#a leash pop will not harm him as much as him choking himself on his collar or harness

[skeleton-monarch]

man. people really need to learn about ideal vs real

[plush-rabbit]

Can I Ask You Something?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

You’re in the middle of getting ready, a brush in hand when you freeze. Your ears burn with embarrassment and disbelief- you really had talked to some random stranger on the internet and offered your number to them! And if that wasn’t the worst part, you don’t even know what they looked like, or even know their name! And you told them your name! And even gave them your phone number! You bury your face in your hands and let out a pitiful groan. God, you were always so open and vulnerable when you were half-asleep but this just takes the cake.

“I did want more friends,” you muttered to yourself. “Plus he doesn’t seem too creepy. Maybe he’s just insecure or something with his appearance. Maybe it’s a quirk thing.” You try to reason to yourself, your words not holding much conviction and a swarm of butterflies beginning to form in your stomach, swirling and making you nauseous with anxiety.

You glance at your phone and check your messages. You had received no new messages and the part of you that craved acceptance was disappointed, your ego hurt and the sick feeling of shame taking over.

“Maybe this is for the best, I don’t even know his name,” your voice was quiet and unsure. You tried to convince yourself, the butterflies that began to flutter last night were now a rampaging swarm that made you feel like they would burst out at any second and all your anxieties and fears would consume and feast on your broken body.

Your eyes grew wide and you covered your head. Broken gasps left you, everything too hot all of a sudden, the clothes on you were no longer fresh and left you feeling like an imposter wearing your skin, that the minute you would walk out of the comfort of your own home, you would be mocked and laughed at. You were finding it harder to breathe and you clawing at your chest through your clothes, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. As your vision began to blur, your chest heaving and heart pumping that you felt it would burst out, you phone vibrated against the counter, a loud, invading buzz making you flinch. Rising on shaky legs, you picked up your phone and wiped a clammy hand down the side of your jeans, the scratchy feeling bringing you back to reality. You forced yourself to look at the screen, desperate for any kind of distraction, for the heaviness in your chest to lighten.

Your vision blurred and tears made their way down your face. With the back of your hand, you wiped them away, sniffling and shook your free hand. You focused on where a notification had appeared on the lock screen, an unregistered number popping up with a simple message of ‘hello’. And with a sense of focus, everything felt a bit more breathable. You cleared your throat, forced back the lump in your throat and opened the new message.

It took you a moment to register who it was. You could only guess that it was him, you really couldn’t remember giving your number out to other strangers. You snorted and shook your head. Fingers danced over the screen, typing out your reply, a shaky smile already forming on your lips.

You:

{Look at you messaging me first. Never thought I’d see the day:’)}

You waited with bated breath, going through other options of how you could have replied him before shaking your head- that was probably one of the better ways to respond to him- he was sarcastic, you could be playful and tease him and the former would just throw an insult your way or deflect the question. With breaths finally returning to normal, took a deep breath and went to prepare yourself a sandwich before you ventured off.

You returned to a silent phone, the message marked with “Read” and you cleared your throat. You saved his number under his nickname.

You tried to relax yourself, that while he had a very strong idea of who you were and that it wouldn’t be all that difficult to find who you are, there was no real danger to who you were talking to. The bread underneath your fingertips was indented. You’d be fine in the end. You were just overreacting. In the middle of a bite, your phone buzzed, the message icon displaying across the upper screen.

Toma:

[I already regret this]

You quickly typed out a message, not wanting to lose this playful banter. At least it was playful to you. He was already hard to read when you’d hear his voice, but now that it through pure text, you had no idea what his tone was, what he really could be thinking and what he actually wanted to say before being deleted and retyped.

You:

{And yet you still reply:P}

You thought it was best to skip over the pleasantries, figuring out that he probably didn’t want to talk about how he slept or hearing of the weird dreams that you had that night. No, he seemed more like the type to get to the point, to just say what he’s thinking and act impulsively, not thinking about the repercussions or perhaps not even caring about them if there were any.

Toma:

[Getting your number was a mistake]

You let out a laugh. The feeling In your stomach had already been muted by your lunch, but now it seemed to rise up, wanting to remind you that your anxieties still had you on a tight leash, one that choked you and beg for air.

You:

{So how come you messaged me first??}

{I don’t mind it!! I had a fun time last night:) But I didn’t think you did, which is fine but you could’ve not messaged me}

{Sooo,,, I don’t know where I’m going with this://}

Shigaraki stared at the screen, his upper lip curled into a sneer and red eyes in narrowed slits. If he were to be honest, he had only messaged you because he was bored. It had been a particularly slow day at the League, plans having been changed to another day, meetings having already been done earlier and it was a rare for them to get a day where they had it to themselves- where they didn’t need to plan or worry about if this would be their last day on this miserable planet.

But that rare moment of peace never extended to him. Shigaraki always had to plan. He had to be one step ahead of everyone- he can’t risk a day, an hour, a minute- he had to go over everything until he was sure there were no faults in his plans. Yet, on this day, his head was foggy, muddled with insecurities he wouldn’t dare speak out, and starting to hurt with a combination from lack of sleep and staring at the same plans that constantly shifted, always finding a flaw.

His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers massaging into his skin. His eyes slowly closed and he released a long exhale. His skin itched and burned and his patience was already wearing thin.  Red eyes leer at the phone that sits on his desk, screen black and silent.

The phone was almost always silent, only used for a few messages that were sent to him by members of the League or notifications of mobile games. However, his phone now buzzes with your messages, with mundane conversations as if you were talking to an old friend. You talk to him as if he were an ordinary person who had a family and didn’t risk his life by his mere existence.

