#I like to point out little imperfections like a missing hand or chip on them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hornsandthings · 4 years

Note

Umm hi I don’t know if you still take ACOTAR requests anymore but if you do can I request an azriel x reader where he’s in love with her and is afraid of rejection but he doesn’t know that she loves him too? 👉🏻👈🏻

hi nonnie, i’ll always accept an acotar request, hehe! did this in headcanon form, hope you don’t mind <3 it’s quite long and a little rough around the edges, but i hope you like it! ps. tumblr mucked up the formatting, some dot points don’t want to be indented. i hope it still makes sense x

when your and azriel’s paths crossed, it was the mother at work again. after mor, azriel didn’t think he’d ever have the strength for love again. the aching and the pining had taken their toll, and the appeal of the mating bond had faded. to feel it all again, to risk his heart like that again - he couldn’t. and yet, the mother saw fit that he would.

+++

he first met you in the palace of hoof and leaf, and it didn’t mean anything at the time; a stranger’s kindness, or if he indulged his cynicism, a hawker’s ploy. you were a commoner, a milkmaid who came to sell your products in the markets. he’d been at the neighbouring stall, waiting for the clerk to put together the only tea brew in prythian that could placate his migraines.

“sir, mr. shadowsinger, sir,” you called, “could i offer you a sample of my goat’s milk? maggie-may is very special, her milk can be just as good as a healer’s work, i swear it. try it, try it, sir.”

azriel looked you over, glad that cassian wasn’t here to make that particular moniker stick. one brow raised in dubiety, he nodded and held out his hand - might as well, he thought, tired and getting ever more desperate for his tea. this didn’t show outwardly, of course; azriel’s face was as neutral as ever, his shadows coiling about his talons. your gaze was expectant as he tried the sample, and while it was a little too earthy for his taste, he nodded all the same. perhaps it had encouraged you too much, because then you asked: “could i perhaps persuade you to buy a pint?”

azriel had no interest at all, yet he couldn’t help but notice the detail: your fraying sleeves, the imperfect glass bottles, the beginnings of dark circles under your eyes. and yet you were smiling, you were sweet, being very generous for someone who had to presumably make a living selling fresh products. not for the first time, azriel made a purchase that only someone of the inner circle could afford, and one that didn’t really benefit him. “i’ll take several,” he said, looking at the handful of wooden caddies, mostly still filled with milk bottles. “i’ll take it all.”

the clerk then handed azriel his brew while you stood there, wide-eyed and speechless, working through a range of emotions. at first you thought he was mocking you, but when he turned around again, fiddling with his coin pouch, you realised he was serious. “but, sir— maggie-may’s milk sure is delicious, but only in moderation— i couldn’t expect someone to buy it all—”

“as much as you’d let me, then,” he amended, being mindful not to impose or patronise. you bit your lip, trying to tally up the ultimate price, trying to gauge whether this man could even afford it. two gold, you said, trying your luck. azriel merely fingered his coins, placing the expected two and an additional three on the counter. he must’ve noticed your shock; you had frozen, after all, perhaps even stopped breathing. “since maggie-may is so special,” he drawled, earning a disbelieving laugh from you.

that night, cerridwen, nuala, and elain were very confused at the sight of bottles and bottles of milk laying in wait on the kitchen counter in the house of wind. the note - clearly by azriel’s neat hand - read: use within five days.

+++

from then on, you always engaged azriel when you spotted him in the market. you could never forget his generous first purchase, and so while he waited for the tea master to finalise his special brew, you would entertain him with an endless supply of free samples of new products. over the years, azriel saw your business extend from milk to also include cheese and soap. he learned unnecessary things about your cattle, such as the supposed social dynamics and - mother forbid - adultery that mr. sweet pea the goat seemed prone to. over time, azriel grew comfortable enough to share some of his stories and observations, the things he’s seen in other courts. it took a while to realise you had become more than his mere acquaintance, and perhaps it was because you were outside his usual spheres of the inner circle and his spy network. to have someone outside was new, and a little jarring at times. the different experiences, the contrasting perspectives - it was refreshing, and reminded azriel how far he’d come since his miserable youth. when he was with you, the stakes weren’t so high, the conditions not so dire. you were a spot of calm, a reminder that life could be something other than the court’s defense.

+++

one time when he visited - his tea no longer a requisite for him to make an effort to come in - you were noticeably subdued. “mr. sweet pea passed away,” you revealed, eyes wet and voice thick. something about that seized his heart, his shadows growing restless. “he was so special.” you actually said that about each of your cattle, something that azriel had started to find endearing, because he knew you really believed it.

social tact was not a strength of his - azriel knew he tended to be rigid and too formal - so he stumbled over some stilted condolences. it felt awkward and impersonal; azriel couldn’t empathise with the death of a pet, but he wanted to make it hurt less. he still remembered what the late goat had looked like the last time you had brought him in - an old thing, with a long beard and a mix of brown and black fur. strong, impressive horns, one which had a sizeable chip missing.

so that night, he did what he could and sketched that image he had in his mind, of mr. sweet pea looking very wise and ponderous, if a little tired. azriel’s time as spymaster had bestowed him a keen eye and dexterous fingers, allowing him to make the necessary sketches to give his colleagues a clearer picture when necessary - of maps, of creatures, of profiles. they tended to be a little rough and raw, nothing particularly artistic. he thought the same of his current piece, and hesitated over whether it was good enough.

when he finally gave you the sketch the next day, you went very still. he started stumbling over some excuses, but you soon interrupted him with a shaky breath. “this is so thoughtful, azriel. thank you so much.”

+++

azriel grew bolder, and interactions started to occur outside the markets. he’d invite you for tea, indirectly revealing one of his interests. he was a hard man to read, his expressions subtle when not stoic, but you learned. outside of professional matters, he was rarely straightforward, and tended to express his emotions in delicate, layered ways. his care for you was in the way he listened, how his attention never wavered when you were speaking with him. it was how he kept you close when you two navigated busy streets, how he lifted a wing over your head for cover when it rained, how he was content to spend time with you at your stall - sometimes for hours - despite his preference for quietude.

+++

when work took him away, you two would exchange letters. azriel didn’t realise how dangerous a thing it was, because you quickly became a very intimate and constant part of his life. the act of writing tricked him, making it easier to truly express his thoughts - there was no pressure of navigating the immediate reaction, no incentive to keep his words short. you managed to draw so much out of him. he was mindful of each letter of yours he received, keeping them safe and tied together with an old ribbon of yours he’d saved before you could throw it away. he would never admit it, but work abroad tended to be overwhelming: while secure in his network’s quality of intelligence, being in another’s territory always meant having to deal with various variables and vulnerabilities, usually unknown. maybe your letters would have made it all a little more manageable if they didn’t elicit such longing within him. your words made him smile, yes, but they also made his heart ache. he missed you.

+++

after a lengthy assignment in the dawn court, azriel was relieved to be back in velaris. his shadows swirled and whispered around his shoulders, eager to feel your presence too. he knew they fascinated you, how playful they could be sometimes. yet, azriel couldn’t find you at your empty market stall. it was odd - you hadn’t mentioned moving in your recent letters, and he couldn’t find you in any of the other market squares either. soon his shadows grew restless, embodying the concern that was rising.

he employed his spy network to find your farm, hoping it wouldn’t be too intrusive to just show up unannounced. you had mentioned some details in passing before - it was a modest place, with a small house and a meagre hill of grass to feed a handful of goats and sheep. the door was answered by two worried faces, who took one look at azriel and grew even more distressed. “our son— it’s not our son, is it? it can’t be— he just—”

“i’m here to see your daughter,” azriel interrupted, too preoccupied to remember polite niceties. they were confused, guarded, but let him through. the hallways were narrow, his wings often knocking against the wall sconces. he listened as they explained your condition - an illness had befallen you, leaving you bedridden for days. apparently a healer had told them it’ll pass with rest and water, and with that reassurance, azriel forced himself to remember his place. right in front of your closed door, he willed his shadows away from his face, called upon his familiar impassiveness. turning around to face your parents, he amended, “may i see your daughter?”

your room was dark, the curtains drawn. his heart raced as he heard your laboured breaths, and something pulled at him when he saw the small desk in the corner, an unfinished letter atop it. “azriel?” you whispered, voice sounding so small. “is it really you?”

he neared, taking a cautious seat on the side of the bed. you were shivering, but the thin sheet covering you stuck to your skin with sweat. “yes, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. his throat closed up immediately after, but your vague movements suggested you didn’t even realise, and that you weren’t all there. he could see the feverish blush high on your cheeks, even in the dim light.

“you’re too big for this room,” you mused softly, making azriel smile despite his worry. indeed, he had to bend down to avoid hitting his head, and keep his wings tucked in uncomfortably tight. he took your hand in his, and even in your feverish haze, you could register the roughness of his scarred hands, but they always handled you gently. “why didn’t you tell me in your letters?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. your discomfort was clear in your frown, in your downturned lips. noticing the basin on the bedside table, he took the damp rag on your forehead and dipped it into the cool water, wringing away the excess before gently placing it atop your head again.

“i… didn’t want to trouble you with… with something trivial. a few more days and… and i’ll be back to work.” a weak smile pulled at your mouth, and azriel gathered both of your hands in his again. he shook his head at your line of thinking.

“your health isn’t a trivial matter to me,” he said, leaning close and cupping your cheek. in hindsight, it was so obvious that he had been in love with you far longer than he thought. it was all so rueful, the fact that he had let it happen again. despite it all, he pressed a kiss to your hand, trying to ignore how it trembled. your smile strengthened then, tracing a finger over his brow and down the bridge of his nose. azriel took a deep breath to savour the touch, and soon you two were merely watching each other, azriel wondering what thoughts were running through your slightly added mind. your lids eventually started to droop, however, but still he stayed even when you fell asleep, taking care to change the cool rag when necessary. his shoulders slumped when his head fell into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight. with such a revelation, what was he to do from now on?

+++

azriel didn’t think he could be a good lover to you - even if he so very much wanted to be. his job took up so much of time, and it required him to be secretive. azriel wouldn’t ever be able to share everything with you, for the sake of keeping you safe. even if he could, there was just something in his nature that kept him reserved and pushed others away. there were so many things he’d rather leave in the past, and so many more that he wished he hadn’t been part of. there was that, but also his loathsome scarred hands - a reminder of those darker days. no matter how gentle, his touch would always scratch and scrape. once you took notice of how neglected they were, left to dry out and sometimes even scab, you took to work to concoct a nourishing lotion. “you have to be gentle with yourself, azriel,” you had once told him, gently applying the salve to his hands. they were rough but warm against your skin. “you do so much.”

+++

and so, everything he did with you was tinged with a hint of sorrow. he couldn’t bring himself to confront you with the severity of his feelings, but he also couldn’t quite remove you from his life - you had become a friend. you eventually noticed that he started to let his touches linger: when he hugged you, he’d curl arms and wings around you, enveloping you wholly; when you were near, his shadows would stretch toward you, as if revealing a hidden desire. when you reached for his hand, he would always grip it firmly, and when you came very close for some unimportant reason, his gaze would always linger on your face, flicking so often to your lips.

+++

one night you had invited him over to the farm, wanting to introduce him to the latest addition of your household: a baby goat, just over a week old. she was as white as snow, and kept nibbling at your hair as you held her in your arms. “what should we name her, azriel?” you had asked, too preoccupied to notice how tense he was, hands in his pockets. “i was thinking of marjorie, or maybe miss marjorie… hey, what’s wrong?” his face was unusually expressive, his shadows roiling about his talons as if in distress. putting down the goat, her legs still clumsy and gangly, you stepped closer to azriel, reaching out. he shook his head, trying to school his face but you knew him by now. your shoulders slumped, recalling his strange behaviour over the years - he was present in most ways, but avoidant in others. “i wish you’d talk to me, azriel,” you murmured, taking his hand and hoping he wouldn’t mind the dirt. “you mean so much to me.”

it all bubbled up then in that small barn, the light dim and the smell of earth pungent. you let out a rueful laugh, rubbing your eye. “i’m in love with you,” you said, very quietly at first. immediately you felt so naive to be doing this. the fact was that azriel came from a different life, one that saw him as a leader of the court, who worked with powerful and beautiful people, fae who were richer and stronger and vastly more interesting. azriel’s mere presence in your life was extraordinary enough. and yet, you had found yourself falling in love despite the impracticability of it, found yourself admiring his kindness, his quiet generosity, his strength and resilience and dry humour. you shifted, looking right into his eyes. even if your love was unrequited, he deserved to be told - if only to let him know that he indeed was loved by one more. “i’m in love with you. i don’t— i don’t expect you to say it in return, but i can no longer keep it to myself. i love you.”

that threw azriel. he had fantasised of course, indulged in the scenario. but now, as you waited for his response, his thoughts stuttered. what? he wanted to say, unable to believe what he actually so very desperately wanted to believe. you grew nervous as the silence lengthened, azriel’s face as stoic as ever. you shook your head, covering your mouth in regret. “i’m sorry, i— i shouldn’t have said anything—”

he gripped your shoulders tight, gaze intense and voice low. “i also love you.”

“why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?” the solemnity which had tinged your relationship for some time was subtle, but you had felt it, and it had bothered you.

azriel’s hands came up to cup your face, and he quickly shook his head. “it’s not,” he said, he urged. “it’s not, it’s not.” and then his lips met yours, chapped and rough, kissing you slowly, thoroughly, firmly. the conviction made your heart melt, and you gripped his wrists, feeling his racing pulse and caressing it, kissing him back, standing on your toes, letting him steal your breath. “i love you so much, sweetheart,” he sighed against your lips, nose brushing against yours. you went to reply but then azriel had claimed your mouth again, one hand snaking around to your back and the other to the nape of your neck. the light shifted behind your closed eyes as his wings came down to envelope the both of you, and your fingers reached to tangle in his hair, to trace the shells of his ears.

when you two parted again, his grin was lopsided and a little wry. “i just couldn’t believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining with emotion. why not? you wanted to ask, wondering what it was that had held him back for so long, but decided to delay it for another day. all you could do was hug him tighter, just glad for the sight of his smile and the feeling of his relief. glad for his happiness.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #ugh this isn't my best but otherwise i'll never post D:#also a big f.u. to tumblr formatting

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xbunnybunz · 4 years

Text

Flowers Between Ribs [Sans x Reader]

Summary: Papyrus is cooking downstairs and Sans is asleep. Of course, you would take this opportunity to stick flowers in his ribs... You did not know he was sensitive there.

Genre: Fluff

Date: July 21, 2016

-----

It was an unusually peaceful day. A comfortable yet rare silence had settled in the humble abode of two skeleton brothers, which was usually bustling with noise and strange misendeavours. The sun was just starting to set, and the hues in the sky cast their light into the house. Gradients of the fading twilight slipped past the curtains and washed over the room, bathing it in it’s palette of orange, pink and purple watercolor.

You would soon attribute the odd spell of quiet with the absence of a certain boisterous skeleton-

“SANS, WE HAVE RETURNED WITH THE INGREDIENTS FOR DINNER!” Papyrus kicked the door open, almost sending it off of its hinges.

The door bounced off of the wall with a splintering ‘CRACK,’ and would’ve slammed back into Papyrus’s armful of groceries if you hadn’t jammed it open with your foot.

Whew, that was a close one. There were eggs in there.

“AND I BROUGHT A GUEST! (Y/N) IS STAYING FOR DINNER AGAIN TONIGHT!”

You poked a head around Papyrus’s towering frame and peeked inside the familiar house. As always, it was relatively clean, leave for a sock in the corner. (Which was bombarded with sticky-notes.) You visited Papyrus and Sans on a regular basis, and knew this place better than the back of your hand. Scanning the room, you realized that something was missing- or, to be specific, someone.

“Hey Papyrus, do you know where Sans is?” You ask as you shift the brown bags in your arms, and walk towards the kitchen. Papyrus follows close behind, scanning the room as well.

“WELL, IF HE ISN’T IN THE LIVINGROOM, HE MUST BE SLEEPING UPSTAIRS.” Papyrus set the bags down on the counter and placed his hands on his hips, “THAT PILE OF LAZYBONES.”

You chuckled and plopped your share of groceries on the counter as well, snatching a particularly light paper bag off the table. “I’ll go wake him up, then! You better get started on cooking Pappy!”

“AH , YES. I SHALL BEGIN CREATING MY WONDROUS SPAGHETTI! HM, SHALL I USE GLITTER GLUE OR PUFFY STICKERS TODAY?” Papyrus thought out loud to himself.

As you slipped out the door, you couldn’t help but shudder at the skeleton’s strange sense of taste.

Sure, Papyrus may be sweet, but unfortunately that didn’t make his cooking any more palatable than a third grader’s macaroni-and-glitter art project.

Still, you were kind of thankful he sucked at cooking- it was what strengthened your bond with the brothers so much. Whenever you were free, you’d come by their place and give Papyrus some cooking tips (“GEE (Y/N), THAT MAKES QUITE A LOT OF SENSE. I THOUGHT THAT WHEN PASTA CAUGHT ON FIRE, IT MEANT IT WAS SPICY; ISN’T THAT WHAT THE COMMERCIALS MEAN BY ‘FIERY HOT?’”) while also preparing nice meal for the three of you. Of course, you’d leave room for one or two bites of Papyrus’s self-proclaimed “MASTERPIECE SPAGHETTI, NYEHEHEH!” which seemed to satisfy everyone.

With the bag delicately pressed to your chest, you tiptoed quietly upstairs toward Sans’s room, faintly hearing the telltale signs of light snoring. Luckily, he had left his bedroom door slightly ajar and unlocked, making your job a lot easier. (You knew Sans couldn’t be awakened by the mere sounds of knocking, and you didn’t have the adequate tools to lockpick.

(NOT THAT YOU LOCKPICKED.))

You shouldered his door open quietly and were greeted with the sight of his room- something people could politely describe as… organized chaos. It wasn’t often that you came up to Sans’s room. Perhaps you’ve been in and out of here once or twice when you were sleeping over and needed extra pillows, but that was done rather quickly.

You never really paid attention to anything (except for the odd flashlight-lamp-contraption on his dresser.) Taking a closer look at the room now, you notice many odds and ends you're surprised you didn't spot before. A dusty treadmill, heaps of clothes and stray socks littering the floor- and… A hurricane of a mess. Literally.

Typical Sans.

Stepping over the oddities strewn across the bedroom floor, you make your way over to a sleeping Sans, peacefully snoozing away while sprawled on his back. The corner of your lips quirk up a bit further upon hearing the faint clanging of pots and pans downstairs, along with the occasional “NYEHEHEH!”and you figure Papyrus is entertaining himself: you'd let Sans catch z’s for just a little longer.

You plop down next to Sans’s bed and rest an arm on the edge of the mattress, propping your head up on it. Your eyes latch onto his chest, rising up and down at a slow and steady pace. No nightmares this time, huh? You let out a small exhale and give the sleeping monster a small lopsided smile.

Despite his endless slew of lame jokes and easygoing attitude, you knew Sans always had a torrential wave of thoughts consuming his mind- in both sleep and his waking hours. At one point, you had gotten worried enough about his worsening eyebags and asked if he was alright, only to receive a broad and somewhat conventional reply. You begrudgingly changed topics, taking the hint- but pressed him for answers once Papyrus called you up begging for help at 7AM on a Saturday.

You had dashed over there with a bad case of bedhead and mismatching socks, assuming the worst- only to arrive and find Papyrus in desperate need to use the only bathroom in the house- which Sans had fallen asleep in while brushing his teeth. “no need to get so pee-ved, can’t a guy get some bath-room to himself for a bit, heh?” “Sans,” You huffed “Look, we can tell something is bothering you- and it must be pretty bad, to lose sleep over.” He shifted from one slipper-clad foot to another, eyes darting away from you.

No response.

You sigh and place a hand gently on his arm, furrowing your brows at him. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but take care of yourself, okay? We can’t have you injured for small things that could’ve been helped, yaknow?” Sans chuckled and lightened up considerably as Papyrus came out of the bathroom, looking much more calm.

“hey, eye’m bagging you to let this go, (Y/N).”

“SANS!“

And that concluded your semi-serious conversation about Sans’s health. You knew Sans was only avoiding a direct answer to save you and Papyrus the trouble of being worried, but there was a nagging feeling in your mind that there was something more than that. Something that he was… Protecting you two from?

Your eyes travel from his rising chest to his ivory face, completely relaxed despite the constant grin that was plastered from cheek to cheek.

From afar the bony surface seemed flawless and smooth, but up close you could spot small imperfections. Chips on the surface, tiny indentations, ridges and occasional scratches decorated his face, and you found yourself struggling to keep your hands to yourself. It was strange how these small markings could be argued to be unattractive- but to you, be so entrancingly unique and beautiful.

It made Sans who he was.

Your stare catches on parts of his exposed lower ribs, a result of his white shirt and unzipped blue jacket riding up during his tossing and turning.

Your cheeks betray you and flush a deep red rivaling Papyrus’s cape, and you hurriedly avert your gaze elsewhere. It was then that you remembered what you had brought into the room with you, and an idea popped into your mind.

Smiling coyly, you pick your head up and dig a hand into the brown paper bag, careful to subdue any obnoxious crinkling. You pull out your hand. In between your pointer finger and your thumb was a dainty little flower with vibrantly colored petals and a thick, robust stem.

After you had gone grocery shopping with Papyrus, you spotted a flower vending cart next to the park you two passed to go home, covered from wheel to canopy with beautiful, multicolored flowers of all variety.

“GO AHEAD, HUMAN. I SEE YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIKING TO THE PRETTY WEEDS.”

Papyrus gestured for you to go with a wide and genuine smile, but you were too busy cringing at the unintentional jab to really notice.

“I SHALL WAIT FOR YOU HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE FINISHED LOOKING! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM EXCELLENT AT WAITING! AMONG OTHER THINGS OF COURSE.” You wondered if bringing up the incident where he could barely wait for the bathroom would be appropriate, but bit your tongue.

Instead, you tossed him a grateful smile and went to pick out a handful of snipped daisies, bluebells, bleeding hearts and carnations.

Chuckling at the memory, you twirled the powder pink carnation between your fingers and eye Sans’s uncovered ribs. You honestly had no idea what to do with the snippets of flowers, and had only bought them in the spur of the moment. But now, you had an idea Would he feel it? He was asleep… This could be payback for that time he stacked ritz crackers on your forehead as you napped on the couch- needless to say you got a faceful of saltine cookies once you awoke. (“aw, come’on (Y/N), don’t be mad! I’m crackerin’ up over here!”)

Carefully, you slipped the smooth, dark green stem of the carnation between his second to last rib. Seeing that it stayed put, you felt a burst of happiness and immediately worked to place as many as you could in the exposed expanse of his bones.

Selecting a line of deep red bleeding hearts, you nestled those on the innermost part of his fourth to last rib. A cute daisy followed, placed snugly next to the bleeding hearts. You decorate his outer false ribs with baby blue bluebells and tuck some red carnations comfortably against the tip of his Xiphoid Process, grinning to yourself. Lines of fresh white daises and bleeding hearts dangle from his floating ribs, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork. The vividly colored flora somehow both complimented and contrasted perfectly against Sans’s milky white bones, framing the already strong and alluring structure with a collection of complimentary daisies and bluebells, gradiented red and pink carnations, and elegant yet sharply colored bleeding hearts.

After a few moments, you catch yourself staring and shake yourself out of your stupor. Glancing inside the brown paper bag, you are confronted with one more healthy-looking daisy sitting alone at the bottom. Removing it from its confines, you stare blankly at the garden in Sans’s ribs, wondering where to put the final flower.

Finally, you decide to place it with the other daises, but- Accidentally, your fingertips brush along Sans’s costal cartilage, and static shoots up your arm.

Oh, geez.

He was unexpectedly warm for a skeleton, and insanely smooth.

Your hand instinctively draws back as you sharply inhale, eyes darting up to Sans’s face. Fortunately, he was still asleep- although a strange bluish hue had dusted his cheeks. There was no way...

Was he… Enjoying that?

A shiver travels up your spine as you hear him give an almost inaudible but throaty groan, and you press your fingers to your lips. You didn’t ever really have a chance to find out what monster anatomy was like- but it was rather odd to you that ribs of all places could be a potential erogenous zone. Slowly, you lower them back onto the same spot and wrap the pads of your fingers around the bone, giving a longer, harder rub.

The response is immediate. Phalanges curl into the bedcovers and metacarpals twist into bedsheets.

Sans arches his back with a whimper and brings his ribs into your palms, reminding you of lesser dog and his keening.

Except this one moans.

