Notes: I usually don't do different AU's, I think this is my first. I feel like a college AU with Gachiakuta is such a fun idea. Had a good time with this, hope you enjoy!
↳ Jabber x Zanka //Janka //Jabber Wonger// Zanka Nijiku//College Au//Slice of Life//Teasing//Roomates//A little steam but not much//Semiu appearance cause we love her//
Desc: Zanka thought poorly of Jagger and Jagger himself gave little for reason for Zanka to think otherwise. Despite that, there was an undeniable pull that Zanka tried his hardest to ignore.
Warnings: Profanity
m.list
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 𓆱 . ݁˖ . ݁𓆸
Zanka woke calmly. He raised his head from his desk, blinking slowly. Thin hands rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he looked up at his curtains. Bright morning rays peak through the cracks. He squinted as light caught his eye.
“Bright… too bright.” He peeled a purple sticky note from his face. “Too... bright.”
He shot up. Shit. He was late.
He quickly scooted from his chair and changed clothes, reaching into his closet and sliding on the first thing his hand grabbed.
Backpack slung on his shoulder, he was out of his room, longingly looking at the kitchen as he made his way through the living room. No time for a morning tea. He caught a glimpse at the sink. He stopped in his tracks. A scowl shadowed his face as he slowly turned toward his insufferable roommate.
Jabber sat on the couch. He played some game on his laptop while it sat in his lap. Wild’N’Out played on their TV, something he only knew the name of because Jabber barely watched any other show. Or did shit else in their apartment besides sit.
Thus, his lack of surprise at seeing him in the same spot he’d last seen him yesterday before he retreated to his room to study. Zanka didn't know how he managed to focus on both the TV and his laptop. Why couldn’t he choose one or the other? Such a waste of energy.
“The prince awakens.” Jabber casually said without looking up. He lazily waved.
“You’ve been up all night and didn’t bother to do a single dish?!” Zanka incredulously asked, pointing to the sink.
“Cranky~” he said in a sing-song voice. “Wanna watch me drown a sim?”
“I wish it were you instead.”
Jabber laughed, dragging a hand through his locs. “So long it’s you holding me down.”
Zanka felt the blush that threatened his face and turned away. Having separate rooms wasn’t far enough from Jabber. Even being across campus still felt too close. Zanka managed to compose himself in front of plenty of people who ticked him off. Parents, teachers, and slacking lab partners. For whatever reason, Jagger seemed to know just what to do to set him off. Yet no matter how furious Zanka got with him, Jabber remained unaffected. He never cared, barely changed. It got on his every last nerve.
Zanka grit his teeth and ignored him, rushing over to the door to slip on his shoes.
“Oh? Busting out the slides today? You really are in a rush.” Jabber commented, looking over toward Zanka from the couch.
“Stop looking at my feet.”
“I guess you do have plenty of other assets to assess.” Ugh. Zanka didn't even dare to peak at the expression on his roommates face.
“Stop looking at me. Don’t even breathe in my direction.” Zanka huffed. He really wished he had his tea. His eyes drifted again toward the kitchen. He paused, zoning in on the stove. His fists balled as his jaw tightened, targeting yet another glare at Jabber. “Why is my kettle on the stove?”
Jabber rolled his hands, “Well-”
“I told you not to touch my stuff.”
Jabber put his hands up, but looked all the same. He kept that stupid, relaxed, unbothered, vexing grin. He didn’t care. He never cared. “I just-”
“You just never listen!” Zanka gripped the door handle. “You never listen to a single thing that I ask and I… I don’t know why I bother.”
He threw the door open, then slammed it shut. Another also exited their dorm. Zanka was quick to tuck his fatigue and irritation behind a mask of calm composure.
It was much harder to do so after the exam.
Zanka walked with Semiu to Creapye Hall. She was one semester away from applying to graduate school. He was undergrad but he’d be in her shoes in two more years. They met through a mutual friend, Enjin, but he studied civic engineering so they rarely got the chance to share a class. While Zanka was going for Kinesiology, and Semiu Optometry, they often synched teachers and courses.
Zanka's pale fists curled tightly around his backpack straps. Even after attending two other classes, he couldn't relax.
“Hey, I can see your blood vessels popping. Calm down.”
“I am calm.” Zanka insisted, curling his toes and grinding his teeth. He relaxed his muscles the best he could in a small sigh. “How’s your classes so far?”
She coolly shrugged, readjusting her classes. “Alright. Highlight is getting my final project approved, so I can get started on that. Your shirt is on backwards, by the way.”
Zanka grabbed the collar of his shirt and stared at the tag. He cleared his throat. “That’s just the newest style.”
Semiu ticked up an eyebrow as she leaned back a little to look behind him. “The design is on the back."
He shifted to the side, ignoring the blush on his face. “There are shirts with designs on the back, Semiu. You’re studying optometry, not fashion and design.”
“Say's the wannabe physical therapist about to fall over. You look like a zombie on its last leg. Stay up late?” Zanka didn't respond. She clicked her tongue, crossing her arms. “Y’know, Jabber actually showed up today. To Biochem.”
“I won’t want to talk about that bozo,” Zanka grumbled. Jabber was also in the college of science and was studying to become a pharmacist. It was the most fitting yet unfitting profession for him. Zanka would have thought he’d go for arts or something like communication. Nothing that required patience and undivided attention.
“Just listen. I got a peak at his laptop screen as he was going through his grades—100%. All of them.”
Zanka bitterly laughed. “The hell? No way. I don’t ever see him study! Not once, Miu! We've been roomed for months!”
“Maybe he’s some secret genius. I only bring it up cause if you’re struggling in bio—”
“Don't you dare finish that.” Zanka quickly interrupted. “I’m not struggling. Why would I have to worry? Biomechanics are easy. The muscle does that, so the body does that. This unit is just a little more bulky than normal.”
They both walk around another group of oncoming students. “I know he’s genuinely the personification of the word ‘why’, but he may be able to help.”
Zanka narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to say what he thought about that out loud and was glad he didn’t have to. His phone had buzzed. He quickly scrambled for it. Canvas had a grade update.
“Not nervous, huh?”
“Hush.” He hissed. He stared at his phone for a long drag of time, then calmly pocketed it again.
“So?" She waited. "How’d you do?”
“Just fine.” He simply replied, then yawned. “Y’know, I think I’m gonna go back to my dorm. I did stay up pretty late, so I should try to fix my sleep schedule. And change my shirt.”
Semiu lifted a brow. He knew she saw through him, but neither of them drew attention to it. “Alright, if you say so. Rest up. Cya.”
Back at his dorm, he slipped off his shoes.
Jabber was on the couch watching a movie with a bowl of popcorn next to him. “Welcome back, big head. Wanna watch this with me? It just started.”
“I’m not in the mood.” Zanka blankly said.
“It’s a hood classic though."
Zanka's hand swiped over his face as he ambled toward his room. "I don't care."
"The popcorn is still warm~"
That's it.
“I told you, leave me alone!” Zanka let his backpack slip off his shoulders as he pointed a heated finger. “I work my ass off every day, and all you do is sit around and get on my every last nerve because you’ve got nothing better to do!”
