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5uptic · 3 years

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hey fanfic spotlight again:)

arm candy by amsves (5up/Fundy, general rating, m/m | 300 words)

Summary: The first thing Fundy does after the stream ends is lean over and engulf 5up in his arms.

a chance encounter by mangoedges (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 450 words)

Summary: Who would have thought Apollo would find his soulmate now?

Desecration Smile by AllianettemiE5 (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: No summary.

She said to me, Oh Death / Come close my eyes by Anonymous (Apollo/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve thought the words on his wrist were the coolest thing ever, but they just didn’t make sense. No, really; he even asked 5up–had called him in a possibly drunk state on his twentieth birthday, when a prickling sensation on his arm made him think that he was about to die, 5up, help, and was reminded drily that it was his soulmark, dumbass–and the best his smartest friend (self-proclaimed) could offer was, “Maybe your soulmate’s a poet?” Completely useless. Steve remembered hanging up on him, the click of his mobile cutting off his indignant exclamation. It was only the next day that he looked, properly looked, at his soulmark and tried to make sense of it. Nope. That didn’t work out either; he blamed the hangover. For the longest time ever, he just dismissed it as the universe fucking up. A slash in the middle of a phrase? Ridiculous.

why’d you only call me when you’re high? by LVTO (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: “I miss you,” Steve mumbles through the phone, and his voice has that soft, honest tone that it always does when he’s like this. 5up’s heart clenches. It’s these moments that keep him from leaving like he should’ve done four months ago, these soft-spoken truths that time and time again have him believing that maybe, maybe this time will be different. It never is. or 5up receives a phone call and ponders his life.

jealousy, jealousy by planetwitch (5up/Fundy, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: 5up and Fundy are best friends and have never crossed that line into something more. Until Fundy gets jealous at 5up's constant admiration for a certain 6 foot tall musician.

mimi's menagerie of the miraculous & the mundane by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: a drabble for the word of the day, every day, for 100 days.

5up & Co. Throw Yarn at a Wall (and more) by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 1.3k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Hafu neither confirmed nor denied, instead snatching the half unraveled ball of yarn out of his hands forcefully, a cheshire grin finding its way onto her face. Before 5up could clearly decipher the situation, she flung it at him, smacking him directly in the center of his face. or 5up loves throwing yarn at walls, and everyone else quickly picks it up from him. But in different ways.

Inside My Mind by SilverSprinklez10 (5up/Apollo, Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.4k words)

Summary: Soulmates are usually a blessing. But sometimes, a soulmate connection can feel like a curse.

(2021, 190 x 172 cm, oil on canvas) by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.9k words)

Summary: Nobody ever painted anything if they’ve never painted the way 5up closes his eyes when he laughs, how his slender fingers wrap around a new tube of paint, how his smile is all teeth and eye-crinkling. Cabanel’s Fallen Angel has curls, but they aren’t 5up’s, are they? Hyllas, in the nymphs, has fair and delicate hands but 5up’s are prettier, especially when he accidentally squirts paint everywhere and slams his palms on the table and goes “fuck!” Steve cackles until he can’t breathe.

Don't Take Me Tongue-Tied by AoDity, LovelyDayForIt (5up/Sleepy, 5up/Apollo, teen rating, m/m | 2.2k words)

Summary: "Sleepy found the ring by luck, something that matches his lover's graceful beauty that he could still afford. Twisted strands of thin silver with a little shimmering opal in the center, it was perfect." Aka: Sleepy's love for Five brought him heartache. If they try, there's still a chance the two could be happy.

implying that the ferris wheel's your body (and i'd really love admission to it) by homeward_bound (David/Hafu/Steve, mature rating, multi | 2.2k words)

Summary: Steve might be drunk out of his mind, but David's just really hot, okay? [or, steve propositions david, kind of. hafu and dumbdog bear witness to his lapse in judgement.]

mi casa es su casa by some_spooky_shit_right_there (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.9k words)

Summary: Apollo's soulmate is cautious. Except, apparently, when it comes to coffee. Because, for the fifth time this week, Apollo wakes up to a burnt tongue. It's annoying. He can't really be mad though, because he has given his soulmate so much worse. The occasional burnt tongue is a meager act of penance, comparatively.

I love you too (I love you too) by some_spooky_shit_right_there (5up/Apollo/Steve, general rating, multi | 3.9k words)

Summary: Apollo comes into 5up's coffee shop. He always gets a cup of coffee and either a bagel or a croissant. He always seems tired, and he never comes in on weekends. Steve would really love to find out just who, exactly, he is.

i'm more fool than wise by 5fu (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 5.8k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Steven Suptic is a brilliant crewmate - ask anyone. Okay so don't ask Janet. Or Dk. Or Koji. You know what, don't even ask - it's pretty obvious he is. But when new recruit and stunningly intelligent 5up boards the Crewfu, Steve isn't so sure he can compete. Not that he cares. Totally. Absolutely. On their mission to gather intel on Polus and find out what happened to the previous crew that disappeared from the planet three years earlier, Steve may realize that maybe he was indeed more fool than wise - and maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

i was praying that you and me might end up together by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 7.8k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Four years at Polus University. Four first weeks of school. Two strangers become two friends, and maybe even something more. Apollo hates being seen, hates having attention drawn to him, hates living in a world that feels like a game where everyone knows the rules except him. Steve thrives on attention, purposefully draws the gaze of everyone in the room, making his own rules as he floats through life. They're a match made in hell, but Apollo finds that when Steve looks at him, gives him nothing but attention, he doesn't mind being seen after all.

Long Journey Home by some_spooky_shit_right_there (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 9.6k words)

Summary: Homesick and lonesome and I'm feeling kind of blue Feeling kind of blue, boys, feeling kind of blue Homesick and lonesome and I'm feeling kind of blue I'm on my long journey home

there’s so many ways to say “i love you” and i wouldn’t wanna waste ‘em (on someone who, don’t feel it too) by Dear_MaedaysUnwelcomedGhost (5up/Steve, 5up/Hafu, 5up/Ellum, 5up/Kimi, teen rating, multi | 13k words, chaptered)

Summary: Love was a strange thing, 5up found. It was everywhere. And not in the way it may seem. It wasn’t in the adverts of perfect couples with artificial lighting. It wasn’t in the glittery cards made by factories or the flowers sold at grocery stores. Not in the TV shows made to bring in cash and be thrown out, with couples who don’t have anything to hold onto but brief infatuation and physical attraction. But in the friendly smiles of strangers as they pass by. In a mother cutting fruit up for their child. Running a hand through the hair of your partner, as their eyes flutter close and to sleep. Helping a stranger pick up their dropped papers, asking for nothing in return. In the graffiti on the wall by the alleyway you walk by everyday to get to work. To the goods baked by small independent bakeries. Flowers planted in parks to make it just a little nicer, or the ones growing out of pavement cracks with determination.

Also!

GuardianPuppy‘s this city needs to be destroyed or at least painted in a different color collection.

spaded_ace’s Casino in the Sky collection.

5fu’s among all this pain collection.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s)], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k], [added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji… you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed.

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

#crewfu #fanfic spotlight #long post #finally a steve/dogfu fic.... come kiss me author

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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

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Fall With You

I ended up pinch hitting for the exchange! It was fun, if slightly wild 48 hours to put this together. Written for the lovely @queencarolinemikaelson. I’m really glad you enjoyed it since it ended up being a fluff fest of roommate co-hab. Also a big thank you to @bellemorte180 for putting this graphic together!

I put the first but under a cut, bit under a cut, but the full story is almost 9K, so the link to the story is at the bottom. :)

Summary: When life throws her a curve ball in the form of her good looking, yet moody roommate, Caroline takes it in stride as best she can. Her living situation was a favor, after all, and rent is anything but cheap in NYC. Its the part where she actually starts to like him that she can't quiet figure out how to manage. Lust was one thing, but feelings?

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate; Universe - Human; Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates; Minor Character Death; not otp; Family Drama; Family Dynamics; Fluff and Humor; Domestic Fluff; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Mild Smut; Human Caroline Forbes; Human Klaus Mikaelson; Living Room Picnics; Wine; Dates That Aren't Dates; They Could Really Get Their Shit Together Faster; but not really; Making Out; Some petting; NSFW just to be safe

It was almost three am, her feet were killing her, and her key was stuck in her front door.

Seriously, what was with her luck today? The door had always been finicky, but until earlier this week the lock had been behaving itself. It’d gone from not wanting to turn properly to straight up mutiny in four days. It was an easy fix, unlike the door, but it also required a trip to the store and she just hadn’t had time. Amazon could have delivered the powdered graphite, but she was on a budget and believed in shopping local.

Her two year savings plan to finish her degree would not manifest itself if she bought things simply because they were convenient.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Caroline seriously considered just leaning up against the door jam and spending the night outside. It was early summer, and the air had cooled to a balmy sixty-five degrees, leaving the usually stifling hallway almost comfortable. If only she didn’t smell so heavily of beer. Shifting her weight, she winced as her shoes squelched, a reminder of the truly spectacular ending to her night. Her eight hour shift had almost doubled when the night shift manager had called in sick. Usually that wouldn’t have been a problem, but the only other person with keys was out of town leaving Caroline holding the bag to close.

She knew from experience that she had about an hour before she crashed, the rush from kicking out the lingering guests who had been clearly on an epic brawl crawl having mostly faded after the hour long subway ride home. Right then, the only thing keeping her upright was the fact that she was starving, her dinner had been rushed and only half eaten, and the knowledge that if she made it into her apartment she had the next two days off. Tomorrow she could sleep in, and if she was really lucky, her roommate’s night had gone well enough he could be coaxed into making pancakes.

Cheered by the thought, Caroline dug out her cell phone from the backpack she’d slung over her shoulder and checked it for a response. She hadn’t been sure if Klaus had beaten her home or if he was still out celebrating, but either way, he hadn’t bothered to respond yet. Her lips compressed into a thin line.

Usually, she could depend on Klaus to be awake when she finished a night shift, her roommates' hours were only reliable on how sporadic they were and depending on her schedule, hers weren’t much better. But with his big event tonight, she had no idea what he had decided to do. Honestly, would it kill the man to respond to her texts?

She’d expected him to ignore her rapidly typed apology and well wishes she’d sent in-between bites of food. Klaus wasn’t particularly good at handling sentiment of any kind and supremely anti-emoji, and she’d made a point to send several of them. She’d hoped it’d give him something to be annoyed about that wasn’t his evening plans. He needed to schmooze, and a scowl-y Klaus would not accomplish that at all.

He could be charming, when he wanted to be. She’d seen it. He just didn’t deploy full dimples unless he wanted something. Her reminders the night before that he needed to earn his half of the rent without getting carpal tunnel hadn't impressed him.

Too bad. She’d been right, and he’d known it.

He had mentioned a couple of his friends were trying to talk him into drinks afterwards, back when she had thought she might be able to join him. Usually, she would be thrilled that he was getting out and actually seeing people instead of trying to live off granola bars and tea. But right then she really wanted him to be home and grumpy so he could unlock the door. She wondered if texting Marcel with an S.O.S would be rude?

Things were a lot less complicated when she only liked Klaus for the rent he helped cover. Wanting him home, even just for a lock-related emergency wasn’t a thought she would have had even six months ago. Klaus was not what one would label as a comfortable roommate for most of the time. He was far too prickly for that, and he could be snarly in the mornings. Which fair, so could she, but the moodiness. Caroline hadn’t been one to spend much time around the art scene, either at Uni or in high school, but she’d spent the last year learning that there was a lot to be said about artistic temperaments, most of it unflattering.

She was fairly certain Klaus had been born a contrary grump, his winning personality had nothing to do with his chosen profession, she could certainly see how he’d been drawn to the lifestyle, talent aside. Most people immediately laughed off his acerbic tongue once they learned he was an artist, his behavior brushed aside as temperamental. His goods certainly helped his cause, and his accent added a layer of charm that otherwise might not have existed.

She was not so forgiving.

The first few months of their co-hab had not been easy. Klaus was messy, absent minded, and had ruined three of her towels with paint splatter before she’d blown her lid. The apartment was small enough that avoiding each other was nearly impossible, and her preferred kind of stress relief had to be timed for when she was alone, and so they’d been forced to deal with their annoyances. To Klaus’ credit, while he’d been snappish in return, he’d somehow managed to keep a lid on the worst of his temper.

They’d argued, multiple times, they were both stubborn and used to being right, but they’d eventually found some kind of middle ground. Snapping had softened into bickering, and Caroline had stopped nitpicking him about his notebooks being spread across the house and the incorrect way he rolled his toothpaste, and he stopped leaving towels on the floor and made a point to contain his absentminded mess to his room.

And then they started to talk, sometimes about work, sometimes about art, and she’d realized she kind of liked him as a person. She’d started dragging him to her group lunches on her days off, much to Rebekah’s despair, and they might have become something like friends. Except for the part where every so often, she’d look at him and something about the way he stood, the angle of his jaw or the line of his throat left her wanting to jump his bones.

It was really frustrating, when her existence didn’t even seem to phase him.

So she’d done her best to ignore whatever that little spark was between them when it flared up, and not upset the status quo. Because the past year had been better than she could have imagined. Before her mom had died, she would never have considered the life she found herself living now as a good one.

She’d just wrapped her third year at NYU, had exactly 24 hours of classes left before graduation, and had managed to wrangle her schedule so that her final semester would be a cake walk of classes. The cherry on top had been the kick ass internship she’d lined up for the summer. Her five year plan was perfectly on track, her excellent grades gave her a shot at graduating with honors, and she couldn’t wait to show her mom around New York City from the eyes of a local. She’d spent three years putting together a binder, collecting menus from her favorite places to eat and brochures from all the museums and the jam packed tourists locations to offer her mom some variety.

Then she’d gotten that phone call that had thrown everything into a tale spin.

Blowing out a breath, Caroline bounced on her toes and debated best her course of action. She could probably get her key out of the lock if she was very careful, though the past twenty minutes said her luck wasn’t great, Forbes women were nothing if not stubborn, but there was also a chance she would break the key off in the lock and she could already see the little smirk on Klaus’ face if she did. Her hand tightened on the strap of her backpack. He still hadn’t forgiven her for being far more comfortable with power tools than he was and her perfectly reasonable gloating probably hadn’t helped much, if she was honest.

She kind of didn’t regret it. Poking Klaus sizable ego was a favorite past time of hers, and he seemed to enjoy their back and forth as much as she did. Her mental tally had her up two points this month, and she wanted to keep her lead.

Unfortunately, things weren’t really going in her favor just then. Sighing, Caroline tucked her phone back into her bag and admitted defeat. She’d have to figure this one out herself. Either Klaus’ event had run long and he had actually taken her advice to schmooze people or he was home and had drunk enough that he was sleeping like the dead.

Either of those options would not help her now.

Her best bet now was to go and eat a giant piece of pie, drink her weight in caffeine, and trudge her way to the little mom and pop shop that sold a little of everything, including graphite, once it became a reasonable hour. She’d fix her lock and then crash for the following eight hours of hopefully uninterrupted sleep, and leave a very pointed sticky note on the coffee pot so Klaus knew not to disturb her.

Satisfied with the makings of her plan, she shifted her backpack to her other shoulder, mentally reviewing the pie menu, and paused when the elevator dinged from behind her. Sliding her teeth between her lip, Caroline turned and blew out a breath when she recognized the tumble of ruffled curls stepping into the hall. The hallway was dimly lit, so it took a moment for her brain to really understand what else she was seeing.

Klaus was wearing a tux.

Logically, she’d known he was going to be wearing one. His event that night had been important, his work had finally made it into a gallery tonight and it was a Big Deal. His first real show outside of the fancy art school he had attended, and he had spent months fretting over his work and brooding silently in his room as nothing met his incredibly exacting standards. Klaus had even brought home a couple of canvas to work in the questionable light of his bedroom instead of the small studio space he and five other artists pooled their money to share.

Much to her annoyance.

No amount of febreeze really removed the scent of acrylics and turpentine, and she’d been worried if she tried to burn her stash of scented candles something would catch on fire. She’d held her tongue though, because Klaus was never nervous. He was in fact annoyingly difficult to rattle even in the most ridiculous of situations, the man had absolutely no shame, and the way he’d almost jittered had been weird and kind of enduring. Since he’d seen her in numerous states of frantic and alarmed, it was nice for things to end up on a little more even ground for once. She’d done her best to force him to eat something that looked like actual food every so often, and tried to stay quiet when she knew he was working in his bedroom.

She’d even helped him pick out the tuxedo from the catalogue he’d brought home from the store he had planned to rent from. There was a fancy evening gown that she’d rented hanging in her closet that Caroline had planned to wear to go with him before work had made that impossible. But knowing all that, and actually seeing him in that tux were not nearly the same thing.

Caroline blinked rapidly. Her paint speckled roommate, with his surly attitude and annoying dimples, was wearing a tux. And he looked really, really good. He’d undone his tie so it hung loosely around his neck, and his jacket was loose and unbuttoned around his waist, his curls still somewhat tamed along his forehead. Something very much like arousal jolted through her as he looked up, the low light highlighting the scruff along his jaw and the length of his neck. For a moment, he just stared at her, as surprised as she and then his head tipped and his brow arched, lips tugging up at the corners.

“Waiting on me?”

The rest can be found here: A03

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #exchange fic

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avversiera-writes · 3 years

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try again; in every day we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Then

Summary: Tobirama frets as the pregnancy is well on its way. Just lots of sweet things.

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

available on AO3.

Tobirama sighs, as he is very displeased at the news that the Hyuuga and Uchiha clans are becoming more and more exclusive. It is always the clans that have pride in their power that want more and only seek to better their own. That is always a threat to the village, and Tobirama cannot let this grow and take root.

He reviews the complaints of the two clans in his home office, becoming very disturbed that there are possible dissenters inside the village. This is a fragile time, especially with the coming peace ceremony later in the year.

He supposes that this is the result of Madara’s defection. He knows that there are some power grabs inside the Uchiha clan, even if they have chosen to stay in the village. They have been without a clan leader for a while, and tensions of picking the candidates are making the rest of the village uneasy. Meanwhile, the Hyuuga clan are becoming notorious for their branding of their own members if they are not part of the main family. While Tobirama thinks that he ought to leave them to their own business, this cannot be a reason why the Hyuuga cannot participate within Konoha. Prides must be set aside in order for this place to thrive.

And this place must be made safer, especially when he has a child on the way. Especially when he and his wife are planning to bring more children into this world.

The acceptance of this shakes him to the very core, and he is scrambling to prepare everything before they are even a thought in their minds. He cannot just have quiet , he wants peace .

Does he not, especially his elder brother and the rest of their family, deserve peace?

It feels like he has been fighting forever.

“Are you certain you want to accompany me today?” Tobirama crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows in that haughty way he does when he is confident he knows better.

You make a face at him as you try on the next dress in your closet, as nothing seems to fit you today. You note the changes your body is going through, and some of it, are not fun. Especially when you feel all bloated and soft in places you used to be toned in. Your lower belly is beginning to feel firm, and you notice that walking up the stairs leaves you a little winded.

“Yes, husband, I am certain,” you say as you struggle to tie your clothing close. “I have been cooped up in this fortress we call home.”

Tobirama sighs and he comes closer to help you. “I don’t think it’s wise.”

“Tobirama, you’re going to be with me all the time,” you reply and you turn to him so that he can tie your dress in front. “Besides, Kimiko says exercise is good for me and the baby.”

Tobirama’s eyes narrow, seemingly sold on the argument of what is good for you and his child so he does not say anything else to further his statement.

You peek at yourself in the mirror. “I don’t think this is what I should wear.”

Tobirama stares at you incredulously. “This is the fifth time you have changed clothes. We have no time for this.”

“But it’s tight!” You whine as you grab another robe from the closet.

“Every clothing you try on is tight!”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” You turn to him fiercely, and you put a hand on your hip.

Tobirama seems to groan internally. “Do you want me to insinuate that you are?”

You wag your finger at him to warn him. “Try again.”

Tobirama crosses his arm, unimpressed. “I will ask someone to replace your clothes. It will be done before we even come back home.”

You sigh, a little annoyed, but for now, his answer calms you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Tobirama puts a hand behind your back as he walks beside you. “You are becoming more impossible to reason with, day by day.”

“I am just trying to act like you,” you tell him, trying to joke, but your annoyance is also building up minute by minute.

“Do better,” Tobirama eggs on.

“You are not helping,” you snap and you give him a glare.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, preemptively amused. “Is this the kind of attitude you intend to bring in our meeting with the clan leader of Hyuuga and his wife?”

“I am very amicable,” you huff.

“Yes, your amicable state will certainly help foster a good conversation with them.”

You roll your eyes, and at this point, you’re surprised your eyes have not permanently stayed rolled back.

“You roll your eyes, but you know that I am right.”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter.

Tobirama looks like he is about to laugh. “Is that how you talk to the Hokage?”

“I can talk to the Hokage any way I want,” you bite back.

“See, I think you really do have authority problems,” Tobirama says dryly.

As the two of you take to the streets, you walk together in silence, observing and greeting the people you pass by. Being outside finally settles your annoyance, and you feel proud of your husband for having a huge hand in creating the environment around you. There are people, children and women, smiling. They have homes, and they can go about their business without worrying too much about the outside dangers. They do not have to raise their children in a war zone.

You spot a few shops that sell clothing for babies and your heart softens. Soon, you will be buying those for your child. You also spot a furniture store that has several wooden cribs, and your gaze linger on each one.

Then, the two of you pass by some restaurants, and the smell that wafts through the air, while usually appealing, makes you nauseous. You hurry your steps so that you can avoid breathing in these scents, but that is your mistake, as you tend to have a faster rate of breathing these days.

You pause, as your head suddenly becomes light and the feeling on your hands and feet becomes lost.

“Oh,” you close your eyes and shudder, and immediately, Tobirama is right beside you to steady you.

Tobirama’s hand is tight around your arm, and you lean on him for support.

“We are going back home.” Tobirama begins to lean down to take your legs so that he can carry you.

“I am fine,” you stop him. “Kimiko says that getting light-headed is normal.”

“Do not depend on her too much.”

You roll your eyes. “Her family is well-versed with these things.”

“You are naive sometimes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You frown at him.

“I am just giving you advice. Just because these servants work for us, does not mean we should trust them completely.” Tobirama straightens up and runs a hand through his hair. “Besides, she is too close to us, in a way that you were her child’s sensei and I am still the Hokage responsible for everyone .”

Your Senju husband is right. How it irks you, but you know that he is.

“Yes, fine. I know,” you say, and Tobirama seems satisfied with your answer.

“Stick close,” Tobirama murmurs, and he pulls you closer to him. You sense that he is more wary than before, but you take comfort that he will not let anything happen to you.

The whole ordeal with the Hyuuga takes the whole afternoon, but you make yourself by gossiping with the clan leader’s wife and finding out information from her by interjecting your conversations with vague questions after establishing some rapport. You also eat all the snacks that were served, mostly the sweeter rice cakes as you cannot get enough of them.

You find out that the next heir of the clan is chosen and that she is making the arrangements to choose who they will be wedded to when they turn of age.

Learning about the clans makes you open your mind a little bit more. The Senju run things differently, since they allow marriage with those who are not part of the clan or whoever they choose to marry. You would think that they are strict about this, but because they are also the village in a way, they must allow other allowances. This makes the whole village their family now.

The sliding doors of the room you are in open, and a maid on her knees bows.

“My lady, Lord Nidaime is waiting for you,” she says.

“I will be there, thank you,” you tell her.

You say your goodbyes and well-wishes to the clan leader’s wife, and then, you follow the maid to the gates, where your husband is standing with a hand behind his back. He looks rather inquisitive, but his eyes snap in attention when his gaze lands on you.

You follow him out, and when you are a little far from the Hyuuga compound, you match your steps with your husband.

“So?” You inquire.

Tobirama shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure that they will abide by the village’s laws. They can have their clan practices, but the duty to the village is absolute.”

“Tobirama, their clan’s practice is not exactly–”

“I know,” Tobirama says. “But as long as it does not interfere with the running of the village, and they do not cause any more divides, I cannot really interfere.”

You frown, but you know that this is the way things are. “What are you going to do about the Uchiha clan?”

You can see the gears turning in Tobirama’s head. “Nothing solid, yet.”

“But you do have a plan.”

“Something like that.”

You reach for his elbow. “Tobirama.”