Yet, that wasn’t who he was. He was a killer, one of Japan’s most wanted, someone who could and would kill you with just a touch of his hand. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t any of that. He doesn’t know what compels him to message you, he knows he doesn’t want a slice of normalcy, he has a dream and the will to do it and you were just going to be a distraction, a small weight tying him down. He shakes his head and types a message to you, the words disappearing and reappearing as he figures out what to say, and a small part of him, one that he will deny even in death, wants you to reply back to him, wants to have a small distraction for a second even if it’s from someone that doesn’t know who he truly is.

Toma:

[I was bored]

He doesn’t have to wait long for your reply, you come eager and begging for his attention, trying to hold on it.

You:

{Yeah, that’s valid}

{What are you up to?}

He wonders if you really are interested in what he’s doing or it it’s courtesy that you’ve extended to him. He bites down on his lip, gnawing on it until it stings as he reads your words. He reasons to himself that there really is no harm in talking to you- this friendship that you’ve made up in your mind won’t go on longer for a month, it’ll stay purely through messaging until one of you grows bored and then you would both part ways- you would go on to live an ordinary life and he would change the world or die trying. But death was never going to be an option for him- he’d bare his teeth and bite until blood was flowing before he would die.

He was aware that he when he messaged, he wasn’t the most expressive person, his replies often one-worded and blunt and even though you messaged him with what he felt was full enthusiasm and adding emoticons, he was going to stick to his messaging style.

Shigaraki let out another sigh. He just wanted to take a break from his notes, for just a second. But he couldn’t shake off your question. Why had he messaged you? Was it simply to feel a bit of normalcy? Last night, you were the one to give him your number, he hadn’t exchanged his so he could have easily not have messaged you. But he was bored and exhausted from finding a flaw in every plan, angry dark marks etched on the paper, balls of crumbled up paper littering the floor, and broken pencils. He clears his throat. He just wanted a second of mindless distraction.

He ponders if he should actually tell you what he really is doing, he wonders if you’d take him seriously or if you’d think he was joking and play along. But he can’t risk it. Not unless he could dispose of you right away. The chair creaks as he leans back on it, staring at your message, he makes something up- a simple mundane task that everyone does.

Toma:

[Grocery shopping]

On the other side of the screen, you perked up. Messaging wasn’t always your strongest suit, you had enough trouble reading people’s intentions and tone when you were face to face to face with them. But to add a screen in between the parties with no tone control, just words that could have been spoken in a number of ways, it made you nervous. You were always left wondering if the other people on the side of screen had wanted to stop the conversation, if your sarcasm was reached over with the help of an emoticon or if the messaged had made you seem like stuck-up.

Messaging with the stranger that you had met online certainly didn’t help ease your worries. He was always harsh when you two would play. There was always a hint of annoyance, a backhanded compliment tossed at you every now and then, a snide remark when someone would mess up. It was easy to say that he wasn’t the nicest and yet, you still offered to message him, to talk to him more and reach out a hand towards him. And he took your hand. You didn’t want this acquaintanceship to die of so quickly, you didn’t want to read every word he sent you through scrutinizing eyes, you just wanted to talk to him for a bit.

“Just don’t overthink it. Don’t be so weird about it,” you told yourself, letting out a breath.

You:

Oh, that’s neat! What are you getting?

I need to go shopping soon. My snack stash is running low:(((

The sandwich at the table looked unappetizing. You were so awful at making conversation it was almost funny. Almost.

The phone buzzed against the table; the loud, shrill noise making you cringe and gulp down the last bits of your drink.

Toma

[Snack stash?]

He was dodging the question. The innate want of wanting to pry bubbled up but you were aware that it was an odd thing to ask why a person wanted to avoid such a simple question so you buried the feeling down. There was no point in making a mountain out a mole hill.

You:

{Yeah, a stash with all my favorite snacks}

{I don’t like going out too often so I always make sure that I have plenty of snacks to last me a while}

{Plus it’s good practice for self-control lmao}

His replies stopped shortly after that. Your fingers nervously tapped on the counter as you waited, perking up when your phone buzzed but deflating when it was another notification. You shook your head. You didn’t want to be so caught up on messaging one person. You shouldn’t get your feelings hurt over something so trivial. You wanted to believe those words but it was hard to. You didn’t know why he had such an effect on you; it wasn’t like you’ve seen his face or had an actual conversation with him. But the thought of the potential friendship was nice.

A low groan was held in the back of your throat. Your hands raided the pantry, pulling out bags of chips that contained crumbs, crackers, a box with one packet of fruit gummies. Your shoulders drooped and you glanced at your phone once more. You glanced out the window and clicked your tongue.

It wasn’t too late. There was still a bit of daylight out, the streetlights illuminating the streets with a soft orange glow. “I need more snacks,” you whispered to yourself, your hand touching your stomach and clenching the fabric of your shirt.

Leaves crunched under your foot, weeds in between cracks flattening and blowing with what little breeze was out. The sun was setting casting the city is a deep orange and pink glow. It wasn’t a long walk from where you lived to the nearest convenience store, your bag bounced against your hip as  you walked, your phone placed inside to keep from falling out of your back pocket. The wind rustled your hair, a fresh breeze that cooled you down from the humidity in the air.

You had your head in the clouds, making a mental check list on the things you needed. You clicked your tongue, pulling a sour face and regretting that you didn’t properly check your cabinets before you left. However, when you were at your apartment, you were busy thinking about other things- or rather someone else. You started thinking about your new online friend for what must’ve been an unhealthy amount of times in the time that you’ve known him. You wanted to know more about him but you knew that if you pushed he would’ve retreated. You had a forlorn look on your face as you thought about what you could do to improve the friendship between the both of you but you felt sick about forcing him into a friendship that he didn’t want.

A bell interrupted your thoughts as you entered the store. The cold air from the air conditioner provided you relief from the outside. The cashier welcomed you, meeting your eyes for a brief second before they continued their transaction with an already existing customer. There was a current pop song playing low in the speakers, the lyrics filling your mind and pushing out any other thoughts. You smiled back at them, waving your hand before grabbing a plastic basket and walking in between the aisles, your hands picking things up and dropping them in the basket.

