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risingsouls · 2 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 43

[*leans in close to the mic* It’s begun.

A FEW WARNINGS GOING IN: BIG DEPRESSION TALK AND SOME SUICIDE MENTION.

I hope you all like depressed Vegeta because that’s what you get in this chapter. I am so happy to FINALLY be at this point because the seven year gap has so much potential good shit in it, and it’s a shame that even the FANDOM doesn’t seem to do it much justice or explore it with the proper magnifying glass it deserves. ESPECIALLY when it comes to Vegeta. So. I’m doing that, and it begins here.

Enjoy. And, as usual, find the rest of the fic and a few other things I’ve written @momowritesshit!]

Vegeta

The last time Vegeta experienced a despondency such as this, a sense of loss with any real depth and the beginnings of a directionless spiral into a pit of despair, was when he, Nappa, and Raditz had been assigned a mission near where their planet once floated in the cosmos in his late teens. When he jetted off to the coordinates ingrained within his mind to see the empty vacuum left behind for himself. To confirm the reality of his lost race and birthright. It was the last time he shed tears until his fall on Namek. But instead of stumbling deeper into the pit, he dug his claws into the wall through sheer spite. Outrage. A lust for vengeance that hinged on his speculation that the Saiyans did not fall to a meteor but a pitiless tyrant instead. Determination to restore the proper fear and respect to the Saiyan name.

This time, he couldn't reach the rage. Nothing motivated him like it used to. Kakarot did not return to the world of the living, for the prince never sensed his energy at the time Trunks's ki signature reappeared after the Cell Games. A decision made to protect the planet, according to his son who tracked him down earlier that day. He would not have the rematch and revenge he strived for since that fateful defeat on Earth, the same that began his continuous string of failures. His return would have meant little; Kakarot made it apparent he still surpassed the prince in his short bout with Cell. And now his son had advanced beyond his father, and even further beyond Vegeta's current limit. He had become a joke. No matter how hard he tirelessly trained, day in and day out, it was never enough; he was always edged out by Kakarot, his damn brat, or some other assailant that turned up.

He couldn't even find solace in the thought of killing Kakarot's friends anyway as he originally planned. He didn't even delight in the hypothetical daydreams of revenge he once sought on Earth's finest, let alone conjure them. Nothing served to ease the desolation that settled upon his consciousness.

Instead of restoring the Saiyan's name and influence, he simply made a mockery of everything his people stood for. He didn't deserve to claim the title of Saiyan prince. He didn't deserve to be called a Saiyan or mentioned in the same breath as the proud race of warriors. He didn't deserve to be called a warrior at all, let alone an elite one. He was nothing, a nobody, a sham, and a disgrace with nothing to live for.

Vegeta tested the knob of the front door to Nabooru's capsule house, and it turned easily in his hand. He pushed it open and carefully closed it behind him. Heightened sense of hearing picked up the shift of sheets and light footsteps in the hall and, before he could curse the instinctual flight pattern his body automatically chose, the click of a lightswitch preceded light flooding the living room in light too harsh on eyes that had been long adjusted to the night's darkness. He squinted, tail tight around his waist, and though his mind screamed at him to turn back, sneak into the sprawling complex of Capsule Corporation where he could take care of his business with less chance of being noticed, his boots remained fixed to the wood floor.

The Gerudo appeared equally surprised to see him standing two steps in her living room, for she stared with slightly parted lips and head tilted as if deciding if she dreamt of his arrival at such a late hour and his obvious avoidance of her and everyone else the last few days.

"Is everything okay?" she asked at last. She tightened her grip on the white silk of the robe she likely tossed on when she sensed him coming or heard him enter the house with one hand while the other tucked her crimson locks behind one ear. He couldn't even find it in him to sneer or feel insulted by the concern smeared over her visage and dulling her bright eyes. Perhaps he deserved to be pitied like some wounded animal dying from wounds inflicted by a predator who couldn't be bothered to kill it out of mercy.

"Did you need something? If you're hungry, there's some leftovers in the fridge. Plenty to drink, too."

He tried to scowl, but it felt weak and underwhelming. "I left a set of armor here." Maybe. He couldn't remember. Details had a funny way of escaping him in his current state. "I wanted to change."

She observed the ragged state his armor and battle suit were in and nodded. "If there isn't a set here, you're welcome to whatever clothes are in the guest room." She paused, twiddling with the sash at her waist with her free hand. "But maybe you should shower first? Or a bath might be easier."

It hadn't crossed his mind, much like most basic needs meant to keep him functioning. A shower sounded like far too much effort, even though he wasn't particularly fond of baths. The thought of sitting, though, brought his attention to the fatigue in his legs from standing for…how many days had passed? He didn't keep track. He didn't care.

"It might make you feel better, getting the grime off your body instead of just changing clothes," she added, already turning back toward the hall. She waved a hand for him to follow and disappeared around the corner. "You can use mine in the master bedroom. I had a bigger one installed and it's much nicer than the standard one that came with the house."

Normally, he would have stubbornly protested. Scolded her for coddling him and ordering him around. He might have even prodded at her to pick a small fight, just to see her temper flare up and to entertain himself with the challenge. But the simple thought of any of it drained him, and, before he knew it, he had trudged down the hall and passed through her bedroom to lean against the doorframe of the master bathroom, arms crossed loosely over his chest. A far bigger space than the guest bathroom, touting a full vanity sink, a shower stall, and a large bathtub.

Nabooru finished fidgeting with the hot and cold knobs and, after placing her hands beneath the steady stream of steaming water, she nodded her approval. "I'll go grab some towels and the soaps you've been using from the guest bathroom. Mine are pretty fragrant and might be too much for you." She strode back toward him, bare feet padding on the tile. "Are you hungry at all? Thirsty?"

Vegeta did little more than grunt a noncommittal response, shifting out of the doorway and kicking off his damaged boots and pulling off his torn gloves. It earned him a snort and she disappeared behind the door closed behind her. He tore off the ruined armor and peeled the royal blue battle suit away from his skin, the pungent scent of body odor assaulting his nostrils. He tossed the garments into the furthest corner of the room and kicked his boots and gloves, sending them skidding across the tile to join them. He made a mental note to simply destroy them, one he was sure he would forget anyway.

He crossed the room and slung his leg over the side of the tub and into the water, welcoming the scalding temperature she chose. A stark difference than the arctic chill of the mountain range in the far north he hid away in. He climbed in and lowered himself down into the water, sinking into it until all but his head and shoulders were submerged. He let himself slip all the way under, the pounding of the water filling the tub muffled, and found he could comfortably stretch out with room to spare. Only when his lungs started to ache and burn did he resurface. He had to ignore the tantalizing whisper of staying a little longer, until the universe went black.

Dark eyes settled on the door several seconds before it opened again, ears picking up the sound of her footsteps over the running water in the otherwise silent house. Nabooru ditched the robe and now donned a white tank top and orange shorts, a strip of her toned midriff exposed between the articles. Her arms were laden with several bottles.

"Good. You didn't drown yourself," she said, carrying the items over to him and ignoring the pointed narrowing of his eyes. A valid concern or not, a macabre jest or not, he didn't like that she realized something like that might and did cross his mind.

She lined the bottles along the lip of the tub. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash and, unsurprisingly, a bottle of water. She perched on the edge of the sink and stretched a leg out to rest her ankle on the edge opposite him. "Did Trunks find you today?"

"He did." The prince shifted. Though he had not spoken, he listened to his son spill his guts about, despite their rocky start, being glad he got to meet a version of his father. That he was still proud to be his son, even if he wasn't the man he imagined throughout his childhood. "He asked me to see him off tomorrow."

"Oh?" Nabooru leaned forward, hands gripping the marble sink top to keep herself from falling face first onto the tile. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Do you plan on going?"

Once more, he found he didn't have the energy to be properly annoyed with her incessant questions even if he wanted to be. The idea of coming up with a witty, sarcastic, or snappish retort required too much effort. The ever-pervasive numbness kept him at an emotional flatline. But, he supposed it was better than miserable.

"I'm considering it…" he answered at last, gaze pinned on the opposite wall. Though sifting through how he felt about fathering a child, or whether he cared to claim either iteration as his own and pretend that singular, foolish night of weakness never happened at all, still remained murky, the version who came from the future had earned his respect to a miniscule degree. As a warrior and as his son. Throughout his time in their era, Trunks more than proved his mettle in combat. When the teen finally stopped acting like a sniveling child desperate to have a father Vegeta could and would never be, the tension between them lessened, and it made it easier for the Saiyan prince to see who Trunks was. That he could be proud of his strength and his drive to defeat the androids in his own time at last.

Trunks hadn't outright requested he turn up the next day to see him off, another point for him in Vegeta's book. But the proposition was lightly suggested in his one-sided farewell from earlier that day. And since Vegeta couldn't find the words let alone the wherewithal to express them, somewhere in his broken mind he decided showing up physically at Capsule Corporation would suffice as a mediocre compromise to, hopefully, relay to Trunks that his father was proud of him after all, and that he sent him on with his best to deal with 17 and 18 in his time.

Nabooru's other foot joined the first on the end of the tub. "He'll be happy to have you there, I think." She leaned back into her palms. Several moments of silence ticked by, the background noise only notably changing when she turned the water off to prevent overflow. Finally: "Did he tell you about Goku?"

Vegeta flinched. Noticeably, instinctively. "Yes," he grunted, refusing to say more on the matter. He didn't want to talk about Kakarot's refusal to return to life, what that meant to him. When he didn't sense the other Saiyan's energy return along with Trunks's, he knew something had gone wrong. The reasoning behind what he found out was Kakarot's choice didn't matter. His prospects for revenge or proving himself or reclaiming his rightful place as the Saiyan prince and strongest in the universe had already taken a dramatic nosedive after the Cell Games, the impossibility of it, the gap that once again stretched all too wide between his power and Kakarot's, dampening his motivation to continue chasing that dream. What would have been a minor setback, a few days tops to himself to violently reawaken his passion and ambition again, to remind himself of his place and Kakarot's, turned to grim understanding that Kakarot would not return. And it became abundantly clear that his rematch with Kakarot had become his sole motivation for living. It was all that kept him going, and with that possibility gone…

His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling, his body slumping further beneath the water. The desire to dissolve into the water or scream or throw up or explode made a prominent comeback. He heard her feet hit the tile, her bare feet walking the length of the tub. He caught sight of her profile through his peripheral vision as she sat on the corner next to his head.

"I miss you, you know."

Vegeta's derisive snort almost surprised him; he was sure he didn't have enough care or energy to manage amusement or anything adjacent. "I didn't die."

"You might as well have."

Another wince. He had more trouble maintaining his usual aloof haughtiness, he was finding quickly. He more closely resembled a finicky rodent, leaping out of its skin at the first sign of a threat, than a proud Saiyan warrior and prince. Again, he considered fleeing. He despised her blunt truth. He didn't feel like himself. He didn't know who he was anymore. Maybe he never did. He may as well have died alongside Kakarot and joined the rest of his dead race in Hell.

"I think you understand my meaning now but…" When she trailed off his eyes finally drifted over to her. He envied how relaxed she looked. "I miss the strong, confident, ambitious, and determined Saiyan prince and formidable warrior I came to admire to some extent. And I'm not convinced he's not in there anymore."

"Do you ever get sick of believing such nonsense about me?" he snapped, gaze firmly fixing itself on the ceiling again. His jaw tightened, and his lip curled away from his sharp canines. Though, the anger was in no way directed at her, he knew. "How many times do I have to fail or fall short to make you see that the Vegeta you think you knew is dead or never existed?"

"I don't." Her voice remained conversational. Gentle even. But her eyes held a resolute stubbornness that dared him to argue with her. He didn't. Yet.

"I can't claim that I know you completely. In fact, I feel more confident saying I barely know you despite all we've been through and how long we've known each other and I'm sure that's by design." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "But what I do know is that those things I listed are still part of you even after Frieza and the universe has tried to rip them out of you. They may look different now and may look different still a few weeks down the road, but they're still part of you. I still stand by what I said on Namek: I want to see what you become outside of his influence and given the chance to just…live."

"I haven't served Frieza in nearly five years now," he retorted, the usual derisive tone he would use for such a statement uncharacteristically absent and replaced by a dispirited mutter. "If you're not satisfied with what you've seen yet, then you should give up on seeing improvement."

This is more likely to get worse, he wanted to add. It probably went without saying. Her faith in him, like it always had been, was severely misplaced. He struggled to think of a single facet in his life in which he hadn't failed. He couldn't save his people from destruction, let alone avenge them. He couldn't maintain his rightful place as the most powerful Saiyan in existence, surpassed easily by an Earth-raised softie and his spawn. He fell to every opponent he faced, not only making him weaker than another pair of Saiyans but others as well. He had nothing to show for years of slavery. No vengeance, no empire of his own, no undisputed power, nothing. And he had zero ambition or felt any draw to change any of it. His father would laugh and spit in his face over the pathetic excuse for a Saiyan his son had become. A disgrace to their line, the crown, and the entire Saiyan race. He should have been the one killed by Cell. Not Trunks or Kakarot. He should be the one insisting they didn't revive him should they try.

"No…you haven't." Her voice dragged him from his cyclical and self-deprecating mantra. "But you still replaced your obsession with killing Frieza with other ones: becoming a Super Saiyan and getting revenge on Goku and his friends."

He growled, eyes flicking to her and silently, desperately, willing her to get to the point. Or, better yet, to shut up entirely. Change the subject if anything else. She did none of those things.

"Point is, you went from one obsession to another. You may not have been ruled by Frieza anymore or driven by the need to kill him, but, since you had major tunnel vision when it came to surpassing and defeating Goku, nothing else mattered. There was no room in that big head of yours for anything else." Her index finger traced the lip of the tub next to her. "Basically, you were a slave to your own obsession. And sure, at least it was yours, chosen by you, but I feel it didn't let you figure anything out."

Another pause. She shifted in her seat, pulling her hair over her shoulder to save some of it from tumbling into his bath water. "And now that Goku's gone and not coming back…is it safe to say you have nothing left motivating you?"

He stared straight ahead again, acutely aware of the emptiness that took a firm root over the last few days. Again, her perceptiveness grated on his nerves. Old habits suggest he lie or tell her to mind her own business. Old habits lacked their typical influence.

"Yes," he answered bluntly, softly. It was more than that. More than simply Kakarot's absence shredding the ambition that drove him for the past four years or so to ribbons and engulfed them in flames. It was his brat surpassing him. It was his defeat at the hands of the androids, Cell, Frieza, the Ginyu Force. It was his failure to take the revenge he rightfully deserved for himself and his entire race. It was a loss and confusion surrounding his own identity and understanding of himself. It was uncertainty in what he wanted, what his future held. If he wanted to find out. It was the sudden, real reconciliation of the fall of the Saiyans. He was mourning it all at once because he never let himself do it in the past and it broke him.

Of course, he hadn't the faintest idea how to express any of this. Nor did he think he wanted to.

The single word hung heavy in the air, it's meaning and implications bouncing off the tiled surfaces in an awful echo. He grit his teeth and sank beneath the water to drown it out. Once again until his lungs begged to be refilled and resurfacing won out at the last second.

"I was here too, you know."

Vegeta turned his attention to her again. One leg crossed over the other, she rested her arms loosely over her knee and leaned into them. Gold eyes fixated on the wall behind him, or perhaps to the point in her past she mentioned.

"After Namek, I felt I had nothing to live for. Everything I did was dedicated to helping or protecting my people up to that point. In the force, I added freeing myself from it and helping you defeat Frieza if I couldn't do it myself so I could return to them. And in an instant, all of that was taken from me. I had nothing driving me and no will to live." She swallowed, though her expression remained largely neutral save for the flicker of a frown twisting her lips. "In fact, it felt like it would make more sense if I joined them in Hell, and being brought back was a curse to me. I broke completely under the weight of knowing I couldn't bring them back, that I couldn't save them, and that all the atrocities I committed to protect them from Frieza's cruelty was all for nothing. I didn't know who I was anymore, what I wanted, or if it even mattered."

"I remember."

How could he not? He was on top of the universe at that point in time, riding the high of Frieza's and Kakarot's death, even if they both survived in actuality. He was certainly on the verge of ascending himself and snatching the title of most powerful in the universe and beginning his reign of his own empire. But she hadn't been. Her moping and refusal to even celebrate Frieza's demise had pissed him off to some degree. She was a shell of herself, pitiable and pathetic. And he showed her zero empathy despite facing a similar situation himself in the past, dragging her out to train with him despite her refusals and low energy and making his thoughts on her depression more than apparent. And to top it off, he left her behind when, perhaps, giving her something to do might have helped her as his obsessions kept the darker emotions repressed deep within him. The truth of the matter was he didn't care; this was, after all, the first time he even thought back to that time with any depth.

No, he didn't show her a crumb of understanding back then. He didn't deserve her company or kindness now.

"I remember I was surprised to see you alive when I returned as well," he mused. Alive and with her spark returned, the fire in her eyes that he got caught up in more than a few times in their acquaintanceship. He snorted bitterly. "I'm more surprised now, considering."

She reached across the tub and grabbed the shampoo bottle. "It surprises me some days, too, if I'm honest." Her thumb grazed over the label as she pretended to read it. After a beat, she glanced at him again, the cap of the bottle pointed toward him. "Want me to help you wash your hair?"

Vegeta's growl was less annoyance with her than with himself for wanting to accept with little question. On top of the effort expended, he hadn't cared enough about his personal hygiene since before the Cell Games. His pride smarted at the thought of allowing someone to attend to a task as menial as this like he was some helpless child, but he couldn't find it in him to care about pride or much of anything he once defined as indisputable and unwavering. Never to be compromised. So, he nodded.

Nabooru stood and shifted behind him. He heard her flip the cap open and the exhale of air as she squeezed the soap onto her palm. He instinctively flinched when her fingers made contact with his scalp, his body tense all the way to his toes. She waited the several seconds it took for him to relax again–as much as he could manage, at least–the tips of her fingers working the faintly mint smelling soap to a lather.

His mind wandered back to where they left their conversation. His tongue and lips moved before he could stop the thoughts from forming words. "Why are you bothering to waste your time with this?" With me felt a more apt question, but he did manage to keep that to himself. "When you were in a state like this one, I offered shit advice and left you behind. If I were you, I would have told me to fuck off when I walked in the door."

He wouldn't have visited himself daily, either. Brought him food and water, even if he knew he wouldn't touch it. To his credit, he didn't treat her as horribly as he could have all the years they knew each other, as he did plenty of others in the past, but he saw no reason why she shouldn't let his own self-destruction take its course and stand clear of the blast zone.

She slowed her work. In the mirror across from him, he watched a smile slowly curl her lips. "I never thought I'd find something you and Lila could agree on." She picked up the shampoo bottle again and squeezed more into her palm. "I guess it's because I want to. It's not a waste of time to me, nor do I really care about how you treated me in the past. I'm not bothered by that."

Her fingers threaded back into his onyx spikes, and she meticulously began coating them with suds, working the hair between her fingers. "I guess…I guess it's because I've been here. I know how this feels and how a part of me ached for someone, anyone, to just…get what I was going through to even a minor degree. Anything to help me feel a little less alone. And I never got it. Unless you count starved and dehydrated hallucinations."

In his mind, it didn't really justify her care, but she pressed on before he could express it. "With that said though…I know you by no means left me behind here for my benefit but…I think that was the best thing you could have done for me." She caught the furrow of his brow in the mirror's reflection and continued her explanation. "What I mean is I think I was on the verge of making the same mistake you did. Instead of facing it all, I was just going to throw myself into helping you become a Super Saiyan. Instead, I was given the space to face my grief and guilt. It helped me realize that I still wanted to represent my people with the pride, strength, and resiliency they all deserved as the very last of our kind, and that I would never let anyone like Frieza manipulate me that way again. And that meant continuing to train and grow more powerful so that no one could force me into servitude again. It pushed me out of my funk and to at least love the thrill of combat again. From there, things sort of fell back into place again. I felt again, normally. Things other than misery."

