light up at your joke, his eyes hollow. From what you know about spirits, if they linger in this realm instead of moving onto the next, that means an obligation is holding them here. You’ve never asked Josuke why he hasn’t passed on. That leaves room for speculation, numerous hours spent ruminating over theories. Maybe he’ll tell you one day, or maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s still tragic he never got to live his life.

“Mm… guess so, yeah.” He isn’t paying attention to your words. Guilt as sharp as knives slices through you at Josuke’s gloomy mood. For a split second, you consider canceling with your friends, to stay home and cheer him up. He always loves playing games with you or just speaking over trivial matters for hours. You push the idea away. Fraternizing with a spirit on the daily isn’t enough to supply your social needs, only friends of flesh and blood can fill that role.

“Hey, I’m sorry for mentioning it. If you want to talk about--”

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Go live life.”

You don’t offer a rebuttal. Josuke probably needs time to think, you decide. We can talk about it later.

iii.

“What’s up?”

You lean against the wall, payphone pressed against one ear and your hand covering the other. Music blares in the background, terrible acoustics of the crowded bar making it difficult to hear the other line. One of the workers grabbed you, saying you had a call, your guesses of who it could be next to nonexistent. You scrunch your nose up when you hear Josuke’s distinct voice on the other side.

“It’s late,” you hear him say. His voice is muffled, but the exasperated tone is hard to miss. “Shouldn’t you be back by now?”

Sighing, you struggle to rationalize why Josuke’s pestering you like this. You never gave a time when you’d be home, not thinking it was necessary. “I was going to leave soon. I don’t have class in the next few days, so it’s fine.”

“It’s dangerous to be out on your own--”

“Josuke,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples. “I appreciate the concern, really, I do. But I used to live in Tokyo, remember? If I could survive the city at night, I can survive here.”

“That’s not the point here,” Josuke counters, voice dropping dangerously low. Your patience is wearing thin at his attempts to police your autonomy. It’s not his place to enforce a curfew on you. “You don’t know what kinds of danger lurks in Morioh.”

Josuke’s statement is full of bone-chilling conviction. Almost like he was speaking from firsthand experience. You take a deep breath, remembering that you’re speaking to someone who likely died in a traumatizing manner here. Maybe extending a little grace wouldn’t hurt. It’s a shame to cut the night short, but it’s not that big a deal.

“Okay, I get it. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk back home. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Softening your voice seems to have the effect you intended. Josuke takes a second to consider, the two of you waiting in tense silence. This is the first time you’ve gone out with friends, maybe he just wasn’t sure what to make of it. You hold no intention of bending to his every whim, but this one time, you’ll offer him peace of mind. There’ll be major boundaries set up in the future.

He sighs begrudgingly. “... Right.”

iv.

This is getting ridiculous.

Josuke’s behaving no better than an entitled child, your paper-thin patience starting to give way. The circumstances you’ve been placed into were unusual enough, to begin with, but they never felt malicious, not until Josuke’s personality seemed to switch in the blink of an eye. What you can only describe as sabotage has become a regular occurrence. It perfectly parallels the problems you had upon first moving into this house, only now you know the one responsible. He’ll act none the wiser, claiming innocence in what has to be his doing.

Cut phone lines, missing shoes, personal journals disappearing into thin air, nothing has been spared. Maybe you were foolish for trusting a spirit. You’d like to have thought you were on solid terms with Josuke, your mortal mind doing its best to wrap around the otherworldly events. You’re at your wit’s end, now fully prepared to confront him on this unacceptable display. It’s a shame it came to this, you think. Confrontation is the worst.

“Josuke.”

“[First].”

The two of you sit in the living room, on opposite sides of the couch. Ever since the karaoke disaster a few weeks ago, Josuke’s attitude has taken an undesirable turn, as evidenced by how he’s acting now. Never did you imagine he could be so petty. You straighten out your posture, squaring your shoulders, and placing your hands on your lap. He stares at you with faint interest, cerulean eyes shining at your attention.