Jabber only stared. He laid his elbow on his thigh, then held his face in his hand. Zanka felt his blood run so hot he felt cold. He shook his head, then he stormed over to the kitchen, “and I bet you haven’t even…” he trailed off. The dishes were cleared completely from the sink. It even looked a little shinier than usual. He faltered, some of his anger sizzling out before he spotted his kettle still on the stove.
“Why is it still out!? Why was it out in the first place—” He reached for it.
“Wait, don’t touch—”
"Shit!" Zanka hissed and brought his hand back. The kettle was hot. Why was it hot?
He didn’t even realize Jabber had gotten up. Only when his hand was grabbed, and he was jerked over to the sink. While his mind told him to, Zanka didn’t snatch it away as cool water ran over his fingers. Jabber stood to the side of him, a firm grasp on his wrist. Even with his urgency, he was calm as ever.
“I thought doctors were supposed to be more careful than that.” Jabber lightly poked, sticking out his tongue playfully. It was... cute. Almost. Cute in a way that a sickly, small, hairless, shaking dog was cute.
“I’m not a doctor yet. Why is it even hot?”
“I made it for you this morning since you woke up late. That's why it was out. You get back around this time, so I got new water and tried again.”
Zanka stared at him, disbelief written on his face. Did he seriously do that for him? His chest fluttered with pleasant surprise. Then he felt bashful. “I was going to study with Semiu. It would have been cold if I did. You shouldn’t have bothered.”
Jabber chuckled. “Then I just got lucky, huh?”
Zanka stared at Jabbers hand. “Guess so. That was… nice.” He spoke begrudgingly. “Question."
"How do I look so drippy?"
Zanka rolled his eyes. "How do you stay so calm? I yell at you almost every day, and you never care. I might as well be a rampaging toddler in your face.”
“More like an angry kitten.”
“Shut up.”
“Nah. But really though,” he let go of his wrist then shut the water off, afterwards handing over a paper towel, “nothin’ bothers me. You care about a lot, so a lot of stuff bothers you. I save my energy for the stuff I care about.”
“Then how do you do so well in school?”
A sly grin slithered onto his face. His hip leaned against the counter, a hand on his hip. “How do you know I do well?"
"Intution." Zanka pouted.
"Is someone snooping about me?" He leaned in closer to Zanka's space. "Do you care about me, Zankapoo?"
Zanka backed up, glowering at Jabber as his cheeks heated up. "Shut up." He said, but it lacked its usual bite.
Jabber laughed as he backed up. "It just comes easy. And maybe I care about it.”
Zanka threw the towel away after drying his hands. “You barely show up. You’re here all the time and play games and watch tv instead of studying." His hand ran through his hair. "I stay up all night only to wake up late and then bomb a test.”
“What was the class?”
“Biomechanics.”
“Ah. I can help, if you want. I haven’t taken that one, but I’m sure it’s not too complicated.”
Zanka's eyebrows furrowed. “It is. All of it is hard. That’s your issue, you don’t take anything seriously.”
Jabber shortly chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I don't. That's why you're smarter than me, though. Always responsible, always on point." These compliments felt different. It lacked any flirtatious tone or any tease. It was statements from Jabbers mouth. "Sometimes it isn't that I don't care, but it's hard to make myself care. Even when I want to."
Zanka gazed at Jabber. He moved around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. He still talked lazily, yet hinted more behind the relaxed tone. His voice was lower, deeper. Jabber liked to talk just to talk. Often. But this was more. Vulnerable, even if only a peak.
"Oh. I see. I hear you."
Zanka sat up on the counter. Against his better judgment, really, but he didn't want to sit on the ground and didn't want to go to the couch. If he left the room, he was worried he'd destroy the gentle tether of connection he had with Jabber.
Jabber stood in front of Zanka with a fox-like grin. The blue eyed man perked up, cursing his body for rushing unnecessary blood to his cheeks. He came closer, placing a nail painted hand on his thigh.
"Do you?"
He leaned in, looking up. His deep brown eyes were half lidded. Intense, dangerous. They flicker to Zanka's lips, then back up. He pushed his leg to the side and slid in between his thighs. He could smell him. Hints of something fragrant with sweet coco butter, and hints of ash, smoke, and weed.
Zanka hated it because he liked it. He’s never had even a gram of the stuff, yet when it wafted from Jabber, all he wanted to do was pull him in to smell more. His scent was a toxic mixture that drew him in by unbreakable chains.
Nearly everything about Jabber was that. Toxic. Addictive. He hated to admit it. He hated that as much as he despised that purple hoodie wearing freak, he’d never want it any different. He wished he weren’t an example Coulomb's law but here he was, trying his best not to be pulled into the deep end. And Jabber knew that.
Zanka held his breath. "You're close."
"You aren't telling me to back up."
“You’re always in my space.”
Jabber licked his bottom lip then rolled it between his teeth. “Do you want me to leave? You know how to order me around.”
One of Jabbers hands came around to the back of Zanka’s head. He caressed him. Zanka unconsciously leaned into it.
As Jabber drifted closer, he came to a stop. With his other hand, he reached above Zanka. He opened a cabinet, grabbed a cup, then backed away. "Sorry, you were in the way."
Zanka sat stunned. He blinked. Then he pursed his lips and tightened his jaw. "You're such a jerk."
Jabber slapped his thigh as he laughed, "You should see your face. Lookin' like you were waitin' for somethin'."
"Asshole." Zanka mumbled. Tether broken.
Jabber shrugged, then handed him a cup of hot tea, settling in his favorite glass. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t do it again.”
Zanka couldn’t stop quick enough the slouch of his shoulders in disappointment. He stilled, straightened out, but didn’t dare look at Jabber. He didn’t know if his roommate took notice or not, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.
Zanka cooled off as he looked at his reflection in the drink. “Thank you. For doing the dishes. And for the tea. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
Jabber clicked his tongue. “Nah, don't go sweet on me. No one yells at me like you do. I know I slack off, so I deserve it.”
Zanka scrunched his nose in a sneer. "Of course you'd like it. Are you lazy just to get me to yell at you?”
"I’ll put it like this: I’m always in the mood for it." He leaned against the counter across from Zanka, crossing his arms. "Y’know, maybe I'm also in the mood to study for once. And I think I want it to be biology. If you wanted to join.”
Zanka shook his head and smiled. He took a small sip. “I don’t know. I’ve studied a lot. I think I want to enjoy this tea; maybe while watching a movie.”
Notes: I highkey finished chapter 83 and immediately started writing this. I know they gotta do my boy justice later.
-> Zanka Nijiku & Reader//‘You’ used//Gender neutral//Angsty//Opposite sides//Raider Reader//Hurt Zanka//No big spoilers but finish the anime//Friends but who knows maybe more//no happy ending
Desc: After his latest battle with Jabber, you decided to visit Zanka. It’s been years since you’ve last seen your once good friend. Did the visit leave either of you for the better, or worst?
Warnings: Profanity
M.list
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 𓆱 . ݁˖ . ݁𓆸
You stood in the corner of the room. The overhead lighting was dimmed. Fitting. Zanka liked to think in dim, quiet places.
