#anyway I wanted to collect everything from the vision in case it sparked something in me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

floorbe · 4 years

Note

TW: suicide // Can I request a Gundham x Reader where Sonia attempts to kill the reader and make it look like a suicide(slits neck but hides it with a noose), but Ibuki saw Sonia with some sort of evidence, so Ibuki died, but reader didn't (she is barely able to speak, because she, yk, got her neck slit) (and gundham is the one to discover reader about to die?) And the whole trial is Sonia lying her way out of everything until reader starts banging on the trial stand thingy to say its wrong?

this was such a fun request to write ehehe- this is also very long but its fine- anyway tw g*re//su*cide//de*th//

“I am sorry, Y/N, but I have a country to return to,” Sonia murmurs to you, but even though her words are guilty her eyes are colder than you’d ever seen before. You gurgle helplessly, eyes struggling to stay open as she loops the noose around your neck, adjusting it carefully to hide the cut across your neck. Your vision nearly goes black from the pain as the harsh rope digs directly into the still fresh wound. “I hope you will be able to un-”

“Hey, hey, hey! Anyone in he-” you see Sonia’s head snap to the entrance, tensing as someone lets out a piercing screech. You vaguely make out the colorful form of Ibuki before Sonia rushes towards her, knife in hand, still bloody from the slice she made on your neck. Despite your struggles, your vision fades out as she reaches Ibuki.

Your eyes blink open only a few more times after that, and only briefly as the pain and blood loss overwhelms you back into darkness each time. The first time, you vaguely see Sonia standing over Ibuki’s body, shoulders heaving and legs splattered with blood. You blink, and suddenly she’s in front of you, carefully wiping at the blood that had poured down your neck with, what you assume is, a towel. “Need to... no one can tell... suicide,” you hear, consciousness wavering as she speaks. You blink again and she’s positioning Ibuki’s body below you, and this time you pass out voluntarily as you see her lifeless eyes stare up at you.

The next time you wake up is from a searing, unbearable pain in your neck. The rope is digging into your open cut, and you weakly swing your legs around, trying to dislodge it. Tears are streaming down your face, mouth agape in a silent scream. Sonia is standing nearby, and it’s only then that you fuzzily realize that she means to hang you. A mock suicide. But why would she put Ibuki...? You don’t have any longer to ponder it as the rope slips deeper into your neck, and you pass out yet again.

You’re surprised to wake up again, you were sure this was it, but someone is yelling your name. You blink your eyes open blearily, relief sending you into tears again when you realize the rope that was around your neck now seems to be gone. No, not gone; someone is... holding you up? You’re barely able to tilt your head to see who had saved you. Was Ibuki alive? No, you instead see a familiar curled lock of hair, sticking straight up, just as it always has.

Your eyes trail down to meet Gundham’s gaze, he’s sobbing, lifting you up to keep you from choking on the rope. You mouth his name weakly, no sound escaping you, and you faintly feel him tighten his hold. He’s saying something, likely encouraging you to stay awake, asking who did this to you, but it’s all muffled to you. Your vision fades again, this time with Gundham’s terrified face being the last thing you see.

The first thing that comes to your senses is how badly your throat hurts. The second is how your head is pounding as if someone took a hammer to it. Struggling to blink open your eyes, you squint painfully due to the bright contrast of the lights above you.

“-N? Y/N?!” a voice rings out, finally clear in your ears. You try to groan at the sudden pain that blooms in your head from the loudness, but nothing escapes you; instead you feel a violent stinging in your throat. Why does your throat hurt again...? “My dear, please, p-please,” you hear a deep voice nearly sob, and you’re finally able to recognize it as Gundham. Forcing your eyes open, you slowly turn your head, following the sound of his voice.

Gundham is kneeling beside your bed, tears streaming down his face as his hands move to clasp one of yours. You squeeze his hand as strongly as you can, but only manage to barely tighten it. You try to wheeze out his name, but are only met with more stinging in your throat, making you wince.

Gundham’s shoulders only begin to shake more violently than before at your awakening, a small smile spreading across his face as he struggles to choke back his sobs. “M-my dear,” he shakily whispers, “I-I’m beyond glad that y-you’re alright...” You smile at him, weakly squeezing his hand again, making his smile widen. Swallowing painfully, you move to sit up as you begin to try and stretch your limbs.

Gundham releases one of his hands to grab you a cup of water from the table beside you, holding it up to you as you lean back against your now propped up pillows. You lightly grasp the cup with the hand not holding Gundham’s, sipping the water as you feel your strength slowly flow back into your sore limbs from moving around. How long were you out? “Dearest,” Gundham begins quietly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “Did... you weren’t you the one who-...” he can’t seem to finish his sentence, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the right words.

And with that it’s like a dam breaks in your mind, and all of the memories come crashing down on you at once. Sonia slitting your throat, typing the rope around your neck, Ibuki walking in and... You squeeze your eyes shut again, taking a deep breath as you try to collect yourself. Everyone must think you were the one who killed Ibuki. You feel panic spark in your chest, zipping through your body like a current.

You try to force out Sonia’s name from your sore throat only for a painful wheeze to come out instead. You feel the panic inside of you grow, could you not speak anymore? You try to say her name again... nothing. How are you going to tell everyone the truth? Gulping, you try to make any noise you can, finding that you can barely wheeze out an “h” at best. No, no, you need to tell everyone it wasn’t you, that you know who it was! You can’t let everyone die! You turn to Gundham, distressed and shaking your head vehemently, and he seems to understand the problem immediately.

“Point us to your culprit, instead, my love,” he says, and you nearly slump against him in relief that he believes you. You lift your hands up, beginning to try and sign her name, make a gesture about her, anything you can think of-

“Oh, no, we are not waiting for you to painstakingly spell out what you’re trying to say,” you both jump at the sound of a familiar squeaky voice. You feel a weight on the bed, turning to see Monokuma standing frustratedly at the foot of it. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve extended the investigation for you?” he asks accusingly, as if you chose to pass out, “I couldn’t start the trial with one of you knocked out!”

He sighs, tilting his head as he blinks his eyes closed, “Well, I guess you not being able to speak will make up for it.” He nods to himself, and with that reassurance he pops out of the room, as quickly as he came. You and Gundham share a look before he slides a hand onto your back, supporting you as you struggle to stand. You lean on him heavily as you make your way to the elevator.

“It is clear what happened,” Sonia speaks, immediately after the trial begins, passionately waving her arms, “Y/N killed Ibuki to get out of this game, but felt guilty about it! They tried to commit suicide because they felt so guilty about killing her!” Blinking in surprise, you shake your head vigorously.

“Then why would there be a cut on their neck?” Gundham hisses out, clenching the wood of the stand harshly. You nod, frantically trying to lock eyes with anyone in the room, as if hoping to convince them with your eyes alone.

“Maybe,” Akane speaks up, cocking her head as her eyes flick to you, “Maybe they tried to slit their throat before hanging themselves?” No, no that’s all wrong! Ibuki wasn’t even there before you got your neck cut! You wave your hands, trying to catch their attention.

“It looks like Y/N h-”

“That makes sense,” Sonia hastily interrupts Hajime, “But perhaps it did not work quick enough, so they instead hanged themselves.”

“So Y/N... slit their own throat after killing Ibuki?” Fuyuhiko asks, “But then they hanged themselves... why not just let yourself bleed out? Either way you’re going to die. It’s unnecessary.” You shake your head again, crossing your arms in an “x” in an attempt to gain their attention again. They have it all wrong, it’s all wrong!

“Bleeding out is an awful way die,” Sonia says solemnly, “It takes a long time, and is very painful. Perhaps they wished to end their own suffering. Or...” She glances at you, “Perhaps they didn’t want to take the chance at being found alive, since they would be executed in a far worse manner than bleeding out.”

“No, you’re incorrect! Y/N would never do something as- as vile as this!” Gundham yells passionately, but his eyes seem to avoid yours at all costs, and his words are just barely shaking. “Why do you insist on going after my love without reason?! Where were you, Sonia? Pray tell, what is your alibi?!” he accuses, eyes wide as his shoulders shake.

“Me? I was in my cabin, sleeping, as we all were,” Sonia easily lies, tilting her head at Gundham.

“None of us have alibis,” Hajime reminds him quietly, “We can only go off of what we found in the investigation in this case. And... it seems to be leading in Y/N’s direction. But still- something is off about this...”

“Well, Y/N, if you have something to say, nows the time,” Nagito slowly turns to you, and there’s an almost taunting tone to his voice, as if he knows exactly what you want to say. You glare at him, gesturing angrily to your neck. “Oh, right,” he laughs easily, turning to everyone else, “Well, if anyone has anything to say, now’s the time.”

“U-um, I-I-I h-” Mikan meekly raises her hand, only to be cut off again by Sonia.

“Even if Y/N could speak, there is no need,” Sonia reminds everyone, folding her hands solemnly, “It is clear what has happened. Monokuma, I thi-”

Sonia is interrupted by you slamming your hands down on the stand. She jumps, head snapping to you as you furiously bang your hands against the wood, shaking your head wildly as tears prick your eyes. They have it all wrong! They fell into Sonia’s trap so easily, they doubted you so easily-!

“Y/N, hey, calm down!” Hajime tries to soothe you, “Y/N, what is it?”

You fling your hand up to point at Sonia, gesturing between you and your neck. Sonia acts shocked, raising her hands to cover her mouth. “Y/N, why would you would lie ab-?” You slam your hands on the stand again, shaking in anger as she cuts off.

“U-um, I-I have s-something,” Mikan quietly admits, tapping her fingers together as everyone turns to her.

“What? Why didn’t you say so earlier?!” Nekomaru asks loudly, crossing his arms. Mikan yelps and crosses her hands in front of her protectively, frantically apologizing.

“Because it is unnecessary,” Sonia states firmly, glaring at Mikan, “We already kn-”

“Sonia, let Mikan finish,” Chiaki says quietly, tilting her head. “It doesn’t matter if it ends up being unnecessary. We need to cover all of our bases.” Sonia huffs frustratedly, pouting as Mikan builds up her confidence again.

“U-u-um, the c-cut on Y-Y-Y/N’s throat w-was made before I-Ibuki’s s-stab w-wounds were,” she fiddles with her hands anxiously, rubbing her fingers in between each other as everyone takes in what she said.

“What?!” Fuyuhiko yells, “We were about to fucking vote and you keep that from us?!” Mikan merely yelps again, hunching over in a mock protection against Fuyuhiko’s yelling.

You sigh silently in relief, still trembling as you raise your hand to wipe at the tears now running down your face.

“So?” everyone turns to Sonia, “This merely shows that Y/N killed Ibuki in self defense. Either way they are still the killer.”

“No, that’s wrong!” Hajime says firmly as you raise a hand to slam it on your stand again. “How would Y/N even have the strength to kill Ibuki after having their throat slashed?”

“If they were losing a lot of blood, they would’ve been too weakened to fight back,” Chiaki adds, “Y/N would barely be able to stand, much less kill a still unwounded Ibuki.” You nod vehemently, finally someone was getting it!

“Adrenaline,” Sonia states calmly, “I have read many cases where someone wounded did not feel pain until much later due to adrenaline. It is not that far fetched to believe that that is the case here.”

“But even if they were filled with adrenaline, they would still be bleeding out,” Nagito reminds her, “Plus, Ibuki died away from where Y/N was hanging.”

“So they moved her? Why?” Kazuichi shakily asks, rubbing his hands together nervously. “What would be the point in dragging Ibuki’s body away from where she’d died?”

“Clearly it was a sign of guilt,” Sonia again speaks up, tilting her head as mock tears prick her eyes, “Y/N felt so guilty about killing poor Ibuki that they placed her underneath their hanging body!”

“...That doesn’t make any sense,” Hajime deadpans, raising an eyebrow at Sonia, “Sonia, why would Y/N go through more trouble to bring Ibuki to where they died? There's no guilty reasoning behind it. It seems pointless.”

“To prove that they are the ones that killed them!” Sonia shouts suddenly, gripping the stand. She quickly collects herself, clearing her throat, “To make it perfectly clear that Y/N is the one who killed Ibuki, they placed the body underneath their own.”

“That still doesn’t make any sense,” Chiaki furrows her eyebrows, “If Y/N wanted people to know they killed Ibuki, they wouldn’t have to drag her body to them. The fact that they were both in there in the first place would’ve been enough proof.”

“Then... can we move on and assume that Y/N isn’t the killer?” Nagito pipes up, rubbing his arm passively as his eyes glide around the room.

“Th-that is quite the jump, Nagito,” Sonia stutters.

“No, there’s something else that’s odd about the scene. Particularly Y/N’s body... What was it again? Hajime, you remember, right?” Nagito asks almost tauntingly. Odd? About your body?

“Ah! You’re talking about how Y/N’s throat wasn’t bloody, right?” Hajime realizes.

“Wh-what?” Sonia swallows thickly. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N’s throat wasn’t bloody when we found them, but their throat was slit. Why wouldn’t there be any blood?”

“Maybe the cut was fake?” Akane cocks her head again, but you tap on your stand and gesture to the bandages on your throat.

“N-n-no, I-I saw i-it m-myself,” Mikan confirms, “I-it’s r-real.”

“Gundham, did you notice any blood on Y/N?”

Gundham seems to snap out of a daze, clenching his stand as he remembers holding you in his arms, “N-no. I do not recall any blood around their neck.”

Silently huffing, you again point at Sonia, who looks at you with mock surprise. This is a trial about you, for God’s sake, why is nobody asking you what happened?

“Y/N, why would Sonia clean up the blood after...?” Hajime begins, trailing off as you mimic a noose around your neck. You hide the cut with one of your hands, the other yanking an invisible rope above your head.

“To make it look like a suicide,” Chiaki realizes, and you nod vigorously. “Then... was killing Ibuki always part of the plan?”

“This is ridiculous,” Sonia exclaims, “Why cut their throat, then? It would be much easier to just hang them!” You can tell Sonia’s resolve is cracking as everyone comes closer to the truth, her eyes nervously shifting around the room.

“Sonia, you seem really firm on the idea of Y/N being a killer,” Hajime counters, “And Y/N keeps pointing at you...”

“A-are you suggesting... that I attempted to kill Y/N?!” Sonia yells, “I cannot believe you would assume something so- so immoral, Hajime!”

“No, Hajime has a point,” Fuyuhiko speaks up, “Y/N has been sending you death glares this entire trial. And you have been pretty fuckin’ stubborn about the idea of Y/N killing Ibuki.”

“Where did you say you were last night again?” Nagito asks, “You were asleep? So, you have no alibi?”

“N-none of us have alibis! Your reasoning is unsound, Nagito!”

“Miss Sonia... did you really...?” Kazuichi asks, shoulders slumping as his eyes flick between you and Sonia. “I... I can’t think of a reason why Y/N would lie about their killer...”

“Because they are the killer! Are you all senseless?! Kazuichi, surely you do not believe them!” she pleads, but Kazuichi avoids her gaze. “It-it is a misunderstanding! Son of a bitch! Fuck!” Sonia suddenly explodes, shaking violently as everyone cracks down on her.

“Sonia, why would you attempt to kill the one dearest to me?” Gundham asks quietly.

“I-I-”

“Why’d you do it, Sonia?” Nagito taunts, “Why’d you try to kill Y/N? Why kill Ibuki?”

“I-I did not-!”

“How careless of you to let Y/N live. How pathetic. I expected more from an Ultimate student.” You catch onto Nagito’s ploy rather quickly: taunting her to make her reveal herself. You can see Sonia struggle to keep her composure, her eyes shifting around the room as she tries to think.

You wave over her attention to you, giving her a mocking pout as she looks at you. You draw a thumb across your throat and point to her, your pout spreading into a smug smile as she grits her teeth harshly. This seems to be final straw for her, as she slams her hands against the stand in anger.

“Do not mock me so, Y/N! If Ibuki hadn’t walked in-!” she cuts off abruptly, clasping her hands over her mouth. It’s silent as everyone takes in the accidental confession.

“But... why?” Hajime asks quietly. “Sonia... you were the most passionate one about not killing.”

“...Because I have a country to return to,” Sonia finally admits, squeezing her eyes shut as tears slide down her cheeks, “You do not understand. None of you understand! They need me to lead them when my mother and father pass!”

The room falls into silence again as Sonia sobs into her hands. It’s only broken as Chiaki quietly calls out, “Hajime...”

“I-I know,” Hajime says, and with a deep breath he begins his final explanation of the murder. How Sonia first cut your throat and meant to hide it with the rope as a fake suicide, even cleaning off your neck to make it even more convincing, and how Ibuki walked in at the wrong moment, how Sonia killed her instead. He goes on to explain how Sonia hastily positioned her body below you, trying to present a murder suicide, but she was too hasty. Too panicked, and because of that panic she was found out. “Isn’t that right... Sonia Nevermind?”

Sonia’s sobs only intensify, shoulders heaving as everyone stares at her solemnly.

“Well, if you aren’t going to say anything...” Monokuma breaks the silence after a few painstaking moments, “It’s voting time!” The panel on your stand lights up suddenly, and you silently sigh as you trail your finger to Sonia’s name. You watch the time limit tick down as everyone places their votes, trying to ignore Sonia’s muffled cries. The panel goes dark as it hits zero.

“And the killer is...” Monokuma watches eagerly as the machine spins, gradually slowing down to land on Sonia, “...Sonia Nevermind! You’re correct! Congratulations, you all live to see another trial! ...Well, all but two of you!”

It falls into another uncomfortable silence.

“...Seriously? You aren’t going to say anything? Boring,” Monokuma sighs, “Well, in that case...” Sonia’s head snaps up in fear as Monokuma hits his button with a mallet, opening her mouth to protest, to ask for a little bit more time, at least, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle as a metal claw flies out to harshly grip her neck.

“It’s punishment time!”

Sonia is yanked out of the room by the claw, hand outreached in hopes of grabbing onto something, anything, to slow down her impending death. Her fingers find nothing as she’s painfully dragged down the hall. You feel nausea bubble up in your stomach at the thought of being forced to watch another execution. You only shakily step off of your stand when Monokuma yells at you to hurry up to the execution room.

You feel someone slide their hand into yours, interlacing your fingers, and turn to find Gundham. He’s silent, but his hand is grasping yours tightly, a silent refusal to let go as you two slowly walk to witness yet another death.

#gundham tanaka x reader #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa scenarios #danganronpa x reader #gundham tanaka #danganronpa #tw gore #tw death #tw suicide #gleamingstars

564 notes · View notes

toastedclownery · 4 years

Text

Hey so uh, I finally finished the bit I wanted to write based on this scene by @mintyfrosty!! I changed some things according to my version of them but it’s basically the same Gonna put in under a Read More. TW for anxiety attack and passing out of exhaustion ovo”

He looked at the board in front of him. Hours of work put into it, papers full of notes and reminders, calculations, timetables and floor plans. And yet, he couldn't remember one thing he had written on it. He couldn't read, couldn't think clearly.

He had to get this heist right. Had to plan out every single detail, every possibility. That's what he was for. Think ahead, be prepared for anything that could go wrong, and create a way to avoid it. He was particularly good at that, it was easy for him to consider different scenarios where things could meet with disaster. However, it came at a cost.

Still staring at the bunch of papers pinned on his wall, he blinked slowly, unable to focus on anything. His mind was tired, and so was body, even if he himself didn't feel it. He took another sip of the cup of coffee he was holding, deciding to push his sleepiness away for one more night.

This one has to be perfect, they couldn't have any more mishaps. Terrence' last raid was the last straw. They had lost too many people to it. There had to be a stop to that de iure leader's wreckless nature. Reg thought if he proposed a calculated enough and totally safe plan, maybe the elites would listen to him. Maybe he could get a seat at their table. Maybe…

His head almost drooped and he quickly had to readjust himself, his eyes now wide open, heavy bags under them. His body was fighting against him. Why? He didn't feel tired. In fact, he wasn't feeling anything at all. He felt fine.

Rising his hand in order to reach for the cup again, he noticed the trembling waves inside the container. His hand was shaking. He frowned, shut his eyes in frustration and downed all the remaining coffee in one go. Two or three seconds later, he realized that might not have been the best idea.

No, it was okay. He didn't need to worry, he was fine. He looked at different points of the board rapidly, trying to take anything in. Nothing went through. His breathing became unsteady, and the corners of his vision were beginning to become blurry and dotted.

It has to be perfect, he thought.

Realizing he was getting dizzy, he had to remind himself to breathe. He felt like he was choking. Why wasn't he getting any air?

We've lost too many people already, were the repeating thoughts drumming in his mind.

He was too out of it to notice his hand had given out, dropping the ceramic cup and letting it shatter. Startled by the loud noise, he tried taking a step back, only to notice his legs had turned wobbly, barely keeping him on his feet.

With one last glance at the board, all the papers were now a mess of smears and black spots. The room started tilting… and tilting… He was out before he even hit the floor.

Night patrol. It had to be night patrol. He would have preferred to have some rest tonight, but he had to be chosen for taking a walk around the base at ungodly hours of the night. He would have complained, but knew he couldn't speak against the Chief. He went along with it, knowing nobody else would do it anyway. Right thought Terrence usually cut the other elites too short, himself included. He felt like he could do more than just night patrol, but on second thought, he was the one that fit best for the job.

He was passing through the corridors, reaching a series of doors that led to the Toppat members' rooms. Unlike his fellow elite's bedrooms, these were smaller and had thinner walls. He remembered the time he had to sleep in one of those rooms. It was nearly impossible, any noise was able to get through those walls made of cardboard.

Just thinking about it made him tired. He was about to let out a yawn, but was stopped by a loud noise coming from one of the dorms ahead. It sounded like a glass-shattering noise, followed by a light thud.

He saw a stream of light under one of the doors. Who in their right mind was still awake at this late hour of the night? He looked at the name on the door. "R. Copperbottom" It read. That name was familiar. He gave the door a couple of knocks.

"Oi, is everything alright in there?"

He waited about ten seconds, no response.

"Can I get in?"

Again, silence.

Right opened the door and stepped into the room. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a collapsed man in the middle of the floor. He cursed under his breath and went to check if he was okay.

He gently turned him to face upward. He drew a few hairs back and was able to see his face. And then he recognized him. The smooth mane of hair that was usually collected in a ponytail was now a frizzy mess of ties and knots. There was also his familiar curled mustache, which seemed to get the same treatment, and a pair of dark circles around his eyes.

He knew this one. He hadn’t spent that much time in the Clan, yet he had jumped up the ranks in no time. He ascended to his current position much faster than he had seen anyone do it in his time as an elite. There was a reason for that. The guy was a working machine.

Ever since the day he was recruited, he would show interest in what the Clan’s next big heist was going to be. Even if he wasn’t part of it. Right had started to see his face more often around the higher positions. He shone with curiosity and initiative when robbery plans were finally handed to him for the first time, adding thousands of tweaks and details that would stun the field operatives. He would go on his way to arrange every minute of a heist, and then proceed to explain each new bit to his superiors.

Needless to say they were surprised with this new guy appearing out of nowhere and before they knew it he was suddenly giving them lectures like a teacher rants to a bunch of toddlers. If he was met with any kind of criticism, he would come back the very next day with a new refined version of the plan. The team of elites were intrigued, they shared their recognition of his potential, whereas the Chief… Would usually butt heads with him.

"I think you worry too much, pipsqueak"

Right hated to agree on that, currently looking at said pipsqueak laying on the floor, most likely passed out from exhaustion. He doubted he got enough sleep when making all those schemes, and the scene before him proved his theory to be correct.

He examined the room. Next to the unconscious prodigy were broken pieces of a ceramic mug. He must have dropped it before falling along with it. His hat was still on his head but tipped to the side. In front of them was a wide corkboard, filled with papers and post-its hung on it left, right and center. Right blinked twice before regaining his focus on the other man.

"Hey, Reginald? Can you hear me?"

He shook him by the shoulders a little bit. Maybe he would be able to wake up momentarily so he could go to bed on his own. Seeing how that wasn't the case, he sighed, and decided to do it himself.

He drew the bed sheets back, scooped him up carefully and held him in some kind of bridal style, his head resting on his shoulder. He was light as a feather, so he was pretty easy to carry around. The smallest yelp came out of Reg’s mouth at the feeling of being picked up, but he relaxed again when leaning on Right's chest. Right slowly put him down on the bed and tucked him in.

It was weird, seeing him like this. The only times he would see him were quickly running through the corridors or giving his presentations on schemes. Always full of energy and enthusiasm. Right noticed a certain spark in his eyes when he talked. He noticed the way he would smile while telling his favorite parts of a plan. How he would sometimes motion rapidly while nervously rambling things under his breath. Now, he was laying limp on the bed, looking a mess, a strong fatigue visible on his features. Right chuckled. He would not want to be seen like this. Suddenly, he blinked, and found himself sitting on the side of the bed, hypnotized by the rhythmic breath of his sleep longer than he would have liked to admit.

He shook his head and got up. He had completely forgotten about the ceramic shards still on the floor. He picked the broken pieces one by one. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be a lot of small bits, just five big shapes that fit neatly like a puzzle. He chose not to throw them away, thinking of putting them back together if possible. He grabbed the dark gray fedora that had rolled off his head and left it on the bedside table.

He saw an alarm clock, set to chime three hours from now. He turned it off. There was no way he was gonna let him sleep so little. He would let him sleep in, have the day off. He could make up something not to make the others suspicious. He’d ask him about that jungle of papers another time. He needed rest now.

He turned off the lights and shut the door, the pieces of the coffee cup still in his right hand.

#not tagging as the main tag sorry #copperright #also not tagging my writing as art after last time-#tag #mintyfrosty #toasted texts #I GUESS

80 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Arcadia

➜ Words: 9.6k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Angst, Dystopia!AU, Utopia!AU

➜ Summary: In a new era, the human race has largely been eradicated through warfare and disease. You are one of the few left, living in the forest and making use of the wild. Or at least that's what you think until a man quite literally crashes into your home.

cr.

