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star-reaper · 1 year

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Through Sea Mist and Shadows (One) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

monday, march 12th, 7:02am;

The blare of the ships horn and the sickly distinct smell of the fishing docks is what clicks everything back into place. (Y/n)'s head, which had previously been bobbing along to the music in her headphones, raises to attention as she observes her surroundings. There aren't many aboard the small ferry - deemed the Wayfarer, it's name written in faded cerulean paint along its side - and yet the quiet crowd shuffles slowly together towards the gangway to depart, seemingly in a rush. An older couple chatters amongst themselves, something about the Island's declining economy and (Y/n) immediately tunes out. She begins to wonder what her parents will say when she washes up on their doorstep, if her sisters will greet her enthusiastically, and if they'll all be pleased with the surprise. When she left all those years ago to live with relatives on the mainland, she knew her mother wished she would stay.

"I'm happy for you. I'm happy your aunt is giving you such a wonderful opportunity. You deserve to see things outside of the Island, god knows I've never left. It will be nice for you to go to school and live with your cousins." Her mother smiled, and though every word was true (Y/n) knew she was sad to see her go regardless. Truth be told, even (Y/n) felt torn between what was to come and what always was. Change is hard. After the tumultuous highs and lows of high school, another opportunity had come (Y/n)'s way in the form of an acceptance letter to The University of California and a full-ride scholarship. Pursuing Fine Art had been a gamble, but there's nothing (Y/n) would change about her choice. College kept her far from home with little money and little time for herself, but it was good for a while, great even. Two years after graduation and a whole lot of grit later, she was supporting herself off her own artwork, even rented her own studio space and found herself a community she felt comfortable in.

But there was still something missing. Home-cooked meals, the smell of the earth and the cold ocean waves on her ankles, perhaps the hands of a lover or the embrace of a parent, her old mare and the prickle of hay in her clothes. With each fleeting moment (Y/n) caught herself thinking more and more of her home by the docks. The crunch of gravel roads under her tires, and the incessant screeching of the gulls. Of course, she called her parents often, talked about nothing and told them all about her recent projects. Asked how her sisters were doing in school and bantered about trivial matters.

She hadn't told anyone she was coming home. She quietly ended her lease on her studio space, found a young college student to take up her apartment, sold her car, and bought a one way plane ticket to Maine all in a fortnight. As she stands from her seat and makes her way to the exit of the ferry she ponders if showing up unannounced was a bit too impulsive.

Too late to worry about it now.

She thanks the deck hand as she passes by, who tips his hat in response with a kind smile. With her two suitcases and side bag all packed to the brim with her belongings, she steps off the platform and lets the breeze take her. The dock is just how she left it, the weathered wooden boards creaking under her weight, rusted nails poking through every few steps. Inside of her ribs there's a bird, fluttering frantically against her heart with nerves. The nostalgia is almost too much to bear, hands sticky with sweat as she grips her cases.

She remembers the way instinctively, she could do it blindfolded if she had to even after the years passed. She passes the small downtown square, a common ground sitting pretty in the center of the old-timey buildings with windows thrown open and crooked signs. Everything looks exactly the same save for a few extra cracks in the cobblestone and a business or two no longer flourishing, the mossy roofing sloping downwards a bit in the center. A left at the old red post office and the out-of-order telephone booth (it hadn't been used in the past twenty years anyway) and a right at the second dirt path.

After the clearing, is home. The tall grass sways with the ocean breeze, the white fences surrounding the pastures chipping from the weather. The big eight stall barn sits at the top of the drive in all its glory, the sliding door pushed halfway open to reveal the aged wood and stacks of bales inside.

In the arena stands Whiskey, the old bay-dappled pony with silver whiskers and a greying mane. His handler stands facing the other direction, holding the lunge line loosely, but (Y/n) recognizes her in an instant. As she approaches the fenced in area her eyes well up with tears, her bags hit the floor and she comes to a stop.

"Hey, Ella." She says, voice wavering.

The other girl turns to face her slowly, as if she thought she was dreaming.

She grins so wide all her perfect white teeth show, "Oh, just you wait until Mom sees you." Ella huffs a laugh, "You're in so much trouble."

In an instant they are wrapped in each others embrace, giggling.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us you were coming, your bedroom isn't even set up! We've been using it as storage."

"I can't believe you're taller than me. What, you're like seventeen? I mean, I know you've grown since I've seen you in person but this is a hate crime." (Y/n) chimes back.

Ella is the youngest of the three girls, always a drama queen, but scared of nothing. Kennedy, the middle child, had always been a bit quiet, though she has a heart of gold and more ambition then all of them combined. Last (Y/n) had heard, Kennedy had graduated from her online college courses and started teaching at the Island's elementary school. She couldn't have been more than a few months in.

Ella gestures (Y/n) to follow her into the barn where she leads Whiskey back to his stall, patting him firmly on the neck before pulling off his halter. She bids the old gelding a quick goodbye and takes a bag from her older sister, leading her to the house at the top of the hill, settled in between the trees.

"Momma! Look who I found!" Ella calls loudly upon pulling open the tattered screen door.

"Why are you yelling, I'm right he— oh!" Their mother rounds the corner from the kitchen, a dish rag in her hands and a look of concern on her face, "Why didn't you say you were coming?" She shouts, exasperated.

The older woman's hands come to hold (Y/n)'s face and she places a kiss on her daughter's forehead.

"Surprise?" (Y/n) chuckles nervously, "Sorry, I know it's unexpected. Missed home." she says.

"Well, are you alright? It's so good to see you, you know you're always welcome."

"I'm perfectly fine, really. Can I stay for a while?"

Her mother smiles happily, a twinge of worry still lingering in her eyes, pulling gently on her crow's feet. She nods without hesitation and offers to take a bag.

"Where is everyone? Is Kennedy working?" (Y/n) asks, following her mother up the stairs to her old childhood bedroom.

"Oh, yes. She'll be home by dinner time. And your father, he's with Bucky at the lumberyard. A few of the fences came down in the last storm, we had some trees fall. They went to buy wood to replace them."

"Bucky?" (Y/n) asks, "Who's that? A new farm hand or something?"

"I'm sorry, hun, James I mean. He goes by Bucky nowadays." Her mother replies, "You mean you haven't talked to him?". She seems shocked. The door to her room swings open with a creak, revealing old boxes and crates of miscellaneous items and old broken furniture that looks like it hasn't been used in decades.

"Oh, you should see him now, (Y/n)! He's - well, let's just say he's . . . developed." Ella says coyly, giggling to her older sister.

"Alright now, don't be gross. He's too old for you anyway." Their mother chides, playfully smacking a hand at Ella's shoulder, only causing her to laugh harder. "I'm sorry it's a mess, things started to accumulate in here since the room wasn't being used. Maybe Buck won't mind helping us move everything to the attic before he leaves. I'll wash some sheets for you."

(Y/n) thanks her and the older woman turns to leave, a gentle hand resting upon her wrist and a soft smile in her wake.

Ella throws the suitcase she was holding onto the bed, a light cloud of dust dispersing into the air. "Whatcha got in here, anything interesting?" She asks.

"Not unless you count half empty paint tubes and all the clothes I own."

"Booooring." Ella teases. "Listen, I'd love to help you unpack but I really do have to get some work done in the barn. I'll catch you in a few hours? Maybe we can go for a ride if you have time. It's a professional development day so no school for me."

"Okay, kiddo. I'll meet you down there alright?" (Y/n) replies, reaching for a hug.

"It's really good to have you back, by the way."

"It's real good to be back." She answers matter-of-factly.

With that, the younger girl hops downstairs, practically skipping out to the barn, lively as ever.

(Y/n) sits in the old wooden chair propped up next to her desk, surveying the room around her. The walls are decorated with old posters and dreadfully old art work she had made when she was younger. She makes a mental note to remove those monstrosities as soon as possible, maybe throw them up in the attic with the rest of the junk. An old mug of paintbrushes and broken pencils sits on the corner of the desk, along with a torn up eraser and an old peppermint candy that has probably been there for at least six years. The bed still adorns an old comforter set with yellow flowers and green vines, stitched with a thick yarn at the seams where she had accidentally torn it on the old wooden bed frame. The whole room is like a time capsule from her seventeen year old self, the memories coming back to her like high tide. A glance at the empty vase on the windowsill and she finds her mind wandering to a certain James Barnes, or 'Bucky' now she supposes. Boyish hands holding hers and fresh bouquets from his mother's garden. The vase has never been empty for so long, she thinks sadly.

She remembers a time when things were simpler, spent side by side with her best friend no matter the location. The boy was always sweet, doting, thoughtful. She wonders how she could've possibly gone so long without hearing from him, hell, she would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about him. Her heart aches for him, he always was someone who preferred to be alone unless the company was her. She hopes he hadn't been too lonely.

Perhaps he had a girl now, maybe he too left for college, or he stayed on the Island this whole time like many of the other locals. She feels terribly guilty all of the sudden, selfish almost, for leaving such a dear friend behind and not even sparing him her time, a phone call, anything.

(Y/n) tries to picture what he would look like now, and if he would be as handsome as Ella had let on. She smiles at the idea. Perhaps his dark hair would have grown out or he'd have it cut short in a styled fashion. If his steel blue eyes had darkened as he aged or if his face would be littered with freckles from the sun. Had he grown into those gangly long limbs and his boyish frame?

With a sigh, the girl pushes herself up and throws open the window, letting the fresh morning air pour into the bedroom as she begins the task at hand.

It's nearly noon when she finishes putting away her belongings, getting rid of the dust, and making the bed with fresh, new sheets and a pretty, pin-striped comforter. She had even taken a few trips to the attic with the things she didn't need. The room felt big and spacious compared to her old college dorm and even her apartment in California, though when she was a child she recalled always complaining that she had absolutely no space. It felt good to have an almost fresh start yet in a place so familiar.

At some point, Mom had brought her up a plate of strawberries, the tops cut off for her to snack on while she was cleaning. The plate sits on the desk with nothing but a few seeds left and a little bit of juice.

When (Y/n) finally makes her way downstairs she finds the house empty, but hears the cheery voices outside that lead her to her sister and mother. Ella is clearly telling a very animated story about one of the horses this morning. Behind her from the pastures, one of the creatures snort, shaking its head as if agreeing from afar, "It's true! I saw it with my own two eyes!"

"(Y/n)! How'd you make out?" Ella asks once she sees her figure emerging from the porch. The afternoon sun warms her skin through the fabric of her crew neck sweater.

"Did pretty good, I'll have lots of space once we get rid of those boxes. Did you wanna go for that ride?

"Hera's all yours as always, she's been waiting."

Hera. The piebald Gypsy Vanner mare (Y/n) had been gifted with when she was only thirteen. Sweet as a dove with the softest velvet fur and the gentlest gait. If there was anything (Y/n) had missed the most, it might have been Hera.

"I'd love to." She replies gratefully.

Their mother smiles as she watches the two girls interact. "You girls have fun, I'll be out back if you need anything." She offers.

For the second time today, (Y/n) feels her eyes well up, tears threatening to fall as she locks eyes with the mare. She hasn't changed, even after all this time, not a speck of grey fur, or anything of the sort. The horse whinnies at her, and (Y/n) decides she'd like to think it's in recognition.

