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charliedawn · 3 years

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Pennywise 1990 X Reader X Pennywise 2017 "The Joke's On You" part 1

Part 2: https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/648205835225415680/the-jokes-on-them-part-2

"Ssssooooo..Why clowns ?"

Both of them look at you with a frown of incomprehension on their faces..

" Because of the fear."

They answer at the same time. Funny, its the first time you see them act so..alike. You mean, of course, they are big scary child-eating monsters..But they never seemed to be agreeing on anything, so when you ask the question, their looks and answers are so similar that it makes you think of another question.

" Also..Are you like brothers or something ? Related ? Father and son, or that can't happen with your kind ? You just eat children and do not produce them ?"

Penny, the tall ginger clown only crouches like a frog while the other one only looks at him with disgust.

" Yeah..Right..As if I would ever be related to that one..Nah. We're just hunting together now..Normally, he would not wake up at the same time as me, so we wouldn't really meet. But the idiot messed up his schedule while overstaying in order to kill some dumb kids and he woke up the same time I did !"

He glares at Penny who doesn't seem concerned at all by the way the other one is describing the situation. Even though it's quite offensive..The older one continues and looks at me with a repulsive snare at the idea.

" We don't produce children. Although, we never tried. We are mostly made of pure fear materialized only by the decaying flesh of our victims..We're supposed to be impossible to kill and we don't even know when we were born nor where. But, I remember that the first time I saw a human, many centuries ago, people mostly called us "Wendigos".."

You open your eyes wide in surprise at the news.

"Wendigos ?! So, that means you were humans before ?!"

The young one snickers and his yellow eyes glare at me.

" Humans ?! Ah ! What a joke ! They cry, love, betray, they only crawl on an endless path until they become old, ugly and die. This is why we eat them..They are of no use..They are dancing on a ball of dirt that they squeezed so much that it has no more to give..And you know what is the most ironic ? Is that they prefer to blind themselves more than face the truth..There is no beauty or originality in humans..Doves fly, dogs bark, dears run and even dolphins are more intelligent than you..Now tell me, why would the world need you, when we have the exact same talents in every animal that comes with the letter D ? I didn't even have to go out of my favorite letter to find every good thing you've ever done in animals that are not destroying their own habitat. What makes you so special ? What makes you think that you deserve living when all you do is destroy and hide the truth ?!"

It is the most you have ever heard Penny speak and even Pennywise seems shocked by his sudden outburst. Penny is so close to you that you can see his anger reflecting in his eyes. You try to not let fear show but, it's hard. You gulp and look at the ground in shame. He was right..What did you bring that no other living being ever did ? Humans were parasites and he smirks before returning at his crouching position.

" That's what I thought."

He whispers and Pennywise smiles almost proudly before hitting him in the back a little too hard since Penny growls.

" Wow. Didn't know you had it in you ! In all honesty, I never even thought about why I eat humans..I mean, we both know that human and animal food taste the same..But, for some reason, I always hated humans..Never really knew why and never cared enough to ask !"

He answers with a grin.

You frown then gasp in horror which both of them seem to notice since they turn their heads towards you in frightening synchronization.

" Wait ! Does that mean..You chose to eat humans ?! That you can perfectly live without their meat and just eat like normal people?!"

Pennywise answers with a grin.

" Come on..You should have figured it out by now..We don't really care about what we're eating, as long as it has flesh and fear : which animals and humans both have in common. But, as he said before, why choose them over you ?"

He looks at you up and down before adding with a large grin.

" Now that I think about it, if it wasn't for your rare quality of blood, you would already be a past meal.."

You shiver and he bursts out laughing.

Yeah..You remember..The only thing that kept you alive was you blood type..O- was, from what you had understood, sweeter ? Like some kind of cake or candy..This is why they wanted to keep you alive.."Saving best for last" as they had said.

Ah ! How lucky am I ?! You think.

You sigh and turn the other way to face anything else but the two clowns. At that moment, your foot hits something. You look down at the ground and are surprised to see some pencils. You glance behind you, but the other two don't seem to care about you anymore..for now. You get the pencils and look around for a surface to try them on and when you've finally decided, you walk towards it. You stop and close your eyes to visualise what you want to draw..Then, inspiration hits you and it's like your hands are dancing on the hard surface. You're so concentrated that you don't even notice the two creatures stopping whatever they were doing to look at you with confusion written all over their faces. You continue and seconds, minutes, hours pass. The two clowns, curious of what you are doing, now stand next to you silently, as to not break your concentration. They just look at your drawing from each side of you, their eyes wide, surprised and unable to find words to describe it. You are breathless, exhausted, but don't want to stop. If it was the last thing you would do, then let it be beautiful..Even if the only living things that would ever see it would be two nightmarish clowns that didn't give two shits about art or expression of oneself. When you finish, you are surprised to find two gloved hands on you drawing..You look at each side of yourself and see the two clowns, weirdly still and their eyes glued to your work. For a moment, you almost laugh at their, surprisingly, childish faces. They look like your young Art and Crafts students that you teach, always awed by whatever you would do.

But, what makes you smile the most, is that the first reaction they had was to touch it with their hands, as if the drawing had called them in. You sometimes had students like that, that could only understand Art by touching it. This is why whenever you would bring one of your works, you told the kids to do the first thing that came to their mind with it (as long as it wasn't tearing it apart or painting on it of course) Everyone had different reactions. Some liked to look from a far, some liked a closer angle and, as you had witnessed, some preferred touching it..But, what surprises you next is your own reaction. You grab one of the pencils and trace the shadow of your own hand on your drawing, as a proof. Then, you gently take Penny's hand that looks almost frightened by your touch, but he lets you hold onto his hand and do the same thing that you just did with your own. He giggles slightly as the pencil lightly "tickles" him and, to your surprise, his claws get out. He wants to retract them, nearly in shame, but you make it clear that it doesn't bother you while tracing the contour of his claws as well. When you are finished with him, you turn towards the older one that had already taken his hand off with a snicker.

" If it is a trick to impress us, it will not work, your hocus-pocus will not stop us from eating you..Anyway, I'm sure you have a knife hidden somewhere and only wait for me to let my guard down to stab me in the back."

You only answer with a sad smile of silent resolve while reaching for his hand.

" No trick. No hocus-pocus. No knife. Only me, your hand and a way to make you remember that, for a minute, I managed to make you feel something else than anger, hate or hurt.."

He frowns, visibly hesitant, before finally giving in with a childish grumble.

You finally trace his fingers on your colorful drawing, mixing the color of the rainbow and the greyish color that composed the colors of their suits. And, at the middle, all those colors forming one gigantic tree, that tree being your own personal touch..A tree that, maybe, will learn Penny that, even though humans destroy, they also create and Pennywise that, even though he lost any hopes concerning humanity, the particularity of the humans, the thing that makes them truly special are their hope. Because, even if animals are better than you in every aspect, they do not hope..And they do not have the imagination to create any other outcomes than eat or be eaten. This is maybe why the two clowns seem much more appreciative of those creatures than the humans ? Because they are much easier to understand ? You smile proudly at your little discovery. Like this tree, humans are made of so many different colors that it is difficult to find a pattern..Both of them said that they hated Humanity, but if it is true then..

" I may have understood why you chose to be clowns.."

They turn towards you : Penny with a side smile and Pennywise with an arked eyebrow.

" Oh ? And why is that ? You're gonna tell us that it's because we liked making people laugh when we were "humans" ?!"

The older one says, putting humans between brackets mockingly while the other one is cackling behind him. You smile again and shake your head while they come down to a sitting position; one on his favorite worn out leather chair and the other one on the dirty floor. They both look up at you expectantly, as if they are expecting you to read them a bedtime story..

" Well..I don't think it is about the form in itself, it is more about the colors and the fact that it symbolizes things that you never had when you were "humans".."

You say between brackets as to imitate Pennywise that is looking at you with another one of his signature mocking smile.

" What are you talking about ?! I am funny ! The funniest in town if you ask me !"

He says proudly, while Penny only rolls his eyes at his comment.

You shake your head again with a smile and even answer with a little laugh.

" No. Not that. You feed only from fear..Correct ?"

They both nod in unison and then, you ask a question that they had never even asked themselves before.

" Why only fear ?"

They want to answer that it is obvious, that it is stupid to even ask. But they have to admit it at the end, they do not know themselves. After a while, you answer for them.

" You do not feed on fear. But on faith."

They frown and Pennywise asks, confused.

" What do you mean ?"

You try to find words to explain your thinking and finally sigh, as it is no easy task.

" You feed on the only thing that you do not have, and that humans are the only ones to possess..Our faith and beliefs. We believe that there are monsters under our beds, then you take their appearance. In fact, I don't even know if you can transform in anything else than scary things, can you ?"

They look at each other before looking back at you and Penny is the first one to answer you.

" We never tried..and what for even ?"

You smile and get up, dusting your knees.

" Humans are afraid, but what they fear the most is losing their most cherished things. Try with me. Try to guess my most cherished thing on Earth.."

The two clowns seem interested by the idea and you can feel them trying to find your most precious memories. They already know your biggest fear..And in all honesty, after having seen it so many times, you aren't that scared of insects anymore. Now, let's see if they are as powerful as they say they are..

Penny transforms into a puppy and you smile tenderly while extending your arms in order to take him in your arms. But then, another head appears, then another, then another..

He returns to his normal appearance, almost as out of breath as you were before.

" I..I can't..stay in this form very long."

You nod understandingly and then, turn towards the oldest that only shrugs at the odd reaction of the young one. Pennywise seems to look at you with a little bit more seriousness, his hand scratching his chin in silent observation. You know that he is trying to figure you out and is taking the dare to heart. And, suddenly, his smile widens and his eyes brighten as he has a sudden epiphany and you frown in worry. What did he see ? Suddenly, he gets up and slowly walks towards you with a weird crooked smile, looking more smug than usual.

" If I have learned something about your kind is that you have one thing that you always bring up.."

You frown in incomprehension, what does he mean ? Suddenly, Penny smiles creepily and you shiver, he must have understood some kind of hidden message because you sure as hell didn't get the memo ! You smile awkwardly, your pulse racing and cold sweat start to form on your skin. Whatever he has in mind..You sure as Hell didn't know what it is, and that scares you more than anything..Pennywise backs you up against the wall of your drawing and smirks.

" I..I think we played enough..I'm tired..We can maybe continue tomorrow..?"

You ask, your heartbeats quickening and both clowns looking at you with bright yellow eyes. However, suddenly, both of them shout at the same time.

" Money !"

" Food !"

You open your eyes wide at Pennywise that gets out some coins from his pocket and you then turn towards Penny that just shouted food like it was some kind of good answer at a test. Tears start building up at the corner of your eyes and you sigh in relief before biting your lips shut, trying to contain your laughter.

Penny frowns at your expression and says in a small, almost childish, voice.

" Wasn't the point of the game to say one of the things you cherish the most ? Don't you cherish food ? Why are you crying ? Did I win ?!"

Suddenly, you start laughing uncontrollably and Pennywise answers him in a really angry voice.

" No! You didn't, big dummy! The game was transform, not yelling the answer at the top of you lungs like an idiot!"

Penny frowns and crosses his arms while pouting. But you answer through each giggle.

" You're wrong! Both of you!"

They look at you with wide eyes before growling.

" Then, what is the answer ?! "

Pennywise yells, frustrated and you answer.

" Love ! We value love ! Family, friends.."

Penny frowns and scoffs.

" Well, you're funny ! How do you transform into something you don't even know ?!"

You gasp, this is why he couldn't stay in the form of a puppy ! He didn't know how they truly acted towards affection ! You could have almost felt sorry for them if it didn't mean alerting their fear senses for food..But, you could try to find a way to get them to learn more about the true meaning of love.

Pennywise lets you go and sighs in defeat while turning towards Penny.

" Boy ! You don't have to transform into love ! You just had to take the appearance of something she wanted to love, dumbass ! Like I don't know, a human she know ?!"

You suddenly open your arms wide and they both look at you with widened eyes.

" What the heck are you doing ?"

Pennywise asks with a scowl and Penny only frowns, his eyes diverting on strange angles. You try not to think about the fact that you're going to try to hug two interdimensional demons and just wrap your arms around them. At first, you really thought one of them was going to shred you to pieces, but they become as still as statues.

" This is what humans call a hug. It's super effective and it is the first thing in affection."

Penny is still as a rock, and you even ask yourself if he is even breathing..Before remembering that he surely doesn't even have a heart. Pennywise is the first one to move and gets you off harshly. His eyes are of a wild red color and he looks in pain. He clutches his heart and growls animalistically at you. He then runs towards the exit and glances at you one last time.

" I am hungry. I'm going hunting..Penny, keep an eye on her ! If she even moves a muscle, eat her."

Penny seems to get back from his shock and only nods quietly.

When Pennywise is gone, your focus comes back on Penny that, you had noticed, had taken more distance between himself and you after your attempt at affection. As if he was..scared ? You try to approach him, talk or even apologize, but he only growls warningly at you and shows you his really sharp teethes..making you reconsider.

You tried to make them look at humanity from a different perspective, like at your drawing, but looks like nothing could be done..You'd die here. Anyway, the joke's on you since you were the one who thought you could change them..Silly you. Monsters will always remain monsters..Hope ? Who are you kidding ?! You lost that the moment you ended up in that damned sewer ! You start crying and, for some reason, your sobs catch the attention of Penny. He looks at you, then at his pile of toys, then back at you. He then begins climbing it and that makes you wonder what he is doing ? Is he leaving you ? Eat a rotten piece of child ? You have no time to wonder more as he quickly gets back on the ground and, with measured steps, approaches you with the same wariness as a wild animal. He then throws you something and gets back into his corner with a piece of a child's leg in his other hand.

He starts chomping on it and you look at what he threw at you..A music box ? You look at him quizzically and, after swallowing, he answers your silent question.

" Don't read anything into it. Your tears make me uncomfortable, so I got you something to keep you from doing that..If I eat you now, Pennywise would be angry at me for not sharing, and I have had enough of his loud voice for one day. Now, make this thing work. I want to listen to it, it has a nice sound and you have nothing else to do.."

You stay still for a moment before smiling softly at him.

" Sure..Thanks.."

You start playing the little music box and are surprised to see that it is the moonlight sonata of Beethoven..A beautiful music that invades the whole sewer with its melody echoing on the walls. You smile widely, at least something to remind you of the outside world.

Outside, Pennywise has his mind set on finding his next meal, but, suddenly stops in the forest and, weirdly enough, hears the song..Then, the pang in his chest that he felt before comes back and he can suddenly hear the words that an idiotic turtle called Maturin once told him before dying..

" Just because you bury something, that doesn’t mean it stops existing, Robert Gray. You can hide your heart, but someone will one day dig far enough to find it.."

Robert Gray..It had been such a long time that he had heard this name. At the time, he had only laughed mockingly at the old senile turtle..But now..Even Bob had felt it. No..Not Bob..Penny. They had chosen to never speak of those disgusting human names again. But then, she had showed up..They could eat her, never talk about it again, continue hunting children and living until the end of the world..She was human..They both knew that, she would grow old..tired..cumbersome and then die. But then, something else that the bothersome turtle had said comes back in his mind. One time, Pennywise had dared ask why the turtle loved humanity so much ? And he had answered something strange that Pennywise had not expected.

" Humanity has only scratched the surface of its real potential. Someday, you will understand why Humanity is so important, Robert.."

" My name is Pennywise ! The destroyer ! The eater of Worlds ! I have no sympathy for humans ! Whoever they are or whatever they do !"

He kept telling himself that, trying to convince himself but then..Why can't he believe his own words ? What was bothering him ?! Why did he feel this way after only talking for a few days to a simple human ?! Or..was it the tree ? The tree she had drawn ? Yes, there should have been some kind of trick behind it ?! She had tricked them as he had firstly assumed ! But then, why did he feel so out of control ? As if he was wrong ? Did the words of the turtle, for once, really made sense ? He closes his eyes and sighs before punching a tree and making it fall..No ! He wouldn't allow it ! He wouldn't allow the old turtle to make a fool out of him even after death ! He was going to kill her ! And that was a promise ! He was not going to let her question everything anymore ! He would shut her up ! No more idiotic questions: no more opportunities to manipulate his feelings ! Yes ! That would be it ! The idea of going hunting out of his head, he walks back to the sewer with a determined smirk. Yeah..We'll see who'll be the fool at the end..Maturin..

#pennywise #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #fandoms #horror movies #it movie

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plant-flwrs · 3 years

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christmas parties // draco malfoy

masterlist!

a/n: my christmas draco fic! i hope you guys like it! next up is george and then i have some wintery fic ideas for harry, ron, and hermione, among others ;) that should be out fairly soon if this motivation stays with me!! i’m honestly just happy to have some ideas back in me and to be able to post for you guys again <3

(also, female implied reader in this one)

summary: You help Draco through his nerves about one of his parents’ Christmas parties.

(2.3k)

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There were some benefits of being a wealthy pureblood. For obvious reasons, but the only one you cared about was Draco Malfoy.

Growing up with secret societies and odd loyalties sent you into a world of mistrust and anxiety. You never knew what was right and what was wrong, and you certainly knew you couldn’t always trust adults.

The children you grew up with in this world were never one to share their secrets or trust, you included, but you lucked out. You met Draco Malfoy.

Once Draco realized he couldn’t treat you the way he treated others, he was at a loss with what to do with all the love he felt for you. He had never had someone so loving in his life, and he wanted to do anything he could to show you he loved you just as much. So, he opened himself up to you.

You saw it happening slowly over time. The moments he would confidently take your hand in the hall, the small amounts of public affection he found himself doing, the kindness he afforded others. You had changed him.

You had changed him into the person who could look at you with glassy eyes, clutching a tie in his hands with white knuckles, pleading you to attend his parents’ Christmas Ball with him.

You had been invited, your family had been invited. But what Draco wanted from you was something else. He wanted you on his arm. He wanted you to not leave his side. He wanted you to protect him. You swelled.

At some point, he had stumbled over to his bed, much too large for five people, let alone one teenage boy, and hung his head. His white hair fell over his forehead, blocking most of his face from you. The tie he held tightly just a moment ago was now falling from his limp hands.

You moved over to him, crouching so you could see his face beneath his overgrown hair-no doubt his mother would want it cut soon- and placed your hands on his knees gently.

“I know it’s a lot to ask-”

“No, no it’s not- of course I’ll go with you.”

Draco’s eyes finally met yours, and the moisture in them had trailed down his cheeks. Draco didn’t cry when he was angry or sad, he only cried when he was debilitatingly anxious. You lifted your warm palms to his cold and wet cheeks, letting your hands soothe away his tears.

He leaned down slowly as if he was afraid you were going to move away and fell into your shoulder. His head turned so his face was pressed against your neck and you could feel his breathing slow and his heart calm.

“It’s in a few hours,” he said, meeting your eye with a guilty expression, “I could ask mother to send for a dress back home, or if you’d like I’m sure she would have something you could wear.”

“Whatever you think is best,” you said soothingly, hoping he wouldn’t get worked up again about a detail as small as your dress.

Draco had decided to ask his mother for something for you to wear, which you were silently grateful for. Narcissa always liked you, and you always thought she had the most beautiful dresses.

“Do you like blue, dear?” she asked you as you followed her into one of the many rooms in their house, one that seemed to be her closet.

“Yes,” you answered politely, finding yourself wanting to please her like any other child in your situation would. She was your boyfriend’s mother, but she was also a very prominent member of a very notorious family. She had standing in society with a husband who provoked fear in many, but her signature Black family eyes lingered on you as if she didn’t care about any of that. She looked happy.

“Ah,” she plucked a silky and fluid dress from a rack full of expensive dresses, handing it to you as if it were something as simple as a t-shirt, “this is the one.”

“Thank you,” you said, looking between her and the dress with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Draco this,” she mock-whispered to you, leaning in with a smirk threatening her tight lips, “I had hoped he would ask you to this Ball. I bought that dress for him to give to you.”

Your eyes somehow widened and you closed your mouth when you realized your jaw had dropped. You swallowed heavily, trying to remember the years of wealth and poise that had been trained into your blood since you were born.

“That is-” you faltered, wanting to give in and throw your arms around her neck and wish her a merry Christmas, “-that’s incredibly kind. Thank you.”

You hoped your loosened smile showed her your true feelings, and she looked as though it had. She ducked her head for a moment, as if she was being watched and needed to compose herself, and gave you a wide smile. Her teeth were showing, and your eyes widened at the foreign look of happiness on her face. She was back to a tightlipped smile though, leaving you alone in the room and closing the door so you could get dressed.

You folded your clothes, replacing them with the dress that must have been the most expensive thing you had ever worn. You were no stranger to wealth, but this was an entirely new sensation; you felt royal.

A house elf collected you, and once it opened the door, you heard the party in full swing. Draco waited at the top of the stairs, his back stiff and his jaw set. He had his finest robes on, making the already lavish robes he had worn when he took you to the Yule Ball look like nothing. Granted, you were also wearing something that couldn’t even compare to your Yule Ball dress.

The elf left you once you met Draco, his eyes finding yours with a familiar urgency. He was still nervous. You smiled kindly as the elf continued down the hallway, knowing Draco wouldn’t say a word until you were both alone. The elf turned the corner, and Draco put his hands on your hips as if he was steadying himself. You put your hands over his, reminding him he was steady.

