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imagionationstation · 1 month

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*Slams open the door to your inbox very, very loudly*

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA FOR AN AU

But this one is a little bit deranged.

AU where only Donatello and Karai are raised by Splinter and the rest (Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo) were raised by the Shredder. (Or vice versa idk which would be funnier)

It's stupid, I KNOW— but wdnsixjsks—

Just imagine the lone turtle being raised by the opposite side of the other three, accompanied with just as fierce + overprotective older sister who'd drop kick anyone who ever attempt to claim the title as 'Donatello's older sibling'.

Donnie'd be so confused to suddenly have a group of the same species as him suddenly thrusted into his life after spending years of beliving he's the only one— and oh look they're now claiming him to be their brother, how neat.

Karai is NOT happy because that's HER little brother and they have to pry him out of her cold, dead hands.

Leo and Raph would be, "You're our master's daughter and that's OUR little brother", to which Karai would be, ">:0".

Cue to Mikey and Donnie arguing who is older.

I'm not sure about you, but I am also a sucker for (over)protective Mikey. It's a neat concept, one that hasn't been explored much by the fandom— but arhwidnsidnsi.

I just love the purple genius, okay?

This AU is purely crack and self-indulgent at this point hahah.

-Ellestrade

Donnie didn’t consider himself to be a bad son, per say.

Sensei always had a list of rules to keep him safe. Never go down to the ground floor unless the dojo was closed for the day. Never open the curtains because he might be glimpsed. Never go out into the yard unless he got permission or had one of them with him.

And never, under any circumstances, was he to enter New York City.

Sensei was always very careful when it came to his safety. It’s the whole reason that he found a place outside the city for him to grow up, miles away from people, but close enough to the city that Miwa could visit to terrorize socialize whenever she feels cooped up.

Donnie’s never had that luxury, but now he was fifteen.

Fifteen was practically driving age. Fifteen is old enough to be in a high school and get invited to parties that sounded unsafe and rent adult movies behind parents backs and get to buy things at stores or check out books at the library!

He’s definitely responsible enough to borrow some books on his own.

Fifteen is also the perfect age for sneaking out and breaking rules.

It’s not really his fault. It’s the hormone and teenage ritual stuff. He couldn’t help it, probably. That’s what Miwa always says. Sensei buys it sometimes. He goes easy on her. So when Donnie wakes up to a carpeted floor and a splitting migraine, he knows he’s been caught and he’ll need every reasonable excuse that he can get his hands on.

It’s his birthday, anyway. Sensei can’t be too mad.

There are muffled voices around him as he lifts his head, immediately regretting it when pain spikes from his skull and scatters across his forehead. He clutches at his skull, groaning miserably. He’s never had an all-nighter migraine this intense before.

He supposes that this is what Miwa would call a personal problem as remains on the ground, forcing his eyes open to get a read on the situation. He expects to see his father hovering as Miwa goads him into a punishment because the consequences of his actions was never enough for her.

Somehow, his father usually ends up letting him off the hook instead. A perk of being an extinct species that can never see the light of day, he supposes, is endless sympathy points.

Donnie’s greeted with three shells, four blinding overhead lights, five individual weapons, and six eyes, all balanced out by a truckload of confusion. He stares, blinking sluggishly, as one of the turtles announces, “Well, he’s not dead.”

And just like that, this has officially slotted itself to be the weirdest dream Donnie has ever had.

DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT I HAD TOO-

So anyway, feel free to assume that he’s in pain and kidnapped for any number of reasons because I have about twelve different ideas and they are all equal GREAT for the crack AU atmosphere that is in development in my brain.

I’m just imaging a backstory where Shredder fought the Kraang (cause he was hangry or something, who knows) and the turtles (sitting abandoned in the alley, maybe?) are corrupt with mutagen.

Absolutely dumbfounded but not stupid enough to leave the little freaks of nature behind, he (still human) snatches three of them, accidentally leaving one behind.

Hours/days later, Toddler Miwa hear Donnie crying, barely alive and all alone. Obviously, dad and daughter care for him.

Shredder and Yoshi are still human, but neither is on guard for the other. They both think the other remains in Japan.

Their sons don’t grow up hating each other’s guts. They are both trying to leave their past behind. Yoshi is raising his family. Shredder is growing his empire.

So Donnie didn’t grow up knowing he had other brothers because no one knew they existed. Ergo, I imagine Donnie would be confused at first, but after fifteen years thinking that he’s alone in the universe, he’s eager to learn everything about these three fellow turtle mutants in ninja gear. He’s a bit perturbed about the fact that they keep making excuses to keep him from leaving, but he’s not to concerned about it. He has brothers! How neat is that?

And since it’s a crack AU, it would be absolutely hilarious if Donnie seems like this naive, learned soul, who cannot social in the slightest- but the second that the need calls for it, he knows how to use several different type of weapons and can take all the brother down single-handedly. He had fifteen years of no brotherly distractions and a sister who takes training very seriously. Why wouldn’t he?

It’s why he’s not concerned with technically being held hostage. He’s reasonably certain that he can take them. And he proves it when Karai finds him and tries to take him home, only for the brothers attempt to stop him from leaving.

Of course, he always feels bad about his supremely awesome and instinctive skills. He prefers his studies.

No, but your “pry him out of her cold, dead hands” comment made me think that she’d need a reason to feel threatened. If they bond before she finds him, Donnie will begin looking at his older brothers (yes, even Mikey, who adores being able to feel in charge of someone) like, well, eldest brothers, and Karai will sense the change.

And, obvs, be completely and utterly ticked off by it.

Donnie’s spent his entire life admiring her and everything that she does- how DARE she have to share his attention with these three random strangers that literally kidnapped him?!

And his older brothers will all immediately decide that this lost child is theirs’ for one reason or another. And obviously, the safest thing to do when you find a stray mutant like you is to take it home and give it care. Heck, if it turns out to be your brother, even better!

HAPPY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY! YOU BELONG TO A GROUP OF NINJA TURTLES NOW, ADOPTED LIKE A LOST CAT! CONGRATS!

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oiksuga · 3 years

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come on and show me

prompt: smell of mint: “the strength of love and hate are one in the same.“ for @tooruluv | #tooruluv2kparty pairing: oikawa x f!reader tags: angst, misunderstandings, childhood neighbors to enemies (?) to ?, rated M for Makeout (so rated pg-13) warnings: underage alcohol consumption, ambiguous ending wc: ~4k synopsis: the one where you and oikawa grow up right next door of each other. complementary songs: unholy - hey violet // new girl - finneas // like real people do - hozier a/n: this fic had me biting my nails. i haven’t written in ages and to tackle something this long made me woozy. hope you enjoy it! (update: decided to turn it into a semi-angsty one-shot instead, maybe i’ll continue it as a side project, but for now, it is done!) no beta we die like men. i’ll proofread later.

You first meet Tooru Oikawa at the age of six. He had just moved to your street. The house right next door, no less. Quiet, shy, a bit of a crybaby. He clung to his mother for the entirety of that first meeting, a stuffed cartoon alien tightly clutched in his right hand. Your mothers, naturally, hit it off. You and Oikawa on the other hand, well that’s was a work in progress.

You tried to play nice, you really did. Your mother had told you about how it was just them two and his older sister. His father had died a little over a year before. So obviously you felt bad. You went over to his house on a few ocassions. His mother would welcome you with open arms each and every time. He was another story.

He had enough manners to come say hello, even inviting you up to his room to play with some toys (at the behest of his mother) but the minute she was out of sight, he’d go back to his own things, paying you no attention. Not that you particularly fancied playing with him, but if you walked this far to visit him, you would think he could acknowledge you for more than 2 minutes.

Tired of wasting valuable playtime sitting on the floor of his room, you take matters into your own hands and ask your brother for advice. He was a year older than you and Oikawa, so naturally you believed he held the secrets to the universe.

You approached him after dinner, and presented him with your problem.

“And I don’t know why he makes it so hard to be friends. And mom just keeps forcing me to visit him.” The huff of indignation only made him laugh.

“Well Y/n, you have to understand that he’s lonely. He is not very used to having others around him.”

“But if he is so lonely, wouldn’t hanging out with me make him feel better?”

“Remember how mom told you his dad is no longer with him?” you nod, “Well he has been living with other girls so much he probably wants to play with another boy. Guys don’t always want to play princesses you know?”

“So would he want to play with me if anothery boy was present?”

“Well, that is up to him, but it would interest him.”

“Then will you come with me tomorrow when I go over?”

“Sure”

And that is how you found yourself at his doorstep once again, brother in tow. His mother practically bounced off the walls seeing he had accompanied you. Did she also think he needed a boy to play with? She called Oikawa down, and you could hear some grumbling from his end. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a confused looked ag the sight of two people instead of one.

Your brother went up to him first.

“Hey, uh Tooru right?” First name basis already?“I’m Y/n’s older brother. Well I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with me and a couple of my friends today?”

Huh, so that was his plan. Your brother is the unofficial leader of his group of friends, comprised of various kids in the neighbourhood. Some his age, some more around yours. They like to cause trouble and torment other kids at times. Your mothers were close too. Unfortunately for you, none of them had any sisters your age. So everytime you were supposed to play with them, you were miserable.

After that first meeting, your brother and Oikawa had become quite the pair. He took him “under his wing” (as he liked to call it) and formally inducted him to his squad. They were over the moon to have someone new to hang out with (read corrupt). You, on the other hand, could not hate it more. Now that those two were buddies, Oikawa was always present in your home. Anywhere you looked he was there. And now that he had other people to be with, he came out of his shell. Gone was that snotty kid with the alien plush, now replaced with a self-absorbed bastard you wanted no relation to. Too bad he never took the hint. It got worse once you both turned 14.

“You know Y/n, I’ve gotten so many confession letter this week. But oddly enough, I have not gotten one from you. You need to hurry up before one of these girls wins your spot as my girlfriend.”

“Well good thing I have enough smarts to never feel the need to do something like that.”

“Ouch Y/n you are killing me over here. Whatever, I’ll just look for it in your room when you are gone.”

“What the- how are you going to do that? You know what don’t tell me. Just please get out.”

“Or you are gonna do what? Call your brother to-“

He was interrupted by the arrival of yet another nuisance in your room.

“Hey Oikawa, please leave the poor girl alone. Stop being such a pain”

Enter Hajime Iwaizumi. Ah Iwaizumi. The other half of the obnoxious duo. Not that you don’t like him. No, quite the opposite. He keeps Oikawa tame and off your hair, something which you are deeply grateful for. But he also has his habits of annoying the crap out of you. All of your brother’s friends do. But you like to think that deep down they’d do anything for you.

“Not now Iwa-chan, Y/n is about to confess her secret feelings for me.” He says, clearly aware of the growing irritation on his friend’s face.

“Don’t make me pull you by your hair again. We are going to be late for the movie.” He emphasized his threat by rolling up sleeves, a tell-tale sign he was about to beat the crap out of Oikawa.

“Alright alright Iwa-chan you are such a hard ass.” He now turns to you, taking a few steps forward and stands right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, m’lady.” With that nickname, he took your right hand and kissed your knuckles. You could only srunch up your face. Gross, how many of those shows are he watching.

You heard the downstairs door shut and with that, it was silent again.

Finally, peace.

Years went by, and Oikawa’s popularity only skyrocketed. Everyone around him found him attractive, so naturally they’d hang on to him. He was also really good in volleyball, so everyone would go to see him play. Your brother and him remained close friends. Hosting parties together, going on weekend long trips with all their friends. All things you were forbidden from participating in because, as your brother said, this is not the crowd you want to be with. Your parents still let you host your own events, but nothing of that magnitude.

Soon enough, years went by, and you began your senior year of high school. This was going to be your years. With your brother now gone, having graduated and gone off to college, it’s your turn to be the life of the party. No more “you can’t be there.” Now all eyes will be on you. And what a better way to make your debut than with a party. While classes didn’t start until a week later, it was your brother’s tradition to take over your parent’s beach house for a weekend and hold a last big major bash before the semester began.

Invitations were sent, music was chosen and all that was left to do was tidy up the place. You brought some of your friends with you to help you get the place ready before the chaos began. Sweeped everything, locked away valuables, and got them settled in two of the rooms so they could sleep comfortably after. As you were outside stocking up the bar area, you heard a collection of voices coming from the living room. It’s too early, why are there people coming already? As you walk back in, you are greeted with Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and their two friends, who were also part of your brother’s group, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, all too sitting too comfortably in your couch.

“I hope you guys know this is a respectable place.” You crossed your arms at the sight of them getting too comfortable in your couches. Feet up on coffee table like savages.

Oikawa spoke first. “Relax darling,” God you hated that nickname, “You do know we have been here more times than you right? The parties that have happened in this place oh man.” You felt indignated at his attempt to one up you in your own home.

“Well if I recall correctly, this is still my parentms place, so I can have you and your friends kicked if I wanted to.”

At that, the other three butted in, a chorus of “Oikawa what the hell man,” and the sound of Iwaizumi hitting the back of his head.

“Okay fine. I’m sorry Y/n that you are so jealous of me and my party animal ways.”

“God you are exhausting. But anyways, I am glad you guys are here because I need help hanging some lights outside. Iwa and Mattsun, could you pretty please come with me to hang these?”

You led them outside, before sticking your head back in, directing your gaze to the two remaining guys camping in your couch.

“And don’t think I have forgotten about you two. Kiyoko needs some help putting more stuff together, and the rest of the girls went out to order food, so please make yourselves useful and go.”

You play some music on the speakers, and get to work.

Soon enough, the party was in full swing. You swam through the sea of bodies trying to locate the kitchen. The sheer number of people was disorienting. But to your luck, the swaying crowd somehow guided you to your destination, slightly sticky from stranger’s sweat, but otherwise unscathed. You make way to the counter and try and lift yourself onto it. The drinks in your system making in a harder task than usual. You are halfway through climbing in a more unlady-like manner, when a voice calls out for you.

“Uh Y/n, need some help?”

You turn around to see Oikawa. His face was flushed, you assumed it was from whatever was in the plastic cup in his hand. Hair disheveled, forehead shiny from his sweat. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, and the lighting made his chain glint at an angle. If he wasn’t Oikawa, you’d admit he was attractive.

You become aware of your compromising position and stop your attempts of getting on the counter. The suddent movements make you wobbly, and you grab onto the counter to keep stable. You notice him walking over to you, and motion for him to stop.

“I don’t need your help. Just get me a water bottle from the fridge please.”

He obliges your request and gets some water for you, going so far as to opening the bottle, and hands it you. You are silently grateful, as you don’t think you have the coordination to do it yourself. As you are drinking, feeling the relief of the coolness down your throat, you notice he’s staring at you. This felt odd, there was something about the way he looked at you. You felt too vulnerable. It was getting awkward.

“So, you enjoying the party? I saw you doing a shots competition outside earlier. Did you win, Mr. Party Animal?” You made sure to emphasize the mock of his nickname.

He huffs indignantly. “Well Y/n-chan, cannot believe you doubt my abilities. If you must know, I did in fact win, with an impressive 5 shots down my system. And look at me, cool as a cucumber.”

You look at him for a second, brows furrowed, and then burst out laughing. “‘Cool as a cucumber’? God you are lame.”

All he can do is stare at you. You have never laughed like that. It’s always measured, not too loud, not too long. This is different. He likes different.

When you stop, you notice he is staring again. You feel small. As if you are under a million spotlights, all pointed at you. You are about to ask if he was okay, but seems like someone beat you to it.

“Hey Tooru~ I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you okay?” She notices the position you are in, and slightly grimaces, “Tooru who is this.”

He blinks, a bit too hard, and turns to face her. “Hey Sara, this is Y/n,” he motions to you, “you know, the one who organized this party.”

Sara. You know who she is. And she definitely knows you. You two met at the last student council election, a few months back. When you found out you were running agaisnt each other. She was the current president, and you held a lower position as secretary, so running for president felt like a giant leap. Though it seems that after a month of campaigning, debates, and a tiresome election you had won. A very exciting moment, and what felt as a good culmination to your high school career. You and Sara had an extensive talk about it over coffee, in which she assured no ill feelings towards you.

By no means were you guys best friends, but you also like to think you were not enemies.

“Oh Y/n and I know each other. Great to see you again, and amazing party, you really know how to entertain.” Well that answers that, she doesn’t hate you. Great. “Do you mind if I borrow Tooru over here? There are some things I need to talk to him about.”

“No problem at all, glad you are having fun.” You wave goodbye and with that they were gone. You were alone.

Now feeling more sobered up, you decide to go back to the masses. Your newfound energy leading you to the makeshit dancefloor, letting loose to Makk’s karaoke rendition of Pursuit of Happiness. What a movie moment. Everything letting loose in a beach house living room.

The thing that wasn’t a movie moment though? How much you needed to pee. How come no one ever informs you of the effects alcohol has on your bladder?

Once again, you venture through the bodies to find the bathroom. There was no line, which should have been a sign. But you made no thought of it, until you swung the door open and found, in the most cliche moment ever, the ever-present Tooru Oikawa passionately making out with Sara. That sobers you right up.

If they noticed, you wouldn’t know, because you bolt out immediately and go straight to your room. You go to the bathroom there, and as you are washing your hands, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Even though you only saw them for a second, the image of those two making out was burned in your brain.

There was something about the way he held her, pressed to the sink counter, hands on her waist, that made you feel something inside. You chalked it up to general lust and splashed cold water on your face, trying to stop whatever your brain was imagining. You left the bathroom, ready to take a break in bed.

That was, until the man in question made his appearance in your room.

“You know there are laws against trespassing right? So I don’t know what you are doing here but-“

“I came to apologize.”

Well that’s a first.

“Apologize for what exactly. You haven’t been an ass the entire night, if anything, I should congratulate you for that.” You say, tone more snarky than you intended. What were you even pissed about.

“Well I think you and I both know what you walked into. And I just wanted you to know that is not who I am, nor how I behave.”

“Well let me be the first to tell you that I don’t care who you suck face with, as long as it doesn’t happen in my presence.” What was up with you right now.

“What if it was with you? Would you care then?” He took a step towards you. You took one back.

“What are you talking about.” Why did he keep walking towards you. This room cannot be that big.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Your back was met by the wall at the end of the room, and Oikawa now stood in front on you, “Darling.”

Something about the way he looked at you, combined with the alcohol in your system and the muffled music you could hear from downstairs made your insides feel on fire. I must be going crazy, you thought.

Because as soon as that god-awful nickname left his lips, you pulled him down onto yours.

“As your big brother, it is my duty to protect you from all the evil things that are out there. You know that right?”

“That includes Oikawa right? He is such a meanie. I don’t know why you even hang out with him.”

“Well, Tooru is different. He means well, he just doesn’t express it how you are used to. Boys his age usually behave like that. But he’ll grow out of it. You’ll learn that eventually.”

“Well I don’t care. He’s mean and I hate him. I don’t care if he changes. I’ll still hate him.”

“Haha. Well I’m glad. Wouldn’t want you messing around with someone like him anyways.”

Curse the heavens. There was no denying it. Tooru Oikawa was an amazing kisser.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Grazing his tongue to yours every now and then. His hands, god his hands, his right one was holding his chin, while his left one slid up and down your waist.

Curse his perfection. This cannot be that snotty kid from all those years ago. This is a whole different person. Yes that’s it. This is not Tooru Oikawa. Because Tooru Oikawa is not capable of making you feel these things.

Like any normal person, you have to breathe, so you break the kiss. He has the audacity to whine at that. You look of to your side, because something tells you that if you look at him right now, lips swollen and pupils wide, who knows what’ll happen next.

He doesn’t like any of it.

He takes this opportunity to move his mouth south, landing on the flesh of your neck. He seems to have caught you offguard, if the sound you make at his action is anything to go by. He works his magic in the area. Biting. Kissing. Sucking. Anything that’ll draw out more of those noises. And you wish he’d stay there for eternity.

But you are you. A little selfish. And always wanting more more more. So you take him by his shirt and lead the two of you onto the bed, gently sitting him down and taking a seat directly on his lap. Now this is more.

But this also felt wrong. On so many levels. You don’t think you could ever look at your parents again if you have sex on their bed. But the desecration of their sleeping place is a small price to pay for the enormous pleasure you are sure he would bring you. Because if there’s one thing Oikawa Tooru believes in, is doing his best.

And he sure as hell will do his very best with you.

“Well well darling, look who is eager now.” He spoke with that sickeningly sweet tone he always uses. But there is something else behind it. You can’t really pinpoint it, but before you could ponder on that, he got a hold of your hips and started to drag you along his length.

Well if you are off to hell, might as well enjoy the ride.

You decided to be bold and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and onto the floor. You could sit here and wax poetic about how intimacy goes beyond physical appearance and his muscles are not important, but you are no philosopher. So you’ll say it. He’s hot. You knew the guy was ripped, having been witness to the arduous workouts he and your brother did over the summer, but this was something else.

Your brother. Ha. Imagine if he could see you right now. Actually don’t. That’s weird. But he would be dissapointed wouldn’t he. All those years being so put off by the mere presence of Tooru Oikawa and now you are sitting atop him, like some sort of worship. Oh the hypocrisy.

No you can’t think of him right now. No get out of there.

“Something the matter, princess?” Ah again with the nicknames. “I think you’ve had enough fun up here. Maybe it’s my turn to be on top don’t you think?”

You nodded. Because that is all you could muster. You feared that if you opened your mouth, all of your thoughts would slip out.

He rolled you to the side, off of him and onto the mattress. He stood up and groaned and god the way that made you feel. He kneeled on the soft surface, and leaned down to face you. Because he is the epitome of cliche, though, he makes sure to flash you the biggest smile you have ever seen. It looks different. It looks genuine. That’s new, a bit exciting even.

