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genshinluvr · 3 months ago

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Smug-a-Saurian(s)

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: After the failed tour of Natlan, you decided to return to Natlan to complete the tour! However, you end up bringing something back to the abode. Was it intentional? No. Do you plan on letting it happen? Sort of, but you knew better.

Note: This is a spin-off mini-fic of The Nation of War fanfic! I was going to write something longer, but due to my impending night shift for work (tomorrow), I was not able to. My brain has been in shambles the entire week due to work preparations and the passing of Liam Payne (my 11-year-old self is incredibly heartbroken and in tears). Idk how my new work schedule is going to impact my updates, but we'll have to wait and see :< Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: I wrote this with a lot going on in my head, so this fic is most definitely ass 🥲

Word Count: 3k

It’s a peaceful day at the abode, and everyone is lounging in the estate, keeping to themselves and occasionally chatting with one another. It’s a quarter to eleven in the morning, and yet the others haven’t seen you at all today. Your bedroom is vacant, and your shoes aren’t on the shoe rack close to the front door, so it’s safe to assume that you’re currently out and about somewhere in Teyvat. Do they know where you’re at? Not really, but they assume it’s Natlan since Mualani and Kachina wanted to hang out with you today.

“Who gets up that early to hang out with people?” Itto mumbles, waddling into the living room with a dramatic sigh. “I miss my Onikabuto booboo bear!” He pouts, plopping on the couch beside a mildly miffed Scaramouche.

“If I had to deal with you every day, I would leave to hang out with other people at the ass crack of dawn, too,” Scaramouche grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Itto and Scaramouche glare at one another while Ayato sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Footsteps echo throughout the estate as Gorou walks down the stairs, rubbing the back of his head. The tension once present in the living room evaporates as the men wait for Gorou to speak.

About ten minutes ago— it’s probably less than that— Gorou volunteered to check your room to see if there’s a way to pinpoint when you left the estate. The men have nothing against you leaving the estate and abode whenever you want, but you leaving the abode at an ungodly time is something you would never do (unless you have something really important to do, like having to show up to the Akademiya to prepare for your research presentation).

Thoma stands up, approaching Gorou anxiously. “So? Did you find anything?”

Gorou sighs, propping his hands on his hips. “Their bed is moderately warm, so that means [Y/N] didn’t leave the estate at the crack of dawn. However…” Gorou trails off, stroking his chin. “That makes me wonder how they were able to leave the abode undetected.”

Again, the men aren’t against you leaving the estate and abode alone. You have as much freedom as any other person on Teyvat. What they’re concerned about is your safety— totally not because they’re clingy and want to be around you 24/7! However, they can’t really speak on Zhongli and Neuvillette’s behalf, considering the two men became quite clingy (well, even clingier than usual) after the unsuccessful tour around the Nation of War.

Paimon sighs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about them! I’m sure they’re fine somewhere! If you guys are worried, why not communicate your worries with them? Isn’t that how relationships work?” Paimon asks, propping her hands on her hips as she bobs up and down in the air.

Everyone in the room nods, agreeing with Paimon. While they could communicate their worries to you, they don’t want to put any pressure on you after voicing their concerns. Plus, what’s there to worry about? You’re hanging out with your new friends! It’s not like you’re going to be smuggling a wild animal back to the abode or doing some illegal activities while on Teyvat, right?

Meanwhile…

You stand outside the teapot, debating on what you’re going to do with an army of issues before you. You bite your nails and glance at the teapot, then at the Saurian Whelps standing before you, staring at you expectantly. You’re so fucked. You went to Natlan to hang out with Mualani and Kachina to complete the tour of Natlan— of course, Kinich and Ajaw did show up for the first thirty minutes, but they left because Ajaw was being a little shithead that Kinich had to leave earlier than planned.

After hanging out with Kachina and Mualani, you head back to where the teapot is resting. Dakarai is the one to walk you back to the abode because he’s an absolute sweetheart and was eager to spend some extra time with you after not seeing you for who knows how long. However, on your way back to the teapot with Dakarai, you and the Tepetlisaur Whelp failed to notice certain creatures following from a safe distance. When you notice them, it is already too late to try to outrun them because you and Dakarai are surrounded by Saurian Whelps. Dakarai stands before you, curiously inspecting the other Saurians surrounding both of you.

“I don’t think I can bring you guys with me,” you say, tapping your feet on the ground as you try to remain strong in the face of Saurian Whelps.

The Tepetlisaur Whelp tilts its head, gazing at you curiously. You can see a visible question mark appearing above its head. You sigh, rubbing your temples. You’re trying your best to hold in your squeals. The Saurian Whelps are too cute, but at the same time, you cannot bring them into the abode. Saurians are from Natlan, and you don’t know if they can survive in an environment that isn’t Natlan. But how can you not bring them back to the abode with you!? Look at their little faces! They’re literally giving you the puppy dog eyes, almost as if they’re begging you to take them with you!

You turn to look at Dakarai— Aether and Paimon’s Tepetlisaur Whelp companion. “What do I do, Dakarai? I can’t bring them back because I don’t think the abode is a suitable environment for them.”

Dakarai roars in response.

You shake your head. “I don’t know if the abode is suitable for you either, Dakarai. But I guess we won’t know unless we try, right?”

Dakarai roars again in response, flailing his arms around cutely. You hold back a squeal and pat Dakarai’s head instead, hoping that’ll stop you from wanting to bring him into a tight hug. The other Saurians around you and Dakarai roar and whine in response, almost as if they’re demanding you to give them attention.

The Yumkasaur Whelp hops toward you, tilting its head to the side with a questioning gaze. “?”

You shut your eyes and turn around, hoping that will make you become invisible to the eyes of the Saurian Whelps (it doesn’t). Surely, you can enter the abode without the Saurians trying to go with you, right?

The warm sun of Natlan beams down at you, heating the back of your head the longer you have your back facing the Saurian Whelps. If only Mualani, Kachina, and Kinich were here with you, then maybe they could lure the Saurians away. Unfortunately, it’s you against the world and the Saurian Whelps. Of course, Dakarai is with you, but you’re sure that he wants to come along with you to the abode.

“Fuck it!” Without thinking, you touch the teapot with your eyes closed, not wanting to see the outcome of what you just did.

When you’re finally in the abode, you open your eyes to see the beautiful estate where you and your beloveds reside. You nearly sigh in relief, glad that you’re finally home and can finally take a nap after who knows how long you’ve been gone. You stretch as you walk to the front door of the estate, listening to the birds chirping in the distance.

Just as you reach for the doorknob, the door swings open, and you come face-to-face with Diluc, who sighs in relief when you two make eye contact. Without hesitating, Diluc pulls you into his arms and buries his face into your hair.

“Welcome home, angel. We’ve been worried about you,” Diluc whispers into your hair, tightening his arms around you.

You peek at Diluc, wrapping your arms around him. “Sorry for worrying you and everyone else. I was in Natlan completing the tour with Mualani and Kachina!” You say, pulling away from the hug. “Kinich and Ajaw were also there, but they left early because Ajaw was being mean.” You scratch the back of your head.

You and Diluc walk into the estate, where the others are waiting for you. The minute twenty-seven pairs of eyes land on you, everyone stands up and nearly lunges at you. The first person to get to you is, of course, Childe. The man has his arms wrapped around your shoulders, rubbing his cheek up against yours.

“Snookums!!! I haven’t seen you at all today, and this is how you greet me!?” Childe exclaims, pouting at you.

You pat Childe’s head, letting him cling to you. “I didn’t even get to greet you today, Childe. In fact, I barely entered the living room, and you’re already on me.” You reply, poking his cheek.

After coaxing Childe to release you from his iron grip, Childe reluctantly releases you after guiding you to the couch. Zhongli walks over to you, handing you a cup of tea. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Zhongli before taking a sip of the warm drink.

Heizou sits across from you, bouncing his right leg with excitement as he leans forward. “So? How was Natlan? Did you see anything cool or interesting there?” His gorgeous eyes shimmer with curiosity.

You nod, taking another sip of your tea as Neuvillette holds out a plate of macaroons toward you. You take a pink macaroon from the plate and take a bite of the sweet treat. Now that you think about it… you didn’t have breakfast before leaving for Natlan— nor did you eat anything while in Natlan. Then again, you didn’t feel hungry because you were so focused on exploring the new region with your new friends.

You eating one macaroon ended up being the entire plate of macaroons. Neuvillette looks almost horrified as he watches you scarf down the sweet treats within five minutes. Wriothesley chuckles and pats your head, watching you happily sip your tea afterward.

“You’re quite hungry, aren’t you? Don’t tell me your tour guides didn’t take you out to eat,” Wriothesley teases, wiping the crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

You lick your lips and press your lips into a thin line before answering, “They didn’t, but that’s because I was so engrossed in wanting to explore the region that I completely forgot about needing to eat. But! But… I wasn’t feeling hungry at that time.”

Xiao suddenly appears beside you, his eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t see that Kinich person, did you? I don’t like him,” Xiao states, crossing his arms over his chest before turning his head away from you.

You blink at Xiao, unsure of how to answer him. You technically did see Kinich, but again, it was only for a brief moment because of Ajaw’s lack of behavior.

“Kinich and Ajaw were at the tour, but they left early! It was just me, Mualani, and Kachina! Oh! And Dakarai!” You reply, nodding.

Xiao huffs, still not pleased to hear your response. Ever since the day of the failed tour around Natlan, Xiao has been voicing his distaste for Kinich’s relic companion. More so, the relic’s unnecessary and rude comments are aimed at you. If Ajaw isn’t making fun of you, he’s making fun of the men and their taste in a partner— or the lack of taste. You appreciate the men coming to your defense, but Ajaw’s comment doesn’t hurt you as much as it should. The relic reminds you of a younger sibling who loves roasting their siblings. Or the spoiled youngest child who gets what they want no matter what— that is what Ajaw reminds you of.

“Anyway, I’m finally home now, and we can relax in the living room together!” You say, placing the half-empty teacup on the coffee table.

You lean back on the couch and yawn; the urge to take a nap is slowly taking over. Before Childe can get the chance to have you snuggle up against him, Lyney tugs you in his direction and has you resting your head on his chest. Childe grumbles, shooting a glare in Lyney’s direction, only to receive a shit-eating grin from him.

Tighnari and Gorou’s ears twitch at a strange sound. The two men lock gazes, not saying a word. Everyone in the room is migrating to where you’re sitting while both Tighnari and Gorou remain standing in their spots. Gorou points at the entrance, wordlessly asking if Tighnari heard the same thing as he did. Tighnari nods, confirming Gorou’s suspicion.

You peek from Lyney’s chest, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand. “Tighnari? Gorou? Are you guys okay?”

