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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

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FROM: landscaping-your-mind

TO: @a-mag-a-day

RE: MAG 111 - Family Business

Howdy a-mag-a-day, and others who may be reading,

This is a bit more of a liveblog than the others, because this is going to be my second time listening to it, so expect quite a bit of rambling!

You can expect: thoughts about Gerry Keay, thoughts about Jon, thoughts about the fears. There will be a lot of thoughts about Jon. He's my favourite.

I really don't understand why the fandom treats Trevor and Julia like they're bad people, like yeah, it's not great to keep Gerry trapped like that, or to kidnap random people (Jon) and threaten to murder them, but it's not... in the grand scheme of things, it's really not that bad. Like they're still avatars, they've still done bad stuff, it's just been highly overstated. In my opinion. Maybe I just like their voices, I like Peter Lukas because I like his voice. I like Elias' voice too but in a "I want to punch him" way.

"And his only thought was to cry out for his mother. But with the last vestige of his stubborn will, he refused. She would not claim his last moment. He was silent."

D: I'm feeling Emotions rn. Just the she would not claim his last moment like she claimed so many of them before. Feeling emotions. At the risk of oversharing on tumblr dot com, I will just say "ADHD mood, but in a specific to me way". It's just... his life right, he didn't even have the chance to have a normal life, and he's going to die by himself, because she doesn't get this. She can take everything else but not this.

GERRY Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then? ARCHIVIST What? Oh! Er, no. I-I never really, uh… I never really thought of it.

*vibrating* I'm going to be Completely normal about this. How many times has that lighter even been mentioned. I know it was obviously in the episode where it came, MAG 38 (?), MAG 39, this episode, MAG 197, MAG 199, and of course MAG 200. But like hh whenever it's mentioned I just die a little inside anyway of course it's mentioned in the "my life will be ruined and all you will do is watch" episode, and the "my life was ruined by forces beyond my control" episodes.

Yep.

GERRY Yeah, the world changes in horrible ways. For you. I’m a book. ARCHIVIST You can’t be serious. GERRY I’m dead serious.

I love him he's so silly and goofy (in immense pain from being a book). I love Gerry's voice I think it's just it's like a mixture of like he's got the sort of uhhh done with everything and emotionless but also he does sound angry and gets steadily more so as he talks about the trials of being a spooky book. But still quiet. I like it.

ARCHIVIST Just one. How do I stop the Unknowing? GERARD [Casually] No, I don’t know. ARCHIVIST [Incensed] What?! (...) GERRY But, once it starts, then it might be vulnerable. ARCHIVIST Vulnerable to what? GERRY I dunno. ARCHIVIST Oh, goddamn it!

Gerry is absolutely enjoying this. Also

"Well, not long before I ended up in the hospital, she told me that if something got her first, I was… There’s a storage unit on an industrial estate up near Hainault. She said she rented it under the name Jan Kelly, and hid a key for it somewhere in the Archives."

Firstly, I'm guessing the name "Jan Kelly" is either a reference to Jan Kilbride, perhaps? Or maybe it's just a random name. Secondly, does this imply that Gerry would be the Archivist if he hadn't died before Gertrude? Of course, Elias never would have picked him, because he knew too much, and (probably) knew to be suspicious of Elias, but that's interesting. Archivist Gerry...

GERRY Hmmm… Well, she could make people tell her stuff, sometimes. They’d suddenly get real talkative, and lay out whatever she needed. She didn’t do it often though. I don’t think she liked it. ARCHIVIST [Perky] Oh, er, I can do that, too. GERRY Huh. Do you like it? ARCHIVIST I-I don’t know. I never really thought about it. Yes, I… I suppose I do.

Firstly, the way Jon says "Oh, er, I can do that, too" is so adorable. Secondly, something something at least one side effect of the become a monster thing actually gives him a defense against the things that want to kill and/or harm him, and a way to get information he doesn't have to doubt. Of course he likes it. It's the one thing he can control in his life that is spiraling off course. Also, you know. Hurt people hurt people. When you're under that level of stress it can feel good to feel in control, even when feeling in control is doing horrible things. Ah, I can't wait till Scrutiny.

ARCHIVIST Like the, the Lukases? Or the Fairchilds? GERRY Well, Fairchild’s just a name, they’re not really family. The Lukases, though, yeah.

Diversity win!! The Vast Avatars who pushed you off a cliff to your death are found family!!!!!!!!

GERRY What’s out there… doesn’t care about blood. ARCHIVIST Well, I-I mean, except for the vampires… GERARD Yeah, obviously except for the vampires

I just love this line okay-

Families are just useful ‘cause they can push you in the right direction. And the Lukases are very good at that.

I have ✨feelings✨ about childhoods and TMA and stuff. Like Martin's only at the institute at all, because he has to look after his mum, he got dragged into the whole Lonely thing because he's just lived a really lonely life that ends up with his mum dead, friend in a coma, other friends dead, and only hostage work acquaintances left. Jon had a neglectful grandmother who bought him a Leitner, not that it was his grandmother's fault that he was almost killed by a spider monster, but he was like regularly abused by an eighteen (at least) year old when he was 8 and his grandmother made him feel like a burden so I am blaming her for some things. And then of course Gerry's only in the world of the supernatural because of his awful mother who cared more about fucked up if true books than her son. And then there's a bunch more but just... hhh. Your childhood can fuck you up, and then you end up being an adult who's tied to an eldritch entity beyond your comprehension apparently. Oh also Mike Crew. Mike Crew had such a Life, and I have so many thoughts about him, but I'll get into that at a later date (probably around one of the more jangsty episodes). Also Agnes. Jon Gerry Agnes trio my beloved.

ARCHIVIST What happened? GERRY I tried to abandon her. ARCHIVIST I see.

I get why people ship Jongerry, Jon's voice was so soft anyway they're platonic in my heart but like i'm holding them gently they're besties your honour, testament? what? never heard of faer.

Oh this statement happens in pride month! Diversity win!!

She did her best to look after me, and bring me into this world she inhabited, but she wasn’t a caring mother or a skilled teacher.

(Gerry Keay, MAG 111)

She cared for me as well as she was able, and whatever her private feelings might have been, she did try her best.

(The Archivist, MAG 81)

Anyway uhm Jon, consider uh, being like Gerry and believing that actually the people who failed at raising you were way older than you, were supposed to be way more capable, and it wasn't your fault. Please.

And the worst thing was, she marked me as a part of that, without my understanding. Or consent.

Jon Gerry Agnes trio rotating in my mind. Childhood supernatural trauma? Check. Being the centre of a ritual? Check for Jon and Agnes. Being involved in the world of the supernatural from a young age? Check. Holding 'em gently actually. Thinking about them is not enough I need to have an Agnes statement. /hj

I think… I think I finally understand why she brought me back. I just don’t understand why she left me behind.

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red?

And colours are different in different languages! And that I'm guessing affects how we see them. At least different languages affects how we see shapes in words, and so sure, Smirke's fourteen was used by Elias for the ritual, but only because both he and Jon had a belief in that as a good system for categorization? And also how yellow literally doesn't exist in a way we can see, but we still say it does. And how magenta is just. There. Weird colours that don't make sense! I love thinking about the rear entities (being confused but in a really enthusiastic way)

Like colours, but if colours hated me. Got it. Christ, I need a cigarette.

ARCHIVIST The Stranger is the, the unknown. The uncanny. GERRY That kind of creeping sense that something’s not right. That guy you saw that might be following you, might mean you harm.

(MAG 111 - Family Business)

I’m just reading, and there is this… creep in the corner- your guy. He just… keeps staring at me, like- oh, properly staring, like it is super intense. And, and real… weird? Like he knows me, but I sure as hell do not know him. I – I try to ignore him, look, I just – I just read my book. And everytime I look up – there he is. Watchin’ me.

(MAG 142 - Scrutiny)

Like okay I know being watched, eye, whatever, but also fear soup, Stranger!Jon. Will die here on this hill. Nice view.

GERRY Yeah. Being manipulated or puppeted. The worry you’re caught in a trap you can’t see. ARCHIVIST Yes. ...

Jon did The Yes. :( The one where it's like almost a sigh and you can here the Thought Spirals.

Gerard was what my mum called me. [Embarrassed chuckle] I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry.

Oh. Oh I'm so sad :( feeling so many emotions about this episode I get why it's a fan favourite :(

Also, at the end there, I really wish we got more of Julia and Trevor. I like them, and I feel like they could've come around to the idea of burning Gerry's page. I'm not upset about how it went, but... hmm. Thinking.

Anyway, I'm really sad about this and feeling all kinds of emotions about Gerry Keay. I understand you now. D:

#the magnus archives #tma #mag 111 #mag 111 - family business #tma meta #(a bit in the middle there)#a mag a day #gerry keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #agnes montague #mike crew #jongerry #landscaping your mind chapter one

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cayofdreams · 3 years

Text

Vengeance = Repentance

PART 1: VENGEANCE

Summary: Reader had bullied Todoroki throughout all his time in high school. Years later, after a reconnection during an after-work drinking session, she goes back to his place, naively unaware of the payback he has planned for her…

Words: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit, Smut (in part 2)

Warnings: bullying by reader in beginning, murderous thoughts by Todoroki, Dark!Todoroki, drugging

(no smut in the first part, just immense build-up)