And before you know it, he goes back to work on your neck. He used his knee to put a slight pressure between your legs. You cannot keep your thoughts straight for long, because the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a moan of his name.

You’ve never used that tone with his name. He, of course, loves it.

“You cannot imagine how many times I have imagined of doing this.” While you are on your way to what could be a very mind-blowing orgasm, and you are incapable of coherent sentences, your hearing is very much okay. But there is no way you heard what you just heard. Because what the fuck.

“Stop.” It’s low, a bit above a whisper. He couldn’t hear you, you conclude, so he keeps at it for a bit, but when he feels the push of your hands on his chest, he pulls away immediately.

“A-are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop this?” For someone with the charm of a western hero he sure is insecure.

“What did you mean by that? What do you mean by ‘I imagined of doing this’?” Well of course you know what he meant. But what did that mean for you two? This isn’t something that should be happening. And you tell him just that. “This is not something we should even be doing.” Crap.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You might not be very fond of him, but you know him. So you know he is probably getting too much inside his head right now, so really you should have seen his next words coming.

Except this is all new and you haven’t been able to see any of this coming.

“You know what, you are right. I am sorry. I think we should leave. Actually, this is your room, so I’ll go.” You have to be imagining things, because there is no way he sounds hurt over this. Is there?

You want to ask if there’s a genuine chance he meant what he said. You really do. But you are scared of his answer. All your life he has been the kid you cannot stand, your brother’s annoying friend. But this changes everything. You have no feelings for him, that you know. But apparently there is chance he does. So what are you doing about that.

Before you can ask, you hear the door shut. In a flash, he is gone. How befitting.

And like that, once again, you are left alone. All you can hear is the boom of the speakers.

Your lifelong long was to have Tooru Oikawa out of your life. Now that you have succeeded, why do you not feel at peace.

fin.

#um hi there #i have not written in ages jesus #rip my ao3 fics i feel sad for not finishing them #haha i need help #tooruluv2kparty #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #tooru oikawa #oikawa x y/n #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff

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ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime · 3 years

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Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 2

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 2: Suzu

"Buhaa!"

I got up from a thin futon and took a big breath.

That made me almost hit my head against the low ceiling. This is a shabby attic in the countryside, with rafters supporting the roof approaching just above the bed. "Ah, ah .... ah ..."

It's morning. The sunlight is dazzling. The feeling of the glittering world up to that point remains. I close my eyelids because I want to reach for the residue. Certainly I was standing at the tip of the whale's nose and singing. Wearing gorgeous costumes, singing freely. When I open my eyelids, in front of me is a smartphone on the sheets with the display turned off. On the dark surface, you can see yourself illuminated by the sun. The faded pajamas I've been wearing since I was in junior high school. Messy hair from sleeping. Half-open eyes.

And the freckles scattered on my cheeks. It makes me very depressed. I sigh. Then, I heard my father's voice from the first floor, "Suzu? What's wrong?" I feel impatient. Of course, this isn't a soundproof room, it's just a miserable 7-year-old girl's room. The only way to prevent the sound from leaking out is to wrap it in a futon. Was my voice louder than usual? If so ... The cold sweat of regret floats on my back. "No, it’s nothing ...!"

I hurriedly reply that while crawling on all fours off the bed. What if he’s suspicious and comes upstairs? No, I don't think he’ll come. I changed into my uniform and went downstairs. I didn't see my father. He may be preparing to go to work. He opened the porch and left the window down to let in the cool morning air. He lightly cleaned the living room and dining room and cleaned up the magazines left on the table. While boiling the water, I put the flowers in the garden in a vase and placed it next to the photo frame in the kitchen. He puts a tea bag in a mug and pours hot water. Steam with the scent of black tea boils. My mother is still smiling in the picture frame today.

I'm eating rice. I was sitting on the porch, drinking tea. Dad, who wore a dark blue T-shirt on his tanned skin, came out to the garage with a backpack containing work tools on his shoulders. "Suzu, I’m leaving." I replied, keeping my mouth on the mug. "... Okay" "What about dinner?" "... I’m fine."

"... I see. Then, I'll go." Dad must have been in trouble. I could understand without looking. The engine of a four-wheel drive vehicle starts. After backing up, it turns back and goes down the slope. The sound of the tires travelling across the pebbles slowly drifts away.

I wonder how long I will not make eye contact with him. How long has it been since I stopped talking properly? I wonder how much time has passed since we stopped eating together. There was a notification sound. A balloon pops up on the screen of the smartphone. "Belle is the best beauty created by the virtual world "U." Languages around the world are translated instantly.

"Very unique and rare song" "Belle's song is full of self-confidence" "The most notable presence in 3 billion accounts"

The text balloons went up one after another, competing for the lead, and in a blink of an eye filled the area around the bell icon. But I have no joy, no sense of accomplishment, no sense of exhilaration. No matter how much attention Belle gets, it doesn't matter. With my mouth in my rimmed mug, I shut myself in my shell. The balloon with one comment swells up significantly. It is one of the functions of balloons to enlarge and display the comments that attract the most attention.

Of the tremendous number of comments, the one that attracted the most attention was "Who is she?" I don't think most people in the world know about it, but Shikoku and Kochi are proud of their rich climate, where the steep mountains that cover them, and of the beautiful blue shining clear streams that flow through the valleys. More than 150 years ago, we produced a number of people who dramatically reformed the long-standing feudal society of Japan, which is also one of our prides. The daylight hours are top class in Japan. Alcohol consumption is also top class. Perhaps because of that, my city’s personality is clear, and is said to be friendly and cheerful. But even in such a situation, some people are dark and are always looking down. One of them is me. My house is in the corner of a village with about 30 houses on the slope of a mountain.

A river called the Niyodo River runs ahead of me, and is connected to the opposite bank by a subsidence bridge. A subsidence bridge is a bridge without balustrades, and is designed so that it will not be washed away even if the river rises and the bridge sinks. I cross it every day unless this bridge sinks. The flow of the Niyodo River is still quiet and blue today. Occasionally tourists come by rental car and take a number of pictures on the subsidence bridge, saying that it's beautiful. It's a nice village, isn't it? They do not know the truth of the area. With the school bag on my side, I go down the stone steps and walk on a steep slope. A neighbor's grandmother who was sweeping and cleaning used to call out to me, "Oh, Suzu-chan, good morning," and so on. But not now. The shutters of many homes are tightly closed.

The number of people who live here gradually decreased as they died or moved to the city. There are many such settlements in the Niyodo River basin. It is said that it is near here that a sociologist coined the term "marginal village" long ago. I've been told many times since I was little that adults say that the number of people has decreased surprisingly compared to the village’s peak population. It is at the forefront of a declining population, declining birthrate and aging society, faster than anywhere else in Japan. That is an unmistakable fact. There is a stop at the end of the national highway after going up the slope. The rusty timetable at the bus stop only shows times in the morning and evening.

It's not yet time. After a while, the bus came. I sit in the usual seat at the back of the bus. No one else is in the bus. Passing through the stops one after another. No one is on board. While the bus is shaking, I dimly look at the bulletin board near the driver's seat.

"This bus route will be discontinued at the end of September.”

I live in a place where no one wants to live. It stands right next to a steep cliff approaching the rough sea. I reach the end of the bus route and transfer on to a train.

High school and junior high school students in uniforms from other schools come in little by little at each station. The closer you get to the center of the city, the less visible the floor is, and the two-car train fills up with customers. An announcement in the car tells me the name of the station I should get off at. I see many students of the same uniforms on the way to school. Together we climb a gentle slope. I am one of them. That gives me a lot of peace of mind, maybe.

The summer sunshine is dazzling. Last fall, the brass band was playing in front of the symbol tree in the courtyard. Many students surround it and listen to it. The announcement of the brass band is always popular. It's not just about playing. All players take steps as they perform. It's a lively and fun dance. All the instruments have the steps perfectly matched, yet the performance does not get twisted or shaken. I and Hiro-chan (short for Hiroka) also listened to it from the veranda on the 2nd floor of the gymnasium. When the first song ended and the second song started, a slender tall, beautiful girl was holding the alto saxophone in front of her. She came out. She shook her long, loosely waved hair and played her solo without any disturbance, taking attractive steps from side to side.

"……Cute."

I instinctively say it aloud. Luca-chan - her full name is Ruka Watanabe – I am sighingly fascinated by the lively beauty of her. I can hear the voices of other girls watching on the same balcony.

"Luka-chan is the princess of our school, isn't she?"

"She’s slim and has long legs.”

"Even if she wears a uniform, she look like a model."

They nodded together, saying, "Right~?”

Hiro-chan has a voice that only I can hear next to me, "The jealousy of kids who are neither thin nor slender...,” turning the pages of her book. The girls' voices can be heard continuously.

"Luka-chan naturally acts as a coordinator for everyone."

"I'm sure everyone will come together like Ohisama," Hiro-chan frowned at the back of her silver-rimmed glasses. "They’re annoying. In that respect, Suzu is like the opposite of Luka, so it's easy for no one to come near us."

"Hi- Hiro-chan…"

"Hmm?"

"You have a poisonous tongue, I wonder if you can be a little kinder....."

"A poisonous tongue? Who?" At that time, a loud voice that interrupted the performance echoed in the courtyard. "Why don't you join the canoe club?" Everyone looks back. "It's Kamishin!" "Kamishin has arrived!"

Kamishin – full name Shinjiro Senzu - has a canoe paddle in his hand and a banner with "CANOE" written on his back, and appears randomly.

"Oh, senpai. What about the canoe club?"

"Wow! Stop, Kamishin!"

"Don't enter, that's it." He chased the boys, and then laughed and ran away. Then, he turned around and headed for the group of girls.

"Hey, why don't you do canoeing?"

"Kya ~~~!" The girls scream seriously and run away.

"Oh, hey, let's do some canoeing!"

"Dangerous, run away~"

He is serious, but the reaction around him makes the Kamishin look like a weirdo. He’s like a beast that jumps into beautiful women and rampages.

"Hey, canoe ..."

Watching the girls run away, I feel like defending the hard work of Kamishin.

"It's amazing to start a canoe club by yourself, isn't it?"

"But he's the only one in it."

"I wonder why.”

"I wonder~”

Hiro turned her eyes to Luka, who seemed to be anxious about the hustle and bustle while playing. Luka stiffened and turned her back to Kamishin as if she didn't want to see him. Hiro-chan does not overlook the gesture. She closed her book and turned her stern eyes to Luka. “You’re being looked down on.”

We left the gymnasium and wandered around the school. Chorus club, biology club, light music club, dance club. Various club activities. The activity was appealing to each. As I crossed the glass-walled corridor, I heard the cheers and applause of the girls from somewhere.

10N1 was held at the one-on-one outdoor basketball court. It is a solicitation performance of the men's basketball club. A ball is thrown into the court for the next game. You can see a boy in a hoodie who catches it with a lean hand.

"Ah ..." The game starts. Shinobu-kun, full name Shinobu Kutake, slowly dribbles and watches the situation. The opponent's senpai is raising his right hand as a checker, being wary of the jump shot. Shinobu lowers his hips. Shinobu tries to pull out with a low dribble, but the opponent's guard is tight and he withdraws. When he thinks he has stopped Shibobu, he suddenly shoots a jump shot from a short motion.

He’s fast. The senior hurriedly reached out with his fingers spread out, but he couldn't reach Shinobu. The previous move was a feint. The ball drew a beautiful arc and passed through the goal net. The girls lined up in the corridor on the 3rd floor gave an enthusiastic applause. But Shinobu doesn't even smile. His coolness is attracting attention from girls in school. Before the applause stopped, the court had already moved on to the next game. Shinobu-kun, while measuring the timing, dribbles low to push the defense away. As if to say that you can't win even with power. If you forcibly cut in and pull out the senior in a blink of an eye, you will definitely go to the layup. There is a pleasant sound of the ball slipping through the goal net. Again, the girls' applause echoed on the walls of the school building. I told Hiro-chan,

"........ Shinobu-kun, I didn't think he would be that tall."

He’s my childhood friend.

"He was your childhood friend?"

"Ohon. Actually, I've been proposed to by Shinobu-kun."

"Seriously? What?"

"[Suzu, I'll protect you], he said.”

"When was that?"

"When we were 6 years old."

"....... Even if such an ancient story is spoken…"

Astonished, Hiro sighed. Another goal was scored. In the applause, Shinobu-kun, who finished the game, went out of the court alongside his senior without even smiling. Shinobu-kun, my childhood friend. He’s no longer within my reach.

I came back from school and crossed the subsidence bridge. I was with Shinobu from kindergarten through the lower grades of elementary school. After that, Shinobu moved to the city and we were separated. He was in my high school and we became classmates again. But it isn’t like it used to be. At that time, I didn't expect to become a child who is always looking down like I am now. There is a reason why this happened. I saw the quiet stream of the Niyodo River. Yes. That is an ancient story. A white bird passed low on the surface of the water.

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

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

#belle #ryuu to sobakasu no hime #ryu to sobakasu no hime #ryuu #ryu #sobakasu #hime #studio chizu #mamoru hosoda #belle movie #竜とそばかすの姫 #belle 2021

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bunnylouisegrimes · 3 years

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It’s A Wonderful Afterlife (NOS4A2 Fanfic)

A/N: I’ve had this story idea in my head for awhile, but I got to writing it yesterday and the day before yesterday. Basically, this one is the story of Rose’s transformation into a vampire. It’s gonna cover some heavy topics such as nearing the end of your life and terminal illness, so be warned, but there’s a lot of happiness in the middle and near the end. Hope you all enjoy!

It’s A Wonderful Afterlife

A NOS4A2 Fanfic

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

As the years went by for Rose, very little had changed in terms of her personality. She had remained shy and introverted (unless in the company of those she deeply trusted), she had remained both gothy and girly, and she had remained nerdy. Her love for her toys, her games, her writing, her art, her vampire husband, and her children had never waned. Fifty years of marriage and a set of dhampir twins later, and from the inside, she was as young as she had been on her wedding day.

Physically, she had her differences.

By the time she reached 57, grey hairs were starting to show in ways they hadn’t before. She had never been the type to dye her hair, but in order to preserve its beauty that she so cherished, from then on out, she dyed her long hair the closest shade of matching brunette she could.

Her height was as short as before, her weight was roughly around the same spot thanks to her vigorously making sure she never went past 200 pounds, and her eyes were as hazel as before, with the exception of holding an aged look. Her face and skin had shown the obvious signs of age, but such a thing was inevitable. It was nothing a little makeup couldn’t help make look better.

Charlie still found his June Rose to be as beautiful as he always found her. He had asked her on and off since their consummation on their wedding night, where he took her virginity and kept it within him to turn her into a vampire just like him one day, if she was willing to grow an older human. She always told him she did; she wanted to see how long this “human” thing would go. She wanted to experience humanity till the end, when the next chapter in her life would have to begin and vampirism would take the lead.

But by the age of 75, when she looked as though she was older than Charlie (when he wasn’t in desperate need of souls), and looked to be a grandmother to the children of Christmasland rather than mother, and her parents and brother had moved on to the other side from their own respective health issues, things were beginning to be odd. It was a whole seven months after her 75th birthday when something wasn’t right.

The first sign was the weight loss. Rose had always been a bit plump, but both she and Charlie noticed her normally soft potbelly was slimmer and smaller. They also noticed her thighs and arms were slimmer. This confused them, and they kept it in mind, but they figured it could be the result of age rather than a sickness.

The second sign was the pain in her abdomen and middle back. Within a few weeks of noticing her fat going down, she had pains in these areas on and off, and they would pick up in intensity and frequency some days.

The third sign was the general sickness she felt. One moment, she would be playing with the children, the next, she would be feeling extremely nauseous and fatigued. She would have to throw up in the bathroom and it would take a few minutes for her to recover. Charlie and her both knew that this went beyond weariness from play due to elder age. This was an apparent illness, and something was physically wrong.

However, Rose was also unusual not just in her gastrointestinal area, but her mind as well.

Forgetfulness and misplacing something was nothing noticeable, as she did it all the time. But she suspected something wasn’t right when within those same few weeks, she was slowly starting to forget things that just happened. Both her and Charlie would be watching an episode of one of their shows, and by the time commercials ended, she was struggling to remember quite a few details of what happened before them. It took her a moment to connect the events together. The same happened when she would read, and every once in a while, she would have to slowly read the same paragraph three times.

The turning point came when she and Charlie were discussing things in bed, and she was struggling to remember certain conversations they had and she had with the children only a month ago that she remembered a week before. A few details Rose brought up were nonexistent, and Charlie had to correct her. That night, she decided that between these small forgetful spells and these stomach issues, it was clear she needed to go to a doctor as soon as possible. He agreed and promised to take her in the morning.

The next day, they left Christmasland for the appointment Charlie made for her the moment he woke up. They explained to the doctor all of Rose’s physical and mental symptoms. The doctor nodded; how he nodded made her nervous. When she was younger, she was a nurse, and through her medical knowledge, she could guess what these symptoms meant, but she wanted to trust another medical professional’s judgement, as these things could be nothing rather than something, but as obvious as it sounded, it was always better to be safe than sorry. She had seen that nod before when in the presence of both patients who were relieved to find their serious symptoms were nothing and those who were about to have the news of terminal illness broken to them. Like a coin flip, it would be heads or tails: heads would be another day to live, tails would be a death sentence.

A series of nerve wracking scans and tests with Charlie by her side later, and the diagnosis was clear. The moment the doctor came back to their room, Rose, like a bloodhound, smelled the sullen seriousness in his face and tone of voice. She recognized that face and voice from her nurse days; the coin was tails. He was about to give her the date and method of her execution before slamming his gravel down.

Rose had always imagined that she would go out thanks to her heart or some sort of diabetes related sickness, given bad hearts and diabetes ran in her mom’s side of the family, and her obesity she tried to control would certainly be a contributing factor. Genetics were a hell of a double edged sword: they could give you the most beautiful set of eyes and hair with skin to match, but they could also give you the worst odds of illness you could think of.

This time, it was not Rose’s heart that would fail her, or the development of diabetes. It was two things that were just as genetic, but aruguably worse. She recalled her mother telling her that Rose’s great aunt had died of pancreatic cancer, and it was a miserable way to go. She also remembered her mother telling her that Rose’s great grandmother was suspected of suffering from Alzheimer’s before succumbing to death.

Well, it was no surprise to Rose when she learned that these two things were her method of execution. Not only because she suspected they could be possibilities, but because the facts were simple: if she was somehow strong enough to survive the painful destruction her body would suffer from the cancer, the synapses in her brain would be eaten away, just as if she was bitten by a zombie from one of her stories, and much like a zombie, not much would remain of her but a dead shell. She would be a burden to her husband and children, and they would have to watch her go from being a loving, wonder filled woman to a sickly, miserable, pain filled stranger who wouldn’t even be able to remember herself, her lover, or her children.

Both her and Charlie took this news with with equal sadness. The future was bleak, and they knew that. Not even chemotherapy treatment was worth it.

“My grandfather suffered from esophageal cancer, and he did not fare well with chemo thanks to his genetics,” she explained to the doctor. “Given that I am half my mother, and she is half of him, my odds are not good, are they?”

“Well, you certainly have a better chance than your mother, but yes, he is a direct blood relative, so the odds are there. If you wish to go through chemo, we can get you started on it, but if you don’t want to risk it or have any treatment, you’ll have roughly a year left to live. Since cancer and dimentia do have a connection, as it spreads throughout your stomach and body, your mental decline will come rapidly. I estimate that you will go through the final stages of both illnesses simultaneously, and it will, to put it lightly, be painful for all parties involved.”

Rose nodded. “I don’t think I want to risk it. I don’t think there’s much of a point to go through all of that, only for my mind to fail me. Not to mention, wouldn’t chemo worsen it?”

“It can, yes,” the doctor continued. “Since the state of Colorado offers the End of Life Options Act, we can administer physician assisted suicide, if that is what you would prefer, but there will be a few things you’ll need to do.”

Had Charlie not been in her life, Rose would’ve agreed to do such a thing in these circumstances, although, if she hasn’t met him, she most likely wouldn’t have been in the state of Colorado and instead stuck back home in Ohio, where no such laws would exist. She knew that with the choice of transforming into a vampire, suicide wasn’t needed.

“I’ll need to think on that,” Rose lied.

“I understand, as this is a lot to take in. Please contact me as soon as possible when you have come to your decisions.”

Father and Mother Christmas departed the hospital and stepped inside the Wraith. The drive back to Gunbarrel was at first silent, but Charlie needed to pull over to a secluded area. Rose could see the tears in his brown eyes.

“My beloved...” He hushed, his deep voice breaking. “You’re so sick...”

“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to give my humanity the best run I could, and I did. But I’m not going through this shit. I’m going out on my own terms, only I won’t have to die. I’m becoming a vampire, and going into the next chapter of my life.” She turned to Charlie. “You don’t need to cry, baby. You have the power to prevent my departure from this world. I already talked to each of my family before they went, and they knew I was going to be immortal as long as I could be, but I could still contact them through my new psychic powers. If you and the kids are more sensitive to spirits, that must mean I will be too. Hell, we’ll make it look like I chose to die without treatment or assisted suicide to the doctors. I’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.”

“Yes, I know,” he sobbed, wiping his eyes. “It’s just... the idea of you dying... the fact is, you had been dying, and you are dying. I know that’s humanity, but when you have something like this... you are not only dying in the human sense, but the clinical as well.”

