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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

Pleaseeee do 43 or 46. I love your work btw

(insert months late panicked noises about how I thought 45 was 'falling in love with best friend's partner' and so wrote hold me fast for it, but actually 43 is 'falling in love with best friend's partner' very whoops very my b)

so i did 43 again anyway, but in a modern au and where the couple is actually in love (but it is an obikin happy ending because kit did write it)

(wife is unnamed the entire time so no character bashing it could literally be anyone ive been calling her rebecca in my head lmao)

43. Falling In Love With Best Friend's Partner (2.7k.......)

Obi-Wan’s kettle goes off with a whistle right as there’s a fierce banging on the door. He almost drops his favorite mug in surprise, which puts him in a bad mood from the get-go. But for the love of Christ, who would come call at his house at nine at night? It’s more than rude; it’s downright indecent.

He stalks through the house until he can unlock the door to give the person on his porch a piece of his mind, but then he sees who it is.

It’s Anakin, and he’s crying.

If there’s anything that can make Obi-Wan quiet his temper on a normal day, it’s Anakin Skywalker. A distressed Anakin Skywalker brings out every ounce of his compassion.

“Anakin?” He asks immediately, stepping forward to touch the man on his arm gently and guide him inside. He doesn’t even have to suppress a sigh when Anakin doesn’t remember to toe off his shoes in the entry way--that’s how worried he is at Anakin’s tears and the way they only increase in frequency and sound when Obi-Wan moves his hand to his back and pushes him further into his house, all the way to the dining table where he urges him to sit down.

Anakin still hasn’t said anything resembling actual words yet, so Obi-Wan goes to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. It’s either that or give into the temptation to thumb the tear tracks off of his cheeks and that’s a little more revealing than Obi-Wan likes.

He’s not that brave, for one.

For another, Anakin is a married man. A man married to one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends, a previous grad student turned co-author of at least seven publications, with more on the way. He can’t risk tenderly wiping away her husband’s tears because Obi-Wan Kenobi has been at least a little in love with him since they were introduced four years ago, when he’d swanned up to him holding two champagne glasses in one hand and stuck out the other to shake. “My wife talks about you nonstop, Professor,” he’d said. “I used to be so jealous until I sat in on one of your lectures when I was still in school. Made sense then.”

Obi-Wan had not known what to do with that, but had taken the proffered champagne glass and assured this strange man he had nothing to worry about.

After all, Obi-Wan wasn’t the sort of man to chase after former students or people in marriages.

Over the next few years, however, it became quite clear to him that there was a big addendum needed in his moral code: people in marriages to former students drew his eyes apparently the way no one else has ever managed to in his life.

Or perhaps it was just Anakin. Perhaps it’s always been just Anakin.

Coming to terms with the shameful, quiet love he carried for a man who flirts like it’s second nature and always has a warm touch or word to bestow on Obi-Wan had been difficult, to say the least.

Anakin’s wife had been one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends. His inconvenient and persistent feelings for Anakin had turned her into one thing only: his wife. They could not be friends when Obi-Wan spends half his nights wondering what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her husband. They could not be friends when the last dozen times the married couple had invited him over for dinner, he had paid more attention to her husband than to the food or to the other topics of conversation or to her.

And she has to know. She has to know why their latest paper has taken eight months to write. She has to have seen the way Obi-Wan perks up so obviously when Anakin brings his wife her lunch, the way he has to turn away from their chaste kisses, the way he listens keenly to any information she gives him on her husband, the way he had excused himself from the room when he heard her tell another colleague that they were trying for children.

In academia, you learn fairly quickly that it is useless to resent someone for having what you do not. It seems that Obi-Wan has to learn this lesson all over again when it comes to people. It’s hard. It’s selfish. He hates that he loves Anakin. He hates that he loves Anakin the way he does, that it’s been four years and he still loves him, that not even his happy marriage, his love for his wife, the fact that his wife is Obi-Wan’s friend, can change it.

Anakin considers them friends now, which is so much worse and yet still more than a pathetic old man like Obi-Wan deserves. Worse, because when Obi-Wan had started rejecting dinners at the Skywalker household, Anakin had pushed back with worry. When he’d noticed that Obi-Wan’s lunch most often consisted of whatever cold cut sandwich was on sale at the gas station next to campus, he’d started bringing Obi-Wan a lunch along with his wife. When Obi-Wan had stopped responding to his texts, he showed up to drag him to a night out.

Worse, because being Anakin’s friend is nothing like being his husband, and the differences make him ache as much as the acts of kindness make him want to weep.

It’s still more than Obi-Wan deserves. He knows that intimately, the way he knows that nothing can ever happen between the two of them because Anakin loves his wife. And his wife--

“She cheated on me,” Anakin gets out between uneven breaths.

Obi-Wan promptly drops his favorite mug and watches it shatter on the floor.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaims at the loud noise, peeking around the corner, and looking like he’s about to offer to help. Obi-Wan shoos him out of the kitchen, and grabs the remaining mug of tea to follow him. The mess can wait for a later time.

“What did you say?” he asks carefully, nudging the mug over to Anakin, who wraps his hands around it.

Anakin blinks up at him wetly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Obi-Wan drags his chair closer and dares to lay a hand over Anakin’s arm, watching his face for any negative reaction. Anakin just looks at it though, as if he can’t even comprehend it.

“Please, tell me what happened,” he entreats softly.

Anakin blinks and takes a sip of the tea. It’s chamomile, which is the only tea blend Obi-Wan knows Anakin likes.

“I, um.” Anakin clears his throat and reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Obi-Wan thinks his breath leaves his body for a second when he sees the slighter lighter ring of skin around Anakin’s fourth finger. He never thought he’d see what that sliver of skin looks like.

“I came back early from a work trip, cause. Um. Cause we’ve been having problems,” he starts with a quick side glance at Obi-Wan. “Just some fighting. Going to bed angry. I guess stuff you’re never supposed to do.”

Obi-Wan tries to arrange his face in an expression meant to convey that he definitely knows what stuff one is supposed to do in a marriage.

“So I thought I could, you know. Surprise her. But when I got in, there was someone else in the house. In our bed, Obi-Wan, she fucked someone else in our bed. I--” Anakin starts crying dropping his head into his hands and dislodging Obi-Wan’s arm completely.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan murmurs, at a loss for what to say. He settles for kneeling down next to Anakin and rubbing his knee. This is platonic.This is fine. This isn’t taking advantage of Anakin in this state.

Obi-Wan has absolutely no desire to take advantage of Anakin in this state, not when he’s so hurt and sad and in need of comfort. Obi-Wan just wants to provide him with comfort, but it feels like a grievous violation to touch Anakin like this willingly. It breaks one of his most cardinal rules.

But it turns out he’d break a lot of rules for Anakin, apparently.

Especially when Anakin responds so well to his touch, practically throwing himself out of his own chair and into Obi-Wan’s arms, tea forgotten on the table.

“How am I supposed to go back there?” He sobs into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I thought...we were supposed to raise kids in that house and she...she’s been...she’s been cheating on me in our bed--”

Obi-Wan tentatively strokes through his hair, adding pressure when Anakin reacts positively. He hates seeing him like this, so torn up and aching. He’d loved his wife, it’s so clear to see.

But Anakin has always struck Obi-Wan as the sort of person to put loyalty over everything else. For his wife to break his trust so suddenly and quickly must spell the death of his love for her. That must be what Obi-Wan is witnessing now, with Anakin, sans wedding ring, sobbing into his arms like this. This must be how Anakin’s love dies.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he murmurs into the man’s temple, pressing his nose there at his hairline and inhaling as softly as he can. He’s disgusted with himself. He can’t help himself. He--

“She said she loved him,” Anakin sniffles, seemingly unaware of anything but his own pain. Obi-Wan gathers him closer at these words and rubs at his back, offering silent comfort. To have Anakin close like this is agony, but to be an appropriate distance away from him as he fell apart would also be agony of a different sort.

And if the last four years have proven anything, Obi-Wan will choose the agony that causes Anakin any modicum of happiness he can give him.

“She said--” here Anakin pauses and takes several deep breaths against the cotton of Obi-Wan’s now damp sleepshirt. “She said she didn’t when they started, but then I--I didn’t notice and it--she said it just happened, but--”

He breaks off and freezes in Obi-Wan’s arms quite suddenly. Obi-Wan stills his own hands in response. “But?” he asks, barely more than an exhale.

“But she said she couldn’t feel sorry about it,” Anakin whispers back, pulling away so that he can look at Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan stares at him, uncomprehending. Anakin’s wife is the unapologetic sort of woman, yes, but to be caught cheating on her husband and then refuse to apologize for the betrayal? That’s something else entirely. “What?” he stutters out in a completely unflattering way.

Anakin’s eyes glisten, but he purses his lips and flexes his jaw before he speaks again. “She said she couldn’t feel sorry about falling in love with someone else because it’s quite clear I’ve done the same thing. And--and she may have physically cheated on me first, but I’ve...I’ve been emotionally unfaithful to her for years now.”

Obi-Wan blinks quite a bit and very fast, tightening his hold on Anakin before pulling away just as quickly. “That’s absurd,” he spits out, trying to calm his rushing heartbeat. “Anakin, you’re the most loyal person I know. You would never--”

“She was right,” Anakin cuts him off, breaking eye contact with him to look over his shoulder and then down at...at his lips. “I didn’t even realize she was right until she said it, but. But I’ve been in love with someone else for three years of my five year marriage. I--I’m not who we thought I was.”

And his eyes well up with tears again and Obi-Wan isn’t strong enough this time from stopping himself from reaching out and brushing one of his tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“Anakin, you’re not…” thinking straight, serious, in your right mind, in love with anyone but your wife. “You’re hurting, Anakin,” he settles on saying. “You need to...sleep. To rest.”

You need to stop saying things that will break my heart in a few days when you realize you don’t actually mean them.

But Anakin has always been stubborn, especially when it comes to Obi-Wan’s demands. “Obi-Wan,” he insists, shoving his face forward so that their heads connect with a thump. “Obi-Wan, it’s you. It’s been you. For. For longer than I knew. For three years at least. Maybe longer. It should have been you from the beginning. When--”

“Anakin, please,” he finds himself begging, scrambling up and off the floor and away from this troublesome man. “Do not say anything you cannot take back. You are in distress, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Anakin follows him to his feet. “I need to say this,” he says, voice breaking. “Please, Obi-Wan. Let me say this.”

Obi-Wan has never known how to say no to Anakin. He closes his mouth instead.

“Before we even started dating, that’s when I sat in on your lecture. When we were seniors. I just wanted to see. Wanted to know why she liked you so much, measure up my competition. But then I liked you, more than I’ve ever liked a guy before. And it only got worse after I met you again, at that party, I don’t know if you remember, but. The days after, I drove my wife insane asking questions about you and your work and your interests and your hobbies, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

“You were just...you were so amazing. But I loved her so much I didn’t even notice I had any love left in my heart to give to anyone else, but then there you were. There you were and every time I saw you it was like...coming up for air. Like I was living someone else’s life and then sometimes I just got to be myself and it was only ever when you were around and--I didn’t know it was love until my wife told me tonight that she fucked another man because she couldn’t stand that I fell in love with one first, and I knew immediately who she was talking about. It was you. It’s...Obi-Wan, it’s always been you.”

Anakin closes the distance between them slowly, as if he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to run. Obi-Wan does consider it, he won’t lie, but he stands stock still as if frozen to the ground. Anakin reaches up gently and wipes at one of his tears. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized he started crying.

“Please don’t cry,” Anakin whispers through his tears. “I understand if you--if you don’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t be quiet about it once I realized. I don’t know how to love quietly.”

Obi-Wan does. Obi-Wan’s spent four years loving Anakin quietly, and now he doesn’t have any words left in him to love him out loud.

Anakin’s hand falls away from his face at his continued silence and he looks, if possible, more heartbroken. “I...I understand,” he murmurs. “You don’t feel the way I do. I--yes. I get it. I...deserve it.”

At this, Obi-Wan has to say something because it’s been one of the tenets of his world for years now that Anakin Skywalker deserves all the love there is in the entire universe. “No,” he says roughly, dragging the words kicking and screaming from the pit of his stomach. “It’s not that. It’s--”

Anakin looks at him with wide, wet, blue eyes.

“It’s that if you...if I say it and then...tomorrow you decide you don’t mean it...darling you have to know there would be no recovering from that, for me. I’ve been so obvious.”

Anakin blinks as the words register in his brain, and Obi-Wan can tell the exact moment they do because he inches closer and clutches tightly onto his shirt. “You’ve not been obvious at all,” he murmurs, eyes still shining, even as he directs his entire attention to his lips.

“What would I need to do?” Obi-Wan breathes, aching to wrap his arms around his waist and terrified that doing so will startle Anakin away from him. “What would I need to do for you to understand how much I...how much I’ve loved you for all these years?”

“Kiss me,” Anakin whispers, leaning down as if drawn by some magnetic pull.

Obi-Wan knows he will hate himself in the morning for giving in when Anakin is so obviously grief-stricken and looking for no-strings-attached physical comfort. And yet, he meets him halfway anyway.

#asks #prompt fill #lets be real these havent been ficlets for months let alone snippets #these are just. fics lmao #anyway i couldnt choose who to hurt/comfort with this prompt so ii actually went with both haha #very on brand #anakin's pov would of course contain the famous 'oh. OH.' of realization #obikin #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #i have so many amazing asks to respond to and im going to do it tonight #i just wanted to post this and then spend like a solid eight hours on my paintings because they have a really real and fast approaching #deadline #cw: cheating #married with a twist au

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wakaoujisenhime · 3 years

Text

Just once - Choso x reader

Synopsis: At a party you get roped up by your classmate Momo to conduct a summoning ritual for a demon she assigns you. Though unwilling, you still comply and do as instructed. Unfortunately for you, the ritual you hoped to debunk as pure nonsense unexpectedly worked out...

tags/warnings: Choso x reader ✅ blood kink ✅ (slight) blood/knife play ✅ (and for the more sensitive readers a tw.) a more or less detailed description of skin being cut open ✅ more erotic than nsfw ✅

A/N: I just needed an excuse to write for my main man Choso and thanks to @seijorhi and her Deal with the Devil collab I found the opportunity! Please enjoy and make sure to check everyone else’s wonderful works out as well!! (〃ω〃)

.wc 5.4k

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Booming music, colorful and constantly changing LED lights, people who were either drunk or high, in some cases even both, surrounded you. Such a sight wasn’t unfamiliar to you since most university students celebrated their monthly parties in the same fashion. You weren’t a regular participant in these events, but tonight you just wanted to let loose and dance the stress, which had accumulated this past week, away.

After doing what you came for, you went up to the small bar, ordered a drink, and disappeared into the crowd to look for someone you were familiar with. And truly, you spotted two familiar faces in one of the gigantic room’s corners. The pair you were now walking towards consisted of Megumi and Momo. It was truly rare to see these two together let alone see them talking to each other while others surrounded them, but you figured that in such get-togethers nothing was impossible.

“Hi there you two, how are you doing?” you asked the moment you joined their small group.

Megumi greeted you with a small nod and a rather tortured expression that was most likely supposed to represent a call for help, but before you could find out more about that, Momo took a hold of both of your hands and squeezed them slightly as she said: “(Y/N), you’ve got a perfect timing as always! We were just discussing our summoning plan and we needed one more participant, so pleaseee could you do us the favor and join us?”

To clear up your obvious confusion, the black-haired young man explained to you that the group, which surrounded you, had talked about the occult before they reached the topic of demon summoning rituals and eventually ended up wanting to try different ones out themselves.

You found it rather funny that someone like Megumi had been caught up in such a talk, but it wasn’t surprising, considering that he had two tattoos, which resembled some kind of triangular runes on the back of his hands, dressed entirely in black, and had a rather dark and gloomy aura that surrounded him. Though many people avoided him, thinking that he was really scary, you knew that he was one of the nicest people you’ve come across and that his mood was heavily influenced by his rather lively best friends who often embarrassed him in public, just so that he could remain by their side.

Momo on the other hand was notorious for her fascination with the occult and supernatural phenomenons in general. Not only was she always dressed in a stereotypical way for those who shared the same fascination as her, but she also preferred to make it known rather than hide it. Threatening people to curse them if they annoyed or attacked her in any way, openly experimenting on self-made voodoo dolls, and carrying various charms with a questionable appearance as accessories for her backpack were some of her many daily characteristic features she displayed. The two of you weren’t especially close, but you were one of the few who understood her true intentions and beliefs that were hiding beneath her many layers.

“I’m not quite sure if I’m the best fit for this...task, maybe you should pick someone else” you finally said with an apologetic smile on your lips, but the blond simply brushed your refusal off with a wide grin.

“Oh, nonsense! There’s no such thing as the ‘perfect fit’ in stuff like that, anyone with an intention of summoning is enough!”

And with that, you were now one of the participants.

After basically being forced to comply, your group sat at a remote table and discussed the upcoming procedures. Throughout the entire talk, both you and Megumi simply chatted with each other and half-heartedly agreed to anything the others asked of you. By the end of it all, you two were stuck with individual books about the entities you were supposed to summon.

“So, who did you get?” you asked after taking a glance at your own rather thin book.

“Apparently, I’ve been given the privilege to attempt a summon of ‘The King of curses’, what about you?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sarcastic way the young man had quoted his book’s title and answered that yours didn’t even have a fancy name like that, and just went by “The Blood Devil”.

The two of you stayed at the party for another half an hour during which you basically complained about your individual lives and then slowly but surely made your way back home…

——

With a somewhat relieved sigh, you remove your shoes from your feet and throw them in the corner of your entryway. Your hands massage the back of your neck slightly while you slowly make yourself on the way to your bedroom. It was no secret that you were fatigued enough to just drop everything and fall asleep right then and there, but your conscience nagged you like some kind of parental figure, whispering one order after the other until you just gave up and decided to do everything the proper way.

After leaving your bag on the chair next to your desk, you quickly get rid of your slightly sweaty clothes and enter your bathroom to take a much-needed warm shower, in hope that it would help you relieve some tension. And it did.

A couple of minutes later you exit the steamy room and start getting ready for bed. Just as you were about to turn off your room’s lights, the book Momo had given you caught your attention. After motionlessly standing in one spot for what felt like half an hour, you cursed your curiosity and took said book out of your bag, and began skimming through its contents.

You didn’t intend to read more than necessary, just the first page which warned you of possible risks should’ve been enough, but the moment you had continued past it, it was as if you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. This book that supposedly held dangerous information on how you’d be able to summon some kind of otherworldly entity seemed like some kind of fairytale collection to you.

The first chapter talked about some kind of man who had made use of a woman and her unborn children, a pretty disturbing and inhuman act that you skipped for the most part. Next in line was a whole chapter dedicated to these nine unborn and mostly undeveloped children, the tragic story of them getting locked up in jars, and how only three of them had managed to gain some kind of stability (if you can even call it that). Finally, the third and last chapter before the entire ‘How-to-prepare-the-ceremony’ segment focused solely on the eldest brother and how he’d successfully escaped his dire fate and had become the being known as the ‘Blood Devil’.

Now that you had reached the end of the introductory phase, the preparations for the ritual awaited you, and even though you hadn’t intended on trying your luck with summoning the same night you had received the book, you decided to just do it as quick as possible so that Momo didn’t feel the need to bother you daily with how far you’d gotten.

Shortly after you had gathered the needed materials and had prepared the requested furnishings for the ceremony. With the booklet in one hand, you once again checked whether everything you needed was fulfilled.

Four candles, a small table, a bowl, a kitchen knife, and some salt...Ok, that should be all

Looking at the items before you, you couldn’t help but wonder whether this ritual had indeed some kind of truth behind it and wasn’t just one of many parodies.

With this slightly uneasy feeling, you once again took a look at the list.

𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚍/𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚔𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎), 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚕 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝟹𝟶𝟶-𝟻𝟶𝟶𝚖𝚕), 𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎), 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝)

For a ritual to have such specific instructions, it’s quite...unusual, isn’t it?

The required items weren’t the only detailed requirements you had to fulfill, secondary things that mainly concerned the atmosphere were also important to consider. Things such as the right room temperature, the dark lighting of the room you’d use for the ritual, the exact sequence of preparing the summoning circle and its unique symbols, and many more were enumerated just below the first bulleted list.

You set your worried thoughts aside, deciding to just humor this ritual and complete it to the best of your abilities, because the satisfaction you’d feel after this summoning ceremony fails despite you doing your best, would be indescribable. And with that, you began preparing everything step by step, double and triple-checking the book for confirmation until everything was ready.

With a sigh of satisfaction, you take a step back to admire what you had just spent half an hour on. You had placed the table in the middle of your room, the red candles positioned on each of its edges, on top of the wooden surface you’d drawn the circle as good as you could with your slightly trembling hand, and lastly, you’d placed the bowl on the floor in front of where you were to kneel with the knife on top of the rim of the receptacle.

Here goes nothing…

You kneeled and put the book beside you. With slightly shaky hands you took the knife and cut a horizontal line along your palm, as expected it stung a little but the pain wasn’t something unbearable. Slightly fascinated by the deep red color of your blood you watched the liquid slowly roll down your hand and drip into the empty bowl, staining its white material. As instructed by the book you poised in that position until your wound started to congeal and that was when you were finally allowed to relax yourself and continue.

Next up you had to pour the collected blood over the salt circle and retrace its lines and patterns as precisely as you could, which you did. Now that this step was done as well, you looked at the completed handiwork and sighed to yourself, dreading the thought of having to clean all of this up later on.

You took another glance at the instructions and couldn’t help but cringe internally at the next and supposedly final step.

Alright then, let’s get this over with…

“With this humble offering I, (Y/N)(L/N), hereby summon thou. Oh, Devil of blood please, hear this mortal’s desperate plea and allow me to bear witness to thyn unique countenances that thee possesses.”

And with this the ritual was complete.

You remained motionless, waiting for something to happen, but everything stayed the same and you couldn’t help but embrace that internal relief inside of you which was silently thankful for the failure.

Just as you were about to get up from your uncomfortable pose and begin to clean everything up, the candles’ flames suddenly went out before your very eyes and without your influence. With slightly wide eyes you scanned everything before you. You knew that you had closed the windows before even starting the ritual, so that eliminated one possible reason and at the same time, the most rational one.

As nothing else happened you decided to simply blame it on your imagination and slight paranoia, but that’s when the faint sound of bubbling liquid ruined that small ray of hope you’d held on to. You slowly looked down at the bowl which was filled with your blood and you could’ve sworn that the deep red substance was slowly rising until it overflowed.

All you could do was back away from the red puddle which was steadily growing and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“W-What the hell is happening?” you asked yourself in panic as your wide eyes observed the way your blood began forming something, or better said, someone.

The mass before you began to take form and it was then that you noticed the knife which was lying a few inches away next to the inhuman heap.

Driven by nothing but adrenaline you began crawling towards it and just as you were about to reach for the blade, something similar to a hand took a hold of your wrist. You jumped back in shock and fell rather uncomfortably on your bottom as you looked up to the blood-covered thing, watching its appearance slowly contort into that of a human.

And there before you stood a tall man with shoulder-long dark hair, a rather tired expression on his face, and his most prominent feature, a dark stripe running horizontally across his nose bridge. His eyes were focused on you for the first few seconds, then he began looking around as if to take in his surroundings.

“Where am I? …were you the one that summoned me? …what is it that you require me to do?” he asked in a monotone voice, not giving you even a second to collect yourself. Your panic didn’t allow you to form any rational thoughts, let alone answer him properly, and all you had in mind right now was to run away from whatever this person in front of you was.

The man watched how pale your face had become and simply stood there motionless, as you sloppily got up and sprinted out of your room’s door. He cast his gaze down to the knife you had intended to pick up and cracked an ever-so-small smile before leaving the room himself.

Meanwhile, you had reached your front door and were hurriedly trying to unlock it, but the multiple bolts and your trembling hands were set on making you fail such a simple task.

When you finally turned your keys for the last time, a big hand slammed the wooden door shut. The weight that pressed against your back made it unable for you to move away, so you simply leaned your forehead on the door in defeat, knowing fully well who had stopped you in your tracks.

