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brettsey-two-tts · 2 years

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Fic title: fireworks

Brettsey

It's a Friday. I'll go with an AU. :)

Sylvie Brett was the smallest kid in her class and her best friend Hope never let her forget that.

Every year during the Fourth of July break, Sylvie, her brother, mother, and father would travel to Chicago and see the fireworks display on the Navy Pier. They would park their car at the Belmont Harbor before noon and set up a few lawn chairs and a little picnic blanket with all the food fixings. A very sizable crowd would start to dwindle in as it got nearer and nearer to the time the fireworks were supposed to go off. Before the 10-minute countdown, everyone would scramble for a good spot. Sylvie, being the smallest, had the hardest time because there was always someone taller than her blocking her view. She didn't want to ask her dad to put her on his shoulders and risk blocking other people's views, so she ran around, looking for the best spot for the smallest person.

As the fireworks went off in the background, Sylvie was still searching. She ran up a few concrete steps and tried to see if she could view the fireworks under an archway but there were a lot of adults blocking her and she could only see the tops of the fireworks after they'd already gone off. She huffed a bit and ran back down the steps. She started to go as west as she could, towards the outer edge of the lake. She passed by a few groups of people until she was practically on the edge of the lake. She stood between two trees with the best view of the fireworks she could find and it was absolutely amazing. Her eyes lit up at the uninterrupted display; vibrant colors filled her vision as she cupped her hands over her ears to muffle the sudden sharp popping.

"Whoa," she gasped as the fireworks continued to go off.

A few minutes later, in her peripheral vision, a boy practically twice her size stepped in beside her. She curiously looked over at him and saw his wondrous expression underneath the bright glowing lights of the fireworks. He looked so excited and happy. There was no one around them - no other families or groups of people. They were the only two people on the edge of the lake. At first, she thought of moving away since he was a complete stranger, but for some reason, she felt completely fine. Maybe it was the kindness in his smile.

After the fireworks ended, the boy turned to face her and that's when she saw the most wonderful and calming blue eyes she had ever seen. His hair was sand-colored and soft looking. Before he could say anything, her dad called out for her.

"Sylvie! We're going to leave!"

She apologized softly and started to run in her father's direction.

The same thing happened a year later. Sylvie would run out towards the edge of the lake and watch the fireworks, and the boy would join her. They wouldn't talk to each other, other than gasp in awe at the spectacular display.

Like before, when the fireworks stopped, her father would call out to her. This time, Sylvie waved goodbye to the boy and he waved back, smiling handsomely as she left.

A year later, the two met at the same spot but this time, they met early, a few minutes before the fireworks. They smiled and waved at each other.

"You got taller," he said in observation.

The top of her head was now at his shoulder. She grinned and replied, "Maybe I'll be taller than you someday."

He chuckled. "That means I can sit on your shoulders, right?"

As soon as the fireworks went off, the boy turned his attention to them, but Sylvie kept staring at him. Hope always said that she was like an empath, that she had an innate ability to know how someone was feeling even if she didn't know them. She could tell the boy was really sad, even though he was smiling.

They said goodbye to each other again, promising to see each other next year.

The next year, Sylvie came out onto the edge of the lake a little earlier than last time. In her arms was a container of macadamia white chocolate chip cookies that she and her mom baked the night before. They previously won an award at her school and wanted to share them with the boy.

But, the boy never showed up. She thought he was just running late, so she kept the cookies in their container. Even when the fireworks were going off, she refused to eat them. After the fireworks, Sylvie waited for him, thinking he would still show, but he never did. On the ride back to their hotel room, Sylvie placed the container in her lap and opened it, and sadly bit into one of the cookies. Her heart ached but she was too young to understand why.

"Sorry, I'm late."

Sylvie looked up from her spot on the grass and saw the boy's charming smile. His sand-colored hair was shorter and he seemed taller, and his voice was deeper than she remembered. She smiled beautifully at him and offered him the container of macadamia white chocolate chip cookies. He sat down beside her and curiously pulled back the lid.

"You weren't here last year," she mentioned.

"Uh, yeah. I had some family stuff to take care of." It wasn't a lie but it also wasn't the truth. Sylvie could tell he sounded a little upset and sad. "Oh man, these cookies are amazing!"

She beamed proudly. "I brought them last year."

He felt a little bad and continued to eat the one in his hand. "I'm glad you brought them again." He ate three that night.

The next year, Sylvie waited out on the edge of the lake but the boy didn't show up.

The year after that, she, again, waited out on the edge of the lake, and he didn't show up again.

She went through three years of fireworks without seeing him and assumed whatever family stuff he had to take care of must've been important. Since she was about to start High School and her brother was leaving for College, her family decided to stop going to the fireworks in Chicago.

Twenty years later, Sylvie left Fowlerton and moved to Chicago where she became a paramedic at Firehouse 51. She loved her firehouse family dearly and grew close to each and every single one of them. In her first year of working at the firehouse, she found out that she was working on the Fourth of July. On the holiday, she wanted to make those same macadamia white chocolate chip cookies for the firehouse but they were called out too frequently and she didn't get the chance to make them. Instead, on the dot, she would walk out onto the driveway and watch the fireworks that shot off from the Navy Pier. It was no 'on the edge of the lake' spot but she made do with what she had.

Matt Casey, the Captain of Firehouse 51, stepped in beside her and beamed at the display.

"Too bad we're not closer," he said.

She shrugged and smiled. "It's better than nothing." As the fireworks went off in the distance, a familiar warmth spread within her. The situation felt so similar to the one she had as a kid. She frowned sadly at the realization that she might never see that boy again.

For the next two years, Sylvie worked on the Fourth of July, and every single time, she would plan to make those cookies but, like clockwork, they'd be called out too often.

She would end up on the driveway, watching the fireworks, and Matt Casey would be beside her.

The next Fourth of July was a weird one; everyone anticipated dozens of calls, back-to-back, but instead, they were met with silence. Mouch mentioned it in the common room and Cruz shushed him to prevent any jinxing.

With some downtime, Sylvie made those macadamia white chocolate chip cookies. As soon as they came out of the oven, Capp and Herrmann were practically vultures. After their first cookie, she smacked their hands and sternly told them to let others have a chance to try one.

A couple of minutes before the fireworks were supposed to start, she walked out onto the driveway with one of her cookies in her hand. She beamed softly at it as she went down Memory Lane; she remembered being so excited. She remembered spending the previous day in the kitchen with her family, making sandwiches, cookies, drinks, and other snacks. She remembered helping her dad load up the car the next morning. She remembered laughing with that boy on the edge of the lake right before the fireworks. She remembered his soft smile and little wave right before she ran back to her family.

"Otis said you made these."

Sylvie turned her head and saw Matt's curious expression. She saw the cookie in his hand.

She nodded. "They're my specialty and Elementary School award-winning. When I was little, I'd make them with my mom and our family would drive out here to watch the Navy Pier fireworks."

Matt gave her a soft smile at her memory. "Sounds like a fun family outing." He looked down at the cookie. "I've only ever had these once."

She furrowed her brows. "Macadamia white chocolate chip cookies?"

He nodded. "Well, I've had them several times but those other times were never as good as the first time. I used to go out to the Belmont Harbor and watch the fireworks. The first time I had this kind of cookie was from a little girl I met there." They never exchanged names since they saw each other for only fifteen minutes a year and he always kicked himself for it.

Her spine straightened and her ears perked up at the familiarity. She stared at Matt with parted lips. 'No. He couldn't be... could he?'

"On the edge of the lake?" she curiously asked.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah, how'd you know?" he asked. When his gaze met hers, he saw the familiar look in her eyes, the same look he remembered when he was a kid. The same look that he so fondly remembered underneath the bright glow of the fireworks. The look that was pure and filled with excitement, so gentle and so kind.

As the fireworks went off in the distance, the realization had both hit them, and underneath the faint glow, they both beamed at each other. A particular pop in the distance made them turn their attention to the fireworks but Sylvie was still feeling the effects of their unearthed history. Emotions swirled in her chest and tears welled in her eyes. She really thought she was never going to see him again. Before she knew it, Matt moved closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Maybe he felt the same way. With tear-stained cheeks, she smiled at the fireworks and rested her head on the inside of his shoulder.

#brettsey #:')#send me a made up fic title

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seldomscilence16 · 1 year

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Whumptober day 23: At the End of Their Rope

Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Prompts;

Forced to kneel

Tied to a table

"Hold them down."

It was such a tossup of which fandom to do, and I feel bad all my fandoms are basically children… :| so another AU with children in danger.

Being a son of Hohenheim was not what everyone cracked it up to be. Being a son of Elric though had been nice, for the short time he was allowed. He hoped Alphonse liked being apart of the Curtis family, he thought the teacher was crazy sure, but she knew her stuff. They'd look after Al, and keep him safe, like Hohenheim couldnt, like Ed couldnt.

It was all better this way. Ed could fufill his promise to his mom by protecting Al, the only way he could, and Ed wouldnt follow in his fa- Hohenheim's- footsteps. He… probably wouldn't follow in anyones. But Al, and Winry and Granny Pinako were safe. And thats all that mattered.

…

"So this is Hohenheims offspring. How… disappointing. You're much smaller than I expected."

"Im not small! I'm still growing." Ed growls, hes already screwed he decides, no point acting different.

The man chuckles, leaning forward, light finally falling on his scarred face. Red eyes gleam, boaring into his own, a too wide smile just a touch too sharp.

"Your father is a pain in my side, just as im sure you will be." He turns to the guards, "take the sacrifice to the Priest, Im sure the doctor can fix anything he does." He leans back again, "but do ensure he stay alive. I do need him, for now."

"Yes Father."

The six year old scowls to hide his fear, reminding himself who this was for. His teacher had stopped him from doing something stupid, something that could have hurt his brother, he deserved this. Equivalant exchange.

…

"Kneel."

"I dont believe in god."

"A non believer. Matters not, kneel."

Ed glares, hands tied in front of him, tired of people expecting him to comply like some dog. The priest makes a small motion with his fingers, and two men come forward, placing a hand on either shoulder and shoving, hard. A bit excessive for a child, and hurts too, but Ed kept up his glare, gritting his teeth around his grunt of pain.

"You'll do as I say around here, and eventually you'll see the miracles and believe."

"Its not miracles. To get something you have to give something of equal value, thats how the world works."

The mans serene face turns into a sneer,

"I see you'll take some time. We'll get there. The King Father has given me this task, and I will fufill it."

"Your king wont last long. Someone will stop him someday."

Eds across the room before he registers whats happening, gasping for breath as pain blooms. This man was no priest, no miracle worker. He had a philosophers stone or something, like those weird people mentioned, like that one book he saw Hohenheim reading once a long time ago. This 'Father' guy was just another power hungry king, and his followers were crazy enough to follow. Whatever their plan was, whatever they wanted to sacrifice him for, it was something stupid hes sure. But he'll learn more, people say all kinds of things around kids.

…

Ed is seven now. Winry the same. Al will turn six soon. Stares blankly at the dead birds around him, hoping Al and Win were having a better time at life than he was. The door to his cage opens, and the muscle grabs his arm to no doubt drag him before the priest once more.

Its been awhile since they'd talked face to face. Ed had been forced to watch him perform all his 'miracles', the results of them- and his practice runs- ending up in Eds cage as punishment of some kind. Probably for the smell, or an example of what happens to 'nonbelievers'.

But the real punishment is the knowledge that a philosophers stone can not really bring back the dead, not for long at least. Just like tabboo alchemy, the results are never what you want. His mother was gone, those birds were gone, gone is gone.

Once more hes forced to his knees.

"So, youve witnessed my recent miracle. Are you a believer yet?"

"His sister is dead, you should stop lying to him. What are you gonna do when he asks to really see her?"

Something visible snaps in the priests expression. After a year, Ed has finally broke the man. 'Father' wouldnt be pleased hes sure. Cornello rises to his feet, the muscle move back to guard the doors, and Ed watches the man carefully.

"Why are you so stubborn?" He growls the words, and raises his hand. The ring glows the same red as 'Fathers' eyes, and between the time he blinks and opens his eyes, hes met with a new kind of pain.

Through his shoulder and the middle of his thigh, are axe like blades, Cornello is in front of him, looming and applying more and more pressure.

"I am in charge here, I am a God! I will not have some child ruining that."

Ed screams, as layer after layer is cut through, and blood pools. He screams until the world is nothing more and pain consumes.

…

"Hold him down! Hes losing too much blood!"

A faceless face. A too wide mouth. An arm and a leg.

"I said hold him down! Not injure him further! He needs him alive!"

What was truth but a sense of wrong? Of knowing and knowing more.

"Shit kid, just keep breathing. Keep breathing!"

Ed knows.

…

Ed stares blankly at the wall before him. Hed done his training for the day, hes gotten his punishment to keep him under control, and eventually he'll know if they remembered he needs food today.

Hes 11 now. Als finally reached the double digits…

Five years, since hes seen his brother. Five years with these assholes.

Hes learned a good amount, far more than he should know for sure. More than they think he knows.

"We've got a treat for you today Edward."

He doubts it.

They escort him from his cage, his crutch allowed to him for the walk. He'd hoped for some bread, but maybe after. The table in the center of the room with rope on it, tells him he wont be getting it.

"Tie him down tight. This will be painful." 'Father' comments idly.

Ed had stopped in the doorway, shoved forward now only just able to catch himself. He could fight, he even knew the basic gist of killing these weirdos, but all of them and 'Father'? Ed didnt stand a chance, and they knew it.

He barely twitches before one of Lusts stabby fingers shoots through his crutch, splintering it and rendering his plan of a transmutation circle moot.

"Now now Edward, I'm giving you the chance to be more than a sacrifice, dont you want that?"

"I want an arrow through your head." He spits, balancing carefully on one leg.

"Ungrateful as always. Oh well, lets try it anyway."

The struggles in vain, landing harshly on the table and tied down with rope biting into his skin with how tightly its bound. He struggles then too, blood blooming in little drops but no give coming from the ropes.

"Just think Edward, you may be apart of our family soon."

He didnt need another one.

He wanted the one hed lost.

The one hed left behind.

He wanted to go home!

…

Mustang signals to his people, and they move as one, into the building- he would not call it a castle. This was as good a seige as any, the guards outside had been easily disposed of, much like himself- they didnt like water. Suits of armor falling without life quickly.

Inside they see the evidence of sins commited, sins Marco had told them of. Marco, who had come to Mustang with grave information. Of tortured children, and experiments with life and death, of a plan to burn the people of this land to give ultimate power to a being- term said generously.

Now after some time of planning and taking down one after another of corrupt individuals, they finally came to cut off the head.

…

Ed has tears in his eyes as 'Father' approaches with a vial of red liquid- though Ed knows its a stone, full of souls taken for someone elses gain. The cut on his face he'd gained in training tingles as if it knows whats to come. Just as he begins to tip the glass, the door burst inwards with a wall of heat.

He barely makes out the crest of Amestrian army through the blaze and his own watery eyes.

The fighting that breaks out is chaos, and Ed is left on the table, struggling to free himself while the fighting unfolds.

"Shit, they dont die!" Someone growls near him, he cant see them at his angle, but he can offer help.

"The stones! Wear out the stones and they die!" He says quickly.

A face comes into view, glasses and black hair and stubble on his face. He pulls a knife and Ed flinches, closing his eyes tightly,

"Its alright kid, we'll get you out of here. Whatd you say about stones?"

The ropes fall loose and the man helps him sit up,

"Theyre homunculus, theyre made from philosophers stones, burn them over and over, make them over use their regeneration, they'll die."

"Alright kid, sounds like we got a plan now."

…

Edward stares at the town before him, mostly unchanged, but so different at the same time. Behind him, the others let him take it in, forming a wall to cover his back but pretending like their not.

"They really want to see me?" He asks, quietly and oh so timid, nothing like what they had grown used to.

"They've been looking for you since you disappeared, they were estatic when we sent word." Hawkeye states.

"But im not the same."

"Neither are they. Its a new start for all of you. With a foundation to start you off." Hughes says with a smile.

"Come of kid. Before they hunt us down for taking too long." Mustang says, but doesnt usher or lead or push Ed.

They all let Ed take the first move. His first step into his new life. His new freedom.

#hold them down #whumptober2022 #no.23 #forced to kneel #tied to a table #Fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fic #angst #torture #blood #child abuse #fighting #au #not really mentioned but basically ren times #maes hughes lives #edward angst #happy ending

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kerra-and-company · 1 year

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🖊️🖊️🖊️ for any kiddos you feel like talking about (@uselessidiotsquad )

Gladly!! Thanks a bunch for these! :D <3 Going to use some of this space to talk about character dynamics rather than just individual characters, cause why not and I am having Thoughts about them.

