#they are crushed by loneliness and feel like they forgot how to interact with others | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forgetmynamepleasethanks · 2 years

Note

OHOHOH I have a good idea for a request :> possibly could I get either headcanons or a scenario, you can choose, of Kris with a reader who had a simular kind of incident to the one Mae Borowski had in NITW? (if you don't know what that is its p easy to search it up there's a whole wiki page for it) hope that made sense!!!!

This has been sitting in my asks for so many months along with a few other posts. I wont lie to you. I forgot my password. Fixed that issue though so here we are. I'm writing this little preamble thing December 10th 2022 so lets see how long it takes me to write this whole thing. Hope you enjoy.

-----

Wise parents in Hometown warn their kids to stay away from them.

Kids too little to even remember why they're supposed to be scared scurry off and kids old enough to remember keep their heads down and walk past them.

The outburst of the only other human in town and the disappearance of Dess Holiday has got to be one of the worst "coincidences" to grace Hometown newspapers ever.

For a while after the incident, you tried your best to recoup your losses. But no matter how hard you seemed to try, no one was interested in humoring your request to be friends anymore.

For 2 years this continued.

To the rest of Hometown you weren't a human, or a monster, but you were a monster. You were a perfect example of why they didn't let many humans live here. A psycho who brutalizes innocent monsters.

That's all you were to them.

You tried to get over it. Can't keep beating yourself up forever right? Time to move on to better things? Right? Your grades began to drop rapidly, bringing you from 3rd in the class to almost last place.

Despite everything, you kept going.

Kris did not understand you. They are one of the very few people who aren't scared of you. They feel for you, as a fellow outcast they get what it's like to just want to curl up in a ball and never leave your bed.

After everything that happened to them, all the yelling, being treated as an outcast, the weird looks, the loneliness, why wouldn't they want to just disappear?

You don't really talk to anyone, sometimes you'll ask them for a pencil but other than that it's effectively radio silence between you and the rest of Hometown.

You rarely smiled, you were rarely seen outside of school or your house, even seeing you at school became a more and more special encounter. You were almost like a secret boss in a video game or something.

You captured Kris' attention and never let go. Why couldn't they stop thinking about you?

"Well that's easy, you have a crush loser." Susie replied to them, throwing another rock into the lake.

Kris didn't believe a word of it.

A crush?

On you?

No way.

No wayyyyy.

Yes way?

I mean just because they thought your smile was so infectious that whenever you wave at them for a pencil they smile, or how even though they know what you did they can't get your face out of their head, or how no matter what you wear you look perfect doesn't mean they have a crush on you!

You probably wouldn't even like them back...

Only one way to find out right?

The sun was setting, signaling for all the other kids to leave the playground and start heading home. Except you. You decided to stay a little longer. Feet brushing through brown mulch below the swing you gently rocked yourself on, hands wrapped around your journal, you heard the sound of footsteps on grass. You glanced up, focusing on the approaching figure which had sat on the swing next to you.

Kris Dreemurr.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Kris broke it.

"I don't think you're a bad person." Kris stated quietly looking to you for your reaction.

"Gee thanks." You said, a little confused with the whole interaction.

"Why don't you come to school anymore?" Kris asked you.

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" You teased, stretching your arms and yawning.

For you, this was just some chance interaction, but for Kris this was now or never.

"Because I miss you." Kris explained quietly.

You froze for a second. Kris missed you? Town crazy person? Wow.

You grinned that crooked grin that Kris couldn't get enough of, before replying.

"Well if you care so much I guess I can show up some more." You proclaimed through your smile.

"I'd like that." Kris said, so quietly you barely heard them.

You stood up from your swing and yawned again. "It's getting late, let me walk you home." You offered.

Kris only nodded before standing up and dusting their pants off. Before they could react you had grabbed their hand and were pulling them along.

Oh.

So you did like them back. Would have

Wise parents in Hometown warn their kids to stay away from them.

Kids too little to even remember why they're supposed to be scared scurry off and kids old enough to remember keep their heads down and walk past them.

The outburst of the only other human in town and the disappearance of Dess Holiday has got to be one of the worst "coincidences" to grace Hometown newspapers ever.

For a while after the incident, you tried your best to recoup your losses. But no matter how hard you seemed to try, no one was interested in humoring your request to be friends anymore.

For 2 years this continued.

To the rest of Hometown you weren't a human or a monster, but you were a monster. You were a perfect example of why they didn't let many humans live here. A psycho who brutalizes innocent monsters.

That's all you were to them.

Despite everything, you kept going.

After everything that happened to them, all the yelling, being treated as an outcast, the weird looks, the loneliness, why wouldn't they want to just disappear?

You don't talk to anyone, sometimes you'll ask them for a pencil but other than that it's effectively radio silence between you and the rest of Hometown.

You rarely smiled, you were rarely seen outside of school or your house, and even seeing you at school became a more and more special encounter. You were almost like a secret boss in a video game or something.

You captured Kris' attention and never let go. Why couldn't they stop thinking about you?

"Well that's easy, you have a crush loser," Susie replied to them, throwing another rock into the lake.

Kris didn't believe a word of it.

A crush?

On you?

No way.

No wayyyyy.

Yes way?

You probably wouldn't even like them back...

Only one way to find out right?

Kris Dreemurr.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Kris broke it.

"I don't think you're a bad person," Kris stated quietly looking to you for your reaction.

"Gee thanks." You said, a little confused with the whole interaction.

"Why don't you come to school anymore?" Kris asked you.

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" You teased, stretching your arms and yawning.

For you, this was just some chance interaction, but for Kris, this was now or never.

"Because I miss you," Kris explained quietly.

You froze for a second. Did Kris miss you? Town crazy person? Wow.

You grinned that crooked grin that Kris couldn't get enough of, before replying.

"Well if you care so much I guess I can show up some more." You proclaimed through your smile.

"I'd like that," Kris said, so quietly you barely heard them.

You stood up from your swing and yawned again. "It's getting late, let me walk you home." You offered.

Kris only nodded before standing up and dusting their pants off. Before they could react you had grabbed their hand and were pulling them along.

Oh.

So you did like them back. Would have been nice to know that earlier.

-----

I wrote this March 12, 2023. I wrote it all in one day and I'm not super proud of it but you know how it is. Hope you enjoy it. I'm going to try and be more active again.

#kris dreemurr #kris x reader #deltarune kris #kris deltarune #susie deltarune #deltarune

73 notes · View notes

derekscorner · 8 months

Text

Fated Rantings: Unaware of Loss, Nor aware of Gain.

I had intended for this to be the initial post on my Fate Unlimited Blade Works thoughts but that post was quickly taken over by the mindset of Shirou Emiya and his battle with Archer.

I will likely find issues with that post in the future due to not fitting in every impression I had or because I was annoyed with wording. It was very difficult to put into words due to the way Shirou & Archer argue in circles due to their self-admitted hypocritical nature.

But now that it is out of my system lets talk about the other fun things Unlimited Blade Works (which I'll call UBW here on) did with it's story.

If you're curious about part one: https://derekscorner.tumblr.com/post/740386958269890560/fated-rantings-bone-of-the-sword#notes

Let's gooooooo-

Leading Lady

Even though she is the lead for this adaption I covered her little in the first post despite her and Shirou's budding romance.

Given my Saber obsession some will likely expect me to hate her but I don't truth be told. I love how Shirou helps Saber in the Fate route but I'm not a man who is a shipper. (I actually think very ill of it)

Anyone watching a Fate anime should go in expecting differences anyway since Shirou's focus is a different girl per route and adaption.

And Rin Tohsaka is a rather likable character. She's more bratty or "tsundere" here but I expected that. To be honest her being so chill in Fate 06 was a surprise due to her reputation for this behavior.

She's by no means overly exaggerated compared to the trope nor is she mean. She's actually a rather kind hearted girl.

Now this may be conjecture on my part but I think her even bothering with school shows a bit of that kind nature. Hell, I was surprised when Shirou mentioned it because I didn't even question her student life. Shirou's right, She has no reason to go.

She's a mage, heiress to a very old family, she doesn't truly need to be there. As of writing this I have yet to watch Heaven's Feel and there may be dialogue I forgot from UBW (I'm trying to remember and put to word a lot here) but I suspect she goes to school to keep watch over Sakura.

I know more than UBW explains due to lore videos and watching Fate/Zero but the series does showcase this.

She's unsure how to approach Sakura, she even seeks justification by asking Shirou a hypothetical about a family sending a daughter away through adoption, and she often goes to the archery club to watch Sakura.

There's a lot there that I expect Heaven's Feel to show me but within the frame of UBW I see that as her primary reason to bother with school.

I mean, there may also be some aspects of loneliness or her crush on Shirou at play as well but it's interesting that she'd choose to bother.

That's just one example as well. She's constantly making excuses to keep Shirou alive and around in every route. Some would chalk that up to her own feelings but she does that early on specifically because Sakura likes Shirou.

Usually her outbursts are due to shyness or embarrassment. She's, quite frankly, a bad liar. When Shirou does something stupid the disgust is very visible on her face. When she's talking too or even about Kirei the disgust is aubible.

I almost forget that she has a bitchy or cold school image half the time. Hell, after typing this I wonder how she even pulled that off...then again maybe she just believes she's pulled it off.

She never interacts with people and once Shirou is pulled into her circle there's a constant and visible confusion at how she's acting by her peers.

Her dynamic with Shirou is also fun to watch progress. She gets annoyed at him often but opens up as time goes on. Her headstrong personality never falters but I did like seeing her acting more normal. Not as a mage but as a kid.

When it starts she's constantly annoyed at Shirou but that's only until she learns that he was raised as a person. She assumed he was a mage but Kiritsugu didn't make him one. She still gets annoyed sure but she's more willing to explain when she knows he's going in blind.

She even makes an efforts to know or help him by the end of season one like with that date episode. They're both dorky kids about it but it is sweet to see although I do wish the story put a bit more focus on her learning that he was the only survivor of the Fuyuki fire.

Perhaps what I liked most was that despite her feelings she always made sure to tell him the facts of a situation. The flaws in his worldview or the idiocy of an idea. That bluntness is born out of concern as well but it's also just logical, sensible.

Her goal once the war was over was trying to convince him that his life has worth. The epilogue episode shows this and I found it a genuinely kind-heated thing to focus on.

Especially when she and the viewer both know that Shirou's likely doomed to be Archer anyway.

Overall she takes no shit from anyone, can be a little petty, and at times I wonder if she herself is too kind to be a mage. I can now see why she's so popular, she could probably carry a Fate story all on her own if I'm being honest.

I would love a Fate story where she managed to summon Saber and Shirou doesn't exist. She's a proud individual but she has heart. There's even Fate material you could make a story like her dismantling the Greater Grail years after the 5th war. (yes that's a thing)

I know the El Melloi novels or manga have her appearing doing mage things too.

...to be honest I don't know what else to say. This is a good character, I'd like to see more.

Edit: I just wanted to add that I love that she actually kicked Casters ass in a literal sense. She just jumped her and started to karate her, it was hilarious.

Other things

Rin and Shirou aside, Fate UBW had several other things that stood out to me. I'm not sure there's enough there to work into paragraphs like above or with the previous post but I do want to mention them.

Such as Iilya. I expected to see more of her in UBW but such limitations are natural when adapting a visual novel with multiple routes I guess. That or they assume you’re using Zero as context for UBW.

The grail going out of its way to ruin Iilya’s childhood is kinda fucked up as well. I can't tell if that's Angra Minu being spiteful toward Kiritsugu or if it just enjoys breaking a child's mind.

I also appreciated the Berserker fight early in season one. It was great to see a more even fight between him and Saber. His job of berserker is so on point it hurts.

He once murdered his family due a Hera induced madness and now he's protecting a traumatized child in a similar madness. I infer his drive to protect her to that legend.

I also must give Fate props for continuing to make great use of making a tragic mythology story even more tragic.

The gender swaps and "coomer" bait art the series is known for is one thing but Fate also just does a great job at using the legends of a spirit to make them more tragic.

Caster in particular was a great sub villain I thought. I got annoyed when she stole Saber but knowing her legend as I do and seeing her backstory also makes her pitable.

She's visibly not okay with being called a witch and seems to have terrible luck with men. Even when it's outside her control the world will summon her to a waste of a man for a master.

Her and her masters sub plot was sad but I found that love genuine. He had trouble seeing himself as human but I think his dedication to her was very worthy of a humanity he can't see.

Caster also never betrayed her master once. She did thinks hoping to appease him but she never lied and neither did he reprimand her for anything. Even if he didn't know why he was perfectly willing to help her with anything.

They're both damaged people but he's the type of man Medea deserved in life. I even went to look up clips of them from Carnival Phantasm after I finished UBW.

Then there was Lancer. This man, THIS MAN, deserves a break. I did not expect UBW to make me like him as much as I did given how little he actually shows up.

I know he's doomed to fail in any adaption of Fate/Stay Night due to Kirei's actions but I'd still like to see him get a decent partner in one story.

I didn't mention it back then but I found his reaction to Kirei and Gilgamesh's scheme in Fate 06 moral. Cu Chulainn has a morality that shows itself in UBW as well when he decides to save Rin just because he likes her and Shirou.

He's like an uncle. He finds them hilarious when forming an alliance which is a comedy trio that I still did not know I needed till I saw it.

I also liked him killing Kirei in this story. The bastard deserved worse, some may wonder why he died so easily, but keep in mind that Lancers spear is cursed.

Even if Kirei's heart stopped in Fate/Zero it wont change the fact that having your heart pierced by Gae Bulg is to be cursed by it.

I also liked seeing him use runes. People forget that he was trained in rune magic while alive.

Then there's Gilgamesh

Right off the bat I'll state that I like him as a villain in UBW more than I did in the Fate Route. His obsession with Saber is...well I'm not sure how to put it into words.

Hollow I guess? I dunno.

It may be that I just find myself agreeing with his goal in UBW. His distaste for the modern era, the direction humanity has taken. It's hard to not feel an apathy or boredom with our modern world.

For Gilgamesh this annoyance is amplified. It's not stated in UBW but he is the reason the Age of Gods ended sooner than later. He has clairvoyance and while alive he saw a future of humanity moving past their planet to the stars.

With that in mind and spite against the gods he severed that link. If you play FGO and reach Babylonia, Uruk, you see how he ran his kingdom too.

When he goes on about superfluous or people knowing value in themselves he means it. This does not make him or his actions ok but I do get it.

He made a bet and humanity has let him down.

Original vs Fake

Then there's the other big highlight of UBW, his battle with Shirou.

This battle is interesting for a variety of reasons due to how Shirou's existence contrasts to his own.

In his fight with Archer they had this somewhat poetic undertone of the two meshing. Archer, devoid a master, is losing mana and weakening.

In contrast, Shirou is learning Archer's muscle memory and past as their blades clash. He's getting better as they battle. Of course, Archer could end it at any point but he doesn't because he feels like he'll lose in another way if he doesn't kick his own ass in a fair fight.

It's humorous, it shows stubbornness in both but also acts like a metaphor of the past and future syncing up. It shows they're the same person despite how much they hate each other.

While the battle with Gilgamesh is a stomp as you would expect it to be. Gilgamesh is a real hero, the oldest hero we have on written record. Shirou is the fake wishing to be a hero.

Shirou does not deny this either. Gilgamesh calls him a fake as an insult but Shirou claims it. In this battle, its Shirou speaking the truth and that angers Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh can't stand the fact that someone who imitates could be a threat to him. Of course, many will argue that Shirou isn't but I am not about to dive into the Gilgamesh power scaling debates. I'm too old for that DBZ banter.

In truth, Gilgamesh loses this battle solely because of his arrogance. Had Gilgamesh recognized this Shirou for the threat he was and used Ea to atomize him he would have won. But he didn't, he could not accept that he'd need Ea to win when even Heracles fell to his treasury of weapons.

I'll even agree with Shirou here. He does make a good argument that Gilgamesh is a fake in his own way. He's a king, and while Shirou is wrong about him not being a warrior, it is true that Gilgamesh never mastered one weapon.

His treasury is his weapon. The originals, the stuff noble phantasms would later be based on. He's proud of that collection so seeing Shirou's imitations is highly offensive to the king because he knows that could be a problem deep down.

Against most spirits Gilgamesh will ruin them easily, by his own admission Shirou's unlimited blade works would falter quickly against any true hero who's mastered a single weapon, but in a highly specific circumstance these two abilities cancel out.

It's akin to rock paper scissors or even pokemon typing...perhaps a better example is the devil fruit weaknesses in One Piece.

Unlimited Blade Works is a hard counter to the Gate of Babylon. So long as Shirou has the mana he can copy and negate the weapons Gilgamesh throws at him.

The very notion of this, the very fact that a fake can be as good as the original, is no doubt the most insulting truth Gilgamesh can't deny.

Heck, you could even argue Gilgamesh would've won had he donned his armor or used his chains but that's moot as well. The point his his arrogance lost him this battle.