Gorou and Tighnari stare at you. Tighnari smiles and nods. “Yes, we’re okay! But do you guys hear that?”

Everyone falls silent, trying to listen for whatever Tighnari and Gorou supposedly heard. Coming from the entrance of the estate, if you listen closely, you can hear faint scratching. It’s almost like something is trying to burrow into the floor of the estate but is unable to. Then, the sound of a familiar roar snaps you out of your sleepy haze. You sit up, looking around frantically at everyone in the room.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me…” you trail off, getting up from the couch and making your way to the front door.

Dainsleif raises his eyebrows at you. “[Y/N]... do you have something you want to tell us?”

You nervously laugh, “I have no idea what you guys are implying.”

It’s a lie. You actually do know what they’re implying, but you’re really hoping that whatever you assume is trying to burrow under the estate is the complete opposite of what you’re actively trying to avoid.

Before you can reach the door, Al Haitham wraps his arms around your waist while Kaveh walks to the door to see what the commotion is. When the door swings wide open, all you see is a small army of Saurian Whelps at the entrance.

“Dear Archons…” you whisper, covering your mouth.

Kaveh looks at you with wide eyes. “Did you smuggle Saurian Whelps into the abode!?” He demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that why you were out in Natlan for so long?!”

Al Haitham leans over and stares at your face for a moment. You can’t help but feel like a specimen being examined by scientists with the way Al Haitham’s looking at you. Archons, you can just die right now.

Al Haitham sighs, shaking his head. “Given their facial expression, I highly doubt they smuggled Saurians into the abode. However, it seems like [Y/N] was very aware of the Saurian Whelps following them to the abode.”

You hear a small roar coming from the entrance. Your head perks up, and you see Dakarai at the entrance. When making eye contact with you, Dakarai shakes with excitement and waves at you before barreling past Kaveh and toward you.

“Dakarai! It’s good to see you again!” Paimon exclaims happily, waving at the Tepetlisaur Whelp.

After seeing Dakarai enter the estate with ease, the other Saurian Whelps follow not long after. The Saurian Whelps surround you and Al Haitham, roaring and mewing with excitement. You go limp in Al Haitham’s arms, sighing in defeat.

So much for returning to the abode without the Saurians coming along; it’s not like you’re against the Saurians becoming residents of the beautiful abode that you share with the loves of your life. However, the people who do mind are your beloveds, and seeing the looks on their faces is concerning.

The majority of them look baffled, and then there’s Zhongli and Neuvillette. While they’re both masters of masking their emotions (most of the time), you can see slight annoyance on their faces. The once clear sunny skies of the abode have quickly turned to a dark gray sky with thunder crackling in the distance.

Kaeya snorts, shaking his head. “Perhaps [Y/N] wanting to complete this tour around Natlan is another excuse for them to see the Saurian Whelps,” Kaeya teases, pinching your cheeks with a smirk.

Zhongli pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to have a serious conversation about smuggling creatures into the abode, dearest. While I understand that is not your intention, you still manage to unintentionally bring a wild animal to the estate.”

You open your mouth to protest, but seeing the looks on other people’s faces makes you shut your mouth. The thunder in the distance grows louder and louder with each passing minute. You look at Neuvillette, who casually tucks his hair behind his ears, trying to act nonchalant about the entire situation.

You squeak, “Neuvillette?”

Neuvillette clears his throat. “I agree with Zhongli. We need to have a serious conversation about this situation. While it’s not your intention to bring back fifteen wild Saurian Whelps to the abode, they are here illegally.”

Oh, shit. For once, Neuvillette isn’t calling Zhongli Deus Auri. You’re fucked. You’re going to get scolded by Zhongli and Neuvillette for unintentionally smuggling Saurians into the abode. The Saurian Whelps whimper, huddling close to you while shivering with fear the longer Zhongli and Neuvillette furrow their eyebrows.

You raise an index finger. “Before you guys scold me for something I didn’t do intentionally… can we pretty please keep the Saurian Whelps? Maybe we can get a license? I don’t know how it works in Natlan, but I can do my research, and then maybe, just maybe, we can let them live in the abode?”

The glares you receive from Zhongli and Neuvillette are bone-chilling, sending shivers down your spine. You sigh in defeat, pouting. You slowly turn to the Saurian Whelps, trying not to melt under the puppy dog eyes the Saurian Whelps are giving you. So much for trying to convince your beloveds to let you keep Saurians in the abode.

“If I can’t have Saurian Whelps in the abode, then can we have Ajaw instead?” You joke.

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you crazy?”

You pat the top of Dakarai’s head as he continues to examine his surroundings. If you can’t have an army of Saurian Whelps in the abode, will they make an exception for Dakarai? After all, he is Aether and Paimon’s Saurian companion.

Note: I just fell to my knees. I am finally done writing this fanfic, and it's nearing 3 AM 😭 I officially will not be able to write or post fanfics at my usual time (in the middle of the night) because of my new work schedule 😔 I will make an announcement regarding that in the morning, and it will be pinned. I will make a new navigation post later— it'll hopefully be more organized than my current navigation post. Anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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alexanderwales · 2 months ago

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The soda jar predated me, so I gave it a wide berth, and didn't bring it up often. It was big and plastic, and had once contained cheese puffs, so more of a barrel than a jar. It said "SODA" in big block letters that had been shaded in. I didn't ask about it. Besides, I had switched over to only drinking water years ago, with a few rare exceptions, and game night wasn't one of them, at least not at first.

Whenever someone wanted a soda, they would grab it from the fridge, and then they would put money into the soda jar. There was a little sign below the big "SODA" on it, and I tried not to look too interested, because it would be weird to go to a friend's house and say "hey, what the hell is this".

But by the fourth night I was feeling like I belonged there, so I read the fine print. It was a list of sodas and how much each of them cost.

"You want a soda?" asked Roger.

"Uh," I said. "No, I have water."

"You want soda, just grab it from the fridge, prices are on the jar," he said.

I had a sense that this was a Social Encounter, and that I was on the verge of failing it, but I had to know, so I asked.

"Why?"

Roger turned to look at me, then he frown at the jar. "Just ... you know. Keep things fair?"

I nodded a bit. "But I mean ..."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"No, it's just," I said. "Like, how much does a soda cost?"

"It's on the jar," said Roger, pointing at the jar.

"Right," I said. "But we're all adults, we all have jobs, the cost is like ... a rounding error, right?"

Roger shrugged. "It's about being fair."

"Right, right," I said. "It's just ... if someone wants a soda, then they go to the minifridge, and then they have to have money on them, and have to look at the price, and then pay that price into the soda jar, which seems like ..." I held up a hand. "I mean, it's how you do things, I guess."

"Right," said Roger with a frown. "I mean, how would you do it?"

"I would just ... have people bring in soda?" I said. "I would go to Costco and get a big thing of it, and then just ... it's like, how much could it possibly be?"

"It adds up," said Roger.

"Right, but it also adds down, doesn't it," I said.

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Roger. He was frowning at me, and it was hard to tell whether this was good-natured curious frowning or if I was annoying him.

"There's like ... a lot of overhead, a lot of cognitive, social, emotional sort of friction, right?" I asked. "Having things for people to drink is casual hospitality, and if you're doing it this way, then you have to update the pricing sheet, and you have to have everyone be thinking about things, and ... I just think in the scheme of things it's just ... I don't mean to offend you by way of criticizing this system."

"People should pay their fair share," said Roger, like he was stuck in a loop, or like he was an NPC repeating his dialogue.

"I am suggesting a communist regime wherein we do not worry too much about that and, because the costs are nominal compared to wages, we do not track or worry about prices," I said. "I mean, I don't want to assume that other people are like ... comfortably wealthy, but if anyone is worried about a few dollars for soda, then yeah, I'll just pay their way and we don't need to talk about it or acknowledge it."

"You're offering to pay for the whole group?" asked Roger.

I considered that. "I'm saying that I would bring in a big cube of it and then someone else could bring in a big cube next time."

"Some kind of rotating schedule?" asked Roger. "Like, a roster of whose turn it is?"

"No," I said. "No, the whole point is ... I mean the point is that we shouldn't need a system, we're adults, soda is, in addition to being super bad for you, very cheap, and we shouldn't care about having any kind of system, we should just have faith that it'll work itself out."

"Okay," said Roger. "But like ... what if it doesn't? I buy soda, people drink all the soda, then no one gets more, so I get more, and people drink it, and then there's no soda again."

"I don't know," I said. "We could talk about it like adults?"

"Or we could just have a sign," said Roger.

And then our break was over, and I hated that I let him get the last word, but I also sort of knew that I wasn't going ever quite be comfortable in that group. Maybe Roger had been burned before, maybe he had been burned a lot, but the soda jar suffused the feeling of the whole group, and I could tell that I was never going to get them out of the soda jar mindset.

#microfiction

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thr0wnawayy · 5 months ago

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Midoriya's Delusion

This is post that builds upon my previous one, I've copied many of the points I made there to here. Albiet with some corrections and tweaks.

To summarize, I have a bit of a crack theory that chapter 430 isn't as real as we've been led to believe. (As for when this actually takes place, that's up to you but I like to imagine the start of his third year marks the beginning of his mental decline.)

(As an update, I find it dubious whether 8 years have actually passed or if that's also a part of the fantasy. I can see Midoriya becoming so attached to the lie that his reference of time begins to warp)

This theory mostly comes from some inconsistencies in regards to the hero rankings and some other things I've found.

Corrections:

It's left ambiguous whether Best Jeanist and Endeavor are still active. However the fact that people view these two in a postive light (especially after Dabi and the war) still seems absurd.

2. Midoriya wasn't outright abandoned, rather their busy schedules make it hard for their days off to coincide. This falls apart when you look at this panel

"The rate of new villains keep decreasing and the number of heroes have stabilized"

Besides Ochaco who's funding a quirk counseling project, the rest of the class should be able to make time. Again it's stated that they aren't actually fighting.

There's no real threat to face. Besides PR and Community Service there's bot a whole lot else (besides the occasional natural disaster)

One could argue it's because the scope of what heroes do is increasing, thus keeping them busy. But again, we see heroes doing exactly what they did before, PR, Advertising and (implied) Showboating.

This leads me to believe that the lack of contact is based in reality, to some extent.

Whether it was by choice or forced by their (1A's) respective PR teams to preserve their images (can't be seen around the "freaks" for too long, now can we?).

The lie comes in the form of busy schedules.

Now whether that's what Midoriya tells himself or what he's been told, I cannot say for certain.

Disturbia:

For those of you who didn't read my last post, you may be wondering, so what's going on?.

Simply put:

Midoriya's having a breakdown fantasy to cope with the fact that he won't be becoming a hero due to the loss of his quirk.