She removed her hands from his head and stood from her crouched position behind him. She crossed back to the sink to clear the shampoo from her hands. "When I worked through everything, I was more pissed that you called me weak," she said, turning the tap off. She pulled the hand towel down and turned to face him again, drying her hands. "You were right, technically, but I hated hearing it out loud. I hated that it had become my reality and wasn't really just you being a jerk. You can rinse, by the way."

Vegeta ducked beneath the water, scrubbing at his scalp to rid his hair of soap. Despite his observations and the fact that she stood before him, her claims sounded impossible to him. He stumbled into a hole far too deep to claw his way out of, and the bottom of it seemed to fall out beneath him each day, dropping him further into its endless depths. He found nothing to grip on the walls to pull himself out. He could no longer see a light above him. At least his grave was already dug if this was meant to do him in.

Had she felt the same sense of hopelessness? Of uselessness and a formidable lack of purpose that paralyzed her? She said herself her life was devoted to the Gerudo. Had she dragged herself from the same depths and screamed to the universe that, in spite of everything, she survived?

He gripped the sides of the tub and pulled himself back up, blinking the water from his lashes. His gaze found the Gerudo again, backside resting against the counter and her palms pressed into the marble top for support. He had long since ceased trying to figure out the whys behind the thoughts his broken mind conjured up, and this case was no different. As he observed her tapping her nails against the counter and a calm, comfortable demeanor, he remembered the moment he first laid eyes on her. Dressed in what he assumed was the typical garb of her kind and following Zarbon, curiosity and awe breaking through the nerves and tension of being ripped from an environment so different than what she founder herself in. He remembered how she regarded the trio of Saiyans without prejudice that could have been attributed to not knowing better, but never changed when Zarbon and others attempted to impress upon her their views of the Saiyan race. And, despite everything they went through, what he himself put her through, she still regarded him the same way, with focus, an open mind, and understanding. Had she found herself again, who she was before Frieza got his hands on her, then, or at least reinvented herself to something she could be halfway content with? Could he do even remotely similar at this juncture?

"I had no right to call you weak," he blurted, thoughts whipping back to their prior conversation. Her stupefied blinking and inquiring hum revealed it surprised her as much as it did him. In his usual head space, he would have found some way to take it back, add on some critique or transmogrify it into a backhanded compliment at best. But now he only seemed to be able to speak full, unfiltered truths as if he were inebriated. She deserved them from him, a part of him knew. It felt freeing and wrong for him all at once.

He growled, and loosened his grip on the edge of the tub when he felt porcelain crack and protest beneath the force. "I didn't," he reaffirmed, more to himself than her. "You were never weak, not then and not now. In fact…you have a strength I may never understand let alone possess. It's…commendable."

Nabooru stared, her surprise further amplified by the lift of her crimson eyebrows and the slight drop of her jaw that parted her lips. Finally, her eyes closed and a smile curled her lips, her shoulders shaking with a light chuckle. "You really are going through it aren't you?"

She crossed the room to a cabinet and pulled out a pair of fluffy pink towels which she placed on the edge of the counter. She rested her hand on the center of them and leaned her weight into it, her other hand on her hip. "I've seen that strength in you; you've just never had to dig this deep to reach it. I know you're even less patient than me, but just give yourself time and a chance to figure things out, okay?"

Biting her lip, she glanced away. "I'm here if you need me. No matter what happens or if you stay here or leave, and no matter what changes you make on the other side."

If she expected an answer, Vegeta didn't have one for her. The desire to consider his future in any capacity hadn't struck him for a millisecond, and attempting to do so then still held no appeal. It required too much effort and he had too little confidence to keep it from diverting onto a dangerous and destructive path. Drifting aimlessly without clear direction was far more doable for the prince.

As for her offer, he realized he never once doubted it with any serious conviction. She showed time and again that she would stand with him and offer support, physically or in cheering him on, no matter how poorly he treated her. In their endeavor to defeat Frieza, on Namek when it meant risking everything on a long shot, in helping him train to become a Super Saiyan and supporting his decision to go at it alone despite it potentially setting her back in her progress, in lauding his efforts when he returned with his goal reached, bringing him food and water when he was beside himself after each defeat, and she showed confidence in him when he faced Cell and, foolishly perhaps, allowed him to reach his perfect form. And now she offered him comfort and support, understanding, even, in the middle of the night. He deserved none of it, but, for perhaps the first time in his life, he appreciated all of it.

Nabooru pushed off the counter and stifled a yawn. "Anyway, you can have my bed tonight. I just painted the guest room, and if the paint smell is a lot for me, I imagine your nose won't handle it well." She strode to the door and pushed it open. "I'll set some clothes out for you, and let you finish up. It is safe to leave you alone, right?"

The Saiyan rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's fine."

Her smile returned. "Good. And don't forget: I can sense you, and if I feel anything amiss, I will bust back in here and drag you back out by the hair, got it?"

"Would you leave already?"

"Just making sure we understand each other."

The door clicked shut behind her. The water had grown tepid in the time they spoke, and his skin pruned beneath the water. Uncomfortable now that he took stock of these things, he quickly scrubbed at his body and tail with soap and rinsed it off. He climbed out of the tub and pulled the plug to drain it before grabbing one of the towels and drying. Upon entering the master bedroom, he found a pile of clothes resting at the foot of the bed: gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He pulled the pants on and, when he picked up the shirt, he noted a capsule resting on a piece of paper beneath it. For just a moment, the characters scrawled on it were foreign, but he surmised it must be her native script, and his translator chip supplied the meaning for him:

End of the world deals were generous, so I bought another Capsule house on a whim. I think you could make better use of it than me right now. It's yours if you want it.

He turned the capsule over in his hand and, after a moment's consideration, wrapped it in her note and pocketed it. Not a decision. Not yet. He wasn't ready to think about it yet, even on a temporary basis. He was too exhausted, a notion placed at the forefront of his mind when he sat on the edge of her bed. He laid back, not bothering with the sheets or blankets. He lost track of how long it took him to fall asleep, and, though it wasn't for long, it was the first real rest he managed in days.

#fic: recruited #:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#tw: depression #tw: suicide mention

2 notes · View notes

imthebadguyyy · 3 years

Note

Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #sir lewis hamilton #sir lewis #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers imagines

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fandomsonrequests · 3 years

Text

unexpected friend

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: choi san

reader: fem

word count: 5.4k

summary: fate decided to test this decade long feud between you and choi san

notes: enemies to lovers AU, toxic themes, character death, substance abuse (it’s not explicit) such as alcohol and cigarettes, heavy themes, language, violence

You had no idea where it started— you just knew that you hated Choi San with every fiber of your being. And unsurprisingly, the feeling is mutual with you.

Maybe it started in kindergarten when he accidentally pushed you to the ground in the game of tag. You got so mad at him, saying that he meant it when he obviously didn’t, calling him stupid because “all boys are stupid.”. Or maybe it started when you knocked over his tower of building blocks as revenge. Or was it when he dipped your pigtails in paint to get back at you? Or maybe the time he spread rumors that you had cooties causing everyone to avoid you like the plague.

Whatever the reason, it spiraled into a childhood rivalry that continued as you grew older. The endless cycle of cat versus dog, taking revenge on one another, followed into grade school, where you reached your horse phase and he reached his gun dam phase. It was inevitable you’d see him again— you both lived in a fairly small town after all.

Petty actions like drawing on the other’s homework turned into stealing each other’s lunches or setting some sort of prank at each other’s seats— whatever your ten-year-old brains could think of. Your screaming matches grew even worse and at one point, you both started throwing punches. The teachers always had to watch you during breaks because eventually, you’d be on top of each other and pulling at each other’s hair.

San had an advantage of course since he took taekwondo, you always ended up as the loser. But in retaliation, you managed to convince your mother to enroll you in some other martial art to protect yourself. And when you won your first little fistfight— you always made sure to lord it over him.

“Hah, you got beat by a little girl! Not so tough now huh potato-head?”

“Shut up horse-face!”

San saw your kindness and charisma towards others as an act. It was your own way of reeling others in to be on your side, gathering some sort of army to help you gang up against him. You on the other hand managed to convince yourself that his cute little dimples and selflessness for others was a facade, You couldn’t believe how many people he’s managed to fool or turn against you. And you’ve always hated him for that. You let it fester as you go through grade school and towards middle school. That hatred you harbored for him was always lit inside you.

Your parents and his were always apologizing to each other during parent-teacher meetings or school events, having to hold you back from jumping on one another. Your dad had given up on the whole thing so he was totally useless; that left you to run to your mother for comfort. Whatever the situation was, at the end of the day, she was always on your side.

“Things will blow over soon. But please, honey, try to stay out of trouble for me?”

So when she died in your junior year of high school, you couldn’t help but feel alone. Your dad had taken to smoking to cope with the loss, marrying a woman who was in love with alcohol while bringing her two hellish twin daughters with her into your home. Things grew miserable for you at home; your dad became a pathetic pushover, letting his new wife run the household. That made you angry— how could he get over your mother so easily? How could he let himself get walked over like that? How could he ignore the way your older step-sisters trampled all over you?

How could he let all this happen?

San’s endless taunting at school didn’t help either. His harmless pranks grew worse as time passed: spray-painting some nasty words on your locker, or setting a bucket of paint on top of the gym doors since you’re always the last one to head out. You’d heed your mother’s words, always doing your best to ignore him. For a while, it had worked and he pestered you less than usual but your mom’s death and the situation at home had triggered something in you, making you snap back. You’d shove his face down into his food during lunch or knock his books down the stairwell whenever you pass by each other. You had even managed to sneak some of the insects from the lab into his gym clothes, causing him to end up with nasty rashes all over his body for a week.

Your physical fights weren’t frequent but they became more violent, with one or both of you having to go to the nurses, holding an ice pack to your busted lips while a piece of gauze was stuck up his bloodied nose. It took several students or even teachers to pull you apart because most of the time no one wanted to jump in and separate you two; it was always so messy with fists and kicks flying everywhere. There was even one point where you both had to go to the hospital for fractured bones. You were both suspended for a week.

Fortunately, things had toned down now that you both were in your final year of high school with the pressure of college and meeting requirements looming over you. Although, neither of you managed to make up. You’d still exchange some foul words but the stupid pranks and fights had simmered down. That never meant you were on good terms though.

But then fate decided to be a little shit and put you in a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in.

Your new biology teacher didn’t seem to be informed about the decade-long feud between you and San. So when she assigned the both of you as partners, you felt your heart drop to your stomach as a sick feeling crawled over you. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time- that’s just how much you despised him. You both tried to plead with her to change partners but she was as stubborn as a mule, insisting that you two can “sort out your differences” and finish this project as a team.

And now here you were, avoiding each other’s stares despite being sat next to each other. The proximity between you two was suffocating, it made it hard to focus on the project being explained to you by your cruel teacher. Your skin tingles unpleasantly whenever either of you shifted in your seat, your arms just several centimeters away from touching each other. Many thoughts ran through your head on how you can get out of this. But you knew that you had to find some time to work on the damn thing together or else you’d flunk high school— and being stuck in community college, never being able to leave this town, was not worth hitting San at the back of the head and gloating at him.

“You have the rest of the period to plan with each other. Make sure to have your presentation set and ready for next week.” Your teacher says and sits at her desk.

The room was filled with chatter as the students started conversing with each other. Many pairs threw knowing stares at you, worried that you’d be at each other’s throats. Surprisingly you weren’t… at least not yet anyway.

For a while, neither of you said anything to each other. San simply scrolled through his phone hidden under his desk while you organized your final notes. Minutes tick by and the class slowly comes to an end. With a heavy sigh, you decided to swallow your pride and talk to the guy.

You turn to the boy, roughly shoving his knee with yours and he sends you an irritated glare. “C’mon we need to plan for this.” You deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you.

San returned the sigh and pocketed his phone, shifting to face you. “Alright then. So what’s the plan?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to be talking about, dumbass.” You mutter, growing irritated. You clench your fists together in an attempt to keep your calm before continuing. “Anyway, we’re supposed to make some model of the nerve cells then present it.”

San stays quiet for a moment before speaking up. “My sister has some spare clay and wires from her sculpting hobby. I could ask for some.”

“Great. You work on that while I work on the script.” You conclude before going back to your notes.

“Hold on- you’re gonna leave me with all of the hard work?”

“We have the same workload?? I’m making the script.”

“That’s easy- scripts can be finished within a day or something.” San shot back, finding the arrangement you had set, without his consultation by the way, as unfair.

“Then I’ll help you when I’m done. Quit whining like a bitch.” You sigh, having no energy to continue the argument with him.

“Asshat…” He mumbles under his breath, pulling out his phone to text his sister. He expected some sort of retaliation from you but you simply remained quiet. That was odd- considering that you never missed the chance to have the last word in. Maybe you just weren’t feeling it today.

Nevertheless, he ignored you, deciding that it wasn’t worth pestering you at the moment. The bell rings, signaling the end of the class, and you’re immediately up and out of your seat, stuffing your notebook into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. It almost hits San’s cheek in the process but you were already walking out the door before he could call you out on it.

“Geez…” He huffs and keeps his own things, glaring after you while hoping that time would fly by fast so that the project was done and over with.

A few days have passed by since the biology class. True enough, you’ve finished writing and even printing the script within the day the project was assigned to you. So now you were stuck helping out San with sculpting the whole model. You two would work together at the back of the library after school. Initially the librarian was hesitant about letting the two of you inside given your reputation and all. But when she saw that neither of you were at each other’s throats, surprisingly, she allowed for you to work on it in the library.

Of course you and San still had some disputes— how it’s supposed to be positioned, what shape it’s supposed to take, yadda yadda. But it had never escalated into a full blown argument because it always ended up with you taking the blow of his harsh words. That alone started to concern the boy, you’d always get back at him. But your resigned silence after every quip he threw at you started to worry him. Sure he hated your guts but San wasn’t a nasty person. He knew something was bothering you. But, he never took the initiative to ask what was bothering you; it wasn’t his problem anyway.

A weekend away from Monday aka the day of your presentation. The model was almost done— it just needed a paint job. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, meaning the school was closed, neither of you were able to work at your usual spot. So San decided to just take the whole thing to your home to finish it. Of course he could finish the whole thing himself but he had a party to attend later in the evening, and he didn’t want to miss out on it.

He arrives at your home, model in one hand and a crate of paints in the other. He takes note of the absence of your dad’s and step-sister’s cars in the driveway and assumed that you were all out. He sighs in frustration, hoping that that wasn’t the case. Jogging up to the porch, the boy sets down the crate and rings the doorbell a couple of times, foot tapping against the wooden floorboards as he waits.

When there was no response after a few minutes he tried again, this time ringing the doorbell a bit more frantically. Before he could turn around and head back home after getting no response, he hears frantic footsteps scurrying inside and steps back as the door swings open. There you were, hair looking like a bird’s nest while your week-old cardigan hung off your shoulders. There were dark circles under your eyes and you looked like a hobo who had the opportunity to clean after themselves. In other words: you were a mess.

“The fuck are you doing here?” You snap the minute your hazy mind registers that San was standing at your door.

The said boy snaps out of his own trance and shoves the model in your face. “We need to finish this.”

You stare at the figure in his hand then to the crate by his foot and then to his face that displayed an expectant expression. You sigh and rub your face. “Couldn’t you have finished it yourself?”

“I’m busy later.”

Another sigh leaves you and you step back to let him in. He enters the house, leaving his shoes by the door as he looks around the place. It was a bit messier than he had expected. There were rumpled coats hanging off of the arm of the couch, a small pack of cigarettes and a few bottles of cheap beer on the coffee table. The wallpaper was starting to fade with a few faint stains here and there.

San stays quiet as he follows you through the house, seeing the small stack of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. He turns back to look at you, finding your silence as unnerving. You only trudged up the stairs, motioning for you to follow him. He expected to see you turn down the hallway and enter one of the rooms but was quite surprised to see you stop by a frayed rope hanging from the ceiling of the hall. You reach up and tug down on it, revealing the ladder towards the attic.

“Don’t tell me you live up there,” San jabs.

“Yeah and what of it?” You grumble, sending him a tired glare over your shoulder before climbing up the ladder.

He was stunned into silence when he realized that you were serious. He bites his tongue and refrains from jeering at you, handing the box of paints to you before climbing up. Several thoughts ran through his mind— why was your room in an attic? And since when did you start smoking and drinking? Was it even yours?

His head pokes into the surprisingly clean but small room. Your bed was pressed up near the slanted wall of the roof, several polaroids of you, your few friends, and your mother plastered along it. On the opposite side was your desk and your wardrobe whose paint was starting to chip off. Several boxes, labeled and not labeled, were pushed to the corner of the room, stacked in a way for them to take up less space.

San looks to you rummaging through your desk, probably finding a brush or something. He wordlessly steps into the room and pulls the rope, closing the trapdoor beneath him. He turns to you again and before he could stop himself, he found himself blurting the question that was plaguing his mind: “What the hell happened to you?”

You turn on your heel, almost knocking over the picture frame of you and your mom. Your hand reached out to steady it before answering San. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Why do you live up here?” He motioned to the whole attic space with his arm. “Don’t you have a room downstairs?”

“I do.” You simply say and take the crate of paints, pulling out the needed colors and some paper cups for you to place them in.

When you don’t elaborate, San squats down to your level on the ground and tugs the purple paint tube out your hand. “What happened to it?”

“Why do you care?” You snatch the tube back with a hiss, preparing all the things needed. “It’s none of your business…”

The boy sighs, running a hand through his dark locks. He nibbles at his cheeks, carefully going over what he wanted to say. “...look, _____,” he starts, voice surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to tell me everything but you don’t have to keep everything in.”

You don’t answer him or make any move to acknowledge what he had said. But you were listening; part of you decided to take down your walls for just a moment and hear what he has to say. And San seemed to sense this because he continues.

“I’m not gonna say that ‘I’m here for you’ and all that crap but, there are people who're willing to listen to you. Whatever you’re going through right now, no matter how big or small it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Again, you don’t respond. A moment of silence full of high strung tension passed by. It was only a few seconds but it felt longer than that— especially since you both stopped in what you were doing and stared at the ground or at each other’s hands.

You always hated San but you couldn’t help but sense the sincerity in his words. It’s kind of pathetic but at the moment, his genuinity, the softness of the way he spoke was what you were craving for. At that moment, you just wanted assurance that things will be okay and that whatever you were doing in life wasn’t useless. And the guy you seemed to hate most was offering you that.

Tears prick at your eyes and you hastily brush it away with the sleeve of your cardigan, refusing to show any weakness to your nemesis. But it was hard; once the tears started flowing it was difficult for you to stop. You play it off by finishing up in preparing the paints, suppressing any hiccups or sobs that would escape before eventually giving up and bringing your legs up to your chin, crying into your sweats. Fuck it if San sees.

You curled up into yourself, crying into your pants when you felt a gentle but hesitant hand on your shoulder. You jolt at the touch, seeing San back away quickly. His brows were furrowed in concern and his lips were pursed, almost as if he were thinking about what he was going to say.

“G-go on, gloat,” You hiccup, choking on your tears. “I look like a m-mess anyway…”

You were surprised, and a little bit embarrassed, that he didn’t follow with what you said. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small packet of tissues and handing it over to you. He looked up to your desk, seeing your water container on your desk. He stands up to take it, shaking it to check if there was still some water in it, before placing it by your foot.