“I’ve tried my best to be understanding,” you wince at how dramatic your words are. It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with a partner. “If I did something that upset you, please just be honest about it.”

Josuke gives a nonchalant wave. “Nah, it’s not that important anymore. I recently made up my mind, so I don’t feel too concerned about it.”

There weren’t many expectations in place for this talk, but Josuke dismissing you this fast wasn’t an outcome you envisioned. It feels like a slap to the face after you spent days dreading this talk. What did “recently making up his mind” even mean? Irritation rises in your throat like bile, words snapping out before you can stop them.

“You don’t just get to be that dismissive,” you point out with a scowl. “I know what you’ve been doing. Taking my stuff again, right, Higashikata? I’m fed up with this shit. Maybe I should just move out--”

Your sentence gets cut off by the coffee table’s glass shattering. The high pitched noise makes you jump, shards flying in multiple directions on the floor. Glancing from the mess back to Josuke, you find the sight of him as a stronger cause for worry. He looks thoroughly unimpressed with your emotional outburst. Thick eyebrows knit together, his face contorting from friendly to enraged. You gulp when a sudden chill in the air sending shivers down your spine. With how friendly your relationship with him had been up to this point, you forgot to watch your tongue, the initial reverence wearing off long ago.

Josuke stands up, flaunting his towering build. Looking down at you through lidded eyes, he reaches down, and you catch a glimpse of light blue and pink. Huh? What was that? A trick of the lights, maybe? As fast as it was destroyed, you watch in awe as the pieces return to their original place. Broken glass, chips of wood, screws and all, become whole as if it was a movie playing in reverse. Is this something else a spirit can do?

“Y’know, [First],” Josuke begins with a humorless laugh. “This is great. I wasn’t sure how to do this part. Now I don’t have to worry about that, so let me cut right to the chase.”

You feel the blood draining from your face, goosebumps dotting your skin. This is wrong. Whatever he’s doing now, you can’t stand another second of it. “Josuke, you’re scaring me.”

“That’s fine by me.” He smiles. There’s a palpable thickness in the air, tension elevating as each second crawls by. Your mind trips over itself in search of a solution to this, but deep down inside, you’re filled with dread. A dread that this damage is beyond repair and that you’ve made a fatal mistake. Would screaming even help you? Could you outrun a ghost? Your heart pounders against your ribcage and you pray it isn’t Josuke who’s trying to rip it out.

“You saw that table,” Josuke points to the once destroyed furniture, now neatly put back together. He frowns at your lack of confirmation, pressing further, voice increasing in volume. “Right?”

You somehow manage to nod. Your throat and tongue are too dry to use and the room feels like it’s spinning.

“That makes this simple then,” Josuke sits back down to his spot from before and stretches his arms. “There’s a lot I’m capable of. Way more than I’ve shown you. Breaking things apart and fixing them is my specialty, but… that last part can easily be omitted.”

Josuke turns to face you, eyes peering into the depths of your soul.

“Threaten to leave me again and I won’t even bother to put you back together.”

#Josuke Higashikata #Josuke Higashitaka #josuke headcanons #josuke imagine #yandere josuke #yandere josuke higashitaka #yandere josuke x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere ghost x reader #my stuff #commissions

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imaginarydesires · 3 years

Text

Pedro Pascal

Character Preferences

How They React to You Telling Them of Your Past Abuse ♡

Warnings: fluff, descriptions of abuse/trauma, emotional distress, descriptions of violence/anger/murder

Notes: gender-neutral! // the abuse is kept ambiguous to better suit a variety of readers. however, it is implied it was a single abuser. // I genuinely hope this can help someone, because writing it certainly gave me a small boost of comfort. // your abuse was not your fault. your trauma does not make you less than. your comfort characters would still love you even despite your scars.