Notes: I could not for the life of me think of an interesting Todo fic to write. Until...THIS baby popped into my mind. It was actually really challenging and fun to write what goes on in the mind of Dark!Todoroki. I hope I did it justice.

~~~

He hated you.

Sometimes the only reason he had for living was simply to see the day that you’d be six feet under a cold batch of dirt. You’d be all alone down there with no one to control. No one to manipulate. No one to blackmail or threaten.

You’d have no lackey to run around and get you sweet bread from the convenience store. No lookout to make sure any teachers came to catch the abominable acts you committed in the bathroom stall or behind the gymnasium. No rich father to make sure that whatever horrible deeds you committed that were reported were swept gracefully under a rug.

And most importantly, you wouldn’t have him. The target of all your psychological and physical abuse. The one person who constantly fulfilled your insatiably engorged sadistic ego.

“Heyyy~ Shou, can you come here for a sec?” You had called out to your bi-colored haired classmate from the threshold of the class’ door. The twitch in his shoulders in reaction to your voice made you chuckle. Todoroki slowly slid his chair back, making a scratching noise against the tiled floor, and got up. He walked up towards you with his eyes trailing the floor.

“Yes?”

“Ohh! So obedient today, aren’t we? Hehe- It was only a matter of time I suppose.” You smiled your disgustingly innocent smile at him. “I need you to check something for me. It’s important, okay?”

He stayed silent as he watched you move the hand that was behind your back out forward. You had a carton of milk in your hand, and it seemed to have already been open. He saw you put the carton to your nose and sniff harshly from where the opening was before shoving the carton into his chest. A bit of milk spilled out and dripped onto his uniform.

“This milk. It smells kinda funky. I want you to check it for me.”

“…If it smells funny then it’s probably-“

“Did I ask for your cheap opinion? Just do the favor, alright?” You frustratingly squeezed the carton in your hand which made even more milk spurt out and land on your hand as well as Todoroki’s uniform again. “Ugh! Shit! Look what you made me do! From being so obstinate.”

“Sorry…” He took the carton from your hand. It was practically half full now so he wondered why you even still cared so much. But he didn’t ask. He put the carton to his nose and sniffed to try and find a rotten smell to it. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Are you stupid? Not like that, idiot. You’ll never know if its bad if you check like that.” You quickly took the milk from him and raised it in the air. “You have to check like this~” You began to slowly pour the rest of the carton’s contents onto his head, completely soaking his silky hair and ruining his uniform even more. The milk drenched into his shirt and he could feel its cool wetness trickle his skin. “Ahaha! Weeell?? Is it bad or not, Shouutoo??”

There was a loud commotion of hoots and hollers from the other classmates as they watched your tormenting of Todoroki.

“Uwaah!! Milk boy got dunked on again!!”

“Gross! He’s gonna smell so bad later…”

“Dude! Go wash up! You’re gonna make the whole class smell like milk!”

“Krrgh..” Todoroki choked up in frustration, his hands balled into a fist. The fact he couldn’t just punch you right now could drive him to a point of enraged insanity.

The fact he had to let you get away with this over and over again just because of your father’s notorious connections with various government and business groups. He sometimes thought about just killing you anyway and dealing with the consequences. Prison would be more manageable than continuing to live in this same physical plane as you.

He thought about how he’d do it, too. If he would try to do it inconspicuously with poison, or conspicuously with his hands wrapped around your slender little throat. The former lead to more chances of him getting away with it. He could have the pleasure of your death along with his freedom. But the latter…the latter was just too enticing to pass up. Being able to hear your gargled whimpers attempting to beg for your life. Your legs that would try to kick and pry him off your weak body. Your face losing its color as your body is abruptly deprived of oxygen. And finally, his personal favorite, your bloodshot eyes that would be pleading for him to give you mercy before finally greying out.

Yes…the latter would have to do. Time in prison would be a beautiful cost to pay to see you perish under his fingers. The world would thank him later, for getting rid of their waste. Your death would serve as your repentance

But he was weak. Scared. He couldn’t find the conviction he needed to actually go through with it. It made him feel even worse. Maybe you were never wrong, and he was truly as spineless as you treated him.

But he’d get stronger. He had to. He needed to. He craved to.

-------------------------9 YEARS LATER-------------------------

“Good job on closing the deal, Todo!”

Todoroki had felt a harsh pat on his back before a heavy arm was slung over his shoulder by his spikey red haired coworker as he was grabbing his blazer off the chair.

“It was nothing, Kirishima.” He replied coolly but not without a small twinge of a smile.

“Ha! ‘It was nothing’ he says!” The energetic man turned his head around to face everyone else in the office. “Hey! Everyone! Pay attention to this guy right here! You might become the most successful businessman this country has to offer!”

The office chuckled and gave soft cheers for Todoroki, some of them poking fun at Kirishima’s exuberant display of comradery.

“Todo! Kiri! You guys are coming out for drinks, right!” Another one of Todoroki’s energetic co-workers, this time with bright yellow hair, briskly jogged up towards them. “I already invited the ladies!”

“Totally, dude! Where are we supposed to be going?”

“Heights Alliance! That bar has the best drinks and food a guy could ask for. Not to mention cute girls!

Todoroki softly brushed off the arm of Kirishima before putting his jacket on. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Aw! Come on dude!” This time, the yellow-haired co-worker placing his arm around Todoroki’s shoulder. “You alllways bail on us! Come with us this time! Drinks on Kiri!”

“Hey, Kaminari! Don’t decide that for yourself!” Kirishima retorted. “But yeah, man. You should come out. We miss you sometimes, dude.”

Todoroki hesitated as he contemplated his fellow workers’ requests. Honestly, he had never gone out to just...have fun. He would clog his mind with work which was probably why he was successful anyways. He didn’t even know why he was so disciplined when it came to his career. Not knowing what his goals even were. Focusing primarily on work, but for what? To just deny any moments of pleasure or belonging?

Maybe it was time for a change.

“…Alright.”

“Wooo!!! Todo is officially on board!”

The loudness of the cheers of his coworkers rang stingingly through his eardrums but he couldn’t suppress the smile that stemmed on his face.

As he had the feeling tonight would be an unforgettable night.

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

Todoroki sighed as he sipped the last of his drink and placed it softly on the counter in front of him. He sat alone as he thought about what he was even doing there. The entire evening basically constituting to watching his co-workers ramble on about various subjects that he could not get the meaning behind. After a while of heavy drinking, that he did not participate in, everyone either went bar-hopping or went home passed out in a taxi. He truly did not understand the purpose of such gatherings and he started to wonder how he’d even fit into society.

As he thought to himself, the sudden words from the bartender disrupted his thoughts.

“Oh hey, Y/N. Long time, no see.”

The abrupt sound of your name made him widen his eyes and his body unconsciously jolt in the barstool. Was it really the same Y/N? No, it couldn’t be. Surely there were a bountiful amount of people with names that were similar to yours. But he had to check for himself, so he looked up from his empty glass and-

“Haha…Shinsou. Looking as gorgeously sleepy as ever. How are you?”

The sounds of your conversation with the bartender drowned out with the rest of the bustled atmosphere as he glared upon you. Without a doubt, it was you. He could never forget that figure. That figure that towered over him menacingly even though he was taller than you. That figure that just watched from a distance as you sent your delinquent underlings to pummel him into the cold cement. That figure who would bow respectfully to teachers when they dismissed any reports of your lechery. And now that same figure was only a few feet away from him, sitting gracefully at the bar counter as you talked to the unknowing bartender.

His glare locked long enough onto your figure for you to finally meet his eyes. And before he could look away, you had called out to him.

“Eh..? To…Todoroki?” You had softly called out to him. Using his name in a way that he had never heard from you before. Using a voice that harshly contradicted the patronizing tone you barked commands at him with. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”. You were smiling at him. Smiling at him as if he were a longtime friend that you missed connections with due to one of you going abroad.

You had hopped out of the barstool and approached your old classmate, taking a new seat beside him. He looked over at the wall of drinks displayed in front him, avoiding your gazing. “Wow…you’re all grown up now, huh?” You looked over to the bartender raising your hand at him. “Shinsou~ A refill on whatever he had, okay? Make it two actually.” The bartender simply nodded at you before mixing up various alcohol and flavors behind the counter.

“I..I don’t want to drink.” Todoroki shivered at his own statement as he was reminded of the times you’d scream at him for not doing something you’d ask.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s on me, okay? Don’t worry about it.” You had inched your head more over the counter trying to get a better look at him. “Your hair…I always thought it was dyed. But I guess its real, huh.” You reached your hand out to run your fingertips through his silky bi-colored bangs. He twitched at your touch.

What exactly were you doing? Acting so innocent with him like this. Were you just going to pretend like the three-year long trauma you subjected him to was a fable? An illusion? Or perhaps you had minimized the damage you’d done in your mind in order to preserve your own sanity as you took over a new life.

“...Y/N. What are you doing?”

You quirked your eyebrows in confusion at his question. “What do you mean? I just…I just think your hair is really pretty is all.”

Were you faking it? Was this another one of your atrocious jokes? Perhaps within the next minute you’d start cackling at him, asking him how he could be stupid enough to believe he deserved such niceties from the likes of you.

Todoroki looked down and squeezed the empty glass on the counter. “Don’t you…don’t you remember? What you did to me?”

“Todoroki…” You lowered your eyebrows in sorrow. “I-I’m sorry for what I did to you back then. I was indeed…a cruel person. I know you probably won’t accept that…but I still want to tell you. You at least deserve my apology. As cheap as it is.”

He looked over to you, surprised at your apologetic tone. He gazed into your e/c eyes. The very e/c eyes that captured the hearts of everyone around you, yet seethed supremacy and calamity toward him. He had learned to distrust anyone with eyes that resembled yours. The eyes that were now looking at him with…

Remorse. Your eyes were burdening in remorse. As soon as Todoroki saw the guilt that dwelled in your eyes he knew that this wasn’t a joke. That you weren’t pretending to feel these things. The look in your eyes unquestionably conveyed the apology you had stated earlier.

And it was that same look that would ascend an unusual beast that lurked within the visceral regions of his body. An unfamiliar thirst that stayed submerged within him, never needing to be satisfied until now. It gurgled within the depths of his gut, practically wanting to vomit out of his esophagus.

A beast that went by the name of revenge. And it would be so easy to pursue it right now with the plague of repentance beating in your heart.

Todoroki placed one of his hands on yours and squeezed tightly. Your skin was so soft, so smooth. He could never take the time to feel how delicate your skin was when the only touch of yours he knew before was the stinging slaps you’d deliver on his face. But tonight, he’d be able to feel something more, and the touch of his hands on yours only made the beast inside of him grow more and more unruly.

“I forgive you, Y/N.” He tried to state it in the softest way possible, making sure the feigning of the line wouldn’t be discovered. However, he knew you believed him by the twinkle in your eye, signifying an immense weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“Todoroki…” A warm tear dropped from your cheek to his hand. “Thank you, Todoroki… thank you.” More tears would soon follow and drop onto his hand. He would’ve let go of you if he wasn’t so encapsulated by the feeling of your salty waters dropping onto his skin. As your tears cooled and dried up into his hand, he couldn’t have felt more enthused.

It was only then that Todoroki could take in the beauty that was your face. You looked so elegant like that, with pools of emotions trailing down your cheeks. Maybe if he’d seen this site of you in high school he’d had instantly fell in love. But such feelings didn’t reside in him anymore. They’d been evicted by the lurking beast of revenge, and that beast was craving more of this site from you.

“Two Vieux Carre cocktails” The bartender had placed the drinks on the counter in front of each of you before grabbing something under the counter. “…and a tissue”. He handed the soft fabric to you which made you giggle a bit.

“Thank you, Shinsou.”

He simply hummed a reply at you and returned to making drinks for other patrons that had walked in.

While you wiped away the allure that was your tears, Todoroki sat there, thinking of prolific strategies of how to get you under his grip. Should he just ask you to come home with him? Wouldn’t that be too straight forward? He didn’t know much about social interactions, but he knew asking a woman at a bar to come home with him had its underlying implications. And its not that he was undesired by women; he knew of the colleagues in his office that held romantic feelings for him. He just never followed through with any of them, never feeling anything close to the desires that were brought for him.

He also couldn’t help but feel subconscious about asking you to come home with him. You were the person that so incredibly ridiculed him for three years. You were still the same person who made him believe that no sane person would ever look twice at him. That he was too weak and monotonous to ever make someone feel happy.

Or were you? It seemed that whatever life change you went through caused you to redevelop your entire personality. Maybe you’d be like most the women he encountered in his life and become attracted to him? After-all, he also wasn’t the same person as he was in high school. He’d become stronger mentally and physically as well as much more confident about himself.

“Y/N, would you like to…finish drinking at my home?”

You stopped drying your tears at the suddenness of the question. “Huh?...You actually want me in your home?”

“Only if you want to.” Todoroki squeezed your hand again attempting to signal the desire to have you with him in private.

Blood rose to your nose and you looked away in embarrassment. “…Okay.”

Todoroki couldn’t stop the widening of his eyes at your acceptance. A part of him truly believed you’d call him disgusting before jumping up and delivering one of your characteristic slaps to his face. The heavens knew just how badly that needed to happen. If you’d rejected him, the beast of revenge may have gone right back to where it resided, deep in the subconscious of his mind.

But no, you’d accepted him. And with that, you’d accept your punishment. If you were truly ready to take on a new life, you would need to repent for your old one.

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

Todoroki couldn’t stop the erratic beating of his heart as the two of you walked over the threshold into his house. He was closer and closer to fulfilling the dream of having you within his grips. But he couldn’t be too impatient as this would be the part where he would need to tread carefully. As the two of you took off your shoes, he would continue to watch your every move, like a jaguar stalking its prey.

“Woww!” Your eyes wandered around Todoroki’s living room, amazed at how expansive and beautifully designed it was. “Your house is so luxurious! And polished!” You looked back at Todoroki. “It suits you.”

Todoroki was a bit taken aback by your statement. As far as he knew, you had a rich father who catered to everything your callous heart desired. He was partly the reason behind his suffering seeing as that your father made sure any unpleasantry brought against you was hushed behind a closed door. “You aren’t used to this?” He stepped over to the mini-bar area and reached up to grab a specific bottle of wine.

“Huh?” You followed behind him and leaned against the bar counter, grazing your finger over the refined marble surface.

“This…kind of house. You aren’t used to it?” He grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer and began to pry off the wine bottle’s cork. “Your father was a rich businessman was he not?”

You scoffed as you rested your elbow on the marble. “My father was in the yakuza. Rich in some aspects, but no businessman.” Your eyes fell from Todoroki to the counter. “And we never got to live in a place anywhere this grand. Especially after he was taken down by the cops…”

“I see.” It made perfect sense honestly. Your yakuza connections would explain the lackeys, the apathy of the teachers towards your lechery, the strange approval of your actions by the entire class. It must’ve been hard behind the scenes having to be the daughter of a yakuza member, but nonetheless it wouldn’t your crimes against his humanity. Todoroki poured two glasses of wine and placed one on the counter next to you.

“Should we…sit on the couch?” You looked towards to main part of the living room, eyes landing on Todoroki’s expensive sectional. “I-I mean…if you want to…”

Todoroki noticed the flustering of your face and couldn’t help but think that if the two of you had met under different pretexts he would surely have made you his wife. But marriage is not what this affair is about. This affair is about satisfying the demon that grew expansively inside of him.

He grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers between yours as he picked up both glasses with his other hand. “I’d love to, Y/N”.

He walked the two of you over to the couch, waiting until you sat down to hand you your glass and sit closely beside you. He carefully watched as you took sips from the glass, mesmerized by the shape of lips and how you’d glossed them for your night out. They looked so soft and delicate and perfectly matched the dimensions of your face.

But your naivety obviously outmatched your beauty Todoroki thought. How could you so easily drink from the hands of someone who would so obviously want to get revenge on you? Did your newfound personality make you oblivious to the dangers of life? Maybe after wanting to permanently discard the remains of the yakuza from your brain, you decided to look at people in a new light. Maybe you wanted to just see the good in everyone and learn that most people aren’t out to destroy you. It is indeed a true thought; most people don’t want to destroy you.

But most people also don’t subject those around them to abhorrent acts of malice. And for that, your naivety would prove to be one of the worst decisions you’d made in your small existence.

“Your wine…it tastes very good.” You had swirled what left of it you had before drinking it all within a couple more gulps.

Probably the best compliment you could have said in your life. Todoroki had taken the time to make sure every speckle of power was completely dissolved into the wine. He couldn’t taste it himself or get a taste tester of course, so he would have just had to wait until your ultimate encountering to test it. And it worked.

“It was a gift from a friend abroad.” A lie. But a believable lie. “I’m glad you like it.”

You quizzingly looked at his still full glass of wine in his hand. “Why didn’t you drink any?”

“Oh...I- well I guess I am already a bit tipsy from the bar so further consumption would be ill-advised.” He smoothy stated before placing the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggled at the statement as Todoroki internally cackled at your gullibility.

“You know, Todoroki…” Your eyes strayed to your lap. “I know this must mean nothing coming from me but…I liked you a lot in high school.” You twirled your index finger in circles on your skirt. “And I know I was mean to you but…I believe that our encounter must have been fate because, well…I still like you.”

Todoroki smiled, a cover-up for the guttural laughter that wanted to burst out of him. He let go of your hand and traced his fingers across your cheek before holding the side of your face delicately in his hand. “That…means more than you’d ever know, Y/N.”

“Shouto…”

He leaned over to give you a peck on the cheek before pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were just as soft as they looked and the gloss you wore provided a sweet vanilla taste. You sunk your hand into the red side of his hair before slipping your tongue in between his lips. Your tongue felt hot in his mouth and Todoroki grabbed your head to pull you deeper into the kiss. He tasted every part of your mouth that he could with his tongue. Your teeth, your gums, the inside of your cheeks. He made sure to leave his mark everywhere in your mouth, foreboding to the marks that would soon be left on your body.

As his kiss got deeper, yours became shallower and lazier. Eventually you pressed your hand against his chest to softly get him to back up.

“I’m sorry, Shouto…” You pressed your hand to your forehead. “It seems…I have a headache…and I’m kinda sleepy.” Your eyelids drooped heavily as sleep seemed to overcome you. “I…should go home.”

Shouto grabbed your head and leaned you down on the couch, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Ssshh…its okay Y/N. You can just sleep here for tonight. I’ll drive you back in the morning.”

“Okay…thankyou, Shouto.” You quickly drifted off to sleep at the finish of your sentence.

When Todoroki felt the heaves of your chest raise higher and lower at deeper levels, he picked you up into his arms, carrying you gently to make sure you wouldn’t wake up. Though that was a rare chance seeing as how he put a little extra power in the wine to make sure it would subdue you. He carried you down the corridor to the door that would lead to your demise. Before he walked down the stairs, he whispered into your non-listening ear.

“This encounter is indeed special, Y/N. But it will be more special to you than it will for me…because tonight will mark my vengeance. And tonight will also mark…your repentance.”

#todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki smut #shouto x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #dark todoroki #shouto todoroki #dark!todoroki

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machi-kun · 4 years

Note

7 for the fic au thing? 🤗

AHHH I LOOOVE FAKE RELATIONSHIP AUS! ❤️

****

“You know...” Natasha drawls, “Most people just go with fake boyfriend. You really didn’t have to go with fake husband. Seems a little extreme.”

Steve twirls the ring around his ring finger again, slowly. He’s been doing that for hours now. It’s embarrassing, and he should stop, but he can’t pretend the feel and weight of it on his hand doesn’t feel overwhelming, can’t pretend he can’t feel his heart hammering when it’s almost trying to beat out of his chest.

“Yeah, well...” He shrugs casually. “When have we ever been normal?”

Natasha makes a surprised sound, and her rings make only the tiniest bit of sound against her glass of champagne when she taps at it with her fingers, curiously. “That’s incredibly self-aware of you, I’m actually kind of proud.”

Steve pushes her with a gentle shove of his shoulder, pretending to be annoyed, but he’s laughing despite himself. “Alright, I don’t need you bothering me about this, I said I’m gonna do it.”

“Hm, for how many months now?”

“As many months as it’s taking you to get that ring out of the drawer, I think.”

“Low blow, Rogers.” Natasha reprimands, but she’s smiling wide, her eyes sparkling with joy, and despite it all, despite the anxiety, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his life. “I think I’m gonna go find my soon-to-be fiancé, and we’re gonna walk around and scare some of her old classmates. Tony isn’t the only one with a gorgeous partner here, is he?”

“You do that.” Steve teases. “And maybe tomorrow we can go out together. Double date.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow, daring, face full of amused disbelief. “Don’t disappoint me, Rogers.”

It’s not just nerves that make Steve laugh as Natasha walks away. He’s just... happy. He is happy. Maybe he shouldn’t be, maybe he should be nervous - but how can he be, when he’s here, with a ring on his finger, as Tony’s plus-one, his husband, and not be extremely, undeniably happy?

It might be fake. For now.

But that ring on his finger is real. His happiness is real.

And when Tony looks back from the little circle of MIT alumni to look at Steve, mid-laugh, sharply dressed and beautiful as always, smile lines around his eyes, the love Steve feels is all real.

Tony excuses himself from the group, putting his hands in his pockets and striding over to Steve with all that casual sway that always makes Steve stare when he saunters into a room, and unknowing to the power he holds over Steve’s poor, besotted heart, he says, full of charm:

“Hey, husband.”

“Hey.” Steve smiles back, and doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching Tony’s forearm, the expensive fabric of his suit like silk to his touch. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. No one suspects a thing.” Tony confides in a whisper, a little too pleased, and to Steve’s immense delight, takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches for Steve’s own, twining their fingers together. “In fact, I think everyone is just dying of jealousy. Nat’s stunning, Pep has always been stunning, I’m stunning, and you... You’re as much as a tall glass of water as you’ve always been, Mr. Rogers.”

“Stark-Rogers.” Steve says, just because he likes saying it, and because he likes the way Tony’s eyes light up with joy. “Isn’t that right?”

Tony makes a contemplative noise. “I thought you said Rogers-Stark-”

“I can change my mind.” Steve jokes. “I like Stark-Rogers better.”

“Glad to see you are a man of reason, then, Mr. Stark-Rogers.” Tony agrees, his eyes locked onto Steve’s, full of mirth, and Steve dares - he dares to pull Tony closer, to bring them chest to chest, and when Tony doesn’t back away, only smiles wider, Steve knows the wait has been worth it.

“You think you sparked enough jealousy in your classmates yet?” Steve asks, desperately hoping this will be his chance.

“I think I did.” Tony snorts playfully. “Wonderful job you’ve done, darling. Stood there and looked so pretty, I think some of the ladies here might put a curse on me for snatching such a handsome guy like you for myself.”

“So it’s my job here done?”

Tony stops, and looks at Steve from under his lashes, like he’s trying to hide - but he can’t, because they’re so close, so close, Steve can see him, the hope in his eyes, the small twinge of fear, and Steve is so damn gone on this man. “Do you want it to be done?”

Never.

“No.” Steve shakes his head, fondly, and just because he needs Tony to understand, he wraps his arm around Tony’s waist, caressing his back with his thumb, lowering his head until their foreheads are pressed together. “I was actually kinda hoping to extend my contract. Just liked it so much. Think I could do with a full-time job, if you’ll have me.”

Tony’s breath shudders, a sharp intake of air, and Steve can feel his heart, hammering in his chest, pressed against Steve’s own racing one, and he’s flushing with pleasure and his eyes are so bright and Steve loves him, loves him, loves him.

The smile Tony gives him is dazzling. “Well... I’m gonna be single really soon.”

“Gonna go looking for a boyfriend, Mr. Stark?”

“Stark-Rogers.” Tony corrects, and Steve fully complies when he’s pulled forward by his tie for a kiss. “And I don’t think I’ll need it. I’ve got one right here.”

#OOP I SNEAKED IN SOME PEPPERNAT IN THERE #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #machi writes #stony #superhusbands #look at me writing things that arent 20k long wow #Anonymous #ask #anon