“I’m not going to lie, you are a mess,” San says before returning to his previous spot on the floor. “But I guess that’s normal when you’re having a shitty day.”

“More like a shitty life…” You mumble. You chug down the rest of your water, managing to stop your tears as you wipe them away with the tissues. You look up at the boy across you and sigh heavily. “It’s my step-mom,” you say.

“I’m sorry?”

“My step-mom. She made me move up here so that her daughters could take my room.” You explain. “My dad didn’t say anything because he’s a pushover, wasting his life away on cigarettes and the alcohol his wife buys…”

San nods slowly in understanding, finally making sense of what he saw in the living room and kitchen. That explained a lot of things: why you would always faintly smell of alcohol or nicotine a few months after your mother had died. It had honestly shocked him to hear that— your dad and step-mom always looked presentable in public. Your step-sisters were a bit more extravagant but neat nonetheless. The way they talked and carried themselves didn’t seem to indicate that they had any substance addiction.

Thinking back on it, it had also explained why you were so irate and moody almost all the time, leading to you losing some friends in high school as you fell back into yourself or into violence. It was a defense mechanism— you didn’t want to seem vulnerable because at home, you were vulnerable enough.

An idea pops into his head and he promptly stands up, momentarily making you jump from his sudden movement. You look up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Come with me.”

“What???”

“I said get up and come with me.” San says and actually held his hand out to you.

You look at it skeptically before looking up at him, contemplating about any consequences in following him— if there were any. He wiggles his fingers, impatiently coaxing you to join him and you finally make up your mind. Might as well follow him; you had nothing to lose anyway.

You swat his hand away to get up on your own, mumbling something along the lines that you could get up yourself before straightening yourself out and placing your hands on your hips. He gives a satisfied nod and grabs his shoes to put them on. He then kicks open the trapdoor before heading back down for you to follow.

He returns to the living room with you trailing behind, still wondering where exactly he wanted you to go. When you glance at the clock you see that it’s already 5:30 in the afternoon. Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt something land by your feet. You whipped your head around to see San pointing at your shoes which he probably threw at you from the door.

“We’re heading out for a while.” He says as he exits your house. You take a moment to process what was happening when he pops his head in. “Come on slowpoke.” He ushers you.

You hastily throw on your shoes, grabbing the house keys hanging by the coat rack, and hop out of the house. You lock the door behind you and approach San who was sitting upon his notoriously loud motorbike. “Where are we going?” You ask, settling down behind him.

Your arms awkwardly flutter beside you, opting to hold onto whatever space was left on your seat. You jump in surprise when you hear and feel the engine roar to life, eliciting an amused chuckle from the boy in front of you. You glare at the back of his head, smacking his shoulder and settling yourself once more.

“Hold on tight,” San tells you as he revs up the motorbike.

“I am.” You argue and strengthen your grip on the seat, shaking the bike a little to emphasize your point.

“No you aren’t.” You feel heat rise to your face when he tutted in annoyance, taking your arms and placing them around his waist. “There you go. See? No harm done.”

You only grumble something in response, making him chuckle to himself. It was a bit strange to see you tame like this. Sure it kind of boosted his ego considering that he managed to make you flustered with just a few words and a simple action but he actually kind of liked it when you weren’t at each other’s throats. He revved up the engine again before taking off and speeding down the road.

The evening breeze is cool as it whips through your hair and brushes against you, sending small goosebumps running down your skin. A small yelp escapes you when San picks up speed, causing your grip on him to tighten. He glanced back at you for a moment before taking the turn that exits the town and towards the road uphill. It led to the small forest that overlooked the city; it was a popular place in town for hiking or camping. You remember going there to play as a kid.

The air gets chillier as you both reach a higher altitude. You unconsciously nuzzle closer to the boy in front of you in an attempt to seek some body heat. The sky grows darker, turning into a deeper blue shade as the night slowly creeps upon the town. Some stars start to peek and settle themselves in the dark blanket of the sky by the time San slows down to a stop. He had stopped by the edge of the forest, a metal railing along the opposite end to keep people or vehicles from falling off the edge.

“We’re here.” San says and looks back at you. “You can let go if you want now.”

At that, you peel yourself away from him and hop off his bike mumbling something about how cocky he was while walking over to the railings. He joins you soon after, keeping a respectable distance from you. None of you say anything at first, simply taking in the view of the city in front of you. Now know why San took you out here: to breathe and clear your mind of things; something that you didn’t know you needed at the moment.

The spot you were in allowed you to overlook the town, seeing the lights from the roads and houses down below. You could spot the water tower in the distance along with the radio tower next to it. As you survey the scene before you, you make out one house in the distance with a multitude of colored lights flashing around it.

“Looks like someone’s having a party.” You muse, finally breaking the silence.

San hums in acknowledgement. “I hope they aren’t missing me.”

It takes a moment for you to understand what he said, perking up when it made sense to you. “So that’s what you meant when you were ‘busy.’” You say as you lightly punch his arm. “You’re such an ass.”

“What? I wasn’t lying; I would’ve been busy.” He defends himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah,” You huff. “Busy shoving your tongue down people’s throats.”

A mischievous hum. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Ew no, gross- I’ll pass.”

You share a small laugh together before settling into silence again. It was… kind of cathartic, being able to actually laugh for a long while-even if it was with your longtime nemesis. It was better than crying yourself to sleep almost every night.

You turn to lean your back against the railing, using your arms to support you as you mull over the forest.

“I used to come here a lot as a kid.” You say, managing to capture San’s attention. “Pretended to gallop along the trees like some sort of princess when I was in my horse phase… I would always come home with scraped knees. I was a clumsy kid.”

“Except when you’d throw punches at me,” San interjected, ghosting a hand over his jaw. “You sure knew how to pack a punch.”

You smile apologetically, a sheepish flush on your cheeks, and look over to him. “Well you did deliver some pretty good kicks- I needed to learn how to defend myself.”

San shrugged in agreement. “I guess,” He muses and offers you a small smile, lapsing into silence again. “You know… it’s actually kind of surprising but you aren’t so bad to talk to.”

You nibble at your lower lip at his confession, unsure of what to make of it. When you look up at him, you see that he had inched a little closer to you. He still kept a reasonable amount of space between you two but it was apparent that he wanted to get closer. He drums his fingers against the cool metal of the railing, brows furrowed as he thinks over his next words carefully.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been an asshole to you. I know that I’ve hurt you, not just physically, but emotionally too. And I want to apologize for that… I know, words are just words. It won’t do anything to reverse or take back what I’ve done to you then, but please, take it as a first step to making it up to you.”

San decided to meet your watery gaze, his chest clenching at the tears you were trying so hard to hold back. He holds his hand out instinctively, wanting to offer some sort of physical comfort. He stops himself midway, opting to just settle it on the rail halfway from you. “You don’t have to make a decision right here and now. You can still hate me all you want, but I promise to leave you alone from now on.”

You whimper pathetically, finally letting the tears flow down your cheeks. You felt guilt consume you at his apology. Why was he taking the blame for everything? It should be you who was saying sorry. After all,you were just as cruel as him. And thinking back on it, this feud had most likely started with you. You raise a sweater paw to wipe at your tears, sobbing into your hand.

God you were a mess.

“Don’t, don’t blame yourself… I should be apologizing too. It takes two to tango right?” You hiccup, managing to give him a shaky smile. “I could’ve chosen to ignore you or direct my anger elsewhere but I still ended up targeting you at the end of the day…”

“_______, it’s okay—“

“No it’s not.” You hiss. “I’m not just talking about what I did in high school. I’m talking about every instance I was cruel to you. It was petty, extremely childish, and just horrible overall. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I want to apologize too. I’ve made part of your life a living hell.”

You glance at his hand on the railing before holding your own out towards him. “Truce?” You offer. “We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy after this but at least we can just end this whole thing.”

San gripped your hand in a gentle but firm handshake. “Truce.” His touch lingered for

just a second before he gave a gentle squeeze and pulled away. He returned it to the previous spot on the railing.

The both of you remain for a while, just overlooking the town and reflecting on what had happened. The quiet atmosphere that you both shared suddenly didn’t seem so awkward anymore. Instead, it was filled with some tension but with a bit of comfort at the same time. It was similar to the feeling of a thorn being plucked out of your side: painful but relief that it was finally out.

You don’t expect that things would go right at once— this wasn’t like the movies or the books where everything was magically solved. You both had left some scars on each other, some that are too hard to forget or too deep to heal easily. But you two were working on it: healing and forgiving each other. It was still a long journey but it was something you were both willing to go on together.

You glance to San, seeing how relaxed he was right now. He didn’t look so annoying or so terrifying anymore. A tiny grin makes its way to your lips; never in a million years did you think you’d find solace in someone you despised so much.

“Hey San,” You call out to him, resting your hand beside his, your pinkies brushing against each other. “...thanks for this. I really needed it.”

He smiles at you, flashing his cute dimples at you. It sends a warm, tingly feeling down your spine and you couldn’t help but feel calm at that. “Glad I could help.” He momentarily pat the back of your hand, engulfing it with his larger one when you didn’t pull away.

It was late when he drove you home to finish the project. Unsurprisingly, your family was still out, probably at an event they forgot to tell you about. But you didn’t mind, you had an unexpected friend with you right now.

You smile to yourself as you wave goodbye to San from the doorway, seeing him speed down the road and into the night. He may have been the bad guy in your life but it turns out, he wasn’t such a bad guy. And you were thankful that you were able to see that because at least you knew you had someone in your corner.

#ficscafe #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez choi san #choi san x reader #ateez san #ateez headcanons

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

Note

Hi! Been a while! First letter <3 FANDOM: Creepypasta CHARACTER: Jeff GENRE: Romantic, ever so slight NSFW ?????? My beautiful man ♡, Heyyyyy. It's been a little while, yeah? How's everything been? I've been kind of lonely lately. This new mission has my head spiraling, but I got an old friend here with me. Haven't seen her in a hot minute. She's helping us out a little bit. She isn't a proxy or anyone affiliated with us, but damn, she'd made a nice recruit. Sad she prefers being alone though. I dunno when I'll be back :( God, I miss you and your kisses. I'm resting for a day or two since I hurt my leg while chasing someone down (or they were trying to chase me. It was really awkward). So, the other man children that came with me are taking care of things for now. I promise I'll make everything up to you when I get back! These hips need a little feel, anyway ;) I've been deprived too long. Tell Slender all is doing well? I don't think the two dumb asses even attempted - at least not Toby. I probably shouldn't use this last paper to write to you and I should probably use it to write to Slendaddy, but I just couldn't go another day without talking to you. I really need a nap after this. Give Sally a big hug for me! I'll come back with presents - if I can. I know what I'll be giving you when I get home ♡ ;) Much love, Zipper ♡♡♡

[Disclaimer: Letters To Those you Hold Dear is a special event I'm holding from December 9th - whenever I feel like closing it! The absolute deadline is December 21st. Find guidelines here so you can send a letter or two to those you hold dear <3]

Hey hot stuff,

You're damn right it's been a while. I've been missing hearing from you!! Things over here have been just fine. I've been traveling through safe zones, biding my time getting drunk, but also fuckin' with Masky's group. They're always fun to hang around. EJ and I have been doing some business together as well. Nothing that fun, I'd rather be with you, but it's passable until we meet again. How's the work been with you? From what I can read here, it's been alright. Don't know if pale ass is gonna be happy about that, but you never really were one for following rules, were you? Bet she'd make a nice independent if she hates authority like I do.

I really miss you. Things aren't near as entertaining with you gone. it's been hell, really. I hope your leg gets better soon. I can always send Jack to you if you really think that's a problem. Or if you really, really need help, I'll make my way to wherever you've run off to. Don't know who's gonna tell me no. Besides, it's been a while since I've been able to see you, it's almost my right to fuck around, find out, and come to you.

I'll let him know as soon as I see him again. He's been trying to corral a good majority of us to his fuck all mansion the past few weeks but none of us want to go. I sure as hell don't. I tried to set the place on fire a few years ago and he just forgets about that? Fucking idiot. But if it makes you happy, then I'll go. I also haven't seen that little twerp in a few months, and she's probably gonna try to stab me with colored pencils if I try to hug her, but... again, if it makes you happy-. Look, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and I know you'd repay me handsomely. Anyways, look forward to when we can stop writing letters like we're in the middle ages or fuckin' cavemen and can actually talk face to face again.

Love you,

Jeff

#letters to those you hold dear #jeff the kiler x reader #creepypasta jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer headcanon

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

I trust you

Prompt number: 31 “I trust you”

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Part two to Trust me for once.

Rating: T

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions blood, violence, and death. A lil angst.

A/N: I just want to write for Bucky for the rest of fictober, someone stop me please. I don’t know why I love this fic so much, but I do. Maybe it’s my lack of sleep messing with me lmao. I passed 500 followers and I can’t possibly begin to explain how much that means to me and how much I love each and every one of you! When I started my Tumblr last year to write some shitty self indulgent fanfics I never thought anyone would ever read them. I never imagined having 500 people following my shitty blog.

In the week and a half since Hydra had captured you, Bucky has been spiraling. When he got to the quinjet and turned to look for you, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he couldn’t find you. Everything you had said to him in the warehouse started to make more sense, you phrashed things a specific way; ‘so long as it gets you out of here safely.’ He knew you weren’t coming, but he still made Steve keep the quinjet there and wait until it was almost too late and the team was under attack again.

Back at the compound Bucky spends all of his time in his room or down in the gym punching- and breaking- one of the many punching bags, throwing his knives at targets, and working on his shooting. He isn’t sleeping and he isn’t eating, he won’t even talk to Steve when the super soldier tries to get him to talk- whether it be about what happened in the warehouse or anything in general.

Steve, Sam, and Tony are exhausting every resource they have to find you, Hydra had moved you to another location as soon as the quinjet was out of sight of the base. On the rare occasion Bucky isn’t in the gym or his room, he's hovering over the shoulders of the three men hoping he’ll see something they missed. He doesn’t, and only succeeds in annoying aforementioned men with his brooding stares and silence.

Bucky has nightmares on a daily basis again, something that his time in Wakanda with Shuri and T’Challa had gotten rid of. The only difference this time is he doesn’t see himself. He sees everything he went through, all the tourture he endured and the innocent bloodshed, but instead of him you’re in his shoes. He watches you get your brain turned into mush in the damn chair. He watches you forgetting everyone- forgetting him- and then going after the Avengers because you don’t know any better. He can never wake up from the nightmares, he’s stuck in them until he watches you die or you kill him.

Twelve days after you’re taken, Bucky's down in the gym, sitting on a chair because the memories of you in the warehouse are consuming him. You saying that he hates you and to just trust you for once are playing on repeat. How could you think he doesn't trust you?

“I trust you!” he screams into the empty gym, wishing he’d told you so in the warehouse, hurling the knife that was resting in his hand into the wall across from him. He goes to run his hands through his long strands of hair, forgetting he had cut most of it off, something you would refer to as pulling a Britney. He has no idea what that even means, but you say it everytime you or Nat impulsively cut your hair super short. Instead he pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to push the memories away. “I could never hate you.”

Steve enters the gym quietly, observing his best friend for a few minutes. He’s never seen him this bad before, not even when he was consumed by guilt when he realized all of the innocent lives that were lost by his hands. Steve was aware that Bucky has had feelings for you since he saw you, immediately becoming infatuated with your beauty. His feelings continued to grow when he learned your humor, sarcasm, intelligence, and saw your skill in battle. Steve knew Bucky was intimidated and nervous, not as skilled with the women like he was seventy years ago and that’s why he didn’t talk to you, but Steve never realized that Bucky cared this much.

“Hey Buck,” Steve finally speaks, causing Bucky to stand up and pretend he wasn’t just having a breakdown. “We’ve got something.”

Bucky doesn’t verbally respond, instead he brushes past Steve and walks out of the gym. Steve quickly leads the way to the lab, filling Bucky in on the new development. Hydra is streaming a live feed of you chained to a chair right to every computer and television screen in the compound. When the two get to the lab, packed with the rest of the Avengers huddling around the same screen, Bucky see’s you for the first time in twelve days. The first time you aren’t a figment of his imagination. You’re bruised and bloody: split lip with dried blood on your chin; dried blood on your forehead from where you must have wiped the blood from the cut on your eyebrow so it didn’t drip into your eyes before you were chained to the chair; you’re left eye black, blue, and bruised; your skin has a yellow hue and your cheeks are hollow from malnutrition.

Bucky wants to scream, he wants to put a fist through a wall, and he wants to kill whoever laid a hand on you. The Avengers watch quietly as he squeezes through the gaps in the group's huddle so he can be by the screen. By you. You aren’t staring at the camera, instead staring straight in front of you, where he imagines Hydra agents are standing.

“You don’t want another Winter Soldier,” your voice is the exact opposite of your appearance, it’s still so strong and determined. “You want the Winter Soldier. You wanted us to intercept the messages and show up at the base, it was an ambush.”

“Very good, Ms. (Y/L/N),” a man speaks off screen, he has a thick Russian accent, but Bucky doesn’t recognize it. “The only problem was that you seemed to figure it out that day, and ruined our plans.”

“Oops?” your sarcasm garners another slap, the ring on the man's hand causing a gash on your cheekbone. “It’s been what, over a week? How long are you gonna keep me?”

“Until Soldat switches places with you,” you let out a loud bark of a laugh that echoes off the walls in the small room.

“Bucky, your Soldat, he won’t sacrifice himself for me,” you laugh at the man interrogating you.

“We learned of his affections for you-” you cut him off with another laugh.

“You need to fire whoever told you that,” you can’t stop laughing at the absurdity that came out of the Hydra agents mouth. And you don’t care if he becomes angry and annoyed with you, you’re gonna get killed no matter what. Your eyes quickly flick to the camera set up on your left, the one the Hydra agents thought you hadn’t seen, before continuing knowing the Avengers had to be seeing all of this. “The only affection Bucky has for me is hatred. He hates me, there’s no way he’d switch places for little old me. You should have captured literally anyone else if you wanted him to be upset. He can’t stand me! We can’t even hold a simple conversation, and he always leaves the room when I’m in it. We were only paired up on this mission because of a fluke accident. Face it, you fucked up. I’m worthless to your Soldat.”

“That’s not true!” Bucky feels like he’s yelling it at the screen, but his protest is only a whisper. The rest of the team watches him with sad eyes, he’s looking at you so longingly. Trying to will you to understand how he feels about you through the screen. As if on cue, you glance at the camera again, giving it a sd smile, accepting your fate. A loud ping comes from one of the computers in the lab, but Bucky keeps eye contact with you, even though he knows you can’t see. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until his flesh hand is pressed against the television.

“We’ve got a location!” Tony yells, already calling for his suit.

“Then you’re worthless to me!” the hydra agent growls, stopping the team in their tracks who were on their way to change.

“No,” Bucky pleads, when he hears the safety of a gun clicking off.

“Any last words for your precious Avengers?” the man asks you, gesturing to the camera, he hadn’t noticed you’d already seen it.

“I’d say tell my family I love them,” you’re openly talking to the camera now. “But I don’t have any. So thank you for being the family I never had, and the family I always wanted. I love every single one of you.”

A tear slips from your non swollen eye, a matching one rolling down Bucky’s cheek. The screen goes black, a gun goes off, and then the feed cuts completely. “No!” he screams, going to punch a hole in the television, but his fist goes right through due to it being Stark technology.

“Where are you going?” Steve calls as Bucky heads to exit to the lab, no one else moving, too shocked to register everything that just happened.

“Let’s go kill those bastards,” is his gruff response, heading towards the hanger with the Quinjet since he’s already dressed in his tactical gear from his time in the gym.