The gravity of Charlie’s words slapped Rose in the face, just as the news of her diagnosis in the first place had moments ago. Even though she had another chance, unlike so many others in her place, there was still a sadness to be had. This chapter in her life was done, and she could either do one of two endings: continue down a horrible road until salvation was given to her and everyone was left scarred from their experiences, or embrace salvation now. Rose knew that she was going to avoid that horrible road and jump straight to the awe inspiring transformation that would mark the next chapter, but it was a shame her human form had to suffer like this, and that it was even an issue. In addition, 75 was decently young for elderly death. If she were in her 80’s, or especially her 90’s, this was expectant, but 75... it seemed a bit too soon.

She began to cough, and Charlie handed her his white handkerchief. Her eyes widened when she saw blood splatter, and that’s when her own tears poured from her eyes. She gave it back to Charlie and buried herself in his chest. The two held onto each other and wept for a good twenty minutes before deciding they needed to head back home.

Before they exited the car to greet their children, Rose suddenly smiled as she held Charlie’s hand. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I think tomorrow is a good day to celebrate my last day of humanity, and then I’d like to transform. If that’s okay with you.”

A smile formed on his own face. “Whatever day you are ready, my love. I will fuse your innocence back inside of you whenever you desire.”

They broke the news to the children, but they handled it well. They understood the severity of the situation regarding their mother’s health, but were excited and viewed the positive side, that their mother was to be an immortal vampire much like them and their father. When their mother told them she would like to celebrate the last day of her humanity tomorrow and transform into a vampire tomorrow night, they knew that much was to be anticipated for. Their father assured them that tomorrow would be a day to never forget.

While the other children ran upstairs to go to bed, excited for what tomorrow would hold, Millie, Lorrie, Nicholas, and Holly stayed behind. They ran over to their mother and hugged her.

“Even though you’re not gonna be a human anymore,” Lorrie began, “it doesn’t change a thing.”

“We always knew you’d be a vampire like us one day,” Millie added. “We hope you’ll be healthy and happy again real soon.”

“I will, babies,” Rose reassured them. “I will.”

“If we’re half human...” Nicholas spoke up.

“...That means we’re the last pieces of your humanity, right?” Holly finished.

“Yes, it does, babies,” Rose smiled wider. “I suppose it does.”

The twins beamed at each other in pride.

“But just because I’ll become a vampire doesn’t mean I still won’t be myself,” she clarified. “We’ll all still be just as we were, just with me having some physical improvements. It’ll be just as if I will always human.”

They nodded and knew it was time to get ready for bed with the others. They raced each other up the stairs, their parents tagging behind. When everyone was ready, Charlie and Rose bid the little ones good night before snuggling close to each other in their own bed.

Sleep could not come quick or easy for Rose, as her worries and anxieties mixed with her excitement kept her awake, but somehow, she found herself asleep. While Charlie slept, he dreamt of how the party would look for his beloved: the balloons, the streamers, the cake, the lights, the roses everywhere, the unicorns, the glitter... everything to honor his lover’s life and everything that represented what she was and would always be to their family.

When he awoke the next morning, Rose was still asleep. Letting her get her much needed rest, he snuck downstairs. The children had all woke up at the same time he had. They all snuck down the steps and they paused, amazed at the sight that awaited them downstairs...

When Rose opened her eyes and rubbed them, she turned next to her to find Charlie missing. She went to the bathroom and left her bedroom to check on the children. They were not in their very large and ever expanding bed. She noticed that the living room was dark, but all sorts of odd shadows filled it. She went down the steps and turned the lights on.

“Surprise!” Everyone cheered.

Rose gasped. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she saw what her living room had become.

Rainbow lights and glittery streamers filled the ceiling. Colorful balloons and roses of all colors were everywhere. In the center of the coffee table was a cake with candles that became aglow once she turned the lights on. A wonderfully designed unicorn figurine with roses in its mane and tail set on the cake.

“Oh... oh, it’s beautiful!” Rose cried, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Oh, I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

Charlie beamed and pulled a pink dress over her nightgown. She hugged him and kissed him on the lips, cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“How did you all do this?” She asked.

“I dreamed it, like I do everything... well, not everything, as you are far too beautiful to be dreamed from me.”

She blushed and hugged him even tighter. “You are the sweetest man I’ve ever known. I am so happy to know you, be with you and have all these little ones to raise with you.”

The children rushed to her and she gave them as many hugs and kisses as she could give.

“Look outside, and you’ll see the party goes beyond this room,” Charlie said.

Rose opened the front door and was taken aback. Christmasland was covered in more roses, balloons, glitter, and rainbow lights. Amongst it all, the rainbow unicorns from Charlie’s zoo played in the snow together, free to roam from their usual enclosure.

“It’s all in your honor, my dear.” Charlie laid a kiss on her head.

She could speak no words, just gaze in amazement as the children ran outside to play. Charlie and Rose did the same, and for the rest of the day, they played and occasionally stopped to eat. Rose did her best to keep it together, but surprisingly, no ill feelings or forgetful spells came to her. Perhaps because her body knew that it was only one last day until her body would be immune to all ailments, so it needed to use the last of its strength. Or because happiness was her best medicine in the moment. She couldn’t tell which.

By the end of the day, they had gathered back inside, she blew the candles on the cake, and they began to eat some of it. The time had come where they needed to go to bed so that their mother’s transformation could occur. She read them her favorite bedtime stories before they all got too tired to stay awake. She and Charlie kissed them all good night and closed the door, knowing that would be the last time they’d ever see her in her old form.

When they entered the room, the couple closed their door and the fireplace kicked on thanks to Charlie’s abilities. Rose laid on the bed and sighed.

“Today is one of the best days of my entire life,” she said. “I have you and the babies to thank for that. You have made my human days very special, and you will make my vampire ones the same.”

Charlie laid next to her. “You have made my days very special, and you have made the babies’ days very special. We have you to thank for that.”

They exchanged a kiss before Rose sat up. “Well now... are we ready?”

“Are you ready is the more important question.”

“I think I am,” she said. “Words cannot describe how wonderful this day has been from start to finish. It is a day I will cherish forever. And before my sicknesses get to me... I shall end my humanity and ring in my new vampirism on the happiest note possible.”

She looked at herself in a mirror nearby as she slipped her dress off. “Oh, my dear human body. You have seen so much since the moment I was born. And yet, here we are. You won’t be the same ever again, and you will be improved in ways unimaginably amazing, but I hope you know how much I appreciate you. Even when I’ve experienced self hatred, I was always thankful for you. I hope you love this new form.”

She turned back to Charlie and laid back down. “I guess this means I’ll get to eat people with you guys. The right ones, of course. And fangs, nails, a new body temperature... That should all be an interesting experience. And I can’t wait to see what using similar if not exact abilities like you will be like... this will not only be the next chapter in my life, but will be a bonding experience that will bring us all closer together, I think.”

“I agree, my love,” he said. “I agree.”

The two snuggled close together.

“Thank you for doing this, sugar pop,” she sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“What would I do without you is the bigger question,” he chuckled. “I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you too.”

He leaned into her ear. “Are you ready at this moment?”

“Yes.” Her voice had some nervousness in it, but the confidence outweighed it in ways immeasurable.

“Lift up your chin so I may see your neck.”

She did as she was told. Charlie gazed upon it and his fangs came jutting out, an energy boiling within him.

“Good bye, old life,” Rose whispered with peace. “May our memories live on for all of immortal eternity.”

“Welcome to your new summer to blossom, my June Rose.”

Charlie slammed his fangs down upon her neck, an energy force emitting from the two bite marks. She gasped and her eyes widened. A foreign, but comfortable and oddly familiar sensation came over her. She clutched onto his back as blood dripped down from the bite marks. They glowed a white-blue color.

As the sensation consumed her, she felt as if she was traveling back in time. Every few seconds was another year she felt healthier and younger. It took her a moment to register that’s what that was, but when she saw her face in Charlie’s eyes... she could confirm her wrinkles were fading.

She looked at the arm she could see most clearly. Her wrinkles had dissipated and the fat had returned. She was sure her other arm looked the same. When she looked at her hand, she saw her nails gaining a yellow tint. She felt them increasing in length. Once they reached the same length as Charlie’s, they stopped. She couldn’t see her feet or legs, but she could feel the same effect happening to them. Her legs and feet (and especially her thighs) gained back the weight they had lost. She noted that her pallor was now matching Charlie’s, based on how her arm and hand looked.

Her breasts, always large, plumped back to their youthful size. Her stomach had also returned to the cushiony potbelly Charlie always loved to rest his head on. As embarrassing as it sounded, she felt her privates tingle and somewhere above them, a burning sensation occurred. She thought about it, but considered that her fertility must’ve been returning. She was miserable on and off when experiencing menopause, but she supposed as a vampire, she’d be able to withstand any pains she might experience if she had periods again. In addition, she was sure Charlie would still find her menstrual blood as delicious as he did before when she was human.

Through the reflection in Charlie’s eyes, Rose could see her wrinkles had completely faded. The aged look her hazel eyes held flooded with a new look of old youth meeting for an eternal kiss after years of departure. Her face returned to how she looked on their wedding night, only a bit more pale. She grunted as her white teeth gained their own yellow tint and increased in sharpness. A group of fangs came out from behind these new teeth. Once this occurred, blood filled her mouth and trickled down her throat while ice cold breath emitted from her nose and mouth like a rabid animal. A warmth in her stomach made her feel as if she had drunk the finest coffee or hot chocolate rather than blood.

My God... this is why vampires crave this stuff... it’s got flavors in it that we can’t taste.

The dye in her hair had faded, exposing the natural grey. But it quickly disappeared as her natural brunette took over. At long last, she felt she could embrace her natural hair again. Even its volume, thickness, and waviness returned.

Rose had to fall back further at the sheer force from her insides. The blood that fell from her neck returned to the permanent bite marks and absorbed back inside of her. Cold chills consumed her. Her eyes, nose, ears, tongue, and touch nerves sharpened. The cancer cells in her body exploded like little stars until they were gone entirely. Every healthy cell underwent a metamorphosis that strengthened them and kept them permanently superhuman. Because of this, her immune system had reached powers impossible for the human body, destroying anything abnormal. Any sickness would be identified and wiped out instantly thanks to her new antibodies. Even her asthma had been erased from her lungs. From within her brain, the synapses snapped back together like a puzzle, and her memory was the clearest it had ever been.

I’m healthy again... Thank God, I’m heathy again...

Once her body was complete, a new sensation took over her back. She tried to jolt forward, but Charlie was still on top of her. He stepped back, as every ounce of innocence was back inside of her now. She lurched forward and leaned down. She could see her new legs and feet and her other arm, just as the other one.

Her back felt heavy. Something was weighing her down... something was coming out of it... something...

Unable to control the scream that came from her, two large masses of bone, muscle, and skin came from her back, perfectly ripping her nightgown, and extended to reveal... bat wings. Through the light in the room, the veins had looked like their own art piece to Charlie.

As quickly as the pain came, it left Rose and she laid back down, gasping and skiddishly feeling the new wings. Just like one’s arms or legs, she found she could move them like any other appendage. She flapped them, noticing they were larger than her. A small gust of wind filled the room.

“They’re... beautiful...” Charlie marveled.

Unable to speak, Rose stood up and stumbled. She found that her wings and heavier weight added some balance issues, but within thirty seconds, she had adjusted. She walked over to the mirror to look at herself more closely. Her toenails clacked against the wood, just as Charlie’s did. She looked just as she did when she was young; this time, she was pale, colder, had sharper senses, had vampire teeth and nails, a vampire bite mark on her neck, and very large bat wings on her back. She curled them up and extended them out comfortably. She flapped them a few times, and she found herself being lifted up into the air through the force of such gusts.

“Woah!” She cried. She let her wings die down and she landed as gently as she could on the floor.

She turned to Charlie, who stared at her with twinkling eyes.

“I guess I’m gonna need to make holes for these bad boys in all my clothes, huh?” She laughed. Her voice had largely remained the same, but this time, there was a youthful strength to it.

Charlie chuckled and beaconed her back to bed. “I suppose we shall. You look absolutely stunning, just as you always have. Only this time, your inner beauty is emanating from you. We shall see all of your abilities in the morning, especially since I’m sure the children would love to see you and your new talents as well. I’m quite surprised that scream didn’t stir them. But I believe your body needs a rest after the amount of change it had to go through.”

She nodded and crawled back into bed, right next to Charlie. They cuddled up next to each other. Her wings curled back up in a way that was comfortable. He rested his chin on her head and she nuzzled her face in his chest. Their combined warmth made sure they wouldn’t feel cold while sleeping. Rest had come easy for the both of them, and they found themselves sharing a pleasant dream.

Tomorrow would be the day the children would awake to be gifted with their healthy vampire mother, but even so, she would still always be the mother they knew and loved. For Charlie, she would always be the wife he knew and loved. For Rose, her new chapter had begun, and the dawn of a new era was ready to last for the rest of their eternity.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #charles manx #nos4a2 charlie

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slutforben · 3 years

Text

au! ben’s your dad now lol

Okay so when I used to have a wattpad account I wrote some parent scenario things, here’s one that I wrote for BEN. Will I be continuing this? no lmao anyways enjoy

word count: 1708

KEY:

(Y/N) = Your Name

Him/Her = Your pronouns

Line of ~~~ = Time Skip

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I gazed at the teenage girl through the screen, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

A teen mother? She only looked to be 15 or 16, but she held a child in her arms that looked like a mini copy of her. I only made a quick connection.

The mother, a blonde with hazel eyes and light freckles and wet cheeks, looked like any other girl. The child in her arms cried loudly as crashes came from downstairs. Loud footsteps and banging of cupboard doors were heard, and the mother was sobbing quietly.

From where I watched, safely within her small computer screen, I watched her bundle up her young child and hide them inside her closet. She locked the doors quickly, then went to her dresser. Her room was in pristine condition, and the dresser had a small pocket knife on it.

I could hear footsteps barging up the stairs now. Though, they weren't just one pair. There had to be at least two or three people charging like bulls. The girl sobbed and her child cried through the closet door. Terror echoed through their cries, and to be honest, I'd be terrified if my home was barged into as well.

The clock below me ticked, and wires buzzed. It being 4 am, I didn't expect my victim to be awake, or even to be home alone and in the process of being robbed like a homeless man.

But that's exactly what was happening in front of my eyes.

I shivered as three large men broke down the bedroom door. The mother was huddled in the corner, tears of fear dripping down her cheeks and a small pocket knife held in her hand. Her young child cried and screamed, but the mother was unable to do anything.

I started to back away as the men advanced on her. Ski masks covered their faces, and they held large rifles. Those could do massage damage to a human, and even a ghost like myself.

But as the men advanced and the underage mother cried, I backed away from the screen, and back into the portal leading to the Mansion.

Her screams quieted down as I pulled myself away from the computer screen. I fell back in my small frenzy and landed back inside the living room of the Mansion. I looked around quickly, my blond hair flipping around and ruffling itself up. Looking around, I realized the living room was empty and smelled like something had burnt itself to a crisp.

I sat, the upper half of my body hanging out of the television, with actual fear plaguing me.

Why the hell was I afraid? It was just a simple robbery.

I thought about the girl and her child. It pained me, actually, to think about them. What would happen to them? I debated on going back for a little while, until giving up and pulling myself out of the small television, then dragged myself up to my room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't believe that I'm back in this house.

I kept telling myself that as I walked around the now trashed house. Some things from before were gone or broken, or thrown around. The living room was thrashed and missing some furniture. The house was quiet, which gave me the chills along with an eerie feeling. The television was left on in static, and what was left was thrown across the room. As I continued to explore the house, I noticed that I could no longer hear the child's cries from earlier.

As I finally reached the staircase, I stopped.

What would I find up there?

Sure, I was a murderous virus that slowly ate away at my victims, and who had no sense of fear other than water, but this actually scared me a bit.

I took a deep breath and slowly crept up the stairs. They creaked under my lightweight, but they were relatively quiet. As I slowly climbed them, my breath started to quicken.

" What the fuck, " I whispered to myself. Why was my breath quickening? And why was I fucking whispering? I have no reason to.

I shrugged and continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor.

The second story of the house was just as disastrous as the first. Broken furniture littered the floor, vases were smashed, ripped paintings hung from the walls by a single tack, and the doors were all thrown open. Looking closer, I realized that small bullet shells were thrown across the floor.

" Oh my God, " I sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

I immediately looked back up and ran to a random room, looking for the mother and her young child. I tucked inside random rooms until eventually finding her closed bedroom door.

I wiggled the knob, but it didn't budge. I tried again, but the door seemed to be locked.

Had the girl somehow locked herself safely into her room?

That's what I hoped had happened.

I wiggled the knob again until backing up. I backed up against the wall opposite of the door, then ran at full speed and threw myself into the door. It worked in the Mansion, hopefully, it would work here.

The door stayed locked. I fell backward onto my ass, with a now sore shoulder.

" Fuck! " I yelled loudly as my shoulder ached. I looked up at the door, still in the same condition as before.

" Alright, door. Let's try this again, " I hissed and stood up with the help of a cabinet near me. I stood up again and faced the door again with grim determination. Hell, I haven't felt this way since first entering Majora.

With a yell, I ran at the door again, throwing all my weight against it loudly.

The door crashed down loudly as I somehow managed to knock it down. The door broke and crashed to the floor, closely followed by myself. I fell with a loud thud and layed for a second on the now broken door, clutching the shoulder I landed on.

"Ahh, shit, " I said, sucking in a breath. I sat up slowly and looked around. I was back in the room I was in before, only this time it was thrashed, being in the same condition as the house. Furniture was knocked over and items were thrown, and the room was strangely quiet. Looking around again, I realized that the teenage girl was no longer in the room and that her window was smashed.

I sighed sadly at that sight, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I wanted to see if her child was still here, and hopefully not abducted.

I stood up, remembering that in a hurry she hid her kid in the closet. That was the first place I wanted to check.

I made my way over to the closet door. It was cracked open and had small items in front of it, and sent shivers up my spine for an unknown reason. I got on my knees and cleared the debris in front of the door, then opened it slowly.

The young boy/girl sat all alone in the closet. They were somehow asleep, and was bundled up in a small green blanket. His/Her cheeks were red and stained from crying, and they clutched at the blanket they were wrapped in as if they were having a nightmare.

I gazed at the small child as they slept and picked him/her up carefully. They snored softly and seemed so innocent in my arms that had killed hundreds of people.

I couldn't just leave him/her here. He/Her would starve, or the robbers would come back, or a fellow Pastas might find this house and end their miserable life. A bunch of different scenarios played in my head of what could happen if I left this child here, in this house.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I've was holding and looked at the puny child.

" Ya know kid, you don't deserve this at such a young age, " I whispered to them. " I really want to help you, but I can't unless I took you back. " I spoke quietly to the sleeping child. " Slender will kill you, then me. " I said with a frown. " I mean, maybe I could, but even if Slender allowed it, Jeff would get his hands on you and... do things... " I shuddered at that thought.

" But I can't just leave you here. Heh, Slender has been wanting me to get more responsible, but maybe this is a little too much... " I trailed off at that thought.

But, as I gazed down at the small child asleep in my arms, an idea formed in my head.

Maybe I could take the child.

Maybe they'd survive, and become a psychopathic killer like me and the rest of us.

Maybe I could be a parent to this child.

I looked back down at the child and let out another breath. I stood up and turned back to the girl's room and walked back to her queen-sized bed. The television that stood here before was now gone, along with her laptop and cellphone. My options were either walk or get a lift.

I frowned at the thought of walking back to the Mansion and pulled out my phone. I searched for Toby's contact and called him. I put it on speaker as the phone rang loudly. I was surprised it didn't wake up the kid, who I put in my lap and slowly rocked back and forth.

After a few more seconds, Toby answered my call.

" Hey BEN! What's-what's up? " He asked. In the background, I could hear the scream of a girl, so I guessed that he was busy.

" Is this a bad time, Rogers? I can call someone else. " I told him.

He chuckled. " I'm kinda-kinda bus-busy right now, but it-it's fine that you cal-called. What's up-up? "

" Well, Toby, it's kind of a long story... "

#hhhhh fifth grade writing #or something like that #i cant remember when i wrote this #ben drowned #creepypasta #creepypasta scenarios #parent scenario #daddy drowned

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rawsanma · 3 years

Text

In Memoriam of "Shin Evangelion: Curse"

*The following article contains a full spoiler for "Evangelion 3.0+1.0".*

I sat together with a person who was not in birth when EOE was released, and after watching the film we talked a bit and thought about the people who passed away without ever seeing this. I understand that fans from the old series and those who came from the new series may have very different perceptions of Shin-Eva. So I'd like to first correct a few things I said in my first impressions.

It may be somewhere between an honorable movie and a mediocre movie in general, but as Evangelion, it's garbage.

After about halfway through the two hours and thirty-five minutes, I started to look at my watch again and again. The double ending, which is both a personal novel and a product, was a fleeting fantasy, and the two songs "One Last Kiss" and "beautiful world (da capo ver.)" were not used effectively in relation to the story, only being played in the staff roll.

When I saw the first 10 minutes of the movie that was released last year, I thought that perhaps Paris was chosen as the setting for the story of "humanity fighting together in the face of destruction" or "the expansion of the Eva world (not G Gundam, but G Eva!)", but that was not the case at all. He just wanted to depict the battle using the Eiffel Tower as a FATALITY,　I realized that he hadn't made a single millimeter of progress since when he asked Hayao Miyazaki if I could film only this action scene of Her Highness Kushana in the re-animation of Nausicaa, he was scolded, "That's why you're no good!"