It happened in the afternoon. A deafening noise from the sky. A thin whistle that crescendoed. Louder than what you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It shrieked horrifically — rumbling the ground — roaring through the silent forest. And you looked up to see a streak of white in the sky. Immediately, you dropped the animal in hand, abandoned the trap at your feet and ducked your head. But the explosions never came raining down on your skull. Instead, it happened in the distance. An explosion that made the evening sky spark bright white. It took a full minute for it to die down, for the smoke to fade into the horizon as if nothing occurred a moment ago. Yet, you stalked the fumes and commotion, crept in the shadows. You knew better than to approach foreign things, to approach clamor and potential danger. But the forest had been quiet for so long that it provoked your curiosity. What you found past the shrubbery and trunks of spruce is a giant white cylinder with rounded edges. A capsule. So white that it burnt to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. But the colour had been marred by dirt and foliage after it crash-landed. The mud and ground hugged it, molded against the shape after it quite literally smashed into the Earth. Before you could approach the thing and investigate, there was another noise. An unfamiliar whirring. It made you flinch and stumble back, taking refuge behind the trees. But as you peeked out, you saw something crawling out of the open compartment. A groan. Someone. You hadn’t seen another person in years. Immediately, you stepped forward and he saw you. Eyes darting to look into yours. He was in stark white clothing from top to bottom, pants that stopped too short at his ankles, a shirt that was cut awkwardly and too small for his broad shoulders. It was vivid against his dark hair and golden skin, almost made him look ridiculous. But you supposed at the time you didn’t look any better — ripped jeans, dirtied boots, a worn jacket taken years ago from some loot and your hair tucked into a baseball cap with a logo too faded away to discern. “I-I won’t hurt you,” he stutters out, putting up his hands. “I...I’m Seokjin. I’m part of the rescue fleet of Arcadia.” Arcadia? The man, Seokjin, sighs after your ongoing silence. “Sorry. Of course you wouldn’t understand me. I,” he enunciates slowly and points to himself. “Am. Friend.” His hands wildly form a heart for you to see and then he points at you with his left while still making wild gestures with his right. He tries to smile brightly. “I. Help. You—” “I understand you,” you deadpan with an impassive expression. The man is visibly taken aback, eyes rounded as his mouth opens and closes comically. “Y-You can speak?” Your arm lifts and your index finger points at his head. “You’re bleeding.” ... .. . He looks around the interior of the tree house like a lost child, seated on the floor and waiting for his parents to return. It’s a meager shack made of alder, large gaps for windows, tattered backpacks stained and collected in the corner by some pairs of shoes and an old radio. There’s a fishing line hung diagonally across the room and above his head, used to dry clothing. But he finds himself drawn to the radio and crawls over to try to switch it on, tugging on its antenna, turning the dials. Yet, all that answers is noisy static. “It’s been broken since a long time ago,” you pipe up, nearly startling him to death with your sudden presence. But you had simply climbed up the ladder quietly. “I’m still tinkering with it.” Seokjin sets the radio down. “I have a device similar to it. Thought this one would work.” He pulls out a black and thick rectangular piece of plastic from his back pocket and you scarcely recognize it. “A walkie-talkie?” “Kind of. It’s called an Erewhon device. State of the art technology, even if it looks chunky. It transmits radio waves without any limit of range and it syncs to one other device. No third can ever join or hack into it. I use this one to communicate with my base. Or at least I usually would, if the thing didn’t break in the crash.” You don’t understand anything he’s saying, so you chalk it up to gibberish. “It stings.” Seokjin sharply inhales as you apply pressure to his wound. But the ache soon alleviates when you wrap bandages around his head. “What’s your name?” It’s your last roll of bandages. “Y/N.” It’s not like you to be so generous or welcoming towards a stranger. The nature of your upbringing and life has ingrained an innate suspicion to anyone who isn’t yourself. But there’s a characteristic about the man in front of you that doesn’t make you doubt his intentions. It must also be partly because you’ve been on your own for so long and your inner subconscious is willing to dance with danger if it means having some kind of contact with another. But whatever the case may be, you don’t feel wary of Seokjin even if you should. “Are...there any others?” “Other humans? There hasn’t been any for years.” “There’s….just you?” “Just me.” Until now. “Where did you come from?” “I come from a place called Arcadia. It’s a utopian society just off the Zion mountain and Elysian Fields,” he says as if you know what those places are. “It has everything and it’s where the remaining people have gathered for years. I actually rescue people like you who are still alive and bring them back. How...how did you manage to survive on your own out here?” “I just do.” “How long have you been here?” “I don’t remember. The apocalypse happened when I was young.” Seokjin makes a noise of acknowledgment like he understands. “It happened when I was seven.” “I remember celebrating my fifth birthday in an underground bunker with my parents.” He doesn’t ask where they are. If they aren’t with you now, it’s safe to assume your parents are dead like his are. “I had a lot of people help me along the way, a lot of people who died,” you say, “I’ve been in sanctuaries and communities until they fell. Everything was only temporary. So, I’ve been on my own for a while.” “Arcadia is different,” he says with bright eyes, breathy voice full of wonder and hope. “It’s where the new world is beginning. I can take you there.” “Isn’t your flying machine broken?” “You mean my Xanadu Shuttle?” Seokjin scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. You notice how the tips of his ears turn scarlet. “Actually, it was my first time taking it out that far. I’m kind of new to all this. But don’t worry! When it crashed, it sent a notification to headquarters and gave coordinates, so they should find me soon. I’ll try to fix my Erewhon device too.” You don’t pretend like you know the things he’s referring to. “Are you hungry?” “I have dried pemmican!” He lights up as if remembering and pulls a transparent wrapped bar from his back pocket. You wonder what else is in those endless pockets of his. Seokjin must read the puzzled expression on his face since his smile widens. “Want to try it?” “Sure.” You rip open the wrapper and you’re met with a dark red and gray block, and a meaty scent that makes you slightly nauseous. But you’ve eaten worse before, so you take a bite. Seokjin instantly laughs when your expression wrinkles up. “It tastes better the more you eat it. Promise.” “It’s awful.” There’s a temptation to spit it out the window, but afraid that it might be considered rude, you swallow it down and quickly hand back the monstrosity to him. “Do you want rabbit?” “Sure.” … .. . It’s odd to eat a meal with someone — an experience that you’re unable to pinpoint your last memory of. It’s rather mundane, but mundanity has long been a privilege in this era. “You can sleep in the tree house if you want.” “Where will you be?” “I usually like to sleep on the forest floor anyway.” It isn’t a lie. One of the few things you love is drifting off while gazing at the stars, that the last thing you see is the sparkling horizon before it’s blue again when you awake. “How many people are there in Arcadia?” “About twenty five hundred people so far.” So far. But if what he tells you is true, then it’s a big settlement. As if able to see how he’s piqued your curiosity, Seokjin continues, “It’s an amazing place and we’re completely self-sufficient. There’s an agriculture industry that’s growing and greenhouses underground that gives us all the food we need. They developed a water filtration system as well and it’s connected to the mountain springs nearby. There are pods that people live in, schools that kids can go to, jobs, medicine— you’ll see when I take you back.” “I never said I was going with you.” “What? Why wouldn’t you?” You don’t answer. … .. . “Morning.” You watch as he climbs down the ladder and nearly slips off. It’s an amusing sight to see his hair in a disarray and his eyes swollen beyond recognition. “Glad to see you’re finally up.” Seokjin, on the other hand, is baffled at how you’re already moving so energetically. “When….did you get up?” “Since sunrise. Changed your bandages too, if you didn’t already notice. I’m getting breakfast prepared. There’s a stream down this path that you can wash your face in. Collect water for me while you’re at it.” You hand him a silver pail. Walking off, Seokjin finally gets a good look at the forest. It’s quiet, save for the chickadees he notices in the thin branches of the spruce, twiddling as he passes and the woodpeckers hammering against the alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And the verdant green almost blinds his vision with how vivid it is. He’s never been so surrounded in nature before — never has it encapsulated him completely. When Seokjin returns, he’s more alert than before. “Thought you got lost for a second. You can set the water over there. Do you want to help me look at my traps?” He follows you and nearly steps into a trap before you yell at him. But he’s amazed. You’ve designated a whole section full of traps made of loose string and branches, and when he asks, he learns they’re treadle snares to drowning snares. “They don’t yield a lot of food. It depends on the season, but it mainly depends on luck.” “What do you usually eat then?” “I have some canned stuff from the cities, but there’s a lot of berries and herbs around here that are edible. I’m in the process of growing some basil and tomatoes too, so I never really starve out here.” Seokjin is astounded. You can see it on his face, but you don’t know why that is. It’s not like any of these things are impressive. It’s just things you learn once you’ve lived out here long enough. “You’re making a fire now?” He watches as you take out a curved piece of wood with string attached and another piece that’s pointed at the end. You saw it back and forth on some more wood and Seokjin watches the smoke, how the friction creates the heat, how you transfer the embers to tinder. “Is this how you always make fire?” “Nowadays. At the beginning when I still had materials, I would use batteries and steel wool. Even flint and steel. But the bow drill method works fine. I save my matches for when I need them.” “That’s incredible. Is this what you do? I mean, collect food and make fires.” “I guess.” “Do you do anything else? Do you ever get bored?” It’s an interesting question — boredom. A privilege in itself to be bored rather than worried. Though you suppose that in this quiet forest with no one else, it’s a wonder how you never went insane. But while loneliness sporadically plagues you, you’ve never necessarily felt isolated or deprived. It’s always been this way. You’ve learnt to adapt to it. Humans can handle more than they think when push comes to shove. “There’s always something to do. Whether that’s upkeeping the tree house or making more traps or planting. But sometimes in the summer, I go exploring for a few days. Into the cities. There’re lots of places I haven’t been. It’s a good opportunity for me to get seeds, food, and clothes, so I’m never….bored.” “Wow, t-that’s...that’s impressive.” “There’s nothing impressive. It’s just the way things are.” “I...went to Arcadia in its early days,” Seokjin explains, “It was established twenty years ago, right after the apocalypse began, so I’ve never really got to see the outside world.” “They don’t let you leave?” “It’s not that. It just isn’t safe to. Actually, that’s why I wanted to join the rescue fleet. It gives me a chance to see the outside world.” “You haven’t even seen anything yet. If you want….I can take you somewhere. Better than this.” “Really?!” Seokjin’s eyes widen, irises practically glistening. Your lips tickle, threatening to upturn. “Sure.” … .. . Past the stream and thicket is a clearing. A meadow of daisies. It’s overgrown grass that reaches to your knees, white petals spilling over with yellow centers filled among them. The sound of insects buzzing and circling through the field is heard as the sun beats down. You found this place a good year ago and while it doesn’t serve much of a purpose, you left it undisturbed. The apocalypse was a catastrophe, but it did a lot for nature. “This….this….” Seokjin is breathless, unable to force a coherent word out. He looks over at the blue horizon that seems to steal the land as the abundance of flowers overwhelms his senses. “It’s beautiful, huh?” He stays silent, taking in the sight in front of him. He has seen a vase of flowers at best — most certainly not a boundless field of them. Not like this. Not in the entirety of his life so far. Not in a way where he could inhale the fresh air, count clouds, memorize the azure shade of the sky, and not where he is unable to see where the end or the start is. Seokjin is overwhelmed, and he realizes why the choice to stay remains. Why you would refuse his offer of coming back with him to Arcadia. A part of him also wants to stay here. Where freedom lies. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs while still taking in the sight. The colours are so rich that he feels regretful he couldn’t see it sooner. “I didn’t mean to push you to come with me.” “It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Seokjin finally peels his eyes away from the scenery to gaze at you. Yet you continue to look forward. “You made me curious about this Arcadia.” And the corner of his mouth turns into a smile. … .. . The next few days are spent with Seokjin — noisy at your side, but it’s entirely invited. He goes back to his vehicle, his so-called fancy Xanadu Shuttle, and tries to contact his people. Much like your radio, there’s only static on the other end when he flips and fiddles with switches and the lights eventually die off. He messes with his Erewhon too, the little walkie-talkie device, though it’s to no avail. But Seokjin never becomes discouraged. He remains optimistic, a rarity in today’s climate. The man has no doubts they’ll come for him and even reassures you. In the meanwhile, you show him how to start a fire, how to collect berries and certain plants, and he helps you sharpen the knives you have. But the man looks away when you have to kill the animal you trapped and he makes you kill the bugs that land on him as well. It’s a bit ridiculous and outlandish, but frighteningly natural how quickly he falls into place and adapts. You forgot what it was like to have someone with you. To be able to talk to someone. … .. . “Are you ever lonely?” Seokjin asks one night when he’s laid on the grass, arms tucked underneath his head and staring up at the stars by your side. He copied you after several occasions where he found you like that. You immediately heard the gasp that left his mouth the first time he laid down. It’s beautiful enough that he’s unconcerned with insects and doesn’t get up until you chide him to. “Sometimes. Then I think about how people are more trouble than they’re worth.” He grins. “Why do you say that?” “People mess up things and always have their self-interest at heart. Learned it after I had a gun pointed on me by someone I thought was a friend.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. Just the way things are. Anything to survive, right?” “Is that why you’re on your own?” “Partly. It’s hard when people die too. I’d rather not deal with that.” “Why’d you agree to help me then?” Seokjin asks after a moment. “If people always mess things up.” “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone. I thought talking to you would be worth the risk. And it’s not like you’re not messing things up. I’m leaving with you, right?” Seokjin grins, meeting your eyes. It goes quiet and then you pipe up again— “I do sing sometimes to myself. Helps keep me sane.” “Like what?” “I don’t know.” “Show me.” You outright scoff. “No.” “Please?” A sharp exhale later, you start mumbling, slurring words together in some obscure melody. Your voice is rigid and stiff, out of tune even to your own ears. But you’ve heard it from your parents before. It’s some jingle on television back when electricity still worked. Instantly, Seokjin starts laughing. “Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t know the lyrics!” “No, no, i-it’s amazing, please continue!” Seokjin squeaks out in the midst of a giggling fit and the corner of your own mouth twitches into a subtle smile. … .. . Unfortunately, these simple days don’t last long. Seokjin continues messing with his Erewhon device whenever he gets the chance — banging it on the tree house wall much to your dismay, curling up with it using a screwdriver kit he got from his capsule — and one evening, it suddenly comes alive. There’s the sound of static and someone’s muffled voice. “Hello?! Code White. R-six-four-three. This is Kim Seokjin from fleet seventy two.” “R-four-......three-nine.” It’s difficult to discern, but that’s all the other line says before the device goes silent again. You look to Seokjin, anticipating dejection and disappointment. But instead, a grin spreads into his cheeks and his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “Y/N. They’re coming soon.” … .. . It’s a morning of checking for traps, of hearing the orchestral songs of nature, of holding your breath as the breeze whisks through the strands of your hair. You’re tip-toeing to the simple snare laid on the ground when the familiar, deafening noise returns to the sky. A thin whistle that crescendos. Louder than you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It rumbles the ground, roaring through the silent forest. And you look up to see a streak of white in the sky. It’s a larger white vessel with glass windows around. So white that it burns to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. And it descends to the same place Seokjin crash-landed. Seokjin finds you and the two of you venture through the forest and shrubby towards it. There’s a whirring and a compartment opens. Three different people step out, dressed in that unnatural white much like Seokjin is, pants and shirt cut off oddly. They look at Seokjin with smiles and incredulous expressions. “I can’t believe you actually crashed.” “It wasn’t my fault, JK!” Seokjin whines immediately and then quickly greets the other two females who he’s evidently less friendly with. “Amber. Lizzy. Good to see you too.” “This something I expected from Namjoon or even Jimin, not you,” the shorter-hair girl named Amber huffs out as she playfully shakes her head. “At least he’s safe,” Lizzy says with a smile. “Saves us from having to transport him back in a stretcher. But….who’s….that?” Her eyes dart over to you and the other two strangers follow her line of sigh, re-directing their attention. Then their mouths drop open, eyes widening in surprise, having not seen you there. Seokjin steps aside, allowing the light to shed on you. “She’s a lone one.” “A-A lone one…?” “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Amber whispers softly, lowering herself to meet your height and connect your eyes with hers as if you were a wounded animal. But then light flashes beneath her irises and her brows furrow. “Right. She might not know how to speak. Where’s my translation devi—” The corner of Seokjin’s mouth tilts. “She does.” You step forward, directly underneath the canopy spotlight coming through the spruce, walnut, and alder. “My name is Y/N.”

Arcadia. It’s protected by a dome-like structure reminiscent of glass, but as one of the strangers narrates, it’s supposedly a magnetic force field to protect against natural disasters. The place is ruled by tall buildings like the cities, but unlike it in the sense that they’re not decaying. They haven’t turned brown under wear and tear, don’t have moss growing on the sides of it. Rather, there are patches of green in between the paved pathways, flickering screens that are seemingly floating mid-air, masses of people walking past one another. It’s a utopian society, they tell you. But you’re not sure what that means. “Welcome to Arcadia,” the voice from above speaks rigidly. The door whirs as it opens. And white is all you see. White floors. White walls. People dressed in white. The white lights burn your vision as you stagger out, being aided by the strangers who were onboard with you. They welcome you. Tell you they hope this place could be your refuge and new home. And you’re taken immediately by strangers until you begin thrashing, calling out to Seokjin until he consoles you. He promises that they mean no harm, that he’ll see you soon, and it’s enough for you to be relieved. They lead you away, give you a new set of white clothing that are soft to the touch and a bin to place your old clothes in. You feel vulnerable as you strip from your grimy clothes and trade them in. You’ve never been able to afford to hold onto sentimentalities. But it’s hard to let them go. … .. . “Hello—” The doctor glances at his clipboard. “You must be the new refugee, Y/N! Oh right, they call it newcomer now, not refugee. Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok. I’ll be assessing you today and setting you up to live in Arcadia. You understand me, correct?” “Yes, I do.” “Excellent! Makes things easier for me if we can speak the same language. But feel free to tell me if you want me to slow down. We’ll take things one step at a time.” The man grins brightly and sits on his stool, spinning around to a thin screen on the desk. “We’re going to be doing some tests together today, so I can figure out what I’ll need to help you with and we can make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.” “Okay.” You knew a doctor once. She was similar to him, whimsical as he seemingly is, until she had to amputate her own arm and then bled to death. “Do you have any questions?” “Not really.” There’s an eye examination done until you tell him you don’t know all the letters of the alphabet. He switches to pictures afterwards and is enthused as he tells you that your eyes are apparently fine. He makes you lay down and open your mouth to examine your teeth. You spit into a vial, have your blood drawn. You step into a white capsule with black bars twirling around you. He shows you a picture of your bones and scanned brain with the excitement akin to a child’s afterwards. And he asks too many questions. “So you mainly ate rabbits, berries and other plants? Fascinating.” — “How often do you sleep?” — “So your bowel movements were pretty consistent?” You miss Seokjin. … .. . “Seokjin, can you please tell us what happened on the fifth?” The commander, chief, supervisor and several others are seated on the other side of the table. “Yes. I was dispatched to forty one degrees, twenty four point two eight minutes north. Halfway there, I….became distracted by the scenery, and went off course. I became alert again when the shuttle skimmed along treetops. The console received a malfunction notification and I subsequently crashed into a forest area.” “The maintenance record shows your Xanadu Shuttle was updated on the second of the previous month?” “Yes.” “Then do you accept responsibility for this incident?” “Yes, I do.” There’s no point in putting up a fight. All the evidence is all in the machinery and Seokjin had made no attempt to hide it. “I’m interested in the girl you rescued,” the Commander speaks up, tapping his pen on his clipboard. “When did you come into contact with her after you crashed?” “After I crashed, I exited my Xanadu Shuttle and caught sight of her standing amongst the trees. I think...the accident got her attention and she came to investigate what it was.” He nods and the people on the other side of the table look around at one another. There are soft murmurs and Seokjin stays quiet through their deliberation, keeping his eyes on his own report. After a minute, it simmers down. “The panel appreciates your honesty and integrity, Seokjin. In spite of your circumstances, you were able to rescue someone who will become a valuable member to our society and such a thing should not be overlooked. However, the crash was ultimately on your part and as such, you will have to be put on probation for a period of two months. The panel will also require that you retake your license class. Do you agree these actions are necessary?” Relief washes over him. Seokjin thought this was it. He was anticipating that he’d lose his job. “Y-Yes. Thank you.” “You will have to pass your license class.” “Yes, I will.” “There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, Seokjin,” The Commander speaks up. “I spoke to our Premier and Minister prior to this meeting and we came to an agreement that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if you could foster the newcomer you rescued. Typically, as you know, we house newcomers for a while and monitor them. But she...seems to be a special case.” The Chief furrows his brows. “Yes, she was isolated, wasn’t she?” It’s known to all that the lone ones are usually the people that are most unstable. The ones with animalistic behaviour as a result of living in the wild and being socially deprived. The problematic ones. But they’re wrong. Seokjin doesn’t outright refute his own superiors, yet he’s certain that you don’t have any of those issues. You’re not violent. Uncivilized. Barbaric. “Usually people are found in groups or clusters.” “Exactly that. But it seems like Seokjin has built a rapport with her. It might lead to a smoother transition if there’s immediate integration. Or at least, it’s an experiment we want to try. He has a calm temperament as well which makes him an ideal candidate to attempt this new method. Would you be willing to house this newcomer for a period of time, Seokjin?” He doesn’t need a second longer to think about it. “I wouldn’t mind whatsoever.” ... .. . Seokjin finds you and almost bursts out laughing with how relieved you look. “Jin!” He doesn’t mind the nickname either. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Hoseok twirls around with a blazing smile, his white coat fluttering with him. “But I have a feeling you’re here to see my little guest and not me.” “You’re right.” He enters and stands by your side. “Has everything been alright?” “Of course!” Hoseok interjects before you can answer. “I’m one of the best doctors here, what do you take me for? We had a very fun time together, right, Y/N?” “Uh, sure.” “I’ll take it.” Seokjin smiles and looks at his old friend. “Is there anything…?” “She’s healthy. She’s been taking care of herself well. Nothing that’s too concerning.” Hoseok's eyes meet yours and he grins. “You’re approximately twenty to twenty five years old. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you have any family here in Arcadia, but you don’t have any diseases, so that’s something to be happy about! Minimal dental work that needs to be done. Blood pressure is good. You have a slight magnesium and iodine deficiency, but nothing dark greens, whole grains, fish and eggs can’t fix. I’ll give you some vitamins to be safe and some medication to avoid illnesses you’re potentially susceptible to in Arcadia.” “That’s good news,” Jin exhales. “You’re also healthy enough to have children!” Hoseok announces and if possible his grin widens. You blink at him and he quickly reads your confused expression. “Right, you might not be aware but it’s one of the main ambitions of Arcadia to repopulate society. People with the most compatible genes get paired together into family units. Depending on how your integration goes, you might get paired up in a family unit by the end of the week.” “What?” You’re reeling. Starting a family and having children are things at the very back of your mind, not even in the realm of what your thoughts are, and you’re not sure what to think at this news. Jin sighs at his friend. “You’re freaking her out.” “Am I? Sorry,” the man laughs and looks at you. “Don’t worry. No one will force you. It’s just...highly suggested and recommended.” … .. . “That’s the dining hall.” “What do they serve?” “On Mondays, there’s quinoa. Tuesday is this dried beans dish. So on and so forth. Don’t worry, there’s poultry too, so there are eggs and chicken breast which you can order. There’s corn, milk, cheese and a selection of fruit too. They also serve protein powders you can mix with water that gives you the same nutrition value.” “It’s not like...that stuff you gave me, right?” “You mean pemmican? No, it’s better. Or at least I hope so.” He smiles. “Everyone has the same food. Sometimes during celebrations though, they serve different things.” “There’s not much privacy, is there?” Seokjin follows your line of sight to the glass buildings where you’re able to see the people working on each floor. “I guess not. I’ve never really thought about it.” You suppose it’s something to get used to. “Are...people staring at me, Jin?” “Don’t mind it. It’s not everyday we get a new face around here.” Right as he says that, you lift your head to discover your face plastered on one of the screens at the top of the building as if you were a wanted criminal. Seokjin laughs. “News spreads fast around here.” “I bet it does,” you mutter, a bit unnerved. “It’s a nice place if you follow the rules, trust me.” “What happens if someone breaks a rule?” “Well, there’s a focus on restorative justice for small crimes. So people often do community service or talk to victims or the people they affected and try their best to fix their mistakes.” “What about big crimes? Like if you killed someone.” Yet, Seokjin stays silent for a moment. “They disappear.” Your brows furrow, not sure what he means. But he doesn’t elaborate and you don’t push for an answer, uncertain that you want to know more. Arcadia isn’t as you expected it to be. When Seokjin told you stories, part of you anticipated it being lesser and merely blown up in proportion through his evident love of this place. You had predicted a community ridden with suspicion, like many of the sanctuaries you had been to before they inevitably collapsed. Leaders suppressing their people. Scarcity in resources. Another part of you expected an otherworldly universe, full of gibberish and things you didn’t understand. Much like the technology he carried with him or the shuttle that crashed in the forest. But what is presented in front of you is a sort of familiarity in a changed background. People like you know them, except courteous and independent. “This is my housing unit.” It’s a blinding white, two stories with the top floor off center and extended off the right side. It looks like two boxes haphazardly stacked on top of each other with giant pane glass windows at the front. “It’s not much but it’s my home.” You nod as your eyes drift to his lawn — a tiny patch of grass that surrounds the path leading up to the front door. As if entranced, you launch forward towards it. But it feels different underneath your feet, past the soles of your shoes. The soil isn’t soft. There aren’t any lumps, no grip when you try to root yourself into it. Seokjin notices your reaction. “It’s artificial grass.” “What does that mean?” “It’s fake.” “Fake? You can’t get real grass?” “Guess not.” The interior of his home is less white than all of Arcadia. There are mismatched cushions, wooden tables and bookshelves, fake yellow flowers on his marble kitchen counter, paintings of oceans and cities placed on the wall next to photographs of himself growing up. You glance over the knick-knacks lining the shelves, snow globes and postcards, tiny things you’ve always seen lying around shops in the decaying towns, but never paid much attention to. “Sorry. It’s a bit messy.” “No, I like it.” He shows you to your room, an empty one down the hall. It’s much less decorated than his living space and he quickly excuses himself to tumble back in with heavier blankets and proper pillows. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve had everything already set up!” “I don’t think any of us knew I would be here.” He laughs. “That’s true.” You walk to the window, taking a peek outside to the white city that towers over and covers the blue sky, the tiny patches of grass that alleviates the brightness of Arcadia, the flying shuttles hovering past the paved paths. “You’re probably tired, right? Do you want to rest a bit? I have a few things to do, so…” “You don’t have to worry about me, Jin. I can take care of myself. Probably.” Seokjin ends up shutting the door after promising he won’t take long. But it’s the first time in hours that there’s finally silence. And you allow the quietness to simmer down on you as you take a seat on the edge of the soft bed that sinks underneath your weight. You stare at the sheets, the white walls and floor, the luminescent sunlight streaming through the windows. You’re not sure how you feel. … .. . You stare down at your slab of white meat, so white that you wonder if everything in Arcadia is dyed in this blinding shade. It’s something you might have to ask Jin, even if it’s a bit ridiculous. You’re just not used to having meat that isn’t charged by the flames of a bonfire. But still, you tear it with your fingers and when you bring it to your mouth, it tastes dry and heavy — like it’s fake. “This isn’t very good, is it?” “It isn’t?” Jin blinks and you lift your head. Immediately, your eyes connect to a stranger who instantly turns away and it occurs to you that people are watching. “Don’t worry. It’s because you’re not using utensils. Here.” He hands you a metal stick with three prongs at the end and another one that’s rounded. Understandably, it’s awkward in your hold, hurts in your grip. It goes silent as you fumble with it. The chicken breast almost flies off your metal tray. “It’s okay.” He smiles at your visible frustration and reaches over to slice it with a knife. Jin gently takes your hand holding the fork and pierces the piece. “Like this, see? Not too bad, right?” “It would be easier with my hands.” He agrees, “It would be.” “Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A familiar red-head comes prancing up to the table and steals a seat next to you. “I’m Lizzy. We met on the Xanadu Shuttle, remember? I was the one telling you all about the history of Arcadia?” “Yes, I do.” “This is Namjoon. He’s one of our robotics engineers,” she introduces a gawky, strapping male with framed glasses. He takes a seat next to Seokjin. “A pleasure to be of your acquaintance. I’ve heard quite a lot about you in the past two hours or so. I am friends with Hoseok. He doesn’t indulge me in much information, he told me he received a great person of interest in his office. I believe that person may be you—” Seokjin interrupts his ramble, “Namjoon.” “Don’t mind him,” Lizzy laughs, ignoring the two men as she leans over the table to intrude into your personal space. “How are you getting settled in? Everything okay?” “Yeah. I’d say everything’s okay.” “I heard you were living with Jin now. Tell me, is he as messy at home as he is at work?” “I am not messy,” he protests. “Only a little,” you divulge her with a small smile. Namjoon smiles. “I heard you crashed. Glad to see you’re still alive and well.” “Thanks.” Seokjin’s eyes roll as his voice drips of sarcasm. “I’m sorry you couldn’t use my body for your next humanoid robotic experiment.” “Not now, but in due time,” the other man teases then turns to you. “It’s a shame you’re partnered with Seokjin. He can be quite clumsy and forgetful. You’ll end up becoming his handyman like I am.” “His first time he got into a Xanadu Craft, he broke the console,” Lizzy tells, making your mouth upturn. Namjoon swallows down his food before asking, “If I may be intrusive, Y/N, is it really true that you were alone? In the forest, I mean.” “I...was.” “How long were you alone for?” “I’m not sure. I think maybe two years.” “And before that?” “I...uh...traveled around and met different people.” He leans forward. “And what happened to those people?” “Well, some...passed away and others went somewhere else.” “What did they pass away from?” There’s a loud scraping of a chair against the tiled floor, grating to your ears. “I’m stuffed. Aren’t you, Y/N? I think we should head back now. Sorry, Joon, Lizzy. Might have to cut your questions short there. Maybe you can ask more next time.” “Oh, alright then.” They bid you farewell and Lizzy waves with a smile. As you exit, you look at Seokjin. “Thank you.” He saved you from answering, from bringing up memories you had no intentions of returning to. Yet he smiles and then looks away, feigning ignorance. “For what?” … .. . They’re wrong. It’s not a shame at all to be with Jin at all. If anything, you think you’re quite fortunate. Ever since you’ve met him, he’s proven himself time and time again to be thoughtful and considerate — traits that you thought were gone in this era. But it’s him who makes it easier to deal with these changes, to enter into this new world. … .. . “I thought you were gone,” he says, looking down at you with a smile. You’re laying on his lawn in the middle of the night in bare feet. “I knocked on your door and then searched my whole house.” “Where did you think I was?” “I don’t know.” Seokjin plops down on his artificial grass, stretching out his body and laying beside you like all those times before. “I was worried. I thought something happened to you.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” “I couldn’t sleep.” It’s quiet as the pair of you look to the sky with your hands folded on top of your stomachs. The lamp posts nearby casted warm glows on your visages. The warm breeze making his cheeks rosy. Yet, none of you can see the stars — not with the light pollution of Arcadia, not when all the buildings were towering so high and covering it, not like out there in the middle of the forest. “Remember when we were in the forest, Jin?” “I do. I remember that one time, you didn’t completely put out the fire and my pants almost set on fire.” You giggle and Jin relishes in the sound. “I apologized for that and who told you to sit so close to that spot?” “Hey, I just wanted to be next to you.” You remember the nights when you were able to drift off while staring at the horizon and how you were awoken by the first blush of dawn, sunlight coming through the trees. You have a feeling it’s going to be a long time before you have an experience like that again. It’s going to be a long, long time. If ever again. “I feel homesick,” you whisper, finally being able to pinpoint your emotions and it’s the most honest you’ve been since you arrived. “I don’t want to be paired up with anyone or have kids.” Jin reaches out and you feel his hand against the back of yours. He holds it, clasping it tight. You shift and your eyes meet. “Don’t worry. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” You trust him. … .. . “If you want, we don’t have to eat in the dining center anymore. We can eat at home.” The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is that allowed?” “I’ll find a way around it,” Jin promises. … .. . “Please, Hoseok.” “You know that’s not how the system works. There’s not much I can do anyway.” “But you can put in your recommendation.” He’s silent in contemplation. “She’s compatible with you, but more so compatible with others. Plus, she’d assimilate better with someone stricter.” “I want to protect her. She’s my responsibility. Pair her with me.” Seokjin won’t let you be paired up with someone else in a family unit, expected to stay together and have children. He’ll keep his promise to you and be with you until the end — it’s also his selfish wish to be with you. The other man sighs. “I’ll make a note of it, but I can’t promise anything.” … .. . You’re unfamiliar with the devices at hand — the kitchen appliances with automated voices that speak when you come close, the machines with tens of buttons you can’t read. They’re all things you once overlooked when you scrambled for remaining supplies. “Is everything okay?” “I’m trying to heat this up. You said I could use it, right?” “Yeah. Here.” Seokjin comes behind you and takes your hand, guiding you where to press. “Click this button and then this one.” You don’t understand technology at all. Even the television is odd, an overload on your senses. “What do you think?” he asks, watching your reaction in amusement and how your eyes are as wide as the screen flashing against your face. “It’s...a lot to take in.” “That’s okay. Do you want to go outside instead? We can, if you want to.” You glance out the window. “I’m fine here. I’m not used to there being so many people.” “How about we work on some more worksheets?” “Again?” Jin laughs and the sound is tinkling. “You have to learn eventually. Come on.” He pulls you up and is happy to sit next to you at his kitchen table to teach you how to hold a pencil, how to write each letter and answer your questions. You’re a fast learner. Today your strokes are smoother and you learn how to spell his name. … .. . Seokjin often knocks on your door before going to bed to bid you goodnight. Yet he seldomly finds you there, where you’re supposed to be. He wonders if you’re outside on his lawn again, but instead, he discovers you standing in his living room. You’re gazing out the window quietly with an unreadable expression. “Is there something wrong?” You turn around with a small smile. “I’m just a little homesick.” He joins you, staring out at the city and the lampposts lined on the paved paths. “How do we go outside, Jin? Not just outside, but beyond the dome.” To the forest again. “Most people aren’t allowed outside because it’s dangerous. You would need to have my job or something similar, and that’s after you graduate from a three year program and pass several exams.” It’s quiet and neither of you look at one another or speak when you reach over, discreetly taking his hand into yours. Seokjin laces his fingers through yours and squeezes. He’s the only reason you can starve off the longing sewed uncomfortably in your chest. ... .. . In the following days, he receives a notification. The leaders are interested in you as a newcomer and extended an invitation to the party. So he helps you pick an appropriate outfit and the two of you enter with your hand looped around his arm as he reassures you. “You must be Y/N!” The strangers, leaders of Arcadia, welcome you with tall bubbling glasses, one of which that you receive from a waiter. It tastes disgusting, but you try to not let it show on your face. “It’s good to see that you’re getting yourself accustomed to Arcadia. I see you’re with your future partner this evening.” The man laughs boisterously while you exchange expressions with Seokjin. “That’s supposed to be a secret,” the woman beside him chides. “Right, right. The postings of the new family units go up on Friday. My apologies for ruining the surprise, but I assume it is a happy one.” You look up at him, gazing meeting Seokjin’s at once. The relief is overwhelming and what follows is a kind of excitement. Part of the weight lifted off your shoulders and Jin smiles tenderly. He leans in close, whispering in your ear so you’re the only one who hears— “You shouldn’t look at me like that in a place like this or I might just do something about it in front of all these people.” It’s bold. Unexpected but you know with the heat that rises into your face, it isn’t unwelcome. “Y/N, is it?” The intimate moment is intercepted by other individuals approaching in blue attire, form fitting dress simple and modest. “You must be the newcomer! I’ve heard so much about you.” “Yes, how has your transition been? Are you finding everything accommodating?” You hope they don’t come close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks. “Yes. Arcadia has been very welcoming to me.” They smile. “It’s so fortunate you can understand us and we don’t have to use those translating devices.” “You were alone, correct?” another asks. “How did you fare in the wild like that? How did you manage to even eat?” “I trapped animals like rabbits and squirrels and roasted them over fires.” Laughter is suddenly roused all around you. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to do such a primitive thing anymore?” “What I’m curious about is how you’re still alive without any radiation poisoning.” “I used a radon detector. It was given to me a long time ago by an older woman who was with me. She died.” Automatic silence sweeps through the crowd. You clear your throat. “But I used it when I traveled through the cities.” “I see.” Some are fascinated while others aren’t. “How preserved are these old cities?” “Most buildings are still relatively in-tact. There are abandoned cars and buses too, but they’re useless without fuel and everything’s been raided, so there’s not much left. It’s one of the reasons I started to live in the forest.” “Poor thing,” someone sympathizes, “Someone should’ve rescued you sooner. You wouldn’t have to suffer so much.” “I didn’t suffer.” They’re taken aback, clearing their throats and moving on from the subject. A man directs to the refreshment table — all the while Jin pulls you closer to him and away from the prying eyes of Arcadia. … .. . Later on in the evening when Seokjin’s gone to relieve himself, you meet an old man seated alone at the table. “I was outside too,” he croaks. “Until two years ago.” Your eyes find his — past the wrinkles are bright irises — and you remain silent. “Many things happened that the people here would never understand. But my biggest regret is coming here willingly. Arcadia offers many things,” he says, “it has everything but one.” “Freedom.” … .. . The words stick to you. Like flies to honey. Or the magnets on Jin’s fridge. They don’t cease from your mind — a plague that spreads, a pollutant that you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try. Jin worries about you, but he doesn’t ask. He knows every time he does, you’ll reassure him that you’re fine. So one night, he takes your hand and shows you to his television. “Put this on.” He hands you a black, heavy device and smiles at your visible reluctance. “Trust me.” You slip it on top of your head and it sits comfortably over your eyes, obstructing your vision in complete darkness. Headphones are put over your ears and you discover both of your senses of sight and sound are completely disabled. “What are you doin—” The words die upon your tongue the moment the machine flickers on. There are chickadees chirping and woodpeckers digging against the bark. The sound of insects flapping their wings in the beating sun and the whistling wind intensifies. You see the forest, a forest. Canopies of spruce, walnut, and alder cascading light to the verdant floor overgrown in shrubbery. A cry chokes in your throat, but then it bubbles into laughter instead. You jump up and down. “I see it. I see it!” You whirl around, looking in each direction. To the blue horizon and the sound of the rustling leaves. Your home. But when you take it off, it’s all gone. You’re shrouded in darkness with Seokjin’s features barely discernible. You’re trapped in the very utopia you had followed him to. And you cry. For the first time in his presence, for the first time in a long while, sobs break through your frame at what you’ve lost — what you’ve traded in, what you’ve given up. Jin embraces you, arms wrapped around your frame, trying his best to keep you whole. “I want to go back.” … .. . Jin makes it easier to be in Arcadia. He gives you reason to become accustomed to it. He makes you wish you wanted to stay. But he’s not enough to dissipate your constant wistfulness. He isn’t the solution to your plaguing dilemmas, but you’re glad he doesn’t have to bear that burden. You wouldn’t want Jin to harbour the hardship of being your fix. … .. . It’s in the dead of the night that Seokjin comes out of his room and finds you. In the dark, you’re seated on the floor with your knees folded to your chest and the virtual reality headset slipped on top of your head, over your eyes and ears. You’re taking it all in. The orchestral songs of nature, the birds and leaves, the swaying of the grass and flourishing shrubs, bathing in the warm sunlight you cannot feel. He sees you, but doesn’t say anything, merely turning away. At same time, you feel the presence of another and slip the device in time to catch his retreating backside. “Jin,” you call out for him, knowing you’ve been caught. He hums, turning around and the two of you look at one another. “I’m sorry.” The dark-haired man smiles tenderly. “It’s me who should apologize. I’m the one who brought you here selfishly.” “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who agreed to some and I’m...the one having trouble adjusting.” “That’s not it. The problem is you’re not where you should be. Home. Not my home. Not Arcadia. But your home. “ You stand and he meets you halfway. You press your face to his shoulder and he embraces you. “I’ll help you go back,” Seokjin murmurs against your hair. “I thought you would be happy here, but I don’t want to keep you against your will.” “Come with me.” “You know I can’t,” he whispers in spite of your soft-spoken plea. “I have a life here. Like how you can’t leave yours. Arcadia is my home. It always will be.” You hold him closer, shutting your eyes to savour the moment. “Won’t you get into trouble?” “I’ll find some way.” The corner of his mouth turns. “I always end up fine. You will too.” … .. . The year’s posting goes up and just as the man had said, you and Seokjin are paired together. The two of you hold hands as you look at it, taking your time to read it over. It’s slow, but you understand nonetheless. You’re congratulated by those around him, people you recognize and friends you have yet to know. It’s fortunate it worked out that way, but it’s still bittersweet, knowing of your upcoming departure. And that same night, five hours past twelve, Jin takes you across Arcadia. The white shuttle is ready when you arrive in the dark and you scarcely recognize its scratched paint and dented surface. It’s the same one that he crashed in, the one that took him to you. “I programmed the path back. It’ll go automatically without you needing to drive it. And once you close the door, it’ll come back on its own. I’ll erase the data’s history. Take this.” Seokjin gently places the sling of a heavy bag on your shoulder. “There are clothes in here, blankets, medicine, a first aid kit, some canned food and seeds of new plants you don’t have. It should help you out.” Tears threaten to spill from your lash line. “Jin. Wait.” Hope blooms within him, wondering if you’ve changed your mind, that you want to stay. But he knows having such selfish desires won’t help him, so he puts them away. Just for a moment. He tries his best not to hang onto you, to hold you down. “It was because of you that I could even cope so well. You made it so much easier for me. I...I…” But Jin lets his greed slip. He closes the distance and kisses you senseless. The man swallows your soft gasp and comes to cradle the back of your neck as you ease into him. You relish in the gentle touch, his tender affections and taste one another’s lips. It’s bittersweet, yet he pulls away with a faint smile. “You should get in.” You nod, pulling away from him. Everything the two of you wanted to say has already translated through the kiss. Still, you take every moment you can and look to him. “Thank you, Jin.” The doors whir as it closes. He gazes at you till the very last second, till it shuts. The thin whistle diminuendos as it lifts into the air. He watches the shuttle fade from sight and when the sun lifts at the first blush of dawn, what’s left is a streak of white in the sky.