Steve and Tony are the first ones dressed and ready to go, but the latter hangs back so Steve can talk to his best friend privately. Steve doesn’t say anything when he sits beside the brunette, he doesn’t know where to begin.

“(Y/N) died thinking I hated her Stevie,” Bucky’s voice breaks. “I kept my distance cause I didn’t want to hurt her. And then I saw her with Sam and I was jealous so I started to ignore her more. I pushed her away because I was scared and jealous. And now she’ll never know that I love her.”

A shot rings through the small room you’re stuck in, the bullet lodging into the wall beside your head. You glance at the camera, finding the red light off. Your team, your family thinks you're dead. That was his damn plan, he knows they’ll come to avenge you.

“Sit tight,” he smirks, the barrel of his gun coming into contact with your skull, effectively knocking you out.

Your head is heavy and pounding in pain when you finally come to. Outside the door you can hear screams and guns going off at rapid speed. You cringe away from the sound when someone uses their body to break open the door to your room. The sound of familiar footsteps clomping towards you causes you to perk up, it’s Bucky. You can’t open your eyes or even move your head towards the sound to alert him that you’re okay, but you hear a whispered “thank god,” when he hears your steady heartbeat. From the crunching sound you can tell Bucky used his vibranium hand to crush the handcuffs keeping you attached to the chair.

He picks you up bridal style, holding you close to his warm chest. You involuntarily cuddle into the warmth, causing Bucky to smile lovingly down at you. “I’ve got you now,” he whispers, hand caressing your cheek, careful not to put pressure on your many cuts.

When you wake up again, you're in the familiar sterile medbay at the compound. A heavy weight is on your hand, looking over you notice it’s Bucky's hands clutching yours, his head tipped back on the seat he’s in.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Sam smirks at the scene from the doorway, holding a falcon stuffed animal. You playfully roll your eyes at the gift, but reach for it with your free hand. Bucky starts to stir, so Sam gives you a kiss on the forehead and heads for the door again. “Tinman’s whipped.”

The first thing you notice when you glance at Bucky again is his hair. He cut it all off when you were gone. As much as you loved his luscious locks and thought he was hot with them, he’s undeniably sexy with the short hairstyle. “You cut your hair,” Bucky immediately wakes up the rest of the way at your voice, ocean blue eyes staring into yours. “It looks good on you.”

“You could have died,” his voice exasperated. “And the first thing you mention is my hair. I’ve been worried sick, (Y/N)!”

“I was fine,” you roll your eyes, trying not to think of just how close to death you came. “I’m fine now.”

“Next mission I get to call the shots,” he grumbles. “I’m not having the woman I love almost die for me again.”

“I love you too Buck,” you ignore the fact that he didn’t mean for you to hear his confession. “Why else would I be willing to die for you?”

He shoots out of his seat, eyes wide as he stares down at you. You push up to a sitting position, moving to the side of the bed, motioning for Bucky to lay beside you. He seems to debate with himself about whether he should or not, before finally laying down and gently pulling you into his arms. You crane your neck up to look into his eyes, he leans down and your lips meet timidly at first. It quickly turns into a slow loving kiss, the two of you wanting to prolong for as long as you can. You reach a hand up, caressing his face before slipping it through his now short locks.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#bucky barnes x reader #fictober20 #day 13 of fictober #bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction

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melancholydreadfuldream · 3 years

Text

Going Under Part Five

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Summary: An accident during a routine adventure made your life spiraled out of control with only the Doctor as the anchor. Will you ever find your way back to your Doctor again?

Trigger Warning: ooc, angst, plot holes as usual, attempted suicide, dark!doctor, death, insanity, etc. You have been warned.

More warning: English is not my first language so beware of the headache you will receive upon reading this.

I found myself materialized inside some poorly lit room, disoriented and confused. I blinked my eyes trying to focus on the current surrounding.

Suddenly someone strangled me by the neck and pushed me toward a nearby wall. I have no idea who it was that attacked me. I tried to get the hand around my neck off in futile. I groaned in pain as my eyes tried to focus on the attacker.

"Did Jack send you?" The figure asked coldly.

I blinked in confusion. I know that voice. I gasped as my vision finally cleared enough. It was the Thirteenth Doctor. As I focused on her sudden appearance, I noticed something off about her. For once, she has a menacing look on her face and she wasn't dressed in her usual outfit. She was dressed in all black and she has different hair style, wavy hair that framed her already beautiful face.

"Doctor..." I managed to whisper her name.

She stared at me in surprise and then suddenly snarled angrily. "Don't call me by that name!" she said as she tighten her grip on my neck.

I gasped like a fish as I couldn't breathe. "It's me...(name)....Doct..." I don't understand why she attacked me but my mind supplied the answer, it is another version of the Doctor, one that apparently also has no idea who I am. "Please..." I begged her for mercy.

She glared at me coldly as she continue to cut me off from oxygen.

A bunch of people barged into the room. They have guns as they demanded the Doctor released me.

She glanced at me, rolled her eyes and released me as she raised her hands up in mocking gesture of surrender. The Doctor being pulled away from me roughly. I fell to the floor, gasping for breathe.

A man bend his knees beside me and asked in concern, "Are you okay?"

My eyes widened again. It was Jack Harkness. I lightly touch my sore throat as I glanced at the Doctor. The Doctor is being restrained. Her expression look bored now as she regarded everyone in the room with disinterest, as if she has not just attacked me violently.

Jack pulled me up and away from the room where the Doctor is. The room then sealed with complicated lock. I realized it was a holding room, like a prison. I warily stared at Jack.

Jack told me to sit down in the chair in another room. He wanted to check my neck. "It look bad. I will Tanya to look at it. She is a doctor." He said. "So...how did you get in? That room is deadlock so that nobody get in or out and yet you are able to come in undetected. Who are you?"

"It's complicated." You said.

"Well, try me."

This is Jack Harkness, a former companion of the Doctor in any universe, so I should be able to trust him, right? Beside, currently, it seemed he is more trustworthy than the Doctor. She just attacked me, after all.

"Before that, can you tell me what is wrong with the Doctor?"

Jack looked suspicious of me now. "How do you know the Doctor?"

"I am her companion...in the alternate universe." I finally relented and tell him the truth.

To my surprise, he accepted the explanation without much fuss. "I have seen so much in my lifetimes. I'm not surprised that alternate universe come into play now." Jack said with a shrug.

"What happened to her? And where are Yaz, Ryan and Graham?"

"Who?"

"You're kidding. Who is she traveling with then?"

Jack frowned. "She doesn't travel with anyone as far as I know. She called herself the Valeyard now. She gets angry if anyone call her the Doctor."

"I noticed." You said as you rubbed your throat while your mind flashback into the room. "What happened to her?"

Jack sighed. "Honestly I have no idea. I haven't seen the Doctor for a long while suddenly I heard rumors that she went insane, killing and maiming people, blowing up planet. She is not in a mood to be chatty about why she changed." he explained.

My mind flashed back into a version of dark Doctor I met before, how she torture that person who shot me. I gulped as I have a feeling this version of the Doctor is way more dark than the one I met before after listening what Jack said about the Doctor who called herself the Valeyard.

Jack explained to you the prophecy of the Valeyard, a most darker version of the Doctor.

"How are you able to imprison her then if she is that dangerous?" I asked curiously as I warned him not to underestimate the Doctor, Valeyard, whatever.

Jack explained he tried to reason with the Doctor at first but that did not end well with her killing Jack's friend as if she is making her point of her no longer the Doctor.

He tried to multiply times to capture her and stop her reign of evil but failed. It was a genuine luck Jack is able to meet the right people and able to outsmart the Doctor. Or so everyone think. Of course, Jack knew better that it might be a trap. He is trying his best to rehabilitate the Doctor.

Jack stood up and walked toward the giant computer in the room, one of the monitors showed the room where he imprisoned her.

"It was like after the last regeneration, she just gave up and actively choose to be the Valeyard..." Jack said. "I heard the rumor of her cruelty...even her kindness is a double edge of sword thing...she is just brutal..." he said. "Of course, I found it weird that we are able to capture her. She is up to something but I have no idea what."

I frowned as I realized that maybe this world's version of Twelfth Doctor, after he lost Bill and Nardole, regenerated into this dark version of Thirteen Doctor. My heart hurts for her. I thought of my Doctor, how she suffered so many lost and still able to overcome it. Of course, there will be alternate universe where she just gave up.

"Who was the Doctor's last companion? Was it Bill Potts and Nardole?" I asked Jack and he confirmed it after he checked his file on the computer.

I coughed suddenly and it turned into a bout of cough as I tried to cover my mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jack asked me after he noticed the blood between my fingers. He offered me water.

I cleared my throat, accepted the water and reached around for my medicine but to my horror, I couldn't find the bottle.

It was then the Doctor, no, the Valeyard suddenly called out from the monitor. "Looking for this?" she asked, showing the bottle of my medicine in her hand. She looked so smug. "I will return it to you, (name), after we talk."

She knew that I needed the medicine, she somehow knew that the medicine is for internal bleeding. "Tiktok, dear (name)."

I flinched at her tone. I exchanged a look with Jack. I was afraid to get into the room with her but I do need the damn medicine.

"It is your call, if you want to talk to her, I will make sure she does not attack you again." Jack said.

I tried to be brave as I prepared the face her. She wanted to speak to me alone.

"W-what do you want?" I asked.

"I'm bored. You are the first entertainment I had in a while." She said with a pout. "I just want a conversation. I promise I will behave." She winked at me.

Apparently, she is curious about me and how I know her as she never met me before. So, I told her the truth that I am from alternate universe where I am her companion alongside with Yaz, Ryan and Graham.

She looked curious when I mentioned alternate universe but get bored real quick when I told her my condition is the result of me trying to protect her alternate self. She is more curious about the weapon but I don't know much about it.

"Can I have my medicine back?" I asked politely.

She hummed and shook her head. "I think I will hold on to it for a bit. I still have some questions."

I am nervous around her and get jumpy if she get too close to me and she knew that, still do it on purpose. It feels like I amused her and she is toying me now.

I gulped. She is acting all nice now but she still feel intimidating. I figured I could hold on for a bit and hope I will splinter away from here soon.

"So, who gave you this medicine? One of my alternate self?" She asked.

I nodded.

Suddenly an alarm sounded loudly making me flinched.

"Well, that is my cue..." She suddenly said.

My mind registered what she said a bit slow and before I could do anything, she suddenly took a grip of my wrist.

With a chilling smile, she said, "You are coming with me."

"W-why?" I asked dumbly.

"Like I said I'm bored, your condition is interesting, I want to study it." She grinned menacingly. "Who know, maybe if you are good, I might even get you a cure."

"N-no."

She rolled her eyes. "It is cute you think you have a choice." She gripped my wrist so hard I hissed in pain.

I laughed at her suddenly. I was hysterical now. "I don't have a choice since this whole thing happened..."

It was at that moment Jack entered the room with a gun. "Release her, Valeyard!"

The Valeyard seemed amused with Jack but she did release her grip on my wrist. She suddenly stepped forward menacingly toward Jack.

"Don't come any closer." Jack warned but she ignored him. He shot her.

I flinched at the sound of the gun. It was then I felt the tingling.

The Valeyard laughed as if she is not just gotten shot. "Really, Jack, a gun? You should know better than..."

I couldn't hear anything anymore as I splinter away from that horrid place.

7777

"(name)? (name)!" Someone shook me awake. "Are you okay?"

I blinked as my vision cleared up. It was River Song, she is wearing an astronaut suit. "River?" I hesitantly called out. She knew me. Which River is she? "Where are we?"

"We are in the library." River answered.

"Inside the Tardis?"

"No. We are in a planet called the Library." She explained as she pulled me to stand up. It was then she noticed the red handprint around my wrist. "You are hurt."

I pulled my wrist away from her but she suddenly reached out to touch my face as she noticed the hand mark around my neck.

River looked angry. "Who hurt you?"

"It was a long story." I lied. I finally noticed the Tenth Doctor and he is with Donna, staring at us suspiciously.

River pulled me to the side and explained that the Doctor and Donna has no idea who I am but she did because she had met me in her past before. "I guess you could say this is the first time you met me, this version of me."

I had a fit of cough again.

"Your medicine..." River said. "You should take one."

"I can't. Someone took it from me." I said weakly.

"The same person who leave these marks on you?"

I nodded.

"I would like to have words with this person."

I felt vulnerable and the way River spoke, she sounded so protective of me, and suddenly I couldn't hold the tears.

"It was the Valeyard..." I said.

River froze in horror at that. "Valeyard?" She asked for confirmation. "You met a version of the Doctor who called himself the Valeyard?"

"It was her, actually, not a him." I said forlornly.

River looked sad for me. "I'm sorry, it must be hard for you."

I glanced at her sadly. She even know what the female version of the Doctor meant to me. She knew I traveled with the Thirteenth Doctor.

She explained to me what the Valeyard is to me. Like Jack said, it was a darker version of the Doctor devoid of any care for those the Doctor stand for.

"If you ever met that version of the Doctor again, you should run for your life." River said.

"Trust me, I never want to see her again. I hope I never have to see her ever again." I said, shuddered at the reminder of the Valeyard's cold, unfeeling eyes on me.

The Doctor stared at me and River curiously and he suddenly walked toward us. He introduced himself to me.

I told him my name. He said hi to me and then asked if I am also someone from his future.

"She is." River answered for me. "But she can't tell anything more. Spoiler."

I turned my eyes questioningly at River. I usually have to tell the Doctor about me being alternate companion and stuff.

River shrugged. "I'm sorry, (name), but I need him not to be distracted right now." She informed me of the vastra nevada situation on their hands. "I suppose you would better off not taking that medicine of yours. The sooner you splinter away from here the better. It isn't safe for you."

When the situation got worst, the Doctor wanted to send Donna back into the Tardis and River wanted to do the same for you but the Doctor refused, saying he doesn't trust you or River. River tried to calm herself. I felt like she is second away from slapping the hell out of the Doctor.

I pulled River to the side. "I will be okay, River. I will have to splinter anyway sometime soon." I said. "Beside, you said you met me in the past, so I will probably be okay, we will all survive this situation."

River still look worried. "Time can be rewritten sometimes..."

I blinked at her. Wait, so there is a chance we could get eaten by these shadow monster? I internally started to freak out.

"(name), make sure you stay by my side at all times." River said.

I am not complaining so I stick by River side.

After Anita got two shadow on her back and with Donna possibly dead, the Doctor seemed to get emotional and get mad at River. River didn't take his crap and told him to calm down. She whispered something in the Doctor's ear. The Doctor look shocked as he glanced at River. They seemed to talk again in whispers. I got the feeling that they were talking about me now as the Doctor stared at me in curiosity and wonder.

River told me that she finally tell the Doctor that I am his alternate future companion and will be someone he need to protect in the future.

I glanced at River in worry. "Why? What is in my future?"

River smiled. "Don't worry about it, (name), let focus on now, shall we?"

They eventually figured out about CAL keeping Donna and the rest of the survivors. The Doctor said he need to download them back and he even goes oncoming storm on the shadow monster, telling them to search information about the Doctor in the library. River suddenly punched the Doctor much to my surprise. She told me the Doctor has to survive the Library.

I realized that River is about to sacrifice herself after hearing how the Doctor won't be able to survive the download. "River, isn't there any other way?" I asked in concern. I really don't want her to die. "River!"

River is busy making the preparation and didn't answer me for a while much to my frustration. She told me that she knew she will die in the Library anyway that today will be her last day to see the Doctor. She said the Doctor knew it too. She suddenly turned at me and grabbed my face. I blinked at her in confusion. She tenderly kissed my forehead. "You will be okay, (name). I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all the hardship that you will have to endure but remember, you will be okay."

"River..."

She released you as she continued her work.

"There has to be a way, River, you can't die here." I pleaded with her.

"There is no other way. The Doctor has to survive today or the future will be rewritten." River said. She turned to me and smiled softly. "It's alright, (name), we will see each other again somewhere in your future."

I couldn't help my eyes being a bit teary, I felt emotional toward River for some reason. She is kind to me from the moment I landed here and she said we are friend and now I discover she will die here? I can't accept it but there is nothing I can do. And, of course, at that moment I felt the tingling. I don't want to leave. I don't want her to die alone.

River smiled at me. "I know that face. You are about to go, aren't you? Go, (name), It is okay. I would rather you are not here to see what happen next..."

I hugged her immediately and she hugged me back. I released her and then I was gone.

7777

I wiped away the tears in my eyes with my hand so that I could see where I landed to this time. My mouth dropped open when I realized I was in some train in space. Before I could do or say anything, an officer suddenly grabbed me, calling me a stowaway.

"She is with us." I heard someone said. It was Twelfth Doctor and he is with Clara. They sort it off with the officer and they let me go.

Clara turned to me and smiled. "It was nice seeing you again, (name)."

I smiled at her. "Same. Wait, the last time we met, was it with that time with Robin Hood?" I asked.

Clara nodded with a laugh.

I grinned with her before turning to the Doctor who is staring at me calculatingly. I suddenly felt self-conscious about the marks on my neck and wrist which thankfully I was able to cover with my coat but I have a feeling that he already saw a glimpse of it. I cursed myself for not being careful.

Clara pulled my arms and took us to the scene of party.

I scrunched my nose at the taste of the drink. "I don't like it."

Clara grinned and talked to me about how I am doing so I lied that I am okay so far.

I felt out of place in here due not wearing the period-appropriate dress for the occasion. I have fun in the party, eating some of the food. I watched as Clara and the Doctor talked to each other but I couldn't hear their conversation but they both looked sad for some reason.

There was some incident on the train. Some old lady died after yelling loudly about some intruder. I glanced at the Doctor, wondering if he will investigate and Clara asked the same but the Doctor said it was nothing.

Clara took me to a room on the train. I felt happy to see a bed but also annoyed realizing I couldn't rest properly for I don't have the medicine to delay splinter. But I used the time I have to wash my face and body. I suddenly remembered how the last Eleventh Doctor licked my face. I scrunched my nose and washed my face again.

After that, Clara and I shared a bed as we tried to get some rest. We couldn't though so we ended up talking. Clara told me she wanted to stop traveling with the Doctor and that today trip apparently supposed to be their last hurrah. I felt bad now to crash it with my appearance but she told me not to. She said she is happy to see me again and once again asked if I am really okay as she pointed to the marks on my neck. Apparently, she noticed it too.

I sighed. "I am fine now at least. I'm just...tired you know. I want to go home. I just...wonder if I will ever..." I shook my head tiredly.

Clara wrapped her arms around me suddenly, rubbing my back in comforting gesture. I am grateful for the comfort all the alternate Doctors and their companions gave me. I remembered what River said about me will be okay but I don't feel like I will though. In fact, I almost feel like I'm about to have a nervous breakdown soon.

Clara couldn't sleep so she goes to the Doctor, wanting to investigate if there is something going on in the train. She told you to get some rest. I honestly felt tired so I decided not to go with her.

Not long after she left, I had a fit of cough again. I stared at the blood and washed my hands. I could feel my condition get worst now. I really need to get the new medicine from the Doctor. I stood up, wanting to go search for the Doctor for I knew this version actually have the medicine as he said it during the Robin Hood fiasco. But I get a headache suddenly as the surrounding started to blur. I fell back to the bed as everything turned black.

I woke up to the frantic Clara. She asked me if I have taken my medicine yet.

"I don't have it." I whispered weakly. "I lost it."

"You should have told us, (name), the Doctor will have one on board the Tardis." Clara said as she pulled me up. "Come on, (name), we have to go. It isn't safe here."