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baobaojng · 4 years

Text

ember nights - one: formalities

ember nights - chapter one

summary: You could forget pain, nothing was as immensely capturing - nothing as captivating, consuming than his ember eyes.

wordcount: 4366

series masterlist

< prev | prologue / next | two >

To your dismay, you woke up the same way you did in Zurich. Tucked safe and sound in the Airbnb you stayed in, as if everything had been a dream conjured by your imagination.

Amber colored eyes still secured their way into images in your brain, a little reminder that maybe there was reality to last night.

The buzzing sound muffled by the thick cotton sheets distracted your internal monologue. You were going to find out if your theories were true.

“Hello?” Pressing your phone to your cheek, you disregard the display of multiple messages on your home screen. You get up from bed to check any signs of foul play in your room.

“Oh! Oh. Thank God you picked up! Finally!” You recognize the voice of one of your friends, but turn your attention to the mirror to notice that you look exactly as you did last night. Save for the smell of alcohol coming through, and the dainty necklace hugging your neck - a deep blue shade of gem stone sitting perfectly above your sternal head. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

No. You want to answer. Realistically you currently weren’t able to figure out the logistics of how you even got into bed, even more so the place you were renting out for your stay. But it was difficult to explain everything through the phone, “yeah, I guess so. I just woke up.” Your fingers make their way to play with the jewelry, childishly hoping it would give you answers.

“That’s why you haven’t been answering any of our calls and texts— Y/N we were worried!” Her sigh exhausted the sound of your speakers, the volume of her voice fluctuating with all the worry in her tone.

“Did anything happen?” You turned the question she was meant to ask to her; hoping that your act of feigning any suspicion would get an answer from her.

“Well for starters you disappeared in the club last night,” she pauses, probably giving you a second to feel guilty, “and nobody saw you leave!”

“I just went out to get some fresh air and I thought I’d go, I felt a little too tired.” You lie, now a little disappointed that you barely had confirmation about the owner of the eyes you were still mentally stapling in.

“And I didn’t know you had friends in New York!” She complained, and this encouraged your speculations.

“What do you mean I have friends in New York?”

“A couple of guys went up to us asking where you were a couple of minutes after we realized you disappeared,” she sounded confused this time, “even showed us your picture and stuff, said you met three of their friends from Zurich.”

You gulp, knowing this wasn’t a good thing.

“They left some details with me actually! Gave me an address to a building in case you wanted to meet up.”

Obviously, any rational human being would stay away. Think of this as a bad idea, go home today like you were supposed to. But you weren’t rational, anything about waking up to this situation didn’t make you feel normal. There were questions in your head that desperately needed answers and you were determined to get them. Even if it meant putting your life on the line like a movie character idiot.

You take two fingers and try to stretch out the silver band, and it does not budge. But you hope that your intuition would save you from danger.

“Text me the details.”

It dawns on you that you like to see things in rose colored glasses. Maybe it’s the grime on the walls, or the unsuspecting run-down building in the middle of the city that catches you off guard. You only noticed the beautiful buildings and the distractingly humungous skyscrapers made of glass. Unknowing facades of perfection.

If there was any way for you to turn the address into a lie, or a typographical error committed by your friend, you would take the easy way out and manipulate the address.

At this point it was easy to turn away and pretend like none if it was real, maybe think of it as a nightmare that just happened twice.

But who’s to say that this won’t follow you elsewhere? The pain.

When you enter the building, it feels a little bit too confined. The dangling light bulbs seem like they haven’t been replaced since the building was put up, decaying wooden steps on the staircase, and paint chipping off the walls.

From what you could gather, this was a run down motel. The countertop of the supposed reception was painted a tacky lime green, and a bell sitting on top already accommodated spider webs. Nobody was behind the counter, only keeping you more tense.

Of course, you let stupid curiosity reign, pinching the wooden handle of the bell to lift it up slowly.

Shaking the bell, you notice no sound comes from the rusted copper. So you shake it frantically, hoping that it would emit some sound. It takes only a few seconds until you hear echoes of the bell sounds, muffled, as if they’re coming from miles away.

The sound is clear, and it breaks into your head like daylight shoving itself in a dark room. The sound is only in your head, not providing any destruction to the silence of the room.

You wince, forcing your eyes to close for a good few seconds, and when you open your eyes you are brought into a new room.

A huge ninety-seven burns into your eyes, flashing quickly in written neon and disappearing moments later. It is the room number, the one you were sent to go to.

Velvet colored red lines all the floors, matched with the paint the walls were coated with. Only dark and aged wooden furniture decorates the place, no signs of any other being lingering around.

It’s an odd thought, but you secretly wish to feel the pain.

Maybe the pain’s supposed to tell you something.

You’ve been holding your breath in short inhales and exhales, cautious with taking even the slightest of baby steps. You were in a bedroom, and it was safe to assume that there were was a common room outside. There could be somebody else.

What did ‘three of his friends’ mean, exactly?

Was it meant in the literal sense? Friends. Was this the dumbest decision of your life, and were you stepping right into the end of it? This person could be avenging his ‘friends,’ and you could be taking the blame for the deaths of those soulless eyed people. If they were people. These people could be mistaking you for someone else.

Okay, okay. Clear and rational adult thinking. If living the life you have has thought you anything. Business, you studied business. Something good or something great like out of a sales pitch, you could start there.

The unclear assumption that somebody terrifying was waiting for you outside could hold the possibility that sweet talking could save you out of this.

You think that you aren’t even worthy of suspicion; you only harm mosquitoes that land on your skin and you can barely get a hold of yourself when you see a cute guy in public spaces.

How could you pique anyone’s interest?

There was nothing particularly harmful about you.

With five deep inhales you slowly walk out of the room, opening the door to see a man already slumped over with his back facing you. He was bloodied right on the floor, body directed to the entrance of the room you were in.

You cannot consider the details of his face, seeing none of it at all with the stream of bodily fluids that you’re avoiding with your feet. The clothes are familiar, the same tailored dark clothing like the men from Zurich.

Reality sets in, and your human instinct kicks you in the throat. You want to hurl.

In Zurich, you were spared the chance to even see a dead body. And now, you were left alone to gaze over it, your hands gripping at the doorframe not knowing how to get past the body blocking your way.

Just when your knees were about to give in, hands hold you up from behind, and you scream in terror.

Amber stares back at you, and you don’t know if you should be unafraid. No matter how familiar the shade or the feeling is, but the handsome man stares at you with a disappointed glint in his eyes.

In the most delicate tone, he speaks. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Oh, I—“ You try to speak up, now that you’ve regained some sense of composure. He softens his hold and leads you carefully and swiftly to the middle of the common room where you see that he had company with him.

“Jungwoo, you didn’t do a very good job keeping her away from this place.” He complains as he stretches his neck up to louden his voice, although still as gentle as when he asked you a question.

“You think Jungwoo would actually listen to you?” Someone emerges from the bathroom, and the man holding you loosens his grip of your uncomfortably tense arms. “He barely listens, and the Oracle told him to never second guess his gut feeling.” You observe this man who opposed the other, half of his hair dyed red and the other half left white.

“Was I not clear when I told you guys I didn’t want her to be part of this?” The man still holding you said, obviously referring to you.

“We can’t keep bending fate, Jaehyun. You out of all people should believe that more than we do.”

Jaehyun, apparently, leaves you be. Away from the confines of his warm hands. The moment he walks away, huffing in his own frustration - you shiver.

Your mind could not process this, someone else showed up from one of the rooms and dragged the body away. You were standing there frozen, not knowing if these other men were any better - of it it meant you were any safer here. Could you get away? No, you didn’t even know the way in, or at least you could not even explain it.

The man with half red hair approaches you slowly, and you could tell he was aware of the state you were in. “Hi,” he gently says, “I’m Taeyong.”

You look up to get a better look at him, his soft brown eyes— almost grey— mirror back to you. You don’t notice you’re shaking until he lays a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Am I going to die here?” Is the only thing you ask, straight and without any comical sarcasm.

He laughs, the reaction isn’t something you expect, but he looks at you as if you’re insane for even asking something that seemed normal for you to assume. "Die?" He wheezes and his eyes go even wider in disbelief, "you think we’re going to kill you?"

"Are you not?"

Taeyong disagrees quickly, "no." He sets his hand on your now, and like magic you’ve stopped shaking. "If anything we were trying to help you out."

The sudden calming of your nerves is unnatural, you know he has something to do with it. "How are you doing that?"

"Taeyong stop playing around." The one with the ember eyes emerges from one of the rooms he disappeared to, looking pretty annoyed. "She isn’t around for you to do your mood games with." He had a problem with you, you could feel it.

Taeyong smirks, not caring for Jaehyun’s remarks.

"I know you’re pretty aware about how weird things are," Taeyong whispers to you, "it probably wouldn’t faze you if I told you that I can control somebody’s mood with the touch of my hand." He withdraws his hand from yours and your goosebumps returned.

Momentarily, you try to grasp for rationality.

This couldn’t be practically real. As far as you were concerned maybe the colored eyes were just an aesthetic choice; contact lenses were actually a thing for some people. Holding up the bell and getting into another room could’ve just been a hallucination. And maybe you do find comfort from touch. But all of your ‘practical’ explanations couldn’t compensate for the gut feeling you had. It was stupid, illogical, but you felt like you could trust what was happening.

“What am I doing here?” You ask to no one in particular; you were sure that all five of them were pacing around the common room. Perhaps they were unsure of an approach, they didn’t seem exactly like the friendly type - except Taeyong who bit his tongue. Waited for somebody else to interject with an acceptable answer.

“You came here looking for answers,” Jaehyun said staring at the wooden flooring around his feet, “you know exactly why you’re here.”

His tone mocked you, and it was baffling. How a few sentences could catch you off guard.

“What, you want to accuse me of knowing and readily putting myself in danger?” You’re offended by the condescending smile he manages to hold. “Excuse me for wanting an explanation.”

“If you weren’t so eager to flirt around with death then you wouldn’t come here in the first place.” The answer is plain and it’s monotone, but he catches you right where you were wrong.

You did think about ignoring the address, you did have thousands of chances to not know. Not see what this was, or at least risk the safety of getting there at the wrong time and possibly being hurt by the man they killed.

There was no justification you could come up with, and this time you bite your tongue to contain projecting your frustrations.

He laughs, entertained by your silence.

“I thought so.”

Taeyong looks like the most sorry human being on the car ride back to your Airbnb, but the quiet in the car keeps him from explaining the puppy dog eyes he was wearing so well. Jungwoo was sitting next to you, the runner up for looking sad about not vocalizing his quite odd tendencies. Mark was scrolling through his phone as he occupied the seat behind you, and he seems to do well with the the tension. Johnny, who was probably the most approachable feeling one, was sitting shotgun and was turning his head back to finally start some conversation.

"So, Y/N, what do you do?" Johnny asks you, but you take a quick look at Jaehyun whose arms tensed at the steering wheel at the question. He was bothered that somebody was speaking, but even more so speaking with you.

"I operate mostly online." You try not to sound like you’re showing off.

"Like what?" The tallest one wonders, and Mark reaches his phone screen out on display to show Johnny.

"She owns retail," Mark scrolls without looking, "but right now she’s writing for her travel blog."

"That’s why she moves around a lot, huh." Jungwoo completes the thought that all of them were wondering. Nobody confirmed that it was Jaehyun you saw in Zurich, but you no longer needed confirmation. You just knew.

Johnny looks over to Jaehyun, who looked like he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on. "See, she can’t help but be in different places. Jungwoo told you she couldn’t help it."

Jaehyun presses his lips to a thin line, keeping his eyes on the road. But Johnny has more to say, "you know you do have the option not to be a control freak about everything."

Right on time Jaehyun steps on the breaks at the sight of a red light, making everyone in the car feel the movement of the sudden stop. "Leave it, Johnny." He looks at the rearview mirror, where he catches you looking back at him. "We’re getting her out of this city."

And again, silence. He says no more than ten words and nobody around him wants to act normal.

"What if I don’t want to leave?" You challenge, alarming the other four pairs of eyes. The amber ones had 20 seconds left on the red light to keep looking at you through the mirror.

"Do you want to die?" He asks you like you’re stupid.

"How do you know that? I don’t even know who you are and you’re acting like you have complete dominion of my life." You irate, but not enough to exhaust yourself.

"I saved your life three times, don’t you think you owe me more than this?"

"As if someone like you even has the heart to—" The light turned green and he sped the car off.

"You want me to remind you of Zurich? Or last night where you almost passed out vulnerable in some club? And that necklace around your neck too—" You quickly unlock at the piece, making it fall into your palm much to his really pissed off dismay.

He’s about to say something much meaner, something more vile to prove his point, but your face aches in pain. The same kind that had your body shivering, quickly grabbing on to the arm rests of your seat.

"Stop the car!" Taeyong demanded, concerned about your appearance.

Jaehyun pulled into a random alley for some resolution to be made, but the pain was even worse.

The metal of the car made a crashing sound and rumbled through vibrations in the car. This sound repeated multiple times until you could see booted feet stepping on the windshield.

“We have company.” Mark sighs, like he’s tired of this constantly happening.

“Call Yuta, Mark.” Jaehyun tells him.

“Why do I have to?” Mark whines, but the van’s shaking one more time and there’s a screeching sound to the doors being scratched - and it’s bleeding through and through your head.

“We don’t have to get over this Mark! Yuta listens to you!” Jaehyun complains. “Johnny, Jungwoo, and I are going out and the three of you,” he looks at you to exaggerate, “stay in the car.”

The three quickly leave and Taeyong turns to you, “put the necklace back on.” He suggests and all you can do is nod in pain, and the moment your shaky fingers clasp the locks back it’s like all the tolling sensations went away.

“Woah.” You comment and Taeyong smiles.

“Now you know why he gave you that thing?” Taeyong says and you suppose you have to agree.

“You want me to believe that that–“ you point to the sight outside, where Jaehyun twisted a man’s neck almost 360 degrees to a point where you were sure the other man was decapitated -“beast of a man is supposed to have enough heart to give me this necklace and care about the pain I feel?” The vivid, very vivid, sight of him outside catches Taeyong’s attention completely and you think that it backs up the opinion you have. Mark couldn’t swoop in to agree with Taeyong, too engrossed with the phone call he was having. Little did you know this Yuta was shamelessly flirting with Mark instead of feeling any sense of urgency to the situation.

“If he didn’t have the heart to protect you from the pain, he wouldn’t be out there kicking ass. He’d be in here and he’d probably save our entire clan from the trouble of getting you to safety.” He convinces you, and you have to accept that you’re getting your ass handed to you more than twice in one day.

“But I think...” You trail off, but he cuts in the conversation.

“You know, you do have the tendency to prove everyone else wrong. We haven’t known each other that long yet, but in every single situation you try to paint it off as if Jaehyun’s not the best character.”

You nod, considering his point. “We could say he was, but maybe he doesn’t present himself to be.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, his tone a little sad, “it’s the coping mechanism he stuck with. Not the best, but he means well. You have to trust me.” He pats your arm, and you already feel at ease.

“No fair.” You point out at the contact of skin, and he laughs - momentarily forgetting he can do that.

The sound of breaking glass comes in only moments later, and it’s Jungwoo’s head being used to bash into the car. Jungwoo seems unfazed by the impact of his head to the glass of the car, but Taeyong takes this as a sign to get up off his seat and take matters into his own hands. Any more damage to Jungwoo’s head and the damage would be terrible, maybe even fatal.

So Taeyong doesn’t answer you. Instead, he quickly runs out and it’s you and Mark inside the car.

Mark’s face is laced with panic, freshly off his call from Yuta, and he too has barely enough time to express his emotion - when the glass of the rear windshield gets broken into by another black-eyed man. Dragging Mark out within actual literal seconds.

You think, based on Jaehyun’s instructions, that you shouldn’t leave the car. But the wreckage is already too great for you to stay inside, afraid that all the dents it was receiving would only result to it caving into you. You didn’t see the appeal of suffocating to death by a metal contraption. Nonetheless a 2016 Honda.

So you do hesitantly step outside, and it’s already awfully quiet when you do. You can hear the grunts and the punches from a distance away, but the area around the car had already been abandoned. They were all chasing each other off elsewhere.

It isn’t long, just a few uncomfortable inhales and exhales and a stalking figure walks up to you sinisterly. Like how predators carefully stalk their prey’s movements before coming in for an attack.

You don’t mistake the black eyes for anything else this time, sure that it is death. Walking grossly on two feet.

“Finally, the one kissed by Persephone.” He says, doing away with all the breath in his lungs. Prolonging the word in a way that horrified you, he reached out a finger to graze upon your cheeks - he finds entertainment in the way you twist in discomfort. “Mortality.” He says, swiftly lifting up your arm to observe your wrists.

You stay silent, frozen in place. You’re terrified.

“We don’t want to ruin your pretty face.” It’s the way that he says the words with a smile that really scare you, digging deep into your bones.

The man opens his mouth to reveal fangs, and you can’t even fight back when he punctures them into your wrists - immediately drawing blood. It hurts. There’s no other pain you can describe it to, no kind of pain that can be the same to this one. It’s piercing, burning, stinging you quickly and traveling almost at lightning speed.

You look at the man, and his greyed skin quickly regained color. Drinking your blood visibly altered his appearance, slowly faded away the darkness from his eyes. Everything about him had life almost way too rapidly. Drinking your blood made him look human.

But he didn’t stop there, when you heard the sound of your own wrist breaking from the sudden pressure of his bite. His teeth heavily pressing into your flesh now, drawing blood greedily - and he returned back into his original form. Lifeless.

You’re squirming with the pain.

“Y/N!” You hear somebody’s voice echo from the end of the alley, and it’s Jaehyun looking petrified. Ready to blow his fists at the man who had your wrist caged in his teeth.

It felt like there was too much blood, too much of your blood was being taken away.

The man bites deeper, and you wince when you feel skin tearing apart. In only a split second the man makes an alarming gurgling sound, followed by the clear noise of his throat constricting.

Jaehyun stares blankly for a couple of seconds, trying to process what had just happened when the man falls down - paralyzed.

Yuta arrives a few minutes later, and you’re all piled up in the van he brought.

Nobody was injured, just a few scratches and cuts, but Taeyong insisted that they’d all heal in no time.

This time you and Jaehyun were sat next to each other, and he’s repeatedly running his hands through his hair - bent down with his elbows rested on his knees. You know it’s a little weird to gloss over his pale arms, but he volunteered for you to use his corduroy jacket to wrap around your pretty damaged wrist.

If the first car ride was silent, this was dead air. Everybody looked so desperate to hold in their breaths.

"Where do we plan on going from here?" Yuta asks, and the question is aimed at Jaehyun.

He looks unsure, his eyebrows knitted together - you want to focus at his delicately handsome features, the way they shrivel up, but you’re enduring a pain you never imagined. The question implies more than it lets on. Obviously it doesn’t just ask where everyone is going, the way everyone’s eyes swiftly turn to your frame says that it asks what happens to her, where are we taking her.

So you answer for yourself, "maybe you guys should start by getting me home." You suggest.

"No," Jaehyun disapproves, "you’re injured. Don’t expect us to drop you off at the airport like that." He says as if he’s offended by your assumption, and once again he’s sitting atop your nerves and you don’t have much means to deny the fact that he’s right. It was a little ridiculous for you to be playing hero, especially now that you still weren’t sure what this whole situation meant.

But the lifeless eyes of the man biting your wrists gave you a pretty good idea.

“Okay, but only if it means that after this you won’t run into any more trouble trying to protect me from something I don’t even know.”

He sits up, and everyone silently anticipates his response, looking to you with the same plain expression.

“Then it was nice meeting you.”

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hobbitsnapes · 4 years

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The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 10

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

A/N: this is the flashback chapter of her life. Hopefully this’ll explain a lot of your guys questions.

Julianna and Hal Hawks were a lovely couple. Met and fell in love in their early 20s and married a few short years later. The pair time and time again tried for a child. But as fate would have it, each test, scan, IVF and so on came back negative.

After 8 long years of trying, the couple decided to end the process of trying for a child. They knew in their heart they wanted nothing more than to be parents, but grew to accept that they weren’t meant for it.

That is until one day, Julie has been feeling under the weather for a better part of a month. Neither one ever in a million years would think to see. But as she goes through the shop's Isles, she stops and looks at the tests. This small voice in the back of her head, and a feeling in her gut, she grabs one and heads home.

As she sits and waits, she thinks she’s lost her mind. Her and Hal were now in their early 30s, having given up 3 years prior to try conceiving a child. There’s absolutely no way.

As the clock on the wall hits 5 minutes since the test, she grabs the small stick. She closes her eyes tightly. For a bread moment she thought she maybe could be. Now, she doesn’t dare look. Her hands grow clammy and she shakes slightly as she sits on the kitchen floor.

They were both so happy, fully content with not having a child for years and have even adopted a cat a year prior. There’s absolutely no way. And with that, she opened her eyes. And as she looked at the small stick in her hands, and let out a large gasp. She knew that their life would change forever.

And like the miracle that was them getting pregnant, the pregnancy went beautifully. The couple overjoyed every second of each day. Even during the difficult times, they truly were the happiest people alive.

That was until a cold autumn night. Julie has been complaining of sharp pains in her lower stomach for a better part of the entire day. Being 36 weeks along, her husband kept reassuring her that it was just her body preparing to bring their Miracle into the world. Having seen plenty of this due to being a doctor for 6 years. But Julie still felt, off. It was as if she knew something was wrong.

“You can’t be serious love?” Hal says as he eyes his wife in the driver's seat of their car. A knowing smile on her face, her crystal blue eyes looking into his. “I’ll drive there myself if you don’t. I know our baby, and something is off about them.” “And I’m telling you, it’s completely natural to have cramping and to feel uneasy right before birth love. But if you truly insist, I’ll take you.” Hal says as he gives her a kiss. The pair getting into the car together, unknowing what the night will bring to them.

What is the worst thing you can hear in just a short sentence? You’re sick, I don’t love you anymore, you’re dying, any of those would be easier to hear over what the couple were told. “I’m so sorry, but your baby is gone.” A cry left both of them as they hunch forward and into one another’s arms. Tears streaming down their faces. A sharp pain overflows through their heart for their little merical. Their hearts feeling shot but no longer present inside of them. It’s as if when their little one left, they took their hearts with them. The pain worse than anything they have both endured combined as the reality sets in. The room they renovated from a small storage room, filled with a crib they built together. Baby clothes in the closet all prepared and ready to put the little joy in. Plush fluffy blankets lay neatly in the crib to wrap them around to fight off the chill air. Stuffed animals lined in the crib, an assortment of different ones for them to hold onto late at night. A plain wooden rocking chair in the corner, there to soothe their little joy in and sing them a lullaby to. Now the room will be vacant, no late night wales from the monitor to alert the parents of their little one needing them. No late night diaper changes, no waking up to find them playing with their favorite stuffy, no walking into a large mess with a little toddler smiling brightly at them. Nothing.

The couple cry as she lets out one final push, what would be a moment of pure joy followed by the sound of their little one they dubbed as joy to let out a cry as they enter the world. What should be the happiest moment of their lives, is the hardest thing they’ve ever been through. “Please, can I hold her?” Julie whispers, the doctor looking hesitant at the grieving woman, but untimely handed the woman her child.

The doctor laid her into her mother’s arms. Her body laying on her exposed chest, her small body having a slight blue Hue. Her tiny mouth the color of roses, her nose making a small button at the end. Her eyes shut, almost as if she was just in a deep sleep. The mother cries as she looks at her little merical. She bows her head slightly, resting it on the top of her head. “Please, if you’re up there, please bring my baby back. Please.” She whispers as tears fall down her face.