Your husband turns to you and he sighs. “I do not intend to put them in the back burner, if that is what you are thinking. They are part of the village, and therefore, they are important people. You know that I am fair, and that I only serve to make sure Konoha prospers."

The two of you pause, and a soft breeze caresses the strands of your hair back.

“They must champion the village. That is all I ask. These clans in this village, they have their pride and individuality. We cannot be Konohagakure if we are already divided within. I am not a fool to not realize that we always have differences."

Tobirama places his hands on your arms, and he meets your eyes. “But we all have to live in harmony if we are to model peace. We are an example to the people outside of this country and the reason why I make allies with other villages. If they see how we work, maybe they will follow in our lead.”

You hear the trees rustle their leaves, and the birds chirping nearby. Somewhere near, a river runs peacefully, rushing and following their current. The sun feels cooler on your back, as compared to earlier.

“You do too much, Lord Nidaime,” you cannot help a wry smile from coming out. “You dream of world peace?”

Tobirama shakes his head. “Not dreams. Dreams are futile and without basis. This is a plan for the long-term.”

“People are different, you know, not everyone will fall in line,” you say.

“I know,” Tobirama says. “But I am counting on their dreams of a better place to make my plans happen.”

“You have too many plans, my love.”

The term of endearment colors Tobirama’s ears. “Yes, but they do work amazingly.”

You chuckle. “Now, that is your ego talking. I should insult you some more to put you in your place.”

Tobirama softens, and he tugs you along so that the two of you are walking again. “I think you have done enough insulting me for a lifetime.”

“Ah, but that is what you signed up for, Lord Nidaime.” You bump your shoulder on his arm. “‘Til death do us part, remember?”

“Yes, yes, I remember, unfortunately,” Tobirama dryly says. “Though I have a feeling you will still be as biting in our afterlife.”

“True, enough.” You giggle and you slip your arm into his.

Tobirama does not pull away, and it makes you grin secretly.

The morning sickness comes, and maybe, you think that morning sickness is an understatement. It is more like, an all-day sickness. An all-day sickness that does not abate no matter how much vomiting you do.

You have made a friend with your toilet, and you are awfully running on empty. Tears and sweat run down your skin, and your throat burns.

You try not to ask too much from your husband or Kimiko, so you try to force yourself to stop being sick. You press your forehead on the floor to cool yourself, and when you come to, you find your husband placing a cup of ginger tea in your line of sight.

“Shadow clone?” You ask him.

Tobirama smiles amusedly. “This is why I never do this. I know you prefer him and his full attention.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes shadow clones are better.”

“I am insulted.”

“Why? I just said I prefer you at times.”

“On behalf of my original, I am insulted. Apart from him, I am rather flattered.”

“You are also quite the talker. Do shadow clones adapt their own personalities when they are far from their original?”

Tobirama inches the cup forward so that you are prompted to pick it up. “That is an interesting hypothesis. One that we will put to test later.”

You take a sip from the tea. “Tell me more, my shadow clone of a husband.”

“Or maybe we take slivers of his personality and become heightened.”

“Hm,” you say. You narrow your eyes at him. “How come you never use shadow clones in the bedroom? We could surely use another one of you.”

The Tobirama in front of you becomes red in the neck. You see his jaw tense.

“What?” You prompt.

“This is a conversation between you and him .” Tobirama’s shadow clone disperses itself and you laugh to yourself, knowing that this conversation will become part of Tobirama’s memory.

The ginger tea helps relieve your sickness, and after finishing it, you finally make it out of your bathroom, as you are starving, and you know you need some sustenance, no matter how much you may dislike the foods presented for you.

You decrease your interactions with Kimiko, but you express your gratitude towards her whenever she is there to assist you. When you are not keen to eat the foods that are cooked, she is the one planning and preparing the meal, filled with the nutrition that you need to keep a healthy body. You do not want to seem like you are high up in your horse, so you always make it a point to thank her.

You do keep in mind what your husband has told you, and because this is your first child, you want to be extra careful because you are new to this. You do not really know what to expect.

Your husband is as usual, busy with work, as the time for the peace ceremony closes. You can tell that he is a little frantic, but he is good at compartmentalizing and it comes out in his organized chaotic ways. You try to help him out when he is at home, but you tire very easily now, and you spend most of your days sleeping.

From time to time, Tobirama puts a hand on your growing womb, probably checking you and the child you are carrying. You find it sweet, and you know without a doubt that he will do his best as a father. Besides, Tobirama always gives his all. You wish to know about what is running in his mind, but he has a tendency to ruminate within.

In one of your better days, where you are not throwing up or being moody for no reason, you pry a few words from your husband. The two of you are lying on your bed, where most of your important conversations happen. Beside you, he is relaxed, and the tension on his shoulders and his forehead are relieved at the moment.

“Are you alright?” You ask him.

Tobirama watches your face, his eyes flitting to your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Why do you ask?”

“I can tell that there is a lot on your mind.”

“As always, right?” Tobirama says in a lighter tone.

“But I can tell that it’s not just about your peace negotiations and your other political ambitions.”

Tobirama blinks, probably surprised that you are watching him too closely. He is not used to that. No one really tries to make sure that he is okay, except for you, because it is expected that he has got it all together.

He does not.

“You are right,” Tobirama finally replies after a long minute. “I fret about being a father.”

“Why?”

“Children are fragile things,” Tobirama begins. “Of course, I have many experiences with them, as I did have a role in raising my nephews and my students, but they are not my own. I am afraid that I will be like my father, that one day, I will realize and understand his point of view. That what he did will be justified and therefore, I have to resort to his ways.”

You bring a hand to his face. “Tobirama, you are not your father. You have made your own way thus far, you do not need to follow his suit. You told me that he never hesitated to raise a hand to his children, and while I know that you are strict, you have reasons and your own logic that never fails you. I know that you will never hurt your own children, and that whatever decision you do will be to ensure their safety.”

Tobirama falls silent and his eyes focus on you.

“Besides, I will be the one you will have to contend with if you do go too far,” you smile, and caress his cheek with your thumb. “Oh, my love. The fact that you worry about what you might do shows that you have given much thought and reflection on being a father.”

“What if I cannot be there to support them in a way that they need? You know how we are. They may hate me.”

“Well, maybe when they’re teenagers, they will hate you, but that is normal, on the grand scale of things.”

Tobirama’s forehead crinkles.

“You know, I am also scared about being a mother,” you confess to him so that you can alleviate his feelings.

Tobirama’s eyes widened for a fraction. “You? Someone as fearless and bold as you is afraid?”

“Very funny, Lord Nidaime,” you comment sarcastically. “Well for one, I will be the one to push out this child.”

Tobirama raises an eyebrow.

“And,” you continue. “Most problems that daughters have are with their mother.”

You pause, and you look at his expression and you let out a sigh. “You know, my parents never told me that they loved me. Never let me know in any way. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. They never let me know they cared, and I felt like I was only born to be expendable.”

Tobirama takes your hand from his face and kisses your knuckles. Of course, he would know how that felt like.

“I could never do that to my own child,” you tell him. “If I have to, I will let them know that I love them every day. I will never make them feel like they have been abandoned.”

Tobirama blinks, and a soft expression spreads across his face. “I have no doubt that our children will be okay under your care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You better pick up some slack on fathering.”

“Of course,” Tobirama murmurs and he seems taken aback that you even think to say this. “I promise to you that they will be safe, and that they will know the tender side of childhood. They will be happy.”

“That’s a big promise, Lord Nidaime,” you lean towards him. “You know well the dangers of big promises.”

“ I know ,” Tobirama whispers. “But I must try.”

Tobirama offers his arm, and you come to him and press your body against his. Your head rests between his neck and shoulder, and his arms come around your head and waist. You feel sleep coming on to you like a heavy blanket, and as you give in, you hear him say those three words that you have always waited and yearned to hear.

To be continued...

Chapter 8 - Then >>

#angelica writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x you #tobirama x reader #senju tobirama x you #senju tobirama x reader #'til death do us part #you never said goodbye timeline/au #naruto fanfiction

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chasingforeverandaday · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Gendry is too exhausted from days/ weeks of forging weapons to fight in the battle so he is told to go to the crypts...

So that got away from me. Like a lot. Apparently I’m bad at writing quick little ficlets. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for the prompt!

(also on ao3)

Staring at the far wall of the grain store, Arya listened to the distant sounds of the last night in Winterfell. The muffled music and shouting of those drinking away their pain; the laughing and crying of children too young to understand the odds of the coming fight; the moans and groans of lovers desperate for one last time together.

But mostly she focused on Gendry’s heavy breathing next to her on the sacks, unchanged since they’d rolled apart moments ago. Instead of passing out immediately, as she’d always heard men were wont to do after sex, he shifted closer and curled his body around hers, unarguably awake. When his hands began to wander once more, she grinned to herself before remembering the tiredness that had been warring with the desire in his eyes earlier. “You should be sleeping.”

“Why would I be doing that, when I have you right here next to me?” Gendry nuzzled his nose against the nape of her neck, squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. She leaned into the touch, arching her back so her skin pressed against his. His arousal was quickly making itself known behind her as he began to kiss and suck his way along her neck, moaning as she ground her arse into him. Wrapped up in his embrace, she wanted to give in to the heat coiling in her belly once more, wanted to let herself fall back into his arms until nothing else mattered.

But she couldn’t. He couldn’t afford her to.

“Gendry, you haven’t slept more than a few hours since you arrived in Winterfell.” Turning in his arms, she lightly pushed his head away from hers and let the cool night air leech the warmth from between them. At his sad frown, she couldn’t help one more quick, simple kiss before she moved back again. “You need to rest, you have to be alert when the dead arrive.”

“How the hell would you know that?” He looked confused for a second and then annoyed, then almost angry. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Of course I have,” she rolled her eyes at the pouting now crossing his face, “how else was I supposed to make sure you were eating and sleeping?”

He raised an eyebrow. “By talking to me?”

“You were a bit busy forging weapons the last few weeks now, weren’t you?” She sighed, not wanting to fight but knowing she needed to say things he may not want to hear, especially since he seemed so determined to have her again. Not that she’d have complained under other circumstances. “You’re exhausted from all the labor, don’t hide it from me. I know how you lie.”

“Seems you know everything and I’m still a stupid blacksmith who knows nothing, is that how it is?” He released a loud huff as he collapsed down onto the sacking, no longer hovering over her.

Sensing that she’d riled him up in a decidedly not fun way, Arya bit her lip before settling herself back into his chest, head tucked securely into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, but please Gendry, sleep. You’re the one who said the coming dead were like nothing I’d ever seen before. We need to take all the respite we can in the hours we have left.”

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe.” Their eyes met, and Arya’s breath caught in her throat as she found the raw passion in his heated gaze. “But I believe you’re the one who said we were probably going to die, so maybe I want to enjoy my last few hours in this miserable world doing something worthwhile.”

Softening, she leans up to kiss him firmly on the lips. “I’ve changed my mind.” When a lusty look enters his eyes, she quickly covers his mouth with a hand. “You’re not allowed to die, I won’t let you.” Tucking her head under his chin, she feels him sigh before the strongest arms she knows fold her into his warm chest.

“As my lady commands.”

Half laugh, half yawn, the sound that escapes her is truly mortifying. “Don’t call me that.”

A tired smirk crosses his face before sleep takes him, mumbling, “Yes, love,” into her hair. She snuggles closer, letting his steady breath lull her into the darkness.

-/-/-

When the bells ring out over the snowy grounds of Winterfell, Arya wakes. She is curled up with her head resting on her lover’s shoulder, a hand pressed over his steady beating heart. Breathing in his ever present scent of fire and ash, she sighs and kisses his chest once more before finally pushing herself up and looking for her clothing.

No words are said in the eerie silence, only the rustling of clothes and the growing sounds of a castle coming to life. It takes her a moment to realize there are no sounds of dressing from the other side of their makeshift bed, only the light snores that had been her lullaby. Pausing from lacing her boots, she reaches over to rouse him gently, trying to coax him back to awareness.

“Gendry, please, we need to go.” Still he snores on, though his hand bats hers away in his slumber. She shakes him harder, only getting a grunt in response. Slightly panicked now, she climbs over him, letting her weight drop onto his torso as she takes his face in her hands. “Gendry, wake up!”

Bleary blue eyes finally open, though they show little awareness. His hands slowly come up to grasp her waist, an exhausted mirror to their position hours ago. “...Arya?” he asks her, looking up with a confused smile.

“Yes, it’s Arya.” As his tired eyes track her movements to get off of him, her heart tightens in fear. There’s no way she can let him fight in this state. No matter his insistence on being a fighter, she’d be sending him to certain death. And that is a fate she cannot fathom for her blacksmith. “Gendry, I need you to get up, and get dressed. You need to get to the crypts before the dead breach the walls.”

“Not going to the crypts, ‘m supposed to be on the front line,” he tells her, struggling to right himself as she finds his clothes.

Placing herself in front of him, she helps him back into his shirt and pants, nearly falling into hysterics when he can barely keep his head up enough for her to get it through the collar. His forehead rests against her stomach as she bites back tears and strokes his shaved head, so painfully aware that this may be the last time she sees him, wobbly and affectionate but in no way capable of fighting.

“Gendry please, I need you to go to the crypts.” Kneeling in front of him, she tries to put every bit of her fear into her eyes, locked on his. “Please, don’t make me fight knowing you’re out there like this.”

Her stubborn, stupid, brave bull looks down, jaw set even as his hands shake when they reach for and hold hers. “Arya, I have to fight.”

And she’s crying now, feeling like the girl who desperately tried to save her father in King’s Landing so long ago; like the girl who was terrified in the pens of Harrenhal, watching her only friend be sentenced to death by a madman with a rat; like the girl who was held back as her best friend, the only person she could call family was ripped from her hands and sold for a bag of gold, going somewhere she could not follow. Leaving her all alone.

She feels all the helplessness she thought she’d burned out of her body come roaring back with a vengeance as she watches him wrestle with his honor and that damn promise he gave Jon to fight with him. She doesn’t care if he breaks it, if only he will be alive to repent in the morning. The sobs wrenching their way out of her steal her breath, her lungs aching. She barely knows what she is saying, only knows she will say anything to keep him safe.

“Gendry, please,” her voice is hoarse, no more than a painful whisper as she begs him. “Please, don’t make me lose you too. I’m not strong enough to survive it.”

His head drops, the weight of it all coming down on them both. Pulling her up and into his lap, his arms come around her shaking body as he rubs along her spine with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. He nods, not putting his acquiescence into words, but placing a soft kiss to her lips as he continues to calm down her demons.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows it’s a miracle no one has come looking for either of them yet, but she cannot bring herself to part from him until she absolutely must. In the end, he is the one to stand, setting her back on her feet lightly. They dress silently, no more arguments or heartfelt words spoken as they strap on belts and layers against the cold.

Ready to leave this little haven they’ve created against the outside world, he catches her hand and reels her in one last time. Enfolded in his arms, she feels safe. Looking up at him, she closes her eyes to force back the tears and rests her forehead against his. Into the air between them, he asks, “Promise me you’ll find me after.”

Part of her wants to remind him she may not make it through the fight, but she cannot bring herself to ruin this final moment together. Cupping his cheek, she kisses him fiercely, pouring every ounce on the emotions she will not name aloud into the way she’s holding him close, trying to brand him into her soul. Breathing heavy, they break apart but open their eyes so icy gray meets smoldering blue.

“As you wish.”

#gendrya #gendrya fic #arya x gendry #my writing

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writerbyaccident · 5 years

Text

A Certain Type (Yandere All Might/Toshinori YagixReader)

Request: Maybe All Might kidnapping a sassy villain darling who loved to rob jewelry stores. Instead of taking her to prison he takes her to his home. She is baffled but doesn’t complain until she realizes she’s trapped. She’s annoyed and bratty to All Might until she finds out about his true form and ironically she finds his skinny form irresistible and tries to make out with him.

Thanks to the requester, this one was really fun to write!

Sitting on the couch, you were watching television with your feet kicked up on the coffee table. There wasn’t anything good on, but you were so bored that you kept it on anyway. As time continued to pass, the itch to actually go out and do something nagged at you, but it was an itch that you could not scratch. You had been trapped down in this basement for about a week now, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Used to going where you wanted when you wanted, this was admittedly a hard adjustment to make. But still, it had to be better than prison.

When it happened, you had been on a simple visit to the jewelry store. Although, you supposed that the gun you had pointed at the manager had made things a bit less simple. Your plan was just to get in, get your jewelry, and get out. You weren’t actually going to hurt anyone, but you guessed you couldn’t really blame anyone for not realizing that. If it had just been the police that showed up that night, everything would have worked out the way you wanted. After all, with your impenetrable skin, there wasn’t a whole lot that they could do to you. All Might on the other hand, All Might could do a whole lot.

“I am here!” came his signature phrase as he rushed into the jewelry store. The owner nearly swooned in relief when he appeared. You however, weren’t quite as happy.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you mocked him, trying to distract him while you searched for a way out. “But I’m afraid they’re sold out.”

“That’s alright,” he answered. “I’m just here to make a return.” He flashed his famous grin at you, eyeing the bag clipped to your waist. You smirked back at him, trying to keep your annoyance in check.

“Well then, I guess I’ll get out of your way.” Suddenly, just as All Might was taking a step forward, you took some of the loose pearls you had been holding in your left hand and threw them at his feet. The Symbol of Peace slipped on them, giving you the chance you needed. Running past him, you exited the store and rushed down an alleyway. Refusing to look back, you zigzagged through the shadows of the city, determined to get away with your bag of loot. You had earned those jewels, after all.

But as you turned a corner, you slammed into something you didn’t expect. Or maybe you did, but you just didn’t want to admit it. Standing there was All Might, still wearing that grin of his. He snatched your bag from you with one hand, while grabbing your wrist with the other.

“You know, for such a big guy, you really can sneak up on a girl.” He chuckled at your quip, and before you could even attempt to get out of his grasp, he pulled a cloth out from his pocket and held it up against your face, causing you to pass out.

When you had woken up, you had been in this basement with no idea why you were there. You figured that maybe All Might wanted to make some sort of deal with you, bargain for a bigger fish so to speak, but overtime it became apparent that that wasn’t the case. No, he had brought you here because he had a crush. It was no coincidence that he showed up that night, he had been watching you for quite some time.

Speak of the devil, you heard the door at the top of the basement stairs being unlocked slowly. He was careful not to rush it, not after your previous escape attempt. For some reason that he just couldn’t comprehend, you weren’t content to just stay and be his little plaything. But All Might was nothing if not tenacious, so he wasn’t about to give up on the two of you. The first time he had seen you, he knew that the two of you were matched in some way. It wasn’t something obvious, but there was a part of you that reminded him of himself. It was the part that kept joking, kept laughing and smiling even in the most dire of circumstances.

“Hello, darling,” he called out to you as he climbed down the stairs.

“Hey, how was your day? Horrible, I hope.”

“Ha!” he laughed loudly. “You’re such a jokester!”

“Mom always said I could be a comedian if the whole crime thing didn’t work out,” you said wryly. Eyes narrowing, you took in All Might’s appearance as he made it to the basement floor. He was still as strong and muscly as ever, but he seemed worn out. He wasn’t standing as ramrod straight as usual, and he was moving slower too.

“Feeling a bit under the weather there?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Nothing to be worried about, just a bit stiff.” You began to roll your eyes at his ego, when your captor suddenly started to cough harshly. To your shock, you spotted blood dripping out of his mouth and rose from your seat, unsure of what to do. Before you could do anything though, steam surrounded All Might, and when it dissipated, it wasn’t All Might standing there.

Or was it? Looking closer, you could see similarities between the man standing before you and the Symbol of Peace. The hair was similar, as was the expression. But the man himself was skinny and his eyes were dark. Slowly, you began to move towards him.

“What the hell just happened?”

“This is what I really look like. I can’t hold my other form for very long these days. I was planning to tell you, but I was just waiting for the right time.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you bother to wait?” you whispered, now standing close enough to him to hear his labored breaths.

“Because—because, well, I know that this form isn’t exactly impressive or heroic. And I just love you so much, I was afraid I might lose you.” You stared at him for a minute, processing this new information. Once you had, a smile slowly spread over your face.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” He sighed at that.

“I know you’re still adjusting,” he said in that slightly patronizing tone of his. “But I know that we’re meant for each other. You’ll realize that eventually, but I didn’t want to risk things too soon.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you responded with a crooked smile.

“What?” In lieu of a spoken answer, you decided to show him the truth instead. Grasping his now baggy shirt in your fist, you pulled him down so that his lips met yours. He was still for a moment, but as you continued to grind your lips against his, he eventually began to match your movements. It was a shame he hadn’t shown this side of himself earlier, you thought to yourself, you liked this form much better.

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angelosanger · 4 years

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get to know: angelo suarez.

Angelo spends the first five years of his life wanting nothing. He gets every thing his heart desires almost immediately, when he finds himself hurt someone is there in seconds to kiss him and remind him he’s special.

That all changes when his parents bring his little brother home. Suddenly, there’s someone else competing for the attention. In the early days of the baby being around, Angelo finds his parents drop everything to run to his brother’s side. He can’t begin to count the amount of times he’s been in the middle of a sentence, only for his parents to run off when the newborn starts crying. Suddenly, there’s less time to play with Angelo, and he’s lucky if someone even shows up at night to make sure he goes to bed on time. It’s not his parents fault, truly. He knows now that anyone has difficulty adjusting to the schedule of a newborn, and they never meant to push him out. But knowing something now is not the same as knowing it then. Naturally, Angelo is jealous.

He expresses his jealousy one day when his dad asks him to share his new toy he got on his birthday with his brother. Angelo remember vividly watching his baby brother grab at his truck all while his parents smiled adoringly at the baby. It’s selfish, he’s aware of that now, but in the moment seeing Ricky reach for something else of his makes him seethe. Angelo rips the truck out of his brothers hands and shouts that he doesn’t want to share it. Ricky cries and his parents chastise Angelo on how that isn’t nice. He’s not surprised they’re taking his side, but it only sets him off more. He gets so mad that he throws the toy to the ground, and then, to make matters worse he picks it up and slams down again and again until it’s nothing but brightly colored smashed pieces.

His outburst is unacceptable. Angelo finds himself sitting in a corner for hours. He’d never been in trouble before and his parents didn’t know how to be effective about his discipline. No one told him what exactly about what he did was wrong, and for a few months that becomes their pattern. Angelo getting upset and finding himself in trouble, his parents failing to communicate to him what exactly the issue is. Soon enough, Angelo begins to realize he’s only ever in trouble when he’s unhappy. So...maybe that’s it.

He spends the bulk of his life biting his tongue and ignoring the flinch of his fingers whenever something inconvenient happens to him. Angelo even lets other kids get away with doing things that genuinely upset him. In the face of being left out by his peers he forces a smile. When he gets hurt in playtime because someone pushes him, he forgives blindly. It’s all in the name of avoiding the corner and silence again.

Even as a child he has trouble with being alone with his thoughts. Everything he feels is wrong. That’s the impression he gets from his parents, and he spends the bulk of his life thinking he’s wrong because everyone else in his family seems so perfect and happy. There’s never a frown or a bad word, and Angelo begins to wonder why he can’t be as happy as the false image his parents put out. Surely, something must be wrong with him.

His first real dangerous fit happens when he’s fourteen. He doesn’t really remember what it is, figures now it was something stupid. But he loses it. On his school record there’s a report of him yelling at another student before punching him right in the face. The fight escalates too quickly and it ends with Angelo throwing a chair at the other kid. He misses, thank God, but still….he threw a chair at someone. It’s safe to say he was suspended.

His permanent record is littered with incident after incident. Until, eventually, he gets kicked out of school.

Angelo’s outbursts aren’t entirely unreasonable. He doesn’t just get mad that a store sold out of orange juice and flips out (ok, but he is VERY annoyed let’s not pretend). Usually, someone starts with him. His anger is always a response to someone hurting him, and in turn, he makes a scene. His wake up call comes in the form of a grocery store altercation. He accidentally knocks into someone. They both drop all their things from the impact, but Angelo swallows down his annoyance and offers to help clean it up. The stranger responds with attitude and snarky comments, even going as far as to call Angelo an idiot. It sets him off almost immediately.

Don’t call him dumb, please God. He’s been called stupid almost his entire life by his classmates and even jokingly by some people he’d considered friends. He hates it and it’s the easiest way to find yourself in a fight with Angelo. A fight you’ll most likely lose.

