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cutesuki--bakugou · 5 years

Text

Little Nurse

For Day #1 of the @mha-xmas-challenge

Christmas Challenge | Day 1 - Catching A Cold

Category | One-Shot

Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC) Koge’s Tag

Rating: E, no warnings

Word Count: 2,072

“Aachoo!”

Koge gave a small, sarcastic gasp from the sound of sneezing that came from upstairs, loud enough to get through a closed door and over the roaring sound of cartoons on the television. “Oh goodness. What a sneeze.” She looked down at the tiny figure of her daughter, who was eagerly bouncing her body up and down without actually lifting her feet off the floor. Crimson eyes locked on her mother, the two year old had both tiny hands on Koge’s leg, waiting impatiently for her to finish her work. “Ma!” She spoke through her pacifier, bringing a smile to Koge’s lips.

“Yes, Natsuki, I know. That was Daddy sneezing, wasn’t it?” After mixing a vitamin C boosting powder into a glass of water, Koge placed it onto a tray. Already on it was a bowl of soup, which was a special recipe graciously given to Koge by her mother-in-law, to which her darling husband had already thrown a fit about. Bakugou had never been one for his mother’s home remedies, but Koge had seen this stuff work, and she was determined to get him feeling better as quickly as she could. Having just hit a high fever yesterday, her lover was totally miserable, and it broke her heart to see him so pathetic. In fact, she was pretty sure this was the first time he had gotten sick since he was a pre-teen, so the way he was handling the situation was absolutely ludicrous, in Koge’s opinion.

At first, it had been denial. Then more denial, followed by further denial, all the way up until he hit a 103 degree fever and had gone through an entire box of tissues in only two hours. Even then, he refused to believe it, stating that it must have been an aftereffect of a villain’s quirk, one which he must have captured recently. Koge had effectively told him that he was stupid, forced his stubborn ass into bed and medicated him. Now, he was beyond needy, so delirious with fever that he had screamed about not being able to find the remote to the television, when it had been in his lap the entire time. Koge loved Bakugou to the deepest depths of her soul, but he could really be a moron sometimes.

Her attention was pulled back down to her daughter as she continued to bounce, finding her enthusiasm exhausting. “How many times do you think Daddy has sneezed today?” Natsuki stopped bouncing, looking at her hands as she put up a variety of fingers, before displaying two to Koge confidently. Koge smiled, picking up the tray in front of her to take upstairs. “Two? Oh man, that sure is a lot. I’m going to take this to Daddy now, you stay- ah, Natsuki!” Before Koge could even take a step, the tiny girl took off out of the kitchen, vanishing behind the wall with her light blonde hair bouncing vigorously in its ponytail. With a sigh, Koge followed, having to be careful with each step so that she didn’t spill the food.

“Natsuki! Baby, you can’t see Daddy right now.” Much to her dismay, the tiny speed demon was already halfway up the stairs, a skill that she had acquired very quickly after learning how to walk. In fact, Koge was pretty sure the child had come out of the womb with the willpower of a god, learning to walk before she could even crawl. Her daughter was a completely different experience compared to her son, who was very attached to Koge in contrast to her highly independant daughter. Bakugou had always claimed that she was going to be someone amazing who would one day even surpass him, and Koge didn’t doubt a word he said.

As she passed through the livingroom to the stairs, she looked over at the couch, spotting her son sitting on the floor at the coffee table. He was drawing, tongue sticking out of his mouth with extreme focus. He had just turned four, and was very mellow compared to his sister. “Matsuki, baby, I know you’re drawing, but could you come help me, please?” Pale blue eyes that matched her own locked onto her before the child stood, quickly making his way over. “Yeah, Mama. Need me to open the door?” Matsuki made his way up the stairs with Koge following, still being careful not to spill the soup. “Please hun, thank you. And try to keep your sister from barging in if possible, I don’t want her to catch this stuff.”