"Hey, pretty girl." She whispers, hand resting on her muzzle as the horse leans into her over the stall door.

"We took good care of her, I swear it on my life. And Bucky too, whenever he comes to help in the stables he makes sure she gets a good grooming and everything. You'll have to thank him."

"Of course I will. I knew she was always going to be in good hands here, Els." The older girl replies joyously.

The two get their horses ready for a trail ride around the town, brushing them thoroughly before throwing on their saddles and pads and bridling up within twenty minutes. Ella takes the lead on her pony Ghost, a good sized grey gelding with striking blue eyes. As they go along, the younger sister points out several things, like the Miller family's new addition to their home, the bakery under new management, and Peter Parker, the boy she waved at a little bit too excitedly (and who she definitely does not have a crush on - not even a 'teensy-weensy' one). The horses seem happy with the change of pace and the locals seem unfazed by the intrusion on the pair trotting down the streets. (Y/n) sees many familiar faces, not so many unfamiliar ones. Some stare after her quizzically, no doubt wondering if they've seen a ghost, she presumes. She's just grateful no one has stopped her to ask.

It's a little less than an hour passed when the two girls arrive back at the farm. There's a big green truck in the driveway, an old Ford model with minimal rusting and new tires. New lumber sticks out of the bed of it, harnessed together with a thick rope tied in a sailors knot. Two broad figures stand on the front porch, their mother speaking to them from the door.

"That's Bucky's truck there." Ella declares.

The horses stop short of the barn and the two men turn to address the newcomers to the scene. The girl's father, on the left, waves excitedly at them and he comes jogging down the pathway to greet them.

"(Y/n), your mother didn't tell me you were here! It's so great to see you, kid." He reaches up to pat at your knee affectionately, "How's California?"

"You too, Dad. It's been . . . really good. But I'm here now, for a while if that's okay with you guys."

"You know it is. Listen, I gotta get this wood hauled out back, we'll catch up, okay?"

She nods with a soft grin, patting the hand resting on her knee. When she looks back up at the porch, the other man is watching from afar, a greeting, yet shy smile adorning his face from under his baseball cap, tuffs of dark hair curling at the nape of his neck. (Y/n) watches her mother say something to him, urging him forward with a beckoning push, and he hesitantly comes down the path towards her and Ella.

"Hi, James." She greets once he finally reaches within distance. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his tan canvas jacket, a maroon red henley peeking out from underneath it and a pair of light wash jeans faded at the knees and at the wrinkles with wear.

The boy offers a crooked smile, blue eyes gazing up at her curiously.

"Hey, doll." He says, voice captivating and smooth. "It's uh, Bucky now, by the way."

Doll. That was new. A wonderful and enticing new that lingered a little bit too long in (Y/n)'s jumbled up mind.

"Right! I'm sorry, I forgot. It'll take some getting used to, I guess." She replies apologetically.

"It's okay, I don't mind the way it sounds when you say it." He grins again, "'James' I mean. Anyway, you've been well?"

"Yes, yeah. I've been - well a lot has happened, I can't believe it's been so long since I've spoken to you. There so much to tell you." (Y/n) says. She swings her leg over the saddle and hops down from Hera's back, pulling the reins over the horses head before focusing back on Ja– Bucky. On Bucky.

"Yeah? I can't wait to hear all about it." He's so sickly sweet. (Y/n) thinks he should angry with her, hurt that she'd forgotten about him.

Behind her, Ella jumps off as well and goes about her way to the barn with her horse.

"Well, what about you, how have you been? You look - well, you look good." (Y/n) says, fighting back the blush she can only imagine is creeping onto her face. She hopes she isn't too awkward. Ella wasn't lying, that's for sure. His broad figure easily towers over (Y/n)'s, body strongly built and skin unflawed. He looks healthy. Different, but healthy.

"It's been good." He answers quickly, "Missed having you around, for sure."

(Y/n) nods in understanding, suddenly very interested in the calloused skin of her fingers as she looks down.

"Oh, and your mom said you might need some help with those boxes in your room. I can take care of those now if you'd like."

"If you really don't mind, I'd appreciate it. No rush though, truly." She says, grateful for any help he can give.

"I'll head up there now, I'll catch you before I leave, alright?" Bucky pats her shoulder carefully before turning away, one last glance over his own shoulder with kind eyes and he's already ascending up the front steps.

"Thank you!" She calls out to him before turning to bring Hera into the barn. She can't deny the gentle pitter in her stomach and the way she can hears her heartbeat in her ears.

"That was pitiful, I knew you'd still be in love with him." Ella teases, sneering.

"I'm not in love with him! He's my childhood best friend." (Y/n) counters, pushing Ella playfully. "We haven't even talked in like, I don't know, six years?"

"Right. He just happens to be entirely gorgeous now, that's all." (Y/n) pushes her again. "Did they not have any good looking boys in California?"

"They had plenty, thank you very much. Now leave it be." (Y/n) is smiling, but Ella knows she wants her to can it, and so she does.

Together, the pair latch the stable doors and put away their tack before turning into the house themself. Bucky has finished putting away boxes all on his own and now stands in the kitchen as their mother is trying to send him away with a traveling mug of coffee. "Just return the mug later," She's saying, "You know you'll be back as always."

"Bye, ladies. I'm off to my shift at the harbor." He's saying, posed to leave through the front door. "I'll see you all soon, nice to see you again, (Y/n)."

And then he's gone, the scent of pine wood and cinnamon left in his tracks.

written 5/3/23

#bucky barnes #avengers #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel #winter soldier #artist!reader #lumberjack!bucky

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lifesver · 7 months

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@dcwnthercbbithcle said: “ I know you're disappointed, but it's for the best.” -from Doe, also mental image of her dragging Leland out while he’s yelling at her to help one of the others who is actively being chased like ‘PLEASE I CAN CRAWL HELP THEM,’

the knock from the killer's baseball bat destroys any sense of equilibrium he had in his stumbled steps. world spins out in bursts of starry black, the dark pines melt into the eerie blue skyline. a flash of light, a voice calling — calling the killer's attention away from leland, he realizes. double-vision watches in dim horror, as the killer whirls around on kate. as she darts off, pursued by the laughing man in the blood-spattered yellow coat. leland scrambles off-kilter, instinctively, to try to follow, scraped knees in the mud, but he can hardly tell what's going on around him. his hearing is ringing, he can't bring anything into focus. his mind is screaming; get up, get up, you have to move.

then, there are hands grasping his arm, desperately dragging him to his feet, forcing him to run. forcing his beaten lungs to work. he can hear jane next to his ear, but he can't make out what she's saying to him. can barely discern any feeling, around where the throwing knives had caught him in the back, the way his head thunders its own heavy pulse. the mineshaft, the trees — it all folds away from his vision as they approach a gleam of blinking red. the ground is beginning to growl and rupture under their feet. white-yellow veins crack apart the seams of the trial. he thinks, distantly; it means to signal the end. time's up. they're going to die, aren't they?

❝ l — let go of me — ❞

and jane's knuckles are snow-white, buried tight in the fabric of his shirt to keep him close. and before he can get his bearings, they've crossed over the threshold of the massive exit gates. the sounds from the trial more distant, all at once, as though he was hearing them through an invisible wall. leland can still see the gloomy woodlands he and jane had emerged from. it's right there.

❝ — why did you — we can't just leave them, jane —❞ it's a sting of betrayal, like she's somehow tricked him into abandoning their friends. as if she wasn't just saving his life, making sure he didn't throw away the chance the others gave him to escape being beaten to a pulp by that spiked bat. maybe some part of him knew that. but the other part of him was overwhelmed by guilt, made lost by the fact that he had failed. that they were a team. that they counted on him, and he'd run away.

' i know you're disappointed, but it's for the best. ' jane is trying to comfort him, he imagines. but it's only heightening his panic. brimming eyes fix on jane, search her face for something. she looks just as dirt-and-blood specked, just as exhausted. fingers dig at palms. he feels dirty. he feels a violent itch under his skin. ❝ … what if they don't make it out?❞ kate, and bill. what if they had to face that monster, so you didn't have to?

❝ we... we could still — i could still —❞ he tries to stagger forward again, only to be stopped, as dark spines crawl up like a thorny wall in his face. the entity, he realized, had yet another way of punishing them, for each little choice they made in these trials. you left, you can't go back in. you're safe, but what about the person you heard crying out? what about your friends?

leland's breath goes uneven as he claws at the tendrils, hits at them with tight fists. they don't budge. he can hear the far-off sounds, the clang of the metal bat, the laughter, the howl of the wind. the screaming, that choked out into a horrible gurgle. he felt dizzy. you should have done more. why did you run?

❝ let me go back. please. let me... i could still help them.❞ he says, lightheaded and pleading senselessly, to no-one in particular. to the monster that traps them in this hell. until his voice goes too sore, too raw to get anything coherent out. until he notices jane has crouched down beside where he's knelt, bleeding and trembling. then he just hears the wind, quiet. his, and jane's ragged breathing. his own heartbeat. leland's head drops, with his hands, which pull around himself. dig nails into his own arms. trying to ground himself. it doesn't stop the shredded, choked out sobs that shake him at the shoulders. ❝ why... why is it doing this, to us? what the hell did we do, to deserve this?❞

#aw man... im sorry doe he appreciates being saved and he'll thank her for it later but.... but.. well he's having a moment #babygirl not yet used to the repetitiveness of the trials... that so many fog veterans are just used to Dying #( ☆ ) ⸻ THE FILM WHICH YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE... / ic.#dbd verse tbt #violence cw #dcwnthercbbithcle

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pluckyingenue · 4 years

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"Gee Rosalie, why do you carry pepper spray and a taser?!" Well see this one time I met the fuckin Riddler and he wouldn't take the hint that we didn't want him in our play. So yeah."

#speaking through the bard (dash comm)#exit pursued by a bear (crack)

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wayoftheghost · 2 years

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guidance

[#FFF166 Count the Ways]

This is my first time ever participating in @flashfictionfridayofficial - I’m excited, what a cool challenge! I’ve been following for a bit but have not posted bc Fridays are always super busy for me T_T (but I had today off! ;) This felt nice to put out, I have not written in ages and I don’t believe I’ve shared any original work on this blog yet, so here is finally something!

Anyways! Below is my short story for this week’s prompt - count the ways

Very much a cyberpunk vibe came out my brain tonight...

Word count: 883

Tags: @flashfictionfridayofficial @writingbyricochet @winterandwords

“Shall we begin?”

The question hangs, drifts in the air like candle smoke. She looks down at the deck of cards stacked neatly into three piles, then to the woman waiting with palms up on the velvet tabletop.

She nods and the woman shuffles the deck. The cards pass over each other like leaves in the wind, the sound tingling her ears with each fwip. The woman’s metallic, polished fingernails flash in the candlelight.

The woman again cuts the deck into three, then draws three cards face up.

A man and woman in a lush garden, overlooked by a winged angel.

A cloaked figure with an arm outstretched to the sky, a lit candle in his hand.