Differences in opinion do not exist when it comes to certain topics. Ok, most topics. Angelo is stubborn and righteous, he digs his feet in and refuses to accept anything other than admittance that you’re wrong.

He’s genuinely not opposed to knocking everything in this bitch down when he’s mad. He’s that one Madea video where she knocks the whole table over.

He starts going to therapy because when he gets his powers he um is a little more dangerous than he’s used to. It’s unexpected. He’s just you know, being him, yelling at some poor stranger about something and he gets so mad that fire shoots from his hands. Luckily, no one got hurt. But everyone around him suddenly looks at him with more fear than he’s ever seen before in his life. Mortified and incredibly sorry, he realizes then that he’s got to do something to get a better hold of this.

Angelo is almost always listening to music. He’s always got an AirPod in, music playing quietly in the background even if he’s in a conversation. He learns that music is a good way to keep him distracted and calm.

He spends years staying away from people and trying his best to isolate himself from everyone but his core friend group. He was so afraid that he’ll hurt someone by accident, and he decides it’s not worth the risk. So, he shuts most people out without so much as an explanation.

Very strong opinions about pizza. I know that’s canon in the film but i’m using my last noodle to say his favorite kind of pizza is buffalo chicken, followed closely by pepperoni. And you know what, he’s right and he should say it.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

friends that mayhaps he had to cut off while he was trying get better/not hurt anyone with his powers.

maybe some people he’s flipped out on

exes/crushes whatever

y’all know me pls.

#🤬 i beat it like a dead horse; i beat it like a drum. (about.)

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vincess-princess · 4 years

Text

What Is Lost, What Is Found

Chapter 2.

Word count: 3493 Trigger warnings: none

The next morning Mick raked clean a good half of the snack stalls in the store near his shop. He didn’t have a fridge in his store, or he would get some more decent food than chips, cookies and chocolate bars. He probably looked like an oversized ten-year-old who accidentally got ahold of twenty dollars, but at least he could be sure the kids would eat it. Kids always love things like these. Super unhealthy, yes, but better to eat snacks than nothing at all.

Mick left the bag in the back room conveniently open in case Tommy would be too shy to ask directly or straight up dig into it right there. He highly doubted Tommy would take it without permission, but how could he be so certain about a boy he only talked to for half an hour before?

He, however, was; he had no clue why.

When Mick headed to the door to open the store, some little part of him expected Tommy to already stand behind the door, pressing his face into the glass in an attempt to get a peek of what was inside. Of course, Tommy didn’t. Of-fucking-course, he wouldn’t have come so goddamn early. Teenage boys always sleep a lot, especially if they don’t have to go to school. Or he could be busy with his mates, lifting from some other, worse-guarded store. Or roaming the streets looking for work. Or roaming the streets looking for nothing at all. What were teenage boys even up to these days?

Enough, Mick cut himself off middle-thought. Why did he even spare those three little shitheads that much thought?

Mick went back to the register, picked up a book and began reading it. Ten pages in, he found himself not remembering a single word from what he had just read. He cursed under his breath, suppressing an urge to throw the book across the room. The book didn’t deserve such treatment just because its owner was such an idiot.

The door opened, and Mick raised his head up so abruptly a sting of pain went down his neck. A customer. Very regular, very middle-aged, very female customer. Probably gotta serve her.

During the day Mick's neck had to endure this exact same experience so many times that by the end of the day a dull pain settled in its base. At least it wasn’t debilitating, for now, just pretty fucking annoying, but it could easily become such if Mick kept up this foolish behaviour.

Berating and calling himself names in his head didn’t help much, though. Once some customer had left and no other was in sight, Mick pulled the bottle of whiskey out of the register, the one in which he found peace during the blondie's (Vince, right?) visit to his store. The bottle was almost empty. Damn. He had surely gone through a lot lately, and handling it was, apparently, too daunting for a sober mind.

Mick looked at the bottle wistfully for a few seconds, called himself a fool one more time, finished the bottle in one long gulp and hurled it in the trash can behind his back. It missed, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick it up.

In the evening the flow of customers grew more steady. It helped Mick stay distracted enough - enough not to constantly cast glances towards the back room, where the bag with the snacks was still lying, untouched. Still, it was always present in the back of his mind, a silent but at the same time an incredibly loud reminder of his own naivety.

Mick closed his shop at eight p.m., as he always did. Some said this early it was unreasonable, that he was losing potential clients. Mick did and knew that - the influx of them increased greatly in the late evening when young people went hanging around the streets. But he couldn't afford hiring a shop assistant, and running the store twelve hours a day all alone was physically impossible for him, not with his goddamn back.

Mick left the bag with the snacks where it was and headed home, his heart heavy. The kid looked so enthusiastic yesterday that he had expected to find him sleeping on the doorsteps this morning. What stopped him? No, that was the wrong question. Was he mistaken about him? sounded closer to reality.

The next day went in the same fashion. Mick's anxiety grew and grew, and he had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from glancing at the window every few minutes. He didn't even know what he wanted to see there. Surely he didn't expect to see Tommy pressing his nose to the window and looking wistfully inside, did he?

Although only God probably knew what Mick could expect from that boy. “Probably” because Tommy looked like the type to act first and think second, and to predict someone’s actions in the absence of a forethought was most likely impossible even for God.

When the third day had gone by with no Tommy in sight, Mick shoved the bag with snacks into the deepest corner of the cupboard, solely because it was no good for food to lie in the middle of the room. He didn't want cockroaches in his store, right?

Fourth day passed, fifth, sixth, then Mick stopped counting. When he was taking out the trash, he found two more empty whiskey bottles in it. He didn't even notice he had drunk so much. He definitely needed to do something about it – not drop by the liquor store every other day, for example, suggested the obnoxious voice inside his head. Mick pushed it to the back of his mind, as he always did, but decided to take the suggestion into consideration. He had been trying to give up alcohol, after all.

Deep Purple's "Fireball", being quite popular with customers, got sold out, and Mick ordered no more copies. He hadn't had the chance to check it out himself, not that it really mattered. After all, it was just an album. Probably not even a very good one. Definitely not good. Not even worth giving it a try.

***

Then, about two weeks later (who did Mick try to fool, though? It was exactly twelve days after the day), Tommy came.

He stood in the doorway looking like a puppy that had just ruined the carpet, wrapping his arms around his body in what seemed a defensive gesture. His hair somehow got even messier, his sneakers dirtier. Mick recalled the rain that had poured down three days ago. Hadn't the boy heard about public laundromats?

A pang of nervousness so strong it echoed in his stomach went through Mick. He gripped the record he was holding so tightly it almost cracked while hectically trying to come up with a suitable greeting. What the fuck was even happening with him that he panicked like a virgin on a first date? This was as far from a date as it could get, and he sure as hell wasn’t a virgin.

"Mr. Mars," Tommy finally called him quietly. "Mr. Mars, do you remember me?"

Mick inhaled deeply and turned towards him.

"I told you to call me Mick, kid. Come in."

Mick wasn't sure if his carefully mastered nonchalant tone was convincing enough, but it seemed to work. Tommy beamed and ran inside, slamming the door behind him with such force Mick could feel the nearby shelves shake. The kid gasped at the sound and dashed back, then halfway through realized it was too late and ran back to him, all of that so fast Mick didn’t even blink once.

"How can I help?" Tommy tried to catch Mick’s gaze, his enthusiasm so zealous it seemed almost desperate. "I can wash the floor, dust the shelves, sort the records, make you some coffee, whatever you-"

"First things first." Mick had to interrupt him. Otherwise, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. "Are you hungry?”

"Er…"

"I thought so. Go fetch some snacks in the back room. Third cupboard on the right."

"But I didn’t do anything yet-"

"Working on an empty stomach is no good,” Mick cut him off, his voice a little bit harsher than he intended. Tommy got the hint, though.

"Oh. Okay."

He took a few unconfident steps towards the back room and turned his head to check up on Mick. Mick didn't look back, pretending to be extremely interested in the record he just pulled out of a box. The uneasiness in the air was so thick Mick could probably grab it with his bare hands.

He let out a sigh of relief once the boy disappeared behind the door. Sure, it was going easier with Tommy than with any other kid, but that didn't mean it was actually easy.

By the time Tommy showed up Mick had pulled himself together. The boy tried to look serious, but Mick could see a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. He waved his hand with four empty chips bags in it. Mick pointed at the trash can behind the door, silently admiring the boy's, hm, capability.

Tommy must have caught something in his expression because his cheeks turned faint pink. He threw the bags into the can and turned back to Mick. "I'm sorry,” he began anxiously. Mick frowned, and he started talking even faster. “I ate too much, right? It’s just that those are my favorite chips. Haven’t had them in a while."

"Oh God, kid." Mick rolled his eyes. "All of that is for you. Take as much as you want. You're a teen, teens need to eat a lot."

"Yeah," Tommy chortled, his face switching back to enthusiasm in a heartbeat. "The guys always wonder how it all fits inside me."

"Well, you're growing, your body needs nutrients. How old are you, by the way?"

"Me? Sixteen," Tommy said quickly, then added reluctantly: "Well, almost. Still one month and a half to go."

Fifteen. Not even in high school yet. God fucking damn.

Something hot, boiling, angry rose in Mick's chest and in a matter of seconds spread within his whole body. Mick’s hands itched to throw something into the wall, and he had to make an immense mental effort to push the anger back into his subconsciousness, to deal with it later and on his own. He couldn’t do anything with it now, not in front of the kid.

Why do you even give a shit, a small, indifferent voice awoke once again in the back of his mind. You didn't care that much even when your wife dumped you.

She was a bitch, Mick retorted. Not a big loss anyway.

"You're not even eighteen. Don’t you have any relatives out there to help you until then, since you’re out of the orphanage? Aren’t they, like, legally obliged to take you in?"

Tommy's dynamic, lively face immediately hardened, as though turned into a mask, sparkles of enthusiasm in his eyes died out. Fuck, Mick realized panicky, wrong move, wrong, wrong.

"They probably are," Tommy said bleakly.

"But didn’t do it," Mick concluded quickly. "Okay, got you. So, how about we finally do some work around here?"

"Yeah!" Tommy's face lit up again - thank God, that lifeless mask was gone. "Whatever you want. I can do anything."

"Let's start with washing the floor,” Mick suggested. "You can get a mop and a bucket in the toilet."

"Just a second!" Tommy darted towards the toilet and disappeared behind the door. Something inside fell down and clattered across the floor accompanied by a loud “Shit!”. A few seconds later Tommy returned with the items, looking slightly disheveled. "Should I clean the back room too?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

Such politeness took the boy aback for a second, but he quickly recovered and strolled to the door, splashing the water all along his way. Truly a walking ball of vigorous energy, Mick thought with unexpected fondness. Although, to be fair, almost all the emotions he felt towards the boy were unexpected for him. He didn’t even know him that well, after all.

Tommy clearly put quantity above quality. Though he completed the task in a mere fifteen minutes, the floor still had stains of dirt in the corners and puddles of water with visible traces of Tommy's dirty sneakers in them.

"Sorry, kid, but that needs to be redone," Mick had to tell him, partly fearing the boy's potential reaction. And with good reason, because Tommy’s face dropped, he bit his lip anxiously. With a frantic wave of his hand, Mick managed to stop the torrent of apologies before getting flooded by them completely, but the boy still looked heartbroken.

“That’s really not a big deal,” Mick told him, trying to sound gentle. “There’s nothing bad in not getting something done well at first.”

“I kno-ow,” Tommy sighed. “But like, I never do things well. I either hurry too much and totally fuck everything up or give up in the middle.”

“So what? We all do. It’s only gonna work out if you keep trying.”

Tommy looked utterly unconvinced, but nodded anyway. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“I ain’t in a hurry, kid. Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks.” Tommy grabbed the bucket and headed to the front of the store. “You’re the first to not call me lazy over that,” he said, looking anywhere but at Mick.

“Really? That’s stupid. No one can learn without a few errors first.”

“Well, yeah, but I’ve got too many of them.” A stray strand of hair fell on Tommy’s face and he pushed it behind his ear with a sharp jerk of his hand. “Nevermind. I know I’m inattentive. I always overlook stuff. Just tell me when I fuck up and I’ll fix it.”

“Who told you that?” Mick was starting to get frustrated. He could see the eagerness, the enthusiasm, and that was what mattered, not some missed dirt stains. Yet the kid absolutely couldn’t see anything beyond that and automatically deemed himself a failure.

"Teachers always do.” Tommy looked at Mick in confusion, trying to understand what he was getting angry about. “Well, did.”

"Did? What, you're not going to school now?" he asked and immediately regretted it, realizing the sheer stupidity of his question. The boy wore rags, slept on the streets and often went around hungry. Of course, he wouldn't add school to his already numerous concerns.

"Nah," Tommy shook his head. "Used to. Vince and I were in the same class actually. Then he dropped out, and a lil’ bit later I did too."

"And what grade did it happen in?"

"Tenth. Don't worry, I can read, write, count and shit - sorry, uh, stuff - like that just fine," Tommy added, as though reading Mick's thoughts. "There's really nothing else school can give us, is it? For me, it was just a pile of garbage. It was so boring. I only liked music and arts."

Well, that was pretty predictable. The kid seemed like a creative type.

“It depends on the teachers, I think." Mick couldn't help but partly agree with him. His own memories about school, still fresh in his mind, weren't too far from what Tommy had described. "Although a diploma can be pretty useful in later life, y'know."

"What for?" Tommy carelessly shrugged his words off. "I'm going to be a rockstar! They don't need no diplomas."

Mick felt like he got punched right in the guts. He could have said those words some seven or eight years ago. He, in fact, did. Naive and hopeful, just like the kid in front of him.

Those eight years now felt like eighty.

It was better now, he thought with grimness unfit for such a positive thought. He had a stable, not very high, but stable income. He had a nice flat. He was his own boss and didn't have to bend to anyone’s will. It might not be an ideal life, but it was a much better life than the one he used to lead, in infested with cockroaches shelters for homeless or shitty rental apartments. It was disillusioned and monotonous and predictable and good, right?

Right?

Through great effort, Mick cut off his own thoughts. Was he actually fucking nostalgic about the past that he had been trying to escape for so long?

The kid interpreted his prolonged silence differently.

"Mick? You don't agree?" panicky undertones trickled into his voice, no matter how much he tried to hide them.

"What?" His voice quickly brought Mick back to reality. Christ, his expression just went slightly aloof, and Tommy already started panicking? "Oh. Well, you understand that out of all the boys that strive to be rockstars only few actually become ones, do you?"

"Of course. But why can't I be among those chosen few? You think I'm no rockstar?" Tommy asked nervously. Although Mick would rather not have this conversation, Tommy’s anxiety over his opinion was almost flattering, in a way.

"Of course not," Mick quickly corrected himself. Delving into memories made him lose caution for a second, and he couldn't afford that with Tommy. "But it's always good to have a second option in case the first... goes not as planned."

He almost said fails. Almost.

"O-oh." Tommy frowned pensively. "I haven’t considered that."

"Then it's probably a good time to do it," Mick said maybe too quickly to sound natural, but Tommy paid no mind. The foundation had been laid; now it was up to Tommy to accept or deny it. "While you're rewashing the floor, for example. Do you want me to put something on?"

Tommy beamed. "Yes, sure! Can I choose?"

"Grab whichever you want," Mick pointed at a pile of second-hand records some people had brought him to resell. Tommy practically dove into the pile with unintelligible sounds of pleasure.

Rewashing took Tommy much less than "Dressed To Kill" by Kiss lasted; Mick was careless enough to call it "some pop tunes" and was punished with an angry speech on the superiority of glam rock over any other genre. It had no effect on him, though. Jeff Beck was better than those Kiss anyway. Those were just facts.

Half of the day flew by unnoticed, and Mick only realized it was almost two when his stomach started grumbling. He usually took half an hour lunch break and headed to the nearest cafe for a sandwich and a coffee. This time, though, he was not the only worker in the shop. Mick thought of closing the store and going to the cafe with Tommy to have a proper lunch, but then another, much better thought crossed his mind.

"Tommy," he called him from where the boy was slowly wiping the shelves. He was taking out every record and examining it, holding each of them in his hands so carefully it was like they were made of glass. Mick watched him proudly from behind the register. Over the course of his career, very few customers had enough respect for the records to treat them properly.

Tommy quickly put the record in his hands back into place and ran over to him. God, did the kid even know what “walking” means?

"Do you feel like grabbing some lunch? Good,” Mick continued after Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “There's a cafe five minutes down the road, I usually eat there. Get some chicken wings and a hot dog for me and something of your choice for yourself. Here's the money." Mick handed him a fifty-dollar bill. It was much more than actually needed, but that was the plan.

Tommy stared at the money in his hand. Mick could almost see him swallowing a question.

"O-okay. I can… absolutely whatever I want?"

"Except booze, of course. And cigarettes."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. Alright. I'll go then." Tommy pushed the money in his pocket and with shaky steps headed to the door. Mick followed him with his gaze and wondered if he'd ever see him again.

He did – thirty minutes later. According to Mick’s experience, Tommy should have been back in fifteen.

"Here are your chicken wings. Oh, and a hot dog!" Tommy said cheerfully, handing Mick the change. Mick immediately spotted a couple of dollar bills. "I got a burger and some cola for myself, if that’s alright?"

"Sure, sure," Mick answered absent-mindedly, being completely absorbed in counting the money. He knew all the prices in that cafe and he knew exactly how much the boy should have spent there.

The amount of money spent and the estimated price absolutely matched.

Mick let out an audible sigh of relief. Those fifteen extra minutes had him thinking some very unpleasant thoughts. Thank god, they were all wrong.

"Are you sure a burger will be enough for you?" Mick asked, biting into a chicken wing. "You can take my hot dog, I'm not that hungry anyway."

#motley crue fanfiction #motley crue #tommy lee #mick mars #what is lost what is found #found family!au #It Is Here lads #i hope you enjoy it #it's smaller than the previous one and idk if that's a good or bad thing #please tell me what you think of it #i tried to be bolder with word choice and idk if it worked #this one took me a lot of effort to get though because uni definitely decided to murder me that month #also i wasn't sure about where i should end the chapter and i already have some 1k words of the next one down #im not saying by that that you can expect the next one sooner because it looks like november is going to be even worse than october #but i'll try to update once a month #i know it's a snail pace #i hope you haven't forgotten what was in the previous one #ill link it in a reblog together with ao3 link because tumblr doesn't show posts with links in searches anymore #ok im shutting up

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juniperseeker · 5 years

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19 things right handed people probably take for granted

This list is full of things right handed people probably don’t know are specifically designed for them.

You’ve probably never really thought about it that much, the fact that the buttons on your microwave are conveniently placed on the right and the door swings open from that side so you can stick your hand in there and burn it on the hot bowl of cold food. You’ve probably never even noticed. Most people, even lefties, have probably not even noticed either. But the fact remains that there are countless things in this modern world that are specifically designed for right-handed people.

1. Coffee mugs ☕ Among other things, coffee mugs often only have the label facing you when you hold them in your right hand. Some even have a logo in the rim that you can see while right handed sipping. We left-handers don’t get to enjoy our fandom in a mug that’s facing the world instead of us.

2. Manual can openers Just go to your kitchen drawer and look at it.

3. Xbox one game boxes I’m half convinced that the change to the design for xbox one game boxes was a conscious decision to deviate from the left hand friendly standard DVD case. WE HAD ONE THING!!! 😠😂😂

4. Recliners Think about it, The pull arm that releases the lounge function is on which side??

5. Computer mouse I had never thought about anyone favoring the mouse over a touch pad until I noticed a lot of people getting annoyed with it saying they favor the mouse. Honestly learning something new was less of a big deal when it’s didn’t require me to use my non dominant hand as the old way did. I had to check my lack of privilege 😂

6. The bell/horn on your favorite childhood bike🚲 conveniently on the right handle.

7. Sewing machines The side you sit on puts your right hand between the needle and the body of the machine. This space us used to maneuver the bunched up portion of your project and keep it from jamming or messing up. Also who wants to stick their non dominant hand between a fast moving needle and a big hunk of hard plastic?

8. Musical instruments🎸🎻🎷🎺🎹 Most musical instruments are righty only. One main offender is the guitar. The guitar is one of the most popular instrument for any aspiring musician but it was specifically designed for righties. You may say “but they make left handed guitars too” and while you’re right they are few and far in between. The lack of left handed guitars being made and sold leaves us with less of a choice when it comes to picking style, design, sound, etc. We’re left with fewer choices. And on top of that, left handed guitars are considered a specialty item so combined with lower supply and higher demand they’re more expensive. Many left handed guitarists learn right handed because of these reason and we may never know how great they could have played if they had the option to embrace their left-handed godliness.

9. Playing cards♠♥♣♦ When you fan the cards out in your left hand you can’t see the numbers. 😣

10. Manners🍴 Ok, not a physical thing but a thing we encounter a lot. Anything from handshakes to proper dining is left-handed hell. No wonder we’re more likely to develop mental disorders.

11. School desks You know the one’s where the desk is attached to the chair on the right side and cut short on the left. Lefties have to halfway turn their bodies towards the tiny desk making it hard to see the board. Smh. 😒

12. Headphones🎧 You know the kind that only has one cord coming out of one side and that side is the left one so the cord isn’t in the way of your right hand!?

13. These Emoji 👎👌✊✌✋👊👆👇👉👋 Idk about Iphone products but this is what I have on my tablet. We do have these lefthanded ones though 👍👈☝but It’s a lot less. And as a neutral and inclusive to everyone who has two hands we have 👏👐. None the less this is way to few to support users of sign language but that’s a whole other issue.

14. Righty tighty lefty loosey🔧🔩 That’s right, maybe your left handed friend isn’t as week as they seem when they ask you to try opening a pickle jar and you just pop it off with ease. It’s an awkward angle to twist your hand outwards when trying to loosen something tight. We may have a tightening advantage but most things don’t require being tightened as snug as possible.

15. The Iphone and Ipad📵, IOS software just isn’t left hand user-friendly

16. Card swipes💳 This is when you might consider the chip might not be such a nuisance after all, but awkwardly trying to swipe left handed definitely is. Although it’s not a problem at Redbox because the swipe slot sticks straight out instead of to the side. Big lefthanded thumbs up to Redbox 👍😂

17. In fact, Cash registers all together Most big chain department stores have the conveyer belt bringing the items straight to the cashier’s right hand. I’m assuming the “lefties, get paid more” comment is about the corporate world because working in retail, being left handed may slow you down. I imagine a lefty living in a righty world would boom in the advertisement industry though. We’re forced to consider others before ourselves anyway, why not use that skill to get ahead at work? Maybe more oppressed people would make more money if they had the opportunity to blend in and not be subject to prejudice.

18. Zippers and buttons👖 Mostly on clothes, they’re often designed with the flap on the left side disallowing you to slip your left hand in to open or close your zipper or button. Also on hoodies the left hand side needs to be held steady while the right hand works the other side in.

19. Scissors✂ Last but infamously not least, I just learned doing research on the subject that I still require left-handed scissors because until just now I thought most new scissors were ambidextrous. Sure I can use scissors now without the excruciating pain of putting my fingers and thumb in holes designed for the other hand, but apparently the correct blade being on top is important to getting a good straight cut. I thought I just had bad hand eye coordination. Maybe I don’t. I probably still do which makes this offense even more unforgivable. I need all the help I can get 😂

Before you ask, no I didn’t forget about notebooks, binders, or cars. I decided to leave out things that probably wouldn’t be an issue for us in other countries, but likely even would be an issue for right handed people. Imagine a person writing in arabic with their right hand, right to left, smudging it all over the page. Lefties may have the advantage in languages that don’t right left to right. And cars are designed with the driver on the opposite side of the car in certain countries. Although they probably have the petals conveniently place for the right foot to access easily. I have no idea how straight drive works out in those countries so It’s best not to build a case against it.

It’s about time we all realize that anything specifically designed to convenience right-handed people is also specifically designed to inconvenience left-handers.

This is why many left handed people are more ambidextrous than our righty peers. You might think being ambidextrous is just a side perk to being a lefty but for many of us it’s more of a constant reminder that we’re forgotten about and we have to change our natural selves to survive in this world. Not to mention those of us who are so dominently left handed that we may only be able to do one or two things right handed, and poorly at that.

Even history shows us that behavioral correction such as forcing a lefty to write with their right hand causes many nervous ticks; a common one being a stutter.