At the beginning of the film, they try to carefully describe the things behind the scenes that were not told in Eva Q. The third Ayanami like the TV version is the main character, and they go on and on about living in the countryside, copying "My Neighbor Totoro". The large family of our parent's home that we go back to during the summer vacation is presented as an image of happiness in life and a decent human being. It is also connected to Gendou's narrative during the Human Instrumentality Project but isn't it too Showa-era and too simple a solution? I am interested in how the young fans who are children of nuclear families who left their large families in the countryside and moved to the city saw the too sudden depiction of "life in the countryside". It was almost a gag to see Ayanami walking around in a plug suit which is a sexual orientation that has manifested itself after Space Battleship Yamato, in the images of pre and post-war farming villages depicted by recent NHK morning dramas. The director, influenced by his wife, must have been immersed in the LOHAS and vegan lifestyle as a fashion statement, which is only possible because he is an urbanite with too much stuff and too much money. As for this theme, it has already been presented in the watermelon field scene in the second film, and it is merely a re-presentation of the same theme in a diluted form.

I've pointed out before that Eva Q is "a crack in reality because of the loss of reality to rely on. "It's rude not to eat what you're served!", Shinji was scolded by Touji's father, who looked like a subversion of Hayao Miyazaki's work (Gedo Senki!). I have a simple question, how can the interior of a house become so old and wretched after only 14 years? How can a community of people of all ages be formed in just 14 years?　There was a line that implied that Touji had killed someone for the village, and it is possible that the director had extremely beautified the "Showa era" as a sanctuary where people who are hurt and regret their committing murder during the war as a soldier live nearby, and when he opened the last drawer after using up all the materials, he found the image of the original landscape of his childhood.

Misato and Kaji's child, which is only described for a few minutes, is also abrupt, and I don't feel that it is more than a plot device for the purpose of staging the reconciliation with Shinji later on. Some people seem to be moved by the fact that "behind Misato's cold attitude towards Shinji in Q, there was such a conflict in her mind," but it's the opposite. All the answers are just excuses after wasting nine years of work. Even if the wounds healed and treated with a gentle "I'm sorry," after being beaten severely by a raging DV husband, the fact of the beating would not disappear, and the wife would feel nothing but fear at the sudden change in her husband. To a situation that he had set to minus 100, he spent 2 hours and 35 minutes gradually pouring water drawn from other places and past works to bring it back to zero...I've never seen such a horrible match pump. Well, now that I'm writing this, I'm thinking that I've seen this before.

The relationship between Eva Q and Shin Eva is very similar to the relationship between "The Last Jedi" and "The rise of Skywalker" in Star Wars. In a self-absorbed rampage of conjecture that did not listen to the opinions of others, the historical stage of the series that had been built up was turned into a mess, and then the destroyed story was carefully built up again from the ground using unnecessary length, and only the shape of the story was created to end it without being disgraceful, and every scene that tries to make things more exciting is a copy of past work. As for Star Wars, since 8 and 9 were directed by different directors, I was able to settle my feelings of resentment towards Ryan and gratitude towards Abrams, respectively, but as for Evangelion, the director looks like a child who has been proud to clean up his own mess and have his female cronies praise and pat him on the head. Moreover, what kind of sympathy do you expect when you are told to "I'll make amends" for the mere act of wiping your ass after defecating, in a cool, Showa-era chivalrous tone?

In this film, as a recovery from Q and a summary of new Eva, there are elements throughout the story that critics can easily relate to the old Eva. “Oh, I can talk about this in connection with that!” This is what gives them a good impression and it has nothing to do with how the old fans perceive it. The director seems to have a dedicated person in charge of communicating and negotiating with the outside, but now he wants the critics to communicate with the fans about Shin-Eva. As long as he doesn't speak for himself, he can correct their interpretations later based on the "misunderstandings" of the people in between himself and his fans. This is a very Japanese-style system of surmising feelings, a system of authority that is formed when only a limited number of cronies are informed of the true intentions of the president. If I talk about it in too much detail, right-winged Yakuza will show up very soon, so to make it short, it is an indigenous control structure unique to Japan that originated from the "Mikado behind the bamboo blind". This time the director was very conscious of that, and I was able to see that Eva, who was a challenger, has become an authority that does not tolerate any criticism.

And what fan from the past could enjoy watching the endless battle scenes after Shinji returns to Wunder in the middle of the film? One after another, the sister ships of Wunder appear--there's almost no difference in appearance, but Ritsuko is able to guess their names the moment they appear. Right after the line "I'm pretty sure there's a fourth ship," the fourth ship comes crashing upon them from underneath, with no intention other than to make us laugh, right? As well as the repeated tenseless bombardment fight with no description of damage no matter how many artillery shells are hit, and it's quite painful being poured Asuka and Mari's Me-Strong Battles which are already enough by the time of Q, continuously down my throat like a goose with a funnel in its mouth. There's no way to synchronize my feelings with the screen, and it just creates an atmosphere as if the story is going on with the unattractive super-robot action that I pointed out in Q. It's no use pointing out, but the repair and supply problems of Wille side in a world where the industry has been destroyed were shown in the farming village part, though it was inadequate. But those of NERV side, an organization of only a man and an old man, was completely thrown away.

The last part of the story about the Human Instrumentality Project is like a fanzine where Gendou, Asuka, Kaworu, and Rei are lined up in a row and complemented in turn and then dismissed, whereas EOE was a total complement through Shinji. The director has tried to upgrade his framework by borrowing them from EOE and has failed miserably. Someone who has created works by putting his emotion and flair into a copy has dabbled in copying his own work. As a result, he had to confront his own sensibilities from when he was young and had to compare the old and the new by his old audience. Frankly speaking, only the techniques have been traced, the sound and the screen have become gorgeous, but the emotion and the sense have deteriorated. The face of the giant Ayanami that was replaced with a live-action one -- probably based on the face acting of Shinji's voice actor, and the "untested ordeal" of her tweet means this -- appears in the background like a gold folding screen in the high sand at a Japanese wedding reception. You're getting tired of all this, and you're not making it seriously, are you? The battle between Eva Unit01 and Eva Unit13 in Tokyo-III, which I expressed my anxiety about before the film's release, is a scene where the company's CG team can't produce what the director expects and he is so frustrated that he has the same mindset as in the final two episodes of the TV version, "I'd rather get a minus than a red", and after that, it became like a gag scene, including Eva fights in Misato's apartment and Shinji's school classroom, as if he was staged them in desperation. The side-shooting screenshot of the little Wunder charging at the head of the giant Ayanami is a picture of ”Cho Aniki (Japanese STG)” itself, and it's also meant to be funny, right? It's a series of loose, sloppy, and tenseless scenes that can't be compared to EOE.

What the hell have the CG team been doing for the past nine years, getting paid with no progress and making Eva look like an outdated piece of crap? Didn't anyone have the chivalrous spirit of the Showa era like "Don't embarrass our boss!"? Don't be so relieved when you get the green light! The director has just given up on you! There were a few scenes where the person at the top of the editing and collage, who has been making the coolest pictures, was not given as much good material as he used to be and seemed to make desperate staging in a way that he would never have given the green light in the past. It's been more than 10 years since Xapa was established, but I guess they don't have enough talent to meet the director's vision. Perhaps because of this, the conclusion of the film is exactly the same as the old one, that the director has no choice but to use his personal feelings to finish Eva, but the film ends up being a self-imitation of "Sincerely Yours". It is sad to see a person who "surpasses the original by putting his heart and soul into the copy" start to copy his own past works on the big screen of the theater, because he has become a big name in the animation world after reaching the age of 60, and there are no others left to be copied. However, right after "Komm, süsser Tod" started playing in the old movie, the scene where the titles of each episode and the reverse side of Cels were played in succession was projected on the wall of the studio using a projector -- the title of the new movie was added. It made me mad and thought, "Don't touch my EOE with the dirty hands of the merchant. I'll kill you."

The last things that the man who "transfers his own life onto films" presented in his costly self-published private novel were a naked confession of his own mental history up to the point where he met his wife, which he temporarily entrusted to Gendou, and the words "I think I loved you" and "I loved you" exchanged between himself and the former lover who could not be together and themselves who had separate spouses, just a reckoning of the muddled love affair that existed behind the scenes of EOE. I half-jokingly said that the distance between the director and Asuka's voice actor was important for the end of Eva, but it turned out to be true in a different way. During the recording session, Asuka's voice actor was told by the director, "I'm glad Miyamura is Asuka," which sent chills down my spine as it conveyed the horror of a creator who doesn't hide everything about his life and relationships and uses them to create his works.

In the scene where Shinji says "I liked you too" to the adult Asuka, who is wearing a tight latex suit and drawn in a more realistic character design (making us aware of the cosplay by Asuka's voice actor), while she is lying on the EOE beach, I thought "You guys should do this in a coffee shop or something between recording sessions! Don't make us watch middle-aged man and woman having unpleasant conversations on the big screen of the theater!", I almost screamed out. I think that's the scary part, the director's one-sided love for Asuka's voice actor is falsified by having the character say that she liked him, as if it was a mutual love. The director's statement at the beginning of the pamphlet says that he started working on the sequel right after Evangelion 2.0 without hesitation, using the worldview of "Q". I'm not trying to quote the line "You can change the reality you don't like by getting on Eva.", but it's not as if he's trying to cover up the fact, but he really believes that using his strong imagery, and it made me feel a bit chilly that there was no one around to correct his misconceptions.

At the end of Human Instrumentality Project, I wondered if the fact that a senior member of the movie industry had praised the shooting of EOE by flipping Cels over as a "tremendous deconstruction" was still fresh in his mind. This time, too, it was postponed after postponement, and even though the makings have been done in time, he showed the other side of the production with line drawings and roughs. The reason it was so innovative was that it was the first time anyone had tried it then, and now, 25 years later, it's just a rut. It's disgusting that everyone is praising the master's strange drawing habit and saying, "Oh yeah, that's it, that's it." As I've said before, it's like "defecating in a sixty-nine," which was successful because the first partner happened to be a scatologist. The expression of EOE was sharp and ”Rock’n’‐roll”, but Shin-Eva's "fun of anime images" has gone into the realm of traditional art, like slow "Gagaku".

The director hadn't decided who Mari Makinami was for a long time -- he was so indifferent to her that he threw the actor's acting plan to a sub-director -- but with Shin-Eva, he's changed her into an equal to Moyoco Anno, his wife. In other words, the flashy battle in the middle of the film, which is unimportant to many viewers, is revealed to have been a very pleasant pretend play for the director, in which he has his former love and his current wife fight on his favorite robots. Once again, we are shown the director's so-what-attitude, which has not progressed even a millimeter since "I'm an asshole," and which he can complete his work only by masturbation. So it's no wonder that they couldn't depict the extremely simple catharsis of Shinji's great success with Eva Unit01, which is what most of the old fans want. Because a robot with a pathetic old man on board can't get an erection due to impotence, let alone masturbation!　Oops, excuse me, sir.

And as I said before, it's time to realize that the English language has become so popular in Japan that it's become lame. You use Infinity, Another, Additional, Advanced, Commodity, and Imaginary, just because it sounds cool to you, right?　Everyone criticized the naming "Final Impact", but I never thought I'd see the time when I'd faint from the lack of taste and coolness in Evangelion, such as Another Impact, Additional Impact.

And the ending, with the wedding report in a live-action aerial shot of the director's hometown, newbie fans are screaming that it is like, "They're doing a very positive version of the old "Return to Reality!". But I felt it was too empty and cynical because it was intended to be read that way by the director. It depicts only the elation of marriage, and the pain of getting along with a partner and his or her family with different values is cut off (well, maybe Q was expressing the hardship of married life......). But isn't the emotional weight of a marriage report much higher when you meet your partner's parents?　The fact that he ended the movie by showing his own hometown instead of his wife's hometown leaves me with the impression that he's definitively an egotistical geek through and through. "You may have graduated from a good university and are making good money in the city, but if you're not married and don't have children, aren't you somehow humanly flawed?" After 25 years, Evangelion, which was such a forward-thinking Sci-Fi, is now completely in sync with the earthly ethics of Showa-era's farmers and farm horses. "I got married and it saved my life. I don't know about you, but why don't you try?" You can think what you want, but if you want to convey it as a message of salvation, you have to express it in the content of your work, not in your own talk.

I've been married for 20 years, I have two children, both of whom are about to reach the age of adulthood, I've paid off the mortgage on my home, and I'm finally at the end of raising my children, but all of that is just an outer shell of a social skin that has nothing to do with my true nature or where my soul is! There's no connection between what kind of life an individual lives in the real world and the Sci-Fi sense of wonder, in fact, there shouldn't be any connection! If you're a science fiction fan, take a page from the great Arthur C. Clarke! I was a nerd with a negative value of 100, but when I got married, I gradually poured the "common-sense values" of the Showa era into myself, and now I'm a true man with no negative value? Don't write such pathetic fiction proudly! Listen, what you presented to the audience at the end was the same thing that someone would say to you, "You seedless stallion!" It's the same kind of unethical and vulgar message that you shouldn't be giving! The old Eva became a classic of Japanimation, and no one was able to properly scold you, or you keep away those who tried, and the result of this is directly reflected in the ending of Shin Eva!　You've reached your 60th birthday and you only have such poor social common sense, damn it!

I'm sorry, I was so excited that I lost my control a little bit, just a little bit. I think the director is relying a little too much on his wife, who is ultimately a stranger on, to be his laison d'etre (lol). If they were to break up in the future, it would certainly be the soil for the next Eva, the content and development of which is completely predictable, but that is no longer my concern. I wonder if his wife doesn't like the fact that he's mentally dependent on her like this, and that it's being shown on screens all over the country. If it were me, I'd be furious, but since she's a creator, I guess she understands how he feels. Ignoring the other person's feelings and continuing to force what he believes to be love on her, thinking that it will make her happy, seems to me that there has been no progress at all since the way he treated his girlfriend 25 years ago. The person I want to hear from the most right now is not the self-proclaimed Eva fans who are looking at each other from the side and giving positive feedback in celebration of the final episode, but his wife. If the director had a child, he would not have been able to distinguish between his own ego and that of the child, and would have doted on his child, making a documentary film about his or her growth, but would most likely have turned into a controlling and poisonous parent in his or her adolescence. And he animated his feelings for his child who was rebelling against him, without the child's permission, considering it as a one-sided redemption for the child, and the child who was exposed to the whole country about their home life would have distanced from his father more and more.

In the end, Evangelion did not become a product like Gundam, but rather a robot animation that was the director's weird personal novel. The repeated use of the word "job" in the film has stuck in my mind, but in order for the studio to survive, it had to make Evangelion a product in this new series, and I'm sure that was the initial motivation behind the production of these new films. Your real "job" was to make Evangelion the same as Gundam, to protect the people who came to you because they loved Evangelion. Years from now, I can see a future where Xapa will be like Ghibli, behead the staff and continue as a copyright management company. The director, who didn't want to be embarrassed as a creator by a new challenge adopted the safe way -- I can't believe that I have to use the word "safe" for Evangelion -- to end the new series that relied on EOE only for himself, not for the future of the people who came to admire him. That's what Shin Evangelion is all about.

The good part? The fact that he didn't bring Shin Ultraman trailer at the end of the film makes me think he has grown up a bit. If you're declaring "Farewell, All Evangelions" with the intention of hurting, disappointing, and disinterested old fans like me, then your malice is unfathomable, and that's quite a feat. Brilliantly, your intentions have permanently killed a part of me that used to be an Eva fan.

As horrifying as it is to imagine, it must have crossed the director's mind to reschedule the film and set a new release date for March 11. The only reason he didn't do so is not that he has grown up to be a sensible adult, but rather because the idea of linking Evangelion 3.0 with the Great East Japan Earthquake was a fact that is too painful for him to make it public.

Ten years ago today, many lives were lost and Evangelion was destroyed.

This fact will never disappear, no matter how much the director denies and covers up with the "true" history. If there is any mission left for me as a fan, it is to continue to pass on this fact to future generations as a storyteller. It is a huge loss for Japanese fiction that the end of the great Evangelion has become a self-recovery work of the great failure of the reboot affected by the Great East Japan Earthquake, and that the potential of the great Evangelion has been consumed by the self-defense of someone who cannot admit his own mistakes, and I sincerely regret it. Shin Evangelion will be forever cursed by the dead, who yearn to see the sequel of Evangelion 2.0, and the living, who yearn to see the sequel of Evangelion 2.0.

This curse will be completed when it spreads, arrives, and is burned by the powers that be as a false history. I pray that my thoughts will reach him!

#evangelion 3.0+1.0

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voidlessreads · 3 years

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[AkuRoku] short prompt

“Dying is a lot more painful than I thought it would be.”

Dying is a lot more painful than I thought it would be. One moment I was there, engulfed in nothing but a hot, fiery abyss, and the next I was here. By myself surrounded by nothing but pure white everything. The walls were white, the floor was white, the seemingly never ending corridors were white. Somehow , this was more painful. I don’t remember much about dying, other than it hurt like a bitch. But I remember him. He killed me. He pierced me with those sage coloured eyes. I know he didn’t mean to. It was the only way. I’m sure he’s suffering a pain worse than death right now. He promised we would meet in another life, a do over, another chance.

Time seemed to move differently here. I felt my body move as if it was in slow motion, but in some ways, I was moving faster than I was being let on. Maybe it was the fact that there was no identifying features on any part of anything I was on, so I just kept walking. I could run, but how was that going to get me any closer to nowhere. How was I going to get back to him?

I walked forever, until I saw it, a flicker. A red snippet of something in the distance. My legs began to run before my brain processed, my body began to ache, I felt a panic start to rise, why couldn’t I find what I was looking for?

A door. There was a door. I had almost missed it, the only reason you could see it was a door was because of the dark outline surrounding the rectangular object. I pushed it open and was greeted it him. But it was a montage of him, and me, my life fleeting by in a collage of events, until I saw us, in that moment, when I died.

I sat and watched as the pictures continued to show him, afterwards, his life. What he was doing, who he was doing, and why. His sorrow, his fleeting moments of joy, his pain whenever he thought of me. I was watching his life. Waiting for him to die, waiting for him so I could keep my promise.

He seemed miserable, I watched the regret of what he had done cripple him into the shell of who he once was. He got into fights, went against the organisation, screwed with people just to get out of his head. It made me feel sick. He was aging, it was going so quickly, why was it going so fast? How long had I been here ? Watching the man, waiting.

A fight broke out, he was against a grey haired man. Weapons were drawn, blood was shed and flames burst. It made me feel hot just watching, a screamed attacked ripple through the redhead and then black. I was surrounded by black. I saw him floating asleep and then, we fell.

Shit. I was running late as always. I’m not a morning person. In the 21 year I, Roxas have been alive, am still not used to getting up to go to work. I ran through the streets of an overly crowded city, traffic noises filled the air. I wasn’t really paying attention, until I was on the ground.

“Hey what the fuck!” I yelled, my papers on the floor. I didn’t bother looking up at the dickhead who had just crashed into me.

“You should be looking where you’re going if you’re planning on running through these streets” the man bent down to help me gather my belongings.

I looked up at the person helping me, I was taken aback by shocking red hair and sage green eyes. He was in a buisness suit. How the hell does anyone in a professional position get away with looking like this.

“Yeah well if you hadn’t been in the way, I wouldn’t be in the position” I bit back, what a jerk.

“Touchy aren’t we. Here’s the rest of your stuff. In exchange for being so rudely in your way, let me grab you a coffee”.

“Uh… I’m late”

“And you can be late and have coffee for your and your boss” the redhead extended his hand to me.

“Fine” I rolled my eyes as I accepted the offer of both coffee and his hand.

“By the way, the names Axel. Got it memorised?” He grinned.

#fanfiction #axel #akuroku #axel x roxas #roxas x Axel #kingdom hearts #fanfic #prompt #akuroku prompt #fanfic prompt #short fic #short fanfiction

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

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Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 7.5

Bev and Richie were sitting alone. It was long past midnight now, the moon high and mighty in the great big sky, and the two were the only ones still left in the clearing of Back Cove Park; Stanley had been the first to go, dragging a rapidly tiring (yet still reluctant to leave) Eddie and Bill behind him. Mike had excused himself next, and Ben had gone with him- the two of them had taken the flashlight, leaving Beverly and her friend in near-total darkness, though they really didn't mind. That was just over an hour ago now, and since the departure of the others neither Bev nor Richie had spoken a word. There was an odd tension in the air, waves of some negative feeling rolling off of Richie so subtly that she hardly noticed them. For a good 30 minutes or so she'd been debating asking him what was wrong, why he was so off, but she had been wondering whether that was really a good idea. There were a few different paths she could take here, and each had their own obvious pros and cons; the first option was to let Richie sit in his silence, to let him have his privacy because she knows how much that privacy meant to him. The next option was to, well, wrap up the evening and leave. Beverly was tired and she was certain that he was too, so maybe it was a good idea to get the both of them home safely to sleep on the struggles. The last option, most likely to best one, was to ask Richie about what was bothering him.

Just be forward Bevvie, she told herself, wringing her hands together and picking out the best words she could. Sucking in a silent breath through her teeth, Beverly let her eyes fall momentarily shut, psyching herself up and trying to scrape together enough confidence to speak. Richie and her were seated nearly back-to-back, nothing but one of the stones/stools between them. Richie had pulled his knees up to his chest, his head leaned back to rest on the rock, eyes upturned towards the sky. From her place cross-legged just behind him, she let her own head fall backwards, bumping gently against his own.

"So," She started, her voice gentle and soft and already warning Richie of her upcoming question, "Are you okay telling me what's wrong?" She rolled her head to the side, regarding him out of the very corner of her eye, and could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way he pulled his knees just a little closer, lifting his head upright. It was as if he were curling into himself, tucking himself away into a metaphorical shell as if he were a turtle.