He lay in his bed. He stopped stirring a bit ago. His face stopped contorting. His mind stopped torturing him with illusions long before arriving, probably. Even as the mixture of toxins flowed through his system, the worst it would do was hinder his healing and give him bad headaches.
But it wasn’t the physical injuries that left the most severe symptoms. It was the scars of failure.
You knew how much failure got to him. How a fight against Jagger of all people would’ve gone with someone who seemed like everything he wasn’t. Erratic. Undisciplined. Excitable. Loud. Talented. Effortlessly talented.
But that’s what you liked about the present Zanka. His growth. You liked him before, even in his pompous times, because you saw how hard he worked. As easy as he made it seem, it was through effort and time.
But the moment someone came and showed him what true effortlessness was, instead of acknowledging how hard he had worked, taking pride in the fact that he hadn’t been given his strength and talent at birth, he crumbled. He was the most miserable you’d seen him. Up until now, in any case. He wore his fury, shame, and insecurity like a jacket that melted to his skin, draining him to a state where managing a grin was his hardest task of the day.
Yet he pretended to be fine.
So you pretended he was fine, too.
After the Cleaners… he was all the better. They did what you couldn’t do: properly articulate just how highly you thought of him. How much further would he go if he didn’t give up. Who he could be when he finally beat out talent with work ethic.
You left him in the well.
He asked you to. To leave him behind. And without the words you needed, you did just that. For your own comfort. To avoid the hard part of being a friend. Being there.
Unacceptable. Unforgivable.
But here he was. In a position you could only dream of being in with a group of people straight out of every fantasy you had about the path you thought you’d be on. Friends. More than that, family. People who had your back. Who wouldn’t give up on you.
Nothing you deserved.
And now you’re here, in the same room after avoiding it for years.
“I know you’re here.”
His voice croaked. His eyes blinked awake, and he sat up. He gripped the stick that was lying across his body as he slept.
You didn’t respond at first. You didn’t have much time. You didn’t know what you could have said. Should have said. Again.
“I… I wanted to see you.” Was all you could manage.
“You’re…” he furrowed his eyes. He blinked them. Once. Twice. Then rubbed his eyes. “You’re real?”
You nod and carefully walk closer, as if he were a small creature you didn’t want to scare away. “It’s me. For real.”
His confusion melted. Anger replaced it in waves. Not a hot one. It was cold. Calm. Blue. The type of fiery rage that sits flickering at the tip of the flame. You stopped. Getting even a little closer to him would get you burned.
“Why are you here? How’d you get in?”
“Doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see you, I guess.”
“You just wanted to see me, you guess? That’s fucking it? When you had years to… the hell you care about me for now?”
“I always have, Zanka—”
He pointed his stick toward you. It transformed, elongating into a man catcher. “Don’t you dare use my name.” He sputtered a cough and dropped his Jinki. It transformed back as he held his head.
“Don’t overdo—”
“Shut up. Like you know me. You're with the Raiders now, are you not?”
Your face, as careful as you were being, hardens. “I am.”
“So what. Do you want information? To finish the job? Get off on me being bedridden?” He spat. You weren’t sure the venom Jabber had would ever be as potent as the venom in his voice right now. “All of you are sick in the head.”
“Zodyl has something I need. Information I can’t get anywhere else. I tried. That's why I disappeared.”
He bitterly laughed. “I didn’t ask why you’re with them. I don’t care. You’re nothing to me. Do you hear me? Nothing.”
You held your arm. “I was never there for you like I should have been. I’m sorry.”
He said your name.
“I know we are on enemy teams, but—”
He said your name.
“—I want to try to be the friend I never was. I'm here now after years because I fucked up. Badly. Not just with you. But with everything. Everyone. My past. My present. My future. All of it I’ve ruined.”
You pulled a small paper airplane out of your pocket. It floated onto his lap after your throw. He didn’t touch it but stared.
“This battle with Jabber is just one. He’s going to want to fight again. It’s inevitable. Get stronger and don’t give up, okay?”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.” He spoke. His eyes were still cast on the letter. “I hated you. I still hate you. For leaving. I was angry for years.”
His hand gripped the side of his face as it twisted into a pained scowl, “And after I thought I got better, here you are again. To remind me of how mad I am at you. How sad I am for you.”
Zanka took a few deep breaths. He threw back his sheets, then his feet swung over the edge of his bed and settled onto the ground. The ash haired boy rose, coming to an unstable stand. He hissed as he began to stumble, holding his hip. You immediately go over and gently hold his torso, guiding him back to the bed.
As you pulled away, he held you closer. His arms circled you tightly. “I just wanted to know if you were real.”
“You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t move—”
“Shut up. You’ve got no right to order me around.”
He breathed in and out. His breaths staggered, like he was crying. You stayed like that, bent over the bed, holding him. Tears trickled down the corners of your eyes.
“Just stay. Leave them.”
“You shouldn’t care about me. I was a terrible friend.”
“Yeah. You still are.”
“Wait. You…”
He pulled you more onto the bed so you were sitting on it. He still didn’t let go. Didn’t let you see his face.
“Shut up. If I can go from being an egomaniac to a normal person, then you can grow too.”
“But I don’t think I can—”
“Don’t ruin this for me. I’m the one hurt, and you’re spilling all your feelings.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you remember when we were kids, you’d train so hard you’d be sleeping while your body moved.” He reminisced, his voice small.
You laughed a little. “Yeah. You remember holding your training staff for so long you couldn’t position your fingers any other way?”
“I do.” He murmured. “We treated ourselves so harshly. Nothing was enough.”
“Is it ever?”
“No. But at least I have a goal now. Back then, it was growth for the sake of growth. For the sake of praise. Of ‘being the best.’ When you have something tangible to fight for, it becomes less of a burden on yourself.”
“Wasn’t becoming a Hell Gaurd the goal?”
“In training? No. The goal was to be the best. Be the talent. Sit on a chair and prove that everyone else sat beneath you. But here… it doesn’t feel like an endless upward spiral. You can see yourself protecting your friends. You can see yourself getting rid of the things that harm them. You can see your results and milestones instead of being told them.” His nails dug into your shirt. “I didn’t do that. I lost.”
Your head shook. “You tried your hardest.”
“And that’s the worst part. It wasn't enough. I wasn’t enough.”
“You’re so much more than enough, Zanka.” You paused, squeezing your eyes shut. “It was always hard to describe how magnificent I thought you always were. Even at your lowest, I felt you were better than me.”
“Shut up. Why do you have to put yourself down to compliment me? You worked just as hard. We trained together. In what world are you below me?”
You let your unsaid answer silently ring in the room. “I know this isn’t where you stop. Keep going. What Zodyl has planned, it can’t happen.”
He pulled away and faced you directly. “The whole Sphere thing? I was mostly out of it but heard some things here and there.”
“It’s more than that. I can’t speak on it.” You glanced at your watch. “I have to go now.”
His hand grasped yours. “You don’t. You can be a Cleaner. You can make up for everything.”
You gently pried him off. “I can’t. I have to—”
“I mean, you don’t even really have to join. Just stay here and I’ll explain. I’ll vouch for you.”