The Gates of Babylon may not be his only weapon but that's what he relied on because he hated that Unlimited Blade Works could match it.

Seiba & Archer

The final thing that stuck out to me, at least one worthy of extensive words, is Saber's reaction to Archer's reveal.

You’d expect Shirou to argue but he simply listens. Instead it is Saber who talks here. Or perhaps the better word is she ‘inquired’ his beliefs.

While watching her do so I began to find it more like she’s trying to defend her own ideals by proxy in this scene.

The Fate Route works because she and shirou have that commonalty in idealism. Yet she also shares the regret Archer does for their mistakes in life.

UBW isnt the Fate route so she hasnt been set free from that mindset...at least not yet. Its clear she sees value in Shirou’s nature, perhaps due to that common self sacrificial nature but they never sit down and go into detail. Their friendship is close but it doesn't grow into the love that saves them both in Fate.

More interesting in this scene is that she cant find a good way to counter him, he even points out the similarity to her life to silence her protests when she tries. It's not a shouting match but it's clear she can't counter...and it makes sense why.

She can’t refute Archer's words because some part of her believes it. Whether she's right or wrong for doing so is obviously debatable but that may be a post on it's own...I'll have to think on that it.

I will say that I was happy to see Archers confrontation with Shirou helped her in some unseen way.

It may not be as focused on in UBW but I would’ve been sad if she left this route still tormented.

Conclusion

At the end of the day Unlimited Blade Works is a damn good show. I will admit I didn't feel as sucked into it as I was with Fate 2006 or Fate/Zero but I do see why it's the favorite for many.

I do wish the Fate Route would get another animation after watching this. I think my draw to Fate/Stay Night specifically is Saber herself and I feel most attached to a story that focuses on her.

I do like other Fate stories not related to FSN but that's that and this is this. I hope we one day get that Fate route remake.

Next time I tackle Heaven's Feel.

===========================

For my other experiences with Fate go here: https://derekscorner.tumblr.com/tagged/fated-rantings

#fate series #fate ubw #fate unlimited blade works #fated rantings

2 notes · View notes

thesoleilla · 2 years

Text

Flufftober Day 10: Love language

Masterlist Fandom: Tomodachi game

Ship: shiho x reader

You discovered Shiho's love language pretty early on in your relationship, you even suspected it before you two became a thing!

Well, it wasn't really hard to find out since one of your first interactions ended up with her was her continuously opening the door for you. But don't get me wrong, this wasn't meaningless, she was thanking you for something of course.

Let me explain:

You knew Shiho ever since you were both in kindergarten. Always had a crush on her; ever since you learnt about what it was you knew you did.

However, when the stolen money scandal came out, everybody accused her. And even though you were now ashamed of it, you eventually gave in to them and started doubting her.

The more time passed without seeing her, the more you doubted her; forgetting who you had always loved was; confusing her with the person the others made of her during her absence, the thought of her stealing starting to find itself comfort in your head.

Though you just couldn't stop loving her. Even if you thought she did all those horrible things and ran away, your crush wouldn't go away. You regretted not telling her before so much. You promised yourself that if she came back like the others randomly did at some point, you'd confess. No matter what.

The day the disappeared came back was a hard one. Everybody was talking about the promised news report about them in the evening. But nothing was revealed yet. Still, the hated yet awaited "friends" came back. Nothing seemed to be like before for them. They didn't just go on a secret road trip together like you theorized, that's for sure!

Because of the accusation of her stealing the money, she was mostly ignored by her classmates, their attention mostly on Kokorogi and Yuuichi, as they were now seen only as tools Shiho used.

Tenji was a bit on the lonelier side, but that was nothing compared to shiho and shibe.

Shibe was of course hated because of the whole trial thing, the accusations still clear as day in their heads. A/N: the trial/court arc didn't happen we all just had an hallucination right?

So he was ignored for some reasonable, at least in your eyes, reasons. But Shiho? There was nothing proving she was in the wrong! And seeing her now reminded you of just that, her long dark hair swaying in the wind, her confident look; this was the Shiho you always knew. The Shiho who'd never ever steal anything.

And so, you walked up to her. Not to ask questions about where she was or anything, that'd probably be too much for her. After all, you had noticed all the bruises most of them had. This certainly wasn't a nice experience for her. Instead of that, you just had casual small talk.

And for shiho, this was like heaven. She didn't have this in so long. How could she when she had to doubt everyone and everything? She couldn't. So, someone casually speaking to her after all that, it felt like a lot.

You forgot about the confession. At the moment, the important thing was her feelings, not yours.

Ever since that moment, she loved spending time with you. Getting quality time

But she wouldn't let you be the only one helping her of course. Doors would magically open themselves before you when she was there; your meals started being a bit tastier for some reason, and your invites to your favorite restaurant much more frequent.

You loved this girl so much. If spending your whole life with her was what it took for her to heal, then that's what you're going to give her.

@flufftober

This is so ooc lmao Im cringing byeee

#flufftober2022 #day 10 #tomodachi game #shiho x reader #sawaragi shiho #tomodachi game shiho #sawaragi shiho x reader #shiho x you

9 notes · View notes

throbbingwish · 2 years

Text

I wrote a long post ranting about my loneliness and longing for the basic romantic connection I have never gotten, and of course it decides to error and not post so now my whole blog seems horny and weird. Yes I may come off as a horny loser but in reality I am extremely lonely and depressed, and that stupid paragraphs long text block described all that I was feeling at that moment and in general (but of course the dingus decides to not post, anyways...). If only I was prettier then I would be seen as weird and cool instead of off putting... if I was blue eyed and pretty, with pale skin, then I would be worshipped. But because I'm not either ugly or insanely pretty, I'm seen as an invisible plain jane who if I do something slightly similar to others then I must be copying them, even if I had the idea first- even if it's barely similar at all- even if I made sure to not copy others and held myself back from doing things I had wanted to do in the past, I held it back for months or even years just because someone else did it when I was just about to. And of course I am also seen as a fucking weirdo creep. Great stuff! If I ever made people uncomfortable, or was seen as a creep, I would kill myself! And that's a large statement considering my biggest fear to exist is death. I cling to this guy that I'm not even sure I really like, just because he has a few good qualities and gave me attention. It feels like I have a crush on him, but I'm not sure. Either way it doesn't matter, he probably does not like me. He may be nice and funny, have beautiful blue eyes and dark hair, but his film taste is atrocious. Also he doesn't give a shit about me, and probably likes that pretty girl who everyone from his group has liked apparently. Of course since I dyed my hair months or maybe even years after this girl might I add that means you have to go behind my back and be like "oOh ShE dId It FiRsT" I KNOW!! You really think I would be copying a girl that I have literally never had a single conversation or even interaction with?? Plus, its a completely different shade too! It would be different if she did it the day before I dyed mine, but no, as I said it has been months maybe even a year! Just because she's prettier and you all have a crush on her doesn't mean I'm copying her! Either way, back to the topic, I'm so fucking lonely. I seek attention in every body. My crippling abandonment issues cause me to cling and then simultaneously push people away with my desperateness, my anxious attachment style stresses when people don't respond immediately or if they act slightly different, I either think people are in love with me if they interact with me once or they hate me and think I'm a creep. Maybe its all a reaction to loneliness, never having anyone (except creeps who go for any girl) like me when I have been growing up and even up to now, not even having my first relationship, watching everyone around me falling in love or having crushes on others and just sitting here wondering what's wrong with me and why can't I have that. To be cursed, someone as romantic as me never gets and probably will never get any love or affection, even on basic levels. Don't you know how painful that is? Either way... I better do that stupid thing I forgot about...

0 notes

yanderecandystore · 4 years

Note

i ment dominick im so sorry!

Oh!

Alright boo, sorry for the misunderstanding! I was afraid I was missing something or that I forgot one of my own character's names

👉🏻👈🏻

A headcanon for Dominick would be easier for me to write for- But because you said just Dominick I believe I could do for both Real and "Other" Dominick.

I think it would be more fun!

TW/Tags: in case any of you are confused [🖤🧵✂️] // this is basically just general headcanons // eh, the lore is wonky // feeling awful sorry // not as in-depth as I wish it was, sorry //

I suppose this is going to be just general headcanons, boo [Yandere!Coraline OCS x Reader - Headcanon]:

→❤️Real Dominick🌲:

A chill dude for the most part. Although containing some unresolved abandonment issues, he tries to act as nothing is bothering him for "the sake of others". At least that's what he tells himself every time.

Dominick tries his best to be a peacemaker amongst the group, but even he can't deny that this is a tiring job that doesn't end up being fruitful for most of the time.

Dominick is just as touch-starved as he is dependent on others, the thought of living on his own and not being able to at least see his loved ones for a long period of time drives him insane. He really wants to seem emotionally strong and confident, but deep down he is aware that one day he'll have to open up about how he really feels.

He has met Richard and Vivian a lot sooner than you did, but honestly he doesn't know how he has become their friends in the first place. He always felt very distant from them, granted that he met them at a time of need, when he felt vulnerable for having no friends to be with, but also because of how different their personalities were to each other.

Don't get him wrong, he really likes them, he really does! He just doesn't vibe with them as hard as he wishes he could, but he knows that it would be impossible considering how they were literally glued on each other- He knew about them dating or at least liking each other way before you came into the scene.

Or more accurately, you came BACK into the scene. How oddly coincidental, you know his friends but you don't know they're friends with him, or if you did, you just tried to ignore it to this day. Now that you two live together, it would be very hard to ignore your presence.

He thinks you want nothing to do with him, nothing at all- So if you ever actually try to be more friendly with him he won't really see it as a good thing- You had ignored him for twelve years, and suddenly you two are, well, here!

His mind keeps making him feel terrible about himself, keeps making feel odd and awkward about your relationship- Or lack thereof. You look so different but act like the same as what he used to know you for, so anxious and so awkward with everything and everyone but still trying their best to be social.

He changed so much in comparison, from a sickly frail little boy looking for someone to be his protective shield, to a man way too big for his own good- His appearance although being ideal to him, makes it harder for him to interact with others who find him frightening.

Real Dominick would take a lot longer to actually fall in love with you again, considering that his old crush on you has turned more into a scar instead of a good old memory, but when he reopens that wounds to receive new ones, I hope you'll be ready for a awkward gentle giant having a awkward crush on you, while also having a couple of breakdowns where he blames you for causing him to feel this way, how neat!

→🖤Other Dominick🧵 (Male Beldam):

Other Dominick true personality is as foreign to others as it is to himself, as he had forgotten who he was and where he came from a long time ago.

Dominick is 100% not his real name, but it's not like he remembers what he used to be called by originally, although two names seem to stand out amongst the others- Dominick and Ernest.

Being called Dominick is- Not exactly the best for him. It feels almost annoying, as if it was an annoying name, something he should never be called as. Ernest on the other hand, feels- Fitting, but extremely depressing. So as much as being called "Other Dominick" may be a very annoying name for him, being called Ernest feels like being stabbed in the gut, so it's kinda obvious which is the best in this situation.

He doesn't know why being called Ernest gives him so much anxiety, and he doesn't remember what significance this name could have to him and his past life. Other Dominick has used so many different faces and names, just to lure the naive and desperate to his deadly embrace, yet he can barely remember the name of the fools he had attracted to his fabricated lie.

Maybe you're just a recent case, a new "fool" that found their way into his house without permission, and by doing so he has all the right to trap you in his web- After all, you're the intruder here, right? Yet oddly enough, you don't really feel like the others who had come here, you have sparked interest in his empty heart.

He notices that the energy that comes from you is a lot more satisfying than the others, at least for now, you have been able to subconsciously feed him for a longer period than the others, and by doing so he is more willing to let you live for longer, at least until you start to not love him as much, or start to test his patience beyond his limit.

His true form looks nothing like the "Dominick" you so lovingly looks up to, he may be just as tall, but he is much more thinner than the original, his long arms reminding you more of a death trap than a warm embrace. Not that he won't be gentle with you, for now.

Oddly enough, he doesn't take much to fall for you as much as Dominick does- The loneliness that he is accustomed with is not exactly the healthiest lifestyle for himself, so don't be surprised if he is already mixing his own hunger for attention to his very real hunger for naive hearts like yours.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Hello everyone, is good to see y'all again.

I've been away because of school work and family issues, and I can't lie that it has gone a bit more crazier this last few days. I went through a breakup and I'm currently struggling with the aftereffects of it-

I'm really sorry for the long wait, and for always closing the inbox out of nowhere, but I'm afraid to say this will probably keep happening a lot, I still need to take care of so many things-

Anyway, is good to see y'all again!

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #sheep's stuff #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc headcanon #yandere headcanon #yandere coraline #yandere coraline au #yandere coraline x reader #yandere beldam #male beldam #special delivery headcanons #special delivery request

145 notes · View notes

lunaverseimagine · 4 years

Text

Escape

Prompt: I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with from @masterofthedarkness‘ 300 follower writing challenge! Congratulations again Val, I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re having a bad day and your crush seems to notice

Warnings: Mention of injury (not your own), mention of alcohol

Word count: 2k

A/n: So I had a complete brain flop writing this and forgot that Snape was not, in fact, teaching potions in the Marauders era. However, I’ve written the fic now and don’t have the energy to change it, so consider this an AU of sorts? (Putting in bold bc I keep getting comments about it)

Fic:

It started the moment you woke up. You couldn’t explain why but all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed, wrap the duvet round you, and hide from the world. It was as though your energy had been sucked out of you, leaving a shell that felt too heavy. And yet you were a good student, you couldn’t stand missing lessons, plus you didn’t want anyone worrying about you. Which is why, in spite of your body’s groaning protests, you heaved yourself out of your dorm and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Your friends were talking animatedly around you, occasionally trying to get you to join in the conversation, but all you offered in response were weak smiles and one word replies. As a last resort your best fried Beth tried bringing up your crush, Sirius. The topic normally excited you, but today it was just a reminder that nothing would happen between you, and you became even more withdrawn. Luckily your friends understood - you wanted to be near them but weren’t up to their early morning gossip - so they stayed with you but didn’t try to get you to speak anymore.

As always, halfway through your meal the owls swooped into the hall, bringing newspapers, letters, and the occasional parcel. Mild surprise filled you at the sight of your own family’s owl Lolly settling in front of you. You stroked her head before gently untying the small, crumpled letter attached to her leg, and she nipped your finger affectionately. Your parents didn’t send you letters very often, and you were stumped as to what could be written inside. You took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

Unfolding the parchment carefully revealed your mum’s scrawled handwriting. Odd. Normally your dad would write the letters; he found it calming to sit with his parchment and special quill after a long day as an auror, pondering his words for a while to make his messages as concise as possible. He said the process was therapeutic. But when you read the words inside it made sense, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know. Dad was injured at work. The healers say it’s treatable but he’ll be in St Mungo’s for a while. Hope school is going ok. Love Mum xx”

Swallowing your tears down, you let the letter fall from your hands and settle on the table. You forced your eyes to look up, away from the words, and you could’ve sworn you caught Sirius watching you from across the hall. As soon as you’d thought it, he’d already turned back to his friends, and you shook your head at yourself. So desperate that you were imagining interactions with your crush. Pathetic. You lay your hand in Lolly’s warm fur, focussing on how soft she felt between your fingers, trying to push the rest of your thoughts to the back of your mind. Breaking down in the middle of the Great Hall was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your lessons did nothing to help your mood. In transfiguration you were supposed to be turning rats into clocks. By the end of the class most students had done it perfectly, but your clock had a tail instead of an hour hand, and instead of ticking it squeaked with every passing second. You felt so deflated, the only thought that kept you going was getting back to your dorm at the end of the day and hiding in your bed. Maybe finding some firewhiskey too to dull the aching you felt when your thoughts drifted to your dad in a hospital bed. In fact, what you really wanted, the one thing that might bring you peace, was to have someone hold you. Not just someone. Sirius. But you knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. You couldn’t event transfigure a rat, you’d never be good enough.

You had mixed feelings as you made your way to your last lesson of the day. After this you were free for the evening, but first you had to endure an hour of Snape’s teaching, and his judgement of you. Potions was your worst subject and Snape made a point of noticing every little thing you did wrong. Begrudgingly you approached the dungeons, the echo of your footsteps was all that filled the empty corridors. Most of the time Hogwarts felt familiar, but in times like these it felt cold and unforgiving, emphasising the loneliness that was building in your chest. Wait- why was no one else in the corridors? With a jolt you realised that you’d spent so long lost in your thoughts between lessons that you were late. Your steps sped into a run, and when you finally burst through the door to Snape’s dungeon, he stopped mid sentence to scowl at you. Everyone else turned towards you too, so many pairs of eyes drilling into you. You willed the stone floor to swallow you whole.