"Nothing's wrong," Richie said, shrugging, "I'm all god, Bev. Don't worry." Uttering a sigh, Beverly sat up and shifted halfway around the rock so that her shoulder pressed against Richie's in as comforting a way as possible.

"I... I know you don't like it when I press but..." Beverly mirrored Richie's position. going silent for a moment as phrases of comfort and coaxing danced around in her mind. She was good at talking to people, good at becoming an impromptu therapist with nearly anyone who's ever come to her- anyone except for Richie. Something about seeing Richie, esteemed Trashmouth and Man of 1000 Jokes and 6000 Riddles, sad or scared or just bummed out threw her rational brain askew, tossing her to flounder into some ocean of unease and unfamiliarity. "I'm here for you, you know. You can tell me anything. We've been through hell together, Rich, and you'll always be stuck with me." A silence stretched between them, the tension pulled taut and threatening to snap any moment now. Those waves of negativity grew stronger, nearly moving in a pulsing tandem with the distant sound of the ocean; why, Beverly was unsure. It could be both because she was upsetting him even further, or because he was letting his walls down one brick at a time. For a moment, Beverly thought Richie was going to stay silent, to decline her invitation to vent- and then, he let his head fall sideways, resting gently upon her shoulder. He scooted a little closer, arm pressed against arm, and shrugged again, dejected and unsure.

"I..." for once in his life Richie Tozier was whispering. "I'm so gay, Bev. Like, so, so gay." Beverly couldn't help but bark out a quick laugh, resting her own head on top of Richie's and rolling her eyes though he wouldn't be able to see it.

"I know that much, Tozier. I also know that's not all that's bothering you, so what's up? What's the problem?"

"The problem is that stupid, jackass, lovely little guy named Eddie. Jesus, Bev, I didn't think I'd ever like another guy again after-" Richie paused for a moment, letting the silence spell out the name he wouldn't allow himself to say, "But here I fucking am and I just- It's scary, you know? It's goddamn terrifying." Beverly nodded her head, a frown scrawling itself over her face.

"What's the scary part?"

"Remembering. I'm... I'm afraid that I'll fall in love and just get fucked up all over again. It's stupid but I can't shake the feeling that-"

"It's not stupid, Richie!" Bev's tone took on something almost scolding, and she reached for one of Richie's hands to counter the harshness, "Jesus, it's not stupid at all. Nathan," Richie stiffened, "was a dick, he hurt you. It's entirely natural to be afraid of that happening again. I promise, I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't," Beverly wrapped her arm around Richie's shoulders, pulling him closer and planting a kiss into his hair, "Eddie's an angel, Rich, you know that he'd never hurt you, right? And if he did," Bev smiled, "I'd break his stupid, jackass, lovely little neck." Richie chuckled, still weak, and shook his head. For another few beats the two fell back into a lapse of silence. Beverly's thumb, which was rested on the top of Richie's shoulder, began to skate back and forth slowly, comfortingly, rhythmic circles that helped to soothe his mind just a little bit. Sadly, with that soothing came weakening.

"No, you don't have to... you don't have to say that. I dunno," He sighed, and lifted his free hand to peel of his glasses. With the heel of his hand he scrubbed at his eyes, and Bev was dumbfounded to discover that his eyes must have been watering. Seeing Richie cry when he wasn't playing a character was a rare occurrence. She hugged him tighter, laying her legs down and pulling Richie right against her chest, cradling him as if he were a baby. "I don't think I'll ever really make any moves on Eddie. I can't risk it." Beverly opened her mouth to speak again, to repeat that Eddie was a good guy, that he wouldn't do the same things as Richie's ex, but he spoke first, "I know, I know what you're gonna say, but that's not what I mean. What I mean is that I can't risk him hating me for it or something, because then Stan and Bill will probably hate me, too- and... And that means they'll hate all of us." Richie's voice had begun to waver. Never ever has Bev felt so utterly horrible, so guilty even though this isn't her fault. "I don't want them to hate me, and I couldn't stand watching them hate you and Ben and Mike because of me,"

"Richie..." Bev tucked Richie's face against her shoulder, placing one hand on the back of his head to run her fingers through his hair, "If they hated you because you were gay then I wouldn't want anything to do with them, okay? I don't want to know them if you can't be yourself around them." As she spoke, Richie's let out a hitching breath, his battle against his own tears clearly coming closer and closer to an end. She pulled him tighter against him, other arm wrapping securely around his shoulders, and felt him hug her right back with a certain desperation, a certain starvation, clinging to her shirt as if he'd never hugged anyone in his life. It was as if she was going to slip away. He shuddered, fighting back a wail rising in his throat, trying not to sob like a child. Even though Richie was so much bigger than Bev he felt like her arms were hiding him from the world. A wave of sudden vulnerability choked his throat.

"I'm just-" Richie's voice broke and that was it for him. He melted into Beverly, the tears finally flowing free, his glasses discarded somewhere nearby and his face pressed into her shoulder, her hair, smelling her lavender shampoo. He began to tremble lightly, gasping for breath between his tears, hating how quickly he'd broken and loving that Beverly was here to cling to because she was probably the person he trusted most on this fucked up planet. "I just- I'm so scared, Bev, I'm so fucking scared and-" He was interrupted by a racking sob, and his tears strengthened tenfold, "Everything- it's all so f-fucking hard and I- I can't- Why the hell am I like this? Why the fuck can't I just- why can't I just be normal?"

"Richard Wentworth Tozier, you are not allowed to speak like that!" Beverly held him tighter, afraid that she might literally be crushing him but feeling the way he hugged her back, "Being normal fucking sucks, dude! What, you want to be some stupid pencil-pushing white boy? Get a desk job, some lame-ass wife? You can have three kids and hate your life until old age finally takes you away?" Richie nodded into her shoulder and she shook her head furiously, grabbing fistfuls of his gross arcade-carpet button up and turning her head so that her face was pressed into the crown of his head, her voice muffled, "Fuck that, Richie. You're awesome. You are literally the single greatest person that I have ever known in my entire life. You're gonna be the best comedian on the planet, and you're going to find and marry the guy of your dreams. I'm not letting you make yourself miserable just because society wants you to be, okay?" Again, with hesitance, Richie nodded. That wasn't good enough for Bev. "You got it?"

"Y-Yes, yes I-"

"Good," The firmness in her voice leaked away, replaced by that Beverly Marsh tenderness that was always hidden deep down below her spitfire, "Because I don't know what I'd do with myself if you stopped making jokes and got all old and gross." Richie was still crying, his shoulders jumping with each attempted-to-stifle sob that he just couldn't hold in. Feeling rather than seeing the misery in Richie's soul, Bev knew she had to do something to bring back his flame of humor, of idiocy, of downright stupidity. He was a fool, and she loved him for it, so she would make a fool of herself if she had to. Beverly screwed up her face, trying to get her voice to change just like Richie's always do- it didn't come as easy to her, not in the slightest, and she mostly sounded like Beverly Marsh but also sounded just a teeny tiny bit like Richie Void Of Soul. "Oh, sorry Bevvie, I can't come and make you laugh because I have a work potluck," Her voice dragged out, taking on a false-tired, lifeless drawl, and it managed to get a shaky little snicker out of Richie that was wet and sad and overtaken by another shaking sob, "Oh, by the way, do you have a recipe for some coleslaw? Usually Karen in accounting brings coleslaw but she died of boredom right at her desk," Again, Richie let out a shaky little giggle, his voice hitching for breath, little hiccups slipping past his lips as he did. The character Beverly was going for was Richie If He Followed Social Norms. It seems the joke landed at least enough to brighten the usually unshakeable mood of Richie Tozier.

"You can drop that recipe off any time after five o'clock tonight," His voice was strained, tiny and Richie pitched it up an octave and tried his best to mimic the depressing lifelessness Bev had adopted, "Any earlier than that and I might be at my sweet angel Joseph's ballgame." Beverly was laughing now too, rocking gently back and forth with Richie still held tightly in her arms.

"What are you, a soccer mom?"

"O-Only if you take Joseph and the team out for pizza after, because I'm just so proud of them. Who cares if they lost!" Richie wiped his damp eyes on Bev's shirt and leaned away, his shoulders, which were hunched, leaning back just gently as he straightened up again. He was grinning in a way that almost looked frightening, tear-stricken and all tooth and self-loathing and relief to have cried out all the sadness.

"Everyone is a winner in my book! Saddle up gang, to the Pizza Hut we go!" Beverly pumped a fist into the air, wiping at her own damp eyes and wearing a grin not dissimilar to Richie's own. Reduced to sad, scared, giggling children in one another's arms, Richie began to feel just a little better. If he tried really hard and had his friends at his side then maybe he really would fine his soulmate or his dream guy or whatever other silly name existed for 'the one'. Maybe he would fulfill his dreams and become a real standup guy, or maybe he'd pursue ventriloquism or he'd become a Rockstar or a radio host or something like that. With a few more minutes together, Richie nearly squashing Bev under his weight, he began to feel good enough to function again. Richie leaned in one more time, wrapping his arms tightly around Beverly's shoulders and crushing the soul out of her in a bear hug. After a moment of near-suffocation he pulled away, his smile more natural than it had been moments later. The two began to untangle themselves from one another like some finicky Christmas lights, and then Richie sat heavily at her side still sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Thanks, Bev." Richie clasped his hands, letting them rest in his lap. Beverly's smile shrunk into something serene and loving, and the two let minutes tick by in silence as Richie picked up his last stray pieces and clicked them back into place. Once Bev was certain he was A-Okay once more she let her head shift to look at him, watching him replace his glasses and piping up with a cheeky question and a cheekier grin. Humor and teasing always was the best way to get Rich's spirits up again.

"So Eddie, huh? I didn't take him as your type." Richie let out an incredulous sound, staring at her in disbelief. The way his eyebrows had shot up said 'What the hell are you talking about? Have you seen him?'.

"He's such a- such a little bastard, it's adorable. How can you not be into that?" At this, Beverly nodded her head, letting out a sound that meant 'you have a point' and accenting it with a half-shrug that clearly didn't suffice for Richie believing that she was convinced, "And he's smart and annoying and- well, he's cute, too. So cute with his freckles and his eyes and his hair- not to mention he's way shorter than me- and... uh..." Richie cut himself off, seeing the way that Bev was looking at him. Suddenly, his face went red, flushing with heat, and he lifted one hand to scratch at the back of his neck. He smiled sheepishly. "I... I like him, I think."

"Yeah, Rich," Beverly grinned, her heart swelling with endearment, "I think you probably do."

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #mike hanlon #the losers club #it #it movie #it chapter 1 #it chapter one #it chapter 2 #it chapter two #it 2017 #it 2019

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

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For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!

This.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”

“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”

“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”

Beth is an oyster.

Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.

But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...

“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”

“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”

~*~

Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.

She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.

It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.

Then everything changed.

Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.

There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.

She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder.

The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.

Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.

~*~

“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”

“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!” She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.

Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-” “LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”

Beth is a hermit crab.

She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.

But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.

Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!

~*~

But he didn’t. Andy ended up getting married.

Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.

Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.

At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.

Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.

~*~

“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”

Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more. All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?

Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.

She buys the bottle. She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.

She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.

She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever.

Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut? It isn’t fair.

And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.

She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.

#mynameisanakin #She's Talking To Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #mental health tw #medication tw #suicidal ideation tw

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voidwaren · 4 years

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hey guys, pandemic brain is a bitch so this week we have the first 6k words of an ENTIRELY self-indulgent Sterek royalty AU that was originally an outline for a profic before I went, “you know what. fuck that. make it fanfic.” and did so.

may or may not be what I’ll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year, since I’ve never done fanfic before and have also never once won.

also: ignore the fact this basically starts off in exactly the same formula as Oak and Mistletoe. I am a one-trick pony. yeehaw.

Stiles met him on a balcony bathed in moonlight, shedding glitter and confetti and the half-melted snowflakes that made their slow descent from the sky above, and he realized—before he’d even opened his mouth, before the man had even noticed Stiles was there—that he’d do anything to meet this man again.

The night was alive with the sounds of a party. Lights of every color, food from every land spilling from the kitchens on glittering trays, people laughing and dancing and forgetting their own names beneath the pull of one too many glasses of pearlescent sparkling wine. It was a night of excitement, of merriment and of occasional debauchery. And it was a night Stiles wished he could skip.

Crown Prince Stiles hated parties.

It wasn’t the people he hated. Not the music or the merriment or even the dances he spent months learning properly before each event to make sure he knew all the steps and didn’t trip over himself in front of a hundred or more people. It certainly wasn't the lavish spreads of food that Stiles had made himself sick over many a party before, because that was the best part.

No, the thing Stiles hated about parties was the fact he always had to act like someone he wasn’t. It was the fact he had to dress up in clothes that restricted his movements, the fact he had to waltz around a room with a woman or man whose title he couldn’t care less about and try his best to keep them entertained, the fact he had to act like the proper son of the ruling monarch of the kingdom trussed up like the very same kind of people he used to swear he’d never become, powdered nose and everything. All because of a position he was born into and a title he had no choice but to inherit when the time came. It made him feel like a liar. It made him feel like a fraud, even as he walked around as the person people expected him to be.

Stiles hated everything about it.

It wasn’t like this a few years ago. Hell, a few years ago Stiles had been the picture of mischief among the court, causing all sorts of trouble during the balls and the weddings and the town celebrations, to the point where people came looking for him in the thick of it all asking for him to take them away before they drowned under the pressure of the titles they never asked to bear. And Stiles would do so willingly, easily, taking their hand and leading them on great moonlit adventures through the castle and along the streets of the city in the dead of the night, with nothing but the stars and the creatures of the night to guide them back home at the end of it all.

A few years ago, Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to be—untethered, wild, and uncaring of who would see. He’d been happy, carefree, and so very much alive.

Then his mother had died of an illness that ravaged the city, and reality had come crashing down around his ears. He was the only child of an aging king who refused to separate himself from his people even for the good of his health, and he had to start acting like it.

And, so, he did. The Stiles he had been died with his mother, and there had never been a reason to bring him back to life again.

He was miserable because of it, even as he nipped a chocolate-covered strawberry off a passing tray on its way into the ballroom and stuffed it into his mouth, shedding chocolate all over the carpet below.

“If you get that on your suit, we’ll have a murder on our hands come morning,” a grave voice said from Stiles’ left, and Stiles startled hard enough to nearly rip the curtain he was hiding behind from where it hung.

“Lydia,” he said around the half-chewed strawberry still in his mouth. The woman in question glared at him, then reached out and dusted the shoulder of his red and black party coat. Stiles quickly swallowed. “You’re supposed to be in the ballroom already.”

“I was on my way there when I found your mask” —she paused only long enough to hold the mask in question up in the same hand she already held hers in— “sitting outside your quarters, still in the wrapping paper, and realized I was going to have to find you first.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gold-dusted eyelids sparkled with the movement. “You weren’t planning on hiding all night, were you?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, sounding about as unconvincing as one possibly could. He winced.

“It’s Scott’s birthday, Stiles. You can’t be a no-show at your best friend’s twentieth birthday party!”

“Sure I can,” Stiles grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia actually cringed, then whipped a handkerchief from her decolletage with her free hand and started scrubbing his skin of potential chocolate remnants. Stiles allowed her, if only because he knew fighting it would be futile. “It’s his birthday, no one will notice if I happen to not show up.”

Lydia didn’t deign that with an answer. A smart decision on her part, because even Stiles was fully aware he couldn’t not show up to a party being held in his own castle, regardless of who the party was for. It was just plain rude. Someone would definitely notice, and then his name would be in the papers for weeks afterwards, and not for any reason the king could be proud of. Not to mention Scott himself would probably be put out.

“Two hours,” she said instead. “Just two hours. That should be more than enough for everyone to see you and try to worm a dance out of you. Then you can go back to lurking behind the drapery and stealing food. I won’t even make you sign any dance cards.”

“One hour,” Stiles tried to bargain, but that was quickly shut down with nothing more than a raised eyebrow on Lydia’s part. Honestly, who here was the prince and who was the duchess? Because, somehow, Lydia always seemed to outrank him despite reality being otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lydia said firmly, handing over his mask, and then she vanished in a swirl of shimmering pink skirts and golden lace. Stiles looked down at the mask and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t surprised—what else would he have been? —but predictable was never a good look on Lydia.

Tonight, Stiles wore the face of a fox.

Not a traditional fox, mind you. That was for the lower ranking individuals currently fawning around in their heavily-decorated clothes and overly-perfumed hair. No, Stiles wore the face of a black fox marked with streaks of red around the ears and muzzle. A unique design, with his sigil hidden in the swirls of fur at the forehead, of a creature people still associated the prince with even years after he stopped acting like one.

Stiles kind of hated how much he liked the damn thing.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the drapery and emerged into the hallway that led into the ballroom. The guards standing on either side of the entrance watched him, one with an apologetic look on her face. He’d asked them not to say anything with a finger to his lips when he’d first dove behind the heavy fabrics, but Lydia had found him anyway. Using a quick hand gesture, he told them he knew it wasn’t their fault, and the apologetic guard relaxed. The other simply continued watching him.

And with a great sigh, Stiles slipped the mask on and tied the red ribbons tight, then walked through the doors into the throngs of people hidden behind the face of every animal imaginable.

The center of the room was a swirling mass of innumerable colors, all twinkling under the glow of the countless lights with both the glitter most chose to wear to costume parties such as this and the sparkling confetti that floated down from the rafters, spreading itself to every corner of the room and deep into the clothing folds of every patron beneath it. Fast-paced music threaded through the air, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional singing voice as Stiles passed through the layers of people and tried to find the man of the hour. He hadn’t seen Scott since that morning at breakfast before they’d both been whisked away to get ready for the party, and, as a long-standing tradition from when they were young, Stiles owed the birthday boy the worst dance he could possibly have of the night. Stiles was ready to scuff some brand new leather shoes, pop a few buttons straight from their silk-lined waistcoats, and then hide from Lydia’s wrath for the rest of the night.

But Scott was nowhere to be found.

Not willing to drop the hunt so readily, Stiles nestled himself into a corner between two of the food tables—one filled with a rainbow of pastries that Stiles made a mental note to ravish later, the other a sea’s worth of crustaceans and fish and other unnamable things, some of which still gurgled in their shells—and tried to remember what it was Scott was wearing that night. Stiles hadn’t been present for the arrival announcement of the visiting crown prince, too busy sneaking around the curtains just outside the room, but he’d heard it happen, so he knew Scott was already there. He also knew Scott’s preferences when it came to his clothing, so a wolf mask was the key point in Stiles’ search. The only problem was: a wolf was a very common mask choice, and Stiles didn’t know what about Scott’s would be the aspect to set him apart.

A crown, possibly? Scott typically hated wearing his crown to parties, claiming it was difficult to dance when he spent a large amount of time worrying it would slip from his head and embarrass him, so that was probably out of the ruling, unless it was etched directly into the mask itself.

His sigil? Would it be that easy to see a double circle, likely hidden somewhere within the design of the mask itself, without staring the mask-wearer directly in the face? Would Stiles have to dance with every wolf-faced masculine figure just to find the person he was looking for?

His eyes scanned the crowds again, and he felt his gall slowly seep down to his toes. There were dozens of masks even vaguely resembling what could be a wolf—Stiles would be there all night.

He suddenly wished he had thought to ask Lydia before she’d left, assuming she’d even tell him in the first place. She probably thought keeping him on the blind hunt would make him stay at the party longer.

God, he really didn’t want to be there. It might have been a birthday party for his oldest and greatest friend, but it was never fun for him unless he could cause a little trouble.

Nabbing a flute or something pink and bubbly from a tray to his right, Stiles downed the thing in one gulp, stifled the consequential belch that tried to force its way back up his throat, and meandered his way to the other side of the room. Still, there was not a Scott to be seen. There was a Jackson, though, loitering by the unmistakable figures of Stiles’ father and Queen Melissa of their sisterlands, Scott’s mother, dancing together in place on the direct outskirts of the fanfare. Setting his empty glass aside, Stiles locked in on his sights and crept his way over.

Years of sneaking around the castle and poking his nose exactly where it didn’t belong meant Stiles had a relatively good track record of getting to the place he wanted to be without being seen, even in plain sight, and not even Jackson, who had technically been trained specifically with Stiles in mind after growing up as a page under King John’s reign, noticed Stiles sneaking up on him until Stiles was pulling the ribbons of Jackson’s dragon mask free.

Jackson started with a hissed curse, his hand flying up to keep the mask on his face, and in the same motion reached behind him and grabbed Stiles by the upper arm with his free hand.

“Your Grace,” he growled in his Jackson way, loud enough to be heard by Stiles’ dad and his not-a-date-just-a-frequent-guest. Luckily for Stiles, they seemed distracted enough in each other not to notice just yet.

“I’ll put it back on properly if you come with me.” Using the grip Jackson had on him, Stiles quickly maneuvered the both of them back into the shadows of the ballroom before Jackson could give much of an answer. Once safely out of view of the parents, Stiles smacked Jackson’s hand off and motioned for him to turn around.

“What was that all about?” Jackson asked as he complied. There was a note of bitterness to his tone, but that was Jackson for you. Growing up, he’d never been Stiles’ biggest fan, especially not when Stiles’ crush on Lydia had become painfully obvious to everyone who so much as looked his way, but he’d softened to Stiles as a whole after the loss of Queen Claudia when they both were sixteen. Having been the one with Stiles when the news broke, first with the onset of the illness and then her eventual death, he’d been one of the few people to see firsthand just how much a person like Stiles could break, and Stiles was pretty sure Jackson never recovered his full dislike of the crown prince in question after it all had been said and done.