“Zanka, if I stay it’ll be worse for you—”
He scowled. “For me, or your guilt!?”
You gaped. Your mouth dumbly opened and closed. Why, why, can’t you talk? Just say it. Say it. It felt like the world’s heaviest anvil sat on top of your lungs. It squeezed out every bit of air to be used for words as the pit in your stomach dug deeper and deeper. You didn’t regret coming, but you wished he wouldn’t see you as he did now. For the coward you really were.
What if it came out wrong? What if he didn’t get it?
Being misunderstood based on what you said somehow felt worse than it being based off everything you didn’t say. You hesitated. You would always hesitate when it came to him.
Zanka waited as the silence permeated. Disappointment shadowed over his face, a grim frown crossing his lips. “If you turn your back on me, then you can forget ever being friends again. I’ll hate you for real.” You left the bed and watched him. He looked up at you, fury gone and replaced with pleading.
He meant what he said, but you could see everything in him didn’t want it. “Me, or the Raiders.”
You swallowed. You looked away. Down. You picked at your nails.
“Answer me,” Zanka said. He laughed ruefully. “Is the information you need worth more than me?” He asked. The turmoil in his voice pierced your heart.
“Look at the note.” Was all you could say.
You turned on your heel and paused. You heard the unmistakable sound of paper ripping.
“Go to hell.” Was his final sentence. He was done. Probably forever. For the better. You didn’t deserve someone like him. Someone with so much resolve. Hope for life. For a better future for others.
You nodded and gave him the last words. ‘Already there.’ You thought as you walked toward the corner of the room. Your selfishness rotted your core. You’d sooner die than give up this opportunity.
The note was a false hope. You knew in your heart your one attempt to be a friend was just a goodbye. Goodbye to your past. Your last piece of goodness.
Zanka bit his lip. Curled his fist so tight he palm bled. He looked up. You were gone as if you were never there. He didn’t even hear you leave.
Through watery eyes, he looked down at the airplane paper he ripped in half. You’d always talk about making some contraption that could fly. Something with wings that could go so high it’d pierce the barrier without anyone dying. Not to get to the sphere, but high enough to pierce through the smog and unclean air. Perhaps there, you’d get your first breath of truly clean air.
It was naive at best. Though, it was that kind of hope that kept his days lighter. Wishful, silly thinking he couldn’t pull off himself. Well, not in the way you did it. He used to have even sillier ideals. At first it made him feel better about himself, “At least I’m grounded.”
Then, he got jealous. Your ideals made you happy. They weren’t about winning or being the best. You hoped for something better. An escape from expectation. Joy.
You were always there to comfort him. He couldn’t fake his anger, his sadness, his resentment, not in the face of you. He always felt like you saw it no matter how hard he covered; gave him an empathetic smile, soft eyes, but never mentioned it until he brought it up on his own time. He was thankful. So thankful.
Maybe he relied too much on you. At the well. You tried to be there for him, he knew that. But it was too much. He made you feel like you being there, always being there, wasn’t enough for him. When he asked you to leave, you respected it. He wished you didn’t listen. That you would have fought, but that was… complex. He couldn’t imagine the kind of sadness that came with seeing a friend in that position. How overwhelming it may have been and not knowing what to do about it.
He wished you stayed. He hated you didn’t. And he shouldn’t have put you in that position. He hated he did.
Then you left soon after it. Completely. He blamed you. You abandoned him was the narrative he had for years. It’s what came up in his chest as he yelled. But he knew that wasn’t it. If anything he was the only thing keeping you held back; he pushed you away.
He felt his heart in his throat. It thumped harshly, caged in by all the things he should have said. Wished he did. The walls were green and thick, laced with guilt, regret, and poison to rival Jaggers own.
His attention turned back to the letter. He unfolded both of the pieces and put them together.
His eyes widened at the message. He gulped, a sinking, terrible feeling settling into his chest. Past the pain. Past the anger. Past the anguish.
“I don’t know what to do.” That was all he could say as he read it over and over again.
Desc: Yukimiya and [Y/n] have been good friends for a good amount of time and seeing as he has a pretty good fashion sense, has him help her find the perfect outfit for her date. Although he wished it were easier for him to do so.
Warnings: Profanity
m.list
—
“Absolutely not.”
“This?”
“Dear no.”
“Okay, what about-”
“I have a feeling your weird hipster dad would be put out if there happened to be a funeral and he took a look in his closet.”
She cringed and reeled back. “For a so-called pacifist, that was a low blow.”
He smiled and adjusted his glasses, “just “no” wouldn’t have been apt enough to describe how bad of a choice that is.”
She rolled her eyes. “But it would make things move much faster than coming up with creative ways to insult my wardrobe.”
He puts his hands up in surrender, “sorry, sorry, it's fun to tease you. I love that pout. If you want the truth, you look good in anything.”
“Har har.” [Y/n] exaggerated the look then stuck out her tongue, her heart for some reason missing a beat. Must be the sprite from earlier or something giving her heart burn. She shifted her weight onto her foot and rubbed her temples. “What do I wear then? That’s everything and the date is in,” she looked to the iced out watch on her wrist, “two hours. I mean I could do a dress maybe but I wanted to try something new.”
“Well then if that’s the case,” Kenyu stood from her bed then walked to the door, “bring whatever you use for your hair, make-up, and anything else you plan to bring with you on your date.”
“Huh? Where are you going?”
“We. And you’ll see. Also change. Preferably jeans and a nice shirt.”
She gave him a look. He waved his hand and blew air out his nose. “Kidding, kidding. Sweats work. No time to waste, let's go.”
They hopped into his car and drove downtown, the glimmering and varied colored lights from billboards, store signs, and car lights illuminating the night owl city. The location of her date was actually down there, but of course she knew that wasn’t Kenyu’s destination. He refused to actually tell her or give any hints as he dragged her down the sidewalk with a firm and secure grip, not hard enough to hurt. It felt like being dragged around by a tornado, he has never done this before!
And she had a nagging feeling she knew where they were going. It became more overtly clear what his intentions were as they began to slow down on the sidewalk, her eyes catching the dazzling clothes fashioned on mannequins in the window.
She began to pull away, but he held on as he came behind her, her wrist still captured and held at the front crossing her chest, the other pushing her shoulder closer to the door, “oh no, no, no, Ken, no, no!”
“Yes, yes, come, don’t be so rash. We’re here already and we have no time to go back to your house to change, so unless you want to show up like this, which is lovely by the way, then lets go in.”
“You fiend! You planned this!”
“That may or may not be the truth but you’re the one who didn’t listen to my jeans and shirt suggestion.”
He finally got her inside and she took a deep breath in, her eyes wandering around at the cashmere, silk, and chiffon bred clothing, not one missing a brand or price tag with at least three numbers. It was like a completely new world.
“Remember to breathe.”
“No thanks, how do know they don’t charge for the air? I wouldn’t be able to afford it. I can’t-I can’t afford anything in here-”
“What was it earlier about not wasting time and such?” He said, then wasted no time in shoving her into a dressing room, then throwing the bag that was over his shoulder in there with her. “Stay here. Do not leave. If you do I’ll buy you a trip to Spain.”