Im aware it sounds crazy but consider the following:

1. Midoriya subconsciously knows the way he's been treated was wrong.

This manifests within the escapists fantasy in Bakugo's drop in the rankings + the attitude surrounding him (as well as his damaged hand never fully healing)

He meets a kid who just so happens to be in a near exact same position as he once* was (and still is to an extent). One could take this as his mind's way of trying to cope and heal itself, by having Midoriya do what he does best and help others, henceforth working though his trauma by using the kid as a stand in.

*Even the kid's "bully" seems to be a warped version of Bakugo (perhaps this is how Midoriya tries to fool himself into believing how it was)

2. We see Kota.

I believe that here, Kota serves as what Midoriya thinks he could have been had he not failed. Kota is the idealized version of Midoriya here, the unobtainable.

3. A lesson ignored

Apparently people forgot the connection between Endeavor and Shoto. You'd think this would be a good thing as Shoto would be able to become his own person.

This falls flat when you remember that also includes people forgetting the reason and happenings behind Shoto's existence, it feels like Midoriya is trying to have his cake and eat it too

To elaborate, this is a major copout, it allows Shouto to be unaffected by his family's past bith career wise and emotionally. While also feeding into Midoriya's rather toxic belief that forgiveness is required to be a good person.

(The fact that killing Tomura violated this only adds to my theory that this whole thing is an escapist coping mechanism.)

(You can also add the idea that Tomura didn't forgive society for what they did to him and his friends. That likely broke all the "rules" that Midoriya knew.)

4. The Mech Suit is a massive cope, it's the dying whimper of Midoriya's childish hope that All Might will save the day.

This time there's no magic quirk, no garrish mech suit, no plot twist.

No. There's only Midoriya and the consequences of his, his classmates and hero societies actions. It doesn't matter how shiny and seamless the illusion, how sweet the lie.

You can't hide the blood.

Concerning Aspects:

That was mostly the revised stuff, let me introduce you to some new points

1. A Frozen Lake

Something I noticed was certain characters seem to be almost frozen in time, as if someone tried to continue a story using scraps of the original text.

The curious case of Rei Himura:

This scene seems almost stagnant, what was most noticeable was Enji's bandages still being on and Rei still being there.

It's as if Midoriya hasn't seen them in years (or perhaps doesn't want to acknowledge what happened). So his mind uses what he last saw/heard of them, creating a sterile, static scenario. Little better than props.

Those surrounding her (with the exception of Hawks) also seem to be stuck in the past.

It's definitely strange.

2. See No Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak No Evil

Shigaraki is a representation of Midoriya's repressed guilt and his fears. I believe deep down Midoriya knows that, inevitably the cycle will repeat, so long as the system is allowed fester and wallow in it's complancy.

I find the fact that he's behind Midoriya to be ironic, as if to say: don't look back, don't think about what you've done.

A Symbol of Stagnation:

I should warn you that it does get lengthy from here, however I think it's important to get the full picture. Even if I tend to ramble here.

It's implied here that Lemillion's the top hero. This is awful for a variety of reasons. Mirio is a horrible symbol.

All Might was flawed for a variety of reasons, but a majority of these were byproducts rather than directly being his own doing.

Mirio on the other hand, has such a cancerous philosophy that it actively harms all who interact with it.

Mirio is a follower, he follows orders first and asks questions never.

Eri is the best example of this. Even after Nighteye's death, Mirio never truly reflects on the damage his actions could have caused ( only saved by the narrative, seriously it's a miracle Eri trusts anyone besides Midoriya after being abandoned like that)

You see, the difference between Toshinori and Mirio lies in their actions and principles.

Mirio left Eri to die, all for the sake of the "mission".

For all the heroes knew, Eri could have been a trafficking victim and either have been killed or relocated. But no, appearances and "gotta catch em all" take priority even after knowing Eri is in the Yakuza's clutches.

Lemillion made the worst decisions possible. He followed a known murder into a secluded, restricted area (with a hostage mind you) bringing his pupil with him.

Willingly ignored blatant signs of abuse (just look at the girl) and played hooky with thre leader of a criminal organization, who is known for his short fuse and willingness to kill.

He did all of that, when he could have easily detained Overhaul at any point (his quirk being a direct counter)

Toroshinori would fight tooth and nail in that situation. Consequences be damned if it meant saving Eri.

Part of the reason Toroshinori was so effective as a hero was 1. His sense of justice and 2. His compassion.

Mirio is a symbol that can be controlled, a weapon if you will.

The fact that Mirio is at the top shows that things haven't changed and are even beginning to decline. So this brings me to my next point

You may be asking, if Midoriya's losing it in his own mind, what's the outside world look really like?.

Allow me to set the stage.

4. Speculation

Within Midoriya's muddled mind, Lemillion represents both his toxic optimism and a subconscious understanding that nothing has changed. It represents denial and acceptance, a dysfunctional middle ground that's easy enough for Midoriya to stomach.

The truth of the matter is, delusion or not, the reality is soon to sink in.

Something that I don't see discussed is the lack of reactions from other nations or really any insight into how they were affected by everything that happend.

Here's the idea: Most likely they are foaming at the mouth.

Particularly it's the countries who suffered under Imperial Japan in the past (Korea, China, Singapore etc), however this also applies to every nation Nedzu brow beat into aiding with the rebuilding efforts, albiet their reaction would be latent.

Not not only is the attitude painfully reminiscent of how Japan handles it's past atrocities, Japan has had them clean up their messes. seen below:

(you cannot tell me Big Red Dot over here is having a good time)

From an outside pov. The Commission never told anyone about AFO, rather they suppressed any information, locked him up in Tartarus and then sat on the whole situation until it blew up in their (read: everyones) faces.

He then proceeded to: kill over 8000 people (+ those killed during the Blackout period), kill the top hero of one of the world's most powerful nations and incite mass panic. Destroyed massive amounts of infrastructure and transport nationwide, broke thousands of criminals out of prison, destroying those prisons in the process.

Meanwhile the heroes:

Abandoned civilians in mass by quitting in the middle of a war.

Left the public in the dark for months and allowing crime and paranoia to grow rampant, even (forcibly) bringing someone they knew was being targeted by AFO and his forces to the one place they could find shelter.

Mutilated a seven year old girl. Who has a history of being mutilated for the gain of others and patted themselves on the back. (Also having no holdup on how that may effect her physically via her quirk or mentally via her trauma)

Mic: tried to kill a docile prisoner who could be considered in comatose, based off of his emotional attachment to a dead man + viewing it as justified if it meant Spinner couldn't get to him.

Used hospital staff and patients as meatshields (Central Hospital) during a riot.

Most had no qualms supporting a child beating eugenicist and implied marital rapist, even with his one of his victims exposed him and citing it as his main reason for turning to villainy.

Held an illegal questioning* with said abuser while ignoring his main victim (Rei, who is probably the most reliable source of information there)

(*which effectively is like conducting an investigation on yourself and declaring you are not guilty)

And so much more! (But this post is getting too long)

My point is by the time everything was said and done, it seemed everyone but Japan was paying for it.

It's outright stated that the US president risked national security by sending every hero they had to help Japan. (Impeachment worthy if you ask me)

Endeavor's little plan to kill himself and Dabi in a blaze of death ended up disrupting the weather. Very likely it'll end up resembling an El Niño phenomenon, only vastly off schedule and even more destructive than normal.

For Reference [https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/ninonina.html]

Very likely it'll lead to an agricultural drought in the northern America's and mass flooding in southern America's, likely starting at the west coast and bleeding inland. Leading to a domino effect where cost of living surges due to the sudden displacement of people and the rapid loss of products.

Worse still, because the US had no heroes (likely for months on end), crime has likely surged in the America's, which will further impact the rest of the world.

The rebuilding efforts likely emptied the wallets of most participating countries, leaving them unable to help anyone, including themselves.

Also keep in mind that Japan incriminated themselves with the Business Course footage. I don't think the general public (outside of Japan) is going to take too kindly to a known murder and abuse apologist being in charge of a system already known for it's corruption.

The end result is likely be a world that detests Japan, either from a moral perspective (Rei's treatment + the treatment of those society abandoned), a financial perspective (we can't afford shit and you contributed to that) or historical perspective (you do this everytime and ignore the consequences).

A world divided by struggle and united by an immense loathing for the Commission's Japan and the culture surrounding it.

Oh, don't forget there's no finding left for quirk research. Meaning that it's very likely no one will be prepared for quirk singularity to start manifesting in the upcoming generations (Thanks Nedzu).

_______________________________________

Update: Can I just say that Aizawa's lack of ownership infuriates me even though this is likely a fantasy and not grounded in reality.

Like what the fuck do you mean "with the way he talks, it was pointless" Fantasy Aizawa.

Because "Hey Asshole", You deliberately ignored his attitude and offenses!. And what? Now your just gonna shrug it off like it wasn't your fault. To hell with that you had two years, most teacher are said to only get one. As you so graciously mentioned at the start of this shit show of an epilouge.

Heres the moment I'm referring to btw:

While we're at it. Are you telling me it was too hard to get Momo some proper attire all three fucking years she was at UA for.

Not to mention Toru is still naked, how the fuck hasn't she died yet, she is literally exposed to the elements (and lord help her of she gets a cut)

Kirishima's costume is still his biggest liability considering it exposes his chest and back (also seeing as even when hardened he can't repell bullets)

Does Denki still fry himself with his quirk?

Before we move on Aizawa. How's that daughter you neglected, her horn still broken?.

Speaking of which let's look at the rescue team:

What the hell is this!?

Let's see, we got a guy who can only do damage (and his sweat detonates on contact, destroying whatever it touches.)

A brainwasher who only got into the hero course via nepotism and who can only brainwash people who directly respond to him!. A person trapped underneath rubble either frantic or groaning in pain isn't going to be able to respond or even just give consent.

(On a side note what are the laws regarding mind control quirks, does some sort of waiver have to be signed, can a person sue for being controlled against their consent?)

Oh, but wait there's more.

Midoriya running headlong with experimental tech that has, very likely never seen the light of day. Let alone preform in an actual high stakes situation before.

You're trying to carry someone and oops! Something malfunctioned or was miscalculated, now there's an even bigger mess (hooray!)

Who could forget Mezo "they'll come for your kids" Soji. Who climbed the ladder and pulled it all the way up.

Yeah forget that Heteromorph's were getting hate crimed long before the war, ignore the fact that you yourself were maimed by an angry mob after doing one of the most heroic things a person can do. Dismiss Spinner's comment about being sprayed with Pesticide for walking in public.