“You look-” Draco seemed to relax for a moment, taking a step towards you and making careful notion to not step on the dress, “-you look amazing. Truly, you look beautiful.”

You knew Draco had more he wanted to say, but couldn’t. You smiled softly at him, lifting one of your hands to fall on the collar of his robes. You straightened it gently, biting your bottom lip.

“You look very handsome,” Draco flushed at your soft voice, his head falling foreword in a relieved laugh that sounded like a puff of air forcing itself from his lungs.

“Yeah?” he looked up at you, bringing his hands from your waist to the back of your neck.

His cold hands splayed across your neck, tucking under your hair and pressing into the back of your scalp. You gasped at the feeling, leaning closer to Draco. Your lips were closer, less than inches apart.

“Yeah,” you sighed, realizing Draco was closing the distance.

It was brief, like Draco only needed to remember you were real and not something he had made up, but it still made your head spin. You broke apart, the air between you warmer than the rest of the house.

Descending down the stairs, you straightened your back and stiffened all the right parts of yourself, knowing exactly how to survive one of these parties. The more Draco softened to you, it seemed he softened to the rest of the world. You were able to put up your mask around these people, but easily slid it off when needed. Draco didn’t have the same flexibility yet. So, you helped him. You adorned your tight-lipped smile and unnerving eyes, giving cold looks to strangers and intimidating looks to people you knew. It was how these people worked. You hated it, but you had to admit you were one of them.

You were on Draco’s arm the whole night, though sometimes it felt he was on yours. You took the hard questions about school, the sneers at the mention of Dumbledore and any other house besides Slytherin. You talked politics in a way that would be approved of and didn’t cast a second glance at the house elves serving food and drinks. You could tell Draco was itching to whisper them a ‘thank you’; it warmed your heart dangerously.

Eventually, Narcissa and Lucius found you both, as if they were checking that you and Draco were staying in your place.

“Draco,” Lucius sneered, though his lip relaxed when his eyes glanced over at you. “Y/n,” he said coldly.

Lucius had yet to fully approve of you, and you could tell you confused him. He saw you at social functions and knew you were just like any other pureblood, just as cruel, but he also saw your effect on his son. Draco avoided his gaze, his eyes cast downwards at your linked arms. You jostled him subtly, unnoticed by his parents, like a reminder you were still there.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” you said sweetly with the same cold eyes, no sign of warmth or happiness that would usually be there.

“Are you two having fun?” Narcissa asked, leaning forward to the both of you.

The question was unexpected, making Lucius and Draco look at her in surprise. Her eyes stayed on you though, the corners of her lips turned up in the slightest.

“I think we are, yes,” you said, looking at Draco with a small smile.

“We are,” Draco agreed, his tone dull but his eyes bright as he looked back at you.

“I hope you’re mingling. It’s rude to stay to oneself at a party,” Lucius said calmly with a threatening tone, an eyebrow quirked as if he awaited his son’s smile to drop.

It didn’t, and he looked his father in the eyes, “We are, mingling, I mean.” Draco said confidently.

You noticed Narcissa’s smile grow the smallest bit. You wondered then how similar you were to her. Perhaps she had the same warmth you did, underneath the pureblood exterior. Maybe Draco was more willing to your warmth than Lucius seemed to be to hers.

“Good,” Lucius mumbled, walking away with his staff by his side.

“You two can sneak away early if you’d like. I know how boring these parties can get,” Narcissa whispered to you, ignoring her son’s rapidly softening face.

You only smiled knowingly at her, hoping once again it communicated all that you couldn’t say at a party like this. She nodded and walked away, following her husband.

“That was-” you turned to Draco, smiling wider at his incredibly relaxed face, “-that wasn’t bad.”

Draco gave you a curt nod as if he hadn’t wanted to say much about it. You squeezed his arm comfortingly, pulling him along to another group of people to mingle with.

Eventually, Draco’s mother’s words seemed to sink into him. He was pulling you away from the crowd, and you could see him trying to hide a wide grin.

He lead you to the large French doors that gave way to the garden, not hesitating as he pushed them open. The cold winter was harsh against your exposed skin, and Draco looked worried when he heard you wince. He smiled again though, upon seeing your clutching at your arms, and slid his coat from his shoulders. He wrapped you in it, which you accepted gratefully, and looked admiringly at him in the white billowy shirt he wore underneath.

His pale skin was bright under the moonlight, making his hair seem even more silver than blonde. His shirt complimented his skin too, bringing out the olive undertones. He wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. For once, he oozed warmth and you latched onto it, curling into his side as he walked you out into the garden.

You stopped at the center of it all, where a large Christmas tree had been planted. It was decorated with tinsel and ribbons and large glass ornaments. The colors varied from silver to green and black, a true Slytherin tree. You smiled at it, admiring the colors and swelling with house pride.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Draco whispered from beside you, his arm wrapping somehow tighter around you.

“I had a nice time,” you whispered back, tilting your head up and settling it on his shoulder.

“You’re good at these things,” Draco said thoughtfully, his hand tucking itself underneath the jacket on you and resting his hand on the bare skin of your arm, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably be miserable,” you joked, smiling.

Draco looked down at you with a funny expression you couldn’t read, but it looked sincere, “Yeah, I would be.”

You breathed deeply, realizing you could hear the music from inside. It was a slow classical song, similar to the ones that had been playing all night. Draco moved you so you were chest to chest, pulling one of your hands to rest on his shoulder while the other stayed in his. His free hand went to your waist, still under the jacket, and he began to move you both.

You danced, basked in the subtle light coming from inside with reflections from the glass ornaments and the tinsel reflecting onto you both. Draco had a flash of green across his face, and you saw a sliver of silver across your arm.

He moved you slowly, holding you close to him. Your cheek rested against his chest, breathing him in and relishing his warmth.

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” you whispered, looking up at him.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispered, his mouth moving against your forehead as he placed a sweet kiss there.

#draco #draco malfoy #malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy christmas #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #harry potter #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco fanfiction

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some-cookie-crumbz · 3 years

Text

Passing of the Torch

Passing of the Torch Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: TodoMomo Summary: TodoMomo Positivity Week Day 4 Prompt Fill: An evening is spent where the Todoroki and Yaoyorozu families finally have the chance to meet and get more familiar with one another. And Shoto gets the sinking feeling that his girlfriend’s father may not be his biggest fan. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

Shoto took a deep breath as they approached the upscale barbeque restaurant, feeling unusually nervous. He was normally a rather composed sort but this situation was not something he had ever been faced with before. After a year of dating, the time had finally come for him to finally meet Momo’s parents and, in turn, for his family to meet Momo proper. Natsuo and Fuyumi had had plenty of run-ins with his girlfriend before they were dating and even since, but this was going to be the first time they’d be having a meal together. It was also to be the first time his Mom and Father would be meeting her under the proper terms of being his girlfriend.

“Relax, Shoto,” Mom’s voice giggled softly in his ear, causing him to jump and glance at her. She giggled and reached out to gently smooth his bangs back out of his face. “If you don’t breathe a bit, they’ll be able to see how tense you are the moment we walk in.”

“Yeah, Sho!” Natuso agreed as he came up on his other side, grey eyes twinkling in mirth. “I mean, so long as you don’t spill tea all over them, I doubt you could make a worse first impression than Keigo did.”

“I heard you insulted Nezumi-San’s older sister the first time you met her family,” Fuyumi chirped behind them, leaning a bit closer to her own fiancee as she spoke. The blonde man flashed Natsuo a smug smirk, clearly unashamed to let Fuyumi fight his battle for him.

Natsuo puffed his cheeks out. “I’m starting to think that there’s a problem with you and my girlfriend getting along so well,”

“If you ever gather enough courage to ask for her hand,” Father chimed in flatly from his position beside Fuyumi, “shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

Natsu looked like he had some snarky retort ready but a quick snap from Mom silenced them both. “Mind your manners, boys. Tonight is very important to Shoto and I do not want either of you ruining this for him,” she said evenly, smiling as both men dipped their heads and let out grumbled agreements. Shoto himself let out a small, relieved breath and silently thanked whatever greater forces were at work for Mom.

Upon entering and offering their name, they were whisked away to the back of the restaurant. There was a spacious booth area in the back, where three figures were already settled in. Momo was easy to spot, with what could only be her parents settled in beside her. Her mother and she had many similarities, he noticed, in the curve of jaw, shape of cheeks and jet black hair. Her mother’s eyes, however, were a striking orange hue and more narrowed, the shape reminding him a bit of an almond. To her other side was a frail, pale man with dark purple hair. His eyes were a perfect match to Momo’s in both shape and hue, watching her as she shared some story with a softness that left him a little shaken. Her mother perked up and blinked. “Ah, Todorokis, I see you’ve made it in one piece,” she said, carefully moving out of her seat to greet them properly. “I am Yaoyorozu Miran, Momo’s mother, and this is my husband and her father, Umeo.”

Umeo squirmed his way out, his movements slow, but righted himself with his cane as they went through introductions. As he and Shoto shook hands, his grip tightened a surprising bit. When he stole a glance up at the older man, the look in his eyes was unreadable and his smile cryptic. For a moment, all of Shoto’s worst fears pushed to the forefront of his mind again, panicked that he’d already somehow gotten off on the wrong foot.He was snapped out of it as he was ushered into the booth, Mom insisting that he and Momo sit next to each other. He resolved himself to try and redeem himself for whatever transgression he’d committed against Yaoyorozu-Sama.

Which, as it turned out, was near impossible.

Yaoyorosu-San ended up taking the spot beside Momo, with Yaoyorozu-Sama taking the seat on her other side, placing him at the far end of the table. There wasn’t an extraordinary amount of space between them, but it was a bit difficult. He tried a handful of times to strike up conversation with him, only to have his words drowned out by some large proclamation by Keigo or a inquiry regarding business ventures from Yaoyorozu-San to Father. Momo took his hand under the table, giving a small reassuring smile when he turned to face her. He let himself relax and get swept up in a conversation about a recent mall trip she’d made with Jirou and Uraraka.

When he was paying attention again, their food was being delivered and he noticed Yaoyorozu-Sama staring him down, expression blank. A knot settled itself in the pit of his stomach.

As they ate, he tried a handful more times to speak with his girlfriend’s father between conversations with her, but the man seemed to be outright ignoring him. Instead, when he saw Shoto opening his mouth, he would direct his attention to a different Todoroki. He would ask Fuyumi about her work as a school teacher, or what he was to be his specialized area once he completed med school. He even prompted Father about a discussion regarding the changes to Pro Heroics in the time between their high school years and the modern era, which seemed to take over the rest of their meal time.

While they awaited the checks, Shoto excused himself to the restroom. He splashed a bit of water on his face, using his right side to chill it up and help refresh himself. He stared at his own reflection and tried to mull over what, exactly, he could have done to perturb the older man so terribly. Did he think that the fact they were only meeting after Shoto and Momo had been together a year was a bad sign? He’d heard that normally introduction happened a few months sooner than they had done, but it didn’t seem to be such a large issue to warrant being ignored. Or perhaps he was concerned based strictly on Shoto’s family name alone? The Todoroki family certainly didn’t have the most pristine reputation around. But his being a Todoroki didn’t seem to bother Yaoyorozu-San.

But it wasn’t Yaoyorozu-San that worried him. He knew from what Momo herself said that she was closer to her father than her mother. Yaoyorozu-Sama’s opinion, he reasoned, would therefore be the one that could make or break their relationship. He shook his head and headed out, telling himself that the likelihood of Momo breaking up with him just because her father did not completely approve was slim to none.

But that didn’t stop him from following after than man when he saw him stepping outside while everyone else tended to the check.

The other man was leaning against the wall beside the restaurant when Shoto stepped outside, his eyes closed. He steeled his nerves as he walked over. “Yaoyorozu-Sama,” he said.

The other perked up, blinking at him in clear surprise. “Ah, Shoto-Sama! I didn’t realize you had come outside as well,”

“I want to apologize,” Shoto said while quickly bowing, “if I have said or done anything to offend you this evening. It was not my intention and, if told how I stepped out of line, promise to never do so again.”

A small chuckle came from the older man. Shoto tilted his head to peek at him through his bangs. The other man was covering his mouth to try and muffle the laughs escaping him, a gesture he’d seen Momo imitate multiple times. “I’m sorry, Shoto-Sama,” he said, clearly his throat and letting his hand fall away. Any sense of mystery in his expression was completely dissipated, revealing only genuine amusement. “Please rise. You’ve done nothing to offend myself or Mikan.”

He blinked as he stood back up at his full height. “I do not understand. If I haven’t crossed a line, why did you seem to be ignoring and dodging me when I attempted to speak with you?”

Yaoyorozu-Sama smiled. “Because I wanted to observe how you interacted with my daughter as opposed to how you would address me,” he said simply.

Shoto blinked a few times before tilting his head at him. “I don’t understand,”

“If you’ll be kind enough to humor an old man, Shoto-Sama,” he hummed, his gaze shifting to the stars above, “allow me to explain. If there is something I observed frequently in my youth, it was the idea of presenting oneself in a specific light for a specific audience. When speaking from the lens of Pro Heroics, it makes sense. One must be attractive to the public to have any level of true success. But… When it comes to courtship and romance, I saw this frequently as well. I saw peers pretend to be someone they were not in front of their partner’s families, just in hopes of impressing them. I decided, then, that I wanted my opinion to be based on who my Momochi’s partner was when they were with her. Because… That is what is truly important, especially if you intend to be with her for the foreseeable future. The person you are towards my daughter will forever be more important than who you try to be to me.”

“The foreseeable future?”

“You two are young. There could come a day where one of you wakes up and realizes that the love is gone between you,” he said patiently. He let his gaze turn away from the stars to Shoto, still smiling but his eyes bright with conviction. “I am asking you, as her father, that if that day comes you be a real man about it and walk away as gently as you can. To be honest and upfront, to not play games. And if it is she who decides to end it, let her go with grace and dignity, in a way deserving of the kind of love you claim to hold for her.”

The request caught him off guard. The idea of someday being with someone else? FInding a partner other than Momo? He took a deep breath as he tried to sort out the thoughts in his head to something cohesive. “I do not see such a day ever occurring. The only partner I can ever see by my side is Momo. A future we are not facing together, as a team, is impossible for me to envision. However… I promise to fulfill this request, if such a day should ever come to pass,” he said, squaring his shoulders and holding the other’s eye the whole time he spoke.

Grey eyes gleamed before he chuckled, closing his eyes as he nodded. “Thank you for your honestly and promise, Shoto-Sama,”

He nodded. “Though, in the spirit of honesty, if I may say one thing, Yaoyorozu-Sama?”

“Of course,”

“I feel as if there were better ways to accomplish your goal without spending most of the evening ignoring me, thus leading me to believe I had somehow started out with making a bad impression with you,”

That got a hearty laugh out of the other man. “My, you don’t hold you back, do you? How charming to see that level of honesty from a man so young!” His laughter only lasted a bit before he started coughing, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and coughing into it. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I fall into coughing fits much easier than I did in my younger years.”

He opened his mouth to tell him there was no need to apologize when Momo appeared beside them with a worried frown. “Father, are you okay? Are you pushing yourself too hard again?”

Yaoyorozu-Sama flashed her a bright smile and shook his head. “Not at all, Momochi. Shoto-Sama just said something incredibly clever,”

She visibly relaxed. “I am glad that the two of you are getting along, though I would appreciate you stay close to Mother or I if you need help,”

“Of course, darling,” he hummed, taking one of her hands in his own. He stroked the top of her hand gently before offering it to Shoto. “Now, why don’t you two go on ahead while this old timer catches up with the grown ups again?”

There was no hesitation as Shoto took Momo’s hand in his own, offering a small smile to her father. “Thank you for your time, Yaoyorozu-Sama,” The older man smiled and tipped his head before moving past. Without needing to say it, Shoto knew what this gesture had meant.

He squeezed Momo’s hand gently at the inquisitive look she flashed him, choosing to leave it at that for now.

#My Hero Academia #TodoMomo #Yaoyorozu Momo #Todoroki Shoto #TodoMomo Positivity Week #my fics #I wanted an excuse to do more stuff with Umeo and Mikan and the Todosibs #So I seized it #Loosely connects to previous days #But works just fine on it's on so no link

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

Text

Logan’s Gay and Remy’s in a Suit

Summary: Just read the title Content: Gays, so much gays, nb!remy, nb!logan (he uses he/him pronouns but he’s still an enby suckers), mentions of dying of gay, logan thinking that flirting = bullying because he’s a useless gay Pairing: Romo losleep Notes: I’m so sleep-deprived I should be sleeping but i HAD to write this so. have it. inspired by this art by @strawberryjellystuff

Logan was a smart person. He knew a good deal of things. He knew the distance from the earth to the sun, to the moon, and to Mars. He knew the average amount of bones in the human body at any given interval of life. He knew the names of every capital of every city in north and south america.

He also knew that he was very, very gay. This fact alone wasn’t too shocking or even that impressive. Logan had known he was gay since he was fifteen. It hadn’t been hard to figure out.

It was the ‘very, very’ that was important. As a rule, Logan rarely felt the need to enhance his words with ‘very.’ He made his points, he made them clearly, and he made them exactly as he wanted them. There was no reason for him to use ‘very.’

Then he met Remy.

And Remy… woo boy. Remy.

Remy made Logan feel it extremely necessary to add ‘very, very’ to his normally adequate descriptor of ‘gay.’ That was because Remy was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very pretty. And there was only a little bit of the author’s bias showing through in that statement. It was mostly cold, hard fact. You know because LOGAN’S thinking it and he thinks in pretty much only fact.

So Logan was gay, Remy was (objectively) the prettiest person to exist, and Logan was trying his hardest to stop his writer from taking away his braincells and turning him into a proper gay disaster.

Except he and Remy worked at the same university. In the same department. During most of the same hours.

Logan was having a hell of a time holding onto those braincells.

However, while it had taken time, Logan had adjusted. Survival of the fittest, and all- if Logan wasn’t able to adapt to constantly being around someone so pretty it was outlawed in several made-up countries and a few real ones, then Logan wasn’t fit enough to survive. So he had adapted and he had done so flawlessly.

Better put, he had suffered several weeks learning how to adjust to the fact that Remy’s naturally perfect looks were only increased by xyr leather jacket and sunglasses, the fact that xy knew how to smirk like xy owned the world (impossible, Logan had considered before, considering Remy was clearly the world, and one could not own oneself), and the fact that Remy was a bully.

That was the only word Logan had for Remy’s actions towards him, anyways- after all, there was no way Remy had missed the way Logan’s cheeks seemed to literally light on fire every time xy smiled at him, or the little giggle Logan had never properly learned to fight down every time Remy called him a petname (a wholly ridiculous response considering Remy called lots of people petnames- sure, xy only ever seemed to call Logan ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘light of my world and stars of my universe’ but that didn’t mean anything), or the way Logan stumbled over his every word when attempting to return an offhanded compliment that Remy likely had paid him by accident while thinking of… coffee. Remy did like xyr coffee, after all.

But Remy’s bullying aside, Logan HAD adapted. He was able to look at Remy with minimal flushing, he had become the master of avoiding conversation topics designed to trap him (though Remy was becoming creative with xyr compliment-trap setups… Logan would have to start adapting faster than Remy if he hoped to survive the semester), and he knew the fastest exits out of every room and building in the entire university, ensuring that- if ever needed- he could literally flee Remy. He was surviving in his new, Remy-included environment.

And then the author Jelly Remy decided to adapt as well.

It had been a normal day of work up until then- Logan was working on checking over papers and going through his lesson plan a few more times, making sure he had everything ready for the school day. Upon realizing his coffee had run low, he got up, stretching as he began to move towards the staff lounge, seeking a refill.

There was only one other teacher there at the moment, which Logan figured made sense- most of the astronomy professors had early morning classes, Logan being one of only two who didn’t. He had gotten out of it by luck- the other had insomnia and wasn’t normally at school in the mornings.

Logan barely glanced at xyr, however, wanting to get his coffee before he had to deal with being flustered at seven in the morning. He was fairly certain it wouldn’t be that bad of a fluster, anyways- he was at least partially prepared this time, and he was about to have coffee on his side, and it looked like Remy had traded xyr normal leather-jacket look for a suit of some kind, and Remy had probably had a rough night if xy were in early so xyr flusters wouldn’t be top of xyr game, and-

Logan stopped. Blinked. Processed. Processed again.

A… suit?

Logan turned to look at Remy and immediately regretted the decision. Because those braincells he had mentioned earlier? Gone. Stolen. Removed from existence. In theory, the author’s got them stored up somewhere but… eh, their location’s not important. Not like Logan could use them even if he found them.

Because Remy was in a suit- a blue suit with delicate, lovely white flower designs traced over the chest and around xyr wrists, complimented by a lovely purple tie Logan had never seen Remy wear before- mostly because Remy didn’t normally wear ties. Or suits. Why was Remy wearing a suit?

To kill me Logan decided barely a second later when Remy caught him staring and smirked at him in a way that was most decidedly an act of bullying.

“Good morning, sunlight and starshine.” Remy said, further proving that xy was a bully and that xy was bullying Logan right then and there, a conclusion Logan came too as he clamped a hand over his mouth and focused on not making any sound even slightly akin to a giggle. “How are you on this morning that’s nowhere near as fine as you?”