You made your way to the back of the store, the chill air coming from the freezers making the hair on your arms stand on their ends. Your eyes analyzed the doors, looking for any other treats you’d might like, frost creeping from edges of the door to the center. Plastic snowflakes and little stickers of soda bottles and tubs of ice cream with smiling faces decorated the frosty doors.

You licked your lips and looked down at your full basket. You shook your head and decided to get the frozen treats, opting to walk quickly back home so the treats wouldn’t freeze. The condensation expels from the door, your eyes narrowing as it stings you.

There’s movement in the corner of your eyes and you see a figure standing a door away from you. Their back was hunched and a hand was placed on their chin, eyes scanning the chilled food that laid inside. His eyes made eye contact and you smiled nervously, quickly returning your gaze and grabbing the ice pops inside. You scurried off to the register, hand clutching the handle of the bag tight.

The cashier made small talk with you, commenting about the day and scanning the items and placing them in a plastic bag. You heard steps approach behind you and handed the cashier the money, telling them thank you and to have a good day.

Dark clouds covered the sky, a chill wind has replaced the humidity, and you begin your trek back home. You smile at passing people, the bags heavy in your hands there’s a fear that they’ll rip from the handles before you reach your place. Cars drive past you, yellow and white lights illuminating you for a second and casting shadows that stretch across the concrete.

A large shadow appears behind you, overtaking your own shadow and it stills when you pause in your steps. You straighten your back and turn around, eyes widening for a split second before you smile at the man behind you.

He’s lanky and tall, limbs look a bit too long and he has short cropped hair. He smiles back at you and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s the same guy from the freezer aisle. You notice there’s less people around, the cars passing by in fewer numbers and you speed our pace. Thunder cracks overhead and the smell of rain fills the air. The steps behind you quicken. Your jaw tightens and you try to force yourself to relax. The odds of being interrupted in your commute are low. It’s about to rain so maybe they’re just running for cover.

“Hi!” His voice is cheery and eyes are wide. “Listen, I saw you in the store.” His hands are moving as he talks and he matches your pace. He either fails to notice the look of discomfort on your face or he simply doesn’t care. You glance around trying to find someone who could help you but the streets are empty, wind rustles and picks up fallen leaves making them dance in the wind. He babbles on, pausing when you do and he shoves his hands in his pocket but his arms are still moving.

“I-uh, listen,” you try to interject but he continues to talk, his voice speaking over yours and it makes you bite the inside of your cheeks. “Listen, I have to go home.” You say firmly, and turn away from the man. You walk away, your feet hurting from the hard stomps on the concrete.

His voice begins to call out to you, and he tells you to wait up but you continue your walk not wanting to look back and it begins to mist. You feel your skin begin to crawl. He stills calls behind you, and you bags in our hand begin to grow heavier. There’s a passing thought that your ice pops might melt. You feel as if you’ve been walking forever, your legs growing tired and chest lacking air, your body heats up and the sound of the thunder covers the man’s voice.

There’s a sharp tug on your elbow, the plastic bags bounce around and hit your thigh. You rip your arm free and the man’s face grows twisted and eyes darken to an amber hue. “Listen, I just wanted to ask for your number,” his tone is annoyed and eyes roll, “but now that you’re acting—”

“Okay! Bye!” You shout, and tug your arm free. You walk away from him quick, the bags slap against you and you just want to head home already.

-

You walk into your apartment, kicking your shoes off and dropping the bags on the floor in the kitchen. You quickly shove the ice pops into the freezer, opting to check their condition later.

Your elbow burns at where you were touched. You gingerly touch the crease of your elbow, fingertips feeling as if they’re touching something that doesn’t belong. You shake your head. You grab a paper towel and wipe your face; the mist from the rain has left your feeling icky and uncomfortable wet.

You grab a pack of sweets from the bag, choosing to put everything away later. Your bag is tossed onto the coffee table falling with a dull thud. You flop onto the couch, the sweets tasting sour on your tongue. It slides down heavy in your throat and you toss the bag on the coffee table.

You think back to what the man had said. He grabs your arm and chases you down from the convenience store because he wanted your number. Bile rises in the back of your throat and you grip your shirt into clumps. You can still feel the clamminess of his hand on your elbow. You swipe it away with a rough drag of your hand.

“I basically did the same thing with Toma,” you whisper to yourself. “Granted it wasn’t as rough but you still bothered him enough.” Your face shines a bright red that burns your face.

You sigh and close your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows together and opening them up when your phone buzzes in your bag. You turn to face it and with lazy movements, you pull it out and glance at the notification. Tomaraki’s name pops up. A smile forms on your face before you smother it down feeling guilty. You click on his notification and his messages fill the screen.

Toma:

[Just do whatever you want]

[Its snacks who gives a fuck]

You:

{Yeah, you’re right}

{Hey, I’m feeling kind of shitty, message me later if ya want}

You don’t have the energy or clear mind to continue a conversation with him and you didn’t want to waste his time if he was busy or something. You laid back on the couch, placing the phone on your chest and you thought that maybe if you fell asleep, you’d wake up feeling better.

“Nothing bad happened to you, just a comment that sounded bad,” you thought to yourself, hands clenching your shirt above your stomach. Your eyes grew heavy and you could feel yourself slipping into a nap when the phone buzzes on your chest. You groan and check the phone, squinting your eyes at the light.

Toma:

[Fine]

You frown and feel worse- the sinking feeling in your stomach grows heavier. What if he thought that you were mad at him because he replied late? What if he thought that you didn’t want to talk to him anymore? Oh god. You really hated overthinking. Your covers your eyes with the balls of your hands, colors pop behind your closed eyelids.