The world is limitless. You have learned of such a fact at a young age, traveling from desserts to mountains, finding all the hiding places and safe spots that others had claimed no longer existed. But they did and you’ve sought refuge in this forest, found a home amongst the rustling foliage and canopies ruled by spruce, walnut, and alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And without the presence of others, you could listen to the woodpeckers hammering against the wood, the wings of insects fluttering about. Everything was the way you left it. Unchanged from the time you left like it was waiting for you. It’s as if Arcadia and Seokjin was a fever dream. Except the mementos brought back with you reminds you otherwise. You dig into your bag, looking through what he’s given you, everything he picked out that he knew would help. But you discover something special at the very bottom. It’s a black, thick rectangular piece of plastic reminiscent of a walkie-talkie, synced up to only one other without a third in between. You hold the Erewhon device to your lips and press the side of the button. “Hello.” There’s a pause. “My name is Y/N.” Silence follows. But then there’s the sound of static and someone’s crystal clear voice. “Nice to meet you. I’m Seokjin.” A wide smile spreads into your cheeks.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin scenario #seokjin scenario #seokjin reader insert #seokjin x reader #jin reader insert #jin x reader #btsboulangerie #I don't really know if there's 50/50 fluff and angst #there's not really that much fluff and not that much angst in general #but I don't really know how to describe this fic any other way lol #so I went with 50 50 cause it is truly neutral #hope you enjoyed this piece!!

430 notes · View notes

sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

Among These Pages

Summary: After a painful breakup, you move to a new town and you’re instantly attracted to a small bookshop near your new residence. The new owner has definitely caught your eye.

Warnings: Smut and mild cursing

A/N: So this idea originated from a Discord chat (again) in an Arthur specific server. Needless to say this one was fun to write.

The hot sun beat down amongst the worn cement and faded asphalt of this little town you now called home. Bright and sunny, though a little bit too hot for your taste. You quickened your pace to seek the shade of a tree, careful to keep out of the paths of others.

Having slight relief from the blistering sun, you squinted around for another view of your surroundings. A small, quaint village bustling with its inhabitants. The streets were lined with independent shops, restaurants and cafes. The buildings and walkways were splashed with brightly colored plants and paint, immediately setting a cheerful vibe in the atmosphere.

After spending the first day moving in and unpacking, you decided to take a break and explore your new residence. You’ve only really experienced it through your car windows, and stopped in one of the cafes once or twice. However, you now wanted the full experience. Though with how sweltering it was, you were probably better off driving.

You fanned yourself for a moment and cast your attention down the length of the block. More food, smoothies, coffee, ice cream, except you weren’t all that hungry at the moment.

However, another sign caught your eye. Though too far to see, your curiosity spiked and you walked forward. As you drew in closer shapes began to appear, along with letters. Morgan Books, painted in gold lettering in a distinctly Western styled font. Underneath was a stack of books with one opened on top. A bookshop. Being from where you were, you were used to the large corporate bookstores. You hadn’t come across an independently owned one in years.

Checking this place out was a perfect excuse to get out of the sun for a bit. You increased your pace until you were standing at the store front. The building like the others surrounding had a somewhat rustic appearance, part of the charm that attracted you to living here. The windows were dusty and the inside was fairly dark, but you could make out the silhouettes of shelves. You approached the entrance and pulled open the door, ringing a bell overhead. You stepped across the threshold to be greeted by a cool breeze of air conditioning.

You sighed in relief and looked around. The shop itself was fairly small, or at least appeared that way as it was full of multiple bookcases, all of which were stacked floor to ceiling with books. The floorboards creaked elsewhere, and you turned to see someone appear from around one of the shelves.

A man, tall and broad-framed. He offered a quick smile. “Hey there, welcome!”

“Hello.” You greeted him politely.

He stepped closer, allowing a better view of his face. You couldn’t help but to notice how handsome he looked. “Need help findin’ anything?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, just exploring, really. I saw this place and I wondered what sort of treasures lurked within.” You lightly joked.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ll find plenty here. Got new n’ used, so feel free to look ‘round.”

You nodded in response, and turned your attention toward the endless amount of books. You scanned the shelves, following along with the signs marked on top of which cases held which topics. You found that he had a little bit of everything; from encyclopedias to New Age books, to computer guides (from the early 2000’s) to conspiracy theories. You had to giggle to yourself upon reading some of the synopses for a collection of the more esoteric pieces.

Time soon became lost to you with more exploration. All the while the man who greeted you earlier moved through the shop occasionally. After a while it felt like you’d been here for ages. When you checked your phone, you’d realized nearly a half hour passed since first walking into this place. You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t anticipated spending that much time here.

As you were putting your phone away and moved toward the front of the shop, the man sat at his register and caught your attention.

“So, find any treasures?” he casually asked.

You paused to turn to him. “Guess I did, you have a…uh, an interesting collection.” You responded, tilting your head back toward some of the shelves.

He nodded in agreement, offering you a half-smile. “You’d be surprised what people come in askin’ for, or what people come in to sell.”

“Well if I needed a how-to book on Windows 2000, I’ll know where to stop by.” You said with a giggle.

He shook his head and smiled even more. “See? Those books have been on them shelves for years. Ain’t sure why I still keep ‘em ‘round.”

“Antiquity value perhaps?” you joked.

He gave a small, hearty laugh. “’Spose so. Guess I should get rid of ‘em, they belong in a museum at this point.”

His laughter made you smile. “Anyway, I should be heading back home and unpack some more…”

His expression changed to curiosity. “You jus’ move here?” when you nodded, he asked, “Where from?”

“Couple hours north,” you answered. “Needed a change of scenery, you know?”

He nodded in understanding. “You’ll be glad ya moved here. This lil’ town has its charms, folks here are nice too.”

“I’m glad, believe me,” you sighed. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m glad to have found this bookstore too, it adds to the charm.”

He grinned at you. A cute, slightly lopsided grin that somehow made your heart flutter. “Glad you think so.”

---

The next two days was spent unpacking the rest of your house, keeping yourself focused on it to have everything organized before the first day of your new job. It was Sunday, and by noon you’d finally unwrapped the last of your décor and placed it accordingly in your living room. You smiled to yourself as your eyes panned across the room, proud of how much you’d accomplished in just three days. Sure, you didn’t have too many possessions, yet it was a relief to tackle the largest of chores.

Though you hadn’t expected to finish this soon. With only half the day gone, you wondered what else to do. You supposed you could explore more, and that little shop on the corner popped up in your mind, along with the image of the handsome owner…

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by again.

After a quick lunch break and heading outside, it was only fifteen minutes of walking before you reached your destination. It wasn’t as hot out today which you were thankful for. You strode up to the door and pulled it open, the bell once again alerting your incoming presence.

As soon as you stepped in, your eyes darted to the shopkeeper who sat behind the register. He peered up at your entrance.

“Hey, welcome back!” he greeted with enthusiasm.

You blinked in surprise. “You remember me?”

“’Course, when ya live in a small town, you tend to remember faces,” He explained. “Y’back to find more treasures?”

You smiled. “In a way, I finished unpacking earlier than expected so I thought I’d come back into town for a bit.”

“So you’re all settled in then?” he asked.

“For the most part. I start my new job tomorrow, so I’d figure I use my free time productively by…looking for more old computer manuals.”

He chuckled at that. “Now that ya mentioned it, I think I better do some inventory o’ the place. Might as well get rid of the useless stuff,” He spoke while standing up. “I won’t get in your way.”

You nodded, sidestepping as he rounded from around the counter to move past you. As he passed by, a short whiff of his cologne wafted through your nostrils. He smelled good, and you briefly turned your head to take a look as he walked away. He was certainly broad, almost too broad to fit in this little shop. Yet he moved between the bookcases with ease.

He turned a corner, obscuring himself from your vision. You turned your attention back to the books, looking for the topics that would particularly spark your interest.

It’d fallen quiet, aside from the creak of floorboards and sliding of books across wood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pass back and forth with a few in his hands, carrying them towards the back. You’d sneak another glance or two without him looking, appreciating his physique.

After a little while, you found yourself poring over a book on the religion of Wicca. It was something that piqued your interest in your earlier life, though never had a chance to really learn about it. You’d only just began to skim through it, although the content was interesting enough that you started to read.

A loud crash emanated elsewhere in the shop, causing you to jump in surprise. The shopkeeper hissed out a curse, prompting you to peer around in search of the source.

“You okay?” you called out.

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh of annoyance. “Jus’ one o’ these shelves fell apart.”

You listened to the sounds of him attempting to clean up the mess, and followed it through the narrow aisles until you found him. He was bent over, attempting to collect the disheveled books spilled at his feet.

“Here, let me help.” You said, automatically starting forward.

“No, you don’t have to –” he began, glancing up at you.

“There’s a lot here.” You stated, gathering a few into your arms.

He didn’t argue further, and together the two of you managed to collect them all. He nodded in thanks and headed toward the back once again, with you on his heels. He led you to an open door to reveal a small back room. From over his shoulder you spotted a chair and desk, and a pile of books placed haphazardly on top of it. He placed his armful on an empty space and gestured for you to do the same. Once you emptied your arms and exited the back room, you turned to him.

“Thank you.”

You nodded to him. “You’re welcome…” you glanced around the shop again, and an idea struck your mind. “Need any more help?”

“Nah, jus’ ‘bout halfway done I think.” He answered, placing his hands on his hips.

“I could help with that though,” you pointed out, though surprised at yourself for even offering. “Kinda curious what else you got that’s ancient and obsolete.”

“Oh there’s plenty…” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck while he peered around as a thoughtful look painted his face. “Tell ya what, if ya find anything interestin’ that need to be off the shelves, I’ll let ya keep it for free.”

Bewilderment crossed your mind. “Wouldn’t you be losing money then?”

“A couple of ‘em won’t hurt business,” he said. “Better n’ throwin’ ‘em out or puttin’ em in storage, ya know?”

You didn’t want to decline his offer since he had a good point, yet you still felt bad regardless. “Alright, fair enough.”

And so you set to help him. All the while you two held a casual conversation. You learned his name was Arthur, and that he owned this place for a few years. Other than running this store he lived on a small ranch on the edge of town. You shared a little bit about yourself, including your career and a couple of shared interests you had with him.

Surprisingly enough, you’d pulled out many more old texts than you anticipated. Some were so worn and dog-eared that there was no resale value, and Arthur told you to just throw them away. Throwing away books? You instead convinced him to give them away, and he found an empty box and labeled it “Free Books”. You skimmed through them briefly to see if they caught your eye, yet none did and they ended up in the box.

After a little over an hour passed before the both of you picked the place clean. You dusted your hands off after placing the last few in the box. Arthur picked it up and carried it outside, placing it on the sidewalk. We walked back in and said, “Hope that gives ‘em some good use.”

“Hey, people will take anything free,” you pointed out. “Maybe even pull in more revenue for you.”

“Well here’s hopin’,” he sighed, briefly glancing toward the floor before meeting your gaze with a small smile. “Thanks for the help again, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome Arthur, I actually had fun helping you.” You answered with a grin.

He chuckled softly. “Fun, eh?”

You nodded. “Sure, you’re a nice guy and fun to talk to.” You answered.

You weren’t sure, but his face reddened a touch as he ducked his head. He laughed again, shy and…cute. “Thank you, though I ain’t that much of an interestin’ person.”

“Nah, I beg to differ,” you argued lightly. “Either way, I think I’ll be coming back. I like it here, and if you’d need any more help…”

“You’ve been more than helpful Y/N,” he answered, waving his hand as if trying to flit away your words. He then paused, realization crossing his face. “Actually…no, never mind.”

“What is it?” you pressed.

“Well,” he released a heavy sigh. “I’ll be honest, business ain’t as good as I’d hoped. I’ve been tryin’ to think of new advertisin’ strategies, pull in more customers. Problem is I ain’t too good at it.”

“So…you’re asking me to help you advertise? Or create one for you?” you questioned.

“I know it ain’t fair to ask,” Arthur answered quickly, his face shadowed with a look of guilt. “We hardly know each other and you jus’ moved here –”

“I’ll do it.” You softly interrupted.

He blinked, staring at you in surprise. “Whuh?”

“I said I’ll do it,” you repeated, smiling at him. “Luckily for you, I took a few advertising arts classes in college.”

The surprise remained on his face. “Uh –” he huffed, and cleared his throat. “I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’ –”

“I’m not, Arthur,” you assured him. “You were gonna ask for a reason right? I don’t mind. Besides, I haven’t used my art skills in years. Might as well put them to use again.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” You affirmed. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll give me something fun to do after work.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. He finally nodded and spoke, “Alright, as long as I ain’t troublin’ you with it.”

“No trouble at all,” you replied with another smile. “I’ll come up with something good, I promise.”

His smile matched yours. “Then I look forward to it.”

---

The next few weeks kept you busy. After settling in at your new job and coming home to sit at your computer to design flyers didn’t leave you much time for other activities. Still you stopped by the bookshop to plan with Arthur and discuss strategies, or suggested many ideas that he seemed to like. You laid out a few thumbnails of different designs for him to pick and choose, narrowing it down to two that he really liked.

You stopped by every day to update the progress, even when you didn’t have to. Admittedly you were enjoying his company, and you had a feeling he liked yours as well. After moving to a town where you knew no one and were far from your family and old friends, you were just fine with considering Arthur as one. As time passed on he’d become friendlier and more open to you, offering you a drink or snack even when you’d come by for a few minutes.

Sometimes you’d stay longer just as an excuse to be close to someone other than your new coworkers, and to admire how nice he looked. He always dressed in either button-up shirts or a nice T-shirt and Wrangler jeans like a cowboy, the fabric accentuating his broad frame in all the right ways. His sandy hair was trimmed neatly, and he kept his face somewhat clean shaven, although something about having stubble lined across his sharp jaw set a spark within you.

A relationship was the furthest thing on your list at the moment, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire how attractive he was.

Soon after you produced a finished product, and quite proud of the result after not having designed anything since your college days. It was a weekend which meant you were free, and upon printing out a nice colored version, you headed to the bookshop almost instantly.

Arthur loved it, as you had hoped. He paid for multiple copies to be printed and distributed around the town, and you spent the afternoon stapling them to telephone poles and handing them out in some of the shops. You thankfully had gotten a positive response from most of those you’ve spoken with, which gave you hope. You wondered how Arthur was doing on his end.

After a few hours you’d met back up at the shop, tired and arms empty, but Arthur looked as pleased as you did. You settled down in the back room while he handed you a water bottle from his mini fridge. You took it gratefully and gulped a swig, sighing in relief.

“I think we did good.” you said as he settled across from you.

He nodded in response, followed by taking a drink from his own bottle. “I think so too, lotsa people seem interested.”

“I would figure more people would come in here often.” You said thoughtfully.

“You’d think, but this place is more of a tourist trap than anything,” Arthur responded. “Can’t complain, but I understand. Ya get used to one place, it gets borin’ after a while.”

“Well, hopefully this will be the beginning of a new era for this place.” You enthusiastically gestured to the surroundings with a flourish.

Arthur smiled at you, chuckling as he took another drink of water. He didn’t speak, however your eyes met his. You’d never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were. From a distance they appeared blue, yet you could detect hints of bright green surrounding his pupils. You wanted to view them even closer. Somehow you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The entrance bell however sounded, pulling your attention and his toward the front of the store. The telltale signs of potential customers. Arthur glanced out in surprise, and immediately stood up to greet the newcomers. You stayed in the back room while he dealt with the customers, listening to their voices with a smile on your face. Who would have thought it would work that quickly?

You left shortly after, catching Arthur’s eye briefly as you walked by him helping out a young couple that wandered in. A gaze that lingered a second longer than you intended, however you felt it was best to leave him to deal with his shop at the moment.

—-

Two weeks passed and you hadn’t stopped by Arthur’s shop, mainly because each time you passed by, the building seemed to be teeming with customers. You felt more than happy, and proud of yourself that you helped a business owner earn more revenue after a dull streak.

You did find yourself missing his company. Each day he hung in your mind like a cloud. You certainly liked him enough to call him a friend, yet those gorgeous eyes of his would meet you in your dreams.

That following Saturday evening, you received a text from him.

Hey, would you mind stopping by?

He was vague yet direct. Perhaps he was going to ask you another favor? Either way you were excited to see him again, and to inquire how everything was going. You headed over just minutes after responding to his text, hoping your eagerness didn’t overflow into your phone.

The first thing you noticed was the closed sign hanging in the window, which explained the lack of people this time. It was just past 7 pm, and you walked up the door and knocked. Movement shadowed behind the glass and Arthur’s silhouette appeared just a moment later, meeting your gaze between the glass and smiling wide. He opened the door.

“Hey there, come on in.” He stepped back and gestured.

You walked in and turned to face him. “So, I’ve noticed business has gotten better recently.”

“All thanks to you,” he responded, the grin on his face only growing wider. He then lifted his hand to reveal he was holding a bottle of whiskey. “I wanna thank ya.”

You blinked at the alcohol, surprised by this but you didn’t have any objections. You smiled and nodded in approval. “You don’t have to thank me Arthur, but I’m not about to turn down a good drink.”

He chuckled heartily. “Sure I do, the booze is jus’ a bonus. C’mon.” He waved toward the back room and strode for it, and you were right behind him. Once he stepped inside he grabbed a couple of plastic cups, and filled the both of them with a few cubes of ice. He then poured in the whiskey before topping them off with some soda. He handed a cup to you, and then held up his own.

“To you, for your design and advertisin’ skills.” He said, although rather awkwardly. You figured he wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but you didn’t mind. Bringing your cup to tap against his, you smiled again and took the first sip simultaneously with him. The sweet soda tinged with the smokey bitterness of the alcohol was a pleasant mixture against your tastebuds.