Sans unconsciously bucks into your hand and gives a crescendo of a guttural moan, sending your heartbeat sailing and skin crawling. Your head whips towards the bedroom door to make sure Papyrus hadn’t heard and come up to check on you, and once you were in the clear, you yanked your hand away despite the tingling in your fingertips that urged you on.

Well, attempted to. Your eyes widened into saucers when you feel boney fingers- the same ones that were grappling at the bed a few seconds earlier- wrap themselves around your wrist and hold you in place- if not pulling you closer.

Sans gazed at you with one half lidded eye, a lazy but knowing smile licking at his usual cheesy grin. “mornin’.” You gulped and flushed red. Caught. “I-It’s more night than morning, but…” Your eyes followed his gaze to the small flower show in his ribs, and when you glanced back at you with a grin and a raised eyebrow, your blush reached the tip of your ears.

“I-“ You rushed to explain yourself, but found yourself tripping over your own words, “T-The flowers looked pretty and- and your bones were there and i thought it'd look good and alsobeacuseoftheritzcrackersthing-“ You visibly deflate with complete and utter embarrassment, wishing you could either turn sink between the wooden floor boards or turn into one of the many heaps of clothing on his floor.

“it’s kind of like a garden.” Sans smiled at you, his long fingers still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

You mutely nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“the only thing im missing are butterflies in my stomach, but you already give me those.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the comment, and your pupils rapidly dart to-and-fro, intensely staring at anything BUT Sans. Ohgoshthiswasembarassingwhydidyouthinkitwouldbeagoodideaatall-

“hey”

You feel the metacarpals around your arm pull you forward so you were practically on the bed with Sans. Before you could part your lips to protest, another set of fingers brushed along the breadth of your jawline and firmly but gently grasped your chin and turned you to face him.

“look at me.”

He was so close- maybe just a little more and- Sans plucked the daisy you forgot you were holding from your hands, tucking it into your hair.

“don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, kid.” Sans chuckled mischeviously, the laughter coming from deep within his chest. Maybe it was just your imagination, but was his left eye glowing cyan…?

“I, uh-“

“(Y/N)!” A loud voice called from downstairs, “THE PASTA WAS COOKING TOO SLOWLY SO I PUT CANDLES IN THE POT TO MAKE MORE FIRE INSIDE.” Silence follows. “THE CANDLES HAVE DISAPPEARED.” More silence. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE ANOTHER BATCH!”

As you opened your mouth to respond, Sans stopped you with a finger to your lips. “let’s finish what you started, hm? you might wanna keep quiet."

His eye flared

"my room's right above the kitchen."

#undertale #fanfiction #sans x reader #reader insert #old story

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shoutosteakettle · 4 years

Text

⤷ pairing: natsuo todoroki x fem!rreader

⤷ genre: slight angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 2418

⤷ warnings: maybe ooc natsuo

⤷ a/n: i am so fucking excited to post this fic because it is my first fic for a server collab!! check out the rest of the fics for the collab here, everyone on the list is such a talented writer and i know that they put a lot of effort into their fics. and as always, thank you @ererokii for the beautiful banner for this fic,, i love you aims

☆彡

You have memories from one year ago today!

You looked at the notification on your phone, trying your best not to let the tears biting at the corner of your eyes spill out onto your cheeks. Even though you know you shouldn’t have, you opened the app; your eyes immediately darted towards the face of your ex. It had only been a couple weeks since he parted ways with you, but you had already forgotten just how handsome he was, and just how happy you used to be.

“Fuck!”

Your pained yelp was loud enough to startle the elderly couple sitting on the bench in front of you. You got up, brushed the dirt off your skirt, and sent a bow to them as a quick sorry for your vulgar language. When you straightened your back to stand up, your shoulders still slightly hunched, you looked in front of you, losing sight of why you had come here in the first place – not sure you ever really had a reason.

It was hard to keep track of your thoughts when you were overwhelmed by the amazingly beautiful scenery in front of you. The warm colors of the wilting leaves on the autumn trees paired almost perfectly with the fairy lights strung from them, lighting the path of food stands, game booths, and street performers as if it was art taken from the pages of a fairytale book.

As you trailed the path you had many times before, though you were usually accompanied by the person you thought you would love you forever, you let the nostalgia wash over you, almost completely forgetting about the stabbing pain in your right ankle for a minute or two. But you were brought back to your less than desirable reality when you found your face buried in the broad chest of a stranger. You limped backward, fully ready to apologize profusely to the stranger, but your breath hitched, and you couldn’t find the words to do so when you caught sight of his face.

The first thing you noticed was the definition in his jaw, the bones shaped as if was done by the gods themselves. Your eyes took note of just how clear his skin was, absent of even the slightest imperfections (despite being a full-time college student). In all your awe, you hadn’t noticed that his eyes were tracing your face in the exact same way. Taking in everything from the volume of your hair to the shape of your nose. It wasn’t until your eyes met his did you finally say something, “I- I’m so sorry, I must not have been paying attention.” You sent him a curt bow before standing back up and continuing on your limped journey for the infirmary.

But you stopped your steps once again when the white-haired male that you had run into placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay,” he asked, gently turning you around, noticing the way you were trying to avoid putting pressure on your right foot.

“Yeah, I just- I think I sprained my ankle,” you told him, not even bothering to hold back the pained expression on your face anymore.

“Oh? That’s perfect- this is the nurses’ booth,” he said, pointing to the sign hanging from the hem of the tent.

“So, what happened,” he asked, rummaging behind his desk, most likely looking for what he would need to get you patched up.

You cringed at the memory as it replayed in your head in response to his question. “I was, uh, distracted on my phone and ended up missing a step going down the stairs, I took a little tumble, and here we are,” you explained, still mortified by the whole ordeal, but smiling to yourself about the way he chuckled at your last comment.

You watched him rise from his squatted position, ice and bandages in hand, before striding over to the cot you had situated yourself on. He sat down his supplies on the table next to you, making small talk as he rolled over the stool from his desk to the foot of your cot. “May I,” he asked his hands hovering above your right foot. Understanding he needed to take off your pump to help you out, you gave him a shy nod.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of the chipped nail polish on your toes. You meant to get them done; you just hadn’t gotten around to it yet, what with all the self-loathing. You jumped at the feeling of his hands on your skin.

“Cold right,” he laughed, looking up to send you a quick smile, “I get it from my mom.” His smile looked sad, like there was a lot more emotion behind it then he was letting on.

“So why are you here instead of enjoying the festival,” you asked him. He looked pretty young, around your age, so it was hard to believe he was actually a nurse.

“I’m actually in Uni, my first year. I’m majoring in health and welfare; extra credit for one of my classes was tending to the booth,” he explained, not looking at you, but rather focused on examining your ankle. You didn’t mind though; he had the most beautiful side profile and was truly a joy to look at. Everything from the lack of color in his hair and how it framed his face perfectly, to the length of his eyelashes and how they [make blinking sexy]. He went to ask you a question in return but was cut off when you let out a sharp hiss in return to his fingers pressing a little too hard on your ankle.

“Yeah, it’s definitely sprained,” he confirmed, looking up to see your face completely drained of little positivity it had before. “Don’t worry babes, this is what we’re gonna do.” You watched with glossy eyes as he rolled over to pick up the ice pack sitting on the table next to you before rolling back over to take another look at your ankle.

“We’ll use ice to help with the swelling and hopefully some of the pain, yeah,” he said very matter of factly despite the questioning tone of his voice. He looked up to you once again, waiting for a sign of confirmation that you were following him, so you sent him another shy nod. “We’ll do this for around 15 minutes. What time is now?”

You grabbed your phone from on top of the table next to you, tapping the screen and seeing the numbers 8:53 shine across the top. “It’s 8:53,” you repeated, reading the numbers off of your home screen.

“It’s already that late,” he questioned more to himself than anyone else. “So 9:03, go ahead and set a timer, so we don’t lose track of time.” You did as he asked, ignoring the smile of your ex as you swiped out of that app and onto the clock app, putting in fifteen minutes into the timer and pressing start.

“So what are you doing here at the festival,” he asked, finally taking a good look at you for the first time since you ran into him outside.

“Um,” you started, looking for an answer you could give him. “I come here every year to celebrate my anniversary.”

“Oh, you’re married,” he asked, taking a second look at your hand, dreading that he might see a ring he missed at first glance.

You feel your cheek heat up at the thought of marriage, how nice that would be. “No, actually, I’m recently single,” you clarified for him, shifting uncomfortably in the awkward silence following.

After a minute or two, perhaps the longest in your life, you found it in you to look him in the eyes again, only to find his were already looking back at you. “It’s probably for the best. Everything happens for a reason, and all of that, right?”

“Right,” you chuckled in response. Of all the ways you looked at your breakup trying to put reason behind your ex’s sudden, I think we’d be better off apart, never had you once looked at it as it was just fate. Your relationship being simply not meant to be, but maybe that was the best way to see it.

“What about you, are you in a relationship,” you asked, not meaning to come off as desperate as you're sure you sounded.

“Unless you're asking about the intense love-hate relationship that I have with my textbooks, then no,” he said, laughing with you at his own joke. “Why do you ask?”

You felt your cheeks heat up once again at his sudden inquiry, and for what felt like the thousandth time today, you found yourself without an answer to his question. “Just curious,” were the two words you were miraculously able to get out without stuttering.

“You said you were majoring in health and welfare, right,” you asked, desperately trying to detour the conversation from the topic of relationship status.

“Yeah.”

“So you want to be a doctor,” you asked, tilting your head to the side just a bit so you could get a better view of his face.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, keeping in line with his usual jokey tone.

“Why is-”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question or two,” he suggested, cutting you off with the most teasing voice.

“Are you in Uni,” he asked. Your face, while beautiful, was an unfamiliar one.

“Yeah, but I go to school in Tokyo,” you said, a little embarrassed at the fact that you drove so far just to reminisce a little.

“That’s pretty cool! The city life over there is pretty exciting, right,” he asked, sounding almost awestruck.

“Yeah! I don’t go out much, but when I do, I always have a lot of fun,” you gushed, unable to keep the smile off your face as the memories came rushing back to you.

“Maybe I’ll have to come up there and take you out sometime,” he laughed, playing it off as a joke, but you didn’t miss the wink that he sent your way.

“I think I would really enjoy that,” you smiled, watching as a soft pink tinted his cheeks at your sudden bluntness.

“I-”

Just as he was about to say something in return, the timer you had set went off, the sound of the phone’s default ringtone blaring throughout the room.

“Alrighty,” he groaned, taking the ice off of your ankle and rolling over to the bedside table one last time. He put down the ice and picked up the bandages before rolling over the foot of your cot once again. You winced at the feeling of pain when he reached for your ankle. You could see it in his face that he was hurting for you as he wrapped up your foot. You're sure he said something doctorly about how compression was supposed to help with the swelling but you were too focused between the delicate work of his hands and the look on his face as he concentrated to pay attention.

It wasn’t until the feeling of your pump being placed back on your foot did you finally realize that he was finished. You set yourself down on two feet, listening to his advice about not putting too much pressure on your right foot. But even without walking on it, your right foot still hurt like a bitch.

“I can help you out,” he offered, already sweeping you off your feet before you had a chance to politely decline, sure that he had better things to do than helping you for any longer.

You couldn’t stop the soft giggle that left you as relaxed in his arms, feeling like you were right at home. Like this is where you were supposed to be there. Like he was made for you and you, him.

“It’s really pretty out here in the moonlight, huh,” you questioned rhetorically, the lights that shone in the streets reflecting in your eyes just like stars twinkled in the night sky.

“Yeah, it really is,” he agreed, but his eyes weren’t on the scenery. They were focused on you. Taking in your face all over again in fear that he might forget just how beautiful you were in the time between now and whenever the next time you see him is, that is, if he ever sees you again.

As he carried you bridal style through the festivities that was the fall festival and through the parking lot to your car, silence overcame the two of you, but unlike before, this silence was comfortable, nothing but the murmurs of people indulging in conversations and the crunch of leaves under your savior’s feet every now and then. No words were needed; if anything, they would probably ruin this moment between you and him. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this at home with someone, but you certainly wouldn’t say that you minded the feeling. Despite his cold hands on your skin, your heart was overflowing with warmth, and it was all because of him.

“Which is yours,” he asked, nodding his head towards the cars. When you pointed out yours, he took his last couple of steps with you in his arms before carefully setting you down in front of your car. You weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. You wanted a little more time with him.

“Oh my god, I never got your name,” you confessed, mentally kicking yourself for forgetting something so important.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki.”

“Well, Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki,” you began, playfully mocking his cliche answer to your previous question, “would you mind giving me your number,” you asked, offering him your phone.

“Of course not,” in return for your he handed you his phone already opened to the contact app, and ready for you to input your information.

“I don’t give that out to just anyone, so make sure you put it to good use,” he winked, taking his phone from you and turning around to walk back to his booth, but not without stealing one last glance from you as you climbed inside your car.

As you suffered the pain that was driving with a sprained ankle, there was only one thing running through your mind that distracted you from it all; Natsuo Todoroki was starting to look like a person you could make new memories with.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #writing?

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sunshinejihyun · 4 years

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Perfectly Imperfect Christmas - Kiro

Author’s note: I wrote this for my dear, dear friend @dreamer-hyun for the Loveland Cutie’s secret Santa event! Merry Christmas, Val. I know this doesn't even come close to the gift of friendship you’ve given me this year but I hope it’s a start!

Also, a big big thank you to @beautiful-mystic-mess for organizing this wonderful event

Word Count: 3412

Warnings: One sexual innuendo, a lot of tooth rotting fluff, and some general shenanigans from the main four

Summary: On Christmas Eve, Kiro and MC reminisce about their past Christmases spent together and wonder what it means for the rest of their future

Masterlist

“Are there any more presents?” Your son clapped his hands and looked eagerly at you and Kiro, a cheesy grin that mirrored his father’s was etched on his face. His sister next to him sat sleepily, her head bobbing up and down as she tried to keep herself awake.

Looking under the tree, you sighed out and shook your head. “I think that’s it for tonight, kiddos. You gotta get to sleep or else Santa won’t come!” With the mention of the big guy, your son immediately bolted up, jumping into Kiro’s lap.

“Daddy! Can you tuck me and Edie in so Santa will come?” Kiro laughed as he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, the dark hair completely opposite of his father’s. Eurydice - nicknamed Edie - was the one with the blond hair, much like Kiro’s.

Kiro picked up Peter as you grabbed Edie, nuzzling your nose against her cheek as she leaned her head on your shoulder. For a two year old, the excitement of Christmas had worn her out and even though she tried to keep up with Peter’s energy, Edie was crashing quickly.

Putting her in her toddler bed, she immediately curled in on herself and shut her eyes, her breathing evening out shortly after. Peter climbed in his own bed and pulled his covers up to his chin, his bright blue eyes full of excitement. You knew that look, his father had given it to you many times before.

“Can you tell me a story daddy?” Kiro’s hand soothed over Peter’s forehead and the young boy leaned his head into his pillow and sighed contentedly.

“Hmm… What type of story would you like to hear?” Kiro asked, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. You sat down next to him and he smiled warmly at you before taking your hand in his own.

“Something Christmas!” He whisper-yelled. Even high off the excitement of Christmas, Peter was careful not to wake his baby sister.

Kiro then glanced playfully over at you and your stomach flipped. Even after 12 years together, he could put your stomach in knots with just one look. “I have a good Christmas story.�� His eyes never left yours and the way he was looking at you was so intimate that you couldn’t help the fact that your cheeks flushed red. “It’s about the first Christmas Mommy and I spent together.”

“Really? That must have been so long ago! Like a hundred and ten years!” You giggled at Peter as he grabbed Kiro’s hand and hugged it to him. Ever since he was younger than Edie he had fallen asleep cuddling his daddy’s hand. Even going on eight years old he still did it every night and Kiro was all too happy to oblige.

“Once upon a time, a hundred and ten years ago, Mommy and Daddy had planned on celebrating Christmas together. It was before we got married, and Mommy didn’t even know I loved her back then! But, Savin had called me and told me I had to work on Christmas--”

“Savin’s always ruining our fun!” Peter interjected, opening one eye to gauge both yours and Kiro’s reactions.

“Peter, hush! Let Daddy tell the story!” You covered up your laugh with your hand as you told him as much.

“Anyways, Savin told me I had to work on Christmas! And I was so sad because I had this whole elaborate Christmas present set up for Mommy and I couldn’t give it to her since I had to go to the studio.” Kiro smiled down adoringly at Peter as he snuggled into his hand more. “So even though I couldn’t give her the gift the way I wanted, I still planned out a way to have her get it.”

You leaned your head on Kiro’s shoulder, smiling at the memories as you continued the story. “Daddy sent me on a huge scavenger hunt, all over Loveland City and at each spot was another little present wrapped for me. There was a new scarf, since I had lost my old one when I was out with Daddy one time, there was some hot chocolate mix with marshmallows that he had promised we would make together sometime, and the final destination was the recording studio. I showed up and was so nervous! Savin was so mad at me for interrupting!”

“You were nervous? I could never tell, you just marched in there like you owned the place! Meanwhile, I was in the recording booth sweating buckets!” You thought back to that night, where you found a tired and overworked Kiro sat on a stool and crooning his newest song into the mic. His hair was sticky and wet against his forehead and he looked exhausted, but as soon as you walked in, his face lit up and that smile that made your insides gooey settled on his face.

“You really were! I remember seeing you and thinking you had just showered!” You laughed, nudging his side and making Kiro squeal before you covered his mouth with your hand and peered over at Edie, grateful that she slept through the noise.

Kiro turned to Peter, ready to tell the next part but instead found Peter fast asleep, his previous iron tight grip on Kiro’s hand now loose enough that Kiro could easily wriggle out of his hold. Silently standing up, Kiro stretched out his hand and you took it. He pulled you up and into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. “I love you, thank you.”

Pulling your head away from resting on his heart, you looked up at him quizzically. “Whatever are you thanking me for?”

“For giving me a home, a family. I’ve never felt like I had any of that before I met you.” Kiro brushed his lips against your forehead. “You gave me a safe place to be completely myself, and two wonderful children and I will forever be indebted to you.”

“Then I must thank you for the exact same reason.” You replied, raising up on your tippy toes. Just as you were about to press your lips to Kiro’s, Peter shifted in his sleep and you paused, putting your hand to Kiro’s lips instead. “We should get out of here.” You whispered and without responding, Kiro grabbed your hand and pulled you out of Peter and Edie’s shared room.

You quietly closed the door and once you turned around, Kiro pressed you against the wall, his lips meeting yours in a sweet kiss. “Happy anniversary.”

Smiling against his lips before pressing another lingering kiss, you responded. “Happy anniversary I love you.”

Kiro released his hold on your hips to cradle your face in his hands, like you were fine china and if he held you too tightly you’d break. He used to hold you as tight as he could, almost afraid if he didn’t keep his hold that you’d vanish from his grip. Now, after years of holding you tightly, he still held you with as much love and affection, he just wasn’t afraid you’d disappear anymore.

“I love you more than I can even express.” Kiro said sincerely, each word broken up by a kiss pressed to your forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and eventually your lips. “I could stay here forever, or even take you into our bedroom and show you just how much I love you, but we’ve got to play Santa for a little bit.”

You released your grip on Kiro and he dropped his hands, his cerulean eyes still light with the boyish excitement that you came to love when you first met him. “You go on and grab the gifts, I’ll go down and start on the milk and cookies!”

“You better save some for me, Miss Chips! Or else you’ll have to face the wrath of the tickle monster!” Kiro’s long fingers prodded your side, as if to prove his point, and you squirmed out of his reach, ready to bolt down the stairs.

“Better be quick then!” You teased and Kiro saluted you before turning and quickly making his way to your shared bedroom, where all the other gifts were stowed away.

You made your way down the steps and over to the beat up coffee table that had a glass of milk with a plate of two cookies sitting in the center. You picked up the gingerbread man with pink clothes, the one you and Edie had decorated together, and broke off it’s arm, popping the delicious treat in your mouth.

“Nooo! Don’t eat me!” Kiro’s voice, raised an octave and a half, called out softly behind you and you turned to face him, trying to hide your smile as you giggled. “Was I at least delicious?” He asked in the same voice and this time you did laugh out loud. Kiro’s whole face lit up into a gorgeous smile as he heard your laugh.

“Very,” you replied before setting down your cookie. Pressing a kiss to Kiro’s cheek, you stood up and grabbed some of the presents he was juggling in his hands, arranging them nicely around the tree. As Kiro knelt on the other side of the tree, you took the time to study him.

After retiring from his career as an idol, Kiro had put on a few pounds because of his love for sweets. His hair had grown out a bit as well, but every time you looked at him, all you could see was the 22 year old you fell in love with. His boyish charm, his cheekiness, and his vulnerabilities. That’s what made him the man you loved and those things would never change even if his physical appearance might have.

“Can I ask you something?” Kiro’s hand faltered as you said that and he pulled his hand back from trying to rearrange the presents under the tree. He nodded for you to continue. “On Christmas Eve, all those years ago, did you ever think things would end up like this?”

Kiro motioned for you to come closer to him and you crawled over before settling yourself on his lap. “Honestly, I hoped it would. We’d been friends for so long and I fell so in love with you in that time. But also knew that you had 3 other guys completely head over heels for you and… they could all give you a lot more than I could have back then. But, it didn’t stop me from daydreaming about what being with you would be like. There was a time where you consumed my thoughts, day and night.” He kissed your temple, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. “What about you?”

“I was dying to tell you just how I felt, how in love with you I was. My plan was to tell you that night when I walked into the recording studio, you just beat me to it.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that part before.” Kiro reached over and grabbed a blanket that was sitting on the couch and pulled it over the two of you, cocooning you in the heat. “No matter what we thought would happen back then, I’m glad life’s ended up this way.”

You hummed in agreement, leaning back against Kiro and taking in that green apple scent that’s become so comforting to you, you both sat in the peace and quiet, watching the light snowfall sprinkle down over Loveland City.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Kiro’s hands rubbed up and down your sides, pulling you from your slumber-like state. “I have a present for you, if you want it?”

“Did I fall asleep?” You stretched out, starting to get off Kiro’s lap. His arms tightened around you. “Isn’t your lap numb by now?”

“I’ll take a numb lap with you in it any day over a normal lap without you in my arms.” Kiro reached over and grabbed a small box under the tree. “Anyways, present?”

He offered the small box to you and you took it, raising your eyebrow at Kiro before lifting the lid off the box. Inside was a gorgeous charm bracelet, adorned with a microphone, teddy bear, sunflower, baby bottle, and space to add on more later on. “Kiro…”

“I was going to give this to you 12 years ago, but I chickened out. So, I added on the baby bottle this year to signify our two little monsters sleeping upstairs. Every year from now on, I want to get you a new charm until the whole thing is filled.” Kiro spoke as he unclasped the bracelet and secured it around your wrist. His baby blue eyes met yours, so full of love and honesty in that moment. “Do you like it?”

“Kiro… I love it. Each charm means so much to me. I still remember that day we ran around Loveland City, you in a bear costume. I remember thinking that if I could do that with you forever, I’d be the happiest girl alive!”

“Or the day we laid in the sunflower field and watched the clouds for hours! When you fell asleep, I could only think about seeing your sleeping face next to me forever.”

“Looks like we both got our wish.” You leaned over and kissed him and then gestured to the big box next to him. “Okay, open mine!”

Kiro’s impish grin sent the butterflies into a whirlwind in your stomach. He tore at the wrapping paper, much like how Peter and Edie had done a bit earlier. Once he had uncovered the box, Kiro’s mouth dropped open and he stopped to look at you. “You didn’t!”

“I did!” You exclaimed. “I wasn’t sure which games you’d like, but I’ll buy you a few for Christmas if you pick out which ones you want.”

Kiro set the new gaming system aside and hugged you tightly, his bright blond hair brushing against your cheeks which in turn made you giggle. “I love you so much! Thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Now, we should be getting to bed soon. Tomorrow will be a busy day and Edie and Peter will be up before the sun’s even out.” Kiro in turn held out his hand to you and led you to your shared bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, both of you were asleep before you could even say your goodnights.

“Mommy!” Peter bounded into your room, jumping on top of your bed. You heard an ‘oof’ from Kiro next to you. “Santa came!”

“Oh, did he?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. “We have to go check and see what he brought you. How about you and Daddy head down and I’ll grab Edie.” Peter agreed, poking at his father’s cheek and you laughed at the whine that came from Kiro.

When you had reached the bedroom, Edie was sitting up in her bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Santa come?”

“Yes hun, Santa came last night! We have to go see what he brought you!” Edie clung to your neck and sighed out. “Uncle Victor, Uncle Gavin, and Uncle Lucien are coming over later. They’re bringing you presents too!”