Another figure, winged, pouring water into a receptacle and stepping between shore and earth.

She studies the portraits. They are beautifully drawn with gold inlay.

The woman hums and her velvet eyes slide over the three cards. The woman gingerly touches the first portrait.

“The Lovers call on you to explore an overlooked, perhaps neglected passion. But be warned, do not let caprice destroy what you hold dear.”

The woman’s hand slides, touching the second.

“The Magician. An opportunity will present itself, as if by magic. You must seize it before it vanishes beneath false promises.”

The woman touches the final card.

“Temperance. You are urged to pursue success with balance and patience. Avoid extreme solutions, and hesitation on the same coin.”

She feels heat prickle the back of her neck. The rich aroma of burning incense fills her lungs, sweet and earthy. Chimes twinkle through the sanctuary. For a moment, her mind and vision swim in rapture as the universe and cosmos unfold behind her eyelids.

Of course. In this world, all living things are connected, just as the life paths of friends and lovers and strangers that intertwined through her own trajectory of existence like the nameless faces that passed through the City. We are all the same. We all want the same. Seeking guidance is not weak. We are lost children who just wish to survive-

The room stops spinning and everything crashes into place.

She swallows, the heat slicking her forehead with sweat. Her palms feel clammy. Her teeth chatter.

The woman looks at her with interest. The woman’s eyes flicker to meet hers, irises glowing purple.

“Whatever you are planning, tread carefully.” Her tone is sisterly.

She resists the temptation to curl her fingers, to grimace. She bears the weight of her stare for a few tense moments, before she turns away with shame.

Chair legs scrape hard against the floor. She unpockets a small device that chirps and hotwires a transaction of bank credits. She exits the comfortable dim of the sanctuary and steps out into an onslaught of sights and noise. Her pupils constrict. Her eardrums ring.

The City swallows her whole. Someone clips into her shoulder, but she doesn’t bother to look at their face. Smog chokes the skyline. Fractures of fluorescent billboard neon shatter through the gray like shards of stained glass. Sirens shriek in the distance.

Day bleeds to night. Night floods open with sun. The neon lights still burn behind her eyelids, the stars of the universe spill from her gaping mouth. Her ears ring and ring with her own screams.

Moon and sun taunt her from the heavens. They are cosmic. They are safe. They are free of suffering.

The money goes dry. Her lips crack, her stomach begins to curl in on itself.

More of her friends disappear. Nameless, never to be found.

Then, one is. In a back alley not far from her apartment, with his throat cut open.

She sees herself falling to her knees, grasping at his stinking clothes. The howl of her voice in an echo chamber of metal, wet brick, and graffitied dumpsters. She sees it all from the birdseye view of the circling pigeon above.

She sees herself dying in this City. She sees herself running away into the desert. She sees herself gorging on the finest steaks and wine, her bank credits in the millions.

All branches from one path, one source.

She sees the sliver of a face beneath a sweatshirt hood, the angry flare of an eye implant. Rain splatters her hair and face, seeps into her clothes. Night has fallen. She shivers.

Her feet stumble and she clamors after him. That red light, the same one she had seen the night another dear friend had disappeared. She grabs the cloaked figure, her other hand fumbling with the cold touch of a gun, fitting it beneath the crevice of his jaw.

The man exclaims and tries to shove her away, but her grip is too strong, too desperate. Water floods her eyes, she cannot see. The gun slips, fumbles in her hand and the man begins to plead. She has never drawn it to threaten someone before and it feels wrong in her hand.

She sees herself squeezing the trigger. She sees herself bashing it into his jaw as a warning. She sees herself letting him go.

Her stomach curls and she takes a step back, lowers the gun. The man disappears into the night.

She already knew the answer, she has always known the answers.

She wants guidance to confirm the path already chosen.

#writeblr #flash fiction friday #shorty story #i can't tell you what this is about lol...just saw these images in my head!

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jamie-leah · 3 years

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Traitor

Bucky x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Everyone thinks you're a traitor but Bucky isn't convinced.

Word: 2592

Warnings: Swearing, action stuff, hints at abuse and violence at the end.

A/N: I had a half formed daydream that turned into this. Starts strong, ends weak, enjoy!

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

Steve throws your file on the desk in front of Bucky. Bucky just stares at your face on the front of the folder, pinned by a silver paper clip.

Silver was your favourite type of jewellery. Bucky remembered storing the information away for when he bought you a silver necklace for your birthday not long ago.

“I’m sorry, Buck, but we had an operative confirm everything I just told you. Y/N is a contract killer, an assassin and she was sent here to infiltrate and kill. Namely, all of us.”

Bucky hears the words coming from Steve’s mouth, but he can’t understand them. Images of you flash in his mind. You laughing at one of his lame jokes, you crying in his arms from a nightmare, you underneath him moaning his name as he kisses a trail down your neck.

Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t believe that Steve, I can’t. Who’s the source? How do you know they’re legit?”

Steve picks up a remote and points it at a screen in the room. It blinks to life on a still image of you in a restaurant, kissing the cheek of one of the most prominent mob bosses in the city and known Hydra agent.

Bucky stands so fast his chair cracks on the floor as he tears out of the office at full speed. He skips passed the elevator and takes the stairs, missing steps in his rush.

He keeps going and going until he hits the lowest level underneath the tower and storms passed all the guards. None of them challenge him, too afraid of the former Winter Soldier to get in his way.

As Bucky gets to the cells, he grabs an agent by the scruff and grinds out, “which cell?”

They all knew who he was talking about. Everyone would be talking about this for a while to come. The agent points into the open space of cells and stutters, “its, c-cell 203”.

Bucky drops the agent and stalks through the cells until he finally comes to 203. He steps into view with clenched fists and doesn’t pause before he asks, “why?”

You sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, staring at the grey wall opposite. It takes you a moment to build up the courage to look at him. You never intended for this to happen. You never wanted to get feelings involved, but as you look at Bucky, you know it’s far too late for that now. Now you have a mess on your hands.

You debate how to play this. Do you keep up the contract killer façade or do you confess, tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell another human being before?

“Barnes, I should have known you would pay me a visit sooner rather than later.”

Bucky felt like you had struck him in the face with the way you addressed him, but he holds firm, “why?”

“Why what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific”, you reply coolly as you stand to face him.

Bucky changes his question, “is it true? Are you a contract killer?”

It takes you a few moments to keep the mask in place, “yes”.

You watch the pain flash across his features for the briefest of moments before he locks it away to be felt in private. It breaks your heart, but you’re so used to the feeling it never shows on your face.

Bucky goes to turn from you, wanting to get away, the sight of you too much to bear. You throw a question out into the void between you before he can retreat, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky never turns back to look at you, but he whispers, “was any of it ever real?”

Despite knowing this was the question, despite hearing it from a few people across your lifetime, it was the first time it ever hit you in the gut with such force you had to take a silent gulp of air before choking out, “no”.

He leaves without another word.

You wait a few days. Working out the routine of the place before you wait for your next move.

You wait with your back to a small portion of the concrete wall next to the cell door. A blind spot. And when the guard brings your food and slides it under the metal bars, he looks up to find you missing.

Just as he steps closer to look, you strike. You shoot your arms between the bars and pull so hard his head bangs into the metal and he crumples, out cold.

You drag is body parallel to the door and you sweep his body for keys. You start to lose hope when your hand flits over cool metal and a little jingle rings out.

You wait fifteen minutes until lights out and the use the keys. You drag the guard into the cell, swapping your uniforms before closing the door and locking him in. You check all your hair is tucked until the cap before heading for the locked door between freedom and your prison.

You rap on the metal with your heart beating furiously against your ribcage. But the door opens without a problem and you have to stop yourself from sprinting down the hall and up the stairwell.

Once you make it up one flight of stairs with no alarms raised you start to sprint. Before you leave, you have to make it back to your room for your go bag. You can’t leave it when it has all the information you need for what started this all off.

You run and run and run. You run until your lungs burn with a fire that’s been flowing in your veins since you were born. You run until your legs scream at you to stop and just when you don’t think you can take any more flights of stairs, you make it to the top.

You stop. Your hand on the handle, taking a moment to get your breathing under control. You push the handle down slowly and open the door a crack to find the hallway in darkness.

You slip through and creep on the tiles without a sound as you make it to the first spare room in the hall.

You get into the room no problem and let out a breath when you realise no one knows you used this room to stash your information.

You waste no time in grabbing your go back from the closet, checking everything you need is in there before heading for the door again. Three steps from the exit and alarms scream out, waking everyone from their slumber. The alarm is followed by a female robotic voice, “alert, alert, prisoner escape. Alert, alert, prisoner escape.”

You swear under your breath as you rush out the door to see Bucky, Natasha and Sam at the end of the hall, near the stairway. Your only exit.

They spot you seconds after you spot them, and you take off running in the opposite direction. You can’t afford a hand to hand with all three of them. As confident as you are in your abilities they have just as much, and you don’t want to hurt them.

They shout in your direction, but you ignore them as you unzip your bag and rummage around for a miracle. You get to the living space when you finally feel it and a flimsy plan comes to mind.

You turn, gun in both hands as you drop the go bag. Bucky, Natasha and Sam all creep into the room, guns pointed in your direction as yours is in theirs.

“There’s nowhere else to go now, Y/N,” Sam says in his calm way.

You hold firm, the sofas keeping the four of you apart. You look in Bucky’s direction as you talk, “things are more complicated than they seem. And I’m sorry you were caught up in it. I’m not a good person and I’ll get what I deserve, but I have something I need to do first.”

“And what’s that? Kills us?”, Nat asks.

You shake your head, still looking at Bucky, “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it three times over. You’re not my mission.”

“Then give yourself up and explain.” Sam tries to reason.

You lower your gun slowly, “it would take too long, and you may never believe me. I can’t afford that, and I’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Bucky remains silent throughout the whole exchange, but you study each other the entire time. You try to convey that you lied earlier before reaching up your arm with lightning speed.

Two shots and the chandelier that Stark insisted on installing for the living room crashes in front of the three as you turn and shoot the glass window. As the glass spiderwebs, you drop the gun and run at full speed. You have a moment to acknowledge that throwing yourself from the top of the tower is the dumbest move you’ve ever made as the air rushes to greet you.

You twist with a hand in your pocket and throw upwards, watching and praying for your miracle to work as the rope and hook catches and you plummet.

You fall down the building on the rope watching the ground and unclip at the last second, rolling with the momentum as the impact jars through your bones.

Bucky couldn’t believe you threw yourself out the window. He was the first to recover, leaping over the lights and the sofa to dive head first after you. He digs his metal hand into the concrete and slides down after you.

He sees you roll and run immediately like the pro that you are and wastes no time pursuing you.

You dart between traffic and glance behind to see him behind you. You growl in frustration at the stubborn solider, having to change your plans once again as you head for the roads.

You instinctively feel Bucky gaining on you with the serum pumping through his veins so when you spot a cargo truck coming on the road below. You don’t hesitate to jump off the road you’re on and slam into the truck underneath.

Your lungs scream for the third time that night as all the air leaves them, but you pay no attention as you look up to find Bucky staring after you.