❥ Dave York

You had barely finished your explanation of the events before he was planning the details of his retaliation. The thought of someone hurting you made his blood boil, and he could not handle his reaction well despite how he tried to hide it. He tried to be sweet and supportive of your healing process, but all he wanted was revenge. He might have even promised you that he wouldn’t do anything, but he does because he physically cannot stop himself. The thought of your abuser still living is enough to drive him to delirium. You might see the news report of their death or get a call from a family member/friend, and you know it was your Dave who did it, but neither of you talk about it. He just pulls you into his embrace and promises no one will ever hurt you again.

❥ Din Djarin

He comforts you to the best of his ability and promises you will always be safe with him. The openness of the conversation brings forth unpleasant memories of his own, and he genuinely admires your bravery for speaking so blatantly about the event(s). He knows if he ever sees your abuser, he won’t hesitate to point his blaster between their eyes, but for now he focuses on your comfort and amelioration.

❥ Ezra Prospect

He listens intently, letting you express the grievous emotion while reminding you of your safety and commending your resiliency. For the first time, he does not overwhelm you with poetic or philosophical phrases, and he does not focus on the details of the past. Instead, he asks what he can do to help you moving forward. He questions if there is anything he can do to make you more comfortable or assist your healing.

❥ Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

He hates seeing you in pain. He embraces you, holding you tightly as though if he tries hard enough he might be able to squeeze your broken pieces back together. If you’re crying, so is he. It’s like he is feeling your wounds with you. He understands trauma and the way it changes you forever. He wishes he could have sheltered you from the harsh realities of the world. He promises to never let anyone hurt you ever again and he promises you will not feel your pain alone.

❥ Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels

It starts with him holding your hand and listening to your story and slowly maneuvers to him pulling you completely into his lap to hold you against his chest. He kisses your forehead and soothes you, calling you every term of endearment as he reassures your safety. He tells you about his first love, and promises to protect you like he could not protect her. He wishes he could rid the world of people like your abuser. He imagines a society without them, and decides he’d do anything to make that a reality.

❥ Javier Peña

He’s never been comfortable with deep conversations, but as you tell him of your past, he has his full attention on you. He notices the way your demeanor changes as you talk, the small details he had been trained to pick up on in the field. He hates to learn of your trauma, but it serves as a reminder for why he does what he does. He wants to put those kind of people behind bars or six feet under ground. You become his motivation on the hard days, when he wishes he could just go home and forget the harsh realities of Columbia. He helps you forget your pain, gently kissing away the reminisce of your abuse. You both serve each other well, helping the other cope with the pain of the past.

❥ Marcus Moreno

It breaks his heart to hear of the tragedies you endured. He wraps his arms around your figure and embraces you sincerely, wanting to comfort you during your time of need. He promises you that you are safe now. He asks what he can do to help you, knowing the effects that trauma based disorders can have on daily life. He had seen his fair share of harsh scenes while working the field, and while he kept it together for you and his daughter, he understood your position too well. He thanks you for being brave enough to tell him, and will spend the rest of the night just holding you.

❥ Max Phillips

He listens, and then before you can even finish your story, he’s walking towards the door. He requires vengeance in the form of fangs sinking into your abuser’s neck. You call out to him, asking him not to leave you. He’s not usually a gentle or compassionate man, but seeing you so vulnerable changed that. He pulled you into his lap and held you, tracing his fingers down the side of your body to soothe you. He listened to your pulse, waiting for it to finally settle before he kissing your forehead and whispering to you that he would always keep you safe and you would never be hurt again. He knew as soon as you were calmed, he would find your abuser and tear them apart.

❥ Maxwell Lord

Your past only made Maxwell love you more, if that was even possible. As much as he hates that you know the effects of trauma too, he’s grateful to have someone who understands. He suddenly believed all of the times you reassured him that you supported him and understood his sincere ambition and flaws. You become his motivation in the sense that he desperately wants to give you a better life - a safe life. He kisses you sweetly and tells you that he will support and cherish you, and you’ll never be unprotected ever again.