It was quiet for a moment, and Arthur took another sip before drawing in a deep breath. He focused on you. “Drink’s good?” He asked.

You nodded, taking another sip of your own. “Very. Haven’t had a chance to have a good drink since I moved here. Had to resort to a few gas station beers.”

He snorted softly, a small smile of amusement appearing on his face. “Gotta introduce you to the good bar in town sometime.”

This piqued your interest. “Oh? There’s a bar here?”

“‘Course, every small town has a bar,” he pointed out. “It ain’t on any of these main roads though, it’s closer to the outskirts. I imagine ya probably didn’t explore that much.”

“Can’t say I have,” you said thoughtfully. “But I’ll take up the offer of you showing me.”

“Jus’ name a time, ya won’t be disappointed.” He confidently replied.

You finished your first drink after a little while and Arthur poured you a second to which you were not opposed to. The effects were taking hold of you before you knew it. Your lips were looser with each sip you took, and you found Arthur was the same way. The two of you spoke about random topics, anything ranging between favorite colors to what you cooked yesterday. Things that were otherwise too boring to discuss, yet somehow with Arthur they seemed more interesting.

A little while later, the conversation became deeper. Arthur spoke some about his earlier life and what kind of environment he was raised in, and how his teenage years were spent bitterly. You shared the reason why you moved: you were previously living with your significant other, only to find your shared bed occupied by two bodies when you arrived home early one day when you weren’t feeling well. The reveal absolutely crushed you, which led into an emotional spiral and you looking for a new place to live the next day.

It’d been a little over a month since then. Your mind was still heavy on the breakup until you stopped by here the first time. Arthur and his charming little shop seemed to absorb any lingering sadness you had. Seemed like both yesterday and ages ago.

Regardless of the story, the pair of you were chortling in good spirits. You ranted about all the negatives about your old partner, releasing the leftover bitterness you’ve suppressed and turned it into humor. It only heightened your mood more, and with each drink it only increased.

After a few more minutes it quieted down again, though the smiles remained on your faces. You since became immune to the sting of whiskey, immensely enjoying the flavors and the inebriation that accompanied it.

Arthur reached over and poured himself another helping. His sigh caught your attention. He stared down into his cup, fixated with a thoughtful expression.

“I gotta say, I’m glad you wandered in here that day.” He murmured, peering at you with a sidelong look.

“Yeah?” you chirped.

He nodded slowly, taking a swig of his drink before focusing onto you with a serious gaze. “I’ll be honest, I was thinkin’ ‘bout closin’ up.”

You were taken aback by this statement. “Why?”

“You saw for yourself. Hardly any business. Shelves lined with books decades old,” he snorted without humor. “Truth is openin’ this place ain’t even my idea.”

“Then whose was it?” you pressed tilting your head in curiosity.

“My fiancée’s,” he smiled bitterly, gently swirling his drink. “Eh, ex-fiancée. Had the grand idea to run a business together. Picked out this place herself. N’ like a fool I fell for it.”

Ex-fiancée. Your heart raced upon learning this new information, and you wondered what happened between them. Would it be too prying to ask? “So…what changed?”

Arthur shrugged. “She found someone else more interestin’. Said we had too many differences in our lives to really enjoy each other…” he trailed off to take another sip, his eyes shifting to gaze in the distance.

Your heart broke for him. Rather than wallowing in those feelings, you instead asked another question. “But why hold on to this place if it was her idea?”

His gaze pulled back to you. “Guess for a while I was hangin’ on to the dream that she’d come back n’ pick up where we left off. Obviously that didn’t happen. Stupid, huh?”

You frowned at this. Hell, you understood that pipe dream all too well. There was a brief time where you wished your ex would come after you like in the movies in some dramatic fashion, pouring out apologies and begging you to come back. Wishful thinking.

You noted his hand was resting against the table. In a quick movement you reached over and placed your hand comfortingly on his forearm, and offering him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You loved her and you held on to the one thing that you knew she loved too.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to your hand. “For too long,” he sighed. “After a while I knew there was no chance. Still I continued, kept this place open for my own sake. Came here every mornin’ with a rock in my stomach, least until recently.” He explained, his voice softening towards the end. He peered over to you again.

Your heart raced once again. The way he was looking at you… it was obvious as to why he mentioned that last bit. Hell, you knew for a while. He wasn’t subtle about trying to steal glances your way these past few weeks. As attractive as he was, you were denying yourself of your own feelings out of protection. It felt too soon after your last relationship, although it seemed Arthur had been single for a while. You were afraid you’d change your mind. “And why is that?” you asked, wanting to play dumb to hide your initial hesitation.

His arm moved – at first you thought he was pulling away, until his hand met yours. Palm to palm, skin rough but warm. His fingers entwined with yours and you automatically did the same. “I think you know,” he murmured.

His thumb smoothed against the back of your hand. Your eyes bore into his. Such a gorgeous light blue, glistening in the lamplight of this tiny room. Despite the table in between the two of you, it was hardly an obstacle to view him in better focus. Upon closer inspection, you could detect pools of green surrounding his pupils, reminding you of tropical beaches.

His lips were parted, wafting his gentle breath against your face. Scented with alcohol and the sweetness of soda, he seemed to be growing closer.

You closed the space immediately, the booze flowing in your system offering a boost of confidence. His mouth was surprisingly soft against yours, and within seconds he returned the favor. Your free hands joined, mirroring their counterparts with ease. He pulled you closer with no effort.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly to stare at you with a soft expression. He released your hand to cup your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch with a smile.

“You don’t have to hold on to those thoughts anymore.” you sighed to him.

His smile mirrored yours. “Neither do you.”

---

It was nothing but pure bliss following that night. You’d fallen into a routine to spend some time with him every day, even when you had work. Arthur was such a sweet lover and was not hesitant to hold you whenever he had a chance. His arm around your waist, or pulling you into his lap. You helped around the bookshop more, even when he told you that you didn’t have to. Yet you insisted, and redecorated some of it to give a new energy while keeping its rustic look. It certainly attracted even more customers.

He took you to the bar as promised, and it quickly became a regular spot for casual dates. It was just as charming as he explained, accompanied with lovely patrons and entertainment. You were soon completely comfortable with this small town, completely integrated into its community thanks to Arthur. People often recognized your face from the bookshop, and the praise following was something he was elated to hear about.

A couple of months have passed, and you swore Arthur’s smile grew bigger each and every day. He looked forward to running the business again, and left those bitter thoughts of his ex behind with the help of you.

One particularly slow weekend day, you were spending time in the shop as usual. It was late afternoon and the last customer left an hour ago, thus creating a quiet and relaxing atmosphere. Closing time would be in less than an hour, and you just assumed no one else would be wandering in.

While Arthur manned the register, albeit with boredom, you began to observe some of the newer inventory. The shelves were thankfully lined with more recent texts to fill in the gaps of what you’d sorted through previously. Once again you found yourself coming across the book of Wicca again, the same one you were skimming through just months earlier. You were surprised no one purchased it with the heavy amount of traffic that passed through.

The book served as a better distraction than you realized. You pored over it, so focused on the information that you didn’t notice the presence that loomed over you until gentle hands found your waist.

“You can keep that if ya want.”

You blinked in surprise, turning your head to look at him. “No, I’d feel weird about it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s still your store, I just can’t take it.” You pointed out.

He shook his head and quietly laughed. “Ah, it’s alright sweetheart. I know you were interested in that. ‘Sides, it’s been sittin’ here for months, n’ I can always order more if people want ‘em. Pretty sure it’s here for ya.”

“I still feel like I should pay…or something.” You murmured, placing the book back on the shelf.

“Now I don’t wanna hear none o’ that,” Arthur lightly chided you, despite wrapping his arms around your waist. “I never did properly thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

You turned around in his grip, giving him a playful smirk. “As if all this affection wasn’t repayment enough?”

“’Course not,” he snickered, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “Think I got quite a while ‘fore I’m even,” he reached over and plucked the book from its spot, and pressed it into your hand. “Until then, take this.”

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the spine, and you sighed again. He was adamant about you keeping this book, and there was no use arguing with him. No point in denying a free gift anyway. “Alright, I’ll keep it.”

He smiled in response. “Don’t ever think y’gotta pay for somethin’ in here. If ya like it, then help yourself.”

“You tell that to all the girls?” you asked.

“Only to the ones I like.” He replied with a wink.

You giggled, stepping back to lightly slap his chest with the book. “Alright you, I’m gonna head home. See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, drawing you back in for a hug and another kiss. “See ya tomorrow, darlin’.”

Breaking from the embrace, you headed toward the exit. Somehow you hadn’t noticed how much darker it got outside until you saw the iron-gray storm clouds through the door. You opened it just as a loud thunder clap rumbled through the air, vibrating the floor beneath you. A split second later, rain began to fall.

Well shoot, you walked here today.

Arthur’s low hum sounded behind you. He stepped up beside you to observe the weather. “Guess you ain’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”

“Guess not.” You agreed. You weren’t opposed to staying longer, however you were hungry and some leftover pizza at home was calling your name. Hopefully this storm would be quick.

Arthur seemed to have read your mind. “Got some snacks in the back, c’mon.” He said, reaching your free hand and leading you through to the back room.

The two of you settled at the table with a shared small helping of cut fruit. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to curb your appetite for the time being. It was quiet aside from the raging storm, which settled to an even calmer atmosphere. You popped a grape into your mouth, peering over at Arthur as he munched on an apple slice.

His eyes met yours. “Somethin’ wrong with my face?” he asked jokingly.

You snickered, scooting closer. “Yeah, a whole lot of handsome.”

He snorted and shook his head with a dejected smile. You learned early on that his self-esteem was low, even though he hid it fairly well. Any comments toward his physical appearance was usually deflected.

“It’s true, you know.” You insisted. “You ever see how some girls stare at you when they’re here?”

“Nah, only ever got eyes for you, darlin’.” He answered.

“It’s pretty obvious,” you continued. “They’re not so subtle with their googly eyes, even when they try to be.”

Arthur laughed again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Guess I’m blind to it.”

“You must be, if you can’t tell how sexy you are…” you stood up briefly to slide into his lap. Your hands cradled his face. “Probably the most attractive man in this town.”

His cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink, ducking his head slightly to avert your gaze. “You’re jus’ bein’ sweet.”

“I’m being truthful,” You corrected, slipping your hand beneath his chin to tilt his face back up. Once he was looking at you again, your hands moved to his shoulders, down his arms and to finally take his hands. “I could stare at you all day, you know.”

He chuckled in response, entwining his fingers with yours. “I could say the same ‘bout you.”

“Ah, but this is about you…” you spoke softly, pulling his hands up to your mouth, placing soft kisses on his knuckles. “From your gorgeous eyes to your sexy jawline to your absolutely stunning body. And the way you dress? It’s like you do it on purpose just to make me feel all hot and bothered.”

“I don –”

You gently shushed him by planting your lips on his. Tasting faintly of fruit, your tongue swiped out to steal the flavor from his lips. You pulled back to see the flustered expression on his face, his mouth betraying a slight smile tugging at the corners.

He released your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer on his lap. “Guess I can’t complain if you like it all.” He murmured.

“And then some.” You added, wrapping your own arms around his neck. He drew you in for a second kiss, softer and sweeter than the previous. He held you close to him, his body warm and solid against you. Seconds ticked by as it gradually grew deeper and more fervent. His tongue slowly invaded your mouth which you happily accepted. His large hands smoothed up and down your back, both soothing and igniting your body. A soft moan slipped from your mouth, unintentional yet you didn’t regret it.

This caught his attention. He paused and parted the kiss, confusion plain in his expression. His eyes however betrayed his thoughts, aquatic pools shining brightly in the lamplight. He wanted more and was held back by his hesitation. It seems like you would have to take the lead.

You offered a soft nod to him, a silent acquisition of permission for his unmentioned desire. Removing your hands from around his neck, you reached down and peeled your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Arthur’s eyes widened, staring without shame at your chest, only reflecting the hunger in its prominence. He moved then to attach his mouth to the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lovingly. Your head tilted to allow him more access, quietly encouraging him to explore more of your body.

He did just that. His calloused palms roamed the expanse of your back. His fingers trailed with feather-light precision up your spine. You shuddered in his grip, arching your back and pressing against him even more. He rumbled softly in appreciation while his other hand found the zipper of your jeans. You anticipated feeling him venture further, only for him to grip your ass. He stood up, catching you off-guard and you expelled a yelp. His journey with you was short as he brought you back down, resting your back on the table before him. You locked eyes with him as he smiled down at you, reaching up to caress your cheek. He dragged his fingers down your midline to the hem of your pants, gripping them to tug them straight off.

You were now down to your underclothing while he was still fully dressed. He was certainly moving fast. “You’re gorgeous too…” he muttered, his gaze scanning you up and down with great interest. He rested his hands on your hips, standing in between your legs. He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, moving his lips in a steady line following his trail from earlier. Looping his fingers through your underwear, he pulled them down just as his face reached just below your navel.

He tossed your panties with your other discarded clothing. As exposed as you were, you didn’t feel embarrassed. Your yearning for him was driving you wild. He kissed your mound before taking his spot in the center, and a split second later the wet presence of his tongue appeared along your slit, searching for his target until he honed in on it.

Good lord, who knew he was so good at oral?

You covered your mouth while he worked his magic against you, moaning quite loudly through your fingers. He held your trembling legs tightly against his shoulders, occasionally peering up at you for validation. Your other hand carded through his soft hair, allowing your touch to encourage him further.

He toyed with your entrance, exploring your inner walls. It wasn’t long until he hit that spot, a toe-curling and edge-gripping sensation that had you squealing his name. You were thankful this place was empty for once. He rubbed your inner thigh, offering his own encouragement. Your climax was arriving almost too quickly for you to comprehend. “A-Arthur,” you gasped. “God –“

You could barely utter another word as your pleasure washed over you like a powerful tidal wave, snapping your legs tightly to him while he lapped at you, drawing it out until you were writhing and whimpering from overstimulation. He broke free from your grasp with ease, standing back up to stare down at you.

As your breath evened out, you sat up slowly. “Where did that come from?” you asked.

He chuckled, offering you that crooked smile you loved so much. “I do have some tricks up m’ sleeves.”

You giggled with him, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck. He leaned into your embrace, joining his lips to yours for a short kiss. You brought yourself to your feet and pressed closer to him, highly aware of what rested against your thigh. Sliding your arms off, you knelt down. “I got tricks of my own too.”

Before he could speak, you palmed him through his jeans. He took a deep breath, easing out a quiet moan to you. You nimbly unzipped his confinements, reaching in to fish out his already hardened manhood. He was larger than you anticipated, but not enough to intimidate you. You wrapped your hand around, finding him thick in circumference. To describe him as well-endowed would only serve him some justice. Your fingers couldn’t touch.

You peered up at him. He was staring at you with curiosity, the rosy tint in his cheeks only increasing. There was still a hesitant energy to him, enough to not push you further.. You offered him a slow rub, memorizing every inch in your hand from root to tip. He released a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

A soft smile crossed your lips, and you brought yourself forward to kiss his hot skin. You parted your lips to slowly engulf him, keeping your eyes locked to his. Your tongue slid languidly along his silky flesh, drawing along the thick vein that lay on the underside. Soon you had a set rhythm, bobbing your head in an undulating movement. He moaned deeply, breaking his gaze to tilt his head back. His fingers tangled within your hair, a gentle hold that prompted you to take more of him.

The sounds he made were glorious. Guttural groaning with your name, pet names, wrapped with his pleasure. His palm pressed against the back of your head. As gentle as he was, you sensed an urgency behind it. And so you dove further, swallowing him whole with some effort.

“Oh –” he huffed, his hips shuddering with a small buck. “Shit, darlin’. S-sorry.”

You uttered a soft hum and rubbed his thigh soothingly in response. Pulling your mouth back, you deep throated him again. He swore out loud a second time and gripped a nearby chair. You repeated a third time, raising your hand to fondle his balls through his jeans. His breathing became erratic the longer you pleased him, taking him whole with long swallows and a wiggle of your tongue. He gripped your hair hard, though he broke any direct contact with your head, too lost in his ecstasy to aid your movement.

Though hardly any time passed when he spoke your name. “Sweetheart, ain’t g-gonna last.” He gasped out.

You stopped immediately, pulling your mouth off him with a pop of your lips on the tip, swiping off a small pearl of precum that formed. You sat back quietly on your knees as his breathing regulated, and he was able to straighten up and focus on you again. “God damn, your mouth…ain’t no other like it.” He sighed.

You smiled smugly and stood up, closing the space between you with a swagger. Your arms slung around his neck again while you gave him a sultry look. “Didn’t want to be done yet.”

Arthur caught on immediately, pulling you in closer with an iron grip. He ground against you, his rough jeans on your soft skin felt wonderful. His erection rested between your thighs, just inches of where you wanted it to be. “Didn’t think so.” He growled, setting a shudder through you.

With one swoop he propped you back onto the table. His lips hungrily latched to yours while his hands explored every inch of your bare body. His fingers found your center with easy, relaxed strokes. Your moans silenced in his open mouth. You could only hold on while he pleasured you with his hands, though your patience for all of him was wearing thin. His shirt balled up in your hands, fingernails digging deep into the fabric and against his skin.

You pulled back to gasp out. “Arthur, please!” you panted. “I need to feel you.”

He paused his ministrations, bringing his gaze to you. A sweet smile touched his lips and he moved to grip your hips, shuffling slightly to align himself to you. His hips rocked forward, allowing himself to poke between your folds. He invaded you slowly, inch by inch and spreading your inner walls. You hid a wince, underestimating his thickness. He watched your face intently as if to note any discomfort. Soon he was completely joined with you.

He caressed your cheek, asking a silent question of your comfort. You nodded to him and kissed his palm, then trapped his thumb between your lips to suckle on it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the faint surprise on his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

His hand left your face to take place once again on your hip. He brought himself back and forward in one smooth motion. The discomfort dissolved almost instantly as your body accepted him, soon replaced with waves of pleasure. You moaned loudly, gratefully, hanging on him while he rocked you to the very core.

He murmured a breathless swear, gripping you tightly while he continuously thrust into you. You were enveloped by your own ecstasy, whispering his name into the air. Lost in your pleasure, you almost didn’t feel him lift you from the table. He held you without effort, driving himself even deeper. His grunts and groans vibrated deep in his belly, vibrating against you.

“Sweetheart, ya feel so nice.” He crooned.

You couldn’t form a coherent response. You could only muster up a long moan the more he fucked you, the further he reached and the harder he rocked. He paused briefly to move from the little room out into the main area. You felt him press you against a bookshelf. The books housed in it shuddered and some fell.

“A-Arthur?” you panted in question.

“Scientology books, no one reads ‘em anyway.” He quickly answered.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, a hearty giggle that switched to a squeal once he pounded into you again. The bookcase creaked behind you, tapping against the wall. The small aware part of your brain wanted to be careful, that is until Arthur shifted to snake his hand between you, his fingers once again toying with your clit.

You stifled another squeal, keeping yourself from becoming any louder than you already were in case any passerby somehow heard you, despite the storm still raging outside. Arthur seemed to have other plans, ramming himself so hard that you could only shout his name. His mouth latched to your neck again, not hesitant to mark and abuse your flesh. He growled with a nearly animalistic tone, echoing deeply throughout the shop.

Your second was on a quick ascent, peaking and surging through your center and radiating through your muscles. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him. He grunted, unleashing a shuddering breath.

“Jesus, gonna finish soon.” He huffed to you, and caught your lips for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He held you again with both hands. His pace hastened and his hips became erratic, unshamefully moaning against your tongue.

Every one of your senses was overwhelmed in the most wonderful ways. Your taste and smell were overwhelmed with his essence, your nerves tingling as you came down from your high. Nails dug into his flesh, spurring him to finish even sooner.

The clear ringing of a bell pierced your otherwise distracted attention. The bell indicating the store’s door opening, followed by faint footsteps. It brought you back to reality quickly. Ripping your mouth from his, you tried to gasp out his name, only to have him nearly slap his hand over your mouth.

“Shh, nearly there sweetheart. Jus’ be quiet.” He grunted quietly.

Part of you was nervous about the idea of being caught by someone, yet another side seemed to enjoy the thrill. You barely managed a nod while he somehow quietly fucked you, keeping you pressed against the bookshelf and undulating rolling his hips. You locked eyes with him, hyperaware of the creak of the floorboards that sounded as if they were growing closer. Your heart raced despite the endless amount of pleasure racking through your body.

It almost seemed as if he wouldn’t finish in time, until he pulled out of you and stifled a low groan. Hot trails of his spend painted your bare stomach. His entire body shuddered and he eased your legs to the floor, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before ushering you to the back room.

Your legs felt like jello, but you managed to scurry back into the room, ducking from view of the shop while Arthur stuffed himself back into his pants and hastily adjusted his appearance before disappearing from your line of sight. You heard him greet the newcomers, his voice cheerful and not a hint of what just happened a moment before.

You swiftly and silently closed the door, cleaned yourself up, and redressed. A few quiet minutes passed by before Arthur opened the door back up. He smiled at you and let out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t catch us,” he announced.

“I thought it was closing time,” you said.

“Close, had ten til,” he rolled his eyes. “Usually how it goes…”

You sighed heavily. “Of course…” You stepped up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Despite the fatigue that took hold of your body, you felt energized from the whole ordeal. “You sent them on their way?”

Arthur took a hold of your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. “Once they found what they were lookin’ for, though they did hear us a lil’…I had to tell ‘em I was rearrangin’ some o’ the shelves.”

You snickered. “Gotta say, it was a little bit of a thrill feeling like we were gonna get caught. Like we’re teenagers sneaking around or something.”

Arthur snorted and grinned at you with a sly smirk. “Yeah?”

“Sure, but let’s wait until after closing time. Don’t wanna scare off the customers.” you amended.

He nodded, his face twitching thoughtfully. “Next time, I think my house is more suitable,” he laughed. “More comfortable than a bookcase.”

“Oh I’d hope,” you replied, arching your back and feigning a look of pain. “Pretty sure that threw out my back.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, though quickly realized you were joking and shook his head. That same adorable crooked smile returned to his face. “How ‘bout I massage ya to make it up?”

“How about we do that at my house?” you proposed with a cheeky wink.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #modern!Arthur Morgan #modern au

220 notes · View notes

regulusfate · 3 years

Text

Soldier, I can’t love you [ but I do ]

Part One

ship: nottpott — harry x theo

word count: 3586

tw: injuries, mentions of death, swearing, war

If this was how he was going to die .. no damn he was not happy about it.

He could feel it, the breaking skin shifting beneath his clothes, glued with the aftermath of rain to his skin, patched with mud and long dried stains of blood. He gave a short exhale, through the spiking pain of his shin with each footfall as his fingers seemed to mould into the creases of Potter’s jacket.

His arm was slung around his shoulders, and Theo wanted to feel something close to resentment as his eyes squinted through the dark of the night, their aching bodies colliding with each gruelling step along the old country road. Wanted too. But instead was stuck with the burden of relief in his own treacherous emotions.

“You’re not going to die Nott”

He jerked a little, catching the bubble of pain behind his gritted teeth as his foot stumbled and struck a loose stone on the ground, weeds crawling up against the road and threatening to claw at his dragging ankle. The makeshift bandage of cloth rubbed, and holy fuck the cut was not deep but it stung like hell.

Potter glanced at him, those eyes, his tanned skin shadowed by the darkness but those eyes, deep with a soldier's gaze, polished with something warm, and they rolled up towards the sky. Theo bristled, but didn’t ask how Potter knew. Maybe he’d said it allowed, his lips seemed to do that more frequently now, the consequence of a lack of human interaction he supposed.

“Oh yes, my saviour,” he bit back instead, and there’s more relief rolling down his back because at least he still had sarcasm. Except he was, he was being saved by Harry goddamn Potter and he didn’t entirely hate it.

Rather him than — well , just about anyone.

“How’d you find me?”

He asks before their silence could feel as threatening as the noise, and Potter shifted his hand, Theo could feel it curling tighter into the side of his jacket. For the first time since his figure had appeared before his hazy eyes twenty four hours ago he asked the question that had been rattling around his head.

“How’s your leg?”

Theo sighs through his nose, and scowls.

“Would it kill you to answer my questions?” He snapped, swinging his head against his aching muscles to glare into the shadows of his face. Potter had a stubble growing on his jawline.

They talked about that once.

‘Ginny hexed Michael , you should’ve seen the moustache’

‘I’m not sure I want that image, thank you’ his nose wrinkled automatically

‘Not a fan of facial hair?’ Harry was grinning, he could hear the smile in his voice, their bodies pressed up in the sheets on the floor. Theo turned his head, his vision skewered by messy locks, curling in their growth and shifted himself closer.

‘Not on Michael Corner.’ He muttered and they fell into a gentle silence.

‘I don’t think I’d like it,’ Harry mused after a moment, and they’re moving again, both of them, and then Theo is met with his face staring back.

‘I think you could pull it off.’

A lifetime ago, and Theo could hardly remember what got them to that moment. It felt easier then, and harder, like some paradox coiled around his chest until his ribs hurt, and that smile seemed the only way to loosen the rope.

He didn’t love him. He wasn’t sure he knew what love was. He wasn’t sure if he could give that love. It was a companionship that began with a cup of tea in a cafe and Draco Malfoy.

Potter had been alone, Theo had been intrigued, and Malfoy had been in a bad mood. Or maybe he’d been in a good one. Draco was hard to read like that, he liked to pretend but theo wasn’t sure even Draco knew what he was pretending to be. He never did a very good job. Potter hadn’t risen to it, the bait Malfoy was spitting on the table, they’d caught eyes past the blonde’s pointed ear and shared a resigned look that simply said ‘he’s at it again’.

They say it’s history from there, but Theo would disagree, the rest had not been history, the rest had been an abundance of messy talks and soft cotton blankets and spitting venom and trust. trust. where had that gone?

“-heo? your leg?”

As of his memories had been encased in the same haunting night, the world moulded back into reality and he coughed the bitterness from his tongue.

“It’s fine.”

Potter hummed, his muscles shifting and Theo felt himself lean into the opening a little more, the silent offering as they came to notice a bulging light up ahead that was gone as quickly as he blinked, as his weight transferred a little more to Potter's hands.

He’d grown. That annoyed Theo.

“I was passing through.”

Not really an answer, and Theo felt his teeth grind a little more, his jaw beginning to ache as Potter jerked them off the road towards the bushes.

“Where-?”

Instinctively he began to pull back. They’d been picked off one by one before, there’d been rumours and whispers like forest fires sparking their way through the stragglers, the lost that kept on running with nowhere to hide. He’d heard all about the once with false safety, lured out to safe houses to find themselves in the hands of the enemy.

He’d heard it from Creevey, who’d seen MacMillans body.

“Easy, Nott,” And it was the softest Potter had sounded as his body recoiled backwards, and he found he couldn't move anyway, a dizzying spin as his leg shook beneath his weight. “Here.”

The world swam for a moment, as Potter released him, and Theo felt his fingers twitch. A hand was clasped on his shoulder, loose enough for him to rip off if he must. He lifted his ankle from the found and found himself gripping the hand, needing that anchor. There was a shuffle, and then a ripple in front of his eyes and he watched the wards split open like a bulge, a tear in barbed wire nuts enough for them to slip through.

Potter didn’t release his wand, and Theo would have thought him mad if he had. He’d already proven his identity, it were to be believed. There were a thousand reasons not to trust this, and yet he couldn’t think of a single one.

So he heaved a breath and stumbled through the wards, hoping he wasn’t about to be murdered. He’d take dying roadside with Potter over that.

Stretched out before him came gravel, and Theo recognised it must have been an old muggle pub and car park, turned into a base. It looked, in a strange sort of way, rather comforting. Nothing like to leaky cauldron, for one, it was still standing. It was rickety, like some old medieval tavern, his eyes scanned the shapes of the wood and the old words etched in. There were lights, he wondered if that were a stupid idea, but the lanterns were warm and the windows alight was more inviting than anything had been the past few years.

They enjoyed history, himself and Blaise, not when Binns was teaching but their own history lessons. They’d grab library books and disappear to a corner or back up to their dorm. It began out of obligation to have high grades in everything, and then it became something they found interesting .. even, on occasion, the muggle stuff.

Potter's arm was back around his waist, and they made their way across the gravel to the door. There was a knock, and Theo gripped the wall beside them as Potter leaned closer , loosening his grip to murmur something through the door.

There were more secure ways to check. Theo wondered if they were being reckless on purpose.

Weasley was there leaning in the doorway with that infuriating smirk looking far too relaxed and a raised eyebrow.

“They buggered you well and good then.”