“Uncle Gav Gav?” Edie immediately perked up. Ever since she was aware of her surroundings, she had favored Gavin greatly. He always accepted her relentless love with open arms too.

You carried her down the stairs where you already found Peter sitting in the middle of a pile of wrapping paper, some new toy cars surrounding him as well as a new Nintendo Switch. He’d been asking for one for a while now and you and Kiro had agreed that he’d been exceptionally good this year and deserved it. “Mommy, look what Santa brought!”

“Wow Peter! Look at that! You and Daddy will have to set it up later!” You raised your eyebrow at Kiro and he nodded in agreement. “Edie! Look, you’ve got two presents from Santa!”

Edie squealed in delight and you set her down and watched her toddle over to her first box. Peter helped her unwrap it and she gasped when she saw what was inside. “Baby!”

“Yes! You got a little babydoll!” Kiro cooed, picking her up and kissing her on the cheek. As she moved to open the other one, there was a knock on the front door. You got up to open it, brushing a hand over Peter’s head as you passed him. When you reached the door and opened it, your mouth dropped.

Standing in front of you was Victor, fully dressed in a Santa suit with an obscene amount of presents in a huge bag hung over his shoulder. “Victor… you’re here early.”

“I knew the kids were going to be up as early as they could and I wanted to be the first one to get here so they knew I was the best uncle.” You laughed and opened the door for Victor to come in and as soon as he stomped the snow off his boots, he was bombarded by Peter yelling his name and attacking him in a hug. “Hi there bud, I brought presents!”

“You’re the best, Uncle Victor! Thank you!” Peter said, stroking the velvety fabric of Victor’s Santa suit. “Why are you dressed as Santa? He already came last night.”

“I thought it’d be fun!” Victor smirked at the young boy, ruffling his dark hair. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s a little weird…. But you brought presents so it’s okay!” Peter took hold of Victor’s hand and led him to the living room. You followed the pair and sat down next to Kiro on the couch. His arm went around your shoulders and your head fell against his. As you watched Victor spoil your children rotten, you found yourself drifting off, exhausted from all the Christmas craziness.

You awoke later when Gavin and Lucien let themselves in. Edie was in Kiro’s lap, snacking on some string cheese and Peter was on the floor in front of the TV playing with the Switch that Kiro or Victor must have helped set up.

“I told you not to dress in a Santa suit.” Lucien said to Gavin, gesturing at Victor. “Now you just look dumb.”

“Oh yeah,” you joked. “It’s because he’s matching with Victor that he looks dumb, not because he’s wearing a Santa suit.”

“Joke all you want!” Gavin grumbled. “I’m not the one who screamed like a girl on the back of a motorcycle today.”

You looked at Lucien, one eyebrow raised in a question. “In my defense, I thought as a police officer, you were supposed to follow the speed limit laws. My mistake though, since we went 80 in a 30 miles per hour zone.”

“Well I had to get here in record time to see my sweet little girl.” Edie had been making grabby hands at Gavin since he walked in and since then has resorted to screaming his name over and over again. “Isn’t that right, pumpkin?” Gavin picked her up out of Kiro’s lap and walked her to the tree, talking about all the different types of ornaments hung on it.

As Gavin entertained Edie, Lucien made his way to Peter and sat down. “What are you playing?”

“Santa brought me this! I’m playing Smash Bros. Do you want to play?” Peter offered the second remote to Lucien and you smiled as he calmly explained all the controls and how to play the game.

“You look happy,” Victor noted as he sat on the couch next to you. He shrugged off the velvet jacket he was wearing and revealed the plain white tee underneath.

“I was just thinking about how much I love this little family, despite how dysfunctional it may be.” You responded, pulling your eyes away from your son and Lucien to watch Gavin with Edie. “It’s not perfect, but it’s perfectly ours.”

Kiro gripped your hand as you said that and you turned your head to look at Victor. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Everyone responded in kind and you sat back into the couch, snuggling into Kiro’s side. You touched the bear charm on your new bracelet and smiled to yourself before returning back to watching Lucien and Gavin with your children.

Your Christmas wasn’t a normal family Christmas, but nothing about your life had been completely normal. All that mattered on this day was that you were with the people you loved the most, and that was worth more than anything you could ask for.

#Kiro #mlqc kiro #kiro fanfic #mr love queen's choice kiro #kiro mldd #kiro x mc #mlqc kiro x mc #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #love and producer fanfic #love and producer kiro #mldd fanfic

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virtueangel · 4 years

Text

limitless.

chapter seven.

wc: 2,313. original publish date: october 12, 2020.

Four-thirty-five looks like every other freeway exit in all of America. JFK pushes firmly down on the brake as the car rolls up to the white line of the intersection. There is a green sign next to the road, and oddly enough, Marshtown is marked in metallic white lettering at the bottom. Printed next to the town name is a right-turn arrow, and even smaller next to that is the number five.

"Five miles," John F. Kennedy says, grinning.

Vincent can't help smiling either. He can still feel JFK's arms wrapped around his torso and the way his chin rested on the taller boy's shoulder. "We're getting close."

"Think it'll be worth it?" John asks, glancing at his passenger.

Van Gogh shrugs. "I sure hope so."

"We've spent all this time romanticising it..." Kennedy starts.

Both boys turn to each other, giddy smiles still plastered across their faces. "Wanna do it some more?" They say in unison, breaking out into boyish giggles afterward.

"God..." Vincent mutters.

"Hm?" John hums as the light turns green. He accelerates.

"I feel like we're little kids again," he says in a sad voice, but the smile is still taught across his lips and Kennedy doesn't know which look to meet his gaze with.

"We were pretty fucking awesome as kids," he tries.

This earns him a grin from Van Gogh. Score. "Yeah. I was cool back then."

John knocks his best friend's arm playfully. "You're still cool, Minivan."

Van Gogh covers his eyes with his hand, mock repulsion surfing the waves of his voice. "God, don't remind me of that nickname!"

"Hey! I might've meant to antagonise you back then, but I promise you: I've changed."

Vincent shakes his head, but he can't help smiling. His cheeks are starting to ache, but his happiness is genuine. "Oh, I know you have. That little five-year-old didn't know how to -- how do you put it? -- 'bang the sweeties'."

Kennedy laughs. "Oh, believe me -- he did."

The car goes silent as the sky fills with fog. It's thick and grey and the windows of the shiny red convertible are already starting to precipitate. Vincent zips his letterman jacket all the way up and tucks his chin into the collar, the cold already starting to set in. Even John has to admit that his knuckles clamp up and go a little white against the steering wheel.

"We must be getting close," Vincent says. The sky hadn't been blue for the earlier part of their drive by any means, but even the clouds that hung in the sky let the faintest bit of sunlight filter through. Now there is a dense blanket of moisture blocking the rays from view.

John goes quiet, suddenly wishing they'd planned the trip. He worries that he'll get in another fight with Van Gogh over where to sleep or how they'll keep themselves entertained in this town that they know next to nothing about. They aren't even sure if it has a marsh or not. But most of all, he fears that Vincent will get cold in the fog or the air will be too wet for him to draw. Part of the reason Kennedy had even vouched for this trip was so that the boy would have a lot of inspiration to paint or sketch or read or write, because above all, John loves his best friend's poetry. But he doesn't know how to tell the boy any of that.

Van Gogh looks across the car as Kennedy starts to drive more defensively, and his brow furrows; not in disgust, but in worry. He notices the boy's white knuckles and the way he grips the steering wheel like he's trying to strangle it. He reaches out and places a hand on his best friend's forearm, rubbing him through the sleeve of his jacket slowly and comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

John swallows. "Sorry. Nothing, sorry. Don't worry. I'm okay."

Van Gogh's worried gaze lingers. "Are you sure?"

Kennedy gives his best friend a smile and a nod, but the motion is only half convincing. Vincent sighs and turns away anyway, not sure if he's allowed to push.

A couple seconds of silence pass before Kennedy requests timidly, "Can you, uh, keep doing that? With your hand, on my arm? It feels kinda nice." He laughs at himself sheepishly.

Van Gogh smiles to himself and obliges, happy to keep touching the boy. Er, uh, that came out wrong! He thinks. I'm just doing a good thing for him. Just trying to calm him down. He banishes the first thought, convincing himself that this is an uncomplicated act of kindness that he's doing for his best friend. He'd do anything for Kennedy, right?

Vincent stops rubbing the boy's arm and squeezes instead. With a gasp, he points out the windshield. "John, look!"

In front of them is the Marshtown sign, a yellowish-beige rectangle with dark green trim and text. It's an ugly sign, Van Gogh has to admit; especially from an artist's perspective. It's dilapidated and sinking into the ground, parts of some of the letters missing and splintering. The population number has been knocked off but the word "population" itself is still intact. There is no "welcome" or cheesy slogan. The boys can barely see the road beyond the sign, because the fog seems to have thickened since entering the town.

"Vincent, it's-"

Both boys stare into the fog, jaws dropped and pupils dilated. They are at a loss for words and almost a loss for breath. The road turns into a bridge, and on either side is a marsh, wet and gooey with coarse grass shooting out of it in various locations. The cement is covered in puddles and John slows down the car to ten miles per hour, squinting to see through the fog.

Beyond the marsh is a town. Not much of one, but it's there nonetheless. Every building and house is falling apart -- some are burned down to the foundation, others are missing doors and windows and from what Van Gogh can see, some of them are without floors as well. There is a dense ring of pine trees around the houses and they seem to stretch forever, but then again, John and Vincent have limited vision due to the intrusive fog. Each house looks different, and not just the way they're destroyed; the floor plans are unique, with different finishes and dimensions.

To their left is a general store. It's more intact than most of the houses, but its door is hanging off the hinges and there's a gaping hole in the middle of the wooden stoop. There's a sign on the door, flipped to the "open" side. Van Gogh wonders if some teenager had come by to flip it in their day of mischief or if there's someone in this ghost town to manage the shop.

With all of its lichened and weathered wood, Marshtown looks like a summer camp location. Neither John nor Vincent had spent their summers shipped off into the arms of overenthusiastic counsellors to go swimming and hiking, but they've seen enough cliché coming-of-age movies to know what a good old fashioned American summer camp experience should look like.

"I love it," Van Gogh blurts, eyes fixed out the window.

Kennedy grins. "It's incredible."

Vincent turns away from the limited outside view to look at his best friend's side profile. "I want to live here."

John's smile widens. "Okay."

"No, I mean it."

"I know you do," he meets Vincent's glare. "I do too."

Both boys seem to realise at the same time that Van Gogh is still gripping the taller boy's arm, and he lowers his hand sheepishly without a word.

"Do you think anyone still lives here?"

JFK squints at the houses, looking for cars or intact doors. "No," he concludes.

Van Gogh smiles to himself. "So we've got the whole place to ourselves, huh?"

Kennedy's stomach somersaults and his breath catches in his throat, his jaw suddenly going slack. "It would appear so," he swallows.

Vincent doesn't seem to register the boy's off-kilter tone. "Ooh, you know what?"

"Hm?"

"We should locate the creepiest house and stay in it."

Kennedy chuckles. "Vincent, some of the houses don't even have roofs."

"Perfect for stargazing."

JFK laughs even harder. "We can barely see six feet ahead of us!"

"So we'll pretend. Make up our own constellations."

Kennedy and Van Gogh make eye contact, and the shorter boy's deep brown gaze burrows itself into JFK's soul. He feels it snaking around his heart and making its home in his stomach. His cheeks seem to smile themselves.

"Okay. I'll play along."

Van Gogh leans back in his seat, satisfied. His hands shake, and he can't tell if it's due to nervousness or excitement. They are, after all, the same emotion -- the only difference is how they're interpreted by the subconscious.

"Try that one," he says after a couple minutes, pointing to a two-story Spanish style house finished in yellow stucco. It stands out from all the other developments, and not just because of the material it's made out of. It's almost perfectly intact, complete with a bay window and a second-floor balcony. It has a few imperfections, probably due to lack of maintenance. There are deep cracks carved into the outer walls and the paint on the door is chipping. Some of the upstairs windows have shatters blossoming in them, fanning out across the glass like spiderwebs. Van Gogh knows this is the right place to stay.

Kennedy redirects the car off the road and into the driveway of the house. The lawn is splotchy and has more mud and puddles than grass. The plants that actually grow there are clearly invasive: coarse wheat-like sprouts and greying succulents. The succulents are definitely artificial -- Van Gogh knows nothing of the sort could prosper on marshland.

"Why this one?" Kennedy asks, just for the sake of conversation. He parks the car in the driveway and slides the keys out of the ignition. He unbuckles his seatbelt, but makes no move to exit the car. He sits back in his seat, moving his feet away from the pedals and turning his knees toward Van Gogh. The shorter boy unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his own knees toward the driver, his letterman jacket still zipped snugly up to his neck.

"Because it looks special."

"You can do better than that."

Vincent sighs and looks away from Kennedy, thinking about his answer and choosing words from his lexicon wisely. "It looks like a home and not just a house."

"But you don't know anything about it," JFK challenges, and he wonders if he's crossed the line into the asshole realm.

Van Gogh smiles, thankfully amused by the comment instead of annoyed. "Let me tell you something, John: when you're an artist, you start to look at everything like a piece of art. It kind of sucks sometimes. I can't read books without thinking about the edits I'd give to the author. It ruins the fun a little bit."

JFK reaches out, not quite sure what he's intending to do with his outstretched arm. He lays a palm on Vincent's shoulder awkwardly, guessing he's in too deep to retreat his arm without any contact at all. "But I like the way your artist brain works," he says, and it feels like an admission instead of a conversation volley.

Vincent smiles down at his lap, flattered. When he looks back up at Kennedy, he can see that his best friend's cheeks are pink. "I want to know this house's story," he adds.

Kennedy smiles affectionately, staring down at the boy with soft eyes. "So what are you waiting for?"

Vincent opens his car door, and immediately the thick fog wets his tongue. He opens his mouth, half expecting a snowflake to dance down from the sky and land in his mouth. But while it's dark and gloomy here in Marshtown, it isn't April winter like it is in Exclamation!. For a fraction of a second, he misses the city's name on his mind. He shoves the thought away, hoping it will dissolve on its own.

JFK and Van Gogh walk up the driveway to the house side by side. They climb the three brick steps to the porch in unison, John slowing down for Vincent the way he always does. He sneaks a glance at his best friend, still staring at him with the same cloudy eyes.

"Oh, shit, moment of truth," Van Gogh says, taking the door handle in his hand. He looks back at his best friend, who is standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis.

"What do we do if it's locked?" Kennedy asks, which he knows is a stupid question.

Vincent shrugs, but there's no disappointment or angst frozen behind his features. "We'll find out." He squeezes down on the handle and the mechanism clicks. He slowly pushes the door open, suddenly worried there will be someone inside.

The first room in the house is the kitchen, a beige tiled floor meeting his shoes as Vincent steps inside. To his pleasant surprise, there's no grime crusted into the tiling, no spider nests burrowed into the corners of the room. Grey, foggy light spills in from the bay window, washing the room a drowsy white. Everything seems to shine, even in the permanent dreariness of Marshtown.

"You were right, Vincent," Kennedy says, and he doesn't need to see the rest of the house to know it's true.

Vincent turns around to face the boy, a genuine smile sitting lazily across his lips. "Haven't you learned not to doubt me?"

John steps forward and wraps his best friend in a hug, resting his chin on Vincent's head without a second thought. "I'm still learning, Minivan."

Into his chest, Van Gogh mumbles, "I hate it when you call me that."

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #clone high reboot

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erics-meep-morps · 4 years

Text

An Imperfect Christmas Eve

A very cheesy self-ship Christmas fic with Lapis and Peridot. If you manage to read all of it then I hope you enjoy! But even if you just read parts of it I hope you still enjoy it.

Our plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were planned out, and while both days would be busy we would have relaxation time at home on Christmas Eve night before heading to Beach City in the morning to visit Lapis and Peridot’s friends and family. Technically they didn’t have family, but they considered Steven and the Crystal Gems to be family.

We had already bought gifts for each other so at least we didn’t have to worry about that. I got Lapis a fancy pool float so she could sit back and relax on the lake that’s next to our house. For Peridot I got a nail gun, which may seem odd but she had talked about wanting to get one for some of her projects.

Lapis and Peridot were still soundly asleep when I woke up on Christmas Eve morning. I carefully got out of bed to start making my breakfast, which was going to be french toast. However, when I opened the bag of bread there were many spots of mold on it. Disappointed that there would be no french toast and I wasted bread, I threw it in the garbage and looked for something else to eat. Everything I found was average instead of something special for a Christmas Eve breakfast, and I settled on cereal.

“Good morning,” Lapis said as she walked into the kitchen. “Weren’t you planning to have something different for your breakfast?”

“Yeah, french toast, but the bread got moldy,” I said in disappointment.

“Aw, that sucks. Well, I’m sure lunch and dinner will be much better.”

A few minutes later Peridot was awake. “So what’s the plan for today,” Peridot asked as she rubbed her eyes.

“Take the train into the city in about an hour, and then we’ll spend as much time as we want exploring the holiday market in downtown,” I replied.

“Sounds good,” Peridot said with a thumbs up.

After my small breakfast and all of us getting ready for the day, we headed to the train station. Lapis and Peridot rarely rode the train since they could fly, but when they did join me on the train it was always nice. While it was slightly chilly outside at least the sun was out.

Fifteen minutes later we got to the station, and the train would be coming in around five minutes. It was surprisingly quiet, and I realized there were no other people on the platform. Obviously there wouldn’t be any commuters on Christmas Eve, but I figured a decent number of people would also be taking the train to downtown for the festivities.

We waited for five minutes and there was no train. Ten minutes passed and still no train. After twenty minutes of waiting I knew something wasn’t right. I noticed a small piece of paper taped to a pole and looked at it. Turns out they were running on a different schedule for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and the next train wouldn’t be here for a couple hours. I sighed and told Lapis and Peridot, and there was agreement to just fly to the city instead. Peridot got on Lapis’s back and Lapis cradled me in her arms.

There was a breeze that made it a lot cooler flying through the air, and I shivered in Lapis’s arms.

“Doing okay,” Lapis asked with slight concern in her voice.

“Y- yep,” I replied simply with a shiver in my tone.

“We’re almost there,” Lapis assured me since she knew I was actually freezing.

I made a mental note to wear more layers when we headed to Beach City since Lapis would be carrying me there and the trip takes a few hours.

When we arrived in the city there was a hustle and bustle of holiday themed activities going on. The holiday market spanned several blocks with many little outdoor shops selling various foods, drinks, and goodies. The three of us each had $40 to get whatever we wanted.

“Try not to spend all your money in one place,” Lapis said to us half jokingly.

“No promises,” I replied with a chuckle.

We began our journey through the big holiday market and looked around at the various shops. A lot of it was touristy, but since it was only once a year even the locals were partaking in it. As we walked around we held hands with Lapis being in the middle.

Not long after we started I was getting hungry, and I wanted to go to the shop that sold goulash in a bread bowl. I tried it last year and it was quite good, and it reminded me of my trip to Budapest several years ago.

I remembered where the shop was located, but when we got there it was a different shop. Instead of making goulash they were selling scented candles.

“If you’re looking for the goulash, they aren’t doing it this year,” a random person said as they walked by me.

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” I said in a disappointed tone.

We continued looking around, and while there were a lot of food shops, none of them got my interest for something I wanted to have as Christmas Eve lunch. Eventually I got to the point where my stomach was growling and I needed to eat something. I settled on a shop selling British food, and bought myself fish and chips. I’ve had fish and chips many times before and always loved it, but this time it wasn’t that good. The fish was already cold and it had a weird taste to it. The chips (fries) weren’t much better, as they were also cold as well as soggy. On the bright side I wasn’t hungry anymore, but it was definitely not worth the $10 I spent on it.

“How’s the food,” Lapis asked.

“It’s... not the best to be honest,” I replied.

“Hm, well there’s always dinner. If needed we can pool our money together so you can get something fancy,” Lapis suggested.

“Well hopefully I won’t need to borrow money from you two, but I appreciate the offer,” I said.

I followed Lapis and Peridot to a few shops that were selling art stuff, and Lapis bought a small art kit. Meanwhile Peridot inspected the different art and I could tell she considered her and Lapis’s meep morps to be superior.

Since it was winter it didn’t take long for the sun to begin setting. Besides the fish and chips and the art kit we hadn’t spent any money, but of course we weren’t obligated to spend all of it that day. However, since I had a lot of money left I decided to get something fancy for dinner to make up for the disappointing breakfast and lunch.

As the sun set it became slightly cooler to the point where I was shivering again, so I didn’t want to spend too much time looking for dinner. I preferred getting something from one of the small shops, but decided on an Italian restaurant since I wanted to be warm as I was enjoying dinner. However, this restaurant ended up being too fancy for us, as the host pointed out there was a dress code. All three of us were wearing winter jackets and our regular clothes underneath, so we awkwardly turned around and left.

“Clods,” Peridot said.

“We saved the world and all they care about is a dress code,” Lapis muttered.

“Well I think I’m ready to head home, if that’s okay with you two,” I said, feeling slightly unsatisfied about the holiday market.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Are you ready Peridot,” Lapis asked.

Peridot nodded, and Lapis took off for home. This time Lapis held me closer to her to try to keep me warm. I appreciated her trying, and it felt comforting but with no sun and a breeze I couldn’t help but shiver.

After getting home we turned on the fireplace, settled on the couch cuddled up together, and watched random shows that we were interested in even though they weren’t necessarily holiday themed. My dinner ended up being a sandwich, but I also brought out my favorite wine and had a few glasses. Peridot didn’t drink, or eat for that matter, but Lapis had a glass with me.

Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating and looked to see who it was. Seeing that it was Steven on FaceTime, I answered and all three of us greeted him.

“Hey guys! How was your day,” Steven asked.

“It was pretty good,” Lapis responded enthusiastically.

“That’s good! Were you guys still planning on coming here tomorrow?”

“Uhh, yeah, why,” Lapis asked.

“Well there’s supposed to be a blizzard starting in the early morning and they’re predicting it’ll last all day.”

“Oh, I thought it was only supposed to be very light flurries,” I pointed out.

“The forecast just changed. The blizzard that was supposed to miss Delmarva is now supposed to head straight for us,” Steven said.

“Hmm, so I’m guessing trying to fly in that would be a bad idea,” Lapis said.

“Yeah, probably. We’ll just have to get together and exchange gifts some other time. I’m sure soon,” Steven said.

“Sounds good buddy. Merry Christmas to you and the gems,” Lapis said with a smile.

“Merry Christmas to you as well,” Steven said and smiled and waved.

“Wait Steven! One more thing before you sign off of your communication device,” Peridot said hastily.

Steven chuckled. “Yes Peridot?”

“We love you,” Peridot said with a big smile.

“Awww, I love you guys too. Catch you later,” Steven replied and hung up.

Everyone has one of those days where nothing seems to go right, and unfortunately for me that happened to be on Christmas Eve.

“Well since we can’t go to Beach City tomorrow, want to just open the gifts we gave each other now,” Lapis asked.

“Sure! It’s not like there’s a law we have to open them on Christmas Day,” Peridot said.

We didn’t have a lot of Christmas decorations in the house, and that included the tree, which was just a small plastic Christmas tree I’ve had since I was a kid.

I searched for the gifts we got each other since several of them were supposed to be for Steven and the gems in Beach City.

“You two can open your presents first,” I said. Each present for Lapis had a blue ribbon while the presents for Peridot had a green ribbon. Lapis opened her gift from Peridot first, which was a hooded sweater.

“You always like taking Eric’s hoodie so now you have your own,” Peridot said with a giggle.

Lapis snort laughed. “I love it.”

Next Peridot opened her gift from Lapis, which were gardening gloves. “Now your hands won’t get dirty and gross after working in the garden,” Lapis said with a chuckle.

“Hm, coverings for my touch stumps. I like them! Thank you Lapis.”

Then they opened their gifts from me. For Lapis it was the fancy pool float that she could use on the lake, and for Peridot the nail gun.

“Ohhh, I love it Eric! But how does it turn into a chair when it’s in this small box,” Lapis asked.

“Oh, you just have to inflate it,” I explained. We opened it from the box and I tried inflating it, though it was a bit of a challenge. After blowing air into it for awhile it seemed like it wasn’t inflating at all.

“Well that’s strange,” I said and inspected it. Something caught my eye on the material and I looked closer. There was a tiny cut in it, so it was never going to inflate. Upon finding that I sighed deeply. “Well, there’s a cut in it, so I need to get a new one,” I said in a disappointed tone.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lapis said with a slight frown. “Well I still really appreciate it, and I’ll definitely use it a lot when we get one that works.”