You walk in the quiet of the night, looking down at the folded piece of paper. You check you have the right address when the empty warehouse finally comes into view. You slip in without any problems and head over to the machine where you stashed more stuff.

Just as you go to reach for the bag you hear the click of a gun. You freeze. You turn slowly, with your hands visible and find yourself staring into the face of Bucky and the barrel of his gun.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh, “how did you find me?”

“Please, do you really think I don’t know you after all this time? After our talk in the cells, I checked all the spare rooms. Found your go bag and the addresses. This was the closest one to the tower”, Bucky replies with an easy shrug.

You nod your head, “but if you found them, why did you leave them there? Why didn’t you tell anyone else?”.

“Tell me what’s going on, Y/N”, Bucky dodges the question.

You knew there was no other way out of this now. You had to tell him if you ever had a hope of getting this done tonight.

“Look, can you put the gun down-“

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I can’t trust you.”

You pretend like his words don’t hurt, though they’re warranted, “okay, okay. Look, most of it is true. I am a contract killer. Long story short, I was born into a mob family. Mum died giving birth to me and left me and my older sister with my piece of shit father, the “use you as an ashtray type father”. At least he did with my sister. She took the brunt of his shit…anyway, when I turned 13 and had my first period, he sold me to a man. That man? Was the mob boss I know you saw me with, Joe Selene. I’ll skip passed all the torture and right to the part where he trained me as a contract killer for him and bided my time. My father had gone underground and with my limited access to resources I couldn’t find him.”

Bucky lowers the gun as you go through your story, his features softening at your tale of tragedy.

“I swore to my sister that I would come for her but I needed to gain the trust of Selene so I could get the resources to find my father. That was when he got involved with Hydra and they asked him to take you out. I agreed, knowing that you would have all the resources I needed to find my father and my sister.”

Bucky shakes his head, “why didn’t you tell me, us, any of this? We could have helped you.”

You look away from him, “because about a week after I got to the tower, I read my sisters name in the obituary. All the people I had killed to get to my sister was for nothing. She died alone, waiting for a rescue that never came and I knew…I knew that I was going to kill that bastard for everything that happened. I also knew that none of you would let me. You would reason about justice and doing things the right way. But I know what’s right and that’s that bastard six feet under and in hell.”

You look back up at Bucky to find him already watching you. You square your shoulders and jut your chin as you say, “so, you’re either with me or against me and so help me God, if you try to stop me from leaving this building and killing that piece of shit, I will not hesitate to put you down. I told you that you’re not my mission, but I will damn make sure nothing gets in the way.”

Bucky nods, “I’m in.”

You turn back to your bag and pull out the knives to strap around your body. You hand a few to Bucky and he takes them without a word.

As he turns to head back out of the warehouse you throw the question out again, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky turns to look at you this time. He captures your eyes with his as he stares into your soul and whispers, “was any of it real?”

You reply without hesitation, “yes. Every single word.”

Bucky takes a few long strides before grabbing your face with his hands and crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You return with the same ferocity, gripping his shirt in your fists to try and bring his body closer to yours.

When you can no longer breathe, you break the kiss. You both pant as Bucky brings his forehead down to meet yours. He whispers, “after we go drop a few bodies, what do you say we go take a trip. Just you and me?”

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sooibian · 3 years

Text

So Let's Runaway - Prologue

photocreds @tuanzie

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Fem!Reader ft. bff!Chanyeol

Genre / Themes: Fluff, mild angst, travel AU, road trip through Spain, travel buddies Chansoo!

Warnings: Themes of grief / loss, heartache, toxic relationships, strong language, i guess..

Description: An unlikely group of three comes together for the journey of a lifetime.

A/N: This fic is part of @supermwritersnet “Around the world in 31 days event”. Inspired by the Hindi movie Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Uploading prematurely so as to stop obsessing over the prologue and get cracking on the travelogue which requires a tonne of research. Let me know if you’d like a tag on the upcoming chapter(s) due for upload on 19th July 2021.

Word Count: 3k *unedited*

____________________________

Doh Kyungsoo had dragged his feet up the endless flight of stairs seeking solitude...not drama.

A stranger, just one misstep away from a fatal fall, was the last thing he’d expected to find on the rooftop of Seoul’s Park Hyatt at three in the morning. He slipped the rooftop access key card (that he’d borrowed from the security guard in exchange for a 50,000 won bill) in the back pocket of his trousers while simultaneously dwelling on the depths of the rot of corruption. He had half a mind to turn away and forget that he’d just seen someone contemplating their existence on the ledge of a highrise but there was something about you that rooted him to the spot. Dressed in fine evening wear, you’d stretched your arms out like wings as you looked up at the vast expanse of midnight blue, the wind kissing your wild, waist length hair. From his standpoint, you looked oddly at peace.

Kyungsoo had never been an idealist or a victim of the white knight syndrome. He wasn’t one to delve into the ethical and philosophical conundrums for most things in life because to him it was all just a waste of time. Seeing you on the parapet filled him with neither sympathy nor worry. It was your life after all and with it you could do whatever you deemed fit as long as you weren’t inconveniencing others. Scratch that.

As long as you weren’t inconveniencing him.

But right now, unbeknownst to you, you were inconveniencing Seoul’s hottest financial broker, Doh Kyungsoo.

He wasn’t invisible to the hotel’s security cameras and being labelled suspect in an abetment to suicide investigation wasn't exactly what he was looking for after the day he’d had. Albeit inebriated and heavy-eyed, he could effectively calculate the logistics involved in pulling you off the ledge with the cacophony of the omnipresent Seoul traffic drowning out the sound of his footsteps.

Bracing himself for superficial bruises from the impact of falling to the right side of the precipice with the weight of an adult human pressing down on his 173 cm high frame, he took off his custom tailored blazer (that had been flown in from Vietnam especially for that evening) and folded it in half, making sure that the lapels touched. Some habits are hard to shake. He put the blazer on the ground as a makeshift floorcloth for the rest of his belongings. With his back facing you, he allowed himself a moment's peace as he loosened his tie, languidly rolled the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt up to his elbows, freed himself off the Rolex Cellini on his left wrist, his Bottega Veneta fine leather wallet, and the cursed Tiffany Blue Box that he simply couldn’t bear to look at anymore and neatly placed them all on the blazer.

Letting out a deep exhale, he muttered curses under his breath before turning to your silhouette only to find it...gone.

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrowed and then immediately grew into large circles as he grappled with the shocking turn of events. An inexplicable heaviness bloomed in his chest and he felt sick to the stomach which, in a state of denial, he chalked up to the dubious mixture of spirits he’d downed not too long ago.

Before he could find his bearings and figure out what to do next, a light tap on his shoulder made him jump. His jaw went slack and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest to find you casually smiling at him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb onto the very same ledge and scream into the void but he simply stood there, mouth agape, wanting to say a million things but he could hardly muster a peep.

Reading the confusion painted across his sharp, well defined features, you uttered an unsure, “Hi?”

“I thought you’d jumped,” he whispered, head tilted to the side, his compelling, bloodshot eyes locked with yours.

“Says someone who’s unusually jumpy,” you jested, but your expression immediately turned solemn when you caught the tremble in his right hand. “Are you on something?”

There came about a sudden shift in his aura. Hands on hips, he deadpanned, “Why? Are you with the cops?”

“No, don’t worry,” you let out a soft chuckle and he started scrambling for his things, “How long have you been standing here?”

Hastily stuffing everything into the pocket of his well fitted trousers, he muttered something along the lines of ‘Chaos. Just chaos everywhere!’

Leaning into his frame, you quipped, “What’s that?”

Alarmed and goggle-eyed, he snapped, “Nevermind,” and turned towards the exit.

“Hey! You seem to have forgotten something!” You called out after him upon finding his blazer on the ground, the silken sheen of it reflecting a myriad of citylights.

No answer.

“I wasn’t going to jump!” You yodelled childishly but the man was long gone.

Seven Hours Earlier

“Natasha -” Kyungsoo huffed.

The feather light Tiffany 1873 Blue Box in his left hand had suddenly started to feel like a giant boulder weighing down on his entire being. The sparkle of the uncut diamond reflected in his misty eyes as her uncharacteristically stoic silence left him struggling for words. He searched Natasha’s face for a hint of mischief...he so desperately wished for her to crack a sly smile and pull him in for a kiss and whisper ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’ against his lips like they do in the movies, that he’d almost started to imagine it. It had to have been some sort of an ugly prank.

What reason does she have to turn me down? he wondered.

Kyungsoo breached the uncomfortable spell of silence with a desperate plea, “Say something!” the throbbing in his head intensifying by the second.

Did these three years mean nothing to you? What did I do wrong? Do you hate the ring? Is this not the kind of proposal you wished for? Is it because I left the bathroom lights on all night? Or is it because I forgot to wish your mother on her birthday? A flurry of questions spawned in Kyungsoo’s mind only to die at the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, but I can’t do this. I just -” Natasha spoke finally. Gingerly shifting the weight of the box onto the ebony restaurant table, she slammed it shut as if the ring had been eyeing her lecherously.

Meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze almost defiantly, she declared, “Kyungsoo, I don’t think that I could be the kind of wife that would make you happy and I don’t think you could make me happy either.”

Two Weeks Later

Setting your eyes on that distinct pair of Dumbo ears, you excitedly weaved through the peak hour coffee shop crowd with an Iced Americano held firmly in one hand. Slamming the beverage down on the table, you engulfed his giant frame in a back hug and squealed, “Park Chanyeol!”

His wide eyes turned into even bigger brown circles and his mouth rounded into an ‘o’ in surprise. Grinning, he got off the uncomfortably tiny coffee shop chair and wordlessly pulled you in for what was famously known in Uni as a ‘Classic Chanyeol Hug’. You didn’t know how much you missed it until you felt your worries immediately dissipate into nothingness.

He hugged you a little tighter the moment you started to pull away before taking your hands in his and stooping down to your eye level. “Shifu, my love! You’re back in Seoul?!” Chanyeol exclaimed with all the love in the world sparking in the depths of his dark eyes.

Even after all this time, it felt as if nothing had changed….you’d suddenly been whizzed into a not-so-distant ‘Gothic architecture and coffee shops’ past in which a cotton candy haired boy, dressed in a pair of freshly ironed beige chinos and a plain white tee, smiles his sweetest smile simply at the sight of you. Chanyeol always felt like home. Funnily enough, even more so at the moment.

Giving him a good natured smile, you nodded in response, albeit cringing a little on the inside. Having been President of the martial arts club back in the days, you got stuck with an ingenious moniker “Shifu” which you clearly couldn’t shake off even after half a decade since graduation. You did a double take when your gaze veered to acknowledge the person seated opposite Chanyeol who, dressed in an ivory business suit, almost blended into the background. Just the way you could spot Chanyeol’s ears from a million miles away, you could recognize those eyes anywhere and right now they were shooting daggers at you.

“OH! Hi!”

His response to your greeting was a curt nod accompanying a vague hand movement, something between a hi and a failed facepalm.

At this Chanyeol guffawed, “You two know each other?”, his keen gaze rapidly flitting between the two of you.