“You’re as subtle as ever.” He drawled back, and Weasleys smirk widens a little more, there’s a glint in his eye, something ravenous and Theo gets it. They all do. It’s finding those snippets of normality, those arguments they once hated, they come to crave - but it’s too dangerous to truly argue, it means losing sense and they couldn’t afford that.

Potter shifted impatiently, and shot a pointed look at the youngest Weasley male — no , no the youngest Weasley now. It was in the lines on his face, drawn and scarred. He’d heard about her death some time ago. Something passed between them silently, and the red head stepped back to let them through.

Theo would be lying if he said there wasn’t a small pang of jealousy there.

They used to do that across the hall, or the classroom , sometimes in the corridors. Hogwarts was so long ago , he wasn’t even sure it was still standing.

Theo hobbled over the step, and there’s something washing over his face. More wards. The familiar ones, numerous occasions, the last ditch attempt to keep the enemy out of it were the case. And nothing happens.

He lets out a breath he’s not aware he’d held and he grunted, as Potter dislodged him into a chair. It’s still laid out like a pub, and there are figures scattered across the room, few and far and many pressed as far away from the others as possible. There’s a fire going in the corner, the fireplace seemed the only magnificent thing about it, and yet Theo finds his eyes drawn up to the bar.

Dean Thomas. He’s sat behind the counter drying a glass. It something so normal, intimate even, as if he had always been there and that there was not a war raging over their heads.

But Thomas’s eyes are red, and he wonders if Finnegan is alive. Last he heard, a quidditch stadium up north had been blown to pieces, nobody knew whose side did it. The dead had yet to be collected and no names given, it wasn’t safe.

“What’s the latest?”

That draws Theo’s attention, their bodies half caught in the light, half silhouetted by the dark, maybe if he were not as exposed as them, he would’ve have found those grim expressions intimidating.

“Three of ours went down this morning. No word from Carlisle.”

Something expanded in his chest for a moment, like this gallon of hope and the expansive gallows of the sea infused to the flesh of his lungs.

There were mostly rumours of bases here and there. But if they had Carlisle ..

He sucked in a breath and coughed, with a sharp groan that slipped past his gritted teeth as he misguided his footing and smacked his leg against the table.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and his eyes flickered open from the swallowing pools of darkness that threatened to succumb to his body. Harry stared down at him, the concern billowing in his eyes were warm, though disconcerting with the shadows still tattered across his face and stiff with a war hardened stone.

Theo assumed he found what he was looking for as his eyes finished their scrutiny of his face and jerked up to Weasley once more.

Again, those silent eyes and he couldn’t decipher it. He missed friendship.

#harrypotter #hp fandom #harry potter #theodore nott #harry x theo #nottpott fanfiction #nottpott #nottpott is amazing okay #theodore nott x harry potter #hp golden era #alternate version #hp wizarding war #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #ron weasley

8 notes · View notes

pinevalley · 3 years

Text

Meeting; Four Days After.

“I’m sorry for your—”

“Oh, she’s still around.” Allie’s gaze stayed steady, tone even but with an underlying firmness. A chill had gone down her spine despite the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and dappling the table and the two of them. “I know she is.”

“... situation,” the detective finished. “Not loss.” Her mug thudded gently against the wood of the table. “A missing person case takes a toll on everyone involved. And I’m sorry. We’re making every effort to find her.” The sheaf of papers in front of the woman had coffee stains on it: overlapping rings of brown.

Cassie’d make a joke about that, Allie thought, looking across the table at the fragmented splotches. Something about crop circles. Coffee crop circles. In her peripheral vision, the clock on the wall ticked another time: nine twenty. Ten more minutes. The detective’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Can you tell me about her? Any distinct details about her appearance, first. Like birthmarks.”

Can you? As though it was uncertain, doubtful whether Allie could talk for hours about Cassie, whether she sometimes thought she knew more about Cassie than she knew about herself, and Allie knew the woman didn’t mean it that way but temper still prickled beneath her skin. She stifled it. She took a slow sip from her mug — the coffee lukewarm and bitter on her tongue — before speaking. “She, uh. She’s shorter than me.” But don’t tell her that, she’d get all annoyed, but she’d mostly be joking ‘cause she doesn’t really mind it; I always reach things for her anyway. “She has tattoos on her arms. Green leaves, white flowers. Faint. Her right eyebrow is pierced. Silver, small. She has a birthmark on her left shoulder, shaped like a maple leaf, but it’s real small.”

“What about family? Or other friends?” Sensing a spark of tension from the other side of the table, the detective shuffled her papers and spoke more slowly, words chosen with care. “I only mean that... if she stopped at some point, for whatever reason, is there anyone or anywhere she might’ve visited instead?”

A long pause, in which Allie considered late-night phone calls and texts and rooftop conversations and ‘we could leave, you know, just drive out’ and ‘hey, i’m ready whenever you are.’ “No.” A slight shake of her head. “She... no.” The coffee rippled in the mug before her hands steadied. “I told you earlier, she was looking for me. She wouldn’t have just... stopped. She isn’t like that. Cassie... she doesn’t just stop.”

“Okay. I understand.” The detective slid a piece of paper from the folder, uncapped her pen, jotted a note. Faint birdsong rang through the window before fading. The detective didn’t look up. “Anything else you want to share? Any detail you think is important.”

Something in Allie wavered.

Allie stared at the woman for a moment. “Alright,” she said at last. She leaned back in her chair. The mug remained clasped in her hands. Her words slipped out honey-smooth. “She never learned how to tie her shoelaces right, so they always come undone. She likes pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup. She forgets things a lot, so I write her post-it notes. She collects stickers. She cuts her hair when she gets angry or sad or for fun, sometimes. Just chops it off. She... hates being alone.”

An inhale, a sip of coffee, and before the detective could stop her, say anything, do anything — because it wasn’t her place to speak, it was her place to listen, because Cassie was Allie’s just as much as Allie was Cassie’s — Allie continued. “She likes driving down the highway real fast and playing music real loud. Country songs, anything on the radio. We’d sing along. Her clothing’s doodled-on by both of us. Stars and stuff. She likes root beer and hot fudge sundaes. She likes eels, and dogs. We’re gonna get a big one someday.” A smile traced the corners of Allie’s lips. “A dog. Not an eel. But I bet she’d like an eel, too.”

Silence stretched. The detective blinked. She cleared her throat, shuffled her papers. “Does she— Is... Is there anywhere else you think she might be?”

Allie hummed. “Rooftops, maybe. She likes being up high. And aquariums. Or you could check the fields. We got a spot where we set off fireworks, near the train tracks. She likes ice cream places. Oh, and this one coffee shop — not for the coffee, ‘cause she hates it, but in the afternoon on rainy days ‘cause she knows I like being ‘round people then. Just listening to them. Or she’s still hitchhiking or something. She always talked about that. She’s done it before.”

Another sip from the mug. Her focus drifted to the surface of the drink, words slower. “Or maybe she’s somewhere real close. She likes playing pranks and stuff. The whole ‘vanishing without a trace’ thing, we used to joke about it. It sounded fun. Running away, driving away, leaving everything behind. Just going. But it was always just us. So maybe, when you walk out that door, she’ll come right in after you.”

Her gaze flicked up to the detective.

The detective faltered. She cleared her throat again. Another meaningless shuffle of papers, and she slid the documents into her bag, then grasped the bag’s handle and stood. “Thank you for your time,” she said, meeting Allie’s eyes. There was a sincerity in her tone and warmth in her gaze and Allie’s throat tightened. “I appreciate the information you shared. We’ll take it into account as we keep looking. I’ll let you know if we find anything.” She walked to the door. The clock on the wall read nine thirty.

Her free hand rested on the doorframe. She turned to look back at Allie, voice warmer. “And you have my number. So I’m here if you need to call, or if you remember anything else you want to say.”

With that, the detective left, leaving Allie sitting at the table in silence. She listened to the car pull from the driveway, and to the silence that lingered afterward, until her coffee had long gone cold.

—

In a valley elsewhere, a ghost who had lingered for four days wondered whether Allie was okay.

#|☽| cassie ( roadside smile )#|↟| stories #(!!!!! HELLO!!!!!)#(i’ve been meaning to write this for so long and finally got around to it agsg)#(also this is probably shaky in terms of actual detective work but still.....)#(yells softly.....)#(allie deals with worry in very specific ways and it’s just! interesting to think abt!)#(and also makes me cry but yeah agdg)

6 notes · View notes

the-magnus-backlogs · 4 years

Text

Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare? I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

#submission #the magnus archives #corruption #cw #body horror #insects #obsession #death

15 notes · View notes

itscolourmix · 5 years

Photo

Messy lil things i drew for a certain non-canon event which i just refer to as “The Titan fight” . MC gets overpowered by Invictus and is forcefully turned into a Titan. I wrote a small story about him noticing strange things before it happened, and he goes to TF (nickname for @novadly ‘s Au Gary) for help since they both had connections with a Titan/s. You can read below

disclaimer that im not a professional writer and i know i’d have plenty of mistakes in this story. But please keep in mind that im not aiming for a masterpiece but rather, me just trying to describe what i see in my mind to the best of my ability. Please enjoy.

“Welcome back to “watch me try and describe with best detail what I pictured in my mind” Ft TF & MC.

So yeah I’ve talked about a (non canon) idea where, before MC got possessed by Invictus and turned into a Titan, he actually felt it coming weeks prior. And that, during another Multiverse party he seeks out TF to help him since he’s also linked in some way.

Annnddd yeah, I kind pictured MC finds TF chilling in some booth with his legs on the table, in his own little world. As I’ve sorta drawn out, MC asks to talk to him & while TF isn’t fully prepared he says yes anyway.

MC struggles with an opening sentence, but eventually just lands on ”........something’s wrong” and it all comes flooding out. Everything feels different, day to day things seem off. His hallucinations aren’t as frequent, but when they come, it’s almost as if they’re trying to get something across without even saying anything. It’s been about two weeks and MC’s paranoia is sky rocketing. He feels as if the curse is lying low, waiting for something, but what? he has no clue whatsoever. By this time MC’s already in some sort of panic. He’s stressing out about it. He’s terrified. He wants help.

TF’s a bit overwhelmed, but he keeps listening, kinda hoping some idea will magically appear in his mind. But it hasn’t come. He’s already at a loss for words.

I guess TF manages to ask a few more questions about the situation, like, did it start for any reason, is there anything consistent with the hallucinations, and what does MC think it all means.

MC’s just about to finish a question when he gets hit with a similar weight you might feel when your low on iron. When your head feels heavier and your vision gets blinded for a moment. Of course in this version there’s a sudden sting that makes him wince a little, and when he finally blinks it away the whole party’s muffled, like someone covered his ears. Everything’s in slow motion. Some feeling gets him to look out in the crowd and there, hidden among all the other Gary’s , is this massive black wolf just standing there with its head lowered, breathing heavily like it’s gone for a big run. But the breathing's loud, and growls in a way. It sounds like there’s gravel in its throat.

It echoes. It’s got big, maroon coloured eyes, which glowed so fiercely that it almost seemed like it was on fire. It was like staring into the sun, which hurt MC’s sight & immediately hit him with a headache painful enough that he squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. He could still hear the breathing echo. This was obviously another hallucination, but had no idea what he was supposed to do with this.

By this time, TF’s clicked together what was going on, and so he leans across the table and shakes MC’s shoulder gently enough to not startle him, and calls out his name loudly enough that he could focus on him.

“Yo, are you good?”

“I..” , MC trailed off. He attempted to focus on where TF was exactly, and the hallucination seemed to slowly slip away. But the breathing still echoed. MC looked down at his hands. He was falling apart, his skin from the hands down was unraveling like ribbons, blood came pouring out of his arms, his bones where separated into pieces that all floated around him like there was no gravity.

“I’m....uhhh...”

His eye’s were bleeding out, bleeding all over his clothes. Everything got darker. He felt tired all of a sudden, really tired, like he could fall asleep and never wake up. But he fought at it. He blinked hard a few times, and found TF’s concerned stare. “I....” MC’s voice cracked from fear “I don’t know..”

He stared at his left hand, which was slowly disintegrating, and ran fingers through his hair with the right. Pulling the hair back out of his face for a moment. He had no idea what to make of this, but it was proving his point.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me”

MC was so desperate that he was ready to fall to pieces. He was inches away from another sob fest. He just wanted an answer. He just wanted help. He tried so hard to fight the tears back when he looked TF straight in the eye and said “I need help”

“Please,” he begged, “ I thought coming to you would be the right thing. I need help. I need to figure this out.”

TF almost sank into his seat with more guilt that ideas. He couldn’t help, and wasn’t even ready to face the intensity that came with all this. His eyes darted around, too nervous to look MC in face. He finally shrugged and built up the courage to say “Dude, I....I don’t know how to help you....I’m not exactly the smartest guy around”

“But,” fear kept building in MC’s chest, “You’re linked to Bolo, aren’t you?!”

TF forced a smile, which looked more anxious than anything “WAS. TWO YEARS AGO”

The anxious smile unnaturally stretched wider and a pained wheeze escaped him “He chose me to be his successor even though I have like 0 of his brains..” TF was looking at MC now, “I don’t even know what I’m doing half of the time with these powers”

So many things were consuming MC at this point that all he could do was lower his eyes and ask, “He doesn’t even exist as a gut feeling? Or like some force ghost? None of his conscious is around anymore?”

TF nodded, “Man, honestly? I kinda wish he did. Right now I’d prefer to be back when he was just a voice in my head. A force ghost would have been the coolest thing. But, no. I’m sorry”

There was a brief silence before MC sighed, defeated. “So, I could be screwed? Whatever they’re planning to do...that’s just it?” MC felt like giving up. He wish he did ages ago. Maybe things would’ve been easier then. Seeing MC look this tired and unhappy made TF already feel a deep regret. It was difficult, seeing an alternate version of yourself depressed, but to let them down? Like yeah, a lot of people let people down. And maybe you can let yourself down from time to time. But to see it happen in front of you. To see a reaction. It was enough .TF’s anxiety was traded for that small spark of determination. He had to come up with something, give this guy some hope.

“You know what? Why don’t we go with my gut feeling ? A good old Goodspeed feeling! From pal to pal.”

Mc looked up at him.

“I say, we wait it out. If you can’t make out what’s going on and I can’t, then we need to collect some more info. Let these things come, but try not to get too spooked. Try and read what’s going on. Write it on a sticky note and piece it together. From what you’ve told me, yeah, somethings definitely afoot. But nothing the Master Commander can’t handle, right?” TF leaned over once again to deliver a light fist bump to MC’s shoulder. “Your powerful! And cool! And your super tough. You’re a super tough Goodspeed! I believe in you, dude. You’ve kept it together this long”

The first, genuine smile broke out from MC’s lips, and he chuckled a bit “How the hell have I?”

“ I donno bro, but your fantastic at it! So keep going.”

They shared a fist bump

“Thanks. I’ll uh, take your advice into account”

After a moment, MC moved his way out of the booth, but before he stood up, TF reached a hand out. “Hang on! Just before you go. Does anybody know about this? What you’ve told me”

“....No. I don’t want to worry them. If I told Star his eyes would be glued to me 24/7. He hates Invictus so, if it sturs trouble for me I’m not sure whether he’d try to kill me or not.”

“Well, just in case, maybe mention it- or, if anything happens, let me know. If you can’t come maybe send Star?”

Mc tittered, “If things hit the interstellar fan, then yes. But let’s hope not”

....

little does he know

#final space #colourmix's art #starboy #mc #tf #gary goodspeed #yeehaww #titan fight

93 notes · View notes

theolddarkmachine · 4 years

Text

Imaginary - Chapter Eleven

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Lord, let me tell you, it was like my boss lady and he husband both knew when I was trying to work on this, cuz damn near every time I opened the word doc they came up with some new task for me to do lol Here’s to still getting this bad boy knocked out!

********************************

The shiny silver gleam of the elevator doors seems to taunt Katsuki as he stares at it, anticipating the sound of its arrival as he waits, steaming cup of green tea in hand. Even by his own standards it’s pretty damn early, leaving him wanting for just a bit more time to enjoy his tea alone, but the Administrator had requested he come in first thing in the morning.

Which couldn’t mean too much good.

Toshinori never was much of a morning person.

Sipping some of his tea, Katsuki enjoys the slightly too hot burn of the liquid in his throat as it pushes back the last dredges of sleep down deep into his chest. It lands beside the soft and tempered memory of Midoriya’s eyes as they’d shone a bright, brilliant emerald beneath the sun, looking toward him with wonder and appreciation.

They’d been the crowning jewel of his dreams the previous night after he’d finally made it back home from their outing. It would probably piss him off if he took the time to think about it, but the elevator dings, pulling him back roughly to the hallway and away from the gemstone gaze.

Stepping through the metallic doors after they slide open, Katsuki settles his back against the cool steel of the lift. Pulling another long sip from his cup, he watches as the door begin to close slowly before their stopped by a hand being thrust between them.

The hand pushes gently at the door and the space between them widens, revealing Kirishima and his all too bright smile. Katsuki grumbles low as he scoots to the side to accommodate for the second body in the elevator.

“Hey, Bakubro!” Kirishima boasts, eyes crinkling at the sides as his smile grows impossibly wider around his sharpened teeth. “It feels like it’s been forever! How have you been?”

Looking over his shoulder, the redhead punches a button before turning his attention back to Katsuki. The door quietly close behind him, leaving Kirishima outlined by shiny silver as he awaits his reply.

“Been busy,” Katsuki gruffs, eyes burning as he watches the numbers Ono the floor counter rise painfully slow.

“Yeah, me too man,” Kirishima chuckles, finally moving forward to settle into the space beside him. Placing his hands against the metal railing that wraps around the car, he folks his fingers around it, gripping tightly as he leans back into it as he lets his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

They both stand there in silence fo a moment before the redhead turns his head slightly, his grin sharp and troublesome as he eyes his companion. Ignoring the weight of it, Katsuki takes another long drag from his paper travel mug, emptying it of its contents.

“You must really like your current assignment though,” Kirishima says with a wicked tone darkening his words. Almost dropping his cup, Katsuki chokes on the last dregs of his green tea.

“What the fuck makes you say that, asshole,” he coughs, glaring at Kirishima as he laughs loudly and smacks at his back with an open palm.

“Ah, it’s nothing really, man,” he replies, voice tilting up like his smile as he pulls his hand away and shrugs. Katsuki would believe his words more if he hadn’t just made a very blatant attempt on his life.

And here he had thought Kirishima was a friend.

Dick.

“You’ve just seemed a lot happier than I’ve ever seen you is all,” Kirishima continues, gaze going soft in the wake of Katsuki’s hard stare. Dopey grin still spread wide across his face, he shrugs once more as the elevator car shudders to a stop.

“Well, this one’s me,” he says, pushing away from the wall and crossing the short expanse of the lift. Stepping out into the hall, Kirishima turns back to wave as the doors close.

In return, Katsuki gives him the finger.

“Fucking, Stupid Hair,” he hisses as the elevator continues its ascent. Crushing his fingers around his emptied cup, the paper gives to the pressure with a soft crumpling sound as he groans and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“What does he know anyway,” Katsuki says up to the bright fluorescent light before the elevator fills with its soft mechanical hum.

The last few seconds of the ride is filled with a damning quiet before it shudders to a stop once more, this time at the top floor.

Stepping through the threshold, he locks eyes with the receptionist, who doesn’t even bother asking if he has an appointment before waving him towards the Administrator’s door.

Without knocking, he pushes the door open, eyes immediately finding Toshinori in the quiet space. The older man sits there silent as he stares into the distance, mug stalled just before his mouth.

If Katsuki was being honest, he looked like he had been hit by a fucking truck.

“Hey old man,” Katsuki bites out, kicking the door closed behind him and dropping his disposable cup into the trash beside it. He watches as Toshinori startles, putting down his own mug and eyeing him as Katsuki drops down into the bean bag before his desk.

The dark circles beneath his eyes seem a bit darker, highlighting the hollowness of his expression before it flickers to something warm as he smiles.

“Good morning, young Bakugou!” He cheers loudly, dipping his chin in quick greeting as Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap, what do you want?” Katsuki growls, sinking so low into the bean bag that his knees jut out and his spine curls into a tight c.

“I can’t want to check-in with you?” The Administrator asks, eyeing him closely, a single blonde eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline in silent question and challenge.

“With anyone else? Sure. Me?” Katsuki says, leaving the rest unsaid as he returns the look. Crossing his arms across his chest, he waits, watching as Toshinori’s expression eases into a look of tired resignation.

“You’ve always been far too perceptive, young Bakugou,” he relents before taking a sip from his mug. The quiet thickens in the air, clinging to him like a second skin as Katsuki traces his gaze over the bright smiley face on the mug’s surface.

“So, what is it?” He finally prompts after the Administrator resurfaces. Setting his coffee down with the gentle tap of porcelain on wood, he turns his gaze back to Katsuki.

“How is your assignment going?” He asks with a forced casualness. It’s just a question, one that he’d ask for any case, but something about it now makes unease zing through Katsuki like a spark of lightning. Toshinori’s bright blue eyes seem to cut straight through him as he fixes his own gaze just over the older man’s shoulder, finding a grounding solace in the off white paint of the office wall.

“It’s going fine,” Katsuki says, voice damning in its earnestness. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he grinds his molars against the taste of his sincerity before trying to rectify it with a dry laugh.

“Who do you think I am, some extra? Of course it’s going great.”

Humming low, Toshinori nods as he steeples his fingers, resting his chin against them as he leans forward into his desk.

“Would you say Eri is progressing well?” He asks, ignoring his quip. Unable to help the proud smile that stretches wide across his features, Katsuki gives a quick nod as he sits up straighter in the bean bag chair.

“Hell yeah, that little shit is probably one of the best kids I’ve had,” he exclaims, chest puffing out just slightly. A light sparks in the depths of the Administrator’s eyes as Katsuki speaks, his chin dipping slightly with a small nod as his smile softens.

“Is she happy?” Toshinori asks quietly.

“Of course she’s fucking happy,” Katsuki scoffs, glaring at the older man. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if she wasn’t.”

Toshinori’s booming laugh shakes the room, causing him to jump slightly at the sudden sound of it.

“You seem to be happy too,” he says simply, answering the unspoken question in Katsuki’s stare, and it causes him pause. The administrator’s words echo that of Kirishima’s not even 15 minutes ago, and he isn’t quite sure how to wrap his mind around the fact that they were right.

He was happy in a different way than he’d ever been, and if he was being honest, he didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t even know who he had to thank for that.

A small voice at the back of his mind quips that he might have some idea of who might be the culprit.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Katsuki’s vision narrows as he imagines burning a hole at the center of Toshinori’s forehead with his stare.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s nice to have such an easy case, what’s it to you?” He says slowly, ignoring the collection of sweat at the nape of his neck. The early morning meeting suddenly feels like a sentencing as his mind wanders to Eri, and to Izuku.

He had had his suspicions that administrators knew everything, and could see everything, but he’d never gotten the chance to confirm that. Now, sitting there pinned beneath Toshinori’s stare, Katsuki isn’t sure he wants it confirmed.

Friendship terminated.

Silence bleeds into the cracks and spaces of the office as they hold each others gazes. Moments pass in silent standoff before the Administrator looks away first, gently shaking his head before ducking behind the lip of his mug for another sip.

“It’s just nice to see you loosening up, young Bakugou,” he says, tone full of meaning as he resurfaces from behind his cup.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki brushes off, cutting his gaze down to his knees. “Is that all?”

“You tell me,” Toshinori replies. “Is there anything else I should know about this case?”

It draws lines of goosebumps across his skin as he bites at the full of his lip, swallowing down the sudden burn at the back of his throat before shaking his head.

“No, that’s it,” Katsuki says lowly. “The kid is doing great, as they always do thanks to my amazing work.”

Another loud laugh echoes through the room as he looks up to the older man in time to catch his kind smile. Rolling his eyes, Katsuki tsks softly before pushing himself out of his seat.

“Then that’s all I need to know. You’re doing well, young Bakugou,” Toshinori says warmly, gaze set on him with silent amusement as if he knows he’s ready to bolt. “It shouldn’t be too much longer that you’ll need to be with her.”

The statement goes through him like a lance, cutting through muscle and bone before catching deep in his lungs and stealing his breath. With his eyes wide, his mind flits from Eri’s bright eyes to Midoriya’s small smile before landing back heavily in the office with Toshinori and his expectant stare.

No, he wants to say. I need more time.

Instead, Katsuki nods curtly before turning on his heel and walking slowly toward the door.

“Next time pick a later time,” he growls as he pushes the oak door open. “You’re shit with mornings.”

The Administrator’s laugh follows him into the hallway, but any retort Katsuki might have is cut off as the door clicks shut.

***

A sense of deja vu twists around Katsuki as he finds himself glaring at door. Carving shapes into the boring white paint with his gaze, his fingers curl into a fist but it stays stubbornly at his side.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, if he’s being honest. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki. He doesn’t need anyone to help him untwist the tangled heap of confused emotions settled low in his gut, put there by the Administrator’s words.

This was all part of the job, after all. Katsuki was meant to show up where he was needed, to help while he was needed, and then to leave once he wasn’t.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

That much has never bothered him. Why would it?

But now, the thought of leaving Eri has left shrapnel bits of dread running through his blood.

Swallowing down an annoyed sound, Katsuki clenches his fist tighter, focusing on the bite of his nails at the meat of his palm as he wills it to move. Instead, it stays frozen at his side.

After several moments of crushing immobility, he takes it as a sign. Growling in defeat, Katsuki turns over his shoulder to head back toward the elevator. He doesn’t even make it two whole steps before he hears the lock of the door click, and then open.

“If you leave now, I’ll spend the rest of the day wondering what you wanted,” Todoroki’s voice is dry with the barest touch of humor. It causes Katsuki to freeze, mechanically turning his head to look to where the other man stands in his doorway. Tucked into an oversized cardigan and a pair of faded jeans, Todoroki is a picture of comfort as he watches Katsuki, waiting to see what he’d decide to do.

Honestly, it pisses him off.

“Like hell you’d give that much of a fuck,” Katsuki snarls, glare tightening as he sees the smallest beginning of a curl at the edges of Todoroki’s mouth.

“You’re right, but I’m sure no matter what I’ll end up dealing with your bad attitude, so might as well get it over with,” he replies with a small shrug before stepping to the side and ushering him forward. Flicking his gaze to the entryway of the apartment, Katsuki feels the unmistakable tug of curiosity deep in his gut.

“Well?” Todoroki prods, arching a brow.

“Fine,” he growls, pushing by Todoroki as he stomps loudly into the apartment. Turning his back to the man as he carefully shuts the door, Katsuki kicks his shoes off at the shoe rack before making his way further into the home.

He’d only ever been to Todoroki’s a handful of times, but it still looks the same as ever. Tidy and sparse, with a worn leather couch, matching armchair and coffee table, it feels less like a home and more like a stopping spot.

“Can I get you anything to drink? You’ve been out there so long, you must be parched,” Todoroki asks as he passes behind him, sliding into the kitchen just off the entryway.

“Hah hah, funny, IcyHot,” Katsuki says low, moving into the living room and looking over the counter that stands between the two rooms. “If you knew I was out there so long, why didn’t you open the goddamn door?”

Todoroki shrugs again before opening the fridge and grabbing a pitcher.

“Wanted to see if you’d swallow down your pride and finally knock,” he says smoothly, shutting the door with his hip and moving toward the counter. After grabbing two glasses from his drying rack, he flicks his mismatched gaze to Katsuki as his mouth stretches into an all knowing grin.

“Surprise, surprise, you didn’t.”

The sound of water filling glass fills the room as Katsuki moves to the couch, dropping down into it with a soft, squishing thud.

“Fuck you,” he says without heat as Todoroki appears at the side of the couch, putting down one of the cups on the table before him before sitting in the armchair. His gaze never leaves him as he takes a sip from his own water.

Ignoring his look, Katsuki keeps his attention focused on the plain wall ahead of him, all to aware of the weight of his hands where they sit on his thighs. Somewhere, a clock ticks loudly, counting the seconds of silence for an undetermined amount of time.

“So,” Todoroki finally says, breaking the silence, “not that I dislike the company, but I can’t help but feel you aren’t here to pretend like we’re friends.”

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Katsuki chews at it, letting the seconds tick further by before letting out a long, growling sigh.

“What would you do?” He asks, hoping Todoroki understands what he’s asking, if only because he isn’t sure he can force himself to elaborate. It had already taken all he had to make it this far. Hesitating for a moment, Todoroki cocks his head to the side and studies him. Staying like this for a handful of breaths, a look of realization finally eases across his face.

“Is this about that other person seeing you?” He asks, curiosity bright in his voice. It grates at Katsuki’s nerves as he gives a sharp nod as his foot starts to jackrabbit impatiently. A thoughtful sound escapes Todoroki as he leans forward slightly.