I know what you’re thinking, “end on a positive note”

Yea,, no. This isn’t a positive message. You can call me a debbie downers or negative nancy or any other womans name that has alliteration with the down side but I’m not about that false positivity so don’t expect some inspirational lie. We can talk about the perks for sure but let’s not pretend that being a minority doesn’t get you overlooked. We never get to forget it so neither should anyone else.

#left hand #left handed #ableism #left handed problems #minority #prejudice #left out #left behind #left

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devil-may-write · 5 years

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Day off [Fic, DMC, One-shot.]

I've had the word "writer" on my blog description for a while now so I figured that I'd start sharing some of the things I've written for once :> I originally posted this on ao3 and ff.net as the second chapter of a series comprised of fan-servicey oneshots that I intended to be 90% lighthearted. Looking back, I realized that this and the first chapter were haphazardly written, so I decided to retouch them and went for this one first as I felt that it was the one that shamed my Creative Writing teacher the most :--( The title's also kinda meh as I never really intended for each chapter to have a title hnnggg

I took a reaaaally (*cough* years *cough*) long hiatus from creative writing for personal reasons so there's obviously quite a lot of rust for me to shake off :--( Granted, I do think that this was a marked improvement from its original version and I know that the only way to get my groove back is to keep writing, so write I shall. Oh and I edited this meticulously but I still have a habit of missing small errors so I'm sorry if you still find any ;_; I'm just a headass ;_;

If anything, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it :--)

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The Orphanage was as quiet as a mouse today. Kyrie had taken the kids out to the zoo, caving into their demands after weeks and weeks of begging. Meanwhile, Nero and Nico took another job, leaving without so much as a whisper. With mentions of illegal devil arms being sold out on the streets, it seemed that the up-and-coming devil hunter wouldn’t be back for some time.

For Vergil, it was a rare moment of solace. With all his housemates out for the day, the older Son of Sparda took the opportunity to read and meditate on his poetry in peace. While he didn't necessarily despise companionship, he was unable to lie to himself and say that all the wild antics his companions kept getting themselves into didn't disturb him. As someone who was used to being alone, he enjoyed the solitude; it gave him time to be alone with his thoughts for he certainly couldn’t do so when the children kept asking him to "do the thing" with Yamato again.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. As he was busy soaking up William Blake in the living room with the refreshing sounds of silence in the backdrop, he was starting to think that perhaps this was going to be one of those rare, peaceful, uneventful days.

Until he heard someone ring the doorbell.

Vergil was many things, but impolite wasn't (mostly) one of them. With great reluctance, he slammed his poetry book shut and moved to see who his unexpected visitor was.

The local couriers had already finished delivering the latest batch of newspapers around Fortuna, and neither Kyrie nor his son were expecting any packages to be delivered today. He had encountered what the humans called "girl scouts" at one point, but they fled in fear when he demanded to know which master they served, furthering his suspicion that they were simply demons donning the guise of little girls in order to get closer to their prey. Perhaps they had returned to exact their revenge. If that was the case, then it was fitting that the children weren't present today. He could go all out without worrying about major collateral damage.

However, what greeted him when he opened the door was worse than any demon.

"Heya, 'Verg!”

It was Dante. His brother; his arch-nemesis. The smell of pizza, alcohol, and broken dreams oozed from his unwashed coat and shaggy hair, while his face wore the same shit-eating grin that haunted Vergil in his deepest, darkest nightmares. After what happened in Redgrave city, they were mostly on better terms with each other, but his little brother’s wild shenanigans and extroverted demeanor still annoyed Vergil to no end. He was like a 12-year-old child living in a 40-something man's body.

His reaction was immediate and decisive: he slammed the door shut in his face.

Vergil was about to turn around and return to his poetry when the doorbell rang again. And again, and again, and again. The utter buffoon was mashing the doorbell. To his annoyance, his younger twin brother was nothing but persistent. He didn't know why he was here, or what he wanted from him, but he decided that he'd rather get it over with as soon as possible so that he could return to his peace and quiet. The sooner he was gone, the better.

“What?!” Vergil threw the door open, almost causing his brother to get knocked off his feet.

"Really, Vergil? Really?" The devil hunter regained his balance. "Is that any way to greet your brother?"

"No, but it is how I greet pests who interrupt my peace and quiet." Vergil seethed. "Why have you come here, little brother?"

"I wanted to hang out with my big bro.” Grinning, he held up a plastic bag. “I even brought snacks."

Vergil observed that the bag his little brother carried was full of goodies: junk food, and bottles of what he assumed to be alcohol, all of which were most likely stolen from a nearby convenience store considering Dante's current financial status. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if law enforcement would arrive to raid the orphanage later.

"Then I am afraid that your journey was in vain, brother," he said. "For I am currently not in the mood to entertain any guests on this wonderful, peaceful morning, especially not ones as disruptive as you."

Vergil closed the door again, this time a little slower. Halfway through, Dante suddenly stopped it with his foot.

"Come on, Vergil." He pleaded. "I came all this way just to hang with ya!"

"Then our souls are once again at odds, Dante!"

The older sibling pulled on the door with as much strength as he could muster, but his little brother had the same idea. They were locked in a battle of wills, with one side refusing to give way to the other.

Just like always.

"I don't have any new jobs today and Nero told me that the kids weren't around!" Dante responded. "When was the last time we sat down and talked or laughed over our jokes, or just drank some orange juice?"

Vergil made a mental note to hit his son the next they met. The fool, his own flesh and blood, had inadvertently betrayed him.

"And can you please just open the door?” the younger sibling yelled. “My goddamn foot hurts!"

Vergil fully intended on making him suffer, but relented and complied with his request.

"The last time we sat down and talked was when we were children," he said with a stern, as-a-matter-of-fact tone. "And if my memory is correct, it ended with both of us having a fistfight outside of the house."

"Oh yeah." Dante gave his big brother a friendly tap on the chest. "That was definitely your fault, though. I was supposed to get that last slice of cake."

Vergil glared in response.

"Okay, okay, fine.” The younger sibling threw his arms up in exasperation. “The point I'm trying to make is that you were gone for a long ass time and since we're not trying to off each other anymore like we used to, I figured that it'd be the perfect time to start acting more like normal siblings, you know?"

"And how certain are you that I won't sever your head when your attention is elsewhere, little brother?"

Awkward silence suddenly fell on both parties like a bomb had been dropped between them. The wind howled, as if waiting impatiently for Vergil to drop the punchline to his joke, but none came.

“T-t-that was a joke, right?” The devil hunter stammered.

"Yes.” Vergil nodded. “That was my attempt at humor."

"You should really work on your jokes."

"Perhaps I should."

"So are ya”-Dante clicked his tongue-“gonna let me in or not?"

Vergil sighed. Deep down, he knew that should he refuse, Dante would pester him until he gave in. Perhaps he was a 12-year-old child stuck in an old man's body. Either way, his hopes of having an entire day all to himself would be ruined, and he supposed that there were worse things that could happen today that didn't involve his dear little brother.

"Very well.” Vergil stepped aside, allowing his brother passage. “Make yourself at home."

Dante gladly accepted the offer. Unbeknownst to his big bro, however, he had ulterior motives today.

While he wasn’t lying when he said that he wanted to spend time with Vergil, there was one question that was always on the devil hunter’s mind: who was Nero’s mother? It was a topic he always brought up whenever he could, but it was also one that Vergil loved avoiding. Every time their past conversations would lead to that, the older twin shot it down faster than a bullet, mostly by changing the topic. Call him an insipid gossip, but his big brother’s peculiar reactions only threw more gasoline into the unquenchable blaze that was his curiosity. He wasn’t even close to getting him to confide his secret, but today was going to be different; Dante felt it in his old, aching bones. He had the entire day to find a hole in his bro’s armor. Plus, this time he brought a secret weapon: alcohol.

Walking into the living room, he wasted no time in picking a spot on the couch to plop down on, with Vergil following suit. The older twin made another mental note to ask Kyrie to give the couch a proper scrubbing when she arrives home later; it would be unfortunate if any of the little ones would sit on the spot his brother infected with his filth.

The younger twin promptly opened a fresh bag of junk food from his loot bag. As he devoured his prize with loud, disruptive crunches, his older brother could already tell that he was going to regret this decision.

“Want some?” He held out the bag to his brother.

Vergil was perplexed by the illustration of a large, triangular object that was displayed on the front side. He had heard of this 'junk food', but was never able to try any on account of Kyrie's insistence on keeping them away from the orphans.

Dante noticed his big bro’s quizzical expression.

"You haven't seen a bag of Doritos before?" he asked.

“My son often keeps these junk foods away from the children at Kyrie’s behest." Vergil answered. “I have seen him eat in secret, but I did not have any interest in asking for any.”

"Go on." His little brother urged, shaking the bag for good measure. "It won't hurt to give it a try."

Vergil hesitated at first, but slowly placed his hand in the bag and fished out a single Dorito, nibbling on the piece as a way of testing the waters. The moment it made contact with his tongue, Vergil felt as if a wave of colors washed over his mouth, painting his grey and colorless palettes with a captivating myriad of bright colors. It was the first time he had tasted such a thing and already his taste buds were in ecstasy from finally being given the honor to behold this hallowed object.

"Good, right?" Dante asked

"Indeed." Vergil chewed. "I am in awe at how exquisite this 'Doritos' tastes. May I have some more?"

The devil hunter tossed his big brother an unopened bag of Doritos, which he caught effortlessly and wasted no time in tearing open like a starving wolf descending upon an unsuspecting deer in the wilderness.

“See, isn’t this just perfect?” He moved closer to his brother, reaching out to casually place his arm on his shoulder. “The sons of Sparda, finally not trying to kill each other, just chillin’ like two normal dudes.”

“No.” Vergil slapped his arm way. “You are an eyesore. To add to that, you smell like the corpse of an animal who has been left in a garbage bin for too long.”

”I don’t smell that bad, do I?” Dante sniffed at his own coat. “Nah, you’re exaggerating. I took a shower before leaving.”

“In the sewers, perhaps.” Vergil scoffed.

Ignoring his brother’s scalding remarks, Dante scanned his nephew's living room. It was a little messy, but that was expected when you were living with a gaggle of children. To her credit, Kyrie was clearly doing her best to make the place look as spotless as possible despite the circumstances.

His attention fell on a framed picture of Nero, Kyrie, and his brother, taken in what he surmised to be the wreckage of one of the old Hell Gates during his run-in with Sanctus and his insane doomsday cult. From the looks of it, it seemed that the new governing body that replaced the Order of the Sword had converted it into a tourist site, almost as if they conveniently forgot that it was responsible for the deaths of thousands and cost the city millions in damages after it unleashed a horde demons on them.

"I see that the photo has caught your attention.” Vergil said between bites "That was taken last week when Kyrie insisted that they bring me along for shopping."

"How’d it go?"

"Horrible." Vergil answered bluntly. "I wanted to use the Yamato to procure a piece of jewelry that Kyrie could not afford, but Nero punched me with such strength that I was knocked out."

Dante bit back a laugh.

“He does have a mean right hook, I’ll give ya that,” he said. “Say, did they really turn what’s left of the Hell Gates into tourist sites?”

“It appears so.” Vergil answered. “They have become quite the popular destination here in Fortuna. Nero tells me that what happened in Redgrave caused demon-related phenomena to become quite popular, especially on what young people call ‘social media’.”

“Facebook, huh?” Dante walked over to the photo, examining it further. “I never really liked using it. Kyrie tried to make me an account once, but the first thing I clicked on was a link to a virus or whatever and it crashed Nero’s PC.”

“Then we share the same sentiment.” Vergil nodded. “All this new-fangled technology and the babble that comes with them confuses me to end. To this day, I still have no idea what a ‘hashtag’ is or how exactly one uses it when they wish to type in a message.

“I remember a time when this hashtag was just a sign used to connote numbers. Now, it is in tags or trending pages. Bah. I will never understand this new generation. They enjoy making simple matters complicated.”

“Simpler times, bro. Simpler times.” His younger brother concurred. “They even have this website where they limit the amount of words you can put on a post. How dumb is that?”

“About as dumb as you are, little brother.”

Stealing a glance at the booze he had smuggled in, Dante decided that now was the perfect time to attack. The ice had been broken. Operation: Nero’s Mom was just given the greenlight to proceed.

“We’re getting old, Vergil.” Dante returned to his seat. “The world’s moving on without us.”

“Perhaps.” Vergil licked off the bits of cheese that were stuck on his fingertips. “If anything, I simply wish to understand what a hashtag is. I cannot rest until I find out how it turns a text blue when it is used.”

”But you know what doesn’t get old?”

His older brother stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to give the answer to his own question.

“Booze,” Dante said.

“Specifically, whiskey.” He held up one of the bottles that he pulled out of the plastic. “I brought more than enough.”

Vergil sighed. He knew exactly what his little brother was suggesting.

“No,” he said without a hint of hesitation. “No drinking.”

“But I can’t help but feel that something’s missing.” He insisted. “My heart says that this moment of brotherly bonding is enough, but my soul yearns for more!”

“Your soul is in dire need of an exorcist, it seems.”

The regret that was creeping up on Vergil was now at a full-blown sprint. He knew not what shenanigans his little brother had in mind but knew enough to predict that, as always, it wouldn’t end well for either of them.

“Little brother, it is far too early for alcohol.” Vergil rubbed his temples. “Unlike you I do not require alcoholic beverages to enjoy my moments of leisure.

“Too early? It’s eleven o’clock!” Dante replied. “C’mon, pull that stick out of your ass, big bro. You gotta live a little!”

“I would rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than live like you.”

“You know what they say: alcohol is what turns a boring ol’ conversation into a party.” He stood and began to pace around the living room in a dramatic fashion. “How can our souls attune with one another if we don’t take a little drop of alcohol to loosen up?”

“Whoever said that is a fool and you are an even bigger buffoon for quoting such drivel.” Vergil placed the bag of Doritos on the empty spot beside him. “You are free to consume as much alcohol as you wish so long as you clean up, but leave me out of it.

“I’m sure you are well aware of Nero’s temper. Attracting his ire would be unwise.”

“Come on, ‘Verg.” Dante moved closer to his brother, jokingly putting on his best puppy-dog-eyes expression to poke him further. “Just one glass?”

Of course, Dante had been in enough drinking sessions to know that the “just one glass” mantra was a load of crap. “Just one glass” always turned into “Okay, another one but for real this is the last one.” and the cycle repeats ad infinitum. If his gamble paid off today, Vergil would fall into that same vicious cycle, which meant that he’d be more than likely to spill the details about his old flame now that he was a little loosened up or just outright drunk as a skunk. The devil hunter always had shit for luck when it came to gambling, but he legitimately felt that lady luck was on his side today. He was going to bet high and win big.

On the other hand, Vergil recoiled in horror. Terrified, annoyed, disgusted, and angry were just half of the words he’d use to describe his catharsis. Seeing the face his brother was trying to put on was akin to staring into the nebulous maw of the void itself. He wanted to throw-up on the spot, but that would mean amplifying his brother’s already pungent smell of decay, so he opted to hold it in as best as he could despite his feelings of utter disgust at the sight.

His brother’s persistence bothered him greatly; the fool would never stop bothering him about it until he conceded. His presence was already an annoyance as it is, but just as he did not wish to amplify the smell of death by covering him in vomit, he also did not wish to be annoyed even further by his constant bugging. Besides, as he much as he hated to admit, he did miss the feeling of having a drink. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means, but he still enjoyed a little alcohol from time to time, and part of him wasn’t opposed to tasting even just a single drop. In a strange, twisted way, Dante was correct: it had been some time since he had a drink.

Perhaps it would be best to humor him for now

“Fine-” Vergil let out a long, deep sigh- “I’ll have a glass, I suppose.”

“Alright!” Dante’s expression brightened. “Does Nero have a bottle opener here somewhere or are we going to use Yamato?”

“Left cupboard.” Vergil replied. “The glasses for drinking are on the right.”

Dante disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two glasses of whiskey. Vergil was surprised that he didn’t hear the contents of the cupboard crash into the floor. Taking into account of how much of a buffoon his little brother was, he half-expected him to leave a trail of destruction in the kitchen the likes of which no one has ever seen before.

“Here ya go, big bro.” Plopping back down on the couch, he handed him the other glass. “Fresh from the bottle.”

“How much did you pay for this?” Vergil examined the brown liquid. “I am surprised that someone with such gargantuan debts was able to afford premium alcohol.”

“Hey, the grocery I bought it in was selling it for half-off.” Dante shrugged. “Wanna go ahead and draw first blood?”

“If you insist.”

The older twin started with a small sip. It had been some time since his last taste of alcohol, but the feeling was just as he had remembered: warm, somewhat calming, like something was slowly lifting away the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Unlike his taste test earlier with the junk food, this was him reconnecting with an old friend, repainting the sections of his palette that were otherwise left neglected through years of disuse.

“Well, well, little brother." He smirked. “Despite your constant buffoonery, it seems that you aren’t completely devoid of intellect.”

“Quality stuff, I know.” Dante took a swig from his share. “It’s expensive as hell, but it’s worth it. Hits you like nothing else on the market.”

“I must concur.” His brother replied. “As much as it pains me to say so, you have fine tastes, brother.

“The last time I tasted alcohol this exquisite was somewhere in the east prior to my visit here in Fortuna all those years ago.”

“This sounds fun.” Dante raised his eyebrows. “Wanna tell me all about it?”

“If I must.” Vergil took another sip from his whiskey. “I would prefer not to, but I presume that I have no say this matter regardless.

"So, it all began when..."

Vergil recounted his tale, with Dante listening intently. As the two brothers were getting lost in their banter about the older twin’s untold experiences, they found themselves drinking more than they intended to, pouring glass after glass after glass. It was a stark contradiction to Vergil’s initial proclamation, who was already on his third refill. Eventually, they started branching out to different topics, which ranged from the mundane to outlandish. This went on longer than they expected, with time wordlessly evaporating in the backdrop.

Dante was beginning to notice that Vergil was a little loose now, to say the least; he was acting less haughty and more candid. He swore that his older sibling was even turning red as a tomato, but he couldn’t tell. After all, he wasn’t one to talk: he was already the feeling the hit of the booze himself. The devil hunter fancied himself to be a pretty decent drinker, but this stuff was no joke. He bought this solely to get the elephant in the room drunk enough to spill his guts out. Vergil didn’t drink as feverously, but he was still going at it more than he probably cared to notice. On certain occasions, he would become lost in thought and start droning on about things outside of the current topic. Hell, he was even starting to smile a little more than usual, which was a weird thing to see from someone whose default facial expression was a frown.

Before they even realized it, the sun was already beginning to set on Fortuna, and their faces were already flushing red from how much they had been drinking up to this point.

“In the end, we lost both the cake and the money.” Finishing his latest tale, Vergil poured himself another round. “It caused quite the ruckus.”

Dante burst out into fits of uncontrollable laughter. His brother wasn't an airhead by any means, but his attempts to reintegrate into modern society always resulted in utter hilarity.

”Don’t sweat it, big bro.” He wiped away a small tear in his eye. “Being a dad’s tough.”

“It is.”

"How is that workin’ out for ya these days?”-The devil hunter gulped down the last of his current round-“Being a dad, I mean.”

Vergil was silent for a moment. He stared off into the distance, combing his brain for a response that seemed distant to him. The older half-demon never really considered himself a ”father”, by any means; Nero would call him dad or pops and he would occasionally refer to him as son but from his perspective, their relationship was more akin to close housemates than family members. It was still an awkward topic for the both of them, to say the least.

Seeing this kind of reaction from his brother was a rarity, but it was a good sign, nonetheless. Lady luck was truly on Tony Redgrave’s side today.

"It is still a very foreign feeling to me." Vergil finally answered. "As always, Nero tries to act like we are a normal family. However, even now I still find it very perplexing that he is my son. He is loud and brash and has no sense of subtlety.

"I wonder why?" He shot his little brother a dirty glare.

"Don't look at me.” Dante shrugged. "The kid was already like that when I first met him. Angry, hot-blooded, always looking for a fight. He punches really hard, too."

"Yes." Vergil nodded. "But at the same time, there is something about that boy that I cannot explain. It's as if there's a part of my soul that resides inside him. I am unable to see it, but I feel it."

“You two couldn’t be any more different, but the kid’s definitely yours, big bro.” He gave his brother a wink. “He even has your eyes.”

Vergil was silent for a moment, as if lost in contemplation. He suddenly found himself feeling wistful. It was odd for him to be this sentimental about a past he barely cared about at the time and as sure as he was that this was simply him being debilitated by the alcohol, he still wasn’t able to stifle these almost alien emotions he was starting to uncover.

He finally said, “Brother, may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“How did you find my son?”

Dante refilled his glass of whiskey before beginning his tale.

"To be honest? By complete accident," he said. "When Lady tossed me a job about some serious stuff that was goin’ on down here that involved Devil Arms, I sent Trish to infiltrate the Order and get some dirt on 'em before moving in to do business. On the way, I saw this white-haired kid take care of a bunch of demons before going to some ceremony. It was good stuff.

"I barge into the said ceremony and killed the old dude who was running the show. There was obvious panic, a lot of screaming, but I didn't expect him to jump out of the crowd and start attacking me. We had a bit of a tussle, and he beat my face in with that arm of his which, by the way, hit really hard, but I got away. He started chasing me, though. Nero was an angry son of a bitch, so I had to knock some sense it to him more than once but like you said: spirit. I saw a lot of you in him."

Vergil smiled. Perhaps Nero has taken after him more than he initially thought, especially with how much he manhandled his uncle.

"I never even knew I had a son before I departed Fortuna," he said. "In truth, I never expected that one would confront me the way Nero did atop the Qliphoth. Perhaps I wasn't as resistant towards the desires of the flesh as I thought I would be back then."

There it was again. That sullen expression, as if his very soul was plucked from his body by an unseen force. He looked lost in thought, dreaming of someone or something in a distant memory that he could no longer attain.

"Yeah, well even you were young once, big brother.” He patted him on the back. “Don't let it get to ya."

This was it. The path was now open, and Dante wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip his grasp; he was going to ride this sudden burst of good luck all the way to the jackpot.

"Since I answered yours, do you mind if I pop a question of my own?" he asked.

“If you must.”

The devil hunter scooted over towards his brother. Vergil tried to move away, but found himself pressed against the couch’s armrest. His little brother was so close that he feared his coat would melt the moment it touched his on account of all the filth that had most likely accumulated on it from weeks of being unwashed.

“So, who was the lucky lady?” Dante whispered.

Vergil choked on his whiskey. At that moment, he realized his fatal error: he had been droning on so much that he inadvertently opened pandora’s box once more.

“What’s wrong, Vergil?” Dante placed his empty glass on the floor. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Er, I cannot seem to recall.” Vergil crossed his arms. “It did happen a long time ago, after all.”

“Come on, I know you’ve got something for me.” Returning to the photograph, Dante held it up towards his brother. "Who did you hook up with to get this kid?

He stalled by pretending to recall his memories in silence, but he knew that he was starting to run out of time. He needed to think of something right now.

In most cases, Vergil would find a smooth way out of this situation. He would take control over the conversation and shift it towards something else, gradually burying the original topic in a pile of mundane ones until it was laid to rest for the time being. Dante would exhume it in preparation for their next meeting, but the outcome was always the same either way. However, this case was different when one considers the copious amounts of alcohol coursing through his veins that clouded his train of thought. Hijacking the discussion was exactly what he planned on doing right now, but what he had in mind was far from eloquent.

“Before I give my response, allow me to retort with mine." Vergil answered. “What about you, little brother?”

“Excuse me?” Dante blinked.

Vergil’s expression unnerved him. His grin was unsettling, like it was full of malice and scandalous intent.

“Where is your child?” His older brother sneered.

“A kid?” Dante put the photo down and shrugged. “Never had one, never even thought of having one. My job doesn’t really give me time to settle down and raise a little rascal, does it?”

"So, you are surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women." Vergil continued. "Lady, Nico, and perhaps others you have crossed paths with inside and outside your line of work, and you still have not conceived a worthy heir to our father’s bloodline?”

“I get that." Dante sighed. "But I’m too busy, okay? I’m supposed to be the one protecting the human world or whatever, so a kid’s definitely out of the question.

”I mean hey, we have yours and he already has Kyrie, so the line is saved. There’s no need for another kid.”

“I see, I see.” Vergil nodded. “A fine answer, dear brother, but I believe that you are simply hiding a much, much more different truth that you do not wish to admit.”

"And what would that be?"