I’m finished…

Now that the man behind you had rendered you more-or-less immobile, he decided to take a proper look at you and your body. His eyes traveled slowly along every curve, no matter how small or voluptuous, until something far more interesting caught his eye. Your injured and slightly bloody hand that still bore the cut you had to inflict on yourself for the ritual and even though the wound had begun to slowly close, it was still bloody enough for his preferences.

He removed his palm from the door and slowly let it slide down from your shoulder to your slightly trembling hand. The way his long fingers wrapped around your wrist made you shudder and as if that wasn’t enough, he also had to slowly turn you around so that he didn’t hurt your arm or dislocate your shoulder.

Now that you were facing the man, you couldn’t help but stare directly at him and the way he inspected your wound. His gentle touch contradicted his looks as well as every thought you had about him, but that animalistic glint you noticed in his eyes failed to hide his true nature.

With utmost care he let his fingers glide along the cut and if it weren’t for the unpleasant sting, you wouldn’t have noticed that with this small motion he had peeled off the thin layer of blood, which was trying to close up your wound. Despite your slightly agape mouth, no words were uttered, I mean, how could you?

The man in front of you had reverted that small amount of red crust to its original liquid form and then by some magic turned it into a wonderful red ruby that resembled a bonbon. His dark eyes peered right into yours and didn’t even waver in the slightest as he slowly brought the red stone to his lips, gave it an experimental lick, and finally swallowed it.

D-Did he just…?

Judging by the satisfied expression on his face you thought that he would finally step aside and at least introduce himself or give you some sort of explanation as to what he just did and why, but no. The way he did nothing else and simply waited for some kind of reaction, annoyed you and it didn't take you long to act accordingly.

“Now that you’ve got what you came for, would you mind moving out of my way?” you asked in a rather unfriendly tone, one that completely contradicted your earlier fear of this still nameless entity.

Your behavior not only surprised the man but yourself as well. Summoning a literal demon wasn’t your typical everyday occurrence and yet you couldn’t quite comprehend it. The fear that should’ve rendered you immobile was good to non-existent and you figured it was thanks to his surprisingly tame and innocent behavior, so it was only natural for you to be in the illusion of holding the reins, right?

And that arrogant behavior of yours only escalated further as you managed to push the man to the side and finally get away from your front door.

Being as naive as you were, you turned your back to him and not even a second later your entire body’s movement was shut down. No matter how hard you tried to move your legs, hands, or even fingers, nothing seemed to work - no, on the contrary, it appeared to you that the more you struggled against this seemingly invisible force, the harder it became for you to breathe.

“If you don’t want to collapse and die, you’ll need to seize all of your movements for the time being,” said the lean man in a low voice, and the moment his eyes met yours, you could’ve sworn that the corners of his lips shot upwards for a split second before he continued, “…since you’re already aware of my abilities, I’ll skip most of it and directly tell you the two most important things you’ll need to keep in mind from now on.”

Without waiting for any type of signal that could’ve represented your answer, he closed the distance between you two, and this time he got so close that you could practically smell him. Contrary to your expectations his scent was fairly faint and by no means unpleasant. If confronted with the question of what he smelled like, you’d have to say it resembled that of burning wood.

You watched helplessly as the man showed you the slightly bloody knife you had used for the ritual and that’s when the long-awaited fear suddenly overcame you. With widened eyes, you followed the blade which was mere inches away from the center of your chest, and the moment you felt the small tip pierce your shirt a silent yelp escaped your lips.

Not fazed by your obvious fear, the man proceeded with whatever he had in mind and moved the knife until it had reached your shoulder, cutting the thin fabric along the way. In response to his cold fingers that glided along your exposed shoulder and collarbone, goosebumps peppered your skin. Your heartbeat quickened and you didn’t know whether this was because of the fear of what he’ll do next or because you were kinda curious about what’s about to come.

Still unable to move a single muscle there was nothing left for you but to watch and feel how the blade was pressed against your skin until it had cut through it. The fact that he’d cut so close to your heart made it hurt more than your harmless cut earlier, but as if that wasn’t painful enough he began to slide the blade up until its tip had reached the top of your right shoulder.

Your throat dried up, muffling the scream you so badly wanted to release. A stream of warm tears ran along the curves of your cheeks and dripped down to your cleavage, where a rather thin but bloody line had split your skin open.

“I can control your blood flow and if I so desire, I can make you move your limbs according to my wishes…to put it simply, by summoning me with your blood, you made yourself my marionette.”

His expressionless eyes followed the many thin blood droplets that oozed out of your wound and just before they were able to stain your clothes with their deep scarlet color, he extended his finger, positioning it mere millimeters away from your skin. Through half-closed eyes, you watched in awe as your blood was being drawn to the fingertip of the man like a magnet and slowly turned into the same gem-like form from before. Your injury still hurt, but as you dared to take a slight glance at it, you noticed that all the blood was gone, sucked up by the finger of the demon, and turned into a shimmering stone that was once again swallowed like candy.

——

Some weeks passed after that surreal encounter and since then you’d been more or less forced to live with the entity you’d summoned. On that night he’d introduced himself as Choso and despite your desire to either send him back to wherever he came from or simply throw him out, neither option was going to end well. According to the man himself, summoning rituals were easier to conduct than the ones to banish demons back into the abyss. You would need to take several precautions into account and in Choso’s case, you’d have to fulfill nearly impossible tasks, such as collecting 20 liters of blood from pure-blooded siblings or finding and freeing one of his many siblings.

Your second option of throwing him out was dismissed almost momentarily after he’d told you that he can’t survive without consuming someone’s blood; ideally, he’d only have to take a small amount of your blood once a week, but if you insisted on kicking him out, then he’d have to attack random people and since they didn’t summon him, the amount of blood he’d have to take from them would be fatal.

Living with a demonic entity was surprisingly pleasant, but you knew that this was most likely because of the man’s personality and that if you’d summoned someone else, it would’ve most likely ended up way differently.

He was taking his role as the eldest brother very seriously and despite not being part of his family, he treated you very lovingly and even willingly took on most of the homework, but only that which he was familiar with, such as sweeping the floor or washing the dishes. Whenever he behaved like that, you found it difficult to remember the fact that he was some type of devil and sometimes you even caught yourself thinking how you wished he’d stay with you forever. It was good to have someone living under the same roof as you, someone you could more or less trust with your possessions, and someone to lie down next to in the evening.

But despite these few perks you noticed how your health slowly started to deteriorate. Simple tasks such as homework, reading texts, or concentrating during lectures; things you usually mastered almost effortlessly, became more and more difficult with each passing week, and the reason for that was none other than Choso.

Being his weekly food source didn’t come without any risks.

He’d warned you that the amount of blood he’d take from you and then consume, won't be automatically regenerated by your body and that if you refused his help, you’d slowly die away. Being the rational human you were, you didn’t believe him, thinking that something like your blood being slowly taken away by him was sheer impossible, so you refused his offer of help even before he’d properly explained it.

A mistake you slowly came to regret.

This morning you had felt as if someone was constantly hitting your head with a thick book, your body felt so heavy that your usual walking speed had decreased drastically and because of it you were ten minutes late for your first lecture.

You figured that your appearance must’ve been quite horrible, since your usually uninterested teacher, Sir Nanami, actually stopped mid-sentence to ask whether you were feeling ok and whether you wanted to go to the nurse’s office for a while. You wanted to brush it off, but as soon as you shook your head, your vision blurred and you felt like you were losing the ground under your feet. Luckily, your seat neighbor Maki reacted quickly and held onto you before you fell from your chair. Anything that occurred afterward was lost to you and the next time you came back to your senses, you found yourself on your bed, wrapped warmly in your blanket.

“What…happened?” you asked half loud, not expecting an answer, as you slowly sat upright, leaning your back on your bed’s headboard and letting your eyes roam around the familiar surroundings.

“You lost consciousness during your class,” said a silent and gentle voice, “thanks to our…contract, I felt that you were close to collapsing, so I followed the scent of your blood and when I found you, I took you back home.”

While you were processing the information you were given, Choso slowly walked towards your bed and kneeled next to it, placing one of his hands on top of your own, softly caressing it in the process. You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the gesture and sighed as you imagined how he must’ve entered your classroom, ignoring everything and everyone and simply coming to your seat, taking you in his arms, and leaving, as if it’s the most normal thing to do.

“I told you to be careful, didn’t I?” His sudden question caught you off guard and all you could do was look down in shame. Seeing you look so sad and crestfallen reminded Choso of his younger brothers and he instinctively reached for the top of your head with his free hand and softly petted it a few times before caressing it. Being comforted by a demon-like that truly did wonders. For once you ignored the fact that it was partially his fault and savored the moment.

“I know that you didn’t want to hear about it, but in view of your wellbeing I’m obligated to tell you about a way you can minimize the harm done to you” he paused and took a short breath before continuing, “if we make a proper deal with each other, I’m allowed to share a portion of my blood with you and that will make up for the amount I’m taking…but it’s not risk-free.”

This time it was you who had to take a long breath, a futile attempt to make your heartbeat calm down. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you that a deal with the devil contains several risks, but the fact that Choso was willing to tell you about them, relieved you in a way. Before reluctantly accepting his offer you requested a more detailed explanation for your own mind’s peace. According to his words, the danger of consuming a demon’s blood was very addictive, and if not done properly, the human risks becoming entirely dependent, meaning, they would prefer blood instead of real food or water.

The thought of not being able to eat and drink what you loved scared you of course, but the wish to gain a sense of normality back in your life prevailed and you eventually caved, telling him that you’d agree to his terms and drink his blood just once and never again…

At first, everything seemingly worked out. Your focus was back and you could once again dedicate yourself fully to university and friends. You were happy…but not for long.

One week passed and your throat began to feel raspy and dry. Accompanying these uncomfortable feelings was the undying urge to constantly drink something and whenever your drinking bottle was empty, you’d get really nervous and start nibbling on your lip. But the worst part of it all was how you’d caught yourself, thinking about wanting to bite Choso and lick the blood right out of the wound like some kind of vampire.

“What the hell is wrong with me..?” you thought to yourself while you gently let your hand run along the man’s head. He looked up at you for a mere second before he continued to enjoy his “meal”. A small and barely visible blush adorned your cheeks as soon as you realized what kind of situation you found yourself in right now.

The man, whose head you had just caressed, was kneeling between your thighs, a small portion of your plush flesh between his teeth. He bit down until they pierced through it and drew blood. All the while your eyes followed every ever so small movement of his’s until the big red droplets of blood caught your attention. The two of you observed how they slowly grew larger than Choso’s teeth marks and finally began dripping down your slightly raised leg.

With an unexpected smile, the man bent down and licked the blood from your skin before it stained anything. Your breath hitched for a moment and usually, you’d either look away or close your eyes while he got his weekly portion, but this time you couldn’t help but downright stare at him as he sucked on your small wound. It shouldn’t have surprised you to see someone enjoying themselves when they eat, even if that someone was a supernatural entity, but this was the first time you had properly looked at Choso while he consumed your blood and for some reason, your heart started beating faster than ever before.

You bit your lower lip as you watched how his slightly longer tongue slithered over the bloody marks on your thigh and the way he sometimes planted a soft kiss on it made you shiver from pleasure. Your body became gradually hotter, resulting in you having to breathe harder, and the slight red that had tainted your cheeks had now taken on a deeper shade.

“C-Choso…I need your blood, please” you stuttered out of nowhere in between your labored breaths.

At the mention of his name all of his movements seized and the man’s eyes slowly moved up to your reddened face. After what felt like minutes of pure silence, he let go of your leg, licked his lips, and removed the scarf around his neck.

While he was getting himself ready for you, you looked at his pale skin and the black markings, which resembled Kinesio tapes that athletes sometimes used, running along it.

Your impatience got the best of you and without wasting a second you got on your knees and faced him while he began looking around for something. Meanwhile, you were unable to focus on anything at all. Your eyes wandered from his face, down to his neck, along his collarbone and shoulder, and then back to his face yet again.

That something he searched for turned out to be the knife you’d used for his summoning ritual. He handed you the blade with the same stoic expression as always, but instead of taking it, you slapped it away and next thing you knew, you had wrapped your arms around his torso and had buried your teeth deep inside of his shoulder’s skin. The only reaction you got from him was a simple flinch as a result of your sudden embrace and nothing more, no sound, no sigh, nothing.

But as of right now this was the last thing that occupied your mind, all you wanted to do was drink this man’s blood and finally quench the thirst you’d been suppressing for so long.

“That’s it, (Y/N)…satisfy your thirst…give in…don’t be afraid, it’ll only do you good” he cooed seductively in your ear as he let his big hand softly glide along your back.

With a devilish smile, he listened to the hungry way you lapped up the blood from his multiple shoulder wounds that you’d inflicted within a matter of seconds.

Satisfied by your behavior, he gently patted your head and closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of your wet and slightly rough tongue.

If it weren’t for your indescribable hunger, you would’ve noticed the red glint in Choso’s usually dark and soulless eyes…

Now, you’re mine…

#deal with the devil collab #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso x you #━𝙹𝙹𝙺

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nekumiko · 3 years

Text

Does Everything Grow Fruitfully for Kita?

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Genre: Fluff, Light angst

Rated: T

Words: 3.6k

Chapter: 1/2

Summary: When his friendship with their club manager starts to bloom into something more, would Kita do something about it?

If you would ask Kita when he fell in love with her, he’d say it was that time she cooked rice without a rice cooker. At least, that’s as far back as he could remember seeing her in a different light.

The Inarizaki Volleyball Club probably doesn’t need a manager because of how Kita keeps everything well-maintained - the equipment, uniforms, and even the restroom. But it wouldn’t hurt to have extra help.

Although, since she only needed a club under her name, she was allowed to not even attend every day, and she had done just that for a year. But in her second year, Kita eventually found her regularly working beside him to make sure the team had everything they needed in practices and matches. He did ask her why, but she quickly changed the topic to picking up the uniforms from the laundromat.

It was on that unusually stormy night during the team’s summer training camp.

Because of the howling winds outside, the lights have been flickering on and off in the neighborhood, so practice is cut short before it becomes completely dark. They return to the inn, where the couple who owns the place tells them they would prepare dinner in advance. Kita then quickly drops off his bag and changes his clothes so he could help out in the kitchen.

Despite the dimming lights, the middle-aged couple are working fast. The wife is on the stove frying fish, while the husband is making dumplings.

Kita then sees the rice cooker sitting unplugged on the counter. "Excuse me,” he says, catching the attention of the couple. “Do you mind if I help out? I can cook rice traditionally.”

“Oh,” the husband replies, “we appreciate it, but your manager is already taking care of that.”

“She is?”

As if on cue, she emerges from behind a wall, carrying a pot. “Kita-san?” she calls out before smiling brightly. “You've come at the right time! Please help me.” And then she disappears behind the wall again.

Kita finds her sitting beside an open sack of rice grains, the scoop in her hand and the pot on her lap. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks up. “Oh, nothing's wrong. I just never cooked for the team before, so I don’t know if this is enough.”

He sits beside her and reaches for the pot.

She looks startled for a moment, but then smiles again and gives it to him.

It takes Kita a moment to carefully consider his answer. “You need more than this.” He gently takes the scoop in her hand, brushing against her warm skin. He scoops more grains into the pot and then stands up again. “Come on.”

She stands as well, but immediately holds onto the pot, stopping Kita from walking away. “What do you think you’re gonna do with this?”

“What else? I’ll be cooking rice.”

“But I told them I’d do it!”

“I can do it.”

“I can do it too.” She smirks. “Or are you here to doubt me again, Kita-san?”

He sighs in mock defeat. “Fine.” Then he gives the pot back.

She grins. "Thanks."

“Won’t it be heavy, though? That's a lot of rice to wash.”

She puts the pot in the sink and starts up the faucet, shaking her head. “You always underestimate my strength. I’ve handled heavier stuff than this.” She turns the faucet off and drains the water. “You’re a witness to that.”

Kita stays silent beside her, watching her work and talk at the same time. This is their norm. Light banter, eye contact, hands brushing against each other, standing at close proximity, and watching her back as he helped with her manager duties. But for some reason today, he is focused too much on her exposed nape and her lips, hyperaware of her hands and her voice. He doesn't even realize he'd tuned her actual words out until she looks back at him expectantly.

“Are you okay, Kita-san?"

"Huh? Yes."

She giggles. "I asked you to please move to the side a little. I need light."

"Sorry." Kita then steps aside.

She then holds the pot to her chest level, carefully measuring the amount of water with her finger. And then she puts the lid over the pot.

Kita follows her to the stove, too.

“Oban,” she says softly to the wife, who is just removing a pan from the stove, “I’ll be cooking the rice now.”

The wife thanks her while Kita swoops in to take the pan. “Oban, is there anything else you need more help with?”

The two of them move around the kitchen to clean up and help with plating. From time to time, she would check on the rice, adjusting the fire in the stove. And whenever she does, Kita finds himself watching her intently, not really understanding what’s so... captivating about it. Is it because she’s cooking food for them? Like she mentioned earlier, this is her first time, because she'd only bought food for them before. But is it that unusual? Because surely, as their manager, she’d be making more food for the team from now on.

Finally, she calls him over excitedly. “Kita-san! Look at this!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she whines. “Why do you always assume something’s wrong?”

He only smiles at her, finally reaching her side.

“Just please look!” She lifts the lid again and continues, “Just look at how perfect my rice is!”

“It does look good.”

“I bet it tastes delicious, too.”

“It would taste like rice.”

She turns to him with a deadpan stare. “Cold.” She covers the pot again, and then pauses. Her lips form into a small smile, but her hands reach for the hem of her shirt to fidget with it as she speaks again. “Hey, Kita-san,” she begins, her gaze still trained on the pot. “Would I make a good wife?”

“You just cooked rice.”

That makes her head whip towards him so fast. Her smile vanishes, her eyes widen, and a pink tint is creeping up on her cheeks. “Ahh, I mean with how --!” she cuts herself off to look away, waving a hand in front of her face. "Never mind. I’ll just go call the others. Dinner would be ready soon.” She hurriedly walks away from him, only stopping by the couple to thank them before exiting the kitchen.

Quite often, Kita has been told that he can’t read the room. And usually, he doesn’t mind. It's more important for him to get his thoughts across, to correct something he thinks is wrong or illogical, even if it's in a brutally honest way. But right now, it’s bothering him that she got upset by his words. She has never reacted this way before, so what did I say wrong?

“I think your girl meant something more than that, young man,” the husband tells him.

Kita turns to the couple who are both looking at him teasingly. “My girl?” he repeats.

“Aren’t you two together?”

He shakes his head. “No, she’s just our manager. I just help her out sometimes.”

“I see…”

The couple share a look, and then the wife turns to him. “You should follow her, though. We’re about to wrap up here anyway. Thank you both so much for your help.”

The husband also expresses his gratitude, and with that, Kita thanks them as well and starts to leave.

But as he passes by the wife on his way out, he overhears her mutter, “Ah, young love.”

And he pretends he just didn’t.

---

But maybe Kita really does have reason to worry.

Their manager sits with the sophomores on the other side of the dining table, not in her usual spot next to him. It's not like she's obligated to, though. She is a sophomore and she gets along well with them. If someone had noticed this, they just didn't bring it up, because her sitting with them is new, but should not be unusual.

But she hasn’t once made eye contact, and deliberately avoided touching him when she passed him a bowl. Now that's something alarmingly different.

The storm outside has thankfully subsided, but he feels another one brewing right here.

“You're going to burn a hole through her head,” Aran suddenly says beside him, just low enough for the two of them to hear.

Kita blinks and turns back to his food, realizing he’d been staring. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Though, I don’t think she noticed.”

Kita only sighs.

Aran hesitates. “Is there something wrong?”

“I think so. I might have said something wrong, but I don’t know what.”

“Do you need my help?”

Just then, Kita notices Suna, who is sitting right across from him, discreetly looking at the two of them. “Maybe later.”

The team finishes eating, and their manager volunteers to help clean up. Unsurprisingly, Kita does the same.

And for the first time since their last conversation, she finally looks up at him.

An unfamiliar feeling blooms in his chest right then. And Kita does not understand. Why does it feel like he hadn’t met her gaze for a long time, when it was actually just a few minutes ago? This is strange, but not unwelcome. He can’t help but smile down at her.

She approaches him to take the plates he had stacked from his hands. “Kita-san,” she starts.

And that makes the warmth in his chest spread even wider. It’s not like she’d been quiet during dinner. She had talked and laughed along with everyone else, but not once was he involved.

“Don’t worry about this." She smiles. "This is my job, and you need to rest because you still have practice tomorrow.”

What?

“Please go rest with the others. I’ll be fine here with Oban.”

Kita feels himself sinking fast as he watches her walk away. It doesn’t even register that he’d been pulled out of the room by Aran until they almost bump into Suna in the hallway.

“Wow,” the second-year says as he pockets his phone. “Kita-san getting rejected. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What are you still doing here, Suna?” Aran asks.

“Just lagging behind,” Suna nonchalantly replies, turning around to walk ahead of them.

Aran makes sure their junior is a safe distance away before he turns to his friend. "So, have you figured it out? That was a bit heavy back there."

Kita crosses his arms in thought, once again revisiting that conversation in the kitchen.

"What did you even say to her last?" Aran continues asking as they start down the corridor. "What made things suddenly different?"

And then it finally clicks. Kita stops walking, uncrossing his arms and looking away. "She asked me if she'd make a good wife."

"WHAT?"

---

The next day at practice, their manager goes by her day normally. Watching over them, assisting them. To an outsider, nothing seems off.

She probably thinks nothing of it now, Kita tries to assure himself when he takes a break from practicing serves.

Instantly, she stands up to give him his towel and water bottle. She compliments him, and he thanks her like usual. But the tension is still there, especially when she doesn't initiate more conversation. They may not talk a lot during practice, but she always has something to say.

That's how Kita knew he still needs to do what Aran told him to.

Yet even as practice ends and they both help prepare dinner again, he just can't seem to find the right words. It brings a small frown on his forehead, which the team isn't used to seeing.

Which makes dinner silent.

Until the twins, of course, start nudging each other's sides with their elbows, bringing up each other's mistakes at practice that they think might have upset their captain. As they keep going back and forth, their voices start to raise and their nudges turn into painful jabs.

"Stop that," Kita says.

And they do right away.

Somehow, even without the frown on his face now, Kita looks even more intimidating.

"Kita-san," their manager, sitting right across from him today, takes one for the team by asking, "why do you look so upset, though?"

His heart suddenly starts pounding. What would he even say? "I'm not. I just…"

Everyone looks at him then. Did their captain just stutter?

"...About what you said yesterday."

She looks puzzled. "Which one?"

The team looks as confused as her now, except for Aran who holds his breath.

"I've given it a lot of thought," Kita continues, "and I have to say that, with the effort and care you put in every day, you would be a good wife."

Silence settles over them for five seconds, before the whole table erupts into chaos.

Their manager quickly hides her face behind her hands.

Atsumu shouts, "What kind of confession is that?"

At that, Kita immediately realizes his mistake. "It's not –”

"Kita-san."

He looks back at their manager.

She seems to be forcing herself to calm down, because her cheeks are still flushed. She weakly points to the door. "Can we talk?"

The hollers and laughter grow louder as both of them stand up and exit, especially when she catches hold of his wrist to lead him away from the noisy room.

Finally, she stops and turns around to face him, looking upset. She lets go, leaving behind a warm spot on his wrist. "Why did you say that?"

His forehead creases again. "I'm sorry. I worded it wrong. Aran told me I should give you an answer, but I just… didn’t know how to say it without sounding like that."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Of course," she says softly.

Kita falls silent. He doesn’t like how everyone is reacting, and he definitely had not intended to put her on the spot like this. It's true that he wants to answer her question, because it seems like his answer would make her happy. But why, then, does it feel like he’s lying when he says that’s just what it is?

She sighs loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts. And then she smiles again, as if it had all been a small joke. "Kita-san, please be careful with your words next time. I'll go clear it up with them now." And then she leaves.

And that would be the last time they would ever talk about it. But just because neither of them had brought it up anymore, doesn't mean it left his mind.

Yet months pass. Summer and Spring Nationals have become more important than that incident, especially because they have fallen back to their usual dynamic. So Kita focuses on playing.

And even as he graduates from the team, career talks and college applications start for the third-years. Meanwhile, the juniors, their manager included, become busy with transitioning for the new team.

Eventually, Kita’s batch and then hers both graduate high school.