Nah screw it, let's all sing Kumbaya while the Creation Rejection Clan runs wild outside the reach of the cities, then ignore that the discrimination still is prevalent in the countryside and it's only a matter of time before somone gets fed up and takes matters into their own hands. (talons, claws, you get the picture)

But your a hero now Soji, you got your's. So fuck the rest of 'em

And don't even get me started on Hawks. Congratulations you ignorant bastard, way to kill time and by that I mean for everyone but the heroes.

"Yeah life is great!, everyone hates us, we're rapidly falling into debt from all that rebuilding 8 years back."

"Speaking of which some of those buildings are staring to fall apart due to being rushed to meet deadlines set within the month they were started."

"Social darwinism is on the rise and people are becoming more complacent that ever before due to heroes applying bandaid solutions on decade long, deeply ingrained problems."

"All so the average person doesn't have to think about what's festering beneath society's floorboards, so thank you Safety Commission. Here's your star of positivity ⭐️." - Some random anti-hero civilian

So much for greatest heroes, huh.

_______________________________________

UPDATE 2:

A dark thought I just had, is that the main reason Izuku killed Tomura was because Tomura broke the rule of "Forgiving Your Abusers makes you Good".

When Tomura refused to relinquish his hatred, when he stood his ground, that is when Midoriya decided he had to die. If not to "stop" him, then to preserve Midoriya's perception of the world .

Shigaraki + The LOV by their very ideals went against everything Midoriya has had beat into him by Bakugo and Aldera over the years.

Makes me wonder how'd he react to a person refusing to forgive their abuser. If he interacted with Natsuo or Rei, I could see that delving into a complete mess.

Now that I think about it, The Midoriya we know now, he would have never tried to hold onto Eri back when they first met.

Ironically, he became what he named himself after, a Deku. A puppet attached to thorns of liquid gold, glistening and burning hot.

A slave to his own biases and belief system, now trapped in a stage of his minds own making.

First bound by his past, then by legacy and finally, now by his own hand.

木偶.

#bnha critical #mha critical #hero society critical #anti bakugou #midoriya critical #just a bit #hawks critical #anti shinsou hitoshi #anti eraserhead #anti enji todoroki #anti endeavor #anti aizawa shota #anti aizawa #anti mirio #lov #league of villains

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

Text

episode three: the pollywog

Steve looks over at you, not necessarily amused, but flattered nonetheless. “You know my class schedule?” A blush spreads across your face as you look away from him, but Steve still sees it and something flutters in his chest. He’s always thought you were pretty when you blushed, but you’re even prettier when he’s the reason why. “I pay attention,” you dodge.

Summary: you lecture jonathan about daddy issues and then have an intellectual debate about healthy relationships, you play Mr. Love Dr with Steve, nancy and jonathan go on a sick side quest (and actually inform you this time !), meanwhile: you're about to put a leash on your damn brother.

Rating: general, some curing

Warnings: use of y/n, fem!reader, cursing, slight reference to billy being mean and trauma

Words: 6.7k

Before you swing in: hello ! my first day of spring semester is tomorrow, so here's a quick lil chapter for yall :) i wont have a lot of time to update as frequently anymore, but i promise i will continue to update as much as i can <3 in the meantime, enjoy this chapter n have a lovely day my dears !!

Like most mornings, you’re up and ready before Dustin has even woken up.

“Dustin! C’mon, wake up! Jonathan will be here soon and–” You try to open your brother’s door, but it’s locked. “What the–? Dustin! Hello?”

You begin pounding on his door, trying and failing to get in, and right as you’re about to break the door down, your mom comes in from the kitchen. “Y/N, Dusty has already left.”

“Left? Like, he went to school already?” No way in hell that kid has just decided to get up and ready for school any earlier than he needed to. That kid could sleep thirty hours if given the chance.

“Yup! He left pretty early this morning, said he had a test to study for.” Your mom says as she wanders back towards the kitchen to make her usual cup of coffee.

“Huh,” you’re starting to worry that maybe Dustin is hiding something. First he blocked the door from you last night, now he’s supposedly leaving early for some test? He’s hiding something, you know he is. What worries you, though, is that Dustin hasn’t felt the need to hide anything from you since the whole El fiasco.

Which hadn’t ended well.

As you’re lost in thought, mentally going through Dustin’s actions these last few days, Jonathan walks through your front door, keys in hand.

“Hey, bug. Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head to clear any more thoughts. You’ll interrogate Dustin later. “Let me grab my bag, one sec.”

Jonathan nods before he’s attacked by your mom, who pulls him into a hug squeals. “Jonathan!”

“You saw me last night, Mrs. Henderson.” He pats her back awkwardly, mouthing “help me” towards you, but you only laugh and grab your bag from your room.

As soon as you have your stuff, you and Jonathan head out. You sneak some glances at him while he drives, memories from last night crashing back. The party… Well, who could’ve seen any of that coming? Considering how shitty the night turned out, Jonathan looks better at least. However, the bruises on his knuckles make you frown.

“I’m sorry about Billy,” you say, grabbing the bruised hand. His skin is rough against yours, but familiar all the same.

Jonathan gives you an incredulous look. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes…?”

“Bug, no. We aren’t doing this.” He shakes his head, pulling his hand away to run it through his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Billy was being a piece of shit, you needed my help, so I did what any sane person would do.”

You’re silent, not used to having such aggression from Jonathan aimed at you. He’s not necessarily mad at you, but you and him have had some issues in the past about stuff like this. You’ve always apologized for other people’s actions, as if you getting hurt is somehow always your fault. He hates that you do it.

You hate that you always do it. But you can’t help it, it’s almost second nature at this point.

Jonathan, reading your mind, sighs. His anger dissipates and he grabs your hand now, kissing your knuckles softly. “I’m sorry for yelling. I just… You mean the world to me, Y/N. I love you, I will always be there for you. I’d punch Billy a million more times if I needed to, without you ever having to ask me.”

“I know, but–”

“If you feel guilty I will pull this car over and shake your pretty little head until I finally knock some sense into it.”

Finally, you laugh. “Now that’s just dramatic.”

“Do I need to pull over?”

“No,” you raise your hands up in surrender. “I’ll shut up now.”

Jonathan nods his head. “Good, just the way I like it.”

You smack his chest, and he fake screams in pain. He makes a show of it, hunching himself over while he drives and clutches at his chest, which you giggle at. He’s laughing as well, and it’s one of your “normal” moments that have become so few and far between. Just you and Jonathan, giggling in his car early in the morning as you drive to school, your laughter is just enough to keep the two of you warm.

Jonathan’s ladybug ring catches the morning light and the bee wrapped around your neck buzzes against your skin.

But “normal” never lasts long anymore, and you remember Nancy’s drunken eyes from last night and Steve’s loneliness in his voice when he asked you why everyone keeps leaving him. The memories cause your giggles to fade off, the small moment of joy now gone.

Jonathan sees your mood change and, because he’s always on the same page as you, purses his lips. “So… It’s now tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, remembering telling him last you’d talk about Steve and Nancy tomorrow. “It’s now tomorrow.”

“Why’d you insist on driving Steve home?”

The question is innocent enough, but you sense that how you answer it could change things. “He was upset.”

“Sure, but you almost bit my head off when I last asked about that guy. Then you wanted to drive him home?” Jonathan keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him, though he clenches his jaw ever so slightly. But you see it. You always see it.

“Bee… I had to, okay? Please, can we just leave it at that?” You don’t want to talk about your fucking feelings with the first boy you’ve ever loved, the boy who doesn’t love you back.

Jonathan swallows, takes another deep breath, and then nods. “I took Nancy home, like Steve asked. She was… Very drunk. Had to carry her into bed.”

“I’m sorry about that, too.”

“You didn’t shove alcohol down her throat.”

“No, but I did encourage her to go to that stupid party while she was fighting with Steve.”

“Steve and Nancy have been fighting?”

Shit. You forgot that Jonathan didn’t know.

“Okay, yes” you say, but right as Jonathan’s eyes light up, you’re quick to backtrack. “But if I tell you anything else, you have to swear to keep it between us. Got it?”

“I won’t say a word.”

You sigh, really hoping you aren’t breaking Nancy’s trust. Technically, she hadn’t asked you to keep your conversation from yesterday private, but… It feels wrong telling Jonathan about it. “Nancy and Steve have been fighting, yes, but not in the way you’d think.”

You’ve arrived at school, so Jonathan quickly parks the car before motioning for you to keep talking. “Go on, I’m curious now.”

“God, you’re a worse gossip than I am. Anyways, she’s mad at Steve for brushing off Barb’s death, in a sense. But also, like… Steve isn’t really brushing off Barb’s death? I think he just wants to help Nancy, those are his intentions, but he doesn’t know how. He thinks dinner dates, going to parties, and spending a lot of time together will get her mind off of things.”

Jonathan scoffs. “Well, babying Nancy won’t help.”

“I know, and you’re right, but Nancy should have expressed this to Steve better, don’t you think? I mean, we don’t know what happened last night, but it seems like she tried drinking away her anger towards him rather than actually talking to him.”

“And how can we know Steve wouldn’t just run away or something? Actually be up for it, be proactive rather than retroactive. It seems like Nancy needs to do something about Barb’s death.”

Frustration builds within you. “And what good does assuming something actually do? Assuming that Steve wouldn’t listen is wholly unfair and honestly, a bit rude. He’s her boyfriend, she can’t just assume he wouldn’t care. Steve has done everything he can to show he cares, that he loves her, so I think Nancy should be the one to voice her feelings and let him know what she needs. What she wants.”

Jonathan looks away. “And what should Nancy want, bug?”

You’re silent.

Somehow, you and Jonathan aren’t fighting about Steve and Nancy anymore.

“I… I don’t know.” You look out the window, watching as students pass by.

After a tense silence, Jonathan tries to crack a joke. “Oh, you’ll laugh at this! Caught Bob sneaking out the house like some shameful teenage boy this morning.”

You turn towards him now. “Why would I laugh at that? I think it’s sweet, your mom seems happy.”

“Sure, but…” Jonathan’s smile falters, not expecting you to be so stoic as a reaction. “He’s kinda a loser, you gotta admit.”

“Jonathan Byers, I literally had to save you from bullies, five times my size, as a girl, when we were twelve.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean it like that–”

“You should be nicer about Bob. He’s a good guy, he actually cares about you, Will, and your mom. After the hell you guys went through with Lonnie, you should be appreciative of Bob.” You’re so angry now, your fists shake with rage. “You have a healthy father figure in your life now, which I would kill to give Dustin, and even if you don’t like him, you’re luckier for it.”

Jonathan is quiet. He’s staring down at his steering wheel in shame, and you feel bad for snapping so suddenly. You aren’t sorry for your anger towards him, his attitude towards Bob has been bothering you for a while. However, it doesn’t mean you have to be a bitch about it just because of your own issues surrounding shitty dads.