“Perhaps the truth is that”-Vergil walked over to his little brother, stopping at an arm’s length away from him.-“You are yet to pop your cherry, so to speak."

With that, lady luck had packed her bags and left for the nearest ferry out of Fortuna. The heat rushed to Dante’s face as he found himself on the receiving end of a topic that he was not keen on discussing, especially with his big brother. He tried to dig up a cool comeback, which was his supposed specialty, but found nothing except the cold, hard realization that his composure was completely broken.

Normally, a shallow, off-handed question like that wouldn’t bother the devil hunter in the slightest, but the booze in his system made it hard for him to think rationally, and he wasn’t just going to let the fact that his brother called him a virgin slide. They were both too drunk to even think about how petty starting an argument over this issue was for men of their age.

“O-o-of course I’ve had sex.” He stammered. “I just don’t have a kid, that’s all!”

Vergil, however, was having none of it and was already consumed by laughter. You didn't this see him this jovial much and, admittedly, in other circumstances, Dante would have felt a small trickle of joy to see his brother this happy. It was rare, like seeing an albino animal in the wild, or a Riot with a stubby tail: there was a sense of wonder that was attached to it; a once in a lifetime find that you'd treasure for the rest of your life.

But right now, all he wanted to do was bash his goddamn face in.

"Oh, dear brother." Vergil was wiping away tears. "Don't tell me that you're incapable of charming a woman?"

“I’ve been on dates before!”

“Then how about satisfying one?” Vergil sneered.

The sight of his little brother becoming flustered pleased him greatly. Dante's face was an even redder shade now as he struggled to mask his embarrassment. Oh the poor fool. Vergil was loving every second of this.

"I see how it is." He gave his brother a hard shove. "You had a one-night stand and got a kid out of it, so now you think you can act all high and mighty, don't ya?”

“Mother always said that I was the more handsome brother.” Unfazed, Vergil retorted. "It appears she was correct."

“We literally have the same face." Dante shot back. "We're twins, dipshit!"

"But I am the more charming sibling." Vergil responded. "With your face and that odor, it is not surprising that women are not attracted to you whatsoever."

"You're delusional." Dante seethed. "Living in the underworld for decades does that to ya."

"And you are in denial, little brother."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Admit it, Dante." Vergil flaunted. "I have inherited our father's charm more than you have, and I am much better at pleasing my partner in bed."

"Are you implying that I'm bad at sex?!"

Dante felt a nerve pop. He wasn't just going to stand here and take this shit from him. The younger brother wanted nothing more than to wipe that his smug expression off his face and make him choke on his words.

"It's not an implication." Vergil locked eyes with his sibling. "It's a fact."

They were both acting like children, but were too drunk on expensive whiskey to care. There, in the living room of the orphanage, a stand-off was taking place. Mirroring what happened atop the Temen-Ni-Gru all those years ago, the sons of Sparda stared each other down, neither willing to give the other ground. The tension was palpable. The silence was deafning, in a way: there was a calm before the storm where one could hear the drop of a pin even if it happened across the street.

Dante conjured his Devil Sword out of thin air. Its blade pulsed in a sickening red glow, signifying that it was ready and able to carry out its wielder's wishes. Seeing nothing but red and the blue hue of his brother's coat, he was determined to make him choke on his words.

The younger son of Sparda raised his weapon and pointed it at his older brother.

"You take that back." He threatened.

Vergil was unfazed and turned to retrieve his own weapon. Yamato was leaning snugly beside the couch, but now it was in its master's hands, unsheathed and poised to cut through whatever Vergil wished to destroy. He didn't intend on using it for the entire day even just for travel, but a change of plans was in order. Holding on to his staunch pride as the eldest sibling, he was determined to teach this insolent little pup a lesson.

"Empty threats mean nothing to me, Dante." Vergil retorted, assuming a battle stance of his own. "But you already knew that."

With the powder now lit, it was only a matter of time before it exploded.

-----------

The Devil May Cry van was steadily rolling down the streets of Fortuna with its proprietors at the helm. Nico took the next right, passing by the pizza place that served as their landmark; they were already a few blocks away from home.

On the front seat, Nero had just finished counting the cash they hauled in from their latest gig. Another day, another devil arms deal busted. This kind of job usually entailed a big fight with someone who knew how to use their new toy (to some degree), but in this case they were lucky that the thugs didn't know how to use their stuff and ended up killing themselves before the fight even started.

"Easiest paycheck ever." He slammed the briefcase shut.

"You bet your ass it was." Nico blew a puff of smoke out the window. "Those dumbasses didn't even know what the hell kinda heat they were packin'!"

"Yeah well, that just means more cash for us." The young devil hunter leaned backwards. "If all the jobs we took went down this smoothly, we'd never have to worry about getting hungry ever again."

He was glad that things sorted themselves out when the dumb bastards started to slice themselves in half by accident. He needed the money, but he hated this kind of job; it always made him feel more tired than he should be after everything wrapped up. Getting to go home with the sun still up was rare for them nowadays, but he welcomed it all the same. Kyrie and the kids weren't going to be home soon, which meant that he had the house all to himself. His dad was the only one left holding down the fort, but he'd sooner eat his own shoe than consider that Vergi of all people would be the one to cause any trouble.

"...in other news, a local grocery store has become the victim of a robbery that took place earlier this morning. Witnesses and CCTV footage have all confirmed that the criminal, who appeared to be a shadowy humanoid wearing a long coat, ran straight into the establishment and started stealing various junk food and several bottles of alcohol in plain sight, leading many to speculate that demons wer-"

At the mention of demons, Nero shot out of his seat and turned off the radio.

"I was listen' to that, shit-for-brains!" The mechanic snapped, tossing the burnt-out cigar to her partner out of spite. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Look, can we just not hear anymore talk about demons today?" He sighed. "I wanna block all that shit out from my head and just relax for once, okay?

"Whatevuh." Nico rolled her eyes. "Can I at least switch to the music station?"

"Sure, go ahead." Nero flicked away the burnt-out cigar that landed on his jacket. "It'd be nice to hear something that ain't your annoying accent for once."

"Hey, fuck you, asshole." Nico cursed. "Your jus' jealous cause your voice sounds dumb an' borin' in comparison."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

With music starting to flood the van's atmosphere, Nero drifted off and began to imagine all the things he could do without the children or Kyrie around. Maybe he'd go to the rec room first to boot up a videogame, or he could relax on the couch with a cold can of beer to help ease his nerves a bit. He usually wasn't allowed to drink any liquor, but there wasn't anyone there to stop him now. Oh, maybe he could do both. Both would probably be the best. Drinking some good beer wh-

A sudden brake snapped him out of his dream world, causing his skull to collide with windshield.

"Nico?!" He rubbed the spot on his head that had hit the glass.

"Don't lose your tits, hotshot." The artisan tossed another cigar out the window. "Get off your butt and look a' this."

Nero was back on his feet and peering outside through the windshield. He immediately saw what caused Nico's distress: the front door to the orphanage was open. Not just open, but it hanged from its hinges, like someone had forcibly done so during a struggle. Not only that, some of the windows were broken, and pieces of furniture were scattered along the street.

Frustration started to bubble inside him. He was looking forward to having peace and quiet and leisure greeting him, not the face of whatever ugly son of a bitch had decided to sniff around their home.

"What happened here?" Nico wondered out loud.

"Definitely wasn't a girl scout, that's for damn sure." He removed Blue Rose from her holster. "And here I thought that I'd get the day off."

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Nico pointed at the carnage "Your dad probably killed whatever knocked on your door, dumbass!"

"Maybe." Nero got up from his seat. "We won't know until we find out and I'm not gonna leave things on a gut feeling when we're living with a bunch of children who'd follow a stranger if he had candy."

Turning to his partner, he grinned.

"Hey, driver? Keep the meter running, will ya?" the half-demon teased.

"Just get the fuck outta here and do what you need to do." Nico flashed him a middle finger.

Dismounting the van, Nero revved Red Queen to life. With Blue Rose in hand, he slowly approached the orphanage, taking care to assess the situation properly and avoid any surprises that may have been left for him if there were any.

"This is your fault, you idiot!"

"You were the one who provoked me!"

No, I didn't! You did!"

"Foolish little brother! How dare you place all the blame on me?"

He heard bickering from inside. It was his dad's, for sure, but he swore that he also heard Dante.

The young devil hunter threw caution to the wind and made a beeline for the doorway. Upon entering, he felt an artery pop upon witnessing the horrors that had transpired inside his own home while he was gone.

A Category-5 hurricane had ravaged the orphanage. Leaks had sprung everywhere; holes dotted the walls and ceilings like they were blocks of cheese. As with the scene outside, pieces of broken furniture were thrown around everywhere, and the wall that seperated a portion of the living room from the corridor was no more. The ceiling above the dining room had collapsed completely, causing everything in the guest room to scatter all over the ground floor, including the bed. It was one hell of a ruckus.

"Dad?! Dante?!" He called. "You guys okay?!"

"In the living room, son!" Vergil answered.

We're upstairs!" Dante shouted. "Don't believe him, he's tired!"

Vergil and Dante began to bicker again, but Nero was too focused on the matter at hand to make out what they were saying. He dashed towards the living room with urgency, worried about the safety of his dad ad uncle, and...

He stopped dead in his tracks. This time, he felt all his arteries explode at once as pure, unadulterated rage began to course through his system.

The living room was a right and proper mess, but the highlights of this destruction were his dearly beloved father and ever-reliable uncle. Dante was sprawled on the floor, impaled with Yamato and looking like he had been fighting an entire army of demons by himself the whole day. Vergil, also looking like absolute shit, was high up on the wall, held in place by the Devil Sword Dante that was embedded in his chest. They looked utterly exhausted from their fight. Nero could spied a bottle of whiskey, as well as several broken ones that were scattered around the scene. They got drunk and had a fight while everyone had their backs turned.

The two brothers immediately ceased their bickering and turned in sync to see Nero, their precious little boy, with an expression of pure hatred that would make even Mundus himself turn around and run back to his mother.

"Oh shit." Dante uttered.

"Welcome home, son!" Vergil faked a smile. "How was work?"

Nero was in hysterics. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. This was much, much worse than he imagined it to be. The orphanage was beyond trashed. They were already in the red with the finances as it is, but now all the money they had left was going straight to fixing the mess that these two had left behind.

"Hey dad, hey Dante." He pointed at the still-intact bottle of liquor. "Watcha got there?"

"Er, a smoothie?" His uncle let out a weak laugh.

"Wrong answer, motherfucker."

Nero's voice was calm, but his maniacal grin said otherwise.

With a bright flash of purple, the young half-demon shed his humanity and assumed his Devil form, opening his ethereal wings to their full wingspan.

"Alright, assholes." The arms that grew out of his wings cracked their knuckles in anticipation. "Which one of you is payin' for all this shit?"

Dante raised his right hand.

"Okay, okay. So, here's how this is gonna work." Nero approached his loving family, making sure that each step was slow and deliberate. "I'll be using my left hand on ya and only my left so that after I'm done, you'll be conscious enough to pay me from your fucking hospital bed. We clear on that, old man?"

"Please don't kill me, Nero." Dante begged. "It was your dad's fault."

"Show me mercy, son. I beg you." Vergil chimed in. "It was your uncle who started this."

"Oh, it doesn't matter which one of you did this or that." Nero cackled "'Cause as far as I'm concerned, you're both gonna need more than just a Gold Orb when I'm through beating both your asses!"

With that, the arms on Nero's wings reached out and grabbed both brothers by their collars.

-----------

Nico was enjoying her 'cigs when she saw Dante fly out the window and land hard on the pavement.

"Nero, please!" he pleaded, trying in vain to crawl his way out of the carnage.

One of the arms from Nero's wings reached out to grab him by the ankle, slamming him around the street like a toy before pulling him back in through the same window he flew out of.

"Who told you I was done?! Get your fuckin' ass back here, old man!"

The mechanic took one last whiff of her cigar. Tossing it out in the street, she rolled up her window and turned on the radio again.

"What a bunch o' weirdos." she mused as the music began to fill her ears, drowning out the anguished wails of Nero's father figures.

#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #vergil #dante #dmc nero #fanfic #dmc fanfiction #oneshot #writing #creative writing #one shot #fan fiction