“I will not tolerate students showing up late to my class.” You gulped, trying to suppress your heavy-breathing as you awaited your punishment. “I’d have thought you of all people would want to be present for the whole lesson. Then you might finally brew a decent potion. Alas…” he trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. You felt your cheeks burn, your head hung low. “Detention. After class you will scrub everyone’s cauldrons clean. No magic allowed.” It was all you could do to nod. You felt so defeated as you stood at the table beside Beth that you almost didn’t notice the small explosion a few tables behind you. You whipped your head around, and- no, you definitely weren’t imagining it this time- Sirius winked at you as Snape stalked between the desks towards the commotion. He glared down at Sirius.

“Looks like Y/L/N won’t be alone in detention.” He sneered, and weaved his way to the front of the class without another word. Your jaw was slack and Beth nudged you with her elbow.

“He did that on purpose!” She whisper-yelled. Your jaw was slack, not quite sure if you believed her.

“Well- well maybe it was an accident? Or he did it for fun?” Your excuses were weak even to your own ears. But why would he want to be in detention with you?

Seconds stretched into minutes as you willed the time away. Thankfully Beth was good at potions so she did most of the work, telling you which ingredients to chop and when to add them to the cauldron. Snape still found things to fault but you just tuned his voice out, feeling like you were watching the scene through a window instead of being in it yourself.

Eventually the class was dismissed, and Beth gave you a sympathetic smile and mouthed “good luck” as she left the room. When it was just you, Sirius and Snape left, he held a hand out to each of you.

“Wands.” Reluctantly you and Sirius both placed your wands in his hands, not quite meeting his eye as you did so. “I want the equipment spotless.” With that he left the room. Despite feeling as bad as you did, you couldn’t help your heartbeat quickening at the thought of being alone with Sirius.

Avoiding his eye, you crossed the room to the cupboard full of cleaning supplies, dirty cauldrons being the only thing that stood in the way of you and the relative peace of your dorm. You felt his gaze on the back of your head.

“What?” You kept your focus on the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies to find what you needed.

“Are you ok?” After a moment, you turned to face him, throwing a sponge which he caught effortlessly, without breaking eye-contact.

“I’ve been better.” You didn’t elaborate, instead getting to work scrubbing the grime off the cauldron closest to you. Sirius abandoned his sponge, coming to stand on the opposite side of your table, watching your determined face as you tried to get one particularly tough spot of dragon-bogey off the side of the cauldron. He found himself admiring the way you furrowed your brows as you concentrated, the way your tongue poked out slightly from between your lips. Those lips. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how it would take double the time to clean if Sirius didn’t do his half. Subconsciously you squeezed your sponge tighter until your knuckles turned white.

“I bet I could make you feel better.” You huffed. Sure you had feelings for Sirius, but he could still be infuriating.

“I bet you could.”

His eyes twinkled, surprised that you’d joined in with his flirting. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His hopes were soon shattered as you replied.

“By helping me clean so we can leave this bloody dungeon.” Sirius was taken aback. You never normally snapped at people, and he was just trying to be nice. Godric, he’d got himself a detention just so you wouldn’t be alone.

“You know what? Fine.” He stormed back over to his sponge and started cleaning the cauldron furthest away from you. The two of you scrubbed in silence for a while, making decent progress on the cauldrons, but you felt guilt creeping in at the way you’d treated him. The guilt, the tiredness, the worry about your dad, all of it swirled through your thoughts in a perpetual loop until you couldn’t help it anymore. You let out a small sob, trying your best to be quiet, but in the otherwise silent room Sirius heard it perfectly. He abandoned his cauldron, rushing over to embrace you in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He had no clue what to say, but the silence didn’t bother you. It gave you a chance to work through your feelings.

After a while you pulled away, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for darling.” He rested his hand on your arm for a moment, waiting to see if you wanted to say anything else. When you just smiled, he returned the smile, before going back to cleaning the cauldrons. This time the silence that filled the room was comfortable, both of you lost in thought. Finally, arms aching, the two of you finished your last cauldrons, and Sirius went to Snape’s office to collect your wands. You sat on the floor outside the classroom waiting for him, picking at a loose thread on your robe. When Sirius returned he handed you your wand, and slid down the wall so he was sitting next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder, whispering into the corridor.

“Thank you.”

Sirius wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “What for?”

“I know you got that detention on purpose. Just- thank you for being there.”

“Not a problem darling.” His fingers traced tender circles on your shoulder, and you felt yourself melting in to him. Being so close to him you thought you’d be nervous, but instead you felt peaceful. Safe.

Sirius broke the silence. “What’s going on?” It was almost a whisper, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve asked, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own. He needed you to know that he was there to listen.

“It’s just- it’s a bit of everything, y’know? I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” You laughed at how stupid that sounded, but Sirius took your hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I’ve got some firewhisky in my room?” It came out as a question.

You turned so you were face-to-face.

“And the cuddles?”

“I’m sure I’ve got some of those to spare too.” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle in turn. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. Then he stood up, helping you off the floor after him, and your hands stayed connected the whole walk back to his common room.

End

A/N: I hope you liked it (regardless of the Snape/Sirius timeline error oopsies)! If you did feel free to give feedback or check out my other stuff, and also give Val (@masterofthedarkness) a follow if you haven’t already! <3

276 notes · View notes

redheadedpineapple · 3 years

Text

televised ch. 1: anticipation

Day 20: Ghost Akaashi Keiji GN!Reader reader can play instruments, akaashi dies, depicts it but not in much detail, a tinsie bit of blood, supernatural stuffs

masterlist | next

in which an overworked akaashi learns to take it slow with a still-alive reader

Akaashi Keiji died in his own home at age 23, 3 years ago. He was far too young and far too overworked for a selfless, handsome man with a decent income. After a long, exhausting day of work where he stayed for an extra 4 hours, he forgot to lock the front door. Vigilant, observant, keen Akaashi was far too tired to care.

Responsible Akaashi knew he needed to take a shower and change out of his clothes, but he saw the piling laundry in the basket and decided that he would shower tomorrow.

Even being a light sleeper, he hardly noticed the sounds of rummaging in his home. His very own home, the property he’d already nearly paid off so soon. Once his final payment was made, he promised himself he’d take it easier.

Tired Akaashi did not ignore the sound of shattering dishes; his subconscious couldn’t let him dismiss it like he did the rummaging. Foggy eyes checked the alarm clock, but the red blinking 02:27 did not register with his half asleep mind. It was more out of habit than anything. He hardly picked his feet off the ground enough, shuffling across his room and down the stairs.

At the third step from the bottom, Akaashi rubbed his eyes and squinted through the darkness. The living room was empty, but not in the state he left it. The kotatsu table was flipped over, and there were 2 black, empty, duffle bags. Hushed whispers and murmurs brought his attention to the kitchen.

Before he had the chance to do anything---had the chance to call the police or tell them to get out or take even one more step---he was thrown to the floor by a heavy sweep of a crowbar. A big man with a beer belly and a long beard stiffly poking out of his ski mask looked down at his cowering form from five steps up. Four steps. Three. Until he stood just above his sorry body. With both hands gripped tight around the handle, the man lifted the crowbar above his head.

Even with his spinning vision and aching brain, he knew to try and get away. He turned to his side and stretched out his arm in a feeble attempt to crawl away. Maybe it was a bad idea, because just as he pushed himself a bit forward, the metal crushed his upper back, just to the left of his spine. A gargled groan was pushed from his throat. His arm trembled, shoulder aching and jolting with pain. He could feel blood trickle out from his temple, where he’d been hit already.

A whispered chant of pleas begged the men to let him go, swears he wouldn't tell and promises he’d give them money, but it all came out as jumbled sobs. When the weight on his back lifted, he was both relieved and terrified. Choking out pained weeps is all he could manage, the daunting fear of the metal colliding with his body again clouding his mind.

When it finally did, he only had a few moments to care about the burning agony in his skull before he didn’t even have the ability to care. Even with his heart pumping desperately to keep his brain capable, it couldn’t do enough before a knife was sunk into it, snaring any last bits of hope he might’ve had.

Akaashi rolled over and sat up, refreshed and ache free. Even the soreness from working long hours with poor posture and stressing for days straight was gone. Everything was really bright, and he had trouble adjusting to the blinding lights. As he picked himself off the floor, he stretched out of habit and blinked a few long times to get used to the light.

He looked around at his trashed living room, and he sighed. Please, please please please…

Behind him on the floor was his own body, face down and still bleeding. If it wasn’t for the handle of the knife stuck out from the back and profuse bleeding, one might’ve thought it was just a slip down the stairs. He thought he looked sad and pathetic; an overworked manga editor outstretched on the floor with blood pooled around him, flies buzzing around. It was dizzying white noise as he stared at his dead body, shakily bending down to his own self.

With his dead body’s face turned slightly, he could see the heavy bags beneath his eyes. He wondered if he had them too, then looking down at the thought to see if he even had a body. He did; he could see his own hands that responded at his will, fingers curling and stretching as he wished. Behind his nimble fingers was his dead body, and some twisted curiosity in him told him to reach out to it, but he winced and sighed.

Akaashi stood and wandered up the stairs and into his room. It was messy, and he regretted not cleaning it sooner. If he thought about it, he’d realise he regretted a lot of things, but that was a pondering for later. Maybe he’d think about it when he had nothing else to think about in his sad, lonely death.

Fifteen minutes of staring at his belongings was more than enough. He began to feel the room getting bigger and the ever looming weight of regret choking him. and he made his way back downstairs, grimacing at the sight of his dead body at the bottom.

He ignored it and trudged towards the kitchen. Glass shards and dust sparkled across the tile floor, glittering in the morning sunlight. If he could, he would’ve started crying, but he couldn’t. With every bit of forced trembled lips and tightening of his chest came a wave of disappointment and embarrassment.

Akaashi sat on the couch for the most part; it was one of the few items he purchased to make his home feel home-y. He didn’t decorate much or even get a television. Instead, he kept to his purchases to a minimum and only got what he deemed necessary.

He sat there with his knees to his chest as the police came and as the investigators filed in and out. When the house was empty, he regretted not having purchased a TV. It was so quiet. Painfully quiet. It didn’t bother him before; he could sit in the silence for hours, sipping on tea or reading or working. But then, he had a purpose. He knew he had something to do. Now, it was nothing. Nothing to look forward to. He couldn’t even dread going to work.

And he wondered what happened to the ones who murdered him. He wanted the relief of knowing that at least some justice was served. Wanted to know what type of people he was killed by, what they’d say in defense. Isolation was his only thing he got.

Even as he tried to look forward to seeing other human beings, it wasn’t the same. It was just looking at shells of people without being able to interact with them. What’s the point of being with other human beings when it means nothing that you’re even there?

Three years of loneliness was all he had to bear before you moved in. He recognised you as you came in and out of the house over and over, previewing it before signing the documents. He didn’t take much interest in you, too wrapped up in himself. At least, he didn’t care much until the soft tune of music pulled his attention.

In his life---his sad, short life he learned to abhor---he never paid much mind to music. He lived too fast to care or bother with music. Maybe he’d put some on in the background, but he never really listened to it.

Upstairs, where his work room used to be just next to his bedroom, you sat with perfect posture at the keyboard. It was no grand piano, but it sounded beautiful. It was even more special as he watched your half lidded eyes scan the keys and your careful, yet relaxed and graceful fingers glide across the keys.

He never believed in love at first sight, and he still doesn’t, but he had to admit he’d never been so captivated by a human being as he had been by you.

𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇

You didn’t care much for superstitions. It was fun to poke about with though, look into what other people believe and look at everything there is to know about it, even if you don’t believe in everything you come across. You liked to learn, liked to say ‘fuck it’ and go with what you wanted to. And it seemed like you learned to choose to want to do mundane tasks.

Akaashi noticed that. He noticed how you woke up like it was a blessing, not a chore. He watched how you drank your morning coffee slowly and enjoyed every sip. You didn’t just drink it because it was there and it was routine, you just enjoyed the beverage. He was jealous he didn’t live like that when he was alive. It was like you knew he was there, like you knew how lucky you were compared to him, learning from his depressing life. He shook his head. He needed to pull his mind out of the depths of self pity.

During the hours you were gone, Akaashi Keiji sat in front of your keyboard and tried to play. He couldn’t interact much---it took a lot of his energy to really make any effect on the world around him---but he practiced while it was off, finding enough joy in the quiet clicks of the keys. He imagined he played a rather distasteful tune, but he could pretend otherwise.

When you were home, he liked to watch what you were doing. Usually, he liked his alone time, but he had enough while you were away. So he followed you like a shadow, enjoying the way you lived life. It was freeing.

As the weeks passed, loneliness swelled in his chest and he wondered if he could interact with you. Could he talk? He felt embarrassed to even try. Instead, he pushed his boundaries more and more, making his presence near palpable.

Until the boundaries are crossed. It’s your off day, and you’re picking up the cello for the first time in a while. It’s cathartic, pulling and pushing the bow against the strings as deep, soothing notes resonate in the house. Akaashi is surprised to hear the sound, curiosity drawn from the television you left on, to the music you were creating upstairs.

One slow step at a time, he makes his way up the stairs and into your little music room. The door is nearly closed, and he pushes it open with a small creak. It was more than enough to draw your attention from your playing.

Your eyes dart up, and for a split second, you make eye contact. Stormy, sea green eyes stare back at you for a brief moment. He runs, sprinting faster than he ever thought he could in life.

Rushing to set your cello and bow down, you hurry downstairs to follow the man. “Wait! Hello?”

Maybe you should just call the cops, panic and fear the fact that someone’s broken into your house. But you can’t manage to find it in your heart when the intruder looks like the dead man who lived in your house prior and when your mind is infested with the thousands of ghost stories and tales of the supernatural.

Grabbing corners and turning as quickly as you can, you try to find the man you swear you saw.

“Akaashi Keiji? Hello? Uh, if you’re here in this room with me give me a sign? Er, hello?”

Disappointed, your shoulders slump.

“I’m not going insane right?”

No answer.

Maybe you are.

You catch a glimpse of fabric in a doorway, and you chase after it. “Hello?-”

You nearly fall backwards at the sight of the man standing in front of you. He opens his mouth, licks his lips, then closes it again. Something must be very interesting on the floor, his eyes glued to it just as much yours are stuck on him.

“Akaashi Keiji. That’s your name, right?”

He nods.

“Uhm… you’re, you’re uh. Here. But you’re, ah. Oh god. Holy shit.”

He wishes he has an explanation for you. Like: yeah, he’s here, and also here’s an encyclopaedia’s worth of information on how dead people work and a whole lecture about why he’s there. But he didn’t even know for himself.

You reach out to him, offering to shake hands. You want to tackle him and try and convince yourself you’re crazy for not calling the cops, but you can’t find the energy.

Staring with all your focus, you watch your hand as his comes into view, stretching to meet you halfway. You surely can’t find the energy to call anyone when you watch his hand pass right through yours, slipping away.

When you flick your head up, he’s gone, and you stand alone in your kitchen with your arm stretched out to no one.

Akaashi watches you stare straight through him and walk away with a thousand thoughts on your mind. For the first time since he died, Akaashi Keiji feels the urge and excitement of anticipation for the future.

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji: televised #x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

26 notes · View notes

darth-does-stuff · 3 years

Text

ok bit of that sweet sweet info on how they all met

ro and pat met in the 2nd grade

clung to each other like koalas and never let go lmao

people often thought they were dating or had crushes on each other, cause its like that even in elementary school and junior high

(id know sadly) ((people often thought me and one of my friends were dating/had crushes on each other and we werent and it was so annoying))

sometimes,,,especially in 5th grade,,, they just met up with one another and talked about how annoying crushes were,,,

cause like, people were always talking about crushes and how cute and ‘hot’ these people were

and they didnt understand

like, they still dont know the line between attraction and affection

(im not projecting shuddup)

so they just talked about how confusing it was,,,and they bonded over having no crushes, at least none that they knew of

and it was nice cause they could just vent knowing the other would have no judgement

im crying now its pure

ok dee and lo met in 4th grade

cause dee wasnt exactly popular cause of his heterochromia, and some even made fun of his freckles.

little kids can be mean man

and lo was pretty socially awkward

he just wasnt that outgoing, pretty introverted, and just didnt talk to people

cause, honestly? it was scary

so the two kinda bonded over being outcasts, as sad as that sounds

like they just noticed each other avoiding the other kids

and idk they just somehow interacted

and clicked

suddenly they werent lonely anymore

because they had a friend

one that understood them, understood loneliness, and was also a left brain boy-

so yeah its wholesome too

then vee and re met each other in 1st grade

they seemed like an unlikely pair

a chaos monger, even at age 6 (or whatever first grade age is i forgot lmao) and a kid frightened by many things

but remus was actually mindful of virgil’s fear and made him laugh

and virgil pulled remus out of trouble, but also understood him

so they just became friends

stuck up for one another, caused chaos together, and pulled each other out of trouble

jzkfjazfjkajf my heart

as for how each group came together to form one whole crew?

dee and ro met each other in 6th grade with theater club

they became friends due to their inner drama geek

and bonded

and, like people do, introduced their respective friends to each other

so those 4 formed a group

pat, ro, and dee actually bonded rather well, but since lo was never good at social interaction, he felt awkward

so one time in the middle of 6th grade, he just felt like it was all too much and he was just on the outskirts, he sat at a lunch table alone, where the three couldnt see him

re and v just notice this kid eatin lunch alone

like the gremlins they are, plop down and start making conversation

mostly remus, but virgil popped in sometimes

lo was startled, as one would be, but eventually warmed up to them, finding them actually pretty funny, and chaotic just like him

so he came out of his shell even more

eventually the other three find him, questioning as to why he didnt sit with them (more so concerned, not like jealous, because lo usually sits with them and they didnt want him to feel bad)

and lo just kinda mumbles he’ll tell them later

the three notice vee and re and are like ‘huh’

but then lunch bell rings and they gotta go to their respective classes

later lo explains his reasons, they explain that it wasnt the case and they were sorry for making him feel like that, while lo assures him that part of it was his own self’s fault, cause sometimes he overanalyzes stuff

but yeah v and re start slowly integrating themself into their group

and by the end of 6th grade

they were all a group

and you know what happened from there

chaos crew babey

26 notes · View notes

dramaticsnakes · 3 years

Text

The Revived - Chapter 17: An Old Friend

This is chapter 17 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo (briefly), Ranboo (briefly), George, Sapnap (briefly)

Word count: 3816

Cw: playful violence, overstepping boundaries, brief discussions of loneliness, tension between characters, food (technically)

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Silence lingered after Tubbo left. It loomed in the air as Wilbur stayed frozen in place.