🖊 - Tanza and Aysel met when they were both eleven and spent a lot of their childhood together, alongside Tanza's other childhood best friend, Crackling Frost (a kodan--it's worth noting that the three of them grew up in Song of Final Exile in Snowden Drifts). Crackling Frost (who goes by Crackle to their friends) and Aysel took a bit of time to trust each other, but they eventually bonded over the people they'd lost--they'd both lost an older sibling. Tanza trusted Aysel almost instantly and Aysel trusted her relatively fast as well--she helped Aysel pick her name. Tanza did have a crush on Aysel for a couple years but got over it on her own without ever actually saying anything; the whole duration of that was very frustrating for Crackle, who didn't understand why actually talking that out would be hard to do.

Aysel was the first of the three to leave; she joined the Vigil about a month or two after she earned the title of Slayer of Issormir. Tanza was actively frustrated with her for leaving and was a bit snippy with her about it but didn't try to stop her. They eventually leave home to join the Pact after seeing Braham rallying a group to go after Jormag--they don't particularly think they have a chance of being picked to go, but they'd like to start taking action to fight some of the problems in the world. Crackle stays in Song of Final Exile, and hopes to maybe someday become the Voice of the sanctuary. They hold down the fort, so to speak. They also absolutely had a conversation with Tanza when they were very small, before Aysel got there, about the two of them being Voice and Claw together someday, though it was far more a childhood fantasy than something either of them thought would ever happen.

🖊 - Pol, after he dies, is incredibly lost on what to do. He ends up in the Domain of the Lost for a bit, actually, because of the specific manner in which he died--being killed thanks to your 'bandmate's betrayal, even if not by his hand, is certainly traumatic. He manages to reclaim his name and his purpose, but he doesn't want to move on. He's not at peace, but he doesn't know what in Tyria he could possibly do about it. He can't come back to life, and he's afraid to move on and leave his family for good (even though he, in many ways, pretty much has at that point). He pretty much just hangs out in the Domain of the Lost and stays away from the Judge, trying to figure out what exactly he should do.

He eventually decides to see if there's any sort of way out of the place he's in, and though he doesn't manage to find a way back to life on his own, he does manage to slip out of the specific part of the Mists that holds the Domain of the Lost. He spends years just...wandering, pretty much, alongside his devourer Flint. He'd never fancied himself an explorer, but he certainly does a lot of it and even learns to somewhat enjoy it--until he manages to explore himself right near the entrance to the Realm of the Dead, the place where human spirits go and somewhere he doesn't particularly want to be. He's also tired, though, and the idea that he won't ever return to his 'bandmates regardless is pressing at the back of his mind, so he lingers at the entrance a bit before finally turning to leave.

It turns out he has either excellent or terrible timing, because he spins around and almost runs straight into a young human woman with a greatsword. And this woman is alive.

🖊 - Minei doesn't really know what to make of the strange charr she meets in the Mists, but he doesn't seem threatening, and when she explains that she's come to figure out whatever is happening in the Underworld that's letting creatures out to attack people in Tyria, he even offers to help. The timing is suspicious, but their team is small and they could use more help. She agrees.

They go through the Underworld, meet Desmina, fight Dhuum. Minei is, afterwards, suddenly part of a really weird power struggle--she doesn't want to be in charge of the Underworld (and Desmina wouldn't let her even if she did), but she also doesn't particularly want Desmina to have full reign, either. It's the beginning of a very tempestuous relationship the two of them will maintain over the years following. But she's grateful to Pol for his assistance in dealing with Dhuum and makes sure to escort him back into the Mists proper and out of the Underworld.

They don't run into each other again until Dragonfall, at which point Minei finds Pol amongst the spirits in Glint's army. They get the chance to properly talk, and they become decent friends in the spaces between setting up for the final battle against Kralkatorrik. And after a new Elder Dragon ascends, Minei, who at this point has a better idea of how her power set has improved since Dhuum's defeat, and who has lost so many people in her life, goes to Pol and basically tells him "I think I can do this--I think I can bring you back to life. Do you want me to do this for you?"

And he accepts.

#gw2 #tanza mjallkin #aysel #crackling frost #who deserves their own character tag now that i've actually talked about them a bit #mineille #pol stormheart #this turned into So many words as;lkdjfsadf i hope all of them make sense as it's approaching midnight here #uselessidiotsquad #thanks a bunch for the ask! :D

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spotlightstudios · 2 years

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The Nash Logs #2

(A large Timeskip of events that will come later. This is relevant after Nash's Death.)

A king has to be strong. He has to be willing to sacrifice himself for his people. That was something Nash couldn't understand. Why had his party brought him back at the cost of one of their own lives?

The horror on the faces of his people was understandable after he was told what had happened, he wished he'd handled it more gracefully, but with the whole crisis? He just had been so scared for his party. Though, his death isn't what bothered him. Nor was it really pain over Nylia's sacrifice. It was more that the reality of what he was had finally sunk in.

His parents had always warned him away from certain temples and taverns, and he'd felt the strange burning sensation after using certain spells before. His species just wasn't meant to exist solely in the mortal realm, unfortunately. He knew that, though. His main issues were with his new problems.

He felt physically sick within a certain radius of their Church for Hera. Before he'd only tingled, but now he worried he'd collapse if he stepped one hoof onto the holy soil. The same occurred if the Paladins orCleric came too close. He was skiddish, their energy making him flinch. Countless spells were also vividly deadly to him now. Particularly, the ones that crumpled hoards of reminded creatures in their wake. Nash constantly worried about being caught at the receiving end of one of those. Locations and Spells were worrying, but his physical qualities also gave him too much heartache. His blood had stopped flowing. Upon receiving a scratch during training, he learned that his blood is curdled and pitch black. A nasty sludge. His Blood Curse still functions as normal, but Nash finds the sight of the substance a gruesome reminder. He was cold to the touch as well. He guessed he never noticed, he'd always had cold hands and he stayed around fire enough that it was a blessing in the past. Now though? His siblings flinch when he gives them hugs, as though he were a sculpture of ice. He only learned this fact when he'd shaken hands with Gray after a well-won game of darts. (Gray was a Rogue, so of course he'd won easily.) They'd had a few brews, and Gray had said Nash felt cold as a corpse. They'd laughed it off, but Nash remembered. It bothered him to know.

His least favorite part of this new shape is something that Maldric informed him of, a few weeks after Nash returned. Nash had remarked on how he could feel Maldric's heartbeat when they hugged, and how he loved it. Maldric had been quite. Later on, he'd leaned against Nadh for a few minutes, and whispered softly that he couldn't feel Nash's heartbeat anymore. And Maldric was right. Nash's heart, the place over which his Tattoo centered, the part of him filled with so much love and compassion... had run cold. Nash should've known better, but he didn't ever stop to think. He never did.

It's not uncommon for Nash to be alone and press his hand to his chest, holding his breath, hoping that someday it would start beating again. It never will. He realized, after some thinking, and some talking with his Advisor, that his body will fall into such disrepair that he'll be of no use to his party or people. Unfit to rule or be seen. He'll rot away, and his soul will be guided away once again. That is, if he doesn't corrupt into an unthinking undead first. He hopes that his party would give him the mercy of a private execution, and they'd return him to his crypt, or burn him on the pyre like a proper warrior.

He's not a proper warrior though. He knows that. He's some ungodly creature, given a second chance out of loyalty and sentiment. Gods forbid, he loves his party dearly, but in the dark of the night, sometimes he wishes they'd saved themselves the pain of having to watch him die twice over.

#The Nash Logs #The Foundation of a Great Beginning #oc #dnd #Nash is absolutely mlm and is married to Maldric #they're kings of this newly established kingdom and are wholesome af #Maldric's a Mountain Dwarf Artificer that's my bf's character #maybe I'll do one about how Nash developed a crush later on #also my boy Nadh classifies as Fae/Undead so literally any holy spell could banish him from existance :)#dm really nerfed him after I gave his 23 ac at lvl 7 #he really likes being alive #being undead makes his entire self-image deconstruct

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thschei · 2 months

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Okay I'm in a lot of pain And I think I have a migraine (bc why wouldn't I <3) but I wanted to add some stuff from my doctor appointment I forgot to mention

The nurse who took me back immediately said "Oh, I love your shirt!" which was this

The nurse asked me who did my hysterectomy, and when I said who, she said that he had delivered all 5 of her kids and would be delivering her daughter's first baby too, and I said that was really sweet. We both agreed that it'll be very sad when he retires soon.

She said that she sees a lot of patients seeking hysterectomies and feel frustrated when they're repeatedly told they're too young and asked what if they change their mind or if they'd considered if their current/future spouse might want kids. She talked about how often people tell her that they don't feel like this world is a safe/hopeful enough place to bring a baby into, or that they have a health condition that they don't want to pass onto a baby. I said that part of my decision was that as soon as my periods started and I was in agonizing, unending pain, I realized I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I had a baby and that baby ended up in that much pain, too. I was 10 when I made that decision and I hated that doctors would all say that it wasn't a light decision to make and I needed to think it over, like they each thought I'd only spent 5 minutes thinking about it. It was frustrating to be told no over and over, but it was really insulting to be told to "think it over" or be asked about what if a hypothetical future husband wanted kids [implying that my autonomy to be the final arbiter of my own body was superseded by MAYBE marrying a man someday. I didn't come out as a lesbian to the nurse, but it's doubly insulting because I'm a lesbian; there never will be a future husband. I came out as a lesbian to the gynecologist who agreed to give me a hysterectomy, but with previous doctors I saw, I always made a point of stressing that I never wanted kids and if I ever met a romantic partner who wanted kids, I'd break up with them so that neither of us would have to compromise on something so important and personal to a lot of people].

When I brought up the recurrent kidney stones to the doctor, I said "I try to drink a lot of water, but it hasn't seemed to be enough to prevent the kidney stones from coming back. I can just shut up and drink more water if I need to-- to which the doctor said "Nooo :(" really softly, it was sweet-- but if there's an underlying health issue or something else preventative I could do, I'd like to figure that out.

The doctor said she wanted to do imaging of my kidneys to see if there was a stone in there too large to pass, and also because it'd be interesting to see what a kidney looks like with stones in it. (She's pretty young, maybe mid-30's?, so I'm assuming she hasn't seen kidneys with stones in them before). I love when doctors say things like this because I also think it'd be really interesting to see a kidney with stones in it, but I usually stop myself from saying things like that because most people find it off-putting. It's really nice to let the filter drop a bit when talking to medical professionals. :)

Overall it was a really pleasant visit, and I think I said it in my other post about it, but it's really refreshing to be seen by a nurse/doctor who are kind and caring; that's really rare in the town I live in.

#erin talks #text #I'll spare you putting all the details in the tags but I have a Lot of anecdotes of doctors/receptionists for doctors being complete #assholes or being Very incompetent which I think is nearly as bad as being mistreated by medical professionals #k I will be horizontal for a while now byeee

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

A Story Told In Maybes {Part #1}

🗡️Yandere! Enma Yuuken x reader

🗡️Summary: Enma Yuuken lives on the fine line between "Hero" and "Villain" but his story will never end in a "happily ever after" or a "tragically ever after" it will only end in Maybe...

🗡 Edited by the amazing @tealyjade-libran

🗡️ Alternative title: How many times can Genie use "Damn" in a story...

Maybe in some other world, they could have been lovers

Imagine that...

picture it as vividly as a fresh stab wound to your heart. Sketch the vision of a red waterfall carrying away your life.

Now picture two people. A young man and woman, sitting on a park bench, holding hands and laughing, inching closer and closer.

Imagine love, happiness, tranquility...

But those things only exist in fairy tales. And his life was most certainly not a fairy tale.

They were foreigners, outsiders, aliens. Banished into a strange land were twisted fairy tales, roamed the earth. Where magic and mischief came as naturally to the inhabitants as breathing. Where nothing mattered, because nothing was. Everything is and thus it isn't. Nothing made sense, and sometimes, in some rare moments of stolen repose, Enma Yuuken was scared that nothing would ever make sense again.

All of it, every microscopic thing about this 'new world' was wrong, abnormal, twisted.

Everything except his traveling companion. Another lost soul as disjointed and out of place as he was. Another ghost trying to survive in this matrix of a so-called reality.

There was no shock initially, no surprise in not being the only normal creature to be transported to this bizarre world. Enma knew full well that he wasn't special in any way. Another foreigner being here was one of the few things that actually made sense.

But as the old expression goes, everything comes at a price.

Someone else just like him being here, being stuck in this nightmare, made sense. Yet the price of logic was a thread of hysteria that had woven itself deep within his battered heart. A maddening sense that gripped his lungs, robbing them of breath. That picked off pieces from his tattered mind, replacing them with clear cutout thoughts of her. It was always only her.

His companion in this broken world just had to be you. A frail, naïve little girl with no sense about her. Some pretty-girl protagonist straight out of the pages of Shojo Beats. The kind of girl who finds her happily ever after no matter where the hell she is.

Yet he did not have that luxury, his life was dictated by a series of maybes and could bes. He was a secondary character at best, a background shadow at worst. With no purpose other than smiling and waving. And listening to the protagonist weep about their love-driven woes.

Some days, when the dreary bell chimed for the last time, when the students marched back to the solitude of their dorms, Enma would wander around the halls, squirming in his own misery. Pondering why, oh why of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, did you have to be the one to wind up in this grim land along with him.

Why fate always had to be so cruel, so domineering, thinking it knew better than the people whose miserable lives it toyed with. He wanted to be your lover, your prince, yours. But what would a guy, who doesn’t even belong in this backward world, have to offer some heroine-type sweetheart?

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The Ramshackle’s flickering porch light glows in the distance. Like a dying star beckoning him to a destroyed paradise. He knows what's waiting for him behind the worn door. He knows you'll be there standing by the cracked dinner table, laying out days-old sandwiches for dinner, while Grimm rangles with an expired can of tuna. He knows you'll smile with tears in your doe-like eyes as you retell the fables of your endeavors. Telling him in great detail how the so-called king of beasts overpowered you in the school garden. How the King of poisons stole yet another kiss. The tales go on and on. Never-ending, never stopping, never giving him the chance to scavenge the fragments of his shattered heart.

You play your role so damn well. You know how to be the damsel in distress, the poor thing in need of saving. It's repulsive, disgusting...but only because he doesn't know how to be the hero that you need.

If he was being honest -something he rarely did nowadays- Those "prefects" were the root of all his problems. They were the evil that made this dark world an endless horror. They'd been the ones to drive him into the "caring older brother" role. They had twisted his hand, leading him to the role of the "side-hero" like a lamb to the slaughter. Made him into a prince charming in a world that ate princes alive and spat them out once more.

They had sealed his fate with a few insults and loaded threats. With just a few longing stares overflowing with lust and envy. They were villains, in a world that celebrated sinners. A world that cheered when the dragon steals the princess and rejoices when the evil king sits upon his skeleton throne. They were villains in every dreadful sense of the damn word.

It's hard to be in love when all odds are against you.

When your fate binds you into one role with no way out.

Like a rabbit hole made of quicksand. It dragged him deeper and deeper into intimate madness.

Maybe in some fair world, those leeching villains could keep their greedy blood-drenched hands off of you.

Maybe in a world where the sun never dies, you could bring yourself to love him.

Maybe he could have been the love interest, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's always only MAYBE!

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Welcome home Nii-san,"

It's a sweet greeting that ties his guts into ribbons. His hands grow damp as his heavy eyes stare into yours. His lips curl into a painted smile, shielding you from the pain that's clawing in his stomach.

"Hi..(Y/n)"

His voice cracks and croaks like a dying frog. His lips feel abnormally dry and his eyes sting as if they've been pierced by diamond daggers. His steps are heavy as he plops down in his seat. The weight of his worries pulled him down harder than gravity ever could. He watches you through tried, restless orbs. Watches as you waltz over to your seat and sit down with the half grace of some future queen to be. It's bitter, dreadful, leaving a sickly toxin-like taste in his mouth. The mere thought that someday one of those, sinners, will take your hand and drag you to some kingdom far far away makes Enma want to claw his brain out with his bare nails.

Enma's focus shifts over from his traveling companion to the silver-coated fireball licking his paws. Grimm's teal eyes scan him nervously before he offers a nervous smile, a rarity for the narcissistic cat. He's usually so talkative, so boasting, there was never a moment of tranquility with that cat around...