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tyrustrash · 4 years

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Huge Updates

Hey, all! As you know, the world is in a certain state right now causing us to change our daily lives. One change for me is that I now have more time and motivation to write. Also, I published a book on Amazon!! It is a collection of short stories, some of which you have seen but with some changes (For obvious reasons) The link is this: Orientation https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085RRGQ2N/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_919HEbGVEBPPR Also, I am in the process of writing three more books!!!! Which is what I wanted to share with you. The chapters below will be the first two chapters of my young adult novel. The story is about two guys from seemingly different paths meet each other and bond over their shared pain. Theo is a member of a band that is trying to get signed to an agency, while Lucky is his college's best soccer player trying to get his team to nationals. They begin a secret relationship as they uncover more about themselves and their dark pasts. Some more info about the book: the couple is white-latino/asain, contains some sexual content, eating disorders, self-harm, and more. The other novels in development are as followed: 1. A story following a group of guys on a reality competition show competing to be members of a new boy band. 2. A group of teenagers gaining special powers and forming a team to save their town, and the world, from danger. (Has potential to be a series) 3. The other book I mentioned is another collection of never before seen short stories. I hope y'all enjoy the preview of my first novel! Chapter 1: Lo Mejor Comienza The crowd cheered their lungs out as they hyped up their favorite band, Going After You. The sold-out stadium held 40,000 of their fans holding every bit of merchandise the group had. There were a few fortunate fans that struggled their way onto the stage to get ahold of a member, but security managed to drag them away. However, one fan was able to grab the edge of Lucas' shirt and pull off a piece as she was being dragged off. Lucas didn't mind it though, he took it as a sign that he was their favorite, which he had that thought for all the fans. The members of the band looked out into the crowd and smiled as they continued their set. Lucas made sure to make his perfectly white teeth reflect the stage lights into the audience as he gave his perfect smile while he sang. His posture gave off high-end clothing store mannequin vibes: same old them as the rest, but somehow seen as better since where it came from. Gabe banged the drums while giving his rounds of pterodactyl screeching in between beats. The sweat coming from his head flew across the stage because of his hair flinging around caused by his head banging. Blake played his guitar with his swift fingers as he harmonized with Lucas. He had this chill aura around him that seemed to say that he was going with the flow. Lastly, Theo focused his attention on his keyboard. Unlike his bandmates, Theo chose to maintain his attention on his instrument. Not because he didn't appreciate his fans, all the hours spent writing letters and sending autographs said otherwise. He found it hard to multitask since he would get caught up in one thing and ignore the other. At one point in the concert he attempted to nod and smile to the fans, but he got off-key and played the wrong notes. Other than that one mishap, that night had gone well. The band stayed after for three hours to do the meet and greet with the fans. Although their entire bodies were hurting like hell, the pain was worth it if it meant making their fans happy. Everything was running smoothly. Fans stood in a straight line, which was harder than it seemed given they would let their excitement control them and try to form a tsunami, then they would get a picture with the group. So on and so on. This whole cycle repeated itself, concert and after show activities, for three weeks, with another six to go, they never wanted it to end. It was what they always dreamt about. All the hard work, all the nights without sleep, all the tears shed due to the stress-induced anxiety. All of it was finally worth it. However, sometimes it seemed liked hell on Earth. The pain and scars on their hands from their instruments. The times where they lost their voice from singing for up to eight hours a day. The visits to the hospital for when fans get too wild and would manage to make contact with a member. It was challenging in the beginning to form a balance, but it eventually happened. They wanted stardom to continue. They wanted to win a Grammy, star in their own movie, and go down as one of the greatest bands in musical history. Aside from those generic goals, each member had their own goal. Lucas wanted to be a model in New York Fashion Week. Gabe wanted to be the new owner of Playboy magazine. Blake wanted to start a non-profit organization. Theo wanted the loud banging would end. The loud banging. Theo rapidly blinked his eyes and looked around, suddenly snapping out of his daydream. He felt the cold water of the shower over his body. He wiped some of the water off of his face, also while taking a deep breath. He was at a loss of words, mainly because there was nothing for him to say at this point. "Two and a half hours." Lucas softly yelled, but in a nice way, from the other side of the door. "Hurry up. Some of us need our beauty shower." Although his time in the shower always took at least two hours, which all the others knew at that point, it felt like ten minutes. He always tried to shorten his time, but he never got around to fixing it. He never got around to fixing himself. "That's not a real thing." Theo heard Blake make the comment. "Oh shut up" Lucas said as his voice faded off, presumably going off to get his bathing kit from his room. Theo looked down and realized that there were still bits of thrown up food on the floor of the shower. It was rare that he would go off into his imagination after his habit. His shower routine typically consisted of beginning contemplating life, then spend most of his time dreaming, and end with him panic purging while rushing to get done. But lately he has been under a lot of stress. He finished up cleaning and turned the shower off. He placed an extra towel on the floor, per the request of Lucas, so that water didn't get all over the floor. As he dried himself off, he wiped off some steam that was on the mirror. The way he looked at his reflection, it was like seeing someone he didn't know. It was like there was something missing, something wrong. He looked around the room and his eyes fixated on random objects. Blake's razor that he always left out. A pair of Gabe's underwear, something that the boy always forgot to take to his room once he finished showering. Judging by the pair it seemed like it had been there for two days. His eyes locked on the can of air freshener sitting on top of the toilet. He felt short of breath seeing the tiny droplet of blood on the bottom of the can. He picked it up and turned it. Feeling the aluminum on his hands made his breathing stagger, it made his lip quiver. He inhaled sharply as his hands gripped the can tighter. Bringing the can closer to his body, a tear rolled down his cheek. Before he could do anything else, Lucas shouting stopped him, for now. "I need to get in now if I plan on getting enough sleep tonight." "I'm almost done." Theo said monotonal. He wished he meant it, but it's only the beginning. Gripping the can, causing his hands to fade into red, he turned his attention to the door. What was on the other side could have helped him, but it was no use. He was of no use. Not wanting to do anything else, he came back to his normal state of mind and brushed his hair with the brush that he has had since he was eight. He checked his phone for any notifications, but there was nothing. He frowned thinking he ruined everything. He put on his night hoodie and shorts then exited into the hall. Upon entering the hallway, he took note of Lucas and Blake arguing over some skincare routine. Lucas swore he needed to spend at least an hour on his routine for it to work, however, Blake counterattacked that he shouldn't be rushing Theo since he would spend as much time in the bathroom. Lucas grabbed his suitcase-sized bag of products and carried it into the bathroom. Theo grew worried that he was the one who had caused their argument, then wished he had used the can. Blake sighed as he plopped down on the couch. He turned on the TV and Pitch Perfect was playing. He turned up the volume but made sure it wasn't loud enough to wake up Gabe who was already asleep. They had their TV set to just music-themed programs, thanks to Gabe's technological skill. Last night they watched the first season of Glee. They wanted to watch every known music-related thing so they could take inspiration and help with their band. Their band. Although they had only been active for a year, they managed to gain a steady following and regular gigs at some small clubs that would allow a group of high schoolers to perform. Going After You was named after them chasing their dream to be the next big thing, which didn't make sense to some people but it was the group's style. However, they have yet to make any real progress in the real world. Maybe it had to do with them constantly changing their music style, but whatever it was, they needed to buckle down. Theo walked to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of milk, with a bendy straw to go through the lid. He contemplated for a bit before he made the cup, but he needed something to ease his stomach. He made his way over to the couch and sat next to Blake. "Just like my showers, you should be used to Lucas' skin routine." Theo said as he brought his legs up to sit crisscrossed. Blake chuckled as he took a bite of the sandwich he had made earlier. "I know, but it still gets annoying. Mainly because he thinks it'll actually work. He's been doing that shit for a year now and it hasn't done a damn thing." Theo laughed a little, nearly causing him to snort out milk. "Come on, you're supposed to be the nice one of us." "Can't be the nice one when Lucas has been keeping me awake for the past two hours because he needed someone to complain to about not being able to get into the bathroom." "Sorry." Theo said with a soft voice. "Don't worry about it, I had some fun messing with him. It's so fun freaking him out." Theo gave out a soft laugh before Blake straightened himself a little. His face became a mixture of concern and stern, making Theo tense up and scoot away from him. "So, you know you're supposed to be last in the bathroom order." Theo looked down at his cup. He tried not frowning, but kept his feelings to himself, like always. "It was just that I had dinner before you guys." "What does that have to do with anything?" Before Theo could answer, Gabe walked in from his room, in only his underwear. He scratched his lower back as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and drank some milk straight from the jug. Blake let out a heavy groan, but Gabe didn't care. After that, Gabe grabbed a beer and went to sit in the recliner. Gabe was the one that didn't care about how he looked, he always had high confidence in himself that he didn't care what others thought about him. One time he went to school in a skintight spandex suit that outlined some of his more prominent features, resulting in him having to be sent home to change. Another time he went streaking across the neighborhood. He even managed to outrun the cops that were called. As he sipped his beer, Gabe adjusted his crotch which caused Blake to make a face of disgust. "Bro, I'm trying to eat." "Don't act like you've never adjusted yourself." Gabe replied while keeping his focus on the TV. He took another sip. "We're all guys, we've all done it." "But at least I have the decency to not do that while someone's eating." As the two discussed crotch touching and other typical guy things that Theo never understood or cared enough to learn more about, Theo stared blankly ahead, focusing on nothing. The world around him started fading and his surroundings transitioned into a new setting as he went back into his dreamworld for the eighth time that day. This time he imagined them all performing at his future wedding. He was marrying the person people expected him to marry, but he was sharing the moment with his closest friends, nothing could ruin it. Well, one thing. The person he imagined he was marrying. It was the wrong person. Wrong for him, but right for his parents. As he played his keyboard, he used his peripheral vision and he saw his parents sitting in the front while cheering his name. Their cheers grew louder and louder. Every time they said his name, he found it harder to concentrate. The loudness became unbearable to the point it snapped him back to reality, where he found where he heard his name being shouted. Theo sat between his two friends as they were both looking at him. Gabe patted Theo's shoulder as he leaned closer. "So, which is it?" "Which is what?" Theo asked as he became confused. He looked at the hand on his shoulder and started to build up panic. Blake let out a sigh as he tossed his paper plate in the trash can next to the couch. "The theme for our gig tomorrow night. I wanted to go for more modern and pop-ish since it would fit the crowd, but Gabe wants full out punk and rock and roll." "I thought y'all were talking about crotches." Theo remarked as he stirred the straw in his cup, seemingly easing himself. He scrunched his face thinking about his friends talk about touching themselves. "We were." Said Gabe. He finished his beer and tossed it towards the trash can, but missed. Blake picked it up and threw it away. "But it turned into trying to finalize what we're doing tomorrow." "I don't care. Just decide. It's just a soccer game that we're performing at. I mean, who even does that? And a college game too." Gabe chuckled as he patted Theo's back. "It's a paid gig, and it's exposure. "You say that every time." Blake told him. "Well, it is. And it would be one of the biggest crowds we've performed at. Anyone could be watching, like an agent, or scouts for a reality show." "You also say that every time." "Man, what's your deal? You don't seem like you care." "I care. It's just that if we keep changing our style for each performance, then it'll be harder to get signed to a label." "It's called having range. It shows we can do any genre." Gabe turned back to Theo. "So, what style? "Pop, I guess. We've done that the most and it seems to be a crowd pleaser every time." Theo said after thinking for a second. Like Gabe, he was just as eager to get signed. But like Blake, he had the mindset of sticking to one style until they get signed. Another moment in their band career that seemed to be one of the most challenging things. Before Theo could get up and go to his room, he noticed the marks on Gabe. There were kiss marks made from pink lipstick covering the area above Gabe's boxers. He pointed at them, resulting in the other two to look. "What's that?" Gabe laughed. "Come on, man. I know you haven't been with a girl, but I'm sure you know what this is and where it came from." "Is she here now?" Blake asked as he stood up. His face getting redder than a teacher's mark on a test when they give someone an "F". "I mean, obviously. I came out of my room when we finished. Fucking my girlfriend really makes me thirsty." "Bro, you know what the lease says. No overnight guests." "What they don't know won't hurt them." "Hold up, how long has she been here? When did you bring her?" "About four hours ago. We've been at it that long, a new record. Had to miss dinner, but don't worry, I ate alright." Theo shook his head. "Wait, she's been here for a while? Usually you two make as much noise as possible." "Wanted to try it out to see if we could, now we know we can do it even while y'all are asleep. But it was hard getting it one while having to hear y'all argue over some damn skincare routine, but perhaps the arguing helped cover it up a little." "No no no." Blake interjected, completely ignoring the second part. "She is not allowed overnight." "Come on. It's not that serious. She has stayed over countless times before and no one noticed." "What! Do you know how much trouble we'll be in if we're caught? We could be evicted!" "Calm thyself. We haven't been caught yet, and we won't. As long as you don't snitch. Besides, don't act like you've never broken that rule." Blake fell silent for a quick second. He blinked rapidly before speaking with a slightly higher-pitched voice. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Melissa. I know she has stayed over before after one of your escapades." "That was different." "How?" "It was accidental. We went to sleep immediately afterwards and forgot." "Yeah right." "Theo, you have anything to say right now?" Blake asked as a way of changing the subject, but no response. He and Gabe looked back and saw Theo standing at the side of the couch staring blankly at the wall. "THEO!" Theo blinked rapidly and gazed his attention to the two of them. "What now?" "Nothing." Blake sighed. "Just go to bed now. You really need the sleep." Before anyone could do anything else, the bathroom door opened and Lucas stepped out. His face was covered with one of his face masks. "Can y'all stop arguing, please. The yelling isn't good for my skin." "The hell." Gabe said. "How is us yelling upsetting your skin?" "I'll have you know that people yelling makes me stress, and stress can cause breakouts. I can't have any of that, especially at tomorrow's gig. In fact, I can't have that ever. I have to stay looking flawless." Before Lucas could continue with his routine, he turned to Blake. "Before you freak out again and we have a repeat of tonight, I've also broken that rule. Better get your rage out now and soon. Can't have too much more yelling." Blake couldn't say anything to him since he quickly slammed the door. With a final huff for the night he went to his room. Gabe smirked. "It's adorable when he loses." "Maybe." Theo said. He went to the kitchen and rinsed out his cup. While he was there, he began doing everyone's dishes, not because they had a rotation, but because he wanted to. "Sometimes it's hard dealing with an argument over the smallest things." "But sometimes it's fun. Right?" Theo smiled a little. "Yeah. Can be." "That's the spirit!" Gabe grabbed two more beers from the fridge and before he headed to his room, he went beside Theo. He placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Theo to become worried. "Hey, you'll find a girl someday, just keep looking. And I'll make sure to not tell Blake if you bring her over and you want her to stay over." "Thanks." The faintness of Theo's voice was barely audible. He didn't even look at Gabe, only keeping his head down. Gabe went into his room, leaving Theo alone. He looked around and took in his surroundings. Just a plain and small apartment the group found a few months ago. They saved up from all their gigs for nearly a year to be able to afford it. It wasn't anything to brag about, but it was better than what he had before. His family, his neighbors, everything about his old life, it was too much. He wanted to leave it all, and he did. Or so he thought. After pushing back any memories from his past he wanted to forget, and also finishing washing the dishes, he made his way to his room. Along the way he heard moaning coming from Gabe's room. Before he could enter his own room, Lucas stepped out of the bathroom, bare naked except for some scrub covering most of his body. Theo attempted not to look, but failed since Lucas always made a presence when he entered a room. "Ayo, Theo." He said, his hand on his hip, hip sticking out. "Don't worry about what Gabe said. You know how he is." Theo could barely form a sentence. "How do you know what he said?" "Dude, the apartment is smaller than Gabe's brain. You can hear everything." They laughed. Theo turned the handle of his door. "Nice to see you taking time out of your routine to console me." Lucas shrugged. "No biggie. Besides, I had to let my body scrub settle." "I can see." He thought for a second. "Well, I don't want to see. I've always questioned what you did in there for so long, maybe I didn't have to know." "Well, know you do. Now, what do you do in the shower that takes two hours?" Theo's eyes slightly widened. He felt short of breath but pulled together a response. "You'll never know." He said in a quick and sassy tone. Lucas nodded at Theo before he went back inside the bathroom. Theo opened his bedroom door and went in. He slammed the door and leaned back on it. He exhaled heavily. After standing for a minute, he made his way to his bed. It helped clear his mind by looking around his room and seeing all his favorites things. His room was decorated with posters of his favorite musicians, including various Kpop groups, mainly Got7, Kard, Twice, CLC, Day6, and Girls' Generation, and posters of American artists like Ariana Grande and boy band In Real Life. He had lots of stuffed animals scattered around the room. There was a box of snacks beside his bed that held snacks that he saved up for weeks. He sat on his bed the main dating app on his phone. He opened the chat he had started with someone he has been talking to for the past few weeks. Still no new response. He plugged his phone onto its charger and placed it on the windowsill next to him. He pulled out and opened his laptop and pulled up his search engine. He began researching the college they would be performing at. Although it was in their town, he somehow knew nothing about it other than that it valued sports over academics, like most American schools. He mainly focused on the soccer team. He found articles talking about how the team has had a mixed season so far and was unsure if they'll qualify for nationals. Searching further, he found profiles for each member. He spent the next hour reading about what each person was like personality wise and about their skill level. All of them seemed impressive on paper, but somehow weren't on the field at times. They had never qualified for Nationals, which made them the only team at their university not to do so. Statistics show that this season was their best, which wasn't saying much since it was like a toss of a coin if they won a game or not. During his time reading, one player in particular caught his attention. Lucky Moon. Not just because of his name, but his other attributes, he stood out. He made the most goals this season, given that he was the striker. Off the field, he helped volunteer by tutoring other students and being an assistant coach for a little league team. He seemed like the model student, the perfect person. Theo smiled reading more about him. Delving deeper, Theo learned that the college actually did halftime shows for all the sporting events. One time they had an aerial acrobatics group perform at a volleyball match. Although it seemed weird for a college to go all out for a sporting event, it could pay off for their band in the end. Hopefully. Shutting down for the night, he put up his computer and covered himself with his favorite blanket, the one he had since he was a child. He laid his head down on his green monkey pillow as he thought about tomorrow. How it could be the best day of the group's career. All the possibilities that could come from it. The best began tomorrow. Chapter 2: Stop the Rain The mixture of rain and sweat covered Lucky's face as he ran across the field. He didn't bother wiping it off, it made him stronger, it built up endurance. The grass was harder to run across because he hasn't been cleaning his shoes properly and almost had moments where he almost slipped. There was only one set of lights on, somewhat keeping him warm. He kept on running, while also kicking the ball, for what seemed like forever. He had just reached the halfway point. Every so often he would tighten his fists, which kept him awake. It was two in the morning. He had hardly gotten sleep the night before, and the night before that, and basically every night for the past week. Soccer cleared his mind, made all the stress go away. Not only was this time in the early mornings useful for extra practice, it was his time to think and relax. His schedule was filled with classes and practice that he doesn't get a break. Whenever he was in his dorm, his roommate made too much noise with his gaming stuff and the occasional party. Lucky started getting up early to get some alone time on the field before he went back to his dorm to get a little more rest before his seven o'clock class. It wasn't the healthiest schedule experts might say, but it worked, it helped him stay stable, physically and emotionally. Something that he always needed work on. He shook his head thinking about his wounds, he needed to focus. Focus on his future, his grades, his happiness, but most importantly the ball he was kicking. He finally reached near the goal to shoot. With a hard kick, the ball leaped off the ground and swerved to the back of the net, nearly tearing it. He slightly nodded and gathered the ball. He made his way to the nearest bench, which held a towel and his water bottle. He sat down and wiped his face with the towel, which was about useless since the rain had gotten it damp. What it did was absorb what it could, but his face had streaks of liquid. In the end, he didn't know why he did anything with the towel other than it was muscle memory, the rain would just get his face wetter. He took several chugs from his bottle, the water moisturizing his dry throat. Picking up his bag, he placed the bottle in the side pouch and the ball in the back. While he was standing to leave, he saw a figure walking towards him. Upon closer examination, it was Coach Jupiter. She carried an umbrella and was dressed in her coaching attire. Coach Jupiter held out the umbrella to Lucky, but he remained in his spot next to the bench. She slightly nodded and got as close to him without making him feel uncomfortable. "What're you doing out here at this time of day?" Lucky shrugged his shoulders. When he opened his mouth his words came out bold, yet calm. "Extra practice." "It's not good to practice out in the rain." She came closer to him to try getting him under the umbrella, but he stepped back. "It helps build stamina." He said with even more boldness, but with a kind inflection. He didn't know if it was true, he thought it sounded like she would believe him. "Also helps with feet work." "Need someone to practice with?" "I was just leaving." "Too bad. I thought since you were here at this hour you were committed to the team." "I am!" Lucky shouted. Upon realizing that he raised his voice, he lowered his head in shame. "Sorry." "No need to apologize. Besides, how did you even get on the field?" Lucky kept his head down, feeling ashamed at what he did. "I picked the lock on the gate. But I always make sure to lock it back up when I leave." "Always?" She said while raising an eyebrow. Lucky realized what he said and step back a little while scratching his leg with his foot. "You've done this before? When? How long?" "Every day for the past two weeks." His voice was weaker than before. He sat down on the bench, resting his head in his hands. He began sobbing, his words becoming semi-inaudible. "I'm so sorry. Please don't kick me off the team." Coach Jupiter sat down next to him and held the umbrella over both of them. "Hey, calm down, it's alright. You're not off the team." "Really? Isn't what I did against some kind of rules?" Coach shrugged. "Yeah, most definitely, but I'm not going to report you or do anything." "Thank you." He said with a sigh of relief. However, he raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was here?" "I got a notice from a bystander saying the lights were on. I came to see what was up." Lucky nodded a little. "I didn't mean any harm." "I know, but," She started saying, causing Lucky to look up and gulp. "If you wanted more time to practice, why didn't you contact me and set up an extra schedule? I would've worked with you. That's what I'm here for." Lucky stayed silent for a minute. Coach looked at him with her wide eyes, trying to figure him out based on his body language. He was hunched over, feet shaking, his right hand was brushing through his hair, and he still had a few tears coming out. "It's okay." She said. "Take your time." Lucky took a deep breath. Thoughts ran through his head and he didn't know what to say. He could tell the truth, which was more than likely a bad idea. Or he could say what she more than likely wanted to hear. Whatever he said, he made sure to make it seem better what was the truth. "I just wanted to practice some more. I know nationals means a lot to the team, and to you since it'll be your first one as a coach, and I felt like since the others look up to me, I needed to be better so we can win some more and qualify. I didn't ask for your help because I wanted to improve on my own. To show that I have the discipline and dedication." All Coach could do was nod and pat Lucky's shoulder, which seemed to calm him down. "Lucky, you are an amazing player, perhaps the best one on the team." "And I want to be better." He interjected. "I want us to go to nationals. I want to see that trophy in our case." Coach Jupiter let out a soothing sigh. "And we will, one day. Maybe this year, or maybe next year, but we will win it. But we won't if we're not in our best condition. Next time you want extra practice, talk to me and we can work out a healthier and somewhat better schedule. How does that sound?" Lucky looked her in her eyes. He couldn't form any kind of facial expression. But Coach made a face though. She seemed like she cared. He was happy to have someone in his life that seemed like they cared about him, someone who wanted to spend time with him, but he shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll see about it." He told her as he stood and put on his bag. "Let's see how we do at this next game." Coach stood up. She gave him another pat on the shoulder before she walked off, leaving him standing in the rain. Lucky looked up at the sky. A few drops of rain hit his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly. As he started walking to his dorm, he wiped some rain away, kicked some grass, and sighed heavily. He managed to get to the door and lock it back up, making it seem no one was ever there. As he walked away, the single set of lights that was on started flickering, then went dark. Lucky entered his dorm building and pushed the button for the elevator. He rested his hand on his hip as he waited. The elevator always took forever, even though there were only five floors. He didn't mind waiting, especially after practicing. It gave him a little time to cool off. The elevator dinged. The doors opened and there was only one person getting out. "Sup, Lucky!" The guy said as he went into a bro hug. Lucky accepted the hug. Although he wasn't too close to him, they did have some sort of friendship through Lucky's tutoring sessions. The guy left and Lucky took his spot in the elevator. He pushed the button for the fifth floor and watched the door close. The elevator always felt like it was going slower than a snail. He thought since they were paying a ridiculous amount for housing, the service would be good quality. The long time, the interior falling about, and the constant smell of sewage, and all that was just for the elevator. The rooms were worse. Upon coming onto his floor, he looked around at all the decorations. Each floor had a different theme, and his theme was the ocean. Cut-outs of different ocean animals covered the wall, along with streamers of different shades of blue. A pinboard hanging on the wall next to the elevator held mini questionnaires filled out by the residents of the floor. One of the questions was if they were a sea creature, which would they be. Lucky answered dolphin, because they are sleek, fast, and that people often make assumptions about them and have no reason to worry. He reached his assigned room at the end of the hall. He looked at his name tag, which was a dolphin, which he thought was a coincidence. He tapped the head of the dolphin before entering, a ritual he had since he started college. Touching his name tag before he entered his room. The first thing he saw was one of his roommates, Matt, asleep on the couch. Lucky grabbed a blanket form the rack in the corner and covered him up. Matt let out a weird groaning noise and turned but stayed asleep. When Lucky went to open his bedroom door, it was locked. "I'm busy!" His main roommate, Spada, yelled from the room. "Come back in a few minutes!" Before walking off, Lucky could hear the noise of a bed squeaking. Grunting, he went to the little kitchen area. Every time he really needed to get some rest, Spada pulled some shit like that. Every time he was gone for longer than thirty minutes Spada had her over. But he never had the strength to say anything. Opening the fridge, his face remained emotionless at the sight of a basically empty fridge. At that point, he was just over his roommates not keeping up with the one simple task of grocery shopping. The only thing edible he could see was some milk, a few slices of leftover pizza, and a half empty ketchup bottle. He grabbed a slice of pizza and poured him a glass of milk. As he chewed, he pulled out his phone and opened a dating app and went to the message section. There was only one person who had a conversation. Lucky smiled for the first time that day. He thought he might've met someone but didn't know if it would work out. He didn't know what to respond with. He hadn't replied for at least five hours. The right words had yet to come, even though the other person's message was really simple. It asked what he was like when he was younger. They had been getting to know each other better, but he has been picky about what he shared, especially life before college. He didn't want to change the subject since it seemed rude, but he also didn't want to make them mad by lying. He began typing a sentence but stopped when he heard his bedroom door open. Spada's girlfriend lurked out of the dorm, waving to him as she exited. Spada came out next, only in his boxer briefs. He went to the fridge and sipped some of the milk straight from the jug. "Can you please use a glass?" Lucky said as he took another bite of the pizza. Spada placed the milk back in the fridge. He maneuvered his way around the tiny kitchen space and leaned up against the counter next to Lucky. "You already have some." "Besides the point. Others might want some later and they more than likely don't want your germs. Besides, I know where your mouth has been." Before Spada could respond, he finally got a sniff of Lucky and nearly gagged. "Dude, you stink." Lucky sniffed his own armpit and shrugged. He has grown accustomed to his stench that he built up an immunity to it. It took him really trying to sniff to catch it. "Yeah, I do. It's called sweating. It's what comes when one is physically active." "I'm physically active." "Sex and parties don't count." "Hey, don't diss those. I be sweating pretty hard while doing so." Spada crossed his arms. "You need to shower. I don't want to be smelling that the rest of the night." Lucky turned to him and scolded him. "I was going to when I got here, but you were busy." Spada stood straight up in a defensive manner. "You know the rule we set up at the beginning of the year. If one of us has company over, we shall give them privacy." "But I didn't think it would include the middle of the night." "There weren't any time restrictions when we made the deal." "Whatever." Lucky sighed as he made his way to the bedroom. Before he took off to the shower, he looked back at Spada, who was shaking his head. "You know," Spada started saying. "I wouldn't mind waiting out here for whatever amount of time you needed. That's if you ever bring a girl over." With that, Lucky slammed the door. There were times he despised Spada. Times where just his presence caused annoyance. He had the typically rich daddy's boy vibe, but lacked the rich daddy. Whined whenever he didn't get his way, bitch until he does, just plain punchable. On the other hand, there were times Spada was kind of tolerable. The times where they got drunk together were nice and good bonding moments, but those were rare sense Lucky didn't want to risk showing up to class or practice with a hangover. Spada once invited him to a threeway with his girlfriend on the terms that they wouldn't do anything with each other, but he declined out of respect. One time they to the arcade and made a mountain with all the tickets they had earned, then destroying it by jumping into it and rolling around. Putting all those thoughts behind him, Lucky went straight to the bathroom and locked the door. He stood in front of the mirror and stood straight into his eyes. He began that state of being where everything around him became too real and where he started contemplating life. What life was, what he was doing there, and what will happen if he dies. Or in his case what would've happened if he had died. Or what things would be like if he was never born. Shaking his head rapidly, he got out of those thoughts. He turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot. In the meantime, he took off his clothes and placed them neatly in the corner. Remaining in only his black briefs, he went back to staring at himself in the mirror. This time he stared at his body. At the wounds he had. The cuts across his six-pack. The bruises on his sides. The everlasting burn wound on the upper part of his arm. As he ran his fingers over it all, he tried staying strong. He kept reassuring himself that it'll all be over soon. He wanted to continue looking, but the mirror fogging up stopped him. He took off his underwear and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit him sharply, giving him the best feeling he has had for the day. He simply stood in the middle of the shower and let the water go all over him. It took him a good minute or two to begin. He poured some of his Axe body wash on his hands and started rubbing his body. He took it easy around his wounds since they were sensitive. He used the green apple shampoo his sister got him, only because he was out of his regular kind. He let his hand slip down his body until he reached his v-line. He tapped his fingers across it, enjoying the tingling sensation that slowed throughout his body. He let out a soft moan as he reached lower. He grasped his crotch and let out a louder moan. His head flung back and his eyes closed. Just the feeling could've made him finish since it had been forever since he had felt some sort of pleasure. He started moving his hand, the shampoo helped made a smooth rhythm. He used his other hand to rub his chest. His hands became synchronized in motion resulting in a higher amount of pleasure. All the feelings going through his body sped up his hands and he couldn't stop. It felt like electricity going through his veins, lighting was about to be next. Just as he was about to release, there was a loud bang on the door. It startled him so much that his hand sharply gripped over himself and he released over the front of the shower. His knees felt like jelly and he had to hold onto the rail so he wouldn't fall to the ground. "Hurry up, bro!" Spada said. Lucky took a moment to catch his breath. "I can't fall asleep with the shower running." Lucky groaned as he cleaned up, again, and turned the shower off. He stepped out, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He wiped off some of the steam on the mirror and brushed his hair. In the corner, he saw some of his residue on the corner of the tub. He took the edge of the towel and wiped it up so that Spada wouldn't complain. Finally finished, he grabbed his dirty clothes and walked into the bedroom and over to his dresser. He took off his towel and tossed it and the clothes into the basket. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of light blue briefs. After he put them on, Spada turned on his bed and faced the ceiling. "Sorry about earlier." Lucky went to his bed and got under the covers. He took note of Spada's weird change in attitude, which wasn't uncommon. He adjusted himself and his pillows before responding. "About what?" "About saying if you ever bring a girl over." Spada let out a sigh. "I didn't mean to come off snarky." "It's fine." No it wasn't, but it wasn't the time. "Don't worry about it." "My thing is," He started, resulting in a soft groan from Lucky. "You're so attractive, no homo, you can get any girl you want. You're the star soccer player, a people helper, and you're Asian, girls love ethnic guys now." "Don't say that!" Lucky slightly yelled. He hated it when people brought up his race, not because he was ashamed, but because he thought it was never needed to be brought up. "I thought you were tired? Why don't you get some sleep, maybe it'll help your brain." "Hey, don't get upset at me for stating facts." "Well I don't want to hear your so-called facts." "Well, what do you want to hear?" "You sleeping." Spada chuckled. "Man, I can help you." "I don't need your help." Lucky turned to face the wall. "What's your type? Blonde, brunette, redhead? Maybe another ethnic person." Lucky became furious. He grabbed a bottle of water from under his bed and threw it at Spada. "Stop saying that! As I said before, I don't want or need your help. Stay out of my personal life and leave me the fuck alone!" Without saying anything, Spada made a face of confusion with a mix of anger. He tried throwing the bottle back, but it failed to reach halfway across the room. He huffed and turned to face the wall. Lucky wept silent tears. He pulled out his phone and went back to the message conversation. He scrolled through the entire thread, wanting to relive one of the happy parts his life had. From where they talked about school, hobbies, and dreams for the future. Although he had a gist of what he wanted for his dream, all he could think about was making a new dream reality. After a long time of thinking, he finally decided what to say. Let's talk, in person, after my soccer game. I know a place we could go and be alone. With a simple click of a button, his life changed. Whether it was for good or bad, that was debatable. What wasn't was his feelings. Feelings for soccer, feelings for freedom, and feelings for the one person that could truly care about him. A ding. Lucky looked back at his phone and formed a small smile at the message notification. He smiled more when he read it. I'll be there.

#gay #lgbt #bisexual #debut novel #books #gay books #fanfiction

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gwensanotherdimension · 4 years

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The Trials and Tribulations of being a Toy

Upon watching Toy Story 3, when I was in my seat watching these toys joining hands and accepting their fate of being incinerated, I felt an empty black pit of nothingness in my stomach. These toys were accepting their death and the end of their lives. That was pretty dark for a kids movie. They understood that this is what sometimes happens to toys. I was about eight years old when the movie was released and I’ve watched it more than I can admit. Of course I didn't understand what the big deal was about other than the fact that they were going to die. At the end of the movie, when Andy hands over the toys to Bonnie, it was the end of Toy Story and also the end of his childhood; but also it was the end of everyone else’s childhood. The kids that watched the first Toy Story as a kid are most definitely the same age as Andy in the third movie, if not slightly older. They all passed through the experience of growing out of your toys and moving past that stage of life. As I also grew older, nine years since the third movie, I had my own growing out of my toys' moments and putting them away. It was bitter sweet but the truth of life and what happens when children grow up. This lesson was highly impactful to any child growing up and growing out of their childhood, which made me upset when I saw that Toy Story 4 was going to be made. What could possibly top off how impactful the lesson in the third movie was?

I always thought that that was the perfect ending to a trilogy. Everyone grows up and moves on from toys, their toys are their deepest possessions and they have to say goodbye. I feel as if adding Toy Story 4 is unnecessary. Why restart what was ended so perfectly? While audiences bid farewell with the toys to Andy, it was also goodbye to the Toy Story trilogy. Spanning about 15 years, the movie ended where it needed to. But Pixar asked themselves, what are the toys up to now with Bonnie? Wouldn’t we like to know? And I can honestly say that my life hasn’t benefited since knowing. I was annoyed at the fact that they broke the perfect ending and added more to the story, at the end of the fourth (and hopefully the final) movie, Woody breaks apart from the main toy gang and stays with Bo Peep; traveling the world and expanding horizons.

Throughout the fourth movie, Woody has an existential crisis, he’s not a primary toy anymore, he always gets left in the closet and is often forgotten about. But when Forky (Voiced by Tony Hale) is created in class by Bonnie as a new friend, he protests that he’s just trash and is meant for a one use short-lived life. Woody tries to get Forky to realize that being a toy is an honour and their purpose to fulfill the child’s life (for the needed moment) He projects his need of being a wanted toy onto Forky who just wants to jump in the trash can. When the family stop at an RV park, Woody and Forky find themselves at an antique store, where Bo was dropped off nine years ago. She lives around in the area being a free toy and enjoying life. There’s also a small side-plot with a scary vintage Gabby Gabby doll and multiple creepy ventriloquist dummies where she essentially holds Forky hostage and lures Woody into the store in exchange for his voice box so she gets a chance at being a young girl’s toy.

Woody feels the need to protect Forky from throwing himself in the trash because he sees that the craft Spork means a lot to Bonnie. This stems from his need to feel wanted, Forky and Woody quickly understand each other and he fully convinces Forky that being a toy to a child is the best thing that can happen to a toy. However, the new characters that Woody meets have conflicting opinions, Bo ‘had a child’ but then she grew up and was pawned. But after about two years of not being sold, she left the store and started exploring the world around her. Duke Caboom, a stunt toy didn’t meet his child’s expectations and was thrown out. At the climax, when the gang are trying to break Forky away from Gabby’s locked case, Woody goes to extremes and risks the lives of the rest of the toys. In a heated moment, Bo asks him if their lives are worth less because they don’t belong to children. He retorts back that rescuing Forky for the happiness of Bonnie is his remaining purpose in life and that loyalty is something that a lost toy wouldn’t understand.