I couldn't focus on her at all but she was saying something about a mummy on the train, something about sixty-six seconds left to live once targeted and how it goes after the weakest in a bunch. I blinked awake when she told me the Doctor deduced that I could be next due to my condition. She took me to some lab where the Doctor and a bunch of people are.

It was then I saw the mummy. I freaked out but I was also too weak to run or do anything else but staring at the mummy. I heard Clara yelling at the Doctor and then suddenly the Doctor is in front of me, clutching my face on both hands, talking really fast about transferring the link the mummy had with me on himself. He went inside my head somehow, tracking down the link and pulled it to him but as he did, he seemed to froze. He stared at me in horror but he composed himself and turned to face the mummy.

I fainted after that and woke up on some rocky-filled place. I heard the Doctor telling Clara about sometimes the only choices are bad choices.

The Doctor noticed me awake and pulled a bottle from his coat pocket. It was my back-up medicine.

I smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Doctor."

He suddenly tousled my hair around in somewhat awkward but affectionate way. He glanced at me. "Hang in there, (name)...and I'm sorry..."

I was confused why he is apologizing to me.

He looked grim now. "I saw it...inside your head...the Valeyard...and River."

I glanced at him, suddenly mourning for River again. "I'm sorry too, Doctor, about River."

The Doctor sighed as he sat beside me. I put my head on his shoulder. Clara watched us with a fond smile. I wanted to hug them but I felt too weak to do anything. I should probably take one right now so I could...

I felt the tingling much to my disappointment. I pulled away from the Doctor and smiled at him and then at Clara. "See you soon." I said to them.

tags: @thatsonezesty13 , @newheart97, @gracie-and-the-superwholock-gang

@itsyaspwr

A/N: I want to say thank you for those who comments/reblog/kudos my stories, especially those who comments, I love re-reading your comments, give me energy boost and the believe that my stories are not that bad. So, thank you so much!

I know this is shorter than the last four chapters but hopefully it will be enough for now.

#13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #shiefenwrites

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

Firestorm Part 7: Tipping Point

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021 Liu Kang x Reader

You train with Kung Lao. This might be the final straw.

A/N: Next chapter is from Liu Kang's point of view. Also there will be a hilarious shopping chapter with Kung Lao and Chen at a reader's request. Hope everyone is doing well <3 Don't worry, there will be more fluff soon too.

Start From the Beginning << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The rain had dried up while you were eating and conversation had quickly become less awkward. You had managed to separate what had happened with Liu Kang from your friendship with Kung Lao mentally. You cared about them so much. Somewhere along the line you’d decided that your friendship with them was the most important thing to have. No matter who you chose, you wanted to maintain those friendships.

Though you were pretty sure of what your heart wanted at this point. You’d been sure of it for some time. Since that night in the rain when Liu had wrapped his arms around you, as a matter of fact. It had felt like home. Nothing had ever felt like that before. You knew that no matter what happened next, things would be okay between you.

You also knew that what was happening to you was extraordinarily complicated and dangerous. That was your biggest hang up through all of this. When it came down to it, that was the true dilemma. Because whatever happened with Kung Lao and Liu Kang? That was something you could fix, something you could work on. You were all just people making human decisions. This thing with your arcana, however? That was beyond your control.

You didn’t want to hurt them. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You would gladly lock yourself away if it meant keeping everyone safe.

Things between you and Lao relaxed once you’d mentally coached yourself on the reality of the situation. You felt sobered by your own thoughts. It was something that you attributed to Liu Kang. Perhaps it was because of how frequently he’d helped you find your calm or maybe it was just that his calming presence had rubbed off on you.

This would pass.

All things did.

Kung Lao had agreed, with very little convincing, to go with you tomorrow to the nearest city to get your ‘lady things’. He’d hated you using that term which was precisely why you’d used it. It would keep him from asking questions. He’d asked you about lady problems the other day with disdain so you figured it would be the best excuse. Then after breakfast you made your way to the fight pit.

“We’ll start with your shoulder. But afterwards we’re working on your arcana.”

“Why? Because the shoulder thing is boring?”

“Yes, obviously.” Kung Lao teased. He seemed relieved that you had shaken your weird mood. You were relieved too. That brief moment of panic had threatened to send you into a spiral. But it had passed and you were rather proud of yourself for it. “And because you’ve been avoiding it.”

“I know, I know. I psyched myself out for a bit there. No more avoiding it. I promise.” You’d changed into a gi to prepare for training. You would do your best to try and keep from overdoing it but if Kung Lao could help you get a hold of your arcana than it would be worth the strain. He was watching you skeptically as he kicked up sand in the fight pit. “I mean it. I want to get back to where I was before this. At least. I want to be able to give you and Liu a run for your money again.”

“It’s nice to hear you sounding more like yourself.” Kung Lao turned away from you but you could see the smile on his face before he did. It was like he wanted to hide it. Why? It didn’t much matter.

After that you spent some time working on your shoulder. He really did have a few exercises to help stretch the muscles and strengthen them. It’d hurt but it had been worth it. He also taught you a few strategies to avoid putting strain on it in combat when you needed to. It was nice that your styles of Kung Fu weren’t too terribly different. Kung Lao understood which stances would put strain where and you picked up the modifications easily. For the first time in a long time you felt competent and strong.

Even with your shoulder the way that it was after the incident with Raiden you had managed to find your footing. And you understood your limits. You moved with confidence. Kung Lao went easy on you after that even if he denied it when you confronted him for doing it. You imagined that it had been traumatizing for him to watch his childhood friend struggle for weeks on end. you considered that you both needed therapy.

“Now your arcana.” He dusted his hands off and then wiped them on his pants. With that familiar tug of the strap beneath his chin, he removed his hat and sliced with it through the air before crouching low and back into his stance.

“Was that necessary or… were you just showing off?”

“I’m going to show you how I use mine.” He flipped the hat in his grasp and then slipped it back on his head with a polite bow afterward.

“So, showing off. Got it.” You muttered but caught the smirk on his face.

“Arcana has an energy all its own. With time you learn to recognize it.” Kung Lao tossed the hat into the air and it spun around the perimeter of the arena, twisting through the air. He didn’t so much as look at it, it just did as he commanded it to. Kung Lao walked toward you and without looking, he reached out and the hat flew into his hand. He placed it again atop his head. “It’s a part of you. You have to treat it like it is. Another limb if you will.”

“I’m fairly confident that you’re just showing off.” You smiled. He chuckled beneath his breath then tossed his hat again. It flew behind you and with a twist, he disappeared into the ground in a white light and then reappeared behind you, hat landing perfectly atop his head. Then, arms folded behind his back, he leaned over your shoulder with a smirk.

“Now I’m showing off.” He clicked his tongue and then walked in front of you. “But I’m also making a point. I’ve been using my arcana far longer than you have. To me it’s second nature. We need it to be that way for you too. Sometimes that means getting in control of part of you that seems beyond it.”

“…kind of like when learning martial arts.”

“Exactly. Learning how to use parts of you as a weapon or a shield. Your arcana is no different except that without the dragon marking, you wouldn’t have it.”

“It’s like those exercises you made me do early on, right? It’s about control.” You had understood that to an extent but putting it into terms you understood, like martial arts, had helped considerably. You hadn’t felt in control of much of anything for a long time. In fact, the last few times you’d even tried to use your arcana it was as though the control had been ripped away from you. If you could become more in tune with your arcana then maybe when whoever it was that was manipulating you with this curse nonsense showed up again, they wouldn’t be able to use you as easily.

“I don’t think the sorts of exercises that Liu used are going to be helpful for what you do. Your arcana is different. His was dangerous at first too, just in a different way. I think that most arcana, by nature, will be dangerous.” Kung Lao smiled fondly, as though the idea delighted him. “My hat was obviously dangerous too. It’s not like zapping around like I do is exactly safe. Or easy.”

“The implications of that are awful, Lao.”

“All I’m saying is that there’s a learning curve to everything. Even for warriors like me and Liu.”

“Is this your way of trying to make me feel better about my arcana? You know that you can just be encouraging. That works just fine.”

“What I’m trying to say is that this is difficult in the beginning for everyone. You get the hang of it, like anything else. Your circumstances are definitely abnormal Y/N, but not that much so. I know that the past few weeks have been difficult for you.”

“Kung Lao, you don’t need to reassure me. I’m okay. Really.”

“No, I do, Y/N.” Kung Lao frowned, brow furrowed with compassion, with worry. Who were you to argue with him? “I can be hard on you but only because I know what you’re capable of. But the truth is that we understand this isn’t easy for you. Even just having the mark and learning to control your arcana is a difficult task. But these circumstances have made it that much more complicated. You’re doing a wonderful job, Y/N. It’s why Liu and I are so understanding. We’ve been there before.”

“I appreciate that, Kung Lao, really…”

“Raiden understands too. I know he can come off as harsh but I don’t want you to think that he…”

“No, okay, stop.” You laughed and took a step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He bowed his head apologetically. Serious Kung Lao made you uncomfortable. It was just such a rare thing. What had brought this on? You struggled to picture him having moments of self-reflection but you supposed that he must have. Not enough to tell you about the best that he’d made with Liu, but still. “Do you think that this has me upset? Unhappy?”

“Um… yes.”

“There are parts of it that I struggle with, of course. This curse thing sucks. The inability to get back on my feet sucks. Feeling like a ticking time bomb? Not in love with it. But overall? I’m grateful to be here.”

“Even after Raiden…” He mimicked the action of shocking you and you laughed, then patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“He did what was necessary. I’m not holding it against him. And I’m grateful to have come to Raiden’s Temple, Kung Lao. Yes, it was kind of traumatizing and is a little scary but also… I got my best friend back. I never thought in a million years there was even a chance of that. I know that things are different for us now but I’m also so grateful that it was you that found me that day. Grateful that it was you that came into my shop all those times. Whatever brought you back there, Lao, I’m just so damn grateful. And I’m grateful to have met Liu Kang. He’s a wonderful friend. I’m even grateful for the crazy gossipy monks down in the infirmary. And grateful for Raiden. He’s kind of fatherly, isn’t he? In a weird way?”

“He can be. And he seems fond of you. He isn’t usually so nice.” Kung Lao smirked but you could see the relief behind his eyes. Apparently, he’d been the one who had really needed reassuring. You were happy to provide it.

“Well, it’s hard to be mean to someone you almost killed.” You joked and Kung Lao laughed. “We got super off topic here. We need to focus.”

“Yes, that’s what we were talking about. Focus. And control.”

“We are terrible at this.”

“We need to decide what works for you.” Kung Lao took a step back. “Can you summon your arcana for me? Your sword, perhaps?”

“Sure.” You stepped back and focused. He was right. There was energy around you and it wasn’t the first time you’d felt it and recognized it as your arcana. It was about focus and control. You could do that. In fact, you had excelled at both of those things. Being a teacher, you’d needed to be focused and controlled. You could do this. Especially today.

You had plenty of focus and control.

Without so much as a wave of your hand, you summoned your jian in a swell of ink. It dripped down your hand and formed the hilt and then the blade. It didn’t drain you and you smiled. It felt natural to do, like the sword was an extension of you. You flipped the hilt in your palm and then back again. Then you dropped into your stance and used your other hand to beckon Kung Lao to come at you for a fight. But he didn’t. Instead he clapped in a slow and unimpressed way.

“Now do more.”

“Excuse you? You said to summon my sword. I did that.”

“I want you to try and recreate me again.” He looked rather excited about that and your cheeks flushed.

“I don’t know how I did that, Kung Lao. I needed help and you weren’t there and I was worried that you’d been hurt too badly and then suddenly… ink you to the rescue.”

“I was your hero then, huh?”

“Don’t read into it, Lao.”

“You were worried about me too? Wow, a lot to unpack here, Y/N.” Kung Lao was trying not to look terribly smug and doing a terrible job at it.

“I mean, you are human, Kung Lao! Being thrown through a door and then a wall and then a door… that takes a toll on a man, I would imagine.”

“I’m still pretty bruised up, honestly.”

“I would imagine.”

“Well, I want you to try that again but without being in peril. You can’t rely on something like that in a panic. You need to be able to control it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I have a few ideas I can try. I don’t know if they’ll work but I’ll try.”

“When we’re finished, if you’re still worried about me then I’ll happily let you check me out.” He grinned and walked further away from you. You flushed but held your tongue. He was baiting you. Kung Lao enjoyed bickering with you. You knew that already and now wasn’t the time to give in. You were so terrible at staying on topic today. You had to focus! You were feeling so good about your strength and your arcana. You wanted to take advantage of that. Besides, flirting with Kung Lao was on a list of things that were difficult to deal with.

You focused on the ink, remembering how it had coated your fingertips in direr moments. You willed it to do just that and were pleased when it obeyed. It spread up to your shoulders. Your arms and fingers were stained black. Then you used your index finger to draw another sword and it materialized with your will. Slow, bored applause from Kung Lao again. It was like a pen. That was your true weapon, you’d decided. That gave you another idea.

What about words? Would words have power? You spelled the first thing that came to mind.

Fire.

Just like that, the word floated before you and then burst into flame. Kung Lao laughed, eyes wide with delight.

“What? No! Do it again.”

“Uh, okay…” You laughed and spelled ‘hat’, visualizing Kung Lao’s hat as you did. It materialized and clattered to the ground. Kung Lao made his way back to you and picked up the hat. It stained his fingertips, but he was able to toss it. It splattered against the wall but the ink didn’t stain the stone. Instead it decayed into a frail gray substance, like ash, before disappearing on the wind.

“You could create anything with that.” Kung Lao seemed to mentally be rattling through the possibilities. You were sure that it had limitations. Even as you considered what to make next, you could feel that it had drained you. Maybe that was your limitation. The ink would exhaust you before you created anything too catastrophic. That was a fair trade off. You could find a way to manage the weariness that went with your arcana.

He wanted to see that drawing of him again.

So you wrote his name and you could feel the excitement radiating off of him.

Kung Lao.

He stepped into his stance, face blocked out by his hat and ready for a fight. You focused your energy into his name and then the words spread out into a dome and created his hat. From the hat came the image of Kung Lao in a great leap. You gasped and covered your mouth. The ink was shaky so you focused harder.

The drawing of Kung Lao ducked into the same stance as Kung Lao. Then you had the drawing rush at him and feint left before attacking. Kung Lao blocked the attack and you maneuvered the ink duplicate, trying to remember the way that your father fought, the way that you knew Kung Lao fought. But the ink duplicate moved on instinct. You didn’t have to control it like it had strings. It had your knowledge of him.

That was until it stopped attacking Kung Lao and turned toward you. You willed it to turn back around but it didn’t obey you. What the hell? It approached you aggressively, using its hat as a blade with a spin.

“Whoa, hey, what gives, Y/N?” Kung Lao walked around the image of himself but then ducked out of the way as it sliced toward him. “Hey! Cut it out!”

“I’m not doing it!” You stepped back nervously as the drawing continued toward you. You stumbled in the sand and sunk your feet to get your balance but instead, you dropped through the ground into darkness.

You knew that hadn’t really happened. This was a feeling you recognized now.

You were having a vision.

Well, this was terrible timing.

You stood in a frozen wasteland. Everything around you was coated in a thick layer of ice. It looked like it had been a warehouse once. But then you caught sight of training equipment. A gym. You’d seen big gyms like this in the city but you had no idea where it was. Everything was so coated in ice that you couldn’t make out any of the signs. You were freezing.

In the distance, there was the sound of combat but it was muted, like you had cotton in your ears. You tried to get closer to the sound but had no real control over anything. Whatever this vision wanted to show you, it would show you whether you liked it or not. It was like you were on rails. It was cruel. To have felt like you had regained so much control only to have it stripped away from you. It was like something was playing an awful game with you where you always lost.

You refused to let it crush you.

Whatever your ink was doing outside of your vision you had faith that Kung Lao could handle it.

Two men fought, both masked and unnatural. This was beyond your understanding. One man was made of fire and the other was made of ice, holding a blade of the same ice. They were armored. They fought so quickly that you could barely make out what they were doing. Their movements were blurred in streams of ink. The fiery warrior sliced with a blade but the man made of ice blocked every blow. He then twisted the fiery man and threw him into a wall of ice that shattered. You ducked out of fear of the ice but again, you had no body, really. You weren’t actually there.

Their fluid fighting was a terrifying dance. They were both so threatening. These two men, whoever they were, were the most skilled martial artists that you had ever seen. There was a crashing sound behind you but when you turned to find the source, the world melted into a haze. You didn’t know what anything meant anymore. Sometimes the visions were so vague and blurry that they were barely visions at all. Maybe that thing in your head didn’t want you to see this particular vision.

When you opened your eyes again, you were staring into darkness. You could move again and you were awake but where were you? It was so damn dark. There was sand beneath where you laid. You were still in the fight pit! Distantly, you could hear Kung Lao fighting but there was a spinning wall of darkness between you and him. What the hell?

There was a vortex of ink swirling all around you, thick and slow moving. It muted all other sounds with a roar. Your heart was pounding out of your chest but you focused like Kung Lao had taught you. But no matter how you focused, the ink didn’t budge. You had no control over any of it even if you could feel that it was your arcana. It drained you just existing.

You touched the vortex in hopes that you could run through it to the other side but it sliced at your fingertips as though the vortex was made of ink needles. Was it protecting you? And if so, from what?

“Kung Lao!” You shouted but you couldn’t hear anything but the muted chaos of combat beyond. What had you done? What had you summoned? “Kung Lao!” You screamed to him but there was nothing. He probably couldn’t hear you.

Okay. Deep breaths.

You focused on your arcana. It spread up your hands and over your arms. You would draw a way out if you had to! As you made to draw a door, the ink was swept away from your arms and the tornado consumed it and roared threateningly, as if you had fed it. Maybe it wasn’t protecting you. Maybe it was imprisoning you. Your heart was slamming with panic in your chest. This couldn’t be happening! It couldn’t! You had to get this under control.

But you were panicking.

Maybe you were better off without the mark. Maybe you should be locked away so you couldn’t put anyone else in danger!

Then there was a horrible, loud ringing in your head.

You held your hands over your ears to try and escape it but it was in your head so there was no escape. It was so loud that it was making you feel sick. Your legs wobbled so you shrunk down into a crouch and tried to breathe through the painful sound. It reminded you of the dolorous ringing of the bell. The bell that had cracked along with your shoulder. That was it. It was the bell. Your shoulder was aching so much so that you could have collapsed. But you refused to fall.

This wouldn’t take you again.

It wouldn’t hurt you again!

“Who are you?” You yelled in frustration. Because that was what was happening. There was someone else there, something else there, that horrible demonic thing was destroying you, using you. “Who is doing this? Face me, coward!” You taunted in hopes of drawing it out. You didn’t think it would work but the ringing stopped. You managed to stand up but your legs were trembling beneath you. “Who’s doing this?” You shouted again but suddenly you weren’t alone. You expected the demon to walk right out of the ink.

But it wasn’t the demon.

Instead the icy warrior from your vision stepped out of the ink of the vortex, made of the same ink that formed it. He was dripping with it but you could see the details of his outfit his armor, his mask imprinted in the ink. The air became frigid within the vortex. You knew now that he had been the one that had coated that whole gym in ice. How powerful was he that he could do that? And who was he?

Panic shot through you but you stepped back, careful not to back into the vortex. How? How did whoever was manipulating you have such a hold on you? What kind of curse could do this? Who had this kind of power? It was too dangerous for you to have arcana. Too dangerous for you to be in Raiden’s Temple. Too dangerous for you to have the mark. You were dangerous.

You summoned your sword. The vortex tried to consume the ink, as if hungry, but you refused to allow it. It took nearly all your strength and the aching in your shoulder spread into your chest but you refused to give in. You yelled in frustration and charged at the man who stood threateningly before you. He summoned a blade of shadow and ice and stabbed toward you with a graceful twist. You blocked but barely. His icy blade left shards of ice on your sword and it spread toward your hand. You tried to shake it off but the jian shattered and you let go of the hilt. The vortex devoured the remains of your sword.