“Yes -”

“No -”

While gesturing you to take a seat at their table, Chanyeol slumped into his chair and pursued the conversation in a voice laced with amusement, “So which is it?”

You gave your head a little shake, signalling Chanyeol to drop the topic since his friend had made his apprehension quite evident with an unambiguous “No” when asked if he knew you. Which...wasn’t entirely untrue. Even though Chanyeol now seemed to be on the same page as you, for good measure, you deflected his question with a polite, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Absolutely not!” Chanyeol assured, deftly steering the conversation back to you, “We could actually use your advice on something but first, Shifu, look at you! How long has it been? Five years?”

“Five years!”

“Wahhh! What brings you back to Seoul?”

With a wistful smile, you answered, “Appa passed away in April...”

“Oh, I’m- I’m so sorry -” stuttered Chanyeol, immediately placing his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. From the corner of your eye you noticed Chanyeol’s friend chewing on his bottom lip and listening to this exchange with rapt attention.

“No, no, it’s erm...we’re doing okay now, I guess-”

It had been two and a half months but every time you talked about it, a black hole burgeoned right in the middle of your chest, sucking you within itself and rendering you breathless. You still hadn’t picked up the art of condoling the “condoler”. What were you even supposed to say to the faultless “I’m sorry”? Who came up with condolence jargon, anyway?

“I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch - ”

“Oh, please. You know how it is after Uni, isn’t it,” you turned to Chanyeol’s friend to make him feel a little less left out, “what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he answered in a clipped tone while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Yah!” Chanyeol chastised him with a deathly glare before continuing with an impish smile, “He’s Doh Kyungsoo.”

“Ah! So he’s Doh Kyungsoo! I’ve heard a great deal about you!” Your enthusiasm invoked a quick cursory smile from him. Doh Kyungsoo had apparently made it his life’s mission to make this unexpected rendezvous as icky as possible, leaving you to wonder if Chanyeol had ever discussed your brief relationship with him. Ex-girlfriend meets best friend? Not an ideal scenario in any part of the world.

Chanyeol and you had gone out for a couple of weeks towards the end of freshman year until you both realized that you were much better off as friends. Despite being joined at the hip in Uni, the two of you had gone your separate ways after post-grad. While he returned to Seoul to join the family business, you’d stayed back in Milan to explore job opportunities. Messages and phone calls became few and far between and it wasn’t long before both of you had completely lost touch with each other.

And it wasn’t until you met him again that you realized how desperately you needed a friend considering everything that had been going on in your life. You selfishly wished for Kyungsoo to leave you two to catch up on all these years spent apart but clearly that was a lot to ask considering how tacitly territorial he seemed to be getting about Chanyeol.

“So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” you asked in another feeble attempt to water down the rancour.

Chanyeol’s features flared into a bashful smile but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, Kyungsoo held a hand up to him and insisted, “Allow me to spare you the blushes,” before starting to explain the situation in an uncharacteristically eager tone, “This idiot is getting married in three months -”

Boisterously thumping Chanyeol’s back, you showered him with congratulations which he accepted with a shy ‘thank you.’

Kyungsoo continued, “- and we have a road trip planned for next month. As per the pact -”

Head tilted to the side, you shot, “What pact?”

“Some stupid pact that I have no memory of - ”

“That you conveniently have no memory of!” interrupted a salty Chanyeol.

Kyungsoo grimaced. Rubbing the corner of his eye, he continued with a heavy sigh, “It was supposed to be the three of us...Chanyeol, me, and our school friend Yixing.”

“Oh, okay?”

“So Yixing fell off a tractor and broke his back -”

“Oh, my gosh!” You exclaimed.

Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open. “I wasn’t there but I’d bet my ass that’s exactly what he said at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait, wait, slow down, why- how- a tractor?”

“He quit his CEO position to become a full time….farmer,” deadpanned Kyungsoo as if it was the stupidest thing Yixing could’ve done which rubbed you up the wrong way and coloured your otherwise neutral expression.

“He basically did what Kyungsoo doesn’t have the balls to do,” quipped Chanyeol, lips stretched into a gremlin-like grin. Kyungsoo returned his jibe with a strike to his arm causing him to let out a dramatic wail thus inviting the attention of everyone around you.

But none of it deterred Kyungsoo. He continued nonchalantly as if presenting a well crafted business proposal, “Since one of us is unavailable it only makes sense to postpone the trip and that’s exactly what I’ve been asking Chanyeol to do but he just won’t listen.”

“You’re getting married in three months and you’re taking this road trip next month. Will you be left with enough time for wedding planning?” you reasoned with Chanyeol, well aware of the kind of family he belonged to and the kind of weddings these families planned.

“Mr. Park here was way too eager,” Kyungsoo butted in.

“Shut up, Kyungsoo!”

“Wahhh you must really love her ~ ,” you sang, moon-eyed.

“Clearly. He couldn’t even wait for the rest of us to finish singing the birthday song for his Eomma.”

“What?”

“Yeah! He popped the question to Aera right in the middle of it.”

“WHAT!”

“That’s a story for another day,” replied Chanyeol in an atypically calm tone, “but you’re right, Shifu, it’s not enough time and that’s why I’ve been asking this idiot to just -”

“All reservations are for three. It logistically makes more sense to reschedule,” declared Kyungsoo with a hint of finality in his tone.

It didn’t. It definitely didn’t make more sense to reschedule but as gullible as Chanyeol was, he said nothing to counter Kyungsoo’s illogical argument.

“Are you sure your friend Yixing would be okay with it, Yeollie? I’m sure you can wait for him to get better and -”

Firmly setting his jaw, Chanyeol looked you square in the eyes and stated, “It's now or never.”

Kyungsoo stole a glance at you and cleared his throat, hesitance betraying his voice when he spoke again, “Chanyeollah, you’re only getting married stop talking like you’re terminally ill.”

Chanyeol's expression softened to convey an implicit plea causing you to tweak your suggestion, “The two of you can still go? I’m sure Yixing won’t mind.”

But Chanyeol hit you with an unexpected proposal. He asked, “Do you want to come?”, in a tone that was way too serious for a road trip.

“What? No!”

“Why not? You’re here and - “

“- and Yixing’s not,” interrupted Kyungsoo.

Ignoring the sarcasm in Kyungsoo’s voice, you turned Chanyeol down gently, “No, Yeol, it’s just- it doesn’t make sense, bub.”

“Why not? We leave in a month and that’s plenty of time to get all your travel docs in order -”

“Travel docs? You mean….insurance?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yeah! Insurance...you won’t need a visa, though.”

“Visa? Yeah, obviously I won’t be needing a visa. Why would I need a visa for a road trip?”

Chanyeol slapped his forehead and wondered aloud, “Oh, shoot! We didn’t tell her, did we?”

Kyungsoo gave his head a little shake, prompting you to ask, “Tell me what?”

“It’s a road trip through uhhh northeastern Spain -”

Chanyeol’s elaborate account of the itinerary was drowned in the whirlpool of emotions that erupted within you at the mention of the country. That part of your life you had locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of your consciousness now stared you straight in the eyes, forcing you to acknowledge a reality far too jarring for your fragile state of mind. You took a sip of your long forgotten beverage to centre yourself but it didn’t take a genius to know that something was up.

Placing a hand on your head, he asked softly, “What is it, Shifu? I understand if you can’t leave Eomma alone at this point...”

“It’s not Eomma,” you took another sip of the drink to fight the lump in your throat, “Eomma is - Eomma is in Bucheon, visiting her sister. For I don’t know how long but...long.”

“Is it work?” contributed Kyungsoo.

“I quit my job,” you answered and he looked at you as if you, a total stranger, had just asked him his body count.

Chanyeol took your hand in his and reiterated, “Come, then? You need this.”

Your gaze bounced between the two men who wore the exact same expression in expectation of two entirely different answers. And whatever you chose to say next, you were sure to disappoint one of them.

Eyes unfocussed, a deafening ringing echoing in your ears, you declared softly, “I need this,” with a million unpleasant scenarios running through your head, making you sick to the stomach.

Chanyeol pulled you in for a bear hug. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and let out a deep, disappointed sigh.