❥ Oberyn Martell

He could see it in your eyes from the moment he met you - that you had something lingering from your past. He knew he could have easily chosen someone else, but he wanted you. He wanted you even with your abusive past and the effects of your trauma. He reassures you adamantly, reminding you that your past does not define you and your future will be with him. He doesn’t show any hints of desiring justified violence, instead focusing on your security and comfort, but as gentle of a lover as he is, he values vengeance. The next week you hear the news of your abuser being slain by the infamous Red Viper. You try to talk to him about it, but he silences you with a kiss and reminds you that you are his, and he will not allow anyone who has harmed you to remain alive.

❥ Pero Tovar

His scars are scattered across his skin, but yours are hidden beneath the surface. It’s difficult for him to listen to your story because he wished he could have been there to protect you. He clings onto you uncharacteristically. His arms wrap around your figure and he nuzzles your face into his chest while leaving sweet kisses on the top of your head. He pledges himself to you, promising to always maintain your safety. He was never one for compassionate actions, but he repeated reassuring words you had said to him in the past, hoping you understood how genuine his emotions were for you. He didn’t like to spill unnecessary blood, but if he ever saw your abuser, his sword would pierce them before they could speak.

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

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Elain's trauma + (another) lightsinger theory

(This theory is about Elain)

This post was supposed to be just about Elain's trauma, but I decided to use it to share with you one of my theories. So, buckled up, because this will be long!

Warning: This post will be a little about Elriel, but my focus is Elain. If that's not your cup of tea, be warned! Also, as usual, English is not my first language, so forgive for any mistakes. Be kind always!!

So... since I was reading ACOSF for the very first time I noticed how many times Elain's trauma was brought up, especially that time when the Cauldron kidnapped her. I strongly believe that we have enough textual evidence that points to the next book being about her, so I want to talk a little about that trauma and then share my theorie.

Childhood

I'm not going to talk much about it because there is this incredible post right here where the author did an amazing job. But I’ll briefly talk about it just to make sense.

If Nesta was raised to use her "maneuverings", her talents, her dance, Elain was not raised in the same way (not that was good for Nesta, I'm not saying that).

Elain was raised to look pretty, to please others, to not speak up, to get marry using her pretty face, to be a proper lady: a perfect doll.

So she acted like one.

It simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.

Her mother raised her like that until she was at least eleven years old. This is enough time for her to internalize how she should behave.

This is what SJM is trying to tell about Elain:

"I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all"

(Again, check this post for more details, this is just a scratch in comparison)

How this childhood reflects on Elain

Strength:

So, Elain was raised to be passive.

I'm not trying to justify her neglect towards Feyre. Elain has flaws just like any other character. But there's a reason why Feyre and Nesta was filled with rage when they lived in the cottage, and Elain look at it in a different way:

"A shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger."

Since Elain was raised to be passive, her strength is different from her sisters. Her strength comes from her heart, from her kindness. But mostly from her hope. The book tell us that:

"Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind."

My point is: her strength is different, not weaker. She is a different type of character, one that a lot of women relate to. Her strength isn't brutal. Her strength is hope. In her book, she will look at an indescribable horrible situation that seems to have no way out and will choose not to despair.

Beauty

She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers.

Elain's mother saw her for her beauty and only that. Now look at this:

Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.

She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”

“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.

Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”

In my opinion, Elain has been seen as beautiful and only beautiful her entire life. It's not that she doesn't realize it, but she doesn't want to be reduced to that.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty"

"They say your sister Elain is the beauty."

"They." Elain's beauty is known across Prythian, Eris said that twice in the series. She is so beautiful, that it seems like this is the first thing everyone will say about her.

That's why she wishes to be seen:

"No one ever looked —not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now."

She is described as the most beautiful among the sisters, and one of them is High Lady. So everyone looks at her. However, she wants more than that.

For her, it's vital to be seen.

She wants someone who loves her for who she is. That's why she hoped Graysen would still love her even after she turned Fae.

Trauma

Now that we understand what it means for Elain to be seen, to be loved, can we please stop reducing her trauma to a breakup?