You summoned another but the panic was making you shake.

You had to stop it. Something had to stop it.

If you had to then you would do something drastic. You wouldn’t let your arcana destroy everything.

27 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Stereo Hearts

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro

Hello, everyone! It is my pleasure to present my story for the @kmjr-mini-bang! A super big thanks to my partner @chiztec who drew an absolutely stunning piece to accompany my story, as well as Amii and nish, who were kind enough to beta my story. I hope you all enjoy the finished product!

Denki sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He laid on his bed, thumbs twiddling as his hands were clasped over his stomach. His worried gaze could have bored holes into the ceiling if he had the right Quirk. He felt a little silly, fretting so relentlessly over something as simple as a high school graduation. For most students, it was a time of excitement, a chapter of transition in their lives as they went bungling on into adulthood. Denki was eagerly looking forward to getting out there and showing the world what Chargebolt could do. Adulthood wasn’t exactly what he was worried about.

He hadn’t told Kyoka that he loved her yet.

“Jeez, that sounds right out of some corny chick flick,” he groaned and rubbed his palms over his eyes. He grimaced as nervous sweat smeared across his face. He flopped his arms back down against the bed with another forlorn exhale, eyes lidded as he envisioned the beautiful, talented girl he’d fallen head-over-heels for their first year. Everything had seemed to get in the way of professing his feelings for her, and also, he felt a little… unworthy. He was a great big massive dork, not nearly cool enough to even be seen with someone as pretty and sophisticated as Kyoka.

He’d probably short-circuit and go into “yay” mode when tried to confess to her.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side to grab his phone off the charger. It wasn’t like he was sleeping anyway. As he unlocked it, his thumb came to rest over the screen, and his golden eyes stared at the time burning in white numbers in the center of the display. The time was inching closer to midnight. Soon, it would officially be the day of his graduation. The realization sent a sinking feeling spiraling into the pit of his stomach.

He was running out of time. Everyone made well-intentioned promises to keep in touch after high school, but everyone knew that almost never panned out. You went on, to college or to a career, you got insanely busy, and next thing you know you haven’t talked to anyone you know in years and made new friendships. Denki swallowed thickly, mindlessly bringing up his favorite picture of Kyoka in his gallery. She was smiling brightly, so hard her eyes were scrunched up into little half-moons. She’d made that face for Denki when he’d surprised her for her birthday with an expensive album she’d been eyeing since its release. When she’d smiled at him like that, he’d almost electrocuted everyone in the room because he’d been so damn in love.

He was still so damn in love.

He pulled up Kyoka’s contact information. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Would she even be awake right now? He wondered with a tiny sigh. Probably not. It was the middle of the night. Still, he found himself texting out a message.

Hey, are you awake?

He rolled back over and set the phone down on his chest to stare up at the ceiling again. He fully expected his message to go unanswered, so he began losing himself in the confusing stream of “what ifs” and regretting every moment he never chose to tell Kyoka how he felt. He was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the message alert rang through his quiet bedroom. He fumbled with his sweaty hands to pull up Kyoka’s response.

Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?

A sappy smile bloomed on his lips, and he rolled over, snuggling into his mattress while typing out his reply.

Just thinking. What about you?

Three dots popped up on the message screen, quickly followed by a simple, Same.

Denki ruminated on his thoughts for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t even really know what he wanted to say, or what he wanted to do. He wasn’t enough of an ass to confess to Kyoka over text, no… It had to be more special than that, something that she was deserving of.

A cheesy grin slowly appeared on his face as he recounted a conversation he’d overheard— Kyoka talking to Mina about her favorite romance movie tropes. Believe it or not, Kyoka secretly adored them and often requested them for the girls’ movie nights. He’d always stored that information in the back of his mind, just in case it would ever become useful…

Yeah… he thought deviously. He threw off his covers and scrambled over to his closet to throw on something halfway-decent. He couldn’t profess his undying love in a pair of All Might pajama pants, after all. He inspected himself in the mirror after wiggling into a pair of skinny jeans and a band tee-shirt that Kyoka had bought for his last birthday. He licked the palm of his hand to slick down the flyaways in his blond hair, turned his face left and right, and then gave his reflection finger-guns.

“You got this. You’re a stud. Ladies love ya!” He grinned encouragingly. He held the expression until his face hurt, trying to will the confidence into existence. Then, he flopped his arms and hung his head in defeat. “She’s probably gonna laugh,” he snorted. “But,” he added, peeking through his bangs at the mirror. “I still gotta try!”

Before his courage could fail him, Denki snatched up the vintage stereo sitting on his desk— another birthday present from Kyoka— and scurried out of the room, hopping on one foot down the hall trying to slip on his Converse. He slowly tip-toed past Tenya’s dorm clutching his stereo to his chest; their class representative had a nose for trouble, especially Denki’s shenanigans, and had caught the blond many a night trying to sneak away and get up to no good. It seemed that luck was on Denki’s side this evening, as he made it to the stairwell without inciting a peep for the tall bespectacled boy’s room. He breathed a sigh of relief and gathered himself for a moment before proceeding downstairs.

He treaded carefully, having long since memorized the creaky spots in the wood in his many misadventures. The tip of his tongue peeked out of his lips as he used the sparse moonlight to guide his steps down to the first floor. It was slow going, but the even best-laid plans were ruined by haste. He could feel his cell phone vibrating in his back pocket, probably Kyoka wondering why he suddenly stopped texting her.

All in due time, my dear Kyoka! <3

When Denki reached the first-floor landing, he cautiously peered out into the gloom. It wouldn’t be the first time he surprised another student who had fallen asleep in the lounge, or worse, Mr. Aizawa, who had relocated to the common room to stay up late grading assignments. Thankfully, Lady Luck was generous and granted him passage through his second trial; the lounge was empty.

Denki stole away through the darkness, like a thief in the night, to the back door. He grimaced as it creaked loudly and looked over his shoulder. After an agonizing half-minute of silence, no one emerged from the dark to scold him, so he elected that the coast was clear. He slipped outside, and the warm wind immediately enveloped him, clouding him with a cologne of night-blooming flowers and dew. He stared out into the side alley, the concrete path that led him to the space just beneath Kyoka’s balcony— and began to doubt.

I’m really going out on a limb here, he gulped and clutched the stereo to his chest until the metal creaked. His absolute worst nightmare wasn’t Kyoka rejecting him… but laughing at him. He tried to tell himself that Kyoka would never do something so callous, but he worried all the same. It was such a frightening thing, putting yourself out there. The mind tried to worm its way out of it whenever possible.

But it’s now or never! Even if she laughs at me… If I don’t do this now, I’ll regret not doing it for the rest of my life!

Denki was going to go out on this limb, even if it broke underneath him and he plummeted headlong into bitter heartbreak. He could always put himself back together again. Resolute, he tromped down the small alleyway to the rows of balconies jutting out from the dorm.

He counted under his breath until he found Kyoka’s sliding glass doors and fluttering curtains. He set the stereo down by his feet and finally pulled out his phone to discover a series of confused messages from Kyoka.

Hello? You text me first, and then don’t answer me? What’s up with that?

He smiled, sensing that playful bite in her tone that he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with.

Come out onto your balcony, he answered. Before he could stow his cellphone, it buzzed with a quick reply.

What? Why?

Just do it! He insisted in mild panic. He’d failed to consider that Kyoka would just tell him to shove off and go to bed. As nervous sweat condensed on his forehead, he heard the faint click of the door. He jerked in shock, inadvertently dropping his phone face-down on the concrete. He cringed, already imagining the crack spiderwebbing across the glass screen.

“Denki?” he heard Kyoka call suspiciously as he ducked down to hit the power button on the stereo. It automatically started up a CD of Kyoka’s favorite songs that he’d burned on the off-chance that he would need it. Just as she came to the edge of the balcony, he straightened up and swept his hand through his hair, smiling bashfully. Her eyes widened, refracting the moonlight as her ears drank in the pretty tune streaming from the stereo’s large speakers. “Denki?” she repeated perplexedly. “What are you doing?”

He nudged down the volume with his toe while a blush rose to his cheeks.

“Look, I know this is corny as hell, and you probably don’t appreciate being called out at three in the morning, but I’m kinda desperate here,” he admitted, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck and chuckling. “You know how I told you I was thinking? I was thinking about you. How your smile lights up my whole life, and when you sing it sounds like an angel walking this Earth, and how damn lucky I feel to have shared these last three years with you. How cute you are when you laugh, and gush about romance movies when you think nobody notices, and how badass you are that it leaves me breathless.”

As he rambled on and on about everything he absolutely adored about her, Kyoka’s face glowed like a pink opal in the moonlight and her wide eyes glimmered like gems. By this time, the noise had attracted the other girls from their dorm rooms, and they sleepily peered out at Denki pouring out his heart and soul to their startled classmate. His cheeks darkened with embarrassment, but he’d already said so much; there was no going back now.

“I was thinking about how stupidly in love I am with you, and how if I don’t tell you now that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So I love you, Kyoka, and I’d be really stoked if you’d go out with me.”

A ripple of gasps rang out from the girls’ mouths, and they all looked expectantly at Kyoka. The girl gulped audibly and pawed at her dark hair, which was sticking up in odd places and tousled with sleep. Her earjacks nervously writhed above her shoulders and her eyes cast down as she considered Denki’s confession. All the while, he stood there holding his breath, waiting and listening to the love song serenade the silence.

He was beginning to feel a bit faint and like he was going to start sparking when her eyes finally flickered up to meet his own.

“I’d be really stoked to go out with you, too.”

The girls erupted into cheers and squeals, jumping up and down while clapping their hands. Kyoka blushed under their ecstatic congratulations. Their whoops and hollers attracted the boys from across their halls, meandering out onto the girls’ balconies to investigate what all the fuss was about. Denki shrunk under all the attention, twiddling his fingers and turning as red as a tomato.

“Aw, congratulations, you two!” Izuku called with a big smile.

“It’s about damn time,” Katsuki grumped from beside Eijirou and Ochako. “I was getting sick and damn tired about him mooning over her like a lovesick sap.”

“Hey, bro! Don’t you have a nicer way to say congrats?” the redhead scolded, making Katsuki snarl.

“Denki Kaminari!” came the expected chastising. Denki flinched and grinned apologetically at Tenya, who was gestating emphatically on Tooru’s balcony with his nightcap flapping. “What is the meaning of this? I understand the romanticism, but it is the eve of our graduation ceremony! It is imperative that we be rested to do justice to our prestigious institution, not straggle in like zombies! Have you no sense of decorum?”

“Oh, can it, class rep,” Mina chided. Tenya leaned down over the balcony railing with an affronted gasp. The pink girl’s smile was wide as she winked at Denki. “So, stud. Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna come give your new girlfriend a kiss?”

“Mina!” Kyoka hissed, turning her head so hard and fast that Denki swore he heard her bones snap. Denki jumped, stuttering nonsensities, and dipped down to retrieve his stereo. It was still blaring as he sprinted back into the dorm and up the stairs. Kyoka was standing in her doorway as he came barreling up the steps, tripping over the laces of his Converse and nearly plowing headfirst into the wall. The rest of the students watched with bated breath, crowding in the other doorways and on the steps behind him.

“Hey, Kyoka,” Denki swallowed, holding the stereo to his chest as he timidly approached her. His breaths came in ragged gasps from his rapid staircase sprint, and a sheen of sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. He doubted that he looked the picture of handsome— but Kyoka still smiled coyly as he approached, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring at him like he was her knight in shining armor. His golden eyes never left hers as he set the stereo on the floor and rubbed his palms on the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Hey, Denki,” she smiled shyly. His heart fluttered just at the sweet sound of her voice, and he swore he fell in love all over again in that moment. His body moved instinctively as his mind was ensnared by her unconscious charm, stepping close to her and using his index finger to slowly tip up her chin. He sucked in a breath, enchanted by her shy little gaze and slightly parted lips.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Just kiss her already, you asshole, I’m tired!” Katsuki yelled from down the hall, making both of them jump. He heard Eijirou scold him under his breath and elbow him in the ribs, making Katsuki unleash a string of unflattering curses. After the fiery blond’s grumbles had died down, Denki smiled bashfully at the pink-cheeked Kyoka. She fluttered her eyelashes demurely, then flickered her gaze down to his lips.

Well, if he was waiting for an invitation, that damn sure was it.

Without further ado, Denki leaned in to gently capture her in a sweet kiss. His heart sung as she hummed slightly, making his hair stand on end. He almost wondered if he’d strayed into a dream, that his fantastical whimsies had come to fruition only in his subconscious. However, when he pulled back and opened his eyes, he knew he was awake. He could never dream the way she looked at him then, with such utter adoration that it made his heart ache.

“All right. Show’s over,” Katsuki grumbled, skulking off toward his room. Denki rolled his eyes but leaned down to finally switch off the stereo. When he straightened back up, their classmates had retreated into their rooms— leaving them alone. Kyoka shyly swung from side-to-side, hugging herself with a sheepish grin.

“That was pretty smooth,” she admitted.

“Really?” he asked excitedly. Her cheeks darkened a shade of pink, and then she nodded. Denki suppressed the wild urge to embarrass himself with a happy jig. Kyoka would probably find it charming, but he wanted to hang on to some sense of decorum, as Tenya had put it. After several minutes of staring adoringly at one another, Denki finally drawled dreamily, “Well… We should probably get back to bed… Tenya’ll be mad if we’re tired at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding just as enthused about ending the moment as he was. Neither of them moved for several seconds. “You should go, Denki,” she reminded him, finally prompting his sluggish body to move. He scooped up his stereo, never breaking eye contact, before rising to clutch it to his chest. “I’ll see you later,” she reassured him with a light laugh, before retreating into her room. She didn’t close the door, just gazed at him like he’d hung the moon in the sky— and he would, for her.

“Yeah,” he said as he began backing away towards the end of the hall. When she finally shut the door, he risked his happy dance, jitterbugging back to his room. Just as he flopped onto his bed, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out with furrowed brows, and then broke into a stupid smile.

I’m looking forward to our date.

His thumbs flew across the screen to type up a reply as he rolled on his side and snuggled into bed.

Me too. Goodnight, Kyoka.

She must have drifted off, because there was no reply. That was all right. After a minute of goofily admiring her contact picture, he finally put his phone on the charger and settled into bed. Sleep took him easily this time, gifting him dreams of what was to come.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#kamijiro #kamijirou #jirokami #jiroukami #kaminari x jiro #jiro x kaminari #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #kyoka jiro #jiro kyoka #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 3 years

Text

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective.

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part.

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that.

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing.

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager.

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now.

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash.

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But.

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts.

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed.

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm.

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received.

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy.

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely.

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem.

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself.

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too.

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020.

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call.

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind.

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.

So I didn’t.

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest.

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back.

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either.

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that.

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited.

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly.

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you.

Love,

- Kat.

#kat speaks #blog psa #i suppose

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cmyknoise · 3 years

Text

Home becomes Home Again

Fandom: MCYT/Dream SMP Characters: Tommyinnit, Technoblade, Philza, Wilbur/Ghostbur, Ranboo & Tubbo are briefly mentioned Relationships: (Platonic Technoblade & Tommyinnit; Sleepy Bois Inc.) Words: 3995 Summary: Things had gotten a bit too quiet for Techno, and he thinks a lot about his family. After a morning of sparring with Tommy, he has a few ideas and it only helps to make their home feel like home again. AO3 Link

Home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was far too quiet and somber. He’d spent years fighting wars in the empire he and Phil had shared. It was loud, freezing. Things had settled down at a point- Phil had taken in two kids. It was then that Phil discovered that Techno had been a kid too. It was then discovered that he and one of the kids shared a birthday- and from that point on he was officially the unofficial twin of one such Wilbur Soot. He stuck around with Phil and his new family, and at some point he supposed he’d been sucked into it.

Growing up within their empire, Technoblade had once been annoyed by how loud and obnoxious his new family had been, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d gotten used to hearing his younger twin belting out ballads like a bard whenever he pleased. He’d gotten used to Tommy screaming as he would jump from the top step to the bottom, trying to fly like their father. He’d gotten used to the stern lectures and loud laughs that Phil would give them. He missed the chaos. It took awhile to call Phil his dad, he still had trouble with it, but it was an understood thing. They were friends and partners in war, and family at home. He missed the loud moments. He missed the quiet moments.

Home didn’t feel like home anymore. Wilbur was no longer there. Ghostbur stopped by, an echo of who his twin was. He supposed Ghostbur was more of a reflection of when they were younger- when Wilbur’s only concerns were his music and friends and family. Ghostbur wasn’t Wilbur, but he was still Techno’s brother. Ghostbur sometimes remembered their childhood- he supposed it was because they were happy memories. It was why the spectre still remembered how to fight- he remembered when they used to spar. Ghostbur didn’t come by often. Techno supposed it was because L’manburg held more recent memories.

Technoblade sat at a lectern in his room, looking through various books and papers. It was late, and the cold icy wind howled outside, shaking the shutters. He hoped Phil was okay. He’d gone out in the morning to go retrieve Ghostbur from L’manburg. According to him, supposedly Ghostbur had gotten a notice of eviction. How they were going to evict a ghost or why was beyond Techno, but the more he heard about L’manburg, the more the hate for the damn country bubbled up within him.

At one point, he wondered if they’d gone too far. Seeing Phil in the control room, hearing Wilbur’s begs for death, and the crater which had been made where land once stood. He’d wondered if they went too far. Had this all been worth it? Had it been right to destroy the place? They’d done an unlawful coup, and based on what the country was doing now...maybe it had been the right decision, maybe. Techno only wished it hadn’t ended in the demise of his twin, a broken family and broken home. There may have been other ways… maybe Techno could’ve found them if he tried harder, or if he tried harder to pull his brother out of his spiraling madness.

The night was loud, and the house grew cold. The fire went out- Techno had to fix that. The house wasn’t empty like it usually was. Tommy was here, sleeping in the basement. No matter how many times Techno tried to coax him upstairs, to sleep in a bed or a couch, the youngest insisted on sticking to the basement. Techno didn’t think forcing the kid would be a good idea. He seemed….fragile. It was strange, Tommy had never been fragile. Honestly if the words Techno lived by were ‘Technoblade never dies’, then he was sure Tommy’s was ‘Tommyinnit is unbreakable’, at least. That’s what he thought until he found his youngest brother in the...state he was in. He looked like if Techno even just poked him, like Tommy would crumble. He decided it was best to let Tommy do what made him happy and feel better, and be there for the background support. Based on what his kid brother had told him… he’d put the pieces together. Dream had hell to pay, that dumb smile would be crushed beneath Techno’s hooves if he had any say on the matter. But that was...that was a later plan.

The fire sputtered to life as Techno added more logs and coal, fueling the furnace to the max. It was the only way the heat seeped into the basement. He should check on Tommy. He’d make it up to him. The moment back in the war- he’d taken it too far, he thinks. The way Tommy shut him out for so long, the trauma he caused- he had to make up for it. There was no fixing it, or taking it back, but he could be better for him. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. He wouldn’t have his last brother be a ghost or become a shell of who he was.

The piglin snatched up a few blankets, and slid down the ladder with. He then kicked open the trap door, climbing his way down into the ‘den’. He glanced up at the ventilation he installed. He doubted Tommy noticed, but it was at least tolerable down there. He glanced at the doors. Tommy was unintentionally smart with installing three doors. It kept out the cold. He glanced around the dark room eyes landing on the blond, curled up in blankets. He looked at ease when he was sleeping. He looked like how he did before he and Wilbur had left home in the empire. Techno longed for that peace again.