Plus, Jackson had been the one to win Lydia over when they were eighteen, and, while the relationship hadn’t lasted, it had also helped to lessen some of the sour feelings on his end.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately as he tied the ribbons tight, then patted Jackson on the shoulder to signal he was done. “I can’t find Scott,” Stiles explained. “I also don’t really want to be here.”

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, and what else is new? How long did Lydia tell you to stay this time?”

“Two hours,” Stiles admitted sourly. Jackson laughed. “I was hoping you could cover for me if I happened to suddenly vanish from the party?” he tried hopefully, doing his best to make his eyes look puppy-dog-like behind the confines of his mask.

“Hell no,” Jackson said without missing a beat, then quickly tacked on, “Your Majesty.”

“Come on, Jackson! Please? I’ll come back, I just want to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“And have Lydia breathing down my back for allowing it? I don’t think so.”

“I could order you to, you are my personal guard,” Stiles pointed out, but Jackson just looked at him in that way that told Stiles he was raising a single eyebrow behind his mask. Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of the title if no one listens to me anyway?”

“Plenty of people listen to you,” Jackson corrected, smacking a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just not me, and especially not tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a fine looking set of specimens waiting for a man such as me to show them how a real dance is done. Have fun finding Scott.”

Stiles made sure his responding scoff was accurately disgusted as Jackson turned and walked off to meet a pair of identical figures in the crowd, one of which Stiles distinctly recalled writing his name on Lydia’s dance card a few parties ago, leaving Stiles glowering to himself alone. Stiles debated marching up and inserting himself into the situation just to be an ass, but quickly rethought the action before he could execute it and get himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t actually want to have.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked before Stiles could find his way back to the dead fringes of the party instead, and Stiles turned to find Allison smirking at him from behind an owl mask. A quick glance around told him Scott was not with her, and if Scott wasn’t glued to her side like he normally was, that meant he was being forced to dance with some of the other partygoers who had shown up specifically with Scott in mind. Which meant Stiles was certainly not going to see him anytime soon, unless he wanted whoever Scott was dancing with being passed off to him the second Scott spotted him without a partner.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed, holding his hand out for Allison to take. She smiled brilliantly as she took his hand in her white-gloved one, and off to the dance floor they went.

Allison was, by far, a much better dancer than Stiles was. Only surpassed by Lydia (and only in some dances, at that), she was swift in every movement and seemed to almost float around the dance floor, even in a dress that looked heavier than she was, made of layers upon layers of feathers and fabric with names Stiles couldn’t guess if he tried. She looked like she belonged in her creature of choice, elegant and deadly if she chose, if the legend of her familial background was to be believed. Beast hunters up until a settlement dozens and dozens of generations back, Stiles typically chose to not believe, but he had seen Allison shoot an arrow straight through an apple exactly as Jackson was taking a bite out of it without doing much more than scaring the shit out of him, so maybe it wasn’t all a myth.

Allison’s bright brown eyes met his as the song changed pace suddenly, picking up to an even faster rhythm, and he only just caught the twinkle in her eye before her hand tightened in his and she took him over completely.

She was so much a better dancer than Stiles (and Scott, though Scott rarely surpassed anyone’s dance skill, so he often wasn’t counted in the first place), that every time Stiles did dance with her, she always somehow managed to lead him without ever taking the position to do so. And she did so by using a pressure method via her fingertips against his shoulder and hand, where her hands were positioned. It had taken Stiles a number of dances to catch onto her antics when she started coming to other courts and stayed for parties, and then a few years on top of that to perfect his understanding of her puppeteering, but he was to the point now where he unconsciously moved in time with her ministrations and didn’t even have to pay them any attention. It made her the easiest person for him to dance with, and he actually kind of hated how much time Scott got to spend dancing with her at these things if only because Stiles rarely got a break where he could dance and not have to constantly make sure he wasn’t about to flatten someone’s toes.

(But they were promised to one another, declared by Scott one day when he was sixteen that he would take her hand when she came of age at twenty-one, so Stiles couldn’t complain as much as he would like. They were four years into their seemingly-never-ending honeymoon period, so they kind of deserved each other at this point.)

“After this song ends,” Allison whispered in his ear as they pulled close and turned, “head for the balconies. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you went.”

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to understand that she was giving him an out to escape, at least for a little bit. He couldn’t get much of anywhere by going to the balconies, unless he wanted to climb onto the rooftops or get lost in the gardens before returning to the party again, but it was something.

“I could kiss you,” Stiles replied giddily. Allison flashed him a wide smile.

“I appreciate that you could and yet would never,” she responded sweetly, and Stiles couldn’t help but give a genuine laugh. Friends was all they’d ever be, and neither of them had ever cared to make their relationship anything more. Allison was a fantastic friend. Stiles was lucky to have her, and Scott was luckier still to be promised to her.

True to her word, Allison pulled them close for the closing bow as the orchestra played the last note of the dance, then twisted on her heel and pushed Stiles smoothly in the direction of the doors to the garden balconies in the back before he’d even thought to take the step himself. Stiles, far less graceful even than any singular part of Allison on its own, stumbled a bit as he was thrown into motion, but caught himself quickly and hurried his way over to the doors. He thought he heard his name being called faintly over the sound of the next series of dances starting up, but he ignored it and continued on, twisting around each group of attendees as he met them and hopefully not treading on too many dresses and exposed shoe points as he went.

His mask felt hot against his face, the painted leather slipping along his nose as the heat of the room started to feel unbearably stifling, and the second he broke over the threshold of the opened double doors his fingers were already up and pulling at the ribbons that held it in place. It slid down easily, and he tucked it neatly under his arm as he moved into the shadows of the romantically-lit area and found his way to his favorite foothold, hidden by a large ivy growth, that he’d gone to so many times before. The climb required no thinking on his part; he pulled himself up easily in practiced motions that would give his father a headache if he knew. The gardens below stretched beneath him until, finally, he’d found his favorite haunt.

The autumn air was cold on Stiles’ face when he twisted himself up and onto one of the balcony alcoves, and a fine layer of snow was starting to make its way down from the gloomy sky above. Once used for lookouts, archers, and other war-related things, the alcove Stiles had found his way to was connected to a heavily-locked and incredibly dusty war room that had not seen use in centuries, nevermind Stiles’ lifetime, and was now used solely for decoration. Stiles, personally, liked to use it to stare down at the town, as it overlooked the edge of the cliff face that the castle was built into. He never understood why his father didn’t just move the war room and let Stiles have it as his own, but he had a feeling it was precisely because of Stiles’ love for a balcony that he could easily fall to his death from that his father had said no enough times for Stiles, who rarely gave up on anything, to finally let it go. Yet another reason to never let his father know he often scaled his way along the other balconies from his room to get there in the first place.

As it was a balcony alcove to a room that was never used, there was only ever Stiles who occupied it. So, to say he was startled nearly out of his skin when another figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove’s corner would be to put it incredibly lightly.

In fact—Stiles had very nearly screamed. He definitely let out a very unmasculine noise, though he would never admit to the fact if questioned about it at a later point in time. Unfortunately for him, that would be the thing to alert the other figure to his presence in the first place. Which was a shame, he would later think when he ran this encounter through his head over and over again like the action could bring a kind clarity the memory of the event itself simply did not have, because, for the split seconds before Stiles had made his presence known, the man had looked perfect where he stood in the shadows, and Stiles had been immediately infatuated with the sight of him.

But, of course, Stiles could not have nice things, and it was usually because of his mouth. Now was not an exception to the matter.

Stiles let out his noise, and the man startled out of the shadows and into the moonlight like he was expecting a fight. Stiles, though trained to defend himself if need be, did nothing more than scramble back on shoes that slipped dangerously on the snow-slicked stone beneath their feet. The man stopped abruptly, his eyes darting from Stiles’ face, down to his clothing, and back up again. And then, all at once, he relaxed completely, looking strangely put out that it was clear Stiles was not here to fight him. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously disappointed, the man in question turned his face away briefly as if expecting someone else, and that was when Stiles got his first good look at his surprise guest.

He noticed the ear cuff first, flashing in the light of the moon. Made of some kind of golden metal, it sat on the whole curve of his outer ear, nearly obscuring the ear itself completely. It flashed again as the man turned his face back, his features pulled into a completely different expression than they had been in just before, and Stiles found himself staring directly into a pair of cloudy green eyes.

Stiles had no idea who this man was, but he found that he desperately wanted to know. It was like a tugging sensation from somewhere behind his heart.

Silence stretched between them as neither moved, marred only by the faint noises of the party down below, and then Stiles realized something.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t dressed for the party. Except for the golden cuff he wore on his ear and the thin gold chain around his neck that disappeared into his shirt, he was free of flashy adornments and heavy finery usually worn to parties such as the one being held tonight. In fact, he seemed rather underdressed considering the weather, in nothing but dark pants, a shirt, and a deep red waistcoat hanging undone from his torso. His moonlight-washed hair was unstyled, hanging around his face in that way Stiles’ hair also did when he ran his fingers through it at the end of the night after he’d washed all the grease from it. The man had either attended the party and left immediately, or he hadn’t gone at all.

He seemed just as surprised to see Stiles on that balcony as Stiles was him, too, his eyes drifting slowly down to the mask Stiles held clutched in both hands and narrowing. It made Stiles want to hide the thing behind his back, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.

“It was hot inside,” he explained quickly, then had to refrain from slapping his hand over his mouth for saying anything at all. He wasn’t sure where the knee-jerk reaction to explain himself had come from exactly, because this was his homeland, and he was the prince of it. Whoever this man was, he didn’t rank above Stiles on his own turf.

And yet, here he was, feeling an ever-increasing need to keep the strange man standing before him, completely underdressed for the snow that was falling around them, from thinking Stiles was weird for being on the roof when a party was happening elsewhere.

Unsure of his actions, Stiles looked away, directing his gaze over the curb of the stone railing. The town below lit up with lights strung from rooftops and streetlights, a sign of the upcoming festival to celebrate the arrival of harvest season, where there would be markets every night and dancing in the squares, with the largest celebration with a potluck at the very end. Scott always had the best birthday out of all of them, because it kicked off the season, taking place what was usually just a few days before the town celebrations started. He’d have a big party, and then he’d continue to celebrate with the townsfolk of both his land and Stiles’, as they were sisterlands and shared the same traditions. Stiles, having been born in the spring, didn’t get to have quite the same experience.

“Do they know you’re gone?” the man asked quietly, his voice nothing like Stiles was expecting from looks alone. Stiles turned his attention back embarrassingly fast all the same.

“Do they…?” he repeated in confusion before he realized what the man was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, probably? Someone’s likely noticed. But I don’t think they’re paying attention to where I am, really. It’s not my birthday.”

Shut up, Stiles, Stiles thought frantically. Lord, please, shut up.

The man’s brow furrowed. Stiles took the moment to admire his eyebrows, which were well-suited for his face. Stiles was pretty sure the man could hold conversations with them, if he tried. He could absolutely look menacing, with just the right expression. Stiles knew he could find himself easily terrified of this man. He just had that look about him.

And then, as Stiles was admiring, it occurred to him that he’d never seen this person before in his life, despite him standing right on the rooftop of where Stiles lived. Which, considering who Stiles was, shouldn’t be possible.

How had he never met this person before? Did he climb onto the roof from below? How did he get past the guards?

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself, then winced. Strike two. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

The man eyed him warily, then seemed to come to some kind of a conclusion and sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Stiles frowned in turn. “Should I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, the moonlight washing his features out until he looked nearly a ghost, those cloudy green eyes narrowed. “No,” he said finally. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, then, miracle of all miracles, thought better of the action and shut it again. Surprise flashed in the man’s eyes, and Stiles could swear the corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, but he knew he had to have imagined it. Because the man’s mouth seemed permanently set in a frown. He hadn’t smiled once, and he had a very strong frown. The man turned his face away again, but Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him.

The moonlight caught off the ear cuff as he turned again, catching Stiles’ attention easily and giving him a better view of its overall shape. Covering the entire curve of his outer ear, the cuff the man wore was shaped like a curling line of crescents and circles in a pattern that tickled some vague part of the back of Stiles’ brain without any true recognition to show for the efforts. He’d seen the exact pattern before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t place where or when, or what kind of meaning it could hold. It was a curious design, all the same, with smaller chains of gold hanging in loops from the bottom, some kind of bead or gemstone nestled in each center. The entire thing was also, Stiles noticed, studded with the same kind of gemstone that glinted with the light, though the strong tint of the oncoming full moon made everything seem too washed out to really tell any true color.

It was a strange thing to see, even on a night like this. Ear cuffs were found in other lands, but ear jewelry didn’t often extend beyond earrings in Stiles’ land. In fact, adornments in general usually came in the form of necklaces, rings, and makeup and rarely extended beyond that, and Stiles had never thought to question the reason why something so obviously stunning had never become popular in his, or Scott’s, realm. Even Allison’s kingdom, known famously for their silver jewelry and intricate designs, did not show any favor towards such specific things.

Until now, apparently, because Stiles couldn’t think of where else the man could have climbed up to the alcove from if not the party or the town. Though, if something like that was becoming popular, Stiles felt like he would have heard Lydia talking about it at some point. It was very possible she had and he’d simply not listened, however. Stiles’ attention was a fickle thing.

“Are you from town?” Stiles heard himself ask. He was starting to understand why his dad winced each time Stiles opened his mouth, because, right now, he’d soder the damn thing shut if he only had the chance. “Did you climb up here from the streets?”

A soft huffing sound met his unfortunate inquiry, and it took Stiles a moment to realize the man had just laughed.

“No,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the town in question. “I came from inside the castle.”

That stumped Stiles. So he… had come from the party? How had he gotten himself in such disarray? Stiles might not have been paying the best attention to the comings and goings of the event, especially considering the size of the attendance, but he’s pretty sure he would have heard someone say something if someone had shown up in the state the man was in. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Unless he’d gained his current state somewhere between the party and the balcony, which meant he must have done something relatively quick to become that way.

Stiles felt a heat crawl up his neck, swift and relentless, as an idea of what the man might have done occurred to him. The war room was empty and supposedly locked at all times because of its disuse, but Stiles had never actually bothered to check that. At least, not since he’d learned to climb to the balcony instead of going through the room itself, and that had been years ago.

Quickly, Stiles walked over to the large double doors that connected the balcony to the room and wrapped his hand around one of the huge handles. It barely budged an inch beneath the pressure he exerted on it, and even less when he tried with his weight added onto the attempt.

Locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked.

Stiles twisted back around. The man was watching him again, those eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. He still stood at the railing, not having moved an inch except to face where Stiles now stood. Very rarely did Stiles feel any kind of embarrassment for his actions, but something about this man and his strangeness kept the embarrassment coming in waves. Stiles prayed his face, definitely red at this point due to the man’s reaction, couldn’t be seen too well in the dark of the small overhang of the doorway.

“How did you get up here?” Stiles demanded hotly. He thrust a finger at the door handles. “These are locked.”

And, to Stiles’ utter shock, the man actually smiled.

It was by no means sunny, and maybe not even a true smile, but his lips were undoubtedly pulled back from his teeth in at least a smirk. “As you suggested before,” he said simply. “I climbed.”

“From—where?” Stiles spluttered. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man merely tilted his head as if pondering Stiles’ question. He met Stiles’ eyes again, rendering Stiles slightly more dumb than usual with their strange color, and then, in one fluid motion, he bent at the waist in a bow.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” the man said, taking one last glance up from beneath his lashes to meet Stiles’ eyes.

And then he backed up, turned the same corner he’d emerged from, and was gone.

Stiles watched the empty air for a shocked heartbeat. One quickly became two, then three, and then he was tripping over himself as he launched at the space the man had left behind in a desperate scramble to catch up. Unfortunately, his shoes, more equipped for dancing than any other kind of foot movement, slipped on the slick stone floor and he went sprawling instead, knocking his chin hard enough to rattle his teeth and stun him momentarily. His mask went flying, smacking against the ground and skidding a few feet away.

Stiles groaned as he hauled himself up again, clawing his way to the side of the balcony railing where the man must have left, only to remember, with a shock, that this was the side that met the cliff face. There was no way down but a sheer drop to the rocks below.

A white noise started up between Stiles’ ears as he stared down the drop, the disappearance and the lack of a body below not adding up in his brain. A cold wind blew past briefly, rustling his stiff collar against his cheeks and bringing him back to himself enough for him to twist at the waist and look directly up. The action brought no more clarity than the previous one had, and the cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

The man was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

#I somehow already have 12k written for this #and I'm not done #Sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #royalty AU #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday

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justjessame · 3 years

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Double Shot Chapter 22

Clay and I did NOT sleep on the island in the kitchen. First of all, I was hungry. For real food, not just Clay based nutrition, no matter how filling he was. And secondly, while the island was an amazing spot for a pounding sexual encounter, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Even with Clay acting as a mattress for me, it was going to make both of us sore in all the wrong ways.

Dinner in my apartment, that I cooked from scratch, followed by a LONG hot bath was on our menu before bed. As I lay with my back against his chest in the warm water, I felt far calmer than I had all day. It’s not everyday a woman learns that the business she’s managed for years is actually HER business. And the house. That fucking house. I was tempted, heavily, to call a realtor first thing in the morning and list the damn thing.

“You have some decisions to make, Char.” Clay’s chin was propped on the top of my head and his arms were wrapped around me, holding me against him.

“I do?” I did, but I was curious as to what he thought they were.

He hummed his affirmation. “Now that you’re not just the manager of the shop, you could delegate more.” I could, and it wasn’t something I had even thought about. “I’m not saying you have to, but you could.” He was right, I could give someone the dreaded Wednesday inventory and ordering. I could hand off the day to day and focus on baking or find another hobby. Who knew, maybe I could give someone else purpose like managing The Little Drip had given me one.

“What would I do with all that extra time?” I smiled as his fingers slid down my arms and moved lower, giving me ample promise for a new focus for my extra time.

Dried and lying in my bed, an early bedtime for once, I sighed. While I knew Clay’s theory about the coffee shop was a good one, I still had to deal with the house. That house. The one that loomed dark in my childhood memories. The one where my parents had lived together with me for the first five years of my life. The one where my father broke my mother’s will to live. The one where she killed herself.

“What’s wrong?” Clay’s voice, the tones of it I was learning intimately, took on the softness that came as he was allowing himself to grow prepared for sleep.

“I’m thinking about the house,” I felt his nod, so I went on. “I haven’t been back since-” he hummed when I stopped, letting me know he understood. “Knee jerk reaction is to sell it, sight unseen, just call up a realtor tomorrow and get rid of it.”

“But?” His voice was still soft, but I knew his training meant he was fully awake.

I tried to explain why the urge was high, but something was holding me back. “I don’t think I can explain why I don’t do it. Just cut ties and let go.” I strained, why was this so difficult for me?

“I’m sure, Char, that you had moments of happiness there. It wasn’t all-” he stopped, using his finger to tilt my chin up so our eyes met in the dim light of the streetlamps through my lace curtains. “Before he left, when you and your mom spent time playing together,” a memory of a tea party in my playroom, my mom sitting across from me with a smile lighting up her face as we had real tea and sandwiches on the tiny porcelain set at a small table and chairs came to me. “Or when you read together,” bedtime, propped up against her side while she read through one of the many books she read to me nightly. “Even when you were older, after he left, didn’t you have moments that weren’t tinged by it?” My birthdays, with Davey and George pushing my mom from her shell of pain, with Carrie and her mom helping her forget for a tiny speck of time that her pain wasn’t everything. Reminding her that she had me, even if I escaped the house and her as often as I could, and how when everyone left, the two of us tried so desperately to keep that feeling going, only to lose the fight as soon as morning dawned.

“They aren’t all bad memories, Clay, but the bad are pretty damn miserable.” My father looking at my mother and me as though we were beneath him. The fact that I couldn’t think of one pleasant memory that included the three of us, not even holidays, since those included Davey and George and they barely counted. Walter would sequester himself in a separate room. He’d open presents, but then slink off on his own. He didn’t coddle me, or cuddle me, I wasn’t sure I even had a standard fresh from the womb picture of him holding me. I sighed, burying my face in his shoulder and breathing him in because even after a bath using my soap and shampoo, Clay managed to still smell exactly like Clay.

“Will you take me to see it?” I tried hard not to tense up at the thought of going back inside the house. “We can drive past if you want, we don’t have to go inside.” I considered it, realizing that tucking it all the way out of my mind didn’t appear to solve anything.

“We can go, inside too, if you want to.” My voice muffled against his skin, but I knew he heard me. I kissed his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “I think I can face anything with you beside me.”

Geroge was waiting for us the next morning in the kitchen, eyes twinkling at our appearance and our linked fingers. Clay had his breakfast upstairs and would probably last through the day without needing a repeat on the island, but he did beg off from gopher duties. Kissing me as if we didn’t have an avid audience, he said his goodbyes, and George offered to walk him to the door so he could grab us drinks and I could get started.

As we baked, George asked me how I was handling what Davey and he had told me about the day before. I’d always been honest with my uncles, talking to them about any concerns I had or any questions that came to me about things in my life was natural somehow. This was no different, with the tiny exception of who Clay and his associates were. I wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the subject of my being involved with a man who was, at least on paperwork, dead.

“Clay wants to see the house,” I told him after I explained my conundrum over what to do with the property. “He told me we could just drive past, if I didn’t want to go in.”

“He seems-” when he paused I looked up from where I was forming dough to see his puzzlement over what he wanted to say. “Nice is a little too tame for a man like Clay, isn’t it?”