It takes a moment. A steel coated moment before the gears in Enma's head begin to turn. Before he can place his finger on the heavy abnormality weighing down the atmosphere. His nerves jolt to life, leaving a freezing sweat behind their trail. The room is spinning like a ballroom floor. Something's off, something big and obvious and hidden and...

Maybe...

"So..."

It's your sweet voice that breaks the tension creeping into the air. Melodic and luscious just like the sensation of a blissful dream. The room freezes in its tracks. The heavy atmosphere melts away like a cube of ice. Normality has one foot through the door. Behind it, hope and tranquility peek their heads through the tiny gap.

Maybe just maybe everything is alright. Maybe it's just him, his stress and anxiety are starting to play cruel jokes on his wonder mind. Maybe he's just going mad. Yeah, that's the sanest conclusion to draw from all this.

Enma cranes his neck to the side to get a better view of your face. Distress is scribbled all over your skin, like pristine razor cuts. You shift around in your seat, clawing at your uniform skirt as if the midnight black fabric is cutting off your circulation. Your fingers nudge the entrance to your pocket fiddling with something he can't quite make out.

His voice is low, shaky, as he replies. The unusualness of the situation has him on edge. Nervous to the bitter bone. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his nerves were right to be wary of whatever this was. This uncertainty permeated the air-tight room.

"What is it?"

Slowly you drag out a white envelope flooded seven times over from your pocket. You stretch out your hand placing it in between his fingers. Enma throws a passive look at the note, his nose wrinkled up at the familiar scent that pervaded from the paper.

"What's this?"

It was rhetorical, asked out of dull, morbid courtesy. This time he didn't bother looking at you, in fear of seeing you look -lord forbids- gleeful.

"A love letter, Grimm found it in our locker after class."

There was a pause, lengthy, nerve-wracking, heart wrenching. Yuuken could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat, he could almost feel the excitement radiate off your body.

"Can you believe it Nii-san? Someone actually left me a love letter!"

It hurt it really did, this time his heart didn't shatter. It simply broke, in two or three or maybe four. Who knows, who cares. They had escalated from simple harassment and unsightly displays of public affection to leaving you love letters. How ungodly, how absurd, how brave...

He laments, eyes tracing over the fog of his breath as it wafts through the musty room. He wants to rip that damned piece of paper, shred it into millions so the words become ineligible, so you'll never read those horrible words again. So you'll forget that some damn fool other than him can actually love you. But he doesn't, he has too much self restraint and too much respect for his dear "little sister" to actually do it.

His arm stretches over the table, skin illuminated by the dying candle on the center. He places the letter back safely in between your fingers. His eyes meet yours for only the second time that night. He takes in your face, Committing every piece of it to his miserable memory. The heartily glow in your crystal eyes, the faint schoolgirl smile dancing across your lips, the rose blush kissing your cheeks, the way the candle illuminates your skin, wrapping in a sparkling glow like the princess from those tales of old. You're mesmerizing in every way, it would be reasonable for other men to notice your elegance. No wonder those "prefects" were drawn to you so naturally like moths to a golden flame.

"Who sent it?"

His voice comes out like a block of ice, shielding away any and all his stray emotions. He doesn't want to know how doleful he is, he just can't have you taking pity on him.

Your smile fades ever so slightly, your brows draw closer. Confusion is etched on your face. You haven't got a clue.

"Well...I'm not sure, but they did say to meet them at the school gates when the clock chimes twelve."

Oh, joy, another fairy tale reference. It's comedic how fairy tales have begun to dictate his life. Everywhere he turns there's a grim tale awaiting him. Yuuken spares a quick glance at the crooked clock hanging by a loose thread. It’s a minute to midnight.

"I should come with you"

It's not a request but you take it as so.

"No need to bother, I'll take Grimm, he could use the walk. He's starting to bulk up a bit"

"HEY! The great Grimm-Sama doesn't "Bulk up" He only gets more powerful!"

Before the older male can protest, you're already halfway out the door. Grimm scurrying to follow you on all fours like a pesky rat. The door slams on your way out, leaving Yuuken alone with his morbid screeching thoughts.

There goes the only good thing in his life. Into the arms of another.

For a second he contemplates leaving you to fate, after all, who's he to disobey fate, go against whoever orchestrates this universe. But it's only a second, short lived and quickly died.

Maybe he's a hero.

Maybe he's a Prince Charming.

Maybe he's a villain.

Maybe he's just some honorary older brother looking out for his kid sister.

Maybe, just maybe, he's your future lover;

and he'll be damned if he lets you slip out of hands.

Enma's quick to grab his old practice blade from the overstuffed closet. It's not much, but it's all he has from the normal world, from his world.

The door grates for the last time that night as he steps out into the cold midnight air. The stars blink in some sort of secret tongue, either warning him or encouraging him, he doesn't know. Nor does he truly care, for Enma Yuuken is done letting life and fate and villains decree his meaningless life. Here and now that's where he'll make his stand, he'll save you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. You, You, YOU

But there's still one nagging thought that screams inside his head as he dashes for the school gates. This world worships villains, prays at their feet, and hands them death and destruction on golden plates. And he's no villains, he's some sort of upside-down, in-between. Rotting alone in the border between Hero and Villain. By law of society, he's a reject, a useless foreigner, an alien, an outsider.

and MAYBE he's already too late...

Who wrote the love letter? Was it the head of the savanaclaw dorm or maybe the head of the heartslabyul dorm ? Maybe it’s the ever mysterious Tsunotarou...

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yournameyn · 3 years

Text

Feeling Deeply: Chapter 3

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage Fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. Something neither of them really wanted but are now discovering just how much each needed. Away from their childhoods, their families & their homes, Namjoon & Brishti (the OC) are privileged immigrants who slowly build a home, a family & a true sense of self, together in 1960s London. Please note this is not the typical immigrant experience of that timespace and I’ve taken many-a-leap to write the fluuuufffiness I wanted to write.

A/N: It’s unabashed fluff. And eventual smut but I hope you’re okay with a really slow burn. Like, reaaaally slow. Both our characters are introverts & met as strangers so it’s going to take them a while to get the *ahem* fire going.

Big big big love to @sahmfanficbts, @mintjoonlep, @holdinbacksecrets, @sunshyngal, @xjoonchildx - who give me so much love and encouragement & whose straight up genius writing makes me swooooon!

Characters: Brishti is our OC. She’s a feminist, obviously. She’s Indian, wheatish in colour, curvy & slightly short. Brishti is bengali & her name means ‘Rain’. Her pet name is RimJhim which means the sound of rain. (Namjoon calls her Rim & she calls him Joon) This whole story is a tribute to Forever Rain.

The Namjoon in this fic is what I imagine he would have been had he not followed his dreams at the age of 13. Hopefully, I’m able to do justice to the idea as I write ahead.

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Brishti & Namjoon meet her colleagues. They listen to the then-rising band The Beatles & take a strong liking to one particular track, if you know what I mean. Again, sorry to spoil but there’s no smut yet. I was not kidding when I said it’s a slooooow burn. Next chapter, it’s happening. There's not much conversation in this chapter, either. Is this almost 3k words of just CONTEXT to the actual smut or just a tease - you tell me!

Also, someone else we love is also introduced in this chapter!

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Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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Namjoon loved his weekends now. They were like a real couple, Brishti and him… setting the never ending “final touches” in their home, together. They went out to pubs and gardens, libraries and cafes together. And yet, to both their secret dismay, they hadn't moved ahead from that one hug they had shared. They'd played, instead, with words and been more and more intimate in their conversations.

Brishti introduced him to her colleagues - her group among the staff at the British Library. Working there was her pride & these folk were her joy. This was nerve-wracking for Namjoon because he knew how much she loved them. These were her people. Her true tribe. It was almost like he was meeting her parents. Instead of two indian elders (whom he had spoken to on the only international call she had made since their wedding), he found himself faced with a weird band of strangers. An English couple Harry & Kate who had adopted the library instead of a child, an elder woman from Japan, Sayuri-san - whose stories Brishti narrated to Namjoon all the time, a Korean guy (his age!) & Yana, a girl, Brishti’s age who was half English, half Iranian & completely in love with Sam, the black historian from America, as Brishti had reported. As they settled in for their picnic in Hyde Park, Namjoon tried his best to hide his shock when he found Sam was - one, a girl & two, as tall as him. He wondered which attribute threw him off more. Still, he was completely enjoying himself with Brishti’s Unlikely Gang of Weirdos that Will Save The World. That’s what she called them. Sayuri-san agreed - They were all groovy outcasts who had somehow clawed their way into the (apparently) cutthroat world mainstream librarians.

Brishti was glad to see Namjoon really hit it off with the only other Korean she knew, the guy who’d told her about the only place in London that sold black bean noodles, made the right way. Namjoon had almost cried when she had brought them over from work. The two of them spoke as if they had been thick as thieves for years. They talked about Korean poetry and the folk music they had to participate in their childhoods. They spoke about the music archive section of the library, which was heaven for Min Yoongi. The passion in Yoongi’s eyes when he spoke about maybe someday taking a class about world music appreciation was something Namjoon wished to have too, but wasn’t yet ready to admit.

As they were packing up their picnic, the conversation flowed to a new band in the country. Brishti spoke about how every young girl she had met recently just could not stop talking about how groovy The Beatles are. The elders in charge of the music archive brushed them off as a fad but she was insistent to bring it up every meeting - after all, it was teenage girls that had popularised & helped usher in the lyrical music of Vivaldi. Or of Lisztomania - that popularised the soft romantic tones of Liszt which formed the base of the modern love song. Namjoon loved to see her almost up in arms, struggling to find a better word for the admiration that girls had for music and musicians.

“It’s not hysteria… or fanaticism… it- it’s just love.” She had said. No one disagreed. In fact, everyone in her group was persuaded to (at least) give The Beatles a listen over the weekend.

And so, This evening, A Hard Day’s Night played as they arranged books & records at home. Brishti was arranging the books, apparently not having had enough of the task despite working as a full time librarian. Namjoon’s heart ached when he thought about how Brishti loved her job. Thankfully his mind never stayed on that thought for long. Namjoon wished he could pay attention to the song. These days, paying attention to anything but Brishti was almost impossible. The smallest movement in her, the smallest stir intrigued him.

Meanwhile, Brishti had been trying to figure out a way of getting him to touch her &… as silly as that sounded to her rational mind she couldn’t really come out and say it. Night after night when they’d stayed up talking about things or listening to music or just simply reading their respective books, on the floor or by the window with their legs sprawled out in front of each other, she wished he’d touch her… that somehow maybe he’d notice her feet. Strange as it was, she kept thinking about his hands, his fingers tracing the contour of her ankle while she didn’t turn one page of her book for almost an hour.

She understood the problem - both of them were so hyper-aware of each other while pretending not to be that an accident couldn’t really occur. Things had to be done & Brishti thought about how she shouldn’t let tradition dictate who makes the first move. She also kicked herself for not following tradition and stopping him from taking his pillow & blanket away to the couch on their wedding night they were supposed to sleep on the same bed. It made her heart race that she could sleep next to this Korean Greek God-like feminist man. Ufff. She was covered in tense knots everywhere and anytime she even thought of making a move, the fear in her would make her do something else - like unpack all the books into a makeshift bookcase.

They were facing in opposite directions in the same room and Brishti couldn’t help glancing back at Namjoon again and again. The broad expanse of his back made her long to hug him again. They hadn’t touched each other since she let go of the hug. It made her ache, the memory of him moving away from her. Next time they touch, she wouldn’t let go first - of this she was certain.

Brishti looked at him again & smiled, wondering how someone so tall could look so tiny & cute. Namjoon did look surprisingly tiny, poring over the vinyls & neatly arranging them. She smiled thinking about how he had spent some time wondering if the records should be kept chronologically or alphabetically.

Finally, he had announced, “Ofcourse! I have it! The category has to be mood! The...” Brishti loved the small pauses Namjoon took to find the perfect word. “The story of each album and the feeling it brings out!” The way he smiled, pleased with his decision created a flutter in her heart.

Looking at him poring over each song in each album trying to discern what the overall feeling of it was, she felt an unbearable urge to tease him, to disturb his cataloguing. She would go over and irritate him… probably tickle his waist or blow in his ears. Or maybe just nuzzle his neck. Brishti wondered if these things would actually irritate Namjoon or perhaps lead to something else... The thought made her blush so fiercely, she turned to face her pile of books. Brishti wished she could walk over, silently demand a space in Namjoon’s lap, he would throw out anything that crowded his lap & she would sit there, being cuddled, enveloped in him & talk about songs… if she could talk, at such a moment that is.

She needed to stop staring at him and yet, she couldn’t help but look... She was a warm-blooded woman after all. And Kim Namjoon was a particularly delicious man. It wasn’t so much that he was tall… plenty of men were tall. (She rolled her eyes thinking how most everyone was taller than her.) Unlike other men, though, Namjoon was not awkward or gangly. He had wide shoulders and a gorgeous neck. She had to actively keep her eyes focussed on something else when she could see the contours of his chest.

In that first week of them living together she wanted him. She felt the heat of being seen by those sharp beautiful eyes that held a deep fire in them. Brishti found herself thinking more and more about how his back looked, how it would feel to be cuddled up against that broad beautiful chest, how it would feel to touch him and to be touched by him. She blushed & laughed to herself when her spontaneous thought was that she’d like to “climb that tree” - whenever Namjoon stood up after being scrunched over his table, writing. That yearning awakened a much fiercer part of Brishti -

Why couldn’t she?! He was her husband. They have to come closer at some point, so what was she waiting for? Without a second thought, her body moved to get up & walk over to him. But as it had happened every time, her mind caught up to her at the very last minute. As Brishti walked over, bent, stretched out... for a pile of books close to him. She was close enough to touch him. And still, she just picked up the books & walked back. Thankfully for Brishti, she had a natural sort of nonchalance. Something Namjoon envied. Brishti did not know what this little stunt of hers did to him. Namjoon, with his fists balled, had to hold himself back in that moment. He had to stop himself from grabbing her; from pulling her into his lap and having his way with her.

The gentle thread-like tug he had felt when he’d first seen Brishti’s photos... it had become a magnetic pull now. Shocking and also somehow inevitable.

It had been more than a month of them living together and Namjoon was wrestling with something. An idea, apparently. It was as though an idea was caught in a vast net that he had laid out across the ocean of his mind. But he was having trouble fishing it out. He understood there was no point forcing it, that the idea, the thought would emerge when it, or when he was ready.

Taking his time, slowly, Namjoon was understanding how he had done the perfect thing for her, accidentally. He was confused too, when his instinct told him to let his bride sleep alone on their marital bed the first night they had moved in this flat. He had reasoned that it was the decent thing to do. Unknowingly, he gave her the time to explore, to own that space; Not crowding her with his body. Not invading her with expectations that, no matter how silent, would be blaringly evident. That was the right thing to do. Then.

Now things felt different. Now, it felt like she had made that space, this whole home hers. But then that’s where his thought-net felt stuck. The thought he wanted to fish out kept pulling at him, telling him she needed something else now. Like Brishti craved something else now. He wondered if she, like him, craved touch. Was that why her body instinctively moved, stretched, inched closer towards him these days. Was this why he’d found his shirt among the blanket instead of the laundry basket the other day?

Namjoon tried to shake off these thoughts again - they felt dangerous, explosive. What was happening? He looked back at his beautiful wife and saw her stretch her arms, then her abdomen, all the way till her hips and then bend forward to touch her toes. She mewled, very softly when she did that. Namjoon felt the familiar flip in his stomach again. This time, thankfully, the thought leapt up within reach too.

Namjoon suddenly understood just how feline Brishti is. Somehow, it was a key he needed. The idea surged through him & made him stand up. Because it wasn’t just an idea, it was an epiphany. Brishti looked at him, her eyes asking, saying, expecting something he didn’t understand fully.

The tingle that ran down his spine told him he was about to.

“You okay?” Brishti asked, concerned & embarrassed because the move she expected hadn’t come. But then again, it was probably too much to think Namjoon had stood up to carry her & throw her on their bed. Wasn’t it?

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room looking confused. Namjoon recovered & asked, “Coffee?”

Brishti smiled & nodded. Namjoon rushed to the kitchen. The catching of this thought excited him. Because after living with her for almost a month, he had just now realised it is this attribute - of being feline-ly feminine or femininely feline - that is what makes his body almost overpower any semblance of restraint his mind had imposed.