Upon Peridot opening her gift that was the nail gun she didn’t seem very excited. “Oops, I uhh, should’ve told you I already bought a nail gun. But I still really like it! Now I have a spare just in case,” Peridot said and did her best to show that she appreciated it.

Once again I deeply sighed and facepalmed. “This is... definitely not my day,” I said in a defeated tone and sat on the couch.

Lapis and Peridot sat beside me on the couch and hugged me. “You still haven’t opened your present,” Lapis mentioned with a smile and got up to get it.

“I hope you don’t mind that this present is from both Lapis and me,” Peridot said.

Moments later Lapis came back with a tiny box in her hand and sat down next to Peridot, and both of them faced me. “Peridot and I have known each other for a long time, but we’ve also known you for awhile too. We’ve talked with some of the gems and Steven about relationships, like how they develop and how strong and healthy relationships get through challenges in life. Some days are bad, but the majority of them are good and that definitely applies to our relationship with you, and well... we were thinking...,” Lapis said with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Let’s get married!” Peridot blurted out.

My jaw dropped and it felt like my heart just did a few flips.

Lapis opened the tiny box and inside were three rings.

“If you want to get married that is. We don’t fully understand it, but we know it’s a tradition between humans who are very close, and in Garnet’s case two gems who are very close,” Peridot said.

“We were going to wait for tomorrow, but decided now was the best time to ask,” Lapis said with a comforting smile.

I was still in shock, and all the inconveniences of the day disappeared from my mind. When I was able to finally collect myself I gave a deep breath and hugged them tightly. “Yes,” is all I could say and tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Oh no, are you sad,” Lapis asked with concern.

I took another deep breath. “I’m okay, I promise these are happy tears. I’m just so overwhelmed with emotions. I love you two so much and I would absolutely love to get married,” I said while still holding them tight.

Lapis and Peridot started to get teary eyed and returned the tight hug. “We love you too,” they both said at the same time.

It was a very emotional evening that lasted awhile with us holding each other tight, and then it became a long conversation about how far we’ve come in our relationship. With a day filled with imperfections, it ended up being the best Christmas Eve I ever had.

#lapis lazuli #peridot #self-ship #fanfic #christmas #holidays #steven universe

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takingcourage · 4 years

Text

The Best of the Best

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 2,950

Summary: Kellen decides it’s high time to treat Cassian to some of the finer things in life.

Note: This is one of those fics that’s no longer relevant to the plot, but has been taking up space in my drafts for ages and needs to be booted out for the sake of my sanity. I guess it’s set somewhere before chapter 12? Regardless, it features some backstory and a more gradual recognition of feelings than the one we got in canon.

Craning his neck, Cassian tried to catch a glimpse his of collar in the bathroom mirror. Still brushing his teeth with his right hand, he snaked his left behind him to smooth the wrinkle that bent the structured band. His hair would likely disguise any such imperfections, but that didn’t matter. It was the principle of the thing.

This was the first evening he and Kellen had gone out since their arrival in Nantucket, and he wasn’t going to do it halfway.

He completed a final lap across his teeth and spit into the sink. Once finished, he rinsed off the brush and laid it in his toiletry bag. Drawing back his hand, his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. The footsteps coming from the bedroom had become sharper -- more pronounced.

Kellen had put on her shoes.

It won’t be long now, he reasoned, taking one last look at his appearance in the bathroom mirror. His hair still looked a little windblown from the hours he’d spent working on the outside of the cottage, but the helmet would soon negate any efforts he made to improve it. He made a note to double-check his teeth, then realized his mouth was already open from smiling.

It wasn’t the first time something similar had happened over the last few weeks. Living with Kellen had been more enjoyable than even his wildest expectations might have predicted.

Cassian heard the click of heels on the stairs seconds before she appeared in the open doorway.

“Please ignore the fact that you’ve already seen me in this dress. If we were back in Boston, I’d have a whole closet of them to pick from, but, you know...”

He couldn’t help laughing at her nonchalant shrug. “This one suits you. You could wear it every day and you’d never hear me complain. You look gorgeous.”

It had been over a month since they’d locked eyes on that rooftop in Boston, but he still had to do a double take every once in a while. Tonight, with her dark berry lipstick and her hair styled into a low bun, Kellen was positively enchanting.

She dressed up for me.

He knew it wasn’t quite true, but that didn’t stop the pleasure from swelling his chest at the notion. For the thousandth time in the last five weeks, he tried to censure himself -- an increasingly difficult task where she was concerned.

“You're making me feel underdressed, if I’m honest,” he continued, hoping his mind would accompany the words instead of remaining stuck on her appearance. “What is this about, anyway?”

“You look perfect.” She pinched the point of his collar between her fingers and gave him an appreciative once over. “And I’m taking you out to dinner: that’s all you need to know,” she challenged, sapphire eyes blazing.

Cassian’s mouth went dry as she released her hold. “Have you forgotten that I’ll be the one driving us to this surprise? I’ll need to know eventually.”

“I’ll give you directions as we go. It’ll be more fun.”

Forehead against the doorjamb, he let out a groan of apprehension. “I thought we decided you weren’t going to do that again.” Her methods of giving directions from the back of a Vespa were very...creative.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”

A quiet cough was enough to call her bluff.

“Mostly.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She answered the accusation with a cheeky smile before her eyes fell on the stovetop clock. “Our reservation is for 6:30. We’d better get moving.”

Slipping the keys from his pocket, he motioned toward the door. “I’ll follow you,” he promised, resigning himself to a very long ride into town.

_____

“What is this really about?” He asked a second time, some half-hour later. Leaning back in his chair, he tried to perform a scan of the restaurant’s other occupants, but his eyes kept landing back on Kellen.

Candlelight danced on her skin as she pondered his question. If he hadn’t been so intent on hearing her response, he could have easily become lost in the sight of her. The beauty mark on her collarbone, the way the light caught on the dainty line of her chin, the flush of pink still on her cheeks from the ride over... He watched the shadow cross her perfect lips as they parted to answer.

“Breaking up the monotony. Testing some of Nantucket’s best food. Showing you the finer things in life.”

“Ah.” He wasn’t sure the answer had told him any more than he’d already known.

Whatever her intentions, this definitely wasn’t a date -- even if instinct kept trying to tell him otherwise. The lines between his conduct were so blurred that even he couldn’t guess his true motivations. Holding open doors, pulling out chairs -- they were things he’d done for the sake of courtesy since he was a child. But here with Kellen, he knew that more than politeness was driving his actions.

But Cassian wasn’t going to bring that up in conversation. Instead, he inclined a brow. “No fish ’n’ chips, then?”

“Have you looked at the menu?”

He had, but he made a show of perusing it a second time. There were dishes he’d only vaguely heard of, most of them paired with prices that seemed anything but reasonable.

“It’s restaurant week,” she reminded. “That means the food is affordable and there are a lot of people for us to blend in with,” she told him in undertones, as though sensing his worry.

“You could never blend in, Kellen.”

The woman demurred, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. When she replaced the glass, she crooked a finger to draw him close. “The low light helps. It’s one of the reasons I picked this restaurant,” she confided in a half-whisper.

Cassian pulled away with a proud grin. Kellen was getting savvier all the time. It should have come as little surprise, given how she’d excelled at anything else she put her mind to. But for whatever reason, it had taken far longer for caution to become second nature.

She caught his eye and flashed a subtle wink.”Told you I’d thought this through.”

“I’m sure not going to complain. You know how I feel about candles.”

Her gaze narrowed before darting back down to the menu. Clearing his throat, Cassian let his own eyes pause on her for a moment longer. From the gentle motion of her jaw, he could tell that she was rolling her tongue between her teeth -- something she only did on the rare occasions when she held back her words.

Did I say something wrong? he wondered, reaching for a sip from his water glass. After weeks of living together, they were well accustomed to each other’s teasing. She knew his tendency to turn things more serious, and he knew her default to deflect. He usually tried to tread lightly, but she was smart enough to tell that there was more to his comment than flirtation.

As she batted her lashes and met his eyes again, the telltale spark had returned. “Anything look good?” she inquired, tracing the edge of her booklet. From the coquettish incline of her brow, it was clear she was referring to more than just the food.

“All of it,” he answered truthfully, biting back an oath when the words came out sounding more sincere than playful.

Tonight isn’t a date. And whatever this is with Kellen isn’t serious. She’s not interested.

Although she said nothing in return, the sensation of her dainty foot coming to rest at his ankle was almost enough to make Cassian lose his composure. Her touch, that act of reaching toward him without flirtation, called his certainty into question.

Maybe she was more interested than he’d given her credit for.

“Kellen,” he whispered, one hand slipping under the table in a vain attempt to find her skin. If he touched her back, perhaps the moment would become real.

“Can I answer any questions about the menu?”

The waiter reappeared just as Cassian’s finger brushed the inside of her thigh. Swallowing back his disappointment, he pasted a grin and relaxed against the splat of the chair.

Kellen straightened in her seat and began listing her order. From all Cassian could tell, she was unfazed -- as comfortable and self-assured as he’d ever seen her.

Surely he’d been imagining things after all.

_____

The sun had just started to set by the time they finished dining, and the balmy breeze from the water was all the encouragement Kellen needed to suggest a post-dinner stroll.

“So, what’d you think?”

Cassian cut his steps short to match her stride. He was so used to her power walking that this leisurely pace took a bit of adjustment. “It was all very tasty.”

“Good. It was so nice to be able to go out. I’ve missed it, you know?”

“Thanks again for bringing me along.”

“We go everywhere together, remember? Besides, who else would I bring all the way out here?”

She was still a couple of steps behind him, but his ears picked up on the catch in the laughter that followed her words. For someone who usually exuded confidence, the slip was noticeable. Is she nervous? He mulled over the question for a moment before dismissing it as nostalgia for her old way of life.

Coming to the edge of the railing, Kellen cocked her head toward him before casting her eyes on the water below. There was an almost imperceptible pause between the release of her breath and the moment she started speaking. “So...I might have lied earlier.”

“About the risotto being better than the gnocchi?” He caught up to her, propping his forearms on top of the well-worn wood.

She nudged him with an elbow. “No, I don’t lie about food--especially when mushrooms are involved. That risotto was amazing. But I wasn’t completely honest about why I brought you out here.”

Eyes locked on the rolling tide, she explained further. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with over the last several weeks. There have been a lot of times that I’ve made your life harder than it needs to be, and I’m sorry for that.”

Cassian opened his mouth to insist that the confession was unnecessary, but her fingers curled around his wrist. “Don’t argue. I know I have. And I don’t apologize very often, so you’d better not mess this up for me.”

Realizing the sincerity of her threat, his breath stumbled out over a half-serious laugh. He gently pulled his arm from her grasp and turned his hand to clutch her fingers. “I won’t.”

“Thanks.” Though she inched nearer, her eyes stared far ahead. “Clearly, you deserve a lot more than one fancy dinner as an apology, but I’m working with limited resources right now and it’s the best I can do. Will you forgive me?”

His forehead lifted slightly with his initial surprise, though further consideration left him feeling foolish. It was true that the woman he’d met on the rooftop a month before would never have apologized for anything, but this woman? She’d changed significantly over the past few weeks.

This Kellen was willing to admit when she was wrong.

This Kellen was choosing to make herself vulnerable. With him.

As his pulse beat a deafening tattoo, he wondered how she’d respond if he hoisted her onto the railing and kissed her senseless. Whether she knew it or not, it would hardly be the first time he’d kissed her with more affection than lust. Still, taking that kind of action meant he risked disrupting this moment.

Feeling the gentle course her thumb was charting over the back of his hand, he realized he’d been too distracted to answer her question. “All’s forgiven,” he assured quickly. “Besides, I’ve had a better time with you this last month than I’ve had with anyone in ages.”

“Of course you have. I’m excellent company.”

Her confidence was coming back, and it spurred his own bravery: potent and perhaps a little foolhardy. “While we’re on the subject...” he began, forging ahead before he could think better of it. “Would you let me take you out once we’re back in Boston? There’s a pub in Allston that I used to go to at least once a week. I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to, but everyone says their fried mushrooms are to die for.”

“I’d love that.”

Cassian hoped she couldn’t feel the goosebumps that sprouted across his skin at her immediate response.

She didn’t even have to hesitate.

“I’m not making any assumptions,” he continued, trying not to get ahead of himself. Just because she was willing to let him return the favor of buying her dinner didn’t mean that they’d remain a regular part of each other’s lives. “I understand if I’m not what you’re looking for in...”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. Kellen met his eyes briefly, but soon glanced away. “I haven’t been looking for anything,” she admitted. “Not really, anyway. Just some fun.”

”You’re a whole lot of things beside fun, Kellen.” Pulling her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Cassian was almost certain he imagined the quiet hum as she sighed out her next breath.

“I know. But most men aren’t like you.” The statement was matter of fact, and the low timbre of her voice was enough to tell him that experience had been her teacher.

His dark brows plummeted. “How do you mean?”

“Responsible. Genuine. Interested in taking care of others.”

“You’ve been hurt in the past.” His skin heated at the thought, erasing the chill bumps on his arms. Thinking of anyone taking advantage of Kellen was enough to boil his blood.

“Who hasn’t?”

“But hurt enough that it’s put you off love completely.”

“Between that and the crazy work hours, yeah. Relationships haven’t been a priority.” She picked at a splinter in the wood grain before rubbing it smooth with the pad of her thumb. “Guess that’s what happens when you waste two years of your life being used by someone who doesn’t even love you back.”

He didn’t want to pry, but he was happy to listen for as long as she wanted to talk. Avoiding any additional leading statements, he ultimately settled on a neutral apology. “That’s awful, Kellen. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s not like it’s your fault.” She took her hand from his loosened grip, but she didn’t move away. Still close beside him, the fine hairs of her arm tickled his skin. “Blame my boyfriend from undergrad. He was more interested in getting a position in my dad’s company than he was in being with me. Once he had the job he wanted, he didn’t need me anymore.”

“And your dad?”

Kellen tensed. “He told me it was “just business” and that I needed to stop taking it personally. I haven’t wanted anything to do with either of them since.”

“It’s their loss -- truly.” Though he sought her eyes, they were obstinately trained on the pattern of wood beneath her fingertips. Cassian linked a pinky with hers instead, hoping that she’d take the motion as proof of his convictions. “You’re one of the most amazing--”

"Sorry!” She gasped out in apology, pulling her hand away and cutting him short. “Tonight was supposed to be about treating you to something nice -- not using you for therapy. It’s just really easy to talk to you, and tonight has got me thinking about a lot of things.”

Kellen wove her hand through the crook of his elbow, pulling close enough to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “And I’m glad you said what you did about the pub. After everything we’ve been through, I can’t imagine not seeing you once we’re back in Boston. You’re the best of the best, Cassian.”

Her words were quiet, spoken more to the bay than to him, but they were still enough to make his heart sputter. Whether or not Kellen remembered, she’d used a similar phrase on the night they’d met. Did the compliment mean what he hoped?

He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to ask. “I’d miss ya far too much,” he told her truthfully, quashing down the disappointment he felt at his own cowardice.

“We can’t have that, can we?”

“No, we can’t.”

Her scent wove together with the salt of the sea and the earthy must coming from the wood beneath them. The soothing combination was a perfect blend of all the things he’d soon exchange for the teeming streets of Boston.

But certain as Cassian was that he could live without the endless whisper of the waves or the tang that lingered on his tongue with every breath, he was beginning to doubt that he could go on without her. Taking full advantage of Kellen’s nearness, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.

“Once we’re back in Boston, you can see me as often as you want.”

At his arm, her cheek tightened with the curve of her smile. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

_____

Later, as he drove them home with the stars overhead and Kellen’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, he took stock of the night’s events.

Tonight hadn’t been a date.

It hadn’t answered all of the questions he had about their future.

The evening certainly hadn’t ended with a confession of feelings, but the confirmation that she wanted him in her life once they’d left Nantucket behind? That was enough for now.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian keane #cassian x mc

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 24: Want, Take, Have

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Inhibitions lower and sparks fly.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You showed up at the MacLeod residence at nine o'clock sharp. The cold of the night bit at every inch of your exposed skin. It seeped into your bones like poison, made the blood in your veins run frozen.

Luckily, Rowena was quick to let you in. She locked the door while you hung the coat. The house was warm like a summer afternoon; you melted in it, basked in the pleasantness, in the sweet, welcome comfort it provided.

It felt like home.

"God, it's cold," you commented, rubbing your trembling palms together.

"Like death," Rowena agreed.

It was then that you looked at her — really, truly looked at her; into her eyes; head to toe — and all thoughts about the killing cold vanished from your head as if they'd never existed.

She was clad in a gown, a blue one with sparkles that looked as if the night sky had wrapped itself around her lithe body. The fabric was thin, soft even from the looks of it. It hugged her every curve as if it were molded on her, a second, beautiful skin, the color of it a perfect contrast to her natural paleness.

Her hair was curled. Eyelids painted a blend of pink and blue that would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Rowena it just fit. As if the colors, however dark in contrast to her skin, however conspicuous, were created solely for her. Her lips sparkled pink, a shade of innocence that, on her, was everything but.

She was beautiful.

Truly, genuinely beautiful.

The — dare you say — most beautiful girl you'd ever seen.

Not even her bruises, faded, healing nicely, concealed but still slightly visible, marred the perfection.

God, you thought. Jesus fucking Christ!

She was so damn beautiful!

"Looks like I'm underdressed," you said, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. Willing the gasp that threatened to break free to stay down, to not embarrass you.

She'd invited you over because she owed you. Because you were her friend and she wanted to show her gratitude, however much you insisted she didn't have to.

This was a friend date.

Just a friend date, you reminded yourself. Repeated it a few more times for it to sink in.

She was gorgeous and your body reacted to her in unpredictable ways, but she was still just your friend.

A friend who'd, up until a few days ago, been in an abusive relationship. Who'd been beaten so badly she could barely walk and still bore the marks as reminders.

The last thing she needed was you drooling over her like a hormone-ridden fangirl at a boy band concert.

You knew better than that.

She deserved better than that.

"Nonsense," Rowena chided. She looked you over, took in your jeans and shirt that, while far from fancy, were clean and neat. The nicest ones you had. "You look fabulous." You blushed. "Besides, this is our wee party. Just the two of us."

She had a point.

"You're in an awfully good mood."

"How could I not be? It's my first party with a real friend." A flicker of something sad passed her face for a moment, quickly smoothed out by a bright, happy smile. Honest to the bone. "We are going to have so much fun!"

You knew you would.

Hell, even sitting in silence with a math textbook in your lap would be a good time as long as she was there.

Nothing could possibly be boring with Rowena around.

She led you to her room, and this time you did gasp, embarrassingly loud. Candles covered every corner, every surface, every naked piece of furniture. Even with the lights out, the room was lit up as if sun itself were shining through it, filling it up with its warm light.

"Jesus," you said, unable to hide your surprise. "You really are making this a date."

Rowena shrugged, feigning innocence. "I thought, why not go all the way?" She winked. "Only the best for my friend, aye?"

Friend.

Right.

Just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just a friend.

"You're sure Crowley and your mom won't come home early or something? I don't want them to take this the wrong way."

Like that you were on a date date.

Which this was not.

"Positive. And even if they do come," she said with a shrug, "so what? Let them think what they want."

"I know, but Crowley… he's not really the biggest fan of our friendship. What if—"

"I'll deal with Fergus, if necessary," she cut in. "What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is none of his business."

You gulped.

Why did she have to say it like that?

"As for my mother, don't worry. She likes you."

The few times you met her she certainly did leave that impression, but still. What if she wasn't okay with her daughter being on a date with a girl? Would she believe it was only a friend date? Would she care?

"I know. I just…"

"You're nervous," Rowena guessed. Correctly. "Don't be. This is our night. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

You gave a nod, and she grinned.

"Have a bite." She pointed to the bed, where several bowls of different snacks laid, full to the brim.

You took a chip. "Since when do you like snacks?"

"I don't. But I know you do."

Warmth swelled up in your chest.

"What kind of a host would I be if I didn't feed my star guest?"

"Oh, now I'm a star?" you joked.

"Aye. This is your night. Can't let you go hungry, can I?" She scrunched up her face adorably and added, "As disgusting as those things are."

"Shut up!" You grabbed a few and shoved them in your mouth, prompting her to gag. "They're awesome."

"You're a pig."

It was an obvious joke, a quip that was pure teasing, no malice behind it.

Once upon a time she would have meant it. Would have called you that and looked at you as if you were a filthy peasant.

My, how far the two of you had come.

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" you asked, feigning offense.

"Just being honest, dear."

"Mean."

She shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to her bedside table that was lined with bottles that didn't look like juice and glasses that definitely weren't for juice. "Up for a drink?"

"What you got?"

"Scotch. Wine. Champagne." She poured herself a glass of yellow liquid that you assumed was scotch. It certainly wasn't iced tea.

"I dunno. I don't really drink."

"Come on! Live a little, lass! It's not every day that you celebrate New Year with me."

When she put it like that…

You sighed. "Fine. Give me whatever you're having."

She smirked. "Excellent choice."

"How'd you get all this?"

"Mother got it for me." She handed you your glass. "She thinks the drinking age in this country is ridiculous. In Scotland I wouldn't even have to ask for permission." She scoffed. "I'm a bloody adult. I should be allowed to drink if I want."

She wasn't wrong.

"Does your mom know I'm here?"

She nodded. "I told her I was in need of a friend. She was very understanding."

"And she's cool with it?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Because you were in love with her.

Because this date looked way too romantic for it to be just friendly.

Because, as hard as you worked to keep yourself in control, you still wanted her, badly, madly, wildly, and you couldn't stand the thought of someone — anyone, especially her mother — figuring it out by sheer luck.

Because… she was a girl, and so were you, and you didn't know what her mother would think if she were to realize you had feelings for her daughter.

The world was still a dangerous place for people like you. Unpredictable. You never knew what to expect.

You shrugged.

Rowena sighed. "Like I said, she likes you. She thinks you're a good influence."

You had to chuckle at that. "Me?"

You may not have been as wild as Rowena, but you were far from an innocent flower.

"Well, she's not wrong," Rowena said, a teasing smirk playing on her mouth. "You're a good girl."

Far from it.

Good girls rarely existed. Most of them were bad in their own ways; by following their own rules, living their own lives.

Being tamer didn't make you good — it just made you better at pretending.

"Have you met me?" you asked and took a sip of your scotch. Your face twisted with disgust as you swallowed the bitter liquid, even more so as it burned its way down your throat like molten fire.

"Case in point," Rowena said smugly.

"Oh, fuck you," you said, coughing, and lowered your glass next to the bottle. "You know I don't drink." She quirked up an eyebrow, another gotcha. Shit. "Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I'm a good girl."

"Are you saying you're bad?"

"Shades of grey."

"Right."

"If I was oh-so-good, I wouldn't hang out with you," you pointed out in irritation.

"Even good girls experiment," Rowena said nonchalantly.

"Trust me, honey," you said, "if I was experimenting, it wouldn't be with you. You aren't exactly my type."

A lie you had to say for the truth was, as much as you didn't want to admit it, she was exactly your type. Fierce. Sassy. Tough. Gorgeous. A little bit damaged. Imperfect, which made her perfect in your eyes.

"Och?" She didn't seem convinced, stepping over towards you and getting in your face. She was so close you could feel her breath in your skin; fresh, minty, a cool, misty dance over your skin. It made you shiver. "And what is your type?"

You.

Everything about you.

Her hair, always tamed, every strand in place. Red as the fire in her soul.

Her eyes, green as forests, sly as a cat's.

Her hands, so little, sprinkled with protruding veins, nails always glittering a different color.

Her accent that was charm personified.

Her patience.

Her kindness.

Her hidden depths.

In one word — her.

All of her.

But you couldn't admit that. It was too soon. It would always be too soon, the wrong time.

A classy girl like her could never possibly be interested in a nobody girl like you.

In a feigned burst of confidence, you said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm a woman of knowledge," Rowena purred deliciously, the words melting on her mouth.

Shit.

You licked your lips. "A girl, you mean."

"A woman. Of knowledge and needs. So many of them."

You gulped. Heat pooled in your belly, sliding lower, itching at places you couldn't — didn't dare — touch for doing so would expose your secret, your feelings, and, if that were to happen, you would be screwed — and not in the way you wanted.

"Well," you said, hoping to high heavens your voice wouldn't betray you, "I'm a woman of secrets."

"That's naughty."

So are you, but you don't see complaining.

"It's a fact," you said with a shrug. "Deal with it?"

"Should I?" She licked her lips, her tongue a bright pink against the lipstick. Taunting. Inviting."Or should I do something about it?"

Was she flirting?

Were you imagining it, or was she flirting?

She was.

The realization hit you like a slap straight across your face, sharp and precise.