He quietly sighed as a familiar ghost wandered into his thoughts, “So the door closing was Tubbo leaving?”

Wilbur quietly muttered, “Yeah.”

“I think we- you should go talk to him.”

Wilbur threw his head back in annoyance. “It’s not that simple.”

Ghostbur sighed, “I know, but they always say trying is half the battle.” The words were quieter than the air around them. Wilbur slumped against the wall for a moment.

“I think I should just leave.” Wilbur didn’t even think about the words, it was just a universal thought that hovered over his mind.

“You and Tubbo are a little rough right now, but Michael would still miss you.”

Wilbur let out a dry laugh. Ranboo barely knew him and Michael was just asked to go away from him. He pushed himself away from the wall, “How about we go on a small walk then?” The tiredness in his voice was present. Ghostbur was either too kind to point it out or he simply didn’t notice. Wilbur couldn’t guess which was more likely.

“We’re gonna come back though right?” Wilbur recognized hope in the ghost’s voice, one that he didn’t want to crush.

So instead of the truth, he muttered out, “Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, more so a slight twist on the answer Ghostbur wanted. Besides, Ghostbur probably didn’t have the attention span to even think about coming back. Wilbur was glad Ghostbur couldn’t hear his thoughts.

He opened the door to Michael’s room and proceeded to walk down the stairs slowly. He noticed the lack of sound in the house, his quiet footsteps echoing slightly. The air felt tight in his chest as he looked around.

He peaked around the stairs, seeing a distant room that Ranboo was in. His back was turned from Wilbur as two pale arms were wrapped around his torso. He quickly realized it was probably a hug being exchanged between the two. He felt an awkwardness that persisted in his mind any time he saw Ranboo and Tubbo interact. It made him realize just how much he desired the past. Even if it wasn’t as good as now, with all the fighting and arguing, it felt much better than this solitude that lingered around him.

Besides, the quickest way to form a connection with someone was through a shared enemy. He supposed he was the enemy for a lot of people.

He tore his eyes away from the scene as he walked to the front door of the house, closing the door silently behind him.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he was outside again. The cold was a nice refresher to the stale air that filled the house. He walked peacefully in the snow, not even noticing that he was walking to the nether portal before he was right in front of it. He stopped his actions when he realized, quickly thinking through the pros and cons of just leaving.

Michael was too little to properly acknowledge who he was. Ranboo wasn’t fond of him. Tubbo couldn’t stand him.

It was all to be expected, and Wilbur had been a fool for letting comfort settle even for just a moment. One of the most important lessons from the wars, and the election, was that things were constantly moving along. Things had been moving along without Wilbur for a long time now, even if it wasn’t for as long as he’d originally anticipated. It occurred to him that he’d sought refuge with Tubbo far too many times since he was revived. A hint of a home that no longer existed. Tubbo had treated Wilbur decently ever since they had their first proper conversation.

Wilbur, the fool he’d apparently become, had accepted every crumb of it like a starving dog. He’d relied on the friendly banter and the mansion with open doors. He’d relied on the voice of the kind ghost within his mind, that was forced to spend time with him anyhow. Wilbur had taken every bit of kindness from the people who merely tolerated him, and wasn’t that pathetic? That wasn’t what Wilbur Soot was supposed to stand for. He used to be so much stronger than that, holding the world in his own hands, and being the commander of a nation, rather than just a pathetic shell desperately seeking kindness and safety.

He stepped into the nether portal, the whisps of it filling his mind.

He wandered through the scalding heat absentmindedly, before the familiar voice of the ghost chimed in. “Wait, are you in the nether?”

Wilbur slowed down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Oh…” Ghostbur said, his voice going much quieter, “You didn’t tell me.”

Wilbur inhaled sharply at the realization. He was moments away from cursing but stopped himself in time. He facepalmed and groaned at his own forgetfulness, “Shoot, I forgot.”

There was hesitance in the air and no immediate response.

“Sorry,” Wilbur said, and he meant it. Promises meant nothing, but apparently, Wilbur couldn’t even hold up the simplest ones. The ones that it would cause nothing constructive to break.

“It’s okay- but…” Ghostbur trailed off slightly.

“Yeah?” Wilbur said, continuing across the bridge.

“Are we…” Ghostbur sounded like he was trying to find the right words, “Are we actually going back to Tubbo and Ranboo?”

Wilbur let out a breath. “I mean, yeah,” he said with a shrug. The truth was, he had little to no idea where exactly he was going, or where he was returning. Everything was a mess in his mind.

“Then why are you going to the nether?” Ghostbur asked, “Oh, do you just really like walking?”

“Uhhh.” Wilbur rubbed the side of his head with a hand as if it would clear the fog in his mind, and allow him to speak words that made any sort of sense. “I just wanted to check on Friend?” he said, realizing it sounded far too much like a question, and was far too close to a lie, “I was gonna surprise you. But I don’t want you to be worried.” He let a smile slip across his lips on instinct, even if Ghostbur couldn’t see it.

The excited gasp from Ghostbur indicated that Wilbur had said the right thing. That was the most important part. Why exactly it ached in his chest, however, was unknown. “Oh yay! I love him so much.” Ghostbur said happily, sounding relieved, “You’re such a good friend. I don’t know why I didn’t trust you!”

Wilbur hid the grim darkness settling in his throat at those words with a breathless chuckle. “Y-yeah.” he simply said, as he continued walking towards the next portal.

Upon his arrival at the ruins of L’Manberg again, Wilbur realized the promise held little to no weight at all. The sheep wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and that shouldn’t have been surprising to him whatsoever. He gratingly remembered the way Tommy had stayed close to it, trying to drag it away from Wilbur, as the air around them grew more and more desperate. He remembered the fear in the boy’s eyes, and the memory sent a numbing strike of a blade through his stomach. For a moment, the pain on his face seemed almost entirely fresh again.

It was kind of funny too. How out of all the places on the server, one he’d found himself repeatedly returning to, was his own unfinished symphony. Perhaps the thought to finish it remained too loud in his mind.

But he had other priorities, ones that seemed to be fleeing him quickly. The ones that danced around his mind tauntingly. At first, he considered a new nation or even just a community that united under his rule. That required people he didn’t have. He tried to be part of a family or just making friends in general. That required people that he didn’t have. He wanted Ghostbur to still be able to experience life through him. That required people he didn’t fucking have.

As if he needed them. He spent thirteen and a half years in limbo. He could spend some time by himself solving his own problems.

So he settled on an objective that no one else had, and he didn’t need much help to achieve. Getting Ghostbur out of his mind. He didn’t know if it was even possible, yet it felt nice to have a mission for once instead of wandering aimlessly and interacting with whoever he saw first.

He laid out the bullet points in his mind. He wanted to start with the library, but Tubbo’s trust in him was already so thin. He thought about Dream, but the man was locked behind bars. He considered the thought of someone who knew Dream, which didn’t seem to have any immediate cons.

He ran through his mind of who knew Dream well. He roughly guessed anyone that was his ally knew him decently, but from there it was the question of who would tell him what they knew.

He decided to walk out of the crater of L’Manberg and closer to the town. The walk was quite nice as he occasionally described the view for Ghostbur. There wasn’t much detail, just the tree leaves gently swaying and how the shapes of shadows the buildings left looked.

“Are there clouds in the sky?”

Wilbur looked up for a moment, turning around slightly. “Not that I can see.” When he looked back down, he saw a person wearing a blue shirt in the distance. He tilted his head as he walked, turned on the path, and walked closer to them. It took him a while to identify them due to the sun in his eyes, but he eventually realized it was George. The George that was very close to Dream and presumably wasn’t on negative terms with Wilbur. The George that could be quite useful. He slipped a small smile onto his face as he jogged towards the man. He muttered towards Ghostbur, the smile showing in his voice, “Slight change of plans, Ghostie. We’re chatting with an old friend.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Oh which one?”

George heard Wilbur’s footsteps and turned towards the sound. A confused smile came across his face, but he did a small wave nonetheless. When Wilbur arrived where George was as he happily exclaimed, “George, it’s been forever!” He held a hand out and when George latched onto it, he pulled them both in for a quick hug. It burned so wonderfully, but Wilbur made himself pull away. “How have you been?” George still seemed shocked, “I- I’ve been good, but you’re alive!” He ran a hand through his hair, slightly messing it up along the way.

Wilbur grinned at him, “Yeah! I’m back and better than ever.”

“Wow, that’s really great. Glad to see you again,” he said, looking at him with a lot of disbelief, as if he was still processing the sight, but seemingly didn’t intend to question him too much about it. That was a nice change of pace. It wasn’t as if Wilbur understood either.

Wilbur nodded, “You as well. Where you heading?”

George shrugged, “Mostly just taking a walk. You?”

“Same.”

“You wanna catch up? Oh- you’ve gotta see the prank I’m pulling on Tommy.”

“I’ll come along and see it myself.” George started walking again, and Wilbur followed suit. George was on his side- literally and figuratively- all he had to do was to gently bring up Dream and propose a few questions. It didn’t seem too difficult. So he continued with George, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily between them. They ended up at Tommy’s house rather quickly. Perhaps Wilbur was having a pleasant conversation for once.

Tommy’s house was small and made of dirt, something that surprised Wilbur quite a bit. Small and underwhelming, even after so long, and Wilbur wondered why Tommy still lingered there. A strange, very small part of him almost hoped that the house would expand. Wilbur left too much of a remarkable impact for Tommy to reside in somewhere so small and meaningless.

George took off his backpack once they were there, carefully placing it on the floor. He pulled out two cartons of eggs. He snickered as he handed one carton to Wilbur and kept one for himself. He grinned at Wilbur, as he picked up one, throwing it at Tommy’s house with force, as it splattered on the dirt wall.

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows with slight surprise as he opened the carton, picking out an egg from inside when he had a bad feeling in his chest. It almost stabbed him out of nowhere, a pang of strong guilt about an action he hadn’t even committed yet.

Yet, what had Tommy done for him?

The thought settled like his own grip on a gun that he knew he knew exactly how to use. A familiar lack of faith in those around him, because they knew Wilbur was a villain, just as he knew himself. Once everything went wrong they would inevitably turn against him. He knew as much. It had been proven to him time and time again. He clenched the egg for a moment, accidentally creating a small crack in its surface, as George was already halfway through his carton. He turned to Wilbur, a big grin on his face. “Come on! The guy’ll be furious, it’ll be hilarious.”

George looked at Wilbur for a long moment, the grin barely fading, but wavering just a little. Wilbur huffed, and threw the egg towards the house. It landed with a faint ‘crack’, splattering all over the bottom of the wall. A smirk lingered on Wilbur’s lips, as George laughed.

Though the feeling in his chest stayed just the same, because what exactly was Wilbur trying to gain? He remembered the sting of Tommy’s eyes, glaring at him, as if Wilbur was everything that was wrong in the world.

We were like family.

A lot of good that did them.

He picked up another egg, and threw it at the house with a little more force, though as it cracked against the wall, he noticed his hand was shaking. George shouted over to him, “Yeah, like that!”

“What are you doing?” Ghostbur asked. Wilbur was thankful he couldn’t reply.

He held another egg, his gaze settling on George for a moment. He stared for a second too long as he soon released it. The throw coming off weaker than he intended. George’s voice was one parallel to an eye roll, “Oh, C’mon. The leader of L’Manberg can throw better than that.” George moved closer to Wilbur, standing right next to him. He raised his eyebrows, “Do I seriously need to teach you how to throw something?”

Wilbur scoffed, “Oh you wish.” On impulse, he threw the egg directly at George’s shirt. He felt that familiar guilt for a moment. The one that foreshadowed George leaving just like everyone else. But in the moment, everything was fine.

George just chuckled as he dramatically complained, “My favorite shirt!” He took an egg from his carton and smashed it on Wilbur’s face. Wilbur wiped off the egg yolk and cracked shell, starting to slowly approach George.

“Wilbur, no,” George’s laugh swirled in Wilbur’s mind. Wilbur quickly ran up to him, effectively tackling him as he was pinned. Wilbur didn’t hesitate to smash the egg in George’s face.

George groaned, “Dream, why do you always have to do this?” He chuckled near the end as Wilbur’s grin dimed.

“Dream?”

George stopped smiling instantly, a look of recoil coming across his face. “Sorry, sorry, I just saw the fingerless gloves for a moment. I…” George gently sighed, “Let’s just pretend it never happened.” Wilbur distantly nodded. Another person was only around him because of someone he was not. Wilbur tried to hide how hurt he felt instead grabbing another egg and gently handing it to George. The man with goggles nodded and threw the egg hard on the front wall.

It almost reminded Wilbur of simpler times. Where pranks were pulled in good fun, with mild anger following, soon to be forgotten. When grudges were minor and actions didn’t turn into blood feuds. Though there was something in the way George looked at the house, that made Wilbur feel that this wasn’t just done in good fun. Few things were anymore. That was one thing that had been different, even last time Wilbur was alive. “What are you standing around for?” George asked, “I’m colorblind and I can see several eggs left in your carton.”

George was looking at Wilbur as if it was a test. If there was anything Wilbur fucking hated it was being tested. It indicated that someone else had the upper hand, and was going to use it against him, if he didn’t live up to their expectations. Wilbur caught himself scowling for a moment, before smiling lightly. “Yeah, sure.” He said, “Though I actually had something I wanted to ask you.”

George threw his last egg, cracking it against the window with no hesitation. “Yeah? What is it?” he asked absentmindedly.

Wilbur let out a sharp breath, clenching the carton in his hand. He liked the way it slowly broke under his command. “You know how I was… Revived?”

George raised an eyebrow, dropping the empty carton on the ground. He laughed, “Yeah? I’m looking at you right now.”

“Right,” Wilbur said, straightening his back, and cracking his neck, as he threw his cartoon towards the house, most of the eggs breaking on the ground. George watched confusedly. “And I suppose you are aware that Dream was the one who did it?”

George frowned, the look in his eyes changing abruptly. “He did?”

It was the look of someone who’d suffered a loss, and it was strange, to see that in regards to Dream. It was strange because the look was given because of a person everyone else seemed to have agreed to hate with little hesitation. “Yes,” Wilbur confirmed, stepping a bit closer. George stood his ground. “Are you sure you didn’t know?”

George shook his head and shrugged, “How should I know? The guy’s in jail.”

Wilbur knew enough about George, to recognize when he was on the defensive. He huffed. “Even if you didn’t know that, I was just wondering if you knew anything else?” He watched George take a step back, and it sparked something in Wilbur’s chest. Wilbur being in control. The powerful commander, who won back L’Manberg, and declared it independent. The one whose voice everyone listened to during the war meetings. “Dream was your friend, wasn’t he? If anyone knew about his ability to revive people beforehand, surely it’d be you?”

Hurt settled on George’s face. He shook his head. “I didn’t know anything.”

“Have you visited him yet?” Wilbur asked, barely acknowledging George’s words. Information. He needed information, and he would get it this time around. “I’m sure he misses you.”

That seemed to strike a nerve, as George’s eyes widened for a moment. He closed them and shook his head against the ground. “No,” he said, sounding far too much like someone who tried to sound like they didn’t care.

The realization that George was uncomfortable, hit Wilbur early on. It reminded him of the way Tommy scowled at him. The quiet dismissal of Wilbur’s questions.

Yet what did Wilbur care about exactly?

