A/N: A few days later and you have yet another oneshot from yours truly. It’s a lot longer and I honestly struggled just a tad with this. The setting is still within my Married AU universe and it serves as a companion piece to this.
There’s a man. Imagine him. He’s leaning on a fence, shirtless and weary. He seems wise near the eyes, but his impatient feet suggest insidiousness. He’s marked with dried mud, and maybe some very deep but quickly-healing cuts – from the tree branches, most likely, or perhaps the birds.
OK, I’m not telling you the whole truth. It was definitely the birds.
Imagine these cuts and scratches, dry and brittle now, but tender to the touch. He is certain he did not offend the birds, but he is uncertain whether his complacency was construed as equal to said offense.
Picture this. Picture the man leaning on the criss-crossing metal wires, waiting. The birds are gone, but other things are coming. He doesn’t know specifically what, but he knows it’ll come for him.
You know this, too, because I have told you.
The man says nothing.
There’s never not something that has been displaced, marginalized. There’s never not something that, when feeling pressed to the wall, to a place with no room left to run, gathers its numbers, gathers its forces, and turns, savagely, on its oppressor. Turns viciously, and without inhibition, even on those who merely look like its oppressor.
Do you catch my meaning? Can you imagine the scene I am explaining?
How much of the world makes sense to you?
What does it mean to be a hero? To be a human?
The man thinks about his heart. It beats. It beats normally. Earlier, it did not beat normally.
Think about your own heart. Is it beating normally?
Listen. I’ll give you a long moment.
How is your heart?
Do you remember the man? The one on the fence, shirtless and scarred, with the normally-beating heart? He’s not real. Take him out of the story, but leave the story. Take him out, leave the story.
烏–> Kageyama stared in the distance of the ruins of Japan, not knowing what towns and cities they’ve passed by in the passing moons since the beginning of this hell of an apocalypse. The dried markings of rotted blood on his weapon held a scent that he grown used to, the former setter closing his eyes and opening them again, wishing it was just a dream and that he would wake up to see a court again.
His home, his world—- it was all gone. He dare not remember what Miyagi looked like prior to all this, having left that world behind him for a new life in Tokyo. Never did he imagine that he would lose the very people he had begun to care so much about.
The smiles of the team were faded like an old photograph, sepia covering their faces. He could barely remember how Kenma spoke, nor the sound of the squeaking of shoes or the sound of spikes from a spiker’s hand. The face of Nekomata and Naoi were scratched out, teasing him about a life that used to exist.
Where were they all now? Perhaps his mind didn’t want to remember something about them, as he felt as if a part of his mind and heart had been cut away during the time from the beginning to where he and Kuroo were now.
He looked back at Kuroo, frowning a bit. They were low on food and Kageyama could predict that a hoard was nearing where they were now. He gripped onto his weapon before approaching Kuroo, a hand on his bag as he spoke.
「Kuroo-san…Are we still in Tokyo? Nothing looks familiar, at least I don’t think so.」 The events had taken a heavy toll on the first year’s mind, often forgetting things such as location and time had it not been for Kuroo.
(A/n): Y’all wanted it so here it is <3 btw sorry about the ending HAHAHA
*warning: have tissues and ice cream in the vicinity
wake–up call | noun | a person or thing that causes people to become fully alert to an unsatisfactory situation and to take action to remedy it
That’s when Jimin speaks up, his voice is throaty and broken as he wavers every now and then between words.
“Do you want to see your donor?”
Hoseok raises an eyebrow, confused and aware of the dried marks on the younger’s cheeks. Looking around now, he could tell how swollen and bloodshot some of their eyes appeared.
It can’t be.
There’s a fear that grips at his heart, his voice caught in his throat as they all look down under his concerned stare. There’s a possibility he doesn’t want to consider, his chest tightening at the sick truth of it all. The reality behind his cornea transplant.
He needs to prepare himself. His fingers are trembling even as he tries to busy them and grip and finger at the bed sheets. His teeth worry on his lower lip, gnawing and chewing as Jimin is first to react and exit the room.
All the others boys stay silent, quietly retreating to the sides of the room, even Taehyung is sullen and glum as he goes to exit the room as well.
The way they’re acting, he figures his fears are hopelessly true.
The door is pushed open by Taehyung, his body used as a door stop as he lets in two more people. Jimin walks in first, and then you clad in the blue patient gown, his arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand reaching across to hold your hand. Your movements are clumsy as he leads you towards Hoseok’s bed, feet stumbling slightly as you squint your eyes, still not used to the darkness you must now live in.
Jimin’s face is twisted with sadness as he helps you find the chair beside the bed, squeezing your hand thoughtfully before moving away.
Rose’s eyes were closed, pure exhaustion having taken over her body over an hour ago.
Her face held marks from dried tears – tears of pain, frustration, and finally, pure happiness. Her screams nearly echoed the halls still, as she’d nearly fallen over when her water broke, the pain from her back something that the Doctor had offered a few times to alleviate. He had the technology, he could make it plenty Spock enough, if she’d like. Anything she’d like.