Rowena MacLeod; the girl of your dreams; the one you'd been wanting for so long was flirting with you.

Openly.

Without a touch of shame, of hesitation.

It was as natural to her as breathing was.

But… why?

Aside from kindness, you had nothing to offer. You weren't popular, and neither were your friends. You had no money. No power. No influence of any kind. Your family wasn't rich. You weren't ugly, but you were far from beautiful; plain as day, one could say. A girl with the body and face that blended in with the crowds, no different, no more special than a random passerby. Average in everything, from grades to looks.

Far from the glamor Rowena craved.

So why?

Was she messing with you?

Or was she flirting to get her mind off what she'd gone through; the beating, the breakup, the loss of a girl she'd considered a friend?

Yes.

That was most likely it.

She was still hurting, and she wanted the pain to go away, wanted to forget all the bad and horrible.

She wasn't really interested in you.

She was in pain, and you were there.

That was all there was to it.

"How about we watch a movie?" you suggested, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

You wanted her, so badly your heart ached, but you couldn't give in. She was hurting and flirting was her way of getting it under control. She probably wasn't even into you; you were just here, and you were safe. Someone she knew wouldn't harm her. So she went for it.

As much as you loved her, craved her like she was a drug, you had to stand your ground. Had to resist, no matter how hard it was. The last thing you wanted was to take advantage of her in this fragile state.

Rowena sighed, exasperated. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Her tone made it clear it wasn't what she wanted.

"You promised me there'd be a movie," you reminded her.

"I suppose I did." She took a sip of her scotch before lowering her glass next to yours and grabbing her laptop. "I know you don't like classics. And I don't like horror. So I thought we could compromise."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of a wee movie called Nosferatu?"

"Yeah."

Who hadn't?

She smirked. "That's our movie."

Nice.

Not exactly what you expected, but nice.

"You sure you're gonna be fine?" you taunted. "I heard it's very scary."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear. I can take care of myself."

Or she would be scared and grab your hand again, as if her life depended on it.

You were okay with that.

Maybe you got scared as well and squeezed her hand.

Maybe this time she could be your savior.

Rowena placed the laptop on the foot of the bed. She moved the bowls of snacks on the floor and crawled on the bed, then motioned for you to join her.

Your heart thundered as you took a seat next to her. The bed was small, and you had to snuggle against one another. Her skin was warm against yours, the fabric of her dress soft as the gentlest caress.

She leaned into you and you reciprocated, linking your arm through hers. As the movie started, she tightened her hold and pressed further against you.

You held her tightly.

As a friend.

Wishing she were your lover and knowing she couldn't be.

As expected, Rowena got scared. She twitched and gasped, dug her nails into your arm as she held on as if for dear life. At one point she buried her head in your chest, and you threw an arm around her and held her close. It didn't matter that the danger wasn't real; you arm remained around her, a wordless promise of safety, of protection.

"Scaredy cat," you teased.

"Shut up," she retorted, voice muffled as her face remained pressed against your chest.

There were a few times when you flinched. She noticed each and every one and held on tighter, her own little assurance that you were safe.

You kept sipping on your drink throughout the movie. Rowena did the same, when she wasn't hiding in your chest. She seemed to be handling it well for her size; a lightweight she was not. You, on the other hand, started feeling the buzz after finishing your second glass.

By the time the movie ended, the two of you had pushed your glasses aside and instead took swigs straight out of the bottle, passing it between you like a volleyball.

"You'll turn me into an alcoholic," you said after taking a large pull. The drink burned at your throat as strongly as the first time, but by now you were used to it. You were almost craving the sensation of fire sliding down your throat, scorching your insides, setting you alight.

Alight you were!

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, skin tight on your bones. Hot. Too hot. Words jumbled in your head, twisted, split apart and flew back together until they lost their meaning. The room was spinning, running in circles.

It felt as if you were in a dream, one that was both good and bad. A perfect mixture of a nightmare and a pleasant fantasy.

Drunk.

That was what you were.

And, unusual as it was for you, you kind of liked it.

There were no rules tonight. No laws. No regulations. Just you and Rowena alone in her room, living the best life.

It was only for one night, but you intended to live it to the fullest.

"I never put the bottle in your hands," Rowena said, taking the bottle from you and gulping down. "That's all on you, dear."

You took the bottle back and drank some more. "You offered me drinks."

She reclaimed it. Hissed as the liquor bit at her throat. "It's a New Year celebration, for goodness' sake! Not a bloody slumber party!"

You laughed, an unexpected outburst. "You say 'bloody' really funny."

"Shut up!" She smacked your arm.

It only prompted you to erupt into giggles. "Your accent is funny. And hot. Really hot."

You may have crossed a line there, but who cared?

As she said, it was the New Year celebration.

No rules.

No lines.

No holding back.

Rowena snickered at your comment, then, smirking, said, "I know." An idea suddenly popped into her mind. "You know what we should do?"

You had an inkling of what you might do and you didn't like it one bit. "If you say 'watch another movie,' I'll kill you."

Nosferatu, however scary at times, was a bore fest for the most part. If it weren't for her snuggling with you and your mind constantly coming up with rather raunchy images every time her hold on you would tighten as if to remind you she was there, that she needed you, you would have fallen asleep.

A classics lover, you were not. Not even when it came to horror.

Rowena pouted. "I planned for us to watch Dracula."

"The Bela Lugosi one?"

She looked at you as if you were slow. Which, considering the amount of alcohol flooding your veins, you probably were. "Which else?" Before you could bring up a few other — modern — incarnations, she said, "That's not what I meant."

You frowned. "What then?"

"Dance!"

She sounded so happy, it hurt to turn her down. "I can't dance."

"But I can."

"Ballet."

"Aye. Up until—" she looked you in the eyes, remembering the lie she'd fed you "—eighth grade."

"It's fine," you said in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but, due to you slurring your words, it came off curt. Almost rude. "Crowley told me ages ago."

Normally, that would have led to a discussion, but now Rowena just narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looked you over, and, finally, nodded. "My brother needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, I didn't do just ballet. I used to attend dance classes when I was younger. Still got the moves."

She purred the last bit deliciously. You couldn't resist a grin.

"Look at you! Tiny dancer." You burst into laughter at your own horrible joke. "Literally."

She smacked your arm lightly.

You pouted. "Ow."

She gave you a look, one of those judgmental ones that made you straighten up your act. Then she held her hands up to you and said, "Come on."

"Fine, Tiny Dancer."

It wasn't like you had anything to lose.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Och, hush."

You took her hands, allowed her to pull you to her, to hold you against her. Her arms wrapped around you and she leaned her head on your shoulder as if to rest. She was warm. Soft. Fit perfectly into the curve of your body, like a piece of puzzle created solely for you. Her heart beat against your chest; soft, gentle little patters. Yours beat along; same rhythm, same pace, as if synchronized.

Your arms slid around her to reciprocate. You melted into the embrace, into the warmth she gave off, radiant as a sun. Your little shining star in the candlelit room.

Rowena started swaying, and your nerves exploded like fireworks. Tingles washed over your body as if a million fire ants were crawling underneath your skin, hot and cold all at once.

"What kind of dance is this?"

You were expecting something faster, wilder. More tango than waltz.

"Ours," she replied.

"What about the music?"

"We'll make our own."

Giving a slight nod, you followed her movements, slow, careful, gentle as the way she held you. Music sounded in the distance, followed be screeches and shouts. The town was celebrating, full of life. Ready to welcome the new year in all its glory.

You ignored it; ignored the noise, the needless distraction. Instead, your foggy mind focused on Rowena. On her skin on yours. On her lips, gentle, plump, pressed into your shoulder. On her hands, so small, so delicate, on your back. On her fingers tracing lines over your shirt. On her soft breathing and the beats of her heart.

It was as if nothing else existed but the two of you. All alone, drunk out of your minds, arms tight around one another. You, head over heels in love. Her, in desperate need of a friend, of affection.

Birds of a feather.

Made for each other.

ONE…

The exclamation shook you from your thoughts. The New Year was getting near, the town starting its counting, leading you to it.

TWO…

"Already?" you asked. Time had gone by so fast. It still felt as if it was nine o'clock and you were freezing your ass off out at the door.

"Mmhm," Rowena muttered.

THREE…

"This was a wild year, wasn't it?"

"We've become quite fond of each other, haven't we?" she said in agreement.

I fell in love with you, you wanted to say, and it took everything for your drunk mind to keep it to itself for it wanted nothing but to blurt it out, loud and clear for the entire town to hear.

FOUR…

"Yup," you said, tongue itching to spill the truth that was driving you mad. "Quite fond."

Rowena pulled back. Her eyes locked with yours in a gaze so intense you got lost in it. A moment passed by in silence, maddening, deafening, before she uttered, "I'm very fond of you."

FIVE…

What was she trying to say?

Was she…?

No way!

No way in hell!

Your forehead fell to hers, the contact sending electric sparks through you. "Rowena…"

SIX…

She fluttered her eyes. Licked her lips like she was daring you to kiss them.

God, you were tempted!

"Very, very fond."

She was.

Good god, she was flirting.

She wanted to kiss you.

Panic shot through you, urged your heart to rush. Should you give in? Should you kiss her? Or should you push her away?

What were you supposed to do?

SEVEN…

You wanted to kiss her.

You'd been wanting it for what felt like ages.

But was it right?

Did she really want it, or was she just trying to get over Lucifer?

Would she use you as a sort of a rebound?

Would you let her use you?

Would it be right?

"I…"

I love you. I love you so much, it hurts!

Did she love you, too?

Did you care?

You wanted her — god, you wanted her so much. Your heart hammered with it, the need growing stronger with each beat.

It was too soon to pursue her. She was still vulnerable, still bore the bruises both physically and mentally.

But if she pursued you…

Would it be wrong to give in? To let her have you the way she wanted?

EIGHT…

You looked her in the eyes again. Stared straight into the very depths of her soul.

"Are-are you sure?"

"Aye."

There was power in that one word. Conviction beyond doubt.

You believed it.

Believed her.

Believed the honesty in her eyes

NINE…

She wanted you.

Really, truly wanted you.

Out of confusion or genuine affection, you couldn't tell.

To your surprise, you found you didn't care.

She wanted you.

You wanted her.

That was all that mattered.

What did it matter why?

She was here. Offering what you'd been craving on a silver platter.

She was drunk, yes, but so were you. And, unlike you, she knew how to handle her liquor.

The whiskey, along with making you woozy, had given you a burst of courage.

You would be a fool not to take it.

But what if you were taking advantage?

What if she was?

TEN!

Who cared?

It was a one time only chance.

Your dream come true.

Your fantasy come to life.

So what if you were inebriated?

You wanted her — loved her — all the same. More even.

And she was yours for the taking.

Why give her up when you could finally have her?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sucking in a breath for courage, you gripped Rowena's shoulders, pulled her to you, and pressed your mouth to hers.

The consequences be damned.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #my fics #fanfiction #high school au

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 177: His True Love

He tried to go back to normal. He tried. But more than a month later and he felt like every morning the sun came up was the morning after she'd gone. Every time he had tea it tasted bland or it was too cold, hot, too old-imperfect. Every night he spent in his tower, he held back tears and constantly found himself ambling over to his tower windows, looking into her blackened library tower, glancing down the road, wondering if she'd ever come back.

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

He prepared for her to do so; for that possibility alone, he found himself at the forge late one night, the name Nimue scribbled on his dagger which held a trickled of blood he'd drawn himself from the Original even as she stared at him in contempt. She knew why he was taking it, how he'd come up with the idea to make a binding spell with her blood so that if Belle did come back and refuse to leave, they'd be free to do as they pleased without having to worry about her ever taking the curse from him again. After he completed the potion, True Love's Kiss, and a number of other lesser-known "cures" for curses, would never pose a threat to him again. Only the Seer seemed saddened by it, an emotion he quickly shoved aside.

"Clever, Rumpelstiltskin...none of us have ever thought of something like this," the Original muttered in a voice that sounded like she was mocking him just as much as she was praising him. He really couldn't bring himself to give a fuck about what she thought.

"Age comes with wisdom," he explained away.

"You know it won't work for everything. You'll still be vulnerable to the dagger, to the apprentice...to Merlin."

He glared at her as the blood on the dagger slid into the potion bottle he carried with him. He knew what she was doing, what she was trying to get him to do. But he just didn't care anymore. He was the strongest Dark One now, and he hadn't let Belle go to forget about Baelfire. He'd made his sacrifice, he wouldn't make another one for anything that was less than what Belle had been.

"I won't focus on your problem until I have my son back," he informed her. "You'll have to deal with that. Now, away with you."

He banished the woman away and completed the potion that night. But it seemed to do no good as the effort seemed to be in vain. Belle did not return. He told himself it was fine, it was right. He told himself, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

He missed her company during mealtimes, to the point that he'd given up eating again. He didn't need it. Without her, he didn't want it. It was just another task. He missed her company in the evening. He hadn't realized just how much her presence had settled him until he first sat down to spin in the evening, saw her spot by the fire vacant, and wondered why he should bother. He missed her when he left the castle and he missed her when he returned, discovering that with her gone there was no one to care about his comings and goings. There was no one to talk to. No one to worry about.

There was no one.

He'd thought only about half a dozen times of going after her, of leaving the castle to find her, or even just checking on her in his cauldron like he used to, but he always found ways to talk himself out of it. Fucking True Love…it could go just as easily as I could come. He had to let it go. He had to.

So he tried. He put her cup away into the cabinet, where he didn't have to see it. He got himself a new tea set made of metal that wouldn't chip. He found reasons to go into the Great Room at times they would never have been together, he went to work in his tower during times that they would have been together. He left the curtains open, unwilling to think of time as "before Belle" and "after Belle". He made his deals. All kinds of deals. All the time. Whenever someone requested him. Even if it was easy or stupid or in the name of love. It was just something to do. It was just something to take his mind off of her.

But it never worked.

He felt Regina the moment that she was on his property. She'd arrived in his tower, as she usually did, probably expected to find him. But he was down in the Great Room. It was the middle of the day. He didn't care. It was a time of day they wouldn't have been together, so that was when he'd decided to leave his work and spin, to make tea, to listen to the empty space where the sound of pages turning should have been.

He hadn't seen Regina in months, not since Belle had been in trouble and he'd gone looking for her in the wrong place. Even after a month without Belle, he was still furious with the witch. So furious that he'd been sorely tempted to kill Robin Hood, "her heart", in retaliation. He'd gone so far as to track him down and found him with his infant son, his wife gone or dead or just missing, he'd never figured it out. He'd resisted killing him though. For one, though his gut told him he was right, he truly had no idea if Regina was the "she" that Belle had talked to, and he'd decided that he didn't want to know. He had to work with her. He still had to use her to cast his Curse and he didn't want it to get in the way. She might have taken Belle from him, but he wouldn't let her take Baelfire as well. Second, if he was destined to be her heart as Belle had been his own, he wanted to give her the opportunity to fall in love with the wretch before he killed him. Daniel be damned. He wanted her to know what it felt like to wait for something and then have it taken away and he wanted it done by his own hands. He'd waited over a hundred years to get his son back…he could wait just as long to take his revenge on Regina. So he'd resolved to leave well enough alone, to continue to work with her as though nothing again changed. But that didn't mean he was going to be overly kind to the woman.

He used a bit of magic to lock the door on the Great Hall. It was a simple spell she could probably break through in a minute. But at least she'd have to work for it. The door did eventually open, just as he'd expected she would, and Regina sauntered in as if she owned the place. He let her despite the fact that he wanted her gone.

"Flimsy locks!" she announced stupidly. If he'd truly wanted her out, he wouldn't have made them flimsy. From now on, when he saw her he had to think of his Baelfire and all she was going to get for him. "I have a deal to discuss. A certain…mermaid…" she pronounced as he turned back to his wheel. Not looking at her helped. A bit.

"I'm not dealing today," he muttered after taking a moment to will the Seer to say something. She didn't, confirming what he knew. The mermaid, whoever she was, wasn't important to the future. That being the case, he didn't really give a fuck about Regina's mermaid. He'd been making deals every day since Belle left, he just wasn't feeling particularly dedicated to helping Regina with something that didn't involve the Curse.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her words forced him to apply so much pressure to his wheel that he stopped it. And when he turned to glare at her over his shoulder, he found she was there, staring back at him. Angry didn't even begin to describe what he felt toward her at the moment. What he felt was too complicated for one word.

"What is it this time?"

He couldn't be sure she was Belle's "she". He kept telling himself that. But he didn't know who else it could have been. Was it the time he'd gone looking for Belle that had tipped her off? Or had that Genie of hers had seen the pair of them in the mirror? He would have liked to know.

"Your little deception failed," he tempted. "You'll never be more powerful than me. You can keep trying, dearie, but you're never going to beat me."

"Is this about that girl I met on the road? Hm…" Regina taunted suddenly; unexpectedly. He kept spinning, kept turning his wheel on and on but only because he knew that if he didn't, he might turn around and kill her right now. Met her on the road…he'd potentially betrayed Belle to Regina when he'd gone after her, he'd mentioned her when he'd forced her to come to the castle to get her glamor removed, he'd stood boldly with her in front of the mirror in plain view of her, but never not once to his knowledge had she ever met Belle. It was her. She'd found her on the road to town. They'd had a conversation, Regina was the one who'd filled her head, who'd poisoned what was between them. Regina was the reason Belle was gone. Without that talk, things might have been normal right now. "What was her name? Margie?"

Baelfire…think of Baelfire..."

Verna?"

"Belle," he spat out without thinking.

"Right," Regina practically growled, as if she was the one who was angry as if she had any reason to be pissed at him. She was the problem, not he. And he couldn't wait to get to Baelfire and teach her a lesson she'd never forget. "Well, you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy."

He felt his body go cold as he stopped the spinning of the wheel. Tragedy. What tragedy? What had happened here? No one knew about what happened between them. And he felt certain Belle was smart enough not to tell people and draw attention to herself. Why had she used that word?

He left his wheel and moved closer to Regina, who was helping herself to a cup of tea. "What tragedy?"

"You don't know?!" she blanched. "Well," she huffed as if she was surprised. The spoon she was using clattered against the metal tray when she set it down. "After she got home…her fiancé had gone missing."

His heart was already racing by the time Regina spoke, but now it felt as though his chest was squeezing the air out of his lungs. Home! She'd gone home?! He'd felt certain that she wouldn't, that she would have been hurt when she left him, but she was strong. She'd have picked herself up, gone out to see the world. Why would she go home? Why would Gaston's death affect her?

"And after her stay here, her…association with you…no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out."

His mouth was dry, but his throat was thick and sticky. Maurice…a coward if he'd ever met one. She'd walked all the way home with nothing, a single dress and not a penny to her name! And then she'd been cast out. She'd be weak. Why hadn't he thought to check on her, why hadn't he thought to send her away with something?! Why hadn't he made arrangements?! It wasn't too late. He could still arrange something. He could find her, he could find someone to take her, he could pay for her pain, pay to make her life better! He could fix this! He just had to do it so that he stayed away.

"So, she needs…a home."

"He was cruel to her!" Regina shouted with a wicked smile. "He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower," she shrugged. "She died."

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't find it in him to breathe or tremble or even cry. The world seemed to have stopped. A second lasted an hour. Was this the same day? Was this a nightmare? Was this some kind of a trick? A terrible joke? Oh, he prayed she was scheming something!

"You're lying," he managed to choke out, unable to care if he showed too much emotion. His knees were shaking, he was lucky he hadn't fallen to his knees.

"Am I?" the Queen questioned without a smile, without wavering, without so much as a twinkle in her eye.

Oh…Belle.

His Belle.

He hurt. He hurt everywhere and nowhere. His heart ached. He felt as though it had exploded from his chest, that it was shriveling up second by second. He wanted to die too. He did. If the words were true he didn't care about killing Regina, for one second, he didn't even care about getting back to Baelfire…he just wanted to be alone and wither away in her chair by the fire.

"We're done," he managed to choke out through some miracle. He was walking. He was walking to the door, and he was using magic to open it for her…but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel the weight of his body coming down on the floor or the thrill of magic in his body. He felt nothing. The room was bright. He felt only blackness. "Fine," he heard Regina spit out. "I have other calls to make."

On her way to the door, she ran her finger over the table and examined it. Dust. He struggled not to wince. Even the dust reminded him of her.

"The place is looking dusty, Rumple." When she stood face to face with him, she sneered and leaned forward. "You should get a new girl."

Regina left. His air left his lungs, the beat in his heart faded, and he doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, a show of weakness he hadn't experienced since he was human. It was only fitting. She always made him feel human. Even in…

Death. She was dead. It didn't seem possible. She was a bright light a strong woman, determined! She'd thrown herself off the tower?! She'd killed herself?! What had she gone through, what had Maurice put her through that she'd broken and given up hope? And she hadn't tried to summon him?! She hadn't even called out to him to help her because…

Because he'd broken her. Just like he broke everyone and everything around him. He'd broken Bae and Milah, he'd very purposefully destroyed whatever Regina might have been to suit himself, and now Belle…

Belle.

His eyes darted to the cabinet, the place that he'd stored her cup, unable to destroy it he'd had no choice but to hide it from sight but now…he wanted that cup. He wanted to be close to her in some way. He wanted to be reminded of her. He strode over and removed it from where he'd stashed it and nearly dissolved into tears the first time it was in his hands again, the first time he laid eyes on that chip. He saw her then, just as perfect and solid as if she was there! He saw the night she'd chipped it all over again, the way her blush had crept up her chest, how nervous she'd been, how beautiful. Oh, if he'd known that he loved her even then…

He moved carefully, step after step from the cabinet to a pedestal, the one that held the phony Grail.

She was dead. She was gone. His memories of her were strong, so strong that sometimes he felt like he could still feel her close to him. She was dead, and the Seer was never wrong. That meant that the images he'd seen in his head, those that he'd been so worried about and sent her away for, were not visions, but merely fantasies. A dead woman couldn't tell him she loved him, a dead woman couldn't bear him children, a dead woman couldn't wake up in the bed next to him, a dead woman wouldn't wear white and make vows. A dead woman had no life. The shoulder he'd seen in the bed beside him, it wasn't her. But oh, how he wished it was. She would have been perfect, he'd have worshiped her! They would have had a True Love to celebrate. A True Love that never really got off the ground. He hadn't felt a thing when she died. True Love had a tendency to do that, they could sense when one life passed. But that was True Love that was allowed to flourish as theirs never had. Because of him. Because he'd feared those fantasies he'd had of her, because he'd let himself have feelings for her and develop a connection. Because he'd let her go, all for a fear of visions that were never to be. He hadn't been there to protect her.

Her death was on his hands.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Nimue #Belle #REgina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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sugarcookiesandsins · 5 years

Text

Café Rischioso

Word: 2k+ Dedicated to @taetaesbaebaepsae

Hearts of gold are hard to come by, especially within the anthill that is your university - each person focused on their mission, side-quests be damned. Still, there are those who appreciate deviations from their mundane routine. They relished in the oddest hours of the day, nursing their own thoughts and temptations in the wee hours of the rising sun, when the moon still warred with full force for its rightful territory in the sky. You found one in the man standing opposite the café where you worked.

There he stood, under the golden blaze of the street light, waiting for the last bus; that blessed soul ferrying souls to their final destination whether it be their own bed or the painful solace of someone else's.

On his watch, the number three blinked in the dim light; a timer counting down, but paused as if understanding the infinity that existed in this moment. The world seemed different when he was limited to only the energy left to him. The ghosts of the day left to join their families in desolate graveyards as he continued to stand under the lamplight, waiting with bated breath for a stranger to carry him home. Across the way, his eyes fell on another source of light, this one eliciting much more warmth that his current shelter. It flowed in rivers out of a jazz bar, the familiar melodies providing the soundtrack for his conversation with .... who was it again that he was talking to?

It could have been anyone, but he remembered a voice, throaty and pristine, that he had listened to for hours. Her voice was not beautiful by any standards, but it had character to it. Between muttered profanity and biology, he read wonder and pain, anger and compassion, and all sorts of paradoxes that only existed in the minds of the elderly. Yet here they were, swirling around in dark coffee he had held, both hands, interlocked at the fingers; the only proper way to hold a coffee.

In the beginning, there was a butterfly. And on this chilly morning, where the winter air chipped at upturned collars and muslin scarves, Taehyung found himself leaning over a parking timer staring at it; the poor thing had gotten itself stuck on the cold metal. Thus far, the man’s morning had not been the greatest. He had woken up late, spilled his coffee, let out an undignified yelp, and missed the subway. At this point, he had given up. He was already late, would a few more minutes change much? Besides, he had never seen the park covered with snow like that, sparkling teardrops from Mother Nature accumulating over the trees and water.