He’d been desperately cowering for so long, seeking approval, and any crumb of tolerance of his presence. And George had tolerated him, even if some of it was just a moment of remembering someone he lost. It was funny how George, his old enemy, seemed to have any respect left for Wilbur.

Though it wasn’t respect. Not really. George was testing Wilbur, and Wilbur was going to test him back. Wilbur was no longer going to rely on those who tried to care about the new him. About the him, who had spent thirteen and a half years at a train station, yet hadn’t changed at all. They were expecting someone else, and that was fine. Perhaps Wilbur shouldn't have expected them to even care in the first place. It was too naïve of a goal and much too optimistic for his liking. It was almost similar to the blinded confidence he possessed in Pogtopia, allowing help to be given to him with nothing to be given in return, only to be unsurprisingly betrayed in the end. The cycle repeated until he betrayed himself. A tragic flaw, a dramatic end, an end to a life-long monologue- call it what it was, but he was alone.

In Pogtopia, Wilbur had realized he was alone too far in.

In the ruins of L’Manberg, by the house of his old right hand man, years and months later, Wilbur had gotten used to that feeling.

“Why don’t you let me know what happened while I was gone? Fill me in from another side of history! Because the wars don’t matter anymore, George. I just want to know what I missed.” Wilbur smirked, as he watched George shake just slightly. Wilbur stepped closer, George walking backwards towards Tommy’s house. “Surely that isn’t so hard?”

“I have nothing to do with him anymore, you understand? He’s in prison, and you’re alive.” George said, the words sounding sharp, “That’s all I know.”

“Come on, surely I’m not that untrustworthy?” Wilbur tried to make it sound like a joke, “Tell me, was it a relief when I was gone? Did it lift any weights off your shoulders? Off of Dream’s?” The comment was barely related, though it came out of Wilbur, as if it had been urging to for years. A little requiem from an enemy. Not that Wilbur had considered George much of an enemy back then, but perhaps to the other side it was different.

He was surprised when George looked him straight in the eyes. While George looked so small as he stood there, and despite how his voice wavered, for a moment he almost looked confident. “I didn’t want you to die. You were a good guy,” George said. “I can tell you that much.”

Wilbur almost didn’t comprehend the words. His face twisting strangely, as he watched George standing right by the wall, caught up in a corner. The words made no sense at all, because that wasn’t how anyone was supposed to view him. Not someone from another side. It was almost laughable, that George knew so very little about Wilbur. Yet, for a brief moment, he was at a loss of words.

“What the fuck is happening?” a new voice chimed in.

Wilbur turned his head abruptly, surprised that anyone was around. He was met by the sight of Sapnap, looking at the scene with confusion and concern.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!wilbur #ghostbur #revivedbur #c!george #c!georgenotfound #fanficion #fanfic #fic #The Revived

8 notes · View notes

maruzzewrites · 4 years

Text

Every breath you take. - 9

No one in the house seemed to want to interact much with you, not wanting to acknowledge your presence. You would consider it a victory if your objective didn’t change the course of your actions, aiming to catch their attention for the first time since you stepped into their hell.

Prosciutto, in particular, was cold, detached, but the glares he reserved for you felt like a knife twisting into your flesh as it sunk slowly. You made a show out of hanging your head, turning away, ignoring every little clue to his rage or his contempt. You would close in, raise your shoulder as if to shield yourself, and the tension in your muscles allowed you the benefit of trembling. His eyes didn’t flinch, but the spirit of some of his associates would dull with a note of worry, of almost guilt.

It was all in the nuances, in the hues their icy stares, as you stepped around the house with insecurity more evident. Vulnerable like a deer, wounded like a rabbit, ready to walk into the wolf’s mouth head on: if Prosciutto was about to ask something, you would lean in the direction of Risotto before jolting and averting your eyes with embarrassment; if Illuso would call you over or hint at wanting you closer, you would seek indirect refuge behind Formaggio or Pesci without intruding in their personal space; if Melone would coo sweet words to encourage you during your job, you glanced in Ghiaccio’s direction as if anchoring the possibility of asking for help from someone not fearful.

Like fine strings, tense beyond their capacity, you felt their mood heightening and lowering as if you were a trained director and they, the musicians hoping to be chosen into the orchestra, striving to perform. By the end of the day, your nerves felt as if fried, your muscles vibrating under your skin. Those same strings you could play with ease during the hours in that house, they cut your fingers with bloody disregard. You picked with care the men you chose, those you didn’t want to anger or you didn’t want to lose in this battle.

Their boss, dangerous and looming, didn’t seem the type to be easily fooled by acting, and games, and manipulation. He was sly, yet brusque, like a sharpened knife. His role was of balance, neutral, in your plan. He won’t be swayed or allured in a trap he could foil, but he would be the arbiter of the other men and their hopeful mess. You’d still be cordial, still play in his hands like a frightened doll that gave up control of their limbs, but hoping that the puppeteer would occupy himself with more pressing matters.

It was difficult to pick apart the others, with their deranged personalities. Their pride, their bonds, their lack of empathy; yet, you found in those flaws the path to your victory. Play with the weaknesses that they show, those they have no qualms airing out as if impossible to exploit. Prosciutto never asked Risotto or the others for anything, Illuso was rarely with the others, Melone didn’t seem to benefit from a stronger personality like the others. Would they confront their feelings, would they question each other? Would they confront their fellows, treated with more gentleness?

Pesci and Formaggio seemed and felt warmer with the subtle changes in your behavior towards them, the lack of scares and the less restricted words you would exchange with them – still too little, you could see their silent request for more. Ghiaccio was more wary, more difficult to lure in after months of skittish tip toeing around these men, but with caution you could hint to the possibility of relaxing and accepting. A slow dance around the matter, allowing him to feel the pride when you wore the accessories he got you. Maybe stepping up to ask him where he got them, so that he would delude himself into believing you appreciate his gesture.

However, the play was put together by a crumbling actor. As soon as you were safe, as soon as no one could see, you would feel your persona fall apart all around you. Almost physical, when you abandoned the shirt Formaggio bought you or when you left the hair accessories on the desk to dust for the rest of the week. A single day, and you were shivering from head to toe. Tense, stressed without possibility to release the tightness in your muscles and the ice in your veins.

It would prove a straining effort to keep up the farce, with everything on the stake for you, nothing to lose for the men who tormented you. You almost felt like a joker, in an exhibition for a cruel, vicious, vile king and his court, sweating and struggling with an act too difficult for the psyche of a single person. If you failed, the head rolling would be yours, as the rest of the nobles would feast upon the next meal as if nothing happened and you were a mere stain in the course of their lives. The thought was even more bitter when you considered that an almost victory for you, in any case.

That first day drained your energy, and you found yourself clenching the shirt that was gifted to you without really feeling it between your fingers. It was an alien feeling, soft like a caress, unlike the terror in your chest. You had to wash it, you had to have it ready for the next time you will had to step into that house to face the inevitable game. You were set into your ways, but you had to really steel your resolve after the day. A tea, a walk, a TV show, anything to forget about the hours you spent forgetting yourself for the sake of those men.

Luckily, your darling was there for you. You were fearful of meeting with him, it was probable you were followed as closely as ever despite the intent of soothing some of their worries. His voice, though, was a welcome surprise when you answered your phone after the sudden thrill hurt your ears and bruised your determination. No matter the way you abandoned him, with little to no explanation, he was the kindest soul you ever encountered and he was willing to face the monster behind Naples as if it was nothing. You really hoped it would result in nothing for him.

You walked up and down your room, letting out the energy and the tension, shirt still clutched in your hand. The comforting notes of your beloved’s voice moved your body out of the catatonic trance you found yourself from the moment the car’s door closed and you left that remote house, where no one could run to help. You talked freely, about how his studies were, how your family was doing, how you two intended to spend the approaching vacations. In your worries and in the nightmare that your life became, you forgot the approaching summer and the sensation of smooth, rocky beach under your feet.

It would be the first one without the annual trip, with your fiance, to Amalfi. Climbing its ethereal stairs, the sound of waves never leaving your head, not even when you rested your head on the pillow, laying besides your darling. You remember how you looked for a job, accepted this specific one, to save enough money to book the hotel this time around. Your heart trembled, as your words, but you didn’t hear anything from the other side if not the hue of worry as he continued to talk about mundane things. How bitter, his sweetness.

You wondered if princesses and princes felt the same way as you felt when you ended the phone call, after their happily ever after. A story untold, impossible to know from point of views different from your own; even the loving presence of your former fiance wouldn’t be able to observe the way everything could fall over your shoulders in a matter of seconds. The weight was unbearable when alone, crushing and damaging your muscles with the sheer tension in them. You felt like you were vibrating from inside out.

And if loneliness made you choke on your grief, company should be what you needed. Despite the pleas from your own mind to curl up in your bed and never get up, you stepped outside and faced the world. The first days, you stayed around the house and talked to your mother about anything that could come to mind. She seemed relatively happy to see you well, even if she wasn’t aware of your inner turmoil. Your father would mumble when you bothered him after work, but didn’t turn you away after a veil of sadness fell on his eyes.

You didn’t notice how deeply you affected those around you, how unable to reach out to you they felt. If your parents were reassured to see you speak with them again, no matter how briefly and for dull matters, your friends gathered around you like hawks as soon as you met them at a cafe you used to hang out at often. It was like a cold shower, seeing the little details change from the picture in your memory, the menu and the decorations were new, shining, and you felt the months you lost flashing before your eyes.

It was odd. You didn’t recognize the fearful, isolated person in your memory; you left behind your entire life just to hide in fear of men who decided to strip away what made you someone. They didn’t profess love or devotion, they didn’t declare or swear to protect you and keep you away from harm. Who you were, to them? A doll, a placeholder? The symbol of affection they craved, but easily interchangeable with the next person who could enter their lives with the tiniest amount of human decency?

You found your resolution in that epiphany. You were nothing for them, you weren’t you, you didn’t have a name or a story. They probably knew anything there was to know about your identity, but they lacked the drive to search for the inner world that blossomed inside of you. If they cared about it, they would stomp on the buds as cruelly as they were. It wasn’t about you, it never was; you were all-in, they were merely seeking a shadow of person, someone they could tear apart to avoid their own reflections.

In that moment, when your lips were on the cup of coffee, your plan shifted ever so slightly. You needed to pretend to like them, at least some of them, but you had to show them a personality. Not a robot or a mere plaything, someone with a beating heart and a thinking brain. In the best of cases, they would find a spark of humanity in their souls to spare you the torment of their affection; in the most probable case, they wouldn’t be able to process the shift, they would turn to themselves to cope with the loss of their punching bag.

Who you were, though? You were kind, or so you hoped. Acting bratty or spoiled, rebellious or defiant, would only cause trouble for you. You needed to dig into yourself to be genuine, push them away with a display of fragility and flaws. People who loved you, who really cared, they wouldn’t mind the vulnerability and the complexity of character, but the brutes who cared for you only for their sick, twisted, warped fantasies would care only for the surface and their projection. A doll to dress, toy with, and then toss into the drawer until it was time to play again.

A balancing act like nothing you’ve done before, picking the elements that could really make your own self shine while poisoning them with enough malice and faults that the flowers would look too ugly, unworthy to be picked up by anyone. You wondered what they saw in you, besides a servile proxy of love. Generous or subservient? Perhaps fragile and easy to manipulate? The same trait can be molded and transformed in news masks, so that your staged behavior wouldn’t result unconvincing, fake or suspicious. The last thing you wanted was going from glorified to demonized to those men. No extreme was safe, with them.

You left the meeting with a lighter heart, but a heavier mind. Worries of all kinds buzzed in your head, from the need to stop worrying your loved ones to the need to put up a convincing spectacle to deranged mobsters ready to cut you out of your support system. Or make you walk away, if they could. The job would be cleaner that was, or so you thought. Not their fault if you feared for the well-being of those you cared about, they never touched them and never promised to do so.

The taste of that chain of thoughts disgusted you like no food could, but you schooled your face into a peaceful one for the sake of your mother. She smiled, and talked, and laughed, as if the child she thought lost came back from a long, long journey. You felt yourself breathe in the wake of her joy, no matter how imperceptible it was for someone outside your situation; maybe even to a past you, before all of that happened. If you could thank those men for something, it was your new ability to stop and reflect on the people around you, their motivations and their intentions. You wished you didn’t need to learn that skill.

The following days, before your next performance, were a blur. Meeting old faces, looking for new ones. Maybe the romanticism of movies made you think you could catch a glimpse of long brown hair, or a long coat, an elegant suit, maybe even red glasses and purple leather. You would be listening to you friend, smiling at her story from a few weeks ago, when you were still losing yourself; then your eyes would raise towards the mob of people walking, chatting and yelling, just to see a pair of eyes or a looming figure. It never happened, and it made the fear raise rather than fall.

Like a rat, you were fearful of them discovering you, learning about your plan. You weren’t ready to lose the game before you could even adjust to the rules fully, but you didn’t know how people like them could hide so well despite their quirks. But you had to stomach the unbearable tension until the fateful, almost fatal, day.

As always, the drive was torture. Your brain couldn’t stop working, you felt your heartbeat in your wrists, and your legs were so weak you could barely press the pedals. The shape of the house was, just like any other time, the confirmation of your fears, the last signature to your ticket towards a few hours of personal agony. This time, though, you were seeking out the pain as if you could toughen your skin as iron in the hands of an expert blacksmith.

You took a breath when you parked in front of the building, eyed the closed door, and ventured in the den of famished beasts. You dropped your bag with less apprehension, you greeted Formaggio on your way towards the living room, you cleaned with some pep in your steps. You noticed the attention, from when you ignored your designed victims and got embarrassed by the presence of the calculated favorites.

All fake, incredibly so. There was no mirth in your heart or in your soul, there was no fondness or attachment to the people who couldn’t even consider the horror they brought to your life. When your eyes met theirs, smiling on the outside, you wondered if they thought about it at night. Before sleep, before leaving the night to meet the day, did they contemplate the hurt, the blood, the trail of broken lives they could, would and did leave behind? Maybe they couldn’t see it, maybe they were truly so into their own world they couldn’t understand their actions towards others.

When your gaze was met with firm eyes, like ice and stone, you got your answer. It didn’t matter if they knew the extent of the consequences, it wasn’t relevant if their vision excluded the context and the collaterals, you could see intelligence shine behind those eyes. Bright minds left to rot in the underbelly of your country’s criminal life; you assumed they would be the young boys, with guns in their hands, lighting up the streets of Naples with thunders of bullets. With their sad stories, and the violence of their lives, the absence of money and choices. The blood on their hands, only a TV program in the sea of stimuli, forgotten and putrid. You would only be another spot in that red, and it made your even breath catch in your throat.

After the uneventful morning and their wary surprise, lunch came around and you closed yourself inside the kitchen with the promise of something tasty. It was your escape from the forced prison you were in, and your worked as slowly as possible in order to treasure every single second and recharge your energy to bear with the rest of the day and the rest of your plan. Alas, even with the most sluggish of movements, you finished the chore and the meal was ready, served and ready to be eaten.

You invited them in, you got out. They tried to invite you back, but you gently refused as you threw some glances at the specific men you decided you weren’t fond of. Your pleading eyes were good enough to convince the heart of the one who asked, maybe flattered by the special attention in contrast with his teammates. It was going as you wished, so you turned on your heels to continue with your job.

You halted on the doorstep. You looked over your shoulders, then down the corridor, where the main entrance was. You pretended to be pondering something, and you felt the telltale sensation of eyes fixed on your back like parasites. You swallowed the dread, and called Pesci to come near you. He was startled, that was for sure, but he got up from his chair and stumbled towards your position. You had to suppress the urge to step back to keep your distance.

You walked down the hallway, asking him to follow you, and he walked your steps with tentativeness evident in every movement, in every bend and creak of his legs. At his heels, the gazes of the others came soon after like wolves ready to eat their own, for disloyalty. It was a second before you reached into your bag, opening it in front of the man as if it was nothing, as if you didn’t lock it from this world until two mere weeks ago. You pretended to search for something, but you were aware nothing else was there to impede you grabbing what you were aiming for.

It was in one of the inner pockets, not shifting from its place for the entire ride there and ready to be grabbed as an obedient soldier in this battle. You held it in your hand has you took a deep, yet silent, breath and stoop up for kneeling down on the floor. You looked Pesci in the eyes with resolve, but it waned in a false display of coyness. You noticed the shadows of the others on the door, ready to understand what was going on, and you convinced yourself that you needed to go deeper, dig the grave, and let destiny decide who will lay in it.

“I’m sorry, for that time,” you voiced your intentions, you handed the content of your bag. New make-up, of the same exact shade of the one you used, and an accompanying sponge. Your position wouldn’t allow the others to catch a glimpse of the object you were gifting Pesci, but you hoped that their curiosity would allow them to ask for more information later. But you needed to finish your scene, first of all, “I didn’t intend to… You know. I hope you can accept this as an apology.”