Logan, smartly, didn’t respond. Speaking would ultimately result in him stuttering, mumbling, and tripping over his words, which would make Remy smirk more, which would make Logan blush more, which would create a horrible cycle that would only end when either Remy left or Logan died. So, by not responding, the cycle never started and therefore could not end in Logan’s death.

In choosing to do nothing else but stare at Remy without saying a word, however, Logan apparently had responded, in a way- Remy’s smirk still grew and Logan still ended up blushed harder.

“Oh, darling, don’t tell me I’ve made you speechless.” Remy teased, moving from xyr spot against the wall to stand in front of Logan, tilting xyr head to the side. “No, wait, do tell me. I do love to hear your voice.”

Logan remained silent. Remy couldn’t go on forever with no new material… right?

“Or, hey, maybe it’s not me.” Remy went on, unconcerned with Logan’s silence. “Maybe you’re just tired. That’s why you were acting perfectly fine until you saw me, after all. Just tired. Is that right? Or should I keep guessing?”

Realizing that silence was getting him nowhere and nothing (besides more flustered), Logan decided to simply attempt to move on with his day. Maybe ignoring Remy would make xyr go away.

Logan had just barely turned to once more resume his walk to the coffee pot when he was forced to stop once more, this time not by Remy’s looks but by the fact that Remy had a hand and the ability to grab Logan’s wrist with it.

A very annoying ability for sure, given it not only prevented Logan from continuing with his brilliant plan of ‘if you just ignore xyr eventually xy’ll go away’, but also increased his blush and got him looking at Remy again which was increasing his blush even more. By now, Logan was fairly sure his entire face was red, which was completely unfair given that blue was much more his colour.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that.” Remy said, voice now both confident and sweet, which wasn’t helping Logan’s goal to Just Stop Blushing Already at all. “If you really have had a long night, I don’t mean to tease.”

“N-no, I’m fine.” Logan said, which was a lie, because he wasn’t fine at all, he was doing terribly, but he was also doing a million times better than usual, which also wasn’t fine but it was in a completely different direction than terribly. So, either way, his statement was a lie. “Just uh… a long morning.”

Logan realized that was the wrong answer the moment Remy’s softer smile once more became a smirk. “I take it back, then. I very much mean to tease.”

“Ah-” Logan cleared his throat, trying to find a way to backtrack, “I do have, uh, a couple of papers to take care of, so-”

“And you don’t have class for at least another hour.” Remy pointed out for him, still holding onto his wrist and giving no indication that xy’d be letting go of it anytime soon. “You’ve got the time to spare for a bit of conversation with your favorite colleague.”

“You presume to be my favorite?” Logan managed to say without tripping over any of his words.

Remy’s smirk just turned knowing. “I don’t have to be a poker player to spot your tells, babe. Unless, of course, you have another reason for constantly blushing around me.”

“You possibly have a higher-than-average body temperature that causes all the objects and people within your near vicinity to heat up as well, therefore prompting a blush in those organisms that have the ability to blush.” Logan offered, well aware everything he was saying was bullshit meant only as a poor attempt to save himself.

Unsurprisingly, Remy saw right through him. “Nah, hun, I don’t think it’s that. You can try again, if you want, but if you’d let me take a crack at it-”

“Please do not.” Logan interrupted rather hurriedly, which only fueled Remy’s amusement. “I am simply… tired. And busy. So, ah, if you’ll excuse me, I really should be getting back to my work-”

“Alright, beautiful, I know when I’m wanted.” Remy said, politely half-ignoring as Logan looked away and pretended to cough into his arm as he let out a small giggle. “One question before you go?”

“I really should be-”

“Are you free tonight?”

That shut Logan up. “I- what?”

“Are you free tonight?” Remy repeated, only smiling at Logan’s confusion. “I know this really lovely place downtown, I promise you you’ll love it, though not nearly as much as I love you-”

“I- what?!” Logan said, more panickedly this time. Tonight? Restaurant? Love you?

Remy titled xyr head to the side, looking puzzled. “I don’t know how to make this any clearer for you, love.”

“I- ah- you- are you- are you asking me out on- on a date?” Logan demanded, not caring much for how many times he had to restart his sentence but having no solution for that particular problem.

“...I would’ve hoped that was fairly obvious, yes.” Remy answered, shaking xyr head a bit as they continued to watch Logan with amused confusion. “This isn’t a surprise to you, is it?”

“Well- I- uh- it’s just-”

Remy laughed. “Oh, darling, I hate to laugh at you, but- Lo, hun, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks now. This can’t be that shocking.”

“You’ve been flirting with me?!” Logan responded. “When?!”

“I- Logan, I’ve been calling you the most ridiculous of petnames, complimenting you every time you so much as blink, repeatedly breaking into your classroom to force you to eat lunch with me, interrupting your classes to tease you- what do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Bullying me!”

“I was- I’m sorry, say that again?”

“Bullying me!” Logan repeated as asked, moving his coffee cup into the hand that Remy was holding hostage so that he could run his fingers through his hair, feeling frazzled. “You kept- you kept doing things to make me blush and- and lose focus- and- and giggle, for gods’ sakes- what else could you have been doing?!”

To Logan’s surprise, instead of defending xyrself, Remy just laughed as xyr face broke out in the widest grin Logan had seen xyr wearing all morning. “You absolute dork.” Xy said, though xyr tone was only endearing. “You really are a disaster gay, huh?”

“...Just a little.” Logan said weakly, before forcing himself to amend, “Maybe a lot.”

“A lot sounds more accurate, yeah.” Remy agreed, still laughing a bit. “Bullying you- oh, you really are too cute, sugar.”

Logan resisted the urge to run to exit number fifty-nine and escape the blush that, at this point, was likely hot enough to permanently burn his skin. “You’re still being a bully.”

“Oh, probably.” Remy admitted before xyr grin was once again replaced by a smirk Logan had both memorized and yet also knew he would never get used to. “But am I being too much of a bully that you won’t go out on a date with me?”

“I- uh- I-” Logan ducked his head. He couldn’t accept Remy’s offer, he really couldn’t, it would almost guarantee his death, and he had worked so hard to become immune to Remy’s killer charm (pun not intended and not appreciated).

But at the same time… Logan wasn’t sure he had the willpower to refuse.

So, predictably, he settled for a quick little nod that said everything Remy needed to hear without Logan having to stutter his way through a single word.

Remy’s grin turned dazzling. “Perfect!” Xy exclaimed, quickly pressing a kiss to Logan’s cheek before he could even begin to react. “I’ll pick you up after all our classes are out, okay?”

“O-okay.” Logan said numbly, free hand raising to rest over the spot where Remy had kissed him, feeling half-trapped in a dream.

“Perfect!” Remy repeated, still grinning as xy let go of Logan’s hand, heading towards the door, bursting with energy and clearly on xyr way to continue planning the exacts of Logan’s demise.

Before xy could fully get out of the room, however, Logan managed to get his voice back about him and call out, “Wait!”

Remy immediately stopped, turning back to look at Logan. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I- uh-” Logan gestured vaguely at Remy, “Your suit. You- You never wear suits. Why today…?”

At that, Remy’s grin just widened to a degree Logan wasn’t entirely sure should be humanly possible. “For our date, of course!” Xy answered, raising xyr sunglasses just so that xy could wink at Logan. “I had a feeling you’d say yes.”

And with that, Remy left, leaving Logan to stand in the middle of the staff lounge, empty coffee mug still in one hand, the other still resting on his cheek and over the spot where Remy had kissed him, feeling dazed in the best sort of way possible.

He was still standing there when another one of the teachers wandered in, shooting him a strange look. “Are you alright, Logan?”

“Not at all.” Logan answered truthfully.

He was much, much better than alright.

#losleep #write losleep cowards #ts logan #ts remy #ts sleep #nb!remy #nb!logan #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #imma post this and then pass out someone remind me to set this up to queue later #also if y'all spot an accidental misgendering let me know so i can change it when i'm more awake

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brabe · 4 years

Text

WHAT IF... MURATA UGETSU HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER?

“Murata Ugetsu was by no means detached from life- nor was he free of worries and grief, he had feelings too- the same as anyone else... But, unlike ordinary people, his heart and his emotions were overflowing.

While I listened to Ugetsu’s music that day—to the sudden flood of music-feeling that was amplified so many times more than usual, I found myself wondering — how... just how was this child prodigy able to live...?

Be it joy, or sorrow, or suffering, Ugetsu lived with feelings which were much more complex, and exponentially larger than those of ordinary people- just accumulating it all within himself.” (Chapter 17)

Murata Ugetsu’s introduction struck a chord with me right away because I recognized the feelings described all too well. So, I asked myself, what if?

After finishing the anime, I read all the chapters of the manga mainly because I wanted to know more about this intriguing character, and I only kept finding clues that reinforced my initial assumption.

I am hyperfixated on mental health issues, in part wanting to find characters to relate to, so here is my reading of Murata Ugetsu. I wonder if anyone came to the same conclusion as me.

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is an illness marked by an ongoing pattern of varying moods, self-image, and behaviour. These symptoms often result in impulsive actions and problems in relationships with other people. A person with borderline personality disorder may experience episodes of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last from a few hours to days. In general, someone with a personality disorder will differ significantly from an average person in terms of how they think, perceive, feel or relate to others.

“People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.” (Marsha Linehan, Professof of Psicology, who has BPD herself and developed the most effective therapy to date for this disorder).

There are many categories of symptoms for this disorder and I reckon Ugetsu manifests the following:

A pattern of unstable relationships swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation):

The most glaringly obvious one is, of course, the relationship with Akihiko.

“Right after Ugetsu has been away from home for some time, there is a honeymoon phase which lasts a few days. It’s as if we have returned to the past... And then out of the blue, it happens—as if he’s saying, yes, this is a great chance—let's take this opportunity, quit being together and break for real this time. Like he is in a rush... Like I am not needed. Like—he is forcibly shutting me out from his world.” (Chapter 19)

“Him and I... We have been causing each other nothing but despair for almost two years now.” (Chapter 17)

It’s also notable the lack of other relationships. When Mafuyu asks him, why Ugetsu was confiding in him, even though they were virtually strangers, Ugetsu replies: “Because I don’t have any friends! Perhaps, I really just wanted someone to understand... Just a little bit is enough.” (Chapter 17)

He is actually really kind towards Mafuyu, opening his home to him, freely helping him with music anytime Mafuyu wants even though he is a world-renowned musician and even letting him practice at his house while he is not there. We know he does that because he recognizes the genius in Mafuyu, but still, I think he actually would like to have friends; he probably just doesn’t know how to. We know that Akihiko was his first friend and evidently years later still the only one close to him.

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger, often followed by guilt and shame:

Ugetsu gets suddenly physically violent with Akihiko two times (and a third one is implied when Haruki first saw Akihiko and he had a bruised cheekbone). He throws a glass on the floor when Mafuyu visits him because Akihiko still hasn’t come back home. He seemingly inexplicably smashes the mug Akihiko gifted him: “Around the time we had just started to live together, when he brought me my first present, somehow... I hated that very much, and I refused it saying—’I don’t want it!’ Even though it was only a mug. Back then, I should’ve just said—’I’m happy. I want to be with him.’” (Chapter 17)

I believe the last one was a dissociative episode, another symptom of BPD, a trance-like state in which one is disconnected from their own mind, body and surroundings. Then the switch turns back on and Ugetsu suddenly starts crying, crouching on the floor, staring blankly at the broken pieces and picking them up, asking himself why, just why did I do this?

The guilt and shame aspect is also shown, when after having recounted his history with Akihiko to Mafuyu, Ugetsu leans his head on the steering wheel of his car remembering everything, clearly in grief, and thinking to himself: “Really... He is a good guy, isn’t he.” (Chapter 17). Here I want to indeed praise Akihiko and underline how well he dealt with Ugetsu’s dissociative episode. He didn’t freak out and lash out at Ugetsu, calling him crazy, but instead he tried to diffuse the situation, laughing and helping Ugetsu to pick up the pieces of the broken mug. As if to say, ‘it’s okay.’

Desperate efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment:

One way of doing this is leaving the other person before they leave you, which is exactly what Ugetsu does or tries to do. He is terrified that Akihiko will leave him definitely one day, but at the same time he actively tries to make him leave: “I’m the lowest son of a bitch towards Akihiko and I guess he resents me, y’know... But I love him to death.” (Chapter 17)

“I’ve been pushing him away but he hasn’t given up on me at all. I’ve been trying to leave him every chance I get. But it seems like I’m still not good at doing that, so... I’ve always been waiting for him to let go of me.” (Chapter 17)

“What if he never came back, just like that? I’ve thought about it countless times. Yet, I’m still not able to imagine it. Tomorrow, he might come back all of a sudden? Or maybe he won’t? But, just the same, I want this suffering to end. But on second thought, I don’t really want that. All the stuff that’s in this room right now, the thought that everything might disappear... Will nothing... Not one thing remain?” (Chapter 27)

Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self:

It’s fair to say the core obstacle in his relationship with Akihiko. Ugetsu’s whole existence is ingrained irrevocably in music. It is what gives his life purpose and the outlet with which he deals with his too intense emotions. Which leads me to wonder what would happen if for some reason he lost music. And I am not positive he would survive that.

“After we graduated from high school—at the time, when I was actively performing as a musician... one day all of a sudden I realized, the existence of the other—was the one thing we both chased after the most in this world. As long as Akihiko is with me, I’ll be unable to become free with my music.” (Chapter 17)

Ugetsu felt as if he was losing himself and his music in his love for Akihiko, which brings to the unstable sense of self. This terrified him. Love is messy for everyone and anyone but with BPD emotions are plugged into an amplifier and dialled up to the maximum (“But for my heart to be touched like that”). He can’t deal with all of this and the fight-or-flight response is triggered and “Let’s end this already.” (Chapter 17)

Black-or-white thinking:

People with BPD often struggle to see the complexity in people and situations and are unable to recognize that things are often not either perfect or horrible, but are something in between. This can lead to "splitting," which refers to an inability to maintain a cohesive set of beliefs about oneself and others. Ugetsu seems to be obsessed with perfection and probably to be a world-renowned violinist you need to be to a certain degree. But for example, when asked by Akihiko to come to the band’s first live, he replies with: “Is it at a level that you can show me? Ah... it’s not at a level where you can reply to me right away... then, I won’t come. There’s no point watching a performance if the performer doesn’t have the confidence to do it well.” (Chapter 8)

Ugetsu doesn’t exist in the in-betweens. There is pefection or worthlessness, love or hate, music or Akihiko.

Depression:

Ugetsu manifests many symptoms of depression.

He is either practicing the violin or sleeping.

He seems to undereat. Almost in every panel in which they are at home, Akihiko worries about whether Ugetsu has eaten or not, and always offers to cook for him, implying that Ugetsu wouldn’t bother if left to his own devices.

He is untidy and careless to some degree. At the violin concerto where Ugetsu is the soloist, Akihiko exclaims: “Again? That idiot... His hair is a mess.” (Chapter 15) implying that it isn’t the first time that Ugetsu appears somewhat shabby at a formal event, in which furthermore he is the star. This fact in particular surprised me because I had the impression that Ugetsu was vain.

This neglectfulness also reflects in his living space. Once Akihiko leaves, the house is in complete disarray. When Akihiko comes back to say he will move out, the debris of the glass Ugetsu smashed when Mafuyu visited are still there.

Last but not least, Ugetsu lives in a soundproofed basement in semidarkness, a fortress of solitude of sorts from the outside world.

Suicidal thoughts or threats:

“Well, when I was a kid, I used to go to some unknown old man’s plantation on my own, and I enjoyed killing bugs by squishing them with my right hand, y’know... Then, on one clear sunny day, I happened to listen to some music playing on that old man’s radio. It was ‘In the flow of time’ by Paul Simon... Yet even though I was only a kid, I thought, wow... I want to die... It’s a good day, isn’t it? Well, there were other things too, but somehow, I wonder If I’ve basically been chasing that feeling of dying from back then...” (Chapter 21.5)

Well, this passage speaks for itself. In some capacity Ugetsu has been pondering on death, has been chasing it, since he was a small child. I think this can be linked to the BPD symptom of chronic feelings of emptiness.

Impulsive, self-destructive and sensation-seeking behaviours:

In this category I think we can include the sleeping around in which Ugetsu engages. While not a harmful behaviour in itself, I think the motive is. Ugetsu has been systematically sleeping around for two years not because he actually wants to and it makes him feel good, but he does it to spite Akihiko and as a coping mechanism to try and get over him. This wouldn’t do good to anyone’s mental health and self-worth.

“Ugetsu and I fought all the time, even after we broke up. That... was because of his timing when it came to finding a new man... It was as though he was doing to spite me.” (Chapter 19)

Intense and highly changeable moods:

Simply, all of the above.

This is all for now. I will edit this list if future chapters will shed more light on the mind and heart of this character that I have come to care so deeply about.

#murata ugetsu #given #borderline personality disorder #akigetsu #bpd

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nanamismoonchild · 3 years

Text

Result of the Eclipse

Summary: A prophecy that foretold the witches getting the patron of the Moon and her child spurred an uprising between the races of the witches, vampires, and wolves. Jealous rage fueled their fight, and soon the Moon had no choice but to separate the races.

Pairing: namjoon x reader

Genre et Rating: vampire au, witch au, angst, fluff, mature

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of blood, a really bad spell (i’m sorry)

A/N: I have not written in a looooong time, so when I started this, I couldn’t stop. I had to force myself to stop so I could work on an important assignment. So this will most definitely have a part 2! This was also part of the halloween event by @heartsforbtsnet.

There had been a time where the three races of supernaturals lived together in peace. It was centuries before the crowned prince and goddess met. Stories were passed down from the old about special gatherings where drunken laughter and the occasional moans resounded through the streets of the town.

But that was centuries ago and nothing but wild fairy tales to tell the children.

The fight that ended the harmony between the wolves, the vampires, and the witches was a small but powerful one that would not heal on its own.

The day the Moon gave herself over to the witches was the day that no one would ever see amity again. The wolves and the vampires were jealous and jealousy is the ugliest emotion. It can make reckless decisions for oneself.

“How can the Moon betray us like this? I thought we were her favorite,” the vampires hissed.

“You? We are born under her light and become even more powerful than we know,” the wolves howled.

The fighting soon began to become violent between the three races. Witches cast horrible curses to keep themselves safe from the poisonous bite of the vampire and the sharp canines of the wolves.

The Moon took matters into her own hands and separated the races as sorrowful as it made her. She promised they would be reunited as one again when her princess was born and learned the ways of the witches.

The vampires and wolves grumpily accepted and built their own cities while the witches prepared for the upcoming Eclipse that would bring them their most powerful goddess. Everything was peaceful.

But that was centuries ago.

Namjoon waddled into his grandmother’s arms and gave her a kiss. He loved hearing the silly stories she told--no matter how sad or frightening they could be. They were almost always about the old days before he was born.

Many Eclipses had come and gone through the years he’s been alive, and, yet, no one had announced the new princess. But his grandmother always told him to believe and keep his mind open.

But he didn’t need her to say that. He knew she was alive and well. And as the five-year-old he was, he just wanted to find her like a game of hiding and seek. He knew he couldn’t leave the cities’ limits though. So he only let himself believe and told no one about his intuition.

His grandmother sent him to bed and kissed on the cheek.

“Good night, my little prince. I feel there will be good news for you tomorrow.”

“Well then I need to sleep quickly, so tomorrow can come! Night!”

His grandmother smiled and left the room. Her little one could sleep through the night and even through the morning’s breakfast. There were times he would wake up the very next night and sleep an hour or two later. He was very keen to his vampiric nature even at such a young age. Luckily he had not a thirst for blood as others did.

The prince was awake the next morning, as he had promised. The noise level of the castle was more than what he was used to. The servants were running around with fresh linen and buckets of blood at their side. The rare activity excited the small child at the news his grandmother suggested.

Bouncing into the dining room for breakfast, he was met with his mother’s and father’s serious faces. Sensing their child, they immediately put smiles on their faces and alerted the kitchen servants. A few minutes later, his plate was piling high with pancakes in the shape of bears and a cup of orange juice. His parents had tried giving him blood as a supplement to the orange juice, but it disgusted him, and never wanted it again.

The King and Queen kept smiling at him, their nervous energy unbeknownst to their son. After a few bites, the Queen pushed aside her plate and leaned towards her son.

“Joonie. We have some big news to tell you!”

Namjoon paused the fork that had a piece of his pancake, and glanced at his mother, “What? Grandmother said it would be good!”

“Well, it is, baby. Good for you..... The Princess has been alive for 6 years! And she is coming to visit us for 2 days.”

“I knew it! So I’ll be able to play with her!”

“You knew?” The King asked. He peered at his wife, a silent message passing through the both of them.

“Yes! I’ve also had dreams of her! She’s really pretty!”

“Oh dear. If this means what I think it means…” The Queen trailed off, watching her husband inform the kitchen of the new plan.

The Princess would not be coming to stay with them. Not now.

“Another fire, Princess?”

The servant witch stared in shock at the spreading fire you had accidentally started. It was the fourth one today, and, if you were being honest, you thought you were getting better at controlling fire spells.

“Yes, another one. Will you help me put it out once again before Mother comes?”