At first it seemed silly but soon Namjoon realised it isn’t. Not at all. It really clicked in place like the right key, the precise note does - he understood how to BE with her. Be there for the feline creature-like woman that Brishti was revealing herself to be: The way she walked, slowly almost moodily… letting her feet touch and caress each surface her feet felt. She would be walking across the room but would stop just to walk back and forth, softly, in a way that one can’t really call pacing at all. And everytime she touched something she liked, or saw or tasted something she loved, she made these small sounds that would make Namjoon’s heart melt. They were always half-way between a purr and a moan and they made him wonder what pleasure would make her sound like. Namjoon thought about how Brishti is graceful but her grace, like the curves of her beautiful body, aren’t timid; How, it’s a grace that announces itself... sometimes even before she walks in.

It isn’t the only thing that attracted him to her, not by a far cry. Namjoon thought about how he loves her mind, her words. But this felt, somehow, more… more visceral or... wanting to be. Could something formless long to be touched?; To become tangible, touchable? This feeling, in his chest and his gut. This feeling within him, it jumps, flips every time she walks by. These days it seems like Brishti walks by closer and closer each time she passes him. Like she needs to feel the texture of his skin the same way she needs to feel the slight drag of the rug on the soles of her feet. And it just adds more depth to this deep cavernous feeling within him. Instinctual whispers echoing within-

Why does it feel like he needs to touch a fragrance?

Like all he needs to do is reach out?

Like the moment he will reach out, an essence, an aroma will become an experience?

It felt like Brishti was calling out to him silently. That magnetic pull was stronger than ever and it was pulling him, drawing him to her, telling him to reach out, so she can find her way to him. That feeling, the way he was being pulled… that was feline. Like she needed him to reach out so she could make him hers too. And then, then it happened. The first four notes of ‘And I love her’ played and pulled him to her.

In that moment, in their 7th week together, as Brishti was tracing the lines of Namjoon’s back, gawking at him, thinking about this man - this gorgeous, curious, wonderful man - as her husband… a thought so fantastical it would make her squirm in her seat. Just as she was recovering from the thought, releasing the tension in her shoulders. The knots he didn’t know he caused, Namjoon kept the cups of coffee aside and extended his hand.

‘I give her all my love, that’s all I do…” To him, the instant she did it again, - the stretching her arms all the way up. The little moan she made every time she did that, the way her back arched and highlighted all her curves… it drove him, his body, his instinct to reach out.

“And if you saw my love, you’d love her too.”

The stomach flipped, again. This time, though, his instinct acted before his mind knew what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, his mind caught up -

He had just reached out. Reached out for her to claim him. But to one who didn’t know everything that had been going on inside both their hearts, it would look like he was inviting her to dance. Brishti looked at his hand and then at his eyes and suddenly Namjoon understood the reason for this magnetic pull... these lyrics is what she was saying all along -

“A love like ours could never die, as long as I have you near me...”

She took his hand & left no distance between them. Brishti realised there was music playing in the room only after she took Namjoon’s hand. Before this, she could only hear her own heartbeat, sharpened to an intensity never before experienced. Sharpened to a glint in a way that only love can. Love… and unmistakable, undeniable lust. Her heart had been beating with so much longing it had clouded everything else.

Now, in this moment, with his heart so close to hers, she could finally hear the music. This is what she had needed. This is what her heart had been pining for. And she knew. Without the shadow of a doubt she knew... he had heard her.

Brishti moved to the simple guitar strings that were tugging them both. The melody deepened each time the same four notes played. And each time they rooted deeper in the soil of her heart, she moved him too. His hands on her waist, caressing her curves everytime the four notes played. And they played over and over again… Namjoon followed the lyrics and sang along with his beautiful deep dark chocolate voice in her ears, saying -

“And I love her...”,

And his strong arms around her. How could she… Brishti, even if her name didn’t mean the rain, how could she have resisted pouring?

“Bright are the stars that shine, dark is the sky, I know this love of mine will never die...”

This evening was the first time they’d really touched each other. Stood so close to each other. Moved together.

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

Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please let me know what you think! Get into my messages about it! I would love to hear what you felt about this!

This is the song that's mentioned here in case anyone is curious.

#bts kim namjoon #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics #forever rain

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emma-nation · 3 years

Text

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela x oc #resident evil fanfiction #the devil in i

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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WELLL GANG IT TOOK FOR FUCKIN EVER BUT HEY HERE IT IS ABOUT 7,000 WORDS OF KAGEYAMA. THANK YOU ALL FOR STICKING WITH ME IT REALLY MEANS A LOT THAT Y’ALL WERE STILL HERE EVEN THOUGH I WAS TAKING FOREVER LIKE HOLY FUCK MAN I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH FOR THIS AND HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT!!

tw: noncon dacryphilia breathplay(choking) kidnapping general shady-ness very blink and you’ll miss religious symbolism. Abuse

“Don’t mess this up Kageyama.” You wake up in an old building, seven men stand above you, head to toe in suits. And you distinctly remember reading something someday, about how the yakuza always cover their body. And about how the yakuza have a hand in human trafficking.

“Damn Kageyama, we don’t do any of that Oikawa-Gumi shit here!” The Man who's speaking is shirtless and his hair is buzzed short. He’s got a red dragon winding up his stomach and a red koi on his sternum.

“So many women were brought to Oikawa I just thought-” The man - Kageyama you assume - has black hair and blue eyes. You think he’s staring at you.

“You thought? I find that hard to believe.” A guy with glasses (do yakuza wear glasses?) sniffs and turns his nose at Kageyama. “I thought you only thought about being Oyabun.”

“Shittykawa is a liar and you all know it!”

“Still more honorable than a guy who deserted his family and has a samurai tattoo!” A considerably smaller redhead speaks up with a defiant voice.

“They betrayed me!!” His attention (if it was on you, is not anymore.) shifts as Kageyama raises his voice, flails his hands a little and starts to pace.

“Kageyama, be quiet!” A man behind you talks. The man with blue eyes immediately stops talking, the man with glasses and blonde hair laughs.

“All of you shut up!” A louder voice bounces off the walls, all five men stop talking and look to the man behind you. He’s got brown hair, short, militant and an angry-looking scowl on his face. The man next to him has silver hair, but you don’t think it’s from age. A chorus of “sorry Oyabun” echoes through the room, large, dark and empty.

“Kageyama, you will not mess this up.” Intense coal eyes stare into blue.

“No Oyabun, I will not.”

“Good because she’s under your care.” You almost expect the man with brown hair to offer you a smile, it’s the silver haired one who does.

“What?!” You turn around quickly as the voice sounds much closer than you remember it being. “I’m-” The man takes a few seconds looking at his fingers. (His left pinky is a stub) Before continuing. “Oikawa never had me do anything like that. Girls just talked to me.”

“Girls talked to you!?” A newer person, short, standing next to the shirtless one - has an energetic voice. “Why’d you ever leave?”

“Because Oikawa treats his family like shit!” And like that, the talking erupts into furious voices trying to get a word in edgewise until once more, the two behind you speak up.

“Everyone shut up!”

Once again they all fall silent.

“Kageyama, get her where she needs to go. You know what to do right?”

“Yes Oyabun.”

“Good.” His gaze is away from you, glaring at someone else as silence splits the room.

“C’mon.” He makes a show of not looking at you when he gruffly gestures for you to move to his side. Try as you might to seem calm, your joints are cold and stiff as you march to his left.

“Don’t cause a fuss okay?” He sends a sharp glare your way.

“She’s terrified Kageyama, you don’t need to scare her more.” The man with silver hair looks at you more apologetically than you’d thought a yakuza could. But as his hands rest on his hips you can see the gun holstered on his side. You look away quickly after smiling quickly.

“Yeah! Be nicer to her!” Kageyama shrugs off what the redhead says and walks towards the singular door and opens it to walk through. It leads to an empty, grey hallway - chilled and complete with flickering light. About fifteen paces ahead, there's a flight of stairs with the much-needed railing that rusts and peels in the flickering, damp hallway. There's the faint sound of city pop coming from the top of the stairs, through a bleak door with peeling paint. There are no other places of entry or exit, simply the one large, looming, decrepit door at the top of steep steps. Still begrudgingly silent, Kageyama starts up the stairs, feet falling hard on each step like drops of a guillotine. You follow numbly after him. What other choice is there really? Go back to the room with so many others? Die in a hallway while muffled music plays from a door? Your legs ache by the time you stand near the door. It’s not a high climb. Kageyama opens the door and you expect to hear nails on a chalkboard but are greeted by the soft melody of plastic love and the smell of cigarettes. The beeps of slot machines punctuate loud cheers and disappointments around a roulette table, the thwap of cards hitting the table and laughter at a bar does little to distract from the fact that Kageyama who had barely looked at you before — (Was it on purpose?) — was staring directly at you. Pressing a hand to your face, you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek. A tear. You wipe it quickly and Kageyama turns away slowly. Eyes lingering a second after he turns his head.

“You’re slow, move quicker!” You nod in his direction though he’s already moving ahead again. The casino is loud and boisterous and though you’re sure it’s actually an illegal gambling den, many well known wealthies sit around a roulette table with a man in a suit, typical of a yakuza.

“You want a drink?” You expect it to come from a sleazy, older man wearing an old baggy suit, not the man who’s been leading you through this mess of tables and smoke and glitz. It’s fine, there are so many people around you.

“Why are you offering me a drink?” He’s turned to face you, still not smiling but eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“O-Oikawa said to offer women drinks. I-” Oikawa? He might not be so bad. Still, a yakuza who didn’t run with the good kind any more so-

“No thanks.” The confusion displayed earlier on his face, deepens into a frown that forms on his lips and lines that appear in between his brows.

“What, why?” He’s actually confused somehow.

“I don’t know you, you’re a yakuza - you might drug my drink - the list could go on?”

“I'm not going to drug you" He sounds angry and mutters "Just trying to be nice, fuck." And you've stopped for only one moment but the sleazy men you thought would hound you start to crowd, either unknowing or uncaring that you are in the custody of organized crime.

"Pretty lady want a drink? Got a margarita with your name on it." It's unsurprisingly a man with cigarettes' smoke on his breath and intoxication in his step. You note he's already holding the drink in question.

"No thank you-" You begin to answer, in a politely exasperated tone that you think is quite amicable for someone whose arm is practically around your waist.

"Listen - she's with me, alright?" Kageyama doesn't stop there, despite that in your opinion, he should. "She's mine." The words send a pang of anxiety straight through your spine and into your brain before they reach your feet and as they itch to step away into a crowd, another man speaks up someone much less intoxicated, still - with a drink in hand.

"She in trouble with the Daichi-Gumi then?" They're much more informed. And Kageyama nods to the asker.

"Guess he's still got his Oikawa roots then, huh?" And that doesn't make any sense at all because he's nothing like the man you talked to and who gave you a handsome wink and made small conversation.

"Don't compare me to that bastard." And instead of the usual anger, you think it's a note of exhaustion in his voice. And the conversation ends right there, "mine" being a forgotten word in the mix of much more confusing sentences. It's relatively peaceful after that, the scowl on your captors face scaring many others away. You continue down the luxurious gambling hall and into much quieter corridors with soft sounds passing through doors as you walk down a carpeted hallway, well lit and warmer. Once again, Kageyama opens a door and walks through. For a long, fleeting, whirlwind of a moment, you are alone before remembering that if you walk out without Kageyama, you run the risk of having a yakuza family hunting for you. Hell, they'd hunt your family, you've heard about what they do to screamers. Twisted fingers, bloody stomachs and scarred backs - missing eyes if the they’re lucky. You step through the open door and into the room. It's low-lit, casting a pleasant glow on the furniture.

Kageyama is already sitting down on an expensive - looking sofa no —loveseat. He picks up a remote from the side armrest and turns on a TV installed into the wall. Loud moans and the sound of flesh on flesh boom from the speakers before he switches to the sounds of shoes squeaking as they run across a floor. He pulls a nail clipper from his pocket to trim already short fingernails. There's a large bed with lights hanging above it on one side of the room, a wardrobe - open - full of thin clothing you wouldn't be caught dead in outside of your house. There's a small table, a bottle of wine and two glasses on mahogany wood, next to a singular unlit candle. Though the sound is gone you can’t help but linger on the moans that came from the TV and how Kageyama has led you into a room with such a large bed and a shower that has no door and is only walled with glass. You forcibly relax your jaw just before you speak.

"I'm here to-" You gulp down air, trying not to look at the silk sheeted bed. "Pay a debt."

"Yeah dumbass, what else would you be here for?" If he doesn't bring up any other possibility, neither will you.

"How?" The way that he instantly looks at you, blue eyes ever intense when he speaks makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. You know exactly how. He’s led you to this room, what else could he be expecting?

"Daichi put me in charge of you, you'll do what I say." Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm not going to do what you tell me. I'll work off my debt in this casino, but I'm not doing everything you tell me to do!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He blinks at you, brow once again furrowed in confusion. He puts his nail clippers down on the arm of his seat, and stands, taking off his jacket in the process. You knew it - you fucking knew it.

You shuffle backwards as quickly as possible, spine hitting the round doorknob.

You can’t go any further.

Kageyama creeps forwards, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal raging water delicately inked into the toned muscle of his right forearm, chrysanthemum petals drifting downstream from a skull at his shoulder. Down his left, where his elbow meets his forearm stands a samurai, maple leaves falling gently from the mouth of a black koi that flounders to appear just over the edge of his shoulder. On the front of his chest there is only a solitary demon - red and standing amongst black clouds which dig deep - over his nipples as the Oni stands on the cool blue with its fiery feet. He walks over to you, shirt off and tugging at his belt. With a decorated arm, he sets the white shirt on your head, careful not to touch you. What flees from your lips is a very audible sigh expressing your relief that he doesn’t seem to want to violate you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Put that away for me.” You don’t even attempt to retort as you quickly move it off your head and turn away from wherever Kageyama sounded like he was. You conveniently face towards the wardrobe and walking towards it, you notice all the clothing you had neglected to think about. Short schoolgirl uniforms, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, all sorts of exposing clothing that you think for the second time, you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in. You push sets of clothing aside to find an empty hanger, not finding one, you kneel down to check the bottom of the cabinet. You find a box full of something, flat squares that are easily torn, and one empty hanger with a leather suit that probably went on it beforehand. You instinctually turn at the sound of water hitting the tiled shower. He’s standing still, body naked through the glass and quickly you avert your eyes from him. The loud crash of falling water on the tile makes you turn, despite your knowledge of where it comes from. You can see Kageyama’s naked back through the clear glass, koi and cherry blossoms disappearing in rapidly forming fog that covers the rest of his body. Watching the glass fog with the softening sound of water on tile in the dim light of the room, a dry sob of relief releases from your throat. He isn’t going to do anything. It’s just one large scare tactic. With the realization that Kageyama is just going to unorthodox lengths to make sure you don’t run, your knees buckle and you crumple to the floor, back stable against the side of the wardrobe - and you let the tears fall.

Each bone, muscle and thought eases with the knowledge that this yakuza is just taking a shower. He’s still the good kind of yakuza - Oikawa taught him well. He just happens to be a little strange. While he showers, your face is bathed with your own free tears. Your hands cup your cheeks and you smile softly into your palms, feeling so much steadier as your breathing returns to its normal steady in and out. Picking yourself up from the carpeted floor and feeling you back crack you bring yourself in front of the TV watching as people toss a volleyball into the air. It’s awfully methodical as they toss it to each side over and over, you almost forget about the pitter-patter of water behind you. You don’t even notice as it stops and the man comes out to watch you watching the game. You barely hear the zipper on his pants - just dismissing it as some sound from the game. It’s not until he’s directly behind the couch and he asks you a question that you remember where you are.

“Where’d you put my shirt?” You turn and tilt your head to look at his dripping hair, wet pants and wetter jacket.

“It’s in the closet.”

“What?”

“It’s the only place to put a shirt.” He grumbles at your words but it’s not hostile.

“You have the bed, that’s where I normally put my stuff.” You glance at the bed again and then back to him.

“Who doesn’t use a closet?”

“Next time you’re going to put it on the bed. No point in using that shitty closet - can’t find anything in there,”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.” His eyes squint face lowering to yours. He blinks twice before his blues widen.

“Have you… been crying?” Your eyes must still be puffy red.

“No?” His nose is just a hairs’ width away from yours.

