Can I get a mermaid!Lance startling marine tech!Keith fic? Please and thank you!!
OF COURSE YOU CAN. This is super rough but ENJOY
The boat was back. Lance hovered just under the surface,
tail flicking as he covered his ears against the growl of the propeller. Twice
a week for the last month it had come, perched just over his favourite part of
the reef, and disrupted his studying. It bobbed along for a few hours before
shifting course and propelling over to another part to do the same damn thing.
Hours upon hours of useless noise. It was enough to drive any merperson insane.
If you're doing prompts, AU where Kirigiri saves Naegi instead of Juzo?
A/N for those who are still in denial (like me) on kirigiri’s death, the title speaks for itself
Don’t Lose Hope - Naegiri
“I’m coming soon.”
Makoto Naegi was in despair.
So many of his friends were dead and yet here he was, still alive. He couldn’t save them. He had only saved himself. None of them deserved to die and yet they still ended up as corpses. He had failed all of them. They died and he lived.
It just wasn’t fair. He’s been alive for so long that they must be waiting for him. He wants to see them again and not just through his memories marred with despair and violence. He wants to talk to them and tell them he’s sorry for failing them. He wants to reunite with them.
A knife fell in front of him.
He crawled his way toward it and struggled free from his rope. He grabbed the blade with a manic glaze in his eyes. He’ll see them soon enough. His smile grew wider as his hands held the knife unshaking. There was no fear in him only anticipation. With this, he’ll be able to see them all. Everyone including Kirigiri.
With determination, he pulled the knife towards his throat–
But the blade never touched his skin,
Instead, the knife went flying elsewhere as a hand hit his which made him lose his grip. Before he could even process what had brought this, there was a sudden stinging sensation on his face, a force strong enough that made him flinch and his vision shifted.
There was a tense silence that followed the sharp sound of the slap.
Naegi’s head was ringing. Disoriented, his vision slowly regained focus as he finally saw the identity of this intervention. Hesitantly, he murmured her name, “…Kirigiri?”
It was Kirigiri there was no doubt about it. He wouldn’t mistake her lavender her for anyone else’s. However, it was just her hair that was purple. The left side of her face was marred by purple, a sideffect from the poison, and there was still traces of blood smeared from her eye. She looked exactly as he last remembered her– a corpse.
This was Kirigiri but Kirigiri was also dead.
“Kirigiri! You’re here!” He exclaimed in a voice that sounded happy and yet it sounded warped. It sounded wrong like he wasn’t himself anymore. “Are you made? You are, aren’t you? Sorry.” And although he said this in his usual gentle tone, it still came off as eerie.
Kirigiri stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face. It wasn’t because she was wearing her usual blank face but it was more because there were too many emotions showing on her face. Wariness, pity, concern, anger, these were just a few. There were so many that it was hard to pinpoint what exactly she was feeling at this moment as she saw Naegi in this state.
“Why are you so quiet?” It was supposed to be an innocent question but with the way he was now, it sounded filled with malice. “Ah, I get it. You’re totally mad. After all, I’m still here.” He then smiled at her.
His smile was wrong on so many levels.
“It’s okay. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He said with tenderness and it would’ve been heartwarming if it just wasn’t so wrongly used. He smiled wider, his eyes glazed with despair as he hysterically continued, “I’ll be with everyone in a moment. Just let me finish what I started. I won’t abandon you! I’ll properly see you soon!”
A hand struck him again with more force than the first one.
“…Eh?” Naegi’s eyes flickered along with his mind. What was going on? He turned to Kirigiri and this time her expression was clear as ever. She looked absolutely furious.
Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY???
Ah, that’s right. She’s mad because of him. That’s the only logical reason he could think of. Kirigiri was not the type to be swayed by emotions, especially not anger but if anyone could infuriate her then it must have been him. Him and how he failed her.
He dropped to the floor and apologized desperately, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “I couldn’t save everyone! I couldn’t save our friends!” His hope really was just platitudes after all– “I couldn’t even save you!”