The servant nodded and proceeded to recite the spell for you, ending the fire’s spread. Normally, servants were not allowed to use their magic. However, your mother had thought it necessary when emergencies occurred. Emergencies like fires and floods caused by you.

Sighing deeply, you slumped into your chair, feeling the headache that followed your disasters. Half of your room was charred and it would take another spell to fix it. Twenty-six years of practicing and you still weren’t able to do the simplest spells without going overboard.

“Is there anything else you need Princess?”

“I’m fine. Now leave me alone please.”

The servant nodded and left the room, leaving you in complete silence.

“I bet the other witches don’t have to clean up ashes.”

Your spell book was part of the ash but thankfully you had memorized the spell for cleaning up.

“All right. Not too much and not too little. Just enough,” you recited the spell, closing your eyes not wanting to see the catastrophe that might occur.

When nothing could be heard, you opened them and let out a happy wheeze. Your room was clean and your possessions were in one piece again.

“Success! Finally!”

You were definitely getting better.

A knock on your door interrupted your silent celebration.

“Come in!” Your mother, the Moon, walked in and took note of your happy form. “I assume you did not cause another fire?”

“Ah...No. However, I did manage to clean up the mess myself. “

“You’re getting better! The servants told me the fire was spreading on half of your room.”

You smiled at the praise, striding over to her and giving her a warm hug.

“I missed you.”

“As I missed you. Your father likes to be prepared for Eclipses even though we’ve done them countless times. One of those Eclipses even brought you into the world.” “Mother, I have heard the story before and I do not wish to hear it again. Please save me my innocent ears.”

“Innocent?” Your mother chortled. “Sweetheart, I have seen you ogling the male witches. You may even have a crush on one if I remember correctly. Oh, what is his name?”

“Seokjin! And he is only a friend. I have no romantic feelings towards him. You should know this after you snuck into my artbook!”

“I did not sneak into it. It was lying open and I peeked at it. Very...detailed,” your mother raised her eyebrows knowingly.

You shook your head and made your way over to the cursed book in question. It was true. The man you had been drawing since you could dream was etched into your artbook. You had no idea who he might be, but you knew he was a vampire.

Flipping to a page where you knew his smile was prominent, you noted the details of his dimples and how his fangs were not as sharp as the vampires you had met.

“Very handsome indeed.” Your mother’s soft voice surprised you causing you to jump and drop the book.

The page it landed on was of a full body portrait. It was of the unnamed man standing in front of giant double doors with a suit on. His expression was grave, drawing it had made you worry for the man.

The Moon picked up the book, studying the details.

“Oh,” she gasped. “ I recognize this crest. It’s of the royal vampires. He must be part of the family.”

“There are royal vampires?”

“Yes. Do you remember when you were six years old? We were preparing for you to spend a couple of days there.” A sad smile formed on your mother’s face. “However, they cancelled suddenly. And I may have a clue as to why now.” “You think it has something to do with me and my dreams?”

“I know it. Remember the stories I used to tell you.”

You remembered clearly. Your mother was the Moon and had ultimately stopped a war by sending the three major races of supernaturals to separate parts of the kingdom. Only her unborn child, you, could reunite them if you found the one you loved. How would the vampire royalty figure out their son was your true prince? “Could he be dreaming of me as well?” The thought of the man seeing you as you saw him made a rush of blood warm your cheeks.

“It’s possible. I would say we visit them as a surprise, but there still may be wounds that have not been cared for yet. They would not like to see me.”

You understood her words. Your mother’s reasoning behind choosing the witches as her patrons was a reasonable one, but the vampires and the wolves would not hear of it. The vampires were too selfish and the wolves were too prideful.

“You’re too kind for them anyway. I wouldn’t want a prince who turns his back on my mother,” you took the artbook from her and closed it with a huff.

Grinning, you poke your spellbook open to the spell you had been practicing for the past few days.

“Invisibility? What pranks are you trying to pull now?”

“Oh nothing Mother. I just want to show you”

“Well then. Go ahead.”

Letting out a deep breath, you spoke the words, feeling a rush of wind flow through you.

As you opened your eyes, you looked in the mirror and your shoulders fell. It had not worked again.

Your mother started chuckling, trying to stop herself from laughing uncontrollably.

Annoyed, you ask, “What is so funny?”

“You recited the wrong spell. I believe the spell you did was the floating one.” She pulled the book towards her and nodded.

Confused, you looked down and gasped. You were floating. How had you not realized the first couple of times?

“Fuck.”

“Language,” the Moon called out between breaths of laughter.

“You aren’t supposed to laugh at me, I put all the effort into this!”

“I think your effort is top tier, my dear. But please, can we go to the right spell?”

After a few hours of practicing several of your weakest spells, you were allowed to venture into the garden. Your favorite place in the entire kingdom. It was in the middle of the city and grew every single sort of flower anyone could imagine. You treasured the zinnias the most. They represented remembering or thinking of one’s friends or lovers. Ever since you first dreamed of the man, you were always thinking of him.

You had recognized the crest, and your mother’s affirmation only proved that you needed to do something wild and forbidden.

Picking a bouquet of the zinnias, along with a few others, you place them into a basket and draw the cloak you had brought along with you over your head.

Reciting the invisibility spell, you felt the same woosh of wind from earlier. It was an odd feeling spreading through your body. But you knew it had worked when a servant came whistling around the corner and didn’t double take at your appearance.

The city of the vampires, which you had learned was called Saorsa, was only beyond the limits of your kingdom. It would be almost an hour’s trip by walking. You didn’t plan on walking as your dainty feet wouldn’t last that long, so you opted for the enjoyable version.

Seokjin was waiting for you at the beginning of the forest line. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking around every so often for anyone that would think he was suspicious.

“Seokjin, you’re doing this for Y/N. Get it together.”

He heard the bush rattling, and glanced over to it.

“Y/N? Princess? Is that you?” “Yes!” You said behind the frightened man.

Jumping back a few feet, your friend let out a yelp. His handsome face scrunching in fear.

Laughing, you come out of your invisibility and raise the hood of your cloak. “My friend you are such a scaredy-cat. How will you survive encounters with the vampires?”

“By not interacting with them Princess,” he scolded. He took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. “Now let’s go ahead and get this over with. Remember what we practiced? I do not want to be turned into a rat again.”

“I can do it this time. I’ve even mastered the fire spell you taught me.”

“I heard your room went ablaze again.”

“I call that progress Seokjin.”

Seokjin laughed and stood back.

You spoke the spell excitedly, watching as your friend transformed from a handsome man into a gorgeous brown horse.

He neighed, stomping his foot in hurrah at the success of your spell.

“Yes! Let’s go. Let me hop on!”

Hopping up to the horse’s back was a trial but you managed it by grabbing his mane, a little huff coming from him, and lifting your leg as far as it could go. Clutching onto his mane, you steadied yourself and took at the dense forest.

Not a soul could stop you from meeting the man that captivated your thoughts.

“Seokjin, I think we’re almost there! I can see the castle from here!”

The hour’s walk had turned into a mere thirty minutes with the quickness of Seokjin’s hooves and a little magic.

The home of the vampires was close as the outline of the foreboding outline of the caste. The stark difference of your home and the vampire’s was colour; there seemed to be a lack of colour. Your mother had always told you vampires loved the darkness, which is why they loved her so much. However, you had never thought it true. Who wouldn’t love to see colours pink, red, and yellow? The grey and black was hideous in your eyes. You could only hope that the man, who you now assumed was a prince, loved colours as much as you did.

The tree line was slowly leading to a row of houses and you sensed that you would have to cloak soon.

You had never practiced with two people--let alone a horse--so you could only pray to the Moon that it worked.

Before you could try, Seokjin abruptly launched you into the air. Landing with an unprincess-like grunt a few feet from him, you make out Seokjin’s broad figure laying unmoving. A figure appeared from the shadows, blood dripping down their neck as they kneeled next to you.

Whimpering, you tried to move away, but the sting of your broken leg kept you still.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”the figure cursed.

Your vision was blurring, and you could almost hear your mother say, “Language.”

The moonlight that spilled onto your face was almost blinding. Blinking a few times, you manage to register that you were on a bed with silk sheets draped across your body. Foreign, yet it was warm and comfortable.

You had no recollection of being put in bed-let alone being carried to the room. There wasn’t a clock on the stand next to you, but you knew it had to be close to midnight. You weren’t too sure of the day.

The throbbing in your leg was barely noticeable as you sat up to collect your thoughts and survey the rest of the room. The only light in the room came from the Moon, giving you a little bit of calmness. Your mother was watching in spirit.

Seokjin wasn’t in the room with you. You could only hope he was fine. His unmoving body was singed in your mind and the guilt was slowly beginning to take over you. It had been your idea to use him as a horse to travel to the unknown land of the vampires. Unfortunately, it seemed only disaster struck as soon as you reached the city. The figure, that you assumed was a vampire, must have carried you here. He seemed to be frantic once he realized what he had done. Maybe Seokjin was here as well being taken care of.

Wiping away the tears that slipped from your eyes, you stood up testing the weight of your legs. The pain was minimal and manageable. You presumed that it had been broken, perhaps it was only sprained. Opening the door of the room, you peek out into the hall that appeared to only house your room.

“Hello?” your question echoed through the hall.

No one answered so you stepped out into the hallway, letting the door close behind you.

There were no audible or visual signs that anyone was nearby. Just the soft steps of your feet as you made your way towards the staircase at the end of the hallway. The stairs were dark, the moonlight not being able to reach it from the windows. There was only one spell you knew that could provide a light for you, but it was the cause for most of the fires in your room.

“Can’t hurt to try. And if it does go ablaze, perhaps someone would smell it and come!” Your mother had told you optimism was one of your best gifts, and you intended to use it in this strange place.

“ Light is what I need,

To guide my way through the dark

Just a little to lead.”

Feeling your palm warming, you opened it, smiling at the little ball of light that hovered in your hand.

“Finally!”

You let yourself gloat for a second before continuing up the stairs. They wound up several stories to a heavy door. Pushing it brought you no success, and knocking on it would only hurt. You had no choice but to use your magic to open it--not that you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to practice.

The heavy door exploded open with your spell; the sound of it slamming against the wall should have been loud enough to alert anyone lurking. When no one seemed to be making their way to you, you continued your self-guided tour of your containment.

“Where is everyone?”

Your home was always bustling with activity, day and night. From the stories your mother and father told you, you had expected vampires to be awake at night when the Moon was at her highest. Mayhaps they slept through the night to dishonour her. Your mother did say the wounds had not healed though it was centuries before you were born.

Perhaps your Prince would want to change that.

There was another set of stairs that went up for several stories. They had put you in the lowest part of the castle. At least you surmised it was the castle, there was no other possible reason why a house would have two basements.

At the next door, you could hear the clear, distinct sounds of laughter and clinking glasses greeted you.

Delighted to finally have a form of contact, you quickly cast the spell to open the heavy door, announcing your presence to the entire kitchen.

Three servants gasped at your appearance, dropping a few of the goblets and plates.

“H-hi? I’m from-”

“Witch,” one of the servants hissed.

Their fangs lengthened as they circled you.

“Please. I do not come to harm you,” you backed up against the door, arms in front of you as a sign of peace. “But I will if you come any closer.”

They all laughed at your words--the threat doing nothing to them.

“The ugly witch threatens us?”

“Where did she even come from?”

“The dungeons perhaps?”

You whimpered, not understanding what you needed to do to escape the wrath of the servants. Magic seemed to be the only wrong answer. Harming them was not something you wanted to do.

“I am your future Goddess. My name is Y/N! Daughter of the Moon and the Sun.”

They laughed again. The old wrenches caring only about draining you.

“We do not care about your mother. She betrayed us long ago.”

“I’m sorry for what she did, but you deserved it. You hurt the witches because of your people’s jealous rage. You’re lucky she didn’t take away your existence completely.” You had no idea where the confidence to say the things that were always hiding in the back of your mind. Your mother had regretted the decision to separate the races for centuries, and there was no reason for her to continue to have a contrite heart any longer.

The vampires hesitated for a second only to continue their dance towards you.

“Strong words coming from a witch,” they all hissed.

“Strong words coming from my guest, servants,” a powerful voice coming from the doorway.

All four of you glanced, and your heart sped up.

It was him.

He stood regal in the doorway, hands hidden in his suit pocket. His brown hair was messy as if he had just woken up. There was a twitch of annoyance in his grey eyes as he made his over to your shaking body.

Taking your hands into his, he ran a finger across the skin. A touch of warmth spread across your body and instantly calmed you.

“Breakfast was supposed to be served minutes ago,” he cast a look at the servants who had since backed away from you. “And then I hear the voice of our guest trembling in fear. How do you think that makes me feel?” “We are sorry, Your Highness.”

“Yes very.”

“Saying sorry isn’t enough sometimes, isn’t it? You should all be aware of this as the Moon herself has said it countless times, and what did your families do?”

You had no idea what was happening between the four of them, but your Prince certainly had leverage.

The servants bowed in submission to their Prince and scurried away.

He turned towards you and caressed your cheek; his face turning into one of elation, “I cannot believe you’re actually here.”

“I cannot believe it either. I had a rather unfortunate welcome.”

“I know. And for that I’m sorry. Taehyung thought it was someone coming to attack us. He’s our best soldier and uses his fangs first before thinking. “

Frowning, you asked, “And what of my friend? Seokjin? He was a horse before he was forcefully turned back. The last I saw him...he was not moving and your “best” soldier wore his blood on his face.”

The Prince grimaced, your tone not something he wished to hear again. “He’s safe. Recuperating in the infirmary. He passed out from being forced to turn into a human and from the little nick of blood Taehyung took. He seems to be afraid of his own blood.”

Satisfied with his answer and the safety of Seokjin, you lean into his chest, wanting to be close to him.

“What’s your name?”

“Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”

You giggled, “All of my dreams of you, and not one of them ever told me your name.”

“Mine did. Welcome to my home, Y/N.”

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miminorenai · 4 years

Photo

Chapter 17

Charles “If Dazai follows us ... will Mimi also come to the castle?”

Faust frowns to Charles’s question.

Faust “......*Charl, the purpose would undergo a reversal then. What would you do when **the mummy hunter himself becomes a mummy?”

(*I’m not sure about this since Faust called Charles ‘シャル’ (Shall), so I just remove the ‘es’? haha

(**ミイラ取りがミイラになる - intending to persuade someone and instead being persuaded oneself; going for wool and coming home shorn; the biter bit

Charles “But don’t you think it’s killing two birds with one stone?”

Charles “It would be great to have more people to cooperate with Lord Vlad, and I’m happy if Mimi comes as well.”

Charles “Isn’t it nice for everyone to love each other?”

Faust “......”

Charles straight out saying ‘to love one another’ as if it was nothing.

His ‘love’ that accepts, appeals and responds to anyone without distinction, is like philanthropy (love for humanity) —

But in fact, the interaction and exchange of hearts are missing.

Charles “Hey? How is it, Doc?”

Faust lets out a small sigh, whether out of amazement or pity, as Charles tilts his head with narrowed eyes.

Faust “......Do as you please.”

Faust “I hope it will be an interesting development.”

A few days after MC decided to remain in 19th century —

She had a headache.

(That Dazai-san! He’s impossible to catch......!)

Even if MC finds Dazai and trying to speak......

MC “Dazai-san, let’s talk for a while — “

Dazai “Sorry Toshiko-san, the casino is calling out to me.”

(If I stick at the window, he’ll get caught......!)

If she’s waiting for him to return home —

Sebastian “As for Dazai-san, he made a rare entrance through the front door today.”

MC “Ehhhh !?”

MC sighs just thinking about these recent things.

She plans to face Dazai again, but he avoided her by his usual carefree/easygoing manner and easily escaped.

(When will we could speak properly......)

When MC takes a deep breath......

Arthur “Uh huh, that’s definitely the 5th sigh.”

Isaac “Isn’t it the 6th time?”

MC “Arthur, Isaac!”

Before she realizes it, the two of them came to the living room and watched her with great interest.

MC "Err, what's wrong, both of you?"

Isaac "We are supposed to ask you that. You do nothing but sighs since then."

Arthur "Since you are going to remain in the mansion, I thought I should make a serious effort in seducing you, but Mimi, you look listless."

Arthur "And, in truth, it's really unpleasant when the one who's bothering you is that *rootless person."

(*根なし草 - wanderer, it's Dazai of course~

(Huh......)

Isaac "The way you talk come out like Theodorus-san, Arthur-san."

Arthur "With such guy, calling him a rootless person is good enough."

MC's face immediately turns hot.

(Everyone noticed I worry about Dazai-san......)

MC is so embarrassed that she couldn't say anything, and restrains her cheeks from burning.

Arthur "Seeing you being all cute and shy like this, Dazai-san's getting more on my nerves now, huh."

MC "I-I'm not looking all embarrassing like that, and besides, Dazai-san is not to blame here......"

Isaac "Going out of your way to cover for him is like adding the oil to the fire."

Isaac "So? The reason for your sighs, if you're fine with us......we could listen."

Isaac sits down on the sofa after saying so and Arthur also leaning against his back, looking at her — getting all ready to hear MC's story.

MC "Actually......I want to talk to Dazai-san, but it's quite hard to get hold of him."

MC "If I noticed him, he'll disappeared, and even if I could manage to find him, he would just avoid me casually."

Isaac "Dazai elusiveness is not new to begin with, but......I'm sure he hasn't coming to my place recently."

MC "Is that so?"

Maybe he's taking a walk in town as usual, or perhaps reading stories to the children, but......

(What actually he's been doing everyday?)

Isaac "Dazai-san is annoying when he's here, but when he's not, we can't help but to worry about him......"

Arthur "Ehh, to think that Ai-chan is actually feeling lonely~"

Isaac "I-I do not......! I'm just worried that he might die by the roadside!"

MC "Dying by the roadside is as expected of him, huh...I want to think he won't do it."

MC "But Isaac cares about him as well?"

Isaac "......Ah, well, I tend to worry a bit since we live together."

MC smiles seeing Isaac been blushing.

(Now I understand a bit why Dazai-san and Arthur love to tease him. He'll get angry if I told him, though.)

While thinking about such things, what comes to MC's mind is all about him who's not here.

MC "......Somehow, Dazai-san is an indispensable person in this mansion, isn't he?"

Arthur "Well, I would like to think he's a master in smoothing things over."

Arthur "But when we're trying to response in serious, you'll get irritated because he get around well and not showing himself up.”

(Oh, I see......)

Perhaps it's similar to what MC felt for Dazai.

MC "Arthur, you sure watching him well, aren't you?"

Arthur "Since human observation is in my nature as a writer."

Arthur "But I —"

Arthur "I also think if it's Mimi, you'll definitely manage to destroy that *slippery face of him."

(*のらりくらり - lazy, evasive, non-committal

MC "Huh? Me?"

Leaning his body forward in pleasant while MC being surprised —

Arthur "Hmm. I wonder what will Dazai do if you strike him head on~"

Arthur "If you really want to catch Dazai, would you count us in?"

Isaac "I can help on my spare time from researches."

Isaac "Construction is my strong point, so should we put different tricks on windows?

MC "Pfft...Ahaha......! Is there where Dazai-san would be caught? Hehe, I want to see it so badly."

Seeing MC laughing out loud like that, Isaac and Arthur look at each other and smile in relief.

(Ah......I see. Both of them coming here to cheer me up.)

Arthur "Well, tell us if you need our help."

MC "Umm...thanks, Arthur, Isaac."

(......I'm glad to be in this mansion.)

Their kindness seeping into MC heart and it feels even lighter —

(Hmm...how am I supposed to talk with Dazai-san properly?)

While shopping in town, MC recalled the stories she heard from Arthur and Isaac.

Arthur "Ah, which reminds me. The usual Dazai would be staggering around, but......"

Arthur "It seems lately he's been confining himself in the room and writing."

Isaac "Eh, to think that Dazai writes novel properly..."

(Dazai-san's writing, huh...the novel he wrote, is it the continuation from that time?)

MC remembers the bits of Dazai manuscript in his room back then.

(I didn't know what it was at that time.)

(A man who can only live as a clown......that's what Dazai said about himself......)

When MC thinks about it now, she feels that it is very similar to the story that Dazai talked about the past.

(But, what does he mean by the 'end' of the story......?)

MC recalled the time when Dazai told her about him.

About his punishment, telling her to forget about a man like him, and when in the end, everything will disappear —

MC couldn't help but to weep in a mess when he firmly making his declaration that way.

(......I wonder, why am I really bothered by his words?)

(I mean, is there even an end for vampires who live on equal time to eternity?)

MC chest makes a loud noise.

She doesn't have the slightest idea what is the true nature of her unknown anxiety, or even the meaning of his words.

But —

(Somehow, it feels like Dazai-san will go far away......)

As MC's shaking with uneasiness, suddenly she finds the back of the person she's been looking for away on the street.

(Ah, Dazai-san......)

(......And Charles?)

(It's a little surprising that those two are together.)

When the three of them went out together before, it doesn't seem that they get along well.

(......Have they become friends since then?)

Before MC could call them out as they step forward —

(Huh?)

Someone pulls her arm from behind.

When she turns around, two-colored eyes are looking at her way.

MC "Shakespeare-san?"