And it’s as if time stops then. She feels a slight movement, a warmth flooding her chest. She opens her eyes in shock, a large gasp leaving her, and everyone in the room at the large cry that left the once lifeless baby.

Little Saundra was nothing but a true merical. From her conception to her birth, she captured the hearts of her parents the moment they knew of her existence. The couple swearing that god himself sent them a little angel. With a newly renowned faith due to what they fully believe to be a miracle child. They promised her the moment she let out a cry that they would show her nothing but love, joy, and to fill her heart with it till their last breath.

Her early life was nothing short of pure happiness. Even in the early days with the all nighters, the colic, all the blowout diapers and the complete Exhaustion could overshadow the Immense joy and love they had for her. And as the first few days of getting used to the lack of sleep and around the clock feedings, to the first smile, to the first laugh, to the first crawl, to her first steps. It’s as if time slowed down for them when she came into their lives, but at the same time it’s as if she was on record speed to grow. Her once bald head now sporting small strawberry blonde curls, just like her fathers. Her eyes crystal blue like her mothers, lips red as roses and cheeks kissed with a faint red.

The couple dubbed her as their little angel. Her small giggle whenever they made a face at her, to her full belly laugh when they would blow raspberries on her squishy tummy, even when they would juggle her little foot and put it to their ear and say hello, she would laugh so hard she’s barf all over herself. All of those sounding like an angel singing hymns.

Her first 5 years were pure bliss. Little sandy always has a smile on her face, loved every person she met, always wanting to hug people whenever they were out. Always trying to help people and animals. She begged her parents if she could bring in a baby deer that was abandoned. For weeks she bottle fed the baby and helped her dad make a small bed for the animal. She cried for nights when the once tiny deer grew larger and ultimately left. She trusted everything and everyone, thinking everything was good, and that everyone had a heart as big as hers. She touched the hearts of many, once giving a woman at the shops a large hug when she was crying. She had the soul of an angel and was nothing but pure light and love. And her parents loved every bit of it and showered the little one in nothing but love. Her trusting nature never scaring them once. Until one day.

They decided one day to go to the mall, her mother wanting to pick up a few dresses for herself and her daughter, her little hand tightly inside her mother's larger one. Her long curly blonde hair tied up in a bun with a bow in the front. A light pink dress with small rabbits decorating it covered her along with a pair of white leggings. Her favorite stuffy firmly in her other hand as they walk inside.

All goes smoothly, both getting a few things here and there for the Warmer weather coming up. And for one split second, Julie looks away and walks right into someone. She falls to the ground, profusely apologizing to the man as he helps her pick up their things. And when she looked up, Sandy was gone. A sharp squeezing pain overcomes her heart as panic sets in. She frantically looks around to see the blonde curly bun and pink dress. But she’s nowhere in sight.

She runs to the nearest security guard, frantically explaining what happened as tears stream down her face. How could she have done this? If she just paid attention then this wouldn’t have happened. Her heart clenches harder the more time goes by, now all the security guards in the building on alert looking for the child.

An hour past and now the panic has mixed with dread, sadness, and anger towards herself. The pain almost exactly like the pain she felt when she was told her little girl wasn’t alive, but now she’s angry at herself for what she believes to be her fault.

It’s now been 3 hours, Hal had come to help the search and to console his wife, telling her repeatedly that he’s not angry with her or that this wasn’t her fault. And that they would find her. Hal was in panic too, having gotten the call during a surgery and leaving as soon as he got the call. He knew deep down they’d find their little girl. While she was small and only 5, she was smart. Whenever a challenge faced her she manifested through it and figured a way as someone beyond her years. He knew that if she was taken, she’d find a way out or a way to get someone’s attention.

After 5 hours the tears were almost completely gone, the couple feeling a mix of emotions, is this what hell is like? The uncertainty, the feeling that it’s your fault and there’s no way to fix it and you just have to live with it as the pain grows until you’re unable to Process it as anything but searing pain?

It was now nightfall, the cops telling the couple to head home to get some rest as they continue searching. But how could they go back to the home they made into her castle? A place they brought her home 4 days after her birth, the place that she had her first smile, first everything. All the memories Scattered around like little specks of love from her touch and glowing aura. How could they go there without the source of light that lit up the home like the sun when it breaks over the skyline? How could they climb into bed, knowing that the next room over that holds one of god's angels, is empty?

And as if god heard all of their prayers, thoughts, and felt their pain, a cop came to the crying couple, informing them that they found her and that she was alive and unharmed. As if their hearts had stopped beating, and was crumbling like an old brick wall, it flowed bright and grew again. It was as if all the joy they had felt over the last 5 years were multiplied. They jumped up from the ground and sprinted to the location that the cop said they were with a speed of pure electricity and adrenaline Coursed through them.

When they reached the basement of the mall, and they saw the tiny little girl with blonde ringlets coming out of her once neat bun, they screamed in joy and ran full force. The little girl hearing her parents ran with all her night into her parents arms. Sobs of pure joy erupted from them all as they sat there and cried. Cried over the sheer volume of relief and joy and pure love surrounded them all like a bubble.

Turns out a man by the name of chase myrdk, a 46 year old who lost his children to his ex wife due to repeatedly trying to groom them, had found the little one when her mom was picking up her things from the floor and promised her he had more stuffed animals in his home. But when the alert for the child began, he panicked and hid with her in the basement in a crawl space. Only being found because she kept saying she needed to find her mummy, and he lashed out and yelled at her. This causing the little girl to grab a heavy piece of scrap metal and hit him over the head, causing him to cry out as she continued to hit him. This alerting the police in the room and finding him.

The couple now vowing to themselves, their daughter, and god that they would do anything in their power to keep her out of harm's way.

The young, curly haired girl with small hands, a child wonder in her eyes, and the heart that could change the coldest man in the world, turned into a beautiful angel with a heart that glowed out of her skin. Truly loving up to her name, young saundra was breathtaking. Her once strawberry blonde hair, a beautiful light golden blonde that glowed in a dim room and sparkled in the light but has a soft focus to it. Her skin a soft glass like, it had a transparency with a glow so soft, it radiated. Lips the shade of roses that made her smile that much more expressive. Her eyes the exact same as her mothers, a crystal blue that was a hair shy from a sapphire, they sparkled in the light and had a depth of the world in them, but had a lightness in them that was a window to a glowing soul. She had a radiance, it was as if she had lights lined up her spine that glowed out of her, she was ethereal. Always doing things out of pure love for everything she encountered. A sharp witty at Astonished her parents. A true glow of happiness followed her every place she went in the home. Even when sad she had a smile on her face and saw through it and showed her love through it. Never acting out of anger or distress, she always knew how to help her parents through love and understanding. She was the true meaning of an angel sent to earth.

And her parents protected that, they never wanted that light inside of her to dim from the harsh world outside of their home. They never wanted her to feel the pain that others brought, so from the time that they brought her home, they kept all the things that the world had that was harsh away from her. They wanted to keep her hidden from the harsh reality that is the world so it wouldn’t rip her apart and dim that light. So they hid her at their home. She only went outside in the garden to tend to her beloved flowers and feed the animals that would come from the forest. And as if her heart was so full of love, animals flocked to her. Over the years she had deer, cats, dogs, bunnies, even a wounded bear let her fix its paw and feed it each night.

She loved her parents greatly, so much that her heart felt as if it was floating but being filled each second. She had a very close bond with them. Each day hugging them throughout the day, making them meals when they cane home from work and asked how their day went. Each day they’d only tell her the good. Never about the rude coworker that spat a rude comment to her mother about missing a piece of paper in her office, or the patient that lost their life on the table that day. They never wanted her to feel a sense of loss, or pain that they had felt. They never wanted her to feel the pain that they felt in the past.

Hal and Julie weren’t always the perfect god loving parents that they are today. They actually met at one of their lowest points in their lives.

Julie was an orphaned high school dropout. Her parents leaving her when she was 13 due to money problems from their drug addictions. Dropping out shortly after and living in a shelter and getting an apartment when she was 16 by getting a fake ID. And Hal, he was much the same. Having no father and a mother who beat him most nights due to not being a girl and believing that from his troubles at school made his father leave. He routinely bullied kids at school, due to the amount of anger and pain he felt inside and endured due to his mother. He was a troubled kid from an early age. He’d skip school with his little gang to go smoke and drink at the local lake and commit petty crimes here and there.

One day when Hal was only 20, he got an offer from a man promising if he helped him rob a bank, he’d get a portion of the money. He agreed to it immediately.

All of the men kept their identities anonymous, wearing a clown mask due to the head leaders request. They called him the Joker. All of the men commenting how they never heard of him and that he must be a total nut. Not knowing the horrors the man would vomit to countless lives in the future.

One by one each men were killed, Hal watching each one from the side in horror. And untimely deciding to leave the mission and to run. Run as fast as he could away from the mad man. And ultimately ran into a woman on the street begging for a place to stay. Not knowing them that his life would change, forever.

Hal and Julie were able to flip their once troubled lives around, leaving their old lives behind. At least that’s what they thought.

One day when Hal opened the door to leave for what would be a long day of open heart surgery and kidney transplant, he opened the door to what would be the most frightening thing he’s seen in decades. A lone joker card lay on his doorstep. What would be normally not seen or if had been would think was just a prank, Citizens of Gotham and those who lived near knew that it was the calling card to the most mad man in all of the world. A symbol similar to a screaming banshee.

Hal runs back inside the home to his wife who’s still in bed, not needing to be up for another hour. He shakes her awake harshly. “What is it lovey?” She groans, why would he be acting this way especially so early? “We have to leave now. Pack your things and saundras things and meet me in the car in 10 minutes.” He frantically says. “Hal what’s going on? Why do we need to leave?” “I got a card.” He says with eyes wide with fear. Her breath leaves her lungs at what he said, knowing exactly what he means.

The couple pack their things and rush into her room. The newly 16 year old still in bed sleeping soundly. They rush to wake her and help her pack her things, the young girl not understanding why her parents are acting so strange and rushed. She starts to feel a squeeze in her chest but is reassured by her mother it’s fine and that everyone will be okay.

They get into the car and speed off, Sandy panicking as she watches all the other homes pass by as they go onto a dirt road. “M-mom, dad, what’s going on? Why are we leaving?” She says with panic in her voice. “Everything is gonna be alright sweetheart, I did some things in my past that I’m not proud of and we just have to go to another home for a while okay?” “Dad, what did you do?” What could her father have done to make them leave their home? Her parents were nothing but kind and loving people. Never doing a bad thing in their lives, so why would they have to leave? “That doesn’t matter baby, your dad and I just need to keep you safe okay? We love you baby. And remember, God is watching over us and him and Christ are protecting us always remember?”

They pull into the dirt driveway of a wooden home deep into a forest. The couple buying it and would stay out there during the summer with their daughter.

They all got inside and put their things away. Acting as if nothing was happening. But both of them panicking. What are they gonna do if they find them? What if they were followed? They sat in their bedroom as their daughter put her things away in her room. Not knowing what was to come later that night.

They all lay in one bed together that night, after all praying and bible reading beside the fire. They asked her if they could all stay in the main room, stating that it’ll help with the heating. Both parents on each side of her with arms over her, as if even in sleep they know to protect their little angel.

Hal wakes up to go to the bathroom, and when he exits the bedroom and shuts the door, a sharp hit over the head knocks him out.

Hal stirs awake, the back of his skull throbbing in pain as he lets out a groan. He opens his eyes and panics when he’s unable to move. He looks down and sees he’s tied up to a wooden chair. His heart both beats so fast it sends a sharp pain through his chest but also drops at the realization.

He looks to his side to his worst nightmare. His wife tied to a chair with a scarf wrapped around her mouth with tears streaming down her face. And when he turns his head to the front of him, his worst nightmare is in front of him. His daughter clad only in her white nightgown, tied up the same way with tears streaming down her face, with the man whose wide sinister smile and green hair behind her with his head on her shoulder, a knife to her throat.

“Oh! Goody! You’re finally awake! Oh how I’ve missed your presence good ol buddy ol Hal!” The manic says and laughs loudly as he presses the blade harder against her throat. A muffled yell escapes the girl due to her mouth also being gagged. He goes to yell out but notices his mouth is shut with cling film. A muffled yell erupt from him which causes the mad man to laugh even harder. “Oh Hal it’s pointless to try and speak. Now, I bet you’re wondering how I found you?” Joker takes the blade from her throat, she takes in a deep breath over and over due to the panic inside of her. He walks over to Hal with the knife pointed like how you’d point your finger at a child to scold them. “Well you see, i know I promised to keep your identities a secret all those years ago, but you’ve probably figured out that I don’t tell the truth very often?” The man laughs loudly in his face. “And I happen to have found you in the paper recently, one of Gotham’s most beloved surgeons marks 20 years of his work. I gotta say you did a swell job old Hal. And I couldn’t help but wonder how much your sad, sad little life has changed. That’s when I found you got married and had a daughter. Oh what a true beauty your little girl is.” Joker gets down to Hal and whispers in his ear “oh the things I could do to your sweet little girl?” Hal head buys him as hard as he can in the face, letting out a large yell through the plastic. When joker recovers from the hit, he smiles and shoves the blade through his covered lips to poke a hole through it. He lets out a yell at the pain from his mouth being cut from the blade. “STAY AWAY FROM MY FAMILY YOU SICK FUCK! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER AGREED TO WORK WITH YOU!” “Oh but you did! You chose to do it and didn’t follow through with the plan! So now it’s my turn to have a little fun!”

(Trigger warning. Torture)

Joker looks over to his men and they rip the scarf from his wife’s face, she screams out as the men rip her shirt from her body and start to beat at her and kick her. Hal screams out and tries to get free but to no avail.

After some minutes, Julie is now laying on the ground, naked with bruises covering her body as she sobs. Joker walks over to her slowly, Hal letting out a large scream as he plunges his blade into her back repeatedly. Sandy’s screaming out in pure horror. She manages to have the gag lowered to her neck from thrashing violently.

(End of warning)

Hal lowers his head as he weeps loudly. His wife’s body laying bloody on the ground as joker laughs so hard he falls to the ground in her blood. “W-why? Why are you doing this? They’re my family?” Hal cries as he looks at him. The pain in his chest overwhelming him to the core as he shakes from the pain of watching his wife die a slow and painful death. “Because, I JUST LOVE IT!” Joker screams as he beats Hal over the head, him falling to the ground. He’s ripped out of the seat by jokers men as he’s beaten repeatedly. The pain overwhelming him as white hot pain sets in all over from both the hits and the breaking of bones. He looks out and sees sandy crawling away to the phone, a small bit of hope in him is killed when he sees joker walking behind her. “NOO NOT MY LITTLE ANGEL!”

Sandy struggles with her hands behind her to get out of the knot. Her tears streaming down her face as she watches her father beaten heavily.the pain in her chest overcoming every sense in her. She’s able to get the knot loose and crouch down to the floor and crawl slowly to the phone.

(Trigger warning. Mutilation to the skin of the shoulder blades.)

She thinks she’s about to make it, until she hears her dad yell out and a searing pain cuts through the skin of her shoulder blade. A earth shattering scream rips out of her as her flesh tears open as the blade is slashed repeatedly through her skin. The pain white hot as it shoots through her entire body. The searing pain Foreign to her but crushing her and each scream being ripped out making it worse. She’s paralyzed in place as her flesh and muscle is torn open. The sting of air almost a comfort until another slash is brought deep into her. She screams out in pure agony as the blade reaches her shoulder blades. Tears stream down her face from the pain now hitting every inch of her. Blood pooling out down her front as she lays there. The pain from the exposed nerves and ripped muscle and flesh nothing near the pain in her heart. She feels a face next to hers and cowers in fear from it. “Aww, poor little angel lost her wings.”

After the men left both her parents dead and her to die, she raises her head from the ground. A scream rips out of her as she raises her arm to grab the phone and dials 911. She screams out when someone answers and when they find the location, they tell her hell is on the way. But before she hears the sound of an ambulance approach the house filled with horrors, she blacks out.

She wakes up to a bright light and her head pounding. Her senses foggy for a short while until she hears a beeping sound. She opens her eyes, but shuts them tightly as the lights beam into them, burning them slightly. Vince the pain in her eyes and head subside, she opens her eyes in panic. A sharp squeeze in her chest overcome her as the pain sets in of reality. The crisp white room of the hospital now causing her to panic. The lights alerting others to her presence. She looks around seeing nobody, but hearing a faint laugh which causes her to jump in horror. She’s paralyzed as memories from the night set in. Now the panic being harshly mixed with a pain she’s never felt before. She lets out a sob at the realization that this is real, it’s something she never knew existed. Loss. The pain in her heart making it feel like it’s dripping but ripping out of her. Her head hurting just as much as the memories are foggy, as if they aren’t her own or that she wasn’t present. She sobs violently in the empty hospital room. Her once bright soul, crushed.

She looks up from her bed and sees an IV is in her arm. Panic sets in again at the fear of what happened sinks in and consumes her. She rips the IV out of her arm, not even feeling it due to the sheer panic filling her. She stumbles out of bed and Dallas to the ground. She cries again from the pain in her back where the skin is not yet healed and how weak she feels.

She crawls to the wall and pulls herself up, shitting her mouth tightly as a scream tries ripping out as the pain of her wounds cry out due to the movement. She stands up and holds onto the wall and wobbles over to the door.

She opens it and peeks out and sees nobody in the halls. Panic filling her again as she feels exposed as she creeps out of the door. She feels as though the walls are both closing in but widening to alert danger to her. She walks slowly as she holds onto the walls for support.

She stops in her tracks and hides behind the wall as she hears 2 people walking near her. She phonics in fear as she hears it to be men. Their footsteps heavy, similar to the men that night. She pain a as tears stream down her face. This is it. They found her to finish her off too.

She lets out a breath as the men go down another hallway. She looks around and sees a door. She wobbled over to it and opens it to see lockers in the room. One happens to be open and she walks over to it. Seeing clothes inside of it she grabs them and slips out of her hospital gown and into the t shirt and leggings. The pain in her shoulder not hindering her as she puts them on. She sees a black jacket with a hood and slips it on. Covering her face with the hood.

She walks for a few minutes, the pain in her shoulders radiating the more she walks. She gives up hope as she keeps walking through the halls, until she sees a back door.

She walks as fast as she can to it and when she opens it, she lets out a large breath as the cool air of the night fill her lungs. She Hurley exited out of the hospital, into the night.

The morning light shown brightly into her eyes, the light similar to the ones from the hospital. But rather than the soft bed and beeping she woke up to, she woke to the sounds of people talking, car horns and a rough ground.

Her eyes shot open at the sound of someone behind her, she heard a faint laughter. But when she turned around she saw nobody but a woman a few feet away laying on the ground. She slowly got up, groaning at the stiffness in her bones and back. ‘What am I supposed to do now? I need to hide.’’ She thought, eyeing a rite aid across the street. She started walking towards it across the street. Her heart stopped as a car slammed in front of her, only missing her by a hair. “WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKIN GOING CUNT!” Screamed the man behind the wheel. “I-I’m sorry!” She said as she shook in place and ran out of the way. Her chest tightening again as she reached the store, her heart plummeting into her stomach as she walked in.

She knew she had no money, and no idea what to do. But she knew she had to do something so that, man wouldn’t find her again. His laughter running in her hears like a song from another room. But rather than comforting, it sent chills up her spine. She ducked her head the entire time, not daring to look anyone in the eyes in fear of it being one of the men.

She ended up in the hair section. She never once colored her hair, but knowing that her long blonde hair would give away who she was she grabbed the box with a shaky hand. She then looked and saw a pair of Shears. She grabbed them as well and put both items under her jacket. Shaking as she walked towards the exit. She was almost through the door, until a large siren ringing erupted around her. The sound causing her to yell out. “HEY!” She heard a man scream behind her, she screamed at the top of her lungs and ran as fast as she could out the door. Tears streaming down her face as images from that night flashed before her eyes. Her heart both falling but beating so fast she thought it’d fall out.

She ran down an alleyway and turned left. The footsteps of the man were no longer heard. and as soon as she knew he wasn’t there she fell to the ground. Sobs wrenching from her body as she shook on the ground. Her head in her arms as she screams out into her arm. Images of her mother being stabbed and her blood curdling screams being choked up from the blood coming from her mouth. Her fathers screams ringing in her head and the sounds of his bones being crushed. All of those along with the pain of the skin being cut on her shoulders with his laugh filling her head. She felt her stomach twist in pain, a groan ripping out from her sobs. She felt burning in her throat before she turned her head and threw up. Her sobs getting worse the more pain in her body escalates. “W-why? WHY THEM” she yelled out as tears continued to fall.

She wiped her mouth off with the sleeve of her jacket, her mouth having a slight copper taste to it. She looked around the best she can through watery eyes and sees the sky growing darker, she has to hurt and find a place before it’s dark, not knowing what other horrors are in the night.

She stumbles upon a rest area, she sees a light on inside and walks in. She hears nobody around, the silence of the room almost deafening. She slowly walks to the bathroom area, her shoes making a loud noise as it hits the concrete flooring. She cringes at the noise and Hurley walks into the bathroom.

She flicks the light on and gags, the room wreaking so heavily it brings tears to her eyes. She stands in front of the large mirror, it’s foggy as it’s covered in dirt. She shakily takes the shears out from her jacket and pulls her hood down. Her usually smooth blonde locks tangled and dirty looking. Tears fall from her eyes as she brings them up and snips her hair to her jaw. A sob leaves her body as she cuts more hair.

The sobs turning into silent tears by the time her whole head is cut. It’s cut right above her eyes and she sweeps the sides over her forehead. She gasps as she looks down at the sink, her long hair now all over the place. Sobs again erupt from her. She wipes her eyes and grabs the box of color, she reads the directions and mixes everything together, slathering it all over her head until each inch is covered.

She looks up at herself for the first time since washing the color out. Her hair now curly in knots and pitch black.

11 months, and 20 days later.

She ran down the street as fast as she can, the footsteps behind her growing closer. The crunch of the gravel against her torn shoes causing shooting pain through them, but due to the adrenaline Coursing through her body she hardly feels it.

She sees a fire escape about 100 feet away. She starts to sprint and once she reaches it she jumps up as fast as she can, swinging her arms up and wrapping her legs around it and climbing up, the men chasing her yelling profanities at her.

She reaches to the roof and sits down on the floor. She goes into her pocket and grabs the bread she had taken, it was stale and hard as a rock. But after not eating for a few days she devours it in seconds. She looks below and no longer sees the men below. She climbs down slowly, having almost fallen recently due to rushing.