This must be his retribution.
“That’s why I’ll–”
Naegi forgot what he was about to say when Kirigiri suddenly held him in an embrace.
“Naegi…” She murmured and then gently started stroking his hair with a familiar tenderness. “It’s okay.” She whispered as she affectionately nuzzled against him. “It’s okay.” She kept repeating in a soft and soothing voice.
What exactly was okay? Most of their friends were dead so how was this okay? He wanted to argue against her but the comfort she gave him was too distracting. She wasn’t using logic or cold hard evidence but somehow she was convincing him. He felt himself giving in to her embrace. She was just so gentle, and soft, and warm.
Warm! This Kirigiri was warm! A corpse isn’t supposed to be this warm but she was a contradiction. His mind shifted as the fog inside began to lift. She was warm which only implied one thing. He pulled back from the embrace and quickly placed his ear above her chest. Heartbeat after hearbeat resounded. There was only one logical explanation to this.
“You’re… alive.” He whispered in awe as he pulled back and properly checked her. She really did look just like how he had left her back in the room except her eyes were now open and she was breathing.
She died and yet she also lived.
“So you finally noticed.” She lightly mocked him but her eyes showed immeasurable relief. He was starting to make sense now.
He couldn’t believe his eyes but his heart hammered wildly as it believed and hoped with all its might. She was alive. She was actually alive and breathing and right in front of him. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask, so many that he had already opened his mouth without thinking, “But how did you-”
“With this.” She answered promptly, already expecting his question. She pulled out a bottle from her right pocket.
He squinted until he could read the label. “Cure W…?”
She nodded as she tucked away the bottle and explained, “I picked it up when I was investigating Kimura’s body. I wasn’t sure what exactly it was meant to cure but I had my suspicions that it was for the poison.”
His brows furrowed as he processed this information. That made sense. If anyone would have a cure for the poison then it would have to been made by the former shsl apotheracist since she was the only capable one in the group. However, what didn’t make sense was the fact that Kirigiri kept this a secret from them. “If you already had that all along then why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t want you to expect.” She answered straight to the point. "Like I said, it was just a theory that this could be a cure for the poison. There was no way for me to have known beforehand that my suspicion was correct.“
“I know that but still…” He frowned slightly. She had them worry so much, no not worry, she had them grieve. It was, and is still, one of his most harrowing experiences and the feeling of having her death on his life was still heavy on his conscience. His hand unconsciously balled into a fist, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed to her. "You could’ve told us you know.“
She just shook her head. "I am actually one of those practical people who expect the worst.” She then smiled slightly at him as she quipped, “We can’t all be optimistic like you.”
And just like that, tears flowed from Naegi’s eyes.
“Well it is my one redeeming quality.” He chuckled as he cried. But these tears weren’t the same as the ones he shed when he saw her corpse. These weren’t tears for mourning but rather they were tears of joy. It just felt like it’s been so long since he had a banter with her like this. He was completely moved to tears. “I’m just so happy to see you alive.”
His tears just made his smile shine brighter.
“Likewise, I’m glad to see you survive thus far.” She returned his expression with a tamed version of her own as he gingerly started to wipe off the tears on his face.
They were still together.
Despite being in another killing game, despite having unfair NG codes, despite having a close brush with death, despite all this, they were both still here, alive and together. No matter how many times they got separated, they always found themselves reuniting time and time again.
They were inseparable.
After he had calmed down a bit, she thought that it was best to move forward with the urgent matter at hand. “Now, would you care explain to me what happened here?”
He sniffled and dried the last of his tears. Work mode it is then. He cleared his throat and then began his explanation, “Okay so we read your notebook and how it said that all victims were suicides. Not only that, they were also coincidentally the closest to the monitors. And then from there…”
“You decided to test it?” She asked him incredulously. Well it was obvious that that’s exactly what happened but even so, it still sounded outrageous when she asked it out loud.