Pesci seemed to awaken from a dream when you moved your hands closer, to show the gift and encourage him to pick it up, and the contact of his fingers with your palm seemed to be electrifying to him. His hands twitched, retracted for imperceptible millimeters, then closed around the make-up. Down the hallway, you saw the shift of the shadows and the turmoil of silence in the other room.

You hoped with all your heart, from the bottom of your soul and of your mind, that it would come to words later on. Or speculations. Some of them putting their noses where it didn’t belong once again, to answer the mystery of the gift, maybe unable to link the full bottle of make-up with it because of their inattention. Or maybe they would know, they would demand the story. And Illuso would have to tell, Pesci would have to feel even more excitement over the treatment, and maybe something would finally fire up among them.

Rivalry? Conflict? Maybe consideration for the status of their team? It didn’t matter if it was pacific or bloody, until the path to liberty could be paved by your actions, it would be enough. Pesci rushed away into the bathroom, the other were stiff and still at the table when you returned. When they finished their dishes, they retreated. You were unbothered for the rest of the day, until the moment to flee.

You were on the door, when you heard a deep voice rumble behind you. It rolled out of Risotto’s voice like boulders, that order to stay still. And you stopped, waiting for him to walk to you as if he had to hurry – but you did, hurry to return to a better place. He was in front of you in seconds that felt like hours, and looked down from his height. He raised a hand, which landed on your shoulder, snaked its way behind your neck to hold it into place as you raised your head. It felt like a collar, and you instinctively raised your shoulders.

He thanked you for looking after his team so, so kindly. You shuttered in your answer, and you saw a glimmer in that red. For the first time, his eyes looked like they had a depth you didn’t consider before, something that spoke to you and your deepest self. Interrogating you, finding an answer, looking for more questions, and you froze before registering his last goodbye.

Without thinking, you nodded and walked out, with too much speed. You closed yourself into the car, but when you looked, the door was closed. No one was at the windows, the curtains weren’t open, and you couldn’t see into the house. You turned on your car and drove away, not too fast so that you wouldn’t seem too eager to get away. When the roof, even the lingering feeling, of the house were nowhere to be seen, you stopped at the edge of the street.

The spot Risotto held between his fingers felt hot, burning still. You needed to relax, to calm down, so you grabbed your phone and dialed your darling’s number. It felt like eternity, in suspension with your thoughts, before the voice of his voicemail arrived, informing you the phone couldn’t be reached.

You looked down at your car’s clock. It was barely late afternoon, maybe he was in class. You let the phone fall onto the passenger’s seat, and continued to drive.

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #pesci #risotto #yandere #yandere x reader #i post this and disappear again toodles!

35 notes · View notes

leavaloo · 5 years

Note

Hi Kai, Happy Holidays! Could I request what your hc would be for Milo getting a crush on an s/o from Kalos? Don't know how they ended up in Turffield but they're very obviously a poor fit as it's sorta rural and they're... not. Would it be possible for them to be taller than Milo as well? Cheers!

Maaaay have gotten carried away with this one lol It was just so cute!! How could I not?!

I wanted to send something out to you guys, because I’ve been working on my book and commissions in the background, so! I hope you enjoy this pure fluff

Milo was used to the multiplicities of the country. It was quiet, not a whole lot of people about, and everyone knew everything about everyone. So when you arrived, things got a bit more interesting in Turffield. For one, you avoided every patch of mud there was on the road, while other people in their work boots just plowed right through them. You would complain about the internet not being that good, and then huff as you put your phone away in defeat.

The gym leader had yet to interact with you, but from what he had seen, he was amused. The word around town is that one of the local family run bakeries had some of their family from out of region come and visit. It seemed very obvious that you were from a city, but what city it was, Milo had no clue. In fact, the whole family on that side was the same way, trying to make sure none of their designer stuff got dirty. It looked like the family had come out here for necessity instead of family bonding.

That was until one of Milo’s Wooloo decided that it wanted to go on an adventure. Somehow, it had rolled on over to you, and you had absolutely fallen in love with the cute little fluffy thing. It bleeted at you and nuzzled your leg, lightly bumping into you. The sun was setting when Milo had finally found both you and the Wooloo, wandering around trying to find its owner.

“Oh! Thank goodness!” Milo said, lighting jogging up to you two. He leaned down to pet the Wooloo on the head, shaking his head. “I’ve been looking for you for hours! Your brothers and sisters are worried about you, ya know?”

The Wooloo sadly bleeted, looking up at you with a sad look, which you returned. Milo stood up, adjusting his hat and giving you one of his famous smiles. “Sorry about that! Thanks for taking care of this little escape artist!”

“Oh! Uh... No problem!” Was that a blush on your face? Milo couldn’t tell in the low light and the fact that you were taller than him. “Is this your Wooloo?”

Milo nodded. “Yep! She belongs down at the ranch.”

Your eyes lit up. “There’s more of these guys??”

He laughed softly. God you were cute. “Yeah! There’s a whole buncha them. They’re part of my gym challenge, actually, along with a handful of Yamper. Do... you wanna come along with me? I can show you em.”

You basically jumped up and down with glee. “Yes!! I would love to see more of these cute fluffers! They remind me of Skiddo!”

Milo tilted his head to the side. “Skiddo huh? Never heard of them.”

From then on, you two got along spectacularly. The whole way back, the two of you bantered back and forth about the different places you two had been. He figured out that you were from Kalos, and that this was a very different experience than what you were used to. Milo offered to have you volunteer at the Wooloo farm if you were so excited about them, which you happily agreed to, saying something along the lines of “anything is better than dealing with my family”.

You family watched as you quickly became accustomed to the life in Turffield, and more specifically to Milo and the farm. They watched as you went out and bought work clothes and boots just to help out on the farm, and they watched as you and Milo got closer and closer. They watched as he asked you out on a date, and they watched as you got home from it all giddy and blushy. They watched as you started to fall in love with Turffield, as well as with Milo. And they watched your heart break when they announced that the family would have to leave here in a week, since their business was done.

When you broke this news to Milo, his heart just about shattered. He had really gotten it bad for you, and he was having so much fun that he almost forgot that your hometown wasn’t in Galar at all. You two exchanged as much as you could in terms of contact information, making sure you two stayed connected. It was late at night, the Wooloo around you fast asleep, the one that had run away that fateful day sleeping on your lap. You absentmindedly pet its fur, trying not to let tears run down your face.

“...I forgot that this wasn’t home,” you whispered.

Milo looked down at the ground, and then over at your sad features. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you it would be okay, but were you there in your relationship yet? There was something between you two, that much was for certain, but how far was he allowed to go?

“You’ll come back, right?” Milo was barely able to hide the break in his voice.

Finally, a smile from you as you looked back at him, your eyes wet with the tears you were trying to hold back. “Of course I will. I can’t just...” You looked away, that familiar blush on your cheeks again. “I can’t just leave you forever...”

Milo didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the sad look in your eyes, or the fact that you seemed so far away in this moment, but he placed his hand on the back of your neck and gently pushed your chin towards his. He wasn’t planning on kissing you tonight, but the little surprised squeak you put into it made it worth it.

He pulled away, slowly and gingerly, before looking away as well. “...Sorry. I-I don’t... I don’t know what came over me.”

He felt your hand fall into his, the interlacing of your fingers seeming far too natural to pass by. Your head rested on his shoulders, and for the first time, the two of you cuddled each other. It was... desperate, like you didn’t want to ever let go. “It’s okay, Milo...” you said to him in a hushed tone. “...I wanted it too.”

“You’ll wait for me, right?” you asked after a little bit of cuddling among the snoring Wooloo.

“Of course. I will say, though, it’ll be a lot lonelier without you.”

You laughed softly, adjusting your head on his chest, since the two of you had laid down. “I’ll make sure to be as fast as I can, kay?”

Milo kissed the top of your head with a smile. “As long as you promise.”

“Pinky promise.”

The seeing off was... difficult. Your family had to yell at you that they were going to miss their flight back to Kalos if you kept holding onto Milo. And while you were gone, Milo could feel a small void in his heart growing bigger. It wasn’t until about a year later that you suddenly appeared at his farm, asking if you could help with the workload. Everyone in town could see the light return to Milo’s eyes, clearly evidenced by it being one of the biggest smiles he’d given since you left.

And this time, you promised you were here to stay.

#milo #milo pokemon #gym leader milo #milo x reader #milo fluff #pokemon #pokemon swsh #pokemon writing #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh writing #pokemon swsh imagines #pokemon imagines #fluff #pokemon fluff fic #pokemon fluff #like just about as fluffy as a wooloo lol

208 notes · View notes

snowingstarlight · 4 years

Text

Slip and Fall

AO3 Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya Tag: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending TW: Suicide Attempt Chapter One: Kill The Actor

Who am I? Who am I trying to be? Not myself, anyone but myself. Living in a fantasy to bury the reality, Making myself the mystery, A strong facade disguising the misery. Empty, but beyond the point of emptiness, Full to brim with fake confidence, A guard that will never be broken, Because I broke a long time ago. I’m hurting but don’t tell anyone. No one needs to know. Don’t show or you’ve failed. Always okay, always fine, always on show. The show must go on. It will never stop. The show must not go on, But I know it will. I give up. I give up giving up. I am lost. I don’t need to be saved, I need to be found .

"Depression"

By Cara Delvigne

He felt like he was drowning; crushed underneath emotion he forgot he possessed.

It was the first emotion (did it classify as an emotion?) he felt when he awoke that morning; an empty blackness that filled his body and soul and crushed him beneath dark waves of the darker emotions he often repressed. It wasn't a common feeling, but it wasn’t rare either; but something about it was different this time around. The darkness that overtook him was heavier, deeper and so... so empty .

Dazai's breath hitched as he tried to calm himself; his heart pounding in his chest despite his own confusion as he tried to pinpoint the exact reason he was feeling like this. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes as he belatedly realized what emotion was trying to spill out; it was loneliness, an ever crushing sorrow engulfing his mind and soul - an emotion causing his bones to weigh down and ache.

It took some effort to reach up and scrub his eyes until the emotions that bubbled up were wiped away momentarily; not that he really tried to shove it away, and instead Dazai let himself fall deeper into the pit he called his own soul. He never had much energy to keep his own emotions at bay, not since he had left the Mafia anyways; and wouldn’t Odasaku like to see him like this? To see him embracing these emotions instead of shoving them away, down into the inky blackness that was his soul?

The Demon Prodigy had none, to the public at least. But Dazai Osamu that was a part of the Armed Detective Agency? He had more emotions than the man knew how to deal with, thus the suffocating.

Although, Dazai doubted that Odasaku would have liked to see how he dealt with them, as he skipped breakfast in favor of a cup of coffee that was hot enough to burn his tongue; rich enough in smell that it helped him evade the nausea that clogged his stomach from the fact he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and black enough he had enough energy in him to chuckle in pity of himself at comparing the color of the energy bean juice to his own soul.

It didn’t take any effort to slip on his usual mask as he dressed himself and left his apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him as he stepped into the crisp morning air; he had nothing worthy of stealing. His feet and legs felt heavy as he headed towards the office, hands shoved until his pockets as he moved through the crowd of people like a ghost. His mind was whirling far too fast for even himself to keep up with as he sidestepped a couple passing by; a side effect of a day like this. Usually, Dazi would allow himself to stay at home, shutting off his phone and barricading the door to keep Kunikida from charging in to drag him to the office, or he’d text that he wasn’t feeling well and would spend the day sleeping as much as he could in an attempt to force himself out of his darkened mood.

However there was something different about this empty lonely feeling that he hadn’t felt since he had joined the Agency. It was, fun , to say the least - The Agency, that was - and Dazai didn’t bother putting any extra effort into his suicide attempts other than creative ways that would annoy his coworkers and supposed friends, unlike when he’d been with the Mafia. Not that he ever tried, really, never having enough energy to pour into activities outside of work, unless you counted his numerous masks, but his own facades and masks no longer took effort to keep up; as they were a second skin to him now, compared to the ones he had in the Mafia - perhaps the Demon Prodigy had been the only one that had exhausted him.

Really, the most energy he spent on a daily basis was on his own mind as he tried to keep up with his own whirling cascades of thoughts and predictions as he stayed ten, twenty , fifty , a hundred steps ahead of his enemies, and even his own coworkers.

It was whenever Dazai awoke feeling like this- drowning underneath the ever crushing overwhelming and consuming feeling of loneliness that his masks would slip up a bit; that he’d allow himself to act a bit off.

Yet, not once had it seemed to be noticed.

Not once had it seemed like anyone cared Dazai wasn’t his usual self.

Because no one cared.

His mind drifted back to the dream he had awoken from, a blip forgotten in his memory - a rare occurrence for his photographic memory - but the feeling that had seeped from that dream and into the waking world was something Dazai couldn’t shake even as he settled into his desk-chair, giving his usual chirpy “Good morning everyone!”

He couldn’t remember who it had been - someone who had no name and no face that he could recall, but somehow he knew who it was anyways and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably - but he’d been important to them. Dazai’s lips twisted into a mournful smile as he set to typing up his reports he’d been ignoring for a while now; some odd weeks at the least.

A dream, that was all it was; he wasn’t important as a person to anyone, he could go missing and no one would notice - has done so a few times before, temporarily of course - not one of them that he was surrounded by had nor would care.

Suicide - killing himself - was something he joked about often, he was even humming his silly little suicide song now as he typed without much thought in it, too wrapped up in his own obscure thoughts, and yet none of them had noticed that part of the time he wasn’t even joking about it today - and Dazai would’ve made at least three by now. Certainly they’ve gotten used to his half-assed attempts at suicide, yet had none of them realized they’d saved him a few times from an actual attempt? Not that Dazai did that often, anymore, but the thoughts still lurked in the back of his mind, clawing and gnawing at the idea that he wasn’t enough - that all he was, was a burden on everyone.

Sitting there in his chair, typing idly but diligently away, he listened to everyone chatting around him which included Kunikida stopping once in a while to bark at them to get back to work. It was a completely normal office day, ixnay his suicide jokes nor Kunikida barking at him for too long, but Dazai felt more lonely than he had in… well, perhaps since he’d gone underground for those few years to wipe his record clean. Human interaction had been sparse then and more than once had he attempted to kill himself.

It never worked though, never for him. Only humans could succeed at suicide, and wasn’t he No Longer Human?

Dazai supposed it was odd to have a dream of committing suicide that wasn’t a burden to others. It was a secret he kept close to his heart since a childhood he never had been given, but he didn’t want to be a burden on others; even if he allowed himself to act like one so often. His work got done in the end, his debts paid, but every time he acted out, it was for attention; because even though it was bad attention, attention was still attention.

No one said anything when he skipped lunch, Kunikida leaving at noon exactly for his, Atsushi and Kyouka following him; none of them invited him along, but that was expected. He often was the one who invited himself along, although it was a bit disheartening - and didn’t that just add to his terrible mood? - that none of them spared him a glance when he didn’t get up to join them with his usual loud and boisterous persona, a smile forced upon his lips just in case one of them did. The Tanizakis were out for the day, and Kenji was on a case so his usual desk was clear of the teenager, the President hardly left his office unless he was needed, same for his assistants, and Ranpo had left along with Yosano for a shopping trip that was undoubtedly sidetracked by the detective’s sweet tooth.

Dazai’s reports were finished by the time the newest detectives were back from lunch, and Dazai himself was idly playing Solitaire on his laptop in an attempt to pass the time quickly, blatantly ignoring Kunikida with a strained smile on his face as his partner screamed at him for ignoring work. There was no smart-ass reply from the elder though, and that seemed to infuriate Kunikida further, but Dazai didn’t bother paying him any more attention than the casual glance once in a while to see if he had finished with his tantrum.

He refused to be a burden on others, but he still allowed himself to enjoy a moment like this; not that Kunikida knew he had finished his reports, or that he had them sitting in his email ready to send out tomorrow morning when he’d already be gone. It’d be too much of a burden on his partner if Dazai had left the paperwork he owed along with the paperwork for finding him dead inside of his apartment for Kunikida to go through; which made his heart weigh a little heavier as he sprang up and announced in such a falsely cheerful tone that he was done for the day in what he assumed was the middle of Kunikida’s rant.

Not that any of them would notice his tone was off, none of them had before, so why would they start now? The only one who had been able to read him so clearly… he didn’t want to think about him at the moment.

Dazai forced himself to whistle a thoughtless tune as he pulled on his coat, ignoring the pang in his heart as his gaze got caught the color for a moment and his mind went to another person; someone who would’ve flourished within the Agency, a person whom Dazai was just a bad imposter of. All Dazai was… all he was, was someone who was living the life he - that Odasaku - should have been.

He flew down the staircase before anyone could even attempt to stop him; he didn’t want to read their emotions that they all wore so easily on their sleeves - except for Kyouka, perhaps (Ane-san was such a hardass with emotion training, not that it seemed to stick for someone else) - and it was easy enough to ignore the ladies’ shocked expressions and exclamations in the cafe as he paid his tab in full. Undoubtedly they were surprised, with how much trouble he gave them on paying back his debt, but Dazai’s mind was whirling out of his control again and he found his feet padding down familiar streets within a blink of an eye, no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

How long had he spaced out to get across town?