She walks around and into an alleyway, a group of people surrounding a fire, she walks slowly towards the group. Her heart beating faster the closer she gets. She looks around the walls for anyone else, her eyes darting back and forth in search for anyone around that she can’t see. She hears a faint cry down the alley, “P-please stop daddy. I-I’m s-sorry!” It sounds like a child, it’s high pitched and the s sounding like a lisp. She runs down the alley and spots a man, he’s tall and sticky, an obvious beer belly through his shirt. A little girl lays at the ground. Her clothes torn and ragged. A common theme among those in the narrows. She steps up towards the man, his fist in the little girls shirt as the little girl yells out in fear. “HEY! Leave her alone assfuck! She’s a child!” She yells, the man dropping the girl and marching towards her. “STAY OUTTA MY BUSINESS CUNTBAG! SHE'S MY KID AND I'LL DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT TO HER!” He screams in her face, his breath reeking of alcohol and his eyes are bloodshot. His pupils small and his eyes are bloodshot. Possibly due to either cocaine or heroin. “Like hell you will.” She mumbles, before raising her fist into the side of his face. Her rings on her knuckles for this purpose scratching into his skin. He falls back to the ground and groans. He stumbles his head around, but before he can move she launches on top o him. She’s grabs his forehead and slams it repeatedly into the ground, cries of pain leaving him until he knocks unconscious.

She raises up off of him and looks behind her, the little girl laying in the same spot now crying. She walks over to her and bends down to the shaking girl. She has a black eye and her lip is split. She reches her hand to the child’s face and the little girl flinches. “Hey hey hey shahs, it’s okay. What’s your name sweetly?” “A-ally..” “hi ally, I’m sandy. Is that man your father?” “I d-don’t know. Mommy brought me there and then she-she left..” tears leav the little girls eyes as she speaks. She reches and brings the child close to her, hugging her tightly to her. “It’s all gonna be okay sweetheart. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll help you okay?” “Y-you promis?” The little girl asks as she looks up, her tears gathering in her eyes. “I promise sweet thing. I’m gonna make sure you’re safe.”

She tucks the little girl in her makeshift bed. Covering her up with the blanket up to her nose. She hadn’t found an actual home yet, not having the money and only being 17. So she found an abandoned building and slowly started bringing things up into it. The floors were always cold, but since finding the blanket and mattress, the chill in the room went away each night.

She got in behind her, putting her arm around her, the little girl turned around into her and nuzzles her head into her chest. “Thank you sandy, you’re my angel.”

The two sat in the room silently, both eating a cup of noodles. Ally finishing it well before sandy did. The pore thing must’ve been starving, neither one finding food for a good 2 days. “What’s that over there?” Ally points, she looks to where and sees the box beside the bed. “It’s all the things I have from my parents.” “Where are they?” Ally asked, head tilting to the side. “My mom and dad, aren’t around anymore.” “You mean they died?” A pain shoots through her heart hearing it. Still in pain from her parents passing. “Yes, but now they’re angels. Remember how you called me your angel?” Ally nods her head yes at this. “Well they’re kinda the same, they’re just up in heaven watching over me, and you.” “What’s heaven?” Sandy pauses, the small child not even knowing what heaven is? She wonders what her life has been like prior to her taking her in. “Heaven is where we go when we die. It’s a magical place where everyone we love is there. Everyone is happy, there’s no pain there. And when we’re up there, we get to live with not only our loved ones, but god and Jesus too.” “Who’s god and jebus?” This causes sandy to laugh. “God is who made us all. He made every single little thing in this world, but he saw that we weren’t perfect like the angels, so he sent his only son to earth, and so we pray to Jesus to be closer to them.” “Can we pray to them?” A large smile covers sandys face at this. “Of course we can sweetie.” She grabs a hold of ally and sits her on her lap, she puts her hands together for her, she ducks her head down onto hers as she recites the exact same prayer her parents taught her. A warmth filling her chest.

Sandys heart is reaching as she sprints down the street, Her arms growing tired as she holds onto ally as she cries into her chest. “GET BACK HERE!” The men scream. Her and ally had been walking down the street, her little hand tightly in hers. They turned a corner and were met with her father and a few other men. They all charged after the two and they ran, Sandy knowing she couldn’t take on all of them at once especially with ally around. She runs down the street of the building they had been staying. Knowing she had a few knives that she’s collected in there to protect ally.

She almost makes it to the door, but a large hit to the back of her head knocks her to the ground. She falls down to the ground, dropping ally in the process. She feels glass under her as her head throbs in pain. The men come up to them and start throwing punches into her. Cries of pain leaving her as one blows a hit to her shoulder blade. Tears falling down her face as every inch of her body screams out in pain as blow after blow is hit into her. She opens her eyes when she hears a scream. She sees ally being ripped away by her father. Her tears falling down her face as she struggles. “NOO! GET AWAY FROM HER!” She screams out, “SANDY! PLEASE HELP ME! YOU PROMISED!” Ally screams out.

Tears fall down her face as the men leave her on the ground. Tears fall down her face, mixing with blood from her nose. She lays there on the ground, her heart breaking slowly but forcefully. She can’t save anyone, she couldn’t save her parents, ally, herself, nobody. Each time she tries to help someone, they get hurt. Tears keep falling down her face as now, not only the images and sounds of her parents death, but the look of pure horror on ally’s face as she was ripped away.

(Trigger warning. Attempted suicide.)

Sandy’s tears fall down her face as her breathing picks up. She looks down below her, the lights from the city and the cars below her feet. Tears keep falling until they turn into sobs.

Her heart is beating faster than ever, she again feels like she’s gonna throw up as she looks down. Thoughts are filling her head, some screaming to jump and others telling her to get back from the ledge. Her sobs growing so loudly that she’s unable to hear the person from behind her.

(End of trigger warning)

Jason looks over at the next building, having been resting there for a few minutes. He sees what looks to be a girl, her sobs shaking her body as she climbs up onto the ledge. His heart falls into his stomach at the realization of what’s about to happen.

He jumps over to the building behind her. His breathing picking up as he watches her. She’s unmoving as she looks down. That is until he hears her cries turning into sobs. She lifts her foot off the ground.

“Don’t” she hears behind her. She whips her head around and eyes a man, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket, a black shirt on under it, he’s very tall and muscular with guns strapped to his belt. But what catches her eye is that he’s wearing a red hood over his head and a red helmet. “You don’t understand what this’ll do. It isn’t the answer. This will hurt so many people that love you.” A pain shoots through her heart at this. “That’s not true.” She whispers. Her tears falling down her face again. Her chest tightening up as images of her parents flood her head. “And why’s that?” He asks, he steps a bit closer to her as he asks this. “Everyone that I ever had, everyone I ever loved. Are all dead. I-I couldn’t save them. So no, nobody would care if I did it. So just please, leave now..” she sobs out. He grabs a hold of her hand, now right below the ledge. “It’d hurt me, knowing that you’re doing this because you’re alone. So please, do it for me.” His voice breaks after he said alone. Tears fill her eyes as a sob leaves her. She falls back, and when she lands into him he wraps his arms securely around her. She sobs into his chest as he holds onto her tightly. Tears now falling down his face. His heart breaking as the young girl cries grow louder and harder. “P-please help me..” she sobs out. “I will, I promise. I swear on my life, I’m gonna help you.”

Tags: @psychovigilantewrites @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne imagine #older!damian wayne imagine #older!damian wayne #batfamily #batfam x reader #batman #red hood #jason todd #tim drake #dc #dc imagine #dceu #damian wayne

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randomoranges · 3 years

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last year [hahaha chuis tellement drôle], i was having a conversation with a friend and we were like omg teddy’s aesthetic is totally like boudoir! so then i went down the rabbit hole of looking at photos for inspiration and found this one and i was like oh my lord this is such a teddy thing but i left it at that.

then this morning i was like wow amazing an idea that can go with the image!!!! so i decided to make the super wrong and traced art and spent too many hours on it bcs obvs tracing only takes minutes.

then as i was making the not actually art i kept thinking of the idea from this morning but it didn’t work as well so i thought of something else and merged the two ideas together.

it feels like i spent the entire day on this haha

and then i realised there is also still a reference to michel tremblay hidden in this without even trying.

there are so many - layers - hahaha to this.

it’s nsfw. ish.

Veils

Edward’s relieved when he makes it to the club. He hasn’t been able to come in a few weeks time, due to work, a conference and the likes and he’s looking forward to sitting back and unwinding. He also hasn’t seen Teddy since his last visit and he finds himself hoping they’ll be able to catch up before, during, after, or post-show. He tries to will his cheeks not to warm too much at the thought of the other person, but it’s a little bit hard to do.

They’ve been – well, seeing each other is not the right term for it, but Edward has rather liked the few times they’ve slept together so far and that one memorable brunch the day after. Yet, there’s nothing official between them and Edward really isn’t sure if he wants a relationship at the moment. Still, the sex has proven to be good and the company better yet. He likes to think they’re at least friends, but they haven’t really seen each other outside of the bedroom or the club.

He pushes the door open to the club and he’s first surprised to see a – bouncer type person at the door. He wonders if this is a new norm and what could have prompted the change from the usual cheery fellow who greets the patrons, but his musings are cut short when he’s spoken to.

“Invitation?” The burly type asks and Edward is taken aback for a moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know – is there a private event here tonight?” He never bothers to check the website for the schedule and usually just pops in when he feels like it, but this, is new.

“Yes. Invitation only. Come back later.” The man says curt and to the point. Edward doesn’t want to cause any trouble and feels like this man won’t hesitate to escort him out if needed, so he’s about to apologise and leave, when Paul appears seemingly out of nowhere and comes to his rescue.

“He’s good, Bruno; he’s a regular and the boss has him on the list.” Paul says as he claps Bruno on the back. Bruno doesn’t seem pleased by the gesture, but Paul seems oblivious to it all.

Edward has no idea who the boss is and what list Paul is talking about, but if it means he gets to enjoy the private event, he won’t necessarily complain or mind.

Bruno grunts and reiterates something about the list, but when Paul insists, he’s escorted inside by the bartender and brought over to coat check.

“I’m glad you’re here; Teddy’s put me on door duty until you arrived.” Paul says as a way of explanation that does nothing to clear up the many questions Edward has.

“How did any of you know I was coming? And what’s this private event all about?”

“You come here often enough; they figured maybe you’d drop by today. As for the event; it’s something a little different – a once in a lifetime performance, really, so you’re very lucky to have stopped by! Very selective and very VIP, if you catch my drift. You’ll see in a bit,” Paul grins, mischievous as ever and Edward wonders what exactly he’s stepped into, but the curiosity in him only keeps growing. “Oh, you’ll have to check in your phone as well. No recordings whatsoever; performer’s request.”

Edward notices the little locker type add-on in the coat-check and fishes out his phone. He hands it over to the person in charge of the check-in and he’s given back a key. At least, he tells himself, no one should abscond with his phone.

“Anyways, now that you’re here, I suggest you grab a seat. Bon show!”

And with that, Paul is gone and Edward makes his way to the heart of the club to find a seat. The atmosphere is muted and the sitting capacity has been reduced to a third. Most of the spots are already filled, but he manages to find himself a seat at the far back. The tables have been dressed in dark velvet tablecloths and each have a trim of sparkly jewels that shine when the lights hit them. It’s quite different from the usual decor and Edward wonders if this is some new event the club is trying out. In all the time he’s been attending, he’s never even heard of such an event. He looks around for a pamphlet or poster of sorts that might give him a clue, but there’s nothing of the sorts.

Therefore, he patiently waits for the show to start and takes in the other carefully chosen guests around him. He recognises a few other familiar faces he’s seen over his many visits, but other than that, everyone seems as equally unknowing as he does and he wonder what the criteria was to be part of the audience.

Finally, the lights are dimed down and a hush falls over the gathered crowd. Edward expects the usual introduction to follow suit, but instead, the room fills with sultry jazz music of sorts. It starts a little slow and picks up as the curtains part to reveal a figure, back to the crowd, illuminated softly, standing on center stage.

As the light grows stronger and the figure starts moving, liquid movements that make it seem effortless and easy, despite the stiletto heels, Edward takes in the multiple layers of fabric that are draped elegantly and expertly over the figure and that play to create different effects when they hit the light. They almost seem like veils of sorts, all in the palest of colours, maybe even white, and that shimmer when the person moves.

It takes Edward a while for his mind to fully register what it is he’s seeing, as the music keeps playing and the person on stage keeps moving, dancing and performing. This is different from what Club 1642 usually puts on, but he’s intrigued and enthralled and doesn’t mind the change.

Finally, it’s when they turn around that Edward gasps as he recognises exactly who it is. The tattoo might be partially covered by fabric, but he’s traced every branch and ever petal with delicate fingers and pressed hot kisses to every curve of the vine. His hands have carded, as well as tugged, on those curls numerous times now and he knows the feel of those lips on every inch of his body.

Still, he forgets how to breathe for a moment, ever still, and drinks in the sight before him.

Teddy stands before them all, as they take ownership of the stage, stepping from one place to the other, the lights following them, as they wrap their wrists around the first layer of veils and make it twirl around them. The veil, embedded with subtle crystals, shimmers and shines for a moment, before Teddy whirls around as the pace of the music picks up and the veil is then let go of and flutters for a moment, before falling, motionless, to the floor by their feet.

For as long as they have known each other, for as many times as they have spoken; late night conversations and early morning murmurs, Edward had never known that Teddy performed.

But – he supposes there are still secrets about him that Teddy doesn’t know either.

Regardless, Edward is left breathless as Teddy continues their dance of many veils and he finds himself mesmerized and captured by the performance. He’s surprised that even though the dance could be considered seductive or provocative and sensual, what with the veils that Teddy keeps shedding, Edward instead finds that the performance is more than that.

There is something immensely personal in the movements; private even and it feels as though Teddy is shedding more than just veils. It’s as if the layers represent insecurities and their relationship with each one is different, based on the movement and the way Teddy discards the veil.

It’s – vulnerable, if that’s even possible. Teddy is slowly laying themselves bare, not only figuratively, but emotionally as well – exposing themselves; revealing themselves as they truly are and Edward’s heart stammers in his chest as the performance continues.

He also thinks there’s sadness to it. He feels it in the music, but also in the movements; how Teddy caresses the fabric for a moment, before ripping it away. There’s been betrayal here, deep hurt they’ve never really healed from and Edward wonders who could have wronged this wonderful person. What pains have they suffered through that he doesn’t know of?

He wonders briefly if Teddy would mind if they found out he’s been here – assisted this anguished cry. This does really feel like a private performance and he would hate for his friend to feel embarrassed that he’d assisted. Even if “the boss” had put him on the list, he hopes he hasn’t crossed some line, but he figures he can worry about that later.

The music’s pace keeps picking up as the layers are discarded and Edward holds his breath as Teddy’s movements become sharper still, as they fight with their veils. The effects of the lights and the crystals only help create the image of a whirlwind – of an angry snowstorm as the snow falls and then rises again by the wind. He thinks of blizzards and snow squalls and his vision being impaired as the snow seems to fall from every which corner and direction.

For a moment, it seems as though the veils will threaten to overcome Teddy; as if they will lose their fight against the fabric – against the demons they keep close to their heart and deal with, but finally, the music crescendos. They wrap themselves in their last veil and come to a halt, back to the spot where they had started from. The veil undulates and flutters once more, somehow teasing and yet covering, never revealing, and Teddy looks heavenward, arms outstretched, one last plea to be helped or saved – reaching out for something or – someone and they hold their pose for a moment longer, hold it for the audience to feel the final cry and the final tug, before the lights slowly fade out.

A fallen angel, he thinks. Cast out.

It takes him a moment – it takes them all a moment, but soon the silence that followed the end of the performance is broken by loud applause. Edward doesn’t even realise it, but he’s on his feet and someone to his left whistles. He needs to blink tears out of his eyes and he wishes he could go somewhere quiet to process the art he’s just witnessed.

He’s still not sure he’s fully understood everything he’s just seen, but he has newfound respect for his friend.

A member of the staff comes out some time later, once the raucous applause has died down, and tells them that they’ll take a short break before their regularly scheduled shows will begin. The audience is invited to sit, or have a drink, as they set up the room.

Edward finds himself moving away from his table, not really sure if he wants to stay for the second, public part of the evening, or if he wants to leave, but his mind tells him that he needs to find Teddy. He has no idea if the other wants to see him, but he figures he can at least try. Therefore, he makes his way towards backstage and thinks he’ll start over there. He realises he still doesn’t know what his friend does exactly at the club, but he knows they work backstage. If anything, based on his own experience, Teddy should be surrounded by people, trying to keep the adrenaline high of performing for as long as possible, basking in their praise.

He doesn’t know if they’ll let him in the back, but by the time he makes his way there, he’s granted passage with little to no explanation other than “Teddy” and “my friend”. He hasn’t been in this part of the club often, if ever, and it takes him a moment to adjust himself. It brings him back to other times – to before, but he has no time to properly reflect; another thing he can do later. Instead, he walks on and hopes he’ll find someone who’ll be able to tell him where he can find Teddy.

He follows the sound of voices and as they grow louder, he figures he’s getting to the heart of backstage and sure enough, he ends up finding Teddy, wearing a bathrobe of sorts over the last of the veils, surrounded by a few of the usual performers who are clearly there to congratulate them.

Edward lingers back, unsure if he should interrupt this moment or not, but then Teddy spots him and their face breaks out into a wide smile. “Édouard!” They say and they seem both pleased and surprised to see him, so he takes that as a good sign. He takes a cautious step forward and Teddy thanks the gaggle of people around them, before coming up to join him. “I was hoping you would be here tonight!” They say, bright smile on their face like always and Edward wonders if he didn’t image the previous sadness and sorrow from the performance. It had felt too raw to be staged and he wants to ask about it, but the words don’t come out right.

“A coincidence, really; I didn’t know you performed? Had I known, I would have brought you some flowers,” He feels a little empty handed and maybe even a little rude, but honestly, he hadn’t known and therefore, cannot be blamed.

Teddy laughs and leans in a little in his space, “Oh, never like the girls here and not often. I mean, this was the first time I hit the stage in over a decade – if not more! And as for the rest, it’s why I kept this a secret – I wanted everyone here to experience the performance as it was – no expectations, no flowers.”

It does explain why Edward had never seen Teddy perform before, but it still leaves a plethora of questions. He settles for “Are you okay, though? The performance – it was – amazing, but – you looked as though – as though you’ve dealt with a lot – as if it was almost autobiographical, in a sense.” At that, Teddy’s smile turns softer. They reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry about me, Sugar; I’m fine, honest. I’m better than I was before – sometimes it catches up and I need to – let it all out; evacuate it out of my system and this helps, but I promise I’m okay.”

“So it was – personal then?”

Teddy nods and there’s a flicker of sadness that flashes in their green eyes and Edward regrets bringing it up or even insisting, “Hey, d’you wanna get some air?” He thinks of the cigarettes he keeps carrying around whenever he comes to the club, if only to give himself an excuse to steal away into the night with Teddy – to bask in their presence and hear them go off on some tale. He doesn’t know how much time they have before they need to get to work, but he has nothing to lose in asking.

“I have a better idea; want to come back to mine? I’m not working – my assistant is taking over for the night,” They say when they see Edward’s question bubbling at his lips. “It’ll be quieter.” They add and motion to the noisy gaggle of people in all stages of dress getting ready for the next segment of the show. Edward files the tidbit of information regarding the fact that Teddy has an assistant, but he’ll ask about that another time as well.

Instead, he nods. The short answer to their question is yes. Edward will go anywhere Teddy wants to bring him to and he’s come to like Teddy’s cosy little apartment filled with photos and knick-knacks of every sorts. Teddy grins and tells him to meet him out front, while they grab their things.

Edward uses the time he waits for Teddy to retrieve his phone from coat-check and then exits, letting the cool spring air help sort his thoughts. He feels like there’s always a lot to process and he seldom gives himself the time to do so.

He’s not angry or upset that Teddy performs. In fact, if anything, he feels that it gives them something in common, but it had been surprising. Then, there had been the nature of the performance as well as the method used. He still sees the way the shimmering fabric had teased glimpses of skin he had caressed before and that he’d willingly caress again, but he wonders if it’s appropriate to have such thoughts considering the – topic of the dance.

“Sorry for the wait, shall we?”

Edward blinks and looks away from the lamppost he’d been staring at. He nods and notices that Teddy’s wearing one of their long coats over their clothes. He can’t help but smile, amused, considering the evening is pleasant and the coat seems unnecessary, but he knows that Teddy seems to be perpetually cold, which is surprising considering the state of undress they had been in, moments before. They fall in step as they head towards Teddy’s apartment. It’s thankfully not far from here and he’d been surprised by its proximity to the club, the first time he’d gone back to it with Teddy. Teddy had told him that they hated commuting and that at four in the morning, they wanted to get home sooner rather than later.

It’s not even midnight now and as they walk quietly towards the apartment, Edward feels an itching to take hold of Teddy’s hand and twine their fingers together. It’s not the first time he’s felt this way and he’s not sure whether or not he wants to do it out of a sense of offered comfort or as some type of – romantic gesture, but he manages to keep his hands to himself until they make it to the apartment.

“Do you mind if I use your washroom?” Edward asks once they’re in. Teddy doesn’t bother turning the lights on, but nods and points in the direction of where the washroom is, even if Edward knows. He removes his shoes and locks himself in the small room for a moment, letting the light come to life and illuminate his reflection in the mirror.

The reflection blinks and its familiarity helps ground him for a moment. He feels a little wrong footed all of a sudden and he wonders if it has anything to do with the performance, what it could have meant, and the incessant pull he always feels when he’s around Teddy. He splashes some cold water on his face and after waiting another moment; he steps out and goes to find his friend.

The apartment is still and quiet and Edward pads softly towards the bedroom. It’s the only other logical place where Teddy can be and it normally is where they go when they’re here. He’s about to announce himself when he enters, but stops short due to the sight that greets him. He even steps back, as though the scene before him requires more room to exist and he makes sure he’s by the threshold of the door, before he dares to look again.

Teddy sits on the ledge of their large bedroom window, dressed in nothing but that last veil from the show, illuminated by soft moonlight that drifts in from outside as well as the lampposts that decorate the street. The curtains haven’t been shut and so Teddy looks almost ethereal as they sit, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, as the light bathes them softly. The gentle light makes the fabric look nearly completely transparent, safe for where it is bunched together and Edward’s breath catches at the sight of it all.

“You’re beautiful,” He says without thinking and his words break the tranquil moment in which Teddy had been basking in. They look up and offer a welcoming smile, before motioning for him to join them.

Edward walks over to the window, as if in a trance, and finds himself standing beside Teddy by the time he reaches them. Teddy takes his hands and places a kiss to each as Edward’s heart fights to beat out of his chest.

“You’re entirely too kind,” They say, before looking back out to the street and the parked cars, the lampposts and their yellow muted light.

They stand close, Edward able to feel the heat radiating off Teddy’s frame, as they take in the scenery and Edward dares to reach for the fabric that covers Teddy’s body. He yearns to tug it off, to worship, and kiss every inch of their body and chase away any doubts and past pain from their soul. He wants to bring them to bed, hold them close as he whispers sweet nothings to them, until they fall asleep with the notion that they are – loved.

“May I?” He asks as he wraps a piece of the veil around his fingers, feeling the rugged texture beneath them. Teddy tilts their head in his direction and they wait for clarification as to what it is Edward wants to do. “May I remove your last veil?” He asks again and holds his breath, hoping he’s read everything correctly from the moment the performance had started to this very second.

“Please,” Teddy says, their voice a bare whisper, nearly trembling and breaking.

Edward turns them around so that they’re both standing in the window’s light and before he removes the veil, he cups Teddy’s face in his hand and gently caresses their cheek. He feels Teddy lean into the contact and he sees the unshed tears that shimmer in their eyes. He presses a soft kiss to their forehead and after a moment, he lets his hand fall to their shoulder at the first junction of the fabric.