“You better not be lying. Lying to your Oyabun has serious consequences.” Abruptly he stands up. “And you’re mine now. You can’t lie to me.” His hair bobs as he nods and removes his dripping suit jacket. Once again the black koi surfaces across the spanse of his muscular back.

“I’m…” You shouldn’t be asking, but he must mean this in some other way, right? “Yours?”

“Daichi told me to watch you,” He says dumbly. Well, If that’s all he means, it shouldn’t be bad. You’re going to ignore how his head turns slightly to look and that the lights that glint off his eyes menacingly. “You're part of the family now. My family” A slimy feeling crawls up your back at his words, not for the first time.

“What does that mean?”

“Talking back to your Oyabun has consequences.” It hangs over your head, his words and your next ones clashing in your mind before deciding on,

“Same can be said for thinking you’re Oyabun.” It’s a much less dangerous thing to say, now that you know you’re safe and he’s just a strange person.

“I will be Oyabun, and you’re part of my family. You already have to do what I say.” He’s scared you enough, he’s not going to do anything and you’re not even sure he can with patrons of the gambling den so near. You take a breath and steady yourself though you aren’t even nervous and without thinking-

“I’m not some part of your fucking yakuza family!” Your palm makes harsh contact on his cheek. He was just trying to scare you earlier. You turn aside as he stands still as a leaf in water. Clasping your hands together you wait trying not to think about the fact that you just slapped a yakuza. He turns slowly, wide eyes a lighter blue than you had originally thought.

“Do it again.” A large hand rubs at his red cheek. “Please?” Kageyama cocks his head to the side, hand still over his red cheek. You’re rooted to the ground, standing still, you're not going to move even if he said he wants you to hit him again.

“If you won’t do it, I will.” He removes his hand from his cheek, and makes a fist before stopping. “You had an open palm.” All four fingers of his left hand splay open as he inches towards you with confident steps. “It felt so nice to be touched by someone again.” Eyes like the Starry Night glare down while his face holds the least unsettling smile you’ve seen from him. You can’t do anything against a member of the yakuza, and the important thing about the yakuza floods back into your mind: the man with silver hair had a gun, why shouldn’t he?. You stand still as a statue, you will not flinch, you will not cry. He’s right in front of you, and you stare defiantly into his eyes as he stares right back. There is nothing to say and both of you are waiting for the first blow.

It lands.

Hard, right on your cheek and the sting is so much but so little compared to the gun that could’ve put a hole in your head. Your head is pushed to the side by force before you snap it back to look into his eyes.

“It doesn’t feel the same…” He mutters the words. “Maybe if you-”

“I’m not going to do anything you want me to.”

“Fine. I’ll try again.” And the hand connects with your cheek once again. If the first stung, the second was like a stab. Cold and sharp and the feeling staying much longer than you’d hope. Kageyama looks at you, whose face is still utterly defiant and pointed towards him. Though the red welt on your cheek is far more noticeable, he seems to be looking at your eyes.

“Shit.” It’s a quiet utterance, but he sounds mildly put out. “It’s not gonna work unless you touch me.”

“No.”

“Either you touch me and I figure out why I get this weird pit around you. Or,” And he seems to have to think for a second about his phrasing. You think you hear a ‘can’t blow her brains out.’ “Or I give you to Oikawa.”

“Oikawa?” And you know this is a bad idea, you’re standing up to a Yakuza for fucks sake. “Oikawa just gets people to pay their protection tax. Hell, he’d clear my debt.”

“He’s the guy who has the top joint of my pinky, you don’t wanna be given to him, trust me.”

“Oikawa has a soft spot for women, he’d clear my debt and let me go.”

“He had me bring in any woman I found.” Oh. “A lot of them lived where he used to spend a lot of time. Called them prostitutes?” Oh no. “I think Oikawa would be happy to see you. Suga always says to try and make things better between our families.” He’s not going to get to you like this, you’ve seen Oikawa around - talked to him. The most harm he’d ever cause is when someone harassed a woman. Knowing this yakuza, he’s probably trying to scare you again.

“You’re lying. Oikawa helps women on the streets. I heard he even set up a safe house!” Oikawa would never do anything like what Kageyama said he would. He wouldn't!

“He called it a brothel.” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t. Oikawa always said to go to him if you needed help - he did.

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! Not to me, not to anyone!” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.

“Shut up!” Deep unexplored, ocean blue eyes churn as the yell falls upon your ears..

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! He’s kind and he’s helpful!” You’re advancing so much closer to him, letting your guard fall.

“You’ll shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” His hand is gathering in a fist again, skin straining against his rapidly whitening knuckles

“No I won’t! Because Oikawa would only ever take care of a woman and treat her much better! You’re making up blatant lies to ma-” The blow lands hard on your stomach, and you stumble back on shaky feet, tripping over themselves as you try to stay upright.

“He called your “Safehouse” a brothel. He kept women there, they smiled after enough time. I won’t fucking hesitate to give you to him too.” You fall over as he speaks, air being beat from your lungs as you fall flat on your back. Even while you’re gasping for breath he continues.

“The guys call it a horrible, shitty place and I don’t wanna send you to Oikawa, he’s a shitheel. But you’ve gotta fucking learn to listen - and Oikawa always made sure they did.” But Oikawa wouldn’t - he told you that you were safe with him and his people, that they were the good kind of yakuza.

“He’s not like that.” It sounds hollow to the both of you.

“Just listen to me dammit!” His large hand is tangled in your hair, threatening to beat your head into the floor. “I’m trying not to send-” The agonizing feeling of hairs being pulled from your scalp forces you to blink back tears. You yell at him again anyway.

“You just wanna see me as a prostitute!” And your voice doesn’t break but you can feel the tug of your vocal chords pulling on your eyes.

“Maybe.” It’s strange that his eyebrows furrow at your words but his grip on your hair tightens. “I wouldn’t have to threaten if you listen and touch me.”

“I shouldn’t have to if I don’t want to!” The wet tears that might’ve shed earlier are replaced with dry anger.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your Oyabun told you, that should be enough.” He yanks your head up by your hair, a few strands ripping right out of your scalp with a sharp pain. “Touch me.” The pain is splitting in your head, on your cheeks, in the breath that you're still trying to regain. “I said, touch me!” And he drops you. Weight held up by Kageyama comes crashing down onto the carpeted floor and you with it. He growls, sound deep in his throat as he makes another threat.

“Fuck, I’ll even give you to the Ushijimas’ to use as target practice if you aren’t obedient. How’d you like to be shot full of holes? That better than touching me?” The words come out in a harsh jumble, spilling from his mouth like a bitter wine. “Do it. Touch me before I stop being nice and kill you myself.” This time it's a kick to your back. “Then someone from your precious family will pay your debt.”

“How do you-”

“I make it a point to know my future family members.” He gives you an uncomfortable smile, mouth curling up as eyes don’t shift from their stoic glare. He steps even closer, hand rising once again to make you flinch but it doesn’t stop rising as he squeezes your neck harshly. “C’mon, get my hands off your neck! Pry me off of you!”

“N..” Air is fleeing your collapsing lungs, “O” It takes all the willpower in your body to fight against the muscles in your shoulders that want to lift your arm and the tendons that control your fingers to curl around his wrist and tug. Kageyama snarls as he frees your throat. His hands reach behind him and he must have a gun. He’s threatened to shoot. His hand moves so slowly, fingers curling around something behind his back. The black of his suit jacket reflects the all too bright light, cheers and beeps of the slots muffled by thick walls. The blunt pain throbbing in your face, on your stomach. The sharp intakes of breath sending stabs of pain to your lungs and the man with dark black hair and dark blue eyes keeps his hand behind his back, his left hand tugging on his suit jacket. He’s getting the gun, it’s in the back of his pants. You feel the familiar, cold prick of tears at the back of your eyes, that only intensifies as you he squats down and you flinch softly.

“C’mon,” His hand is still behind his back “Touch me.” You don’t want to die. You don’t want anyone to bear your debt. You suck in a deep breath, heavy weight forming in your chest as you reach out your hand towards his face. He inhales a tight breath, cheek twitching as your palm inches closer and closer. When just a finger finally grazes his cheek he flinches away from it and the weight inside you gets heavier. You didn’t do what he wanted.

You fucked it up.

You clamp your eyes shut. Slowly - what’ll he do if you move too quickly - you begin to drag your fingers from his cheek, rough with the smallest starts of stubble. He raises his hand with four fingers to keep yours on his cheek, trapping your palm against his clammy hand and rough chin. He exhales a shaky breath, his black-blue eyes closing and head nuzzling into your hand.

Softly feeding from the hand that bit.

“Thank you,” Your eyes are wide open as you stare at his features seeming so soft in comparison to his sharp, metallic anger. He murmurs softly into your palm. “It feels... nice when you touch me.” It’s such a stark contrast from the roaring, growling man threatening to force you into prostitution. The Kageyama who’s in front of you is smiling gently while his hand - though chilled and rough - is gentle against the back of your hand. It’s too much, one blink and tears start to fall. A hiccup erupts from your mouth which you shut as soon as he pokes an eye open. Whimpers based in the bottom of your sore throat start to strain against your closed mouth. His smile widens, growing into that uncomfortable smirk with lips stretched too thin.

“Fuck, you’re such a pretty crier, y’know that?” Kageyama groans the words staring at your face, still in the palm of your hand. “It makes me hard.” As if to emphasize his point, he jerks your hand downward, to the bulge in his suit pants.

“I - Kageyama I’m here to pay off a debt,”

“Yeah, you are.” He grinds his clothed hard-on into your palm. “You’re here to do whatever I tell you to. And I said-” The back of his hand brushes against your palm as it reaches to pull at the zipper of his pants. The grip around your wrist tightens as he drags your hand down. “Touch me.” and slowly your fingers curl around the length that was pulled from his pants.

“Good girl.” He snarls the words as his fingers ghost over your clothed sex, thin panties doing little to dull the strangely gentle caress of his four fingers. He pushes the fabric aside quickly and though you’re completely dry, shoves a finger into your tight cunny.

“Haven’t touched… anyone,” He groans as your hand stays deathly still on his cock. “Like this.” He thrusts his finger into you again. Beads of precum drip from his cock onto the back of your hand.

“Stop… please,” He smiles at your watery eyes. “It doesn’t feel good…” It feels like someone breaking your trust. How could you have trusted a yakuza?

“I’ll make it feel good.” He was going to leave you alone. He was going to leave you alone. A fat tear rolls down your face. Kageyama’s lips curl into another smirk as he pumps his fingers just a little faster.

“Is this what Oikawa meant when he said I’d have trouble ‘fingering’?” He says it to himself more than to you. “Cause I don’t think I’m having much trouble.” He wasn’t going to do anything. A small scream falls from your mouth as you think — you did this to yourself. You slapped him and now… Your hold on his cock tightens. You wish you could say it was in anger rather than for the sparks flying through your body. “Stop closing your eyes.” He huffs. “Makes it seem like you’re not enjoying it.”

You aren’t. You aren’t fucking enjoying it. The way he stares at you, leering at your misty eyes and dripping nose. The way he’s got his fingers stuffed inside you. The way he has your hand wrapped around his dick. It’s much easier to think this is some dream. To pretend your breath isn’t quickening or this is just some fucked up fantasy you’d never want to be real. But it is. And the gasp you let out when you feel your pussy clench - that’s real too.

“Sounds like you do. Feels like you do. Tightening around my fingers like that?” He chuckles darkly to himself before barking, “Dumb whore! Move your hand!” Immediately you release your grip on his cock.

“Not like that.” He glares at you and uses his free hand to grab your wrist once more. Harshly, he tugs it to his mouth and spits onto your palm. “Stroke my cock.” Once more, he shoves your hand down, saliva dripping from your palm to the couch and his bare legs. He hisses at the feeling of your hand, moans as you pump your fist. “Keep doing that.” You nod, mouth parting to gasp only for tears to fall in.

“Holy shit.” His fingers curl inside you, his cock twitches harshly in your hand. His arms woven with ink, flex as his right hand curls into a fist slowly unclenching - rising. All too late, do you notice his fingers lacing themselves around your neck pushing you down, down into the cushions. You can still breathe, he’s not meaning to choke you yet. Your head is still, and that is enough, his face inching ever closer, blue eyes blown wide - mouth parting just so slightly. His face growing closer with each second that makes your brain tick with dread.

“So fuckin pretty….” He sighs quietly. “Bet your tears even taste good.” His mouth presses to yours. He wastes no time shoving his tongue inside. It’s sloppy - like you’d’ve expected, salty saliva spilling from the corners of your lips as he drags his long, rough fingers slowly from your cunt. You whine through spit and sob as the feeling of fullness is taken from you. (though you’ve felt empty this whole time) Your hips roll on their own, grazing against his knuckle. Your cunt weeps at one final touch before you're stuck humping nothing.

“You're wet enough right?” Breathless, he pulls away from your mouth, lips pink, swollen and parted, his cheeks flushed a dark shade of cherry. He looks from your eyes to his fingers to the hand around your neck. “You better be after all that crying. My pathetic little crybaby, so wet for my cock.”

You wish you could spit in his face, wish you could scream. But all that can escape your lips are soft moans, little whines at the loss of his fingers. “Please” dances on the tip of your tongue, pirouetting its way through your teeth and tapping at your lips.

“God…” His cock pokes at your entrance. “You’re so warm…” It’s hard to ignore as he presses in, pushing against your walls so firmly, warmth making your hips roll to meet his cock as it buries deeper inside you. Your hand had been moved a long time ago - or just recently, it’s hard to tell, hard to remember. Or have you already forgotten? Still coated in spit and precum, it rests on his chest, over one of his many tattoos, you slide it upwards to his shoulder. Watching as the spit leaves a trail over his body. Pretending like it’s just water. Your eyes gloss over the forced extravagance of your prison. The ceiling is in between - the sky. Some say heaven. And your sullied hand raises to pull for the sky. When was the last time you’d seen the moon. Surely only hours ago. A rough thrust and something loud echoes in the room. You can barely hear it over the dry crust on your hand. Reaching for the above as your beaten body is defiled. For a second you can feel it, the clouds of the sky.

The sky disappears too as you’re dragged back down to earth by long fingers that squeeze more harshly at your neck. Suddenly only the constricting of his fingers on your windpipe and your pussy on his fat cock are present in your mind. Pleasure and fear hazing together in your mind to create nothing more than blank sight in your eyes and sparks running from your legs to your brain. Your hands continue to tighten around his wrist, pulling harshly as he continues to squeeze and squeeze at your throat.

“You gonna cum?” He continues, picking up his pace and pushing you further into the sofa. You try to shake your head, despite the tightening in your stomach,

“No Kagey-” He looks up from where he’d been pounding into your sloppy cunt, cock shoved right against your cervix, throbbing hashly while he raises his other hand to give a harsh slap to your cheek.

“What do you call me?”

“O-o” You can barely breath and the cock inside of you is so hot. The stinging against your cheek feels so good in the fog of shallow breath and fullness that you can’t help but moan at - when he adjusts his angle and turns you around, pushing your face into the cushions and ass in the air.

“Oyabun,” You can’t help the way your voice breaks as you sob and Kageyama once again starts to move.

“Fuck I feel powerful when you cry.” If only every word didn’t make you wail even louder.

“That’s a good girl, keep crying.” You shove your face further into the cushions, tears soaking into the fabric.

“Please,” You don’t sound like yourself. You already sound broken and halfway gone. “Just cum.” Anything — fucking anything to just end this.

Kageyama just groans behind you as the nauseating pleasure continues. Balls slapping against your clit, friction building slowly as you moan through every thrust unable to keep from feeling every tiny twitch of his cock, every vein sliding against the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck fuck fuck! I want you—” He lets out a loud shaky breath as years of frustration paint your walls.

Breathing heavily with his hands planted firmly on your hips bruisingly tight, he holds you against him. Even fuller than before — with your womb filled with his cum. His hold on your hips releases so gently before he puts a hand on your ass, rubbing it softly, stopping occasionally to squeeze lightly at the flesh. You whimper softly, “Please, no more.” He ignores you, or perhaps he didn’t hear, coming off of his first orgasm. His hands find your hips once more, far gentler than before as he speaks with labored breath.