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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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Before I had even started this trip, I already had the worry of getting lost. Driving for hours on end through places I had never even heard of, it seemed inevitable. Despite that, I had no other choice but to go. What life I had here was gone, and staying would only have me stewing in the rotten memories and people that plagued me. Though this opportunity was a weak one, it was my only shot out of here. So I packed up my meager things and drove off into the unknown. Best to take my chances out there, then remain in this prison a minute longer. My anxiety born from this journey drove me to prepare for every possible scenario. The biggest worry was getting lost on the way there, but with a mountain of maps, a GPS and a folder of addresses, numbers and contacts, I figured I would be safe. After all, once you get into the barren countryside of flat fields and endless dirt, all you had to do was pick a road in the right direction and drive. I needed to go west, so that was what I did. I drove on for hours, but it felt like I had hardly moved. What a strange feeling it was, to travel hundreds of miles and see absolutely nothing. This trip was supposed to be a transformation, a needed change for me to finally regain control of my life. Yet, I felt no joy or wonder. I guess I was expecting to encounter breathtaking landmarks and travel through strange new places, evidence that the world was bigger than my ignorant little hometown. Instead, I drove through a flattened world of grass, corn, dirt and the occasional pathetic tree. Not exactly the scenery that inspires awe. This repetitive land was probably the reason why things turned out this way, as it was impossible to get a bearing when everything looked the same. Hours had passed since I turned onto that empty road, and yet I failed to notice that things were not right. I ignored the fact that I hadn't seen a single street sign the entire time, or that there were no forks or splits to be found. To be fair, it was long into the night, so most of the blank landscape was smothered by the darkness. I just held onto the idea that I was almost to the next town, if you could all any of these places that. What little civilization I had seen was a sad collection of wore down store fronts, crumbling bars and ancient gas stations. They sat in clumps along these forgotten roads, sharing much with the greasy roadkill that was spattered on the asphalt. Pathetic as these places were, I still yearned for them as I drove down that endless road. Surely one had to be nearby, I just needed to go a few more miles. I followed this delusion for quite some time, pretending that the lack of signs or markers wasn't something to be concerned about. Eventually, I just had to give up. With the clock on my dash showing some obscenely late time, I knew I needed to pull over to collect my thoughts. Looking over my supplies, I found my GPS worthless and the maps just as useless. With no service or any indicators that could help me pinpoint my position, these intricate foldouts might has well have been blank. It was then that I realized that I wasn't lost, as it felt like it was something far worse. When one is stranded in a place they don't know, one of the biggest issues is the overwhelming amount of options. Be it the woods or some unknown city, you are faced with many directions and choices, but you have no clue where any of them lead. Do I go north or south? Do I take the parkway or the back roads? Which exit on the roundabout gets me going the right way? With all this, it is obvious why clueless people wind up going in circles. That was what I considered being "lost" was. This, was something quite different. I didn't have a ludicrous amount of options, rather, I only had two. Go forward or back. The problem was that both choices felt wrong. The path forward had no hope or potential, no signs that suggested anything was to be found up ahead. That choice led to an unknown future, but it seemed more enticing than turning back. Though I didn't know what lay ahead, I did know what was behind me: absolutely nothing. Turning around would mean driving a countless amount of hours until found out where civilization had stopped, but I had no clue where or when that was. I would just be retracing my steps through a known wasteland, losing both time and gas. In the end, the unknown path ahead seemed more comforting. Surely I was bound to run into something eventually, even if it was a rusty road sign or some hermit's shack. Though my mind was made up, I chose not to continue just yet. I was drained of all energy, and I knew it was a poor choice to drive in such condition. It was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, so what harm was there to grabbing a quick nap? Perhaps sleeping until the sun returned was a good choice. Daylight could reveal clues about my whereabouts, ones that were currently blotted out by the dark. A rested mind would also work way better, and it would probably solve this problem in a second. So I made sure my car was properly off the road before I turned it off. I locked the doors and leaned my seat back as far as I could. It wasn't long after I closed my eyes that my exhausted body finally received some reprieve. I awoke awkwardly, as if some unremembered dream or nightmare had snapped me from my slumber. It was still night, though I didn't know how much time had passed. I looked at my phone, but my groggy mind couldn't interpret the numbers it showed. I tried to stretch my limbs in the cramped space, but it gave very little relief. My drowsy state made me think that I had only dozed off for a few minutes, as I sure didn't feel any better. Perhaps this cluttered, stuffy car wasn't the best place to get some beauty rest. I figured I would try to go back to sleep, as my options at the moment seemed just as bad as before. As I wriggled around in an attempt to get comfortable, my eyes looked out into the night and saw it. It was funny how strange it seemed at that moment, though I knew fully well what it was. The slow flash of a yellow light, a sight I was quite familiar with, but my tired brain struggled to understand it. I leaned forward for a better look, but it didn't help in the slightest. With my car turned off, the world was pitch black, save for the errant star and that pulsing light. It sat way off in the distance, but there was no mistaking what it was. It took me a second to understand that this was a good sign. A human construct like this suggested civilization, and also a cross road. Perhaps up ahead was where I could find some identifying signs or directions to a nearby town. With sluggish joy, I went to turn on my car and pursue this miracle, but then the thought struck me from out of the blue. How come I didn't see this before? Sure, I was tired and disoriented at the time, but a bright yellow light blinking in a dark void seemed impossible to ignore. I had sat in this spot for a good while before I had decided to get some rest, so how come I didn't see it then? As I struggled to properly answer this question, I looked to the light and noticed something odd. Looking at it now, after a few minutes of gathering myself, it seemed to be bigger. It flashed brighter and larger than before, but perhaps it was just my imagination. I sat there for a moment and soon confirmed that this was no illusion. The light seemed to be getting closer to me. I looked to my dashboard, thinking I had accidentally put the car in neutral and I was slowly rolling forward. The little arrow pointed firmly on the P, so that couldn't be the answer. When I looked back up, the light was nearly blinding. It also seemed to bob and sway about, as if blown about by a weak breeze. The realization that it was the one moving froze me in my seat. I had no clue what it was or what was happening, so panic took over and short-circuited my body. A turned into a statue in the front seat and only stared with wide, terrified eyes. I did nothing but watch as the light bobbed closer, until it was at last upon me. At first I believed it to be heading right towards me, but in those few horrified moments, I saw it walking upon the very road I had traveled. It strolled down the middle, treading upon the cracked asphalt and faded lines. When the light came perpendicular to the front of me car, I at last could see what it was. I recognized the three colored traffic light that hung over every nearly every road, but the rest of it refused to be understood. I saw a metallic skeleton, built of rebar and steel. It bent and twisted into a bizarre lattice, creating limbs and body from an iron spider's web. It walked upon four legs, and the blinding light hung from a long, arching neck. Something black and wet hung in clumps from its body, creating a sticky cloak over its wiry bones. As I sat frozen in terror, the metallic beast strolled down the road. It walked with slow tired steps, its blinking head hung low. Though it was clearly no creature of flesh, it made me thinking of an exhausted horse, weary from a long day's work. It didn't approach my car, it just kept walking by. It was only when it was passing my driver window that it paused. It stopped in its march and slowly turned its pulsing head towards my vehicle. I could not tell if it was looking at the car or me, but I clearly caught its attention. It gazed at me with a single yellow eye. Above and below sat the green and red, but they remained dark and cracked, like eyes that had long gone blind. It made no move, it just sat there for a moment to watch. After a few seconds, it sadly lifted its legs and continued on its march. The bobbing light continued down that endless road, the blinking growing weaker as it went deeper into the night. I sat there until that yellow light grew small in my mirror, becoming just another star in the darkened sky. I didn't know what to do, or even think about it. Though it showed no aggression, I dared not turn around and pursue it. Instead, I simply turned the car on and pulled back onto the road. I gave up on any thought or reasoning, my mind refused to accept what I had seen. I just got into that dusty old lane and began to drive onwards... -------------------------------------------- “Caution” A design I came up with a way back, which fittingly enough was around the time I went on my roadtrip. I think it came to be through a mashup of traffic signs and weird art sculptures.

#traffic light #monster #creature #art #drawing

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tuttle-4077 · 6 months

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2024 Papa Bear Awards Nominees

Sorry. I'm a little late posting these on tumblr (but not too late!). The Nominations are in and we've tallied them up. So hold onto your hats and give us a drumroll!

Best Short General/Comedy

A Deserved Gift (Guess Who) Cardinal Rose

A Time to Move On (Guess Who) Sierra Sutherwind

Exit, Pursued By A Bear pronker

Little April Showers (Guess Who) Fear-Of-The-Cold

Marya's Meta pronker

Sergeant 'Don't You Sass Me, Hogan' Wilson whatisthismandoinghere

Soundtrack to a Seance (Guess Who) Khebidecia

What to Do When You're in a Crunch (Guess Who) GrrraceUnderfire

Best Short Drama

Different Dangers by ami_ven

Graveyard Shift by she_elf4

How Long in this Hellhole? Captain Thunders

Spring Flowers (Guess Who) Tuttle4077

The Queue (Guess Who) Abracadebra

Unfair PicassoPenguin

War Is Heck Abracadebra

Well and Truly Got Cardinal Rose

Best Medium-Length General/Comedy

A Brother's Bond by PicassoPenguin

Autumn Winds by Fear-Of-The-Cold

Drop Bears by dust on the wind

Once Is Enough by Abracadebra

Operation Mother Hen by Tuttle4077

The 2023 Short Story Speed Writing Challenge: Bedside Manners by dust on the wind

The Mission Briefing 2023: Carter Writes a Letter by mrspencil

Yoga session by Deepbluethinking

Best Medium-Length Drama

Ashes by LightShiner14

Cracking the Vault by Sierra Sutherwind

Decoration Day by Abracadebra

Heroes by Sam Worth

In Too Deep by Crystal Rose of Pollux

Mama Bear by PicassoPenguin

Of Defectors and Strawberries by Hochstetter'sLady

The Majors Malaise by Vintronics

Words of a Wise Wilson by whatisthismandoinghere

Best Long Story

Card Games, Vampires, and A Very Late Letter by TheSailingRabbit

Hogan's Heroes: Will the Fake Colonel Hogan Please Drop Dead by Basketballgirl Kaitlin

Klink's Brother by Sam Worth

No Rest for the Weary by Frau Wilhem Klink

The Things I Do for This Bloody War Effort by Frau Wilhem Klink

The Winds of the World by Fear-Of-The-Cold

Uneasy Company by dust on the wind

Best Challenge General/Comedy

A Brother's Bond by PicassoPenguin

A Gathering of Friends Old and New by TheSailingRabbit

A Snippet by Captain Thunders

Gone Without a Trace: Uncovering the Truth behind the Missing Mug by Sierra Sutherwind

Klink's Brother by Sam Worth

No Rest for the Weary by Frau Wilhelm Klink

Once Is Enough by Abracadebra

Operation Mother Hen by Tuttle4077

The Murder That Never Happened by Khebidecia

The Pigeons Strike Back by TheSailingRabbit

Yoga session by Deepbluethinking

Best Challenge Drama

Cracking the Vault by Sierra Sutherwind

Focus by TheSailingRabbit

Heroes by Sam Worth

In Too Deep by Crystal Rose of Pollux

The Winds of the World by Fear-Of-The-Cold

Uneasy Company by dust on the wind

War Is Heck by Abracadebra

Best Story Based On an Episode

The Assassin by lonewolfette9846

The Well by lonewolfette9846

War Is Heck by Abracadebra

Heroes by Sam Worth

Decoration Day by Abracadebra

Drop Bears by dust on the wind

Best Crossover

Enfilade (xMarvel), by pronker

Support Operations (xCaptain America/Marvel Cinematic Universe), by ami_ven

The Abyss Raid (xRat Patrol), by TheSailingRabbit

The Daybreak Raid (xRat Patrol), by TheSailingRabbit

The Sheeps Clothing Raid (xRat Patrol) by graveyardnuggets

The Watchtower Raid (xRat Patrol), by TheSailingRabbit

#papa bear awards #hogan's heroes #Nominees for the 2024 Papa Bear Awards #Join us in the voting round!#Votes due April 21st #The Papa Bear Awards live because of you

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kpoptrashlord-007 · 3 years

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Hide && Seek;; YHW

Word Count;; 3.5k

Genre;; HORROR

Pairing;; Hwanwoong x Reader

Summary;;

Inside this grand, lavish hotel and its sparkling veneer of respectability, you find yourself playing the role of the feline in a little game of cat and mouse. Your opponent? Hwanwoong, the man with the angelic smile and carefree eyes. The further you chase him, however, the harder it is to settle your nerves. The line between predator and prey is blurring and you can't help but wonder who exactly is pursuing who.

Warnings;;

TW// Blood, Character Death (random side character), Supernatural and Dark Themes!! Graphic depictions of violence! I’m serious here! It’s a bit intense. NOT for the light of heart (or stomach). Oh, and explicit language.

Please be mindful of these warnings as this features EXPLICIT violence.

Notes;;

Day Nine of the Halloween 2k20 Prompts! ~Monster~

My Masterlist

You've had too much to drink.

With a cloudy mind, you stumble after your companion. Your feet drag as you lag behind him. You pass many doors but he doesn't stop. Further down the hall and deeper into the building you travel, long past the area of the hotel reserved for guests.

His silky hair bounces every time he turns to you. After what feels like an eternity staring at the back of his head, you appreciate the fleeting glimpses of gleaming eyes and that cheeky smile he flashes your way. He's keeping an eye on you, making sure you don't wander off in your drunken haze. That much is obvious but you don't mind, not really. In return you are dutiful in your pursuit of him.

You can't recall where he is taking you. With half a mind to ask, your mouth falls open only to snap shut - he's looking back at you now with such an intensity that all you can do is stare in return. There's something swirling deep within his eyes but you can't pinpoint it; you can't put your finger on what emotion is prevalent in his gaze as it bears into your soul.

Seconds crawl by.

One foot in front of the other, you're on autopilot as you follow him without a thought of your own, your mind zeroing in on the burning intensity of his stare. He pulls you deeper into his hypnotic, hungry eyes with every step all the while leading you deeper into the bowels of the hotel. For some reason you trust him and you don't question the dubious situation despite this being the first night you've met.