With a minute smile on his face at the soon to come festivities, for snow always meant Christmas in his mind, he reached out a hand to the frenzied wings of the creature that flashed alternating colors of muted grey and vibrant orange. As delicately as he could, he allowed a single finger to rest on the ice, hoping his body heat would coax the solid to change. Soon enough the chemical laws of water had allowed the butterfly to be free. As it flew away, the man stared at it longingly, eyes trained on the small insect until it disappeared into the foliage alongside the lake. As most did - he too wished he could fly. Why did man want to fly? It was still a mystery to both the man and to the human species as a whole.

‘Why am I here?’ he asked himself an hour later sitting in his main class. The meaning is buried under the Mount Everest of morals and conflicting theories. Yet, this does not stop individuals from making their own call on the subject. The man does not know yet.

All he does know is that he wants another coffee, so during a break between classes, he dashes to the only café on campus; and a regular hub for those looking for their aesthetic fix for the day. It was late afternoon, and the café was vacant, except for a lone figure occupying an entire table. She was surrounded by an explosion of papers, each one marked with the rainbow as she pored over each one with meticulous detail.

Calloused hands rubbed at downy skin, not doing much to prevent the words from swimming before your eyes. It had been a long two hours of studying for you, but the information had stopped sinking in a long time ago. Feeling like you deserved a break, you tore your eyes away to stare at the menu, deciding that the best reward for a job well done was the overpriced food that this café offered. Standing in front of the only visible barista was a tall figure blocking your perfect view of the glass case of pastries. Scowling at the fact you would actually have to get up, you walked around his form, eyes searching for your personal favorite; coffee cake.

As you ordered, Taehyung chose to secure his favorite spot in back, his drink and food in hand as he searched for his own little haven among the tell-tale wood of the furniture. There was something ancient about the wood, which most likely had only been created a few years ago. Still among the imperfections he found the history of the world. Each impurity had a source and each source was the pure power of raw emotion.

An artist had the job of capturing these moments within their work, but seemed a daunting task for the dark-haired male. How was he supposed to capture something so vast in a single moment; it was evasive at it's core and as ambiguous as the fog that set in during the melancholy breaths of the city. How was he supposed to put these feelings on a piece not even a foot in length and width?

"Just my luck!" Hard eyes quickly glanced in the direction of the guilty party that had stolen the last piece of coffee cake. In your moment of distraction, the prize had slipped out from under your nose. Thus, you settled for second best and made your way back to your mess of a table with your consolation prize. There was something about the atmosphere that made today feel different for him. It could be the empty café.

Most of the time there was a steady stream of customers to provided the soft melody that he worked to editing his latest camera roll, ceaselessly scrolling through the park flowers until he finds the one. His intuition was not to be questioned; when he said that a photo was the one, there was nobody in the world that could convince him otherwise. Many times he had followed his intuition down the most unlikely of routes, only to find the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. His most famous photograph was discovered at the end of an alley way, in the explosion of colors on the brick wall. Timeless in that it didn't seem to be dated and with the telltale signs of fatigue in the wrinkles of pain across the vibrant shades of spray paint.

But in the middle of the day, with only the bored worker and the other student, the moment felt serene. A coffee shop could be nice with the background chatter of the patrons that muted itself to a low buzz if you stayed there long enough. On the other hand, it could be silent in everything, allowing the select few who gained access to feel the building breath. The comforting scent of ground bean wrapping around the body with its musky tendrils, lulling you into the safe embrace of sleep.

Perhaps it was fate, or it was the explainable powers of the shop, but you and the man with you let out a loud sigh at the same time. Both of you heard the other, forcing you to lock eyes over the edge of the table and let out a small smile. It was a language all on its own, one created by strangers that bridged the social barrier for just a moment. But then in the next moment, it was always lost.

You feared that like most of the other lingua francas in your life, this one would lose itself as the male was drawn back towards his own world. It was moment of disappointment whenever you fooled yourself into being hopeful that perhaps the conversation would continue past shared looks in the middle of crowed hallways, or in this case an empty coffee shop. Then all feeling faded as they went back to whatever felt more important to them, which from what you've seen could be a wide variety of things.

Turning back your messy biology notes, you tried to lose yourself in the world of protein formation. But before you could study a single world, a shadow fell over your papers. Scowling a little at the interruption, you turned your head only to find yourself staring up at the man who you had locked eyes with before. It was jarring, realizing that maybe he had not forgotten about you after the small connection the both of you shared over a mutual sense of fatigue.

You didn't even know his name, but it was a meeting of kindred souls. You didn't know how you knew, but somewhere in the crevasses of your bones, you felt that he was the type nurse a coffee into the small hours of the morning, or curl up in front of the fireplace with a book. He would accompany you on the times your spontaneity overcame your common sense and forced you into morning convenience store runs, scouring the aisles for ramyeon or sausages; something to keep you satiated as you finished the season of your current Netflix obsession. He was the kind that enjoyed the mere presence of someone, and didn't need anything fancy in terms of dates.

All these thoughts hit you at once, muting you for the mere second it took for him to turn his head and face you; shock and awe evident on his face.

"How?" It was like ice shattered around you, some kind of special effect from a movie. His voice was hot chocolate, dark, rich, warm, and comforting all at once. You were rendered mute for a moment. Perhaps that's why you were unable to form even a full word when you responded.

"Huh?" It was a sound existing somewhere on the edge of shock and awe, unable to fall of the white picket fence in between two neighbors. He didn't seem bothered by your lack of vocal cords. He just continued. That's all he had ever known was to continue, so that's what he did.

When his grandparent died, he continued.

When he became scarred with a leather belt, he continued.

When he was abandoned for a new son, he continued.

It was a dreary life, but it was his life.

"How do you manage to look so tired, yet so alive at the same time?" His voice faded out towards the end as the both of you locked eyes. And suddenly, he wasn't a stranger to you. The lingua franca the both of you had created moments before returned and the both you spoke it with such a ferocity that you nearly started at the experience.

It was the purest of connections between the both of you. No knowledge of the space you inhabited, only the universe that you had created with him. It was colored the warm honey of his eyes and spun to the beat of his breathing, timing itself with each rise and fall of his lungs. Through the far window you felt the rays of the sun on your face and watched how they reflected in his eyes, shifting the shade to more of a warm brandy. It was a bitter and rough taste that lingered on your tongue as you watched him.

His hand itched, fingers aching to press the shutter on his camera and capture the roaring waters in her eyes. The more he looked, the more he willingly drowned. And the more he drowned, the more he felt like he was alive.

"I really hope that what you said was just a really bad attempt at flirting." You let out a slight giggle, leaning away from the mess of notes on the table.

"Nope. That was me trying to ask if I can take your picture." The worst past was how serious he sounded. Taehyung fell in love during an infinite minute. Stretching impossibly long despite it being only a moment in time.

They were all a moment in time, controlling each second that stamped itself in history, whether or not the action or thought was recorded for later generations. The most beautiful idea was a the butterfly effect. Something so small and insignificant could create such a powerful effect on the world. He'd always wanted to find that butterfly for him. That one thing that he could look back on as a series of happenstances, randomized coincidences that brought him to the prime of his life.

He had never seen such expressive eyes in his life. Taehyung, a connoisseur and creator, had never found such inspiration, and he never would again. Among the swirling depths of her eyes, danced a storm; and he was caught in the middle. Between thunder and lighting, he existed for a minute in her eyes. Not just living to continue, but living to live for once. She was the perfect paradox to his life. The perfect person to take everything he knew and spin it on it's head.

He was the perfect logic for her mind to solve. Ingenuity flowed from his skin like a natural pheromone, tainting the air with his ideas.

They were infectious to each other. Yet, they were also each other's cure.

#kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #bts kim taehyung x you #taehyung x youi #bts x reader #café series #café rishcioso

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dualcursed · 5 years

Text

about time i got to writing these angsty drabbles !!

through gritted teeth he held his place, nails digging into bent knees just beneath him to distract from the tensing of muscles throughout his legs. he was in pain. this had been drawn out to forty-five minutes now and still, he sat, eyes averting from the gaze fixated on him-- waiting, perhaps anticipating the moment he were to crack. should he shift, should he waver for even something momentary, it would all be over, wouldn’t it ? his pleas would be as easily discarded and his proposition would be slipped besides the countless manuscripts atop his cousin’s desk, awaiting their turn to meet the bottom of a trash bin.

once more, he speaks up, bowing deeply at the waist. his muscles scream in pain the further he lowers himself, but his words are pointed, loud, and precise. ❝ take him home, sensei. ❞ the name feels raw upon his tongue. it bleeds discomfort with each syllable but in due time the second nature of referring to such a title would be with respect and sincerity. it’s almost laughable that something so sickeningly belittling to himself would be the token that would set a broken soul free. it was a sacrifice that would grant what little freedom the jyuunishi were able to obtain in this never-ending hell. despite it all, the deal had been struck.

as he lifts himself, his hair resetting upon his forehead, a simple nod and a wicked smile await him.

it is done.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

the moon had since eased its way above the tops of trees and now stood as a guide to lead a lost soul back to the cage which held it and the chains that bound it. returning, this time, was met with relief as well as a gut-wrenching fear of what was to come. his safety wasn’t guaranteed with the arrangement promising his role as conspirator wouldn’t be revealed yet-- what would guarantee him that protection ? a simple spoken promise wasn’t something to be trusted, especially when spoken by someone as devious as sensei was. what more could he do ? it was an offer underlined in risk but it was an offer nonetheless.

he was scared.

it had been far too long since fear was something he could so easily admit to, but there it was, as clear as the stars in the sky-- terror coursed through him. what had he done ? what had he given up in exchange for a life so precious to him he would deliver his own on a silver platter just to see one chance at hope ? a simple devotion to inflating one man’s ego was nothing compared to the countless hours locked alone with nothing but the companionship of a monster. a simple sacrifice but a sacrifice still.

a moment’s burst of courage and confidence is enough to lead each step to the heart of his family’s torment. it may have looked like a regular building, but its halls ached with the cries of the deceased and captives that never knew the world beyond a lone stone wall and a gate separating fortune from misfortune. it was a site of nothing but silent suffering and insanity. in the light of the full moon, one could only imagine the number of souls that were forever trapped beyond those walls, forced to gather at a banquet of the dead for a god that served themselves first and foremost. countless generations of selfishness under the guise of unity for the benefit of the one apart from the many would never know the kind of freedom so many of them had attempted to fight for. another step towards shattering tradition was at hand.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

by force of habit, both shoes are removed at the stairs to one of the further halls, closest to a collection of empty rooms whose purposes had always been left a mystery and all questions were left with silence. all attention was directed to two rooms in particular: that of which the devil lie sleeping and the other, the innocent spirit awaiting its second chance at youth. so long as no one spotted the young man easing his way around corners and along stretches of empty labyrinth, it would be easy to reach the final destination unscathed and undetected. what sound like human breaths echoing down corridors are in fact mistaken gusts of summer wind and names whispered in his ear are a product of his own over-imaginative consciousness playing tricks on the mind. for a place so seemingly desolate, the night fills with the fantastical.

to his surprise, the cover of darkness works in his favor, delivering him like a shadow to the door separating him from whom his heart ached. a simple lock stood as the final hurdle that, on numerous occasions, he’d picked out of desperation to reassure that times were indeed changing and wrongs would soon be made right. to know that after all this time, it was the same lock meant the gods were on his side. they had been looking after him all this time and now, were aiding in his rescue.

the door slides like many times before, catching briefly on a familiar dent in the railing but continuing to a halt with a swift thwip of the paper against the brisk night air. as trained eyes refocus to the near pitch black, the figure to the back corner adjusts itself, rising like the undead itself to take in the situation at hand. a moment of silence between them continues with a single finger raised to the young man’s lips. say nothing until safety is guaranteed. too much was at stake to risk anything further. he wavers with every step he takes to break the distance between himself and the figure and soon, he’s at the figure’s side, taking him in his arms for what feels like an eternity. as much as he wanted to speak those same reassuring words, he hopes the words he silently screams will reach.

at long last, quivering hands take hold of ones much smaller and frailer than his own. were they ever destined to take root and grow ? was the fragile figure he had sworn to himself to protect ever to be more than the pathetic creature left to rot in that lonesome room ? with luck, this would be the first step to revival.

there are no questions as he whisked the other back the way he came, dipping around corners at the slightest of sounds and pressing him back into the darkest nooks with his whole form at a moment’s notice. his heaving chest locks the other in place and only shifts once certainty is established for another safe stretch of hall or corridor. the routine stop, evaluate, and proceed continues for another ten to fifteen minutes before they make it back down the steps and along the side of the main house. with only one pair of shoes, it’s decided the other should wear them despite the fact that they’re perhaps one or two sizes larger than the petite feet that are made to sit within them.

for what seems like the first time in the last few years that he can remember, there’s a smile that tugs at his lips. yuki is beautiful. everyone says so, and they speak only the truth. the gods graced yuki sohma with the most delicate of features, so pure and ethereal in fact, that his perfection was met with accusations of imperfection. that perfection negated any and all worth that the world around him might be able to garner from bringing him into it. one person laid claim to that doll-like beauty and it was the black smear on a white page. It was the hammer set to chip the porcelain that framed his face, curved along his back, and detailed each and every one of his ten fingers and ten toes. it was the bane of the jyuunishi’s existence yet no one would speak up to say so.

he’s careful when tightening the hold on that delicate, porcelain hand before they’re off in the dead of night. the road to sensei’s house would be long, cold, and damn near impossible to navigate in the darkness, but no treat could be worse than the one lay sleeping back in the lion’s den. if anything, it was a surprised that there was no commotion upon them leaving the circle of uniformity. there were no screams in the night that awoke both living and dead. there was no patrol out searching for two missing children. for now, luck was on their side. how long that luck would hold out was uncertain, but taking it while it was being dealt to them would give them just enough to make it past the gate to the estate and back along the main road towards the forest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

by morning, the chill of the summer night air had blown through them despite being curled up besides one another. the heavy coat of dew had dampened the patch of grass they’d greet unconsciousness with, but without the threat of the sohma’s on their heels, sleep came easy. the familiar face of sensei greeted them as well aided by a flurry of motion undoubtedly the canine spirits that had come as a result of the curse. one moment, he’s staring absentmindedly into the sleeping face of his heart and love and the next, he’s nudged awake. the familiar walls of the home he’d seen hours earlier. it was sensei’s house.

he was splayed out on a futon in an unfamiliar room on the second floor and what could only be described as terror once against struck his heart. without a second thought, he’s on his feet, hurriedly checking each and every room for a sign that yuki was still there, that yuki was free. each room yielded nothing. where had he gone ? where was he ? had sensei lied to him ?

fury.

the burning rage and fury at the prospect of being betrayed coursed through him. how dare he ! how dare he take his trust and deal him as well as yuki such a shit hand. it’s unfair ! it’s so unfair ! was hope and freedom so hard to obtain !? was it so sinful to give them a chance at something ?

he rounds the stairs, flying down with speed and aggression fueled by the desire for vengeance. nothing but death could right this injustice but-- there he sits, feet crossed beneath him, a bowl of ramen in front of him and a hot cup of tea in those precious, porcelain hands. eyes that sparkle with tears that have yet to fall turn to him. the first that had subconsciously balled ease at his sides. yuki was okay. he was here now. he was safe. he was free.

❝ ah, hatsuharu. we were wondering when you would be joining us. ❞

#† ᶤ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏ ᵒᶰ ᵇᵉʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ : drabbles #it's 2am and i thought i'd end this earlier but--#i just kept going #couldn't stop #and now this is a thing #† ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢᵃʸ ᶤˢ ᶠᶤᶜᵗᶤᵒᶰ ᶤˢ ᶰᵒᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ : headcanon

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horrible-on-main · 5 years

Note

💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have (for Ariadne, from asklordcaptaincastronova's ask yesterday)

“Seriously?” She accepts the gift skeptically. The glittery paper bag and creased paper ribbon scream ‘tacky tourist bait.’ Astri is handing them out like candy, one for each member of the team.“Something to remember this place by,” the novice informs them enthusiastically.“Why would I want to remember this shit-hole?” Ariadne complains. But she opens her present.

The contents do not disappoint. It’s a little statuette of Saint Celestine, wings spread and sword held high. The carving is crude and without character. A bland thing off some production line, the paint job imprecise and uninspired. Well, at least she hasn’t wasted much of her money on this nonsense...“Gosh, thank you. Just what I always wanted.” Tone deathly dry, but Astri doesn’t seem put off.“I wasn’t sure if we’d have time to shop after tomorrow’s ‘festivities’, so I thought I’d better pick up souvenirs ahead of time. Our first mission as a team! Let’s get drinks!”“Not too many,” Rickers warns, “We’ve got an early start.”Ariadne sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I’ll see you all back at the rooms. Have fun.” What’s even the point if I’m not going to get smashed?“Quality time with the team that bad, huh? You know you could stand to defrost a little from time to time!”“Eat my ass,” she tells the group at large, already walking away.You’ll learn.

Twenty-four hours later the air is thick with smoke. Some unfortunate not yet evac’d is crying in the distance.

Ariadne and Vance limp to the extraction point leaning on one another. Both are wounded, struggling along on residual stimms. Both are filthy with blood and soot and gutter slime.

There’s a medic in the shuttle for them, with field sutures and disinfectant and blessed morpha for the pain. And a change of clothes, thank the throne. They don’t talk about what they’ve seen. Vance passes Ariadne a flask, and she’s glad to drink.

The medic is kind enough to even sift the contents of their pockets out of the ruined clothes, while they sit exhausted and numb and watch. She finds the little saint statue and shows it to Ariadne.“I’m sorry, looks like she got broken in the fighting...” One of the wings has snapped. “Hold on a moment, I have glue...”Moments later, the trinket is pressed into Ariadne’s hands. She’s too tired to refuse. So she takes it tiredly. Something to look at, I guess. The fix is imperfect, the angle slightly off. A chip is still missing, presumably lost forever. It doesn’t manage to give the little figure any more character.

“Going to toss that when we make home, cynic?” Vance asks tiredly.She laughs a little. He’s no better, she knows. “Probably,” she admits. The medic looks a little hurt, but she can’t bring herself to care.

She finds it in her pocket again when she strips to sleep. Her eyelids are heavy. Even the quick first-pass debrief felt eons long. She just wants to sleep.

She flops back on the bed, examining the tacky statuette again.Our first mission as a team! Astri’s voice echoes in her mind. Naive little idiot. Naive, dead little idiot.It’s such an ugly thing. She should drop it in the trash sooner rather than later. But the chute is far away, and she is lying down.

She falls asleep with it still in her hand.

#drabble #ariadne #ariadne drabble #ariadne past #ariadne past drabble

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subasekabang · 6 years

Text

Death of the Author

Author: Leasspell Dael Rating: T Word Count: ~11,500 Pairings/Characters: Pre-Neku/Minamimoto; Neku, Minamimoto, Rhyme, Beat, Shiki, Joshua, Hanekoma Warnings: Canon-Typical Discussion of Death, Depression, Swearing/Profanity

Summary: The Game is over, Neku and his new friends are alive, and Shibuya is still kicking. Trauma doesn't fade that quickly though and Neku struggles to process everything he went through--everything he learned. No matter how much he hangs out with his friends and tries to enjoy his new life, there's a darkness inside him he's desperate to hide.

Found-object art starts cropping up all over Shibuya, and Neku's pretty sure he's seen Minamimoto out of the corner of his eyes in the crowds. With Joshua and Mr. Hanekoma MIA, this might be Neku's one chance to get closure.

The question: is Neku willing to risk a meeting with the Reaper to settle old ghosts?

Neku keeps going back.

To Hachiko. The Scramble Crossing. Ten-Four. CAT's mural.

He keeps going back, and Neku doesn't know why. It's not just the incidental travels when he's going about Shibuya with his friends; he wanders at night when he can't sleep--

no timer no blankness no missing-time

--when he's alone and has no goals besides the passing of time.

He keeps going back.

He keeps seeing ghosts.

Not real ghosts; not Reapers or Players or Noise. Just--

777's collar spinning to a stop on the ground flowers under an overpass a small café littered with broken glass

--memories and nightmares; the souvenirs of a game he never asked to play.

Sometimes Neku visits the landmarks with purpose. Hachiko to meet up with Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme. CAT's mural in Udagawa to talk at Joshua. Shops where he's built relationships with the employees. Each visit part of his efforts to reconcile the Shibuya of his past with the Shibuya of the Game with the Shibuya he now lives in.

Some days he backslides; puts on his headphones and shuts out the world. He's not a saint, and change is hard. Some days Neku lives so thoroughly in the present, he can forget when he was alone; can forget when every day was a shot of adrenaline that never stopped.

Some days he checks his phone incessantly for a mission that will never appear and scratches at his hand to soothe an itch from a timer that will never count down to zero.

Given all of this bullshit scrambling his brains as he tries to survive one day after the other, Neku thinks he can be forgiven for thinking Sho Minamimoto was a figment of his imagination.

The truth started with a bullet.

Fucking Joshua.

CRACK his backside meets the asphalt it feels like there's cotton in his ears somehow he still hears...

"Blew it..."

"Ew; that's tacky."

"I think it's kinda creative. A commentary on our consumerist society; both judging and part-of..."

Neku looked up from where Beat was showing him a skateboard trick. In theory Rhyme was showing Shiki the same thing, but it sounded like they'd gotten distracted.

Across the plaza, sat a heap of junk. Not the towering monstrosities that Pi-Face had left littered around the UG in Neku's second week, but a person-shaped sculpture of found objects, wagging a scolding finger at the viewer.

It was similar enough to make the blood drain from Neku's face though. Beat just scowled.

"Maybe," Shiki conceded, face still twisted in a grimace. Looking over to the boys, mouth opened to say something--ask them for backup maybe--she came to a complete stop. Her eyes widened a fraction, before she glanced over her shoulder at the abomination.

Face hardening, Shiki scooped up her board in one arm and looped arms with Rhyme using her other, dragging them both over to Neku and Beat.

"Let's bounce; Towa Records has a sale on today I didn't want to miss."

Neku wasn't sure why he always went to CAT's mural in Udagawa whenever he wanted to talk to Joshua. He'd tried visiting the sewer access to the Composer's lair, but in the RG it was nothing but a storm drain. It didn't feel like anything special, except that his memories told him otherwise.

The Cat Café remained closed, though its insides were pristine when viewed through the window.

Minamimoto's rampage had occurred in the UG after all.

With the café closed, Neku had no way to contact Mr. Hanekoma; no way to reach out to Josh. Their numbers were no longer in his phone.

So he'd wandered over to Udagawa, crossing through alleys until he found CAT's last mural.

The paint was already beginning to peel--CAT had always made his murals transitory, but usually something new would crop up before the old one disappeared--but Neku still found comfort in it. He ran his hand along the wall, chips of paint flicking off with his progress, taking in the details that had yet to fade. Living in the moment.

Until his hand hit a pit in the concrete.

Jarred back into reality, Neku looked at the imperfection in the wall and felt his blood run cold.

It was a bullet-hole.

Suddenly, Neku was back in the moment of his death as Joshua loomed above him, gun pointed straight at Neku's heart--

--except, that didn't make sense.

Whipping around, Neku saw the spot where he had lain all those weeks ago. It was meters away. Wandering over, there was a matching bullet hole in the asphalt.

Returning to the wall, he ran his hand lightly over the imperfection.

"So where did you come from, then?" Joshua had only needed one bullet to take Neku out.

Then again, they hadn't been alone in the alley that day.

I blew it...

And Neku wasn't the only one who was shot.

Beat was fretting.

In any other circumstance, Neku would probably take the opportunity to tease his friend mercilessly. Beat took such pride in his 'tough man' attitude, that the mother-henning was a little adorable.

But it was about Rhyme, and for their group that would probably always make such teasing too soon.

Specifically, it was about Rhyme's ambitions. Or lack-thereof.

"But she has all of her memories back, right?" Shiki asked quietly.

Snorting, Beat crossed his arms defensively across his chest, kicking at a pebble as they wandered by A-East. "She knows things I forgot 'bout. She's still as smart--as skilled--as she's always been.

"Just... she's not doin' anything with it anymore. Tags along with me more often than not."

Unlike Shiki and Neku whose friends-groups pre-Game had been, respectively, small and non-existent, Beat had a large group of connections he spent time with, and Rhyme had had her own. While Beat had made the effort to reconnect with his other friends, Rhyme hadn't.

Apparently, she hadn't been doing much of anything.

Today was a rare day where she was separated from Beat's side by a group project she was doing for school, and Beat had wasted no time bringing his concerns to them.