He carefully draped the blankets atop the teen, watching as he curled further into them. Tommy didn’t wake, and Techno took the moment to see how he’d changed. Exile hadn’t treated him kindly. Tommy had more scars on his face than Techno ever remembered. His hair had dulled and faded lighter, a symptom of malnutrition. Tommy was still recovering from that. His hair had grown longer- long enough to need to pull back at times. It made him think of himself, how Wilbur taught him how to do such a thing. Wilbur had taught him how to take care of his thick pink locks.

Technoblade ran a hand through his bangs. He hadn’t really taken care of his hair in months, not since Wilbur did it the morning before the war. Even in his crazed state...he’d taken the time to put Techno’s hair into a tight braid, nice and tidy.

“You know how to do this, right Tech?”

The piglin nodded, running a stone over the edge of his blade as he sharpened it, giving a huff. He knew how to put his hair up. He just preferred Wilbur doing it. That’s what he told himself anyway. The brunette laughed softly. It wasn’t maniacal like the laugh that usually echoed the caves of Pogtopia. It was genuine, a laugh at Technoblade. He’d be offended if circumstances were different.

“Then why am I doing this for you, huh?” Wilbur joked as he brushed through Techno’s long hair, not at all stopping. The sound of stone scraping against metal paused as Technoblade gave another soft huff.

“Because you braid it. It stays out of the way better.”

“Awe~ Techie doesn’t know how to braid, does he? Big bad Technoblade- I never taught you how to do that, did I?”

There was a snort from the piglin before he shook his head some, “No, you didn’t.”

“Well...here,” The brunette scooted over some, taking the ends of Techno’s hair, “it’s real simple. You split the hair into three, like this,” he held his hands out with the hair, showing Techno. The piglin set the sword and stone aside as he watched his brother’s hands, gently splitting his hair into sections.

“From here, you take one of the side strands, and cross it over the center. This then becomes the center,” Wilbur demonstrated as he spoke, showing Technoblade slowly as he switched the strands, “You then take the other side strands, switching it with the middle, you repeat this, just switching the sides with the middle. There are more complicated braids, but this is the quickest to do, it’s what I always do with your hair.”

Technoblade smiled some, turning quickly back to his sword. Wilbur rolled his eyes as he undid the braid, starting instead from the top of Techno’s long hair, pulling it back to braid it completely. Techno gave a soft huff and a quiet thanks.

He hadn’t taken his hair down since. It was unkempt, the braid hardly had form anymore. It wasn’t clean or brushed out like usual. Techno hadn’t the heart to take it out yet. He sometimes noticed Ghostbur staring- the ghost had tried to do it for him, but couldn’t seem to grasp his hair, let alone take out the braid and redo it. The ghost seemed to have trouble making contact with living things opposed to inanimate objects. It was something that Techno noticed saddened the ghost- his blue seemed to spill from his pockets whenever he realized he couldn’t easily make contact with others.

He imagined the exile with Tommy wasn’t easy. Even in death, Ghostbur seemed just as much driven as he was in life. He knew it must’ve hurt that he couldn’t help Tommy much, or stop Dream. He hoped Phil would one day figure out how to bring his brother back, if he wanted to come back anyway.

Shaking his head, the piglin fixed the blankets on Tommy, tucking the teen in. He gently ruffled up his hair before heading back to the ladder. He left the trapdoor open this time- it’d help with heat, and he doubted that Dream would come searching so early in the morning. The downstairs doors were locked anyway- he’d have to pass Techno first.

Techno dimmed down the lanterns in the main room, glancing out his windows. He hoped Phil and Wilbur had taken shelter before the storm hit. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go searching in the morning. With a soft huff, he laid down on the couch in the main room, tugging the throw blanket over himself. He was too tired to change, it was late anyway.

₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎

The morning brought about a bright sun and calmed down winds. Techno had made breakfast, some potato pancakes with honey syrup from his bees. Tommy seemed quite happy with it. When Tommy was here, home started to feel more like home.

Phil still wasn’t back, and while Tommy ate Techno sent him a quick message via their communicators. He was pleased to see Phil respond quickly. They were a ways out, taken shelter in the night, but they were safe. That made him feel better.

“Hey, Toms, want to practice not being awful at pvp?”

“Oi! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Techno chuckled softly, standing up, “Come on, I’ll teach you some sword stuff, before it starts snowing again.”

Tommy couldn’t hide the excitement he had if he tried.

Techno grabbed a few swords on the way out- golden ones, they wouldn’t do a lot of damage but they were good to practice with. He had Tommy put on his coat, an old outfit from when he was younger. He was surprised the empire garb fit Tommy so well, but he was glad the kid could stay warm.

Outside in the snow, Techno taught Tommy how to properly defend blows, they’d been doing this for an hour, easy. The kid was a natural when it came to the offensive, better than Wilbur had been at the same age, but Tommy sucked at getting critical hits and blocking attacks, “Toms you can’t take your eye off of the target, and you have to keep your stance strong.”

“Got it, got it-” Tommy groaned, blocking one of Techno’s slashes, with his sword, taking a step back as Techno pushed forward, copying what he was told, “It’d be much easier if I could see-” With a huff, he blew his wavy blond hair out of his face temporarily, but with another move it was back in front of his eyes. Techno rolled his, and lowered his sword.

“I think spar time can be put on pause. I can teach you how to disarm a foe tomorrow,” He put his sword in the sheath on his belt, offering a hand out to his brother. Tommy put away his own sword, taking the piglin’s hand, “Yeah yeah, nearly better than you at this point, maybe will be in a few more lessons.” The teen grinned proudly.

“Heh? Absolutely not Tommy. You’re better than Wilbur was at your age though, he sucked with a sword.”

“I remember that,” Tommy paused, quieting some as he looked forward as they walked. The mention of their brother seemed to kill the mood, and Techno was not about to let that happen today, “Let’s warm up. Phil should be home soon.”

The two brothers went inside, both taking off their heavy winter clothes, putting the tools aside. After some clean up, and a quick snack of home-made chips, they found themselves on the couch in front of the fireplace. Tommy was fussing with his hair. No matter where he pushed it, it seemed to fall right back in his face.

Techno gave a snort, “Why don’t you just cut it?”

“No! It’ll look like shit. Rather have it long than lookin’ like shit. I have a brand.”

“You could get Phil to cut it.”

“I will not let the old man cut my hair! He just chops it off with a sword, and that is not very pog, probably cut my head off along with my hair.”

Techno snorted, suppressing some laughter. There was a noise at the door as it was pushed open, and speaking of, Phil came inside, Ghostbur by his side. The older man set down a few of his packs by the door, “Did I hear someone just call me an old man?”

Tommy gave a yelp, “Nonono no! Nope!” He grinned. Techno just laughed, as did Phil.

“Sorry I’m late, the storm last night kept us on the shores, and I stopped by the village to pick up some supplies, heard that a large storm is comin’ and we may all get snowed in.”

Techno groaned at the thought. They’d have to go shelter up the bee and turtle farm. Phil seemed to understand the meaning of the groan and he just chuckled, “Seems you two have been getting along-”

“Yeah, Toms hasn’t been too much trouble. How’s L’manburg?”

Ghostbur hummed, “They’re preparing a festival!”

Techno grimaced, “Didn’t go so well last time.”

“I think that may be the plan,” The ghost grabbed the packs and carried them over to the chests to organize, “I’m not sure though! I don’t think I can take part. Eviction notice.”

“Oh yeah- what’s with that?” Techno frowned. He still couldn’t believe they’d evict Ghostbur- he’d even helped rebuild their country on stilts.

Phil hummed, “Well, when we were packing up, Ranboo stopped by- the ender hybrid? Nice kid. He asked what we were doin’, I told him we were leavin’. He didn’t seem to know why, but we mentioned the notice. He was confused- said he’d been to all the meetings and hadn’t heard it bein’ spoken of, but we showed him the notice. Wasn’t signed or anything, but he agreed it may be best to go, just in case.”

“Ranboo hasn’t been liking L’manburg recently! I haven’t either-” Ghostbur furrowed his eyebrows as he put away some leather and wool, “Tubbo imprisoned people and has been holding trials. I remember that’s not the L’manburg way, but he wouldn’t listen much. Tensions are high, I think.”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, “I think I’m gonna move my stuff up here guys, if it’s going to storm I don’t think the den is a good fucking place to be- would hate to freeze to death.” He chuckled some, standing up, “Tech where should I put everything?”

The piglin gave a hum, “I can move around the chests, by the brewing stands would be a good place for now. I’ll have to extend the house some when the storm is older. It wasn’t built for all of us.”

Tommy nodded before heading down the ladders. Techno gave a small huff, running a hand through his hair before getting up, “I’ll move around the chests, set up cots. Phil if you want you can go cover up the bees and turtles, there should be some tarps and leather instilators on the first floor chests-”

“Gotcha mate, will do,” Phil gave a small wave before heading outside and to the back, shutting the door securely. Wilbur hummed, “Oh! Techno, can Friend stay downstairs with your cow for awhile, he’s outside, but I don’t want anything happening to him- I don’t know what I’d do if something did-”

“Yeah, go ahead Ghostbur…” Techno paused, “Hey Ghostbur?”

“Yeah Techno?” “Can you braid shorter hair?”

“Oh! Oh yes, you can! You just have to make smaller strands- why?”

“Just wonderin’. You mind if I borrow some blue? Think I may need some later.”

The ghost gave a grin, shoving his hand into his pocket as he handed Techno a small pouch of blue powder. The piglin took it, and went on to reorganize the main room, while his spectre of a brother finished up organizing and went on out to help Friend into the lower house.

₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎

Home started to feel like home when Techno could hear Phil snoring from upstairs and the warmth of the fire bombarded him in the face as he threw another log on. Tommy slept nearby, a light wind from outside whistling against the windows. Home started to feel like home when his family was all there. Phil was safe and around again. Ghostbur was not Wilbur but he was still his brother and he was here and well. Tommy was getting better at being chaotic and unbreakable again.

Speaking of Tommy, Techno noticed the floorboards creak and the weight of the couch shift as the teen sat behind him, rubbing his eyes and yawning softly, huffing hair from his face again.

“Dreams again?” “Yeah, fuckin’ nasty ones too,” Tommy gave a small whine as he blinked himself awake. Techno swore he’d make sure that the cause of his brother’s nightmares would pay the price.

“Hair still bugging you?”

Tommy gave a soft laugh and a nod, “Fuckin’ awful, innit?”

Techno chuckled, “I...I think I may have a solution for you.” Techno turned some to him. Tommy gave a hum, “Try anything big man, too tired to care, sick of the fuckin scratchy feelin’ on my face-” He gave another yawn.

The piglin gave a nod, pulling a few things from his pocket, setting it beside him, “Come here then, Toms.” Tommy nodded and scoot right over.

Techno brushed his fingers through Tommy’s hair gently, giving a soft huff as he parted it. God when did his raccoon-looking-ass of a brother brush his hair? He was one to question, really, huh? Techno grabbed a small elastic band, and took the back of Tommy’s hair. It was far too short in the back to do anything with other than tie it into a short ponytail, but it kept the hair at the sides of his head out of the way. He motioned for Tommy to face him, and tiredly the teen did. Techno then gently parted away Tommy’s bangs, and slowly he parted them into three.

“Side… middle.... side…” Techno muttered as he carefully braided Tommy’s hair, focusing on the pattern. Tommy gave a small laugh but let him continue. When it was completed, he pinned it along the side of his head and behind his ear. Tommy reached up, touching it briefly before grinning.

Techno chuckled, “Hope it helps, go back to bed Toms. If you do I’ll show you my secret stash of chocolate made from cocoa beans. Don’t tell Phil.”

Tommy nodded, “Yeah- alright. Thanks, blade.”

Techno gave a snort, “Alright, child. Go to bed.” He stood, letting Tommy head back to his cot. He still had a few things to do on his own.

Both failed to notice the head peeking down from the ladder from upstairs, and the smile on a certain ghost’s face, or the happy tears which fell down the ghost’s cheeks.

Once Tommy was in bed, Techno went to the kitchen and started carefully boiling some water, adding in the blue from Ghostbur. For the first time in months, Technoblade reached back and pulled out the old hair tie from his hair, running his fingers through the matted braids of his hair, undoing the mess.

His hair was still clean, he washed it, but now it was wavy from being forced into a braid for so long, and it was definitely damaged in some way. That was a problem to fix later. He sighed as he combed through his hair carefully, bringing a stool near the stove as he waited for water to boil, combing through the knots in his hair, making it smooth again. It hurt some, and he stared at the hair tie a bit too long, but he pocketed it for safekeeping. Techno tied his hair back some, and took a few thick strands of his hair, separating it from the rest. After a tedious process of switching boiling blue water to a bowl, he would lean in and dunk the strands of hair into the blue, staining the pale pink with the deep vibrant color.

Home was feeling more lively and colorful, and it was time for Techno to change to match.

After carefully dying bits of his hair, and tying it back into a long ponytail, he got to work on braiding it, just like Wilbur had done for him in the past. After he was satisfied, he stored the remainder of the dye and cleaned up, going to bed as if he’d done nothing at all, but it was the first time in a long time that he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎

In the morning, Phil laughed and smiled, and the family couldn’t stop talking about Techno’s blue additions of hair, or how clean the braid looked. They also couldn’t stop talking about how Tommy could see again through his hair. They couldn’t stop talking about Friend downstairs, or the breakfast Techno had made.

Phil laughed at how secretly sappy Techno really was. He commented that Tommy looks good with his hair tied back (promptly getting a laugh and ‘damn right’ from Tommy).

Techno brushed Phil off with the excuse for ‘new eras bringing new changes’, and that it matched their empire outfits- it was time to recreate what they had before (that included recreating their family, but he wouldn’t say that).

Tommy wouldn’t stop joking about the blue, but he also couldn’t stop touching his braided bangs or the small ponytail. He also wouldn’t stop bothering Phil about being old.

Ghostbur smiled. For the first time in a very long time, the transparent dust in his hands didn’t turn blue. He remembered teaching Techno how to braid, he wouldn’t tell him that he saw how careful he was with Tommy when braiding his hair. He wouldn’t tell him how happy he was that he was able to pass down something despite his death. He’d smile and laugh along, but the soft yellow dust in his hands showed just how happy he felt to be home, that his brothers got along again, that his father was there with them again.

Home became home again, and this time, they’d keep it that way.

#dream smp #sleepy bois inc #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ghostbur #fluff #this is pure fluff #takes place where everything is canon up to the point of tommy living with technoblade #also they're found family #found family rights #lemon writes #lemon writes 2020

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suca-loca · 3 years

Text

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary:

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes - who hasn't on this forsaken server? - but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress.

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy.

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much.

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all.

And then she realizes a horrible thing.

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day.

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough.

Somewhere above, a crow caws.

She burst into tears.

#dream smp #fanfic #fic #niki nihachu #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ranboo #the syndicate #the syndicate are found family because I said so #dsmp #niki #niki fic #niki nihachu fanfic #niki fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #dsmp fanfic

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

Coffee, crushes and complications

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I hope you like it, I sure did!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: pre-Reed900 [Prequel] [Part2] [Part3] [Part4]

‘Reed? In my office!‘ Gavin couldn’t think of what he had done wrong, but considering how many times he had heard this sentence before, the anxiety settled in immediately. Still, he stood up, downed the last sip of coffee and walked over to his boss’ office. ‘Yes? What’s wrong?’, he asked, sitting down in the chair in front of the table. ‘What’s wrong?’ The man in front of him laughed heartily and Gavin nervously laughed, too. God, had he phcked up that badly with his last job? ‘Reed, nothing’s wrong, quite the opposite! How you handled this rich asshole was… I would say impressive, but that doesn’t do the thing justice. God, how they could ever throw you out of the police force, I can’t understand. You didn’t let him off the hook until he answered your questions and gave him nothing to work with! That is investigative journalism at it’s finest and damnit, Reed, no one else deserves it more!’ ‘What?’, Gavin asked relieved, but also proud. ‘A raise! I would promote you, but I need you where you are now. I hope you understand that?’ ‘Hey, sure. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in the field.’ ‘Alright. Then I’ll just sign the papers and send them to you. Really, Reed, you out-did yourself with this one!’

When Gavin came home that day, the first thing he did was jump and cheer in triumph, then pick up his unsuspecting cat and hurl her around. ‘Oh, Bready, today is the day!’ He kissed her on her shoulder, before she finally decided she had enough with an angry growl. Immediately Gavin let her fall to the ground and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing the phone along the way. The number he searched for was only two clicks away and he let it ring while pouring out some kibble for Bready and heating up yesterday’s leftovers. ‘Hey, Eli!’, he excitedly called into the phone. ‘How are you? You won’t believe what happened today!’ He let his brother guess a few times until the microwave pinged and he let himself and his food fall on the couch. ‘Urgh, Eli you are boring and have too much creativity at your hands. No, I got a raise! Honestly, getting fired might have been the best thing to ever happen to me. I get raises for being a nosy asshole! My new boss phcking loves me and my colleagues actually seem to like me. Oh, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. We need to celebrate that! When are you free?’

He took a breath and began eating while listening to his brother complain about new work politics. Gavin actually felt with him for once. His view on androids had changed quite a bit. He got to know quite a few androids during his work and the day one of his colleagues had come in in tears saying they would have to resign because of some anti-android assholes, Gavin had changed. It had only been a few months since he started his new life, but for the first time he felt like he had his life under control. And like he enjoyed it. Being fired from the only job he thought to be ever good in had been hard. But after being stuck in that low for weeks he had realised that if he wanted to be happy, he had to work for it. And he did. And it had become better. Seeking professional help, reconciling with his brother and finally finding a new job he actually liked had been the end of a long journey that was far from over. But he was happy. And he was confident it would go up only from now on.

Their conversation dropped into casual talk, a few jokes and teasing. It was already late when Gavin decided to end it for today. He was tired and he wanted to at least watch another episode of this new show he enjoyed so much. ‘Okay, so when do you actually have time? Tomorrow? Nah, can’t do, I’m meeting Tina at this new coffee shop. Maybe on the weekend? Yes? Oh, that would be awesome. Okay, bye! Love you too!’

He smiled as he wanted to stand up to bring the phone back, but Bready had already made herself at home in his lap, so he just laid it to the side and switched on the TV.

‘Hey Tina!’, Gavin greeted the woman already standing in line. She turned around and her face lit up. Shortly after, Gavin was encased in strong arms and had to chuckle. ‘Hey, hey, let me down, alright?’ ‘God, I haven’t seen you in ages!’ ‘You saw me last month’, Gavin reminded her. ‘I see you dipshit every week on TV! That’s not the same. I miss you.’ ‘Wait you watch it?’ ‘Of course I watch it!’, Tina said and punched his shoulder. ‘What do you think of me? Also, it’s funny seeing you be a dick to people that obviously hide one or two bodies under a rug somewhere.’ Gavin shrugged. ‘Well, whatever floats your boat.’ ‘It’s good to see you like it’, Tina then said seriously. ‘I worried about you after you left.’ ‘I know’, Gavin groaned. ‘But I’m fine, okay? Really, I feel better than ever. Now shut your mouth for a while, I have to think what I want to order for a moment…’

They got their coffee and tea as well as two slices of cake soon enough and sat down in a corner of the room. ‘So, how’s work on your end?’, Gavin asked. ‘Hmm, nothing interesting at the moment. We had a suspected serial killer last week, but it turned out the cases weren’t connected after all and thankfully nothing more than the two murders happened before we got them. Otherwise… Nah, nothing interesting you want to talk about.’ So only stuff regarding the new guy. Gavin had said upfront he didn’t want to know anything about the person that had replaced him. It wouldn’t be any use after all. Tina thankfully respected his decision.