You:

{I just had a shitty encounter is all, I’ll feel better after I nap}

{Message me in like an hour if you want:P}

Shigaraki stares at his phone annoyance. He hadn’t asked for an explanation but he did feel a bit more at ease. From the few conversations that you have had with him, you had always seemed rather chipper, like an excitable pup, albeit a bit awkward but you never really seemed to be in a bad mood. A part of him wanted to know what happened and he knew that if he asked, you would tell him.

Toma:

[What happened?]

Your eyes furrowed at the message. You wanted to tell him but it’s not like it was a big deal, it was just uncomfortable and the aftereffects are what made you more upset than anything else.

You:

[I’ll tell you if you call me lmao]

You groaned immediately after sending that message. However, you reasoned to yourself that he wouldn’t call you- he barely wanted to have a video chat with you.

-

In the make-shift living room, where Shigaraki sat with the other members, he stared at his phone glancing around at everyone and humming when they were engrossed in their activities. Dabi Mr. Compress, Twice and Spinner were playing a game of cards, a stench of smoke filling the air, while Toga was painting her nails, blowing on them gently and snickering when she looks at Dabi’s cards, a harsh shush and sparks flying from his mouth.

Looking back down at his phone, Shigaraki stood up and made his way towards his living room, waving his hand when Toga yelled goodnight. He locks the door behind him and sat on the chair in his bedroom. He stares at your message, unblinking and deciding “screw it”, as he pushes the call button. The call rang for a moment too long and for a second he thought it was going to go to voicemail. And then he heard your voice.

“Hello?” You sound puzzled.

“What happened?” He decides to get to the point.

“Oh!” You could feel embarrassment flood your face. You laugh nervously and it cuts off too soon. “It isn’t- It’s not anything big. It-it’s dumb. It’s not like anything happened, it’s just me being stupid like always, ha,” you giggled nervously, your voice trailing off towards the end. “It really isn’t anything big. It was just a weird thing.” He can hear your nervousness through the phone, you sound out of breath and he hears fabric rustling in the background.

“Tell me.” He’s losing his patience. Why bother to tease him something and then not even commit to telling him?

You sighed into the phone, and you rationalized to yourself that he wouldn’t care. That maybe afterwards you two could talk about something else and that you’d forget the whole thing that wasn’t really a thing. But even that thought weighs you down.

You let out a shaky breath; your voice is low and hesitant. “So, I was running low on snacks, right? And I went to the closest convenience store which is like fifteen minutes by foot. And like, I buy my things and like when I’m walking home a guy keeps trying to talk to me and I’m just uncomfortable and I walk away and then he grabs my elbow and he like basically wanted my number and—” a lump grows in your throat— “Why do you keep talking to me? You don’t have to. I don’t want it to be like I’m forcing you to talk to me. I’m sure you’re busy with other things and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me.” You bite down on your lip, gnawing on it till you feel the raw flesh sting. “I’m being dumb again.” You bite down on the raw spot on your lip, feeling a faint metallic taste linger on your lips. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

He’s at a loss for words. He’s tongue flicks out and licks his chapped lips. He’s silent for a while, eyes darting around the room hoping to find an answer hidden in there. “That’s dumb.” His reply is harsh.

“What part?” You whisper, tracing the edge of the phone with your finger.

“I’m still talking to you, aren’t I? If I didn’t want to talk to you I wouldn’t have fucking called or even messaged you,” he snaps. He grits his teeth and a free hand scratches his neck, dull red lines appearing and growing brighter until it stings. “It’s fucking dumb of you to ask.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and the sick feeling in your stomach has begun to lessen. “I just didn’t want it to be like I was twisting your arm is all,” you chuckle dryly.

“Well you’re not,” he huffed.

“Thanks. For like the confirmation,” you speak softly, curling in on yourself on the torture. “It uh, it means a lot.”

He scoffs into the receiver. The hands on his neck have stopped scratching; his fingertips rub at the sore spots. His chest tightens and he tells you to shut up.

“No, no. I mean it. I know it’s dumb but it just- I appreciate knowing that you aren’t like being forced to talk to me. I know I probably came off too strong and maybe you felt like you had to say yes so I like knowing that you aren’t forced to talk to me,” you ramble, ears tinged red.

His hands twitch and nails scratch at the wounds. He hisses in pain and teeth grit, his opens into a palm and he applies pressure to his neck.

“Are you okay?” You voice is frantic and you rise from your position. “Toma, you good?”

He hesitates for a second. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His eyes scan the room. “I hit my knee on my desk.”

“Ouch. I have this coffee table that I keep bumping into so it has a bunch of dents and chipped off paint but it really ties in the room together so the pain is worth it.” The lump in your throat has disappeared and you reach over to grab the bag of sweets, popping one in your mouth as you speak. “I think I might get those like baby proof things.” You crinkle the bag in your hand and take a deep breath. “Can you tell me about your day?” Your voice is soft and he can hear plastic in the background.

“Why?”

“I told you about my day,” you shrug. “Plus, I just want to hear your voice for a little while.” You snuggled deeper into the couch, curling in on yourself, and lay the phone on the couch. “Indulge me. I told you about my day, you tell me yours.”

He wanted to tell you to fuck off, that the only reason he got curious about your day was because you had been cryptic with yours. He bit at his bottom lip, his eyes casted to the right for a right a brief second. He’s quiet for a long time- he can hear you shift around on the other side of the phone and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“It wasn’t anything special.” He starts off slow, choosing his words correctly. “Woke up. Did stuff. And now I’m talking to you.”

You roll your eyes. “Vague as usual.” You click your tongue. “You didn’t play the game today?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” He’s honest with you for once.

You let out a sharp laugh, stretching in the couch before turning over on your stomach, resting your chin on your hands and your phone now moved in front of you, leaning against the armrest. “Yeah? I’m surprised. With a level and stats as high as yours, I pegged you as the type to play that game every chance you had.”  You twirl your finger on the air, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I had other things to do.” He says- his tone a tad defensive.