My smirk answered him and I went back to forming pastries, thinking to myself that nice didn’t nearly cover Clay at all.

Once we had the display cases filled, George and I each took a sweet treat and sat at a table near the counter. As we ate, and settled in for the day, he asked me if I was planning on changing anything about The Little Drip now that I had full reign.

“I still want to be here most days,” I offered between bites. “But I think I’d like to promote one of the baristas to manager, at least to get inventory and ordering off my chore list.” George chuckled, knowing that was the one duty I appreciated least. “Managing this shop, it saved me,” my uncle’s eyes met mine. “Gave me a purpose, and I think I want to pass that along.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, a smile bright on his face. “We wanted to tell you sooner, we did, but-” he sighed, and looked toward the windows facing the street. “Walter is a snake and a weasel, we had to make sure that you were strong enough to stand up to him.”

“And I am?” My head was tilted when he faced me again. His smile told me more than words ever could. “Of course I am, I was raised by two of the strongest men I know.” I reached out my hand and he took it easily. “I love you two, you know?”

“We do,” he answered, for him and Davey. “We love you so much, Char, so damn much. I always thought-” he stopped, seeming to think better of what he was going to say.

“What?” I squeezed his fingers, wanting to know what he thought. “Tell me, G.”

“I always thought, it was almost like you were born to be ours.” He looked conflicted, and I understood. He never wanted my mom to die, but having me in their lives, as a daughter as opposed to just a niece felt right. I’d felt it too.

“I always thought I was yours.” Blinking back tears, I smiled. “I feel so guilty for what happened to her, George, so fucking guilty that I couldn’t be enough, that I ran from her.”

He shushed me, standing and pulling me into his arms. “No, Char, that wasn’t your fault. You were so young and she was so broken, sweetheart. She needed peace, and she found it in the only way she could.” I managed to regain my composure as I listened to my uncle tell me how he saw my mother’s suicide. “She knew that we loved you so much, that we took good care of you, and she knew she could go and you’d be safe and loved.” And she’d been right, if that was her goal, it had worked. “Are you sure you want to go to the house? Even with Clay-”

“With Clay I can face anything,” my conviction was growing in that belief, firmer and surer by the moment. “He’ll know if it’s too much, or he’ll listen when I tell him it is at least.”

George left after Keli showed up. She was far more mellow than she had been, the snark still alive and well, but she seemed to know that I’d listened to her and HEARD her. She and George exchanged pleasantries and it came to me. If Keli was doing paperwork, inventory, and ordering, she wouldn’t be in close contact with the customers. If Keli wasn’t in close contact with the customers, maybe the rates of my insurance wouldn’t skyrocket because I felt pretty certain that she might end up biting someone. Matt or Alex Xavier were at the top of the list for potential victims.

As we worked to get the shop ready to truly open, I broached the subject with her by first breaking the news that I was the owner.

“Of course you are,” she rolled her eyes. “Not even two flaky fairies like George and Davey would just toss someone your age the keys to this place and wander off to frolic in the sand in Florida.”

“You couldn’t have tossed me a clue?” I asked, mouth quirked. “Damn, Keli, now I’m wondering if offering you the management position is really a good idea? I mean I’d want a manager that keeps my dumb ass in the loop.”

She’d gone completely still with her back to me. “Manager?” Her voice was barely a breath and I almost took it back and said I was joking in case she was pissed that I’d offer it to her, with her family’s plans to relocate and all.

Before I could she turned to face me and I was shocked to see a smile on her face. I’d seen many expressions grace Keli’s face since I hired her, a smile was not one of them. Yes, I do realize that hiring a woman who didn’t smile often for a customer service job didn’t sound smart, but she was capable, had a memory like a fucking steel trap, and she was efficient as hell.

“It would come with a raise in pay,” I continued, confident she wouldn’t throw a bag of coffee beans at my head now. “Of course it would also come with more duties.”

“Such as?” As we finished up the opening prep work, I went over what duties I planned on turning over to her. “Done.” And with that, Keli became The Little Drip’s manager. Or would once I had an employee meeting to make it official.

“I’ll tell everyone as they come in, but I think we should have a meeting to make it official.” She nodded, walking to the door to flip the sign. “Not here though. Let’s do it at Enzo’s. Make it a celebration and a meeting. You can bring Stacy and Jason, the others can bring their significant others and family.”

“You gonna bring Clay?” I felt my mouth drop open at her use of his fucking name. “What? Just because I don’t use their names, doesn’t mean I don’t KNOW their names.” She rolled her eyes, but her smile held. “I like the idea. We don’t really social much outside of the shop, why not?”

And that’s how, in the course of two days, I became the recognized owner of The Little Drip and Keli was promoted to manager. And somehow that was the normal part of my week...

#Franklin Clay x OFC #The Losers (2010)#alternate universe #Smut

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cherriesradio · 3 years

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Isn’t love meant to be easy? Todoroki

So this is already pretty long and I don’t feel like finishing it so uh yeah.

Warnings: mentions of abuse, forced engagement, bad parents on both sides, one-sided love, mentioned like of musical theater (that’s not really a warning is it lol)

Quirk: Earth. Basically earth bending.

Shoto remebered when he was a kid and his siblings would sneak in books for him. Endeavor being the little jerk he is only let them read books about heros. And only he’s that he saw as “good enough.” Aka the overly arrogant and merciless hero’s. Shoto’s siblings didn’t care what books they brought in, just that it wasn’t revoking around a pro-hero. As long as it would give Shoto and ouce of a normal childhood, unlike them.

He remembers that sometimes, the stories he read in secret would have a romance. The boy and the girl, they would bump into each other. Probably at school. The boy picks up the girls books, their hands touch. And it goes on from there. They eventually confess under a cherry blossom tree, and they kiss. And then live happily ever after.

So, he thought that live would be easy as that. Bumping into each other. Little did he know, love was much more complicated.

You whimpered, scared by how many people were at the party. Even more scared by what your parents told you about this party the day before. You were going to meet a boy, at the same young age as you, and possibly be engaged to him by the end of the night.

Marriage scared you. It’s such a big commitment, yet you had to make the choice in one night? And as a young child as yourself? And knowing how everyone you had meet over the years who were also rich, then it probably wasn’t even going to be your choice. Simply dishonorable.

“Darling, make sure to hold onto my hand. We’re about to meet the boy.” Your mother said. You nodded your head and gulped.

A red and white boy. Around five, the same age as you. He had big eyes. One was grey and the other was icey blue. He looked just as nervous as you, trembling in his perfectly fitting tux.

You looked up, to where your neck would hurt for looking to long. His father probably, was Endeavor. Your parents praised him because he was a big and powerful hero, but he clearly didn’t have a good heart. He look intimidating even without fire bursting from his skin.

“Hello Y/n. I heard you have a powerful quirk. (“Of course he would start with that.” You heard a girl from behind the small boy sigh.)

You gently nodded. You were always told your quirk was powerful. You trained when you wanted but being determined to be a great hero, you trained constantly. When you Frits got your quirk only a year ago it was rather weak, you could barely pick up a rock that weight more then a few pounds. Now you can pick up double your weight.

“Hm. This is my son, Shoto. Shoto, introduce yourself.” The man looked down on Shoto and pat his back, Shoto stepped forward. He was right in front of you.

“My name is Shoto Todokri. I’m five years old. My quirk is Half-Cold Half-Hot. I can make ice with my right side and create fire with my left side.” He said in a monotone voice. He had a strange tremble when he said “left side.”

“Hi. I’m Y/n L/n. My quirks Earth.” You smile softly and held your hand out, he nervously shook it.

Your parents made you spend the whole night with Shoto. He was a good kid. He was patient and queit, you were stuck doing most of the talking. You thanked the lord that your parents were respected, or else you could have been in danger with all the strangers.

That’s how it started.

He didn’t realize he had real feelings for you. You were going to be forced to marry him as son as you turned eighteen, there was no reason either of you should remotely enjoy a forced relationship.

And then came UA. He was going to get into UA for sure, and so we’re you. Purely because you were both powerful. Either way, your both from rich family’s, they could’ve bribed you into it if you weren’t powerful.

And you were clearly avoiding him. He didn’t blame you, you were forced into this relationship and so was he. You would occasionally wave at him in the halls or give a small hello. That was the most you would give him.

He couldn’t help but feel bad about it. You were a kind and patient person, but you didn’t have I care in the world about him.

And like he did with most of his problems, he went to his best friend. Deku.

“Hey Midoryia? Can I ask you something?” Todokri said, tapping on Dekus shoulder. Deku turned to him.

The empty common room was strange. Of course it was rather late, but Todokri knew Dkeu would still be up studying.

“Sure Todokri! What’s up?” He smiled. His freckles popped off his face even in the dim room, the fridge and lamp being the only sources of light.

“I… thsi is going to be rather personal, but I’m engaged to L/n. And it’s kinda bothering our relationship.” Todokri awkwardly said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Deku looked surprised. Everyone he told did, since arranged marriages are so rare now. He quickly connected the dots, that you both had powerful quirks and that Endeavor would take advantage of that.

“Oh. Sorry, Todokri. What do you need me for in that, though?” He titled his head to the side. Todokri’s left side glowed with the white light of the full fridge.

“Your good at friendship. If we’re going to be married one day, than I want to at least have a platonicly good relationship with them. I don’t want them miserable.” Todokri said. Deku could clearly see the guilt in his eyes. Deku gently nodded.

“Well, I could try to get you to connected. Their mostly friends with Kacchans group, but I know them pretty well. They asked to study with me a few times.” Deku muttered. “Next time we study together I could mention you, say how great of a person you are. Maybe get you two to hang out somehow.”

Todokri quickly nodded and was glad to be given the offer. “That sounds perfect Midoryia. Please do.” He said, then turned and went back to his dorm room. He slept more Pres fully than normal.

“Hey Y/n, you know Todokri right?” Deku casually said, turning the yellowing page of the old school text books. The library was empty beside you two and the workers.

“Yeah.” You say and raise an eyebrow. You knew him and your fiancé were friends but you didn’t see a reason why he would have to mention him.

“All Might told me I should try training harder with my legs, since I’m only now trying to use them. So, I’m gonna be pretty busy for a month or two.” He said, looking directly at you insteda of over his book. The room felt hotter. You were definitely leaning on Deku’s support with school, you would probably start failing again if you stopped.

“That good for you. But bad for me. You know how bad I was before you offered to study with me.” You say.

“Don’t worry! Todokri is a smart guy, try studying with him! He’s more queit than I am, but if you spend some time with him he’ll come out of his shell.” Deku said.

You puzzle it in your mind. It would be overwhelmingly uncomfortable, you two wer engaged yet you had ingnored him for most of the school year so far.

“Sure. I’ll ask him about it later.” You say offhandedly. You scoff in your mind. You had only seen this kid at party’s your parents forced you to go to, they didn’t even put the effort into getting you two to know each other well.

You walked up behind the half and half boy. You refused to call him more than a poor, shy and anxious kid. His existence pissed you off. He was a nice kid, polite and patient. But the fact that you were forced to marry this guy you had barely talked to made your blood boil.

“Shoto Todokri? Could a talk to you for a second?” You said, in the voice and tone your parents told you was proper.

“Yes, Y/n? Sure.” He said and turned away from the lunch he wasn’t focused on eating. “What do you need?”

“Could you help me study? Deku’s gonna be busy for a while and I’m a little dependent on him. Which I should probably fix…” You said, drawing your hand back to your chest from his shoulder.

“Yes. I don’t mind. Um… would eight be good? Meet in my dorm?” He said gently. He felt like you were like a wild animal, would scurry away at the slightest wrong move.

“Sure, that’s fine. Well uh… see ya later.” You awkwardly wave and walk back to Mina and Denki, they could clearly tell how nervous you still were. Yet, Todokri stood still. He played with the sting on his hoodie, and blushed.

“Yeah, I’m sure that George Washington was the fourth president.” You sarcastically said. You should’ve remembered that Shoto was horrible at American History, the only class he was bad in.

“Trust me! I’ve very sure he was the fourth!” He defensive cried. You snicker and roll your eyes.

“And who was before him? And after em’?” You say and hide a laugh.

“Um… Alexander Hamilton was a president right? And then… then Thomas Jeffery?” He said, almost shaking from how nervous he was. He had already helped you with every other subject, this was the only one you said you were good at but wanted help just in case.

You made a system. On mondays you would do history, on wednesdays you did math, and on sundays you did American history. And any other day you would train. What a great Sunday you were having.

You snickered and banged your fist on the counter of the empty common room. “Heck no! Alexander was in charge of the treasury, and also wrote for George Washington during the war for independence. Thomas Jeffery,” You did quotation marks with your hands. “wasn’t a person. Your thinking of Thomas Jefferson. He was a president, the third.”

He sighed, it came out white from his cold side taking over. He was trying to keep himself from catching fire. It always felt like that would happen around you after the month you’ve been studying together, fro some reason.

“I think your gonna have to help me with this. How do you even know this stuff?” He said with a sad and pouty look.

“Hamilton, it’s a musical. One of my favorites.”

He took a menatal note of that.

“Shoto!” You giggled, elbowing the teen. He laughed wildly, not for the first time. Not anymore.

Your jokes always made him laugh wildly, not caring if others see him in the act. Because your there, laughing with him. Sometimes at his own silly actions, and others at your own statements.

You made him happy. Happier than he ever remembers being. He’s been happy before, just… not this much. Not with Iida or Ochako, or his siblings or even Deku. You made him happiest.

“I can’t believe you sometimes!” You giggled and covered your mouth as to not make the white room explode with laughter. Everyone was staring at you already. Half of the class already thought you were dating, the other thought you were pining. Well, Shoto was.

But, the sweet stares you started to give towards Izuku during class, the lingering touchs when you grabbed his arm to ask to study, the tab bit longer than it should be hugs, those heart eyes you would give to him during lunch. It all seemed to stain into his memory, never able to leave.

Friday, January 5. You and Shoto were having your now normal sleepovers, watching romantics comedy’s and crappy tv till midnight.

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #todorki x reader #todorki shouto

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shadowofmytime · 5 years

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>> some of my absolute favorites ! like and reblog if you save and enjoy ! happy reading and give some kudos to these amazing writers ! always feel free to send me some of your favorites ! ! <<

>> There is a bit so for your convenience they are in alphabetical order ! The ‘s’s are some of my all-time favorites ! ! <<

>> min yoongi x park jimin <<

All the seasons of your love - 5k+ [college au]

The movement in the library was still slow in the first week, so Yoongi could easily remember the few people who came by. That's why he pays so much attention to a certain dark-haired freshman who walks in on a Wednesday afternoon - or at least that's what he tells himself. He goes over to the front counter and asks Yoongi for directions to the Economy 101 session and, God, his voice is as sweet as his eye-smile.

Or how librarian Yoongi fell head over heels for cute freshman Park Jimin who, unfortunately, was very much straight - or so Yoongi thought.

Bon Voyage - 47.9+ [tourist! au]

Yoongi was meant to be taking the trip of a lifetime with his boyfriend. But now he's in Paris, alone and miserable. That is until he collides - quite literally - with one Park Jimin.

Boys who talk shit - 26k+ [college au]

When Yoongi enrolled in BTS (aka Boys who Talk Shit) Boarding School, he wasn't really expecting to be the only 'straight' (to be read sarcastically) guy in a room of seven geniuses (aka children aged five to ten, honestly). Plus four pet spiders. Yes, plural.

Chaotic episodes in A Place of Love and War, where Yoongi learns all about True Love via Park Jimin, Music and Marriage. Sort of. Brain bleach and earplugs are strongly recommended.

Conflicting arrangement - 162k+ [fake boyfriend au]

"Absolutely not," Yoongi deadpanned. "Namjoon-ah. I value you as a friend, and I think I'd even go as far as to say that you're my best friend, but absolutely fucking not."

"You owe me," Namjoon pleaded. "Come on, Yoongi, it's not a big deal."

"Your boyfriend's best friend's best friend needs a fake boyfriend to come out to his family this Chuseok, all the way in fucking Busan," Yoongi repeated drily without pause, making Namjoon wince. He flipped a page of his textbook, picking up his highlighter. "Not a big deal, Namjoon. Amazing."

Cotton Candy - 240k [high school rock band]

"He could get used to sitting next to Yoongi like this. To have him around. To have the band around. To smile and feel happy. To see Yoongi sitting in front of an instrument and having him play just for him.

'If this was my happy ending,' Jimin thinks, resisting the urge to lean his head on Yoongi's shoulder, 'if I wasn't who I am, I'd just let you have me whenever you want. You could have me anytime.'"

As spring turns into summer, school band Cotton Candy unexpectedly loses its singer and the members are forced to look for a new vocalist. Six boys find one in the form of the promiscuous pink-haired boy Park Jimin who makes a home in their hearts and finally finds a place he belongs

Daegu drift - 53k+ [motorcyclist / playboy au]

Jimin stops in Daegu for a big motor show and gets caught up with the locals. Specifically one Min Yoongi.

Sneak Peek:

Yoongi has his arms folded as he stares Jimin down.

“Are you going to join the rally, or not?”

Jimin takes his time answering because he likes the way Yoongi is looking at him. “Sure. I guess it could be fun. But you do realize none of you have a chance against a Bugatti, right?”

“It’s not the car that wins the race,” the other man says. “It’s the driver. You could have the fastest, best-equipped car in the goddamn universe, but if you’re a shit driver, it doesn’t make a difference.”

Goodbye from lonely - 65k+ [uncle yoongi!]

Park Jimin works two jobs that he loves and is going to college to get his teaching degree.

Min Yoongi is a personal assistant who hates his job and spits in his boss' coffee every day.

Kim Taehyung has been infatuated with his clueless co-worker for the better part of a year.

Jeon Jeongguk has a three-year-old daughter that he'd do anything for.

Somehow the tiny human brings them all together.

Tae is in love with Kookie -> Kookie's daughter takes Jimin's ballet class -> Yoongi is Kookie's stepbrother -> Jimin and Yoongi meet because of Kookie's daughter.

In your eyes (it’s where I wanna be) - 5.5k [coffee shop! au]

Jimin pauses with his marker inches away from the cup, because — is he really going to do this? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned to write something flirty on a coffee cup? But no matter what his churning gut says about the danger and what the hell are you doing do you want to die, this guy is — with no better way to put it — totally Jimin’s Type with a capital T.

(Or: Jimin accidentally starts a nickname war with the cute blonde who likes his coffee way too bitter.)

Inked flowers - 6.4k [tattoo artist / florist au]

Something stopped him. A sound of a piano. He looked around and saw a light coming from the window on the other side of the street. On the third floor was an open window. A light and the sorrowful sound of a piano flew out of the room. Jimin looked closer and saw a figure or at least a top of someone's head.

The melody was so sad and sorrowful that Jimin wanted to cry. He started thinking, what could possibly go inside that person’s head? What were they thinking? Jimin just hoped that they weren’t sad and alone.

(let me see you) get high then low - 4k+ [photographer/model au]

"The light-haired model is the kind that fascinates Yoongi, and at the same time, he prefers to steer away from. He's all smiles and flowers, drawing you in with his cuteness until he's not anymore. Suddenly, he’s something else entirely; he's that false calm, the ocean that looks smooth on the surface but will drag you down to its depths if you dare to touch it."

Min Yoongi works in a photography studio with some (very questionable) friends that can't get any work properly done without making a bit of a fuss.

Park Jimin is a model handcuffed against his will and bored. Also a little bit horny, maybe.

Math Tutor - 11.7k [bad boy! yoongi]

Min Yoongi is the school's resident Bad Boy™. He's covered in tattoos, is pierced, curses like a sailor, smokes like crazy, doesn't give a shit about anything, possesses a hot temper that has people steering clear of him, and is desperately in love with Park Jimin, the adorable math nerd. When Jimin is tasked with tutoring Yoongi in math, who is in danger of failing the class and being held back a year, both boys are hesitant. Yoongi because he can't think straight around the boy with startling red hair, and Jimin because Yoongi is scary as hell and looks like he can easily kill someone. Gradually, though, the two grow closer, and Jimin finds that Yoongi is nothing like how he'd imagined.

Maybe I hate you can be our always - 35.9k [enemies to lovers]

When Yoongi thinks about it, really gives it genuine thought, it's possible that Park Jimin isn't the worst person in the world.

(Or, Yoongi and Jimin get off on the wrong foot.)

Ode to yoonmin - 4k+ [texting]

yoongi and jimin are in very much in love but they're the only ones who don't know it

chat fic with a bunch of bad jokes and memes ¯\_(ツ)_/

Out of my system - 101.6k+ [one night stand]

Yoongi likes one night stands and he understands how they work. What he doesn’t understand, however, is how he ended up in bed with a probably-not-legal kid crying in his arms about his broken heart, because he’s pretty sure (and correct him if he’s wrong) that a babysitting job was not what he was looking for when he went to the opening of his friend’s new club

Standing on the brink of 376 - 42.9k+ [street racing]

When Taehyung woke him up at three AM to go to a street race—an illegal one, no less—claiming it would help his social anxiety, Jimin never actually expected it to do much for him, except maybe make him cry hysterically. He found that he really wasn't too far off-kilter with that assumption, but it was only after he'd suffered through countless bouts of insecurity that he realized, hidden behind each stuttered breath, every inevitable tear, every spark of unavoidable fear, and even the customary cloud of cigarette smoke itself, lay a tremendous amount of affection for a certain platinum haired street racer that he can't even begin to justify. But when his opinion of fact, fate, and even life itself continues to blur with each push of the gas pedal, he thinks he just might be able to forgive himself for falling in love with a criminal, when the nonsensical moonshine of the present mutes the anxiety that had been a constant within his heart up until this November.