She was: kidnapped from her bed, throw into the Cauldron (we saw what a nice experience that is), changed into something she feared, exposed to all the guards laugh at her and mated to a male who conspired to all of that happen.

Not only that: for months she was lost in her own visions. She didn't even know what was reality anymore:

“I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.”

"I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage…” She shuddered.

And when she was able to understand what she was, a Seer, and "wake up" from whatever "murky realm" she had been, the Wall came down. Which means she faced the Graysen.

Elain genuinely hoped he would love her for who she was despite being Fae. She looked at that situation with the same hope she used to look at the cottage. And how that turned out:

“You belong to him.”

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

Graysen’s face hardened. “I don’t want it.”

He would have been better off hitting her, that’s how deep the hurt in her eyes went.

And then she was kidnapped.

Elain is captured by the Cauldron

SJM used ACOSF to remind us of events that are going to be relevant for the next books and Elain's trauma was repeatedly brought up in ACOSF:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”

(...) he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory.

Now, look at how many times Elain being captured by the Cauldron came up.

Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn.

Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?

The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.

“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.

“I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk.

These are just a few examples to say: Sarah is setting up her next book by remind us again and again how deep her trauma is.

Now, how did the Cauldron kidnapped her in the first place?

Nesta was already moving, sprinting for where we’d heard that voice. Luring Elain out.

I knew how it had done it.

I’d dreamed of it.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

Graysen promising love and healing: everything she had hope for.

Now, who rescued her?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

And we have this reaction:

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

I don't believe it's coincidence that the Cauldron used Graysen's image to lure Elain out, and Azriel was the one who got her back. (I'm dying to get into her head and see her feelings about all of this)

And ACOSF reminded us of this as well:

Azriel stiffened. "I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

Repeatedly. We don't know how this characters felt at that moment, we don't have their POV's, but after ACOSF I do think this was a crucial moment for both of them: Elain and Azriel.

Lightsingers

“There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost. Only when you’re in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren’t fair at all. The horror of it is the last thing you see before they drown you in the bog. But they kill for sport, not food.”

"Hunt the kelpies or lightsingers without provocation and you might find yourself trapped here.”

When Cassian explains what is a lightsinger, the book has already remind us again and again the Cauldron took Elain.

We know Nesta fought a kelpie. But what if the reason why we didn't see a lightsinger is because Elain will be the one who will face one?

Lightsingers lure people, appearing as a friendly face: this is exactly what happened when Elain was captured by the Cauldron, when she saw Graysen. We know that was very traumatic for her - she told us that herself.

Elain already experienced what is to be lured, so if anyone could face a lightsinger and survive is her. She wouldn't make the same "mistake" twice.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost.

Elain was lost, the last thread that connected her to her humanity had been cut off. The Cauldron used her love for Graysen, her deepest wishes, her hope for a future and turned it all against her.

But when a character is developed, they learn with their mistakes, they get stronger. What it was once a weakness might become their greatest strength, which is something very present in SJM books (The Nephelle Philosophy?) .

Elain's strength comes from her hope, she looks at the darkness of the world and sees the light. If the Cauldron used it once against her, maybe that hope would be precisely how she could break through whatever luring spells lightsinger cast.

There's a reason why SJM remind us again and again about that specific moment, which was without a doubt one of the most important ones between Elain and Azriel, and possibly because we are going to see Elain dealing with her struggles.

But what if there's more? What if that trauma would be the reason why Elain can face a lightsinger and survive?

What if what was once a weakness may become... her strength, her survival?

#pro elain #acotar theory #pro elain archeron

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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Sick Fic I Didn’t Bother to Name Part 2

Basically Jon is sick post canon and Tim lives and is looking after him while Martin is at work. See look you don't have to read chapter one!

Okay so I know we all expect my fics on Wednesday, but next week it will probably have to be early Tuesday morning. So keep an eye out. Wish I didn't have to switch it up, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

cw fever, delusions sort of? sort of flashback?, past strained friendships, I think that's it?