But she’d wanted to feel this.
She’d wanted to feel the absolute power of it, the power of giving birth to such a child, or any child at all. She never thought she would, not after falling in love with the Doctor, but there she’d been. Pregnant against all odds. He’d gone beyond happiness and it was hard to keep him from smiling during her pregnancy, with the exception of a few dark patches of self-loathing and self blame giving him some idea that Rose would be better off doing this on her own; that somehow their child would be better off without his sins to stain him. Rose had never disagreed harder.
After their son was born, Rose had been sobbing, instantly holding their son to her chest. Their bond had happened so quickly, she’d begun feeling the baby’s mind in hers while she was still pregnant, and now, the instant they touched, the boy sought her mind out with his for comfort.
She’d learned from the Doctor how to do so, and their telepathy lessons had just made them that much closer (and the sex that much better, being honest).
Although after a while, when the baby got bigger and was in her head constantly, she didn’t let the Doctor touch her that way because it was too weird, and she wasn’t willing to shut the baby out for any amount of time. Jack’s constant sex jokes had been less than helpful, but during this entire thing the man had become like his obnoxious younger brother, if he were honest.
He’d never tell him to his face, though.
When she fell asleep with their son on her chest, the boy’s eyes were still open, and he looked about to cry. The Doctor picked him up, ever so gently, walking him over to the en suite.
He drew a gentle bath, giving his son his first wash and feeling the miracle in his hands. He never thought he’d ever get the opportunity for a family again – but now he had it all. His precious time ship, a woman he loved more than anything, and a son he now loved even more than he thought was possible to. He would treasure his child more than ever, because of all of the loss he’d known. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes, and he promised this as he dried the boy off.
The question from the boy’s mind into his own made him grin widely, pressing his cheek against his son’s head.
“Mummy’s sleeping,” he whispered in response. “You’re stuck wi’ Daddy right now.”
He put the boy in a leather jacket onesie Rose had picked out, finding it so amusing to ‘dress him like Daddy’, and clicked some music on, knowing Rose always slept better with music playing.
Moonlight Serenade, by Glenn Miller.
He slowly danced their son to sleep, humming the song against the side of his head, as his wife slept across the room on the bed, and Jack slept on the couch, worn out from helping.
There was no better place than this in the entire Universe.
summer stretches herself thin over the winter-marked tree branches and dried out grass patches, just enough for comfort. just enough to let them know she’s back.
summer pushes her fingers into the dirt and pulls up the smallest flowers she can find, cringes at the heat that crushes them moments later. she can’t help it. just who she is.
summer yawns across the earth and, briefly, calls herself spring.
on springtime in texas, aka the shortest season of the year (by bela s.)
Twitch scurried in one of Mundo’s labs, hoping to steal some rare ingredients for his potions, only to find everything completely destroyed. The rodent carefully walked past the multiple corpses on the floor. “What the-” Twitch muttered out of breath. He knew humans were stupid, but this was something else. As he walked, he caught notice of something orange, something unusual. When he walked towards it, he saw a little orange rodent, unconscious and full of scars. Around him were multiple claw marks and dried blood.
“So.. THIS was the thing that killed them huh,” Twitch chuckled, looking at the small innocent harmless yordle. “Hmph! Typical humans.” Twitch looked around for an ingredient, but he can’t find anything. “Well, I’m not coming to this surface-world castle for nothing! Guess I have a new subject.” Twitch chuckled. Twitch strapped his crossbow and hoisted the little orange rodent on his back.
When he was finally in his lair, he took the yordle off of his back, laid him on a soft pillow he found in the sewers, and took a look at him. He looks so innocent. “How did something like you.. destroy so many humans?” Twitch thought. As he was thinking, he saw it open his eyes. The rat took out his crossbow in response.
Prince produces the book from the deep shadows beneath the rolls of his scarf. He steps closer towards the other man, standing by his side so they could both look at the same time.
He opens a section marked by a dried lavender sprig. In it Vizier could see his mother’s messy sigils and handwriting, using an ancient text possibly to deter others from taking from her grimoire. Beside it was Malzahar’s own notes, in small, almost minuscule text. Exceptionally neat and legible.
He hadn’t translated even half of the book. “Most of the first spells are spells for battle.” He was close, sometimes brushing shoulders with him.
Malzahar had experience with older texts, quite a few of the djinni that he spoke to were unfamiliar with the more modern ones. He could only, however, recognize a few of the words out of the pages that he saw, and none of which even hinted at usefulness. Frustrating, it would take hours to even decipher a few sentences with the dialect. Beyond that he was becoming increasingly aware of the Prince’s proximity.
His traitorous body reacted according to the chemicals the magic had flushed him with, becoming almost feverish at the brush of shoulders. After the second accidental contact, Vizier jerked away, staggering in a moment of uncharacteristic gracelessness before straightening.
“I am sorry, my prince, but you should not stand so close. I am not well.” he offered, rubbing his shoulder absently. He was becoming distracted. It might do just as well for him to find another solution, lest the one he was avoiding be the only thing he could bring himself to do.