“Everyone better’ve heard you moaning.” Slowly he begins to pull out, inch after painful inch slowly exiting your sore cunt. He slaps you again, right on your ass. You’re too sore, too used to the point of breakage to cry at the pain (or is it pleasure?) “I’m your Oyabun, they better know that.” The zip of his pants coincides with the cheering for a point in the game that’s still playing. He sits next to your fucked out body on the sofa, and rubs one hand over the still sensitive part of your ass before quickly running his hand over your spine, shoulder blades and neck, settling in your hair. His fingers stay there, nails grazing gently against your scalp. His fingers linger for a minute before he pulls your body up and into his side, propping your head against his shoulder. You stare blankly ahead, eyes glazed with tears and cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the sofa. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you as close as he can, both of you breathing heavily. Kageyama seems to recover his breath quicker than you, as his slows and steadies — head falling against your crown with tiny, quiet snores coming from his chest. Half clothed, sore and exhausted you breath in the smell of the room, barely registering the feeling of cum dripping from your cunt. Hardly noticeable with the sound of snores and the feel of a body pressed against yours. Fat, raindropped tears roll down your cheeks. And instead of your wish to pull away, to leave this room — you cannot. What would happen to your family, to you? Would the man who beat you really let you pull away from him even in his sleep?

No.

So you settle into his side, raise a hand to rest over his tattoos and wait. Eyes wide open.

---

He wakes up about thirty minutes later - pats your head - dresses and runs out of the door without a word. You're too catatonic, still on the couch, still watching men play volleyball on the television. You watch him leave, tension held in your shoulders melting — unlike the candle on the table. Realistically, it's probably thirty minutes that he’s out of the room but it feels like only a few seconds. Time flies when you're having fun. He returns with a bottle of water and a bowl of something that smells wonderfully of spices and cooked pork. He sets both water and bowl on the glass coffee table. He’s gotten one spoon and he sits next to you on the sofa, pulling your legs onto his lap, jerkily giving a message to your thighs that only serves to renew tension in your body. He continues for a few seconds, delicate hands hardened with callouses knead into the flesh before abruptly stopping and leaning forward. He picks up the bowl and lifts the spoon, a small drop of liquid spills.

“I don’t know your favorite yet so I got you mine.” He waits, watching your lips tremble. Your jaw falls and even if you were to speak, you're not allowed to. He shoves the spoon in and waits for your mouth to close. He sits there for a minute. He’s staring at you again and instead of wiping a tear from your cheek, closes your mouth with a delicate touch. You begin to chew slowly, staring straight ahead of you. The sound of volleyball fills your ears and Kageyama doesn’t speak for ten whole minutes, only feeding you curry and closing your mouth when you cannot. It’s peaceful. Even as you're naked and Kageyama is shirtless again. He takes his time making you finish your meal. Only watching set after set of volleyball on the screen.

“You like volleyball?” The hand that has settled back onto your thigh rests softly - so different to the way he was beating you before - moves to where your neck meets your shoulder. “My grandfather was a coach.” One more bite and you’re done. “I think he was gonna teach me before he died.” The match on the screen ends, shifting to commentary and Kageyama opens the bottle of water. “Let me know what you like to eat, okay? I’ll make sure to get it next time.” He brings the bottle to your lips without any sudden movements and steady hands, and with his other he takes your chin and holds you in the most gentle grip you’ve ever felt. He rubs the bottom of your jaw line, easing your mouth open once more and presses his lips softly to your temple before tilting the water back.

“You’re such a pretty crier,” He pulls the bottle away and kisses the corner of your mouth, the slight stubble on his cheek grazing against your cheek. “When I’m Oyabun, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, okay?” He sets the plastic water bottle down and pushes your legs from his lap. He rises from the cushions only to sink between your thighs. “Just do what you’re told and I won’t have to do - this -” He presses two fingers onto the forming bruise at your stomach. “again.” He parts your sore legs.

“So will you be my good little crybaby?”

#tw noncon #yakuza!au #yakuza!haikyuu #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #yandere kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yakuza AU #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio x reader

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shyrose57 · 3 years

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Brothers anon, it makes me really happy and comforts me that you enjoy reading what I submit. It makes me really happy to write all of this and finally be able to tell someone my ideas. Thank you so much.

At first he kept trying to deny the father figure role, but when one night Jackie had a nightmare and came to him and ended up calling him dad, he stopped denying it and accepted it. And once he accepted it he did basically adopt all of them. Jackie and Grievous are literally chaos incarnate most days. They regularly love to prank the contestants and just act insane. Ran and Jackie just kind of hang around eachother, like Ran could be reading and Jackie training and they'd enjoy eachothers company. They do sometimes nap next to eachother, or play card games (which is a rare instance where Ran gets (playfully) rilled up and competitive). Grievous and Ran bonding sadly gets interrupted when Ranbob suddenly drops in, but before that Grievous would try to talk to Ran about what book he's reading and just try to make conversation with him.

Oh the height difference definitely remains. And its both terrifying and hailours to new people. It's even better when it's a 2v2 fight because Jackie has a habit of just climbing Ran like a monkey gym and sitting on his shoulders and its terrifying.

Well, since the drinking age is 3, I personally think the age limit is like 14 or something close. I believe I made their ages as Ran is 19 (almost 20. Maybe 4 months away), Jackie is 16, Watson is 30 something, Grievous is 22, and Ranbob is 28 (Ran is younger than his brother by 9 years) I have written down all their ages somewhere (and the ages where the events of Mizu took place) and if I got any wrong I will submit another ask with their ages. The other gladiators have managed to keep good relationships with most of eachother. A few like Grievous and Genevieve are close, Edward, Levi, and Watson are drinking buddies. Lagguis sadly isn't as involved cause he is sick and can't vist often at all. (I think I got everyone. Tell me if I missed anyone please, I cant check cause whenever I exit tumblr, tumblr deletes everything in my ask :') )

I dont have many rules for the Pit rn but I do have, no injuries that could cause long term or chronic damage, no sabotaging opponents, no teaming unless its a team round, no blackmail or anything of the sort to force an opponent to forfeit, and in order for a battle to end due to forfeit both sides must agree to it. But the Pit in general is a lot of things, there's fights for money, fame, and positions (like general). There's tournaments meant for nothing other than to show skill and just to fight your heart out. It's open to anyone above 14 and anyone under 80, to people from Subbin to those just passing through.

And there are different battles in the Pit, theres singles, the ones we saw in the Tales of the SMP episode. Teams, where teams of 2 battles against eachother. Free-for-all, where literally everyone fights against eachother. And Ion battles, battles where there are super powered weapons (like flame 2 iron sword. Or strength 3 potions) that spawn in the area at random. Typically Ran and Watson work best toghere, as their strategists and plan everything with back up plans, and they always call out warnings and watch eachothers back so its incredibly hard to actually hit them. And Jackie and Grievous work best toghere, with the two going insane and often taking people by surprise with their unmeasure and randomized movements and attacks.

At the start Ranbob was completely under Dreams thrall, not being able to really think for himself and even foregoing self care. When Ranbob starts to become himself again the fishermen are more than confused and hesitant, with Cletus especially stating multiple times that it may just be a trick. So it takes a while but Isaac actually is the one to suggest maybe it isn't a trick, and has to do with the mask that was found. This is later confirmed when the mask is brought to the group and Ranbob has a massive negative reaction that sets him back to how he was when they first met him.

Im honestly not sure yet, I think I want it to be a 'lets never go back' type thing but im not positive yet.

I dont have a solid backstory for the fishermen, but I know I want a little bit of it to tie to the story. Do you have any ideas for their backstory or nah? I do know I want them to have met eachother while they where in unfortunate situations and because of those they got family level close.

Ranbob doesn't take the little space well at first; staying outside when able too, even though that really upset Benjamin; and Ranbob has no idea how the outside works and has no idea how to read the weather or what he can and cant eat, but hey the enderman boi is trying his best to make up for everything he's done. And trying to build his own house to not impose on the fishermen (much like Ranboo did with Techno), but Benjamin wouldn't accept that and kept dragging him inside. It wasn't that hard for Benjamin, Isaac, and Charles to get used to Ranbob, already being used to sharing a small house, it was more Cletus with him refusing to leave Ranbob alone even for a second because he doesn't trust Ranbob at all.

The two groups actually get along surprisingly well! They like eachother and Watson once said, "It was like a family reunion. Or like long lost siblings finally found their way home."

I am once again not sure! Originally I planned for them to stay in Subbin and in the Pit. But the more I think about it the more boring that is and more I like the idea of the groups traveling toghere in the world.

I like this question! So enderman travel in groups called hauntings right? I personally headcanon the enderman in this group are basically family, biological or not. And ever since Ran and Ranbob lost their family they lost their haunting, which can be mentally damaging to a enderman. Once Ran found Waston, Jackie, and Grievous and started hanging around them more, he started feeling a connection ot them he hasn't felt on a long time. He's claimed them, as his haunting, his family. And he'll defend them with his life against anyone and anything. And then suddenly Ranbob came in, a enderman that should be part of his haunting but isn't, a enderman that killed his previous haunting. So Ran is incredibly defensive over his group, and is trying his best to keep Ranbob as far from his haunting as possible, to protect them.

Now Ranbob also got a haunting, his being Charles, Isaac, Benjamin, and even Cletus. So Ranbob is also defensive over his family. But unlike Ran, Ranbob still considers his brother as part of his haunting, his family (and yes, Ranbob did think Ran was dead when he first chased him out years ago, so he's shocked and relieved that his baby brother is still alive). And he sees how his family gets along so well with Rans family and then starts to even consider Rans haunting part of Ranbob's. Basically Ranbob has a big heart and is willing to accept almost anyone into his family, no matter what they've done.

Yep, the reason Porkius is so interested in Ran is because he's an enderman hybrid. And no one else is a hybrid expect for the two brothers (and Porkius, with him being a piglin hybrid).

Porkius is excited! He's excited to see what happens and is more than happy to agree to help as long as he is kept in the loop. Though unless he's directly asked to be involved he prefers watching from a distance at whats happening. Just so he doesn't get mauled by a pissed off enderman.

Sorry for any spelling mistakes (its late) and its so long! Im probably going to try to shorten them.

I’m glad you’re happy, it’s a nice thing to feel. Your ideas are really cool, and I hope I’ll get to see more of them in the future.

Now, can I simply say how adorable so much of this is? Jackie going to Watson when he had a nightmare, the Rans being protective of their groups, Jackie climbing Ran? I love that, it’s very heartwarming and cute, and it made me smile.

So Watson wasn’t really sure what to do with his new title at first, hm? And then Jackie called him dad? How’d he feel about that? How’d Jackie feel about the slip? Or did he even notice? He’s parenting them all, he’s gonna have a dad voice and everything. How do the adopted ones feel about him embracing it?

Jackie and Grievous, two people to truly fear when they wish to cause havoc. Tremble before them. Do they prank people, or do they just become absolute madmen on the battlefield? Or something else. Honestly, anything with these two just instantly makes me amused.

Jackie and Ran being chill buddies. very nice. Ran getting competitive over card games is a funny thought. Does he win often? Does Jackie? What kind of card games do they play?

Rather sad Ran and Grievous bonding is interrupted, but it’s nice to hear Grievous trying it. Hopefully they’ll get there someday.

Oh my god, it’s the height difference. Jackie getting on Ran’s shoulder sounds absolutely terrifying. Imagine being some poor new guy pitted against these gremlins and the short ones climbs on the tall ones shoulder-both look absolutely gleeful with the destruction they’re about to wreak, and you already know you cannot outrun them.

Jackie...Jackie...he’s da youngest. He’s small, and young, and you have no idea how much I’m laughing at this. I don’t even know why, it’s just really, really funny to me. Probably something to do with what a complete force of chaos we all know this boy is. Oddly fitting, but hilarious. How does Jackie feel about this?

How do the others? Are they a bit more protective over him? Does Ran like to flaunt his three years more over him?

Grievous and Genevieve are buddies! Very nice, they seem to have a good dynamic. Watson, Edward, and Levi also being close? Very interesting, has a lot of potential. I bet they share a lot of funny stories.

So we’ve established the basics of The Pit. Doesn’t seem too bad, for a fighting arena, to be honest. Seems pretty popular, actually. Do the gladiators live there? In the palace? Or do they just have a house somewhere nearby? What kind of establishments and areas are around? Food places, stores?

So Ran and Watson are the scariest team because of their strategy, and Jackie and Grievous are the scariest team because of their randomness? It checks out. I’m curious though, how do the other combinations work out?

Ranbob sounds like he has a less than fun time here, and the poor guy could really use some closure. What’s he like, free from the influence of the mask? He seems pretty close to Benjamin, so at least he’s got that going for him. Though he and Cletus don’t seem to have the strongest bond at first. How is that resolved?

And how does Ran feel about his brother’s new haunting, after everything? I imagine that he’s at least a little bit unhappy with it, for one reason or another-and there’s quite a few reasons for him to pick from.

How did that house-building attempt go, between Ran never being above water, and probably never building a house before? I can’t imagine too well.

Some ideas for backstory, well, hm. Isaac seemed dressed a bit fancier than the others, perhaps he comes from a richer family than the others? That’s about all I’ve got for now, sorry.

It’s nice to hear they got along, who clicks the easiest?

Possible road trip? Always fun.

So, the enderman hybrids have adopted their respective groups as their hauntings. You’ve mentioned Ranbob’s pretty cool with this, how does Ran feel? Obviously, he’s less than pleased with Ranbob, but what about the fishermen? Protective Ran and Ranbob! How protective exactly? Is it subtle, or overbearing at times? Actually, how do their instincts lead to them interacting with their groups overall?

Porkius must not see Ender hybrids too often, if he’s so interested in them. It’s nice that he’s willing to help out though, and his concern is valid. I wouldn’t want an angry enderman hybrid after me either.

Are hybrids not overly common, then, if there’s only Ran, Ranbob, and Porkius around currently, or are they just not mentioned a lot?

Thanks for the ask, a lot of it made me smile. I enjoyed reading it, and I hope you’ll be willing to send more when you have the time.

#dream smp #Brothers AU #dream smp au #tales from the smp #ranbob #ran #jackie #watson #isaac #charles #benjamin #cletus #grievous #porkius

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 4: The Past Can Hurt

Chapter 3

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Claire peeked at the rear view mirror again, and smiled again at the sight of her happy daughter. Faith's favorite "reward meal" was McDonald's. Claire had pinky-promised that if she was a good girl with the horses today, they would get McDonald's for dinner on the way home. She was contentedly waving around the Minion toy that had come in the happy meal, humming and kicking her little legs. Claire had both of their meals on the passenger seat, knowing full well that her daughter would make quite the mess if she let her eat in the car. So would Claire, to be frank.

Claire had made it abundantly clear how proud she was of Faith, had reminded her several times already how she'd been such a good girl. Whether this made Faith happy to hear, or she was simply still in the afterglow of petting a horse, was anyone's guess. Claire hoped Faith could see, could truly understand how happy her mother was. She supposed if she said it enough it might sink in, if it hadn't already.

Back at home, the moment Claire unbuckled Faith from her carseat, she insisted on carrying her meal in herself, to which Claire was more than happy to oblige. She watched, amused, as Faith scampered up the steps to their front door, waiting rather impatiently for her mother to catch up. This was something that Faith had done whenever they'd arrived at their home in Oxfordshire: squirm out of Claire's grip and bolt to the porch, rocking on her heels or bouncing while she waited for the door to open. As Claire pushed the key into the lock, her heart felt a little lighter.

She already feels like this is her home.

Faith immediately scampered inside and right to the kitchen, and by the time Claire got the door shut, stuffed horse onto the couch, and shoes off, Faith was already halfway through her chicken nuggets, sitting up on her knees at the kitchen table. Claire shook her head, laughing.

"You are certainly in a good mood, aren't you, darling?" She ruffled her curly hair and sat down across from her, opening her own paper bag, pulling out her burger and french fries. The teenager at the drive-thru had been quite bewildered when she'd asked for crisps. Such strange lingo these Americans used.

Faith was finished eating before Claire was even halfway through her burger, and she slid off her chair and reached for the chocolate shake that Claire put on the counter to be out of her reach until she finished. Claire sprung out of her seat to grab it herself before Faith could cause it to topple and make a mess.

"Let Mummy help, Faith," Claire said, frantically. "You have to ask for help..." Claire sighed in defeat, handing over the milkshake. She sat back down as Faith settled in again, knowing better than to leave the kitchen with food of any kind. Claire watched her little cheeks hollow out as she guzzled down the liquid, her honey eyes light with joy.