“Yes, Mama.” Matsuki looked back at her a few times as they headed up, concern on his face, as if he were worried about her having to carry the soup. Besides the eyes, Matsuki was nearly an exact clone of Bakugou when it came to looks. Personality wise, however, he was incredibly soft and timid. He had an extreme sense of empathy, even for something as small as an ant. Koge loved that about him, though she could already see him struggling in pre-school and with other kids. With a father like Bakugou, an extremely well known and powerful Pro Hero, Matsuki had a lot on his shoulders that was starting to weigh him down. Everyone expected big things of him, and told him that constantly. Koge vividly remembered the defeat on his face when he had told an adult that he had wanted to be a doctor instead of a pro, and that person had the audacity to tell him that he had no other choice than to follow in his father's footsteps.

If not for the child in her arms, Koge would have knocked that man's teeth out, though that didn’t stop her from giving him a piece of her mind. Bakugou had even been the one to pull her away from that confrontation, with Koge still spitting venom even as she walked away. She hated people like that, and if she were honest, the world of Pro Heros was nothing but constant stress and ridiculous expectations that often times made her sick. On top of that, she was constantly worrying about Bakugou’s safety, no matter how strong he was. So, in a way, she was thankful for this little cold that kept him home with her, where she could take care of him.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Koge gave a small roll of her eyes at the sight of her daughter, trying to hop up to reach the doorknob to where Bakugou was resting. Matsuki quickly made his way over to her, putting his arms awkwardly around her tiny torso to pull her back. “Natsu, Mama said you can’t go in!” The pacifier in Natsuki’s mouth flew out, though was successfully caught onto her clothing by the clip and string Koge had bought to limit the loss of them. “No, Da!” The tiny girl struggled against her brother, desperately reaching for the doorknob. Koge shook her head as she approached, stopping beside the door. “Natsuki, that’s enough.” “What’s going on out there? Sounds like a -cough- damn wrestling match.”

“Sorry, Katsuki. Baby, open the door for Mommy, please.” Koge address Matsuki, who successfully got his sister to sit on the floor. “Yes, Mama.” Though, the instant the door was opened, Natsuki tumbled her way into the room, pushing past her brother with a sudden burst of speed of which Koge had never seen before. “Ah, Natsuki!” She could only watch in defeat as her daughter rushed over, first climbing up onto the cushioned bench that sat at the foot of the bed before onto the mattress itself. Clumsily climbing over the thick layers of blankets, she crawled her way over to her father, who was already sitting up and looking at her in a numbed state of annoyance.

Natsuki plopped down beside him, putting her pacifier back into her mouth. Koge sighed, walking into the room as well with her son following. “I’m sorry, we tried to stop her, but she’s so stubborn. Like someone we all know.” She smiled at Bakugou as he glowered up at her, though the tissue shoved up one nostril ruined any sense of intimidation he was trying to give off. Paired along with the pale complexion, bags under his eyes and exhausted expression, he looked all around pathetic. “Well if she gets sick, you can’t blame me.” Bakugou’s voice was hoarse and nasally with stuffed sinuses, and Koge could tell that he was in need of another round of medication.

“Katsuki, you need to eat this and then take more meds. Have you checked your temperature recently?” Koge walked over to the pop up table she had set up beside the bed, placing the tray down onto it. Bakugou grumbled at the thought of putting food into his mouth, looking away from it in disgust. “I haven’t. But I don’t know if I can eat. Especially not that garbage my mom made.” He quickly brought his arm up to cover his mouth, giving a series of coughs into his hoodie sleeve. The instant he lowered his arm, he was suddenly poked in the face by an object, startling him a bit and pulling his attention to the small girl beside him.

Peering up at him with intense focus, she was holding the digital thermometer up towards his lips, once again poking him in the chin. Carefully, Bakugou took it from her. “What, you little squid? You want me to take my temperature? I don’t think you want to know what it says.” He glanced at Koge before pushing the button to turn the device on, placing it in his mouth with the sensor under his tongue. Matsuki came closer, crawling up onto the end of the bed as well. “Daddy, I tasted Grandma’s soup, it’s good. It’s not gross like you said.” Bakugou raised an eyebrow at his son, silenced by the device in his mouth. Koge smiled, sitting down beside Bakugou’s legs. “He wanted to taste test it for you, to make sure that it was good. He thinks it’s delicious, and so do I.”