She wanted to respond, but her words had tied together. She couldn’t decide quick enough whether she wanted to say, “what the heck has gotten into you?” or “no way in hell I’m staying in here.”
But it didn’t matter because he left quicker than shoes on sale. Her defeated gaze observed herself in the mirror. There really wasn’t much of a choice. Kenyu never typically acted like this. He was teasing and lighthearted, but never pushy or commanding. It was the first he ever tried to pull something even close to putting her in this kind of situation in their years upon years of friendship, and she frankly didn’t think he had it in him.
She sat on the stool in the middle and brooded for a while. Though, she guessed this isn’t completely impossible. He always tried to buy her new flat screen tv’s or jewel necklaces easily over the price of five weeks worth of groceries, no matter how many times she denied.
She was able to evade for years before he figured out that birthday and holidays she didn’t have the heart to deny or refuse his gifts. Today was neither. It is sweet of him but shes afraid if she got too comfortable to rely on his money, then she would forget how to fend for herself.
There was a light knock and she gave them permission to enter. Yukimiya hung three suits on the bar, hanging on the shoulders matching ties, a single white dress shirt, then set down three pairs of complementary loafers. They looked good. Really damn good. “They all should fit, but let me know if you need a different size.”
He left and she tried one on then stepped out.
She did a little turn as Yukimiya tilted his head side to side. “What do you think?” He asked her.
“It’s nice, but I feel like it may draw too much attention.”
“It is pretty bright. That’s fine, try on a new one.”
She did so and showed it off with a simple lift her shoulders, not much excitement or dazzle in her eye, “I think it’s better than the last, but I’m not really feeling it that much. But I don’t have much time and-”
“Oh dear,” he breathed out, then placed a comforting hand on her head. “Don’t stress. This is why they call it fashionably late. Give that one to me when you changed out of it and the other so I can take them back while you change.”
She did just that and came back out for the final selection, awaiting his return as she adjusted the tie with a joyful glint in her eye.
Finally he came around and his steps stalled once he properly took a look at her. He slowly walked towards the suited up woman the rest of the way, standing still once at a good distance. His eyes were wide and head slightly tilted down, mouth agape, like whatever he was going to say had silently escaped. It was a perfect fit, from the flattering of her silhouette to the color blending well with her soft, lovely skin. She snapped her fingers in his face and he blinked a few times, red dusting his face. “Are you alright?”
He pushed his glasses up. “Are you? What do you think about it? I think you look positively stunning.”
“Really? Are you teasing me?”
“No, dear, no. This is the one… but your tie is a bit off.” He came forward, hands trembling as he began to fix the tie. She had thought she already fixed it, but her mind was more focused on her friends’ shaky handling. He never shook.
She grabbed his hands, “are you okay? You look really flushed.”
He stuttered something that was a poor attempt at a chuckle then gently brought his hands back and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing, its nothing, I’m a little hot right now that’s all. These lights are pretty bright. But, uhm, really, I think this is the one.” He stepped back and pushed up his glasses. “Your date is a very lucky person.”
“T-thank you. But…” she spotted the white tag on the jacket, “holy shit, that’s how many zeros?! Y’know I had to steal my parents' clothes for a reason, this is ten times my rent! Well more like two, but what about the tie, the shirt, the shoes! I… why did I even come, this has been a waste of time-”
“Please calm down, you know I’ll pay.”
“But all of this is way too much let me split half-”
He pushed her into the dressing room then had her move and sit down on the stool inside of it. He then got out a hairbrush and some gel.
“I am used to being the one others solely rely on in football, or devouring others to selfishly steal a goal. But with you, I can’t be either. You don’t only rely on me–I can’t be selfish and… and… and I'm glad you are self-sufficient, you carved out your future all by yourself and I have stood by as support the whole time.” His eyebrows lowered as did his voice. “Rent, clothing, food, furniture… near when you were about to get evicted it drove me mad to see you so distraught. I could have easily helped, but you said declined. And yet when I ask for your advice or assitance you helped in the best way you could. I respected that, the best I could,” he chuckled a bit as his eyes landed on the exposed watch on her wrist, “[Y/n], just this once, when it matters so much to you, will you let me be a bit selfish and buy this?“
She clenched her jaw as her stomach did summersaults. Yukimiya looked at her through the mirror, an adorably soft, slightly pained, and pleading expression on his face. Her expression softened. “Okay. Okay. Yes. Thank you… you are a really good friend.”
His face contorted even more with a sort of anguish, like she just kicked him in the gut. “Goodness and you say my words are harsh.”
She raised a brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”
He fixed his face a bit and sighed. “Oh, just that after buying this for you, you only consider me just a friend. I think sugar daddy is more along the lines–”
She laughed and smacked his arm, “shut up, it doesn't count, we’re the same age.”
“Ah, I’m a few months ahead, I think that qualifies.” He used a few pins and finished off her hair. “Alright, now we have a few minutes for makeup and I’ll drop you off.”
Yukimiya took another sip of his second Boulevardier. Or maybe third. He can’t remember after the 45-minute fugue state he’s been in ever since slumping his way to the bar. Only the vibration of his phone was able to illicit a different facial expression on his beside despair. He cracked a smile, took a deep breath, then answered. “How’d it go?”
“Fucking amazing… okay, no,” he could hear her sniffles crackled over the speaker. “I hated it.”
“Oh, dear, that’s horrible to hear. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t think we will work out. I don’t know if it was me but they’d just give me dry answers and I got stared at the whole timewasitbecauseIworeasuitwasitbecauseIwasbeingtooloudormyhairwas-”
“Hold it, calm down, calm down. Come to the bar by the karaoke joint down the street.”
“Okay.”
She arrived a little after and got onto the stool next to him.
Before Ken could greet her, the bartender showed up. “Hello there, a margarita or bloody-”
“Dirty martini shooter.”
The bartender left and promptly returned with her shot.
“That bad? You hate those.”
“I know. I think it’s me.” She mumbled, unable to even bring her glass fully to her lips before she slammed it down. “Damn it. I should have just…”
“After I lose all I think about is what I could have done better. But sometimes we did our best and have to think past our previous failures and make a completely new line of thinking. “The ace was tricky, but against that forward, I can them crush to pieces”, “that mid-fielder will be paralyzed with fear when they see this play.””
She tilted her head at him. He laughed. “Sorry, a little buzzed. What I mean is that you can’t let the old stuff bog you down if you know you worked your best. Sometimes you just got a bad match-up and that’s okay. Stick to your best and wait until there is that perfect opponent. Er, person.”
“Thanks. That helps. I really like this suit. It’s beautiful.”
His eyes glided to her face, “it is, isn’t it?”
“It would be. You picked it out.”
“I thought you would be the last person who wanted to make my head any bigger.”
“Sorry, I’ll stop complimenting you.”
“No, no, go on.”
“Where do I start… those stupid glasses you always have on that begin to slip whenever you focus too hard on something because your stupid big head tilts down a bit. Then those stupider fancy sports glasses you wear that make you look like a completely different guy on the field. The way you run and passionately chase a ball like a fool, the bright and confident smile of victory you shine towards the crowd like screaming, ‘I knew I was gonna win all along.’”