He doesn’t need to tug very hard, seeing as the veil is merely draped over Teddy’s body, but he’s still ever so gentle as he slowly removes it and never looks away from Teddy’s face. He wants them to know that it’s okay – that whatever it is that happened before – that whatever it is they’re doing now, Edward will do his best to take care of them – that he cares for them and that they’re not alone.

The fabric comes apart easily and slides softly and quickly off Teddy’s body, pooling at their feet, much like all the other veils beforehand, until Teddy is left bare, bathed only by the late night light. Edward looks – really looks at them and Teddy lets him, maybe for the first time even.

“You’re beautiful,” He repeats again, for they are and there aren’t enough words to describe the way it is that he feels in this present moment, but Teddy might understand, for they close the distance between them and pull them in for a kiss.

Edward places one arm around Teddy’s bare waist and another goes to the nap of their neck, as he moulds their lips together. This, thankfully, is a language they are both fluent in and this is something he can do.

“Let me take care of you,” He murmurs in their ear when they pull away, sometime later. Teddy looks at him, bright eyes and kiss swollen lips and they hesitate for a moment, before they nod, trusting him completely.

Edward is gentle with them and it’s different from the times beforehand. It feels more like an act of love than an act of sex and he wonders if Teddy notices. He knows there isn’t much of a difference, in the grand scheme of things, but – Edward feels the shift in the way he holds Teddy close and the way they respond to his every touch. He thinks it’s in the little things – the soft, lingering kisses, the lack of urgency to their movements and the way Teddy looks at him, open and caring and still trusting.

It might even be in the moments that come afterwards; when they twine their legs together and Teddy furrows their face in the crook of Edward’s neck. When Edward rubs their back and lets Teddy slowly come apart in his arms, no questions asked, or the way Teddy resurfaces, lifetimes later, with a gentle smile and a soft thanks.

He’s not sure though and this development is new, but Edward feels that it all has to do with something about the veils. He wonders what would have happened had he not shown up tonight and if there hadn’t been some great cosmic pull that had lead him there – not only tonight, but on the very first night he’d visited. He also thinks of his own veils – the ones he keeps close to his own heart and the demons he still hasn’t fully faced yet.

He knows he eventually has to, but as he looks at Teddy’s quiet, tranquil slumbering face, he wonders if he’ll ever be strong enough to do what they did. He supposes that that to will have to wait for a later time and for now he focuses instead on getting some rest as well.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #teddy maisonneuve #art #au #fic #k attempts to draw #digital art #club 1642

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nureyevv · 5 years

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The Thief and The Secretary (...and the detective)

Juno Steel didn’t need to say he loved Rita. Sure, she got on his nerves from time to time but... she was also the most reliable person in his life. That had to mean something.

And Peter Nureyev? Well they’d finally patched things up, and yea, the situation still wasn’t perfect, but they were healing. Even just as a friend, it was intoxicating to have that eccentric, one of a kind man back in his life.

Those were two unwavering truths in a galaxy of uncertainty, but the reality of the first two statements did nothing to make the third fact any less prevalent.

Peter and Rita together? Seems good on paper, but in reality they produce a level of chaos previously unknown to man kind. In short, it was a lot.

So despite what Buddy and Vespa and Jet and... well all of them who said he was being to sensitive! He knew it was more than that.

Yea, maybe he was a bit put out when Rita turned to Peter instead of him to ramble about her shows. Yea, maybe he missed being Nureyev’s go to in a pinch— his partner in crime. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be rational. The two were a force to be reckoned with and he could prove it.

It started out innocent enough. Peter would paint Rita’s nails and do her make up. Rita would doodle on his arms with pens during mission briefings. And, of course, anything they did together seemed completely adorable— honestly the two could have robbed a person stupid and they wouldn’t even know. They’d be too caught up in how Nureyev stood two feet taller than Rita and she’d still found a way to snatch his glasses from his face.

The dynamic was simply too powerful and too unstable.

The thing about Rita was, no matter how level headed a person was, it was hard to say no to her. Even when Juno managed to be blunt with her it still felt like there might have been a bit of a yes in there. The thing about Nureyev was, despite his cool analytical demeanor, the man had a little crazy genius in him waiting to be let out.

They also both had a fondness for drama

This combination was nothing less than devastating.

Two weeks on the ship together and Rita had found that it was impossible to make enough popcorn for everyone on the ship with their microwave. Not enough space for that many bags. Now, if it were Juno he would have just taken turns. Sure it would have taken longer, but there was the same end result

Rita though... Rita wasn’t that patient. But she was also very smart. Smart enough to known the ships energy production system reached about the same temperature as the microwave, and smart enough to know how to get six bags of popcorn there.

And Nureyev? Well Nureyev was just slippery enough to get those bags where they needed to be.

Long story short, the ship had smelled of popcorn for weeks— not to mention Nureyev had nearly lost his eyebrows on the trip back down when one of the bags caugh aflame.

Juno liked those eyebrows, too.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how two certified geniuses could get into so much trouble. And figuring things out was quite literally his job.

They talked about him too. Nothing bad he supposed, but it was still... frustrating.

Like- like he’ll be minding his own business and Nureyev will mention his pocket toothpaste, unprovoked

It’s none of his business if Juno liked to have emergency access to toiletries? It was sanitary!

And besides, Nureyev had pockets full of junk from the outer rim to the sun and back. He had no room to judge!

Oh, and, of course, there was the peter and Rita movie nights

Rita had just about every show in existence downloaded onto her comms long before they left mars, but the biggest screen on the ship was in the public sitting area just off from the kitchen.

Ever since the two of them had started hanging around each other it seemed like they were always watching something new. With Rita, it made sense. She’d been addicted to shows as long as he’d known her. Peter, though? Juno couldn’t see the appeal of watching a bunch of reruns for a master thief.

It didn’t matter— it was harmless in comparison to their popcorn related highjinks— and yet... well it was a lot of things.

Juno hadn’t got a good nights sleep in a couple days. THEIA was long gone, as was the misfigured shape as Miasma just before she was the victim of an unknowing suicide. He’d been moving on from all that, slowly but surely. In sleep, however, it was difficult to be in control of his mind.

When he closed his eyes he still heard voices sometimes, not exactly like when the Martian pill had still be in his head, but more of an echo of searching through others minds. He saw the face of Yasmin Swift and heard Ramses’s drawl. Bad dreams, that was all they were. He was never actually back in that blood sucking chair, but in the moment before he woke it sure felt like he was.

He was used to the nightmares— their intensity would fade and fluctuate in the months to come. He could handle that. For now he couldn’t help being a bit irritable. Lack of sleep always seemed to do that to him.

So sleep deprived asshole Juno was at the wheel when he stubbled across Nureyev and Rita having one of their usual movie nights a few days after they passed Saturn. Rita’s hair was in two tight braids, platted with Peter’s expert precision. Curlers were scattered across Nureyev’s own head, leaving Juno amazed that his hair was long enough to even hold them. They both sported green face masks that looked like just another skin care tip he didn’t know the first thing about. The biggest difference between the two was that Rita’s mask had pink salmon snack dust near the mouth.

“Y’ want wan?” Rita asked Peter, mouth stuffed full with crackers. Peter’s response came in the shape of a pained smile— one that said he’d fallen into that trap once and wouldn’t go back. He just had to find a way to put it nicely.

“I’m going to have to pass, unfortunately. I’d hate to deprive you your treat.”

Rita seemed to consider this and nod in agreement. “That’s a very good point, Mistah Petah”

By all means Juno could have just kept walking. The exchange was, admittedly, very sweet. With all his complaining, he had to say he was happy to see them both enjoying themselves. But then he caught sight of their film of choice.

Andromeda, the original. He knew the story well.

That was the last straw— Juno knew just about everyone in the galaxy had scene andromeda, but it felt... personal. Like they were watching his life story unfold on screen. It made his skin crawl, and, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know how this pair had gotten so close so fast. Some of the most impactful people in his life were gathered in that room. He had a right to know how it’s come to be.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll bite. Someone explain to me what’s going on here,” he snapped, harsher than he’d expected.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Just passing the time, detective.”

“That’s not what I— I mean when did this even happen?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of them. How did I miss it his mind added, silently.

“It’s a small ship, Mistah Steel, we were bound to cross pathes eventually,” said Rita with significantly less snacks in her mouth. They looked at him with that look they both shared— the one that said, even though he was being an asshole, even though they’d make him apologize later, they were more worried about him for the time being. How could two people so incredibly different look at him the exact same way?

“Juno... are you alright?” Asked Nureyev when he didn’t answer. He wanted to be angry, to let himself fester in the self pity of being left out. But then again, it seemed almost natural now.

Of course— of course these two would get along. After all, if they could put up with him, they could probably put up with just about anyone.

If Juno was being honest, they were two stellar picks anyway

He let out a groan and collapsed onto the empty space on the couch right in between them. “I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you encourage her like this. I can’t stand this show.”

“Boss, weve been over this— just cause your taste is the absolute worst and you hate everything universally loved doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way!”

Juno gave her an unconvinced look.

Nureyev chimed in: “actually, I have to agree with Miss Rita, I quite enjoy this— oh what was it called again?”

“Andromeda” answered Juno and Rita in unison.

“Ah, yes, Andromeda. We didn’t have anything like this in the outer rim.”

This seemed to catch Rita’s attention, her extensive movie knowledge kicking in. “Andromeda was a galaxy wide success, though. Surely you must have heard of it?”

There was a pause.

Juno knew Nureyev had never been in one place long enough to keep up with pop culture, and if he did stick around he wouldn’t have had the kind of spending money on him to see a movie. After that, he and Mag had been too busy trying to save the world to bother with things like that.

Rita, of course, hadn’t seen that side of Peter Nureyev. Juno thought he’d save him the trouble of explaining. “Rita the outer rim was ravaged by war. I doubt things work the same way they do on mars.”

This answer was enough to satisfy Rita. Nureyev, with a grateful half smile, nodded in agreement. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m fond of this Andromeda, though. I can understand why she became to popular.”

Juno rolled his eyes while Nureyev continued. “Actually, now that I think of it, she reminds me a bit of you, detective.”

Rita snorted from beside him, finding the comparison immensely funny after all of Juno’s comments. She then descended into coughing, evidently having choked on one of her salmon crackers.

Juno... well he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He’d always seen Sarah Steel in Andromeda— in all of North Star’s shows, really— but ever since he had his eye removed things had been different. Not exactly better. Knowing what he did now wasn’t easy, but it also left a lot less room for being bitter over twenty year old mistakes.

And now that Peter pointed it out, he thought he could recognize a bit of his brother in Andromeda, too. They said to write what you know, and Sarah had known her boys, at least back then.

He glanced at Nureyev to his right and Rita to his left. A few months ago, thinking about the old days would have sent him spiraling into a whole abyss of Things He Didn’t Want To Think About. But now? He felt strangely ok.

“You know... it has been a while since I’ve seen it. Maybe I’ll stick around.”

Rita nearly spontaneously combusted at that sentence. Peter smiled softly in that knowing way. “You know, I believe I have an extra face mask, too, if that sounds alright.”

Juno thought that sounded pretty good.

#part two baby!#i think there will be a third but no promises #these are so much fun ok #the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #rita tpp #rita and peter are best friends ok this is the hill i die on #my writing

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ankhjohn · 4 years

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clergy, sex, success, and me

I was born in the middle of 1941. The Second world war had just begun. I can't recall anything much before the age of eight, but I can remember certain places and events like they happened yesterday. Public schools in the inner city, and especially Jr. high, were repetitious, boring, and very dangerous to attend. Back then, every other kid had a switch blade knife, and they were plenty eager to wave them around to intimidate and threaten any body they felt like messing with, including teachers, and sometimes even cops.

Once, I witnessed a stabbing in the school cafeteria. The very quick and violent nature of that horribly messy act frightened me immensely, and it was that experience that made me realize that I was, unfortunately, a coward. It was very disturbing, and it affected me for a very long time afterward.

Up until 1954, I was what was considered to be a clod and a nerd at school, Something equivalent to a non-entity. I had no idea how suddenly my life was about to change. Every day I constantly faced being bullied on the way to school, at school, and on the way home from school. I developed rudimentary time schedules, and tentative escape routes, or safe places, in order that I could have the best chance of making it home unhurt and alive. That seemed to work most of the time, but several times it did not, and I paid dearly for the mistake.

Toward the end of the school year in 1954, just before my birthday, and a well earned, glorious three month vacation, I was run down by two boys on the way home from school, and I got roughly pushed around as they brandished their 'blades'. I was given the choice of sucking their dicks or suffering a beating by both of them. Now some will say never, but this frightened 13 year old left that culvert party unharmed beyond the humiliation, a few bruises from getting knocked around, and dirt on my knees, They let me go with a warning not to tell anyone. I did not. It was too embarrassing, and the stigma at the time would have isolated me completely from my peers, parents, and teachers, not to mention the fear of retaliation, but the worst thing of all, was to be branded a 'queer'.

Summer vacation finally arrived and a friend I will call 'Tom”, from school, came to visit me at my home on one bright Saturday morning and convinced me to accompany him to his friends house that lived in another part of the neighborhood to pick up some money, and then we could go to the movies, and get a hamburger and drinks afterward. I agreed to go with him, and we set off immediately. Soon we arrived at a very nice apartment building and Tom rang the bell. A buzzer sounded, and He pushed the door open widely and as we climbed the short flight of stairs, we entered into a very plush and rich interior filled with antiques and art. Two older men happily greeted us with smiles, and sat us down on a huge couch in the palatial living room. One of the elderly gentlemen went to the kitchen and brought out two beers and set them on the coffee table using coasters that depicted nude reclining male figures. I thought it was curious, but amusing.

The beer was bitter, and I knew I would not be able to finish it. I glanced at Tom as he took a sip of the beer and to my surprise, he downed the whole thing. After setting the glass back on the table, Tom quickly proceeded to undress right on the spot. I didn't know what was happening, until my friend pulled down his underwear, and revealed his very generous boner, which in turn, was immediately set upon by one of the elderly gentlemen, who began doing to him what I had to do to the two boys from school.. That was when the other guy began unzipping my pants and exposing my penis. I was frozen in my spot and my face flushed, my heart was pounding like a rod going out on a diesel engine. I was so embarrassed I thought it would be impossible for me to get an erection under this surprising turn of events. Why, I thought, would anybody want to suck my dick in the first place? Well, here was someone who obviously seemed more than happy to do it, and after a bit of gentle coaxing, I did get an erection, and he did get me to blow a load of cum on his tonsils.

I was complemented by the older gentleman for my 'pervormance', and I realized an immediate new sense of confidence in my sexual prowess, it seemed to give me a feeling of a new identity, as if a new person had unfolded in me that day, and as a result of this realization, the 'queer thing', as well as the age difference, became a non-factor for me. I had become sexually liberated! As we were leaving, my friend and I each received a ten dollar bill, for our obviously successful efforts, with an open invitation to visit at any time. We then spent the afternoon at the movies and stuffed ourselves on everything you can imagine that a thirteen year old would do with 10 bucks.

My life changed overnight that day. I felt 'adult' so to speak. Soon, my visits to the apartment became pretty regular, and I had plenty of money in my pocket. My mother worked as a hostess for a nightclub and her take home pay for a 40 hour week was $35.00. I was making more money than my hard working mother. At school, I loaned out lunch money and it wasn't long before just about everybody in my classes 'owed' me money. Life was good. And when you're on top of the world, it can be a long fall to the bottom if you slip.

I was fourteen now, and Tom, the same friend that introduced me to the homosexuals, invited me for a three way with a smart looking red headed woman in her thirties. The thought was scary and exciting at the same time. I had seen my Friend in action a few times by now, but never had contact with him in that manner. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the red head experience is one I won't soon forget, or get over, for that matter. I felt I had just secured my sexual 'spot' in the world, when Tom and I dated the older woman and he guaranteed that she was a good tipper. She picked us up at a local hamburger stand in the afternoon, and drove us to a secluded section of a nearby park whereupon I performed what I thought was a pretty darn good job, then Tom took his turn, and apparently, it wasn't received with the same enthusiasm, because when he ejaculated in her face, he also decided to urinate to finish the job. That red head really got pissed off. She was hot, hollering, spitting, and snatching her bra off the steering wheel, she kicked us out of her car and we had to walk home. I never got a cent for my valiant effort. Gee,.. thanks Tom,....

Three days after the episode with the red head, my mother had to take me to the doctor because of the large, very painful weeping sores which suddenly appeared on the head of my penis. It was so bad, I guessed they didn't even want to tell me the name of the disease, because they would only refer to the word in my presence using initials. Something like, T.S.P. , or L.S.D., I can't remember, but I do remember the tool of my new found trade being broken and the future of my primary source of income and enjoyment, was in jeopardy. But that was for the future, right now the pressing problem was answering a lot of embarrassing questions from a lot of pissed off adults. I was pretty sure Tom was going through the same thing, and I wondered how he was 'copulating' with the situation. I would have liked to have called and talked with him, but it was impossible, I was being too closely watched, like perhaps they might watch someone for attempting suicide or something.

I tried playing the unknowing recipient of some dreaded disease that I had obviously contacted from some unsanitary toilet seat at some unmemorable filling station. It seemed to work for the moment, but soon I was confronted with real names, and places and events with astonishing accuracy, and there was little I could do to offer any story, and I resigned myself to suffer the consequences for my actions. One of the conditions of my subsequent probation (for lying to police) was that I was told I was no longer allowed to communicate or see my friend Tom. That restriction however, did not last long. My dick healed up in about 3 weeks. It was too painful for me to get an erection or masturbate during that period, and I was celibate the whole time. One boy suggested that I had the clap so bad they called it “applause”... Very funny.

It amazed me to see how the size of my dick shrank in direct proportion to how sick I got. It finally got better enough that I began to gently exercise it, slowly bringing it back to life and serviceable operation. I wanted to continue enjoying the lifestyle I had enjoyed before the crash. I didn't know exactly how, but I was determined to resume my new found enjoyment-employment. The end of summer arrived, and the stress of school once again loomed before me, Because I was not allowed out alone, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom playing music, and taking long showers, to conceal my masturbatory habits. Sometimes In bed, would masturbate into my dirty socks, and put them in the laundry... Mother never thought to look there for evidence...

Returning to school, all I could think of was how I was going to face all my teachers and peers. Talk about stage fright! I was already trying to think of ways to gain some personal time out of the school day. Maybe volunteer for some activity or get study hall, or anything I could use to disguise some unsupervised time after school so I could resume where I left off...

Like an answer to my prayers, God Himself was to intervene and send me a mentor and benefactor, in the form of one Reverend P.J. Goodbody, (not his real name..), a local pastor who worked with wayward kids through his church, and with the juvenile court, turned out to be my assigned probation officer. Since P.J. Knew my case history, it wasn't long before ol' P.J. Had me in his office with his lips on my dick up to my balls... In his car...and several times, in the parking garage. Once, he suggested a filling station restroom for a quickie, but I drew the line at that for obvious reasons, and instead we ended up in a truckers shower on I-5, a few miles away.

My duties were mostly maintenance in and around the church. Our 'professional session' was “as needed” and if I literally “got off early” I could get time for myself that was vouched for by the good reverend, P.J. and needless to say, it was a “marriage” made in heaven. Mother would pick me up immediately after school and drop me off at P.J.'s office. He would take care of 'business' right away, and then I would water the lawns and shrubs, take the garbage out, and whatever was needed. After that, I could do what I wanted for a couple of hours, and that included going down town on 'errands'. Just like mission impossible, P.J. Did speak to me about being caught where I shouldn't be, and told me he would have to disavow any claims resulting from such a situation, otherwise, I should have a good time. I wasted no time.

Remember when I was worried about facing my peers? Well, a little advertising certainly goes a long way, and everybody in school was talking in front of, on the side, behind my back, and over my head. I would get razzing and giggles, and some unusual inquires, but everyone of the general population pretty much kept away from me. Oddly enough however, during this time, I was being covertly propositioned by some of the most unlikely students of both sexes. Several boys wanted mutual masturbation, another was interested in anal sex, A girl suggested oral sex. And then, My math teacher began occasionally keeping me after school for “Special instruction” which of course, took place in the cloak room. Opportunities abounded, but these were non paying jobs as far as I was concerned, more or less a good will tour, if you know what I mean.

Do you have any idea how hard it was in the 1950's for an underage boy to get a blow job on the street? If you were young, horny, and wanted sex, your best bet was to join a church. In 1955, I was bumping into other guys my age that were having similar experiences, and we would talk about them whenever we got together. I eventually 'gave' and 'got' through the school year with the help of P.J., who was thanked profusely by my mother for the vast improvement in my attitude and calming my wild ways. I wanted to say: Jesus mom, I blow a load of cum down his throat twice a day, No wonder I'm calm! But I didn't want to spoil it, I was having a good time, and things were looking up.

With spiritual guidance from the good reverend, ��I gradually acquired several regular 'customers' from the religious community. For a while, it seemed like I was going from 'parson to parson'. I have to say they were very gentle and grateful. I didn't always get paid in money, but there were pool parties with food, drinks, gifts, weekend stay overs, and the very busy hot tubs. I seemed to be popular at the time, because I had a good history of keeping quiet. And why not? What has being truthful ever gotten me? The whole idea of this 'truth will set you free' thing, seemed counter-intuitive to me from the beginning. The truth has never set me free. It only frees the cops, the attorneys, and the judge.

So far, My sexual contact with a woman had proven to be a rather negative, and downright disastrous event, but I still wanted to explore this realm a bit more intimately, and I came to the conclusion that I was not a homosexual, nor was I heterosexual, but just plain sexual. Which is not to say I was in it primarily for the sex, but more as the means to enjoy a social standing I would not normally have been able to experience. In other words, it became kind of a hobby with benefits. While there were the occasional negatives, there were far more positives as a result of those relationships. In a sense, my “friends” had become clergy, attorneys, doctors, dentists, you name it, I had the best advice and support that money alone cannot buy, and I have yet to meet a stingy cocksucker among them.

That summer and winter came and went and I was spending a minimal amount of time at home because of my involvement with the whole church business. The year seemed to pass quickly. Things had settled in, and my time became very structured in terms of who, where, when, and what. I had liked the way things were going, and I didn't want or think that it might end any time soon. Another boy who I did not know, but had seen hanging around Tom, spilled his beans after a brief cross examination by his parents, and my name came up along with others, and the cops eventually showed up at my door for a bit of a chat about who I knew, and when... I have to admit it was intimidating and I was genuinely scared, but I held out, hoping they would get tired and go away. I didn't want to get in a jam like I did last time, so it was all or nothing, todo or nada. I refused to talk at all. I clammed up as if frightened, and I was. Finally they left, but vowed to see me again. That was not the end of it by any means, but for now my mind was swirling with thoughts of doom. I had no idea what was going to happen to P.J. and the 'gang', and most of all, Me.