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevam dazai #osamu dazai #ikevam spoilers #to clarify #I decided to put this back in tumblr #it's unfair to others who's been following this from the beginning #I have to put my twitter on private since there are mostly spoilers inside there #it would be bad if people could freely rt ^^'#I love how twitter threads work #it allows me to make live translation/narration #but I guess it's pretty tough too #so for long texts this platform is one of the best #and it hides spoilers 'under the cut' too #I guess it's welcome back to me lol #sorry for the trouble haha

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pastelsapphy · 5 years

Note

Why does Sylvian hates himself?

(This ended up being really long whoops)

*cracks knuckles* time to talk about my boy

[All quotes taken from the Fire Emblem Fandom Wiki, so there may be some slight inaccuracies]

Okay so first off Sylvain grew up in a shitty environment, to say the absolute least, and that fucks with your head.

First: his brother. He attempted to kill Sylvain on multiple occasions as kids because Sylvain had a Crest. And Sylvain just like, accepts that??? You can see that a lot in his A support with Byleth. He talked about being shoved in a well and being left on a mountain in winter by his brother, and almost immediately followed up with “I have no right to complain” because he, in theory, got lucky: he got the Crest.

And you figure, he would’ve grown up apologizing and made to feel guilty just for existing. You can see in his dialogue against Miklan, in chapter five:

Miklan: Hmph! Hurry up and die already. If not for you… If it hadn’t been for you…

Sylvain: Shut up! I’m so tired of hearing that. You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault.

He’s definitely been saying that since they were kids. That kinda stuff really fucks with your sense of self-worth after a while.

Then we have the rest of his family. We don’t hear anything about his mother, or much about his father, but we can infer some things about the latter: Margrave Gautier disowned, abandoned, and cast aside his first son in favor of the one with a Crest. Considering the dialogue about “everything being taken away” from Miklan, it’s possible that he was being raised to be the next Margrave, because someone had to inherit–with Crests becoming less common, who knows how long it would’ve taken to get a kid with one, if they got one at all? They needed a backup plan. And then Sylvain came along, with the minor Crest of Gautier, and suddenly Miklan didn’t exist. That’s fucked up, and it shows how little Margrave Gautier cared about his kids. I honestly doubt he showed Sylvain any kind of affection or attention growing up, and probably only interacted with him for inheritance- and Crest-related reasons. To him, Sylvain was a walking Crest, not a person (Sylvain’s fear of people only ever wanting him for his Crest, and not as a person in any respect, had to come from somewhere).

(And, if I can add a bit of an aside, I feel like this is the root of his philandering. Makes me think of the whole “even negative attention is better than nothing” kinda thing. You figure, Little Sylvain would have been incredibly touch-starved and desperate for attention. Humans are a social species and we literally need attention and affection to live well. I mean, he flirted with Ingrid’s grandmother when he was eight. I can only imagine what he said/did if Ingrid remembered it, considering she would have been five or six at the time. And kids that young don’t really know any better yet. Poor kid probably just wanted attention.)

(Additional aside that came to mind while writing this: I wonder if seeing the arrangement between Ingrid and Glenn affected this at all? Like yeah marriages in that kind of setting were purely political and such, but Ingrid was engaged to Glenn because (a) House Fraldarius was a powerful, well-to-do noble family and House Galatea really needed the resources, and (b) Ingrid was desirable as a wife because she had a Crest. Of course, we don’t know the exact circumstances of the arrangement, but we can infer from her other prospects. Sylvain still would have essentially seen Ingrid being used for leverage because of her Crest.)

So long before the events of the game, Sylvain is already pretty fucked up, emotionally. Trauma does that to you, especially when you have an “everyone else has it worse and I, actually, got lucky, so it doesn’t count and I’m not allowed to feel bad about it” complex. Survivor’s guilt is a hell of a drug lemme tell you. Sylvain has already internalized that,

He’s only good for his Crest

Any negative feelings about his Crest don’t matter, because those without have it worse.

No one will ever truly see him as a person–he’s just a Crest.

Already, that’s a pretty fucked up view of oneself.

By the time he gets to Garreg Mach, he has a carefully crafted persona set up: He’s an asshole, a liar, a serial flirt and cheater, dumb as a box of rocks, and a self-proclaimed “good-for-nothing.” In his B support with Dedue, you hear that people describe him as “indefensibly worthless,” which is followed by,

Sylvain: Indefensibly? Heh, that’s a bit harsh.

Dedue: I already knew your reputation concerning women. But these new rumors deprive you of all redemption. I did try to correct them. But I doubt I was believed.

Sylvain: Well, thank you all the same. Listen. You don’t need to worry what people think about me. As you well know, it’s not easy to correct misunderstandings or change people’s minds. And if I’m going to behave so badly, it seems misunderstandings are inevitable.

He doesn’t even argue, just kinda brushes it off and accepts that’s just How He Is (listen, Sylvain can definitely be an asshole at times, but I have to agree with that being harsh). He doesn’t want people to expect anything from him (well, not anything good). In his supports with Annette, he’s shown to be pretty smart, but admits he hides it because the pressure it puts on him is suffocating. He kinda goes out of his way to hide his more redeeming qualities like that. Also on that point, we have this bit from his B support with Ashe,

Sylvain: […] My advice on the whole thing is just to follow your instincts. That’s what I do. If someone’s in trouble, I help them. You don’t need to be a valiant knight to know that. Doesn’t matter if the person is an ugly old man or the cutest girl you’ve ever seen, you help ‘em.

Ashe: So, you’re saying…

Sylvain: Everybody’s the same, deep down. It’s our job to help anyone who needs it.

Ashe: Ah!

Sylvain: What? You’re looking at me funny. Did I say something wrong?

Ashe: No! No. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’re actually a much better person than I thought.

“You’re actually a much better person than I thought.” Several of his supports have some variation of this line. Usually after he does something kind. And I mean, Sylvain is a kind person, under the philandering. Most of his supports involve him helping others out somehow.

He helps Dimitri with the girl situation (he kinda got him into it in the first place but I digress)

His whole C with Dedue is pretty much “racism is stupid and I’m going to be your friend, fuck what everyone else says.”

In his supports with Felix and Ashe, he helps them out in battle, at a detriment to himself (You can also throw Byleth in here, during their A support, but he was a jerk in their C and B).

In his Annette supports, she calls him out for going easy on her during training. He admits he was, but only because he didn’t want her to feel bad because she puts so much effort into her work while he “sorta gets by on [his] wits”

Okay I need to say how much I love his supports with Bernadetta???? He does genuinely try to compliment her work, and when he sees speaking to Bernie face-to-face won’t work, he goes out of his way to write a nice and well-worded review (a fairly lengthy one, according to Bernie) and compliment of her work–which Bernadetta takes to much better than she did talking in person. And this is one of the few supports where he doesn’t try to flirt. He’s just trying to give her genuine compliments on her writing and goes out of his way to do it without upsetting her.

His support with Hilda could go a few ways, but he did return the books for her and he did apparently get yelled at for something he didn’t do and didn’t even try to deflect that. And it seems that’s not even why he confronts her later: it’s because of how her actions were detrimental to other people (”And those books you left in your room for so long? Teachers and classmates needed those. So stop lying, and maybe stop being quite as selfish too.”). It’s not until she asks if the librarian said anything that he’s like “Oh, yeah, they yelled at me.”

And a fair amount of people still see him as “indefensibly worthless.” Sylvain often goes out of his way to help people, but he tends to brush it off and keep it lowkey.

I got a little off track here, but my point for this is Sylvain projects an outward appearance of being a really shitty, deplorable person. Almost everyone he has supports with is GENUINELY surprised when they realize that no, he’s not as bad as all the rumors about him imply. Sylvain just doesn’t really want people to know. And, as much as he plays it off like he doesn’t care, that kind thing gets to you after a while. So everyone except a handful of close friends seeing him in such a negative light? It filters in eventually, even if you’re not already emotionally fucked up.

Another thing I want to point out: A lot of times, it seems like Sylvain does not give a shit about what happens to him. A few of his support conversations involve him taking a blow in battle to protect someone else (and his attitude afterward is “better me than them”). Reading his A+ with Felix, “…protecting me like that. You’re so weak and yet you always… always…” this is definitely something Sylvain has a habit of doing. Additionally, we have one of his goal requests: “The best way to impress people is to save them by diving into harm’s way. That’s what a Great Knight does, yeah?” In true Sylvain style he covers it with “I just want to impress people” but he’s still devoting his training to being the guy who jumps in front of everyone else to tank the hit. Fully committing to that kind of thing takes more than just a shallow want to “impress people.” Then there’s his Monastery line to Byleth, toward the end of Verdant Wind I believe?, where he says he fights like he wants to die. Which…. yeah.

Another line of his that sticks with me: “burn until we meet again,” after defeating an enemy post-time skip. A friend of mine pointed out it might just be dramatic, but I think about that a lot. Does he think he’s going to the 3h equivalent of hell??? Does he think he’s that terrible of a person??

Uh this turned out to be a lot longer than i thought. So I guess to sum up:

Sylvain grew up internalizing the idea that he doesn’t have any worth as a person. Everything he is and has is related to his Crest. Everything that people feel towards him is related to his Crest and not who he is as a person.

He internalized the idea that because he has a Crest, that he’s not allowed to be upset about any of this, because he got lucky.

Growing up with Miklan’s abuse, he was definitely made to feel guilty about simply daring to exist. So he grows up hating himself.

He developed an outward persona that only reinforced these ideas–he makes and lets people believe he’s a piece of shit.

His attitude in battle shows how little he seems to care about himself.

tl;dr: Sylvain grew up without any love or affection, and was severely emotionally fucked up by his family, which complicated his relationships with other people and his view of himself as a person and his worth. He purposely projected an image of himself to support this, letting people believe he’s a shit person and doesn’t argue back because he feels it’s well-deserved. He doesn’t seem to think he’s actually worth anything. Sylvain, of course, like all people, has negative traits–that’s just part of being human. But his sense of self has been so warped and twisted over the years that he can’t seem to do anything but hate himself.

#fire emblem three houses #sylvain jose gautier #sylvain gautier #fe sylvain #fire emblem sylvain #three houses #fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #three houses spoilers #fe16 #feth #fe three houses #asks #anon #mine #long post #i have a lot of feelings about sylvain okay #abuse mention #abuse mention cw

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eralisse · 3 years

Text

Brothers Conflict: Passion Pink - Kaname route - Scene 2 - On the Beach at Night

HAHA, A ROMANCE SCENE! ENJOY.

I’ve smoothed over some bits to make the English flow better. My comments are at the end.

This scene directly follows after Main 9: Vacation Day 2.

Brothers Conflict Translations Index

August 12 (Thursday)

(A lot of things happened today… Although I was shocked when I heard that Wataru was missing, it’s great that nothing [bad] happened.

Anyway… I can’t sleep for some reason… My body should be tired, but my eyes are wide open.

Maybe… it’s Kaname-san’s fault… I can’t get him out of my head… The feeling of being hugged by his large arms hasn’t gone away…

Aahh, it’s no good…! Since I was thinking about it so much, my eyes are extra wide open. What should I do…)

Kaname: Oh? Imouto-chan? What are you doing here at this time?

Ema: ! … Kaname-san. Ah… I somehow… can’t sleep. Kaname-san, how about you?

Kaname: I was thinking of enjoying the night breeze a bit. Ah, that’s right. If you like, would you like to come with me?

Ema: Eh…?

[Choice: Go together.]

Ema: Ah… Sure. If it’s not annoying to you…

Kaname: Haha. I invited you, so no such thing! Anyway, shall we?

Ema: … Yes.

---

Kaname: It’s good that the rain has stopped.

Ema: Yes… And the night breeze feels nice.

Kaname: Yeah.

Ema: …

Kaname: …

(The sound of waves was carried by the mild wind blowing. Kaname was somewhat of few words tonight… His expression while looking out at the ocean was very calm. I think this was the first time I had ever seen him like this…)

Kaname: Hey… You can laugh at me and say I’m pretending. [**1]

Ema: … What is it?

Kaname: I like the ocean at night.

Ema: The ocean… at night?

Kaname: Yeah. When it gets dark, the boundary between sea and sky disappears, you see. To be tossed out into the wide space, it feels somewhat uneasy… I think that kind of feeling is good. [**2]

Ema: To be uneasy… is good?

Kaname: Yes. When you stand in a place where you can feel the power of nature… You can feel keenly humankind’s powerlessness, and that our existence is due only to heaven’s grace. The little things that we are troubled by, disappointed by, become very trivial. That’s why, every so often just like this, I look out at the ocean at night. Because I can empty my mind.

Ema: … Kaname-san…

Kaname: Hm?

Ema: You can think about that sort of thing, huh…

Kaname: Hmm? What do you mean?

Ema: It’s a little surprising. I thought that the inside of Kaname-san’s head was (just) filled with girls…

Kaname: Ehhh? How cruel. I’m still a monk though. I think about world peace and peace of mind, and then just a little bit about girls, you know?

Ema: See! You do think about girls after all!

Kaname: Haha, you’ve got me.

Ema: Hehe… However.

Kaname: Hm?

Ema: What you were saying earlier…. To be thrown out into such a dark place, I think is a bit frightening.

Kaname: That’s right, it’s frightening. But… it’s alright. If you are scared, I’ll come save you before you start crying.

Ema: Eh…?

Kaname: Today, not knowing where he was, you tried desperately to find Wataru… If anything happens to you, I’ll come save you. Thank you for what you did today. That a girl like you is my little sister, I think is truly great.

(Ah, that’s it-- I see. Kaname-san is always laughing lightly and making jokes. Today I feel he’s somehow being very… kind…)

Kaname: Mm! Well, I think I’ll enjoy the night ocean a bit more!

Ema: Eh… Kaname-san…? It’s dark, so it’s dangerous to go so far out into the water!

Kaname: It’s fine~!

(Saying that and laughing, Kaname-san seems a bit like a kid… As I beheld another of his expressions that I’d never seen before, my heart gave a small… thump, like the swell of a wave… I wonder why... ?)

Kaname: Whoa!?

Ema: Hey…! K-Kaname-san!? What happened!?

Kaname: ...Pah! Wha, what…? What is this, seaweed? I got tangled and tripped over from this?

Ema: …! Hehe! Kaname-san, you’re soaked!

Kaname: What is this, ugh… Not cool…

Ema: Hehe, are you alright? If you like, please hold onto me (and I’ll pull you up).

Kaname: Thanks. However, Imouto-chan. You were laughing at me just now, weren’t you?

Ema: Eh---?

(I was pulled over by the hand I’d extended toward Kaname-san. And then…)

Ema: … Pah!

Kaname: Haha! Payback for laughing.

Ema: Che… T-Terrible! Now I’m all soaked..!

Kaname: Haha, that’s right-! But hey… it was hot all day today, so doesn’t it feel nice…?

Ema: …!! W-what are you saying… Ah--

(When I looked up, Kaname-san’s face and chest were right in front of my eyes… Suddenly, I remembered when he hugged me this afternoon… And my heart started pounding loudly again…)

Kaname: You face… It’s red? Is it still (too) hot…?

Ema: It’s n-not hot…

(At that moment… I saw something out the corner of my eye.)

Ema: … Oh? Kaname-san, there’s… Around your right collarbone, what is that…

Kaname: Hm? Ahh, this? It’s a tattoo.

Ema: Tattoo? Ah… It’s the first time I’ve seen it. Um, is this a cross?

Kaname: Eh… Ahh, no. It’s a short sword.

Ema: Ah… That’s right. Since you’re a monk, it wouldn’t be a cross… Pardon me.

Kaname: …… Say, Imouto-chan. Can I tell you something?

Ema: Hm? What is it…?

Kaname: It’s something related to the sword. A long time ago, in a play from England, there was a line, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Ema: A pen? A sword…?

Kaname: Yes. It means that words surpass armed force. However, in this world, there is something much stronger than the sword or the pen.

(...... Why is… Kaname-san’s face… getting closer…)

Kaname: That would be… love.

[Kaname kisses Ema.]

(.....? Wha…. What just… happened…)

Kaname: … Mm.

(Kaname-san’s lips… and my lips are…)

Kaname: … Earlier, I emptied out my mind. Now, I want to fill it with you… Is that okay, Ema…?

Ema: ……!!

[Ema pushes Kaname, and he splashes back into the water.]

Kaname: …! Imouto-chan!?

(In a daze, I pushed Kaname-san away. From far away… mixed in with the sound of waves behind me, I thought I heard Kaname-san’s voice calling out to me… But I couldn’t look back. I could only run to the cottage…) [**3]

-----

Notes:

1. What does 「スカしてる」mean in English? From Googling Japanese forums, I’ve translated it to “pretend” but it doesn’t seem right.

2. Where it says “uneasy”, the term was 「心もとない」, which also doesn’t seem right in English.

3. “In a daze” was 「無我夢中で」, which my dictionaries tell me is “to lose oneself, to be absorbed in”.

-----

Comments:

Ahhhhh, Kaname~~ Like I said in my previous entry, I think he confirmed his love for her during the afternoon when they were looking for Wataru, and then confessed it here. As much as he works fast, I don’t think his love for her comes out of nowhere. Actually, it might even be that during the previous 3 months after she moved in, depending on how family-oriented she was, he would have been falling for her during that time. (That said, the book pretty much skips from her moving in, to some beginning mishaps, straight to the vacation. And same with game.) In the cover of the second book, Ema asks the brothers what they consider most important. Kaname says “... Family. Of course, you too. Very important.” while looking contemplative. (I will promptly ignore the fact that in Kaname’s route in the game, if you raise family love too much, you will miss his scenes. Which is why I didn’t finish his route the first time around.)

That said, the game does this scene way better than the book, especially at the end. Ema is still slow here, but at least she has a clear response. (Even if it may be disappointing to us fangirls.) In the book, she does jack-all and just sits there in his kiss while Juli is screeching in the background.

#brothers conflict #passion pink #asahina kaname #kaname asahina #translation

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magioftheseas · 4 years

Text

Can’t Even Trust

Summary: In which Ouma is annoyed that a certain luminary is friendly with a murderer.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None, really?

Notes: I rewatched a bit of dragon maid, which you can tell. I just thought it’d be neat to apply this sort of thinking to Ouma but within the context of v3, it’s kinda...complicated? What am I even trying to say... Guest-starring Kaede because I wuv her. Yes I could’ve written this in the canonverse bUT THEN KAEDE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE SO FUCK THAT.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

There are people that can be trusted and shouldn’t be trusted. It’s easy to figure out when a person shouldn’t be trusted, but when it comes to those who can be trusted, it takes a lot more time. A lot more patience. And a little bit of good will that may or may not be deserved. It takes a lot that, realistically, you wouldn’t be able to give every single person.

It’s both easier and more practical to just not trust people at all than to dance around the idea. Giving trust freely is just way too reckless and stupid, especially under certain circumstances.

It’s no wonder, then, that Momota-chan is so goddamn annoying.

Seriously you go through all the trouble of revealing that someone’s a merciless assassin—something that someone with any amount of reason would want to avoid and it still doesn’t stop the astronomical idiot from getting close anyway.

“It’s probably because he wants to bang her,” Iruma offered ever helpfully, which just made him sour even more.

“Well, trusting is good, right?” Gonta asked ever innocently, which nearly made him bite off his own lip in frustration.

“Yeah, it’s pretty worrying,” Akamatsu agreed, to which Ouma instantly perked up.

“You get it!” he exclaimed. “It doesn’t make any sense at all! Of all the people to want to associate with, why the killer girl?!”

“Mm...” Akamatsu pursed her lips. “Well... Harukawa-san was forced into it, wasn’t she?”

“So? It’s not like she feels bad. She threatens death to anyone who even slightly inconveniences her.” He let out a sob. “Akamatsu-chaaan, just the other day! She strangled me half to death! I was so scared! I really thought that was the end for me!”

“I remember, I was there,” was her terse reply. “So you’re not lying about that...although I distinctly recall you laughing at the time, Ouma-kun.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a brave front?!” He wailed into his hands. “It was an act! All an act! I just didn’t want to give away how frightened I really was! And Momota-chan, he...he...!”

He had separated them. He had given that killer a strange kind of look, and right when Ouma was about to hide a smile against the other’s back, Momota still offered that murderer his hand.

What an utter moron.

“You’re worried about him,” Akamatsu said. “I mean, I’m not a detective like Saihara-kun, but... It is pretty obvious, y’know.”

With his hand still buried in his hands, Ouma frowned.

“It’s honestly not that. That kind of recklessness could get more than just him killed, y’know.”

Akamatsu hummed. Even that’s a musical sound, befitting the Ultimate Pianist.

“Well, even if it’s difficult... Maybe trust that Momota-kun can reach her?”

Trust him? Is that some kind of joke?

When he checked, Akamatsu looked pretty serious. He couldn’t understand that at all. He really waited for the other shoe to drop, for her brave face to break and for her to confess fear and uncertainty like any other normal person would in this situation. But it doesn’t. She doesn’t. And she’s hard to read.

And he actually kind of liked her a little. How disappointing.

“Okay!” he chirped, so sickeningly cheerful it almost made himself gag. “If anyone can do it, it’s Momota-chan! You’re absolutely right!”

Akamatsu’s expression does strain. He doesn’t feel any satisfaction, however. Not in a situation like this.

“Just trust!” he repeated, laughing. “I’ll just trust him!”

What a shit fucking joke.