The sun was beginning to set, the orange glow eerie instead of comforting as the shadows around him grew longer alongside the voices in his head growing louder. Dazai’s heart was thumping in his throat, breathing growing erratic instead of the usual calm that unsettled his foes and - and oh, he was at Odasaku’s grave.

Instead of sitting against the grave - as if Odasaku was there with him - as he usually did, Dazai stood above it, hazel eyes trained on the name carved into the stone. Usually it wasn’t this hard to speak to his friend, but this time Dazai’s tongue sat heavy in his mouth and his throat was tight as he tried to find the words he wished to say.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing out, eyes closing as Dazai inhaled slowly, the smell of the autumn leaves and drying grass wafting through his nose before exhaling harshly through his mouth. “Odasaku… I tried to become a good man like you said… but I cannot carry on any longer.” Lips twisted into a sham of a smile. “What good is it, or rather, how can I be the kind of person who can help people, when I cannot even help myself? You would know, wouldn’t you, old friend?”

Oda would know exactly what to say to him, what to tell Dazai to cheer him up or set him back upon the path of becoming someone who could walk easily on the side of light... but a dead man could not utter a single word, and it wasn’t long before Dazai found himself walking the streets of Yokohama, the world around him washed out and dull in color as he made one stop for a bottle of whiskey that cost him a year’s worth of pay at the Agency before heading to his apartment, a plan that been forming and changing since that morning finally firmly settled in his mind.

Cleaning his apartment didn’t take any longer than he expected it to, the empty bottles of sake and empty or half-eaten cans of crab shoved into trash bags, floors swept and mopped until they shone, along with his multitude of books stacked nicely into a corner, away from his mattress where he sat now - his back pressed against the cold wall behind him as Dazai nursed the newly opened bottle of whiskey.

It wasn’t like Dazai owned much, anyways - except for his books, perhaps. He’d been so bored those two years he’d taken the time to read book upon book, and even though he had them memorized and hadn’t read one a second time, he didn’t have it in him to just throw or give them away. His walls were bare of any art, the mattress pressed against the wall had only sheets and one blanket, a few pillows so worn down they were nearly completely flat were stacked at the head, and a pad sat on the floor next to the mattress, his farewell note written on there along with his wishes for with who he wanted his books to end up.

It had been tempting to stop by Lupin, as he often did on these sorts of days, but it was to bid his final farewells this time, and he wanted to stop looking at the ghosts of his past just for one moment in an attempt to stop the hurt . Odasaku and Ango had been the only ones he had considered a friend at the time, and Oda had gone and left them already with such horrible parting words to Dazai, and the thought of seeing Ango again, if the man allowed a moment of his time for the ex-mafioso… it had his blood boiling under his skin and Dazai took a hefty swig of the bottle to try and drown the anger away with the burning in his throat as the rich liquid slid down his throat.

During his two years in hiding, there had been the terrible days when Dazai would curl up in his hotel room crying, silent as a mouse as his chest would ache and fingers trembled as they dialed a well-used number in his phone. He’d press his phone close to his ear as he curled into a ball in the bed, listening to the voicemail message Odasaku had left - his number bought by Dazai right before his sudden disappearance from the Mafia, and he left everything alone besides paying the bill religiously for nights like these.

One rare terribly bad night, he had ended up dialing Ango’s number - it had rung once, twice, before heading to voicemail and Dazai had nearly broken his own phone in anger at knowing Ango was avoiding him. He had just wanted to talk - wanted to desperately understand, to get some closure, but Ango was denying him that and it hurt and Dazai didn’t know how to deal with hurt by himself.

His apartment looked so little used, that it ought to belong to a ghost in his opinion. “I suppose it may now, hm?” The idea of coming back as a ghost was a terrible one, but perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as where Dazai knew he’d end up - for there was no way someone like him would get into heaven. A sigh fell from his lips as he raised the bottle in his hand to his chapped lips and took another swig, but didn’t swallow.

Swishing the mouthful of whiskey around in his mouth, Dazai’s gaze moved from his oddly empty apartment to where his closet was, the door open and the few clothing hung inside was in plain view.

His black coat he had inherited from Mori - and had told the mafia leader he’d burnt - was what his amber hues settled on first, and a faint but true smile slowly stretched across his lips as a certain redhead he’d been forcing himself not to think of he finally allowed to cross his mind. “Chibikko will open a bottle of Pétrus at hearing I’m finally dead, although I am sure he’d be pissed it wasn’t himself that ended me.” Truly not a bad way to go, but Dazai knew that his ex-partner would forever be haunted by it if he ever truly carried out his meaningless threats.

Chuuya, he was the only one who Dazai was certain would care if he was gone, for a while at first. Certainly he’d get over his death in time, but the fact that he would have no way out of Corruption if he ever needed to use it would always have Chuuya caring about it.

He could recall a time when Chuuya would be breaking his apartment door down during a day (or night) like this, manhandling Dazai into his own apartment across the building and shoving him into the bed that was far too big for someone as small as Chuuya - or so Dazai would tease whenever he was feeling up to it. However, times like those, was when Chuuya would let Dazai fall apart and stayed there to help put the pieces of his shattered mind back together without question - never prompting Dazai to tell him what he didn’t feel comfortable saying.

Dazai always ended up telling the chibi anyways, because Chuuya was one of the two people Dazai felt comfortable enough with to open up. Yet, in one single night he’d lost both those people - Oda to death, and Chuuya on his own accord by leaving the Mafia behind.

He didn’t blame Chuuya for hating him - if their roles were reserved quite honestly Dazai knew he’d likely feel the same - for he knew Dazai as well as Dazai did, perhaps even better, and Dazai loathed himself for a number of reasons he couldn’t - wouldn’t - put into words.

Mori would be disappointed that their little game of chess they'd been playing since the death of the old boss would end. Akutagawa… his mafia protege would likely be upset it was something as simple as pills that ended up killing him, and that thought was enough to have Dazai chuckling somewhat humorlessly as he took a sip from his bottle, humming delightedly as his thoughts drifted and his heart gave a little twinge of happiness at knowing that they would care enough about his end to celebrate - or fume - it.

Kouyou would be glad that the Lad would be gone to leave her Boy alone, she never had cared for Dazai anyways - and he knew it. His soul was far too dark, it scared her… it scared a lot of people who had been able to see that side of him; except perhaps Hirotsu. The elderly man had been (and was still, Dazai assumed) oddly fond of the Soukoku placed under his care, even if they were his superiors. Would the man miss him? Dazai didn’t know.

From one coat to another did his gaze next settle upon the sandy one that he’d bought a handful of days after Oda’s death to attempt to match the man - his feeble attempt at trying to match his own wishes with Odasaku’s. His mind drifted from the Mafia to the Agency, another swig taken at knowing they’d congratulate him for finally achieving his dream of committing suicide.

Dazai hoped that Kunikida would be pleased at being re-partnered, potentially with someone who actually cared about their paperwork being on time and someone who was almost as punctual as he was. Kenji, Junichirou and Naomi weren’t people he hung around all that often at or outside of work so he didn’t know exactly how they’d react, but undoubtedly they’d enjoy the bit of peace and quiet his death would bring.

Yosano and Ranpo were the two Dazai would miss most; certainly Kunikida was his partner and he’d miss messing with him, but Yosano and Ranpo were the two that Dazai had gotten closest to. Perhaps it was Yosano’s own history with the Mafia and Ranpo’s ability (or rather, his non-existent ability) to deduce anything by a glance that he’d been drawn to, but Dazai silently cherished those moments with them; sitting quietly in Yosano’s office on the bad days when his mind was screaming too loud, exchanging sweets with Ranpo while watching the latest drama in the office unfold in front of them...

“I’m getting sentimental.” Dazai chuckled weakly, his thoughts going to his pupil; little Atsushi. Oh how he’d grown in person since he had dragged him out of the river, successfully spoiling Dazai’s most recent actual suicide attempt; he’d been distracted long enough afterward to be actually curious and defected from the idea of trying to kill himself for a while by looking after Atsushi. Sadly, his pupil had grown enough and was obviously tired of Dazai’s weird way of showing his affection, and had stopped taking him seriously.

At least the boy would have Kyouka after this; and Dazai knew she’d grow to be the person he never could. Lying in the murky waters, she would drift to the lighter side while he endlessly waded where he was; torn between the darker waters and the light ones.

Fukuzawa… was a hard one to read, the man hadn’t fully trusted him for the longest time after Dazai had joined. Not that be blamed him; he had been a suspicious person, no background and getting in by the word of Chief Taneda, well, that had made things worse.

No one but Kunikida had listened to him at first, and still it was only now that they were cooperating and needed someone with a lot of inside information on the organization that they finally listened properly to Dazai.

Dazai had been the Port Mafia’s strategist; Mori-san’s right hand man. No one had dared to not listen to him when it came to planning, although they questioned the hows and whys, they never had not followed through with one of his plans, pulling them off almost flawlessly. Chuuya had been the only one who ever defied any of them, and that was a rare occasion when something had gone wrong.

The people at the Agency had never listened fully, reacted far too quickly to emotion and senselessness. If it had come to an all-out war with the Mafia, they stood a chance by sheer will and Ability alone, but in the end they’d be wiped out at some point.

At the Agency there hadn’t been a need for schemes or planning, though his mind was put to good use figuring cases out, but it wasn’t the thrill he’d gotten used to at the Mafia. After a while, after his beginning with silly schemes and the incident with the Azure Messenger, he had stopped trying to plan with them in it directly; instead choosing to wrap his schemes and plans around them, putting other plans in motion to cause them to react in the way that Dazai knew how to get them to.

Because no one cared enough to listen, although he sometimes cared far too much about them.

He sighed as he slowly lowered the bottle of whiskey - half gone already - to pick up a bottle of sleeping pills he had nicked from Yosano’s stash a while back. She either hadn’t noticed they were gone (he had placed a similar bottle filled with ibuprofen in its place) or hadn’t said anything about it if she had.

Quite honestly, Dazai was still surprised that Fukuzawa was still placing his trust in him, even after it had come out that he’d been a Mafia Executive only a handful of years ago. Whether or not Fukuzawa knew that Dazai had been the Demon Prodigy - handpicked by Mori to succeed him at some point or another - or half of the infamous Port Mafia dou Soukoku, he didn’t know, but either way he’d begun to tread carefully around the President in case he had a change of heart.

His finger stroked the bottle for a moment before in a swift movement he had the lid popped off. Without hesitation Dazai brought the open bottle of pills to his mouth, pouring as many as he could fit into his mouth before swapping one bottle for another - grimacing at the dry taste of the pills - and drowning the pills in whiskey. It took only one other time before the pill bottle was empty, and he sat it aside as he fished over the edge of the mattress for his old phone he’d kept for reasons like this.

It wouldn’t be too long until the pills kicked in, and he’d get the painless death he so sought, but before then… before then, he’d like to hear Odasaku’s voice one last time. One last nice thing for himself, perhaps.

Scrolling quickly through his contacts, Dazai smiled grimly at the name in his contact list that he dialed far more often than anyone else before closing his eyes, tapping the call button and raising the phone to his ear.

“This is Sakunosuke Oda... why Dazai insisted on having me create this voicemail, I have no idea, however I cannot reach the phone right now, so feel free to call again later, or leave a message… now how do I turn this off?”

Was what he had been expecting to hear after hearing the phone ring to the end.

"What the fuck do you want, Mackerel?"

Was not what he’d been expecting, he hadn’t even heard the noise of the phone call being answered.

Dazai startled in surprise at hearing Chuuya’s voice, eyes opening in a flash and the bottle of whiskey nearly slipped from his hand. Instead he forced it to close tightly around the neck of the bottle, biting back his instant remark of surprise he forced the cheer into his voice. “Ahh, so the Slug did pick up after all! What a good doggy!”

He must’ve hit Chuuya’s contact name instead of Oda’s - it was right beneath the other - and now he just needed to annoy his ex-partner enough to end the phone call without letting on what was going on; not that he believed that Chuuya would come running to his rescue, but Dazai didn’t want to let on that he was dying and just wanted to hear Odasaku’s voice...

Hearing Chuuya’s was almost soothing, though.

“I’m not your dog, shitty Dazai!” Came the predicted bark, which had Dazai laughing into the cell.

“Of course you are! I say jump and you say how high after all! Though, I don’t think Chuuya could jump all that high, he is so small after all.” How he missed their constant teasing and bickering; it had been so fun to rile Chuuya up, knowing that Chuuya let him - although the reasoning behind it had always evaded the strategist.

“What the fuck did you say about my hight?! You know what, never mind. Why the hell did you call? It’s been four years , asshole.”

And how many times between then and now had Chuuya called him? How many voicemails (that Dazai could never bring himself to listen to) had Chuuya left for him? And this was the first time he had ever called the number back.

How much he wanted to say it was a slip of a finger, but then Chuuya would question why he had his old mafia phone out and-

“Maybe I just missed you, my doggy! Didn’t you miss me ?”

“What the fuck? As if! Like hell I wou-”

It was almost poetic, Dazai mused, here he was likely dying, but he never felt more alive than now; it had always been that way. For as much as he wanted to die, how empty and lifeless he felt back in the Mafia, he had never felt more alive than when he was talking to Chuuya - seemed that extended beyond their Mafia days.

Ever since the moment they had met, Dazai had been interested in his elder who, as a stark contrast to himself, had been so full of life . He had found himself falling out of his masks and persona around Chuuya so easily and quite often, yet never once had Chuuya made fun of him for it- for slipping up, or falling apart around the redhead. Chuuya… he had stayed and watched out for him, taking care of him when he fell apart… and Dazai had foolishly left that behind.

Just thinking about it made his chest hurt, or was that the drugs mixing with the alcohol? Dazai couldn't tell anymore.

It was beginning to become a struggle to stay awake, Dazai belatedly noticed; the bottle of whiskey slipped out of his hand and before he could catch it it had hit the floor with an audible crack; Chuuya's rant against missing him and threats of hanging up the phone paused momentarily. "What the fuck was that?"

"Just a mess I'll clean tomorrow," Dazai lied, his words slurring and he frowned as he realized his breathing was slowing. "I'm getting…” He hesitated, uncertain why. “I'm tired." It wasn’t an exact lie, it was getting harder to think and to process whatever Chuuya was trying to say, as if it was being ran through some language he barely knew. "I… sing to me?" He wanted to hear Chuuya's voice for as long as he could, and Dazai knew the slug could sing and well.

It seemed like it would be a nice farewell.

"Have you been drinking whiskey?" Dazai let himself indulge in the idea that there was a hint of concern in Chuuya's voice as he hummed a confirmation. Chuuya knew as well as he did that he drank sake to sleep, and whiskey to drown.

"Sing ?" He pleaded quietly instead of answering, feeling his eyelids begging to close. It was, so very selfish of him to ask - no, to make Chuuya be a part of his final moments after years of everything he'd done to the elder. But Dazai was a selfish person, he knew he always had been and always knew he would be to the very end… he couldn't confess to himself that he felt guilty for this as well.

"Oi, Dazai-" Chuuya's voice was weaving in and out of his head, words mashing together and no longer fully registering, the words like distorted noise - if he didn’t know what was happening, he’d have assumed he’d been dunked under water. Dazai nearly dropped the phone as he slouched against the wall, just stubborn enough to keep the phone up to his ear.

"Chuuya." He cut off whatever Chuuya had been in the middle of ranting. It was getting so hard to concentrate enough to speak, was this his last moment of clarity before it was all over?

He wanted to thank his old partner for being here, in his final moments, for caring enough to pick up the phone despite how many times he hadn’t when Chuuya had tried. He wanted to thank him for bickering with him like they used to before… before Dazai lost Oda, before he had lost sense of himself in those emotional days and ruined their partnership; cutting the ties they had, them being so close to each other, so very harshly that those ties were now irreparable.

Chuuya still trusted him with his life, yes, he’d proven that when they had gone up against Lovecraft and the Executive had allowed himself to use Corruption, but that was the extent of it. Not to mention how mad Chuuya must still be for not taking him to the extraction point, months ago that had been.

Dazai couldn't focus enough to express just how much Chuuya still trusting him meant to the detective. Couldn't focus on even attempting to explain his scattered thought pieces - mind still whirling even in his last moments, thoughts screaming at him so loud it hurt his ears; refusing him the chance of a quiet death.

At least it was painless physically, even though his heart ached with every stuttering beat.

He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded… divine.

"Chuuya... Goodnight."

"Osamu?!"