“Oh?” Your voice rises in pitch. “Oh, right, right. You did “stuff” today. How could I ever forget your descriptive storytelling. Silly me.” Your voice has a kittenish quality. “So, despite having to do- what I’m sure is gruesome stuff- how has your day been so far?”

He doesn’t secretly dream of having a normal life- a life where he isn’t a villain, where his quirk isn’t something that can cause mass destruction- he doesn’t want any of that. He has a goal that he needs to reach. He has his life set out in front of him. But talking to you, as much as he hates it, doesn’t fill with him with dread or anxiety. It isn’t an overbearing weight that it once was, it feels lighter. He doesn’t want to know about your personal life, he doesn’t want to hear to hear you laugh. He doesn’t want to hear you say that you want hear his voice.

“Toma? You there?” You whisper, your voice gentle.

“I’m here,” he rasps out. He doesn’t want to be here.

“Wanna hear what I’m planning to do tomorrow?” You ask timidly.

You don’t wait for a reply. Instead, you start to talk about your plans for tomorrow. You talk about how you’ll try to wake up early, maybe do some yoga if it’s early enough. Or how you’ll make a simple breakfast; how you’ve been dying to try to make fluffy pancakes but you never have the motivation to actually make breakfast so you usually eat some fruit or pastry that you have lying around. You mention how you’ll call your other friends and ask to hang out or maybe just have a group call and talk about nothing and everything all at once. You laugh a bit when you talk about your friends. You mention how the call usually lasts for hours- the most being six- and how you’re always tired the next day, how you have a headache that’s caused by lack of sleep but you never regret the calls. You giggle at the end of that tangent and mention that it’s a dumb inside joke where you’ll start to complain four hours in that you’re tired but the call will keep going and towards the end of the call you’ll start getting sarcastic when they mention that they’re tired. You try to stifle your giggles and change topics to move on to what you might eat tonight- that you aren’t in the mood for anything too heavy, but you don’t want any fast food. You ask for his opinion on what he should eat and he mentions ordering ramen. You nod and tell him that’s a good idea. You talk about everything to him; you’re so open with this stranger that you don’t even know the name of. And he tells you this. There’s no bite to his voice, no insult ready to strike at you; just an observation.

You hesitate to answer. You tap on your phone, the screen lighting up. You’ve been on the call for a little over an hour and half. The corner of your mouth twitches.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. “I think… I think I was just really lonely that night.” The words are heavy on your tongue. “I mean, we had talked beforehand. When we did missions and stuff. We did team ups often enough and I guess I grew to like being around you. Or, er, talking to you.” You rub your lip between your teeth. “I mean, I’m okay not knowing your name. It isn’t like I’ve told you much about myself. You only know my first name and face but you don’t know where I live or my full name so,” you trail off, unsure how to end. “You aren’t really a stranger. I may not know your actual name but I’m gonna take a guess and say that the name you gave me has to be similar to your actual name.” You aren’t exactly wrong. “And I don’t know. Some people are,” you try to choose your next words carefully, “insecure of how they look. So I don’t really hold it against you if you don’t want me to see your actual face, ya know? Or even if it’s a privacy thing. I get it.” There’s silence on his end. “Did that make sense?”

He mumbles his agreement. Not all of it made for sound logic but it was logical to you, you gave your reasons and while they weren’t exactly the strongest, you stuck by them. He bends his head down and he clicks his tongue.

Twice knocks on his door and enters after a second has passed. Shigaraki twists his body and stares as Twice jerks his thumb over his shoulder and says that everyone is itching for something to do and every word after that is inaudible. He’s sitting at an angle, the phone that is pressed up against his ear, is hidden by his hair. You’re back to talking, unaware that Shigaraki has been interrupted, and he’s tuning out every word Twice is saying, only giving him a shake of the hand to indicate that he’ll be there, wherever there is, later. The door slams behind him and you ask what that was. He replies that he dropped something. You nod your head, only to give a verbal acknowledgement when you remember that he can’t see you.

“So, we’ve been talking for a while,” you breathe out. “Do you want to stop? I don’t mind talking to you for longer but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t bored of me yet.” You chuckle at the end, it’s a bit unsure but not totally humorless.

Shigaraki squints his eyes and pulls the phone away from him. Ten minutes until two hours. You two have been talking to close to two hours. Or rather, you talked for two hours while he listened.

“I uh, didn’t mean to talk for so long, heh.” You chuckle again and this time it’s humorless. “Next time you can talk and I’ll just listen.” You take off the speaker and press the phone close to your ear. You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your head on them.

Two months of group missions. Two weeks of missions done together alone. One late night call. Half a day of messaging. One two hour call.

“Toma, you there?” Your voice is back to being soft again. It reminds him of something he once craved for and thinking about it makes his head hurt. It unsettles him and he can’t think straight.

“Tomura.” His voice is too low. You almost didn’t catch it. You’re surprised you did.

“Tomura?” You question what this means. Is it a code or is it- oh.

You say his name again. Just above a whisper. The name is heavy on your tongue. And then you hear a click and the line is empty. You blink one. Twice. Your eyes are wide like owls and you mouth his name. And then you let out a shaky breath, the corner of your lips twitching upwards before allowing a full grin to take over.

“Tomura.” You click your tongue and rise up from the couch. Your fingers type at the screen and his name stares up at you. “It’s a nice name.”

Tagged:

@noonewouldlisten25

@yul-is-sparkling

@loveableasshole

@rogueofbullshit

[sodalitefully]

As requested by @slashscowboyboots, here’s the other little supernatural/occult AU I had sitting around!  Uh this is pretty much straight from my notes, so it’s a little unedited and definitely incomplete (I hadn’t really planned on posting it b/c it’s kinda self-indulgent and I didn’t know where I was going with it but it’s not doing anyone any good gathering dust on my desktop so).