“I’m lost whether or not you’re complimenting me, lovely.”
Her eyes met his dazed, but adoration-filled ones. His elbow was on the counter as his hand propped up his head. She felt her face become warm and she reached out to gently cup the same hand on his face, gently running her fingers over his knuckles. His eyes closed as he gently. Her heart raced a mile a minute at the angelic sight of him. “Yeah, me too… Kenyu?”
“Yes?”
“You are more than just a friend to me.”
“Oh really? Have I been promoted to a best friend?”
“No. More.”
His eyes snapped open as he nearly stumbled off the stool. “I, oh. Like… more.”
She nodded. “I think so.”
He at first looked excited, ecstatic, the happiest he had been all night. With the fear of their friendship being ruined rid, right then and there he wanted to scoop her into his arms, carry her out of the bar, then drive her back to his home while releasing every tale of her beauty he had been dying to say for such a long time.
“That’s-that’s wonderful, belle! I have felt...” his words were lost on his tongue as he looked upon her unfocused form, eyes glazed over in a blue misery as she halfway seemed to be actually paying attention to him. It was like she was staring right through him.
Albeit, as a thought crossed his mind, he gave her more of a serious expression, boring his eyes deep into hers. “I need you to be sure. I’m no one's rebound. Not even yours.”
Snapping back, her eyes widened a bit in realization as they darted about their surroundings. She drew her hand back and Kenyu felt a cold chill rake his limbs. Contemplation riddled her features before letting her face fall into her hands. “I’m sorry. Maybe that’s what-but I wouldn’t use you-I… I'll go. I’m clearly out of it.” She said and began to dig for her wallet.
“If you’re drunk you can’t go alone-”
She put her money on the counter then slid off the seat. “Unfortunately I’m not because I still feel like an absolute fucking jackass.”
“But you don’t have a ride-”
“I’ll take the bus.”
“They stopped running.”
“I’ll walk.”
“It’s too late to walk-”
“Then I’ll call an Uber, a taxi, and Lyft–I don’t care right now I just think I need to be alone. I’m sorry again. Really. I’ll return the suit later and get my other stuff from you later. See you.”
He watched as she left, his outstretched hand, ready to grasp her own, pull her in tight, and never let go, paralyzed in time. He couldn’t move, refused to. He didn’t know what scared him more: the fact that he would cherish any intimate affection from her, no matter if he were truly a rebound. Or if, right then, he had managed to grab her, she would push him away and never be given the chance for even a single kiss.
Notes: Just as the title says fr. This is in universe but I need to make one in the real world because there’s a ton of potential there.
-> Friend headcanons//Jabber Wonger//Gachiakuta//He still wrong asf//But he’s such a cool freak//it’s not a great friendship by normal standards but both of you are weirdos
Desc: Your friendship with a maniac
Warnings: Profanity
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦
☣︎ Why are y’all friends??
☣︎ No, deadass. He gets on your nerves. On purpose. Cheating at games, crossing your boundaries, taking your food—he does it all to get a reaction.
☣︎ You held out for a while before giving in and beating his ass. That fight ended in a tie. Each of them from then on do, with the two of you equally hurt.
☣︎ No matter how many times you insist he can just ask to spar, he enjoys aggravating you to initiate a fight. “Good news” is, even after years, he finds a new way to tick you off so you never get used to him.
☣︎ Y’all get high. The guy is high off his own stuff 9/10 of the time. If you didn’t hate the poke that required it, and the crazy headache after, you’d do it more often.
☣︎ He likes you because you bring out everything he has. Even after he grew to be stronger than most he opposed, you matched him.
☣︎ He encourages you to get stronger, even allowing you to take stronger enemies. He isn’t necessarily happy about it, but if you get stronger from it, then all the better for him down the line when you fight again.
☣︎ It’s probably one of the rare times he uses ‘logic.’ Even if it’s Jabber logic. He’s genuinely unpredictable a lot of the time. You aren’t sure if he thinks so much as acts on instincts.
☣︎ You both work for the Raiders. Rarely does he like to take an assignment without you there. He mopes and complains until someone shuts him up (usually by hitting him.) It’s unknown if the punishment was what he wanted in the first place.
☣︎ He sticks to you mostly. And you to him. You are his handler, for better or worse. Even when he abandons the primary goal, if you tell him to, he’ll steer himself in the right direction.
☣︎ The thing is, you don’t. There’s something about watching chaos unfold that interests you, especially Jabbers chaos. He lived freely for his own pleasure. In a life filled with predictable outcomes, he’s the one thing you can’t always solve for.
☣︎ That’s another reason why he likes you. You see things how he sees them. You aren’t the maniacal masochist he is but you both saw complete conformity and bending to authority as boring. ‘Pleasure over work.’
☣︎ “Just let me loc your hair, g. I swear it’ll be fire.”
“You aren’t playing in my head, Jabber.”
☣︎ Ding dong ditches your room constantly. You know it’s him. He knows you know. And he goes running and giggling every time.
☣︎ He’s got Hot Cheetos and Taki’s stashed, and supplies you with them. No, he won’t give you the plug.
☣︎ When you’re in a bad mood, he skips trying to piss you off and just attacks you. On the outside it may look like friends turned enemies, but after all is said and done, you’ve got a smile on your face. “Nothing like getting your ass beat to lighten the mood.” He’d say.
☣︎ He doesn’t touch you gently. Arm smacks, head butting, ramming into you. He’ll give you a hug if you ask, though. Then squeeze you as tight as he can. Maybe the only normal thing he does is a dap. Just don’t fuck it up.
☣︎ Long ass secret handshakes
☣︎ If he sees you’re in danger, he doesn’t do shit. About to get smacked by a Trash Beast? He’ll let it happen and laugh in your face a week after. You get back by saving him when he’s in danger, to which disappoints him immensely.
☣︎ He’s rarely in a bad mood. When he is, either he’s too higher than Heaven or he talks more. Mostly both. Impossible, seemingly, but it’s a warning he’s about to wreck himself or someone or something else. Just cut him off and start a fight. Or smack him in the head. Hard. Mushy heart to heart shit doesn’t really reach him. He usually feels better after being tossed around.
☣︎ Terrible jokes. Constantly. He’ll repeat the punchline until you react to it.
☣︎ There are some times when you see each other heart to heart. They’re always on your end. When you disengage in a fight he started to cheer you up, he knows it’s best to stop then and there. You know his compacity for it is sparse, but if being ‘soft’ is what you need, he’ll try his best and listen. He can’t give you back advice, good stuff anyway, but if you need an ear, he’s there. Or to provide non pokey hallucinogen substances to take your mind off it.
☣︎ This dude has an assortment of weed and shrooms. Hell if he bothers to use it though. It doesn’t do anything to him anymore, but he tries out new strains with you.
☣︎ Roast battles. His roasts come for your looks, your family, your past, your present. Everything is game. Same for him too.
☣︎ He’s a lot like a brother. As much as he gets on your nerves, he doesn’t cross any true lines you’ve set. He tests the limits sometimes, but after he learns hard no’s, he doesn’t usually do it again on purpose. Usually.