“Well it was the only way to confirm or deny your theory.” He answered defensively but also just the slightest bit timidly.
She sighed as she felt an oncoming headache. Of all the ideas they had to come up with, it just had to be the riskiest one. “Didn’t it occur to you how suspicious it was that all the victims chose to commit suicide? Didn’t you think that there was something going on beyond their control? Didn’t it occur to you just how dangerous this plan was?” She shot question after question, grilling him for his reckless actions.
“Yeah, we did think of those.” He nodded in all seriousness. “That’s why we took some precautions. I had myself tied up so I wouldn’t be able to do anything in case something happened.”
Her gaze quickly shifted to what remained of his binds and then she raised an eyebrow at him. “And how did that go for you?
"Not really effective.” He chuckled weakly as he rubbed his arms only to wince as he felt the rope burns.
He was just too reckless and too good for this world.
Kirigiri sighed as she reprimanded him again. “What do you think would have happened if I wasn’t there to stop you?”
“I’d probably end up as the next victim.” He answered with a grimace and there was a tense silence for a while. But after that, his smile quickly brightened up the atmosphere as he happily said, “Good thing you were there to save me, right?”
She just narrowed her eyes at him, not at all taking his humor. “Naegi, I’m serious.”
His smile dampened a bit but now it wasn’t just bright. There was certain tenderness on the corner of his lips. “I’m serious too.” He said in all sincerity. “Just when I was about to give in to despair, you came along and gave me hope.”
His hand reached out and held hers.
“I’m sorry for breaking our promise to never give up on hope but I know you don’t want an apology.” He leaned forward until their forheads were touching. He closed his eyes as he softly recited words from his heart. “So thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for always being there for me.”
Her fingers laced with his.
“I just can’t take my eyes off you for a while without you doing anything drastic, can I?” Even with his eyes closed, he could hear the smile in her voice.
“Nope, that’s why we need to stick together.” He shook his head slightly so that their noses bumped affectionately. He smiled wider. “Like always.”
Makoto Naegi was in despair until Kyouko Kirigi gave him hope.
Summary: Dean takes his hunting job more seriously than he does you.
Warnings: Angst, sadness :(, little bit of cursing.
For @torn-and-frayed‘s Song’s of Season 2 Challenge. I had the song “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner (great song btw), and used the song as inspiration.
A/N: Sorry this is a little short, but I hope you enjoy anyway! Maybe a part 2?? I’m not sure yet…
You thought he would change.
You honestly thought Dean Winchester would change for you.
You thought he’d live a cherry pie life with you.
You thought you’d start a family with him.
You were wrong. Terribly wrong.
You fell in love with him instantly- the passion he held in his eyes, the sheer determination- drew you in. You had met through Bobby, an old friend of yours, when you were only a teenager. You became friends, then it evolved to something more.
While he was passionate about his job, which you admired greatly, he took it too far. He was just like his father, hunting down everything and anything in sight.
He was selfless, another thing you loved about him. But every hunt nowadays brought the possibility of him not coming home. Hell, he’d risk his life to save a damn fly.
He pushed you away. He didn’t want you hunting, and you respectively agreed. It was fine at first, until he’d start to leave on hunts without telling you. You’d wake up to a cold side of the bed too often. Dean never answered his phone either. When you’d later scold him about it, he’d say he forgot it, or it died.
The long stretches without him became too much. You’d constantly worry for his safety. You felt the relationship go downhill. Maybe he found someone else? The thought always crossed your mind.
One snowy day in December, right before Christmas, you had had enough. Dean had been gone for a total of three months with not a single phone call or note. He had promised you he’d be home for Christmas, but yet, he was not here.
You were done-with the lies, the worry, the pain. With tears in your eyes, you scribbled on a piece of paper and grabbed your dufflebag and zoomed off in your car to God knows where.
You spent Christmas in the back of your car with a bottle of warm beer.
When Dean finally got back a week later, he immediately noticed the silence of the bunker. He had called your name, his voice frantically getting louder as time passed. Before he could call you, he noticed your messy handwriting on the table.