Strawberry lube - 82.7k+ [college au]

Yoongi remembers little to nothing of their crazy drunken night out. But of two things he's absolutely sure, one: he's not gay, two: he just slept with Park Jimin

The Paradiso Lounge - 192k+ [photographer/stripper au]

“Do I have to pay you for that service?”

This isn’t a dream (let me love you) - 26k+ [highschool au]

As captain of his high school’s basketball team, Min Yoongi dedicated all of his attention to his team and their games. His focus on the game never waned, not once for anything or anyone.

Well, until head cheerleader Park Jimin flashed his abs during a solo cheer and made him fuck up his shot

Trying to Behave (but you know we never learned how) - 329k+ [non-idol! au]

It's been years since Yoongi's last seen him and the younger boy is a shell of his former self in a way that makes his heart twist in his chest. And yet, after all this time and countless days of convincing himself to let him go, he's still unconditionally, head over heels in love with Park Jimin.

(Jimin and Yoongi grow up together.)

Valentino Summers - 657k+ [‘80s gangsters]

Whether or not Jimin was smuggling drugs really didn’t matter. He was hustling, and these days that was all there was to it.

Hustle and survive or struggle and die.

Y/N masterlist << check it out !! xoxo

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composereggwrites · 4 years

Text

Love will not break your Heart (but dismiss your Fears)

Chapter 2: just let me go (we'll meet again soon)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: T

Characters/Ships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Alice “Daisy” Tonner/Basira Hussain, Gerard Keay, Gertrude Robinson

Additional: Reincarnation AU, Soul Bond, Team as Family, Autistic Jon, Post-Canon Fix-it, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

A wedding, a death, a fire, and Tim.

Chapter: 1 | 2 (below)

Ao3: 1 | 2

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Martin?” he asks, one last time, because fear has made a home in his heart. A palace in his bones.

“Jon,” Martin says, looking him in the eyes, so full of determination, filled with warmth, with love. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Sap,” he mutters, but a smile creeps onto his face nonetheless. “We’ve already left the message for the girls, and well… This is really it, isn’t it?”

“Got cold feet?” Martin asks with a laugh.

“Always,” he snorts. “You’ve felt them when we’ve slept. You’re the space heater between the two of us.”

Heart beating in his chest, Jon takes Martin’s hands. The world is crumbling in every direction. A year of this hell has been far too long. Searching, aching for answers, for a way to fix the devastation he has wrought-- no, the devastation Jonah Magnus used him to usher into the world.

Jonah Magnus, who, like the rest of the institute, is no more than a pile of ash at their feet now. Martin had been quite happy to have the honor of setting that blaze.

It’s touching, in a way. Finding the answer on how to set them both free, and Martin chooses to do it for him. No more ash on Jonathan’s hands.

(He’s more than a little fragile, at the end of the world, but he could’ve been the one to do it. The one to bring Magnus to the ground. That he didn’t have to means more than he can express with words. Martin has always been looking out for him, even when he was too much a fool to realize).

The Web’s strings hang heavy in the air around them, coated with the remnants of their old life, of their meeting. But the Mother of Puppets doesn’t have control of all these ties. Jon’s body is linked to everything now, the perfect conduit of fear. The lynch-pin in this hellscape. Take him out, and the rest crumbles. The issue is in managing to kill a near-immortal Archive.

Martin has always been his anchor. He never needed that rib, Jon gets that now. And this is something they can use. Here.

“Martin, I love you,” Jon starts. “You keep me grounded. When I start to fall apart, you hold me together. Even as I dealt with the end of the world rather badly, you drew me back out of my shell. I promise to be at your side forever more, I promise to return the favor. You are not just a caretaker, you deserve to be taken care of, and I will be there for you. I am here, with you, as we stand, united.”

Martin is already tearing up, as his hands shake in Jon’s grasp. “Jon,” he says, with a waver in his voice. “I love you. I know, it was a long time coming. Back when we were both researchers, I thought I could ignore this little crush, because that’s what it was. But you’re so kind, underneath that abrasive exterior. You pretended that nothing could get to you, that you at most tolerated the people around you, but I could see through that.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m with you, until the end of time. I tie myself to you like I’ve done a hundred thousand times before, in less words. In actions. Every step we take together has brought us here, bound to each other at the end of the world, and I wouldn’t do this any other way.”

The strings around them pull taught, smash them together. Jon clings to Martin. Holds him tight as the web holds them tighter. It hurts, the Eye observing this, burning through them as he clings for dear life, but observation just makes it real. The Web tries to resist, but Jon pulls harder, pulls the strings of his own design, and lets them bind.

A thousand stars scream in the sky, but the roar of the still-burning fire is louder. The pounding of his heart in his ears louder still. Or maybe that’s Martin’s. He can’t really tell anymore, as their hearts beat to the same tune, in the same time.

As the pain dies down, he can feel Martin, there in his chest. An ache subdued by his presence at his side. A new hole carved and filled with love, with his anchor.

Jon laughs, hysterical, for just a second. Tears on his cheeks until Martin puts his hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Ready for the next step?” Martin asks, worry flooding his voice, and oh, he can feel that in his heart. All the concern for him, bubbling over the edges of the pot. It makes him gasp, legs trembling, and all he can do is grip Martin back. It’s all he can do to not drown in the Tsunami of Martin, the whirlpool with them both at the center.

“Give--Give me a second, yeah?” he whispers. “Don’t tell me when.”

“Oh,” Martin replies, no doubt feeling the outpouring of gratitude. “Yeah, alright.”

They hold each other. Letting the waves of emotion crash down, drowning out the fear, out the pain. Held close together. This is what matters.

Then--

Pain.

Sharp, biting pain. Driven into his chest.

Blood meets his lips as he coughs, his own sharpened rib embedded in his heart, by Martin’s trembling hand.

As Jonathan Sims falls, he holds Martin’s hand, and wishes he could muster the energy to wipe those tears away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, as the door in his mind becomes a vacuum, sucking all the fear out of him, waves of love and safety and peace replacing the frostbite of terror. “We’ll meet again, yeah?”

Martin nods. He sits down by Jon, and kisses him, ignoring the iron taste. Ignoring the poison that he takes from Jon’s mouth.

The fire closes in, and consumes them. But there is no fear. No pain.

The world bends.

Good cows stand in a field, and no Eye bears down from the sky. No people scream in terror on that day.

Four bodies are found dead in The Magnus Institute, and the world dreams of a year that never happened. A year of fear and pain burying itself deep in their hearts.

A year that will never come to pass.

And Jonathan Barker-King wakes up.

---

Jonathan has always been an odd child.

Georgie and Melanie knew this when adopting him.

But that doesn’t change the fact that one night, when he’s twelve years old, Melanie can feel him shaking her awake.

She rolls over, facing him. “Mm, what is it?” she murmurs, knowing the shaky hands as someone who is afraid.

Jon’s voice is heavy, edged with static, and Melanie wishes she could see his face, as he says, “There will be fire. We need to leave.”

That gets her out of bed, kicking Georgie awake.

“Mel, what’s wrong?” her wonderful, sleepy wife groans.

“Up up up, now! Phone Basira, tell her we don’t know how much time we all have, but we need to go.” She tries to keep her voice level, urgent but hushed.

It gets Georgie up, at least. Springing to her feet. “I’ll get the emergency bags. Fuck. Alright. Guess it couldn’t last forever.”

Melanie makes sure she’s holding Jon’s hand, as she leads him back to his room, digging out the always-packed travel bag hidden there. Filled with clothes and food and money, and for him, some books he’s shoved into it. “Pack up your laptop and anything else you want that will fit, alright?” she says, soft.

“Got it, mom,” he replies. “Go take care of what you need to. I’ll be out in five minutes. That’s the plan, yeah?”

She nods at him. “Very intelligent, you are.”

And then she dashes, grabbing her own bags and the keys, tossing them all in the trunk of the car. Important documents, keepsakes she knows they wouldn’t be able to bear losing, anything irreplaceable. From the the meowing coming from the back seat, it sounds like Georgie had managed to catch The Admiral and bundle him into the cat carrier, too. The stubborn old cat refused to die of old age or illness, but Desolation’s flames might be enough to do the trick, and none of them would want to risk it.

There’s sounds from the house next door, and that reassures her that Daisy and Basira are up now, no doubt going through the same protocol they’d set in place for just this event. Hopefully it’s a fluke, but they can’t take that chance.

If it’s the past coming back to haunt them, with fire and flames, then they can’t afford to wait.

In ten minutes Georgie is at the wheel, and the car roars to life. Basira is getting the last of the Hussain-Tonner bags in their car, Martin bundled away in the back no doubt.

“Can I say goodbye?” Jon whispers, and Melanie sighs.

“Sorry, kiddo, but we gotta go.” She reaches out, holding his hand between the seats, as they peel out, headed far away.

He’s quiet, solemn. After five minutes of quiet, he sighs. “That’s alright. I’ll see him again, someday.”

“Yeah, no doubt about that,” she whispers back.

The next morning, their houses are on the news, as they watch in their hotel room, a hundred miles away. A fire, a roaring blaze, arson. But no bodies to be found.

“It was Jude, no doubt,” whispers Georgie, while Jon is fast asleep.

She nods. “Guess we tested our luck too long, staying in one place like that. If Jon hadn’t… Known. Then we might’ve been dead by now.”

“I’m worried,” Georgie sighs. “About him, about Martin. They-- We’re right, yeah? They saved the world together, and it involved a soulbond. They were both absolutely miserable before they saw each other that first time.”

Leaning her head on her wife, Melanie says, “Yeah, but… We’ll just have to make do, for now. Keep an eye out on them both. I think it might be a good idea to keep them separate, no contact, otherwise they’ll be sneaking out to the car some day and meeting each other halfway.”

Georgie snorts. “That’s absolutely something this Jon here would do. We’ve really spoiled him, huh?”

“From what I understand, we’ve been parenting just fine,” she says back, a roll of her unseeing eyes. “It’s his grandma who gave him all that childhood trauma last time. And a Leitner, what the fuck? How do you let an eight year old get his hands on one of those?”

That gets a full blown laugh. “Yeah, alright, you’re right. We’ve probably fucked him up somehow, but he’s not nearly as fucked up as when either of us first met him. Man, he needed some intensive therapy.”

---

Tim Stoker looks at the new-hire one time, and after the thought of I’m going to flirt with him so much passes through his head, another pops in of, wait that’d be weird--

Why?

He stares. Jonathan, the name tag reads, and why is that so familiar?

“Welcome aboard the library crew, my man!” He says out loud, giving a casual grin. “What’s a pretty boy such as yourself doing here?”

“You’re quite the flirt, Tim,” he says back with a laugh. “Sorry, not in the market right now. I’m not really… I’m not interested, mostly.”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, all cool, no worries, Jonny-boy.”

That gets a snort. “Call me Jon, nothing like that, please.”

“Got it, boss. Still haven’t answered my question,” he says.

“Oh, well…” Jon takes out a pen from his pocket, and twists it around his fingers, spinning to and fro. “I’m going to be working down in the archives, mostly. Gertrude’s taking me on as an… Well, an intern, I guess? Assistant? It pays decent, and it’s my chosen field, so… It’s a good chance.”

Tim nods. Opportunistic. Not many people get to work with good ole’ Gerty. “She works in the paranormal department yeah? That oughta be fun.”

“Parapsychology, specifically,” he says back. “With a focus currently in the not-apocalypse. Lots of info on that still to be gathered.”

“So you’re interested in spooky stuff, awesome!” Tim laughs. “You gotta tell me all the weird things. We should do a scary movie night sometime together.”

Jon stares at him, as if trying to piece together some mysterious puzzle. With big eyes, intense eyes, meeting his, looking into him, in a way that he hasn’t felt since--since--

A nasty migraine is forming in the back of Tim’s head.

Jon looks away.

“Sure, why not? You're off shift now, though, right? You should get to your class.”

“How did you--?” he starts to ask, but Jon has already descended the stairs into the archives.

The pain doesn’t go away, as he makes his way through math. It’s all numbers and easy problems. A blur as the teacher speaks, and he can’t focus. There’s something he’s forgetting. A nagging sense at the back of his mind, and he’d ask Sasha, or his roommate Martin for some help, except that seems like a very bad idea right now. He doesn’t know why. But it does.

Crashing onto his bed as soon as he gets back to his dorm is the best idea. Martin will assume he’s been out having fun, and he can sleep this stabbing agony off.

It almost works, too.

Fire, fire, so much fire.

Danny--who is Danny?-- Danny dead. The world a mess. Revolving around him in Stranger ways.

Falling apart.

Sasha is Not Sasha. Jonathan Sims is a Monster.

Martin is a stubborn fool.

The world blurs.

Explosions ring in his ears.

Tim Stoker r e m e m b e r s . . .

Shooting upright with a gasp, Tim stumbles out of bed. It had only been a few hours, but if anything the migraine has gotten worse.

He runs to the toilet, puking up whatever's in his stomach from that morning. Dizzy as another wave of nausea hits.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

There’s a knock on the door, and Martin -- Martin Blackwood, Martin Hussain-Tonner, fucking Martin -- is there, asking if he’s okay, in that kind way he always has.

“Yeah--” his voice cracks. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just some bad food.”

“Alright,” comes the reply. “Let me know if you need some help.”

“Got it,” he croaks. And then he’s alone.

Sitting on the cold tile, he holds his head in his hands, groaning.

He needs to contact someone.

Who?

Jon--? No. Not Jon, not yet. It was Jon’s presence that did this to him, no doubt, but he didn’t seem to actually know Tim.

Gertrude, maybe?

Fuck it, Gertrude it is. He has her number, she’s his boss, after all.

^Hey, Gerty, I think my head just died. Absolutely exploded with pain. Not coming in tomorrow.^

Not the most formal, but she hasn’t minded before.

^Well, I hope you feel better, Tim. Remember to check in if you’re staying out too long. It’ll be a circus here, otherwise, if we’re understaffed.^

“Fuck,” he hisses out again, because she definitely remembers. And she knows what happened.

^Mind filling me in on how the circus is doing?”

^They’re all in bits and pieces. It was quite the display, or so I hear. I have the tapes, if you want to listen to them.^

Of course she does.

^Sure, I’ll grab them on my next shift, sound good?^

^See you then. Feel better, Tim.^

He does.

Looking at Sasha now, it’s bizarre. A deep pit in his stomach, knowing he forgot her, believed the Not!Sasha had been her for so long. It doesn’t sit right.

As he makes his way down the steps to the archive, he finds her following. A few feet before the door, he turns to look at her.

“Need to speak to Gertrude too?”

She blinks, crossing her arms. “If I do, it’s none of your business.”

A snort escapes him. “Learning how to be abrasive from our lovely head archivist?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, he wasn’t really that bad. I mean, I totally got killed during the worm thing, so whatever you went through, I guess I still need to find out, but… He was trying his best,” she says, nonchalant as she picks at her fingers.

“Did seeing him give you the worst migraine of two lives too, then?”

“Absolutely. I thought I was dying. Turns out I had!”

They both start to laugh. He bumps his shoulder against her. “God I missed ya, Sash. Things went whack without you there.”

“Did the two lovebirds ever manage to work out their problems?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

“Not before I got exploded! Shit got weird. Honestly, you missed a lot of stuff. I--Well I’d fill you in, but whatever tapes Gertrude has will probably do that for me,” Tim says, gesturing back to the door.

“Listening party?” Sasha suggests, as she steps forward to open it.

“Sure, maybe the trauma of listening to our own deaths will be easier with a friend and some good wine. Gotta be at your place though, cuz Martin doesn’t know.” He steps in with her.

Gertrude looks at them, a box set on the empty chair. “Take it, have fun. I believe it’ll do the job enough to fill you in.”

“Thanks Gerty! We’ll get them back to ya’ when we’re done!” Tim says, giving a wave as Sasha scoops up the box. He can feel her hatred of the nickname, but it’s far too late to stop him from using it now.

They pick up on tape 39, conveniently labeled in order by Gertrude no doubt, for Sasha’s sake.

It’s awful.

She’d been spared the paranoia, the depths Jon had been plunged into.

They stop on tape 50, for the night. It hurts too much to keep going.

---

Jon wakes up from his nightmare.

Shaking, terror coursing through his veins. Memories he can’t remember. He’s not a fool.

Reincarnation was part of what he’d studied, while looking into parapsychology. No conclusive evidence, of course, that’s impossible to get. Almost everything presented as esoteric is false. The most true subjects tend to involve the apocalypse, and even then, it’s not a sure shot.

But they always involve dreams. Dreams of memories. Past lives mean past memories, trying to find their way to the present.

And his dreams have been getting worse.

But that’s ridiculous, right? Utterly ridiculous. He’s being superstitious. Gullible. There’s never been proof of reincarnation adequately presented. To think he had a past life is to give into the folly of the people he criticizes.

(He knows, deep in his soul, that some things are true. He can’t discount everything.

But there’s no need to let this knowledge consume him.)

Jon sighs, sitting up. It wouldn’t do to dwell on this, not when he has a test today that he needs to last-minute cram for.

His phone lights up by his side, though, and he picks it up. Blinking blearily at the screen in confusion before yesterday hits him.

^Hey Jon! Good morning! How are you doing?^

From the contact of Martin!!

A smile spreads over his face, dragging him out of bed and through his morning routine. Food. Toothbrushing. Clothes. Heading out for his class early, instead of almost late for once.

^I’m good, Martin. I have a test today, soon. Going to study for that. How about you?^

The reply comes almost instantly, which drops a small pit in his stomach, because martin’s first text had been two hours before Jon had gotten up.

^I’m good too! Thanks for asking! I’m working on an essay right now, but nothing super important.^

^Well, don’t let me keep you from your work.^ He’d feel bad if he were the reason Martin got a bad grade. It’d be awful.

^Nah, I don’t really need to worry about this class. I’m passing with a 96% right now, and I’m one of the only people who talks in class. Like, during the discussions and all!^

^Teacher’s pet, are you?^

Jon can picture the little laugh Martin does at this, scrunched up nose and crinkled eyes. ^Better than failing, that’s for sure. You’re absolutely someone who sits in the back of the class and does his best to avoid conversation, though, aren’t you?^

He chuckles, smiling. Then he rubs his neck, glancing around as he walks to make sure no one is staring. There’s the usual bustle of people, but no one looking at him. Just leaves falling in the breeze, and the nip of the autumn air. He’s good, so far, but it’d be dangerous to keep this up inside.

(He might not care, because this is Martin. Self-consciousness be damned.)

^Yeah, you’ve got me pinned.^ he says back.

^I hide behind my laptop screen whenever I can, studiously take notes, and never talk to another living soul if I can avoid it.^

^Wow, what a nerd :P^

^Can’t believe my best friend is a nerd :P^

Jon has to take a second to pause, sigh, and roll his eyes, because Martin, please. ^You mean the same friend who would spend hours recounting books he’d read to you in perfect detail? Or the friend who once asked their teacher for more homework because he was bored? That friend?^

^Absolutely.^

^What a shock.^

^I’ve been completely betrayed by your sudden nerdom that has arisen in the past 11 years that I have totally never encountered before.^

That tugs a full-fledged laugh out of Jon, and he has to duck onto a less-used path behind a building to hide for a full minute, because Jonathan Sims does not randomly laugh at his phone in public.

When the coast is clear, he keeps walking, and slips into the building with the ease of someone whose had classes in it for three years already. He navigates to his classroom and takes his (unofficial) seat in the back, pulling out his notes and pretending like he’s studying, not thinking about Martin.

^I feel like I’m not the only nerd in this conversation.” The text sends as a quick reply, and then he follows it up with: ^Also, in class now. Going to study. Chat later?^

^Of course! Let me know when you’re free! See ya :D^

He rubs his face, setting his phone to silent and in his bag, trying to scrub away the blush that must be rising to his cheeks.

Martin is… So Martin.

Over the past decade Jon had wanted so much to reconnect with his old friend. An ache in his chest, screaming until all he knew was the noise, yearning to find him. Fixated on the missing piece until the misery became background radiation in his life, his new normal. Settled deep in his bones. Uncomfortable weight buried in his skin, just enough to fade into his usual, everyday pain. There, but not the focus.

(Not usually. There were some days, some nights, where the loss of Martin dug its claws in. His body full of hooks and they pulled. As if trying to tug him closer. Back to Martin.

He almost followed it, a few times. Deep in his mind, a haze of the gaping hole, guiding his feet onto an unknown path. But he never went far. Always turned around and walked back home. His moms raised him well, he knows better than to be alone.

College the first year was scary. Terror welling in his throat. New people, new places. Too many unknowns.)

One small, niggling little voice in Jon’s head, a voice filled with the needles of anxiety, had tried to tell him that Martin wouldn’t be the same. That if they ever reunited, Martin wouldn’t care about him. Or maybe, maybe the years had warped his thoughts, his understanding of who his friend was. An idealized image instead of the real person.

But he also remembers Martin fretting over him when Jon fell ill. Spending the night out of worry, sneaking in through his window to bring him medicine at midnight.

He remembers Martin listening as Jon rambled, and then rambling in turn. Jon knows so much about spiders to this day, because Martin had found a book and read all about it to him.

He remembers the poetry, still scrawled in notebooks and on pieces of paper he refused to throw away. Packed into that bag as from the fire they escaped.

That voice in his head never held any real sway.

But it’s nice to be proven right, for a change.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #georgie barker #melanie king #jonmartin #what the girlfriends #gelanie #guess who realized they never posted this to tumblr!!!#I forgot #pls subscribe on ao3 #that's so much more reliable than following my tumblr I beg of u

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