There's a familiarity about him that lures you.

You come across a red sign and some yellow tape. He steps over it so you do too, tripping over your own feet to catch back up to him as his pace quickens. He disappears around a corner and you chase him. You're always hot on his trail and yet you remain so far behind.

Your hand slides down the wall as you round the corner. Chips of paint slough off and embed within the soft flesh of your palm. With a hiss of pain, you look down. Tiny beads of blood well around the points of impact, each marked by stiff, sharp shards of paint.

If you pull them out now, sure, it'll sting, but leaving them in will only cause misery later alongside a possible infection.

With your mind set, you get to work. It's a struggle to remove the tiny pieces but you try nonetheless. They're small and fragile, breaking before you have a chance to remove the whole fragment but you don't give up. Piece after piece, you pick and scrape into the tender, sensitive skin.

Blood flows more freely now. It's hard to see the paint when there's so much blood leaking out of the growing gashes but you're stubborn. You don't leave jobs half-done and you can feel more of the tiny shards just beneath the skin, taunting you. They slip deeper the further your nails chase them.

As if they're makeshift pliers, your middle finger and thumb stretch open the skin while your pointer finger digs deep, blood and flesh pulsing from the assault.

"Having fun?"

You stop dead in your tracks.

Rubbing your eyes in an attempt to clear away the alcohol-induced haze, you frown. Hwanwoong is nowhere to be seen. You squint as you scour, searching up and down from the cracked floor to the peeling ceiling, but find no clues as to his whereabouts.

Brushing it off, you look back down to your palm and the involuntary shiver that rocks your whole body leaves you trembling.

It's sobering.

The complete lack of blood, paint splinters, and cuts is sobering.

"Funny, isn't it?"

"What the fuck?"

It's a whisper meant to be consumed by the thundering silence and yet you know he heard it. He's lingering. Nowhere to be seen but everywhere at once, Hwanwoong is both near and far. You can't wrap your head around it.

Then there's the shift in the hall that is plain inexplicable. Up is down and down is... gone. You haven't any proof, just a gut feeling, but it's enough and you worry that if you do check, there will be nothing at all. Will you fall, then, like a cartoon character who has just realised they're running on air? Will you plummet right through the floor, tumbling out of reality in your pursuit of Hwanwoong?

Where did he go?

Dropping your hand out of view, you consider it lost to you now. Anything below the waist feels numb, as if it has merged with the darkness you suspect 'down' has become. Eye level seems safe enough so you gaze from side to side.

It isn't how you remember it to be.

The wall is pristine. There are no cracks. The paint isn't sloughing off. Nary a blemish marks the white, clean walls on either side of you. It's dangerous to let your eyes wander and yet you have no real control over yourself. They drift up and down, still cautious of the ceiling and floor but eager to solve this mystery all the same.

Turning your head, you gaze back at the corner where you had injured yourself. At least you thought you had. There is no bend or corner there, just a straight pathway leading you to…

You gulp, taking a step backward.

At the end of the hallway there's a room you wish to avoid.

At the end of the hallway there's a door that beckons to you.

It whispers the promise of death.

Snapping around once more, you run. You run and you run and you run until your lungs cannot bear it any longer and your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. No matter how far you go, there's no exit.

Gulping down air while resting against the wall, your nails dig into the plaster in an attempt to keep your body from collapsing down into the void. It comes up to your knees and the longer you stay still, the harder it is to move. Your head wobbles and shakes with every breath before your eyes flutter close.

Just a quick breather you tell yourself, knowing full well that if you don't snap out of this reverie, you'll fall headfirst into the madness consuming you.

"Should we play?"

The gasp bubbling free from deep within dissipates beneath the constriction of your throat. Nails impale themselves into the tender flesh of your neck. The higher you're lifted, the stronger his grasp becomes. Blood pools in your feet. Your body shakes. Your mind screams. Your eyes open.

But there's nothing.

Checking your neck for blood, you find it isn't even sore to the touch. Before you is that endless hallway but not a living presence is nearby. Hwanwoong is nowhere to be seen, though this fact doesn't surprise you any longer.

When your senses return to you, you're gazing at the floor. The same floor you feared mere moments ago. The carpet is ugly but otherwise harmless. There's no hell awaiting you and there's no darkness devouring you inch by inch. Releasing a shaky exhale, you risk turning back to face it.

Your nightmare.

The door.

Carved out within the wall at the end of the hall, it waits for you. Despite how far you've tried to run away from it, it remains just where it has always been. From beneath the threshold you see the edge of the refracted light, its pattern dancing and shimmering. It's a taunt handmade for you.

You take a step forward. Unlike your futile attempt to escape in the other direction, the gap shortens. You take another step. There's several indents in the wall lining the way. They're the perfect size for a door and yet when you run your hand along the edges, there's no air nor light seeping through. A solid wall greets your shoulder when you try to force a new entryway.

While inching closer to the final door and its kaleidoscope of sparkling light, you pound against the hall and all its false doors. Nothing budges and nothing gives. It isn't until you turn to cross the hall, intent on scouring the other side for a hole or error in the design, that you notice the infinite shards of reflective light and how they flood the hallway. Splashes of bright light dance across your skin. Eerie silence follows.

The door is ajar.

Reaching out, the tip of your fingers graze against the metallic overcoat. It's old and rough to the touch. You want to pull back, to turn around and escape this personalised hell, but the room is summoning you. It's a call to judgement and you daren't ignore it. You must atone.

The door creaks once your palm meets it. Though it looks heavy, it flies wide open with a single push. A tidal wave of light bursts through. Your heartbeat escalates.

It's impossible.

What you see is impossible and yet your past is here in vivid detail. From the view of the snow-capped mountains in the distance and the much closer fog over the outdoor jacuzzi to the soft jams of his radio and the desperate splashing of water to the stinging chlorine that, even now, burns your nose. It's all the same - right down to that fucking shimmering pool and the woman in it.

"Should we play some more?" Hwanwoong purrs.

His body presses against your own and you can feel the way it shakes with every syllable, as if he is brimming with excitement. For once, you know he's truly here with you. Whether 'here' is within the halls of the hotel or back inside that rich psycho's mansion isn't clear to you, however.

Perhaps you hadn't been the one to walk away after all.

"Have you been bad? Should I punish you?"

There's no room between your bodies but that doesn't stop you from trying to push past him, to squirm around him, to force him out of the room with the sparkling, refractive light and the secret it holds.

"Nah-uh, not so fast cutie." He smiles at you and your feeble attempt to move him. "Let's play a game."

"No!"

"Huh?"

"I don't want to! I need to get out of here, you don't underst-"

"But you don't even know what the game is yet," he pouts, gripping a fistful of your hair and stopping you dead in your tracks. With how tight his hold is, there's no doubt that the shearing burn exploding outward from the roots is your hair ripping from your skull. You can't silence the scream that escapes your quivering lips.

There's a voice in the back of mind that tells you to endure, to experience firsthand what you put her through.

Whether from blood or sweat, you feel a sticky dampness forming along your hairline. He loosens his grip once the tears flow down your face like a broken faucet. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he shakes his head and murmurs something. You can't make out the words over the pounding of blood within your ears. It takes a few minutes before you're able to think straight and he waits for you the whole time, content to just watch.

"What-" you hiss through the dulling pain, "-game?"

"You're so resilient. I like that about you, sweet cheeks. Let's play… hide and seek. Do you know how to play?" He waits for a response and the jerk of your head suffices. Satisfied that you're paying attention, he grins. There's something ethereal about him and the way his skin glows and his eyes shine. It's no wonder you had followed him so willingly. He just seems so safe. Angelic, even. "Then go hide, silly."

With a push, you find yourself stumbling into the room with its giant pool and hypnotising effects. Unable to remain upright, you slip. The poolside puddles turn red when your cheek kisses the ground and blood spills forth from the piece of your tongue you damn near bite off.

There's a sharp stinging pain in your thigh. Deep within your pant pocket is a solid, round secret. It digs into your leg, bruising the skin down to the bone, and you wince as you stand. From pure reflex you grasp it and hold it in place, scared to lose it.

"I didn't think it would be us," the woman cries, sliding down the white walls and crumpling to the floor.

"Better us than the others," you mumble out of instinct, following along with the memory.

"I don't want to hurt you!" She's full on bawling now, tears and snot flowing down her face. You stand and wipe away the blood seeping from your split lip and torn tongue before spitting the excess into the pool. The water looks beautiful. It's gleaming and bright, unlike the last twenty-one hours.

"Better you than the others."

Dragging your injured foot, you approach her. She ignores your towering presence and focuses on staring into one of the little black cameras that have been watching the event unfold. You're running out of gas but she isn't faring much better.

You can finish this.

"Just let us go! Please, I don't want to die," she sobs, pleading with the red, blinking light on the camera. "We don't even care about the money."

Whether it's because of the trust born from a promise made hours prior, back when the odds were tilted in a much more dire direction, or because she thinks she can bargain for her life, she continues to ignore you.

What a mistake.

There's killing intent in your aura. It consumes you. Even you can tell and you're quite new to this murder business. And if you can tell, she can tell. After all, before the event your lives were quite similar. Parallel, even. If you could adjust this fast, so could she.

And yet she's crying on the floor and ignoring you, you with eyes devoid of empathy.

You with a pool ball in your grasp.

You with blood on your hands.

You within striking distance.

"We just want to live!"

"Better me than you."

Her desperate mewling ceases. Instead, her attention snaps to you. She can no longer ignore the threat you possess, not when you've released your weapon of choice from the soft material of your pants. Fear spreads across her dainty features like wildfire. Trying to escape the animosity spiraling over your form with your every step, she forces herself into a corner.

"But we agreed not t-"

Physics works in your favour. Velocity, force, and all that, but the semantics don't matter - all that matters is that the impact leaves a splatter and her body is limp. You discard the pool ball and it rolls away, leaving a trail of fresh blood in its wake. Red seeps deep into the grout between polished tiles.

Relief strikes seconds after the realisation of your success dawns upon you.

It is soon, however, drowned by the overwhelming sense of guilt.

You may have won but at what cost?

Her blood on your face stains you much deeper than the man's had. His attack had come as a surprise. It had been a fight for survival after a helping hand turned feral. You had no choice, not if you wanted to live, and by God you wanted to live. Not just to exist, but to explore and to enjoy and to possess.

Avarice paints your skin in the darkest shade of red.

Shooting two birds with one stone, you drag her to the poolside. Blood gushes from her forehead. It fills the room with an unmistakable and distasteful scent. Resisting the urge to recoil, you drop to your knees. Water soaks through your pants until dark wet spots cover your whole lower half. It's an uncomfortable sensation but you push it aside, instead focusing on the slight bobbing of her chest.

She's the last of them.

She's the final obstacle in your pursuit of wealth.

And she's still fucking breathing.

It takes a few seconds for her consciousness to return after you submerge her head beneath the surface. Her resistance starts immediately thereafter. She contorts and she struggles, pulling away from the iron-tight grip scarring her skull only to sink further into the depths of the pool. Your nails deep into flesh as you seek a more steady hold but you soon lose your footing to the slippery, polished tiles and topple onto her back.