Now, years have passed. They have all taken different paths. She had moved to Osaka to pursue a career, while Kita stayed in Hyogo to become a rice farmer.

Is it a coincidence? For his chosen work to constantly bring him back to the first time he started developing feelings for her, to remind him of all the time lost?

Because they had all grown older, Kita of course understood his feelings now. But it’s too late to even start anything anymore, especially when they haven't kept in touch for the last five years.

She has probably found someone emotionally smarter than me by now, he would often think.

For some reason, this pops up in his train of thought again today, making the already sweltering day even more upsetting.

"Kita-san!"

The heat must be making him delusional. He straightens up and wipes the sweat off his forehead. At least he’s finished with today’s work, so he can go home and --

"Kita-san! Heyyy!"

He sighs. Why is he hearing her voice? It's not like she knows this place anyway. And even if she does, why would she bother going all the way out here, right? Yet the small hope bubbling up in Kita's chest makes him turn around.

And there, at the end of the field, stands his former team manager, so silly to not have an umbrella nor a hat to protect herself from the sun. But she is still smiling, waving both of her arms more enthusiastically now that she has caught his attention.

Kita calls out her name as a question, still unsure of what he's seeing.

"Yes, it's me! Can I go there?"

And Kita feels like his breath is knocked out of him. What is she doing here? But he isn’t given enough time to process this when she sees her already taking a few steps forward. Kita clears his throat to shout back a reply. “Just wait there! I'll come over!" Taking a deep breath, he crosses the distance, quick yet careful not to slip on the damp ground.

But he should have known she can still be too excited to listen sometimes. She tries to meet him halfway, and that's how she slips.

Fortunately, she is already within Kita’s reach.

Catching her breath, she holds on to him to stand upright again. And then she laughs, a very welcome sound in the peaceful field. "As expected of you, Kita-san!"

Kita only stares at her, not letting her go just yet. His former manager that he'd only seen in pictures and heard about from his former teammates' stories is now right in front of him, in between his arms.

"Sorry for dropping by so suddenly --!" she is cut off with her own squeal as Kita envelops her in his embrace.

Because right now, Kita needs to feel that she's real. He has convinced himself that there's no chance anymore for them to meet again, that their time together will just remain a memory. But here he is now, holding on to her as if she would suddenly disappear.

Finally, she relaxes and hugs him back. Then, she says softly, "I missed you too." A few moments pass before she gently pulls back with a grin. "I’m sorry, but where can I wash my feet? They still got muddy."

Back at his house, where Kita hears the water running in the bathroom, he holds his head in hands as he finally comes back to his senses. What did he just do? After all those years of not contacting her, he doesn't even say hello and instead hugs her without her consent? Did he just disrespect her? And then embarrassment takes over when he notices his sweat-soaked shirt. Did he really hold her like that while looking and smelling awful?

"Kita-san, are you alright?"

He looks up, but immediately looks away and nods in reply.

"Why don't you take a bath for now?" she asks, depressing Kita even more. He must have really disgusted her. "We can catch up afterwards."

---

While he was showering, Kita had heard the clanging of pots and utensils, and the kitchen sink’s faucet turning on and off. Now that he’s back, he confirms his suspicion.

She is cooking rice.

His rice.

The rice he had worked so hard to grow is now being cooked carefully by her own hands to fill both of their tummies soon.

Kita can't help but smile.

She notices him watching her, so she smiles back at him before turning the stove on.

Kita steps closer. "You really make a good wife."

She gasps, instantly turning to him.

He only stares back, still smiling.

Her brow slightly furrows. "Kita-san, there's no one else to joke around with like this."

"I mean it. Even back then. I just didn’t understand… no, I just denied it. But now..." He gulps. "You do make a good wife. Maybe not mine, but anyone would be honored to have you. I just want you to know that."

"Kita-san," she says, stepping even closer to him, "do you not want me to be your wife?"

"I do!" he says right away, sounding frustrated.

She bites her lip, as if fighting a smile. "You do?"

"I do."

"Skipping the dating part?"

"I would date to marry you."

She hides her face in her hands. "Oh my god! You are serious." She looks up again to pout. "How can you say all these things but still be unsure?"

"Because we live very different lives now. I can't tie you down here when you've got your own dreams to pursue."

"But life would be fine for me out here. As long as it's with you, Kita-san."

Kita stops to hold her gaze.

It’s intense, warm, and most importantly, honest.

And he is glad that the first time he actually let himself cry for her, it's because he’s too happy. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she says, smiling again as she reaches up to wipe his tears away.

He kisses one of her palms and pulls her close. To embrace her once again. To kiss the top of her head, and then the tip of her nose, and finally, her lips.

Kita has always prided himself on being built by the things he does every day. But love is not just an individual effort, and because he didn't do much for it, he thought he'd lost all his chances.

But here she is, willingly coming back to his life, showing him she loves him too. Maybe even more than he does.

He doesn’t believe in luck, but maybe it has helped him this time. He is too careful to be reckless, but if she’s willing to take the risk with him, they would figure things out.

But all that matters right now is this. Melting in each other’s arms, catching up on lost time. A moment too perfect to break.

Or not.

As they redo the rice, Kita asks her, "Why didn't you just use the rice cooker?"

EDITED A/N: WILL WRITE A SECOND CHAPTER SOON! i just don't know when i'll post it, considering my hectic work sched...

#kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #nekumiko writes

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thed4rkhand · 3 years

Note

Hi! I'm excited for your posts :3 It would be really interesting to read your analysis on Jimin's chart!

So today we’re doing Jimin’s chart and my analysis of it. Let me make it clear right off the bat, that since I’m not a professional astrologer, some things may not match up, further since we’re not super sure of his birth time, it’ll definitely affect the reading. What I can be sure of is that I’ll do my best and I’m completely open to constructive criticism from you all!

Now lets get on with some basic stuff, for those who have not yet read the post with Namjoon’s moon analysis, I’ll again reiterate some principles of Vedic astrology! In the scenario that you’re still confused with all this jargon, feel free to reach out and I’ll be more than happy to help you out.

Starting out, we have to note that while western astrology is usually more advisory in nature, Vedic astrology’s main purpose is to predict. Also, we usually go a sign back from western astrology in Vedic astrology, so according to that for example, if you’re a libra rising, you become a virgo rising in Vedic astrology and so on and so forth. All planets will also shift back a sign, so a Capricorn Mercury will become a Sagittarius Mercury.

Now let’s be aware that the chart may be a bit different, but given the main d1 (Lagna) chart remains the same for about 2 hours, let’s focus on that and the moon chart (rashi chart) for this reading. We can also just look at d9 for strength but not house placements as that can be time sensitive. So, we can take a two hour margin of time discrepancy and still predict accurately.

For this reading, we have taken 13th October 1995 as the day and 10:34pm as the time of birth, with the location set to Busan.

OTHER THAN THIS, LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO DO A BIRTH TIME RECTIFICATION FOR JIMIN LATER ON SO WE CAN GET MORE ACCURATE PREDICTIONS.

Since this is a general chart analysis, we shall be covering topics briefly and discussing the moon, ascendant and sun. For an in depth reading, do pick a smaller and focussed topic as we can honestly keep going on and on about a chart.

THIS READING WILL BE DONE IN 4 PARTS, FOLLOWING THE ASCENDANT, MOON, SUN AND MISCELLANEOUS.

On with the actual reading now-

Right off the bat, we can see Jimin is born into Gemini, with his ascendant at 16’49’, within the Nakshatra of Arda, within the fourth quadrant or pada. His lagna lord, Mercury is retrograde in the 4th house conjunct with sun, in the sign of virgo, where Mercury is naturally exalted as well as Mercury being in its Mooltrikon sign here. Secondly, the lord of Ardra, rahu, is sitting in the 5th house conduct Venus. Further the first house receives aspects from both rahu(north node) and mars. We can keep going but we’ve got a whole chart to cover here.

Now onto explaining what all this means. Being born into gemini makes the natives jovial and social by nature, all while having a very sharp mind. The phrase that comes to mind is ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothes’, not because they’re inherently bad or something, but because people don’t give them enough credit for their genius calculating mind. Throwing the Nakshatra of Ardra into this, I can definitely see the dots connecting slowly. Ardra literally means ‘the fortunate one’. An apparent destructive Nakshatra, given its ruled by the deity Rudra, it has several different aspects to it.

People born in ardra tend to have very extreme emotions and may be prone to anger issues and a habit of destructing anything they deem imperfect. People in this Nakshatra also make great actors due to their ability to mimic others well, a quality that makes them well liked and sociable, often giving them a dual persona of seriousness and goofiness. Such people are extremely affectionate and motherly, And men may display an effeminate quality to them, given that the Nakshatra is female in nature. Further, since rudra is also representative of the half man half woman god, (Ardhnarishwar), such people may have a conflict with wanting to show more and more stereotypically masculine sides to them and thus may engage in extreme dieting or bodybuilding to achieve this.

On a professional front, such people are extremely hardworking and rule abiding, sometimes to the extent of being self destructive. They have a humorous disposition and often hide behind that persona. They also keep a tight circle of friends and often check up on them. Compassionate and coolheaded, such people are often the centre of attention. The tend to multitask very often and find it hard to remain still and let go. lastly, such people and their career usually peaks after the age of 32 (aaahhh whaaat jimin).

lastly, his ascendant is in the last quadrant, which is ruled by Pisces and thus Jupiter. Being in an enemy sign here, people can have body image issues (1st house is our body and mind) and mental destress regarding their capabilities. Such people also love to engage in drinking and are very philanthropic in nature, loving to elevate the unfortunate people in society.

His lagna lord is retrogade in 4th house in virgo, conjunct sun and without aspects. The former indicates that a personal has a constant up and down tussle with their self image, and people often have demeaned them for either their looks or personality. This causes a person to be extremely insecure in themselves, and thus may require constant coddling and words of affirmations. Going four houses away, we can see that his mother is someone who truly shaped him and his persona. Their childhood upbringing plays a big role in them. Their childhood could have been tumultuous, with constant disagreements and obstacles.

They may have problems expressing their emotions or penning down their words, or they might be a very cautious person in terms of what they speak and to whom they speak. Mercury is also exalted here, giving it power, so we see that eventually the native breaks forth of this dilemma in life. They may have a career related to communication (see mercury aspecting 10th house), and they will have a successful career at that. The person may own a lot of real estate with this position. Since its mercury in virgo, such a person may be brilliant with handling technology and may even pursue IT based careers due to the ease of handling gadgets.

Given that here, sun in conjunct, right off the bat, the person must resemble their father a lot in terms of looks. They also have a regal appearance that demands attention. They may be well spoken. Their father was dominating and shaped them into who they are. Since mercury and sun aren’t friends, we can also see that such a person may have anger issues and problems controlling their tongue. This conjunction also forms the renowned Budh-Aditya Yoga, a conjunction that shows extreme smartness in a person. While this doesn’t necessarily have to be academic, such people can be very sharp and grasp things easily, they may even have knowledge on a wide variety of subjects and be extremely curious to learn more. Due to this, a person also become a great communicator, and people enjoy listening to them talk as they hold people’s attention with their unique way of speaking. They can be a great salesperson or politician with such a placement. Studies should come easy, as would reading anything from novels to detailed instructions. There may be a talent for writing stories and one may be good at interpreting symbols, font design or calligraphy.

Now going to rahu and Venus in 5th. This is a great placement honestly, given that Venus, the lord of love, beauty and creativity is sitting in the house of children, past karma, creativity and primary education, in the sign of libra. This would indicate that a native with their Nakshatra lord here would be extremely creative (rahu blows qualities out of proportion), kind of childlike innocence that would attract people who would want to literally ‘nurture’ or mother them, or inversely they could themselves be very motherly to their friends, such people also have good education till primary level (undergraduate level) and also carry a lot of good karma from their past life, which results in gains now.

Further the sign of Libra signifies that their beauty or creativity would be very magnetic, they exude charm and regalness, they tend to attract people like moths and have a very star crossed lovers kind of personality. Given Venus is the lord of 12th and 5th house itself, sitting in its mooltrikon sign of libra, it is extremely powerful here. Such a person may have alien or distinguished ideas, explore new arenas, write about devotion and deep philosophical experiences. They may also be very fond of children and children’s literature.

Given the 12th house is also the house of paranormal and extraterrestrial beings, such a person may be very in tune with their own selves and may regularly take part in activities of the occult like tarot, astrology, magick or occult like practices, or at least they have the natural capacity to do so. They may also be great psychologists with this placement and read people’s minds, with acute sixth sense and empathetic powers. Such a placement may also give clairvoyant abilities to a person. They may have troubles with their left eye, liver and digestive track also.

Rahu in libra makes someone overtly sensual and starry eyed about the world, seeing stuff through rose tinted glasses. Here in the 5th house, this may give an unrealistic image of love and grandeur, cause obsession like love, unrealistic image of self to the world. They may be also seen as a sex symbol of sorts often time, but also have a very cute site to them, as libra is a dual sign itself. Given its the ruler of 9th house here, where retrograde Saturn sits, the person may have many failures in their love life or have a very unsuccessful love life till much older, when Saturn matures at 36 years. further, aqueous gives an affinity for wanting to stand out, attracting people and being attracted to people with unconventional personalities (vmin stans) and of course, being excited about all things foreign. They may have an affinity for writing about unusual and unrelated scenarios or daydreaming about them. They might want to provide comfort to unusual people and nurture them alot, while also wanting to stand out and become unconventional themselves, they hate being blended into the crowd with this position.

As for the mars and rahu aspect to the lagna, it would largely affect the physical and mental state here. Rahu has a tendency to give long, elongated and cat like eyes to people, or very exaggerated features in general, as rahu represents the extremes. These people have unusual but magnetic (rahu is temptation) looks, which only get better and better with age (rahu is the oldest after Saturn). Mars over here gives a ruddy complexion and untidy and unruly hair. It gives a stout athletic body, which is made extremely lean due to his gemini rising. These people have exaggerated Adam’s apple and extremely masculine features (look at his face, at points he looks like he’s a statue with those sharp chiseled features). Mars may give a very sexual look to a person too, making them look more hot than cute usually. The extremely emotive eyes of his are all thanks to ardra Nakshatra, which usually promises that (the eye smile?).

Such people may have very violent thoughts, due to mars. They might also be extremely passionate and would do anything to reach their goal. Rahu here brings a tendency to fall for addictions, such as alcohol and drugs.

So this is part 1 of jimin’s chart, I’ll analyze his sun, moon, miscelnous (house placements, atmakarka, amatyakarka, darakarka, divisional charts and a lot more in that)

Do let me know if you enjoyed reading this and if you have any feedbacks.

#bts tarot #bts astrology #bts jimin #jimin #parkjimin #bts jin #seokjin #jin #rm #kim namjoon #namjoon #bts suga #suga #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #v #taehyung #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #astrology

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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch (Pt 2)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Time Frame: Right before the League meets Overhaul

Additional notes: I took some liberty in giving Reader a backstory that fits in with the BNHA world and is important for the story. If that bothers you, I apologize - just think of it as role playing! Also, this’ll probably be broken up into 8-10 parts, roughly. JUST KIDDING - this has now turned into an epic (roughly) 40 chapter series. Oops.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song: Cradles by Sub Urban

Part 1

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 2 - A Crack In The Armor

The pain came back, just as you said it would. What you didn’t mention was that the numbness would gradually fade away. It might sound nice to some, but Dabi hated it. He felt like he was driving towards a cliff in slow motion, waiting for the crash, unable to turn the wheel. He had no control. He hated this feeling of helplessness and traded it for anger instead. Why did he even ask for your help to begin with?

His answer was given to him as soon as your quirk’s effect finally stopped. Dabi stared angrily at the empty pill bottles. It was amazing how quickly the brain adapted, his body acting as if he’d never had to deal with his damaged nerves before. He had half a mind to hunt you down and demand you take care of it. He didn’t, of course, pride the deciding factor. The scars were his, a series of choices made, a patchwork flag he wore into battle. They were his burden and a reminder of his fight; he wasn’t going to give that up so easily. Still, he couldn’t deny the temptation that surrounded him like a cloud, even if all he did was entertain the thought.

Dabi waited all day for your visit until finally your characteristic knock on his door rewarded his patience. He stood from his bed and cooled his features into their typical mask before opening the door. There you stood, keen eyes already assessing him.

“Can I come in?” you asked. Like the day before, he stepped aside just enough to let you pass. He had discovered yesterday that he liked having your presence close to him… it gave his pulse a little rush. He caught a whiff of your shampoo as you gingerly passed him and felt the softness of your shirt as it brushed against his own like a whisper. His grip on the doorknob tightened.

As soon as Dabi closed the door behind you, you got started. You were determined to be strictly business. “How’re you feeling?” you asked, keeping your tone even, the perfect balance of concern and professionalism. Dabi wanted to laugh. Were you always this serious?

“Like shit.” He grinned. “That quirk of yours is potent stuff.”

You couldn’t help but let a grin escape in response to his candid words, a fracture in your hastily built armor. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’s a compliment.” He stated.

You felt your throat go tight. Stay on task. Stay on task. You cleared your throat slightly as you averted your eyes from him. “Well, let’s have a look.”

With a little less flair than yesterday, he removed his jacket like before, followed by his shirt as he turned around to display his back for you.

You could see that the bandages were seeped through. You had laid them on thick since you knew you wouldn’t be able to check on him as often as you’d like – he was still going out to do Shigaraki’s bidding and you had others to look after as well. You were planning on seeing him daily, but it looked like he’d need more.

Your little checkups were far from over. You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about that. You honestly weren’t sure what you thought about it yourself.

“I’m going to use my quirk and then change your bandages. I’ll check on you again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“How often do we have to do this?” Dabi asked. His tone was difficult to decipher. Concerned? Annoyed? …Hopeful?

You cleared your throat again, desperate for a glass of water, as you began to remove the soiled gauze. “I’ll probably visit you twice daily for the first week, then reduce it to once a day or every couple of days for the second week. We’ll see where we are by then. It’ll take at least a few weeks before it’s fully healed. That’s only if you’re good though, and don’t go out and use your quirk for a bit.”

“I won’t make any promises.” He replied.

You sighed. “Well, at least your honest. Really though, you should at least try not to use it.”

“That’s up to the Crusty Hands.” Dabi replied. “He’s the one sending me out there to try to recruit members and gather intel.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname for Shigaraki. “Couldn’t you ask him for a break then?” You asked, your head tilted. “No point in making you hurt yourself over lackey work.”

The question was innocent enough, but Dabi turned around and stared at you like you grew a second head. Ask Shigaraki for time off? The thought made Dabi bristle for so many reasons.

You quickly caught on to his shift in mood and tried to repair your previous statement. “Look. I get it if that’s an issue for you. Maybe I could be the one to ask him. I can make it a medical request, since I’m the healer.”

That option almost seemed worse. He didn’t need to be excused from his duties like a child with a sick note. And he most certainly didn’t want you putting your neck out for him.

“Look, I know your still kinda new here. So, let me break this down. There is no ‘sick time’ in the League of Villains. No vacation, no hazard pay. We all got our jobs to do.”

Now you bristled, your shoulders tensing up and your arms crossed in front of you defensively. “Yeah. And my job is to make sure you crazy idiots don’t kill yourselves before we complete our mission. You know, the big long-term one where we change the world, not the pointless dirty work Shigaraki’s got you doing.”

“Pointless dirty work? That dirty work is how we reach that long-term goal, sweetheart.” Dabi grinned devilishly. “I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about how we do things here.”

“Just the part about using your talents for recruiting street thugs. Most of them are idiots that can’t tell Stain’s message from an anarchist bumper sticker.”

You were right, of course. Dabi chuckled. You were more interesting than he thought.

“Look,” you said, your voice quieter as you uncrossed your arms. “We’re all in this together come hell or high water, and I’m really hoping we can all see it through to the end. If that means taking some time off to let your body recover, then I’d think that’d be worth doing.”

Dabi stared at you silently while something tightened in his chest. Your need to hold everyone together like glue was admirable and almost… endearing. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew there was a high likelihood they wouldn’t all see the end of this, if the end ever even comes. Did you know that but stubbornly hold onto your optimism? Or were you really that naïve that you believed there was a chance that everyone could come out unscathed? When the worst happens – which it inevitably will – will you blame yourself?

The thought bothered him.

For the first time Dabi’s mask slipped, and for the briefest of moments you could see the pity in his eyes.

“Thanks for the concern doll, but I got it under control.” Dabi said, his voice unusually calm. “Besides, if I took time off every time I hurt myself with my quirk, then I’d never be any use.”

Between his eyes and his words, there was no room for discussion, so you let the topic drop.

You let out a defeated sigh. “Well then, let’s get started.” You placed your hands on his back.

Once again, the sweet balm of your touch spread across his skin, bringing back the relief he had missed. His body responded instinctively. His breathing slowed; his muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation. You noticed the slightest drop in his shoulders and a pang of sympathy washed over you like a wave. You wished you could do more for him, but you had to conserve your quirk for the others too.

You cleaned his wound quickly and applied fresh bandages without any more talk. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Without missing a beat, he pulled his shirt back on while you packed your items.

You turned to leave, but paused for a moment before turning back slightly, your eyes bravely locking with his. “Try to get some rest… it’ll help your body heal faster.”

Dabi didn’t respond with his usual quips. Instead, his electric blue eyes stared at you in a way that made your blood pulse in your ears and the air burn in your lungs. You stood captivated for a moment, locked in his gaze, before finding your way out of the maze of his eyes and left his room, hearing the quiet click of the door behind you.

Without a word, Dabi sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands. His brow furrowed in confusion.

This was supposed to be a game. A game of walls and mazes and misdirection. He was the ‘Asshole,’ full of snarky comments and flirty quips all while withholding his true self. He didn’t need friends, just coworkers so he could carry out his mission and bring Stain’s vision to life before his quirk killed him. But your magic hands dismantled his walls, allowing you to walk right in and get in his head with your stubborn heart. He had cared. For the briefest of moments, he cared.

It was his game. Why did he feel like he was losing?

______________________________________________________________

Part 3

__________________________________________________

Taglist: @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025

#Dabi x reader #Dabi #Dabi fanfic #bnha #mha #bnha imagine #soft dabi #fluff #slow burn #pining #long talks #intimacy #dabi is a todoroki #touya todoroki #dabi is touya #angst #trauma

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years

Text

Unobtainable

Pairing : Poe x Fem!Reader

A/N : I write about this topic too much, and I know I do. But I promise the next four angst scenarios have nothing to do with this stuff! Anyway, I hope y’all won’t cry as much as I did while writing this.

T/W : Pregnancy ; Death; Stillbirth ; Devastation ; Sadness ; Angst

Word Count : 2.2K

Angstember Day 6

He was always on edge, always so sure that he never deserved the joy that you gave him. When the two of you had gotten married, he was positive that you would end up leaving him, that you would find someone better than him. You promised him that you would never, that you loved him dearly, and you promised him the same thing every day for the last five years. When you brought up starting a family, he was downright terrified, the idea of becoming a father didn't sit well with him. He didn't deserve you, he most definitely didn't deserve one of your children. What if he hurt them? What if he wasn't the father they needed? He couldn't fathom it. It was you who reassured him that it would be okay, that he would be the perfect father, telling him all the wonderful things he could do and teach his child as his mind filled with beautiful images of him, you, and his child.

When you had become pregnant he honestly thought you were joking, that it was just some type of sick joke that you were playing on him. He had a hard time believing that he could ever be that lucky. He had you, the most perfect girl in the universe, a girl that he could have never written in the pages of any of his books, but here you were, and now you were saying that you were carrying his child.

It took a couple weeks for him to actually come to terms that you were legitimately pregnant. Even after seeing the positive tests, he was scared that it was a false positive, always so pessimistic. he refused to accept the tests for what they were. It wasn't until that first doctors appointment, seeing his child on the screen, sure, it looked like a tiny little bean, but that's when it was validated, and he felt like he could actually be happy.

He didn't waste any time, he wanted to let his child know that he loved them already, and that he would always be there for them. Nights were spent with him laying his head carefully on your stomach, smiling up at you as you ran your fingers through his hair. He looked so peaceful, so content, so happy, and seeing him this way made it hard for you to believe that he had ever been worried in the first place. Some days he would spend in his makeshift office, writing out stories that he could tell his child, stories that had beautiful scenery and friendly characters, stories that he spent hours on just to be sure they would be perfect when the child was finally here.