“I’m sorry, bee. You have a right to feel uncomfortable about the change, but I just think you should give Bob a chance. I like the guy.” You offer, looking over at your friend tentatively.

“No, you’re right. I know you are, it just takes some getting used to, I guess.” He grabs your hand, gives it a squeeze as if to tell you it’s all good now, and you squeeze his hand back.

“Great drive to school today,” you quip.

Jonathan laughs. “God, I think I had about five heart attacks during those conversations.”

The tension leaves the car. Then, slowly, the warmth creeps back in as you and Jonathan once again start laughing. You’re not sure why you’re even laughing, but you’re happy that you are.

–

Jonathan walks you to your locker, as he always does, and before he turns to head to his, you notice how quiet it is in the hallway. You look over at Nancy’s locker, which somehow always manages to be near yours every year, and frown when you don’t see her.

“There’s a suspicious lack of Nancy and Steve making out against her locker this morning.” You tell Jonathan.

He looks around and notices you’re right. The two of you share a concerned glance, knowing that their absence can’t mean anything good for the couple.

“Should we go look for them?” He asks, but you’re already heading towards the parking lot to find Steve. “Y/N!”

“Go find Nancy!” You call behind you, speeding up. “I’ll meet you at first period!”

Steve’s car is hard to miss in the parking lot. Hawkins isn’t necessarily a flashy town. No one else besides the Harringtons owns a fancy BMW. You approach the car and spot Steve sitting in the front, his head ducked down as if no one can see his massive red car and easily identify him.

Idiot.

Steve is having a rough week, so he’s spent the last five minutes in his car debating on whether or not he can afford to skip his first class. Reasonably speaking, his dad would kill him. He already has shit grades and he’s missed three college application deadlines. All he has left is Tech. However, his girlfriend told him last night she doesn’t love him and Billy embarrassed him in front of everyone last night.

Plus Nancy left with Jonathan, which everyone saw.

He told him to take her, but still.

Pretty embarrassing.

Yup. Alright. He’s going home.

Steve reaches over for his keys to turn the car on, but before he can, a knock on his window stops him. He looks up, scared Billy will be there, but instead he sees you and he’s not sure if his day just got better or worse.

“Let me in, dingus.” Your voice is light, but still stern, and yeah. Steve’s day just got better.

He unlocks the door and you silently get into the passenger seat. As you get settled in, he thinks about the first time he ever had you in his car. It feels like a lifetime ago, Steve’s heart had been beating wildly taking the risk of offering you a ride.

It had been the start of something, he could feel it.

But then you left him that summer without another word, as if nothing had happened between the two of you. As if Steve hadn’t slowly come to find himself opening up to someone, trusting that you’d let him be whoever he wanted; he could just be Steve around you, not King Steve or even perfect boyfriend Steve.

Now Steve’s hiding out in his car, no longer King Steve or even good fucking boyfriend Steve, and instead of his girlfriend seeking him out to comfort him, it’s you. Because of course it’s you.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi.”

“You know that senior study hall is inside the school, right?”

Steve looks over at you, not necessarily amused, but flattered nonetheless. “You know my class schedule?”

A blush spreads across your face as you look away from him, but Steve still sees it and something flutters in his chest. He’s always thought you were pretty when you blushed, but you’re even prettier when he’s the reason why.

“I pay attention,” you dodge.

Steve wants to tease you some more, play into the banter he missed the most when the two of you weren’t talking, but his heart isn’t in it. Nancy’s words kept him up all night. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could hear was her telling him that she didn’t love him. After he did everything he possibly could’ve done right, it still hadn’t been enough.

“Did Nancy get home okay?”

You give him a small smile. “Yeah, I just talked to Jonathan about it.”

Relief floods through Steve. At least that’s one thing he hadn’t fucked up last night. “Good… I’m glad then.”

He awkwardly clears his throat and looks away again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He feels lost, floating through his morning. Nothing has felt real since yesterday in the library with Nancy, when she had been looking up at him with those eyes he’s always been weak for.

“Any particular reason you’re hiding out in your car?”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “You were there last night. You know what happened.”

“Actually, I don’t.” You see the disbelief on Steve’s face and quickly correct yourself. “I mean, I remember you saying something about Nancy but… I don’t want to assume, so…”

Now you’re the one looking away in shame, and Steve watches as you nervously fiddle with your fingers and bite your lip. You’re trying. Though Steve still isn’t sure how to feel about you, how much to test this new compromise between you two, this “friendship”, Steve knows he has to at least try as well.

He takes a deep breath. “Nancy… She isn’t in love with me.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Steve, I mean, are you sure–”

“Pretty fucking sure, Y/N. Unless you think someone telling their boyfriend ‘like we’re in love’ means she’s madly in love with him.”

Another beat of silence passes. Steve can see the pity in your eyes, and he hates it. He fucking hates this, feeling so pathetic and small.

Then, your hand slowly intertwines with his and the anger in Steve’s chest lessens a bit. “I know my words don’t mean anything, but… Nancy not being in love with you has nothing to do with you as a person.”

Something untangles in Steve’s chest; you’ve reassured him of something he hadn’t even known had been his fear. How do you always seem to decipher what he’s feeling before he can?

“How do you know?” Steve has never felt so small before.

You shrug, but there’s a calculated nonchalance to it that he can easily see. “Because I know you. You’re frustratingly charming, Harrington.”

Steve laughs, something he didn’t even know he was able to do anymore. “That’s your takeaway here?”

“Mhm,” you squeeze his hand and Steve has never felt this grounded before by such a small action. “I say you need to talk to Nancy, I mean really talk to her. No more half truths and appeasements. I think she does love you, in her own way, but the circumstances aren’t on your guys’ side. I mean, she went through hell and back last year, Barb’s death anniversary is soon.”

You pause for a moment and frown, which Steve has come to learn means you’re carefully choosing which words to say next. “I want you to know, no, I need you to know, that this has nothing to do with you. Okay?”

Steve wants to believe you, god he really wants to, but even he can see the blaring irony of you telling him that Nancy’s lack of love for him has nothing to do with him personally. You, the girl he came to trust more than anyone else in this awful town, ditched him in the same manner. Steve’s the common denominator there. He’s always the one left behind.

“Look, I appreciate what you’re saying, but the words don’t mean a whole lot coming from you right now,” Steve tells you, and he hates the way your eyes darken, as if guarding yourself from him. “I know we agreed on being friends again, but I just… I need some time.”

You nod, as if you expected something like that from Steve, and he almost wants to just drive away with you in the car and pretend that nothing else exists. Instead, he clears his throat, his tongue feels heavy and his throat threatens to close up, but he forces himself to get the words out. “I want to be alone, please.”

He really doesn’t want to be alone, but his brain is swimming in confusion and you’re still holding his hand and Steve just needs a moment to himself to just breathe.

“Of course,” you tell him, because of course you listen and understand. “You know where to find me, yeah?”

Steve nods. He does.

“Bye, Y/N.”

You give him a small wave in response, close the car door, and then make your way back to the high school.

Steve watches you fade into the distance.

He’s alone again.

–

Jonathan makes it to first period with only seconds to spare. He throws himself into his seat next to you with panting breaths. Your history teacher, Mrs. Kent, drones through attendance without having noticed anything.

“I couldn’t find Nancy.” Jonathan whispers, before his name is called and he quickly raises his hand and says, “Here.”

You glance at the chalkboard and then flip your textbook to the page scrawled on it. “I found Steve wallowing in his car, alone. Guess he didn’t drive Nancy to school?”

“Seems a bit harsh.”

“May I remind you of the time you threw a jacket at my face and then screamed at me that we aren’t family? All because you felt guilty about taking naked photos of Nancy?”

Jonathan drops his head onto the desk, letting out a groan. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

You keep your eyes on the board, taking a few notes. “Nope.”

Class starts up now, so the topic is left alone. The school day passes on, you and Jonathan separating for your own classes after history is done. The day drags on for a while, though you hear a few whispers in the hall about how Jonathan had taken home a drunk Nancy.

“God, it’s like she loves the attention.” One girl giggles with her friend while you’re at your locker.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “Please, as if anyone would choose Byers over Steve Harrington.”

“I’m more of a Wheeler fan myself,” you tell the girls, not even sparing them a glance. “Now, why don’t we all just shut up and move away from my locker?”

The girls scurry away, fear in their eyes, and you simply shake your head at them. Why is Nancy always the one those girls gossip about? Objectively speaking, Steve has done much more heinous things than getting a ride home from a friend while drunk.

Jonathan kisses your cheek as he walks up from behind you, breaking you from your thoughts. “Hey, bug. Lunch at my car today?”

“Ugh, it’s such a nice day today, I’d love to.” You grab your lunch from your locker. Once you have it, you link your arm through Jonathan’s. “Guide the way, good sir.”

“Yes ma’am.”

–

Nancy is leaning against Jonathan’s car when you walk outside.

Her shoulders are slouched and you can see the unease on her face. She looks tired, too. A few people walk by her and stare, whispering as they go, and you really hate high schoolers sometimes.

When you make it to Jonathan’s car, Nancy holds her lunch bag up awkwardly. “Can I join you guys?”

“I’m sure we can make some room.” You tell her, which she smiles at.

It takes some adjusting, but eventually the three of you manage to fit on the front of the car. You sit on the roof, your legs dangling off of the side, while Nancy and Jonathan take the front. The early November sun beats down on you three, but the cool breeze makes the sting less painful. It’s a lovely day, all things considered.

You’re nibbling on your sandwich when Nancy exhales deeply and turns to you. “Y/N, you’d always tell me the truth, right?”

“Depends,” you take another bite out of your food. “What is this in reference to?”

“Last night… I don’t remember what I did.”

There’s a certain shame in her eyes that tells you she encountered Steve before retreating to Jonathan’s car. “You spoke to Steve this morning, I take it?”

She looks at you, surprised. “How did you–”

“We talked to him last night.” Jonathan cuts her off, looking between you and Nancy nervously. He’s not sure where you, her, and Steve all fall in regards to each other.

“So, he asked you to take me home?” Nancy faces him now, and you go back to eating.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean he was upset…” He glances at you briefly before looking back at Nancy. “I mean, he was really upset.”

“I don’t blame him.” You cut in, mouth full of chips you stole from Jonathan.

He sends you glare and keeps talking. “But he was still worried about you, Nance.”

Nancy drops her head down and a part of you feels bad for the quip. She really does look ashamed, but you distinctly remember warning her about this exact thing last year in the school’s shed. She had tried telling you there wasn’t anything between her and Jonathan, and all you could tell her was that Steve didn’t deserve to be lied to or cheated on.