And thus, he’s wasting valuable nights that could be used for investigating instead making sure nothing unsavory happens between Momota and the killer girl. Mind you, if the two do start banging, he’s going to just fucking leave, Momota-chan be damned. But, they’re just exercising. Well. The murderer is doing most of it, leaving Momota and Saihara in the dust.

Oh yeah, Saihara. The actual detective.

You would think that’d be reassuring enough to get on with his own business, but for some annoying reason that Ouma couldn’t figure out, he was still there. Still watching.

Watching Momota roll over and laugh once done and watching Saihara give him a fond smile while Harukawa scoffs and rolls her eyes. Gross. It’s like they’re an actual group of friends or something.

Except who the hell would be friends with a murderer? Ouma wondered, even more irritated at the fun they were having. He has half a mind to ruin their night but he doesn’t want to give away his position and make spying on them down the line harder.

Thus, he just lets them be. Watches until Saihara’s too sore to continue and Momota declares the whole affair another success. Success for what? Something about fighting oneself?

He’s so stupid.

He thinks that, but he still lingers after the trio part and return back to their rooms. Even though Harukawa leaves first, he still watches out for Momota.

He’s so stupid it’s dangerous. Maybe he’s the one I should worry about?

Momota lingers out for a bit to watch the stars by himself. He also gets in some extra exercise, stretching out his limbs and swinging them about with his teeth gritted together in an audacious grin. He does that for a bit, but when he’s finished, he still doesn’t leave.

Instead, his head turns towards the direction that Ouma is in. Ouma stares back, positive that their eyes are meeting and challenging the other all the same. Momota glares at him. It’s confirmed.

So much so that he doesn’t bother to move as Momota marches up to him, folds his arms with a scowl, and demands, “Just what the hell are you doing, Ouma?”

“Napping.” Ouma flopped down to the ground. “Awww, you’re interrupting my beauty sleep, Momota-chan! And I was having a really good dream, too! You weren’t there.”

“I know you were spying on us!” Momota yelled, pointing at him quite rudely. “Both of my sidekicks noticed! You can’t lie your way out of this one!”

Both of them, huh? Yeah, shouldn’t have underestimated Saihara-chan, probably. Although...

“Akamatsu-chan told you, didn’t she?” he asked, his tone dulled. “Ah. Shouldn’t have trusted her at all. What a shame. She’s a traitor.”

“She just said you were worried,” Momota snapped. “Don’t twist this! Your sneaking around would’ve been found out regardless.”

It takes a lot of time and patience to trust someone. Too much that can be reasonably given to each and every individual person. And yet, this idiot...

“She lied,” Ouma said, huffing as he stood and dusted himself off. “I wasn’t worried about you at all. I was just bored. And I saw you weirdos doing weird things and I got curious.”

Momota raised an eyebrow, still glaring down at him with little patience.

“It’s part of my evil plan!” Ouma exclaimed, waving his hands. “Can’t believe you caught me, Momota-chan! I must really be losing my touch!” He cackles. “Nishishishi, you’re shaping up to be quite the formidable adversary!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Momota just looked more annoyed. “We’re not adversaries. We’re not friends, either, but I still wouldn’t go that far.”

Someone whose thoughts and philosophies are so adverse to my own... I’m not sure what else you’d call us.

“Anyway, the sneaking around’s unnecessary anyway,” Momota went on. “If you’re that curious, you can join us. Your scrawny arms look like they could use our training.”

The dumbass had the audacity to look smug, but Ouma just twisted his body away. He folded his arms behind his head.

“I’ve got no interest in following an idiot’s orders. Being on the opposite side suits me far better.”

“Who are you calling an idiot?!”

At least it was easy to push Momota’s buttons, at least it was easy to work him up. If he could be this easily manipulated, maybe some of the danger he posed could be mitigated.

Except instead that just makes him even more annoying. So much so I want to violently shake some sense into him. Except I’m not a violent person. I’m the most peaceful person out there! The exact opposite of a murderer! Which is why Momota-chan and I can only be on opposing sides.

The silence of the night, the light breeze rustling the grass, the stars above, and Momota fuming behind him—even in such carefree moments, Ouma felt the weight of the truth and goddamn was it unpleasant.

Worrying about him is a waste of time.

True.

If he stupidly gets himself killed, it’ll be safer for all of us to be without that dangerous idiocy of his.

True.

I couldn’t care less about him.

Lie.

It’s that lie he has to cling to if he wants to keep himself sane.

“Idiot,” he repeated, because it’s the only truth that doesn’t annoy him at this moment. “I’m done. This spying was a waste of time.”

Momota huffs, but he comes close, reaching out for him. Ouma’s quick to avoid, jolting away from him. He does look back, and Momota has such a stupid, stupefied expression on his face.

“Ouma?”

Ouma just smiles.

“Have a nice night, Momota-chan.”

He’s quick to disappear, quick to retreat, back to where there’s walls upon walls between the two of them. It’s safer that way, after all, especially given how his heart is hammering.

#Magi fics #Oumota #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #Kaede Akamatsu

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cupofkey · 4 years

Note

w what about... fruk.... BUT they just started dating and arthur is trying his best to learn how to Express His Feelings Openly And Directly and also how to Show Affection 👉👈 its just an idea honestly ill take anything as long as its fruk 🥺 (also ur writing is good!!!)

aww thank you I rly appreciate you!! here is as requested Arthur being emotionally constipated and Francis just Vibing Along... very good dynamic tyvm for the request. hopefully this isn’t too late.

but I hope you like this :)

It’s the fourth date, and I’m still like this, Arthur bitterly thinks. Not like I’m keeping track.

This, in question, is the absolutely idiotic set of actions he’s been pigeonholing himself into— frankly, it’s getting a little intolerable. First it was his horrified muteness for five minutes after Francis blew him a kiss. Then it was his terrified silence (something completely different, honest) after Francis made some offhand remark about enjoying their dates. And now, for some reason he truly can’t comprehend, his whole arm going limp and numb when Francis reaches across the table to hold his hand.

The cafe they’re in isn’t the most hostile environment, really. Arthur has a lavender London Fog that’s quite calming and delicious, if he says so himself, and the ambiance is easygoing but clean. Francis’s hand is warm against his. Their conversation has been nice, bar the awkward moments on his part. Nothing is wrong, so of course…

Of course I can’t deal with that, can I.

“Arthur, dearest,” says Francis, and oh, there goes any resolve he has left. “Let’s go on a walk?”

“O-oh, yes, that’s fine,” he stammers out.

“Wonderful.” Francis takes his cappuccino in one hand and keeps holding onto Arthur with the other.

Watch that whole half of my body stop functioning. Bet it feels like he’s holding onto a dead fish of some sort.

The air outside is pleasant, springy. Arthur mostly focuses on making sure his feet land right on the sidewalk, on having some kind of control of his hand holding Francis’s, the aroma of lavender and coffee swirling easily around them.

“So,” Francis says. “Let’s find a place to sit and talk, hmm?”

Oh, dear. This is it. We’re not seeing each other anymore, are we.

Arthur can’t really formulate a passable response to that, so he nods, something horrible and dry in his throat.

At least the weather is nice. The cars passing do so quickly and without much fanfare, and so everything feels natural and quiet between them. Before he knows it, they’re approaching a park, Francis smoothly directing them toward a tucked-away bench.

“Here,” he says. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Arthur manages to say, sitting down and nursing his drink with entirely too much weariness for the situation at hand.

“Arthur,” Francis says, looking straight at Arthur with a gentle smile, so he has no choice but to hold that brilliant eye contact, “tell me if I’m misinterpreting anything. But I really want you to know it’s alright to speak openly with me, or to take your time, or to do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable.”

Oh. That was not…

That was not. Not what I was expecting in the slightest.

“Just let me know how I can help,” Francis continues, still smiling in a way that radiates such warmth Arthur distantly feels like he could bask in it forever.

“I see,” he mumbles.

“I mean it. I really enjoy my time with you,” Francis says. “And I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but I’d like to think you feel the same. Still, expressing oneself has never been easy, especially when…”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur blurts. “I know I’ve been so embarrassing. I’m embarrassed, myself.”

Francis frowns, tilting his head and grasping Arthur’s hand just a little more, his expression strangely devoid of pity—

“Arthur, you’re not embarrassing,” he says, voice quiet. “And if you express how you feel, I really won’t think you’re embarrassing, either.”

“Really,” Arthur says faintly.

“Really.”

“Honestly, I feel…” Arthur starts, and he finds himself already drying out, flattening into fear.

Francis just gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Take your time. Have some of your drink.”

Alright, good call. So he takes a couple of sips, focuses on the light sweetness of the tea, the warmth in his hands, relaxing into it all.

“I think,” he finally says. “I just. I don’t know how to show that kind of thing. Affection. My emotions. I don’t know. It never comes out right, and I always feel unbelievably humiliated, and… I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Well, do you want me to go first?” Francis says.

First? What is that supposed to mean, is he…

“I’m sorry?”

Francis just nods. “I’ll go first. There’s no right way to put your emotions into the world, I believe, but I’ll do it anyway.”

“You—” Arthur gulps, his pulse already thudding in his ears. “You really don’t have to do anything. For me. At all. I’m just, I, I’m just like that.”

Francis beams that smile full-force in Arthur’s direction. “No, I insist.”

“Ah. Okay,” Arthur says, feeling more than a little breathless, feeling acutely aware of the hand holding his.

“I told you I enjoy our time together,” Francis says, “and I really do mean it. I love talking to you about even the most mundane things. I love learning about you— I think you’re fascinating, really, and it’s always easy for me to laugh with you. And I completely understand how difficult opening up can be, but I hope you know you can do it safely.”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something back—

Dear lord, I think I’m about to explode. I think I’m going to self-destruct. This impossibly gorgeous and talented man just told me all of… that.

“Take your time,” Francis says, gentle, a little amused.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, his voice hoarse. “I, ah. Alright. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Francis replies smoothly.

“I… I like our time together too,” Arthur finds himself mumbling. “And I want to keep spending time together. You’re the most… compelling. Compelling person I’ve met in a long time. And I do feel safe around you, I do feel like I can talk to you, I want to keep working on that. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Francis says, his smile electric.

“Alright,” Arthur says. “I, erm. I really like spending time together because I really just like… you.”

Francis pulls closer, leans against Arthur’s shoulder. He’s impossibly warm.

“I’m glad,” Francis says. “Incredibly happy you feel that way, really.”

“Yeah.”

Francis huffs out a laugh, and they sit there for a while, strangely devoid of awkwardness in their silence— just staring at the trees together, and the blue sky blooming above.

#aph #hws #hetalia #writing #fic writing #fruk #hws england #hws france #fic request #writing prompt #drabble #oneshot #au #writing request fill #my writing

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Lady Byron (Mark Tuan x Reader)

Genre: Smut, Angst, PwP, Hybrid AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!/Bunny Hybrid!Mark Tuan x stepsister!Reader

Warnings: Step-sibling incest, sub!/bottom!Mark, implied alcohol abuse/alcoholism, Mark in lingerie, voyeurism, unprotected consensual missionary sex (ALWAYS DO IT SAFELY, lads and lasses!), dirty talk, mild swearing/cussing, heartbreak, emotional manipulation.

Summary: Lord Byron once said: ‘’The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain’’.

And tonight, a girl chasing after the life of the great poet lives by this quote.

Indulging in pleasure.

Yet aware of the consequences.

Nobody can fly to the sun without burning.

Masterlist

Marriages create new families, some of which might turn out to become a mix of cultures that could have clashed at first. However, it can also be an inter-species marriage, a beautiful ceremony that has been lawfully legalized a few years ago so that a human is allowed to wed a hybrid. In the situation pertaining to the latter, it has created an odd yet balanced family consisting of a mother with her daughter who have found themselves and a home in the company of two dark-haired bunnies.

One of which opens the door before keys can be retrieved from the inner pocket of the backpack functioning on Fridays as both a school and work bag. Feverish chocolate locks stand wondering in the illuminated hallway, fluffy ivory ears standing erect in curiosity and causing a sense of grave worry immediately. ‘’Mark? What are you doing out of bed?’’

A palm measures the temperature of the burning forehead, measuring the severeness of the sickness which has begotten the lad and has not died down since it began a week ago. ‘’You’re still burning up.’’

‘’I- I heard you walking towards the door.’’ Which means the window must have been open, likely left so by one of either parents before heading out for dinner together. The plan was originally to take the older stepbrother along as well, but that changed once the illness continuously evoked heavy tossing and spending nights at the bunny’s bedside to make sure some rest is had at least a little bit. If schedule allows it, that same location is settled into to study, read or watch series or dramas together.

However, while those are the most joyous moments, they are also the most painful.

For love is cruel and comes when it wants.

Making the heart eat the apple it should never had.

Fortunately, the knowledge of ever having done so remains covered beneath the theatrics of daily life, feigning ignorance and endeavouring to find contentment in a brother-sister relationship.

While remaining stuck in hollowness.

‘’I have the keys.’’ The remark distracts all thoughts from the spark of glowing joy which treks throughout as fast as lightning, reshuffling focus to the dewy skin leaning into the touch with closed eyes.

‘’I know, but- I- well, ah, uhm.’’ The sentence remains unfinished, a curt happy hum serving as a definite end to the sentence. Withal, thus the arms of cold Logic are tugged on too to, for once and at last, let go of its harsh reasonings with itself.

But it cannot.

It never can nor should.

Ever.

‘’C’mon, let’s go inside before your condition gets worse.’’ Hands come to rest on the lad’s shoulders to coax them into retreating into the house, carefully pushing against them to establish movement. ‘’And let’s close your window upstairs.’’

‘’Ah... yeah.’’ Sheepishly, stumbling steps head backwards, the padding of bare feet on the tiles solely fueling the concern for a worsening of health.

Nevertheless, Mark still seems not to care enough to directly return to his bedroom. Instead, big calloused palms mimic smaller guiding digits and help them out of their coat. ‘’Thanks.’’

‘’Ho- How was work?’’ There apparently continues to be no incentive to go upstairs, striking up conversation while picking the weighty backpack up from beside the front door to place it next to the staircase. Warm long fingers wrap around those which reached out with the initiative to prevent the sick boy from heavy lifting and have found themselves wanting. Thus, feet head to the stone-grey sofa instead of the brother’s bedroom. All the while, an adorable fluffy tail twitches in happiness.

In spite of allowing the brief pause before heading back to bed, the cream blanket always draped over the back of the couch is instead wrapped around a shivering yet extremely heated chest clad in the shade of winter snow. ‘’Same as usual. Busy as hell.’’

‘’You look tired.’’ An obviously worried tone arises in the bunny’s husky voice, the intonation known to precede the fussing which has become a characteristic of the cruel dynamics between step-siblings. Although, Mark cannot help it when the Byronic tendencies are plain to see either in or out of parental sight.

Noticed it in the first glass.

And every river of warm amber to follow.

‘’I’m alright.’’ A fabricated smile endeavours to distract from the conflicted emotions evoked by the statement for how sane, how ‘alright’ is a mind which is in love with a family member? How fairly morally acceptable is it to cherish a boy not related to oneself by blood?

Yes, indeed, how alright am I?

‘’Did you eat?’’ Big palms plant themselves onto the cushions of the sofa, their kindness melting the hardness of the stone fabric as they lean forward with long ears lowered in careful listening. Brows, likely unintentionally, furrow in close examination, anticipating the answer which wants to be heard while looking out for the opposite.

Hearing what does not want to be heard in a dismissive tone. ‘’I’m not hungry.’’

‘’We have leftover noodles. Mom made too much.’’

Hearing Mark mention essentially the parent of a conflicted girl as if she was the rabbit boy’s as well, as if there is shared blood, serves to emphasize the futility of every heartwarming emotion conjured by the obvious concern. It almost brings tears to the eyes, experiencing a broken love once more in the limbo the persona is stuck in. However, enough talent for theatrics has developed over time to be able to fake normalcy and keep an nonchalant tone to speak with while patting wavy locks. ‘’Nah, I’ll just have a cup of tea and call it a night. You, on the other hand, should get back to bed before you get sicker.’’

‘’I will once I’m sure you’ve eaten.’’ Lean howbeit muscled arms cross in defiance as roseate lips pout. The overall display might be called ‘childish’, although it is also adorable to see the bright conviction of being listened to in sparkling eyes.

Another reason to drink.

Stop this. Stop making me fall in love with you.

‘’I’m seriously not hungry. Besides, I won’t die from not eating dinner once.’’

‘’But it- it would ma- ah, eh,’’ the hand running through hair while getting up distracts attention enough from the discussion to let the denial pass, albeit for an unfortunate second for it is stubbornly kept up, ‘’make me feel better.’’

‘’And it would make me feel better if you’re in bed, sleeping the fever off.’’ The beige blanket has fallen from the shoulders, so it is picked up and rearranged under the pleading gaze of the lovely young man.

That was supposed to be the end of the conversation, but a heated calloused palm wrapping around the wrist clearly has more to say. Or, rather, it needs more assurance that bad habits are not given into. ‘’Will it really be tea?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ Faking ignorance, the head tilts to the side in wonder even though it is plain in the concerned tone what is actually insinuated.

Long white fluffy ears lower in sadness, lying almost flat against the scalp, as a gentle tug asks for a return to the sofa if not willing to sit on a familiar lap. It is a kindness, of course, but every time a seat has been taken on Mark’s thighs it led to a hug from either the front or behind. Shielding, guarding, repressing the wonderful descent into self-ruin. ‘’You’ve been drinking again lately.’’

‘’Only a little bit.’’

‘’You know I- I don’t like it when you drink. Why?’’ The attempt at escaping the grip does not pass under the radar, loosened immediately which leads to an odd disappointment that there is no struggle.It is a misplaced Romantic vision, a lover refusing to let their mistress go, yet it evidently feels as if it should have applied. ‘’Why do you do it? Why drink instead of eating something after work?’’

Could have applied.

But this is the reality.

And it is cruelly cold.

Indifferent.

Family-oriented.

‘’It helps me sleep.’’ Dismissing the disgruntled worry with a heavy heart, the back is turned on the wonderful brother.

It makes me forget how much I love you.

To maintain the role, the shoulders are forced to keep low as steps lead to the kitchen.

To the liquor cabinet.

Salvation from everything.

And him.

Always him.

‘’Your work tires you out more than enough.’’ Stubborn bare toes pad the cherrywood floor, trailing a hopeless mind growing gradually more exhausted with the situation. And when they speak, it is with a desperation begging to be acknowledged. ‘’Remember how many times I’ve carried you upstairs?’’

‘’I recall a few times, yes.’’

Just give up! Don’t fuss over me because I don’t deserve it.

‘’Let me guess, you don’t recall the nights you had a glass or two.’’ Hands ball into fists upon looking over the shoulder with a tired disinterested glance, wishing dearly the stepbrother would simply give up and do as being told. ‘’Or more.’’

‘’No. You’re right,’’ in the open doorway leading to the kitchen, attention is fully turned to the hybrid stepbrother never failing to trod along carefully set invisible boundaries, ‘’I don’t.’’

Because those were the nights I loved you too much.

Chocolate eyes soften upon hearing the melancholic undertone of the response, the fierceness that set them ablaze dimming in the search for a possible reason for the negative demeanour. Fists unravel, loose palms barely containing their restlessness awkwardly plucking at the soft fabric of ashen sweatpants. ‘’You’re running away from something.’’

‘’I’m not.’’

‘’You are. Tell me.’’ A step forward is met by one further into the kitchen, fueling the incomprehension towards a limit that is so clear for one mind. It takes everything within to not combust and apologize for the gesture. To run into secure arms, idiotically confessing what has been going on and hoping for a good outcome. ‘’I’m here for you, you know that.’’

I know, and you would always if you reciprocated my feelings. But you never will.

‘’Mark, go to bed.’’

‘’No.’’

Just go.

‘’Mark.’’

‘’Promise me it will be tea.’’ The silence without answer lasts too long for messy fluffy espresso strands, resorting to harsh shouting without actually meaning to. ‘’Promise me!’’

‘’Go to bed!’’ Now even one’s own voice has elevated to yelling, unable to hide the morally ungrounded irritation any more. There needs to be distance for that is what keeps the ties binding us together healthy and maintains the peace under the roof.

Shocked at the sharp animalistic sneer, the tall slender bunny flinches yet tries to protest. However, without success since lips part and solely a simple though heart-wrenching word comes out. ‘’Y/N…’’

Tears scorch the lashes turning away from the forbidden lover, endeavouring with hardly steady speech to definitely put an end to the conversation before it really goes south. ‘’We’re done talking.’’

‘’Tuck me in.’’ The commanding suggestion of a laughable type of intimacy does nothing to restore the damage of the argument.

In fact, terrible Logic loathes the request and is not shy in making its distaste known. ‘’You’re a grown man so you don’t need me to do so. And now that I think about it, you never did. Then again, you have always been childish.’’

Because it, too, loves the white rabbit whose heart is being shattered to pieces. It is unfair, but the shared suffering keeps us on familiar grounds, relates us in the proper way.

The ice queen holds morals high.

At the cost of fading warmth.

Mark’s voice becomes sorrowfully soft, adorable nose sniffing to maintain a sliver of composure and hide the hurt that is actually mutual. Yet, only the distance between us knows this truth. ‘’What- What are you trying to say?’’

‘’Grow up and leave me alone.’’

I hate us. I hate our story, that I’m forced to treat you this way. I’m sorry.