Weeks turned to months, your stomach slowly began to grow larger with his child. Every second he could find, his hands were all over your abdomen, his smile never fading whenever he touched you. Things were perfect, you had never seen him smile so much, not even when you had first gotten married. To him, everything was falling into place, to him, this child was like the missing chapter in a novel that he was working on, and he could finally say that his story was complete.

You both found out that you would be bringing a baby girl into the world, and he was over the moon, he was ecstatic. If anyone looked close enough, they would have seen a small tear fall from the corner of his eye, but you were the only one who had caught it. His hand was wrapped tightly in yours as your daughter showed up on the screen, her tiny fingers brought up to her mouth, an ultrasound image that had been printed and carried around with him everywhere.

Her name was chosen as soon as you found out, and when her nursery room was painted, he had painted it in perfect script across the wall. He had picked the name, something that he was quite excited about doing, much to your surprise. Edlyn Grace, a name he whispered against your tummy often. His love for your daughter seemed to grow more and more with every passing day. It all was becoming more real, she had a name, her room was ready, her closet was filled, everything was ready for her to be here.

"What do you think she'll be like, love?" He asked one morning as you sat at the table. He brought you over a cup of tea, the steam still billowing from the top of the cup. You blew the steam away as you brought the cup up to your lips, carefully sipping before answering.

"I think she'll be perfect. She'll be loved, doted over, cherished, as any child should be. Maybe even more." You smiled up at him as you set the cup down, feeling her kick against your stomach, as if letting you know that she heard you talking about her. You rubbed your stomach to soothe her and he took a seat next to you, watching your hand.

"She'll be happy though, right?" He looked up at you and you could see the small hint of worry in his eyes as he asked the question. You reached out to cup his cheek in your hand, his hand moving up to place it over yours. "That's a stupid question, I'm sorry." He dropped his gaze, and you shook your head.

"It's not a stupid question. I want her to be happy, you want her to be happy, and I'm quite positive she will be. How could she not be. You're going to be an amazing father, she's lucky to have you." You leaned over to kiss him, feeling his lips pull up when you did so. You couldn't take all his fears away, every father had lingering doubts about how good they'll be, but you could do your best to let him know that everything would be okay, and that's exactly what you did.

Time had passed quickly, it seemed like in the blink of an eye you had gone from just finding out that you were pregnant to being thirty weeks in. You only had ten weeks left, and up until now everything had been going flawlessly.

You had woken up one morning with a strange back pain, it had made it almost impossible to even get out of bed, but you didn't want to worry Poe, so you toughed it out, hoping that maybe you had slept wrong. It seemed like a logical reason, you didn't feel anything else was off, your back just hurt. You went through the day, trying you best to not let on that anything was wrong. Poe stayed close, but that was just how he was, he gravitated towards you and the baby, so you had to keep a strong face the entire time.

The pain lasted for a while, and it wasn't getting any better. You tried multiple different sleeping positions, and once you had told Poe about it, he had went out and bought you a multitude of different pillows that he thought would help ease your pain. You hadn't actually worried, not until you woke up one morning, your legs wet, the bed sheets stained red, that's when you started panicking.

You backed away from the bed, one hand over your stomach, the other covering your mouth as you stared down at the stain on the bed. It was too much blood, you knew it wasn't good. You screamed Poe's name, calling him in from the kitchen. He had been making breakfast for you, trying to help you relax so your back wouldn't hurt, but when he walked in and saw the bed, then looked over to you, his mind went blank. What was he supposed to do? This wasn't normal. No. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Dreams shattered, his story all but thrown away as he watched the doctors quickly slice your abdomen open. He wasn't there, not mentally, not emotionally. He was standing right next to you, but he couldn't accept the outcome, the outcome that the doctors had told him was inevitable. No cameras allowed, "it's not something you'll want to remember, sir" they had said as they wheeled you down the hallway towards the operating room, the mask already placed over your face to put you to sleep.

He watched as the doctors pulled his daughter out, she was beautiful, her hair was matted in blood and fluid, but she didn't cry. She couldn't cry. She was gone. She didn't move, she didn't breathe. The doctor quickly handed her off to the nurse standing behind him, as if he hadn't already seen her. His eyes followed the nurses as they whisked her away out of the room. He was emotionless, he couldn't feel anything, not anger, not sadness... nothing.

The doctors began murmuring to each other, the bleeding won't stop, they needed to take it out. He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but he was sure that once you had woken up they would explain everything to the two of you.

Edlyn Grace, she was born dead, not one breath taken, her lips were already a dark shade of purplish blue when they had pulled her out. She had passed away before she was even born, there was no chance of saving her at that point. The doctors had said that somehow the placenta, her life line in a way, had become detached from the uterine wall. They never really gave you or him a hypothetical explanation for how it could have happened, only offering their sympathies after explaining that your daughter had died.

There would be no hope for another child in the future, all dreams of having a family of your own were long gone. The doctors had to remove your uterus due to not being able to stop the bleeding. Not only had you lost your daughter, but you had lost any chances of anymore pregnancies, of another baby, all in the same day.

You weren't sure what hurt worse, the pain of the stitches from the c-section, or the pain of listening to the doctor tell you that your dreams would never come true.

She was cremated, her ashes in a small pink urn that was placed carefully on the dresser top in her nursery. The walls in the room were now lined with pictures, the only pictures you and Poe would ever have with her. At first glance they looked like happy family portraits with you cradling her against your chest, it probably looked like tears of happiness were streaming down your cheeks as you stared down at her, but you and he both knew that wasn't the case.

You and him were only allowed an hour and a half to spend with her before they had to take her away again. Poe never cried, not one tear fell. He was trying to stay strong for you while also trying to come to terms with everything. He had been the one who called the funeral home to ask for her to be cremated, as you hadn't been able to talk at the time, not coherently at least. When he held her, he held her close against his chest, his head bowed and pressed against hers. He whispered to her, and even now you don't know what he had said, but you never asked, and you didn't plan on asking either, some things just needed to stay private.

When her ashes were to be picked up from the funeral home, you both went together. You noticed that his eyes would often drift to the back seat of the car where her car seat was hooked up. He refused to get rid of it, at least for now, worried that she would be upset if her things were quickly removed. He was silent most of the time, moving through the house like a ghost. Sometimes he would stop to wrap his arms around you, kissing your forehead as you broke down in tears against his chest. No words were exchanged, but they weren't needed, you both knew how the other felt, and talking about it would only make it harder.

Her foot and hand prints were framed and placed on both sides of her urn. Her memory box that had only her hat and the blanket she had been wrapped in was set up behind the urn, a beautiful pastel pink box with a white ribbon tied around it. What was once a room where she would sleep, was now a room where her spirit would rest forever. Her crib was never touched, her clothes and toys would slowly but surely soon grow layers of dust, but they would never be removed.

Some nights you would feel the bed shift, he would quietly leave the room, but you never followed. You knew where he was going. He did it almost every night, and you would listen closely, his choked off sobs and sniffles echoed through the empty halls of the house, mixed in with the sound of the creaking rocking chair.

You never knew, and you never asked what he did in the room. It was his private moments with her, and he deserved it. He would sit in the rocking chair, carefully untying the ribbon of the memory box and gently pulling out her blanket. He held it close against his chest and finally let himself cry. True happiness was unobtainable, it had been stolen from him, and he would never understand why.

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srose-foxfire · 3 years

Text

“First Impressions” Part 3 -Damirae Short Fic-

Part: 1

Part: 2

Part: 3 ⬇️

Damian knew he had to be paying closely attention in class, but his mind was elsewhere. He had his eyes down on his notebook, scribbling nonsense as to make it look, he was actually taking notes. A raven flew by the school’s 4thfloor window and landed next onto a branch causing Damian to turn his attention to the black bird and forget he was in school. The bird squawked and then flew off, clearly spotting something to eat.

The young Wayne let out a silent sigh as he returned his gaze towards his notes and found he had written Raven’s name all over the page. He could feel his blood boil and his face flushed, not wanting anyone see him turn red Damian laid his head onto his sleeved school coat.

“Something the matter Mr. Wayne?” Damian looked up, to find his history teacher, poking her eyes out from the top of the textbook she was holding and lifting a brow at him.

“Nothing.” He simply answered and went back to looking down at his notebook, scribbling some of the words he caught as Mrs. Han continue with the lecture.

-- -- -- --

Damian was glad he wouldn’t had to see any of his peers or his teachers now that Thanksgiving break had started, it only reminded him that the fall semester would soon end and then he would only need to focus on completing his last spring semester as a senior. Already Damian had applied to colleges and universities to please his father, but Damian felt he was ready to take over the family’s company. He has been groomed since a child, but his father insisted Damian have a normal life like any other teen or young adult. Whatever that meant. As he lingered on his thoughts a sudden image appeared across his mind of Raven smiling.

He shook his head and wondered why she was consuming all his thoughts. True he was seeing Raven more often as she hanged out regularly with Cass and Steph over the weekends. They lock themselves in Cass room and do girliethings, Damian could only assume as he would pass by the closed door and hear squeals coming from the other side.

Damian finally heard the story of how his sisters met Raven. Steph and Cass were out on a shopping spree, while he was away with his father on a business trip. The girls were on their own -none of his brothers offered to accompany them- and bought more than they could carry. One thing led to another that both Steph and Cass lost their grip on some on their purchases, resulting most of their brand-new items to scatter across the mall’s floor. No one offered to help, as the two girls scrambled to pick up everything, only a girl dressed in black came to their aid. She showed no amusement to what had happened only concerned and wanted to help to lighten their day. While the other shoppers only laughed at the incident, the raven-haired girl only offered Cass and Steph a gentle smile. Thus, began start of a beautiful friendship.

Damian couldn’t ask his sisters for more intel, for if he continue to pry into their friend both Cass and Step would become suspicious of his questions. He could try and ask Raven some questions in order to learn more about her but that was something he wouldn’t be able to accomplish. Recently Damian has been noticing that every time he had the slightest chance to speak with Raven in private, either his sisters would come into the room and whisk her away from him. Other times when he would find her alone, she would get a call from her mother to return home. It would seem the universe was conspiring against him to ever redeem himself.

-- -- -- --

Perhaps the universe was finally giving Damian a chance. It was a little pass midday on Thanksgiving Day and Damian was seated in the back of the family’s limousine as Alfred drove him towards Raven’s home. She and her mother were invited to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner at Wayne Manor. Ariella, Raven’s mother insisted they cook some of the dishes themselves to contribute to the meal. This pick-up trip had been tasked to Cass and Jason but the two backed down last minute, making Damian go instead.

He didn’t mind since this would be a great opportunity to be alone and just have a decent conversation with her. Already his mind was working on topics they could talk about, he could share his own favorite novels and authors. Recite excerpts he enjoyed, maybe even get a chance and invite Raven to watch a movie the following weekend. He could feel himself smile a bit at the ideas, he then looked up when he felt Alfred pull-over the limousine. His smile soon disappeared at the sight before him:

Raven was hugging an older boy with green hair.

Damian could feel his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, and it hurt.Could that be her boyfriend? He wanted to ask Alfred to return later but knew the old family butler would question him and that was the last thing Damian wanted to do. Was to talk about his feelings.

“Wait for me here Pennyworth.”

“As you wish Master Damian.”

Damian walked over the two young teens, hiding his fists in in trousers pockets. Raven was still hugging the green hair boy and Damian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning. The hug ended when Damian grunted, Raven and the guys beside her turned around to face him.

“Greetings.” Who the hell says that these days? Damian wanted to punch himself in the face for making himself look like a fool before them. “Pardon, I came to help you bring anything back to the manor?”

“Right.” Raven only smile at him and cleared her throat before gesturing to the guy beside her “Damian this is-”

“Jasper Sky, I presume?” Damian said so naturally as he extended his hand out to him. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Damian’s hand was still in the air, as the guy before him only lifted a brow at him, “Jasper who-now?”

Raven chuckled nervously before adding, “actually Damian, this is an old childhood friend of mine, Garfield Logan.”

“You can call me Gar for short.” Gar said with a smile before giving Damian a hard handshake. “Well it seems you are busy Rae; I hope you and you mom like the quiche. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Bye Gar.” Raven said warmly and Gar returned the gesture with a huge grin on his face. He went to grab a black skateboard and rode down the block before turning on a corner.

Damian looked at Raven from the corner of his eyes, and saw she was still smiling. Seeing her smiling like that only made him want to smile as well, but he couldn’t allow himself since he was still figuring out his damn emotions. Damian turned his hand into a fist, brought it next to his lips before grunting again. “Apologies, I thought… never mind. Do you need help putting the stuff inside the car?”

“Yeah, my mom left everything ready upstairs. You wanna follow me upstairs?”

Damian could only nod and followed Raven into the apartment building. He could see why Cass and Jason bailed on helping load the limousine. Raven’s home was on the fifth floor, and the elevator was out of order making them go up a few flights of stairs. Damian can only hope, he could stack certain dishes together to minimize the ups and downs. Both teens arrived to a dark red wooden door with 405written in paint plastered in the center. Raven took out some very looking worn out keys and opened the door. They entered and Damian couldn’t help himself but examined the home.

It was small, perfect for just two people to live here. The entrance was right into a small hallway, the left side clearly lead to their rooms and straight ahead was a small living room adorned with a white love seat and a small coffee table. In the living room, there was a small flat screen, on the soft light blue painted walls was adorned with assorted picture frames of Raven and her mother. It amazed him how they were both much alike and could see where the black-raven hair girl got her beauty from. Just a little up ahead was a talk mosaic counter splitting the living room to a small kitchen which was decorated with knitted autumn leaves. There was a small wooden table filled with large crystal containers with different prepared dishes.

“Your home is quaint.” Brain stop talking, Damian told himself.

“Thanks… so if you don’t mind grabbing these and…” Raven pointed to some larger containers which had smashed potatoes, string beans, one with macaroni and cheese. Raven busied herself of getting what looked like gravy, rice pudding, and a container filled with chocolate chip cookies. Damian had thought there were more items, but between them two they would be able to take everything downstairs in one trip.

They existed her home, being a gentleman Damian waited for her while Raven locked the door before heading down flight of stairs that waited for them. They were both silent, concentrating on each step they took so not to trip. He wished he could break the silence but all his previous well though-out conversations in the limousine had decided to escape him. Damian was about to call it a defeat when-

“There’s no Jasper Sky.”

Wait what? He had to blink a few times before turning his head to look at her, but Raven kept her amethyst gaze on the steps below her. Her face had become a somber look, like the confession was had been consuming her. “Pardon?”

“I… I don’t have a boyfriend. I made him up.”

He could feel that it was hard for her to confess but the side of him wanting to comfort Raven couldn’t help but add; “I don’t wish to pry but if you need to vent I’m open-”

“Your sisters kind of pinned me to a corner. Short story we were just talking, and something lead to another which resulted of them lining up guys for me to…date. I panicked and made up the idea that I was already seeing someone, making me create Jasper Sky.”

Damian could feel she had more to say and only remained silent to allow her to continue, “I had to confess to someone and well, out of everyone I feel like you would help me come clean to your sisters. Besides I feel you wouldn’t judge me and… arh! I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“No need to feel embarrassed, I could only imagine the predicament my sisters may have put you through and I feel honor you can confide in me.”

“Thank you, Damian. I really appreciate it.” Raven smiled at him, before going up a step and doing something Damian wouldn’t had expected from her. She gave him a light peck on his cheek. “You’re a good friend.”

Raven descended the last few steps and exited the apartment building, unaware that Damian had stopped at the last step of the stairs as he stared off at her. In that moment he wished he wasn’t carrying items in his arms, wanting to touch the cheek she kissed. Raven was opening-up to him and he couldn’t believe he could have a chance to continue getting know about her, all the while supporting her in any way, she made needed him. He would do anything she could ever asked of him. Damian couldn’t help but feel all giddy inside and wanting to shout out load how happy he that the universe was finally giving him a break.

A/N: Hello I hope everyone has been staying safe and well. I apologize for not getting part 3 out sooner and hope you enjoyed this. I busy myself and work hard getting this done and edited today. We are nearing the end to ‘First Impressions’ but this has given a chance for me to create more fics and au’s on Damian and Raven. I am also working on some fics for the Damirae Fanzine so that’s currently my number one priority at the moment. Once I am finished with that I am will be open to take some short Damirae prompts (from you) for me to write and help me better myself as a writer. Till next time and Happy Holidays!

~~Simona R.

#damirae #demonbirds #DC Universe #dc fanfic #damian x raven #raven-x-damian #Damian Wayne #dc damian #raven roth #thanksgivingau #i hope this is good #fanfiction #damirae fan #damiraeau

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eveningcatcher · 4 years

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Julian/Lucio/Muriel/Vulgora/Valdemar picking MC up after they had an argument

Julian:

Lately MC and Julian couldn’t see each other eye to eye. It seemed that they argued just about anything. Last week they argued about the way one makes the bed, three days ago about the amount of money they spend. It was never enough to make them way too angry at each other, but the consequences could be felt. There was always a tension between them as if they were waiting to start arguing about something else.

All of this resulted in them trying not to do much in each other’s presence, thus not making any topic they could argue about. Today, it happened again. MC was cleaning their shop, trying their best to somehow please Julian as they went over his leech collection. They organized it how they saw Julian do it, thinking they are doing it the right way. Unfortunately, they were wrong, so the act of kindness they wanted to show Julian resulted in him getting irritated even more. The day had already been way too stressful for both him and MC, and all of this seemed to be a cherry on the top.

“You can’t just move my leeches wherever you want!” Julian said, taking a couple of jars filled with leeches.

“Julian, those are leeches,” MC said, annoyed, “Does it really matter how you organize them?”

“It does,” he insisted as he sorted them on his cupboard, “Leeches have different purposes!”

“They all do the same thing – suck blood.” MC said as they watched him organize the jars, “So, how much different is your organization than mine?”

“This leech,” he started explaining as he raised one of the jars, “Is much older than,” he tapped on the other jar, “This leech. And you put them together!”

“So? They both suck blood just fine.”

“Yes, but I can’t give people any leeches. It’s a long pro-”

“Why do you give people leeches at all? I bet that a nap helps the patient better than those,” they gestured at the jars in disgust.

“Of course not!” he protested, “If they weren’t good for the patients, I wouldn’t give them leeches at all!”

“You know what?” MC said, frustrated. They’ve had enough,” Fine. You’re right about everything. So now, Mr. know-it-all, pack your leeches and all other things and get out.”

“Fine!”

MC expected that Julian would start collecting his jars, leaving MC for good. Just the thought of that made something in MC break. They didn’t want Julian to leave. Just when they were going to beg Julian to stay, he grabbed them, nearly throwing them over his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?” MC asked as they tried to get off.

“I’m getting what’s mine,” Julian said with a dumb smile as he locked MC’s door, going his place.

MC blushed along the way, trying not to make any eye contact with the people passing by. Julian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about the glances he got. He happily unlocked the doors of his home, putting MC on one of the sofas, giving them a quick peck on the lips.

As soon as he pulled away, MC said, “I’m sorry for-”

“I know,” he interrupted them, gently smiling as he leaned closer, slowly as if he didn’t want to scare MC away. MC, on the other hand, got tired of waiting as they grabbed his suit, pulling him closer, but just before they could kiss, their noses bumped, making them pull to move away from one another, gently holding their noses. After a moment they looked at each other, then at their red noses, laughing at how dumb they are. After they’ve calmed down a bit they leaned again, this time, kissing properly.

Surprisingly enough, their kiss was soft, almost as if they were just brushing each other’s lips. Then, MC decided to spice things up as they bit Julian’s lower lip, gently pulling it, impatiently waiting for Julian’s reaction. He irked up a bit, not expecting MC to be so rough, however, by the way his blood rushed all the way to his cheeks, it was obvious he was enjoying it. MC didn’t stop there, their hands gently tracing over his neck, then playing with his ginger locks of hair as they took off his eye patch, tossing it on the floor. Now that was out of the way, MC pressed in further, on their tiptoes as they tried to pull Julian down. Once they’ve pulled away they stared at each other, appreciating the moment, feeling like they’re the only people in the Vesuvia.

Lucio

“You’ve been spending way too much money,” MC commented one time in the shop,” Please, please, get a grip.”

“Don’t worry,” he responded, gently petting MC’s head,” Our coffins are filled with money!” he continued bragging.

“But what if they become empty tomorrow?” they pressed the matter further,” What would you do then? What are you spending all that money on?!?”

“Dear, just,” he stopped for a moment, trying to think of what to say,” Don’t think much about it.”

“How can I not think about it? Lately, you’ve been spending way too much money on everything!” they said, staring at him with clear worry,” Do you really believe you need golden mirrors?”

“Of course I do!”

“I…” they looked at him in disbelief. He can’t be serious, can he? ” Look, you need a wake-up call,” they said, completely serious,” Please, if you truly do want to keep up with constantly spending money for no reason, leave. Just, take your unreasonably expensive stuff and leave.”

“I was just thinking about that!” he said with a smile plastered on his face as he picked MC up, walking out of the shop as he carried MC bridal style.

He noticed how MC stared at him in shock, so he proudly said, “Don’t mind me, I’m just taking what’s mine~”

MC stared at him in disbelief, blushing like mad. Once they were back at the palace, Lucio gently put them down. For a moment he admired MC’s figure who just laid on his bed, their cheeks still flushed from Lucio’s small act. He smirked as he bent over them, not even trying to be discrete as he stared at their plump lips. His head was so close to MC’s that he could feel their breath brush his cheeks. Just when MC thought that he was going to kiss them, he stopped, admiring MC’s face one more time, then, with a smug smirk, he leaned in closer, sealing his lips with MC’s.

The passionate kiss he gave them was rough, filled with emotion, just like the first time when he kissed them. MC was addicted to the feeling as they pulled Lucio closer, trying to deepen the kiss, holding his face firmly. Even though he enjoyed all of this, he hadn’t had enough; he needed more thrill. And so he granted his own wish as he grabbed MC’s exposed collarbone with his cold golden hand, making MC shiver below him.

MC’s lips formed a small curve as they played with the loose strands of Lucio’s hair, not even thinking about breaking the kiss. They decided to tease him back, touching Lucio’s exposed chest, tracing his abs with their nails. Lucio tried his best to suppress the gasp, frowning once MC pulled their hands away. MC is such a tease, always pulling away at the best part…

“Lucio,” MC gasped for a moment, not taking their eyes off of Lucio’s lips, “While I do appreciate all of this, your problem with spending enormous amounts of money still stays.”

He knew how stubborn MC can be, but he also knew that MC never did anything with ill intent.

“Fine. I’ll sort out anything unnecessary and sell it off,” he said, pouting.

“Thank you, my love,” MC said with a smile as they gave him another kiss.

Muriel

MC and Muriel have been walking together in the forest, looking for some mushrooms. The two of them happily walked on the trails known only to them, trying their best not to disturb any forest animal along the way. Sure, MC wasn’t used to walking on the dirt-covered in grass and wood roots, so they found themselves, slipping and falling quite often. This never stopped them, as they would stand up quickly, brush the dirt off as they laughed with Muriel at how clumsy they are.

Finally, they found themselves in a small field filled with non-poisonous mushrooms. They collected them together, taking small breaks in between, playing with some rabbits passing by, as well as trying to approach deer who didn’t mind the two of them at all. Overall, they had a great, as well as a rather productive time since they were able to collect enough mushrooms for the whole winter.

They returned to the hut together, making some jokes about how they are better prepared than squirrels along the way. It was only when they were in front of the hut that MC had a feeling of sadness wash over them. Muriel lived in a small, minimalistic hut, having enough just to survive. For God’s sake, he didn’t even have spices for his food! All of this made MC feel terrible.

“Muriel,” they started talking as they took all of the mushrooms out of the basket, cleaning them in one of the buckets Muriel kept outside,” I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I would love it if you would move in with me.”

He turned to them, taking a glance at them then at the doors of his tiny hut. After a moment, he responded with a shrug, “No.”

“Why not?” MC asked them.

“Because I enjoy it there,” he said with a smile, looking at his hut once more. Sure, he didn’t have much, but he had a warm place, a roof over his head, food and most importantly, MC; what else does he need?