P.J. Wound up getting arrested for oral copulation with a child under the age of fourteen, and along with two other acquaintances, were convicted. I refused to incriminate him and instead, I extolled his virtues in my deposition, lauding him for keeping me on the 'straight' and narrow. As a matter of fact, my grades were very good, and I had not gotten into any 'regular' trouble since he became my probation officer. Coincidentally, My attorney turned out to be a queer friend of P.J.s, and he was eventually able to keep me out of the juvenile justice system. Unfortunately, I still had to deal with my parents. By this time, my parents had enough and sat me down for a discussion which consisted of them yelling at me for a long time. They finally got tired and threw their hands up in the gesture of giving up. Since the tough love approach didn't work, they were ready to allow my emancipation, but only when I turned fifteen in another month, and if I stayed out of trouble until then, I was good to go. I was delighted, of course, but with serious twinges of uncertainty.

I turned fifteen in the summer of'56, I was finally emancipated, and my classes had been modified to accommodate 'sexualized' students like myself. I was in a class with the bad boys, and I was accepted as one of them. A club, as it were, for comrades in arms and action. I was no longer considered a nerd, or a clod. I had graduated to 'punk loser', and in a weird sort of way, I couldn't have been happier with my new found identity. Looking back, you might say I would have been better off hanging out with the 'A' students, but I eventually went to work for an interesting gay and generous company that employed me for my skill in customer relations and closing important deals I was good at what I did, and why not? I had plenty of experience!

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spamzineglasgow · 4 years

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(ESSAY) “One hasn’t caught a poem” – joining Alice Notley For the Ride, by Colin Herd

In this essay, Colin Herd writes from the side of dogs and car alarms and the everyday detritus of living in these ‘soupy’ times, where language draws us endlessly towards the possibility and withholding of more knowledge, more prediction, more answers and meaning. Exploring the rich, knotty and exhilarating poetics of Alice Notley’s recent book For the Ride (Penguin, 2020), Herd takes us on a jaunt through the ‘imaginative space of non-being’, zooming through windows and many portals of a rippling language, leading us into the shapeshifting realm of love, rebellion, tyranny, repeat and willowing new forms of (un)knowing.

“mebbe we’re just birds, orphic ones means, articuli of the blank” (92)

> This is an aside before I’ve even started but in my neighbourhood dogs are barking all the freaking time right now. Maybe it’s always like this and I just don’t notice because I’m usually at work during the day, or maybe it’s that they realise that stuff is screwed and weird right now… but wow… all these dogs wildly poeticise all day all night every day/night. Plus car alarms and house alarms which are of course dog-poets too as everyone knows, attuned to bewilderment as much as the next being.

> When things are trippy and scary, why not read something that’s even more so? And in the current Covid-19 crisis, I’ve been drawn to reading those poems that demonstrate an uncanny ability to know more always, to predict, to bring things into being, to foreshadow and foretell. I’ve been reading works that disrupt and destabilise, not to provide comfort in the disruption and instabilities of the present moment but to find ways of thinking disruptedly and divergently. One of those texts, a kind of prototext for that kind of thinking, is ‘On Notbeing’, one of those great lost works of presocratic philosophy that reminds us the best things in life are partial, basically unknowable & fragmented. In what we have available of ‘On Notbeing’, the poet-critic Gorgias zones out into the following elusive statements in a shadow-text, unpicking Parmenides’ ‘On Being’:

“Nothing exists; Even if something exists, nothing can be known about it; and even if something can be known about it, knowledge about it can't be communicated to others. Even if it can be communicated, it cannot be understood.”

As Barbara Cassin puts it, these statements “knot together” being and saying – existence and language – constructing politics and society in poeisis; but it isn’t just being and saying that are linked, it’s also being and non-being. Gorgias constructs the “city as an ongoing creation of language” by thinking logically through to a point where it’s impossible to imagine any stable “being”, that isn’t artificially constructed in the soupy language through which we experience it. Gorgias is on the side of the dogs and car alarms signalling their objection to any stable objective being, the “articuli of the blank”: sheer barking poetic insistence. It’s almost time for us to clap again.

> This imaginative space of non-being, this thinking-through of what it would be like not to exist, is exactly the space that Alice Notley’s new book For the Ride takes the reader, carefully lowering us down like a figure being dropped from a great height into a game, but the game is what feels like a live unfolding Zoom transcript of ghost-Gorgias-as-babysitter-to-zoom-bombing-baby-ghost-Derridas caught in self-isolation with endless versions of themselves. And Gorgias seems to be asking how many Zoom windows it is possible to open up at once to short-circuit the tech. And how exhilarating is this poem which takes poetry to breaking point! It’s a roughshod exploration of languages rippling and ripening around the questions: what might language be like if humans don’t exist? What worlds would language create if we weren’t around to limit, define them? Is posthuman talking / narrativizing / language possible?

> The actual agon / arena for these questions in For the Ride is “the glyph of chaos with willows”:

Oh but One’s not in time, what’s One in? Chaos, beautiful chaos – But, too, One’s in glyph and it’s hard; learning a new way to go, that is, Talk? proceeding on through… oh this might be round, rounded. (1)

Notley’s poem creates spaces for us to imagine coming-to language. It’s a plant-like willowy coming-to language: “There are transversals, blurry poles—no they are lines” (1). The speaking here is plant-like in the way that Cassin reminds us Aristotle categorieses poets, those who speak nonsense: “Strage plants really, since like animals they make sounds with their mouths. Homoios phutoi, you are like a plant if you speak without meaning” (68). Notley’s text grows, abundantly. And reproduces almost magically – little branches of language falling – even upside down – and generating new growth. Notley’s is a coming-to language that might open up alternative spaces for being that don’t require us to situate ourselves and our egos in the same ways we’re accustomed to. Or, as it’s exquisitely put elsewhere: ”No way to evolve without pre-existence, assholes!”

> Oh just absorb us all with poetry like that! What else is poetry for but to swallow us up and then expel us somewhere we could never have been. This is a disorienting book, spinning the reader into all these different rooms of language, orienting us around characters – One, Wideset, France, Shaker etc – characters that are also spatial. In Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others, Sara Ahmed asks “How is it possible, with all that is possible, that the same form is repeated again and again? How does the openness of the future get closed down into so little in the present?” Notley’s poem lets us glimpse “the openness of the future”:

By changing this here langue. Whut evir’s done’s now diffirint words to. (117)

Yes it will come to you, is already maybe seeping into. It’s like you do and more. No vocal cords? All’s a big vocal cord. (104)

And Notley’s poetry takes new shapes: calligrams of coyotes, arks, stars, bodies. This is such shaky & jittery poetry, more beautiful than I can swallow, such ground-shaking, tremulous, trembling, aquiver poetry. This is love poetry. Of course it’s fucking love poetry!... “loving it the langue” (48) … it’s love poetry because of the love that courses through every weird-ass overflowing sentence, “Step into this poem-scene, O one!” (105) It’s a love poem because it is so seeped in pleasure and because it rattles us in the s&m cords of its vocalities.

> Gorgias and Notley are scary and chilling and thrilling because they think past kill-joy-ing and administrations of bureaucratic humanity to glyphic hauntology, logocentricity, to language, to “someghost of langue” (102). Would language exist if humans weren’t around to think they made its rules up and got to police it? Maybe it would, maybe language branches would do their willow-thing. This is a poem that you want to bathe in – by cutting it out line by line and mulching them or something and wearing it around town like a mummy in a world you don’t exist in any more.

> This feeling isn’t that unfamiliar to those who are already in love with all the things a word can do when Alice Notley’s driving. And when I say driving I mean writing the most spooky, epic, eery poetry everwritten. The poet who takes us to places like this:

Where we except for those in charge are drained from giving ourselves to each other until there’s nothing left. (In the Pines)

You, dreaming about crazies, fearful of becoming one. What if your yellow enraged aspect gets activated again, screaming out your anger in a world that’s bizarre enough to have invented it. (Culture of One)

I thought of words breaking open in the mouth but also as jewels of old sexless poets, of the dead dessicated except for those emeralds or topazes I still get a thrill when I say, emeralds and topazes. (Mysteries of Small Houses)

No world is intact and no one cares about you.

I leaned down over don’t care about, I care about you I leaned down over the

world in portrayal of carefulness, answering

something you couldn’t say. (Songs and Stories of the Ghouls)

Anything that comes into my mouth is what I say. From where? I scream for you what you don’t dare know. Saying I’ll know it for you even though you don’t want me to (Negativity’s kiss)

“shifted” “& changed” “to spell Poverty” “instead of Presence” “He didn’t need” “to ride the train” “He’d made us poor” “in an instant” “They walk by” “& make you poor” “They look at you & make you poor” “Surreptitiously I began” “to remove my” “bits of jewelry” “my earrings” (The Descent of Alette)

as warriors take position thousands of them as leaves and flowers appear in their season hearts burning to break them singers without memory (Alice ordered me to be made)

Why does poetry that makes you want to ball your eyes out make you want to ball your eyes out?

> Alice Notley’s poetics always feels like what she wrote about in ‘The Poetics of Disobedience’ as “an immense act of rebellion against dominant social forces”, because her books are always so attuned to what those dominant social forces do and how they operate to delimit and reproduce the same-old same-old with all its deep political inadequacies. For the Ride feels like as well as pointing to dominant social forces also posits ways to imagine ourselves outside of them, even within the language-worlds of poems. In an interview with Shoshana Olidort in 2016 in the LA Review of Books, Alice Notley said:

“In The Descent of Alette, the tyrant is us. The tyrant is what enslaves us to our forms. The tyrant is the form of our life, the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we know something. All of that is the tyrant. The tyrant is a liberal. The tyrant isn’t Trump. He can be part of it, but this tyrant is an extremely accomplished man who can do anything. Alette’s about the liberation of women, but it’s also about the liberation of everyone. If you keep half of humankind down, then everybody is oppressed.”

Can poetry actually be the willowlike language that grows all around and over the tyrant? Tonight (after a day of running classes and conducting meetings and participating in discussions) I joined my street clapping NHS workers. And in doing so I did the same thing that Boris Johnson is doing in Chequers. And all these weird Military-Parade like things just suddenly got started around the ritual. Police etc joined in with their gruesome show of “we got this”. I got an email from a new friend recently: “why is Britain so in love with the second world war”. This act of clapping - I should have just made car alarm noises and barking noises and so on. Or beeping noises. Or whatever noises my grandmother is making in her carehome right now where she’s not at all well. I’ll just do barking noises. Reading those statements, “the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we can know something” basically makes me want to cry, which I know is soppy. We need to change all of these things but not in the ways that are being posited in this new Zoom Hell we’re careering towards. This by the way is also what the sophists, including Gorgias, were up to: destabilising all the certainties when we think we know things so as to suggest alternative forms of knowing and unknowing.

> Famously, Frank O’Hara poem-berated Marino Marini for not picking the rider as carefully as the horse. In this book Alice Notley suggests maybe they both got it mixed up and it’s the ride we should all be hung up on: “O ride it! Whut’s writin? Usin tentacle wavelets to scrawl these”. Maybe it’s whatever that ride is that might enable us to find willow forms of our knowledge, willow universities, willow forms of our thinking we know something. It’s not a horse we’re being asked to ride though but a ton of floating signifiers, floating poems within the poem-scene. And a harness would be a hindrance.

Cassin, Barbara, Jacques the Sophist: Lacan, Logos and Psychoanalysis (Fordham University Press, 2012)

Cassin, Barbara, Sophistical Practice: Towards a Consistent Relativism (Fordham University Press, 2014)

Dillon, John, The Greek Sophists (Penguin, 2003)

Notley, Alice, For the Ride (Penguin Poets, 2019)

Notley, Alice, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls (Wesleyan, 2011)

Notley, Alice, Negativity’s Kiss (Purh, 2014)

Notley, Alice, Alice ordered me to be made (Yellow Press, 1975)

Notley Alice, Descent of Alette (Penguin Poets, 1992)

Notley, Alice, Mysteries of Small Houses (Penguin Poets, 1998)

Notley, Alice, Culture of One (Penguin Poets, 2011)

Notley, Alice, In the Pines (Penguin Poets, 2007)

Notley, Alice, ‘The Poetics Of Disobedience’ | Poetry Foundation: <https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69479/the-poetics-of-disobedience> (2010)

Olidort, Shoshana, ‘Between The Living And The Dead: An Interview With Alice Notley’ - Los Angeles Review Of Books <https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/between-the-living-and-the-dead-an-interview-with-alice-notley/> (2016)

For the Ride is out now and available to purchase via Penguin Random House.

Text: Colin Herd

Published: 24/4/20

#poetry #essay #essays #poetry essay #Colin Herd #Alice Notley

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ladyhallen · 5 years

Text

The Wish Giver

The first time someone said the right words in front of Harry, something just seemed to click at the back of his mind. That unsettled, restless sensation that never seemed to go away went quiet.

Finally, something whispered.

Finally what? He wondered.

But no. The right words were still being spoken. And he still had to listen.

“It’s not fair,” they repeated foolishly in front of Harry. “I wish I had a better family.”

Every bit of Harry seemed magnetized to respond to those words. He didn’t understand it. At the back of his mind, where he had always thought about things that he didn’t say to anybody, he whispered to himself, NOTHING IS FAIR.

“What would you give for it?” he asked, the words seemingly tumbling out of his mouth. They felt like English, but he couldn’t be sure. “If I granted your wish. What would you give for it?”

The girl looked unsure and terrified. Harry wasn’t sure why. That was their wish, wasn’t it?

“What would you give for it?” he repeated.

Monotonous, but it had to be three times.

“I – I,” she stammered.

A smile stretched across his face. “Are you unsure? Do you wish to take back your words?” he asked, the latter sentence gaining a weight to it that can’t come from a human throat.

The girl ran off, and Harry came back to himself.

He wasn’t very troubled about the idea of being some sort of sinister version of a wish granting genie. Words were very important. Being a wizard had always meant a care on words anyway.

Still, he made a note to tell his friends. Prior warning would always be nice.

The next time someone made the mistake of speaking the right words in front of Harry, he was in the beach, trying to relax.

A child - it was always a child, wasn’t it? – was throwing a tantrum because his mother wanted him to babysit his younger siblings.

“It’s not fair!” he shrieked. “You said this was a vacation! What about my vacation!? I wish you were more responsible!”

The words. The proper three words always caught his attention like a properly polarized magnet. He wistfully thought that maybe, whoever thought these things up should have made the proper words longer.

Harry didn’t say anything, because the mother was there and looking very embarrassed. There was always time to bargain later. He knew it. Those three words would ensure that bargaining would happen.

He waited until the sun was setting and the child was wandering alone. It was at that point in the beach where the only people left were stragglers. Everyone else were properly partying and getting drunk.

“I heard what you said earlier,” Harry said, that slight smile on his face again. “Do you still wish it?”

The child, almost a teenager really, looked up from where he was drawing on the sand.

“Everyone heard me call my mum a bad one,” the boy sighed. “She’s really angry at me right now.”

The pull was still there, but not as strong. Harry didn’t feel the urge to ask three times. So he waited.

The boy pushed the stick deep into the sand and looked Harry in the eyes. “Of course I still want it. I wish my mother were more responsible.”

Harry didn’t blink. “What would you give for it?” he asked.

The boy seemed to understand what was going on. Good. That made one of them. “What do you need me to give?”

Harry smiled and took what remained of the boy’s innocence. “The world will be darker now,” he whispered as the boy went unconscious. “But it will be better.”

Harry kept the things he took from people in exchange for granting the wishes.

He didn’t even know some of the spells that granted people’s wishes, but the pentagrams and alchemical theories to make it happen always came to him once his clients – and he had hesitated calling them clients – paid. Payment always happened once they made their wish. Whether they wanted to or not, they always paid.

Harry sometimes didn’t want to; sometimes the price they paid was too steep. But it was the scale of it. He made them pay it, the poor people. They were not unknowing. No. Sometimes, the knowledge in their eyes seemed older than magic itself.

And then, one day, space and time warped in front of Harry and he knew. This was a Visitor.

A redheaded woman with green eyes stepped out of the warping space and her green eyes met Harry’s and he just knew.

“He’s just a baby,” his mother from another dimension/time or reality, begged. “It’s not fair for him to suffer for the sins of the previous generation, just because a prophecy said so!”

Harry should be panicking.

Except. His mind was numb, his emotions were just gone.

“And what would you give for his protection? You wish for his happiness?” the magic asked through Harry.

Lily went to her knees, arms in a facsimile of a cradle, likely imagining the infant she left behind in her dimension.

“I want him to live. I want him to find happiness. I want him to grow up, knowing he was loved, even if I am dead,” she declared. There was a weight behind her voice.

Harry and the magic moving through him smiled. This was a woman who knew what it meant to say the proper words. She had done her research properly.

“I am prepared to offer my soul,” she said with grave finality.

Harry shook his head. Human souls were worth so much. Asking that for a payment was just a last resort. He couldn’t hold it anyway. Not yet. He wasn’t powerful enough to hold souls.

“Let us not go that far,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He balanced the scales in his mind, thinking about her wishes.

A life. Happiness. Love. Three things, but three very powerful things.

“You asked for three things for your son,” Harry eventually said, feeling the drag of another multitude of voices speaking with him. “And I will grant it. In exchange you will give me three memories. Three of the most important memories of your life.”

Lily did not attempt to bargain. The magic took the three memories without his input with just a gesture. He sealed them away in a flask, slightly dimming the glow. They were very important, because they shone with such light. Lily was a woman who felt deeply and without reserve.

In exchange, Harry got the necklace made from the starball of a fox wife. It practically exuded positivity, luck and immense protection. Fox wives were really amazing.

“You must have him wear this,” Harry said, giving her the necklace. “With your payment, he will know your love, and is already protected. This necklace will ensure he will get happiness.”

“Can it be spelled?” she asked, mind obviously working. “I will make sure it is bound to his blood.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a smile. “It can be spelled with positive intent only. If you think about anything negative while doing the casting, the necklace will reject it.”

Lily Potter left, clutching the necklace like a lifeline - which it was.

The moment the portal closed, Harry Potter sat on his lawn and cried.

Harry had told his friends and his family to be careful about the words they say around him.

He loved them all and wanted their happiness, but sometimes, wishes were double edged swords and he didn’t want them to ever be on the receiving end of the wishes he granted.

Except.

Sometimes, no matter how careful, someone always made a mistake.

“It’s not fair!!,” Victoire Weasley shouted during a family dinner, making Harry’s head snap towards her so fast that he’s a bit surprised he didn’t get a crick on his neck.

Ginny went pale and Bill had stood up, covering his daughter from view, hand tight on his wand.

Except.

Nobody thought to cover Victoire’s mouth.

“I wish I was an only child!!” she continued.

Harry stood up and Bill hurriedly shushed the child.

“Harry, please. She doesn’t understand,” Bill said, pulling Victoire tight against him.

Harry shook his head. He knelt beside the girl and her teary face would normally have him sympathetic. Except this time, she had said the words.

“Victoire Weasley,” Harry said, eyes unknowingly flashing a bright white. “You have a wish. If I took away your little brother, what would you give for it?”

For the first time, Victoire seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She trembled and shook her head.

“What would you give for it?” he asked again.

She kept her mouth closed, eyes wide with terror.

“You would give nothing?” he asked, the sound of a door closing echoing around him. “Well then, do you wish to take back your words?”

She nodded.

“Learn to weigh what you say, child,” he said. “A second offense, and I will not be lenient.”

Harry left the family gathering in a hurry, pausing only to vomit on the bushes. He had almost taken Louis Weasley. It’s a good thing that the magic allowed him to give people chances to back out of their wishes.

He would never return to family gatherings.

He would never chance that again.

It was too close.

And the expression of terror on the Weasley’s faces was something he never wanted to see again.

It was the first time he ever thought about his new abilities as a curse. It won’t be the last.

Because Ron was the friend Harry didn’t deserve, he hunted Harry down before Harry could apparate to the North Pole and get hypothermia.

“Harry, you better open this door, or I’d find Hermione and get her to charm your door to invite the reporters in,” Ron yelled.

Harry fell off the sofa with a yelp, knowing that Ron was absolutely serious and had no qualms about hitting below the belt just to get Harry to open the door.

He was prepared for a punch or a hex to the face. He was not prepared to be hugged within an inch of his life.

And Harry just broke.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I almost took Louis. I shouldn’t be around children.”

Ron shushed him, petting his hair and looking a bit teary eyed himself. “Not around children that young, no. But you can still be around children that know, Harry.”

The red-head knew how much Harry loved children. Being unable to be near children because of his curse would be a cruel and unjust punishment.

“B-but – “ he stammered.

Ron shushed him again. “It’s alright. Bill isn’t even mad. Victoire knew what would happen if she said the right words around you. So. She got scolded within an inch of her life the moment you left. Mum told me to fetch you immediately, but Hermione said you needed a bit of time to get a drink for your nerves.”

Harry did not drink. Absolutely not. Having the kind of curse he had on himself while drinking seemed like a bad idea all around. He might accidentally wander outside and hear somebody’s inadvertent wish and grant it unknowingly.

So no, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t get as drunk as he wanted. The thought was appreciated though.

Harry restricted himself from going near children below six years old. It was just better for everyone.

However, it doesn’t solve all problems.

“You’re pregnant?” he squeaked.

Ginny nodded, eyes shining. “It’s yours.”

Harry’s eyes go round. “I’m going to be a father!” he exclaimed. Then the dread. “I’m going to be a father!”

She laughed but her eyes were worried too. It would break Harry if he had to grant an inadvertent wish from his own child.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

But Harry worried.

James was born with bright eyes and a happy smile, the nature of Harry’s curse seemingly not affecting him at all.

But sometimes, Harry wondered. James smiled, but his eyes were old.

He thought his careful movements weren’t noticed, but he really can’t fool Ginny.

“He’s not even talking,” Ginny said, looking exasperated. She’s smiling at least, but it doesn’t disguise the tense knot in her shoulders.

Harry nodded, conceding her point. As long as James couldn’t talk, then Harry could stay around his son without worrying.

Babies talked within two years. Full sentences beyond that. Harry only had a year or so to hold his son close and not be afraid that the curse inside him would grant a terrible thing.

“My son, my joy, my most precious thing,” he whispered to the sleeping child. “If I could grant my own wish, I would give you happiness. No matter how bad your life may get, may you know a measure of happiness.”

James slept on, uncaring.

James’s first word caused two conflicting emotions in him. Terror and elation. It was dada.

Harry hugged Ginny tight to relieve his feelings. Ginny laughed.

Harry figured out a system when a second Visitor appeared as he was gardening.

“I have a Wish,” an alternate of Draco Malfoy announced, looking far too worn and weary than any person should be.

The words tugged at Harry, but not as much as the usual rant about fairness. It was...kinder.

Harry blinked when he realized that the curse didn’t take control of him but let him seat alt-Draco in the garden table and pour him tea. The other words made the curse was more immediate. There was no time for sitting down and pouring tea.

“There will be payment,” Harry said, sipping his cup. “You should be aware.”

Draco nodded, grim and determined. “I am willing to pay any price.”

People usually were.

“Tell me your Wish then,” Harry said, the words weighing like boulders as they rolled of his tongue.

Draco straightened up even further in his seat. “I wish for the ability to jump in the past to alter the timeline.”

Without meaning to, Harry’s eyes flashed white as he looked into why that was.

Draco wanted the means to change timelines because he had loved a Harry Potter and that Harry had died. So he wanted to alter the timeline to give Voldemort a proper childhood.

He wanted to alter the timeline to shatter the blood oath that bound Dumbledore’s hands from the war, so that Grindelwald’s war would not spread across the world but would be contained only in two years and merely be called an incident. So that the casualties would not kill an entire branch of the Potters.

Harry blinked twice and his eyes lost their unearthly glow. “That is a very selfless wish. I can grant it. The price...”

The price was rather steep. Harry wanted to cringe but kinder or not, he was still bound by his curse. Everything was supposed to have a balance.