Bakugou glared at the steaming soup beside him, not responding until the thermometer beeped and he removed it from his lips. “Then she must have not been the one to make it.” He turned the thermometer towards Koge, allowing her to read the small screen. 102.8 wasn’t exactly a good thing, but it had gone down a little from that morning. “Ah, still high. Well-” She was cut off as Bakugou gave a small hiss, suddenly smacked in the face with his box of tissues by Natsuki. Taking it from her, he did his best not to glare at his daughter, taking in a deep breath the best he could to stay calm. “Thank you, Natsu-” Next was the television remote, which was something he wasn’t entirely sure why she had picked, as it had nothing to do with his recovery.

Stifling her giggles, Koge covered her mouth, smile on her lips. “Aw, she’s just trying to help you.” Matsuki laughed softly as his sister stood, placing her tiny hand on Bakugou’s forehead, as if to feel for a temperature. Bakugou placed a hand on her back gently to steady her, allowing her to ruffle his hair a bit, as she always enjoyed doing. “Natsu, I think you’re a miracle worker. I already feel- ah no, you don’t need that.” The child suddenly yanked the tissue out of his nostril, which Bakugou promptly took from her tiny hands, tossing it into the trash can beside the bed. With this, Natsuki sat back down, leaning against Bakugou’s torso. As he let his arm rest around around her, she tenderly stroked his stomach, obviously mimicking the way Bakugou rubbed her back when he held her during naptime.

Koge patted Bakugou’s leg gently, gaining his attention. “I’ll take her so that you can eat and then get some rest.” Bakugou shook his head, clearing his throat a bit. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want any of you catching this, but… Honestly this is the best I’ve felt. And she’s already asleep.” Sure enough, Natsuki had completely crashed. Koge gave a small sigh, laying down across Bakugou’s legs in defeat. “How about we all just take one big family nap.”

“Let’s do that, Utsuro. As long as that means I don’t have to eat that garbage.”

#mha-xmas-challenge #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha writing blog #cutesuki scenarios #personal writing #oc #original character #koge #christmas challenge

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mooncookee · 5 years

Text

QUIVER

You see the soul drips low down where the dirt holds and lip licks upside trees and rubs it's scent up in the leaves so every bee passin' flags its tale. In frets and waggles, tails a kites lets or a dragonfly drags, they sing out in trails of Halle-lu-jah stretches up, up to heaven' but the land; sees it. Land, it never forgets. No, see? The land never forgets.

It breathes in frequencies sometimes only wolves can bear. Now and then a cat or two might howl but hounds, they just too house broke, cozy, may a' bit too lazy for caring. Some ground just stares; some rumbles like mountain claws strummin' on drum skins. Some been rubbed too much.

I'm told it growls like that at Shiloh and Antietam, And Vietnam's a locomotive hauling coal down where they stokin' Hell. So they tell. Well it's that kinda hum across the tracks as Quiver Lane backs up to Bayou Self.

Once it crossed there but Betsy or Audrey washed it out; maybe was a hurricane

way 'fore storms got names. No one cared to build it back or cared not to. True that.

When Emmalite Petit came to name it Quivers for the way the silver willows shiver in the silver light of night everything changed.

Tragedy and Misery, ain't they so the loudest, overstaying cousins? And seems we never see the sunshine when they visit. Poor Lita (her prayer given greeting) lived beneath a concrete cloud of loud and overstayin' cousins. They raved a regular hoedown, throw-down, hootenanny, fais do do with a neon rainbow and a disco ball. And I mean cousins, uncles et al. Damn Murder, Curser, Fever and Famine fired it up and washed it blue down there with Deluge.

First her Baby, gone. Her Daddy then her ‘nother Baby, husband, husband, baby, Mama; all lost quick as windblown sand.

Some say Curser was first to sup. Before Choctaw pushed the Houmas through, before people were more than The People, angels and demons had drama there. In that, I'm told, can't be a winner. Seems Quiver Lane began to quiver long fore Lil’ Lita came for dinner or every time.

She came like plagues o' Moses. "Note-he-damn-us" speculated they's a Moses lain in every sack of sins.