With panicked eyes, he read over your letters sprawled in black ink.
I never thought we’d turn out like this, you know? If someone told me we wouldn’t be together a year ago, I’d tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine. But I get it now. It’s obvious Sam and your hunting job is what matters the most to you, and I understand.
I’m not going to stop you from doing the thing you love. But, I can’t stay around either and let you hurt me like this, I’m sorry.
By the time your reading this, I’m probably halfway across the country. Don’t look for me, okay? Forget about me.
I just wanted to say I love you, Dean. I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll find someone else who understands.
Frantic tears form in his green eyes as he continues to reread your writing, as if the words would magically change.
I love you.
He chokes a sob, crinkling your letter with his shaking hands. Angrily, he reaches inside of his jean pocket and throws a small box at the wall, his mother’s wedding ring falling to the ground as he collapsed as well.
Headcanons on how Toshinori and Mic would react to an s/o who sleeps a lot?
I hope I could answer it well enough! =)
- He doesn’t
mind if his partner sleeps a lot, as long as they are comfortable with it and
don’t neglect their responsibilities. Aside from that, different people have
different needs and the same goes with sleep.
cooler seasons, when Toshinori sees his partner sleeping, he makes sure they
don’t need an extra blanket or anything of the sort. He doesn’t want them to
feel cool or to catch a cold.
- If his
partner isn’t comfortable with sleeping a lot or complains about it, he offers solutions
or that they go to a sleep expert to see if maybe something is up.
loves be close to his partner or to hold them while they sleep, be it when he
reads and they rest on his lap or they fell asleep on him while watching TV.
accepting of it, if a bit amused and - like Toshinori - as long as it doesn’t cause his partner to
ignore or sleep away their responsibilities. He’ll also take so many pictures
of his partner sleeping. Really, every new position or place they sleep in will
be photographed by him.
- Mic loves
to buy his partner soft pillows or blankets so they can snuggle into them if
they want to sleep on the couch or their bed.
cuddle his partner when they’re sleepy and he’ll pull them to the bed or the
couch so they can fall asleep while he hugs them.
Toshinori, if his partner feels uncomfortable about sleeping a lot or feels
like it’s a problem, he offers to help them or to accompany them to doctors if
they want him to. Aside from that, he doesn’t see a problem if they sleep more
than the average person.
Juvia was really lucky to have fallen in love with Gray.
Let’s say someone else had saved her during the Fairy Tail VS Phantom Lord Battle and she fell for him instead.
Let’s say this boy turns out to be quite… Abusive. He could mistreat her, emotionally abuse her, objectify her, anything you can think of.
Knowing her, I really don’t think it would be easy for her to get out of it. So yeah, I’m glad it’s Gray.
Lin could take a joke. But this? Was beyond a joke. He could see from where he was standing that Karen’s body language was closed off. She was uncomfortable and every further text he received from the girls only made him angrier. Whoever this dude was, he needed to take “no” as an answer and leave women (especially a lady that was his, by her choice) alone.
“Hey!” He barked angrily as soon as he was within ear shot. Tommy Kail could see something was going on and fell into step behind him. Lin had known Tommy for ages and the two of them had their own nonverbal communcation down pat. The guy looked a little startled before turning to Karen. “C’mon baby, you could better than that.” He scoffed.
While he ordinarily didn’t condone violence, Lin snagged a handful of the guy’s shirt, using it to wheel him around to face the angry Puerto Rican. His fist flashed out once, sharply, just the way Anthony had taught him if he ever ended up in a bad area of town. “You stay the fuck away from her.” He growled, not sounding like a Chihuahua at all. “If a woman says no, back off. I hear about you harassing her-or any other woman, for that matter-and I’ll beat your ass so bad they hear it down in Chile. You understand me?”
Tommy glowering behind him helped drive home the message and the guy quickly made a beeline toward the exit, rubbing his jaw. The adrenaline of the moment was wearing off and Lin realized that his hand hurt. “Ow.” He commented, almost surprised.