‘I did get to know someone’, she then smirked as silence threatened to stretch. ‘A beautiful, funny android lady. She also likes cats!’ ‘Oh that’s cool, tell me more!’, Gavin demanded and smiled, listening to Tina ramble on, cake and tea completely forgotten. Gavin had been determined to listen intently to her, but his attention was drawn from her as someone entered the coffee shop. Someone very familiar. ‘You got to be kidding me’, he hissed, and Tina caught on to him, turning around. There at the counter stood Hank and Connor, looking at the board. Wait. Was that another Connor? ‘Hey, T, who’s the other Connor?’, he whispered. ‘Can’t tell you without breaking a promise’, she admitted, ducking her head. ‘No phcking way a damn Connor replaced me!’

Maybe he had been louder than expected, maybe Connor just had picked up his name, but the RK800 turned around to him, eyes going wide and tapping Hank on the shoulder pointing over. Hank looked in his direction and apparently wanted to bolt immediately, but the friendly barista behind the counter had already placed their drinks on it. In that moment, the other Connor following them had spotted him too. The next thing he did was march over with large steps.

‘Oh hell no, I’m not doing this! I-‘ ‘Hello. My name is Richard. I’m sorry to have replaced you.’ ‘Oh, get phcked!’ Gavin was not having it. He had wanted to drink his coffee and talk to his best friend. He had no interest in talking to this machine. ‘I have waited very long for this moment, my colleagues having tried their best to make this meeting impossible. So, no, I won’t “get phcked”. Not before I you didn’t accept my apology.’ ‘Yeah, whatever. It’s fine. I was an asshole. Deserved getting fired. Now shoo!’ ‘I still don’t deserve getting a job when a human needs them to survive. It wasn’t fair. I heard you… did not fare well after being fired.’ Gavin took a deep breath, before standing up, the sound of the chair scratching on the ground like a precursor of a fight. ‘Listen here, Richard’, he said, pointing his finger at his chest. ‘My personal history doesn’t concern you in the slightest, okay? It’s true, I wasn’t stable in my old job. I was easily angered, I overworked myself on a regular basis without even realising it in the end. I had no friends. I am depressed. My life was one giant, gaping shithole. When I was fired it was for a good reason, but it send me spiralling even deeper down. But you know what? One day I hit rock bottom and knew it couldn’t get any worse than this, might as well try to make it better. And I worked hard for it. I worked my ass off trying to rebuild bridges I’ve burned and seek help. Get over my own walls and live. Be happy. Find a job. And you know what, you goddamn tin-can? I did it. I am a different man and I am happy. So don’t-‘ He took another breath to steady himself. ‘Don’t you dare giving me pity. I am no sorry broken soul you can comfort so you feel better! So you have completed your good deed a day! I am fine. I am better than fine. So thanks, but no thanks. Don’t need it. Phck off.’

That actually worked. The android blinked at him, obviously processing, before apologising and heading over to where Connor and Hank had sat down. Gavin got back on his seat, too and took a large gulp of his coffee. As he sat the mug down, he stared into a grinning face. ‘What?’ ‘So aggressive’, Tina laughed. ‘Dude, the guy just wanted to be nice.’ ‘Oh, did he?’, Gavin grumbled and tried to get an inconspicuous look at the android. Of course, he had chosen the same moment Richard had looked over at him, so he quickly turned back around. ‘Yes’, Tina chuckled. ‘You don’t know how annoying he can be. Replacing you being unfair is the one topic he can’t shut up about.’ ‘Perfect’, Gavin sighed, but couldn’t keep his thoughts in check. Had this android really tried to advocate for someone he didn’t even know? ‘Yeah, always said how after going through your open cases and notes, he couldn’t believe someone fired you. He thinks you are some kind of genius I think.’ ‘Oh, wow, an android has a work-crush on me’, Gavin over-exaggerated and rolled his eyes. ‘Hey, you wouldn’t be that far from the truth there’, Tina shrugged. ‘”Gavin Reed would not have” is like every second sentence of his. It’s cute actually. And ever since you put him in his place just now, he is staring at you, that fancy mood-light turning yellow.’ ‘It’s what-‘ Gavin turned around, cursing when he stared in his eyes again: ‘Shit! What’s his problem? Anyways, you wanted to tell me more about Steph. Please. I beg you. Ramble about your soon to be girlfriend, I want to think about anything but this android.’

Richard on the other hand knew exactly what his problem was. He had exactly 335 software instabilities and errors to keep track of while he couldn’t keep his eyes off this human. He had known the man to be remarkable. But after that reaction? Oh, he definitely had to get to know him better. So, long after the human had left the shop and even after he had driven home, Richard was still planning how to see the man again. Maybe Tina had been right. Maybe he truly had a crush.

[>next part]

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #Tina Chen #RK900 #Okay but honestly investigative journalist!Gavin would be something I would love to read more about #but I'd guess AO3 doesn't have anything on that #let's see #Also soft!Nines hell yes

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Rather be Me (than with You)

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Hey everyone. This is a kind of angsty ONE-SHOT; not the usual humor and fun I usual go for. I decided to do something a bit different. I experimented with the idea of a story where Lila doesn’t get exposed. Marinette just moves on. Decides she deserves better. This ISN’T a QUEEN MARI but Marinette does realize she’s a queen.

This is Anti-Class but not Lila bashing. I didn’t not to got the normal LILA BASHING everyone usually does. Don’t get me wrong, Lila Bashing is my favorite tag in this fandom. But I wanted to do something different. Tell me what you think and if you like it.

It had been a long time since Marinette had cared about their snickering; cared that sometimes she ate alone. Marinette hadn’t given a rat’s ass about what anyone in her damn class thought. She had been done for a long time.

A year had passed since Lila created the hurricane that pretty much turned Marinette’s life upside. A year since Alya had been her best friend, since Adrien was her crush. Since Ladybug’s partner was Chat Noir, a year since she was anyone’s everyday Ladybug.

These days the other students in class ignored her, and she was fine with it. The minute Marinette stepped back and decide to say, “Fuck Them.” Lila had left her alone. The Italian girl still side-eyed her every now and then but was content to let Marinette be. One thing Lila did right was that she saw Marinette exactly as she should be seen; an unbeatable threat, and one hell of pain in the neck if she tried hard enough. For a while, Lila was sure the Marinette would expose her, that every lie she spun would come undone.

But then one day, just a few months after Lila had returned, Marinette came to school with a big grin on her face. Lila said one tall tales, and the other girl didn’t even blink. Lila still remembered that their eyes met and saw: nothing. No longer did righteous fury reside there. No hurt expression. Or tears. Just apathy, sheer indifference to everyone in class.

Lila didn’t smile that day. In fact, she found it hard to really smile for the rest of the week. Because though technically she had won, it didn’t feel like a victory. It was like the game the two girls played had resulted in a stalemate and Marinette decided the battle was over. Marinette lost all her friends. Lila had no choice but to keep up the lies, particularly, after her mother announced they wouldn’t be moving like they usually would after a few months. It took a lot of work. Lila could admit that if she had know Paris was permanent, she’d have been a little more honest.

So, in the end, neither girl won but neither girl lost.

Nevertheless, Lila was smart. She knew when to back off. And so she did. She learned quickly that if she kept Marinette’s name out of her mouth, she was golden. Lila also learned that Marinette wasn’t made at Lila. It was everyone else the Asian girl had a problem with.

Everyone else in class who quickly realized just what life was like without their everyday ladybug.

Gone was the random sweets from her parents’ bakery. Gone was the well planned birthday parties and class trips. Gone was the comforting shoulder. Gone was the friend who they could call no matter time of day or night if they needed someone to talk to. Gone was their biggest supporter. Gone was the always friendly face that promised to brighten the darkest day.

The kids learned quickly, that if they were in trouble, they were on their own. Apart from Akuma attacks, that Ladybug still showed up for. Though Ladybug had taken to ignoring the students, particularly Alya. Even going as far as to say to the teen reporter, in front of other journalists, that she doesn’t talk to tabloids; too many rumors and lies.

This had slowly but surly caused the downfall of the Ladyblog. Alya could no longer get the best scoop; no that went to Aurore who created an entire website with tips and advice and videos about and straight from Ladybug. The website fully endorsed by the hero. Alya had quickly decided that she just needed to talk to Ladybug to clear up whatever was caught the strife. It was then that Alya remembered that Marinette had gotten her that first interview, the interview that had launched the Ladyblog’s success. Marinette who she was no longer friends with.

Marinette who had it clear that she didn’t care. She didn’t are that Alya’s beloved blog had spiraled into nothing. That Nino’s music career seemed to be at an all-time standstill. That Marc and Nathaniel’s comic and partnership had gone down in flames. (Mostly because Nathaniel had taken too much of Lila’s advice and changed too much of the comic to be recognizable.) Or that Ivan and Mylene had broken up. Juleka had gone back to never showing up in pictures. Rose was in tears that Prince Ali no longer wished to speak to her. Kitty Section had broken up. Chloe was a bigger bully than ever, though she too was smart enough to stay clear of Marinette. The list went on and on, getting worse and worse.

Even the teachers realized just how much of a control presence that Marinette had. And just how lost their classrooms were without her.

But still, Marinette didn’t care.

Marinette had been screwed over. Once. Twice. A dozen times. Her best friend, her sworn bestie, hadn’t been the loyal friend she promised she was; acted nice when was so not nice. Chat Noir, Adrien, had left her to fight alone so many times that Master Fu took back his Miraculous. Screwed over by her best friend. Twice. And then by all the other kids.

Still, no one could understand how the sweetest girl could go full Ice Queen.

They had been smart enough to get Luka and Kagami to ask Marinette at the school’s end of the year party. Adrien got Kagami to ask as Marinette had taken to ignoring him for a long time by then Juleka got Luka to promise to find out. Kagami and Luka had become her closest friends. And the fact that her classmates would use them to get information on her, just reminded Marinette just how done she was.

She was so done.

So after the two had asked. Instead of answering, Marinette texted Colton, her friend, and DJ of the party. Marinette needed to make something clear.

When the song, ended Marinette got on stage.

“Hey,” She said into the mic. Her hair was only a bit longer but the blue had been dyed out of it. Her skinny jeans were black and ripped and she had on a red halter top was lacy and elegant. “Someone of you might not know me. But I’ve done enough for this school and a lot the students, to know majority of you do.” Her tone was dry and her stare blank. “Over last year, I took a step back you could say from, well, bullshit.” There were laughs. Most of the students who knew of Marinette and had been affected by her kindness had reached out almost immediately when they realized something was wrong, something had changed.

Marinette looked at the students, “I got screwed over by too many times to count.” She sighed. “Turns out, a lot there’s a lot of assholes in my class.” She said bluntly. “So how do I deal with it all. In fact, how do you deal with all the drama and bullies and liars and two-faced bitches in your life? I got some advice for you. Pay close attention because it worked great for me.” The music started and Marinette started to sing.

“Here's my secret strategy

It always works because

The world doesn't end

It just feels like it does”

Marinette wasn’t the best singer but she was decent. The song wasn’t about high notes or theatrics. It was sung with grace and humor. A strong daria morgendorffer vibe.

So raise your right finger Marinette raised her right hand flicked off the entire school and looked right at her classmates. There faces turned red and their eyes were wide.

And solemnly swear

"Whatever they say about me

I don't care!"

The first few months had been hard. And full of mean looks were way and nasty remarks. Until they realized they needed her. They needed her charm. Her can-do attitude. Her to come back as class president. Her ideas. The free handmade clothes she designed.

I won't twist in knots to join your game

Rose, surprising, had been the first to try to tempt her back. The other having enlisted the second sweetest girl in class to talk to Marinette. Rose had told Marinette that if she just admitted she was wrong Lila and apologize, they’d take her back. Marinette had told her to fuck off.

I will say, "you make me mad."

And if you treat me bad

I'll say "you're bad"

And if I eat alone from this moment on

That's just what I'll do

'Cause I'd rather be me, I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me than be with you

Marinette had eaten alone for weeks until she made she found real friends in other classes, both upper and lower grades. That was when Marinette found out that she was well-liked by the majority of the school. And the majority of the school didn’t buy Lila’s lies.

We're supposed to all be ladies

And be nurturing and care

Is that really fair?

Boys get to fight, we have to share

Marinette found new friends, made new plans, her schedule filled up again, and she was happy. That was when the rumors started. Alya and Alix, leading the charge, had taken upon themselves to tell Marinette new friends what a bully she was and the rest of the school as well. They got upset when no one believed them.

They got even more upset when they realized Marinette didn’t care. At all. However, when Alix had taken it too far, he had decided to get physical and trip Marinette in the lunchroom….

Here's the way that turns out

We always understand

How to slap someone down

With our underhand

Marinette got up, pulled her arm back, and knocked Alix’s lights out. “Don’t try that shit again,” Marinette had warned her ex-friends. “I have no problem kicking each and everyone one of your asses.”

She got a week’s detention but she smiled all the way through.

So here's my right finger Marinette flicked off the school again; waved it around so everyone could see it.

To how girls should behave

'Cause sometimes what's meant to break you

Makes you brave

So I will not act all innocent

I won't fake apologize

From then on, it was everyone understood that a new Marinette walked the halls. One that didn’t care about being nice. How ladies should behave. She refused to apologize after a fight. And she never backed down from an agreement.

Turns out losing all her friends didn’t break her. It made her braver. In a way Ladybug never managed to before then.

Let's just fight and then make up

Not tell these lies

Let's call our damage even

Clean the slate till it's like new

Marinette never gave in; even when the ice out happened. All the kids in her class ignored her, they didn’t say a single word to her. Refused to pair with her. Didn’t even acknowledge her existence.

It's a new life for me

Where I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me

Than be with you

The once bluenette just laughed at their childish antics. She didn’t bat an eye as they wanted her too. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t fight like normal people. Or the very at least call the war done, the damage even on both sides, and then move on with clean slates.

I'll say, "NO!"

NO!

I'll say, "knock it off,

with your notes and your rules and your games."

Marinette had just gone: NO. No. She wasn’t going to play their little games. Do anything to make it even remotely look like she card. It was over. She was done. It was all just a waiting game.

Waiting for them to grow up and realize, it was game over. There was no magical way their friendship would ever be restored. They should move, let go. Find something better. Accept the loss and learned to live with it.

Like she’d done with Lila. Marinette hadn’t been happy with the results of their chess game but she could live with it. Move on. Got a new life.

And those sycophants who follow you, Marinette turned her attention to the pretty Italian girl. If Lila ever came after her again… Or when her kingdom of lies fell, and there was no doubt it would. Marinette would be there to watch it burn.

I'll remember all their names, She sang to Lila who nodded having understood. Even she knew her time was running out. Though Lila wouldn’t just hand over her power willingly. No, Lila knew it would have to dragged away from her bloody hands before she let it go. Lila would fight. It was just the way she was.

The one thing Marinette liked about the girl.

Alya was getting desperately. Eventually, she’ll realize the answer to all her problems lay in the comments on her blog. All questioning why she was promoting such an obvious liar. And when she did… There would be hell to pay.

And when they drag you down

Like they inevitably do

I will not laugh along with them and

approve their palace coup, 'cause that's not me. She promised her once the greatest enemy. (Hawkmoth’s was Ladybug’s.) That caused Lila to smile.

Because when the faux-faced kids turned their ire onto Lila. When they dragged her through the same torment they put Marinette though. At least the wannabe Volpina wouldn’t have to worry about the once Every Day ladybug.

In fact, if Lila played her cards right, and she nearly always did. She’d find an alley to teach her. Teach her not to care. Teach her to be stronger. Teach her out to say “Fuck you” to the world.

Because Marinette no longer cared enough to have any reason not to. Granted she could just say, “I. Don’t. Want. To.” Like she did frequently these days.

Janis. Janis. Janis. Janis

I don't need their good opinions

I have plenty of opinions

Everybody has opinions but it doesn't make them true

Marinette didn’t care what her old friends thought. Or that they didn’t like her. Who cared? So what if they thought she was a bully? Or a jealous liar. Or a bad friend. Or the new Ice queen.

She shrugged. She had a lot to say about them to. And sure she bitched with Luka, Aurore, and Kagami but it wasn’t serious. It was just to vent. Because who cared?

What's true is being me

And I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me than be with you.

So raise them high 'cause playing nice and shy is insulting my IQ

Marinette had no problem being a bitch if they pushed. She was no longer shy and sweet and far too nice for her own good. Because she had learned her lesson.

And, Marinette thought, she learned it was so well that life rewarded. She was making clothes for Clara and Jagged. Worked with Chloe’s mom. She had an internship with Teen Vogue, in New York, that summer. Won several design contests. Got to see one of her designs on the red carpet worn by an up and coming actress that Jagged recommended her to.

The actress said the brand was MDC, created by a kickass teenager name Marinette. That dress got the actress on the best-dressed list, and Marinette twenty more commissions by other almost, or kind of famous celebrities.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah

I'd Rather Be Me

So maybe I should thank you. Marinette adlibbed the line but sang it directly to Lila who smirked as she knew exactly what the other girl was referring to.

While Marinette would never say it, Lila knew, she had done the girl a favor. Showed her who her real friends were. Or weren’t. And without them, without the niceness and overly caring nature she once had, Marinette had thrived; gone further than Lila ever imagined.

Lila had only wanted them because she liked the attention. However, she knew they weren’t real friends. No matter what Alya said, they weren’t besties. Lila didn’t trust the glasses-wearing girl as far she could throw her.

Because now I know…

I'd Rather Be Me than be with you!

Most of her classmates looked sad. A few looked angry. Lila just looked up at her used to be nemesis with admiration and a small smile.

A brief look of wonder and hope flashed over her face and for a moment she of just saying “To hell with it.” Screaming her sins and go binge watch Grey’s anatomy. Take up dance class when summer was over and the new school year began. She always loved dancing.

It was the only thing Lila knew was honestly good at; great at even.

But that moment passed. Lila liked her power. Besides, there was a good chance she could make everyone think Alya was crazy or lying to convince to save her blog; that Lila wasn’t the liar.

Lila smirked. She had all summer to slowly leave breadcrumbs that Alya was reading too much into the situation, was too desperate, didn’t know what she was talking about. By the time the summer ended, Lila could have all other students convinced the once future great journalist had just lost her edge. So much so that it was reason Ladybug dissed the Ladyblog.

Alya wouldn’t be a challenge like Marinette had been. Not even close. Marinette had been the Sherlock to Lila’s Moriarty. (If Marinette had kept the game going, Lila would’ve too. Until it was a full-scale war. No prisoners. Just blood; both metaphorical blood and the real red stuff.)

Alya would be too easy. But it would still be fun. Even if Alya managed to pull a fast one, there was no way their little friendships would survive what they did to Marinette. Not all the blame could be put on Lila, no matter how much they tried.

And when Marinette didn’t come back after the truth was revealed and they begged and apologized for never believing her; for not trusting her. Blame would shift. Especially if Lila changed classes like she knew Marinette had to be at least considering.

I'd Rather Be Me

Because, Marinette would never be their friend again. They were just pawns in the game of life. And Marinette realized that while pawns could become queens. They never went back to being pawns again.

I'd Rather Be Me

I'd Rather Be Me than be with you!

Marinette was doing just fine. She wasn’t their friend. She didn’t like them.

And most importantly, Marinette didn’t care.

#ml salt fic #ml salt #marinette dupen chang #Marienette Dupain Cheng #Queen mari #alya salt #lila salt #saltinette #miraculous of salt #Nobod #nobodyfamousposts

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