“But, but you don’t even have a bathroom.” MC noted with a frown as they prepared to grill some of the mushrooms for dinner,” Don’t you think that you should live somewhere with minimal living conditions?”

“I don’t care,” he said with a slight puff. This conversation started to annoy him,” I’d rather be in my hut than in your busy shop,” he stopped for a moment, realizing that this sounded a lot harsher than how he intended to say it.

“Is that how you feel?” MC responded, offended by his words,” Then what does my shop have that your hut doesn’t?”

“Peace,” he simply responded, hoping that MC would drop the topic.

“What are you talking about? Both of us know that apart from the customers there are no people! It’s pretty damn peaceful!”

“It’s not the same, though,” he insisted, not wanting to make eye contact with MC.

“How?!?”

“It’s just…” he stopped for a moment to think,” I don’t know how to explain it, it’s not the same as in here.”

“You know what?” MC asked him, knowing deep down that they were overreacting,” If it’s so much better in your hut than in my shop, then why don’t you take your things and live in this hut for the rest of your life?!?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said with a smile as he grabbed MC’s waist, picked MC up, staring at them directly in the eyes because he knew that if he stared down he wouldn’t be able to hold in his laughter. The height difference between them was just too funny to him sometimes. With a small smile forming on his lips, he went back into the hut, putting MC on the bed.

“I don’t think I’ll need anything else from your shop,” he said as he took a glance at MC’s flushed face as he went back outside, being proud at how smooth he was. Not long after he returned with some wood, starting the fire, then grilled the mushrooms. He walked back to MC, sitting right next to them, handing over the food.

“MC, I didn’t mean anything bad,” he said, snuggling closer to MC.

“I know,” they said as they finished the meal, standing up so they could kiss Muriel’s forehead, ” I overreacted,” they said as they took Muriel’s plate, going to the other side of the hut. They gently put the dishes into the bucket filled with water and started washing them. At that moment, as they washed the dishes in silence, they understood what Muriel was talking about not so long ago.” I have to admit it, you do have a point. It’s much more peaceful here.”

Vulgora

“MC LOOK!” Vulgora said one fine morning as they walked into MC’s shop without even knocking, holding a skeleton’s arm proudly in their hands.

“Eek!” MC screamed at the sight, jumping back which resulted in them accidentally breaking an empty jar.

“What’s wrong? Why so scared all of a sudden?” they asked, confused.

“Vulgora…” MC said as they stared at them from the safe distance,” Is that a hand?”

“Yes,” they said with a smug smirk, puffing their chest out,” It’s an old trophy of mine,” they said proudly,” Thought I should clean it.”

“Well I think you should throw it away,” MC said with a frown, cowering in fear. How did Vulgora get an arm?

“What?!?” they turned their head to MC, not believing what they were hearing,” NO WAY. DON’T YOU KNOW WHOSE HAND THIS WAS?!?” they said as they lifted the hand.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” MC said as they backed off a little,” Just get it out of my shop.”

“BUT THIS WAS A HAND OF ONE FAMOUS GENERAL!!!” they started explaining as the memory of them cutting off the hand of the man who begged them to spare their lives in the middle of the battlefield. Those were great times. They still couldn’t believe all of that happened 130 years ago. They remembered it as if it happened yesterday… Then, they got out of their trance, remembering where they are and what they were doing. Right, MC dares to disrespect this fond memory of theirs, ” YOU HAVE NO CLUE HOW MUCH PEOPLE WOULD PAY JUST TO SEE IT!”

“Well you have no clue how much I’d pay to throw it away,” they said as they couldn’t take their eyes off the skeleton hand.

“What?!? NO.”

“Please, just, just get it out of my sight…” they begged, feeling hopeless.

“No way!” they kept arguing, however, they felt like their anger started to wear off. They just couldn’t be mad at MC for long periods of time,” I wanted your help with cleaning.”

“Why would you need my help with it?!?” they asked with disgusted. They aren’t going anywhere near that thing.

“You know, for ‘bonding’” they said as they made quotation mark with both of their hands, still holding onto the skeleton,” And other bullshit humans believe in.”

“Couldn’t we just… I don’t know,” they said sarcastically as they shrugged,” Not clean the fucking skeleton?!?”

“But it’s all dusty!” they said as they extended the skeleton’s hand to MC.

“Vulgora,” MC said with a sigh as they massaged their temple,” Why do you have to do so many gruesome things?”

“SINCE WHEN WAS CLEANING GRUESOME?!?!”

“You know what… just…” MC said with a sigh, tired of everything,” Take that hand and any other ‘trophy’ of yours and leave. Please,” they gestured at an animal right above the entrance doors of their shop,” I can’t bear to look at that poor deer’s head anymore.”

“But you were the one who killed it!”

“Yeah and I cried because of it,” they said, remembering how sad, the deer’s eyes looked at MC.

“Weren’t those tears of joy?!?”

“NO!”

“Ugh, fine,” Vulgora said, feeling like they got tired of the argument themselves,” I’ll take what’s mine and go.”

They carefully put the hand in their pocket, then picked MC up with only one hand, like an absolute madman chad that they are and went back to their estate as if nothing happened.

“What are you doing?” MC asked, trying to get off.

“Exactly what you wanted!” Vulgora said, getting a bit frustrated at how difficult MC was to please.

Just before MC was about to tell them they never told them to do any of this, they realized what Vulgora meant, leaving them like a blushing mess all the way to Vulgora’s estate. As soon as Vulgora set a foot into their mansion they put MC down.

“So… this means no more deer hunts?”

“At least not with me,” MC said, looking down, trying to hide their flushed face away from Vulgora.

“That sucks,” they frowned, not noticing how embarrassed MC was,” It’s always more fun hunting with you…”

“I fall off my horse nearly every time. I can’t even hold a bow properly,” MC explained, naming just a few things at the top of their head.

“That’s exactly why it’s so much fun.”

MC rolled their eyes, letting a chuckle escape their lips, however, they stopped as soon as they saw Vulgora take out the hand.

“I want to never, ever, see that again,” MC said as they pointed at the hand.

“But-”

“No buts.”

“Ugh, fine,” they groaned, rolling their eyes,” I’ll hide it somewhere you won’t find.”

Even though MC would have much preferred that Vulgora would just throw the hand away, they knew this was the best solution they could get, “Thanks.”

Valdemar

“My dear, don’t you worry, this is just a usual protocol,” Valdemar said with a grin as they cleaned their scalpel.

“Are you, are you sure?” MC asked, a bit worried. Was a scalpel necessary for this wound?

“I have centuries of experience,” they said, not breaking eye contact with MC,” I’m sure.”

Half an hour later, MC stared at their patched arm. They were grateful for what Valdemar did for them, but was it so necessary for the process to be this painful? Once they took a glance at Valdemar happily writing down in their notebook, they got an answer. This was just another attempt to further their research. MC groaned in frustration,

“Oh my, guess I’ve carried it a bit too far, hm?” they asked as they walked back to MC, checking the wound once more.

“You think?” MC asked, annoyed.

“Come on now, my dearest,” they told MC as they checked to see if MC was hurt anywhere else,” It was just a little research about muscles. It’s nothing too much.”

“But you promised that it’s not going to be extreme.”

“Please, don’t make too much of a drama, I’m just,” they stopped for a moment, trying to find the right word,” Enjoying the moment.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, but this makes me uncomfortable…”

“I can assure you, you’re in…” they stopped themselves from saying ‘in good hands’ since they knew they had questionable morals,” Hands of a professional.”

“You do realize that I don’t want to, nor have to be in the hands of a professional, I just want to be in the hands of someone who won’t perform an experiment on my wound.”

“Why my little MC,” they joked as they checked the rest of MC’s body for any other wound, “If you minded me getting a better look at your body, you could have said something.”

Even though Valdemar gave them a reassurance, MC still felt uneasy, like their words weren’t enough, “It was that easy?” they asked, to which Valdemar only nodded, “Why do I feel like as soon as something else happens to me, you’ll be back on using the opportunity to further your research?”

“You worry too much. I stand behind what I said.”

“Right… just like when you promised Vlastomil you won’t lay a hand on his worms, or when you reassured Lucio that his peacock is in safe hands.”

“Oh please-” they wanted to add another remark, but MC interrupted them.

“If you can’t keep your word to them, then how do I know you’ll keep your word now?” they didn’t even bother to let Valdemar say anything else as they continued on with their rant, “Honestly… sometimes I feel like the same thing will happen to me. I think it would be best if we…” they stopped for a moment, feeling guilt choke them. They didn’t want to break up with Valdemar, “… Just take your things out of my shop. I need to think about all of this for a while.”

“Why would I go all the way to the shop when all of my things are right here?” they mused as they picked MC up, to which MC started kicking and demanding to be put down. Valdemar only sighed as they extended their arms, being at a safe distance from MC.

“Put me-” they couldn’t finish their sentence as Valdemar gave them a gentle, playful shake.

“Please be silent for a moment. You don’t want me to drop you accidentally, no?” they simply responded as they took a walk back to their estate. Once there, Valdemar put MC down, leaning closer, “I’ve taken what’s mine. What now?” they asked with a grin.

MC stared at them for a moment, trying to calm down from all of the kickings. Once they comprehended what Valdemar wanted to say, they started blushing like mad.

After a moment, Valdemar got impatient, so they simply stated, “As I said before, you could have just told me you’re uncomfortable. I can assure you that nothing bad will happen,” they repeated what they said in the dungeons, giving MC a gentle pat on the head, “So tell me now, my little guinea pig,” they said with a wide grin, “Would you like some tea?”

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #the arcana julian #the arcana muriel #the arcana lucio #the arcana vulgora #the arcana valdemar #julian #Muriel #lucio #the arcana headcanons #valdemar #vulgora #julian devorak #count lucio #courtier #quaestor valdemar #the arcana quaestor valdemar #pontifex vulgora

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #30 (Writeober #15: Mortality): Everybody’s Happy As The Dead Come Home

Ever since my mother died of breast cancer a few years ago, I’ve been making time to go visit my elderly father about once a month. That may be conjuring up the wrong image in your head, so let me clarify. My father’s over 70, but he still has a lot of the energy he had as a younger man. He works as a consultant for the big corporation he spent his entire adult pre-retirement life working for, for about three or four times as much money, and he enjoys it. He’s got an active social life, spending time with friends he had shared with Mom as a couple, and new friends he’s made from his bereavement group or his consulting work. And my sister, the baby of the family, lives with him, and my two younger brothers come to visit him a lot more often, since they live a lot closer than I do. So if you’re imagining a lonely, stooped old man pining away in a house that smells like stale cat food – that’s not my dad, and I can’t imagine it would ever be.

I arrived late on a Friday night, as usual. My sister met me at the door, and actually looked me directly in the eye. Stephanie’s autistic; she never looks anyone in the eye. “Eleanor,” she said, and that was another strange thing, because she almost never calls anyone by name… unless she’s doing it for emphasis. “When you find out, don’t say anything about it,” she said.

“About what?” Most of the time Stephanie makes sense, but every so often she says something that sounds like her mind has jumped ahead in the conversation without realizing all the missing pieces she never bothered to say.

“You’ll know,” she said. “And you’ll want to ask ‘why’ and ‘how’, and I’m telling you that you can’t do that. Don’t ask any questions. Just come talk to me after you’re done.”

“Done with what?” I asked.

And then a voice called me from the TV room. “Lennie? Lennie, is that you?”

Only my mom and dad are allowed to call me Lennie. And that was a woman’s voice. I froze in place.

“Go see her,” Stephanie said, and headed off to her room.

I turned toward the TV room, slowly. “Lennie! Come out and see me!” my mom’s voice called.

I didn’t know whether to be terrified, or to start crying and fling myself into her arms. I walked very slowly, very cautiously, to the edge of the kitchen, where I could see my parents in the TV room. Both of my parents. My dad was smiling.

“Lennie!” my mom said, standing up. She hadn’t been able to stand up without help for months before she died, but here she was, standing up easily. She didn’t look any younger than she had when she died, but she looked healthier. The extreme thinness she’d suffered from at the end after it had metastasized and she’d barely been able to eat was gone; her flesh was filled out, her skin as taut as you could expect from a woman her age, and healthy-looking. Pale, but her natural paleness, not the weird, sallow, almost yellow color it had been at the very end.

“Mom?” I whispered.

“Come here. I need a hug,” Mom said, sounding exactly like she always had – joking, but there was always that note of truth under it. She didn’t wait for me to make my way to her – she never had, not until she was too ill to get up – but came straight for me and gave me a hug, and she smelled like herself. Not like a rotting corpse, not like ozone or nothing or whatever a ghost is supposed to smell like.

When I was a kid, my brother Jeff and I watched the miniseries version of “The Martian Chronicles”. In particular, he was always impressed (and terrified) by the part where the astronauts meet their long-lost loved ones, who turn out to be Martian shapechangers luring them to their deaths. I always wondered, if the people they saw on Mars were dead, how did they fall for it? How did they not know that dead people could not somehow be on Mars?

As I held my mom, who’d been dead a few years now, I understood. They’d wanted to believe. I wanted to believe. Stephanie had warned me not to ask anything – no “how are you not dead”, “how can you be here”, “why are you alive,” nothing like that. I assumed that was what she’d meant, anyway.

“Mom, I’ve been trying to trace some of my past that I’ve forgotten. Do you remember the name of my third grade teacher?”

“Huh.” My mom seemed to be thinking about it. “I think it was Mrs. Wilder, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. Second grade was Ms. Jenner, right? And fourth was Mrs. White?”

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t, in fact, remember my third grade teacher’s name, and neither did my dad. The Martians in the story had been telepaths; they’d been able to perfectly impersonate the astronauts’ loved ones because they could read the astronauts’ minds. Now I had a piece of information whose answer I didn’t know, and no way to easily confirm it unless Jeff remembered; he was only two years younger than me and had had some of the same teachers. But some of the people I had friended on Facebook were high school classmates, and a tiny number of my high school classmates had also been with me in elementary school, and might remember my third grade teacher’s name.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” my mom said. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Things are going okay. Mom, if I’d known you were here I’d have brought the kids.”

“You can bring them up next time,” Mom said.

This was so weird. My mom was definitely dead. I had seen her body in the coffin, lying in state, looking nothing like she had in life. But here she was, impossibly, and I was holding an almost normal conversation with her. “Have Jeff or Aaron come over since you’ve… been here?”

“Jeff was here last weekend,” Dad said. “And Aaron lives next door, so he’s been over nearly every day.”

My grandparents used to live next door. When they died, my mom and my uncle inherited the house. My uncle bought out my mom’s share and rented the house out, and my youngest brother ended up renting it. My other brother lives in an apartment down in the city; I’m the odd one out, living in a completely different state, with a husband and kids.

So all of them had known, and none of them had told me. I expected Stephanie and Aaron to never tell me anything, but I was more than a little irritated with Jeff.

“Let me go drop off my stuff,” I said, since I was still carrying my bag.

I went back to Stephanie’s room, which used to be my room, a long time ago. The boys used to room together, but my room was too small for Stephanie to share with me, and she had needed a lot of space of her own… so they’d converted the loft in the garage into a bedroom. It had never been warm in the winter, though, so as soon as I moved out, Stephanie had moved in.

Stephanie was, as usual, on her computer. I shut the door behind me. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

“She’s not the only one,” Stephanie said, without looking away from her computer. “I’ve been doing research. They’re all over the place. There’s no explanation yet, and apparently none of them will talk about it. I asked Mom and she said I was really rude, and sulked and was really passive-aggressive.”

“So we’re not worried about Mom turning into a Martian shapechanger or vanishing, we’re just worried that she’ll get mad?” To be fair, making Mom mad had always been a thing worth avoiding at all costs. “When did she come back?”

“I don’t know exactly, but presuming that she came to see me right after she came back, it would have been Monday around 3 pm.”

“And no one told me? You have my email address!”

“…It just didn’t feel right, telling you something like this in email. I felt like I should wait for you to be here.”

“And Jeff didn’t? And Aaron didn’t?”

Stephanie shrugged. She still didn’t look away from her computer. “They probably felt the same way.”

“Does Dad… know? Like, does he even remember that Mom is dead, or does he think this is normal?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

I sat down on her bed. “Steph, I’m asking you to make an informed guess. Has he said anything to you that would either suggest that he’s aware this is abnormal, or that he isn’t?”

“I don’t read minds, but I haven’t heard anything from him one way or the other. He’s very happy, though.”

“I got that impression,” I told her. I went to the guest room, which used to belong to the boys, opened up my laptop, and sent Jeff a question on Facebook about my third grade teacher.

Mom appeared while I was debating whether or not to also ask him why the hell he hadn’t told me about her. “Lennie, don’t hide in your room. Come out and talk to me and your dad. You need to catch me up on your life!”

Part of me wanted to break down crying. Part of me wanted to run to the car. Part of me was annoyed the way I always used to be annoyed when my mom wanted to spend time with me and I had stuff to do. And part of me hated myself for being annoyed by my mom for any reason at all. She was back from the dead and I wanted to hide in my room? But I wanted to hide in my room because I wanted to do research to figure out if this was really my mom or not. And what had Stephanie meant by “all over the place”? People all over the place had returned from the dead? Why wasn’t this all over the news?

What I said was, “Okay, mom,” and I went out to the TV room to talk to her.

***

Here I was, having a completely mundane conversation with a dead woman.

Yes, my husband was doing well at his consulting business. Yes, my oldest daughter was doing well in college. My youngest daughter had a rough spot a few years ago but was doing better. The daughter in the middle was putting a lot of time into her music, and was getting really good. I didn’t mention that my oldest daughter had gotten a diagnosis of autism like her aunt, or that my middle daughter was failing all her subjects because all she cared about was music, or that my youngest daughter was openly bisexual and dating a nonbinary teen in her class, because those would be fraught topics around here. My mother would be openly disapproving of the failing in school – as was I, but I wasn’t here to listen to a lecture about what I should be doing differently to make sure Rhiannon passed her classes – and she’d be what she thought counted as supportive about the other things. Are you sure it’s a good idea for Janie to have an autism diagnosis on her medical record? Lots of people will discriminate against her, just ask Stephanie, it’s not a good thing to admit to the world. And if Lori wanted to date a person who claimed to have no gender, good for her, but was she sure it was a good idea to admit to the world that she was bi when the world is so prejudiced? Blah blah blah. No. I wasn’t going there, not with my mother back from the dead.

All the questions I wanted to ask. How? How was she back? Why? Was there an afterlife after all? What was it like? Are you absolutely sure you’re not a telepathic shapechanger who wants to eat us? Is anyone else coming back or is it just you? But I couldn’t do it. My mouth wouldn’t make the words, and I felt like Mom being alive was a soap bubble that might burst any moment. If I said she was dead, would she disappear? I couldn’t take the risk.

Now I knew why Jeff and Aaron hadn’t told me. The compulsion not to talk about it, the fear that talking about the circumstances of her death and her apparently-no-longer-deadness would cause her to stop being no-longer-dead. I wouldn’t be able to tell my husband about this, or my kids, not unless they came here. Not without feeling like Mom might disappear if I did.

Which was probably how Stephanie had gotten away with it, in the beginning. If this was some kind of emotional pressure, something emanating from the presence of a dead woman... Stephanie was typically immune to emotional pressure. Or pretended she was, anyway. She hid behind her monotone and her face that barely expressed anything until she couldn’t, and then she’d go and have a meltdown in the bathroom. But she wanted to please Mom. We all wanted to please Mom. So if Mom had told her she was rude for mentioning the death thing, Stephanie would be unable to mention it again. Because she wouldn’t want Mom to think she was rude.

This felt very much like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Dead mother back to life, check. Weird inexplicable pressure not to talk about it, check. But Mom clearly remembered things that had happened shortly before her death, and showed no evidence of knowing about anything that had happened since, unless it was public knowledge. She talked about interests the girls had had three years ago, interests they’d all outgrown since. She talked about my plan to remodel my own garage – I had completely forgotten that was even a thing we’d planned at one point, because I’d lost my job shortly after Mom died and then the money wasn’t there for the remodel. She didn’t know I was working with my husband in the consulting business now, which a telepath would obviously know because it dominates my life nowadays. Obviously a Martian telepathic shapechanger would have to pretend not to know things that supposedly happened while they were dead, but if I’d forgotten about the garage, what were the odds a telepath could pull it out of my head? There had to be more accessible thoughts in there, after all.

I didn’t know what to ask Mom. How do you feel? That was always a good one, back in the day, because Mom’s chronic illnesses meant there was always something she could complain about, but she wouldn’t do it until she was asked… she’d just quietly resent the fact that no one had asked her. But did dead people still feel things? Would that intrude on the topic I wasn’t supposed to talk about? What’s going on in your life? Oh, nothing much, Lennie, I’m back from the dead, how about you?

So I talked about myself. I was learning to work leather and I’d made myself a wallet, but I left it at home, I could bring it to show her next time. I was also learning to repair dolls. The girls had all abandoned theirs and I felt bad about it, so I was cleaning them up and repairing them and putting them in dioramas. Mom was very interested in both topics, and asked if I could repair some old dolls she had up in the attic. I was pretty sure I’d already done it – if it was the dolls I was thinking of, Dad had given them to me right after Mom died, and they were the ones I’d learned on. But was it safe to talk about? Dad wasn’t saying anything; had he forgotten he gave me the dolls, which was entirely possible, or did he think it wasn’t safe to talk about either?

I’d wanted for three years to be able to tell my mom that she was wrong about all the weight loss advice she’d given me because now it had come out that scientists had never proven that fat made you fat and the low-carb diets were probably better for you than the low-fat ones, but I didn’t know if she could still eat. Also, my mom was back from the dead and I wanted to start an argument with her about a topic I’d always hated when she talked about? Didn’t I have anything better to do? That really kind of made me a shitty person, didn’t it?

When Mom had been dying, I couldn’t talk to her about the future. I didn’t know how to bring myself to talk about things she’d never see. I’d never known how much my conversations with her consisted of me talking about future plans until I couldn’t any more. Now I couldn’t talk about the future or the past, at least not the past three years, and large parts of the present had to be left out too, because I didn’t know what would remind her that she was dead and make her go back to her grave. Even though, logically, I knew that was unlikely to happen because Stephanie had done it and had just gotten a rebuke that that was rude.

At the same time… I knew I had to say something that Mom could talk about, because if I just talked about myself all night, later on she’d probably make some passive-aggressive remarks about how everything always had to be about me. In desperation, I asked her if she’d seen anything good on television lately.

“Oh, I haven’t been watching anything in a while,” Mom said. “It’s been so long since I felt well enough to go anywhere, so I’ve been going for walks, and your father and I have been taking trips to museums and historic sites. We’re going to be going up to Boston next week.”

“I have a client up there,” Dad said, “and they want me to do a training thing. And I was telling them, no, no, Boston’s too far, but I remembered how much your mom loved Boston, so I asked her if she wanted to go and she said yes, so now we’re going. We’re going to fly, though. The days I was willing to drive that kind of distance are long over.”

“You could take the Amtrak.”

Dad made a dismissive gesture. “It’s gotten so expensive. Flying’s actually cheaper.”

“When are you going?”

“Next Wednesday we’re going to fly up there,” Mom said, which said something about her opinion of the future, at least. “Your dad’s got his presentations to do on Thursday and Friday, and I’ll wander around the city, and then we’ll spend Saturday seeing the sights together.”

“There’s this fantastic restaurant I went to last time I was up there on business,” Dad said, “and I checked their web page, and they’re still open. So we’re going to go there.”

So Mom could eat. Or Dad wasn’t afraid of talking about eating with her, anyway. Maybe ruled out vampire, but Martian shapechanger was still on the table.

I didn’t literally believe my mom – or the entity that appeared to be my mom – was a telepathic shapechanger from Mars like in The Martian Chronicles. But it was obvious that something so far outside the norm that it was only imaginable by making references to fantasy and science fiction was happening.

I tried, very carefully, “How have you been feeling, Mom?”

“I’m great!” She laughed. “I haven’t felt this good in ages. Sugar’s under control, I can see pretty well, none of the usual aches and pains… I’m doing pretty good!”

Did she remember she had died of cancer? Did she even remember that she’d died?

It was 2 am before I got to go to bed.

***

6 am and I was up and out the door before there was any chance of my mother or father being awake, assuming my mom even slept anymore. But at the very least, she was in her bedroom with the door closed and no view of the driveway I’d parked my car in.