#BSD #Bungou Stray Dogs #Soukoku #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Fanfic #My Writing #and here i am now late #whoops #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: suicide attempt

16 notes · View notes

blaster-aichi · 4 years

Text

Cardfight!! Vanguard Extra Story IF 16 things

forgot to post this, heck

Fanguard’s dream of actual hobo Kai-kun sleeping on Bench-chan is finally realized

There’s a lot of Kamui and Shin instinctively having feelings true to the true reality and mismatched to IF’s world. There’s two possibilities for this: a) Aichi did a really shitty job nailing down everything due to his concentration being focused primarily on Kai-kun b) the rupture from the illusion around Kai-kun unravelling tore into the IF world as a whole and it’s unable to entirely maintain its story, allowing for instances like Morikawa recalling Kai-kun’s line from Reboot’s first episode or Kamui and Shin recognizing Kagero as a clan expected of him.

The Kamui/Morikawa interactions were really cute, it’s nice to see them butting heads and just being rambunctious kids

Izaki sank the Miyaji Kai-kun theory, curious what he’s like at school in this form.

The ferocity of his original memories invading and scaring him having a lasting impact and making him afraid to play again even a couple/few days later is both fascinating and gutwrenching.

Honestly very surprised that Shin would reprimand anyone for being loud, particularly when that’s Misaki’s thing and where are you hiding her?

The softer he is, the more heartbreaking his situation is in the grand scheme of things, even if he’s come to terms with it. How dare you, Bushi.

IF 15: [roasts himself]. IF 16: [literally roasts a nerd]

Love and hate how the opportunity to elaborate and delve into Kai-kun’s relationship with Dragonic Overlord is taken advantage of because why not just stab me instead? It��s a nice insight into a facet of his time away from Hitsue that was never truly touched on in either version prior.

Emi and Shingo become Fanguard.

Right eye sighted. But being it’s Shingo's recollection of Aichi, not yet willing to buy that it’s completely normal with the fact that, beyond this and his encountering Shuka, it’s remained hidden — the purpose of the shot itself was to establish Shingo isn’t remembering things correctly, so there’s no reason to believe that he’s aware of anything that might be different about it. — This could be reflected in how Aichi keeps his distance from the others, holed up in his private quarters and suffering with only Kourin seeming to be anywhere near him during such times. It’s reminiscent of Legion Mate, both in his trying to shoulder everything alone/hide the agony he’s going through and Kourin’s close proximity, standing as his right hand in a manner that no-one else fills. — Also to go with the Legion Mate topic, in this moment, IF Aichi gives off VoidAichi vibes. Despite how broken up it’s apparent he would and should be to exile himself (see V epi 21 and the flashback to him watching the others in Card Capital from Legion Mate), he shows no emotion, but rather seems completely numbed. Also probably looking waaaay too far into it, but 2/2 times when his face has been completely obscured, there’s been a stylistic choice beneath his eyes that is typical of exhaustion/strain/fatigue and it keeps worrying me.

IF 17

The preview gives the impression that this episode is about to be a turning point; that with Naoki and Shingo both having some understanding that things aren’t quite right, their loyalty to Aichi might start to wane.

Naoki’s going out in his Miyaji school uniform has alarm bells ringing, personally, for reasons elaborated below.

Never knew that needed Kai-kun working a part-time job in my life but boy is it a need now.

Here for Mamoru reigniting his fandom for Kai-kun. Very here for it.

IF vs. V 21

As a first note, Kai-kun being the one to separation between Aichi and his deck against their IF selves has a nice touch of irony to it. Calling back to it would be a powerful way of drawing on their positions in relation to the scene.

Considering just how badly Aichi freaked out over the idea of giving up his Royal Paladin deck and what it would force unto him, there’s little reason to suspect anything that’s happening in IF is really of his own free will. — It’s been brought up that, without the two meeting as kids, Aichi shouldn’t really have much knowhow about Vanguard, much less a relationship to it. Considering Kai-kun remained a Hitsue student, it’s an easy assumption to make that Aichi’s education followed the same pattern (though his reasoning for returning to Miyaji remains a mystery, with his lacking the confidence that his original reality/Outside World self had); his exposure to the game might come through his time in Middle School, but it’s a loose and distant connection at best. IF World Aichi, without knowledge of Outside World (if they are two separate versions), would have no reason to target Vanguard over anything else.

As Void and Star-Vaders aren’t a facet of the Reboot continuity, a theory that had in mind for a while is that a remnant of Brandt may have seized the moment when Aichi was Deleted and been festering away in the same manner as the Link Joker Seed. A previous post detailed the mindfuckery involved to break Aichi enough that he would turn on the game, particularly given how fearful he was of relinquishing it and the isolation it would return him to — the very circumstances he’s imposed upon himself (but far worse, in exiling himself from the real world). Though he’s a selfless boy and Kai-kun means an enormous amount to him, it simply doesn’t make sense that he would willingly go down this road.

Rather he’s mind has been twisted so much to believe in what he’s now doing or he’s being controlled by something of Brandt (as we’d never confirmation it was no longer a threat), if not some other force (though to introduce a new one at this stage in both the franchise and the reboot continuity with OverDress around the corner would be a peculiar choice).

Couple of theory things, feat. one really out there idea:

Naoki:

Naoki’s actions in the preview might be glimpses of him starting to break away from Aichi’s will; not with malicious intent, but rather the opposite.

The line of thinking goes as so: as he and Shingo come to realize their memories have been tampered with, Naoki seeks out Emi and Shuka, obtaining Blaster Blade with the intent of returning to the point in time where Aichi should have received it. Among the screencaps Bushiroad has released, one shows a young Naoki and Aichi, who’s holding a card — rather than allowing the event to play out as it should have, Naoki intends to give Aichi the card himself.

In doing so, Aichi can begin down his path that liberates him from the crushing loneliness that he endured prior to actively playing the game, or in the case of IF, running away from home. Simultaneously, Naoki himself is freed from the guilt that’s shackled him in both continuities about not doing anything to help Aichi, as the Reboot has demonstrated how he yearned to at the time but was too late to make any move. This is his means of doing so and atoning for a reality when he failed.

When Emi, Shuka and Kai-kun would recognize him as the one who threatened the latter’s parents plus Suiko (and Ibuki) would be familiar with him as normal, there’s not a clear reason why he would forgo his Sanctuary Knight uniform for a civilian look other than to avoid attracting the attention of bystanders.;(It might be overthinking it to speculate there being anything more to it than this, but when has that ever worked?) — Granted this is under the assumption that he would be able to leap through the timeline though Jammers of earlier episodes were capable of doing so, none of the enemy’s core have made any such move yet. And the consequences of doing so; if Aichi’s suffering is the result of IF World unravelling, then Naoki venturing to alter the timeline further may, in fact, cause him more harm than any good he may intend.

2.5 hours later edit: Courtney just shared the epi synposis and FUCK

Alternatively, Naoki might regain glimpses of the Psyqualia Zombie arc and see himself beating Aichi, leading to Destiny Conductor being able to control him and his eventual Deletion by Ibuki’s hand.

On the one side, it reinforces Aichi’s feelings that Vanguard is something they shouldn’t come into contact with, but Naoki could see it otherwise. He harbours guilt over being the catalyst for those instances, piling on top of his failure to reach out when they were in elementary school, spurning him to go back and redo everything so that he can always protect Aichi, not to embody anguish that the other goes through.

It would also strengthen a hostile opposition towards Ibuki, whose past sin comes back into play. He might throw the event in his face as a means of trying to dredge up his old feelings towards Vanguard and sway him to resist setting things right, whenever/however it is he’s released from wherever Aichi sent him and depending on what he experiences there.

Kourin:

Where we are currently feels very much like the “Sera’s betrayal leading to the Quatre Knights’ dissolution” point. Sera and Rati clashed with one another personally, Gaillard joined with Kai-kun and Naoki, Neve opposed VoidAichi directly — Naoki’s actions in the preview might be glimpses of him starting to break away from Aichi’s will. Though Naoki’s intentions are ultimately to save Aichi from the position he’s stuck in, it’s ultimately defying him — a far cry from what has been shown of the Knights, thus far, who have been fiercely loyal to him, which makes this sort of movement striking.

Miwa also doesn’t appear best pleased in the preview. As someone whose best friend was nearly killed as a result of Aichi’s orders — a friend at risk now that he’s taking a stance against the group’s status quo — there’s every reason for him to defect for the sake of preventing another (and possibly actually fatal) incident. It’s very possible that It’s entirely possible that, in similar vein to Legion Mate, the collapse of the Knights will leave only Kourin by Aichi’s side, who’ll serve as the last line of defence.

Mamoru & Tokoha / Aichi & Emi:

It wasn’t touched on during Nagisa and Gouki’s episode, but the dynamic of older brother and younger sister has the potential to crop up here, as well as the chance to contrast the Sendous’ current selves with the Anjou siblings (and the former’s past).

— Not to mention how Mamoru and Aichi are polar opposites, at the moment in regards to their sisters in danger. Mamoru gambled with his life to keep Tokoha safe in the Dragon Empire attack of the original continuity, and anyone could see Aichi would do the same, but IF Aichi is the one who would inflict harm upon Emi, made clear by his soldiers’ attack on her and Shuka when they attempted to enter the past. Maybe, inadvertently, Tokoha might be put in jeopardy and Mamoru propelled to protect her in the same way, bringing about the behaviour of the two versions of her brother that Emi knows in the same situation.

Give me 11-year old Tokoha to mirror 11-year old Emi at the start of each continuity and drive this home.

And most importantly:

DRAGONIC OVERLORD ARMOUR

#Cardfight!! Vanguard #Cardfight!! Vanguard IF #cfv spoilers #give me Alfred Aichi vs DO Kai kun sword fight #better yet give me Alfred Aichi vs BB Emi AND DO Kai kun fight #also free Misaki 2k20 #long post

11 notes · View notes

neekaasaddie · 4 years

Text

Silver Chevy Silverado Part 2

Everything is more quiet in the mornings. The air is fresher and cooler because it’s had all night to cleanse itself and there’s a distinct stillness that sweeps the environment an hour before the sun rises that’s never present in the night. It’s like a reset button is pressed and the humans in my neighborhood are quietly booting up for their day while in their beds. What if we’re all robots and when we sleep, we’re just rebooting?

I hear a car door open in the distance.

It’s easier to think in the mornings, too. You don’t have all the thoughts and events from the day nagging at you incessantly and weighing you down. Sometimes, when I wake up from a bad dream or one where my crush actually likes me back, I wake up in a pensive mood–– but other than that, I feel like a clean slate every time I open my eyes.

“You’re an early riser,” observes a familiar voice. I jolt to attention and see someone sitting in a silver Chevy Silverado with the door swung wide open and a pair of legs dangling out. It sinks in that I had scaled up the hill, which my house sits on top of, in a thoughtful daze. My mind was wandering in an endless spiral––but my body is here.

Oh my God, it’s him. I snap back to reality. “I could say the same for you,” I reply casually, folding my arms in front of my chest in a futile attempt to feel less vulnerable.

“Yes, but I have to go to work, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need an excuse to be up early,” I insist. “And if you have to go to work, why are you just sitting in your truck?”

“I like to drink my coffee, smoke and catch up on the news before I go. It’s kinda my routine,” he explains as he grabs his coffee mug from the dash.

“Hm, and I like to walk around my block in the mornings. That’s kinda my routine.”

“Oh, sassy,” he smirks, taking a sip of coffee out of the large, plain-white mug. Our eyes remain locked as he does so, just like when I took the cigarette with my lips last time we spoke. His golden-brown tanned skin creates the illusion of his iris’ being translucent as his almond shaped, pale-green eyes gaze into mine. He has faint light-brown freckles speckling his face. How have I never noticed them before?

Then it occurs to me. “Wait, did you just adopt this routine now? Because I’ve been walking every day for the past six months at the same time and I’ve never seen you.”

“I usually come out after you’ve finished your walk,” he pauses, takes a sip of coffee again, and smiles as he says, “How are you up so early?”

I roll my eyes. “I just get up early, okay?”

“Aren’t you like eighteen?” he asks in a condescending chuckle.

“Nineteen,” I snap, taking a step closer to him and the silver Chevy Silverado. “I’m nineteen.”

The previously sweet scent of musky vanilla finds me again but this time, it’s nauseating. Something about the tone of his voice rubs me the wrong way.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims in a dramatic near-shout. “Tell me what nineteen year old voluntarily wakes up at five-thirty in the morning.” His head flings back with the mug glued to his lips as he retrieves the final drop of coffee from the bottom of the mug.

I feel embarrassment crawl up my throat. “Me!” I exclaim defiantly. “I do,” I say as I point my index finger at my chest, jutting my head towards him. A familiar scent immediately harrasses my nose, but it’s not vanilla, weed, or tobacco. I sniff audibly.

“Is that alcohol?” I ask incredulously.

“Irish coffee,” he replies casually, raising the mug in the air in faux cheers.

“Ah,” is all I can say as I stand there dumbfounded. It smells pretty strong to me–– how can he drink that stuff so early in the morning? “I still don’t understand how waking up early is so odd.”

He sets the mug down on the dashboard. “Waking up early isn’t odd, you just generally don’t see it amongst the people in your age group.”

“Oh, right. Sorry Professor Pedo, I forgot you got your PhD in teenaged girls. How old are you again? Fifty-four?”

“Twenty-seven but that’s irrelevant.”

“Oh is it?”

“Yes it is. Now tell me, for research purposes of course, what causes you to wake up at such an early hour?” he asks, stroking an imaginary beard.

I flash a dumb smile and humor his question. “Like I said, I like to walk before the sun rises.”

“Profound!” he says, making a pack of Camels appear in his palm in one swift motion. He hops out the driver’s seat, leans against his truck, and places a cigarette on his lip. “And what time do you sleep to wake up at this hour?”

I feel my cheeks get warm. I look down at my pristine white sneakers and whisper, “Nine o’clock.”

“Wow, you’re truly an abnormality in the teen world,” he says flatly as he lights the cigarette hanging limply from his mouth.

I feel my cheeks get red hot with anger now rather than embarrassment. Would it kill him to be nice to me for one second?

I decide to shift the conversation away from my atypicality. “If you’re gonna shit on me, you might as well give me a cigarette.”

He folds his arms across his chest this time, his meadowy-green eyes squint accusingly. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

My cheeks get even hotter–– if that’s even possible. “Well…I don’t,” I reply candidly.

“Then why did you ask to bum one last time we talked?”

“Because you do it and it seems like a sociable thing to do,” I blurt before I can think. I clasp my hands behind my back to keep him from seeing them shake. “Considering my current state as an abnormality of human nature, I have to find every way I can to fit in.”

He ignores my reference to his previous rude remark. “Well you shouldn’t. I’m trying to quit,” he says dryly as he takes a drag.

“Quitting is for losers,” I say softly, kicking an insignificant pebble off of the dry light-gray asphalt road.

“Is that so, Old Wise One?”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Not for another five minutes.”

“God! Why are you even talking to me?” I spit with uncontrolled frustration. The razor bite of my own voice surprises me. “What?”

“I was just walking around my block totally spaced out and you could have let me walk right past you without me noticing or just sat in your truck whenever you normally do, but you chose to come out early and stop me and make me feel like shit––and I doubt it was to honestly critique my sleep schedule or point out my abnormalities.”

Our eyes meet and, while I imagine mine as raging and livid, his are cool and collected. My stomach sinks to the floor. This entire interaction has been incredibly off-putting. The way he spoke about my age and my so-called “abnormalities” was belittling. And while he did push my buttons about the best-friend-thing last time we spoke, he did so in an endearing, witty way. He’s just being a straight-up dick right now.

“Like I said, I like to get a rise out of you,” he finally responds with a twisted chuckle and takes a drag.

“Well I don’t appreciate being risen by my friend at six in the morning.”

“Who said we’re friends?”

Ouch. “Well obviously we’re not because you think I’m abnormal and make it a point to say it to my face.”

“Would you rather me say it behind your back?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question and, in turn, creasing his forehead.

“I think it’s been five minutes,” I reply flatly.

He glances at his phone, “It’s been exactly five minutes. At least your internal clock doesn’t seem to be abnormal.” He flashes a fake smile then hops into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and turns the ignition. I stand dumbfounded yet again–– in awe of his abrasiveness––until he rolls down his window and says, “See you around Old Abnormal One.”

“Drive safe Old Alcoholic One!” I shout as his car skids onto the road.

I stand in the same place he left me for quite some time–– watching his silver Chevy Silverado turn the corner, hearing him speed off to a distant land, and then standing solemnly in the still morning air, staring at the pebble I had kicked earlier.

I feel stuck.

I’m stuck in the same place I’ve always been and can’t move.

I can’t move.

An overwhelming wave of loneliness washes over me.

I have to move.

I trudge to my porch, feeling as if the balloon that grew inside of me every time I spoke to him just popped. The lead returns to the soles of my shoes and that heavy hollowness grows inside my chest once more.

#short story #fiction #teen story #story #silver chevy silverado #fantasy #part 2 #storytelling #irishcoffee #cigarette #cigarette aesthetic #cig

8 notes · View notes