Jon is starting to lose track of time. Getting lost between the seconds. Gaping spaces where he isn’t awake enough to register what is going on or what episode he and Tim are supposed to be on. He’s lost in the moments his gummy eyes are closed and between strained breaths.

He knows it’s the fever. And he thinks he knows where he is.

He’s on the couch with Tim.

In his and Martin’s home.

But between blinking and the gaping chasms between one tick of the clock and the next, he finds himself in places that have been gone. Long gone. Burned to the ground. Both the places and the things that occurred.

He’s on the couch he’s on the couch. He is on the couch. He is using Tim as a pillow. While Tim gently runs a hand through his curls. It would be soothing if he wasn’t also seeing another time. Another place. Another Tim.

A Tim with his face twisted in a familiar rage.

Shoving him. Redirecting a forgotten, graceless fall. Legs giving way under the strain of the worst couple months of his life. Whichever worst months those were… Because for a while each month was the worst in a new and horrifying way.

He is on the couch.

And Tim is speaking to him soothingly as his breath catches in a panic he knows is lost in time. Out of time. Unstuck like Billy Pilgrim. So it goes.

It would have been a sensible fear years ago.

It Was sensible.

When the exhausted slip of the tongue and static echoed off the hatred behind Tim’s eyes, ricocheting. At least once slamming Jon against the wall when he lost control.

And he knows he isn’t making sense. And he knows that Tim would never raise a hand against him. And it wasn’t as if Tim ever really did. But he wasn’t gentle. Touches that once-and-now mean comfort and safety then meant something too tight too rough too much and sent him into walls or to the floor or caused bruises on his stupidly sensitive skin.

Jon is on the couch, mumbling to himself feverishly.

Tim is worried. Jon’s fever is up, despite the recent medication and the damp flannel on his forehead. Tim doesn’t even think it’s too high, but Jon has always been delicate. Or has been recently. Tim wishes he could cast his mind back far enough to confirm that this is just the way his friend has always been, and not a recent development in the years in the Archives where the world was against this slip of a person.

Tim tries not to think about it. Because he can’t lose himself to regret when Jon is facing whatever his mind is throwing at him. Even when his mind could very well be throwing the memory of a Tim that the present Tim regrets. Guilt is something for the bottom of a bottle. Or in the muscle cramping heat of the heavy beat pounding music and pounding feet. Or in the thick of paint fumes and the wet splat of a brush against the walls.

Guilt and anger are not meant for quiet moments on the couch watching over a sick friend. Not for episodes of Avatar the Last of the Airbenders.

No, this is how you rewrite the guilt and rage.

He will regret and be angry with himself and the situation that is no longer the situation when he has his coping mechanisms, both constructive and self destructive.

He soothes Jon. With quiet reassurances and a gentle embrace, trying to gauge if Tim will have to step back to sooth, or if the words are helping, or if he should pause the show or if the familiar noise will help ground Jon.

In another time, Jon stumbles across Tim in the break room. Limping his way to make some tea and let that sooth the fire beneath his skin and the heavy weight of trauma. Rubbed raw wrists. His body failing to bounce back after kidnapping. And the taste of static as the question he’s already forgotten pulls and answer he can’t comprehend from Tim.

The twist of lips in a snarl.

Jon reaching out to apologize, but Tim jerks away.

Sending the unsteady Jon reeling.

Tim is gone before Jon hits the ground. Too dizzy to keep his feet.

Jon is crying, and Tim wonders if he has grounds to blame himself. He will anyhow, but he wonders if it is justified this time.

But he can’t act on that sort of regret. Substantiated or not. This is not the time.

“Hey, ace.” If Jon were more lucid, he would absolutely hate the nickname. Tim loves it. It combines a lovely gender neutral expression with the happy double meaning of Jon’s sexuality. Tim feels that it could serve to ground Jon to a friendlier memory. Not to mention, well. Okay he wouldn’t Hate the term. But he would love to make a show of hating it. “You with me?” He pats Jon’s face lightly, and gently wipes away the tears. He isn’t really sure if Jon is sleeping or hallucinating or just uncomfortable.