This time, when he returns to the store alone, Gabby shares her longing for a child’s love, which is similar to what Woody wants. They both long for the feeling of being wanted, and Woody sympathizes with her feelings and willingly gives over his voice box. Just before he leaves with Forky, he watches Gabby get rejected by her ideal owner, and he asks her if she would like to join the group with Bonnie. Just before they reach the RV Gabby notices a small girl lost at the carnival taking place during the events of this movie and she realizes her purpose is to help comfort this girl. When they reach the RV, Woody and Bo share a bittersweet goodbye, but Woody is hesitant to leave Bo again, he can’t help but notice the free life that she has, she’s fulfilled her purpose as a toy and is enjoying life. Buzz notices his longing for that lifestyle and assures him that Bonnie will be okay without him. The rest of the toys also share a bittersweet goodbye to Woody as he leaves the group and joins Bo finding owners for lost toys.

After the movie, I didn’t understand what the point of all this was. At the end of the third, they had already established the lesson of moving on, growing up and letting go of your childhood. In the fourth movie, they spin this lesson slightly, establishing that the hardest option is sometimes the best option. (The hardest option being Andy giving his toys away to Bonnie) I watched some behind the scenes to possibly pick up what I might've missed. It was definitely hard for Buzz to say goodbye to his longtime partner Woody; but he had to weigh the options. It’s hard to admit that you aren’t a used toy anymore, even though your only purpose in life at one time was to be there for a child; sometimes you aren’t going to have to be there. The lesson passed off in the fourth didn’t seem as impactful as the lesson in the third. When someone grows up, there isn’t a repeat option, there isn’t an option to return, that’s why I felt the growing up ending was a good drop-off point and final destination. It’s an ideal way of ending a movie series, toys are only toys up to a certain point in a human’s life. When people grow up, their toys and playtime aren’t as vivid now as they were when they were children. It’s almost as if toys live for the same amount of time as they're played with children.

Adding the fourth movie felt like re-opening a sewn seam and stitching another different piece of fabric into the shirt. Sure, there might be a handful of people that would’ve liked to see what the Toys were up to with Bonnie but it felt like an extended series type of thing instead of a legitimate attachment. I would’ve liked to see a mini-series released on Disney+ afterwards but not marked as the fourth movie. I have to keep reiterating the fact that Toy Story 3 had the best ending to a trilogy and the fourth was unnecessary and nobody cared enough to actively want to know.

Interestingly enough Toy Story 4 is the highest grossing installment of the franchise so I should be eating my words right now. Also, this movie was met with generally positive reviews and even won the academy award for Best Animated Feature. While I seemed to have picked this movie apart for existing, I have to applaud the movie for its spectacular animation. The flashback sequence at the beginning of the movie featured a heavy rainfall and was stunning. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was incredibly photo-realistic. The lighting and shadows were equally impressive, the sky was beautifully layered with colours at different times in the day and there is a moment in the antique store where the sun shines through the window and the rays hit the different chandeliers and lamps and breaks off into a disco ball of colour and light. I noticed a comment on the trailer and someone had pointed out how they loved the modernization of the characters but still kept the original elements and designs in and I wholeheartedly agree.

It has some of the most beautiful realistic animation I’ve seen so far and this adds onto Pixar’s impressive roster of innovative photo-realistic animation. Starting with Toy Story, the animation looks like Toy Story 4’s rough draft animation. With each movie comes a new animation challenge that Pixar executes so perfectly. With Cars 3, they had to invent a program for the naturalistic mud that the cars were interacting with, and in Coco, skeletons proved to be a challenge with the animated fabric being caught on the joins and creases of the exposed bones and draping unnaturally from hip bones rather than real human hips. Pixar has continued to perfect and improve their animation software and I'm genuinely impressed every time.

Toy Story 4, in my humble opinion was unnecessary, I wished that Toy Story 3 was the final ultimate ending but alas, we have another strong ending to the franchise. While I don't think that it's as impactful as the third (And I don't think anything will ever top it) it was definitely a solid ending for Woody and his journey with the rest of the original gang

#toy story 4 #toy story 3 #pixar #movie essay #disney #pixar essay #pixar movies

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everyman0 · 5 years

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WALLS TO BREAK US

so i know i dropped all communication for the past several months...and evans fucking journal might have you believe i sat on my ass the entire time but that isnt the case. I didnt intend on sharing this information, frankly. but my time is running out now, evans already gone. this account of events will be all i have left.

i cant leave this place. i dont even know where the fuck i am supposed to be to begin with.

there is a house. a neighborhood. stores. a town. but nothing has a name.

there are people, but despite the gift of sight i was given, i see nothing of them. like empty thoughts given a shell to walk around in.

i thought at first, a couple months ago when i was first allowed to walk outside again, that they were real and that i was simply too overwhelmed with shock to really notice what was wrong here. but now i see it. i see it because there is nothing to see. these people aren't people at all, more like ghosts.

at least im not entirely alone. there's still the house and asterion.

ive walked to the store many times, even got assaulted in the parking lot. Was that guy a ghost too? I dont know. but i havent only gone to the store - ive walked around the entire town. know what i finally realized, several days after i had made that exploratory journey?

there are no cars here. none being sold, none being driven, absolutely fucking nothing. no bikes either. no skates, no skateboards, no heelies wheelies or fucking feelies. not a single mode of transportation of any kind.

theres a bus stop though! thank fuck for that! oh wait, it's fucking useless. i have not once seen a bus in this god forsaken place.

imagine the anguish i felt upon realizing that despite being able to steal groceries just fine, i cant even hope to steal a car to drive as far away as i can from this hellhole. but it doesnt stop there.

of course it doesnt.

so alright, no cars. but i still had my legs, right? (and still do, somehow.)

so i figured if i cant drive away, i could at least saunter the fuck out of this place and maybe determine some sense of location on planet fucking earth. i set out. i walked in one direction from the house to the town and onward. and onward. and onward. for five fucking hours.

i found nothing.

but it wasnt your average nothingness like that of a long rural road, as it had originally appeared to me. no...instead, i eventually encountered what i call the Edge. here, the road stutters into an impossible blackness. here, if you turn your head, you can see how the blackness runs parallel to the world around you, bordering everything for miles. real truman show type shit.

the real kicker is when i discovered that only i can see it.

like any good scientist, i did some experimenting. kicked some cans, threw some rocks, all hurtling in the direction of the black wall. to my surprise, the items phased through it. swallowed might be a better word. i couldnt see or hear if the objects landed on the other side, if there was even a side to land on beyond the boundaries of ink. so then i decided i needed an extra set of eyes, and brought evan along a few days later.

this is the first and last time i let him outside in my care, and for good reason.

we arrived at the Edge, and evan was immediately annoyed at me as i had stopped walking just a few feet before the black wall. i asked him to explain what the problem was. he was like, "dude, you told me there was some shit i had to see and we have been walking forever. where the fuck is it? is this it? because it looks like a whole lot of fucking nothing."

i then asked, "what does this nothing look like to you?"

evan was growing more confused and angry, but i didnt want him to know what i did until i knew what he did first. i didnt want to contaminate his perception by revealing my own. i needed to be thorough and absolutely sure of our experience.

he threw his arms in the air in frustration, "a road, vin. it looks like a road, the same fuckin' cracked asphalt we've been following for miles. forwards and backwards, road."

evan took a step forward, into the blackness. i saw the tip of his foot disappear, sliced by the unfathomable wall. evan didnt seem to notice anything different, standing there with his arms crossed. so then i knew at least one thing for certain: only i could see the wall.

however, until seeing evan's foot just barely phasing through the wall, it hadnt occurred to me if i could pass through it too...or at least touch it. before, when i had been throwing cans and such, i didnt dare get too close to the black edge. i had no idea what would happen, and wasnt particularly interested in finding out at the time. all i could gather was that, just like the rest of the town and even the house herself, it was designed to keep things inside.

as it turns out, evan was not one of those things intended to stay. i stood there pondering silently, and watched as evan began an impatient pacing along the length of the wall. an imperfect, wobbly hobble across the street and back; i saw arms and legs flash in and out of the blackness as evan walked, still taking no notice. evan couldnt see the difference like i could, and he wasnt the prisoner these walls were meant to encase. so who was?

well obviously it's me. at least, i'm somehow a part of the equation i think. and then i figured now was no better a time as any for me to make my approach and reach out - touch the wall, see what happens, inwardly hope it just kills me on the spot, and so on.

but right as i had decided this, i hear evan angrily spitting an expletive and turn, marching off beyond the pitch black walls. guess he was tired of waiting on me, and you know ev - always runs in head first. i word this story now as if this is something i remember fondly about evan, but let me be clear: in that moment of time, standing in the middle of some fucking road behind a maliciously black prison wall, a wall of which evan was now beyond and impossible for me to see any longer? leaving me, alone?

i fucking hate how much of a hardheaded ass evan is sometimes.

i was so caught off guard by evan's sudden disappearance beyond the veil of the Edge that what that meant didn't register until several seconds later when i found myself clamoring towards the wall. i yelled for evan, then screamed for him. my hands meet the black surface with a loud plang as if the wall was made of glass, but the way the wall felt against my skin is indescribable. i wailed my fists against the presumed surface, the noise of the impacts reverberating loudly. this lasted a few minutes.

evan eventually came back...and he seemed just as he were before, except maybe even more annoyed as he began to once again pester me on why i was just standing there wasting time. he got his first round of bitching out before he noticed that i had tears running down my face, looking disheveled.

he changed his tune and asked me what was wrong, what the fuck happened. his confusion was telling - he hadnt heard me screaming for him to come back. i wiped my eyes, faked a chuckle, and told him it was nothing to worry about and that maybe it was best to go home for now and try some other time when im more 'in the present.'

i decided that i wasnt going to tell evan about the Edge, at least not right then. i needed time to gather myself back together, since the resulting panic attack had taken a lot out of me for one day. But even after i had taken that time...

i didnt want evan to know about the wall. fuck, i know its selfish, but i didnt want evan to know that he had the ability to leave this wretched fuckhole but i didnt, that i was trapped and he wasnt. its not because i wanted to spare evan the heartbreak of knowing his friend was doomed...but because i didnt want evan to get the idea that he could abandon me without consequence.

i didnt want evan to use this knowledge as an escape plan to get away from me.

not wanting evan to leave me wasnt the only reason i didnt tell him though. there was still so much i was uncertain about; hell, i still wasnt sure if just being outside the house put evan at risk. i took a chance in taking him to the wall and he lasted well enough during that time...but given what was discovered, even if evan could sit out on the lawn every day and not a thing touch him...the very existence of the wall was a dangerous game of chance.

this is why i did not want evan to go back outside again after this incident. i couldnt trust that he would truly be safe...and i couldnt trust that he wouldn't just run away on me. i completely fucked myself in both ways, though. he's out there getting hurt or dying or already dead because i pushed him far enough to truly fucking hate me.

even now, ive no idea what happened to evan after he ran out of the house. Maybe he never made it past the wall again.

maybe this post is the first time he’s hearing about it.*

*IT IS, YOU SMART BOY. I COULDN’T JUST KILL HIM BEFORE YOU EXPOSED YOURSELF AS A HIDEOUS EXCUSE OF A FRIEND. THE PAIN WILL ADD FLAVOR! MAYBE I’LL GIVE YOU A TASTE.

#evrymn0 #phase???

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

In Pursuit

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

It was cold outside, as one could expect at this time of the year, making Sasha shiver and bury deeper into her coat. That damn cook told her that his shift was ending, she checked her watch, fifteen minutes ago, yet here she was, and Niccolo was nowhere to be seen. Sitting in her wheelchair in front of the soup kitchen, she must have looked like a beggar, judging from the glances the passing pedestrians threw her way. Gritting her teeth, she just hoped that no one who actually knows her will walk past, because that would be rather embarrassing. Finally, after about five more minutes of her contemplating if the guy didn’t forget about her, Niccolo appeared, nodding in greetings as he came to stand next to her, hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket.

“What took you so long?”, Sasha hissed at him, righteously upset.

“What? I’m late?”, he frowned down at his phone, shrugging afterwards, “Whoops.”

Bastard. But she couldn’t antagonize him, he was the best lead she had.

“So, can we go?”, she asked, forcing a smile on her face despite really wanting to punch the smug bastard right between the eyes.. Or in his stomach, if she was being realistic, because she couldn’t reach his head.

“Just one last thing.”, Niccolo looked left and right, squatting to be on level with her, which simultaneously gave her the perfect opportunity to fulfill her dream of breaking his nose. With a lot of self- denial, she pushed that desire back. For now. “Is there something you didn’t tell me? Anything that could help us?”

“Gabi talked about needing a “fix” from time to time. Does that help?”

He nodded.

“Immensely.”, Niccolo grinned, “Luckily for you, I do have certain knowledge of the drug underworld here, so don’t worry. I know just the person to talk to.”. Standing up, he stretched, groaning when his back popped a bit. Spending the whole day behind counter and handing out soup was not exactly comfortable. “Shall we?”

With Niccolo leading, Sasha followed, wheeling herself next to him. The road was silent, with only the passing cars cutting into it. She was used to being around introverts, after all, she was Mikasa’s friend, but she wanted to know more about this guy, the I’m a cook and volunteer in soup kitchen profile didn’t really cut it for her, especially when she had to trust him with something as personal as this.

“So, Niccolo,”, she began, getting his attention, “your family is Italian?”

“Because of the name, huh?”, he smiled, “It does give it away, doesn’t it. Anyway, if you are interested, I was born and raised in America, but my grandfather was Italian.”, he looked down at Sasha, his voice dropping to a secretive whisper, “Apparently he was a mobster, and tried fucking with the wrong people, so he was forced to flee Italy to save his life. Crook can’t deal with a boss.”, he looked back forward, making sure that they were taking the right street. “That’s how mafia works.”

She watched his face with an unamused expression.

“You’re full of shit.”

“I know.”, Niccolo shrugged, “But it’s much more interesting than what actually happened. Dad simply wanted to live in America, so he came over and met mom here. Not much of a fun story now, is it.”

“I prefer the truth.”

“Suit yourself.”

Abruptly, he stopped, turning back to Sasha.

“We are here.”

Sasha wanted to ask what does “here” mean, but then she noticed a man coming their way, dark skinned youth in a buttoned-up jacket. He reached Niccolo, and they nodded at each other, before his gaze slid down to Sasha, and he frowned.

“Who’s this Nico? A cop?”

Before the cook could answer however, Sasha did it for him.

“Oh yes, I’m a policewoman, special wheelchair division.”, she patted the side of her seat to emphasize her point, “We specialize in chasing running suspects and climbing stairs.”

“Right, chill lady, I’m just careful.”, satisfied with her outburst, he turned back towards Niccolo, who extended his hand.

“You got the stuff?”

Instead of answering, the youth reached into his coat and pulled out a small plastic bag, stuffed with certain substance that she recognized from her college years.

“Weed? You’re buying weed? Do you two realize that it’s been legalized?”

So, they were doing all this sneaking around and cop accusations for a few grams of cannabis, which you can buy in a regular drugstore nowadays. Perfect, just perfect.

“I do know that.”, ignoring her, Niccolo pocketed the bag, “And I also know that I can get better price per gram here than in any other store. Plus, I’m also getting something else…. right?”

“Right.” Agreed the salesman, pulling out another package from his pockets of wonders, smaller this time, filled with pills. Sasha watched, wide-eyed, as Niccolo grinned in satisfaction, handing over some cash.

“So, we came here just so you can get your stuff? Or what the fuck did we walk all the way for?”

“All in due time.”, as if annoyed by her eagerness, he shook his head, looking up at his supplier. “Listen buddy, I need to know, have you seen a young girl recently? About thirteen, apparently going around with a guy of the same age. We just want to know if you sold her anything, and where.”

“I don’t deal with underage kids. Shit’s too risky.”, the dealer redirected his eyes at Sasha, “Sorry lady, can’t help.”

“Well, worth a shot, thanks anyway.”

With that, the man turned around and walked away the same way he came, doing his best not to look suspicious.

“Dead end?”

“Nah, not at all. An elimination tactic.”, Niccolo looked smug, even with Sasha glaring at him. “Now we know that she didn’t buy form this guy and can move on from here.”

“Ah, and you get your own fix in the meanwhile. Junkie.”

“I just take some stuff from time to time, to feel better.”, he patted the pocket where he hid the weed, “Nothing beats a joint after work.”

Whatever, Sasha wasn’t here to criticize his life choices. She came to find Gabi.

“So, what now?”

“Easy. Now we…”, but before Niccolo could finish his thought a motorbike stopped nearby, and a figure jumped off, removing the helmet to reveal a pale face framed by waterfall of shiny midnight hair. Sasha’s eyes widened. She knew that face very well.

“Sash? What are you doing here?”, Mikasa asked, her eyes flying over to Niccolo, measuring him. “Who’s this?”

“This? Uhm that’s…. eh..”, Sasha’s brain was working in overdrive, trying to figure out an excuse that her friend would buy. It had to be something real, something good, because Mikasa was far from stupid, and wouldn’t buy just anything. “A cook?”

“Cook?”, the biker wondered, looking back at him.

Niccolo smiled, giving Mikasa a small nervous wave. He seemed to be shrinking where he stood, rather intimidated by her presence.

“Yes, a cook. Me, Armin and Connie are considering adding a kitchen for our bar, and this guy, Niccolo, is one of the potential hires to work there.”, she nodded, satisfied with her fabrication, “It’s of course just a possibility, nothing is certain.”

“Okay… But why are you meeting out on the street?”

Damn she was persistent.

“We just wanted to get some fresh air.”

Mikasa seemed to be turning her statements over in her head, eyes flicking from Sasha to Niccolo and back. The whole thing didn’t seem right, not at all, but she had no intention of trying to act like a Spanish inquisition towards her friend and just grill her out in the street. Sasha’s life was her own. Faking her best, “I understand”, expression, she took a step back towards her ride.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”, she finally spoke, putting her helmet back on and mounting the bike with a practiced movement. “See you around Sash. Niccolo”

With that, she kicked the machine back to life, and with a screeching of tires disappeared after taking a sharp corner. Sasha exhaled in relief, wiping her brow. Crisis averted.

“Fuck.”, Niccolo breathed out as soon as Mikasa was gone, hanging his head, “She was scary.”

“Scary?”, Sasha blinked in surprise, not sure where that was coming from. She wouldn’t call Mikasa scary, but then again, they each other for a very long time. It was hard imagining someone as scary after you saw them wiggling on the bed, trying to hide beneath the blanket moaning “Just five more minutes.”, when you tried waking them up in time for class.

“Yea, with the bike and her figure and the black leather clothes and stuff, she looked like a gangster.”, he gestured towards his face, “the dark lipstick and narrowed eyes didn’t really help it either. And the way she looked at me, it was just…”, he ran out of words, shrugging. “Scary.”

“And here I thought you knew how mafia worked.”, Sasha couldn’t stop herself from poking fun at him, just a little bit, for all his previous bullshitting. Felt good.

“Yea well,”, he let out a breathy laugh, “this one was definitely a hitman.”

Finally collecting his bearings, he straightened, giving Sasha a wink.

“Let’s go.”

“You never told me where we are going now.”, she said as she followed him, matching his tempo.

“Oh right, it’s a…. well, how do I say it, a house where you can shoot your stuff into the vein without fear of someone robbing you and raping you after. Safe house of sorts.”

“Crack house.”, Sasha corrected him.

“You could say that. They do sell more than crack though, they are rather well supplied.”

“Wonderful.”

“It’s a good thing.”, he pointed out, “Since we don’t know what Gabi’s thing is, we can’t filter places by what they sell.”

“How do you even know all these people?”, Sasha wondered, “Wild youth?”

“Grew up around them.”, he said, but didn’t elaborate further. This conversation was over.

The rest of their way was quiet, as Sasha sensed that she broached a sensitive topic that Niccolo didn’t have any intention of speaking about. The destination showed to be a rundown building, the stairs at the front flanked by three guys, lounging around. Not suspicious at all.

“Wait here.”, Niccolo ordered, crossing the street to meet the welcoming party.

Ignoring her gut, which was telling her that this was a bad idea, Sasha watched him swagger right into them, greeting the one who stood up with a raised hand. They talked between themselves, with the guard pointing at Sasha, demanding something, but Niccolo calmed him with a few choice words. After a bit more discussion, and some money flowing from the cook’s pocket to the sentry’s, they parted, with Niccolo returning to her with a thoughtful expression.

“Didn’t see her either.”, he said, shaking his head.

Sasha could feel the desperation in her rising. Nothing at the guy they met before, nothing here. What now?

“He did promise that he will put a word out, for a small fee.”, seeing her so crestfallen, he put a hand on her shoulder, “Don’t worry, she will turn up. Sooner or later.”

“Why would he help you? Just for the money?”

“That and other things. Dealing with a minor is tricky, if you get caught the authorities will fuck you hard.”, he stammered, cheeks coloring slightly. “Excuse my language.”

So, he drags her through a meeting with a drug dealer, to a street where a crack house is, and he still apologizes for swearing. This guy.

“It’s quite all right. Thanks for the help today.”, burying her hands in her pockets, she blinked up at him. “But what do we do now?”

“Now we wait. I’ll contact you as soon as someone finds her, I promise.” He handed her his phone, watching Sasha put her number in. He chuckled. “Gotta be honest, this is the hardest I ever worked for getting a girl’s number.”

“Then you had it easy.”, Sasha answered, returning both his phone and his smile. “Wonderful first date, I learned a lot about drug dealing in our city. Call me?”

Niccolo pocketed his device.

“Count on it.”

Half a city away, Mikasa sat in a random bar, replaying the weird encounter in her head. From time to time, she liked to just take her bike and ride, with no destination in mind, simply enjoying the way the motor purred between her legs. What she didn’t expect however, was her meeting Sasha in a rather unpleasant part of town, accompanied by a short blond guy, talking out in the street. She circled the cold bottle of coke with her fingers, studying the mental image she made of them. Both Sasha and the guy, Niccolo, seemed nervous, and the excuse that she was interviewing him to be a cook at the bar didn’t sit well with her at all. Why would you look for a staff, when your establishment has no kitchen? Mikasa was also rather familiar with the layout, as she spent a lot of her free time there, helping, and she knew that there were no plans on building anything new. But even if her friend told her that the guy was a waiter or something more credible, she would still have very strong doubts about it. Talking in the street, in that part of the town? Yea right.

The meeting plagued her mind, so much in fact that she couldn’t focus on driving, so she took the first exit she saw and went to sit down, entering a bar she never visited before. There were a lot of bikes in the front, and the interior was half full of leather clad men and women, making her realize that this was most likely some kind of biker meeting point. With her clothes, she fit right in. The atmosphere was nice, rock music playing, with most of the patrons playing pool, talking and laughing between themselves. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her, which suited her just fine, until a man emerged from the crowd, coming to sit down next to her.

“Now what’s a beauty like you doing here all alone?”, he asked with a suggestive smile.

His intentions were easy to guess, so instead of answering, Mikasa held up her hand, letting the light shine on her engagement ring, offering him an apologetic shrug, hoping that he will understand. To her own surprise, he did.

“That’s a damn shame.”, he muttered, standing up, “Have a great evening miss.”

And with that, the well-mannered biker returned to his group, leaving her alone. With that out of the way, she was once again free to think about Sasha. What was she doing there? The dramatic explanation would of course be cheating on Connie, but her friend wasn’t that kind of person. Sure, she was way more socially active than Mikasa, having a number of boyfriends and even some short flings in college, but to her knowledge she never cheated on anyone, ever. Then again, what other solutions were there? Why would she just hang around bad neighborhood with a random dude, chilling on the street? Mikasa had no idea. Finishing her coke, she decided to go back out for another ride, hoping that the wind and the sound of engine will put her mind to ease.

The door creaked closed behind her, as she jumped on her bike once more, speeding away.

#fanfic #snk #eremika #sasha braus #niccolo #gabi

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obsidianarchives · 5 years

Text

The Dragon Leather Jacket

Blaise Zabini was glad to get out of the castle, but was annoyed it had to be alone. He hadn't cared much for Valentine's Day years before, despite the loads of chocolate frogs that ended up in his bag. Even this year, two second year Slytherin girls sent him cards that projected a magical ballet they thought he’d like and he'd cooly refrained from sinking into the floor at the embarrassment when he’d opened them in the Great Hall that morning.