Do I sound like a terrible daughter when I tell you I’ve never visited my mom’s grave? I haven’t been back there since the funeral. I always knew my mother wasn’t really there – that if any part of her had still existed in any form, it wasn’t trapped in a coffin under six feet of dirt. It made it somewhat difficult to find the graveyard, though, because I couldn’t remember where it was, or its name, or which church it was associated with, and it wasn’t exactly like I could ask my mom. When I finally found the place– it wasn’t that hard in the end, my parents live in a small town and there aren’t many graveyards – it took me half an hour to find her grave.

It seemed undisturbed. But if Mom had been back from the dead since Monday, that would have been time to fill in a grave. I went looking for the caretaker.

They get to work early in the graveyard caretaking business, I guess; I found him pushing a lawnmower over on the other side of the graveyard.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“This is going to sound stupid,” I said. “But I got an email from a jerk I used to know in high school claiming he was going to dig up my mother’s grave, and I just wanted to make sure nobody’s touched it.”

“Nobody’s touched any of the graves, ma’am,” he assured me. “Aside from a couple of funerals we’ve had this week, no one’s done anything to disturb the ground here at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that’s reassuring. He was talking like he was actually going to do it, but I guess he was all talk.”

“Well, if anyone comes by and disturbs any of the graves, we’ll have them arrested,” he said.

I had my answer. My mother had not climbed out of her grave. Which seemed impossible anyway, now that I knew enough about the funeral industry to know exactly how hard it would be to smash a coffin open, let alone dig through six feet of dirt. I couldn’t rule out her turning immaterial and floating out of her grave, but my mom had seemed very material and biological when she’d hugged me. I’d always thought of ghosts as something that were almost never solid enough to interact with the world, if they even existed.

***

If I was going to get up this early, I was going to get a pancake breakfast at the diner. My parents still think sugarless cold cereal is a reasonable thing to eat for breakfast. They were always night owls; I made myself breakfast and school lunch every morning but the first day of school, every year after about third grade. I was also a night owl, once I didn’t have to get up for school anymore, but I used to make my girls a lunch every night and store it in the fridge for them. Now they’re too old and too cool for Mom lunches. They’re eating something, but it might be cafeteria food, lunch they pack for themselves, or for all I know sandwiches from 7-11 or Starbucks with their allowance.

The point is, I hardly ever get a nice breakfast, because I am hardly ever willing to wake up early enough to cook myself one, and my parents certainly weren’t going to. So I went to the diner.

Normally I don’t talk to anyone at a diner, beyond smiling at them and telling them my order in an upbeat, cheerful voice because waitresses get too much shit from too many people for me to add to it inadvertently. Also because I don’t want them to think I’m eating alone because I’m a sad, lonely bitch no one would love; I want them to know I’m doing this because I really, really enjoy not having to socialize. But today I had something I needed to know.

“I’m a writer,” I told the waitress, “and I’m doing research on ghost stories in the area. Have you heard anything, you know, Halloweeny or spooky? Ghosts appearing, dead people walking around, poltergeists, that kind of thing?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’ll ask around, see if any of the girls know any good stories,” the waitress told me.

And then she took my order back to the kitchen, and I surfed the net on my phone while I waited, and then I got my pancakes, and I ate them. I was chasing the last blueberry around on the plate when another waitress approached me. “Stacy told me you were collecting creepy stories for a book?”

“From the local area, yeah.”

“I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you’re looking for, but… my cousin says that a lady on her street, her husband died a few years ago? But she just saw the guy walking with the lady down the street, having a conversation like the guy never died.”

“Do you think you’d be able to give my email to your cousin and have her reach out to me? That sounds like exactly the kind of story I’m looking for.”

“Uh, sure.”

I gave the waitress my email address. This was probably going to come to nothing; I doubted the waitress would even remember to give it to her cousin. But it’d be really good if I could get the details from someone who knew more about it.

***

Jeff’s more of a morning person than I am. I got a response on Facebook, but I had to wait to get back to my parents’ house, where my laptop was, to read it. On mobile, Facebook will only let you read messages if you have the app, which tells Mark Zuckerberg exactly where you are and what you’re doing with your phone, all the time. I don’t have the app. Sometimes this means I can’t read messages on mobile, but I prefer that to having an evil data empire know everything about my movements.

My parents weren’t awake when I got home. Or they were still in their bedroom. They used to do that a lot. Mom’s desk was in there, and Dad had a laptop… which he usually used on Mom’s desk, since she died. I wondered where her machine was, and if she had made a thing about it once she came back.

“I’m not sure I remember what your third grade teacher’s name was… I can barely remember my own third grade teacher. Were they the same? I can’t remember. I think my own teacher’s name was… Wil-something? Wilber? Wilkins? You’d be better off… well, you’re at the house now, or are you back at your home? Kind of important to know, because I could give you some advice about who to ask, but it’d be a different thing if you were at Dad’s house.”

He meant, “You’d be better off asking Mom, but I don’t know if you know Mom is back from the dead or not.” I was pretty sure, anyway.

I responded. “I’m at Dad’s house. Wondering how I’d be able to tell the difference between someone who’s real and a Martian shapechanger. Could the name have been Wilder?”

Five minutes later I got my answer. “Mom isn’t a Martian shapechanger. It was the first thing I thought of, so I checked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

That answer I didn’t get until half an hour later. “I… just didn’t feel right, talking about it in an impersonal medium like the internet. I know you have a cell phone and I probably even have your number somewhere, but I remember you’re not the biggest fan of actual phone calls, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I replied with my phone number and the message “Call me.”

And then I had to sit by my phone, doing nothing important, nothing that would engage my attention in any serious way, waiting for him to call. Which took twenty minutes, despite the fact that I could see that he was online.

Finally the phone rang. “You raaaaang?” I answered in my best parody of The Addams Family.

“I’m pretty sure I must have, or you wouldn’t have known to pick up,” Jeff said. “Of course, I might have buzzed. You could have your phone on vibrate. Or maybe I sang, depending on what you have for a ringtone.”

“’You saaaaang?’ doesn’t have the same je ne sais quoi to it.”

“Wow, how long has it been since I heard someone put je ne sais quoi in a sentence? I think we’re old. I think that’s an old person expression now.”

“What’s going on with Mom?” I asked, quietly, in case anyone might be in the hallway to hear me.

Jeff sighed. “I don’t know what is, but I can tell you what isn’t,” he said. “Stephanie confirmed that she eats, sleeps and goes to the bathroom normally, and I confirmed all of that for myself. The toilet in their bedroom is still broken enough that they don’t flush it unless they have to.”

I winced. That was a level of detail I could have done without. “So, not vampire or undead. How did you solve the Martian thing?”

“On Monday, Dad woke up and she was laying next to him in bed. If the goal was to kill him, it would have made more sense to do it then, before he woke up, than to put on this whole elaborate performance.”

“You’re taking me too literally. I’m not worried about aliens trying to take our family off guard so they can kill us. There’s any number of things they could be up to, and they don’t have to be aliens. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Stepford Wives. My Little Pony.”

“…My Little Pony?”

“There’s creatures called Changelings that feed on love. They impersonate ponies and take the love that other ponies feel for the ones they’re impersonating, as food.”

“Kind of psychic vampires mashed up with Martian shapechangers.”

“Yeah, but without the telepathy, so they’re not as good at it as you’d think. It’s a children’s show; they have to telegraph to the kids that these aren’t the real ponies. In real life, anyone who did something like that would be more competent.”

“How much verisimilitude do we need, though? She’s got moles in the same places Mom had moles. She’s missing a toenail just like Mom. Things I didn’t consciously think about, things I might not have remembered if you asked me to describe Mom.”

“That just means that if it’s not Mom, it has the ability to rummage deeper into our memories than we’re consciously aware of. That’s why I asked you my third grade teacher’s name. I genuinely don’t remember. Mom would, I’m pretty sure. Dad wouldn’t and Stephanie and Aaron were both too young.”

“I’m not sure I remember, but when you said Wilder, that sounded like it could be right. Do you know anyone from elementary school? Some of them went to high school with us.”

“I have some Facebook friends from high school, and maybe one or two went to the same elementary we did, but I haven’t been able to locate any actual people that I remember from elementary school. They don’t have a Classmates.com thing that works for elementary—”

“It says it does.”

“It lies, there’s nowhere to enter your elementary in your profile. All it lets you put in is high school, and it’s from a drop-down, not even freeform.”

“Huh. Guess I never tried it. I’m still in touch with anyone I cared about from back then.”

“I literally don’t care about anyone from back then, but that makes it hard when you’re trying to figure out your third grade teacher’s name.”

“If she can probe our memories,” Jeff said, “then nothing you or I know, or ever knew, would be safe. You’d have to come up with something to ask her that Dad wouldn’t know, or me, or Aaron, or Steph, or yourself, but that you know Mom would know and that you know someone else who would know it too.”

“I could ask Mariana for something.” My mom’s close friend and high school classmate was one of my Facebook friends. We don’t generally communicate directly with each other, but I follow her posts.

“That’s a good idea.” I heard the sound of a whistling teapot in the background. “That’d be my hot water for my oatmeal. If you get anything from Mariana, can you tell me about it?”

“Yeah.” I’d wanted to tell him about the story I’d heard in the diner, but no one got between Jeff and his oatmeal. “I’ll talk to you later. Probably online. Voice is making me paranoid.”

“I know what you mean. Do you need me to come up this weekend? I could make a day trip tomorrow.”

“That might be a good idea. I want to talk to Aaron, do you know what schedule he’s on?”

“He works nights now, so you’ll want to get him around 2 pm or so.”

“All right. Enjoy your oatmeal.”

“I will!” he said, putting a ridiculous amount of emphasis into it as a joke.

***

Before I could finish writing a message to Mariana – before I could really start, honestly, because how could I explain why I needed what I needed without admitting Mom was back from the dead? – someone knocked on my door. It was Mom. She was wearing one of her usual kind of shapeless but colorful nightgowns, and her hair was not brushed, so it was kind of a wreck. I noticed for the first time that it was grey. Mom had always dyed her hair since she started going grey, and it had still been auburn when she’d died. I’d never seen it fully grey. “Your dad and I are going to the arboretum,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

“Since when have you been into trees, Mom?” My mother had always been fascinated by history, and to some extent natural history like dinosaurs, but I’d never seen her express an interest in nature per se.

“I never was, much,” she admitted, “but the world is so beautiful. I was always more interested in the way humans shape the world than the way it came out of the box, but things like arboretums, Japanese gardens, zoos and aquariums… they’re made of nature, but they’re made by humans, and they say something about the people who chose to make them the way they are. And you know that your dad has always enjoyed nature.” My dad was interested in science, in general, and considered the natural world part of that. He was not exactly the kind of guy who would go camping.

In the past, I would have said “no, thanks.” I was never all that interested in nature myself, certainly not trees – maybe beautiful rocks or interesting landscapes, but looking at trees wouldn’t have seemed interesting to me. I still didn’t care much about trees… but my mom was back from the dead. I’ve gone much stupider and more boring places than an arboretum with her in the past, and now… if this was really her, if she was really alive again, I was going to spend all the time with her that I reasonably could.

“Sure, I’ll go,” I said. “I’ll take my own car, though. Just give me the address.” I always took my own car if I possibly could, because I’d get carsick if I wasn’t the one driving. “Should I ask Stephanie if she wants to come?”

“Sure, you can ask. I doubt she will, though.”

Stephanie, however, surprised me. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. We’ll meet Mom and Dad there?”

“Yeah.” Dad had texted me the address, so I pulled it up in my GPS. “About half an hour from here.”

In the car, she asked me, “Have you found anything out? I know you were looking into the whole Mom thing.”

“Jeff thinks she’s really Mom. We have a plan to get Mariana to give us a question that we don’t know the answer to, but that Mom and Mariana both would, so we can confirm she really knows things and isn’t just reading our minds. And a waitress at the diner said her cousin has seen what looks like someone else coming back from the dead.”

“It’s all over the place, actually,” Stephanie said. “I’m finding reports from everywhere.”

I glanced at her. “Why wouldn’t this be making the news, then? People coming back from the dead!”

“I feel like maybe no one wants to go on the record.” Stephanie looked out the window. “Nothing on Twitter or Facebook. No pictures of dead people on Instagram. I’m seeing things on Reddit and Tumblr – places where people use a consistent pseudonym, not like 4chan, but where that pseudonym can’t be tied to their actual identity. I’ve posted about it in both places, but I can’t make myself tweet about it.”

“Any idea why not?”

“It—” She shrugged, hands exaggeratedly widespread and head canted forward slightly. “It just feels wrong,” she said. “Like… we’re getting away with something. There’s a natural law we’re breaking here. I can post as toomanymushrooms or u/catonahottinroofsundae and no one knows who I am, but if I post as Stephanie Robbins and I tell everyone that my mom Suky Robbins is back from the dead…”

“What if that brought it to the attention of, what, some kind of authorities?”

“Yeah, pretty much. And even if I was just posting under my own name… I don’t have to say Mom’s name. I don’t have to put a mention to her Facebook in a post. But everyone knows my mother’s name, or they could find out from my name if they wanted to.”

“And you think maybe there are a lot of people with these weird feelings?”

“I don’t think so, I know so. A lot of posts explicitly talk about the fact that they can’t bring themselves to say anything in public, or talk about it with their real names on it.”

“Are they all parents?”

“No. It’s all kinds of people. Best friends, siblings, spouses, children… the only pattern I see is that nobody died a long time ago. It’s all, ‘my brother who died last year’ or ‘my aunt who died two years ago’ or something. Longest I’ve seen anyone talk about was a son who died five years ago.”

A thought occurs to me. “I can add something to your pattern, though.”

“Yeah?”

“You’d expect that, even if everyone with a resurrected relative feels this sense of dread about telling anyone about it with their name attached, because they feel it will, I don’t know, maybe cause the dead person to disappear back into their grave… you’d think somebody would do it anyway because they don’t care. Someone whose alcoholic abusive father came back and they wish he’d go away again, someone’s asshole brother, someone’s former best friend who betrayed them. But so far, no one has. How many people have you seen talking about this?”

“It’s hard to say because no one’s using their real names. Someone might post from their main blog and their side blog, or maybe they have a different name on tumblr vs reddit but they posted to both. But I’ve tracked thirteen separate names, and of those, I can tell for a fact there are at least nine unique ones because they talk about different people.”

“Thirteen isn’t ‘all over the place’.”

“I didn’t mean all over the Internet, I meant people coming from all over. I’ve tracked the UK, California, North Dakota, Ontario, France, India and New Zealand. Nobody’s tagging their posts and no one is willing to contribute to a master list, so it’s hard to find anyone outside of the people I follow or the subreddits I’m in, and I don’t know where everyone comes from. But it’s geographically widespread. I suspect it may also be happening in other places where people don’t generally speak English or maybe don’t have Internet access.”

“And what’s their sentiment? Like, are people frightened? Upset? Excited? Weirded out?”

She took a moment to think about it. “They’re happy. People are happy it happened. Weirded out, yes. But happy.”

“No whacked-out conspiracy theories about how it’s the contrails raining down adenochrome or something?”

“Not from the people it’s happened to. There was one flame war I saw where a religious person was saying that the person whose sister was back from the dead had to repudiate her. She’s not really your sister, she’s a demon from Hell sent to trick you, et cetera. And the person whose sister was back turned out to be just as religious, and they threw a holy fit. Literally. A holy fit.” She giggled. “A whole lot of stuff about how the righteous were coming back and Jesus had granted some people eternal life and this was that, and how dare you call these beings demons when they’re obviously blessed by Jesus himself and you’re the kind of person who would have called for Jesus’s crucifixion if you’d been alive then, and all that kind of thing.”

“Did anyone else who’d had returned people say anything?”

“This was Tumblr. None of the people who have had returns are communicating with each other in any way I can see. I reached out to a few on Tumblr private messaging but no one has answered. The only places I’m seeing conversations about it between people with returns have been on Reddit, because it has a forum structure. Tumblr is more like a whole hanging web of disconnected strings.”

“Still, you’d think that someone would be publishing a news article about it. Even if no one is willing to go on the record with their real name…”

“Maybe it’s not enough people. Nine unique instances, maybe up to thirteen, maybe more in places I haven’t surveyed. It’s not like I have access to literally all of Tumblr, after all. But that’s all I can confirm, and what if there isn’t any more?”

“If anyone came back from the dead I would expect the news to take notice.” I turned onto the final road; the arboretum was at the end of this stretch. “I went to the graveyard today. Mom’s grave hasn’t been disturbed. I checked with the groundskeeper. So either Mom’s body floated ethereally through the grave dirt, and her coffin, or her original body is still in there and whatever she is now, it’s not the same as what she was then.”

“It’s too bad we can’t have her exhumed,” Stephanie said.

“It probably wouldn’t tell us much anyway.”

“She’s younger-looking than she was before. Not by much, and the grey hair hides it, but she’s healthier-looking and less wrinkly. And I don’t see any evidence that she still has diabetes, or that she’s taking any pills at all. I haven’t seen her take any insulin shots, or anything.”

“Huh.” She wasn’t restored to her youth, or her hair wouldn’t be grey and there would be no wrinkles at all. She wasn’t restored to what she was at the moment of death, obviously. She wasn’t restored to what she’d have been at the moment of death without the cancer that killed her, if she didn’t have diabetes anymore. I felt like there had to be a pattern here I wasn’t seeing. I really wanted to talk to some of these other people having this experience.

I pulled in to the arboretum’s parking lot. Mom and Dad weren’t there yet; Dad doesn’t drive like an old man, but he doesn’t drive as fast as he used to, either. “Do they do this kind of thing a lot? Arboretums, parks, et cetera?”

“They don’t usually invite me, and I wouldn’t usually come if they did, so I don’t know. They do leave the house a lot.”

Dad’s car pulled in, and he and Mom got out. For the first time I could remember, Mom was actually moving a bit faster than him. Both Mom and Dad were the kind of people who walked quickly everywhere they went, but for a long time, Mom was slowed down by her various illnesses. Dad was still healthy for his age, but he’d slowed down a good bit since Mom’s death – grief was hard on his health, it seemed – and now Mom seemed healthier than he was.

“Did you know there are people who come here from all over just to see our leaves in the autumn?” Mom said.

I did know that; it was typically a factor in making it hard for me to come visit during the autumn. “I think it’s the mountainsides. There’s leaves turning colors all over the country, but not on mountainsides.”

“In California they don’t even consider these mountains,” Mom said. “They call them hills when they come visit.”

“No respect for the elderly,” Dad said.

“Yeah, these young mountains think they’re all that, but wait 100,000 years and see how tall they are then,” Stephanie said.

We strolled around, looking at the trees, reading what it said on the plaques in front of them. American Elm. Yellow Birch. Eastern White Pine. I’d seen trees just like these my whole life, and a good number of them, I’d never known the names.

“You never think about how beautiful the world is,” Mom said. “We’re all rushing through it, trying to accomplish the next thing. Or entertain ourselves. Read a book, watch TV. So few of us really want to interact with nature.”

“Careful, mom, your hippie roots are showing,” I said, teasing.

“I think if my generation had remembered what we were back when we were the hippies, the world would be better off.”

“We didn’t forget, Suky. The hippies were always big news, but you know as well as I do how many people our age just wanted to go punch a clock, buy a house, vote for Ronald Fucking Reagan… We thought we were the generation that would change the world, but it wasn’t our generation, it was us. People like us, who wanted to see a better world and weren’t content to just live like the sheep our parents were… but there’s people like that in every generation. And they’re always outnumbered by the assholes.”

“Actually, they’ve done a study,” Stephanie said. “The reason generations get more conservative as they get older is that at every point, the poor are more likely to die than the rich, and the rich are more conservative than the poor. So by the time you get to middle age, a lot of the people looking for social justice and diversity are dead. And there’s a lot more dead by the time they’re elderly.”

“I don’t buy it,” my dad said. “There’s entirely too many stupid poor people in this country who are brainwashed into supporting causes that help out the rich people and screw themselves over. They’re not living longer than anyone else in this country. The math doesn’t work.”

“Let’s not talk about politics,” Mom said. “I think we all know there’s something more important we ought to be discussing.”

“Mom?” Stephanie said, and looked at her, which is not a thing Stephanie does very often.

“Suky?” Dad said.

I didn’t say anything. I watched as Mom looked up at a tree and said, “It’s time we dealt with the elephant in the room, don’t you think?”

“Are you going to tell us about—” I couldn’t say anything more. I couldn’t bring myself to make the words.

“About the fact that I was dead, and now I’m not?” She looked at all of us. “I think we should talk about it, yes.”

It felt like there were eyes, watching us. I wanted to yell to my mother, to tell her not to talk about it, that someone might hear… but who? And why would it matter?

“Is that something you’re okay with, Suky?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine, but I’m getting the impression the rest of you aren’t,” she said. “Why haven’t any of you brought it up, except Stephanie, the once?”

“Well, you told me it was rude,” Stephanie said.

Mom sighed. “I guess I did. I’m sorry. This isn’t really easy for me either.”

She sat down on a bench, and Dad sat with her. Stephanie and I sat on a short stone wall around a tree. “I suppose I should start by saying, I don’t really know much more than you do. I don’t have any memories of being dead. I woke up in bed, next to your dad, on Monday morning, and for a while I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there… I assumed I went to bed the previous night, but I couldn’t remember what had happened the night before. I couldn’t pin down anything I remembered as to exactly when it happened, not in the recent past. And when your father woke up, the shock on his face and the fact that he kept asking me if I was really here made me think, wait, the last thing I remember was that I was in a hospital dying of cancer, so why am I here now?”

“So you don’t remember any kind of afterlife?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I believe I had some sort of existence, but I don’t remember anything about it. When I wake up, I have flashes, feelings that I dreamed something about it, but I can’t hold it in my head long enough to write it down or even talk about it. It just… disappears, leaving behind only the memory that something was there a few minutes ago.”

“You know how unlikely the idea that an afterlife exists is, scientifically, though. Right?” Dad said. “Consciousness is an emergent property of a trillion neurons working together. Imagining that there could be some sort of construct that exists outside the brain and body is like imagining that a video game character could be waltzing around in front of us.”

“And yet I’m here,” Mom said.

“Time travel or a Star Trek transporter with some modifications would make more sense than something supernatural, like an afterlife,” Dad said stubbornly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stephanie said. “If Mom doesn’t remember…”

“Have you had a medical exam?” I asked.

Mom laughed. “I don’t have health insurance anymore. I’m dead, remember? I can’t even begin to figure out how we’re going to address getting me a legal identity again, and to be honest… I can’t know I’ll be around long enough for it to matter.”

“None of us know that,” I said, “about ourselves or anyone else.”

“True, and it’s going to be hard to travel if I don’t have a legal identity. So I suppose I’ll have to address it eventually, if I last that long.”

“Thank God your state ID hasn’t actually expired yet, or there’d be no way we could fly to Boston. The passport’s expired,” Dad said. Mom had been legally blind when she died, so she’d had a state ID rather than a driver’s license.

“Is there any reason you might not? Aside from the things that could kill anyone?” I asked.

Dad said, “Your mother and I discussed… when she first appeared, I found it nearly impossible to talk about the fact that she’d been dead. When she broached the topic, I could talk about it to her, but I couldn’t tell you kids.” He shrugged. “My working theory is that there’s some kind of alien experiment going on or that time travel is somehow involved, but the fact that none of you kids were able to tell each other about it until you knew the other one knew suggests to me that someone with the ability to directly affect human emotions or thought is, for some reason, making it hard to talk about this. Maybe that means it’s a short-lived experiment.”

“Maybe I escaped from hell and no one wants to talk about it for fear the devil will take me back,” Mom said, but she was laughing. Mom had never believed in hell. Dad was an atheist; Mom definitely had strong spiritual beliefs, but they were kind of a package of woo that included reincarnation and ghosts, even though she’d been raised Catholic.

“There are others like you,” Stephanie said. “None of them have talked about it themselves, but family members or friends have talked about it online, under pseudonyms. I haven’t found any evidence that anyone has mentioned anything under their real names.”

“A lot?” Mom was surprised.

“So far I count between nine and thirteen unique individuals, plus Eleanor heard a rumor that someone who might live in town might have come back. We don’t know any details, though.”