☣︎ He’s so unserious about everything
☣︎ He knows you’re mad at him when you ignore him completely. He hates when you ignore him. Even if he was in the wrong he doesn’t address it for a couple days, then gifts you your favorite thing, and gives you space. He won’t get sentimental, but he’ll tone down annoying you until you say you forgive him.
☣︎ He nearly never gets mad at you, but when he does it’s usually fighting related. Going easy or holding back on him or an opponent for any reason sets him off. He won’t forgive you until it gets “corrected.” As in, you go full out.
☣︎ Be honest with him. He’s always painfully honest with you. If he needs to chill fr then tell him. Or if his fit that day looks a mess. Even though he wears the same shit everyday.
☣︎ Never addresses you by your name.
-“Whats up blood?”
-“Hey, stinkbutt.”
-“What you up to, big head?”
-“Aye twin!!!”
-“Gang, shit was not that funny.”
-“Fam, I can see your lace I know that shit ain’t real.”
☣︎ He looks at you from across the room during a meeting. He doesn’t say or do anything. Neither of you can keep a straight face. Zodyl already told you to shut up about two times before.
☣︎ Has you listen to his mixtape
☣︎ It’s nothing but trash rap remixed into even trashier covers
☣︎ Constant games. Spades, dominos, Black Jack. He usually only cheats when others are playing. Between you and him he’ll take the game seriously and play for real. Most times. Sometimes. Okay it’s gotten better since you threatened to stop playing with him.
☣︎ Food challenges. Eating spoon fulls of cinnamon, adding as much pepper and spice available to a meal. You don’t even have to participate, he just wants an audience.
☣︎ If you messed up he takes the blame. Even if the punishment isn’t the ‘good kind’ he likes. “I’ll take the fall. Just beat me up extra good next time.”
You sigh but don’t hide a smile. “You’re a freak.”
He smirks. “Your freak.”
☣︎ Childish ass mf
☣︎ He’s your hype man. You off your game? Not going all out like he knows you can? “You look goofy as fuck right now. Lock tf in bro!”
☣︎ He’ll let you retwist his hair so long as you don’t screw it up. He can do it himself but this is one of the rare moments you touch him “gently.” He’ll relax, sit still, and even shut up. The best part.
-> female pronouns//arguing over dinner//mad yelena but she cares//use of y/n
Desc: Yelena and her partner are out on a date, but they can’t come to an agreement on an important matter.
Warnings: Excessive profanity
m.list
⚡︎ ⋆.˚
[Y/n] and Yelena were across from each other at the restaurant. The night had been lovely and romantic, with a serene, elegant, atmosphere as the two happily bantered with each other. That is, until the conversation shifted and now it was like the air mixed with a thick goo, stifling the formally robust ambience with the same feeling those who were charging into war must’ve felt.
"We discussed this before and had already agreed-"
The table shook, cutting her off. Yelena forcefully released the steak knife half way dug into the wooden surface. “Bullshit, I only agreed to get us to stop arguing.”
"Bullshit?! You just said you agreed, regardless of why!"
"Regardless my ass. If I did not mean it, then it did not count." She retorted.
The waiter gulped as he arrived and slowly set down the shot glass. Yelena was about to reach for it, but her girlfriend had quickly snatched it. The blonde was quick to react, ready to grab her wrist, but held back and paused. Her outstretched fingers curled as the woman across from her drank the alcohol in one take, then spit it out back into the glass.
She then gave the glowering Yelena an innocently apologetic look. "This was for you, wasn't it? Ah, sorry, baby." She slid the glass forward. "Here, since I didn't mean it, what I did doesn't count.”
Yelena, without looking away, grabbed the glass and downed it all in one take.
[Y/n] looked her up and down. "Hot."
Lena placed the glass down, ticking her eyebrow up. "You are. And you are a bitch."
[Y/n] rolled her eyes. "And you're a pussy. You'd think you'd already have so much of it in your life, you wouldn't want any more."
Yelena groaned and shook her head, "why cannot we get both?"
"We're too busy for two!"
"Then just go with cat!"
"I don't want a fucking hell spawn knocking shit over and trying to suck my soul with its eyes every time it looks at me."
Yelena waved her hands around, "fine then we-we get blind cat."
[Y/n] looked incredulously at Yelena. "We aren't responsible enough for a fucking blind cat!"
She lifted her shoulders, "oh come on, you do not know if you do not try."
"I can throw that back at you."
The blonde deeply breathed out. "Give. C’mon." She said and reached her hand out to the middle of the table. [Y/n] stubbornly glared at it, but once her eyes had took the slightest glance at her gorgeous partners open and inviting expression, she gave in and laid her hand in it. Yelena smoothly brushed her girlfriend’s knuckles, said recipient calming down as her eyes closed. "I know you love dogs, I do too, but you are allergic. You get a stuffy nose, hideous bumps over your beautiful skin, and become all itchy and swollen. While I would love to scratch and touch you all over, I would like to do that while you aren’t suffering."
"But I can—"
"Yes, yes, get those weird pills or whatever, but it would be easier to just get a cat so you do not have to worry about that. I do not want you to be sad after hugging our dog if you have some reaction because you forgot one day or if they wear off."
[Y/n] ran through that as well as various other scenarios through her mind, all diminishing her resolve on the matter. Her heart then fluttered as she recounted what Yelena said again. "So you were only thinking of me? I was so insistent because you said before you wanted a dog and I didn’t want to hold you back just because of my allergies.”
"Pah, if the day when we had walked past the one on the street then you started sneezing as if you snorted eight lines of pepper happened much sooner, I wouldn’t have said anything. I love cat too, not as much as dog..." she entwined their fingers. "But neither as much as I love you. We don't have to do cat if you hate it that much, but we will not get the dog."
[Y/n] felt her face heat as she conclusively nodded. "Okay. Fine.” Her mind went to a different solution. “I think we should just get a fish for now."
"Great." Yelena released her hand and sat back, "I think that's a good start. We will get a red, big fat one and name it Alexei."
She chuckled, "and when we get a cute small blue one, we'll name it Canterbury."
Yelena scrunched her eyebrows. "But thats what you were going to name the dog."
[Y/n] crossed her arms and quirked a brow. "And?"
Yelena scrunched her eyebrows, "and it is a stupid name. What the fuck even is a Canterbury?"
The woman scrunched her face and pointed a strong finger, "it's a cute name for any animal-"
“A fish is not animal, it is fish!”
“What do you even know what classifies-”
Days later, stood side by side, Yelena and [Y/n] watched on in endearment and with content as two fish swam around in their newly installed home, decorated to the teeth in every cute tank decor they could find. It was to the point where they had to get a bigger tank twice, ending up getting one that nearly stretched from one corner of the mid-sized wall to another. “They’re so adorable. Do you think we over did it?”
“Nah. It is not that big. You should see the rich peoples houses I used to break into,” her arms expanded wide, “whole walls full of fish, felt like I was at sea world!”
[Y/n] laughed, “well, then sorry we couldn’t get a big red fat one. At least we found a big blue one though.”