"It just don't make no sense! Rhyme always had a million million things she was lookin' to do. Didn't have time for it all. We'd havta plan times to skateboard together just to make sure we had time to do it! Did... Did something go wrong?"

When they were brought back, Beat meant. When Rhyme was restored.

"She's been through an ordeal, Beat. We all have. And she's the youngest of all of us," Shiki was explaining gently, her hand lightly placed on Beat's forearm where the boy was clutching his hat in frustration. "If she's a bit clingy for a while, that's to be expected."

Neku followed along behind them, silently thinking that Shiki was wrong.

Well, not that Shiki was wrong. Shiki was absolutely right.

But Beat was too.

Neku feared that Rhyme wasn't going to get better, like Shiki was claiming would happen with time.

"I really admire how he has a goal and is giving his all to reach it! I wish I had something like that..."

"Rhyme was always the one with dreams and ambitions. I just said that thing about being the best skater so she'd stop looking so lost..."

"You fool! Her memories weren't her entry fee-- They were yours!"

Rhyme didn't get her entry fee back. Neku got his memories and Shiki back, Shiki her appearance, and Beat got Rhyme's memories. They were all brought back to life, but only Rhyme's fee had been kept.

Why? Because even though she was brought back, she had lost?

"Your entry fee has already been collected."

And what did that mean for Neku, who won every Game except for the last?

Still, Neku didn't know anything for sure. No point is upsetting Beat more than he was.

10-4 had one of Pi-face's statues sitting in front of it.

Shiki made a face as she dragged a snarling Beat into the shopping centre. Beat needed 'something nice' to wear to an interview for a part-time job and had made the mistake of mentioning this in Shiki's hearing. Neku kept strategically silent to prevent her focus from shifting onto him. Rhyme was giggling over their antics, which was always a win.

The statue caught Rhyme's attention, so Neku paused with her, grimacing slightly at it.

The core of it had once been a shopping cart--maybe two of them--but the wires had been beaten and reworked into a vaguely human shape. The framework was then papered-over with shopping bags from all the different stores in the centre.

It was trash and an eyesore, but at least it wasn't a literal heap of garbage like they had been in the UG.

"We are what we consume..." Rhyme murmured, her outstretched hand gliding over the contours of the shape, never quite touching. Hovering over an oddly placed wheel sticking out from a shoulder, she finally made contact, sending the wheel spinning before stepping back to observe it as a whole. "Do we move society, or does society move us?"

Neku looked at the statue, and just saw trash. "You really get all of that from this?"

Despite Beat's concerns about her ambition, Rhyme didn't seem unhappy. In fact, she turned to Neku with a beaming smile. "Oh yes! The artist has put so much passion into their work. They must have a lot of drive to be making so many in such a short amount of time!"

Plenty of time when you're dead, Neku supposed. "Sounds like you're a fan."

A blush dusted her cheeks, but Rhyme didn't look down or ashamed of her enthusiasm. Instead, she elbowed Neku in the ribs, a teasing grin twitching her lips. "Kinda like how you feel about CAT, right?"

CAT...

Mr. Hanekoma...

CAT's artwork was a major inspiration for Neku. Even back when he was too self-absorbed to actualize the message, he'd felt it:

Seize The Day.

During the Games, Mr. Hanekoma had been Neku's rock, the one person he trusted to lay out the rules and show him how to navigate the challenges.

Until the last week.

Why had Mr. Hanekoma been helping Pi-face? If he was helping Minamimoto, why was he there when Josh shot him the second time?

Why had he looked so gleeful?

To say Neku's feelings about CAT were complicated was an understatement.

Much like his feelings for Joshua.

"Yeah," he confirmed to Rhyme, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud. "CAT's a big inspiration for me. Do you think you'd want to do something like these... things?"

The world went quiet.

Rhyme's eyes widened before she hunched in slightly, darting her eyes over to the Consumerist Nightmare that had so caught her attention. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

"Do... do you think I could?" she asked, a tremor in her voice Neku didn't think he'd ever heard from her before.

Oh god, do something better

Choose something more meaningful

Why would you want to

Neku squashed all of the negative thoughts. It didn't matter what he thought.

"Of course," he told her, slinging an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. "Draft your brother into helping with any heavy-lifting, though, y'hear?"

Beat would complain vociferously over the next few weeks about Rhyme collecting trash and junk, but underneath it all Neku and Shiki could hear his relief. She was no longer aimlessly following him around, often co-opting his assistance even if he'd had other plans.

Rhyme had a dream again. And that was worth everything to Beat.

It gave Neku hope that whatever had been stolen from him was something he could gain back.

Now he just needed to figure out whatever that was.

It was fragile.

Sitting in the middle of the back-alley with CAT's last mural was another one of Minamimoto's things.

A ceramic bowl, attached to a collection of glass bottles wired together in a mass that was leaned against a squashed bean-bag chair, more bottles chained together on each side to create four sprawled limbs.

And to add insult to injury, it was all topped with a mop-head that had been dyed orange, with a set of earphones over the top of that.

Walking into the alley to see this perverse caricature of himself in the worst moment of his life...

The world stopped.

No chirping birds or humming cicadas. No traffic or conversation from the street.

Everything became that... that... Abomination!

Neku's blood rushed in his ears, and he clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles white. His palm itched. He couldn't catch his breath.

On the ground was a chunk of concrete. Neku didn't remember picking it up. Neku did remember throwing it.

Shattering glass sounds nothing like the crack of a gunshot, but somehow the two became linked in Neku's mind. The rock went straight through the "torso" and somehow Neku had just become complicit in his own death.

Blood spread out from his corpse and all Neku could see was Joshua's smirk and Hanekoma's mirth, and why were they taking joy in this? Wasn't it enough that he couldn't do what had to be done?

"For fuck's sake."

The Composer's throne room faded away, and Neku was back in the gritty reality of the back-alleys of Udagawa. Shattered glass was at his feet, and red liquid spilled from the broken bottles.

From the smell of it, it was paint.

And standing at it's head, a bundle of cloth under one arm, was the Grim Heaper himself, scowling at Neku as if he were the scum beneath his feet.

"You've completely screwed up the order of operations here, yoctogram. Breaking the glass was supposed to happen after it was clothed." He tossed the bundle to the side in frustration. "Do you have any idea how much your petty vandalism has upset my precisely calculated schedule? Just... just scram. I've got numbers to crunch."

And then Minamimoto crouched down, poking at the thing's torso, checking to see what was salvageable from his little arts-and-crafts project.

Never mind that the real thing was standing right in front of him. Neku was dismissed as if he were nothing.

Sometimes Neku felt like he was nothing.

(Sometimes that was a relief, not having the weight of Shibuya's fate on his shoulders, and sometimes it made him mad, because he was a person and he mattered.)

Neku stalked past Minamimoto, kicked the head off the 'statue' (which also shattered and leaked red paint against the back wall of one of the businesses backing on the alley), reached the mural and laid his palms against it trying to ground himself.

He was alive. He wasn't on a timer. He wasn't in the Game. Shiki was safe. Rhyme and Beat were safe. Shibuya was safe.

Kitaniji was an asshole. Joshua was an asshole. Hanekoma was an asshole. Fucking Minamimoto was an asshole.

"Woah woah woah there, kid!"

A hand around his wrist, and a jerk as Neku's arm's momentum halted. Neku stared blankly at the wall, at the flecks of paint slowly detaching and falling to the ground or blown away by the wind.

He fist pulsed with his heartbeat, and now there really was blood. When had he started punching the wall?

"Got some anger issues there, I see. You done dividing by zero?"

Neku jerked his wrist out of Minamimoto's grasp with a snarl before twisting to put his back to the wall and sliding down, bloody hand cradled to his chest, head buried in his knees.

"Fuck off."

The last thing Neku expected was for Pi-face to sit down next to him, looking uncertain.

"Not exactly a safe neighborhood, kid. Why don'tcha go home already?"

"Fuck you."

"Yes," Neku could hear the eye-roll. "We've established your masterful proficiency with our language. Chop, chop. Time's a wasting. Go home. Fix up your hand. Stop your delinquent ways. Yada yada yada."

But Neku didn't budge. Just closed his eyes and let tears he didn't even realize he'd been suppressing finally flow. They were silent, and pulsed with the same beat he could feel in his injured hand.

Proof he was alive.

"You really don't recognize me, do you? Did Joshua mind-wipe you or something?" Neku's voice was thick with his tears and muffled by his knees, but somehow still understandable.

And Neku knew it was understandable because Minamimoto, who hadn't been moving much anyway, suddenly went completely still.

The was a heavy silence. Then...

"Are you telling me," and Minamimoto's voice was dripping with dark menace, "That the Composer actually brought you and your little friends back and didn't erase your memories?"

So Minamimoto did recognize him.

"Why did you think your little re-enactment pissed me off so much?" Neku finally raised his head from his knees to make sure Minamimoto got the full brunt of his sardonic expression.

What he got in return was a shifty, uncomfortable look and arms crossed defensively across the reaper's chest.

"Always a chance there was a hidden remainder. I figured the Composer would've included a compulsion to stay away from here along with the memory suppression so it's not like I ever expected you to see it. Barely anyone ever comes back here. I wasn't really expecting anyone to see it."

Then what was the point?

Muttering something under his breath, Minamimoto got up and retrieved the bundle of cloth--clothes--that he'd tossed aside earlier before returning back to Neku's side, sitting down with a little 'oof'. Neku watched him lazily, cheek pressed against his knees. Anger still simmered within him, but he wasn't sure he still had the energy to do anything about it.

"Why did you get to live when people like 777, Nao-Nao, and Sota didn't?"

Minamimoto didn't so much as twitch, just grabbed the shirt from the center of the bundle and started tearing a strip off of it.

"Gimme your hand."

Neku didn't budge.

Rolling his eyes, Minamimoto reached into the cavern of Neku's hunched body and gently grabbed his wrist again, drawing it out from where it had been sheltered against Neku's chest.

The pain was beginning to hit, spots all over his hand stinging as they were exposed to the air. Without a word, Minamimoto began wrapping Neku's hand in the makeshift bandage. For someone whose very existence filled Neku with a rush of adrenaline, flood of anger, and inappropriate grief, his hands were surprisingly gentle as he tied the cloth off in a small knot.

"Seriously, clean and disinfect when you get home. Don't want to kick it over an easily preventable infection now, do we?"

"You could have destroyed Shibuya with those Taboo Noise... Of all the people Josh could have brought back, why did it have to be you?" Neku's voice was thready with exhaustion and grief and pain. Nothing made sense since Joshua shot him.

A sneer was the last thing Neku expected in response, though, not after his non-response earlier. Minamimoto stood up, brushing off his pants from sitting on the ground.

Half-turned to walk away, Pi-face stopped and looked back at Neku.

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

Neku did wind up with a slight infection in his hand from where he'd smashed his knuckles against the wall over and over again. Luckily, it cleared up without needing to go to the doctor, but it drew attention from his parents.

"Maybe you'd like to get into some kind of martial arts? Learn how to throw a punch properly?" Mom asked him.

"We might want to consider making an appointment with a therapist for him..." Mama murmured quietly to Mom when she thought he couldn't hear.

Nothing came of either suggestion, but it reminded him that his parents cared. Even if they didn't know what had happened to him during those three weeks he was missing.

Then again, these days Neku wasn't even sure if he knew what happened during those three weeks.

He hadn't been fighting for anything except for his life and then Shiki's life. He wasn't part of Joshua and Minamimoto's pissing contest.

He wasn't.

Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't been affected by it.

And Joshua had gotten his final chuckle at Neku's expense.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Neku just wanted to be done already. He'd played this Game. He'd played it three fucking times. He'd chosen his soul over a guaranteed victory. He'd trusted that little fucker, no matter how often it turned out he'd completely screwed Neku over. Neku wasn't even allowed to play this game any more. Was this his punishment? To play the Game over and over until the Noise finally finally erased him?

Except people didn't walk by unseeing, ignorant of Neku's pain in their midst. Of his confusion.

People jumped away from him in shock at his yell. People looked at him--in concern, in irritation, in fear.

People touched him.

An arm around his shoulders guiding him out of traffic before the lights changed when he just stood there, gaping. Hands on his face, tilting his head back as paramedics checked his pupil dilation after an ambulance was called because he'd curled up into a little ball and wouldn't stop shaking.

Hands strapping him onto a gurney for the ride to the hospital.

He was checked over by concerned medical professionals.

No sign of head trauma. No concussion. Did you take something, kid? No sign of drugs. No signs of abuse or injuries of any kind.

Police officers with questions. What's your name son? Do you have any ID? No. He'd left it at home when he'd sulked out of the house... three weeks ago? Longer? Do you know your parents' numbers?

And finally, finally, Mom and Mama had swept in and grabbed onto him and cried and cried and cried. They were so relieved. Do you know how worried we've been? Where have you been? Are you okay? Don't scare us like this!

For the first time in three weeks he'd felt safe. They could scare away the monsters from under his bed and lurking in the closet. They would guard his sleep.

And that's what Neku did at that point. Just dropped off into an exhausted slumber, with no reaction but a few tired tears escaping his eyes.

When he'd woken up, he'd gotten the gist of what had happened in his absence.

The police had dismissed his parents' concerns, classifying him as a runaway. He'd turn up eventually, they said. (And he had.) Mom and Mama had been plastering the neighbourhood with missing posters, and with each day that passed they feared that they'd be finding a body instead of their son healthy and whole.

(Neku never told them how often he slipped away to Shibuya, so much that it felt like his real home, not the quiet suburb they lived in. Neku had to scour newspapers to discover that his body had been labeled a John Doe and his... death... was still an open investigation. Neku might have a pauper's grave out there somewhere. He's afraid to go looking.)

Neku apologizes over and over for running off that morning, for forgetting his wallet and phone, for taking so long to come home.

He claims he got overwhelmed and then got lost in his own head. Tells them about haunting the streets of Shibuya (figuratively). About making friends who helped him get to the point where he could reach out for help; helped him be ready to come home.

They went as family to therapy for a few sessions, but Neku refused to get into any details about his three weeks away. He just wanted to put it behind him, he claimed.

Neku knew telling the truth would just make things worse. So he kept his silence. Even among Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme they didn't talk about the Game much. So all of Neku's feelings about it were kept buried deep inside, a festering wound he didn't even realize he had.

Until he met Minamimoto in that alley.

It turned out found-object sculpting wasn't Rhyme's niche.

"She says she just doesn't feel it," Beat groused to Neku where they were watching Shiki teach Rhyme about different types of fabrics. "Decided she wants to give quilting a try."

"At least you'll get some warm blankets out of it," Neku said dutifully. In truth, he thought it was great that Shiki was getting a chance to share her passion with someone new. Shiki and Eri were working on restoring trust between each other after the miscommunication that had sent Shiki careening into Shibuya's streets, but it was complicated by Shiki's guilt over stealing her friend's persona during the Game. Which Eri didn't--and couldn't--know about. Things were still awkward between them.

"Don't see why she couldn't have figured it out before I hadta drag garbage all around town..." Arms crossed over his chest in indignation, Beat slumped against the wall emphasize his disgruntlement. Neku suppressed his amusement, simply nodding as-if in agreement. It was Neku's job to be appropriately supportive. Not an asshole. Besides, Beat didn't really mind.

"At least we know for sure now she doesn't want to be the next Grim Heaper."

Right. Minamimoto.

There were still a scattering of scabs on his hand, healing slowed by the infection he'd gotten from not disinfecting his cuts right away. Neku rubbed them absently, remembering the strangely gentle way Minamimoto had held his hand while wrapping it.

"Beat... What were we fighting for?" Beat's grumbling went silent. Across the store, Neku could still hear Rhyme and Shiki chatting excitedly, unaffected by the bombshell that Neku had just dropped. The line he had just crossed.

They didn't talk about the Game. Not really. Not directly.

They didn't talk about the Game, but they might recommend a store or store-clerk. Might talk about a shortcut, or a piece of Shibuya trivia. They'd never ask one another where they had learned about these things. Shibuya was precious to them, but the Game was to be left behind and forgotten.

They were supposed to be moving on.

"To live--for Rhyme; for Shiki."

That's right. That's what Neku had always thought. Beat knew it, had sounded sure about it. Why was Neku suddenly full of doubts?

"If you think possibly destroying Shibuya was a point against me in that fight, you forgot which side you were playing for."

Neku hesitated before speaking. It was probably just Pi-face playing mind games. Like leaving them to hang all week. Or that fucking statue of his.

But.

"...Was that all? Are we sure there wasn't something else?"

Darting his eyes over to check on the girls and seeing they were undisturbed, Beat grabbed Neku by the elbow and dragged him outside.

"The hell's going on with you? What else would we have been fighting for? Isn't the right to live enough?"

Jerking his arm out of Beat's grip, Neku scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Shut up. I know. It's just... How did we fit into that fucking bet?"

Now Beat looked at him as if he were crazy. "What bet? What's goin' on, Neku?"

Neku began to pace back and forth on the street in front of the shop. "What do you remember about the last day, Beat? After you snapped Shiki out of the brain-washing and caught up to me."

Because beyond his perplexing question about Neku's own role in the Game, Minamimoto had said something else interesting that Neku had merely dismissed at the time: that the Composer should have erased their memories. Neku had thought that was just Joshua being his usual contrary and dismissive self; but what if he had tampered with their memories? What if the reason they didn't talk about the Game was because they were compelled not to?

Brow furrowing, Beat scratched at the peach fuzz on his chin absently as he thought back. "Well, there weren't much time to see anything before Shades snatched us all up as part of his 'final boss' routine. We stomped him, then me an' Rhyme were waking up in the hospital, at the end of our 'recovery' from the accident. Was downright eerie how there wuz paperwork and everything from a long-ass stay we didn't even really do... Had cards from classmates and bunches of flowers..." Beat shuddered.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

They'd arrived after Josh's grand entrance and had Josh's gloating and final showdown erased.

At least they don't have to remember me getting shot...

"But you remember how messed up the Game was when we were playing, right? All the rules the Reapers were breaking?"

Lips thinning, Beat nodded and said nothing else.

"And didn't you think it was weird how you never got to see the Composer while you were a Reaper yourself?"

A gusty sigh. "Neku, I was small fry. 'Sides, Shades seemed to be running the show, if you ask me. Not sure how much work the Composer actually does."

"Kitaniji was running the Game. The Composer wanted to erase the Game and start over, or something, so Kitaniji made a bet with him--with Shibuya as the stakes. Without the Composer around, the rules started breaking down," a realization came to Neku, "Just as the fucker wanted to begin with. Argh." Another anxious scrub of Neku's hands through his hair. "If Kitaniji erased us, he won and got to keep Shibuya as it is. If the Composer won, he'd erase everything."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Beat slumped back against the wall. Through the store window, Neku could see the girls paying for their purchases at the register.

"So we'd've lost no matter what? Live and Shibuya dies. Die and Shibuya lives." Now Beat was scratching his head through his hat. "Wait a second, though. We're here, and Shibuya's here. How'd that happen?"

Through a mad man's twisted whims. Except Neku had just realized a flaw in his explanation to Beat; a memory brought back to the surface merely by talking about the event. Kitaniji didn't have to kill all of them--that was just the most efficient way to make sure he eliminated the Composer's

Proxy.

Neku. Neku was the only one who'd needed to die.

Or...

"I blew it...

...Not die in the first place.

Beat was trying to get his attention, trying to get the rest of the explanation, but Neku was lost in his own head.

More and more memories were pouring back. Minamimoto came to the alley that day trying to shoot the Composer in his weakened form--or so Josh claimed. Joshua also claimed that he would destroy Shibuya if Neku didn't shoot him and take his place. But Neku was supposed to trust his partner and he had and Shibuya had lived; they all had lived--even Rhyme who had legitimately lost but had been Neku's saving grace in the end...

Back it up. Minamimoto had shot at the Composer and had done so in the UG. Was it because Joshua truly was weaker there? Or Minamimoto just thought he was weaker there then proved wrong when Josh stopped the bullets. Or...

Or had he only decided to take the shot as Joshua lined up his own?

Rush of footsteps Neku turns Joshua running straight for him Gun rising Bullet flies past Neku's cheek Neku collapses "I blew it..." Looks behind Minamimoto with an arm graze Second gun raised Six shots A raised hand Tinkle as they hit the ground Minamimoto runs away Joshua takes aim at Neku supine on the ground and...

Josh had waited until the last minute to choose his proxy; Neku had checked the dates. He'd been 'missing' for three weeks and two days. One day to die; one day to be found; 21 days to play. Or perhaps there had been another proxy for the first week who had failed and Neku was the replacement.

If Josh had failed to provide a proxy, that was one less week where he had an opportunity to win. One less chance for Shibuya being destroyed.

Minamimoto had taken a huge risk when he'd summoned the Taboo Noise, but he might have thought it was worth it if it stopped the Composer from playing with all of their lives.

But why was Hanekoma playing both sides? None of this made any--

"NEKU!!"

"Gwaaah~"

"How the hell is Shibuya still here if we are too?"

Maybe it was selfish, but Neku didn't want to correct Beat that it was actually just Neku who had been the problem. Neku didn't want to be in this alone. Didn't want to reveal the final game where Neku had taken a leap of faith, uncertain if there was anything below to catch him if he was wrong.

So he shrugged. "Whims of a madman is my guess. Maybe the Composer changed his mind."

The girls came out then, and the subject was dropped.

If I'd killed Shiki and then been erased myself, Shibuya wouldn't have been in danger...

It was a dark thought, but Neku was in a dark mood. Mama had wanted them to go on a family trip to Hokkaido during summer break, but Neku had protested the idea of leaving all of his friends behind. He'd only just made them, after all.

"It's only for a couple of weeks, Neku," she'd informed him crossly after he'd objected yet again to the idea. "They'll still be here when you get back."

But would they? He was pretty sure they wouldn't purposefully abandon him, but Neku was painfully aware of how fickle life itself could be. None of them had planned on dying, but it had happened without their consent all the same.

He'd stormed out of the house without a word--though not before grabbing his wallet with his ID in it on the way out--and begun stalking the streets of Shibuya. His headphones were jammed over his ears and he was barely taking in his surroundings at all.

Neku was unprepared for a sudden presence grabbing his arm and the disorientation as sound from the world around him crashed back in.

"--KU!! Are you okay?"

Oh. It was Rhyme; Rhyme who had grabbed his arm with one hand and then used her other to dislodge his 'phones.

Working his mouth, Neku tried to force out some kind of appeasement to clear the worry on her face, but no sound emerged except a strangled whimper which only caused her brow to crease further.

Rhyme released his arm in favour of grabbing Neku's hand instead and Neku held on with a death-grip. They were near the underpass where she and Beat had had their original accident. He didn't want her to get hurt. She'd been hurt enough.

small creature light and fragile stronger than him and beat combined last ally when konishi attacked comforting weight on neku's left shoulder

But whenever they needed to cross an intersection, Rhyme would bring them both to a stop and hold his hand a little tighter while they waited for the light to change.

I wonder if she has nightmares about Beat running into traffic, like Beat has nightmares about her following him there...

Despite any issues she might have, Rhyme moved with purpose, getting him out of the streets where his inattention could do him harm.

"Welcome to Sunshine!"

So they ordered burgers and sat down to eat in silence. As they ate, Neku moved from appreciative of the silence to antsy about it. The world was beginning to encroach in on him again and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet.

"My parents want to go away for break."

Rhyme's eyes lit up. "That's great! Where are you going?" She looked at the dark cloud over his face. "Or... is it not great?"

He'd been planning to just mutter a vague complaint to minimize her worry, but somehow all of the poison he'd been hiding inside came pouring out. His irrational fears that something would happen to them--or Shibuya--if he left; the fact that he felt like his parents had always pushed him to make friends and were now tearing him away from them; that he feared if he left now he'd never get the answers he needed about what had really happened during the Game--that some invisible tether between himself and the district would be severed forever.

Rhyme let him spew it all out without a word or interruption, and when he was done she was smiling sadly.

"I get why you're so concerned, Neku," and Neku nodded while taking a vicious bite out of the burger he'd been neglecting during his rant. "But everything you're feeling right now about being separated from us? Your parents are feeling about the time you were missing for them." Neku choked and nearly swallowed his tongue. "All they want is a chance to reconnect with you, without all of the distractions of a place they probably see as having stolen you from them."

Guilt. Guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt.

Why hadn't he seen that? There was a part of him that was bitter that Mom and Mama hadn't realized he was dead--even before Josh's resurrection voodoo--and he hadn't even considered that thinking he was missing might have been just as bad from their perspective. Fuck, he was a self-absorbed ass...

"So I should shut up and go on the trip to appease them," he muttered, trying to ignore the flush crawling up his cheeks.