Letters from the Depths of Solitude. Ninety-Third. Un-Imaginary Encounter
The first time I fell for a man on the Web, I knew him in real life: it’s just on the Web he was shining. He was sharp, reading him made me laugh. In real life he had smoldering looks and he distributed them evenly. Women fell for him all the time. I admired, biting my nails and ruining manicure.
I believe he never learned for certain that I was smitten and was imagining him and myself kissing on a concrete, unabstract river shore, here nearby, in some two kilometers.
But I turned the Internet into endless anonymous, thinly disguised confession and most merciless teasing. I wanted to deliver a sweeping stroke on his temple so that he would pine the way I had been pining. It was my strangest affair, an affair which went in a complete silence full of written words.
It was also the time I barely started writing in English. I made most embarrassing mistakes; mistakes that now, when I know that they are mistakes, make me blush. Yet everything which I wrote, no matter how innocent, simple, and rooted in materiality it was, seemed to me to be erotic because it was written in English, this musical, aristocratic tongue, pruriently purified by vast generations of prolific poetric geniuses. I read John Donne day and night; it didn’t help.
Additionally, it was the time I started Instagram and was enjoying heavily post-processing pictures. I believed I am too old to take selfies. I did not remove unfavorable pictures of myself on Facebook taken by my friend Elizabeth, a remarkably terrible photographer. I considered myself devoid of any amorous interest to the world by the time I got to know him–or rather did not get to know him.
Every his like on Instagram (for of course he read everything, maybe slightly intrigued, maybe seriously tormented by uncertainty, by inexorable ambiguity, if I really wrote what I did, or he misread me; was it really for him, or for some other, or for no one in particular for that matter; did literary theories of the death of the author have anything to do with that or they did not, et cetera) felt like a rush, like a sting, like a physical touch.
These scarlet hearts, which in Minecraft and many other video game denote health, corresponding to the remaining power of the gamer to remain alive in her virtual world, were the events punctuating my day. I sighed, and I laughed, and I cried, and I waited for them, and I feared them, and I was excited, and daydreaming, and in that lunatic hypnosis a passion eases you into–and it all was mediated by these hearts and infrequent exchanges of insignificant comments.
I was imagining the episode to be my eternal love. I was grieving I would never have him. I plotted the ways I could still have him, somehow. None, of course, worked. Every plan arrived quickly to the dead end. I rose quite high in my laments. The new language bent to my will despite my lack of plain linguistic competence. I was solemnly preparing myself to spend years writing to him without answer, save for those stupid crimson hearts.
Then I occasionally learned about him something which was incompatible with that image of him that I, it turned out (devastating realization) had created for myself and with which I fell in ridiculous love. I’d known before that he was ignoble, rather cynical, spoiled, a pretender, a poser, a coward, a liar, a con man; he behaved like he was entitled to everything in the world, but it somehow did not preclude and in fact only enhanced my desire. He knew languages (Russian included; but I wanted to impress him in his own tongue), so many he could not himself attest the number. With polyglots, it’s like that–I remember my old professor was telling me that it is easy to switch from Syrian to Arabic and from Sumerian to Akkadian; Indo-European languages were not a problem at all, springing from the same root they did. My crush (I hate that word; inamorato?) was a translator, that mediator between the worlds of the living and the dead, fire-tongued; a spirited, vibrant, relentless player.
I was surprised to discover that my tolerance had tight limits. I once forgave him his only attempt to write a poem after all (it was embarrassingly bad. If I had ever written anything like that, I’d consider it a blackmail-worthy material. It was something about his own world, where the grass was greener and to which only he could have access, but no one else understood–oh man, it was genuinely terrible), what else is there so complicated to forgive? Yet that new bit of evidence which might have but contribute to his mosaicked portrait I was composing, did not fit. It ravished everything completely. I wrote another poem and a stream of his hearts stopped. I learned that I did have him after all.