Faith's being nonverbal was not as much of an issue as it could have been, but it was an issue nonetheless. The worst of it was when she was clearly distraught and could not communicate the source of her distress. Had she made a mess of her chocolate shake due to her inability to ask for help, it would have been quite the inconvenience, but Claire supposed mealtime could have gone much worse. Claire knew her daughter by now, better than Claire even knew herself. She'd become accustomed to the various grunts and whines, associating meaning to each different sound over the years. She supposed, however, that this would not be a sufficient way to communicate to a teacher someday, or Mrs. Lickett when Claire was no longer able to stay home with them.

Claire's anxiety lessened a bit at the thought of the woman; Mrs. Lickett was certified to teach American Sign Language to nonverbal autistic children, and she promised Claire she'd have Faith doing basic signs by the time she was ready to start school, whenever that may be.

Then she remembered how close they'd come to a meltdown in the stable, and how easily Jamie had calmed her, how proud he'd been to introduce the horse to her as a reward, how happy it had made Faith. Claire's heart swelled for perhaps the hundredth time since they'd left. The sound of slurping filled the room as Faith reached the end of her milkshake.

"All done, lovie?" Faith took her mouth off the straw and smiled contentedly at her mother. "Clean up now, Faith. Garbage in the bin, please."

Faith did as she was told, and then Claire beckoned her into her lap.

"Come here, darling," she crooned, enveloping her in her arms. "Mummy is so very proud of you, baby. I'll never stop saying it." She kissed her cheek, and Faith giggled. "Are you happy, Faith? Hm?" She rocked her gently, but Faith just hummed and traced patterns on Claire's arms with her fingertips.

"Happy, Faith?" Claire said again, remembering the thumbs-up maneuver from earlier, and employing it now. "Are you happy, love?"

Faith giggled again and grabbed Claire's thumb in her little hand.

"Faith, no..." Claire couldn't help but chuckle, as well. "See? Thumbs-up if you're happy, Faith. Happy?" She tried again with her free thumb.

Faith giggled yet again, but this time, she returned the gesture. Claire laughed out loud and brought the little fist, still holding her thumb, to her lips to cover with kisses.

"I'm happy, too, baby girl," Claire said. "Very happy."

She gave another little giggle before squirming out of Claire's arms and pattering out of the kitchen. Claire cleaned up after herself and returned to the table to continue nursing her own milkshake. Faith bounded back in with a DVD box in hand and held it expectantly up to Claire. Claire smiled and took it in her hands.

"Ah, all about animals today, hm?" She cocked an eyebrow at Faith. Tonight's choice was The Lion King. This was typical, even back in Oxfordshire. Faith would toddle up to either Claire or Frank with a DVD after dinner and expect help to get it ready, so she could watch her movie before bed. More often than not, Frank would wordlessly hand the box over to Claire instead, and after a while Faith learned to only bring it to Claire.

Claire put the DVD in as Faith went into her room, returning with her baby Simba stuffed animal to watch with. She settled onto the couch, now righted to its position in the middle of the room, centered and straightened. There were still boxes and messes, but things were slowly coming together. Claire took this opportunity while Faith was glued to the telly to get to some more boxes. She peeled the tape off a particularly heavy box, and smiled to herself at the sight of the picture frames inside, covered in bubble wrap. She moved behind the couch to the long table pushed against it, exactly where she'd planned to put said pictures. She unwrapped them all lovingly and arranged them on the table: an infant Faith fast asleep like a little angel on Claire's shoulder; Faith in the photo studio with a large, plastic number "1" for her first birthday; Claire holding Faith on a carousel, smiling like a fool at her toddler aged daughter; Faith, two-and-a-half, grabbing at Frank's cheeks and laughing her head off.

Christ.

Claire froze, a hard lump forming in her throat as the opening chords to "Circle of Life" filled her ears. What was she supposed to do with this? Why had she even packed it? Well, that was easy enough: Faith looked simply darling. But...

She ran trembling fingers over both of their faces behind the glass, sighing with a shudder.

Oh, Frank...How happy we once were.

Indecisive, Claire put the frame back in the box, reaching for another to unwrap: Faith mid-bite of a chocolate-chip pancake at the breakfast table. The older she got, the less complacent she'd been for photo opportunities, so Claire had to content herself with capturing candid, silly moments like this, and she honestly would not have had it any other way. She stood it up next to the carousel shot and reached for another.

God damn it.

Claire holding Faith at the church the day of her christening, Frank's arm wrapped around Claire's shoulders, smiling proudly.

Fuck you.

Claire pressed the frame face-down into the table, biting her bottom lip to stifle a sob. How dare he stand there, looking so proud of the family that he would so quickly discard? How dare he let that little girl touch his face like that, how dare he smile at her so brightly, lead her to believe he'd always be there?

Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the keypad of numbers. Was it worth it? Couldn't she just put Faith on the plane and change her number, disappear forever?

She supposed that might not exactly be legal, no matter the terms on which Frank had left the house two weeks ago.

She somehow found the nerve to finish dialing the number and bring the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

She gulped. "Hello, Frank."

"Hello, Claire."

She cleared her throat. "I'm...I'm taking Faith to the states. And I don't think you have any right to try and stop me."

"I shouldn't think I do."

She shuddered with hatred at his indifference; though she'd expected as much, it didn't sting any less. "Alright. Good. I don't want anything from you, Frank. I am perfectly capable of taking care of her basic needs on my residency salary."

"Alright."

"But there's one thing. It's the least you can do. For the love you once bore me."

"I did not stop loving you, Claire."

"Oh, yes, you did," Claire spat.

“Claire — ”

“No, that’s enough,” she said, firmly. “Listen. I want nothing from you but the exact amount a certain therapy will cost. It’s expensive, but the doctor thinks it can really help Faith. I’m asking nothing else of you, Frank. Just around six thousand a year, broken up monthly, to pay for the therapy.”

Claire knew she likely could afford the therapy, but things would be tight. Rent on Long Island was not cheap by any means; neither was the general cost of living there, and neither was the kind of babysitter with the qualifications necessary for taking care of someone with Faith’s needs. Not to mention she wanted to start setting money aside for a service dog, which would be an enormous investment in and of itself, but one that would certainly be worth it if it would make it easier for them to be in public places. The extra money from Frank would be worth it, no matter how sick to her stomach it made her to ask it of him.

“What sort of therapy costs that much?”

“Equine therapy.”

He scoffed. “You really believe — ”

“Yes. I do.” She had to clench her teeth and take a very deep breath through her nose to stop herself from attacking again. “Will you pay for it or not? As the man who sired her, who owes her something? Will you?”

A slight pause, then he sighed. “Fine. I don’t care how much it is, I just don’t want to deal with it.”

Claire almost choked on the expletives she swallowed. “I understand. I’ve already set aside a separate bank account for you to make deposits.” She read him the account number and the routing number, along with exact amounts needed each month.

“All you need to do is make the deposits every month. And you’ll never hear from us again.”

He sighed again. “Claire…If I could change things…”

Claire almost fell for it…but she knew what he meant.

He did not mean: “If I could change my behavior, the things I said.” He meant: “If I could change what our daughter is.”

And it made her sick.

“Goodbye, Frank.”

Faith’s humming and rocking brought Claire back to Earth. She looked up from the box to see Faith holding her stuffed Simba in the air, mirroring Rafiki on the screen doing just that. Claire chuckled to herself and swallowed any remaining urge to cry. Claire put the christening picture back in the box, deciding that she’d make a decision on what to do with it later. Perhaps she could try her hand at scissors, combine the two pictures in one frame. It would certainly be satisfying to literally cut him out of those moments in Faith’s life.

But on the other hand…was that cruel? Would Faith someday learn to verbally or otherwise communicate the question: Where did Daddy go? Should she keep these pictures intact for that purpose? What Claire would want to say in response to such a question would be that Faith did not have a Daddy and that she didn’t need one. But perhaps that was doing her an injustice.

Claire reached for another picture.

Yes…that was something that could wait to be decided on.

Claire had made a considerable dent in her unpacking venture by the time Faith’s movie finished, and she was altogether quite satisfied with her work.

“What do you think of that, Faith?” Claire sighed contentedly as she removed the DVD from the player and put it back in the box. “Your disorganized-as-all-get-out Mummy is actually getting somewhere with her organizing.” Faith slid off the couch to take the box from her so she could put it back where she found it. “Isn’t that a marvel?”

Claire watched with piqued interest as Faith sat on her knees in front of the little entertainment center, the cupboard beneath the telly opened for her inspection. Faith had a system, some sort of arrangement of her movies that she always abided by. Not a single movie was ever out of place. Claire could not for the life of her decipherer what the system was; it was something created and used only by Faith. Claire had unpacked all their movies and put them inside, only for Faith to gut the entire thing and arrange them herself. It had greatly amused Claire at the time. She’d been at it for hours.

It didn’t take long for her to return The Lion King to its apparent correct position, and then Faith shut the cupboard.

“Alright, lovie. Time to brush your teeth.”

Claire stood and led Faith into the bathroom. Claire lifted her up onto the counter to sit and Claire got to work brushing her own teeth first. Faith had not yet mastered the coordination of tooth-brushing, and Claire still did it for her every night. But her psychiatrist had said that if Faith watched her mother do it enough times, something might strike a chord one day, and she’d suddenly be an expert at dental hygiene. Apparently, Doctor Garner had seen this happen plenty of times before.

So Claire brushed, tilting her head slightly toward Faith as usual, and then moving on to brush Faith’s teeth. When she finished, Claire handed her one of the little paper cups they kept in the bathroom.

"Rinse and spit," she crooned, as she did every night.

Routine was everything to Faith, and Claire had even begun clinging to the lifeline that was knowing every next move for every day. It soothed Faith's ever present anxiety and gave her expectations for every day, and it kept Claire grounded in the reality of their lives. This was why she'd been so scared to move. Moving to the house next door to them in Oxfordshire would have been a big enough change to merit Faith's discomfort, let alone moving across an ocean to a completely different style of living. There'd certainly been an adjustment period for her routine-conditioned little girl, but it hadn't been nearly as long or as difficult as Claire had anticipated.

Doctor Garner had suggested that no matter how disorienting things were when they'd arrived at the new apartment, the sooner Claire could reestablish that same routine that Faith had been accustomed to in Oxfordshire, the better. It was the reason she'd had furniture sent to the apartment before they'd even arrived. The sooner Faith could associate the new home with the commonplace furniture, the sooner she'd begin to realize this was home now. And all that, combined with maintaining their old routines in a new place was actually working quite well.

Teeth brushed and pajamas on, Claire tucked Faith into her bed. Faith's brand new princess comforter had arrived on Wednesday, and Faith was over the moon. Claire hadn't yet had a problem getting her to sleep since they'd put it on the bed. Claire filled the medicine dropper from the liquid Risperdal bottle, and Faith dutifully opened her mouth to let Claire drop it in, her face screwing up in the usual disgust to taste the bitter liquid.

"Swallow, please," Claire said, cocking an eyebrow. Faith grimaced, but obeyed. "Good girl."

Claire knew full well that Faith hated the taste of her medicine; it had been an utter nightmare to get her to take it every night at first. She'd had to bribe her with a Smartie every time she took it. Claire had a little stash of M&Ms (apparently the American equivalent) just in case Faith was ever particularly stubborn.

Claire set the medicine aside on the nightstand and tucked Horsie (who had been properly cleaned and disinfected after being dropped in the dirt in the stable) under her arm.

"There's Horsie, darling. So you can dream of all the horses you saw today, like Pippi." She leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, love. Today was a very, very good day."

Faith smiled a toothy grin as Claire rose to turn on the nightlight. She stopped at the door to flicker off the main light and take one last look at her daughter, savoring the contentment settling in her chest and warming her from the inside out before shutting the door.

——

The next few days were not as smooth sailing.

Jamie had been quite right when he’d predicted the riding helmet would bother Faith. Since Mrs. Lickett only came by on weekdays, Claire decided it was as good a time as ever to give the helmet a try. After breakfast, Claire sat Faith on the couch and retrieved the helmet and Horsie.

“Alright, little girl.” She sat down, horse and helmet in hand. “Mister Jamie gave us this helmet. See?” She held it up to Faith. “Mister Jamie said you can’t ride Pippi unless you learn to wear the helmet.” She held both the horse and the helmet in front of Faith. “See? Horsie and helmet have to go together. Yes?”

Faith hummed happily and reached for Horsie.

“Alright…let’s see…” Claire carefully attempted to lower the helmet onto Faith’s head, but her face immediately darkened and she groaned in annoyance, averting her head.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s just a little hat. Come on, now…”

She groaned again, louder, shoving the helmet away with both of her hands.

“Wait,” Claire said quickly. “Wait here, Faith.”

Claire scrambled into her bedroom and into her closet, tearing through its contents, throwing things behind her until she found what she was looking for. A plain blue visor that she hadn’t worn in years, but kept around just in case.

“Here, Faith, look.” Claire returned to the couch and sat down. She put the visor on her own head. “See? A hat.” Faith stared at her blankly. Claire smiled and took off the visor, plopping it onto Faith’s curly head. “See?”

Faith giggled, and Claire felt a renewed sense of hope. She took the helmet back in her hands and placed it precariously atop her head. “See? It’s just a hat. It doesn’t fit Mummy’s big head, though. It was made just for you.”

Claire playfully swiped the visor off Faith's head and replaced it with the helmet, and she did not squirm away.

Claire gasped with contrived shock. "Look at you!" she gushed. Faith was beaming. "What a lovely hat, Faith!"

She hummed and bounced, and Claire laughed.

Victory!

And that was when she made her fatal mistake. She got cocky.

"Now let's just fasten it, and then you're properly wearing your new hat, yes?" Claire reached for the chin strap and fastened it. "There! All ready to ride!"

Faith's entire demeanor changed, her little brow furrowing. She reached for the chinstrap and tucked her fingers underneath, starting to tug.

"It's okay, darling."

Faith began groaning.

"Hey, it's okay, Faith." Claire, having prepared for exactly this, reached for the yellow stress ball from the stables on the coffee table. "Faith, here, love. It's okay." She put the ball in one of her hands, but Faith did not latch on. She let it fall to the ground, not removing her fingers from beneath the chin strap. Dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

“Faith…” Claire stooped down to retrieve the ball, then realized it had rolled halfway across the room. She got up from the couch to pick it up, and when she turned around, Faith was tugging forcefully on the helmet, the chin strap digging into her throat.

“Faith!” Claire dropped the ball again and practically leapt back onto the couch. “Stop!”

Fingers trembling, Claire frantically fumbled with the clasp of the chin strap, desperately trying to stop her daughter from choking herself. The second she was free, Faith gave a loud wail and hurled the helmet across the room, causing Claire to jump back in shock.

Claire was too stunned to scold her right away, her medical degree kicking into full gear as she examined her neck and throat for any marks, listened to see if her breathing was normal. Once she was certain everything was alright, Claire firmly seized one of her wrists.

“We do not throw things, Faith.” Faith began squirming, pawing at her mother’s hand. “Faith, look at me, please. I need you to look at my eyes, Faith.”

She gave a loud wail and a particularly hard yank.

“We do not throw things. Do you hear me, young lady?”

A sharp pain suddenly stuck itself into Claire’s hand, and she cried out. She immediately released Faith’s wrist and recoiled her hand into herself.

She bloody bit me.

Faith wriggled off the couch and bolted for the front door. She started tugging on the handle, determined to open the door and get as far away as her little legs would carry. Claire knew she’d really do it, too, if the door wasn’t locked.

Claire briefly sucked at the blood that started slowly trickling from her hand and then strode to the front door.

“You’re not going anywhere, little girl.” She scooped Faith around the torso with one arm and carried her, kicking and screaming into her bedroom to deposit her on the bed.

“Listen to me, Faith. If you do not calm down this instant you’ll not have any dessert tonight. Do you hear me?”

Faith shrieked. She’d certainly heard.

“I’m going to count to ten! If I get to ten and you’ve not stopped crying, no dessert.”

Claire hadn’t even gotten to three when Faith started throwing her stuffed animals in her direction. Claire continued counting calmly, knowing full well that the cotton toys would not hurt her. It was only when she reached for the lamp on her nightstand that she stopped at seven, lurching forward to stop her.

“No!” Claire shouted. Faith immediately released the lamp and clamped her hands over her ears, and a horrible, searing guilt burned her gut.

“Faith, baby, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, darling…” Claire sat down on the bed beside her and made to wrap her arms around her daughter, but she hesitated. Would she bite again, or punch, or kick?

Claire felt shameful tears stinging her eyes. Was she no better than Frank, raising her voice at her audio-sensitive daughter when she was being slightly difficult?