“Have they seen you since?” He pushes, interest thick and evident as his eyes spark with intrigue.

“Yeah,” Katsuki huffs, looking down to the coffee table and his untouched water before adding, “a lot.”

With his attention turned away, he misses the way Todoroki’s brow arches high.

“So, there’s no way to avoid them,” it’s a statement, not a question.

“If there fucking was, do you think I’d even be in this situation?” He bites out, heated stare cutting back to Todoroki in time to see him hold up his palms in show of acquiescence.

“Have you talked to the Administrator yet?” Todoroki asks then, echoing his question from that night as he intertwines his fingers and braces his forearms on his knees. Blanching at the question, Katsuki shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

Another thoughtful hum fills the space.

“So you like them.”

It’s another statement, one that makes Katsuki’s blood burn, the epicenter of it right over his heart.

“The hell did you say?” He snarls, trying his best to swallow down the scorching ache as he jerks halfway out of his seat. Hands fisted and teeth clenched, he glares down at Todoroki waiting for the excuse to fight.

“If you didn’t, you would have told the Administrator,” Todoroki says, matter-of-fact. And dammit all if he wasn’t right. Katsuki knows that, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. Sigh heavy with the weight of defeat, he falls back down into his seat as his companion continues.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have told him first, but you would have told him after your curiosity was sated. So, you must like them.”

Fucking Peppermint Head.

“Yeah, well even if that’s the case, fat lot of fucking help that will do me as his kid’s imaginary friend,” Katsuki growls lowly, running a hand over his eyes. As his fingers press into his eyelids, a flash of green sparks across the darkness, making him growl again.

The quiet settles over the living room again as they both fall into the silence of their separate thoughts. Todoroki is the first to break it again, speaking slowly, carefully.

“If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.”

He says it with a small lift of his shoulders, as if the simple statement hasn’t just upended Katsuki’s thoughts. Distantly, he hears the echo of Eri’s own words the other day, when her words had amounted to something very similar. The burn explodes, racing out across his chest and through his veins as the two voices twine together.

“Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile,” Todoroki quotes, eyes gleaming. Katsuki hears his teeth audibly click as his mouth snaps shut.

Another lengthy pause wraps itself around him as he stares down at his hands, tracing the length of a scar that runs across his knuckles. Reveling in the way fire licks along his ribs, his mind gets caught on the brambles of Midoriya Izuku. He had been a fool to ignore the amount of space the other man had preoccupied, and with those words twisting and turning between the spaces that he didn’t, Katsuki found himself wondering if maybe, Midoriya wasn’t the only one that needed someone.

Tearing his attention away from his hands, he looks to Todoroki to see the curious glint still captured in his stare as he watches him.

“Well thank fuck you know the friend motto,” Katsuki finally says, grabbing for his water and throwing the whole thing back. Without waiting for a reply, he slams the glass back down onto the table’s surface before standing.

Making his way to the front door, he doesn’t bother to check if Todoroki is following him, instead focusing on tugging on his shoes. After making sure they were secure on his feet, Katsuki pulls the door open before stopping.

Coolness eases across his palm as he stands there at the door, hand on the knob as he counts three breaths before turning a look over his shoulder. Leaning against the entryway wall, Todoroki has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches him.

“Thanks,” Katsuki growls begrudgingly, only waiting long enough to catch Todoroki’s acknowledging nod before stepping over the threshold and slamming the door shut behind him.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Katsuki frowns down to the ground as he watches his feet step one in front of the other in the direction of his own apartment. All the way, his thoughts spin precariously around what Todoroki had said.

If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.

**********************

#bakudeku #bkdk #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #did i break the alternating chapter pattern? maybe #was it worth it?#uh hopefully lol

5 notes · View notes

my-rose-tinted-glasses · 1 month

Text

So my brain won't let me rest, so I was rewatching episode 1 of 4 MINUTES and noticed some things. I have no idea if this matters or not, but I just thought I'd collect them in case it sparked something in my brain. Or someone else's. Also this is obviously not everything, just things that I didn't necessarily notice or gave it much thought before. Also the tag is gigantic at this point so these are things that probably others have noticed but there's no way I could read, or honestly remember, everything that has been posted.

-So the first cold open is both Great and Tyme 'dying'. The way it's edited, we see it happen at the same time. Great's heart stopping in the hospital and Tyme collapsing from the gunshot. I did notice this before obviously but I'm wondering if this has any meaning in the timeline discourse. Perhaps they are both experiencing alternative timelines or OOBEs.

-Great's first 'cardiac event' comes in the elevator at his building. 4th floor. However later he's in the elevator in the hospital and get's off on the 4th floor and nothing happens.

-Then we see Great in the car, and we see the car's clock.

The two times, before and after the accident.

The time is significant because this is where we first get the four minutes time travel/vision thing. But also, and this is what I didn't noticed the first time. The day is Wednesday 29th of August according to the car. Which would be 2024 if it wasn't a leap year. It falls on a Thursday this year and it fell on a Tuesday last year. The last time this happened was 2019 for whatever that's worth.

-When Great and Korn are talking in the street an he experiences the whole weirdness with the watch and something also caught my attention. So Great checks his wrist watch and it shows 11:00.

And then he goes to check Korn's watch and it fine. But then this

The thing is, he never checked his phone up until this moment and it says the correct time. He was looking at his wrist watch. So why is he now talking about his phone clock? This could just be a translation thing so I'm not sure. Also he doesn't check his wrist watch again even though it's still stopped at 11:00 when he's talking to Korn.

-We see the clocks again in another time jump in the desk in the hospital.

Before and after the time travel/vision.

And although the times match, the temp/humidity does not. The temp and humidity drop. Again it's one degree/percentage point so it could just be the temp at the time of filming.

-A bit after this we get our first sex vision. And in that vision Great's watch show it's 4 o'clock. Although I guess it could also be 12:20.

-So I also have been keeping track of who wears analog and digital. And in the first episode Great/Korn/Dad/Title wear analogs. So the rich folk. The docs all wear digital and everyone else does not have or show a watch.

Anyway, I didn't note the other clocks and all the numbers because I wanted to only note what I was noticing for the first time. Anyway. I might rewatch the second episode today since there's only one bl show, and if there's anything that jumps out at me, I might post. I need to stop wasting paper on this show.

#4 minutes #4 minutes the series #rose rambles #thai bl #my brain needs to figure it out #and it won't let just let it be and wait

54 notes · View notes

justformyself2 · 5 years

Text

San Francisco (Part One)

Part two

Hello everyone, I hope you are all doing great, and if you are not, just know that everything is going to be all right, believe ♥

I’m back at it again. I started writing this one and rewriting a thousand times, almost giving up, but I have a lot of fixed in my birth chart so I’m stubborn. I wanted to be brief, but to feel right i had to implement and add more so it turned out to be a long one and i had to split (that’s what she said).

Welcome to part one of my fictional story inspired by the movie ‘Something Borrowed’, famous for making people burst in rage when Rachel chooses Dex over Ethan, so I thought #JusticeForEthan is much needed it right now.

I don’t think this need’s warning, but I’m pretty new to the writing community, so let me know if I need to fix something.

Sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes. I do check before posting, but I feel insecure, anxious and confused when I’m about to post, so bear with me.

I hope you enjoy it and this doesn’t totally suck if you want me to tag you let me know.

Special tag @lullabieswrappedinlies.

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

"This is not going to work."

The rapid sound of his footsteps, coming closer, anticipates your frustration. It always came accompanied by the phrase: "here we go again.''

"We didn't come all this way for you to back down on me. We are doing this (y/n)."

"Come all this way? We just arrived."

Lifting your torso from the queen size bed, you search for something, anything, in Ethan's expression that could be prof of a small spark of doubt that would save him from himself. Yet, you already knew the answer, even if you wanted to believe that deep under, in a very thick layer of denial where he found the perfect cover, there was still some sense left.

Wasn't he supposed to be tired? So much baggage he carried with

Rachel's name, the brunette you finally meet face to face today, who was about to tie the knot on Sunday afternoon.

"You don't look desperate at all and not even bothered to possibly break up a marriage and or your friendship, amazing."

"Amazing." He mocks, occupying the left side of the bed, taking his shoes off. "You are not getting on my head (y/n)."

"Ethan, I know it is, maybe, too late to tell you this-

"We are doing this, and if I remember it all too well, you were the one who also agreed that I never had a chance with Rachel because I was playing the 'One day she may notice me' guy."

The same passionate speech was now becoming tiring, unplausible, and far away from reality as Ethan was.

Everything witnessed since he got the news about Rachel's marriage mismatch the man you knew for the past year. It was a deep type of analysis that makes you feel far from doing the right thing to help, and instead, creating a much bigger punch for him to take.

It wasn't an enigma figuring out he would have come anyway, with or without you. Ethan was too confident and stubborn the same as every other human being when is about to do something stupid and regrettable, but it was a dilemma to realize that being alone when it all went down for him would be way worse. So your answer was yes.

"Yes, and your part, as a normal person, was to accept past mistakes and move on, not come here to rescue someone that is not waiting for you. I just wanted to say that again, so ten years from now, when you are traumatized, you can blame it on the guy on the mirror, by the way, what's your stupid plan?"

"Don't worry about it. You are doing a great job despite your disgust for the thing, which is impressive. I'll handle the rest."

He spreads his legs on the bed, rearranging the pillow to rest his head.

"Do I have to pretend that we are sharing the bed too? Because I'm not, because you are sleeping on the couch."

He laughs, not flinching away, looking at the ceiling peacefully.

"You sound like we never shared a bed before, more than once too." He starts smirking and doesn't make you surprised.

"Shared, in the past. You have to work on past things, dude."

Two complicated people coming together, after meeting in a random bar, for casual sex wasn't new. Ethan, tangled in an unrequited love situation, on the other corner, you, who haven't had sex in months.

There wasn't a formal invitation or some sort of verbal agreement, but somehow both of you were speaking the same language. No strings attached, two months, and a whole summer of the same scheme went by gracefully, but you missed the countdown part, starting in the moment you had the vision of Ethan appearing at your work and ending when your boss introduced you as his editor, 3,2,1. That's when a new nonverbal agreement was sealed, with a weird exchange of looks, end of the story right then in there.

You were thrown off a little, that was the first time he joked about it after almost a year of silently choosing to keep things friendly; it worked, strangely as well, as it did in bed, but you had to stop thinking about that part first.

So much time writing together, the coffee breaks, surviving small talk, building up to start talking about something real made you figured out Ethan was the exact personification of that Lionel Richie song 'Easy,' sweet tune, hurtful lyrics.

He told you everything was there to know about Rachel, and you let him know about your demotivation for the popularly assumed to be a female priority, including love.

"Couch it is."

After your affirmation, it all went quiet. You took a brief look at Ethan and realized he wasn't there anymore, and instead, far away in his contemplation void, that was the sign that at any time another torturous thought about Rachel out be spat out.

" I can't believe she is marrying in Hamptons, that is not her."

Yeah.

Your eyes scanned the room where you two would be staying as guests for the weekend. Dex's beach house, large beach house, you can still hear their laughs downstairs, were you and Ethan left after that weird dinner. No harsh words were said, but it was as they hovered above heads, mostly Ethan's head, on a dense cloud, and you could still feel his tension right beside you in the form of leg shakes.

What did he tell Rachel when they were walking alone on the beach?

"Maybe she changed, I mean, is not the end of the world marrying in Hamptons."

Ethan goes radio silence again.

Maybe it was harder than you thought, unraveling the Rachel he used to know, untouchable for so long on his heart, to try to spare him from real-life rejection. You'd never knew if he considered your words, but if he did you, both wouldn't be here.

It would be easier if Rachel didn't seem so perfect and polite.

"I think I'm going to take a walk outside so I can fall asleep, like a baby."

He tries to joke, smile, and gets up quickly from the bed.

"Okay, so goodnight in case I will be already sleeping when you come back."

"Goodnight."

He looks back, for the last time, before closing the door.

At first, you did want to sleep, you needed it to, your body begged, but your mind said no. No warm baths, TV, and not even two chapters of a random book about a stalker guy you took out of Ethan's bag worked. Soon the tickling of the small green clock on the nightstand was starting to get louder, pounding into your brain to count the seconds, obliging you to take the batteries off before you could lose your mind.

1:01. Wasn't he supposed to be back by now?

Bad idea, very bad, not much more pathetic than what you were just reading, and still you change clothes fast, as the beats of your heart, while you try to be quiet as possible walking down the steps, holding your shoes.

It seemed that the house was asleep, meaning that the door could be locked, and since this wasn't incarceration, the key had to be close.

Before reaching the last step, the sound of the doorknob suddenly shaking weakens your legs, but before you could decide what to do and think, the door opens. The moonlight lands upon you, making a spotlight for the one who didn't want to be spotted. A shadow shaped person comes in, turning the table lamp light on quickly.

"Oh my God (Y/N), you are awake."

Rachel says in a raspy low tone, sounding surprised. She turns to close the door with care to not make a sound.

"Yes, I was, but I couldn't sleep, so I thought it would be a good idea to walk a bit outside. So glad it is you. I got scared for a second."

She smiles, giving a long silent stare before snapping out with an answer.

"Sorry for scaring you. Well, if you are going outside these are the keys, make sure you don't lose those because the spare keys are with Ethan, by the way, he is in The Cove, is a bar, not far away, just across the bridge."

Politely smiling, you collect the keys she hands towards you, and also all the amount of information.

Now that it was a fact they were together, and Rachel had no problem confirming right away, and she also left without him, you could only play the scenarios in your head.

"Thank you, Rachel, I will go there to make sure my boyfriend is okay."

Why did you had to phrase it like that?

You start to walk towards the door to have the cringe attack outside, but for Rachel, it was not over yet.

"Listen, I know we don't know each other that well yet, but I'm really glad Ethan has you."

Something inside you tiptoed around what was said, but it was right, you didn't know her that well, it means that she was probably testing the terrain, she is a lawyer.

"I'm glad I have him too."

A short but confident answer. Rachel breaths in and smiles.

"Good, take good care of him for me, Goodnight (Y/N)."

"I will. Goodnight, Rachel."

Your shoulders feel lighter as you walked out; There was no time to process a better way to act around Rachel while trying to read her surfaced politeness. You hated this situation, and now you also hated Ethan, yet the only thing you wanted was to find him.

What was it the name of that stupid bar, again? Cover? Coven?

You get out of the sand, walking away from the property and finding the sweet pavement that didn't slow down your steps.

The distance between Ethan and you was now measured by a bridge, dividing private houses and businesses. It was a desert — only silence and warm, sudden violent, wind hitting your face.

The bright yellow lights illuminating the path made it clear the tall figure ahead, coming closer and closer, aligned with you. Intuition made the call in the form of a warm feeling in your chest.

You stop in your tracks, leaning against the railing, watching Ethan's sad walk, one hand in the pockets of his white shorts, the other one holding a green bottle, he looks side to side, but never towards you.

Look front, idiot.

Like a mental control remote, he does. You see his confused expression while approaching closer and realizes you had to deliver something quick. Now that he was in front of you, there was no need for him to know you just went looking for him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, sounding worried, but he could also be annoyed, maybe both.

"Couldn't sleep, decided to take a walk, then I saw Rachel and she told me you were at a bar."

He sighs and takes a sip of the beer.

"It was bad, right?" You guessed. He laughs through his nose.

"Bad, I spilled everything to her."

"WHAT?"

He starts laughing, and you hope it was just a joke and not the alcohol.

"Well, I just said you were not my girlfriend, serious girlfriend, after the second beer, that was after I tried to make her think twice about Dex, and tomorrow we are going home."

"You shut your drunk mouth."

"The actual sad part is that I'm not even drunk enough, they closed the bar before I could, so, let's go home and then, home, home."

He starts walking, leaving you behind, with no other choice but to follow him, pissed, but controlled.

It was a silent walk until both of you were back. Ethan puts the key into the doorknob and twists.

"What?... Wait, was this already open?"

He whispers to himself, and a memory snaps of you walking away from Rachel and forgetting to close the door.

"Fuck. I forgot to close it."

You moan in frustration walking in behind him. He turns the table lamp on, leaving the keys and the bottle next to it.

"Don't leave that there." You aggressively whisper, taking the bottle with you towards where you remembered the kitchen was.

"Wrong way." He doesn't bother to regulate his tone. You shush him, going to the right instead of the left, and he follows you, turning the kitchen lights on.

"How many times have you been here?"

You circle the counter looking for a trash can.

"Times enough to know the trash is right there. Like, right in front of you."

He points out the tiny white trash can dangerously close. You rushed towards it.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

Turning around, you see Ethan's back as he left the kitchen. With annoyance following behind, you left after him, making sure to leave everything in order before going up the stairs in the same quiet scheme as before.

When you got to the room, Ethan was spread in bed, turned to the ceiling.

Approaching, quietly observing, witnessing a distant and dead expression, the decision to leave him alone for now being definite, as your inner voice celebrated being right about how bad this would turn out. That was the result, weirdly quicker than expected, but the same.

You silently take the other side of the bed, picturing the scenario of how everything went at the bar. Drunk Ethan confessing everything, annoyed and confused Rachel. Still, that part was harder to imagine because of how she acted with you when she arrived, natural, indifferent, saying how glad she was about your relationship with Ethan. Now, you too feel stupid and little. It is maybe a tiny glimpse of how he was feeling right now.

"Ethan..."

Before you could say the next word, a shadow approached your face quickly, and the warmth, tasting like alcohol, covered your lips, a handheld your face in place.

It has been long since you have tasted Ethan, and this wasn't the right scenario you picture when you would have the chance to taste him again, but when the tip of his tongue touched yours, there was no turning back.

15 notes · View notes

shinsoukokuvalentine · 5 years

Text

Heavenbound (3)

(3 is here! For those curious, yes I will be including the alligator scene in this fic. Just... Likely not in the way you think. I can’t wait ^^

Read the first chapter on Ao3!)

237/365: Soon You’ll Come Home

“How exactly do your powers work?” Ryuu asks. He sits across his tea table from Atsushi, who wolfs down the food that Chuuya made for him as if he hasn’t eaten in days.

Knowing Fitzgerald, that might be accurate.

“Mostly moonlight,” Atsushi says, his mouth full of rice, “but I have a little control over it too.”

Chuuya passes Ryuu his own bowl, sitting beside him, lazily eating.

“Didn’t look like it back there,” he says. Ryuu shoots him a small glare, but Atsushi nods solemnly.

“Moonlight transforms me without my choice. But even when it is my choice, the more I transform, the more chance there is of the tiger completely taking over,’’ he murmurs.

Ryuu hasn’t touched his food. He only sits, watching Atsushi.

“You talk like you’re two separate people,” Chuuya says. “Well, relatively speaking.”

Atsushi picks his head up, giving a gentle but sad smile. “It seems like that sometimes,” he says.

Ryuu sighs, standing from the table. He’s heard enough for one night. “Well, whenever you’re done,” he says, “you can sleep on the couch. I’ve set a spare set of pajamas there for you.”

Atsushi whips around to him, eyes wide and practically sparkling. “Really?” He asks, and Ryuu nods, turning his back to enter the hallway. “I hate to inconvenience you…” Atsushi murmurs, causing Ryuu to shrug.

“You’re not,” he says plainly, but behind him, he hears Atsushi sigh a little.

“I’ve never met anyone as kind as you.”

Ryuu pauses in the hall’s entrance. Him? Kind? With all the bullets he’s fired, all the blood on his hands, all the bodies he’s left in his wake?

He says nothing. He closes the bathroom door behind him, turning the shower on, letting steam fill the room like a cloud.

Leaning over the counter, he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks no different than before; same gray eyes, same black hair, same gaunt face. He doesn’t feel as if he’s died in the past twenty-four hours. It could have all been a drunken dream.

But the gold watch hits against his chest as he straightens his back, the ticks of its second hand matching the exact pace of Ryuu’s heartbeat. It wasn’t a dream.

And the only thing keeping him alive hangs around his neck like an albatross.

Gingerly, as if he were handling an egg, Ryuu takes the watch off and sets at aside before stepping into the shower. The water practically burns his skin as it hits him and runs down his body, but it feels cleansing. It washes away Fitzgerald’s Ryuu, the one who blindly trusted, blindly followed orders.

And a new Ryuu is left behind, one that will carve his way straight through everything Fitzgerald holds dear.

Ryuu closes his eyes. The water burns, but he feels it. The dead don’t feel. He’s alive.

But another image cuts into his thoughts, one not unlike the vision he saw when he first met Atsushi. In this picture, the weretiger smiles again, despite the blood splashed across his face. He stands over a familiar, blond corpse before he moves to Ryuu’s side, taking his hands, moving to meet his lips.

Ryuu feels his heart pounding as he breaks from his fantasy. He sighs a little, leaning his head back, letting the hot water splash onto his face. Atsushi is purely for business, he scolds himself. He’s a weapon to be used to solve Ryuu’s Fitzgerald problem.

“But what if he could solve all my problems?” Ryuu finds himself asking out loud, eyes open to the ceiling, water beating hard against his steadily calming chest. Unanswered, his words hang in the bathroom with the rest of the steam.

Silk pajamas on, watch chain around his neck, Ryuu yawns as he steps out of the bathroom. Casting a glance towards the living room, he sees Atsushi sprawled out on the couch.

“He’s fast asleep,” Chuuya mutters as he leans against the opposite wall. Ryuu nods, watching as Atsushi’s chest rises and falls with breath, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“I don’t get what you’re doing,” says Chuuya, eyeing Ryuu from under the rim of his hat. “I thought we were going to kill it.”

Ryuu hums a little as he closes the bedroom door. Plans change. Desires change. But Chuuya would never understand, could never hope to understand the aching, empty hole in Ryuu’s chest, the one perfectly sized for Atsushi.

“What better revenge is there,” he says, picking his words carefully, turning to watch Chuuya with eyes like steel, “than using Fitzgerald’s own monster against him?”

Chuuya’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean-!”

“The weretiger is our weapon now,” Ryuu says as he walks to his own room. “And tomorrow, we use him to start assembling a criminal ring rivaling Fitzgerald’s.”

Chuuya stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, his grin returns, as if the possibilities that Ryuu saw in the warehouse were suddenly revealed to him; a vision carved with bullet holes and tiger claw marks. He pushes himself off the wall, slipping on his shoes as he nears the door.

“I don’t see why we can’t do one better,” he says. He waits in the doorway, watching Ryuu with sparks flickering in his eyes. “We could be-!”

“A mafia,” Ryuu finishes. He allows himself a small smirk of his own, and he fixes his gaze on some far-off, intangible point.

“And it starts with my monster.”

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Fitzgerald smiles politely, as if they had a choice in the matter. “You see, there’s a small problem I’d like us all to focus our energy on addressing.”

John frowns. He knows each and every one of Fitzgerald’s glossy smiles, and this one never means anything good. This one nearly assures that someone in the room is in danger of death.

That smile remains on Fitzgerald’s lips as he presses a button on his desk, which pulls down a screen from the ceiling.

“But first, a short video clip,” Fitzgerald says. “Very short.”

The room’s tension nearly turns tangible as everyone Fitzgerald called to his office sees the image on the screen. The outside of his warehouse is instantly recognizable, and if something happened to anything in that building, they might as well all have guns pointed at their heads.

“As you can tell from the sunlight, this was taken during the day,” Fitzgerald explains. “Earlier today, in fact. Even more interesting,” he says, pointing at the steadily ticking timestamp in the screen’s corner, “it was filmed before we returned the tiger to his spot there. Now, pay attention; this part is important.”

The room collectively holds its breath as the screen’s image remains still. And nearly simultaneously, the group jumps as the warehouse footage turns to static.

Wordlessly, Fitzgerald pulls something from beneath his desk. John stares at it as his heartbeat accelerates in dawning realization and fear.

The bullet is still embedded in the camera, which now sits on Fitzgerald’s desk, lopsided.

“From this footage, and from visiting the warehouse not an hour ago, I’ve come to a few conclusions,” Fitzgerald says. His smile has gone. “First, someone shot my camera. Whoever did it was in the warehouse with us when we deposited the tiger there.” His voice drops dangerously low, and he watches the group from under a furrowed brow. “And no one noticed.”

Nervous eyes in the group dart to each other, knowing that whoever is responsible likely won’t see the sunrise in the morning.

“I know this much because they took something of mine,” Fitzgerald goes on to say. “According to that timestamp, the camera was shot right before we arrived. The thieves would’ve been in the warehouse when we got there, having taken nothing, for their quarry had yet to arrive.”

Behind his back, John’s sweaty hands grasp each other. The pure anger in Fitzgerald’s eyes is something he’s only seen a handful of times before, and the implications of his words seep into his skin like venom.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fitzgerald spits, an edge to his voice that slices through everyone in the room, “I want my tiger back.

“And I want it back now.”

Atsushi crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at Ryuu.

“I’m not going in.”

Ryuu rolls his eyes. “You came all the way here,” he snaps, “only to refuse to work with us?”

Atsushi scowls, turning his face away, eyes narrow. Ryuu’s fists shake at his sides. Chuuya twirls his lockpick on his finger, rolling his eyes as they wait beside a seemingly inconspicuous inn in an underdeveloped part of town.

“You don’t have to do anything hard,” Ryuu practically growls, struggling to keep his tone even through his gritted teeth, pointing at the inn’s back door. “Just go in there, show them who you are, and stick around while Nakahara-san and I do the talking.”

Atsushi scoffs, and he takes a small moment of his time to cast his indignant gaze back on Ryuu.

“You sound just like Fitzgerald,” he spits before turning away again. From behind him, Chuuya frowns and reaches for his gun.

“Listen here, you little-!” He starts, but Ryuu shoots a silencing glare his way. They won’t get anywhere with threats - and he won’t have anyone even suggest laying a hand on Atsushi. If the weretiger’s going to work with them, to work with Ryuu, he’s going to have to trust them.

“Listen, Jinko,” Ryuu mutters. “Do you want to kill Fitzgerald?” He asks as calmly as he can, and Atsushi looks back at him again, saying nothing. Ryuu takes his minimal response as a silent yes. “Then we have to start here.”

Though he doesn’t look away again, Atsushi still huffs. “He’ll be powerless without me anyway,” he mumbles. “There’s no point.”

Frustration boils in the pit of Ryuu’s stomach, and he does his best to keep it from rising to his face. Atsushi is nothing but a puzzle he needs to solve. Threatening him won’t work; not if he wants to keep him. In that case, the solution would obviously be bribery, but the weretiger wouldn’t willingly use his powers in this way, even if he was paid to do so. Maybe he could be bribed with something else.

For a moment, Ryuu tries to put himself in Atsushi’s place, trying to discover what he might want, and he doesn’t have to search long to find something familiar.

Some of the harshness falls from Ryuu’s face. Before him stands Fitzgerald’s new toy, a man suddenly thrust into a world he was unprepared for, a man given promises of something better.

Before Ryuu stands himself, ten years ago.

His mind falls backwards, back to the day he first held his own in a gunfight. The bullet wounds hurt, and he screamed as if the sun itself burnt his skin, but two bodies had fallen still at his feet. The other gang members had ran like the cowards they were.

“Well done.”

Ryuu whipped around, still holding his gun out, shaking. At the end of the alley, a blond man clapped and smiled.

“Where’d you get that gun?” He asked. Ryuu gritted his teeth as he glared at him.

“It was my dad’s,” he grunted.

The man tilted his head. “Is your father around?” He wondered. Ryuu shook his head; he had taken the gun from his father’s bleeding corpse. Still, the man smiled. “Do you have a mother, then?” Ryuu shook his head again. “A place to stay?” No.

“Then I’d like to make you an offer,” he said, stepping forward. He crouched in front of Ryuu, right in front of his gun, holding out his hand. “If you come with me, and use your gun for me,” he smiled, “I’ll give you a place to stay.”

Ryuu brings himself back to the present. Not a second of time has passed, and Atsushi, the man so much like Ryuu from ten years ago, still glares at him. Ryuu takes a deep breath.

“Atsushi,” he says calmly, slowly, “if you do this for us, I promise-”

Atsushi’s glare falters. His eyes widen slightly; Ryuu has his attention.

“-We’ll find you a place to stay.”

Atsushi turns his head completely to Ryuu, then his whole body. His scowl falls, but he doesn’t smile yet, as if he’s afraid to be optimistic.

“... My own home?” He asks.

Ryuu nods, folding his hands behind his back as Atsushi’s own arms unwind. “With your own bed. You won’t be sleeping on my couch for long.” As best as he can, he offers what’s supposed to be a kind smile, but Chuuya visibly winces. Atsushi doesn’t seem to notice. His shoulders relax, and his own smile gently forms on his lips.

“You won’t regret this,” he promises, pushing past Ryuu. Now behind him, Ryuu’s lip twitches.