“We need to find them,” Mom said. “I need to find them. I have a second chance at life, and I’m not ashamed of it. I won’t be silenced about the fact that I exist.”

“It might not be the best idea, Suky,” Dad said. “There are a lot more crazies out there than there were when you died—”

“—there were plenty of crazies then, Dee—”

“—right, and even then it wouldn’t have been a good idea. There might be some religious nut job who thinks that if you were dead you should stay that way. Or someone else thinks that you know how you came back, and wants to force you to tell them.”

“Those are valid points,” Mom said, nodding. “And to all of those people who might want to harm me because they think I shouldn’t be alive or they think I know how I came back, I say a hearty ‘fuck you.’ I won’t be silent because there are crazy people in the world. I’m not afraid of death, not anymore.”

“You’re going to risk Eleanor’s kids?” Dad asked sharply.

“I agree with Mom,” I said, standing up. “Nobody should have to keep quiet about the fact that they exist. But I have to tell Will.”

Stephanie made a face. My family doesn’t like my husband. They have justifications, but in the past few years, since Mom died, Will’s gone to therapy and has done a lot of work on himself. Mom was the only one in the family ever willing to forgive anything, though, so I’ve never tried to get them to change their minds.

Mom said, “Well, is he still a total asshole?”

“He’s… been trying not to be. He’s in therapy, and we’re doing couples counseling, and he’s working through a lot of baggage from his upbringing.”

“Why not tell him to bring the kids up and join you here, then. Coming back to life, might as well start a clean slate and see where things go from there. And you’re right, he needs to be involved in the discussion. Your girls, too. They all are old enough to understand what’s going on here, and what could happen.”

“You know I will never stand in the way of anything you want,” Dad said, which is the kind of thing Dad says rather than “I love you”. Things like, “If they ever fail to respect you, I will smite them” – talking about us and our treatment of Mom – or “You have always been my worthy opponent.” Yes. Sometimes my father talks like a comic book character.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Stephanie said, “but I know you taught me to be who I am to the world and fuck anyone who gives me shit about it, so… same principle. I don’t think you could be you and lie about who you are.”

“And we need to involve Jeff and Aaron,” Mom said. “I’ll call them and get them to come here.”

“We turned off your cell phone ages ago,” Dad objected.

“Dee, we still have a land line. I know we do because I hear it ring, and sometimes you even answer it.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s right, we do.” Dad shook his head. “This world where everyone carries around their phone in their pocket all the time… it’s strange how you get so used to a technological or societal change that you forget that you did it a different way for 67 years.”

Nothing ever stopped my mother when she wanted something strongly enough, if she believed it was right. I hadn’t even thought of the considerations my father brought up before he talked about them, but I’ve never believed it’s okay to hide in conformity and live in fear. I didn’t think Will had ever believed in doing that, either, and my daughters had grown up going to political protests.

“We need to find out more about these other people,” I said to Stephanie on the way home. “See if we can contact them directly, find out if any of the actual returned people are planning on going public like Mom. We could coordinate if they are. Strength in numbers.”

“The religious right are going to crap their pants,” Stephanie said, laughing. “A Deist who believes in reincarnation, is married to an atheist, and has a gay son, came back to life. Jesus Christ hasn’t got a monopoly anymore.”

“That is probably going to be the most fun part of this going public thing,” I said.

***

So now I don’t know what will happen. My husband’s driving up from home with our girls, my oldest younger brother’s on a train, and Mom’s been looking up contact information for journalist friends she had once, checking which ones are still alive, using Facebook – we never deactivated her account – and my dad’s LinkedIn. Stephanie’s found two other people who have family members who came back from the dead, and one of them’s been willing to talk to her in private messaging on Tumblr.

I still have a hard time telling anyone who doesn’t already know, but it turns out, I can write about it without feeling the pressure, the fear. Don’t know if I can post it, yet. I guess we’ll see. I’m hoping that if I can get more information from more people who’ve been through something similar, maybe we’ll find a pattern, a point of commonality… maybe even an explanation for why we all feel this pressure not to talk about it.

Tomorrow we’re all going to talk about whether we’re going to do this or not, but I know my family. What my mom wants, she gets, if it’s possible and if it’s ethical. My husband and my kids are going to be in favor of her going public, and my brothers won’t stand in her way any more than my dad would. So we’re going to do this. The thing we’re really going to talk about is how to keep ourselves safe when we do.

Everything in the world is going to change. I just don’t know exactly how yet.

***

Obligatory notes because I’m so fucking late with this piece:

I have fucked up royally. I went into this without an outline and about 6,000 words in I realized I had attempted to consume a ball of energy larger than my head. This is going to end up being novel length, most likely. I struggled really hard to find a place I could reasonably end it as a short story, and yeah, it is absolutely not an ending. No followup on the Martian shapechanger thing, new idea is brought in and then treated like it’s the climax, protagonist is almost entirely reactive and passive. As a short story, it’s shit.

Unfortunately I found this out after I was already late. Not going to bore everyone with why this was a week late except that it’s allergy season and I’ve been exhausted lately. So there was no time to try to write something else. I hope you found it entertaining, if somewhat frustrating; it’s shit as a short story because it’s plainly a piece of a novel. Which I’m not going to write real soon because I have like 3 novels ahead of this one in the queue, but if I live long enough it will get done.

It’s kinda cute that story #30 falls on the 30th now because I’m late and story #31 is the last of my Spooky 5 Halloween-appropriate stories. But not cute enough to justify how late this is.

BTW, while this is not as autobiographical as “Radio” from Inktober, it is heavily drawn from real life. I altered some things because this is fiction, but the mother and the father in this story are pretty close to real life. Except that my mother hasn’t come back.

#52 project #writeober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #spooky5 #late!

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kiarcheo · 3 years

Text

Meowsunderstandings 1 / 2

'Oh.’ If Cathy could dig a hole in the floor and disappear, she would. ‘Ignore me, I swear that I’m usually not this much of an idiot.’

‘We know.’ Jane reassures her.

‘And even if you were, we wouldn’t mind...I mean, we love Anne anyway, don’t we?’

This has been in my WIPs folder for at least 6 months if not more, but I decided it was time to dust it off because I didn't have the greatest week and I needed some levity. Should have the second part ready and post it next weekend.

Can read on Ao3 here

Part 2

——————————————–

In Cathy’s defence, it was a totally understandable mistake. And she had not been alone in that. But, of course, as the one dating the subject of the misunderstanding, she is the one teased about it.

It all started at university, in class, where Cathy had ended up paired with Anna. It turned out that they actually got along quite well and became friends outside of lessons too. Which led to meeting Anna’s girlfriend, Jane, and then a relatively new friend of Jane’s, Catalina. And, because it’s a small world, to discover that they were old family friends. Catalina had recognised the surname and asked if she was a relative of Maud Green. Apparently Catalina had met Cathy when she was a baby…which obviously Cathy didn’t have any recollection of.

Anyway, they all hit it off.

As new friends, one of the first topics to be covered had been housing. Between complaints about housemates, landlords, buildings and neighbours, it always guarantees plenty of fodder for conversation.

And when Catalina, whom Jane called Lina and had shrugged when asked if they could call her that too, said, ‘I have a housemate, my Kat’, with a warm smile, well, forgive Cathy for thinking she was talking about an actual cat. Especially when the topic of pets came up and Lina said ‘Does my Kat count?’ with a laugh. ‘I mean, she is independent, obviously, but-’

Cathy remembers Jane and Anna sharing her own slightly confused expression because of course cats are pets, why should it not count??

It didn’t help that Lina would say stuff like:

‘Rain check? Kat is sick, has been throwing up all day so I want to keep an eye on her.’

send a voice message on the group chat that ended with ‘Sorry, have to go. I have a Kat on the table and I don’t know why.’

And then there was the time she was distracted and then admitted that she was worried because she didn’t remember if she had locked the door and she didn’t want anything to happen to her cat.

Or she would talk about cleaning and how often she has to vacuum. Because two girls in a house mean lots of hair too. And you know what? Cats can shed hair too! And Catalina would not be the first person to refer to pets as you would do to a person (or treat them as such)!

And she literally replied to the question ‘How did you get your cat?’ with ‘Well, she was living with…someone I knew. When she had to move, taking her along…was not really worth the trouble, all the documents and stuff. Especially since she would be coming back anyway. And it just made sense…we already knew each other and got along well. We could keep each other company. And me and Anne might have our disagreements, but she knows she can trust me with her Kitty.’

Or should Cathy talk about the texts? Despite what people might assume, Lina uses lots of emojis. So when texts such as ‘Movie night’ or ‘Girls’ day’ were paired with others like ‘Snuggling with 🐱’ or ‘Day in with 🐱’ … Well, forgive Cathy for thinking that Lina talking about her Kat was talking about an actual cat, as in an animal.

---

‘Where is your cat? Hiding?’

Jane asks, looking around. It’s the first time Lina is having them over at her house – them being Anna, Cathy and herself – as usually it’s more convenient and easier for everyone to meet at places around or close to the campus.

‘She went out, but she should be back soon.’ Lina chuckles at the way they all seem eager to meet her. ‘You’ll meet her, don’t worry.’

They fell into an easy conversation, the topic forgotten until...

‘Cathy? Cathy?’ Catalina calls out. The girl in question has her cup half-way to her mouth – a couple of degrees more and she would be spilling the tea all over herself – and her eyes fixated towards the door.

Everyone turns around to see what is capturing Cathy’s attention.

‘Did Anne die?’ Catalina tilts her head as if to look for something behind a girl in basketball shorts and a sport bra, high ponytail with pink tips.

‘Almost.’ Another girl drags herself in. She drops on the floor. ‘Was it your plan all along?’ She wheezes out. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I thought you knew…have you seen her?’ Catalina gestures to the girl still standing there, barely out of breath. ‘She is fit!’

‘I thought it was metabolism…I have a good one too.’

‘Good metabolism doesn’t give you abs like that.’

Cathy’s attempt to avoid looking at the exposed skin glistening with sweat fails completely when Lina mentions them. If the humming coming from the other girls is any indication, she is not the only one.

‘Come on, I’ll let you shower first.’

Anne moans, reaching up with grabby hands.

‘What? You want me to carry you?’

‘Are you saying you can’t?

‘Is it a challenge?’

‘If that’s what it takes…’ Anne shrugs from her spot on the floor, unrepentant.

The girl sighs but crouches down. It doesn’t seem to take too much effort for her to lift Anne in her arms and start walking, her hold confident and comfortable as if it had happened many times before.

‘Kat.’

‘Yeah?’ The girl turns around.

‘You can use my shower if you don’t want to wait.’

‘Thanks Cata, you’re the best!’ she smiles brightly at her before leaving the room, Anne in her arms.

‘That’s your Kat?’

Cathy hears Anna asking but after that, she honestly has no idea what the others talks about or even what she is thinking until the girls returns, Anne once again carried in Kat’s arms.

Kat gently puts her down on the armchair before leaving the room again. ‘Need anything from the kitchen?’

‘No, thanks!’ Catalina calls back, before addressing Anne. ‘You know, they say you should keep moving, this is only going to make the pain worse later on.’

‘That’s a problem for future me.’

‘I would apologize saying that she isn’t normally like this, but I’d be lying.’ Catalina turns towards her friends.

‘Hey!’ Anne protests as Kat comes back, sitting on her armchair’s armrest and passing her a glass of juice.

‘Thanks Kitty.’

Catalina is going through presentations when Cathy suddenly comes back to earth. ‘Wait, you’re Lina’s cat??’

‘Possibly?’ Kat replies, hesitant confusion in her voice, while Anna, Jane and Lina look at their friend weirdly. They probably already went over it. Oops!

‘I mean, it’s Katherine.’ The girl continues.

‘Me too!’ More odd looks.

‘But most people call me Kat. Or Kitty.’

‘I better be the only one calling you Kitty.’

‘And the overprotective one is Anne,’ Kat slings an arm around the other girl, ‘if she didn’t present herself.’

---

‘Cathy? You alright?’ Jane asks as they walk towards the bus stop after leaving Catalina’s home. ‘You’ve been spacing out.'

‘Yeah.’ She nods. She hesitates, before blurting out. ‘Do you think they are dating?’

‘Who? Kat and Lina?’ Jane laughs.

‘No! Anne and Kat!’

‘I’m sorry, but am I the only one who thought that when Lina talked about her Kat she was talking about a cat, like, actual animal cat, meow?’ Anna interrupts them.

The look exchanged between Jane and Cathy gives her the answer. ‘So it wasn’t just me.’ Anna nods to herself, relieved.

‘Some things make more sense now,’ Cathy muses aloud, ‘like Lina not having her scarf because she gave it to her Kat.’

‘And some things don’t.’ Jane points out. ‘Kat on the table, anyone??’

‘The cat is on the table.’ Anna laughs. ‘Sorry.’ She can see her friends don’t understand why it’s funny to her. ‘When you learn English as a second language, that’s often one of the first sentences you learn.’

---

‘How did you meet?’

They are all back at Catalina’s house, this time Anne and Kat joining them from the start.

‘We were frenemies.’

‘Oh?’

Anne’s answer doesn’t really explain much.

‘We dated the same guy.’ Catalina expands on it.

‘Henrat.’ Anne mutters darkly, before adding, ‘Not on purpose.’

‘Certainly not.’ Catalina scoffs.

‘He told me he was going to break up with her. That it was taking some time because they had been together for years and it was hard. And well, naïve mistake of thinking myself different or better…Spoiler alert, if someone cheats on someone with you for months, chances are they will cheat on you too, sooner or later.’

‘Oh.’ That was not the story Jane was expecting when she had asked.

‘Yep. So…soon after we officially get together, Henry is out every night, just sleeping around, like what the hell?!’ Anne looks around, as if seeking support from her audience. ‘So I thought if that's how it's gonna be, maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three just to make him jel. Henry finds out and he goes mental. He screams and shouts, like so judgemental.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘We were at a party and he was like "you damned witch”, which wow, talk about outdated, but anyway, I go “mate, just shut up, I wouldn't be such a bitch, if you could get it up”.’

‘It rhymed!’ Kat points out like she does every time Anne tells the story.

‘Is that what you said?’ Anna sounds impressed.

‘Yep. Everyone heard that too. He’s been wanting my head since.’ Anne shrugs. She didn’t regret it a bit. ‘And not in the sexy way.’

‘So it’s a “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” situation?’ Jane looks like she is trying to wrap her head around it. She isn’t sure she would be willing to be friend with someone she got cheated on with, doesn’t matter if they are not together anymore.

‘Not really. I didn’t want anything to do with her…or Henry. Until I saw him harassing a girl. Well, flirting according to him, but she looked so uncomfortable and so young. Especially compared to him.’

‘Yeah, I was 16.’ Kat pipes up.

‘So I shooed him away. Comfort the girl, who was pretty shaken. Have her call someone and wait with her…and who shows up?’

‘Me!’

‘Anne.’ Jane guesses correctly at the same time.

‘And that would have been the end, but Kat wanted to thank me and keep in touch and…it’s really hard to say no to her.’

‘Yeah. Especially when she gives you the KHoward look.’ Anne nods solemnly. It’s a patented weapon she has fallen victim of many many times.

‘Uhm? The what?’

‘Do it, Kitty.’

‘It’s not a party trick.’ Kat protests. But everyone is looking at her expectantly. She lets out a sigh. And she obliges the request.

‘AWW.’ Jane coos, while Anna nods. ‘I get it.’

Cathy is just speechless.

‘Yeah. And suddenly that scene in Shrek made sense.’ Catalina adds.

‘It didn’t before??’ Anne looks almost offended.

‘Well, I never had a cat before, how was I supposed to know?’ Catalina defends herself.

‘Wait!’ Cathy suddenly exclaims. ‘K?’

‘Yeah? Katherine, you know?’

'Oh.’ If Cathy could dig a hole in the floor and disappear, she would. ‘Ignore me, I swear that I’m usually not this much of an idiot.’

‘We know.’ Jane reassures her.

‘And even if you were, we wouldn’t mind...I mean, we love Anne anyway, don’t we?’

A betrayed gasp. ‘Catalina! You turned my Kitty against me??

Catalina is laughing so hard that she is crying. 'My Kat, I love you so much!’ She finally wheezes out.

Cathy is smart. She is! But apparently she turns into a complete simpleton in the presence of pretty girls...or more specifically of one pretty girl called Katherine Howard. Sure, she had fumbled in front of girls before, but never to this degree. An absolute and utter disaster.

‘Anyway,’ Catalina starts again after regaining her breath, ‘long story short, we kept in touch. It was not Kat’s fault what Anne did, anyway. And they were living together and when Anne had to move, it made sense for Kat to come and live with me.’

‘But now you’re back?’ Cathy’s question is completely disinterested, of course.

‘Soon permanently.’ Anne smiles at Kat, nudging her.

‘Where are you going to live?’ Anna asks the younger girl. ‘Are you going to move out or stay here?’

‘Oh, she is trying to win her back.’ Catalina nods towards Anne.

‘I never lost her.’ Anne retorts.

‘I’m not a prize to be won.’

‘I’d argue about that.’ Cathy mutters, getting an amused look from Anna, the only one who heard her.

Kat heaves a sigh. ‘I would suggest we could all live together, but I don’t think I can deal with this on a daily basis.’

---

They hang out. It’s quite difficult to get everyone together, between classes and jobs and other commitments, but in smaller groups it’s easier and more common. That’s how Cathy finds herself at the pub with Anna and Anne, her and Anna celebrating having finished a big assignment and Anne joining because Kat and Catalina don’t particularly like going out drinking and she misses doing it.

Cathy has mixed feelings about Anne. Is she pretty? Yes. Is she smart? Yes. Is she funny? Yes. Does she hate her a little bit? Also yes. Is she going to get drunk while trying to keep up with her (and Anna, but her Teutonic constitution puts her on a whole other level)? Again, yes.

She pretty much checks out, lost in thoughts, until a shrill ‘Kitty’ brings her back to the present...and to Anne hanging from Kat’s neck, nuzzling into her. ��You came!’

‘Of course, I did. You called.’ Kat says as if there has never been any other option.

Did Cathy mention that she hates Anne a bit?

‘Time to go home?’ Kat asks, while rubbing Anne’s back.

Anna raises an eyebrow at Anne, still wrapped around the newcomer, and then chances a look at Cathy, slumped on the table. ‘I think we better.’

‘Do you have a car?’

Anna shakes her head. ‘No, I planned to drink so...’

‘Good.’ Kat smiles at her. She is happy to play chauffeur if it means her friends are being safe and responsible. ‘Let’s get you all home.’

Anna helps Cathy to Kat’s car while the younger girl helps Anne.

‘Cathy, where-’ Kat looks at the rear-view mirror only to see that the girl is asleep. ‘Do you know where she lives?’ She asks Anna, the only one still awake.

‘I know she lives in a hall on campus, I might even remember which one, but no idea about the room, sorry.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll just take her home with us, then.’

‘Are you sure?’ Anna looks to the backseat, both girls dead to the world.

‘Yeah. I can carry Anne, I’m sure she won’t be much of a problem either.’

Kat drops off Anna and then drives home. Once she parks, she texts Catalina to open the door for her.

She picks up Anne and carries her home. ‘Can you stay at the door and keep an eye on the car?’ she asks Catalina before manoeuvring inside, careful not to bump into anything lest Anne wakes up. Few minutes later she comes back, goes to the car, and picks up Cathy.

‘Ahnghh.’

‘What?’ Catalina takes the car key Kat is holding with her teeth. ‘Say that again?’

‘I said hand because I wanted to drop the key in it.’ She adjusts her hold of Cathy. Not that she is heavier than Anne, but she has no qualms grabbing and holding Anne, and if she grazes her butt or her boobs, so be it. Cathy is a relatively new friend, and she is more conscious of any touch, no matter how accidental, that could make her uncomfortable (well, if she was awake to realise it, anyway). ‘Lock up for me, please?’

——————————————–

Storytime: I was 2000 words deep into this when an atrocious doubt came to me…was Kat actually pronounced the same as cat?? English is a weird language and not my native one so I started to worry…did I just base my story on something that made no sense? Also (perhaps more important), had I butchered people’s names for years without knowing? As someone whose name is often mispronounced (well, in the UK at least, since it’s Italian), I felt really bad about that. So I asked a native-speaker friend and he said it sounds the same. So if he trolled me (he told me he wasn’t, but who knows) and Kat doesn’t sound as cat…I hope you enjoyed the story anyway (and let me know so I can get back at him!)

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical #parrward #beheaded cousins #catherine and katherine #fic: Meowsunderstandings #six fanfiction #six the musical fic #six fic #mywork #my ideas #six writing #six fanfic #six the musical fanfic #my posts #my six posts

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tosikoarts · 4 years

Text

SFW Alphabet | Tsurumi Tokushirou

Wow, this one seems to be the apogee of my writing. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Finally, a man who knows what he is doing. Tsurumi is a sly devil but he also got a taste of love, and those two points combined made him a danger to anyone he puts an eye on. The entire 7th division holds their breath watching how skillfully First Lieutenant pulls the unsuspecting victim into his snares.

Understandably, his main weapon would be the art of word. Tsurumi knows how to keep dialogue entertaining; moreover, he is well versed in complimenting his favorite person. He murmurs sweet nothings into their ear in public and in private, under the sergeant's condemning gaze and right under the nose of the jealous Second Lieutenant. Tsurumi does it wisely though, avoiding Usami’s uncontrollable obsession.

Gallantry is his middle name. As soon as they appear on the horizon with a bag or a stack of heavy books, Tsurumi miraculously finds himself next to them taking all of their stuff in his hands. Always accompanies them on the way home, from time to time pleases them with a small bouquet of lavender, moves the chair away from the table so that they sit down. At the same time, his gestures and moves, all looks natural like Tsurumi has been born with it.

Oh, also, he likes to spoil his loved one, pamper them without any limits. If they want to take a picture together, he will hire a western artist to paint a portrait of them. If they want a bar of chocolate, he will order to find the best dessert chef in Hokkaido. This is not his constant behavior, but Tsurumi quite often goes over the board with his affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Let’s be honest, to be best friends with Tsurumi you have to be at least no stupider than him and, better, even a little bit smarter. Otherwise, he will treat the person like another pawn in the game. Mind is a measure of strength, and those who are weaker than him do not deserve more than condescending attitude.

His best friend has to be patient and steadfast as a tin soldier: the hole in the head and lack of a brain piece deprived the First Lieutenant of poise so he is prone to outbursts of unwarranted violence. He may jokingly threaten to bite off their nose. Likewise, he may introduce them to the general madness of his division in the face of Usami or Nikaidou. They just have to deal with the crazy without going bonkers themself.

In addition, they have to have a wide range of interests or be willing to learn new things. Tsurumi is the one to offer to go to horse race, win (or lose) some money, and, without delay, go to the nearest theater. His broad knowledge in various areas makes it possible to boast in every possible way on every possible topic and he expects his best friend to keep the conversation going. Of course, his favorite topic is war and weapons so they must be familiar with it.

The advantages of friendship with this remarkable individual are: respect in all circles he is in; initiation into his plans or most of them; life will seem a lot easier than before since obstacles become suspiciously fewer…

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He has a weird desire for them to look into his face while cuddling. To be mentioned, Tsurumi takes off his enamel head plate in private and it works like a magic: his expression transforms into one of person who has been gone for too long, who was yet to see the horrors of Russo-Japanese war. So, Tsurumi likes to keep them on his lap, hands placed on their thighs or waist, and talk, talk, talk. For some reason avoids spooning: if they try to spoon him, he will slip away from their hands, turn around, and plant a gentle kiss on their forehead.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

It’s complicated. Considering his past with Fina, the whole idea of settling down evokes the unconscious resistance in Tsurumi. Grand plans for hidden gold are the one thing that interests him at the moment, or this is what he convinced himself in. Even in the case of having the most suitable partner, Tsurumi will choose treasure hunt over binding relationship. Same goes for children. His henchmen are his kids, his hellhounds, his creations that he nurtured with distorted version of love and adoration. It is unlikely that he has even a little healthy parental affection left. Great at making desserts, mediocre at cooking overall, doesn’t care about cleaning and leaves it to the partner.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Break-up can go different ways.