Guess she only kept one end of that bargain.

Jonathan sees that she’s upset and he softens his voice, scooting closer to her. “Hey, you need to cut yourself some slack, okay? People say stupid things when they’re wasted. Things they don’t mean.”

You bite your tongue. Hard. If you allow yourself to speak, you won’t be able to guarantee it’ll be anything nice. Sure, being drunk can influence some words to slip out, but cruelly telling your boyfriend of over a year that you don’t love him is something you can’t defend. Not when Nancy had other chances to tell Steve.

Nancy whips her head up. “Yeah, but that’s the thing. What if I did mean it? All this time, I’ve been trying so hard to pretend like everything’s fine, but it’s not.”

You and Jonathan share a look. He seems more curious, you can feel the anger burning through your eyes.

“No offense, Nance.” You wipe your hands on a napkin and force the girl to look at you. “But this is really something that you should be talking to Steve about. Remember our conversation from last year?”

Nancy looks down again in shame. “You’re right, I know you are, but… I don’t know. I feel like there’s this…” She pauses, trying to figure out how to explain her thoughts, but Jonathan finishes for her.

“Like there’s this weight you’re carrying around with you. All the time. I feel it, too.” He says, then he flicks your leg. “Y/N does as well. She tries to hide it, but I know she feels it as much as I do.”

Now it’s you who turns away, embarrassed and ashamed. Clearly you haven’t been so good at hiding your never ending guilt over Will.

“Yeah, but it’s different for you guys. Will came home.” Nancy says.

You open your mouth to speak, to correct the girl’s horrible viewpoint, but Jonathan surprises you by correcting her himself. “Yeah, he did. But he’s not the same. I try to be there for him, you know, to help him, but… I don’t know.”

“Dustin still has nightmares.” You admit, which Jonathan hadn’t known.

“I thought those went away, bug.”

You shake your head at him. “No… If anything, they’ve only gotten worse. Some nights he sleeps in my bed, says I calm him down, but I just… I feel horrible, knowing I left them alone that night at the middle school. The things he saw… god.”

Nancy and Jonathan sigh, understanding how painful the weight of guilt can feel.

A silence follows your confession.

Then, because you hate when there’s silence, you try to go back to the previous topic. “Anyways, Nancy, what we’re trying to say is that we understand. And I’m sure Steve will, too. He was also there that night, at Jonathan’s. You should talk to him, explain the weight within you. Steve, he…”

You find yourself pausing, unsure if what you’re about to tell Nancy is something Steve would want you to keep between you two, but he misses her. He loves her, so you try to fix whatever you can between them. “He thinks he did something wrong, that he’s unlovable. It isn’t fair to make someone feel that way.”

Nancy sighs. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know, but now that you do, you should probably do something about it. You guys can still go back to how things were.”

Jonathan frowns. “What if things can’t go back to the way they were? I mean, Will still thinks he’s in the Upside Down sometimes. I’ve seen the way Dustin gets scared when he hears a loud noise.”

A phantom pain shoots through your ankle. It’s long since healed, but sometimes memories from last year still sting. As you’re absentmindedly rubbing at it, Nancy notices and starts to get upset.

“Doesn’t that make you mad?”

“Mad?” You and Jonathan ask at the same time.

Nancy seems to almost come back to life, her anger now bringing energy back into her. “Yeah, that those… Those people who did this, who ruined so many lives, they just get away with it.”

“The people responsible for this, they’re dead.” Jonathan gently reminds her.

Nancy leans in close, bitterness in her voice as she narrows her eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

Jonathan frowns again and you do the same. If you’re being honest, you were also pretty skeptical about the whole evil scientists at Hawkins Lab all dying. Seemed like a pretty convenient thing to happen. But what else are you supposed to believe?

Nancy looks between you and Jonathan and sighs again. You know she’s upset by your unwillingness to look further, to question everything, but then you watch as her eyes drift towards some kid with his headphones and his walkman. Something shifts in her gaze and you know immediately that she’s thought of something.

You scoot closer in a hurry. “Nancy, whatever it is–”

“Your mom’s boyfriend,” she looks over at Jonathan. “He works at RadioShack, right?”

“Yeah… Why?” Jonathan looks over at you as if you have any possible explanation, and you just shrug at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Do you wanna skip fourth period?”

Immediately you hop down from the car. “No. Nope. Not happening. We aren’t doing this again.”

Nancy groans at you. “Y/N, I haven’t even explained my plan to you yet.”

“Okay, go on. Explain it, so I can then say no.”

Nancy does as she’s told, and it’s a fucking brilliant plan. You know it’ll work, and that’s why you can’t do it. Buying a tape recorder, planting a fake meetup with Barb’s mom to con the Hawkins Lab people into taking them in, and then recording whatever they confess to take it to the detective Barb’s parents hired.

It’s a genius plan, but you can’t leave the kids behind for that long.

“I can’t go.”

Jonathan looks disappointed. “Bug, don’t you want to make those assholes pay?”

“I do,” you reassure him. “But I can’t afford to leave the kids behind for two whole days. I mean, last time I did they opened a portal to another dimension. And Dustin has been acting weird lately, and Will’s been having those episodes more and more and I just… What if it’s happening again?”

Your voice shakes a bit with fear, and Jonathan pulls you into him. “We don’t know that.”

“But what if it is? Who would be there for them? We can’t just leave them to suffer the consequences alone while we’re trying to avenge them.”

While you’re still wrapped in Jonathan’s arms, Nancy rests her own hand against your shoulder. “I would feel better knowing the kids are in good hands. You’ve always been their biggest advocate.”

You thank the girl, but Jonathan still seems unsure about leaving you behind. “What about you? Who’s gonna be there for you if something happens?”

There, hidden underneath his words, you know he’s really asking how can I protect you if you aren’t within arm’s reach?

You bury your face into his chest, and Nancy seems to get the message and looks away. When you have some privacy, you look up at Jonathan. “I’ll be okay, bee. I promise. We can call every day you’re away, nothing will go uncommunicated this time. No secrets. You’ll be home in no time and I’ll be right here, safe and sound.”

He kisses your head. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I should be telling you that.”

“Y/N…” he isn’t laughing, and you can hear how fast his heart is pounding. He’s terrified to leave you behind, but you know that this is what you have to do.

“I love you, and I’ll be right here. Come home to me, alright?”

“I will.” He promises, and you look into his eyes and see all the warmth and sincerity that you’ve come to love so much, and you believe him.

After a few moments, you finally pull away from him. You clear your throat and turn towards Nancy. “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled, I’m assuming I’m covering for y’all?”

She nods. “If you wouldn’t mind, can I tell my mom I’m at your place?”

“Duh, and Jonathan,” you flick his forehead, breaking the remaining tension away. “I’ll tell your mom you’ll be at my place as well. Sound good?”

He nods as well, though his eyes linger on you longer than they should.

“Well!” You clap your hands and stand between Nancy and Jonathan. “Great team meeting, gang. Let’s reconvene in two day’s time.”

Nancy laughs and pulls you into her own hug.

“I’ll keep him safe,” she whispers into your ear, and you exhale shakily. The weight of everything has finally settled in. You can’t believe you’re doing this. A part of you feels like you’ve just solidified something horrible, not agreeing to come along, but the other part of you, maybe even the larger part, is secretly relieved.

You’re not sure what to make of it.

“Thank you.” You whisper back, squeezing her tightly.

When you break apart, you pull Jonathan into yet another hug. “Stay safe, bee.”

“I will.”

“Good,” you pull away and give the two teens a thumbs up. “Break a leg, go expose some weird government agency!”

–

True to your word, you cover for Jonathan and Nancy the rest of the day. Teachers ask where they are and you simply tell them they both had a family emergency. Thankfully, due to living in such a small and rundown town, they don’t question it.

After school, you head over across the street to the middle school to go pick up Will and Dustin. Since Jonathan drove you to school and took his car with Nancy, you’ll have to hitch a ride on your brother’s bike pegs to work.

When you reach the school you walk towards the bike rack, expecting to see the boys all standing there about to leave, but you stop when you realize that they aren’t.

Huh. Odd.

You wander around. It’s been years since you’ve been inside the middle school, and the hallways are filled with memories. You walk towards the AV room, figuring they’re probably there to discuss whatever new project they’re working on. As you round the corner, you hear pounding and a girl’s voice demanding to be let in.

Speeding up, you spot Max with her angry fists. “Guys! What’s going on? C’mon!”

You watch for a moment, curious as to who this girl is. Dustin spoke highly of her, yet her brother is the worst person you’ve met in your life. She has an anger in her, that much is obvious, but then she grabs something from her bag and begins to pick at the lock.

Hm, she’s smart.

“Need some help?” You ask her.

She looks up at you and frowns. “And who are you?”

“Y/N Henderson. Unfortunately, the idiot that I’m assuming is locked inside the room is my brother.”

“You know how to pick a lock?” Max asks, eyeing you up and down.

Shrugging, you say, “can’t be too hard.”

Max seems to accept that as an answer and slides over, making room for you to crouch down next to her. You help her jimmy the paperclip into the door. Then, you hear some muffled yelling from the other side. What the fuck has your brother gotten up to this time?

“I’m gonna put a leash on that kid,” you mumble, and Max laughs.

“Do they do this a lot?”

You blow a piece of hair out of your face. “Yeah. They’re weird, honestly–”

The lock clicks, the door flings open, and suddenly a tiny, slimy creature comes scampering out the room. You hear the boys curse and before you can get up and out of their way, they come crashing into you and Max on the ground.

“Shit!” Dustin knees your forearm and you groan.

“Y/N!” His eyes widen when he sees you. He’s been caught.

Max gets up. “What was that?”

Lucas ignores her. “He’s getting away!”

“Who is getting away?” You’re finally up as well, watching as the boys start to scramble around in a panic.

Mike, seemingly unsurprised by your sudden appearance, turns to you. “Dart!” Then, in annoyance, he turns towards Max. “You let him escape!”

“What the fuck is a Dart?” You’re freaking out now. Lucas, hearing your confusion, can only shrug his shoulders at you.

Then, Dustin angrily advances towards Mike and starts yelling in his face. “Why did you attack him?”

Mike doesn’t say a word, he just starts to run down the hall. Dustin, even more in a panic, screams at him, “Don’t hurt him! Don’t you hurt him!”

You grab at your brother’s jacket and fling him back, now incredibly fucking angry. “Dustin Henderson, you have three seconds to explain what the fuck is happening.”

Lucas, Max, and Will stand back, frightened by your anger. Dustin, the only one who ever seems to face this anger, gulps. “I can explain.”

“Start. Talking.”