“I certainly hope not,” he mutters to himself. Even so, he finds himself watching Atsushi closely for a small while, perhaps hoping that he can see that innocent smile again.

As soon as Chuuya’s picked the lock, the door swings open, and the first guard glares them down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He snaps. His short red hair sticks out in all directions, and a bandage is spread over the bridge of his nose. He glares daggers at the trio, reaching for what must be a gun, but Ryuu holds up one hand.

“We’re simply here to talk,” he says. “We have a business proposition.”

The man narrows his eyes. “Leave your weapons,” he growls.

Coughing slightly into his hand, Ryuu nods, giving over his gun with his other hand, and Chuuya does the same. They don’t need them anyway. Not with Atsushi.

The guard shoves them in front of him, begrudgingly walking with them down the staircase behind the door, taking them to another door at its base. Atsushi stays close to Ryuu, eyes instinctively darting around, searching for possible escape routes. The anxiety on his face deepens when he finds none, but Ryuu sighs.

“There’s no need to be worried,” Ryuu murmurs into his ear. He catches the guard watching them, but he doesn’t care. He’s allowed his secrets for now. “Remember what you can do.”

Atsushi looks up at him again, and every small glimmer of light on that dark staircase seems to reflect in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, then offers a meager smile, and Ryuu turns away before he allows that smile to distract him.

Unlike the wooden one at the stair’s top, the bottom door is solid metal.

“Hirotsu-san!” The readhead calls. “You have visitors!”

The door clicks. Again, the first face they see watches them with hostile, suspicious eyes. This one, their black hair pulled back, hides the lower part of their face behind a mask.

“I took their weapons, Gin,” mutters the redhead, holding up their two guns. Gin nods, opening the door wider, revealing the room to them.

Weapon racks line the walls, filled with everything from machine guns to katanas. Dozens of pairs of eyes whip around to stare at them, all except the eyes of the man at the room’s end, who watches them warily, yet calmly.

“And why have they come to visit me?” The older man says, sitting atop the crude throne of an overturned shipping crate. Ryuu steps forward.

“I’d like to propose a merger,” he says upfront. The older man smirks.

“I don’t merge with unknown delinquents,” he says. “I can offer you a position in the Black Lizards, but everyone starts at the bottom.”

Ryuu allows his expression to harden slightly. “You don’t recognize me, Hirotsu-san?” He asks, “Even after your men fell like flies at my feet the last time you challenged us?”

There’s a moment’s pause as Hirotsu narrows his eyes, watching Ryuu with scrutiny. Then he stiffens, eyes widening for just a second before they turn harsher than before.

“Akutagawa,” he spits. He snaps his fingers and instantly, it’s as if every gun in the room clicks. “What does Fitzgerald want with me this time?”

Every barrel points at Ryuu, Chuuya, and Atsushi, but Ryuu doesn’t take his eyes - now nonchalant again - off of Hirotsu, even when he feels Atsushi step close enough to him that their wrists brush.

“He wants nothing to do with you,” Ryuu says. “I do.”

Hirotsu scoffs. “And that is?”

“Just as I said,” Ryuu states again, eerily calm, “a merger. The Black Lizards will join Chuuya and I as we build a strong enough mafia to destroy everything Fitzgerald has.”

In spite of the room’s tense atmosphere, Hirotsu gives a small huff of a laugh.

“A mafia?” He repeats. “Even if you did manage to build one, no one can face off against Fitzgerald’s ring and live. Besides, when did you become intent on destroying Fitzgerald instead of kissing his boots? Jealous, young man?”

Ryuu’s lip twitches. Keeping his voice as steady as he can, he answers at nearly a growl, “Fitzgerald grew jealous of me and attempted to have me killed.” The watch chain weighs his neck down, and if he pays close attention, he can feel every tick of its second hand against his chest, a constant reminder of how successful Fitzgerald’s attempt had been. He has half a mind to run, the fear of dying again turning his blood cold.

But the thought of revenge brings that blood back to its boiling point, and he’s reminded where he stands, in front of one of Yokohama’s most dangerous gang leaders, and there’s no turning back now. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is not a coward.

“Was that when he replaced you?” Hirotsu asks haughtily, causing a small scowl to form on Ryuu’s lips. “Word spread quickly about his new pet.”

From behind Ryuu, Atsushi gives a short, disgruntled growl.

“Maybe,” Ryuu grunts, “but he no longer has that weapon.”

Hirotsu raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And how can you be sure?”

Ryuu looks behind him at Atsushi, watching as the irritation fades from the tiger’s eyes, only to be replaced by a small hint of fear. It doesn’t make it to the rest of his face, but Ryuu sees it. Wordlessy, he nods, hoping Atsushi understands.

You can do this, he thinks, frowning. You HAVE to do this.

As if he heard him, Atsushi closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath before gritting his teeth, and suddenly, his arms begin to glow blue.

Members of the Black Lizard gasp. That annoying redhead jumps. Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut in pain as his arms shift, growing inhuman muscles, fur, and claws at the end of his fingers.

“I’m sure,” Ryuu finally answers Hirotsu, who stares at Atsushi with his mouth slightly open, “because I have that weapon.”

Atsushi gasps, struggling to keep his transformation minimal, but Ryuu pats his shoulder.

“That will be all,” he says quietly. With a small sigh, Atsushi shrinks his arms back to their original size.

“Think of it this way, Hirotsu-san,” Ryuu says, folding his hands behind his back once more. “If I have Fitzgerald’s tiger, imagine what I can do to Fitzgerald. And if I have Fitzgerald’s tiger,” he lets that thought hang in the air for a moment, icicles forming in his eyes and in his next words.

“Imagine what I can do to you.”

Silence freezes the room. The only sounds are cautious whispers and Atsushi’s tired pants.

Finally, Hirotsu clears his throat.

“If we join your Mafia,” he begins, voice cautious, “we’ll be… Financially compensated, correct?”

Ryuu nods. “As soon as you get the money to come in, you’ll get your share,” he assures them.

Hirotsu frowns. He looks at the floor, then at his gang. No one says a word.

Finally, and with a sigh, Hirotsu stands. He takes a few steps forward, until he’s directly in front of Ryuu, before he bows.

“To destroy Fitzgerald, and to take back Yokohama,” he says, folding a hand over his chest, “the Black Lizard is in your service.” He frowns as he stands, watching Ryuu with narrow eyes. “You’d best make good on your promises, boy.”

Ryuu looks behind him, watching Atsushi fearlessly face every member of the Black Lizard that dares approach him, only to have them scuttle back.

“As long as I have that beast,” he says, “you have nothing to worry about.”

Pain feels as if it’s erupting through Ryuu’s entire body.

You can never come back.

Hands so cold they burn his skin grasp at him, clinging to him, dragging him down into scorching hot mire.

You can never come back.

Darkness surrounds him; thick, gooey darkness that can be felt, only interrupted by the frequent columns of flames bursting from the charred ground. Screams and horrid laughter fill his ears.

You can never come back.

Every time the words repeat, they come across more distorted than before. Soon it sounds as if Kouyou’s voice itself is melting, burning along with Ryuu and everything around him, drowning out his cries of pain.

He struggles to keep his head above the surface of the boiling, oozy dark, but soon it flows into his mouth. It fills his lungs, his head, his entire body, until he can’t struggle anymore. All he can do is scream.

You can never come back.

Gasping for air, Ryuu jolts awake. He sits straight up in bed for a moment, shaking, before he throws off every sweaty blanket and grabs for his watch on the bedside table.

He pops it open. It still ticks, its time always accurate, even though Ryuu has never set it. He sighs a bit, holding it tight against his chest so he can feel every movement of its second hand. He still lives.

Tucking the watch beneath his shirt, Ryuu slides out of bed. The electric clock on his bedside table says it’s one a.m., but Ryuu’s fresh nightmare keeps him from wanting to go back to sleep immediately. Instead, he rubs his eyes and yawns a bit as he flips on a lamp and makes his way to his bedroom door.

As soon as he opens it, he hears something scuffle in the living room. Pieces of his dream flash in front of eyes eyes, of horrible creatures writing in the dark, and sudden panic grabs his body, causing him to stiffen. Immediately - too uncharacteristically terrified to rationally consider what might actually wait for him in the dark - he flips on the light next to the door.

Atsushi freezes. He stands like a rabbit caught in headlights, blinking with wide eyes at Ryuu, fully dressed and holding a bundle of Ryuu’s clothes in his arms as he stands between the living room and the door. Ryuu instantly scowls.

“What are you doing?”

Atsushi’s eyes dart away from Ryuu’s. “Uh…” he says slowly, shuffling a bit on his feet. Ryuu can feel his rising anger cause his features to tighten.

“You’re running out on me,” he growls. Though he keeps anger on his face, fear runs through his veins. To lose the weretiger would be to lose everything.

Atsushi frowns, bunching his shoulders up, watching the floor. Though he could easily still run, his shame spreads to his face and ties his feet together.

“... I can’t stay here,” Atsushi mumbles, and something within Ryuu reluctantly crumples when he sees how hurt Atsushi looks.

“And why not?” he says, keeping under wraps whatever weakness Atsushi’s instilled in him.

“... I don’t want to be used as a weapon,” Atsushi admits softly. He wraps his arms around himself, still not meeting Ryuu’s eyes, his own golden irises seemingly glowing in the dark room. Ryuu sighs.

“You won’t have to for much longer,” he assures him. “Word will get out, and by the time this whole city knows and fears you, you’ll be long gone, okay?”

The weretiger sighs, then he murmurs, his voice so soft and quiet that Ryuu can barely hear him.

“But I don’t want to be feared.”

Ryuu’s next words leave his mouth before he realizes they’ve gone.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Atsushi looks up at him suddenly. His slightly-open mouth closes, and they stare at each other there, the night’s darkness and the hall’s light wrapping around their bodies.

Ryuu pulls his lips tight. Unsure what prompted him to speak, he clears his throat.

“We’ll start looking for a home for you tomorrow, okay?” He says quickly, changing the subject. “I know someone. He fosters children, but maybe he knows someone that’ll take you in.” Besides, that man is on Ryuu’s list of potential allies. He wouldn’t be going too far out of his way to try to recruit him now.

Just a few moments ago, Atsushi refused to make eye contact with Ryuu. Now it seems as if he can’t look away, and he holds the clothes in his arms like a security blanket, pressed tight against his chest.

“... Okay,” he says after a moment. Ryuu holds back a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he says, nodding once. He turns around to return to his room, but as if he has eyes in the back of his head, he stops, an incomplete feeling buzzing in his chest.

Ryuu looks behind himself. Atsushi still stands there, looking away again, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Inwardly, Ryuu releases that sigh.

“Do you want to stay in my room?” He asks as if such a thing would be more inconvenient than stopping the sun, but Atsushi nods anyway, slowly, looking up at Ryuu with eyes like a begging stray dog’s.

Ryuu almost watches him with suspicion as he wordlessly opens his bedroom door, motioning with his head for Atsushi to come inside.

Under Fitzgerald’s leadership, Ryuu’s not unused to people with two faces. People will put on a show, smiling and saying sweet words until they can sneak a gun against your head, and then their mask falls. Ryuu knows he’s no exception, but he can typically tell when someone’s hiding their truths, as long as they’re not as experienced as someone like Fitzgerald or Steinbeck.

But Atsushi. Ryuu looks behind his shoulder at the weretiger, who watches him as he pulls his spare futon from the closet and sets it out. Atsushi seems to have two sides, but neither of them appear fake. The first is ferocious to the point of being feral, full of wrath and rage, with anger as sharp as his claws. The second is far more gentle and trusting, fragile and humble, as if he wouldn’t love to crush at least one man’s skull in his feline jaws. Both are genuine. Both are Atsushi.

Both draw Ryuu ever closer, ever deeper.

“Done,” Ryuu mutters, putting the final pillow and blanket on the futon. “You’ll be more comfortable here than on the couch, I’m sure.”

Atsushi nods. He utters a small “thank you” before settling in, his shoulders rising and falling with his relaxed sigh. Ryuu climbs back into his own bed, purposefully facing away from Atsushi after he turns off the lamp. The weretiger must not understand his body language.

“Hey, Akutagawa-san?”

Ryuu grunts once in response.

“Did you work for Fitzgerald?”

His question gives Ryuu pause, so he says nothing, brow furrowing.

“I thought you did,” Atsushi continues, his voice a sleepy murmur, “because of things you said. And things the Black Lizard leader said.”

It takes a minute, but Ryuu finally finds his voice. He clears his throat.

“Yes,” comes his simple answer. He feared that answer. He feared answering Atsushi, who might hate him, judging all the atrocities he’s done, pushing him away again.

Instead, Atsushi gives a small hum.

“Did he buy you, too?” He asks.

Ryuu’s worries quiet. He turns his head slightly so that he can see Atsushi’s face, but the weretiger stares at the ceiling, eyes still glowing.

“No,” Ryuu says slowly. “He… Practically took me in.”

Atsushi gives a sad smile and a humorless chuckle.

“If only,” he says. “He heard about me because gangs couldn’t keep their mouths shut, and he bought me. Before that I was a black market prize.”

Atsushi winces as if the memories themselves hurt. “I was a one-man freak show. They would keep me around until they grew tired of me, then they’d sell me to the highest bidder. Before I was bought the first time, the orphanage treated me like an animal, cage and everything.”

Ryuu turns back to staring at the wall, almost shaking a little. Emotions stir in his chest that he can only label as that ever-present loneliness, that fear of losing what he’s coveted for so long, so he channels them the only way he knows how.

“I’ll kill the next person who lays a hand on you like that,” he snaps. Atsushi sighs a little.

“A lot of them are probably already dead,” he murmurs. “They’re not worth it, either. Focus your energy on someone more important.”

The supernatural glow of Atsushi’s eyes intensifies as his eyebrows knit together.

“Like Fitzgerald.”

The pure hatred with which Atsushi says his name causes Ryuu to sit up in bed to look at him. Like a switch was flipped, every ounce of gentleness in Atsushi’s countenance has been erased, leaving nothing but malice and deep-rooted pain.

That passion ignites an entirely different shade of his beauty.

“I can’t stand what he does to innocent people,” Atsushi goes on to say, squeezing his eyes shut, dimming the room by taking away that small light. “He doesn’t care. He thinks their lives have no value at all, not even his subordinates’ lives. I hated doing what he told me.” He takes a shaky breath, in and out slowly.

“He’d make me kill those people for him, Akutagawa-san,” he murmurs, and just as quickly as it came, the rage is gone. The pain in his face overpowers it, and he crosses one arm over his eyes. “I’m a monster.”

The silence after his words almost feels heavier than the words themselves. Mouth dry, Ryuu’s thoughts jumble together until they’re tangled, thoughts of how Atsushi would hate him if he ever saw Ryuu’s body count, of exactly how little Ryuu cared for those “innocents” he would kill on a daily basis, of how twenty-four hours ago, Ryuu would’ve agreed with Atsushi: by definition, the weretiger is a monster.

But now. Now it’s different. Now he’s seen more jagged edges of Atsushi’s multi-faceted soul. Now he has begun to understand. Now he’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed by Atsushi and his beauty and his soul and the beauty of his soul, so says the first words he manages to form, nearly whispering into the dark room,

“No you’re not.”

He hears Atsushi make a soft noise in the back of his throat. The weretiger moves his arm from his face, and his eyes shine directly on Ryuu, who doesn’t move. A frown pulls his lips taught and forms worry lines around his eyes, but still, Atsushi smiles.

“You’re not afraid of me, and you don’t think I’m a monster,” Atsushi says, echoing Ryuu’s words from before. A hum on his lips, he then curls the blanket around his shoulders, yawning slightly. “You’re the first to say that, Akutagawa-san.”

Once again, Atsushi closes his eyes, leaving the room in darkness aside from the few remaining streetlights outside the window. Ryuu takes a deep breath, lying down as well.

“Oi, Jinko,” he mutters, trying to keep the edge to his voice as something within him softens. “You can call me Akutagawa.”

Atsushi gives a small huff of a laugh, as if he sees right through him, even in the dark with his eyes closed.

“Then goodnight, Akutagawa,” he says, sleep making his words slow and blurred together.

Stomach turning in knots, Ryuu grunts in response, closing his eyes and willing his nightmares to stay away. The only image he sees as he falls asleep is Atsushi.

#shin soukoku #sskk #atsuaku #akuatsu #heavenbound #don't worry; this alligator scene will actually have something to do with the plot and move it along #even though i love the original for how bonkers it is #also the italics aren't coming in right so if you want to read this in its original formatting please read it on ao3 #and leave a comment and kudos while you're at it #validate my lovechild

23 notes · View notes

ask-chaos-kin · 5 years

Text

Chaotic Adventures in Babysitting Chapter 6

Almost to the final chapter! Co-written with @royalbabble

The Freaks still in the base had collectively decided to watch a movie to both unwind from Nightmare Medic and to take their minds off of Jesters outburst. Brutal decided to leave on another murder spree with Gentlespy. Pure was observing Pancakes can out of the side of his vision, wondering if he was taking longer than normal to heal or he was too embarrassed to come back out.

“Wonder what happened to the three while we were gone. Ya know, while they were inside the artifact?” Spyper asked aloud.

“We had to chase after Rose almost the whole time,” Pancakes answered from his can. Just as Pure thought, he was too embarrassed to come back out.

“I’ve been in Jesters artifact once before. I know you weren’t just looking for Rose,” Pure said, “You got on a few rides didn’t you?”

“One ride with Roseflame. Tilt-A-whirl. After me and Roseflame dropped 300 feet onto a bouncy castle,” Pancakes came out of his can to explain it.

“Ah, the High Drop,” Pure said.

“Why the hell do they even have that thing? Scared Roseflame to near death,” Pancakes commented.

“Jester likes falling for some reason,” Pure shrugged.

“Wait, Roseflame’s afraid of heights?” Intelligent Heavy asked, now tweaking the cube with some other random machine parts.

“I was surprised too but yeah. Pretty bad too. Don’t have anything left of her grabbing my arm, but it was pretty similar to being held down by Painis,” he mentioned.

“Then why does she fly around if that’s the case?” Spyper asked, reclining beside his friend.

“As far as I’m aware, she both doesn’t look down and she only focuses on where she’s going, not how she’s getting there,”

“Ah,” Spyper said, fixing his vest.

“Kinda feel bad for her,” Pancakes stated, joining the others to watch the movie.

“Wonder if Jester knew. They seem to know everything that goes down in their artifact,” Intelligent Heavy said, affixing the machine part to the cube.

“What are you doing over there anyways?” Spyper asked, leaning over to his friend.

“I’m trying to see if I can recycle the cube to harness Jesters magic again,”

“Will that even work?” Spyper doubted, watching as his friend used thin tape to graft the machine part onto the cube.

“No idea,” That’s when the silhouette of another Scout approached the door. Since no truck was heard pulling into the driveway, it was either Wolves Bane, Roseflame, or Anthony. Pancakes got up tentatively and went to answer the door, only to hiss in worry and disgust at the sight.

“You look like you need an ER,” Pancakes let a very bloody and battered Roseflame into the base.

“096 isn’t as hard to deal with as some others, he was just pissy because so many HECU members saw his face,” She answered, her voice was hoarse and filled with slight pain.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any healing spells would you Pure?” Spyper asked the priest.

“Unfortunately, no. Jester does, but they can only heal shallow wounds,” Pure sighed.

“It’s fine guys. Worse comes to worst i’ll respawn on the roof,” She dismissed it as Pancakes helped her to the couch.

“Heard you got the High Drop,” Spyper said, leaning forward on the couch.

“Yeah… Wait how much did you tell them,” she looked to Pancakes with slight anger in her eyes.

“...That was supposed to be kept secret wasn’t it?” He responded. She didn’t have the strength to punch him so she slumped into her jacket to bury her face.

“You fucking suck...” she crowed out though she was muffled by her jacket.

“Surprised Jester didn’t say anything about that. They hate scaring people,” Intelligent Heavy said. Pancakes shot him a huffy look.

“Oh, they should be apologizing soon,” Pure said.

“They don’t have to, it’s my fault Pancakes even decided to try using their artifact. I’d consider it a lesson taught,” Roseflame stated before going into a coughing fit. Pancakes rubbed her back, trying to soothe some of the internal problems.

“Easy, easy,” He calmed her down, trying to prevent a slow death on his hands. Especially someone he knew and trusted.

A fssh sound came from the other room.

“And that should be Jester. In three, two, one…” Spyper counted down, and right as he hit one Jester came darting into the common room, sparks and smoke following them as they skidded to a halt.

“-WAIT HANG ON DON’T DIE ON ME,” Jester panted, breathless. They stumbled over to Roseflame and nearly face planted into the floor as they went. Pancakes immediately jumped back into his can.

“Not dying yet, slowly. But not yet,” Roseflame chuckled a bit before coughing a bit more. Jester scrambled up and managed to stand upright.

“I can’t do much, but I can patch up the shallow wounds,” They said, still catching their breath,

“I’ll be fine Jester, honestly I’ve dealt with worse,” Roseflame tried to wave them off. Pancakes had absconded by the time Jester had burst the door open to rush to Roseflame.

“You’ll be fine!? Look at you! You’re clothes are soaked with blood, you have cuts all over your body, and you look like you’re two heartbeats away from death!” Jester protested.

“Again, I’ve been through-” She paused to cough a bit more, “worse,”

Jester scowled, clearly not going away any time soon.

“Stay still, i’m healing you,” Jester said. They extended their hand out towards Roseflame and a spiral of blue sparks began to swirl out from the palm of their hand. Dancing sparks scattered from their palm and to their fingertips and jumped away from their hand in a sort of mist that came to rest over Roseflame. The sparks started to disperse themselves, making their way to whatever shallow wounds and bruises they could and sealing them up, stopping the bleeding from those injuries completely and removing the soreness from where the bruises had been. The sparks managed to slightly cauterize the larger injuries to prevent further blood loss, but were largely unable to seal the more brutal wounds. She righted herself after the healing process was done.

“Thanks Jester,” she gave them a smile. “Though I came back to talk to you,” She started to stand up.

“You’re gonna need more than some magic for what you went through,” Spyper said, getting up, “This is a mercenary base, right? Where’s the Medics Infirmary?”

“It’s underground. I’m fine though, honest,” Roseflame stood up and tried to walk around to show she was fine, though she stumbled quite a bit while walking at a snail's pace.

“...Ok i’m getting the bandages,” Spyper said bluntly, walking off. Roseflame groaned in response to the action and returned to the couch.

“You really should just rest for a bit,” She heard Pancakes tell her from his can.

“Fuck off tin head,” She snapped. She grabbed the can and hurled it down the hallway, Pancakes panickedly yelling from it as it sailed through the air. He ditched the can and landed on his back as his can hit his chest.

“Listen here pissy,” he groaned picking up his can before getting up himself. The moment he stood up he immediately regretted coming out of his can, because now he found himself standing right in front of a still miffed Jester. He gulped as he weighed his options. Running away would result in him never being able to see Chaos possibly ever again, going back into his can he’d be easy to just toss out the door. He didn’t know what to do other than stand his ground and hope Jester didn’t kill him.

“H-hey, didn’t know you were still here…” He squeaked out, his voice cracking at the beginning.

“Where else did you think I would go?” Jester said harshly.

“I-I don’t know? I just thought that-” he was trying to back away from the angry Jester while looking at them. Jester opened their mouth to say something when it suddenly snapped shut. Bewildered, Jester whipped around to look at Pure, who had one of his hands raised at Jester, imposing his basic telekinesis onto the Freak.

“That’s enough Jester, you’ve made your point,” The priest chastised, letting go of Jester. Pancakes made his way over to Roseflame still wary of his situation. Roseflame glared at him as he sat next to her. He simply helped her position into a more comfortable sitting position without saying a word.

***

Not long after the two were asleep, Roseflame was laying with her head on Pancakes chest and her upper body along his stomach and thigh area, while Pancakes laid in a slight degree with his right arm draped onto Roseflame’s side. From the shelf that Pancakes had been resting on earlier, Jester sat, shrunken down and sullen from the scolding they’d received from Pure. They glanced down at Pancakes and Roseflame, both fast asleep and resting by the looks of it, peacefully. Even though they were still angry at Pancakes, they couldn’t help but crack a smile at it. Nothing like platonic cuddling to raise the spirits.

Spyper returned to the room with bandages from the Medbay. He removed the blanket off Pancakes and Roseflame to patch up her wounds.

“What did she even fight? These things look like she fought with Heavydile,” Spyper commented while patching her up.

“Nah, something called SCP-096,” Jester squeaked from their shelf.

“Doesn’t sounds too intimidating,” Spyper shrugged. Jester shrugged with him.

“You know, I've never actually met Heavydile-”

“No,” Was all Pure said

“Heavydile is twice as feral as Painis, you don’t want to meet him,” Spyper clarified.

“Painis wasn’t even as bad as Hoovydundy. Heavydile can’t be much worse,”

“And you’re also completely inedible and the most friendly Freak this side of the planet. Of course Hoovydundy or Painis weren’t so bad. Neither of them can actually hurt you,” Intelligent Heavy chimed in.

“Heavydile eats people and freaks, he’s not even close to human. He can barely talk besides aggressive yelling,” Spyper finished. He placed the blanket back on the two resting teenage freaks. “They’re cute like this,” He commented off hand.

Pancakes shifted in his sleep putting his other arm on his stomach, his face was slightly upset. Must have been having a bad dream. Minutes had passed since then and Pure was keeping an eye out for Chaos by the window.

“Still hard to believe that Roseflame is afraid of heights,” Spyper commented in general.

“WAIT WHAT!?” Jester cried, their squeaky voice peaking their lungs, making a very painful and shrill sound as a result. They fell off the shelf and smacked again the floor in a very tiny puff of sparkles before they shot up into the air at Spypers face, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S SCARED OF HEIGHTS!?”

“According to Pancakes, She’s horribly afraid of heights. She’s embarrassed by that fact, but she is,” Spyper explained calmly, “She apparently held onto him with a death iron grip when they were at the top of the High Drop,”

“OHMYGODSHEWASONTHEHIGHDROPANDSHE’SSCAREDOFHEIGHTSOHGODWHATHAVEIDONE,” Jester yelled wildly. Spyper tried to calm them down, but to no avail. The panicking Jesters screaming and yelling woke the two teenagers up from their platonic napping.

“What’s going on this time?” Roseflame asked aloud, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Pancakes stretched a bit before returning his arm to Roseflame’s side.

“ROSEFLAMEI’MSORRYIDIDN’TKNOWYOUWEREAFRAIDOFHEIGHTSTHEARTIFACTSHOULDN’THAVEEVENPUTYOUTWOUPTHEREINTHEFIRSTPLACE!!” Jester cried, panicked. The two stared in confusion for a second as they watched Jester panic.

“Put us up where?” She asked, still confused from the screaming and groggy from the nap.

“THE HIGH DROP!!” Jester yelled, throwing up their hands.

“Oh yeah, that thing. Yeah that sucked horribly, thanks for that,” She flopped her head back onto Pancakes chest, he groaned in response to her softly flopping onto his middle. Jester threw their hands over their face and yelled while continuing to apologize profusely. Neither of them could continue to sleep so they both proceeded to stand up and stretch.

“Jester, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to go from ground level to 300 ft. Also, why the hell do you have it be a free fall to almost uncertain death? That’s my only thing about it, why the free fall?!” Roseflame questioned in an aggressive tone.

“I want that answer too,” Pancakes stated in a calmer tone.

“I like falling,” Jester said sadly, “I don’t know why, I just like falling from high places,”

“I mean, I like spinning at speeds that are the closest to max speed,” Roseflame shrugged.

“Also you’re mad at us, why are you apologizing to her so much?” Pancakes asked, confused.

“I’m mad at you, not her,” Jester retorted.

“Why not both of us? I’m just as guilty as he is for the whole mess,” Roseflame commented.

“Did you open the cube? Did you use my magic? Were you the one that accessed my artifact?” Jester asked.

“No, but I gave him the ideas,” Roseflame answered bluntly, “Hell, if it wasn’t for me, Rose wouldn’t have been by herself on the Ferris Wheel when you arrived. If you should be mad at anyone for that shit show, it’s me,” She stood her ground.

“No, I’m not. You may not be entirely innocent here, but you’re not the one who did any of this,” Jester reiterated, growing back to their normal size.

“Still, don’t throw all your anger at him,” Just then everyone could hear a truck pulling up to the house along with distant rolls of thunder. Pure went to go help his adopted daughter carry things inside. Rose was the first one of the three inside the house and was confused to see the scene in front of her.

“Hey Rose,” Pancakes greeted her,

“Are you still fighting?” She asked as she walked over to the three.

“Kinda, it’s complicated,” Roseflame explained to her.