Surprisingly, Rhyme giggled at this and took a noisy slurp from her cola before explaining.

"No, Neku. You should shut up and go on the trip so you can enjoy yourself with them," she explained.

Oh. Yeah. Uncomfortable shift. That could be a possibility. He guessed.

"Want to hear about my day so you can put off processing?"

"Please." Surely she could understand him while his forehead was pressed to the table. She was young. She didn't listen to loud music. Surely her hearing was excellent.

And it was. Rhyme regaled him with her mundane errands picking up more fabric for the quilt she was working on, dropping off lunch for Beat at his part-time job, browsing the new music selections at Towa Records, and it was great until she started in on Minamimoto.

"Some of my classmates think the artist is going to be the next CAT, since CAT sightings have disappeared, but I'm not so sure. I mean, I love the sculptures, but CAT's works always came with a certain joie de vivre, y'know?" And of course Neku nodded along at that, CAT fan that he was. "I just get a sense of contained anger from most of these pieces--an obsession with the worst of us all instead of the best. Don't get me wrong they're powerful, and I love them, but I'm not sure they have what it takes to match CAT."

Neku could get behind all of that. Minamimoto was an angry bastard and he wasn't afraid to let everyone know they were beneath him, while Hanekoma was about lifting people up. He could hardly believe that anyone would even consider them on the same level. He didn't even get what Rhyme saw in the junk heaps.

"Although..."

That sounded ominous.

"I found a new sculpture today while I was wandering, and it's different from the rest. Did you want to see it?"

shattered glass splattered blood paint

No way. Minamimoto wouldn't have re-made it, would he?

With a sense of trepidation, Neku agreed.

The closer they got to the back alley in Udagawa, the more nervous Neku became. If he was right there, there was no way she wasn't going to notice the resemblance between the sculpture and himself. Then he'd have to admit that he'd died there, and since there was no vehicular access he'd have to admit he'd been murdered there, and the fact that someone else was recreating the scene means he'd have to admit that Minamimoto was there when Neku'd died, but wasn't the one who killed Neku (since he didn't want to crush the source of her new dreams)...

It was a mess.

"Beat told me you showed him a CAT mural back here when you were partners, so I wanted to take a look since people were comparing the sculptor to CAT, but the mural's pretty faded now, I guess you've probably seen that yourself, but there was actually a sculpture hidden back there too! I was so surprised, I wonder why they both chose the same isolated location?" She gasped and started slapping Neku's arm. "Oh! Oh! Do you think the sculptor might actually be CAT? Maybe something happened to disillusion them and they changed media to express that new outlook? But, the statues don't really have any of CAT's stylings, and you'd think it would be hard to disguise all of them..."

She babbled on and on excitedly as they walked, somehow not noticing how tense Neku was getting as they approached.

If Neku didn't already know that Pi-face was the artist she admired--not CAT--and hadn't been dreading what he'd see when they reached the mural, he would have enjoyed trading theories with her. It was the kind of nerdery that had gotten him ostracized from his peers before the Game.

Right now it was all he could do to just let her babble away as a white-noise background-track to his panic.

Sure enough, when they entered the alley Neku immediately spotted one of Minamimoto's monstrosities.

But it wasn't the one he'd smashed those weeks ago. This one was new.

This one wasn't Neku.

The wobbliness in his knees was hidden from Rhyme by her disengaging from his arm to run over to the sculpture.

The Neku-statue had been made from fragile glass; this one was all barbed-wire and pigeon feathers. This one was Minamimoto.

Not the arrogant Game Master or dismissive Taboo Noise-hybrid--no, this was Minamimoto at his most vulnerable.

I blew it...

Kneeling, one arm clutching the other--a single feather smeared with red paint to symbolize the trail of blood down Minamimoto's injured arm. An L-shaped block of wood held in the hand of the injured arm, ready to be transferred to the whole arm at any moment. A black cap over a red bandanna on the top of the 'head'; torso and legs wrapped in black fabric. The head angled not to look ahead, but at the ground in an attempt to hide the pain...

"It looks like the sculptor spilled their paint back that way--" where Neku had smashed his own likeness and relived the worst moment in his life, two sets of foot prints walking to the mural from the spill, and there is still paint in the grooves of Neku's sneakers, "--but there's something about this work that feels different from all of the others. It's not angry or mocking. It seems, I don't know... Private."

"Vulnerable," Neku contributes, remembering how it felt to see himself laid bare. "Lonely." Because when had Minamimoto ever had someone with him? Even his 'collaboration' with Mr. Hanekoma seemed half-based on threats of violence, and who knows which side the barista was really on? In a world where partnerships were the ultimate rule of law, Minamimoto had been fighting alone.

Approaching the statue and standing next to Rhyme, Neku let his fingers trail lightly against the bloody feather. "But still angry. Just... a simmering anger, not quite ready to boil over yet."

For the first time since her excitement over the statue had taken over her in Sunshine, Rhyme really seemed to see him again. "Neku... are you--"

Okay he was sure she would say, but she never did. Someone else spoke over her.

Spoke. Yelled.

"Hey! Get away from that you brats! Last thing I need is yoctograms like you ruining--" Then Minamimoto got a closer look. "Oh. It's you again. Well, scram. Go trash someone else's hard work."

Rhyme squeaked. It was a very familiar squeak. It was Shiki's squeak upon meeting Eiji Ouji.

(It was Neku's squeak upon discovering Mr. Hanekoma was CAT.)

Neku sighed, extremely put-upon. But Rhyme was his friend and, even if Minamimoto didn't know it, he'd done her a great service.

"Rhyme, this is Sho Minamimoto, the Grim Heaper. He was Game Master during the Second Week. Minamimoto, this is Raimu Daisukenojo--"

"Call me Rhyme!" (Much squeakier than her usual introduction.)

"--she was a Player during my first week."

Minamimoto squinted at her. "Weren't you smaller and pink and Noise-food?"

Well then. Minamimoto wasn't going to need red paint for his statue any more because Neku was going to smear him over the pavement!

Rhyme winced a bit but nodded shyly--shyly! Rhyme!--with a quiet "Yeah."

Before Neku could enact his violence, Minamimoto surprised them both by holding out a hand to fist-bump. "Good job keeping your sense of identity intact. Most Noise lose that within hours. You must've held out over two weeks."

Perking up a little, Rhyme grinned at the compliment while completing the fist-bump. "Well, I can't take all the credit. Mr. Hanekoma found me and Beat kept me by his side. I couldn't have done it without them."

Minamimoto scoffed before moving to fiddle with the back of the sculpture, attaching the metal appendages he'd brought with him. With the rattling the crushed soda cans made from where they were wired together, it was surprising they hadn't heard him coming.

"Look, Hanekoma coalescing you so quickly, and your brother carrying you around, should have bought you an extra day, maybe two. You did the real heavy lifting. Nevermind the fact that the Iron Maiden had you in her claws for a week before you came back. Don't sell yourself short, kid."

And Rhyme was just glowing under the praise, cheeks bright red as she looked down at the ground, a shy smile curving her lips. Was it really that her dreams hadn't been restored? Or was it her self-confidence that she could do them had been crushed after being knocked out of the Game so quickly? Was there a difference?

Neku stepped back as the two talked, Minamimoto explaining the technical details of what he was doing--the materials, how he attached the different parts to each other, the safety precautions when handling things with sharp edges like the crushed cans and barbed wire. And eventually he even managed to coax Rhyme into talking about her quilting project. Naturally he was most interested in the shapes and angles she was choosing to relay her message.

They talked and Neku wandered. He kicked the bullet hole in the pavement, scuffed his feet against the dried red paint and shiny glass-dust on the ground, ran his hands over the flaking paint of CAT's mural, and let his fingers explore the hole from a bullet that hadn't been aimed at him.

Just like with the Neku-statue, Minamimoto had placed his own statue in the same area of the alley where he'd been shot by Joshua. By wandering to the second bullet hole, Neku was now standing behind the statue.

Minamimoto had been busy while Neku had been wandering. The metal appendages were mostly attached by now, with only some extra supports currently being added by Minamimoto around the 'torso'. That meant Neku had a clear view of the additions.

They were wings--six of them--flared out and menacing. Without them, the statue had looked vulnerable, but now Neku could tell that from the front it would be much more menacing--a leashed threat. Injured, but not yet defeated.

Giving a quiet snort, Neku admitted that was pretty accurate.

Upon closer inspection, there were little notes attached to the wings on vertical hanging slips of paper. Each held a complicated looking math equation. Quietly, while Minamimoto was distracted talking to Rhyme, Neku took pictures of each one to look at later.

"What does it mean?"

A question asked innocently enough, but Neku froze from where he was coming around the statue to join them, looking to Minamimoto with panicked eyes.

The statue was more about the Reaper than Neku himself, but surely any explanation would require an explanation of the setting, and this wasn't something he particularly wanted to share.

There was a brief glance Neku's way, before Minamimoto started shaking his head. "You ever hear of 'death of the author'?" Rhyme shook her head, confusion written across her face. "It's the idea that when you create something, you have a set definition of what it means and as long as it's in your head that's all it means. But once you unleash it into the world, everyone who interacts with it will interpret it their own way, and that will probably be different from your own interpretation. It's not wrong, just because it's not what you envisioned, 'cause the minute you put it out there--changed it from private to public--your own interpretation as the sole interpretation dies; it's just one of many now."

Understanding dawned on Rhyme's face while Neku tried to keep his sigh of relief inaudible. "So you don't share your interpretation because you don't want it to influence mine?"

Minamimoto grinned and ruffled Rhyme's hair affectionately. "That's right. Not all creators do that; some want their meaning to be known. Hell, some want their meaning to be the only meaning. But I don't care what others think. I do this to exorcise my own demons. If people find their own meaning in that, good for them. Not my problem."

Rhyme was staring at Minamimoto with pure adoration on her face, and Neku sighed with defeat.

"Gimme your phone."

Well. Gob-smacked was a good look for Pi-face.

"What for?"

Neku rolled his eyes. "So I can program in my number. The group of us tend to meet up at least once a week. You should join us. Talk to people who know the Game but aren't in the Game."

Slowly, Minamimoto reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then tossed it to Neku who caught it without blinking. Minamimoto squinted at him suspiciously as Neku opened the man's contacts to input his information.

"This is great! I'll have the inside track to where all of your new sculptures are!"

Minamimoto's attention switched back to Rhyme. "I mean, I guess? Why would you want to though?"

Neku snickered to himself as Rhyme treated Minamimoto to a tirade about the social value of his own sculptures--basically indoctrinating him in the meaning she derived from his works.

While the Reaper was distracted, Neku paged up through the contacts and sent out a quick text to "BOSS".

TEXT ME, YOU ASSHOLE!! You have my number. -NS

Then he tossed the phone back to Minamimoto, deriving great satisfaction when the other fumbled the catch a little.

It was the little things in life.

Josh didn't text him.

Shiki had volunteered to keep Neku company while he packed for his family's trip, but Neku had the feeling he was going to regret accepting when he saw the shark-like grin on her face as she lounged on his bed.

"Sooooooo..."

Neku rolled his eyes and ignored her, sorting through the shirts he wanted to bring.

"Rhyme tells me you have a boyfriend."

For a moment everything froze. Then Neku relaxed and kept sorting.

"Rhyme told you no such thing because she's not a dirty rotten liar who enjoys torturing me."

A page turned in the magazine Shiki was reading--or at least pretending to be reading--but Neku knew she was focused entirely on him, determined to squeeze every last detail out.

"Oh reeeeeally...? So you don't know a super cool street artist with whom you willingly exchanged phone numbers?"

At that, Neku had to snort. He turned around to face Shiki, who dropped all pretense of perusing the magazine and rolled onto her front to stare at him better.

"First of all? Minamimoto is kinda the opposite of 'super-cool'; he's a super-nerd. He likes math and trash."

"So you already know his likes!"

"Secondly," he continued, ignoring her interruption, "There was no number 'exchange'. I gave him my number in case he wanted a group of people in the know about the Reaper's Game to hang out with."

"So forwaaaard, Ne--wait. Reaper's Game? I thought we were the only players to make it out?" She scrunched her face up in thought, wiggling her glasses in the process.

"He's a Reaper."

All of the enthusiasm left her in a moment, alarm replacing it. "A Reaper?"

Dryly, "Did Rhyme leave that part out?"

Archly, "Did Rhyme know?"

Giving up the packing as a lost cause until this conversation was over, Neku gave Shiki his full attention. "Well, I introduced him as the Game Master from my second week, but she was pretty busy mooning over his most recent creation so it's possible she glossed over that part." He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Incredulity was the overriding statement on Shiki's face when he asked her that. "Does it... does it matter?! Of course it matters! The Reaper's tortured us for fun! You most of all! How can you ask that?!"

For fun? Maybe if you put Josh and Kitaniji's bet on the table, and sure the Reapers tended to take delight in their jobs but...

"He actually... wasn't that bad..." It was strange voicing it out loud. Neku's second week had been the hardest, partnered with someone he didn't trust, a Game Master aiming barbed comments his way (that in retrospect were probably meant for Joshua), Beat attacking him at random, the missing memories of his death, and the increasingly vivid flashbacks to his last moments whenever the three of them were in the same room. But Minamimoto had spent most of that week preparing for Day 7 and taking Joshua out. Most of that week had been spent doing Josh's little errands and being on edge waiting for a mission to come in.

The main trauma Minamimoto had caused Neku was 'killing' Josh, but Josh hadn't been dead at all, and hadn't been who Neku thought Josh was--it was all a confusing mess that Neku tried not to think about these days, especially as Joshua seemed to have no inclination to set the record straight.

"Neku, I don't want to discourage you from making friends, but... He's a Reaper; they're not even human any more.

"But they were, once," Neku whispered, picturing skeletal wings extended from Beat's back. "Players like us who reached the end of the Game, but weren't granted a second life. So they make due with what they have, and erase Players to keep what existence they've managed to retain from fading away. They're just like us--they just want to live."

Shiki bowed her head, dark hair obscuring her face. "And when that lady Reaper told you you could win by erasing me, even though it was against the rules, that was just her trying to survive, right? When our Game Master kept singling me out as an ingredient in his recipe, that was just him being like us?"

Shit.

Sometimes Neku forgets how easy it was not to care about what was happening to him--what he was doing--in that first Game, with no memories to weigh him down. Forgot how horribly he treated Shiki, because she forgave him so easily.

Forgot that he wasn't the only one traumatized by what they experienced.

Neku got up off the floor and joined Shiki on the bed, grabbing her in a hug.

"What we experienced... what you went through in that first Game... It wasn't supposed to be like that. There were other things going on, games within the Game that screwed up all the rules. That's why Mr. Hanekoma was able to save you from me that day--what Pinky did was against the rules. And... and I'm so sorry that I tried to k... kill you. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know."

"It shouldn't have mattered!"

But Shiki pushed back from where she'd buried her face in his chest and shook her head harder. "Neku, you didn't know. Not just that it was against the rules, but you didn't know what the Game was, or why we were playing. You didn't know who you were or any kind of learned morality. They took all that from you. Mr. Hanekoma didn't just save me, he saved you too. That's why I can't forgive them. They stacked the deck; over and over. I don't know how you can forgive them."

Neku sighed, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I don't know how you can forgive me," he muttered, then waved off her protests--they'd had that argument before. "It's... Look, there's a lot more history between me and the other Reapers just because we were playing against each other so long. Pinky, Lollipop, Def Märch--all of them helped us out when push came to shove and Shibuya was in danger; when things went completely off the rails. And with Minamimoto... he never made it personal like some of the others did--especially to you. He... It wasn't his fault I was dead," not that Neku realized that at the time, "and it wasn't his fault I was playing the Game," that was Joshua--from what Neku knew, most Players had a choice--"and even though the rules said he should have been hunting me down aggressively, he pretty much ignored us 'til the last day when he couldn't any more."

And when the Game was over and done with, something about Neku's involvement had haunted Minamimoto after the fact. There was part of Neku who wanted to know more about the Reaper who valued the lives of the living; who valued Shibuya, just as it was.

"He's... not all bad," much to Neku's own surprise.

Pursing her lips, Shiki crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "I can't promise I'll like him... But I'll give him a chance."

A weight that Neku didn't realize he'd been carrying came off his shoulders. Since when was Minamimoto joining them that important to him? Inviting him had been a spur of the moment decision. And it's not like Minamimoto had texted him yet, anyway. He might never show up.

All the same, he pulled Shiki into another hug--another great benefit of having friends: human contact.

"Thanks Shiki," he breathed into her hair. She relaxed into the hug and squeezed him back.

"Now what's up with all the text books? You're seriously going to work on your math homework while on holiday? Do it on the last day of break like the rest of us plebes!"

Neku laughed at the joke and hoped that it hid his blush. He pointedly didn't think of the photos of the formulas from Minamimoto's statue sitting on his phone.

He didn't unpack the math texts.

(He did wait until the last day of break to do his homework.)

To Neku's surprise, Minamimoto did eventually text him shortly after break was over.

Where u yoctograms meeting? -Sho

It was a start.

It was a disaster.

Minamimoto... didn't play well with others.

Well. Okay. Rhyme thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread and could usually distract him by chatting about art things. But Beat was always about two seconds from starting a physical fight whenever the Reaper started insulting him... which was also about every two seconds.

Shiki kept shooting Neku these looks, and Neku had to keep avoiding her gaze because nope. Nope nope nope. He did not have a crush on Minamimoto. Just... a weird and complicated history.

(Neku may have worked on those math equations while in Hokkaido, but it's not like he got very far with them. Mom had been concerned about the school assigning work that was too hard until Neku explained that it was for a personal project. Then she'd just been bewildered.)

Most days, Neku served as a mediating force with Rhyme, smoothing out the rough edges in the group.

On the days when he hated Minamimoto for killing Josh and killing Neku himself...

Well, on those days he tended to shove on his 'phones bounce pretty early. On those days even Beat gave Neku concerned looks.

But... despite all the ways that it shouldn't work, Minamimoto began to integrate into the group.

Every now and again, though, there was a reminder that the Reaper wasn't exactly 'one of them'.

"Can't make it," Minamimoto grumbled around a mouthful of ramen as they planned an excursion to the skateboard park for the following week.

"You're dead," Beat rolled his eyes, fist planted in his cheek as he looked mournfully at his own empty bowl. "What could possibly be so important you'd bail?"

Shrugging, Minamimoto slurped up another mouthful of noodles, speaking around them.

"Work."

Shiki startled, her knuckled going white as she gripped her chopsticks. "Work as in...?"

Another shrug.

The rest of the meal passed in uncomfortable silence.

"Seriously? We're waiting for the light like a bunch of grade schoolers? There's nothing coming!"

Neku was making 'abort!' motions behind Rhyme's back, but it was too late, he could already see her tensing.

"We all died in traffic accidents. We've learned the hard way the importance of looking both ways before crossing the road."

Usually when Rhyme talked, it was bubbly and cheerful, especially to Minamimoto. Now it was flat and challenging.

Yet, surprisingly, Minamimoto didn't comment on the change in her demeanour, didn't push this new button he'd found.

Instead, he looked over Rhyme's head and locked eyes with Neku. "All of you, huh?"

Neku turned his head to the side, and refused to catch the Reaper's eyes for the rest of the day.

Today Neku's wandering had brought him back to Udagawa and the alley in which he'd died.

Most days Neku's wandering brought him back here.

This time it had been on purpose, though. Minamimoto had been... persistent about trying to talk to him since the Crosswalk Incident two days ago, and this wasn't the kind of conversation Neku wanted to have in front of the others. So Neku had returned to the alley, and texted Minamimoto to let the Reaper know where he'd be.

The Wounded Angel statue was still sitting there, metal parts showing a lot of rust as time had passed. Meanwhile, CAT's last mural was nearly unrecognizable.

Even Neku's paint 'blood-stain' was almost completely worn away.

Two small holes in the concrete and asphalt could still be seen, if you knew where to look for them.

Neku wasn't looking.

Neku was sitting on the ground again, his back to the wall, head buried in his knees.

He knew Minamimoto had arrived when the Reaper threw himself down to sit beside Neku in a sprawl of limbs.

"Why don't any of them know?"

"Know what?" It was a useless deflection, but just the thought of having this conversation was exhausting.

Irritation crept into Minamimoto's voice. "Not one of them looked shifty or guilty or anything when Noise-girl claimed you all died via vehicular impact. They just looked like it was an accepted fact. Now, I know you didn't get hit by a car. And you know," here there was the muted sound of knuckles rapping against the ground, "You didn't get hit by a car. So what gives? Thought you were into all that sharing and caring crap."

Neku snorted. "We talk about our lives, yeah. But we got all of that talking about our deaths stuff out during the Game. We're trying to move on."

"Uh-huh. I seem to recall you accusing me of killing you at one point. Seems like you might have been a fraction confused about things during the Game."

The elbow to Neku's ribs was completely unnecessary. Neku finally twisted his head to look Minamimoto in the face.

"Josh had more fun stealing my memories before the Game than after. I didn't know what really happened until the end. And even when I thought it was you, we didn't have a lot of time for heart-to-hearts during the last week. Too much to do, not enough time."

"And your friends just assumed you were just like them? Didn't even bother to ask?"

A shrug. "Like I said, we don't really talk about it."

Except Neku was thinking about it now, that moment when he saw Joshua running toward him, gun in hand. The crack of the gun firing. The lack of identity and confusion during the first week. The confusion and desperation of the second. The confusion and desperation and grief of the third.

Only for it all to be just... a game. A stupid bet.

And an entry fee Neku will never get back, because he lost, even if Joshua proved himself trustworthy in the end.

An entry fee Neku doesn't even know.

Neku shudders, burying his face back in his knees.

A tentative arm wraps itself around Neku's shoulders. The surprise of it pulls his head out of his arms again, to see Minamimoto looking up at the sky, idly scratching his cheek with his free hand.

There a slight tinge of red to his cheeks.

Neku's own face heats up, but...

He's so tired. And the human contact is... nice. Especially without the need to explain... everything.

So instead of pulling away, Neku slumps into Minamimoto's body heat, soaking it in, letting it chase away the chills of Neku's own anxiety.

They don't say anything else. Just sit there, side-by-side, with Minamimoto's arm around his shoulders.

(Neku is never going to tell Shiki that she was right; he might have a tiny crush on Minamimoto.)

"I'm surprised Minamimoto didn't harass him into telling the others. It's not like him to take on this touchy-feely stuff himself."

"Now, Sanae, you forget that our dear Sho doesn't play well with others, no matter the progress he's making on his social skills--he's never going to be the type to encourage 'sharing-and-caring' as he put it."

"Sure, Boss, but doing the comforting himself? Didn't really seem his style."

"Tee hee. He really is making progress! But I think it has more to do with the subject in need of comforting than anything else."

An arched eyebrow. "Really? Minamimoto? And our Neku?"

"I nudged their paths into meeting for a reason, after all. During the Game, Neku showed a remarkable ability to draw people together and bring out the best in them--even when he was showing his own worst. The other districts aren't going to keep loaning me their Conductors forever, and Shibuya has few candidates. But one that doesn't play well with others? Well. That needed to be fixed first."

"And it doesn't bother you? I know you had your eye on Neku yourself..."

A pause; a tinge of regret. "I never should have inserted myself into the Game. You yourself reported how our Frequencies interacted to Neku's detriment. If I had waited until he was more stable... Now, there's too high a risk of destabilizing him again. No; our paths have diverged now, and walking back down that path can only lead to ruin."

"So. When are you going to tell the new Conductor about his promotion?"

"...Not quite yet.

The sun was setting and it was getting colder. Even with Minamimoto's body-heat, sitting on the concrete was leeching the warmth from both of them.

With great effort, Neku climbed back to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his muscles from being still for so long.

Looking back, Minamimoto's arm had fallen back to his side, but beyond that he hadn't moved. Just sat there, staring at his own legs.

Neku thought about it for a second, taking into consideration their complicated history, their recent interactions, the understanding they were developing, and the small warm feeling in his chest.

Then he held out his hand to help the Reaper up.

"C'mon, Sho. I'll treat you to a burger."

Head snapping up, eyes wide, Sho tentatively accepted the hand up, before burying any hesitation with his usual smarmy grin.

"Least you could do after making me sit on the ground for hours..."

"Yeah, right," Neku snorted, his own grin beginning to form as he shook off the ghosts that were haunting him, at least for now. "I totally twisted your arm there..."

They walked out of the alley, bickering warmly with each other, and that small warm feeling in Neku's chest burned just that slight bit hotter.

It was a possibility; a Someday. Proof that whatever Josh had taken from him, Neku still had a future.

And hopefully--in some form--Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, and Sho would all be part of that future.

end

Feedback always welcome!

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #TWEWY Bang 2018

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