She shouldn’t have fastened the chin strap. She should have just let her get used to the helmet itself first. She maybe should have even waited for Mrs. Lickett to try the chinstrap. And now, because of her carelessness, she’d triggered her daughter’s biggest anxiety, and the poor girl was screaming her little head off, red in the face, because of her own mother.

Claire noticed, almost too late, that her hand was about to bleed on Faith’s brand new comforter. She hissed a frustrated “fuck” under her breath and quickly made her way to the bathroom to tend to it. She hastily wrapped some gauze around it and made her way back into Faith’s room to find her in the exact same position, hands on her ears, screaming. Claire sighed in defeat and quickly wiped her eyes clear of the tears that threatened to spill over. Perhaps it would be best if she just left her for now. There was no telling if she’d do something violent again if Claire tried to comfort her, and there was no consoling her otherwise. Claire decided to remove the lamp and anything else heavy that she could throw before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Only when the door was shut did Claire finally allow herself to cry.

She didn’t care that Faith could have broken a lamp and shattered a lightbulb on the new wood floors; she didn’t even care that her own daughter had drawn blood from her with her teeth. What hurt worse than that was knowing that her little girl was in turmoil because of triggers that her own mother couldn’t understand, couldn’t make better, things that Faith was not able to communicate to her or to anyone. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t even comfort her. When she was a baby, before she was symptomatic, all Claire had to do was scoop her out of her crib and rock her, bounce her, sing to her, and all her anxieties would cease, her crying would stop. But now, the older Faith got, it felt like Claire was less and less capable of providing that comfort, that sense of security.

I’m her mother. That’s my job.

And I’m failing.

Claire dumped the contents of Faith’s room that she’d emptied onto the couch and collapsed next to them, letting her tears fall freely. Somewhere in her fevered brain, she had the sense to pick up her phone from the coffee table and text Gillian. She typed: “Hey, could I call you right now?” then quickly backspaced and tried again: “Hey, are you busy right now?” She hit send, and then frantically added in a second message: “No emergency. Just miss you and want to hear your voice.”

After she hit send the second time, she let her phone rest in her lap and rested her head back on the couch cushion. Leaving Gillian had been the hardest part of leaving England. She’d been Claire’s best friend all throughout college and medical school. They’d decided to be roommates sophomore year after meeting in the pre-med program, and they’d never lived separately again until Claire’s wedding, at which, of course, Gillian had been the maid of honor. They were two peas in a pod, though one wouldn’t think so to see them separately. Gillian was brash and loud, and delightfully inappropriate more often than not. Gillian liked to say that Claire was the odd one out, that she was much too proper.

Gillian had been there for Claire after Faith’s diagnosis when Frank had not. He’d muttered something about needing some air the minute they got home from the doctor, and Claire had immediately phoned Gillian, sobbing into the phone for hours.

“He’s going to leave me, he’s going to leave us…I can’t do this alone…”

Gillian scoffed. “Wi’ the way he’s acting now, I bloody hope he does leave. Feckin’ louse.”

Well, she’d gotten what she wanted.

“I never bloody liked the bastard. I knew I should ha’ said something when he proposed. God dammit.”

Gillian had been the one to assure her that she was a good mother, that Faith’s triggers were not her fault, that she was doing the best she could.

Claire just needed to hear that right now.

As expected, Claire’s phone buzzed shortly after. She picked it up, expecting it to be a text in response, but Gillian was already calling her. Claire smiled to herself and sniffled.

“Hello?” she said, already embarrassed at how snuffly she sounded.

Gillian was quiet for a moment, then said: “Oh, is that wee Faith?”

Apparently, her shrieks were loud enough to be heard across the ocean. Claire sighed. “Yup.”

“She’s having one of her meltdowns, and ye’re all upset and feelin’ like you failed her, aye? That ye made the wrong decisions?”

Claire’s eyes quickly welled up again. “Yes,” she croaked.

“Oh, Claire. Ye ken that lass thinks ye’re a bloody queen, don’t ye? She worships ye.”

“When she’s not biting me. Or throwing things at me.”

“Och, biting again, aye? Well…ye ken that’s the autism. That’s no’ yer wee Faith. She canna help it when it takes over.”

“I know. I just…”

“She loves ye, Claire. I’ve seen it wi’ my own eyes. And I ken that she knows how fiercely ye love her. The autism just makes it hard fer her to see sometimes, aye?”

Claire breathed shakily. “I know you’re right. I mean…I know all this already. It just…”

“I ken. Ye need the reassurance. ’Specially since the Sperm Donor hasnae given ye any such thing his whole miserable life.”

Despite the pain that that fact caused, Claire could not help but smirk at Gillian’s newest term of endearment for the man who sired Faith. “Right.”

“Must be hard over there, all alone.” Claire could hear the twinge of sadness in her voice.

“I miss you, too, Gi.”

“I’m counting down the days ’till Christmas. Canna wait to see my two favorite lasses.”

Claire smiled. “And I can’t wait to see my best friend, and my daughter’s Godmother.”

“I’ve got to run, I had to sneak into a supply closet to call ye. I’m in the middle of a shift — ”

“Gillian,” Claire admonished. “You shouldn’t be doing that — ”

“Nothing more important than making sure my girls are okay. Aye?”

Claire sighed and rolled her eyes, but her smile widened.

“I hear she’s still carrying on, but just let her get it out of her wee system. She’ll be back to her humming and her movies soon enough. Just wait it out. Ye ken.”

“Yeah…I know.”

“I love ye, Claire. And I miss ye. Hang in there. I’ll call ye again sometime this week when I’m no’ in the middle of a shift. I wanna hear all about this Long Island of yers.”

Claire chuckled. “Alright. I eagerly await.”

“G’bye.”

“Bye, Gi. Thank you. Love you.”

“Quite welcome.”

She hung up, and Claire dropped her phone in her lap again. Faith was going to be inconsolable for at least another half hour, and Claire didn’t think she could bear just sitting there and listening. She didn’t turn on the telly or any music, lest she miss a suspicious noise or not hear that she stopped crying, but she did get to work sorting through a few more boxes. On her way over to a particular stack, she tripped over something. She looked down to see the riding helmet. Claire grimaced and gave it a strong kick, sending it rolling under the coffee table. She almost laughed: she’d only just admonished her daughter for doing almost the exact same thing.

“Bloody fucking helmet bastard piece of shit…”

She dissolved into an incoherent string of expletives, grateful that Faith, nor anyone else, could hear her.

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfic #outlandwr fanfiction #claire fraser #fergus fraser #faith fraser

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neon-vials · 3 years

Text

One Last Chance?

Relationships: Carol Danvers x Pietro Maximoff, Steve Rogers x Wanda Maximoff (implied), Pietro Maximoff x Daisy Johnson (implied)

Word Count: 661

Rating: General

Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, angst

A gift for @caroldanversxpietromaximoff

Even in her intoxicated state, Carol knew she shoudn't have been at his doorstep. Things had ended between them a long time ago, but Carol had to see him after she heard the news of his engagement. She attempted to gently knock on the door, but just ended up pounding it a few times.

She stepped back & took a deep breath. Much to her surprise, Pietro answered the door - though his face had confusion written all over it. And she took note of the fact he was wearing his favourite pajamas.

"Carol, what are you doing here? It's almost midnight."

"I hope I'm not interupting anything, I just need to talk to you."

"Oh....um.......we haven't talked in months."

"I know and I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Do you want to come in?" Even though they'd been broken up for months, Pietro still had the urge to take care of the reckless hero.

"Yeah, yeah I do." Pietro stepped to the side to let Carol in. As she passed him, he could smell the alcohol off of her.

Carol still remembered the day Pietro moved out of their shared apartment & into his own. It was raining & Steve almost fell down the stairs while he & Wanda were helping.

"This is a nice place." She mumbled while looking around his living room.

"Thanks I guess. I'm actually moving out soon. I don't know if you've heard, but I proposed to my girlfriend yesterday."

"I've heard........" Carol trailed off as her eyes fell on a photo of Pietro with his arm around another girl's shoulders. It made her heart ache to see someone else make him happy.

"Is this your fiancé?"

"Yeah, her name is Daisy. I was actually hoping you could meet her soon." Carol ignored the last part & instead turned her attention back to him.

"When are you getting married?"

"I'll tell only if you can keep a secret."

"I was in the Airforce & a superhero. I know how to keep a secret, Maximoff."

"The ceremony is set for July. We still haven't figured out the day yet."

"July? July is only two months away." Carol stated trying to not let the fact their anniversary was July 11th get the better of her.

"I know its a rush, but I love her so much. We're excited to start our lives together-" Carol's face dropped, & Pietro remembered how hard Carol took their break-up.

"Carol I'm-"

"Don't marry her."

"What?"

"Don't get married. Come back home with me."

"Carol, please don't do this."

"Pietro......I'm still in love with you. I don't want to love anyone else but you."

"You don't mean that. You're drunk. Someday you'll find someone new." He really wished she had told him these things when they were together.

"No, I won't! Please give us anthor try, one last time. If you're not happy, we'll break up for good."

"No, Carol, I'm engaged."

"That doesn't mean anything. We can still be together!"

"If my engagement to Daisy means nothing, what would our engagement mean?"

"You know that's not what I meant." He shook his head with a sigh, his eyes falling back on her. Carol Danvers, the same stubborn woman he broke up with a year ago.

"Look, there was a point after our break up that I would've happily left whoever I was with to get back with you, but now? Now I'm happy with Daisy."

Her hand slowly reached & grabbed his, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she squeezed it.

"I've never stopped loving you, & I never will-"

"Carol, I'm sorry, I can't-"

"Please Pietro.......pl-please." She begged while choking back more tears.

"I'm sorry Carol-"

"Yeah. I'm sorry too."

Carol dropped his hand and brushed past him. He heard the door close followed by a frustrated scream from Carol.

Silent tears rolled down his own cheeks as he clenched his fists.

"I never stopped loving you either." He whispered to his empty apartment.

#captainsilver #carol danvers #pietro maximoff #captain marvel #quicksilver #angst #crack fic #crackservices #crack shit #crackship #marvel #scarletamerica #daisy johnson

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fiveisnumber1 · 3 years

Note

So after reading yesterday's oneshot I coincidentally came across a song I love that fit the H8 during the final minutes of the apocalypse. I know Five wasn't technically a part of them at the time but essentially it fits all of the younger group and their final thoughts and feelings. Also Five and Reader are together at the end and the rest of the group are together at the end so none of them are alone and I figured it felt flitting for how each would see the end based on their experiences. The song is Forever Young by Boy in Space: https://youtu.be/PpL0P_s6Fe8 and I just had to do a lyric analysis too cuz of course! It just fit so perfectly.

The H7:

"Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while. Heaven can wait, we're only watchin' the skies. Hopin' for the best, but expectin' the worst. Are you gonna drop the bomb or not? Ah"

This is obviously all of them together, trying to ignore the impending apocalypse. Dancing away the fear but they're also watching the skies and wondering if whatever is causing the apocalypse is gonna cause it or not. I feel like these lyrics paint the picture of them simultaneously trying to ignore the apocalypse while also waiting for it to happen so well!

Five:

"Let us die young or let us live forever. We don't have the power, but we never say never. Sittin' in a sandpit, life is a short trip. The music's for the sad man, ah"

Five literally experienced life in a sandpit of the world's ruins but even after getting back he didn't have enough time to live or even accomplish what he set out to do so hence his life being a "short trip". He knows he has very little power to stop the apocalypse and the commision has a lot but he keeps fighting for a better world anyway. And he wishes the commission would have let him die early in the apocalypse because technically he's lived a lot by seeing how it played out. If he dies then he'll have died young but also really old and despite how much he had fought, he feels his life is short anyway cuz he never had enough time to accomplish his goal which was to save his family and the Reader. Also the last line makes me think of Five seeing his favorite sibling on stage and Vanya's playing music which would always make him happy in their miserable home as a child but she's bringing the apocalypse with it this time and I feel like the line is a very good way to describe how the music is for a "sad man" cuz he was that sad man who had to live alone for decades.

Reader:

"Can you imagine when this race is won? Turn our golden faces into the sun. Praising our leaders, we're gettin' in tune. The music's played by the, the mad man"

This stanza for the Reader because she keeps hoping that they can win somehow. She wants to believe she has more time with the H7 and the UA and her beloved Five. And she wants to believe they can pat each other on the back for a job well done and she wants to believe she can be proud of the UA for getting their shit together to solve the apocalypse but then she also knows that they're damaged by the madman AKA Reggie who played their strings to a point where they will never be able to work together and they won't get in tune together in time to save the world.

Reader:

"Some are like water, some are like the heat. Some are the melody and some are the beat. Sooner or later, they all will be gone. Why don't they stay young? Ah"

I feel like this is Reader describing the Hargreeves personalities (Klaus and Ben are water, Luther and Diego are Heat, Vanya is a melancholy melody, Allison is a beat). She's wondering why the Hargreeves had to grow up and leave and why she had to time-travel and find them gone. She wonders why everything happened the way it did. Maybe if they never left the mansion and worked it out after she came to their time then things would have been different?

Five:

"It's so hard to get old without a cause. I don't want to perish like a fadin' horse. Youth's like diamonds in the sun. And diamonds are forever"

Five wanting to die in the apocalypse. To perish like everyone else but also not wanting to die without reason or meaning. He gives himself a cause to grow old and fight for cuz otherwise he has no reason to. And his youth and love and intelligence is like a diamond cuz even tho he travels back in time, he looks the same and his intelligence is the same and his love for his family is the same. It's forever. He doesn't want to fade away into oblivion without at least trying to do something to save the ones he loves.

The H7:

"So many adventures given up today. So many songs we forgot to play. So many dreams swingin' out of the blue. Oh let it come true"

The moment the H7 give up their normal lives to start fighting crime they give up their free time and energy willingly to fight and their ability to be normal children but at the end they have dreams they still wish they could fulfill. Being a younger UA was their dream and they fulfilled that. It came true. But the rest of their dreams coming true becomes difficult cuz of the apocalypse so they're wishing they all had more time.

All:

"Forever young. I wanna be forever young. Do you really wanna live forever? Forever and ever. Forever young. I wanna be forever young. Do you really wanna live forever? Forever young"

This part is the chorus and I feel is just for all of them. They're all so young in different ways. They don't want to live forever but they don't want to die so soon either without getting a chance to really live the life they each wanted. And also since they've all experienced so much in so little time, especially Five and Reader, I feel like it's also a way of saying they wish they were all mentally young as well. Even the H7 grew up faster to fight crime. So they all just want to enjoy youth without responsibility but will never get to. Five will never get to experience normal life the way he should have and Reader will never get to spend the rest of her youth with Five and her friends either.

It's just a tragedy all around as they all wish they could have had more time before it all ends cuz they are still young and have so much left to live for. And in a way they'd be eternally young then even after death cuz they never got to grow old.

Anyway, I'm really excited to hear your thoughts on this! I just loved how the song fit perfectly. I didn't even realize it myself at first but when I did I knew I had to share it because it just has this ethereal melancholy to it that I can see the H8 all feeling, individually and grouped together, as the apocalypse happens.

First of all I just want to say that I love the song forever young ever since I heard one direction sing and I haven’t grown out of my love for that song because of them. (Unrelated but I bet you can’t guess which one direction member is my favorite)

Anyway, I love your interpretation and I can definitely see all of this based on the side story I posted and just the story in general!

For the one line of “Sooner or later, they all will be gone. Why don’t they stay young?” I think it could also be applied to Reader’s thoughts about the H7, especially when they’re struggling to stop Vanya from causing the apocalypse. She didn’t know if they would stop Vanya and if she would see her friends again. She didn’t even know back at the bowling alley if that would be the last time she was with them. Reader knows that someday they’ll be gone but is coming to terms with the fact that it’s probably sooner than later due to Vanya’s apocalypse. And the question of why don’t they stay young is less so of pain like losing the UA but more so trying to comfort herself in the case the apocalypse does happen. They’re young and together and so why not be young?

Also I like to think of the lyrics “Let's dance in style, Let's dance for a while, Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies, Hoping for the best but expecting the worst” in terms of Five and Reader as well. As a common theme throughout the story the two of them enjoy dancing together as it distracts them from the reality of what is going on. I like to think of these lines as Five coping with the impending 2019 apocalypse. He’s trying to enjoy being back in reader’s life again and distracting himself with her presence but he knows what happens after the world ends. Time is ticking towards doomsday and although he’s hoping he can stop it the closer it gets the more he expects the worse.

Anyway those are some of my thoughts but I love all that you presented and of course I love you too♥️

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