In the best case scenario, Tsurumi acts like a gentleman until the very end. On the designated day, he invites a partner to a quiet place and makes sure nobody disturbs their conversation. Even if it happens in the barracks, all soldiers are strictly ordered to stay away from the First Lieutenant's office. There are two cups of a soothing herbal tea on his table as well as dessert associated with them. In calm steady voice Tsurumi explains why they have to break up and how it would be inevitable in the future if they choose to stay together for little longer. In the end of his speech, they feel almost like they initiated this break-up and Tsurumi just conducted their thoughts like his own. It is harmless and easy break-up with no hard feelings after all.

Other options aren’t that innocuous. He can easily make up a kidnapping scheme to remove them from the sight. It may or may not be violent, may or may not leave them traumatized. In the worst case, Tsurumi with heavy heart will give the order to eliminate them and hide all signs of their existence. It is a pity that one cannot erase the marks left on him and his life.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As mentioned in the previous paragraph, formalizing a relationship is far from the first thing on the Tsurumi’s To-Do list. His partner can try to hint at marriage but he will either completely ignore it or adroitly dissuade them from such stupid undertaking. In a relationship, he remains faithful despite the absence of some fictitiously important pieces of signed paper.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Well, even if he is gentle in any variation, this gentleness carries a sadistic undertone. Tsurumi’s physical affection borders on pain and it is impossible to tell if his vulnerable moments are a theatrical performance or not. He can laugh endlessly, kiss their fingertips and bare knuckles, purposely tickle their neck with his long eyelashes or handlebar moustache but the very next second a predatory grin distorts his face, sending thing in darker direction. Only God knows what is going on in his head, really.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

A truly romantic hug so often shown in films and described in books: his hand rests on their waist, pulling them closer, and other hand catches theirs as if in a slow dance. Each time the distance between him and his partner becomes less and less, but what remains constant, it is a subtle smile and piercing gaze of dark eyes. When in a cheery, exclusively friendly mood, Tsurumi likes to give the partner a tight bear hug or a short greetings-like hug with resting his chin either on their shoulder or on the top of their head.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes years for Tsurumi to say “I love you” out loud. About 3-4 to be exact. Either because he cannot call his feelings real love, or because he does not want to let them ease off. Confession imposes the stamp of some kind of completeness on the relationship and it isn’t fun at all. In his speech, the magic three words are replaced by softer analogues like “I really like you” or “Aren’t you my sunshine” so his partner does not put much thought to why Tsurumi avoids confession. Oh, one hundred percent the day he finally chooses to confess will be an anniversary date. Expect a day dedicated solely to satisfaction of his partner’s desires.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh no no no, please, we don’t have that much space in the cemetery. Flirting with Tsurumi’s partner is like playing Russian roulette with five bullets in cylinder – highly lethal game of chance. After spotting unlucky admirer, Tsurumi tries to identify them and dig up as much information as possible. Their fate depends on it. If it's some kind of midge, a cockroach, First Lieutenant forgets about this situation pretty fast. He doesn’t want to deal with such squalor anyway. If this is a more serious figure, Tsurumi may want to teach them a lesson how rude it is to encroach on someone else's love. Probably pulls a couple of strings to get them into some kind of trouble. Get them fired, discharged, robbed, assaulted, whatever. At the same time, he doesn’t even mention them while talking to the loved one.

Provoking Tsurumi to jealousy is just as dangerous. His actions are not as radical as in the first case but his partner will have to learn that this is not an acceptable behavior. It is hard to imagine how far he can go though, methods may vary from simple manipulation to straightforward psychological abuse. The latter is the last and the least appealing option, which Tsurumi won’t use unless he is forced to.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sometimes you just wonder where he learned all these tricks with his tongue. Tsurumi is a playful skilled kisser with excellent flair to where and when to apply fine knowledge of French... technique. Bites are not uncommon either. He has a habit of marking his loved one so everybody around knows who they belong to, and at least one hickey has to flaunt on their neck to keep him satisfied. Tsurumi prefers to kiss his partner wherever they want to be kissed, especially if they ask nicely, and to where to be kissed… a straight line from razor-sharp cheekbones to the notch between the collarbones is a great start.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Stranger’s kids are terrified of Tsurumi. Little ones burst into tears as they notice his wide smile, and those who are a little older stare at him with confusion. Teens try to stay away from this man since he fits the stranger danger statement very well. Thus to say, Tsurumi isn’t fond of being near children and prefers to pass the buck to the subordinates. If we are talking about his own (highly hypothetical) kids that is another story: they get the best of the best, they are spoiled rotten just like his partner. Of course, as kids grow up, Tsurumi switches to the carrot and stick approach spoiling them only as a reward for good behavior. Not that bad around children, really. It's not his fault that he fits the description of Boogeyman.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On rare days when Tsurumi decides to spend the day with a partner, he never rushes. Those mornings are complete opposite of his usual mornings: they are slow, lazy, maximally filled with intimacy. No one is in a hurry to get out from under the blanket and if his loved one tries to sneak out, Tsurumi deftly catches them by the waist and drags back. I think it is clear that he is immensely touchy in the morning hours. The rest of the time is spent in a kitchen over a cup of green tea, in lively conversation on a variety of topics. No, he is not going to leave the house until the late noon.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Get ready for experiments and new experiences. Have they ever tried horseback riding? No? Good, he will be their teacher. Calligraphy? He will help to put their hand on a brush correctly. Nyotaimori or nantaimori? He will ask either Koito or another twunk to serve as a model. Tsurumi presents every evening date as a surprise that will not leave one indifferent and still he somehow manages to not overstep the bounds of decency. When their mood doesn’t fit his own adventurous impulses, the choice falls on a more classic pastime like late night walk or dinner date but there is not much that can be said about it.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

His partner won’t hear a bit of personal information, a single bit, until Tsurumi is one hundred percent sure that they are here to stay. Until then, he will feed the partner common unremarkable phrases which cannot compromise him in any way. Even after this, a lot of uncertainties remain: Tsurumi seems to describe events only in positive or neutral light, avoiding situations that obviously carry a grim implications. For example, not a word will be said about Fina or Olga and even if partner witnesses him fiddling small bones in his fingers, Tsurumi will make some fable up. Revelations happen but it is not something they will have a chance to get used to.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Easily angered but pulls himself together in the blink of the eye. His malice usually spills out in a form of nervous thrill so it is rare to see Tsurumi screaming his lungs out or getting into a fight. In a relationship, he puts on a mask of an eternally patient partner so his loved one won’t even guess about his anger issues.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Liar is obligated to have a great memory, do you get where I’m coming from? Now only he remembers what his partner has to say but also somehow knows what they hide from him too. If the information seems to be of low priority, Tsurumi immediately forgets it. Like what is he supposed to do with the fact that theirs first dog was called Akira? Best of all he remembers theirs crucial ups and downs both to establish the emotional connection and have some control levers in the future.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Difficult question. Not any of “first experiences”, not anniversary. Probably, the first time he introduced them to the group of closer soldiers like Tsukishima and Co. For the first time Tsurumi decided to “show off” his partner in the headquarters just to establish a clear boundaries between himself and subordinates. Of course, he was well aware of the risks and consequences but chose to do it anyway. The reaction of some was quite expected: Koito's face expressed unpleasant surprise and qualm, he couldn’t switch back from Satsuma dialect and when it finally happened, there were more awkward pauses than comprehendible words; Usami screwed up his eyes as if he was evaluating a competitor simultaneously deciding on the best method to eliminate them. Nikaidou didn’t really cared. Kikuta did neither. Tsukishima’s reaction was the most adequate of all: he politely bowed, mumbled words of courtesy, and got back to his routine. However, on the way to the office he decided to warn them that lovely Tokushirou might differ from their expectations. At the end, Tsurumi was extremely pleased by the flaunting and gave them opportunity to choose how he will thank them for the shown patience.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Tell me, who in their right mind would want to provoke this man? Like, who? His very presence is enough to scare any foe away, not to mention how lethal his overprotectiveness can be. Tsurumi is great at managing resources to make sure his partner is okay: there is always an armed invisible observer in the city they are staying in, sometimes they are sent letters in which Tsurumi takes interest in how their days are going, etc. On the other hand, in moments of real danger, his subordinates are those who take care of his loved one: soldiers are obliged to protect them since Tsurumi usually holds a leading position rather than actively participates in the dirty work. Has no need to be protected, however, partner’s impulses to do it are always met with tender emotion and sincere drawling “aww”.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tsurumi has an enviable ability of being seemingly the most caring and charming man in the world without even trying. He is natural in wooing, it feels like the whole world is on his side: if he forgets to buy a present for the anniversary (which never happens, may I assure you), a hurrying seller will be selling cute necklace at discount price. Whenever he decides to go to another city with his loved one, there will be a festival or celebration. To be fair, Tsurumi does put efforts in the relationship and keeping his partner happy. He just has it easier than most of your common men.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His own motives and desires will always be prioritized over his partner’s. It is reality that they just have to deal with. If his partner feels confident in enough, they can try to fight Tsurumi with his own weapon - flattery, ruse, and equivalent exchange, - but success still entirely depends on his mood.

Military career implies long partings with the risk of never seeing the partner again. For the person who cannot live without their loved one’s physical presence, relationship like this will feel like living hell.

To mention something more lighthearted, Tsurumi is constantly surrounded by subordinates that have questionable… adoration towards him. It asks for deep dive in military psychology, workplace psychology, and additional peek into sexual psychopathology but you get what I mean. Usami gets off talking about how First Lieutenant will be upset with him and, probably, will punish him, okay.

Tsurumi is shady man overall, damaged both physically and emotionally, he is missing a piece of the brain and it is already a long list of reason why one should think twice before getting in with him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Tsurumi actually cares for his looks. He takes his time to shave the moustache and goatee just the way he wants it to be, thoroughly washes the hair twice a week, keeps the head plate clean by wiping it with wet cloth and disinfecting with alcohol. The main reason of his concerns is desire to look presentable and influential, not a banal narcissism. Does the face scar bother him? When there’s nothing to occupy his mind – yes. Tsurumi understands how drastically it changed his overall look and sometimes regrets what happened but what is the point of overthinking unalterable? Right, there is none.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Break-up is a huge deal in the sense that Tsurumi's reaction could be anything. Unpredictable. Up to monstrous consequences. The safest option would be drop everything and run away since he won’t chase them to the end of the world. Yes, he would feel betrayed and fueled with anger but whatever, it is not the most important thing on the agenda. Sooner or later their paths will cross again and it will be the chance for Tsurumi to show his disinterest. You know, this “I am a bad bitch, you can’t hurt me” style. Direct confrontation leads to a passionate interrogation on why they decided to leave. Is there anything he can do to prevent them from such imprudent step? Does their relationship lack anything? This conversation quickly escalates into preparation of feelings during which Tsurumi scrutinizes all their ins and outs. If they successfully survive this psychological torture mixed with all kinds of manipulation – congrats! – they are allowed to leave. Now he has left his mark on them, on their heart and soul, so they have to carry it wherever they choose to go.

In the case of their death, Tsurumi grieves. How does a man like him grieve? Through sublimation, of course. To stop thinking about the time spent together, he pays more attention to treasure hunt. Tsukishima unobtrusively plays the role of a First Lieutenant’s personal therapist, listening to his pensive monologues, but it doesn’t make any difference. Just like his Sergeant, Tsurumi has difficulties with experiencing repeated loss, and second time feels even worse than the first one.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Remember this clear liquid oozing from under his head plate? It is actually сerebrospinal fluid that provides mechanical and immunological protection to the brain. Constant leaking of CSF leads to a condition known as orthostatic headache: this type of headache intensifies while person is standing and eases when lying down. Tsurumi has extreme headaches after his excited leaks that are usually weakened by general thrill. Once agitation excitation wears off, he becomes incredibly irritable and searches for a quiet place to lie down. The one person who knows about such side effect is Tsukishima. He has saved a dozen of lives already by preventing fellow soldiers from talking to resting First Lieutenant.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He has specific requirements for his environment and a list of traits its members have to lack.

For example, curiosity did kill the cat. People by his side should not pry into his personal business unless they want to get bitten. It is dangerous for them, for Tsurumi, and for plans he has built, so his partner has to either be incurious or keep themself in check when it comes to bunch of stuff.

Freedom-loving and willfulness are the worst enemies of manipulator, no wonder that First Lieutenant looks for someone submissive. Guess, for those achieving high ranks, powerplay is an integral part of social interaction.

Ah, but at the same time, lack of personality makes Tsurumi yawn. Such people do not provide the kind of entertainment he is looking for and it is natural for him to overlook them in the crowd.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Sleeps suspiciously well for a person who bites people’s fingers off. Brain injury left him dreamless for the rest of the life so as soon as Tsurumi’s head touches the pillow he immediately goes into a deep sleep. His sleeping schedule is nothing special too. Obeying the laws of army life, First Lieutenant wakes up early at the same time very day and goes to bed no later than 10 pm. Lies on the belly with arms straight up along the body. Without the head plate, obviously.

With the advent of a permanent partner in his life, Tsurumi’s sleep became more restless. Now he feels way too energetic, tosses and turns in bed, and cannot find a comfortable position in the bed. Since most of the time they still sleep apart (he has a reputation to maintain, blah-blah-blah), Tsurumi has to take a walk to blow off steam and get rid of swarming thoughts. Sometimes it does not help at all so he rushes to their house hoping to find peace in their arms. And so it happens. Tsukishima has almost come to terms with the frequent absence of the First Lieutenant in the mornings. However, Koito is not that happy about it and keeps bothering sergeant with questions to which he has no answer. Poor young man.

#golden kamuy #tsurumi tokushirou #golden kamuy headcanon #golden kamuy imagine #tosikoswrites

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excelsi-or · 4 years

Text

18/09/25 - beginning of an end (woozi)

w.c. 2.1k (FLUUUUUUUUUUUUFF)

July 28, 2025

September 18, 2025

“You want to what now?”

“Knew I should have called Wonwoo,” Jihoon sighs. He twirls his pencil between his fingers.

“No, calling your best friend is the ideal person to call in this situation.”

“My best friend is an idiot and blowing it out of proportion,” Jihoon retorts.

Mingyu huffs. “You call me, asking how to propose. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?”

Jihoon frowns at his phone screen and then puts it back to his ear. “Not yell at me, you absolute dolt. I just want advice on what to say and how to do it. Rings and stuff.”

“I am literally the most ill-equipped person for this conversation,” Mingyu whines. He clicks his tongue. “Let’s go talk to Seungcheollie hyung tonight.”

Considering Seungcheol isn’t married, Jihoon wonders why Mingyu thinks the older man would be helpful. “But why do you need to come?”

“I need to be prepared for your upcoming nuptials.”

Jihoon tries to fight the smile that blooms on his face when he hears those words. “Shut up.”

“I never thought I would see the day, hyung.”

“I’m really going to hang up on you.”

“Text Cheol hyung and then text me.” Mingyu sounds as if he’s going to say goodbye. “Don’t you dare leave me out of this, hyung. I swear to God.” Then the line goes dead.

Jihoon twirls around in his seat.

The break up songs that one of the managers had liked just weren’t the types of songs he was making nowadays. So he handed the man ballads, sadder songs about love. They were more longing than angsty. And while it doesn’t seem to be exactly what the man had heard, he seemed happy with the end result.

“Ah, you’re a good one, Jihoon-ssi,” he’d said.

Jihoon knows that he can’t do much better than that in terms of a compliment. But it doesn’t take a genius to know that Jihoon’s head hasn’t been entirely on music the past few weeks.

The company had had a party a few nights ago to celebrate the end of summer. This meant that significant others and spouses were able to mingle alongside them. While it was nice to introduce her to some of the other producers, she knew Hansol, Seokmin, and Bumzu already. They were the only real people that mattered to him.

Regardless, since then, people have been passing him in the hallway asking when he plans to tie the knot.

“You don’t let a smart woman like that walk around without a ring on her finger, Jihoon-ah,” one of the higher ups had said. She’d wanted a drink and Jihoon had offered to grab it for her. If she had heard that man, she would have given him a piece of her mind. Something along the lines of ownership and how she, as a smart woman, can do whatever she wants with or without a ring.

But odd comments like that have had him looking at marriage differently.

His mother, in particular, has been pushing the marriage card a bit harder than usual. Every time Jihoon calls, she asks why he hasn’t asked that ‘poor girl to marry him’.

“We’re just not ready yet,” Jihoon says every time.

“Aish,” his mother sighs. “When are you going to be ready?”

“What’s the difference if we’re married? We’d be living the same life we do now.”

“It feels different when you’re married, Jihoon-ah.”

When he wakes up next to her in the morning, he’s started wondering how different it would feel.

“What do you think of marriage?” Jihoon asked one morning at breakfast. They were sat across each other on their kitchen counters with bowls of cereal in their laps.

“Marriage?” she repeated. She tipped her head in that way of hers. “We said we’d get married when we were ready.”

Jihoon nodded. They’ve been saying it for years now. When they’re ready. “Are we?”

“Ready for marriage?” She looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you ready for marriage?”

“Are you?”

She chewed thoughtfully, tipping her head back. “Jihoonie, if you asked me to marry you, I’d be stupid to say no. But how different would our lives be if we tied the knot?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Omma says it’s different.”

She had no response to that, but that was an affirmative answer as any. The topic of marriage usually put them off completely and made them scared for what the future held. But Jihoon has been analyzing his future before bed every night, as she lays in his arms already asleep.

She’s it. Every future he can come up with has her in it.

And maybe that’s what makes him ready.

Jihoon digs around in his pocket for the ring box that he’s been carrying for a few weeks. He’d picked it out, checked her shoe for her shoe size and sized the ring to it. If the Internet was lying about that, they can always get it resized. He keeps the ring box in his backpack and sweater pockets when he leaves the house. She’ll find it if he leaves it at home.

The call to Mingyu was to prep him. And because he also knows his friend is horrible at keeping it secrets, everyone else will know by the time they get home. It’s a sort of incentive to ask her now before the surprise is spoiled.

His phone rings and he answers on the first ring when he sees her name. “Hello?”

“Can you still get away for a quick dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you by the Han.”

“You’ve already ordered our foods, yes?”

“The Cokes and chicken should be there when you get there,” Jihoon chuckles. He’d ordered before calling Mingyu. “See you in a bit.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” As soon as he’s hung up, he hops out of his chair, makes sure he has everything and hurries out of the building. It isn’t until he’s in the lobby that he realizes that the ring isn’t in his sweater pocket. Quickly, Jihoon bolts back upstairs, past four people he already said bye to and passes those same four people again on his way down.

Jihoon catches the train. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet the entire way, the anticipation killing him. He didn’t expect to be nervous. He planned this entire thing so that it would be a nonchalant ask. It would come up mid-conversation and she could say yes or no. If she wasn’t ready, cool. If she was, great. He didn’t want to add extra pressure by dressing up fancy and going to a nice restaurant, which they never do; or picking an important date to ask, in case it went wrong.

And yet, he’s still nervous to ask the love of his life if she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Go figure.

Jihoon, even after running up and down the stairs twice, makes it to the Han before she does. The delivery boy arrives right on time and Jihoon pays him, tips him, and then sits down and waits. Jihoon flicks through a Webtoon he’s been reading in the mean time and glances up every time he thinks he hears her coming.

Jihoon doesn’t bother to look up when he hears jogging footsteps coming towards him until those footsteps stop right beside him. He looks up at her in a yellow dress and one of his cardigans over it, because it’s starting to get cold. Her hair seems wind swept and her cheeks are flushed.

“Train got delayed for a kid who got lost,” she breathes. She takes a seat next to the food, turned so that she’s facing him entirely and her legs are crossed. “Let’s eat.”

Jihoon can’t seem to say anything. He’s at a loss and every time he tries to say something, he has to bite his tongue. The words ‘do you want to marry me’ seem to want to just fall out of his mouth. So he stays mum.

She must assume that he’s just in the middle of a creative whirl, as she talks for the both of them. She updates him on what she’s been up to at work, on the articles she’s read that day, on the little squabbles between their friends.

“Seungkwan told me that he thinks Hansol is dating somebody, because he stays out late and sometimes texts him that he isn’t coming home.”

Jihoon smirks.

“And I know it’s because he’s prepping to drop his next album and that he doesn’t want to tell Seungkwan until then,” she chuckles. “So I just went along with it.”

She chews thoughtfully and stares out at the River, admiring the lights across the water as it gets dark. “You okay, Ji?”

Jihoon tips his head. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she sat down.

“You literally haven’t said anything since I got here.” She turns back to him. “Something on your mind?”

Jihoon is about to shake his head no, when he feels the weight of the ring box shift against his skin. “Yeah, actually.”

She lifts an eyebrow, popping another chicken piece into her mouth. “What is it?”

Jihoon licks his bottom lip and thinks about how he wants to word this. “Remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago?”

She stares at him blankly.

“At breakfast,” he clears his throat, “about marriage.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Yeah, I do.”

His mouth feels dry. “Have you thought about it since?”

“Marriage?” She shrugs. Her eyes fall to the food between them. “I told you I’d be stupid to say no, I think. All you have to do is ask, Jihoonie, I’ll say—”

He had slipped his hand into his sweater pocket while she was looking at the food. When she sits back, the ring box is open between them.

“Whoa,” she finishes. Her eyes meet his.

Jihoon shrugs sheepishly. “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes have grown to the size of saucers. There’s just a long enough pause that Jihoon starts to pull the ring box back. “Yes, Jihoon. Yeah. Oh my god.” She watches as he slips the ring on her finger.

Before she has time to process all her emotions, Jihoon says, “Hah, the Internet was right.”

The bubbling of emotion, and probably tears, pops as her brow furrows. She pulls her gaze from the ring to look at him. “What?”

Jihoon explains the shoe size-ring size article he’d read. “Didn’t believe it, but I’m glad it’s right otherwise this would be a little anticlimactic. Are you surprised?”

“About the ring fitting or the proposal?” When she looks to him, her eyes are sparkling. “I’m surprised. You’d been mentioning marriage more often lately, especially since that company thing a few days ago. So I guess I was also… expecting something.” She lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Can’t say I was expecting a full-on proposal. Maybe another conversation about marriage.”

Jihoon takes her hand and brushes a kiss to the back of it. “If I did this any other time, I’m almost sure that everyone else would know I was going to ask.”

“You haven’t told the guys?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “But I assume they all know about a pending engagement by now.”

She laughs, unable to tame her smile or the euphoria in her chest. “You told Gyu, didn’t you?”

He smirks.

“You’re not actually going back to the office, are you? You’re not going to make me wait to actually tell them, are you? Hansol and Seungkwanie are coming over for games tonight.”

Jihoon chuckles and he squeezes her hand. “I’m all yours tonight.”

She uses her other hand to feed him a piece of chicken. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

“You guys all have to be out of here by midnight,” she announces once the boys are all seated in the living room.

Jihoon glances over at her from his spot on the couch, laughing.

She brings the snacks to the table as the boys ask why.

“I told you!” Seungkwan exclaims, grabbing her wrist. “He’d do it without telling us!”

Then he pulls her left hand into the center of the room for everyone to see the ring on her finger. The reaction is almost immediate. Jihoon is yanked in what seems like three directions.

Seungkwan pulls her into his lap for a hug, and Jeonghan leans closer so they can discuss the ring.

“And here I thought you were letting me in on a secret!” Mingyu whines as he ruffles Jihoon’s hair.

“The secret that he knew you were going to spread to all of us,” Wonwoo chuckles from Mingyu’s other side.

Jihoon catches her eye across the room and she can’t help but smile.

Yep, that flip in his stomach is all the answer he needs.

He’s ready.

THE END.

GUYS. To all of you who have read the entirety of this fluffy project, thank you. :D I’ve loved reading through comments and tags. They really do make my day. I’m so glad that there have been people who have loved this series as much as I enjoyed writing it. I initially started writing it in 2018 and would just get these little fluffy ideas of what I wanted a relationship to be. Jihoon was kinda just a stand in man for it. BUT then it evolved into its own story that I love.

I’m probably going to a week off of posting. I have a huge original story that I’ve been playing around with (lol, I actually have like 5, but i’m working on one right now). But I do have another fluffy, Jihoon thing that is mostly done and just needs to be edited at this point (single dad Jihoon anyone?). SO there’s more coming from me. :)

#woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen #svt #tabilrn #lee jihoon scenarios

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