And he does. He explains how he had found Dart last night, thinking it had been some new lizard breed previously undiscovered. That’s why he hadn’t let you into his room. Then, to prove he was some scientific prodigy and, which he doesn’t tell you but you suspect, to impress Max.

“I was about to show Mr. Clark before Mike came in and took Dart. According to Will…” Dustin looks over at Max, lowers his voice, and whispers to you, “he’s from the Upside Down.”

And there it is.

There, the dread that has been creeping up on you ever since you saved Will, comes crawling up. You knew this would happen eventually. It’s happening again. You were right.

God, it’s happening again.

Thank fuck you stayed behind with the kids.

You want to throw up, crawl into a ball and pretend nothing else exists anymore, but Dustin is looking at you with fear in his eyes and you know you have to be strong for him. For all the kids, now. “Okay, let’s split up and find Dart.”

Dustin nods and sends Will southbound, Lucas westbound, and Max towards the gymnasium. You go with him, both because he’s your brother and because you have a few choice words you’d like to say to him. Everyone takes a walkie and splits up.

Mike is already long gone, which you’re not surprised by.

After everyone leaves, you snap at Dustin. “Thanks so much for telling me about Dart, by the way.”

“Y/N…”

“What exactly did you think you’d do with that thing hidden in our house?”

“Continue to hide it from you–ow!” Dustin rubs the back of his head.

You continue to walk. “You deserved that.”

“I did.”

You laugh, but then you feel a sense of static behind you. You turn around, but there’s no one there. But the static had felt like the same electricity that had accompanied El’s powers last year, but… No. She’s gone. You know she is.

Brushing it off as paranoia, you continue to keep an eye out for Dart. “So, what does Max think about all this?”

“Mike won’t let us tell her.” Dustin says, annoyance in his voice.

This doesn’t shock you. “I get why. I mean, we all almost died last year.”

“Yeah, but she’s different. She’s cool, I think she could be good for the party.”

Dustin seems so eager, and you feel bad for denying the boy. “She’s too young. You’re all too young for this. We can’t rope her any further into the Upside Down. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

Your brother sighs. “I mean, I guess… but–”

Will’s voice suddenly comes through the walkie. “Guys, I found him.”

“Where?” Dustin fumbles with the walkie, almost dropping it in his frantic rush to answer.

“In the bathroom by Mr. Salerno’s.”

“Copy that.” Mike says.

You look over at Dustin. “Race you to the bathroom?”

“You’re on.”

The two of you start to run, and at first you’re winning. But then you forget that you haven’t been in the school for at least three years now and you take a wrong turn, misremembering where Mr. Salerno’s room is. “Shit!”

You backtrack, but Dustin is long gone now.

By the time you get your bearings back, Lucas, Mike, and Max have all run down the hallway towards the bathroom. You join them as you all run inside. Dustin is standing in the middle of the bathroom, which you find strange.

Mike looks around. “Where’s Dart?”

“I don’t know. Not here.” You eye your brother, but he averts your gaze.

“Will said he was here.” You remind him, but Dustin doesn’t respond.

Mike curses and starts checking all the stalls.

“Maybe Will has him?” Dustin says, but you keep an eye on him. Something isn’t right.

You’re about to call Dustin’s bluff, accuse him of lying, when Mike suddenly freezes. He looks around, then turns to you. “Where’s Will?”

You turn around and finally notice that yeah, Will isn’t here. But he had just radioed from the bathroom.

“I… I don’t know.” Fear settles in you now, and you have an awful feeling that something bad is about to happen. After his episode from the night before…

You run out the bathroom, the first to start looking for Will.

⌑ series masterlist

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⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #dustin n the kids time !!!#WOOOOOOO #and steve :((((#poor baby

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kodared · 4 months ago

Text

✰ Stanford & Borrower/Anomaly Reader ✰

fears not enough they have to tear him apart.

Chapter 1/?

Wordcount: 2,057

➤ Summary Based on the borrowers of many universes! I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't know about borrowers, let me be your guide into a world I've loved since I was young. ✰Written because I saw the severe lack of borrower content in Gravity Falls fanfic, i hope you enjoy <3 ✰ - ★Updates irregularly! I write when I want ★

★ - Also on AO3! - ★

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58879087/chapters/150070549

The cottage you moved into was poorly constructed and had many openings to various rooms because of the peeling wallpaper. It was partially why you chose to reside there after many weeks of venturing the forest once your parents kicked you out.

You lived with your parents in a tree until they decided it was time for you to make your way in this world. Oh, how you could imagine the looks on their faces if you told them the mess you got yourself into this time.

Your family chose the safety of trees and burrows rather than living in the walls of creatures that could kill you without so much as a flick of a wrist.

You wouldn't call yourself one for adventure, quite the opposite. Humans terrified you to your very core. You’ve been a first-hand witness to what they are capable of. When the cottage was in the process of being built you watched many trees torn and splintered by their impossibly large machines.

You rather despised humans. What you didn't despise however was routine and having access to food much easier than foraging.

Life in the cottage was relatively peaceful, it was about as peaceful as you could get for being only a few inches tall. You swore your species was doomed to fail if it wasnt for humans influence.

The scientist who lived in the cottage was paranoid, that much was obvious. Even when you first moved in after being kicked out he stayed up much too late and consumed too much coffee to be considered sane. You brushed it off because, after a few days of scoping out the walls of the cottage, you realized he had a very precise schedule that made borrowing easy.

He would wake up early, and go to bed late. Usually uttering to himself before going down into his basement to do who knew what. It gave you a lot of time to yourself, and a human with a predictable schedule was hard to come by. Most had kids or animals, both very dangerous to someone like yourself. Fortunately, this human only seemed to have one friend who came around periodically, but they stayed downstairs.

You had noticed that night you were running low on thread and crackers, and the human was in his basement. Of course, night turned into day much quicker than you predicted.

The shock and horror of hearing the vending machine door open while you were in the middle of climbing up into his shelf literally by a thread still shuddered through your body even now.

��So what if you screamed and ran off despite him shouting for you? So what if you have to move homes? It didn't even matter much to you that when you let go of the thread you landed on your foot and wrist wrong.

The faint memory of his hand reaching for you did rattle you to your core, despite how much you insisted you could escape him even if he did grab you.

The way his eyes bared into your very soul, the way even his shadow in the early dawn lighting engulfed your entire body. Your shaking hands as you pried the loose wood plank off the wall just as you could feel his body heat emitting from his hand radiating on your back.

…

…You push the memories away lest you give yourself another panic attack. You tried to not let it bother you much, though you would miss the plentiful amounts of jellybeans and other snacks he kept on the shelves.

No. What bothered you the MOST was the fact every little detail, every little move you made before you ran off into the wall, was now being documented.

You looked down from the crack in the wall with a grimace. There was a foul taste in your mouth as you saw the human below taking vivid and rigorous notes while sitting at the kitchen table. His pen scratched the page so hard you believed it would rip.

The red journal he carried with him was the bane of your existence. If any information about you or your species was going to become mainstream, it would doom your life as you knew it. Not to mention shatter any dreams you had of a normal life.

You weren't in any position to do anything about it yet. The effects of the adrenaline pumping through your veins were slowly ebbing away. Leaving a dull ache in your head and a nasty sprain on your wrist and ankle.

With a sigh, you pushed off the wall and made the long trek back to your room. Deciding that before leaving, you had to get rid of the page in his journal. He had to leave it unguarded at some point.

Your room in the walls wasnt much, but you spent a lot of time working on it. You hollowed out a space inbetween a few support beams and insulation and put a few pieces of cloth on the walls.

The pin cushion you called a bed practically screamed your name as you pushed your makeshift cloth ‘door’ open. You broke off a piece of a cracker you swiped a few days prior and shoveled it into your mouth before collapsing on the bed.

Getting that journal was your only hope. Ignoring the chalky residue left in your mouth by the dry cracker sleep soon found you.

…

That man did not leave his journal for one moment.

It's been two days since your last encounter with the human. You tried so hard to stay patient in the walls and bide your time until you could get ahold of the cursed page, but your rations were running short.

So you threw on your satchel and stabbed a needle in your pants just in case he was out. You used to not carry it, but you weren't taking any chances.

Pressing your hands to your eyes you tried to gather courage as you walked in the dark pathways of the walls. You tried not to think about what would happen if you were caught by the scientist.

You’ve seen him take creatures like yourself down in his basement, and they never come back up.

Despite this, you still for whatever reason chose to stay. You wished you never stayed. More than anything you wished you had just found a nice, abandoned burrow like your cousin had, and stayed in the woods.

In your frustration you kicked a piece of rock, it hit a nearby pipe with a satisfying twang.

There were more predators in the woods but atleast they would just kill you. There was no telling what the human would do if he caught you.

Taking a deep breath you consoled yourself, if you played your cards right and stayed out of sight this would turn out like it usually did.

You would take a few crackers and leave, that's all you had to do.

As you pressed your hands against the wall and shakily pushed, you felt the loose wood disconnect with a satisfying crack while you poked your head out.

You squinted as the bright light from the kitchen flooded into the wall and onto your face.

Everything seemed completely normal, which should have relaxed you, but it merely put you more on edge.

This human wasnt normal. There was no reason everything on the countertop was tidied away. He usually left dishes in the sink, and from where you stood you saw none.

You where about to slink back into the wall and go out a different time before you heard his voice.

“...It was bipedal!- have you ever-”

You were quick to pull yourself back into the wall, your hand slipping on the wood and giving yourself a splinter. You sucked in a breath and held your yelp as you heard footsteps coming closer.

“I know, you haven't stopped talking about it for three hours..”

The other human's voice sounded southern, you recognized it as the main resident's friend, or ‘associate’ he sometimes said.

You could hear them picking up various glasses and cups, if you had to guess the humans were probably making more coffee. Your hypothesis was only confirmed as you heard the cursed machine whirr to a start.

You finally let out the breath you were holding as you felt the splinter that now lodged itself in your palm. Wincing as you continued to listen.

“I know, I just wish I was able to capture it! I could put a more accurate sketch, what if its the only one of its kind?”

Predictable as always.

“Ford, I'm sure you already went scarin’ the thing half to death. I wouldn't be shocked if it left,”

Ford. The scientist was named Ford. As you picked at the splinter you internally berated the name, yours wasnt much better but atleast your parents loved you enough to not name you Ford.

…Maybe you where being a bit mean.

“I doubt it, more than likely I can catch it again early morning. It seemed shocked I was there, it more than likely has a schedule it keeps to.”

Or maybe you weren't mean enough. Seriously who did this guy think he was? You had half a mind to march out of the wall and stab his stupid hand.