“Why?” Pancakes and Roseflame had no idea how to answer this one. Rose tugged in Chaos’ pants to get her attention and then looked to Pancakes and Roseflame.

“I know what happened,” Rose said quietly.

“You do?” She asked in slight confusion,

“What?” Pancakes and Roseflame said in unison.

“She apparently knows what happened with the whole Artifact situation,” Chaos then had Rose tell Jester what happened with the whole situation.

“I wasn’t really asleep when Aunt Lily left. I was in the kitchen and I heard Pancakes say that he was gonna use the artifact to spy on you guys. I never heard Roseflame give Pancakes any ideas. It was all Pancakes,” Rose explained. Chaos looked to Pancakes in slight shock.

“Why would you want to spy on us?” She asked him.

“We were worried about you, we knew everyone else could handle themselves but you could have gotten hurt out there,” Pancakes answered simply.

“So it wasn’t Roseflames fault at all,” Jester said, crossing their arms, “We were all alright. I had Nightmare distracted for most of the mission. He never even saw Chaos,”

“Well think about it Jester, they had absolutely no idea of knowing that fact. Besides, he’s still a scout. Name 5 times he’s had an idea that didn’t end like this,” Chaos stated, Pancakes couldn’t argue with her about it.

“Doesn’t mean I suddenly can’t be angry with him,” Jester bit back, “How would you like it if someone broke into your room and began going through your things? Because that’s what this whole ordeal was,”

“I do, everytime we leave, Someone’s fucking with my stuff Jester,” Chaos snapped, her eyes flashing purple as she advanced towards them.

“Then you know EXACTLY why i’m angry here!” Jester snapped, their own body lighting up with sparks.

“OKAY ENOUGH!!!!” Roseflame screamed, the power shutting off. Chaos, Pancakes, and Jesters throats now at the mercy of Slenderman. Roseflame’s eyes changed to a state similar to Wolves Banes. Only instead of orange, they were white and filled with a piercing rage.

“The three of you need to knock it off. NOW!” Roseflame’s voice boomed to life with rage. The three where at her mercy now. While all Spyper, Rose, Pure, and Intelligent could only stare in horror at the monster Roseflame summoned. Jester struggled for a moment and took a deep breath in, and within a second their form poofed into a cloud of blue smoke, only for them to reappear somewhere else. Jester raised their hands and invoked their own power, hoisting the monster up and subduing it in a cloud of sparkling smoke, but it was apparent they were struggling to keep the monster in place. With a flick of Roseflame’s wrist, they were back in a tendril of the monster.

“You’re not getting out of this Jester, everyone else here is fine. YOU, CHAOS, AND PANCAKES NEED TO MAKE UP! I’ve already seen so many people hurt each other here! Do you really want it all to happen again?!”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!!!!” Pure roared, using his telekinesis to sever the tendrils that held Chaos, Jester, and Pancakes. He turned to Roseflame and shoved her back into her seat, jarring her enough to make the monster she’d summoned disappitate into a cloud of black smoke, the power flickered back on as the tie was severed. Chaos and Pancakes tried to regain the breath they had been losing in the grasp of Slenderman, “Jester, i’m going to say this right now. You have every right to be angry at Pancakes, but that does NOT give you any room to start throwing a tantrum! You’re an adult, behave like one! Pancakes, don’t EVER touch Jesters artifact without their permission. You know good and well how important it is to them. Chaos, this matter does not concern you in the slightest so do not involve yourself where it is not needed. And Roseflame, you have absolutely no right to start strangling people on a whim just because you’re mad. That’s what toddlers do, and I know full well that you’re not a toddler,” Pure snapped, turning to everyone in the room as he addressed them. All four of them were shocked into silence that quickly turned into shame and guilt, they knew what they did wrong.

Rose was behind Intelligent, on the verge of tears. Jester glanced over at the tearful child and felt a pang in their chest. Scaring people was the very last thing they ever wanted to do, yet they had managed to scare two people in one day. Pancakes guilty slunk back over to the couch and sank into the sofa, not saying a word. Chaos awkwardly shuffled out of the living room, and Roseflame sat silently, slumping into the chair. Rose then finally started to cry and everyone felt ten times worse.

And Jester felt their entire world come crashing down.

Jester brought their hands to their face and began to cry themselves, apologizing profusely to Rose as their body began to release some sort of blue aura that radiated sadness. Rose looked up to Jester for a moment before going to their chest and hugging them.

“It’s not your fault, we just need to be nice to each other instead of being angry,” She tried to dry her eyes while hugging Jester. Roseflame and Pancakes looked to each other, they had an idea how to make up to Jester as well. Roseflame got up and made a slight detour into Rose’s room to drop something off in her bag. Once Jester saw it, she knew they’d cheer up.

There was a knock on the living room door, and it opened to reveal Brutal and his partner in crime, Gentlespy, waltzing into the house whilst covered in blood from their murder spree, only to stop confusion on why everything was suddenly a huge mess.

“What the hell happened while I was gone?” Brutal asked turning to Pure.

“Arguments,” Pure said, rubbing his temples, “I took care of it,”

“Let’s hope that the child’s visit isn’t too long then,” Gentlespy commented, “Brutal told me about the situation,” Everyone could only hope so.

#Chaotic Adventures in Babysitting #Chaos Kin #Roseflame #Ass Pancakes #Freak Fortress #Gentlespy #christian pure spy #Christian Brutal Sniper #Count Jester #Spyper #Intelligent Heavy #Story Post #Long Post

7 notes · View notes

phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 5 years

Text

Commission for @baechubutts - MHA, Class A Shopping

Retail Therapy

Like a dam bursting, excitement flooded the room and flushed away the stressors of the past week’s exam period. Aiawa-sensei’s words ringing in their ears, Class A became a whirlpool of chattering voices all fighting to be heard above the exultant din; their teacher allowed a brief smirk, oddly proud of this ragtag group of future heroes.

The Forest Lodge boot camp had been held above them as a reward all semester, it was the next step in their training and something they were all looking forward to in terrified anticipation. It would be hard, soul-crushing in some cases, but oh-so-worth it for the experience alone…

It was the ever-efficient class president Iida who took stock of the camp requirements list first, noting loud that they would need to pack a significant amount just for a single week of training in the wilderness. Some among the class had come to the same conclusion, and were muttering to one another about the items they’d have to go and purchase; most wondering whether they’d have time after classes ended.

“For those who require remedial classes, and you know who you are…” Aizawa-sensei paused to look pointedly at Ashido, Koda, Sero and Sato. “...I need to speak with you for a short while, in private. The rest of you have been granted the rest of the day off, to get ready for the Forest Lodge trip; if you need to go buy something on the list, let a member of staff know when you are leaving and your intended location. With everything that has happened recently, the principal feels it is better to be safe, than sorry. Dismissed.”

There was a pause, wherein half the room blinked in surprise at this sudden dispensation to do as they would; before erupting into excited cheers, and clustering into little groups to discuss the plan of action. Midoriya closed in on Iida, just as the class president was organising a handful of their friends into a loose group, trying to pinpoint what everyone needed.

“We’re going to need large bags to get all that stuff to the lodge,” he adds, and is immediately backed up by a chorus of Jiro and Yaoyorozu. The pair looking equally wide-eyed at the extensive items they had to haul along for the ride…

“Yeah, and I don’t think I even have half of this stuff… last time I had a bathing suit was primary school, hah!” Kaminari laughs, sparks dancing on his cheeks from excitement.

“Well, I think it’s clear what we have to do, then.” Hagakure interjects, solemn tone immediately dissolving into her usual bubbly voice. “Let’s go shopping!”

~)0(~

Sunlight streamed down on the sprawling, open-plan Kyashi-Ward Shopping Mall, filled to bursting with a wide array of shops and shoppers of every shape, size, quirk and creed. Level upon level of the mall was crowded with shops of various types, boasting huge inventories to meet the diverse needs of every potential customer.

They’d barely taken a step through the front doors before someone was calling to Iida and Shoji, claiming to have just the right thing for people of their unique biology. Lured in, the pair begin to search amongst the clothing available for appropriate campwear in their shape; Shoji aiming for whatever looked comfortable, and Iida strenuously trying to compare products against one another so he made the Right Choice.

“Just go with whatever feels right, Iida.” advised a mouth hovering by his left ear, as Shoji turned away from the racks to raise an eyebrow; the tendril shifted into a hand and patted him awkwardly on the head. The president flushed at the informality and was secretly pleased none of their classmates had seen such a display of overfamiliarity.

Though… he thought, perhaps Shoji was right. All of the clothing here was uniquely tuned to different quirks, and Iida was certain he’d seen his brother bring home this brand of pants before. Meaning it would likely be able to hold up against the use of his engine quirk, especially if he could just have the legs adjusted for a minor fee…

A shirt is dropped on his head. “Just go for it, lighten up… and get this, it suits you.” Advised the hovering mouth tendril, as Shoji pointed at the item on his head. Other limbs preoccupied with picking various clothing from the racks and measuring them methodically for fit and cut.

Yanking the shirt down, Iida took one look at the slogan and let out a snort at the obnoxiously coloured phrasing - ‘I’VE GOT A NEED FOR SPEED, THAT WILL NOT SUPERCEDE THE LOCAL SPEED LIMIT’. Alright, he could be the Fun Class President… the shirt went straight into the basket at his feet; he might wear it at camp when everyone least expected it.

“I think we lost them,” Ojiro laughed, as the group realised that two members had disappeared into a clothing store by the front door and had yet to return. “Actually,” he sid, scratching his chin, “I think I saw a few tail-friendly sets of shorts in there… I might go check on them.”

“Don’t forget to buy something warm, though! It’s going to be quite cold at night.” Yaoyorozu reminded the retreating back, and got an odd backwards tail-only salute in response. The group laughed as she eyed them all. “And that goes double for everyone… check your lists twice, because I don’t want to have to make a bunch of items you forgot to shop for, when we’re already on the bus to the Lodge. There’s too many of us, and I want to enjoy the week as well.”

“Of course, Yaoyorozu, we’d never ask you to do that!” Uraraka replies, sounding shocked at the very idea. Behind her, Mineta opens his mouth to ask for something likely inappropriate, and is suddenly, inexplicably, flung through the ceiling like a helium balloon whose string was cut. “Oh no. He’s. Disappeared.”

Not a single member of Class A bothers to pretend they aren’t glad little mister ‘I want night vision goggles and a small drill’ Mineta was gone. He was creepy now, none of them could even imagine what kind of villain he’d end up; oh, with a public hero face, of course, but when you could trap people in place until they did what you wanted… well. At least two members of the group had already made peace with the fact they’d likely be the ones to hurl him into the hoosegow at some point.

Anyway, the atmosphere lightened again as the crowds about them stopped looking up, and shrugged off the sudden disappearance of some odd little UA kid. Things like this happened, sometimes. A hero would deal with him, perhaps.

“Oooh, look a shoe store!” Kaminari and Hagakure chorus, pointing across the way. Well, Kaminar visibly pointing, and Hagakure assumed to be copying the movement as well based on the position of her sleeve.

“I need new outdoor shoes with grounded soles, and some static-proof socks; and I think they might have something for me over there!” Kaminari grins, sparking off again so brightly that the others took a step back. “Oh, sorry… I’m just so excited about this whole thing! Anyone else need shoes?”

“Me!” Hagakure replies, “Anything that will cover from the knees down will do, or just some long socks… I don’t want to get scratched by brambles when we’re doing the wilderness training, after all!”

“If you find a good brand of socks, let us know; I think we all need some if we’re going to be running around in the woods. There’s all sort of sharp plants, twigs and angry little animals out there…” adds Yaoyorozu, accidentally reminding everyone that she just so happened to be from a wealthy family that had likely never gone camping (properly) in their lives. Therefore she must have an idealised view of the whole situation… at least they’d have working bathrooms at the lodge; she might not survive the alternative.

Uraraka breaks off for a moment to collect Midoriya, who was glancing around and muttering in that odd little way he often did whilst processing a lot of information. Something about the stores, and inventory… ah well. He was a bit of a dork like that… but, well, how could you not like a guy like that?

Uh, well, not Like like, more like… Friend like. Heh.

Her face was a little flushed by the time she got to him, and startled the other into reality with a hand on his arm. “Hey Deku, come on, the others are looking for different stores now; and we don’t want to lose you in the crowd! Besides… you’re kind of scaring the children with your muttering…” she adds quietly.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the words are drowned by the loud complaints of Bakugo; who has decided he Does Not Want To Be Here, though no one actually forced him to come.

“This is a waste of time! Why not just order it all online, and save time for more combat training at school?” he gripes, pouting like an angry child. Several eyes in the group flicker to Kirishma, the uncontested Bakugo-wrangler; and the red-head gives an embarrassed grin.

“C’mon dude, this is great! Besides, it only makes sense that the best of UA gets to be seen by the public, right?” Kaminari placates, mouth on autopilot as he looks around; his pace matches alongside Bakugo’s, and gradually slows. A sneaky little trick that usually resulted in the explosive hero-to-be slowing automatically as well… Midoriya filed that information away for later use. “Oh hey, check this out! Didn’t you say you needed a new sleeping bag? These are combustion-proof, and on sale! What a deal right?”

There really was no arguing with a verbal onslaught like that. As if Kirishima’s secondary quirk was his sheer force of personality, more of a Tell than Show kind of guy; heh, almost the opposite of Aoyama, now Deku thought about it.

Bakugo & Kirishima pause at the camping store, going over the display of sleeping bags; though Midoriya noted that Bakugo took care not to actually touch any of them with his bare hands. Mostly letting Kirishima hold them out and pester him into at least thinking about it.

“Actually, I think the camping store might have what we’re after, too.” Jiro says, squinting past the boys towards the large display of bags along the back wall. “Anyone else need bag? Might as well get them while we’re here.”

The others agree and follow them into the store, which was far larger on the inside than anyone could have guessed from the external appearance. Yaoyorozu strode confidently towards the bag display, eyes darting across the various brands and weighing options; nothing was off-limits to her, after all. She eventually suggests a large, patterned bag on the far left of the display… the price-tag for which almost gave Uraraka a heart-attack.

“Oh, well actually…” Yaoyorozu deflates a little, “This brand is almost the same level of quality for much less… but it only comes in black or pink, no patterns.” No one questioned her innate knowledge of textiles, fabrics and durability; her entire quirk relied on being able to understand objects on an almost atomic level so she could create a functioning three-dimensional copy. She was still working on electronic devices at the moment, so many tiny components were hard to replicate accurately… but clothes? Bags? Tents? That was the sort of thing she excelled at.

“Oh, phew, that’s way closer to my price-range.” Uraraka sighs in relief, hand over heart. She wished Asui hadn’t decided to go with her family today, it would have been nice to have a mild finance-based heart-attack with her best friend there to pat her kindly on the head and remind her everything was fine. “Hey, Deku, did you need a bag?”

Oh no, he was missing again. No, wait, there he was, aimlessly glancing around the camping chairs… that wasn’t on the list.

“Heads up, Midoriya!” comes the too-late warning as a sleeping bag flattens the hero-to-be into a nearby seat. He comes up spluttering and looking for the assailant, as the rest of the group laugh.

“Sorry, thought you’d see it in time!” Kirishima apologises, striding over with a sleeping bag under each arm. “Thought you might like one too while they’re on sale. That one’s super soft inside, and has extra padding under the neck and torso. ‘Cause, uh, well, Bakugo said you mentioned your arms were all messed up from the other day and all.”

Deku blinks, “Oh, yeah, they are. Thanks for thinking of me, K-… uh, Kacchan?”

“Too sappy, you’ll never make it as a hero if you don’t toughen up, Deku.” grumbles the perpetual sourpuss, as he strides away to look at a rack of kayaks. Fooling no one with his overt nonchalance. Surprisingly, there was a decent enough dude under there… you just had to dig past the layers upon layers of hidden mines to find it, usually.

“It is pretty nice, huh?” Uraraka adds, prodding the sleeping bag. “What else are you looking for from the list?”

“Oh, just… I think I need some sunscreen, and some heavyish wrist weights. So I can complete the exercises Recovery Girl wants me to do to strengthen my arms back up to full working order. Well, as much as I can.” Deku flexed his fingers, and gave a disarming grin. “Is there anything you need to get?”

The words are on her tongue, when the smile strikes Uraraka like one of cupid’s arrows, and her face goes pink at the sudden recollection of Aoyama’s words. ‘You… love him… don’t you?’. The question echoes in her mind, as she frantically tries to quash it down; his expression slides into something puzzled, about to ask if she’s alright.

“BUG REPELLANT!” she yells, turning on her heels and fleeing across the store to disappear behind the far-too-amused Jiro and Yaoyoruzu. Leaving, in her wake, the ever-confused Midoriya, and several other customers giving him suspicious glances; wondering what he possibly could have said to upset such a lovely young lady.

He frowns, comprehension dawning in all the wrong ways. “Wait, am I the BUG?” he yells after Uraraka’s fleeing form; turning to the nearby Kirishima for support, and finding the hard-type hero too busy laughing at the whole situation to provide a comforting word.

Instead, Deku nearly leaps out of his skin as an unexpected hand clamps down on his shoulder, radiating an odd chill that could only belong to one person…

“What on earth is happening in here?” Todoroki asks, eyes surveying the scene.

Kirishima was turning maroon as he laughed, seemingly unable to stop and Bakugo was vaguely patting the other hero on the back in what Kacchan clearly assumed was a companionable manner. Across the room, Jiro and Yayoruzu were trying to talk-slash-wrestle Uraraka out of the large bag she was now hiding in; and calm her down. Probably something to do with Midoriya… those two were so blind about how much they liked one another. Slightly concerned staff were hovering between the two groups of well-known students, clearly wondering how best to intervene. In any case, he couldn’t fathom what had happened a second before he’d stepped over the threshold.

“Oh, hey Todoroki, what are you doing here? I thought you were, uh, visiting the hospital today because we had some free time.” Deku asks, beaming broadly and trying to draw focus away from the nonsense happening behind them. When he catches the hesitation in Todoroki’s expression, the shorter hero-to-be smooths over the pause in conversation quickly; as if it had never been there at all. “Not that we’re not super glad you’re here! Was there anything on the list you really needed?”

“Uh… I think I’ve got almost everything except maybe… no, I can’t think of it right now. I can always get it later, or-... oh.” Todoroki glances down at the list being proffered helpfully towards his face with rather too-much enthusiasm. His eyes run down the list; mentally noting that he seemed to have everything except a raincoat; but what were the odds that they’d need something like that?

“Well I already have an umbrella, so I don’t think there’s anything I really need from the list.” Todoroki shrugs, glancing around at the rest of Class A in their varying shenanigans, and noting Deku wasn’t really looking for anything specific. “Is there something else you need to get? I can go with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Huh? Oh, if you’re not busy… I need to duck into the exercise store just up the escalator, so I can get some heavyish wrist weights.” Midoriya glances up at the store clock, a calculating expression crosses his features. “Then we’ll probably have to start finding everyone again, because it’s almost time for lunch.”

“I’ve got time.” Todoroki shrugs, easily, and starts out the door; Deku keeping pace as they aim for the nearby escalator. People around them from the general public take more notice now, pointing, whispering, a few not-so-covert flashes as the son of Endeavour wanders past; even if they had not both featured in the UA competition, Todoroki’s lineage would have caused a stir no matter where they went. At least the only real upside to the sudden flurry of attention was that it generally meant people tended to move out of the way, giving the pair a clear run up to their intended destination.

On the other hand, it was a little uncomfortable trying to browse with just-too-interested public members milling around the entrance and waiting to see what the new crop of heroes are doing now. Deku was too focussed on the wrist weights in his hands, muttering to himself as he weighed them against one another; subtly arguing the pros and cons for either option with himself.

Todoroki was starting to feel hot, in the worst possible way; watched, observed, embarrassed, under scrutiny. Any of those feelings could set a little pit of anxious embers skittering through his body, ready to catch alight at the merest hint of fuel; and he shut his eyes, imagining a river -as his mother had taught him to do- until he felt his temperature start to level out again.

“You okay, Todoroki?”

He opens his eyes at the sudden question, slightly puzzled as to what had given away his mild distress; and noted Deku seemed a little flushed and sweaty, but trying valiantly not to fan himself and draw additional attention to the situation. Sharp eyes took his form in easily, checking for anything out of the ordinary… and eventually, finding nothing, returning to look at Todoroki’s face.

“If you want to go join up with the others again,” Deku said, carefully avoiding phrasing the inherent ‘to share some of the public curiosity amongst the group’, “then I can grab these later. You know how picky I get, takes me ages to choose, haha!”

“No, it’s fine. Just… a little flare up. Why do you think they’re so fascinated by a bunch of school kids? There’s thousands of students just like us at other hero schools out there.” Todoroki mumbles, tapping one of the wrist weights Deku held. “This brand has a good reputation for long-lasting wear… and I know it does not translate exactly, but they’re fireproof to a certain point. So they might withstand… whatever your quirk is, exactly.”

“Then I’ll get them, thanks Todoroki!” Deku beams, putting the other pair back and heading for the registers. Where a star-struck minimum-wage employee quickly completed the transaction. As he tucked away his wallet, Midoriya moved closer and dropped his voice, almost conspiratorially. “They look at us like that because we made it further than they ever did, and we’ve already fought actual villains in our first year… the press had a field day, our names and faces were everywhere. Even if you weren’t the son of the second-ighest ranking hero, they’d know who you were Todoroki. Sometimes people with little quirks, powers that are only slightly useful, or even those born without them… they need to look up and see the next generation surpassing them. It gives them hope.”

The slight catch in Deku’s voice catches Todoroki off-guard, and it is only intense strength of will that holds down the burning question in his mind; to ask what had made Midoriya sound so broken for just a second. It was not the place nor time to ask such a question, though, and therefore the only option available was a companionable shoulder bump.

A second later, it was as if nothing had happened, and the smiling face turned on Todoroki like the sun. “Hey, let’s find the others and get something to eat, huh?”

“Sounds like fu-... is that Uraraka?” Todoroki’s voice drops away as he gazes up, shielding his eyes from the midday sun as a bobbing figure appears a level above them; fighting to lower herself gradually.

“There you two are!” she calls, brightly, as the public starts to realise someone is hovering over their heads, searching through the masses for specific targets. Her attitude is completely normal, and there’s no hint of the awkwardness from earlier; well, if they had to pretend it didn’t happen, that was fine by Midoriya. “Come on up guys, we went to the third-floor food court for lunch; Kaminari and Hakagure found us in the camping store already.” Uraraka let her body drop slightly to get a better view of the first floor. “I’ll be back in a minute, I can’t seem to find-... oh, there they are! IIDA! SHOJI! UP HERE!”

Uraraka waves her arms to catch their attention, loses concentration for a split-second and begins to drop more rapidly… but before anyone can even think to react, a familiar froggy figure has already wrapped their tongue around the levitator’s waist and yanked her onto the second floor. Asui sets her friend down easily, and accepts a grateful hug from Uraraka; delighted to see one another.

“You know we’re not supposed to use our abilities in public, ribbit, right?” Asui mock-admonishes, as if she didn’t just do exactly that. “You’re just naturally lucky Ochaco, imagine if I hadn’t been buying sunscreen in the store just over there!”

“Thank you for saving me, Tsuyu!” Uraraka sighs, squeezing the other tightly, expressing her friendship physically… and unrelentingly. “Oh, if your family doesn’t mind, would you like to come and have lunch with the rest of Class A?”

Asui glances behind, and gets a thumbs up from her parents. “Sure, sounds fun!”

Her big froggy eyes glance left and right, clearly searching for someone; and seemingly relieved when they failed to appear. Midoriya and Todoroki fall in behind them on the way up the third-floor escalator; cresting the rise to see a rather large number of tables have been shoved together to accommodate the size of their friend group.

Food was already piled in the middle from various vendors; a few had their own meals, but most were picking and choosing from the huge lunch orders that clearly Yaoyoruzu had ordered for them all. Conversation buzzed brightly, classmates wriggled in their chairs as they ate, laughed and discussed their shopping hauls; it seemed oddly peaceful, given that they’d attracted more than a little attention from the general public. No one acknowledged them watching, however, so it didn’t appear to bother any of Class A overmuch.

The quartet were just in time to hear the last snippets of Kaminari’s enthralling retail adventure around finding a swimsuit that would stop him accidentally electrocuting anyone else in the water with him; when they sat down in the vacant seats seemingly awaiting them, amid general waves of acknowledgement. Shoji passed all four a plate simultaneously, pointing at the plates of food with a grinning tendril, which he then returned to feeding.

Iida passed down some cans of soda, and Ojiro managed to snag the one Deku fumbled, with his tail as the table laughed. It wasn’t funny, per se, but there was something about the companionable, relaxed atmosphere they had created that made them all feel like laughing.

If anything, as silly as it sounded, the majority of their classmates would have described the event as a rather upscale indoor picnic, if anything. Bags bulged from under the table and hanging off the backs of various chairs; full to bursting with the required purchases; and talk skittered around the table, topics changing rapidly as everyone added their own story, information or question.

Deku couldn’t help but watch the way the others seemed to lose hidden tendrils of tension, as the meal wore on. Becoming somehow brighter, more open, and bringing them together as a cohesive force against the world through sheer camaraderie alone.

Well, perhaps excepting Kacchan… but he’s pretty sure the guy cracked a begrudging smile at least once or twice as Kirishima made a concentrated effort to get Bakugo to engage. Deku bit his lips to prevent smiling at the thought that, if anyone could drag Kacchan from his self-made shell of aloof superiority… it would be Kirishima; the guy was just so persistently pleasant and seemed to assume there was good in most people, whether they saw it themselves or not.

Todoroki toyed with his food for a while, listening to a shared conversation with Ojiro, Asui, Hagakure and Uraraka; eventually joining in, and taking a few bites. It was nice to catch Todoroki’s expression softened, letting the weight of the world and his father’s expectations melt away, even if only for just this hour or so. If anyone deserved a bit of piece… it was the son of Endeavour.

Iida was trying to discuss strategy with Yaoyorozu, Jiro and Kaminari; all equally excited and divergent on how they imagined the next week would go, at the Forest Lodge. Some thought they’d be camping in tents, and others argued that the implication was that the accommodation would be actively loge-like and inside; third parties proposed that it might be both, depending on the level of wilderness training involved.

Deku let his mind drift along with the discussion, feeling his own thoughts well represented, and therefore able to devote more time to eating the delicious spread before them; although it must be noted he nearly choked when he finally noticed what Shoji was up to. Everytime their dear class president got a little too passionate or loud, he would blink in surprise and sit back down to continue the debate in a quieter tone. It was odd, but then… so was Iida.

However, as Deku finally twigged to it, the reason for this sudden attitude shift was simply that someone who will remain unnamed was carefully bouncing a small piece of food expertly off the class president’s forehead when Iida got a little too… excited. He snorted, and managed to turn it into a not-so-discreet cough before anyone caught on; but he saw Shoji give a conspiratorial wink.

Class A as such a strange assortment of unique, distinct and occasionally clashing personalities; and yet… they were also an excellent team, when push came to shove. Defending one another, rescuing the others without thought, working in tandem to face threats much larger than they were… and managing it all as a bunch of kids grouped together by random chance. Sometimes, even Deku had started to feel it might have been fate that made certain that this particular group of powered teenagers were assigned the same class grade.

Someone nudges his elbow. “I said, are you okay, Deku?” asks Asui, tongue reaching right around Todoroki to prod him again. “Don’t make me come down there and make sure!” she jests, a wet amphibian tongue hovering threateningly between Deku’s eyes for a second, before she started to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just...thinking.” Deku responds, taking an absent sip of his soda as his eyes focussed on a large television hanging close by in the foodcourt, and proceeded to almost choke on his mouthful. Todoroki patted him on the back as Deku tried to communicate what had dissolved him into this laughing, slightly choking, mess of an almost-hero. Ending up pointing at the screen, as the rest of his classmates’ collective gazes turned to look…

A grim-faced newscaster was running the urgent story of a young man from UA who was currently heading for the stratosphere; whom heroes were scrambling to rescue, although the majority of flight-based quirk heroes were out of region to help with a local forest fire at the time. The coverage footage showed a purple-haired grape regretting every creepy comment he’d ever made… right as Mount Lady appeared, stretching out a large hand to save the hapless creep.

It was the quiet, “Oh… oops!” from Uraraka, as Mineta suddenly stopped rising and plummeted right into the giantess hero’s outstretched hand, that sent the table into hysterics. It wasn’t funny, not really; and yet… somehow, hilarious at the same time.

Ah, things were turning out to be an excellent day after all.

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

The End

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

Please let me know if there was anything you want changed, altered or edited!

Thanks.

#mha #commission #$2 - $5 tier

3 notes · View notes