Despite being fiercely rejected, the sweetheart still tries to establish contact. To still care even though it is not appreciated. ‘’You’re crying.’’

‘Go!’

Back turned on the handsome stepbrother, ears are filled by the noise of quietly crying bare feet removing themselves up the stairs of an empty house. In the meanwhile, the stomach ties itself into a nauseating knot and self-deprecating thoughts naturally come forth from the silence.

The brief sudden sliver of appetite is lost in the salty brooks running over the cheeks of gritted teeth no longer yelling.

The fridge is opened for a second only to be closed without having retrieved anything from it.

There is no roiling boiling water to be turned into tea.

Merely the sweet intoxication of strong liquor.

It is a night where he is loved too much.

And the bottle is the vain escape.

There is something oddly wonderful about finding oneself in the state of being tipsy. Thoughts are enhanced in regards to creativity, daring to dream of what inhibitions suppress and creating perfect food for thought in slumber. It is at times like these when there is full understanding for the philosophy of writing drunk and why it is quite popular among authors. After all, the senses pick up more than they would normally, tuned in to reality on a level that sober Reason forbids.

And thus soft panting coming from the doorway can be heard despite the fabric of the onyx work shirt pulling a temporary impenetrable veil over the room. Nevertheless, when it is lifted and tossed aside on the leather chair in the corner, the curiosity about the source of the lovely desperate sounds is satisfied upon turning around.

Feverish chocolate eyes swiftly avert the steady focus on locks tilting in perverse wonder, the hands causing the spark of interest coming to a sudden halt as long fluffy ivory ears lower in apology. Pearly teeth nibble on the bottom lip, fingers fumbling after abandoning distracting throbbing wanting covered by gorgeous white lace. ‘’Ehm, Y/N, the- there is something I’ve- I’ve been meaning to say for a long time.’’

There should have been loathing towards the cute stammer of rosy cheeks yet the heart cannot bring itself to carry any trace of genuine negativity in its intoxicated state. Then again, it also cannot when not being under the influence of strong alcohol. Thus, sockless feet bridge the distance with calm speech sincerely fascinated with the implication of what wants to be said. ‘’Which is?’’

‘’I- I, ha, heh, ehm, I l- like you.’’ The stuttering goes paired by an adorable twitch of the white fluffy tail revealed by pulled down stone grey sweatpants. Languidly, lashes shift their attention from the floor to a troubled once again on the road to ruin. ‘’A lot. But I, um, now that I’m, well, I want t- to ask something else too... if I- I can.’’

And starting at the beginning of the end, the whiskey drunkenness erases all inhibitions and thus gives room to sensual selfishness unwilling to wait anymore. Fingers caress a ruby cheek, which effectively drives the young man further towards the edge judging by the slight movements behind ivory lace. The game is certainly tempting temptation but is also thoroughly enjoyed as the short breaths of awkward digits clearly want to continue the race to oblivious bliss, likely not minding, enjoying even to be watched while doing so. ‘’Why so shy?’’

‘’Y- You’re my stepsister, but I- I want to…’’ What wants to be said dies away as calloused hands rest themselves on the hips and foreheads rest against each other, older roseate lips suggestively brushing over ones about to give in yet persevering a little longer.

Fingertips glide to and fro over the brother’s jaw, adding fuel to the flame that leaves Mark a buzzing and barely comprehensible mess. ‘’Finish your sentence, bunny boy.’’

Tell me. At least for now, tell me you love me too. That you want this. Us.

‘’Maybe it- it’s because I’m in heat, that I- I’m so blatant but- but I want to have, hm, nice, heh.’’ In clear appreciation of the gesture, an adorable nose nuzzles the palm while sniffing the skin. Whatever scent the bunny finds in it proves effective in driving sanity further towards madness, mouth quietly whimpering pleads of desperation as long fluffy ears lie flat against the skull. ‘’Sex. I want to have sex with you.’’

While the wantonness is lovely to observe, fueling the heat between thighs aided by amber intoxication, attention wanders down to where intricately decorated snowy lace is soaked. The stain leaves little to imagination, showing all that has been hidden thus far beneath pants, towels and sweatpants. ‘’Well, would you look at that.’’

Hypnotized irises follow to where focus has shifted to, hesitant in asking assurance as the worst outcome is expected. ‘’Is... is it weird?’’

‘’No,’’ a headshake denotes the unnecessary worry about disgust, assuring quite the opposite, ‘’not at all. It’s cute.’’

At the compliment, long fluffy ears perk up as raven orbs glisten with pride, drunk on the praise that hangs in the air yet has to be spoken. ‘’Am I pretty?’’

‘’Yes, you are. But you are regardless, especially without clothes. That’s when you’re at your loveliest.’’ Breaths noticeably shorten and come at a greater difficulty as lips ghost over the side of the neck, pecking at and nibbling on the heated yet shivering skin. ‘’A big pretty rabbit.’’

‘’Your white bun bun.’’ A quicksilver smile flashes by when the effect of the intimacy is endeavoured to be estimated by the degree of unfiltered wanting in the youth’s expression. Rosy cheeks, chiselled chest rising and falling swiftly, a breeding frenzy brewing in the dark of misleading innocent eyes. ‘’Yours.’’

‘’Close the door.’’ Teasingly, the ghost of a kiss is presented and adorably eagerly followed, Mark whining when it dawns it is just a mirage. ‘’And take your clothes off.’’

As fast as the wind, the bunny boy closes the door and wriggles out of the messy outfit. Afterwards, digits waving lazily, beckoning to come to bed, are rapidly enveloped and followed. Feeling the rough texture of their skin, created by weightlifting at the local gym that is visited together twice in the week - schedule allowing to go together although Mark can be found there almost daily - is grounding enough to temporarily oppress the romanticism of being tipsy.

This is a one-time happening.

A one-shot.

A full story with a before and after.

An end.

This moment is in medias res for there is nothing after tonight, emotions doomed to echo yet never to hear the other voice they love and cherish answer in the same manner. Even if they do, the sound will change and be mentally moulded to a shape that can be ignored.

Inaudible.

And still, albeit faintly, there.

Although the vagueness will be a mirage because the heart listens.

Always listening for the white rabbit.

Waiting for the day it snows in July.

The day we can be together.

Bare toes languidly sway towards the bed, pulling the stepbrother along when free-falling onto the mattress. Defined arms on either side gripping the sheets as shoulders block out the light, high-pitched moans spill forth as friction is sought against the thigh to calm the throbbing desirous craving. ‘’Can we, mhm, please sk- skip foreplay? I- I promise to be good.’’

A hand cheekily wanders over the back to grab the behind, coaxing out a cute squeak of surprise. ‘’But I need to be wet, baby. Otherwise, I don’t think I can handle such a big boy.’’

‘’Please,’’ a finger rapidly busies itself in the lingering narrowness between bodies, starting to chip away at the ability to form a coherent inebriated thought about starry eyes looking down in sensual urgency, ‘’please. I’m about to combust.’’

Nails dig into the soft skin of the slim boy’s behind, effectively triggering a loss of grip on reality and a wonderful chorus of panted moans accompanied by hot tears that are to hide in the side of the throat. A gorgeous display which is much to the pleasure of a dreamer reaching too closely for the impossible. ‘’Are you, now?’’

Suddenly, the forming of close circles between the thighs halts to be replaced by a filling sensation. Apparently, fluffy ears are still coherent enough to force hips into motion to chase an overstimulated second high after getting lost in earnest. ‘’I- I’m sorry. I- ah! I cou- couldn’t he- help it.

‘’I keep- keep jerking off to you. A- At school, at home, at work. Fuck!’’ Sandstone strands are thrown back in unadulterated voluminous satisfaction, having found the way to pure sensual euphoria for both lovers. Lashes shut tightly and brows furrowed in concentration to remain able to speak with a fleeting voice, the beautiful lad rests himself on the raised left shoulder. ‘’I- I can’t stop. Ca- can’t stop c- cumming.’’

Fluttering hands now also under the influence of the continuous sharp swift advances slide over the heated skin of the back and draw the stepbrother into a tight embrace, one hand holding on to smooth dishevelled locks while the other digs its nails into the shoulder. Regardless of nobody being home, the vulgar secrets want to be kept safe by muffling them and prevent them from being spoken by neck kisses. Nevertheless, some manage to escape the lover’s attempts at silencing oneself and his corrupted mistress. ‘’Y- Your pussy is so, mhm, so creamy. F- Feels good.’’

‘’Make it sloppy, baby.’’ To make up for the painful markings on the shoulder and back, having accidentally drawn a bit of crimson, the thumb caresses the cheek of eyes lost in sheer perverted wonder.

A brief nod is all that can be mustered, the tongue lost in the intoxication of the erotic like the primal nature that has surfaced. Henceforth, no word is spoken in the tail-twisting collision of galaxies, the meeting of panting lips craving fulfilment and the need to be the reason for it.

But everything has a price.

Tiredness.

Of waiting.

Always waiting.

Waiting to be claimed.

To be wanted.

And once again the toll of unrequited love is paid despite the slowing of hips spilling confessions in a voluminous affectionate waterfall when the voice has been recovered. ‘’I love you! I am in love with you! I’m yours!’’

A ruin belongs to no one.

Invisible wax wings are melting.

Fading in the illusion of being speechless.

Yet maintaining false hope if only for a few moments longer.

‘’I’m yours! I want you.’’ Tears of happiness and pleasure streak a wonderfully sweet face believing a lie. ‘’I fucking want you.’’

Holding on to the lie, the possibility of being had.

Of rightfully belonging in the embrace after arms give way when simultaneously stumbling into shared ivory oblivion. Of being able to stay there, chastely talking among the pillows while Mark contently nuzzles the side of the marked neck.

Because the naive comment following the notice of grave concern about discovery has to be correct. There has to be a way that it cannot come true, that we are safe. ‘’They don’t have to know.’’

But, of course, there is no other way nor will there ever be. After all, sins can only be hidden for so long.

‘’Mark, this has to be a one-time happening.’’

At once, the lad rises with reinvigorated strength to add power to a futile argument by showing determined passion. ‘’It doesn’t have to be. I am in love with you and-’’

‘’I love you too, but think about it.’’ Cupping the cheek, logical Reason endeavours to gently destroy the fantasy even the drunken mind was temporarily lost in. ‘’We’re step-siblings, our parents are getting married soon. There’s nothing for us. Nothing but family ties.’’

‘’There is more! As I said, they don’t have to know we’re together as long as we don’t say anything. Let me fuss over you, take care of you.’’ The hush following the chaste kiss that was meant to convince retorts the hopeful expression on the lover’s innocent face, eyes frantically searching for the absent lie in irises knowing better. ‘’Prevent you from self-destruction.’’

‘’I am broken, never been whole. My mind is in fragments, blasted to bits. Unrepairable because the one person who could have been able to fix it shall only destroy it further.’’ The exhaled breath betrays the crumbling of the fanciful attitude denying the truth yet now seeing it once more. Facing it with self-loathing. ‘’You love a ruin.’’

‘’I love a beautiful mind, a woman who continues to amaze and awe me on a daily basis. You’re not a ruin, Y/N, and if you are, I’ll build you up again.’’ Riled up by being dismissed, the ivory dot of fluff of a tail twitches excitedly in clear refusal to give up. ‘’I’ll help you renovate yourself and you can teach me in the progress, show me what you were before and aspire to be.’’

The quick peck is left in unresponsiveness for hope should no longer be falsely given.

We need to wake up from the dream.

‘’And I’ll still love you. I love you, every ego, every fibre of your being. I love you.’’

‘’I don’t want you to build me up, transform me into what I once was. Would you even succeed?’’ Melancholically, a headshake denotes the ridiculous ambition. ‘’No, I don’t think so. The past is the past, meant to be forgotten.’’

‘’It’s not! The past holds memories, moments to remember.’’ Long ears lower against the scalp as shoulders start to shudder, speech turning into begging while bursting out in tears. ‘’I want to remember this.’’

Don’t. You’ll only recall the pain.

‘’It doesn’t for me. Not anymore.’’

The attempt to get up is met by resistance, pushed down into the pillows at once. Nevertheless, when fingers wrap around the wrist to forcefully albeit harmlessly pin the back to the mattress, they fail in their intentions. Because, when looking up with a similar wanting albeit different in it asking to be set free, it is allowed to slip from the sheets.

‘’Where are you going?’’ Like a defeated soldier in a heavy war, Mark props himself up on an elbow while monitoring every movement from the fool barely daring to establish eye contact as a last act of politeness before leaving.

‘’I am a ruin, meant to be forgotten. And you, my dear, you are my sweet destruction.’’

The chamber door closes.

Leaving behind yet another ego.

Icarus loved the sun.

And foolishly tried to fly to her to confess never-ending Love.

He ended up falling when coming too close.

Falling.

Fell.

To meet Love’s end.

‘’I’ll remember this. Forevermore.’’

And the lasting torment of Death.

#GOT7 #GOT7 smut #GOT7 x Reader #Hybrid AU #Mark #Mark Tuan #GOT7 Hybrid AU

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uraharasandals · 4 years

Note

hi i was hoping if you could do a reader x dazai fic where they date in the port mafia then work at the ADA together! thank you so much! 💞

Hi! Thank you for requesting! The story was getting a bit long so I decided to just show their first interactions after being reconciled instead of working together. I hope you like it!

(Also I haven’t used Tumblr since ages I have no idea how to navigate things whoops)

It wasn’t easy being a spy, but somehow you’ve managed it and came out of it in one piece. Alive. Well, barely, considering the day you handed in your resignation letter you were shot in probably ten different places. Flesh wounds, but all the same, it was a near death, and they weren’t letting you off so easily.

And apparently, more so today, because as you swung out of bed, the ghost of fiery pain shot up your back, where some lackey or another apparently decided it was a good idea to knock you out with a blow to the back of the neck, except they missed. So now you were left with crippling pain down the column of your spine, and by God did it hurt.

It took about twenty minutes of wincing and gritting your teeth, all the while grasping the bedframe so hard your knuckles turned white, and stars erupting behind your eyelids, but eventually the pain subsided, and the ability to be able to breathe without a new jolt of pain was as much of a relief as a breath of fresh air after submerging in water. One of the training methods in the Special Ability Department, you recalled, for combatants.

Combatants. The title caused a memory to surface; your colleague, a bespectacled and dodgy man by the name of Sakaguchi Ango. He was one of the government’s spies too. Where was he now?

The ten paces from your bed to the bathroom was enough for about a thousand possibilities to emerge. Shot. Killed. Tortured. Hung. No; they didn’t do that anymore. Too old-fashioned, apparently. But still a chance. Or he survived. Who knows?

What did it matter, anyways?

Not then, and certainly not now. Once you’ve reported back to the Department, you decided to quit, having had enough running errands for the government which was half-assed anyways. Thankfully, Taneda-san was understanding, and kind enough, to write you a reference for the Armed Detective Agency, ran by a former colleague of his who also served the government once-upon-a-time. You might find it quite suitable for you, he said.

And so that was where you’d spent about half a year or so, fumbling with the ropes but slowly managing now. It was the next thing on the agenda too, after gulping down a cup of steaming black coffee, which you’d learnt in the mafia the best way to spring oneself straight into action. Boarding the train, milling amongst about a few hundred people in the subway station, before emerging and heading to the brown brick building.

The normality of it all was honestly absurd.

Just a few months ago, you were sitting in an office, acting second-in-command for one of the five Executives under Mori’s command, Ozaki Kouyou. Back then, the documents and lists detailing Port Mafia-owned warehouses, targets and whatever that needed to be done was the norm. Planning an assassination on someone, or taking stock of explosives in a warehouse, or riding the limousine with Kouyou to another meeting, was the norm. That was the pace of life, along with the discreet smuggling of information back to the government.

There was another thing that was the norm, you reflected as a hand grasped the shower knob, turning it almost absent-mindedly, allowing the shower of warm water cascade down your body, which reminded you of his touches. Stolen kisses behind closed doors, a brush of fingertips on skin during meetings, that knowing look across the room when it was time to report back to Mori.

It was probably the steam coming from the water, but nonetheless you could feel slight heat creeping up your cheeks as you relieve those memories, before deciding that scrubbing them away along with the lingering sleepiness was probably the best course of method. There was, after all, no point in thinking about the past. Anyone from the mafia was the enemy now, and he was no exception. You shouldn’t let your heart soften just because of one single man, and there was no way you were about to start.

Still…

The relationship was nice while it lasted, no doubt, and you reflected upon this fact as you watch lemon-scented foam wash down the drain. But just before you were the target of everyone — well, nearly everyone’s — bullets, the young executive had disappeared. After the death of his best friend, or so it was rumoured, a man called Odasaku. You didn’t remember his actual name, he was referred to as such by too many people. That was probably one day before you handed in your resignation letter. Not that you meant for it to happen; that was pure circumstance. A short while before that, Sakaguchi Ango also disappeared.

Now, whether that was pure chance was another matter. All you knew was that you definitely did not plan on resigning in the midst of that chaos; for all you knew, that was probably fate playing games with you. Unfortunately, because of, ah, previous entanglements and relationships with Dazai, you had somehow became the centre focus of practically every die-hard mafiaso on that day you stood in front of Mori in his office, which was probably the reason why they were all so trigger-happy to send you off to an early grave. Not because of suspected disloyalty, though some might have came to that conclusion (obviously, those who had more brain-cells), but it was highly likely that they decided to shoot you due to having a relationship with the escaped Executive.

Well, let them doubt and plot and think to their deaths all they want. Even I’m curious as to where that bastard is.

Anyways. There was no time to be wasted thinking of trivial things and driving oneself up walls speculating. You watched as the last remnants of water drip down to the marble tiles, before stepping out to the chilly autumn air and shivering in the cold. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you began to contemplate breakfast and what to wear for work.

Trivial, daily things.

“Good morning, everyone. "

“Oh, you’re finally here, ______.” Preoccupied with making sure the cups of coffee that you were carrying wouldn’t fall and splatter onto the sparkling tiles that Kunikida was so proud of, you only looked up when you heard his voice.

“What do you mean ‘finally’ - ” And that was when you see him. A shadow of your past, causing a shiver run down your spine that probably felt like seeing someone from the grave alive and walking.

Somehow, you had managed to set the container down on a nearby desk while attempting to regain your senses. The confusion was still clogging up your head, so you weren’t sure how you did that, plus you were still focused on him. His back was in front of you, so you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure. That dark and curly hair -

“_______? You okay?“

“I - yeah, I’m fine.“ Shit. Unwanted memories flooded your mind, and you shook your head to clear them before clearing your throat, regaining your demeanor. "W-who is this?"

"A new recruit. He came under Taneda-san’s recommendations. The Director’s just introducing him to us.” Kunikida supplied. Indeed, he was talking to the Director, while Yosano-sensei was surveying him, a hand on her chin - deciding the best way to cut him up before healing him, maybe? - Ranpo was making his way steadily through a bag of star-shaped candies, but you could see him analyzing the figure as well. You weren’t sure where Kenji was, but it didn’t really matter. “I’ll introduce him to you too.” He tapped the figure on the shoulder, who spun around with a cheery grin on his face - an expression that was more foreign than his presence in this office. “This is ______. They joined our organization earlier too, so you two might just get along."

If the mention of your name surprised him, Dazai didn’t betray any emotion. His eyes were observant, stopping and raking your face for a brief moment before his uncharacteristic grin appeared again. "I look forward to working with you, _____-kun*. Do teach me the ropes, would you?"

"Gladly,” You replied cooly, stepping forward and shaking his outstretched hand. Two could play this game, and it would do no one good if they knew you two were formerly, ah, associated. And if they knew his background and where he was from, well, let’s just say that Taneda-san made sure your references excluded your time in the Mafia. He had taken care to only mention your excellent results in the government (except that the Director was eventually informed, but by that time your work for the Agency was already top-notch), so you also took care to put your mafiaso background in the past. “I hope you find the Agency easy to adapt to, Dazai-san.” For effect, you squeezed his hand, and was satisfied to see a glimmer of surprise behind his otherwise immobile expression.

“You guys know each other?” Yosano-sensei asked, surprised. You cursed her internally, but Dazai was quick to cover up. “No way,” Dazai said carelessly. “I’m sure ______-kun is just being friendly, right?"

"Of course!” You made sure your smile was more than a grimace. “Oh, Dazai-san, I didn’t get your portion of coffee. Do you want to come along? The cafe downstairs is amazing.” Before he could reply, you had already spun on your heel, heading for the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You hissed, shoving him up the brick wall in the alley right behind the ADA’s building. You weren’t sure what led you to this violent outburst, but it didn’t matter; shock translated to anger, and here you were. “Missing for almost a year? Turning up here in this - this new get-up and just pretending nothing happened?"

"Why, ______, I would’ve thought you were glad to see me. Weren’t you happy your lovely boyfriend is still alive?" Dazai lost his cheerful facade, and the man glaring down at you showed a sliver of the danger and hostility that formed his aura during his time in the mafia. His smirk was scornful, and the light had vanished from his eyes. "Well?” He prompted, and the anger fueling you left you; your clenched fists on his shirt eased and he leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t know about ‘boyfriend’.” Your emotions swirled within you, and the confusion that you had when you first saw him came back. The sudden disappearance of anger made you light-headed, and you stumbled; Dazai caught you. The rough bandages brushing against your skin made memories rush back, and you fought back a sob. “But I do know the bastard in front of me is my friend. And if you want to build a relationship from that, that would be great."