Jon frowns. He struggles with coordination enough to rub at his eyes. Eventually he cracks open a fever glazed eye, bringing (Tim assumes) the world into whatever blurry focus he can without glasses.

“Tim?” Jon’s voice is rough. Tim isn’t sure if it from congestion settling or just disuse.

“The one and only.” He throws in a cheeky wink. He wants to say more, but doesn’t know where Jon is in his mind.

A clammy hand reaches up and traces some of the scars Tim got in the unknowing.

Tentative. Both with the lack of clear vision, probably, and with a hesitation that Tim is fairly certain that comes with an uncertainty of where their relationship stands.

“What?”

Again, Tim isn’t sure if this is Jon lost in the past or just hazy on some details.

“It’s Tuesday and Martin made you call out from work today. Martin would have stayed, but I got off from work earlier today, so I am keeping you company. Sasha is at work, though. She’s probably jealous. Uh… We’re watching Avatar. Which you always complain about, but I know that’s just for show because I know you watch it on your own. Oh! And my favorite part! The Magnus Institute has been burned to the ground! And please don’t try to know anything, because you’re sick enough please don’t give yourself a migraine.”

Jon doesn’t give him the typical annoyed look at over-explanations, so Tim has to guess that Jon was missing some of those details. Jon relaxes, however. Which is good. Lucid enough to understand what he’s saying.

“You back with me?” He asks Jon.

Jon makes a so-so gesture. He’s stopped crying, which is good, but he’s still hesitant to relax against Tim.

“Where had you gone?” Tim asks against his better judgement.

“Felt unstuck.” Jon’s hand closes over Tim’s wrist. Using it to cling to the here and now. Tim understands that feeling.

“Anything I can do?”

“Just… be here?”

“Not going anywhere, bud.” Tim promises.

Being shoved. Hitting the ground. Curled on the unforgiving tile.

He’s on the couch. Tim is here, and he’s kind and solid.

Tim is shouting. Angry. Biting. Chilling words. Bent too far to be a friend. Twisted.

Jon is getting dizzy from the unstuck feeling.

Everything is spinning and he is dreadfully cold.

Aching cold.

But he’s afraid that every drag of his eyelids will take him back to echoing shouts and freezing tile and bruising hands.

Jon wakes up screaming. He tries to pull himself up, the blanket wrapped around him like restraints and he wants to be up and moving and free. He screams when someone grabs his arms.

Tight grip, enough to leave marks over his raw wrists. Tim shaking him until the world upends itself and he’s on the floor. On the floor. On the floor.

As Tim looms. Angry and shouting and tall. And Jon is so so so small. Breakable. In a way that no one seems to notice until he’s broken in front of them.

He’s on the floor of his living room. There are no bruises. No rope burns.

Just a precariously high fever. Sitting crying and dizzy in the thick tangled blankets.

Tim kneeling before him, making his posture as unthreatening as possible.

“Jon? Bud? You back with me?”

Five things he can see. Tim. The laptop. His cane. The couch. His ace ring.

Four he can hear. His own pounding heart. His strained breaths. Uncle Iroh on the laptop. Tim’s voice.

Three he can feel. His sweat damp frizzed hairs plastered to his forehead. The thick blanket that takes turns being a comforting weight and a panic inducing restriction. Again, his heartbeat.

Did he take his medicine this morning?

Is he up for more medicine for his fever yet?

The heat of anxiety is easing him back into the ice fever chills.

Tim is reaching for him. Offering him a hand. Instead he tips forwards against him.

“Back with you.” Jon assures, finding his voice at length.

For sure this time.

Nothing like panic to jolt him back aware.

Tim settles him back on the couch with care. Presses a kiss to his forehead, and tucks him in again against the shivers.

Jon settles back to watch another episode, Tim as his pillow once more.

#the magnus archives #fic #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #cw fever #cw strained frindships #in the past its all good now #cw hallucinations #sort of

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