There's a loud crack and you know between your weight and the position she's found herself in with half of her body in the water and the other half flailing behind her that it is too much pressure for her fragile bones. Her ribs crack one by one, fracturing like the snap of a twig. She screams but the water consumes the sounds, rising bubbles the only evidence.

From a deep shade of red to a soft pink, the water dilutes outward from the nonstop stream of blood gushing from her growing wounds.

"I'm sorry, but I've come too far to care about you."

The words are a reassurance to yourself. They serve as a reminder: this isn't who you are. You're a victim of circumstance. Someone had to do it so why not you? You've come too far to chicken out now. You've come too far to pity the ones that had to fall in order for you to rise.

Your soul is malleable beneath the corruption of sin.

Once her struggling ceases, you hold her down for a bit longer. When enough time passes that even an Olympic swimmer's lung capacity would fail them, you hold her down for a bit longer. Even though the blood no longer rushes forth and she's cold to the touch, you hold her down for a bit longer.

It isn't until the room floods with light that you release her. Strands of her hair twist around your fingers as her body sinks into the depths. The further she descends, the deeper the darkness that consumes her becomes. You cannot see the bottom and soon she is lost to you, claimed by the cold void.

A hand rests on your shoulder and you jump.

This is when they escort you off the grounds, give you the money, and remind you of the contract.

This is when the nightmare is supposed to end.

For the first time, your memory alters. No blanket is wrapped around you nor is anyone calling your name, ushering you out of the battlegrounds. Instead the hand on your shoulder lifts to cradle your chin, tilting your head back to face your companion. A playful smile greets your widening gaze.

"I found you," Hwanwoong coos, petting your cheek. "I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on you that guilt was eating you alive but this is always better than I could ever imagine."

"Please let me go," you stammer, fear settling in the gut of your stomach.

"Let you go? Do you not want me to clear you of this burden?"

"No, please, I only did what I had to!"

"Do you not want me to free you of this sin?"

"I did nothing wrong! Surviving isn't a crime!"

"Unfortunately for you, your opinion doesn't mean anything to me. 'I've come too far to care about you'," he mimics with a smirk. "I found you, just as I always do. And now…

"The dawn of judgement is upon you."

His palm meets your chest in a harsh push and you tumble. Even though your foot catches on the edge of the pool, it's much too slippery, too wet from your prior confrontation and you find yourself falling backward.

'-just as I always do.'

With widening eyes, you watch the ceiling blur above you. It's not what you expect of a pool room. In fact, you know it's not. Rather it's the white speckled panels of the hotel you had been stumbling around at three in the morning in a drunken haze as the years of guilt culminate in another reckless search for trouble, another desperate attempt to feel something.

Is it still that same morning?

Has time passed in a blink or has it frozen altogether?

'I found you-'

Just as he always does, he found you hiding within that same memory, stuck inside that single slice of hell. Just as he always does, he uses your weakness against you. He plays with you for a time until he gets bored of it all and sets you loose within the hotel.

And then he plays with you anew.

In this moment of falling, he allows you to remember. It's the final squeeze of pleasure he can extract from this iteration and he squeezes it dry. He watches fear born of knowledge contort your features and he indulges in it for as long as he can.

Hwanwoong's soft, angelic face etches into your mind, replacing the gift of truth with a lie of familiarity and trust, and soon a fog covers your mind. Despite your unending descent, you close your eyes and embrace the calm washing over you in waves. Of your own volition, you forget.

After all, the knowledge of one's eternal damnation is enough to destroy even the strongest mind.

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pluckyingenue · 4 years

Text

"There is such thing as a white pomegranate and frankly I don't think I'm okay right now. That's not a thing that should be, it's not right."

#exit pursued by a bear (crack)

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joshuas · 4 years

Text

the playlist

♫ pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

♫ genre: college/university student!au, slice-of-life, crack (at the end, really), fluff

♫ word count: 1.4k

♫ warnings: Nil of note!

♫ prompt: #You made me a Christmas playlist but it's just Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas is you" and I can't tell if you're hitting on me or if it's a joke. - if anyone is aware of the owner (?) of the prompt, please let me know so that I can credit appropriately :)

♫ a/n: The first addition to my Christmas drabbles! Enjoy this lowkey chaotic fic!

♫ skz christmas drabbles: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[16:23] 10th Dec.

Entering the cafe your friend Chan was working at, you sighed contentedly, inhaling the smoky aroma of freshly ground coffee. “I need caffeine like right now.” You slumped against the counter dramatically. “Exams were that bad, huh?” He smiled sympathetically, starting up the espresso machine. “Not bad. Tiring, but not bad. I’m honestly just erasing any memory of them as we speak.” You sighed, propping your chin on your hands. “Well, regardless, I did make you something as a gift for completing those... things that you’re currently forgetting.” “You did? I mean you didn’t have to.” Your eyes lit up though, negating any attempt at masking your excitement and curiosity. “Okay, well I should clarify. It’s nothing big. My professor set us a task to make a playlist for someone, basically for the purpose of getting us to consider the audience that we’re making music for... so I chose you. Just think of it as something to relax to after a long week of exams.” He explained, tone slightly laced with trepidation that you payed no heed to. “Well, I’m flattered that my best friend considered me to be their... muse for this assignment? In fact, I’m super curious as to what songs you put on it. Send it to me tonight and I’ll listen to it!” You grinned, grabbing your coffee and waving as you exited the shop. “Yeah, okay...”

“Don’t spill the flour everywhere!” Your friend, Felix, stressed, pushing the bowl of cookie batter closer to you.

“This whole process would be a lot more fun if we could listen to music, as well.” You rolled your eyes at his hotheadedness. “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to make gingerbread for Chan because of the whole playlist thing, which is highly romantic by the way. Also, we all know what happens when you get distracted while cooking.” He smirked, mixing through the batter. “I’m pretty sure friends can make playlists for their friends. Besides, I have you to help this precarious venture not go sideways.” You flashed him a smile, opening up the playlist and pressing shuffle play, before quickly redirecting your attention to to the cookie trays. All I Want for Christmas Is You blasted out the speakers, you laughed awkwardly as Felix raised his eyebrows pointedly at you. Odd song choice, but okay.

Half an hour later, with Mariah Carey playing on loop for almost 10 times, Felix rubbed his temples,

“Either Chan has an extremely unique sense of humour, or it’s an extreme declaration of his undying love for you.” Parcelling the gingerbread away and neatly tying a bow on top, you looked at him, “It’s weird, though. All the songs on the playlist are the same. I don’t think Chan would do that... it’s probably some network glitch or something like that.” You resolved, thoughts whirling as you cleared the kitchen. You had known Chan since childhood. Growing up, the two of you were as thick as thieves, causing enough grief to last both your parents a lifetime. It wasn’t until late high school that you’d started viewing him differently. Every little act of kindness that he did out of friendship made your heart both burst with happiness and twinge at the fact that he didn’t share the same sentiment as you. You hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of him liking you back. You never wanted to venture into that territory, afraid that you’d get your hopes up and your friendship, something you valued more than anything, would be ruined at the cost of your curiosity and feelings. You considered it as too selfish to even entertain the thought. However, some nights you couldn’t help but daydream on how it would feel to have his soft lips on yours, and to be wrapped in his warm embrace every night. Yet, whenever reality dawned on you, you shut down that part of your brain, reinforcing to yourself that the two of you were only friends. “Hey, Y/N? Sorry to interrupt whatever internal monologue you’re having but I’m going to leave now. Regarding the Chan situation, I’m not telling you to read into it too much, but considering Chan, I doubt it was just a joke.” Felix gave you a tight hug, snapping you out of your reverie. Sighing, you shut off the speaker, heading to your bed, your thoughts provoking as you tossed and turned, unable to drift off.

[18:39] 12 Dec. You had actively avoided the cafe and Chan over the last few days, fleeting texts often with one worded answers being the only form of communication between the two of you until you had sort of wrapped your head around the whole playlist situation. You knew it was bad to keep Chan in the dark like that, but you weren’t ready to see him, regardless of what his reasoning was. It wasn’t until Felix had forced you out of the house to give him the gingerbread you had baked that you had to face your fears and him. The door jingled as you stepped into the place, Chan in the same place you last saw him, humming to, wow, he really likes this song, none other than All I Want for Christmas Is You as he wiped down the counter, “Sorry, we’re closed.” He called out, not glancing up as you approached. “You must really love Mariah Carey.” You raised your eyebrows at him as he glanced up at you, startled, “Y/N? You’re alive?” “No. I’m the ghost of christmas past... Of course I am. I came bearing gifts. Particularly Christmas ones since you’re going home tomorrow.” You placed the gift bag in his arms, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you.” He said quietly, putting the bag to the side. “So, about the playlist—“ You both started. He stopped as you continued. “Was it a joke?” You blurted out, silence pursuing as Mariah Carey belted in the background. Santa won't you bring me The one I really need Won't you please bring my baby to me “This is really poor choice of music... anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re my best friend.” Your heart twinged in disappointment as your throat tightened, casting your burning eyes to the ground. He grabbed your hands, “but... it wasn’t a joke. I literally put 100 copies of All I Want for Christmas Is You in a playlist to try and articulate my feelings for you.” “Wait... so you were hitting on me?” You questioned, looking up, incredulous. “I mean. Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Cool cool cool cool cool.” You stared at each other for a while, eyebrows raised. You surged forward, pressing a quick kiss on his lips, as he gaped at you in shock. “You mean you...” “I don’t know about you, but I don’t go around kissing randoms after they declare their undying love for me, unless I like them too.” He pulled you close to him, his lips moving tenderly moving against yours. Time came to a standstill, the music distantly playing in your mind as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the two of you blissfully enjoying each other’s company. You pulled apart, breathing heavily as a smile spread on both your faces, laughing softly. “You know... your wish did come true.” You remarked. “Wish?” He tilted his head, questioning. “All you want for Christmas is... you know...” You gestured to yourself, as he facepalmed, laughing, “I guess you’re right. All I’ve wanted for Christmas is you.”

+bonus - high-key crack ((because Felix would never ever do this)) this is lowkey inspired by Chan’s Room: Ep. 69! Watching your silhouettes behind the tinted windows of the cafe lean in to kiss, Felix scrambled out of the car, eyes wide in horror as realisation dawned on him. “No! This can’t be happening! My plan...” He fell to his knees on the sidewalk, his upset tone echoing throughout the almost deserted street. He was in turmoil. He had been the one to orchestrate this whole thing - 100 copies of the same Mariah Carey song on a playlist, even with the concept of a playlist, he was sure you would hate it. However, what he didn’t account for... was that the two of you had feelings for each other. His heart twinged enviously at the possibility of Chan sharing all the pick-up lines customers (cough cough stays) had used on him throughout his day on you instead of Felix. He had to do something about this. This wasn’t the end for platonic Chanlix. He’d get his pick-up lines back.

➳ part two? | masterlist!

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journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #Toshinori Yagi #All Might #deku #izuku midoriya

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