So said, Lita lived as one or all those "Horsemen," well “Horse-folk,” that head banger gang, jammin' down till the World chokes, spokes broke in sections docking the earth in kinda pocky way clips. Cousin, you catch my crazy pills; lauded Lord seen the Devil’s daughter in a bonnet livin’ as the Mistress of the Quivers. I can't say. Maybe she's the lucky millionth shopper

straggled up, she, falling out the sack; register ding, clang and drawer slip, clap; balloons fell, politicians kissing black beauty baby hexes like bubble blowers whistling.

lucky Medusa, heaving chest, epistles of perdition Panavision in her sweat.

Y’all know evil needs a witness, accepting victims’ just objects, directly. God knows Narcissus always came as the main idea. Ain't nobody plays that sorrow fiddle like him.

Maybe Emmalite's his sister?

Lil' Lita came from Texas by the Sabine Pass. Her folk ran a trawl fleet, had plenty grass for cattle and passe blanc, they say. No verifiable pedigree, a Gypsy privateer, a Mescalita bruja here and here. Clearly an Andalusian heiress in that tree, more than half Moor-ish. She was Venus, trapper by trade so they say.

(II)

Down from Paradis a way the Old Spanish Trail snakes through the Texaco Woods. Inertia notwithstanding, curves are angular where that old road bends by the tracks and bends back a time or four. Man, DAMN, that was one alive drive. No, don't try those moves at Big Bear, no. Ask me how I know?

So, the first knee coming from Paradis, Lita’s mausoleum gloats 'neath an oak grove.

Mère Brigit de Saint Asile, splayed in headstones, snaggle-toothed from the shiny rails, with a ditch mote, a throat bouquet of cattails and poison ivy commanded, a dead man's curve from any poet's axis. A swamp hugged close, old road to tracks that smacked blood wet, stains sustained since skirmishes of Yank incursions shucked, ghost rehearsals from Boutte to Des Allemands.

Older ground, this mound raised by the hand of man, built by bodies gone to mulch, a human humus mushed under hundreds on hundreds of autumn's silts. Floods sipped slippin' the baser stones to tilt in neglect, 'cept lichen love. Yet seldom did molesters linger. Centuries of cypress centurions, elders, priests and voodoiennes spit blasted blasphemous echoes and imminent offenders bent on infecting this umbilical age where souls are directed, selected and nakedly effected and tweaked past sec by the Conscious Constant Conscience Collective till they caress the nexus of perfection. Poor Lita‘s cache was stashed in a crypt like only city seen. Marble Venus reigning supreme over meager crosses, slaves and Cajun tenants, protestants, names scratched unless a body was a veteran.

The black top ridge the bridge to Quiver Lane crossed tracks at are maintained by Santa Fe Railways on the civil side. The bayou banks can't be tamed. To its own travail, alone it wanes. It assimilates, ate by relentless quest of the prevailing Green to digest, jail and swallow every life, not sailing pass a snail's pace past the veil of tales.

Some places birth a craving for belonging. I belong there. I learned to swear there,

was snared by the noose tobacco set. My first drunken crash there after Uncle read me Lovecraft there. I woke wet. We skipped for crawfishing on pretty new spring days, lunch meat and Bunny Bread, that pink mayo pickle spread, four finger bag of weed and a six o’ Dixie. What a day made; laying nets in a knee deep maze up to the first grave. Voo was a swamp "Fred Astaire." I was a true Scooby Doo.

I felt connected. My first love was laid there.

We buried my Colinda in the Mom Brigit's breast. No other love tested more than a genuflecting peasant maid weighing fragrances passed in wake of her Queen's carriage. Stressing, up she peeked, a speck in shadows of divinity. That old road led me out on, a life of asphalt sped, gone, minstrel vagabond so long it's all I ever did since I turned back on this compost heap, love's keep, womb of every torch song.

My class of '81 summoned, thirty-five years running but for them I come. I wonder why, true though, I never could deny our passion. When we took life in shots, chased with pitchers at Tolano’s. We had a world to make.

Me, I just careened from ditch to ditch like it's me buried by the Quivers. No I deliver as I wither juke to honkey tonk, useless bitch of windy whispers. Till I listed, sunk and sprawled, depraved raving “kinda been” kissing the base of my true love’s grave. I bowed my gaze prostrate so to evade her name engraved by chisel. A blitz of banshees pulling train, crumbled by the strain, I crawled scratching three X's by the gate on Lita's marble vault pleading she would put me down, already nothing wasting air, better fare prepared as mushroom food or maybe that's too good.