“Eh. It’s more purple than blue, but still works out. You know, if you squint it looks like Kate.”
She snorted. “Don’t let her hear that.” Something then came to mind as she slowly turned to Yelena, “wait, wait, is that why you call it K.B.?? I thought that you thought Canterbury was spelled with a K!”
I actively just started this hoe and I got shit to say. Wym he laid down and started laughing with him Aubrey wtf is wrong with you. I genuinely can’t believe he did that that’s so foul; he’s hilarious for this shit.
Mind you his ribs is broken too and he just said it hurt to laugh and here he go cutting up a storm like it was the first time someone told him a good joke in all his years of living. He needs to be reprimanded immediately.
LMFAO HELLLO???? WHY DID THEY DO MY BOY ZANKA LIKE THAT????
I’m hootin’ and hollering’ about him getting tf back up and he lying there drooling abt it I’m actually so mf dead!!!
I was completely GAGGGEDDDD!!! I actively rolled up out my bed and paced my room. I haven’t been this excited about a subversion since Blue Lock.
The fact Jabber big head goofy ass sitting there watching him killing me too. He COULD have killed him by now lmfao. I’m going to have to start calling him Aubrey cause they both light skins that be doing the absolute most.
I had to stop where I was but lemme keep reading cause I gotta see where this goes. I might also post more abt this shit.
Also this shit is so good I’m for sure gonna write something soon.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Then there’s Portgas D. Ace. She had so many questions about him. She hadn’t read everything the press had to say, but he’s one of the most captivating people she’s met in a long time. Why was he so reckless? Where did his spirit for adventure come from? What inspired him to be so kind? Where did he start? Where was he going next? Why inspired him to be a pirate?
.
.
.
The infamous journalist ‘Buddy’ wanted to find an answer to these questions, but was it worth risking everything she’s built for herself; was giving what little she had worth the exchange for the thrilling life she craved?
—
Oops 🙊 loved Ace too much. If you love him too go ahead and take a read at my new story. It’s got THREE, count em, THREE juicy chapters already out. Features Ace two years before the start of one piece.
Here’s a cute excerpt from chapter 3:
“What happened?” Enilah asked, trying to look closer at the leg he held close.
“Something bit me and it hurts too much to even…”
The last of his words left airly as he went still. His eyes widened open at the same time, as if in the night sky he saw the most terrifying thing in his life. To Enilah, it seemed like he had realized something, a paralyzing thought. She would even go as far as to say she knew what it was. It was a familiar expression, the one you got when your mind curses you with the impending feeling of doom as you stared death in the face, as if pushing you to think of a last ditch chance at escape. He slumped, eyes still wide open. His chest stilled. She could hear the last wispy breath that he took.
“Hey. Hey! Did he… hey, wait, don’t get close.”
She said her respects under her breath and ran a palm over his eyes to close them. “He’s dead.”
“Y-Yeah, but aren’t you…”
Enilah didn’t mind Taine as she presumed to rest a hand on the dead man's head.
As if flowing into a lucid dream, his memories began to play vividly at a fast pace, scene by scene, as if they were her own in her mind. The young woman would never get used to the jarring sense of reality, no matter how quick they went by. Being there, conscious, seeing it all from his perspective.
She sifted through older memories, blowing past anything recent. Five months back. Two years back. Three years back. 10 years back. Socializing was never a strong suit of his and he’d find a reason to fight with people, with or without a war. Just a regular thug, no new or interesting info. She was very thankful most of this stuff won’t clog her memory with more detail than blurs of color.
Enilah sped forward the memory scrolling, then back, then forth once again almost yet again going past the memory that caught her eye around one year back. This one was more vivid than the rest. A distinct memory, one where she doesn’t have to waste time trying to piece together. He was getting a tattoo, sat in a leather chair and holding back tears. The coward. Murder, brawls, and wars were fine but needles he drew the line.
She slowed around there, getting frustrated. She couldn’t find what she saw. He had his eyes closed and looked away for the most of it, even when the tattoo artist asked if the placement was fine. His body was trembling as buzzing filled the room and sharp pokes went into his left arm. She couldn’t feel it, but he certainly thought it was the most painful thing in the world.
There was one moment though, just a slight one when he did look. His memories soared too fast to make any distinctions but she was positive there was something about the design he was getting that brought something Taine said back to mind.
“Based on a few stupid tattoos.”
Just some more scrolling–here! It was here. His head slowly began to turn and she could just see the design-
‘Baroque Works?’
Her body jerked away, ripping her vision fully back to the man lying in the sand and her awareness highenting to the chill and darkness of the night.
“Get away! He was stung!”
His hand was off of her before she could shrug it away. She scowled at him, against her better judgment. “Don’t do that so suddenly…” She dropped the scowl immediately and replaced it with a polite expression. “Ahem, please.”
He pointed to the dead man's neck, which was slowly beginning to turn a purplish hue, “his skin is turning purple. That's the mark of a scorpion! It can still be around, we have to get out of this area.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Her chagrin dwindled, but her determination and grit stayed firm. She was so close. “Wait, if I-“
The ground began to rumble, sand trembling. It sounded almost like elephants stomping in unison. Her head turned to where it came from, just beyond the bottom of the dune.
Sand began to rise and no sooner did it click what was causing it. Emerging from the ground was a dark, large, lizard-like beast. Its name, Sandora Dragon, was fitting. The menacing lizard was probably the largest animal that Alabasta had to offer and responsible for most travelers' deaths; its teeth were practically for decoration. You’d be swallowed whole before it could properly bite.
Not even fully out of the sand, she could see its slitted, slowly opening eyes, glowing like radiated yellow disks trained solely on them.
Yet, Enilah stayed put, rapidly switching her gaze between the rising lizard and the still body. Could she just roll up his sleeve? Oh, to hell with seeing the tattoo! She didn’t mind taking the gamble and just plunging in if it meant gaining extremely pertinent information. There is at least one minute or so before it reached them, she could risk–
Enilah once more was yanked, but didn’t resist it as much. “That thing will kill us both just as quick, we can’t stay!”
He was right. She allowed his grip to stay on her as they dashed up the sand hill. Once over it, he let go of her. She ran in whatever direction that was away from the camp. She knew it would do her no good. She could hear it closing in, its stomp like crawling rupturing the sand beneath her own feet.
Enilah pumped her legs faster and glanced around the area, almost staggering once she noticed Taine was gone. She didn’t even notice they split up. She hoped for his safety but cursed her luck.
“Why does it still have to be chasing me!?”
She craned her neck around and analyzed the charging beast, its sharp, white teeth the clearest to see as it gaped its disgusting, wide mouth open eagerly.
“Why is it a question if Wanda is dead if we know Elizabeth is coming back?” BECAUSE we don’t know HOW or WHY she could be alive, whose body we saw, or what it could mean?! I never thought she died, but it doesn’t mean I don’t question what happened after or why tf we have a body that fits the description of Wanda and is heavily implied to us it IS Wanda. Even now I don’t think our Wanda is dead. However, how many times have characters died but we knew their actors would be back!? And how many hours did we spend speculating what it could mean and why they’re back? Are you new here, or to the comic super hero genre???
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