Summary: Axl and Izzy are both vampires, and bound to each other (for now). In a dark alley Izzy senses something powerful, and insists on trying to coax it out. They end up with childlike extra-dimensional being/Eldritch horror Slash, who they take under their wing. Steven, a less powerful being but the light to Slash’s dark, appears periodically wherever Slash is. Axl and Izzy gift their adoptees with Duff, a werewolf tasked with protecting them, who Slash and Steven immediately come to adore.

Axl and Izzy are vampires, Axl turned Izzy back in Indiana, so Izzy, being a fledgling, has to deal with higher bloodlust and with being Axl’s sire. He’s also rather sensitive to the occult, and one night he and Axl are out when Izzy stops dead and tells him that something powerful is nearby. He drags Axl into a dark, shadowy alley and hones in on a pitch black corner. Axl can’t see anything but Izzy can make out a huddled ball of something not quite tangible.

He tries to engage with the being, but he gets no response. When he gets too close, two moon-like eyes suddenly open, shining out of the darkness with a blinding intensity, paired with a defensive whine that Axl and Izzy hear by the buzzing in their teeth more than with their ears. Axl steels for an attack but Izzy tries to calm the being, keeping his tone even and gentle as he reassures that they mean no harm. Whatever it is must be able to understand, because the eyes quickly shut, and when Axl and Izzy adjust to the darkness again, the shadow looks a bit more like a blurry silhouette, and they can just barely make out... a set of lips? like the Cheshire Cat, barely visible in the dim light from the street. Pearly teeth peek out to worry at the lower lip, unsure and not quite trusting. Izzy keeps up his encouragement until the lips tug into a small grin, then disappear in a blink. Izzy and Axl are confused for a second then suddenly a tangible figure tumbles out of the shadows and lands on the concrete. A young man, dressed all in black, smiles shyly up at them.

Introductions are made, and despite his initial hesitation, Slash now seems completely comfortable with Izzy and Axl, if a bit quiet. Honestly, it’s a nice change for the two vampires, who are used to avoiding others not of their kind. They don’t want to press too hard on the question of what Slash is, but he doesn’t seem violent, and since they found him in an alley and all, they decide to take him home with them.

Slash is an easy houseguest, polite and low-maintenance (except for the critters he keeps letting in - little pests that, on a second glance, seem a bit otherworldly - but after the fourth or fifth time Axl and Izzy decided to just let it be), and over the next few weeks they take him under their wing. Steven shows up, just appears next to Slash one day and then comes and goes after that. Steven might be some kind of light demon, clearly a loyal friend to Slash, who enjoys Steven’s brightness. He’s also helpful to have around, because he seems to know what to do when Slash gets... upset.

It doesn’t happen often, but it’s difficult to anticipate. Slash will space out for a while, then start to get agitated, like he did in the alley but worse. His eyes will glow (an understated way of putting it), shadows with writhe and condense, and he emits a kind of cosmic scream, not through his mouth but painful vibrations straight into the air. Music and touch seem to help, Steven will shove a tape into the deck, turn the speakers way up, and then wade right into the shadows to hold his friend until he calms down.

Slash is obviously not defenseless, but he certainly not very aggressive or confrontational either. When he goes about with Axl and Izzy, he tends to go for the booze and then quite literally melt into the shadows rather than assert himself. After an incident where Steven picks a fight in Slash’s defense and gets knocked out, Axl and Izzy decide to take things into their own hands.

Izzy has a neighbor that he’s been keeping tabs on (and vice versa, he’s sure) because that neighbor is a werewolf. They’ve lived nearby for over a year now, and Izzy has grown comfortable with their proximity. Izzy is confident by now that Duff is a genuinely nice guy, he’s never been hostile to Izzy and he seems to have all the best traits in a wolf: social, loyal, protective of what’s his, able to stand up for himself without being an asshole. He’s also a loner, Izzy’s never seen him with a pack. Perfect.

Izzy and Axl corner him one day, explain their proposition. Duff hears them out, shifting fluidly from a lanky man to an oversized wolf with grey-brown fur, a blond mane, and hazel eyes as he does, seemingly with no distinction between the two forms. He agrees, and the vampires lead him home to get ready.

Slash and Steven are both in, tangled in front of the tv when Axl leads in their new companion on a leash and chain. He introduces Duff, and the three of them take to each other immediately. Duff’s role is to make sure Slash and Steven stay safe, and to keep a closer eye on Slash when Axl, Izzy, and Steven aren’t around. None of the three seem to see any kind of difference between person-Duff and wolf-Duff when it comes to behavior, they’re very affectionate either way. Duff seems completely comfortable with the collar (though they did take care to lock it so it wouldn’t choke him - it’s just the chain and padlock Duff always wore), nor the leash when he’s in his wolf form (one thing that vampires will never understand about werewolves is their willingness to be treated like an animal), though he and Slash have taken to holding hands when in his human form.

At one point, maybe a month into their acquaintance, Slash pops into Axl and Izzy’s room to let them know that he and Duff are going to visit his Slash’s mom. His what? He’s had family in the area this whole time? Slash just kind of shrugs but he agrees to let Axl and Izzy come along.

The vampires really don’t know what to expect from Slash’s family, seeing as they still don’t know what Slash is. But Slash leads them to a completely regular looking house, grabs a key from under a rock and lets them in. Slash family turns out to be rather normal (well, relatively normal - his mother and grandmother are witches or something), and they don’t bat an eye at his entourage, or his recent living situation.