"I’m glad you still like me, _____.” The playfulness was apparent in his tone, despite the existing rough edge. “I would’ve committed suicide otherwise. How can I live without you?”

"Don’t say that.“ His arms circled around your neck and you were glad; it allowed some distance but still intimacy. If he had hugged you around the waist you weren’t sure how you would respond. "I don’t want to hear you joking about your death anymore. Do you have any idea - "

"I do.” How quiet his voice was surprised you. “I’m really sorry, _______. I had to take care of something. But it’s alright now. I’m turning over a new leaf. The mafia is behind me. I’m done killing people. I’m done being Mori-san’s apprentice."

"I don’t care about any of that.” And you really didn’t. You had loved him when he was at his worst, in the mafia. Nothing would have surprised you, but you were happy that he decided to break free out of his own will. Spending half a year worrying whether he had died or not wasn’t easy, but now that he was back in front of you, you weren’t really concerned how he was.

To put it coarsely, you were just glad he was alive.

"Thank you, ______.“ His smell felt foreign, yet there was a feeling of returning home. You weren’t sure what happened, but tears were rolling down your cheeks and you felt ridiculously giddy; a sense of immense relief flooded your mind. You returned the hug hesitantly, and felt him murmur against your ear. "Thank you."

Bonus:

"You two were gone pretty long."

"Yeah, we ran into the mafia halfway and spent some time knowing each other. Apparently we are a pretty good combination. Right, Dazai-san?"

"You got it, _____-kun! Oh, Kunikida-kun, the coffee downstairs is great! You should drink yours before it gets cold."

"You two what now?"

*so I decided to use the ’-kun’ honorific because that is applicable to both women and men. For men, it is a common honorific for those younger/close with them. ’-kun’ for women is used only when the individual is close with the addresser. In any case, this honorific shows intimacy so I had Dazai use it. And because Dazai is carelessly intimate with people (outwardly), I had the reader address him with ’-san’ rather than using equally careless honorifics.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd imagines #Dazai Osamu #dazai #dazai imagines #mafia dazai #Fic #Anon #asks

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theverybestpencilsoftuscaloosa · 4 years

Text

Hey, cool, narrative writing!

Or, to be more explicative, I’m finally posting something I wrote. It’s a piece of Discworld fanfiction, based off of a prompt by the tremendous and inimitable @obsle! Starring Commander Vimes and Captain Angua, it’s a lovely little piece (if I may say so) about the succession of leadership in the Watch. If you read it already in the Exchange, do consider giving it a second blush -- now it has footnotes!

It was a fine Ankh-Morpork summer day. The flies buzzed, the river limped, and the sun sat in the sky like a sticky butterscotch disc freshly dropped from a child’s mouth. From time to time, a breeze dared to disturb the oppressive heat before being clubbed down again. It was the sort of day a copper treasured and despised: hot enough to keep any would-be troublemakers skulking indoors, leaving the city’s lawful protectors to dutifully and honourably swelter in their breastplates where they stood.

Captain Angua was not currently sweltering, although it was a near thing. She was stood in the corner of Commander Vimes’ office, staring carefully at the opposite wall while she listened to Inspector A.E. Pessimal’s weekly report. It was... a thing of beauty, really, if only in the eye of a very particular beholder.*

*Specifically, one who was keenly aware of the intricacies of all special kinds of arithmetic used to hide money from the authorities, and who also was keen on the authorities.

“...whereupon, Mister Vimes, I pulled out my copy of Tax Regulatory Document Three Cee Aye, and asked him if he could point out the differences from his copy! Which, of course, he could, on account of having moved a decimal two places over!! He thereupon attempted to fox me, Mister Vimes, by pulling out a crossbow, whereupon I…”

It was remarkable. The man was full of coppering; in fact he was overfull. You simply had to wonder where it all fit: the sheer civic pride and dogged determination of at least 0.6 Carrots, compressed down into a man only a few inches taller and a few feet thinner than a dwarf. His reputation preceded him all through the halls of finance unsanctioned by the law, and more pressingly, through the ones that were for now but very well might not be if A.E. Pessimal were to set one size-six-boot-clad foot inside. His persistence had even earned him a nickname: the Terrier’s terrier. Or, if people were feeling particularly brave, two drinks down in the neat grey bars frequented by the neat grey men of the Accountant’s Guild: the second bitch in the Watch.

Solidarity, Angua thought, came sometimes from the strangest places.

“...Thereupon which I wrote him a receipt for his crossbow, fragments A through Q, and his teeth, items A through E, and Constable Detritus escorted him to the Cable Street watch house, sir!” Inspector Pessimal came to a neat stop, nearly vibrating with enthusiasm, like a knife thrown hard at a wall.

His Grace, The Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes sat behind his desk, solid composure ever so slightly cracked like a wall with a knife thrown hard at it. For a brief moment his mouth opened, soundless, and then just as A.E. leaned forward to begin again Vimes clapped a hand down on the desk sharply.

“Right! Well. Thank you for the report, Special Inspector. Very good stuff, er -- this was… Boggis’ man? Mr. Lipwig’s?”

“No, sir. Mr. Lipwig is always very honest with his accounts.” Vimes’ lip twitched at that, and Captain Angua recalled one of his little maxims, that some men were too honest to trust -- but A.E. Pessimal shook his head. “He was employed indirectly by Lord Rust, Mister Vimes.”

A glint came to the commander’s eye. “Ah. Ah, yes. One of Ronnie’s? Well, then. Leave me the written report, Special Inspector, there’s a good chap…”

Special Inspector Pessimal slid the report across the desk (with some difficulty, as it was about four inches high) and then stood, firing off a salute so smart it had creases. Commander Vimes nodded in response, and A.E. turned on his heel and strode out of the office.

Vimes left it about half a minute for the special inspector’s footsteps to recede down the stairs before slumping into his chair with a deep sigh. Angua held her gaze steady on the opposite wall, face intentionally left blank. There was another half-minute or so of silence, and then Vimes leaned forward, resting his elbows on the scarred and pitted desk.

“Eager little fellow, isn’t he?”

Angua coughed. “You hired him for a reason, right, sir?”

“Hm.” Vimes grinned. “Damn right, Captain.” He sat up, and slapped the stack of papers. “One of Lord Rust’s boys, eh? The little bastards have been running rings around us. And then in walks Mister Pessimal -” He snorted. “Vetinari told me his clerks had nothing on the man. Vetinari! And his clerks keep their books so tight you couldn’t slip a wasp’s pri-- whisker inside! Our Mister Pessimal’s a valuable one, isn’t he?”

“If you say so, Commander.”

Vimes’ gaze fell on Angua. “Something wrong, Captain?”

“Not at all, Commander.” Angua’s eyes held steady, examining the wall behind Vimes as if it were being held suspect for murder. “Just wondering why you called me in to talk.”

And, in her head: I didn’t slip the garlic into Um’s* locker, if that’s what this is about. I’m not a sergeant anymore, and even when I was I didn’t go in for that sort of thing. Not to mention Sally would have some serious words with me if I did, and I’m not stupid, commander; I’m not looking for a fight with a vampire, who also happens to be a close friend!

*Umberto Carlislo del Sylvanius Tenebrum Vittorio di Corlusca Maggitorio Arluxa von Conveyans, a recent Watch recruit and vampire. Being barely of-age for a vampire (34), he hadn’t developed a full page of names yet, but he had still been ruthlessly nicknamed mere moments after taking the oath.

A smaller, quieter, and… hairier voice added: Even though I would win.

“Am I getting old, Angua?” Vimes asked thoughtfully.

Angua’s calm cracked slightly, but decisively. An eyebrow snapped up. Vimes thoughtfully declined to notice.

“...Old, sir?”

Vimes’ eyes stayed fixed on the door as he stepped around his desk, and Angua’s nose twitched. It was an embarrassing habit, but, well, the instincts never really left you. In this case, she hardly needed it. She’d known Commander Vimes for years now. It was quite easy to see when he was embarrassed.

“If I may, Mister Vimes… why are you asking me?” Angua paused. “I mean, I haven’t -- there are some who’ve been here longer --”

“Like who?” Vimes asked. “Fred? Nobby? Carrot?”

Angua considered the list. Fred Colon had, a short few months ago, received the penultimate promotion, as it were: from deskbody to homebody. He still came round the station almost every day -- but less often now than when he’d first retired; in fact, he’d slept at his old desk the first few nights, and right now she couldn’t recall seeing him in a day and a half. After decades of marriage he and Mrs. Colon were getting to know one another, which by all accounts was proceeding better than expected. But… no, probably not Fred. If anything, he’d have been asking Mister Vimes for tips on how to acquaint oneself with civilian life. At least Sybil made sure Vimes took a day off every month or two.

And Nobby… well, the thing about Nobby was… well, he… he just…

No. Not Nobby.

And that left…

“You could talk to Carrot, Mister Vimes,” Angua suggested.

Vimes shook his head slowly. “No. Not him. Captain Carrot’s a good man- er, dwarf- er, copper. But you know what he’d say, don’t you?”

Angua considered this. Bit by bit, she came to the realization that she did. Vimes could ask Carrot what he thought, and he’d get an answer -- well-considered, gently phrased, encouraging and pleasant. A classic Carrot. It would be just what he wanted to hear. To a man like Sam Vimes, that was always the last thing he wanted to hear.

“So… you’d like my honest opinion, sir?”

“Well, I don’t want you lying to your commander, Captain.”

Angua considered it. She gave refusal a moment’s thought, but… but this was Sam Vimes. The same Sam Vimes who hated undead, everyone knew, but had chanced on her as the first in the Watch. The Sam Vimes who had followed her to Klatch with Carrot (although technically all three of them had simply been following the same suspect at wildly varying distances). The same Sam Vimes who had faced down a werewolf -- her brother -- and made it his, er…

Well. It was Sam Vimes.

Angua looked at her commanding officer, Sam Vimes, and for a moment peered past the armor, the helmet, the face like granite - like thunder - like a really disgruntled face. She narrowed her eyes and looked clear through to the greying hair which had, in point of fact, largely greyed almost to white, and to the muscles which weren’t… smaller, no, but a good deal wirier, and to the granite face, which seemed, if you looked at it just right, like there might be the inklings of a crack…

And, oh, hell, nothing for it. Angua closed her eyes and sniffed.

Almost immediately, her muscles tensed to spring.

She restrained them, hardly registering more than a twitch. But… damn! It had been months since she’d even had a thought like that. It was embarrassing. Honestly, it was worse than that, because this was Sam, but the wolf didn’t care; the wolf didn’t think much of a reasonable explanation for why its behavior was unreasonable, or even think much at all. The wolf just smelled (Angua mentally cursed herself for even thinking it) weakness.

With only a mild effort, Angua opened her eyes and smiled with a mostly appropriate amount of tooth. Vimes was leaning against his desk. He met her gaze evenly, and Angua suddenly was doubly glad for her restraint. Vimes wouldn’t raise a hand to one of his men, everyone knew. There was a respect that ran two ways, and that was the foundation of the Watch.

It was only that the wolf hardly had any respect at all, and Angua had personally seen what remained of the last werewolf who jumped Sam Vimes.

Vimes’ eyes softened, and he stepped forward. “There, er…” He trailed off, and Angua saw him searching for what passed between coppers as tact. “There aren’t many old wolves, are there?”

Angua shrugged. “Wolves? Yes. They take care of their own. For the most part, when the leader starts to… slow down, one of the younger ones will step up and face him. It’s a sort of test, you see. If the old one wins, the challenger isn’t ready. If he loses, the young one becomes the leader. Werewolves are different.”

“How so?”

“Well, sir, I suppose in a way you could say the leader becomes the young one.”

“Gods!”

“Sorry, sir.” Angua inclined her head deferentially. “No one said werewolves were nice.”

“No,” Vimes agreed. “But no one said coppers were either.”

“Oh?” said Angua. You eat each other when you start getting up in years? She didn’t say.

“Nothing like what you said, only… Well. Used to be you didn’t retire. Maybe you run out your luck on patrol. If you don’t… you get a little older, you slow down, and one day the lads come round with a gold watch and say good job sir, you made it!” Vimes’ brow knitted itself closer. “And then the next day… the next day you come in, just to keep an eye on things, and the day after that, and the day after that too, and then one day you don’t come in at all, and if you’re lucky one of the lads notices and they have you in the ground before too long.

Vimes paused. Then his eyes focused on Angua. He shook his head, as if to dislodge the dark and sticky waters of memory, and cleared his throat. “‘Course, it’s not like that nowadays. I mean, look at Fred. If he can retire, anyone can, right?”

Angua nodded. “Makes sense to me, sir.”

After a moment, when it became clear Vimes was offering no response, she stepped forward. “Something else on your mind, Mister Vimes?”

He sighed. He stepped around his desk again to the window, leaning on the windowsill to look out over the yard. “Yes. I suppose so. It’s, well… Fred, of course, was irreplaceable, but there are other sergeants. Me, though… Someone’s going to have to step up, and, well, I’ve been thinking, and I suppose it’s about time I told my successor they’re succeeding, isn’t it? I’ve just been looking for the right way.”

And internally Angua thought, I see. He’s going to ask me to tell him, isn’t he? Well, I think I can deal with that… I’ll have to get him away from the watch house, but if I ask him to take the night off for dinner he’ll probably say yes. I wonder if Cheery would…

Vimes coughed. “So,” he asked, “how about it?”

Angua blinked, train of thought suddenly interrupted. “How about what, sir?”

A moment passed. They stared cautiously at each other. Vimes broke first.

“Oh, hell,” he said. “About the job. Will you accept?”

Angua stared at him.

“What?”

Vimes cleared his throat. “Ah… I thought I made it obvious.” He paused. Angua was still staring. “Er… is something the matter, Angua?”

Still staring, Angua shook her head. At last, pulling her jaw back up, she asked “Why?”

Vimes’ head tilted in surprise. “Why? You’re a damn good captain, that’s why. Isn’t that enough?”

“But… but…” Angua searched for the right way to phrase the protest and failed. “But I’m not Carrot, sir!”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned on Vimes’ face. “That’s it, is it? You assumed he’d be the one?”

“Well… I think everyone did, commander!” Angua gestured helplessly. “I mean, no one in the city’s a more enthusiastic copper than him. He knows every law by heart! He asks people if they’re up to anything they shouldn’t be and they tell him! I mean, for gods’ sakes, he’s… he’s…”

The words died on her lips under Vimes’ gaze.

“Go on,” he said. “I know. He’s the king. Right?”

Angua made another vague gesture. “Well. He could be, sir. If he wanted to.” And then, feeling a sudden need to defend him, “Not that he does.”

Vimes sighed. “Angua, can you think of any possible reason I would want the one man everyone agrees is the rightful king in charge of the City Watch?”

“Well… I suppose you might--”

“There isn’t one,” Vimes said firmly. “Carrot is a good captain and a good watchman. People like him. They want to talk to him, even though he’s a copper. They trust him. Even the nobs think he’s all right. And what do people say about me when I’m not around?”

Angua again weighed honesty and kindness.

“Well, sir… they do occasionally say something to the effect of ‘That Vimes, what a complete and utter bastard.’”

“And you know what they say about you?”

Angua pursed her lips.

“Well.” Sam Vimes sighed. “For what it’s worth, Captain…”

“Yes?”

“I think you’re just as much of a bastard as I am.”

“Sir!”

“What?” Vimes raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a bad thing to know, Angua. It’s not a bad thing to be, coming to that. You work a bit different from other people, yes? Nothing wrong with that.” He leaned forward, staring at her intently. “Let me tell you, Captain. The world needs its Carrots, right? That’s what you’re thinking. But it doesn’t only need Carrots. Honest men, good men… smart men and good coppers, yes, but sometimes you need a right bastard.

“It’s like… Like… Like, say someone walks in and reports a stolen cow, right? What do you do first? Look for hoof marks? Start interviewing known cow thieves? Work your way through every farm animal in the city?”

Angua thought about it for a moment.

“Well, Mister Vimes, I think what I’d do is walk down the complainant’s street and see whose house smelled of steak.”

Vimes smiled. “And that’s a commander talking-- Oh, damn.” Vimes jerked back from the window, ducking against the wall.

“Sir?”

“It’s Rust! Damn fool! He hasn’t even hired Slant yet! He can’t have! What the hell’s he doing here?”

“Probably asking about items A through E, Mister Vimes.”

“Not now,” moaned Vimes. “I haven’t even read the damn report yet! Why the hell’s he coming in all half-cocked?”

“Tactically speaking, Mister Vimes? Coming from a position of mutual ill preparation, ignorance always has the advantage.”

That earned a smirk, even as Vimes hazarded a peek out the window into the yard. “Oh, gods, he’s inside…” A moment later, the beginning of a ruckus from below proved him right. Vimes froze.

Then, slowly, he turned to Angua. There was a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Captain,” he said evenly, portioning the syllables out in an almost Vetinarian drawl, “how do you feel about a little test?”

Moments later, Lord Rust burst into the room, accompanied by two burly suited thugs and a badly bruised accountant.

“Vimes!” he hollered. It took until the sound echoed back from the stairwell beyond the open door for him to realize he was incorrect.

“Lord Rust,” Angua said, leaning forward in the commander’s chair. “Can I help you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, searching his memory for Angua’s identity. He must have come up empty, because there is simply no other way to explain the utterly stupid thing he was about fifteen seconds away from saying.

“Yes,” Lord Rust said in what he probably thought was a snarl, “you can. Stop sitting there and go fetch your commander.”

Angua shrugged. “Can’t help you there, sir.”

Lord Rust stepped forward. The stress of the day was written in his face. “Did you hear me?” He asked in a slightly trembling voice.”

“I think so, sir. Can’t help you. Sorry.”

One refusal was bad enough. Two was too much. Something, some small important tenet of good breeding and nobility, snapped behind Lord Rust’s eyes.

“Listen to me! Listen to me right now! Get out of that chair and go get your master or else you won’t work another day in this city, you bitch!”

The key to a really good snarl is not the set of your jaw, or the way you hold your throat, or the positioning of your lips. It isn’t in the vocal quality or in the breathing. It is definitely not (as Lord Rust seemed to think) about communicating just how long the stick up your bottom is. A really good snarl is genetic.

Angua snarled, and the four men standing before her went white.

“Now then,” she said, once they stopped trembling too hard to hear, “let’s try this again, shouldn’t we? You said you wanted to talk to Mister Vimes, right? Now, would you talk to the commander like that, Lord Rust? Would you?”

Lord Rust’s jaw snapped shut. “N-n-- well, no--”

“Then why did you, you little rat?”

Now Rust froze. The strain showed on his face as mental gears clashed with information that simply did not fit. At last in a halting voice he managed “No… have to speak with Vimes. He’s… he’s the commander.” And, gaining steam: “And I will tell him about that little insult, you --”

“Insult?”

Rust turned slowly. Sam Vimes was standing in the door… unarmored.

“Sorry, Angua. Was just on my way out, realized I almost forgot this.” All eyes followed Vimes as his hand dipped to his belt and removed the truncheon of office. They stayed on the truncheon as he hefted it and tossed it lightly to Angua, who caught it deftly out of the air in one hand. Lord Rust and his accomplices watched as she held it thoughtfully, then placed it on the official stand.

Then she smiled wide.

The door shut with a soft and definite click.

As one, the four men turned to look. Sam Vimes was gone.

Angua was not.

“Now, gentlemen…” She leaned forward. “Shall we talk?”

Down in the kitchen, Sam Vimes fixed himself a cup of tea. He drank it down, nodding genially to the officers passing through, and fixed himself another. Sitting in just the right corner, he could faintly hear voices from upstairs. It was going alright, he thought. It probably would be fine, so long as neither of those hulking suited muscles got stupid enough to put a hand on Angua…

Just as he thought it, he heard a muffled crash.

Well. That was all right, then. The other one would at least know better now…

Crash.

Oh, well. Disappointments are everywhere.

As he sipped his third cup, Vimes listened to Rust vacating the building, complaining reedily all the while, and to the two enforcers being dragged downstairs to the cells for some first aid, and to the twitchy accountant being gently but firmly apprehended by a few of the constables who had read Inspector Pessimal’s report, who were very curious about some things and wondered if he could just come this way, just a few questions…

The paper would be coming soon, Vimes knew. Probably a photographer as well. Rust would already be complaining, and by the time he got home the gossip would have raced around to Sybil, who would have questions of her own,* and he knew Vetinari would have something to say as well. It was probably about time he put his armor back on, picked the truncheon back up, and got to smoothing things over…

*If only as to how fast Lord Rust had run out, and if he still waddled when he was really frightened.

And then from the main office he heard Angua speaking loudly, clearly, and authoritatively: “...threatened him? I’m very sorry to hear that, Miss Cripslock. No, I’m not sure why. Wolf? No, Miss Cripslock, we don’t keep wolves in the watch houses. No, none of them. I believe there’s a regulation against it. No, no thank you. No photographs, please. Um is very particular about his hair, aren’t you, Um? And Sally considers it very undignified, having to be swept up… Yes, thank you for understanding…”

Or maybe, Vimes thought, he’d go for a walk.

#discworld #fanfic #the watch #vimes #angua #hogswatch fan exchange #mine creation

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