I should… I would but once I promised not to "should" myself. Still, shame laid lame, gasping breaths between grass roots. I wept. "Why me's" pelted till my ears burned red. I quivered in prayers to who knows who.

"Madame Petit accept my humble suffering as sacrifice. By gluttony, greed and lust, I'm pinned by sin, an empty wraith in waiting, a soulless puppet painted live. I pray my worthless carcass lay a worthy crust to feed the inevitable Green lacing the gates of your Everlasting After.”

Shotguns slam on Heaven's tin walls, clap of Atlas shaking this world off. Tossed by the blast wave reality whiplashed!

Peace of the morning, peace of the dawn, peace of the dusk, trust is cruel quiet.

I wasn't crying anymore, standing more or less, I smelled the musk of Bayou Self.

An ass drawn wagon crossed the bridge carrying six oyster sacks, a six pack of field hands

and six kindling stacks of dried fig twigs. A sickly girl’s grey pony led three chomping keen colts: a big red, an ice white and onyx black sweat gleaming fiery beast. Two tuniced, kilted dudes duked; blue steels, shields whacking, shrieks of deep dread jolts “blue screen” hacked my psyche. Pangs of fresh grief vigorously split me.

A jug of berry sherry beckoned swig. My sweet Colinda, cherry plucker lolled, bent butt against the trestle rail. My first kiss again conjured up in home sewed halter and faded cutoffs

baring all I knew of truth. I sighed. Honey haired, hazel eyed, mine, giggling on the Quivers side. I knew I had died and raced embracing her with no step took, track jumped or cross tie straddled.

My Colinda, swarthy now calico long dress in bonnet, brunette, black eyes, pupils fire.

Love as always a puny liar.

"Allons danser." Lil Lita grabbed me. We two stepped. A death of quiet

only broke by creaking wood and creosote stink.

Come to think, I never two stepped. Pickers never learn to dance. Sixties Cajun kids were forbidden, so I was not blessed to know her French addresses. Fancy me this dead man's chance.

We parleyed and danced and dance.

Bless you; Ma'am Petit you be? Life for me was tired and old. If I’d be so bold

Please bestow me once more to hold my Colinda? Then to dust or mold or as you'd have me.

"Chere," she said. "Colinda's me. No simple peace and death’s not free

Chere, we have scores and prophecies. A thousand first loves you and me span.

I was Lilith to your Adam.

A hundred thousand maids you ruined. Who could ever love as I do? Spun out countless loves found tombs, dead in the womb as I sang lullabies. I brewed my fear beer. Stirred you here

Through waste and wander savoring every maid you plundered. Hate begets a viral Eden. Evil needs no truth to seed. Fear and hunger, pain and greed ripened drips in misery.

Hero here alas you settle, finally, quite a hefty debt. Here you left, Colinda bled, red washed dress on a slave girl grave. Sweating fatherhood for fame let your name escape her blame. At last my final pica’s set my Casanova minstrel, convinced, sorry victim in your head, sped millennia and parried any collar, cross or retiarius’ net.

But see this land, it never forgets. It pressed a bed of want in you that blooms like sumac in the rain. You came. Your only bet was plain. But here the game is mine, you swine

and markers called. You’re out of time. I'd feed a million trillion flies on your flesh and spread your soul like chewy tricks as treats on chilly demon children’s Halloween.

But see, my pride, I got to ride. These fine three anxious steeded knights and I have deals to seal and seals to peel while you here feel the pain of every death since you've eluded me.” She chuckled, eyes blazing licked her lips. “But that too was your dream I guess. You always were my favorite pet and here see, this land don't forget."

(III)

Black is white to where she left me. Agony a soothing choice. Infinity times three;

tormenting claws and jaws forever stripping, split my atoms, sip and spit me. Buckets left to catch my wet screams. Seamless, moving troubadour’s tool ghoul re-jeweled to phantom’s whispering shrill banzai Mojave dry.

Sorry now I'm such a bummer. I'm just a strummer not your savior but if you care for your creator make your peace cause Lita's coming.

https://www.reverbnation.com/dwaynestromain/song/30163760-quiver-rvbntn

#fiction #poetry #ghosts #horror #spoken word

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