Axl does get the opportunity to talk to Ola in private about Slash. He doesn’t quite get a straight answer about what Slash is, but when he mentions Slash’s occasional bad turns, she pats him on the shoulder and tells him there’s an easy solution. She leads him to Slash’s old room while the others socialize in the yard (Axl is pretty sure that Duff is playing fetch with Slash’s little brother). The room is messy and strange, with all types of strings tied taught between the furniture, a couple empty terrariums, lots of books and loose drawings scattered in the floor. They stay in the doorway, but Ola points out a collection of guitars, of all things, in the corner of the room. Slash isn’t entirely of this plane, she explains, he tends to drift in between and sometimes he’s exposed to other dimensions, which can be distressing. Frequencies help, hence the strings and the guitars, they’re a way for him to transmit the inter-dimensional vibrations so they don’t overwhelm him. He’ll pick out what he wants to bring home with you when you leave. (Axl doesn’t know how he feels when he hears Ola describe his and Izzy’s place as ‘home’ but he gets a feeling alright)

Before they rejoin the others, she shows him something else. A diagram in an old journal, surrounded by scribbled notes. This was the circle she used to summon Slash 20 years ago, she explains. She didn’t know what would come to her, and a curly-haired baby swaddled in darkness wasn’t what she expected, but he was what she needed and she hasn’t looked back.

[whindsor]

farmer steve life!!! for @isaaclahys!!! (also sorry it’s so long and so introductory i don’t know how to half ass things)

It was his damn impulsivity, really. Who knew the thing that used to get him in the most trouble would make everything finally go right?

“What’s next, Cap?” That’s what Sam had asked when he’d finished returning all the stones. He’d taken one look at Bucky, thinking of all the conversations they’d had about after the war and retiring, and promptly held his shield out to his friend.

“Dunno. You’re the Captain now.” It was a lame joke from a movie neither one of them liked, but it got his point across. He was done. Done with all the time traveling, and aliens, and shouldering the responsibilities of the world. Now all he wanted was some goddamn peace and quiet. Sam had fought him on it, of course. I’m not good enough for this and this is yours and did you mean to hand this to Buck-eye? But Steve was adamant, and Bucky agreed. The world needed Captain America, and Captain America needed someone to do the things that he couldn’t. And Steve needed his own space. 

That’s how he ended up buying three acres in the middle of Vermont with a house that could barely be described as a fixer-upper and three boxes of books on gardening and livestock. He’d been a city kid his whole life, but he was smart, and strong, and determined. That was what it took to be a farmer, right?

It had been a long time since Steve felt completely incompetent at something, but home renovation quickly reminded him that his moxie was not enough to solve some problems. So he’d taken another trip to the bookstore (“Why not just use Amazon?” “I don’t trust Alexa”) and gotten everything from Carpentry for Dummies to The Magnolia Story, which actually had nothing to do with construction but did make him feel a little more inspired. Once prepared with his newfound knowledge, he took a carpentry pencil to the wood panel of the kitchen and wrote out his list. Every morning he woke up with the sun and got to work, slowly making his way through each project until the sun started setting. Then he drove the old pickup he’d purchased to replace his motorcycle into town to get supper at the local diner, treat himself to a slice of pie and some coffee (even adding a little bit of sugar, he still couldn’t believe how readily available it was) before going back home to crash. 

Once he’d painted over the list as a way to cross off his final project, the house was solid and perfect and empty. Not of things, no. He’d splurged and bought comfortable furniture and a few essentials (and nonessentials), but now that he didn’t have the sound of his hammer pounding or saw spinning, the house seemed quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet. 

A dog. He should get a dog! That was next on the list, he decided. The next morning, he woke with the sun, cooked himself breakfast for the first time in months, and drove the old truck an hour away to the next town over. The shelter was relatively empty, most of its occupants being feral cats with a few stray dogs. He walked the aisles, hands in his pockets as he looked at the few choices. He was just losing hope until he turned onto the last row, spotting a large black Labrador mix stretched out on his bed. He lifted his head, looking him dead in the eye and wagging his tail exactly one time, as if he didn’t want to get his hopes up that Steve was coming to see him. He knelt in front of the cage, the dog eyeing him suspiciously before slowly getting up and inching his way towards the door. Steve slowly held a hand up, and the dog stretched his neck to sniff it, his tail starting to move just a little bit. His tongue barely darted out, licking his fingers.

“Hey, bud,” Steve murmured. The dog’s tail started moving more. “Whattya say we get you outta here, hm?” 

As if he understood him, he started wagging his tail furiously, his claws clicking on the concrete floor as he pranced. The woman with the keys opened the gate, and the dog hesitated for a minute before moving out of the pen and into Steve’s waiting embrace, shaking with excitement as he tried to touch as much of his body to him. A quick leash, a few signatures, and a hastily written check, and Steve and Roosevelt were on their way back home.

With the house done and man’s best friend by his side, now he could finally tackle the garden. Fall was just beginning, and he consulted a few charts and books to prepare himself. He thought Roosevelt might help him with the digging, but the dog was perfectly content to lay on the porch and watch him do all the work. Turns out tilling the earth was really hard, and plowing straight lines even harder. Farming was challenging, and exhausting, and tedious. And he was loving every minute of it. For once, if he screwed up, that just meant he had to go to town for the market, no harm no foul. It was liberating. 

Every morning, Roosevelt woke him up just as the sky started to lighten. They went for a jog, past the few houses that sat quietly over the couple of miles close to his own. The sun was usually cresting the horizon when they got back, but instead of going into the shower, he just changed into jeans and dirty work boots and went out to his rows, checking the water in the soil and adding more where it was needed. He went down each lane, step by step, pulling up the weeds that threatened to choke his little seeds that were trying so hard to grow. 

Then, one day, instead of dirt and weeds, there were tiny green sprouts standing proudly in the ground. He whooped loudly, holding his hands proudly in the air, thinking that this was possibly the best he’d felt in years. Roosevelt looked vaguely unimpressed, but he didn’t care. He had built a house. He had tilled the earth. He was growing things. Whether or not they actually bore anything edible remained to be seen, but right now all that mattered was those little green leaves, waving in the breeze. 