But while Valentine's wasn't his thing, a certain Hufflepuff girl was. He'd tried asking her to spend the day with him — only to be rejected. The resulting discontent was a feeling only she could give him, as he’d learned when she rejected him for the Yule Ball last year. She'd said it was because he had some growing to do, and he knew he did, but that didn't make it smart any less. Something about Desiree Warbeck’s insistence that he could rise above the stereotype of his house was both annoying — and really attractive.

He hadn't even wanted to spend the day with her as a Valentine's date, that was just a convenient coincidence. Her birthday was coming up and he knew her sweet tooth probably couldn't resist a private basement reservation at Madam Puddifoot’s (he'd never be caught dead eating in the general seating area) or a trip to the balcony in Honeydukes where they sold their most expensive chocolates. But he'd asked her at the end of last BSU meeting and she'd said no. She claimed it was because her friends had something planned for her birthday, but he suspected she just wasn't ready. Which really meant he wasn't ready.

He was trying. People like Umbridge made it easier for him to see the flaws in his upbringing when she not only recruited people like Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle for her Inquisitorial Squad, but used that group to try to bust up his club just based on the color of their skin. Blaise didn't fight for much, but the BSU had come to mean more to him than he really knew how to express. Come for them and get on his shit list. But Des had caught Blaise smirking at a joke Malfoy had made about the Creevey brothers — Malfoy had done a decent mouse impression, okay? — and she’d refused him her weekly meeting cookies for two weeks.

So Blaise wandered Hogsmeade alone. He tried not to hang with Malfoy’s crowd much anymore, not least of which because Malfoy and Parkinson just started hooking up and he didn't feel like gagging while Crabbe and Goyle pigged out on the chocolate frogs they’d “stolen” from him that morning. (He let them have the chocolate. He’d considered giving them to Desiree, but knew it wouldn’t help his cause to give her chocolates given to him by other girls.) The rest of the BSU had either paired up or squared up and Blaise wasn't in the mood to be anyone's third or fifth wheel. It was times like these that he almost regretted not having more friends. However, a quick look around at the students laughing obnoxiously as they walked out of Zonko’s made him figure it was definitely for the best.

All he could think about was Desiree, wondering where she was, what she would do if he randomly showed up where she was, and how to figure out just how to...do that. It was cold outside, though, and he didn't want to just wander alone. It looked pathetic. So he shook off his stalker inclinations and looked at the shops on his left and his right. His choices were Zonko’s and Gladrags. He typically owl ordered his joke products on the occasion he found some whimsy, to avoid stepping in that madhouse, so he gladly chose Gladrags.

It was quiet inside. Being a shop on the high-end side, not too many Hogwarts students frequented it. Some of the Slytherin well to do and families like the Abbotts frequented, but he knew he'd never spot a Weasley in here.

Blaise didn't buy much for himself. His mother sent him whatever he needed and a few extravagances he usually didn't even ask for, but were the result of whatever dalliances she was working to profit from (and then eventually end). So as he looked around the shop, he found himself looking at the ladies wear, imagining each item on Desiree's curvy form. With her grandmother being a world famous songstress, she didn't want for much either, but he couldn't recall her in a Gladrags original. Her style was practical, with classic silhouettes, and neutral color palettes, but usually with a pop of color. He also knew she liked to wear cutesy dressing gowns (last year’s end of lessons BSU slumber party told him that) and that she liked to bake. Maybe an apron? He went over to the house-wears, but nothing called to him.

“Need any help?” The shopkeeper, a small mousy woman with wide eyes and a nervous manner approached. “Ah, Mr. Zabini. How are you? How is your mother liking that yeti’s fur stole she purchased?” Blaise bit his lip, not wanting to admit the stole disappeared with husband number five. “She's doing well.” He kept it curt, never interested in enduring meaningless small talk.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Uh, just a gift.”

“For? A special someone perhaps?” The shopkeeper wiggled her very thin eyebrows.

Blaise hated this. It's why he so often owl ordered. But he was stuck on a gift and Desiree would find it hilarious that he had endured what he joked was his boggart: small talk. “It's for a friend. A girl.”

The shop worker’s already large eyes lit up. “Oh, we have a special new makeup collection just in time for a late Valentine's gift!“ She grabbed Blaise by the arm and led him to a display near the front of the shop. “These foundations change their shimmer with the wearer’s mood,” she said, holding up a palette of pale foundation.

Blaise looked at the palette, and the surrounding equally pale mixtures and vials, and looked at the woman. He knew what he wanted to say, but imagined Des as an angel on his shoulder, telling him to be nice to the woman, he said, “That wouldn’t work. Her skin’s about my complexion.”

“Ah,” said the shopkeeper shortly, gingerly putting down the foundation and moving away from the display, looking around the room for where to drag Blaise next.

Blaise turned his head, his eyes falling on a section across the store. It was almost like someone had cast a Lumos charm on a jacket at the far end of the room. He headed straight for it, leaving the shopkeeper to keep up behind him. The jacket was black dragon leather, with a hint of gold shimmer. It was cropped short and had gold swirling embellishments on the collar. It was perfect.

“Oh, I'm not sure this would be of any interest to an acquaintance of a family of your caliber. It’s from a new designer we’ve been trying to work with. But they’re Muggle-born, so their style is a bit…eccentric.”

Blaise smirked. Yeah, it would be perfect for Desiree. “I’ll take it.”

“Sir, it’s going to be 100 galleons.”

“That’s fine,” he said, waving one hand dismissively while the other fingered the collar of the jacket. It was softer than it appeared and he could see the gold shimmer highlighting the yellow-toned brown of Desiree’s skin.

Blaise left Gladrags deciding he’d done enough lonely wandering for the day and started to head back towards the castle. But before he did, he felt the day couldn’t go without a bit of chocolate. He stepped into Honeydukes and got a chocolate frog to slip into the jacket pocket, a little surprise for later.

——

Desiree Warbeck regretted lying to Blaise. She’d said her friends wanted to do something for her birthday, but really they were just stalking the boys they had very distant crushes on. They were older recent Hogwarts grads who were working at nearby shops, so she was just flitting from store to store with them as they giggled over Grown Wizards. Desiree loved a good giggle over a boy, but the boy she wanted to giggle over sometimes ran with the wrong crowd and she couldn’t be with him if he maintained the same beliefs they did. So she’d shut him down when he’d asked her to hang out today and she wasn’t even having a good time without him. Rubbish.

She thought she’d seen him along the path as they all walked down to the village, but then she kept imagining she was seeing him everywhere she went with her friends. She knew he owl-ordered nearly everything, so there was no way he’d gone in Scrivenshaft's. He didn’t even like their quills. When she profoundly started to ache at his absence, she decided to call it a day and leave her twittering friends to their stalking, heading back to the castle to hole up in the kitchens with the house elves and begin her baking-to-get-her-mind-off-boys ritual.

Four hours later, she’d baked enough cookies to feed an army. I was really trying not to think about Blaise, wow, she thought, realizing with that thought that she’d already lost the game. In front of her were dozens of cookies she’d made without even using magic.

“Ms. Desi, what are you going to do with all these cookies?” asked Dobby, who was always the least fearful of the house elves and liked talking to Desiree and asking her questions. The rest just let her do whatever she wanted and kind of left her alone.

“I’m not sure Dobby. I can take a few to tomorrow’s BSU meeting, but the rest…I definitely can’t eat all those cookies,” she said with a laugh.

“Should we decorate them for the Valentimes Day and give them out?” Dobby could never get the name of the holiday quite right.

“That’s a great idea, Dobby!” With a snap of his thin fingers, dozens of Desiree’s cookies had pink and white frosting in the shape of hearts. Desiree liked experimenting with decorating spells herself, but house elf magic was second to none. She insisted Dobby eat one and he nibbled at one before slipping it into his little apron pocket. Desiree wondered if house elves had very different taste buds because he just didn’t seem to enjoy it and she knew her cookies were good. After thanking him, she grabbed her tin of BSU cookies, and headed out the door.

Just as she was climbing out the portrait hole, she bumped into someone and nearly dropped the cookie tin. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh!” she said again when she realized it was the very boy she was trying to avoid thinking about all day. “Blaise, what…what are you doing down here?”

He looked startled at having run into her, and she noticed him move his hand, which held a package, behind his back. It took him a minute to speak and Desiree flashed back to when he’d asked her to the Yule Ball last year. He hadn’t even been this nervous asking her out for her birthday.

“I was looking for you,” he said finally. Then…nothing.

“So why do you look so shocked to see me?” She arched an eyebrow at him which, from the way he continued to stare at her, she realized didn’t help put him back on his guard.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’ve been looking for you since before dinner and I just realized I hadn’t thought of what to say when I actually found you…”

He motioned for her to walk with him and they headed to a little nook under the staircase leading to the Great Hall. There was a ledge and he invited her to sit.

“I know it’s not your birthday yet, but I got you something in Hogsmeade today.”

“Oh Blaise, you didn’t have to get me anything.” She smiled softly, though, at knowing he’d been thinking about her all day too.

“I know, but I saw it and couldn’t walk away without getting it for you.”

He placed the package in her lap. She opened it, finding the black dragon leather jacket, the light gold glimmering softly at her. Her mouth dropped open.

“Blaise, I can’t accept this, it’s too much. Literally. This had to cost a fortune.” But she couldn’t help but stare at the jacket, finally putting her hands on the soft leather.

“You know that’s not an issue,” he said, sitting next to her, vanishing the wrapping with his wand to let her hold the jacket in her hands. “And look, it’s perfect for you. You once told me you wished your Hufflepuff came with a little more ‘badass,’ so…here you go.”

Desiree felt like her heart was growing four sizes in her chest, and it already took up way too much space. She clutched the jacket to her chest, squeezing it as she forced the incoming tears back into her eyes. She refused to cry in front of this boy! But not only had he been thinking about her today, he’d listened to something she’d said off-hand months ago, maybe even last year.

She looked at the boy to her right. The boy who was a Slytherin (which wasn’t a bad thing), dormed with members of the Inquisitorial Squad (which wasn’t his fault), and had some regressive views about Muggles and Muggle-borns (which she’d refused to tolerate). But she thought, from their BSU meetings and personal conversations, he was working on that last one. And here he was. His usual stony face more open than she ever saw it in public. The faint flush on his chiseled cheekbones a very brown distraction from the thought that had been niggling in her mind for a minute. Which was...

“Wait, did you…go to a store for this?”

Blaise laughed, a full blown cackle, which she’d definitely never seen him do before, and she couldn’t help herself. She kissed him on the cheek.

He stopped laughing, his breath caught in his throat. Desiree smirked and stood.

“Thank you, Blaise. I love it. I’ll have to save it for just the right occasion. Maybe you’ll even be there to see me wear it.”

She winked and walked away towards the Hufflepuff common room, with an extra sashay in her step. Her grandmother, the great Celestina Warbeck, had always told her to “always leave ‘em wanting more.”

#HogwartsBSU #BSUverse #Blaise Zabini #Desiree Warbeck #Blaiseree

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jocelynships · 5 years

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how I got into Marvel and how at first it was just a silly little obsession and how it turned into something that ended up meaning so much to me.

So, I apologize for this sounding so sappy and for how long (it’s really long and I apologize greatly) and emotional this gets, but here:

Warning: Talk of past mental abuse and thoughts of self-harm/suicide

So here’s the funny thing, when I was between the ages of 10-13 I wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with Marvel. Everyone was talking about it and I will admit I was a bratty kid and if something was popular I had to Hate It™️. I’ve grown from that mindset and I’m SO glad I did. But anyways, not the point of the story.

When I was a little kid I watched the first Spider-Man movie with Tobey Maguire and Fantastic 4. I watched a lot of Spider-Man cartoons too. I can’t remember if I ever watched X-Men or not, but I remember seeing them in a few Spider-Man episodes. My dad liked Marvel and he’d play the movies (this was all pre MCU I should mention) and I think I’d watch bits and pieces of them while I played with whatever toys I had in my parent’s bedroom or living room (when I was a kid if my dad was home I HAD to be around him). So I had a VAGUE understanding of superheroes and who they were. I’m certain I could have named a few of them when I was younger, I just didn’t necessarily care.

So Avengers came out when I was finishing up 8th grade, and all my classmates were talking about it, but it annoyed me greatly. My best friend, Rebecca, had seen it already, and was freaking out about it with some of our other old friends. I made a comment like “is it really good or are you guys just trying to be cool like everyone else?”

And Rebecca goes, “Jocelyn, you really need to see it. I think you’d actually like it.”

“Superheroes are so overrated!”

“At least watch the trailer!”

So Rebecca pulled up the trailer on her iPod Touch (god I feel old just saying that), sat me down at one of the benches by the basketball court our tiny private school had, and I watched the trailer. I was kinda interested, but not totally sold. I decided the guys were hot, and if I would go if asked.

Then when I got home from school, I was looking for something to watch like most kids were. Nothing was on, but Disney XD was playing some Marvel cartoons and out of simple curiosity and not really liking anything else that was being played, I turned it on. And holy shit I ended up getting hooked.

So a few days later after watching these cartoons I suggest seeing Avengers to my dad. He gets this look on his face like, “who the hell are you and what did you do to my daughter because she hates superheroes?” He asks me if I’m a Marvel fan now and I mentioned the cartoons, so he went and rented the movies leading up to the Avengers, and I wasn’t actually expecting to like anything, I just wanted to see it because I thought the guys were hot.

So I ended up really enjoying the movies, and my dad and I started seeing the other MCU films that came out. I told myself I was only interested in the Avengers and Spider-Man really (the Amazing Spider-Man came out the same year as the Avengers and my dad took me to see it). I told myself didn’t really care about any of the other hero teams.

BUT THEN I GET INTRODUCED TO THIS REALLY COOL FACEBOOK MARVEL GAME! They sadly don’t have it anymore which in my opinion is BULLSHIT, but it was called Avengers Alliance and they had a shit ton of characters in it. My goal was to get them all but I never did bc it got shut down (listen I would kill to have it brought back okay THEY HAD A BUNCH OF X-MEN CHARACTERS) But basically I saw all these characters I had no idea existed and me being me, my mind went “I MUST KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM”! I really don’t know everything about them and I’m still discovering characters but that’s okay!! The Marvel universe is HUGE and I love learning new stuff about it!! But anyways back to my original point!! I remembered I really liked the Fantastic 4 when I was younger so I started watching the original two movies again (I haven’t seen the 2015 remake nor do I plan to ever). Then I saw we had the first two X-Men films, okay lets watch those. Oh, who’s Daredevil and the other Defenders? They seem cool!! Ghost Rider? Hell yeah, a skeleton on fire how cool is that?! Agents of SHIELD? I loved Phil Coulson, I had to watch it! Hey, the Guardians of the Galaxy are really cool too! I know nothing about Doctor Strange but he was in some Spider-Man cartoons and he seemed awesome! Blade, a vampire that doesn’t sparkle? SIGN ME UP!

Basically from the time I was 14-17, I was just basically running down an aisle at a grocery store picking out characters I thought looked cool. I also learned a lot about the characters from some mobile games I downloaded bc hey, I like games.

But at the same time as I was going through everything, I started developing some extreme anxiety and depression problems. I didn’t exactly realize it WAS anxiety and depression, I just thought I was extremely sensitive and did a bunch of shit wrong, so I assumed I was just a screw up whenever my mother yelled at me for getting a B in class or blamed me for her being late to work when I was ready to go and she was just getting in the shower. It wasn’t until my senior year did I realize something was wrong with the way she was treating me and the way I was feeling. But again, I brushed it off as nothing.

I went through my senior year feeling anxious and depressed a lot. But I was a SENIOR! I was almost done with high school! I had a great group of friends and we’d hang out on the weekends and go off campus for lunch to the Taco Bell down the road! Things couldn’t be bad!

But tensions were rising high at home. I was sort of oblivious to a lot of it and to be honest, I’m a little upset with myself for not noticing it sooner. My parents were fighting a lot, and halfway through my senior year of high school, my sister and niece had to move in with us because her ex husband was an alcoholic and was getting abusive. (She ended up going back for about another year, but left permanently the second time she moved in with us) And needless to say things were really rough since there was now five people in a two bedroom apartment and my sister and my niece stayed in my room with me. Which was difficult since my niece was 4/5 at the time and had quite the temper, and I was also her favorite person, yet I was occupied with school work.

My anxiety and depression got worse, and it got to the point where I was having meltdowns in class and would have to leave school early or just stay home. After a month or two and a HUGE fight between pretty much everyone (except me, they only stopped when I had a massive panic attack), my sister moved back.

And things were slightly okay again. During that break I got reintroduced to X-Men through a couple different things: my best friend, @rosyinlove, X-Men Apocalypse was coming out, and my brother gave me his old Xbox 360 and the game Marvel Ultimate Alliance. I’ve seen the first two movies at this point and I was already kinda curious about them, but wasn’t until that year did I realize “hey these guys are kinda cool!” So I played as them in Ultimate Alliance just because they were the most fun to play. And while he sadly wasn’t a playable character, Nightcrawler was a character and you had to rescue him in a quest (or kill him and save Jean instead, I had a dilemma over the very idea of killing him and this was BEFORE I started shipping with him!) and he fascinated me. IDK if it was my brain just liking him as a character or going “WHOO BOY HE’S HOT”, but my interest in him was growing and I was kinda sad he wasn’t a playable character!

And with Apocalypse coming out the day after I graduated high school, I decided I had to see it, so I impulsively bought the other movies and well... the rest is history. I started watching the cartoons and while I didn’t get my hands on any comics, I read bits and pieces online.

And for some reason, the X-Men just spoke out to me in a way I can’t explain. I loved all the other heroes I came across, but there was something about the team of mutants that really pulled me in. Maybe because I related to the fact of being outcast? But in any case, I was drawn to them and I latched onto them and just didn’t let go. Even when 70s and 80s pop culture was the main thing on my mind in 2017, I still had the X-Men in the back of my mind and I thought “oh hey, this song reminds me of the X-Men”, “Kurt would like this song”, or “omg this movie would be a cute AU for me and Kurt!”

But anyways, the summer of 2016 was kind of rough. My mother was getting onto me for every single little thing and even yelled at me in front of my friends once for asking her to bring some some soda after she OFFERED to get us some. My friends pulled me aside and said, “hey, that’s not normal”. And I was in a really bad place. I loved my mother, but I felt awful being around her. I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around her. If I said the wrong thing I’d be punished. I was afraid of her.

So I noticed whenever I got anxious or depressed I would turn to the X-Men movies and cartoons and I’d feel a little better. Then I started writing dumb little stories and made silly doodles of me hanging out with them. It was something that was fun and made me calm down when I was getting anxious.

Then August of 2016 came around.

I came home from spending the night at a friend’s house, and I was feeling really tired so when my dad asked for me to sit down and talk to him about something, I tried brushing him off because I just wanted to shower and go to sleep.

But he said, “it’s really serious” and whenever someone says that my anxiety shoots through the roof and I think of the worst case scenario, such as someone was dying or was dead. So I sat down with him and I’m expecting him to tell me someone was dead, but he just goes:

“Your mother and I are splitting up.”

Basically my world came crashing down at that point.

My mother started getting more and more irritable and began yelling and screaming at me over the smallest things. And she was convinced I was going to stay with her and she talked to me about all her plans she had for us, but I was going to move out with my dad. But I didn’t want to tell her because I was terrified of how she was going to respond (she lashed out when things didn’t go her way), and I said, “I still haven’t made up my mind on who I’m going with”. That still caused her to lash out.

So she screamed at me and told me things like “I was leaving her to die” or “I was a horrible daughter for abandoning her”. And from that she just lashed out over everything. Not to mention my sister and my niece moved back in that September.

So my mother was constantly fighting with my dad, berating me, and my sister and my niece never gave me any alone time despite being in my first semester of college. I had very little time to work on homework and would stay at school for longer than I needed to be there just to work on homework without my sister and my niece bothering me. And I also got stuck watching my niece quite a bit because my sister was running off with a guy she had just met. And I get that she was going through a really rough divorce as well and really liked this dude, but it happened every night. I needed an escape from it all.

So I started binge watching Marvel movies and cartoons every chance I got. Mainly X-Men. I fantasized often about Kurt bamfing himself and the X-Men into my apartment, sternly telling my family I was going with them and they couldn’t stop them. I wrote and drew more and more of my silly self insert stuff because it was a way to forget about all the bullshit that was going on at home.

Eventually things just got worse as the time for my dad and I to move out got closer, and my mother would start up fights with my dad just about every night. And she did this when I was in the next room and could hear everything. She also got physical with him and while my dad could have easily defended himself and fight back, he didn’t because she was trying to get him fucking arrested.

So I was having difficulties dealing with their constant fighting and my mother trying to pull me into the middle of the drama. My dad told her to keep me out of it since none of it had to do with me. Needless to say she kept pulling me into the middle of things and tried to get me to side with her and would scream her head off if I didn’t want to talk about it. I got called selfish for having anxiety and depression, and she threatened to hit me on multiple occasions. She never did, but holy shit I got so scared every time she held her hand up like she was going to smack me across the face. I showed up to class crying quite often and when my classmates asked what was wrong I’d brush it off and tell them it was nothing.

And as time went on I had falling outs with everyone on my mother’s side of the family and both of my siblings (I have made up with them separately, but things are tense between them still because they don’t like each other’s spouses and it stresses me out because they shit talk each other to me and I have to act like I’m on their side), and my dad and I were struggling and I felt like a huge burden on him. Needless to say it got to the point where I felt like I was doing something wrong, that everyone would be better off without me, and I wanted to end it all.

I actually did go to grab a knife once when no one was home bc I was having urges to hurt myself, but the instant I grabbed the knife a little voice in my mind just went into panic mode and screamed, “Captain America wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself!”

And then that voice kept listing off as many heroes as it could, and when I started thinking about the X-Men not wanting me to hurt myself, I just dropped the knife into the sink and had a breakdown.

And still to this day when I do get those thoughts I always think about how a certain fuzzy elf wouldn’t want me to hurt or kill myself. I haven’t cut (I have participated in other self destructive behaviors in the past I don’t wish to discuss, but I’m fighting it), and honestly it’s because I don’t want to worry the X-Men.

They may not be real, and I’m not sure they would really care about me if they were, but still the idea of having a group of people who also come from fucked up families and are outcast from society acting like a family to each other really helps me get through all of this.

I just keep telling myself that if all these superheroes could go through hell and back, then so could I. Sure, I’m not fighting villains hellbent on taking over the world or struggling with having superpowers I can’t control, but still it’s inspiring to see them continue on despite their hardships. If they can do it, then why can’t I?

And the X-Men have really helped me through that. Like I said, they aren’t real, but they are extremely relatable characters. Especially Kurt. I’ve been outcast before and while I do have my group of close friends, I still feel like I don’t belong. He’s been outcast and shunned by society for his appearance. While both of Kurt’s parents are awful and my mother didn’t try to kill me (to be honest I was afraid she was going to snap and kill my dad a couple times), we both have kinda fucked up familes. But despite all of this we still try to see the good in others and do good for people. And I want to help him through his hardships and have him know he can always come to me for comfort.

When I started the Night Roses and the Jocelyn and the X-Men stuff, a lot of it was coping. I wanted to be rescued by Kurt and the X-Men, and I wanted to help them overcome their issues. A lot of the Night Roses relationship is being each other’s support system. The idea of not only having Kurt comfort me, but me comforting him helps me so much. It gives me something to live for. When I was going to therapy, I told my therapist about it and she said it was a great coping mechanism and a way for me to practice self love and acceptance.

And while he’s just a comic book character, I sincerely hope I can find someone just like Kurt in real life one day. He means so much to me, and I hope whoever I get with in the future will understand that.

I apologize for this being so long, but really, Marvel means the absolute would to me, and it’s really hard to explain to people why and I often get written off as an obsessive nerd who has no grasp on reality. But I know how I feel and I know the people who matter understand how important Marvel is to me. Honestly, I don’t know where I’d be without Marvel. I probably wouldn’t be here. I’m still struggling with a lot of issues, but I know I can get through it thanks to the X-Men and the other superheroes of Marvel. ❤️

#long post #personal stuff #i really apologize for this being so long #if you read all of this thank you #i may or may not be crying right now #this was difficult to type out #and i still left out a bunch of stuff #but anyways here you can have this #this is okay to reblog idk why someone would want to but it’s okay to interact with

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