“The price is your Name,” Harry said. He wanted to cringe. Except. It balanced out. “You may travel any time and change timelines with little deeds. Except you can give people no name. People will name you. You can accept a name once given to you, but you can never give a name.”

Draco was pale as he accepted the large, golden hourglass that Harry gave him but there was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Harry watched him go through the portal and couldn’t help but worry. Still, it was Draco. He’d be fine.

By the time James turned a year old, Harry had figured out how to turn off the curse, even if it was just for an hour.

#fanfiction #harry potter #master of death au #hp #ginny weasley #master of death #ronald weasley #hermione granger

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

Take Out Every Wasted Honor (part one)

the one you’ve been waiting for...

the long-awaited (like...two days) second installment of hold onto me, you’re all i have, a massive clusterfuck story by me and @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts.

if you haven’t read ‘clouds of rain and sun’... this will make zero sense so here’s a link to my master post of writing so you should read that!

this story isn’t as dark as the first one, but there are some people being assholes and saying asshole things.

[Part 1: Good to Know it’s All a Game]

it took the predicted two weeks for katherine to be able to get out of bed after the incident in the dungeon. once egert had officially cleared her, she and jane set off in arranging for katherine to legally become jane’s ward. to both of their delights, it was much easier than they thought.

only one week later, jane’s personal tailor is with katherine, building some casual dresses, as well as a formal one for the upcoming celebration.

yes, jane is throwing a party.

she claims she’s so excited about formally taking in katherine that she feels there must be a celebration, and katherine can’t bring herself to quash jane’s (her mum, she reminds herself) enthusiasm, so she lets herself be celebrated.

the tailor is a brisk, efficient woman who manages to create the foundations of katherine’s formal dress in merely a day, and the day after taking katherine’s measurements she returns to the royal chambers to have katherine try the dress on. despite the fact the tailor had an assistant, jane insists on helping lace up the dress at the back, and katherine lets jane fuss over her with a small smile. it’s nice to have someone take care of her, and even nicer that she gets to call that person her mum.

“how does that feel, love?” jane asks as she laces up the dress. “not too tight?” she was still concerned about katherine’s lungs, after all, and didn’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on them.

“feels good,” she murmurs unconvincingly.

jane gives a quiet sigh and katherine fears, as much as she hates to admit it, the worst. but she then feels jane releasing some of the tension in the laces and suddenly the dress feels perfect.

“better, kat?” jane asks.

katherine gives a timid nod. “yes, thanks.”

jane smiles, and the tailor bustles over to record some more measurements and where the laces were cinched.

katherine retreats behind a curtain to changed back into her casual wear and the tailor looks over her notes.

“a slight thing, she is,” she absentmindedly murmurs. then she looks to jane and speaks slightly louder. “shy as all get out, too, huh?”

jane gives the tailor a tight-lipped smile but doesn’t reply; she didn’t really want to discuss the reasons for katherine’s shyness with her. the tailor scribbles something else down on her notes and then turns back to jane.

“i’ve been meaning to ask, your highness, what jewellery will she be wearing? i assume something with a symbol from the seymour family? it will help with my embellishment designs, you see,” she explains.

jane suddenly smiles brightly. she’s been meaning to give katherine her gift - her ring.

she describes the ring just in time for katherine to come back over, unknowing about the surprise. she shows the tailor her locket, the one she wears nearly every day.

“come love,” jane says, tugging at her hand and pulling her into the hall. “i have something for you.”

katherine is immensely curious the entire time, but they slow to a stop inside jane’s chamber.

“i have a gift for you,” jane says, offering her closed fist. she uncurls her fingers to reveal a silver band, very simple and plain.

“it’s tradition,” jane explains, “that the eldest seymour daughter inherits the ring. it was mine, and now it is yours.” she gently slips it on katherine’s right hand ring finger, it fits perfectly. “and if you ever have a daughter, it will be hers.”

katherine stares at the ring for several moments, speechless. jane feels a tinge of worry and searches katherine’s face for signs of what she was feeling.

“i’m sorry it’s so plain, love, i know it doesn’t look much-”

“it’s perfect,” katherine says quietly. “I- thank you.” she looks up, and jane sees the tears in her eyes. “thank you,” she says again.

truth be told, this felt like the nicest thing katherine had ever been given in her life. it was a symbol that she was a seymour, a permanent reminder of jane’s love for her, of katherine’s love for her mum.

jane gives a soft yet radiant smile. she raises a hand and lays it on katherine’s cheek, wiping away the few escapes tears and stroking over her cheekbone. “you don’t need to thank me, love. you’re my daughter,” she enunciates carefully. she lowers her hand and takes katherine’s, looking at the ring that was once hers. “it’s your birthright.”

katherine’s eyes widen slightly and she pulls back. her fingers come to fiddle with the ring, twisting it in nervous circles.

“kat?” jane asks, concerned.

“how could it be my birthright?” katherine quietly asks. “i’m not...you didn’t...” she looks helplessly at jane, hoping her mum understood her meaning.

jane thinks she does understand and concern crosses her face.

“i know, love, but that doesn’t make you any less of a seymour.”

“but... birthright...” katherine repeats, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip. “i... wasn’t born a seymour.”

“the Lord works in mysterious ways, love,” jane says gently. “and I truly believe we were meant to find each other, and that i was meant to be your mother.”

the words don’t necessarily soothe katherine; she often wondered how a so-called benevolent god could have allowed those things to happen to her, and if He did have a plan for her then she doesn’t understand why those things had to be a part of it.

jane can see the calculations taking place behind katherine’s eyes. she gently catches katherine’s chin between in her index finger and her thumb, and brings it up so they’re eye to eye.

“i know you don’t believe in that, love,” says jane, “if i were you, i may have lost my faith too. but hear me now, yeah?” she takes katherine’s hand again, bringing it up so the girl can see the ring she’s wearing. “this ring is more important than blood or law to me, and i wouldn’t want to see it on anyone else. because you, katherine seymour, are my daughter, no matter how that came to be.”

the way jane speaks is just so honest, so full of unconditional love, that katherine can’t help but believe her despite her reservations. she gives a nod, the sudden lump in her throat stopping her from speaking.

jane pulls her into a gentle hug, not too tight to be careful of katherine’s lungs.

“i love you, kitty-kat,” she murmurs softly. “and you’ll always be my little seymour, okay?” she presses a kiss to katherine’s forehead.

all katherine can do is give a weak nod.

jane gives her a light smile and smooths down her hair. "that's my girl," she says absentmindedly. then she takes both of katherine's hands. "now i think you have a baby brother who could use a visit from his sister and his mum."

katherine lights up a bit at the thought of edward, and allows herself to be led to his room down the hall.

"my beautiful boy," jane coos, lifting him up. he gives at hearing his mother's voice.

"look at you," katherine whispers. "getting so big already."

“he’ll be taller than me soon,” jane laughs, kissing the top of his head. “won’t you, edward?” edward makes a cooing sound in response and jane smiles.

“here, kat, do you want to hold him?”

katherine nods and lets jane place edward in her arms. “hi eddie,” she murmurs, looking down at her baby brother. edward lets out a sound that could almost be a laugh as he tries to grab katherine’s thumb with his tiny hand.

jane watches them both, a warmth filling her chest she hadn't felt in a long time. she pulls katherine close and kisses her cheek.

"as long as i have the two of you," she says under her breath, so low that katherine can barely hear her, "i will never ask for anything more."

katherine smiles and feels the ring on her finger, then leans into jane. "love you too, mum."

---

two nights later is the celebration. the room is brightly lit, the band is hopping, and katherine never leaves jane's side. there are plenty of people katherine doesn't know, but she recognizes eleanor, sir percival, and egert, all scattered around the room.

she crosses to go see percival when she hears the whispers.

"what a party," one courtier says. "the queen really put a lot out for this."

katherine smiles at hearing that. jane did put a lot of work into this night. the night for her.

"possibly too much if you ask me," the other courtier responds. "a lot of work for her little charity project."

katherine practically freezes. she didn’t want to believe the courtier meant what she thought he did, but then he continues talking.

“i’m surprised the king let this party happen at all.”

“he wants to keep the queen happy,” the first courtier waves a hand. “that’s the only reason he let the little orphan waif stay in the first place, i’m telling you.”

“she’s not even an orphan,” the other courtier scoffs. “i hear she’s still got a father out there somewhere. i’m sure he’ll be turning up soon, trying to get a handout from the queen. that branch of the howards have always been a money-grabbing bunch.”

katherine tries to put the words out of her head, she really does. she tries to tell herself that they are just gossiping little weasels, content to make their own pathetic lives better by dragging others down.

still, she thinks, what if there is truth in what they are saying? what if her father did show up? katherine gives an internal shudder at the thought of her father turning up, maybe even trying to take her back to get more money out of her.

katherine shakes her head. jane would never allow that, not in a million years.

she goes to move on, when two female courtiers nearby steer their conversation to the young ward.

"did you know her grandmother is the dowager duchess?" one asks.

"i must have heard something about it, why?"

the first gives a sly smirk. "lots of things went on in that house." she gives a lewd shake of her hips. "heard the girl isn't even a virgin anymore."

katherine feels humiliated tears form in the corners of her eyes and she wants to head as far away as possible from the women, but some morbidly curious part of her makes her stay. she soon wishes she hadn’t.

“that certainly isn’t proper behaviour for the ward of the queen,” the other woman laughs. “i wonder if her majesty knows?”

“i doubt it,” the first says. “i don’t see why she’d want to take her on as a ward if she was aware. she certainly wouldn’t want her perfect new daughter if she knew the kind of behaviour that girl got up to.”

katherine feels a heat behind her eyes. they were tears, of course; tears of shame and humiliation.

a small part of her knows the women are wrong. jane knew all about her past, all the horrible things that mannox and dereham had done to her, but jane still took her in.

but why, katherine wants to know.

then it hits her. all the courtiers’ words mingle in her head until she sees the answer clearly: she was a charity project, a broken little girl for jane to put back together.

this realization makes her want to throw up, and she darts from the ballroom to outside and empties her stomach by the tree line.

once she’s finished katherine takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind with the fresh air, but the curdling in her stomach and the ache in her heart won’t leave her alone. she spends the next few minutes trying desperately to pull herself together but she can’t, and when she hears footsteps behind her she already knows she looks as bad as she feels.

“kat?” jane’s concerned voice sounds from somewhere behind her, because of course jane noticed she wasn’t in the ballroom. “are you alright?”

katherine finally turns around, tears in her eyes and face incredibly pale. “i don’t feel very well,” she mumbles, and it’s not technically a lie. jane’s gaze darts from katherine’s face to where she’d emptied her stomach on the grass several minutes ago and her features soften slightly, although still worried.

“oh, love, you poor thing. do you want to go back to your room, sweetheart?”

katherine hears the sympathy in her voice and it hurts, because all she can think is how it's fake. it's all part of jane's little game with her.

she wipes her face on her sleeve and stands up. "i'm okay," she says shakily. her legs nearly give out beneath her, but jane swoops in to hold her upright.

"i can tell you aren't, love," jane says. she takes a closer look at katherine, and can see something was troubling her daughter. "what's going on, kat?"

katherine doesn't answer, so jane uses that voice, the one that means no more nightmares and only love. "kitty-kat, please talk to me."

“i don’t want to,” is all katherine can manage. her voice is small and sounds so childish and pathetic, but she can’t even bring herself to care. it hurts even more because of the voice, the one that makes her feel safe and protected, and katherine just knows that it’s all a lie.

a strange surge of anger rushes through her. how dare jane take advantage of her loneliness and desperation for affection like that. jane looks at her, eyes wide and caring but with confusion running through them at katherine’s response, and katherine can’t take it any more. she rips the ring off her finger and drops it in the grass, staring jane down and trying to stop her own heart from breaking.

jane takes a sharp and confused breath as the ring lands in the grass. she drops to her knees and immediately searches for it. she stands back up with it in her fingers, reaching out for katherine's hand. but katherine is backing away, tears in her eyes and an angry, upset hunch to her shoulders.

"kitty-kat, where is this coming from?" she asks in that same gentle tone.

"stop!" katherine yells, holding her hands by her face. anger and insecurity course through her blood. "stop pretending that you care! stop pretending that this means anything to you!"

jane looks at her, sad and confused. "kat...you mean everything to me." she reaches out to katherine's cheek, but the girl backs away more.

“you’re lying,” katherine chokes out, voice thick with anger and distress. “how could I possibly mean everything to you? admit it, i’m just some little charity project!”

the words stun jane and she blinks, confusion running through her.

“wh- kat, love, no!” her voice is still that soft gentle cadence and katherine just wants her to stop. she covers her ears with her hands desperately as if it will prevent jane’s voice from reaching her.

“charity project?” jane repeats, absolutely shocked. she sees katherine frantically covering her ears and steps forward, trying to remove her hands.

the girl pulls away roughly.

jane gives a tiny sigh. “i don’t know where these thoughts are coming from, kat, but they couldn’t be more wrong,” she says, raising her voice just enough so the girl could hear her. “i love you, katherine, and i don’t care if i have to tell you ten times a day, because i will, if that makes you happy.” she holds up the ring. “i think this belongs to you,” she offers softly.

there’s a part of katherine that wanted to believe her, that craves love and safety and security as family so much, and that loved jane and hoped beyond all hope that jane loved her back. but there’s a horrible dark voice in the back of her head that tells her, no, she’s been in this position before too many times, thinking somebody genuinely cared about her when in reality they didn’t.

she feels incredibly light-headed and she suddenly notices her breathing had been rapidly speeding up, to the point now where she was nearly hyperventilating. her lungs ache from the lack of air and she stumbles back.

jane had seen the whole thing unfold - katherine’s breathing was getting faster, her knees wobbled as she stumbled back and ultimately gave out onto the grass.

jane immediately moves in, pulling katherine into her hold, but the girl wrenches away.

“kitty-kat,” jane says firmly yet gently, “let me help you.”

katherine shakes her head, unable to speak. through her tears, she sees the ring. the ring so much like the one dereham has presented her with, wound with empty words of love and false promises of security.

as shaken as she is, she grabs the ring and hurls it as hard as she can. it disappears into the dark woods, then all is still.

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #jules and jess write #take out every wasted honor #hold onto me you're all i have

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fictional-scenarios · 5 years

Note

You are a angel; but guardian angels are specifically chosen and assigned to a person. When an irresponsible guardian angel is deprived of their job, you are chosen as their replacement. However, they did quite some damage to the human they were supposed to protect, and now you have to help them through their experiences when they have almost nothing to believe in. toshinori please? thank you so much!!!

try to try again

pairing: toshinori yagi // reader

a/n: this was the best thing ever to write thank you SO much for the unique prompt

warnings: none

Angels weren’t the beings humankind always chalked them up to be. Pure, uncorrupt, incapable of wrong. Human’s loved to dabble into other affairs, to tell those they adored, you are an angel. If only they knew the weight of their words- so innocent and easy to slap over a pretty face, a pretty soul. Blissfully unaware of the pain an angel can easily cast upon its own persons. Unaware that not everything angelic is inherently good.Guardian angels are supposed to be all above, but unfortunately, some fall well below. Before, you’d been so blind to it.You stand before a broken man. It’s all the proof you need.

There is no bird’s-eye view. You don’t hover above the clouds and watch his day to day life with a halo over your head, cloud perched beneath your body like bedding. There’s no broad wings or a holy glow- you will never appear in front of him shrouded in light. Instead you witness like a bystander, like a tag-along. He’s so far gone, but maybe, just maybe, you can bring him back.His room is almost boringly empty, and it makes you unsure. You’re new to the game, only having been assigned to this poor being just recently, and already you knew you had your work cut out for you. He’s in pain, physically and mentally, under the weight of both a thousand figurative eyes and his own need to push well beyond. He can be read like a book when he’s alone staring at his floor, unknowing of your presence. It’s better that way- if he was aware there could be eyes on him perpetually at all times, he could never show himself like this. Humankind needs to feel alone to show their true colors. Only you, your kind, get to witness a person stripped to their bare emotions, unhinged and unmasked.So many different faces hidden from friends and family.

Toshinori Yagi. A human subjected to cruelty at the hands of one of your own. Irresponsibility is intolerable, especially in regards to life so fragile, and it was easy to see why. Of course you tapped into his memories and relations, and what you saw had you wondering if perhaps he would be more suited for someone a little more experienced. A hero, a legend in a time of need, slowly dissolving without a handle to grasp onto. The symbol of peace stares of the floor of his empty bedroom. His brows knit, he glances out the window, towards the rising sun, and sighs. Another day.

Like a ghost attached to its item, you follow Yagi through his daily life. It all passes so quickly, there’s so little time. Hours and minutes gone like a riptide, countless lives caught in its wake, colliding into one another in perfect harmony. So many lives, so many different paths. Why Yagi was dealt the cards he was forced to take, you’ll never know. Cruel, unfair, to see such a bright person melt like a candle under an open flame.Yet he still fights. You soon realize that he is both the wax, and the fire. Watching from the sidelines is difficult, you knew that before you were assigned to him, but it’s even harder being up close and personal. So many times you wanted to reach out, to shape his reality at your very whim, but you were well versed in the guidelines of your mission. Direct intervention was heeded against. You could not bend time, nor could you morph worlds to your liking. You could, however, form the foundations. So that, you did. Little things here and there, making sure his coffee had the perfect amount of sweetness, being the little voice in the back of his head to take an umbrella with him just in case. He’d dropped his pen and you didn’t let it roll too far away. You’d given him the idea to eat lunch with his students, learn them a bit better, to mentor and train them. His injury was hindering, but you soothed him the best you could with restful sleeps.

Through villain attacks and heart-wrenching battles, you offered and fed him strength of your own, converted to sheer will. Even when he spit blood, felt his body long to give out, you allowed him to push on and use your own given energy. His power was immense- he really was a hero. Why his previous guardian would steer him so wrong you’ll never understand. Such a unique person, so many different paths he could have been led down, and yet his petals continued to dry and fall over something out of his grasp.

One of his students, a small green haired boy, is his own product. He guides him, raises him up and keeps him at bay all at once, just the way he should. The child emits such energy, radiates off him and the way Yagi’s heart swells with pride at his successions makes you suddenly aware why you’re doing this in the first place. Why you too, feel warmth in your figurative chest when he’s moving easier, talking a little livelier, breathing a little deeper. He’s been toyed with for so long- you wish you could take it all back. You ache to rewind and rebuild and create a timeline for him that doesn’t end in anguish despite his legacies carrying on for years to come. But, angels cannot intervene. They can only watch, and protect when due. Just as he is, you feel trapped within yourself. He wakes up every-morning with that same expression, distant and contemplative. You give him gifts to remind him why his life is worth living. With time, he eventually relearns to try and smile when a bird chirps at him through the glass of his window.

Seasons come and go like clockwork. Day falls and night breaks way for the morning. Sun and stars dance in harmony, under an open universe out of reach. Yagi’s come farther with your help, subtle pushes to get him up and out the door. You cannot heal him, but you can help him cope. If you had a physical body, you would want to reach out, to touch and soothe him. Perhaps this is the reason angels aren’t offered the luxury of a figure, instead just a ever-present conscious, an eternal being serving as a witness to your assignments testimony. Some days are better than others. Some days he wakes up easy, lives his day to the fullest, laughs and smiles and let’s himself feel like tomorrow may bring even better bearings. Other days, however, he just stares at the ceiling. He looks, and feels, empty. The shell of a man he once lead himself to believe he was, only to cave and lose the means to even sit up at all. Those are the times you work your hardest- let the wind pass through a draft just in hopes that he’d get up and close the window. You’ve knocked over books and papers trying to gain his attention, to remind him that the day has begun. Usually he gets up and fixes the mess you made, but there are times when there’s nothing. He feels nothing until finally he feels something, or at least convinces himself he does enough to finally move.

He worries about the future more often than he would ever even admit to himself, and you wish you could find a voice to tell him to stop. That no matter what happens, he will be okay. That you will always be the being to keep him out of harm's way in whatever ways you can. You want to blanket him from everything he’s been ordered to endure at the hands of a disobedient and reckless angel.Sometimes you wonder if he can hear your sobs echoing in the back of his mind. You wonder if he can feel your pull. You wonder if he knows you reside within the birds greeting him in the morning, the cats brushing up against his legs. You are the breeze cooling him on a summer's day, and you are the rains cleansing him under a gray sky. Guiding him, you urge him to spend more time with those he loves. They come as ideas, as ‘maybe I should’s, and he falls for it everytime. It’s nice to see him spend time with his friends, who remark about his growing happiness with a fondness only you thought you felt for him. He trains his legacy child, and coddles a misunderstood menace, and he stands before monsters to remind everyone under his wing that they are safe, he is there. With time, he gets better.But then, as if it was meant to be, it all falls down.

The rain that cleansed him now serves to drown him.He pants heavy and feels everything threaten to crumble. All-For-One watches him domineeringly, he knows he’s won. His opponent, in all his mighty glory, has fallen. He tells Yagi things that he knows will secure his win, to devastate the man in one blow. Every single word is another cut on his skin until he feels like he can’t bear it any longer. He’s melting, he’s losing his grasp. He’s seeing nothing and everything- his wrongdoings and the things he could have done better.

You watch like a bystander, uselessly begging for him to not give up. Crying out for him, trying to reach out for him, trying to feed him whatever power you could possibly have. He falls to his knees and you feel your figurative life flash before your eyes. You see him- his life, the life that was put into your hands to keep him safe- you were supposed to keep him safe- you were supposed to do everything within your power to fix the mess that he was left with-A woman watches in shambles, and you can’t bear to let Yagi give in now. You touch her.“Don’t give up!” She screams. You bring her head up, wounds and a small voice piercing through him. “Don’t lose!”He can hear you now, even if it’s not your voice.

You touch the watchers, the children and the friends and the family, as they all cry out for him to fight, to win, to not give up.A candle melted into a pool surrounding his shaky feet and you can see that he isn’t done. Not yet. There’s a flicker of light, and he watches his opponents under his brows readies himself, kindles the fire threatening to douse under the pressure of everything at once, he just needs a little more-

Rules be damned.You surround him, you reach out-You touch him. He lights into an inferno, raw energy and power radiating off him while he fights for himself and those around him all over again. He’s alive- he’s burning through it all but he’s alive and he’s not stopping until he’s thrown every last punch, roared every last battle cry, beaten his opponent into the ground and stood over his body in victory despite the pain dripping off him in waves.

There’s silence.

When he lets himself slump forward, you let go.

You cry. He doesn’t see you, but he feels you. He stares up at the sky and breathes so deep into his lungs that he feels they may burst. Points into the camera after he’s taken his moment.‘You’re next.’You know who he calls out to, and if you could taste, you’re sure it would be bittersweet. You’ve broken the rules. You’ve altered the world in his favor, in your own selfish favor to see him prevail and survive. It doesn’t scare you- if losing it all meant his succession, it will all have been worth it. Whether your higher ups decide to punish you for your misdeeds or not, there isn’t a single regret lodged into your brain.

Especially not when he’s carted to a hospital alive and breathing, and you, as always follow. He’s lost it all but won everything in the process. In his hospital bed the following morning, he blinks himself away and forces himself to sit up.

You’re waiting for something to happen, to be pulled away from him due to your own actions. Just incase it may be the last time, you bring him a gift.

A bird perches on the sill of his open window, and chirps.

Yagi smiles, and you know no matter what, you’ve won as well.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #toshinori yagi #toshinori yagi x reader #sort of LOL #imagine #scenario #Anonymous

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