Every day, he got to go outside, feel the sun on his face and the cool breeze as it brought the tellings of fall, and take care of his little plants. Every day they got a little taller, and a little fuller, until they came up to his waist and started bearing the tiniest fruits and vegetables. Every day he helped something grow, instead of trying his damndest to tear it down. A few plants turned into a lot of plants, and soon he expanded to chickens, four little birds nestled in a coop that he built himself. It would take a few months before they could lay eggs, but it would be worth it, he knew. 

One morning, he woke up to Roosevelt growling, his ears perked up and the hackles on his back raised. At first, he thought it was just from the rain storm outside, but then he heard a scratching at the backdoor, and a high pitched whining. He pulled off the covers, hushing the dog and going to the back door. He carefully pried open the big door, the cool, wet air blowing in through the screen door. And there, curled up on his back porch, shivering and soaked, was a big golden retriever with a pink collar. She looked up at him as the door opened, begging to come inside. He obliged, opening the screen and letting her come inside. Roosevelt greeted her as an old friend, jumping around like a puppy again even though the golden was more subdued. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Where’d you come from, hm?” he asked, holding a hand up. She came up to him, her tail between her legs, startling as he reached for the collar. He finally got a hold of it, the pink collar sliding off as she pulled away from him. But at least he could read the tags now, and grab his phone to call the number on the back. “Alright, Daisy, let’s call mom or dad, huh?” he said, tossing a towel in her direction and not worrying about the water drops going everywhere on the tile floor. He dialed the number, pacing slowly as it rang. 

“Hello?” the feminine voice on the other end sounded worried, and he could hear the rain and the rumble of thunder behind her.

“Hi, my name is Steve. Uh, I think I found your Daisy.” he said. 

“Oh my God! Thank you, thank you so much! I promise I’m a good dog owner, but she needed out and the storm blew my fence down and-and-she’s so scared of thunderstorms she just bolted when the first thunder sounded and-” she rambled, clearly relieved but still shaky.

“It’s okay, it happens.” he said with a laugh. He told her his address, and she thanked him about a hundred more times before hanging up. Steve smiled down at his phone, eyed the two dogs laying in front of the fireplace, and went to go make some coffee. Just as he was mixing a little bit of sugar into it, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen, followed by a loud clap of thunder that shook the walls. He heard Daisy as she yelped and whined, but he also heard the panicked clucking of his chickens. Roosevelt could take care of the dog, he would have to take care of the fowl. 

Steve put on a baseball cap, ducking his head against the rain and going to pull the chicken coop onto the porch. But the birds were so panicked that they were shaking their house, shifting it uncontrollably until the door popped open. He shut it as fast as he could, but one managed to escape, dumbly taking off back into the rain. He swore loudly, shoving the coop under the awning and running after it, his boots sliding in the mud as he rounded the corner towards the front of the house. Who knew chickens were so goddamn fast?! None of the books he read mentioned that!

Luckily, he didn’t have to outrun the chicken, as when he arrived at the front of the house, he found a pretty woman on the porch, soaked to her bones and holding his runaway fowl. He slowed to a walk, giving her a crooked grin.

“You found my chicken.” he said, gesturing at the terrified thing in her hands.

“You found my dog.” she countered with a relieved smile. He held out his hands for the bird, tucking it under his arm and extending his hand.

“Steve.” he said as she shook it.

“Savannah.” she replied. “Thank you, for finding Daisy.”

“Right, yes. Come on, let’s go inside.” he said, nodding towards the front door.

“Oh, I couldn’t - you already saved my dog, I couldn’t impose on you anymore.” she said, looking bashful. Steve shrugged.

“Might as well wait out the storm. Besides, I just made coffee.” he said. He pushed open the door before waiting for her response, holding it open for her until she followed him inside.

“I’ll get your floors wet.” she said apologetically. Again, he shrugged.

“No moreso than I will.” he replied. At the sound of their voices, the dogs came running from their place in front of the fire, Daisy practically launching herself into her mother’s arms. Savannah bent down, telling the dog how scared she was, how she needs to not run away from the house during storms, and how she’s lucky she found friends to help her. Roosevelt, jealous of all the attention, wiggled his way into her embrace. She greeted him happily, thanking him for taking care of her girl and complimenting how chivalrous he was. Steve couldn’t help but smile, going to the kitchen and pouring another cup of coffee. He paused before returning to the entryway, grabbing a zip up jacket. He handed both to her.

“Oh, are you sure?” she said, trying to hide her shivers. He waved her off.

“I own a washing machine, don’t worry about it.” he replied with a laugh. She nodded, slipping it on and unable to hide her relief at the warmth. She held the cup of coffee like a last source of life, her fingers covered by the sleeves of his jacket. He nodded towards the dining room table, situated with the massive windows around it.

“Wanna watch the storm?” he asked. He felt a little awkward, having someone in his house that wasn’t Sam or Bucky. But it felt nice too, making a new friend. Savannah nodded, settling into a chair and gazing out the window. Daisy came and curled up on her feet, finally settled now that Mom was back. Roosevelt, who usually stretched out on the couch, decided to come with his buddies, laying down between Steve and the other two. 

They sat and watched as the rain came down, turning everything to shades of grey. His plants were probably very happy, he realized. Perhaps this would be the extra push for them to really bloom. Conversation was light and casual, nothing serious as the storm went on. He hadn’t actually met one of his neighbors, which was apparently quite unusual in such a small town. He laughed at that, figuring he was on his way to being some urban legend. 

When the rain finally slowed and stopped, he bid goodbye to his neighbor, watching as they made their way across his back pasture towards their own home. Roosevelt looked a little sad that his new friend was leaving, and Steve patted his head encouragingly.

“Don’t worry, bud. It’s a small town. I’m sure we’ll run into them again eventually.” he said, unsure if he was really talking to the dog or to himself. With a sigh, he looked out at the green of the garden, and of the haphazardly moved chicken coop. With a smile, he went outside to go do everything on the chore list that was needed.

After all, farm life didn’t stop just because of a little rain.