You didn't bother listening to the rest of their conversation, too preoccupied with picking at the splinter. Trying to pull it out with little to no light proved itself to be difficult.

You could head back to your room, but the string lights in there had limited battery, and you tried to save it for only special occasions.

To your relief, the pair left a few minutes later. Only when you heard the vending machine door clunk shut did you press against the wood plank.

Using the small sliver of light provided you pulled the splinter out with your nails, flicking it away before turning and looking at the counter.

…He left a dish.

A dish in front of where he last saw you. A dish full of various snacks, ranging from two jellybeans to crackers and cheese.

You weren't some domesticated house pet. You scowled at the dish as if it had personally scalded you before walking past it.

You walked quietly despite there being no reason to. Wishing you had your fish hook and thread to get up on the higher shelf.

You could manage without it though. You only made it a few months prior so you were skilled enough to find some scraps on the counter usually.

To your dismay, though he seemed to have done a thorough cleaning, and without your hook you had no way to reach the shelves above to gather your food.

You pressed on and walked over to the sink, careful to balance on the edge. You looked at the faucet and walked over to the handle. Gently and carefully push it just a smidge before taking out a small thimble you used for water.

After drinking your fill and putting the thimble away, you turned the water off.

…Not fully though, he could deal with a leaky faucet for a few hours.

You where going to go back empty-handed until your stomach growled looking at the crackers he left out.

Surely taking one wouldn't hurt, if you left a message.

You picked up one and stuffed it into your bag, contemplating taking a jellybean but deciding against it. Right before you went into the wall you kicked the dish off of the counter. Shattering on the floor with a satisfying clatter.

Snickering to yourself you slinked off into the walls. You’d check back on the human that night to see if he left his journal on his desk this time.

…

A few hours later Ford had finally gotten to a stopping point with his research. Thoughts of the little creature in his walls beckoned at his mind as he rode the elevator up.

He sent Fiddleford home with a goodnight before practically sprinting into the kitchen, seeing the mess left by the mischievous thing.

One thing on the counter caught his eye in particular.

As he picked it up he examined it thoroughly.

A small splinter of wood, ever so slightly tinged at the edge with red.

“...Fascinating..”

---

Thank you for reading!! Ill more than likely be updating this when i can, but be assured Chapter 2 is already being written with plans for three others!

Hope you Enjoyed!! My Askbox is always open if you want to hear me ramble more about borrowers! V●ᴥ●V

#borrowers #gt #g/t #g/t community #stanford pines #gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #size difference #gravity falls fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #young ford pines #pre portal incident #no bill cipher yet #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #stanford x anomaly reader #fears not enough they have to tear them apart

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dottores · 1 year ago

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, theta hurts reader but only a little, this was not edited sorry for mistakes 😭

notes: alrighty guys, this is officially the last chapter of the regular schedule—after this one, updates are going to be sporadic but they will at the very least be monthly. wish i could keep up the schedule but its not going to be feasible considering i start law school this upcoming wednesday </3 i'll update the masterlist to reflect the change too

SPIT IN MY FACE

“Excuse me?”

The masked man—had Gamma called him Theta?—kept a tight grip on your wrist, holding it up in front of you so he could look at it himself. He was stronger than he looked, you tried to rip your wrist out of his hold but failed. His nails dug into your skin in response to the attempt, drawing blood. You grimaced as you watched a thin line of red seep down your forearm.

“You heard me.” Theta’s smile didn’t budge as his other hand came up to grab your chin, turning your head away from where Kappa was still buried in the crook of your neck to face him. “Was he trying to keep you hidden away or were you trying to hide from us?”

He wasn’t looking at your hand. He was looking at your finger or more specifically… where your thread was hanging from it, leading off somewhere to the left of you wherever Dottore was. You remembered how Kappa had looked down at your hand curiously before deciding to come over to you, the way he was so at ease with you for no reason. And Gamma. Gamma had looked at your hand before he started panicking and ran off.

Could they… see it?

“Hm?” Theta’s nails dug into your cheeks now, just like how he had with the aristocrat—you didn’t even know where they went, if they had taken the opportunity to flee or if he had done something to immobilize them, you couldn’t turn your head to check. You grimaced as you felt his nails break skin again. “Answer me.”

How was that possible?

You could all but taste the poison in his words, the impatience and the frustration. You were at a loss as to how to proceed—your arms were tied up with Kappa, one of your hands was stuck in his and he was forcing you to look at him, and that unhinged look in his red eyes was causing your brain to fog with fear.

Think. You had to think. You had to free your wrist from his hand. You had to get back to your room, or to Pantalone’s.

Where was Pantalone? Livid, you realized that the man was probably still listening in on the show, not getting involved, leaving you to deal with this unstable bastard.

Think. What did he want to hear? What would make him settle down at least enough to loosen his grip on you?

But how the hell were you supposed to know what he wanted you to hear? Even with just the way he spat out those two questions, you knew both answers were wrong and would set him off more. But you had to say something, the longer you went without answering his question, the more his eyes flamed with impatience—you didn’t want to know what would happen when that thin thread of patience snapped.

“I came here, didn’t I?” you asked quietly. You tried to relax your shoulders and upper body, exuding a type of faux-comfort with the man. “I came looking for you.”

Theta’s red eyes narrowed with suspicion, watching you carefully—his grip did not waver, much to your distress.

“You don’t even know who I am,” he said coldly, speaking the one truth you’d hoped he wouldn’t. His grip on your wrist tightened and his nails dug deeper into your cheeks. “I hate liars.”

“I’m not lying,” you told him, grimacing as his nail dragged against your skin. Kappa shifted in your arms, bristling, you couldn’t tell if he was watching or not. “You can see the thread, no? I may not fully understand how you can see it but the fact that you can speaks enough.”

Theta hesitated, the corner of his lip dipping in doubt as he tried to decide whether or not he thought you were lying. You watched with bated breath, tongue kissing the inside of your teeth, as a flurry of emotions rushed through his eyes ranging from anger to hesitancy and hope. Then his eyes hardened, decision made, and your heart sunk to your stomach.

“Liar.”

Again, his grip tightened but it was painful now and your body begged you to pull away or do something but he was stronger than you. He forced you closer to him, turning you so that if Kappa wasn’t between you, you would’ve been chest-to-chest with him. You wondered if you should let him go, let him flee somewhere safe, but he was still clutching your shirt.

Theta leaned in close, you could feel his breath hot against your cheek and the cool ceramic of his mask nudging against your skin where his nose would have been. You grit your teeth together as you felt something warm and wet press against the skin of your cheek where his nails had broken through, lapping at the blood.

Your face felt hot, anger and humiliation curdling your blood as Theta let out a puff of amused laughter against your skin.

“You taste like a liar too,” Theta crooned. “Lambda thinks you’re a fake sent to distract us. Are you a fake, little liar?”

Us. He kept saying us but you don’t know what that meant or how it was possible—they could see the thread but as far as you could tell, they did not have a connecting one. You had never seen anything like that before, nor had you ever read about anything like that.

You thought you should say something but your mind was reeling as you tried to piece together the puzzle and figure out what was going on.

But before you could do or say anything, Kappa squirmed and twisted in your arms, hanging over you to whack his small fist hard against Theta’s mask—with more strength than you expected from the boy.

Theta grunted stumbling back—he wasn’t hurt but the force of Kappa’s swing had partially knocked his mask off, revealing thick scars similar to the ones you had seen on Gamma. He fumbled trying to straighten out the mask and as he did, you whirled around to rush to your room.

You didn’t get far.

Not because of Theta, who was cursing as he fastened the mask back on, but because you slammed right into someone else’s chest, broad and dressed in dark clothes. You glanced up as a pair of gloved hands grabbed your waist, irritation rising at Pantalone’s thin, close-eyed smile. You wondered if you had passed or failed whatever test he expected from this situation.

The pads of his fingers pressed into your waist as he shifted you over to the side and behind him, leveling his attention on Theta as the man straightened back, narrowed eyes still trained on you instead of the Harbinger.

“Theta.” Venom dripped from Pantalone’s words as he spoke his name. “I suggest you make your way back to the Doctor’s labs instead of bothering my guest.”

“Your?” Theta spat out, taking a step forward. His eyes were wild again now, far gone from the hardened look he had directed toward you after he made his decision. You stiffened, watching as Pantalone lifted his chin, raising his eyebrows, challenging Theta. “She is not your anything, banker. Go back to counting your coins and sucking noble cock to get further in the world, stay out of our business.”

Pantalone, to his credit, did not look bothered by the dig—the only sign of anger was the way his lip twitched before he spoke: “Take it up with your maker, fraud. You have no authority here, you are not the Doctor.”

“I am-”

Sharp and loud, Theta’s voice rang up and down the hall as he took two long steps forward as if to attack Pantalone but the Harbinger only let out a huff of amusement as he cut Theta off mid-shout.

“I am not one of the subordinates who you can fool into believing you are him. You are a rabid dog running a thin line between life and death. It is only a matter of time before you’re put down, I again suggest you leave before I make that day come sooner.”

You thought that you shouldn’t feel anything for the man standing a few paces away but something deep in you clenched when Theta drew back as if he’d been physically slapped, red eyes wide with shock. The feeling did not last long though because as quick as the hurt appeared, it was gone, twisting into something far more sinister as a wide smile spread across his lips, teeth bared much like the rabid dog Pantalone claimed him to be.

“You think you can kill me?”

Something manic stained his words, deranged and challenging as if he meant for Pantalone to back his words right then and there. Theta did not have a vision, not one that you could see or feel at least, but you knew in your bones that he was far, far more dangerous than he looked—he was strong and he moved faster than any visionless human you’d ever seen. Briefly, you wondered if he even was hu-

Pantalone stepped forward and the air around the four of you crackled with an energy that made your skin crawl. You let out a shaky breath, eyes widening as you took a step away from the man, unconsciously trying to get away from the source of the energy, an unnatural and uncomfortable feeling spreading through you.

What is that?

It felt sick. Corrupted. The air tasted stale and rotted as it seeped down the halls like poison. Your vision was reacting in response to it, the purity of the hydro energy trying to repel the new, malefic energy but it was curling all around you, trying to find chinks in the thin shield your vision was providing you from the decay.

You had to get away from it but your feet were rooted to the ground, watching the scene play out before you. Neither Theta nor Pantalone looked bothered by the energy—in fact, Theta looked thrilled, eyes alight as his impossibly wide smile widened even more, a giggle slipping from his lips as he raised his hand as if to summon something, but before he could snap his fingers, his eyes dulled and his knees hit the ground hard. Almost like he had been turned off, just like that.

What-

At once, the energy around Pantalone dissipated and you could move, confusion riddling your mind as you tried to figure out what happened to Theta and what that disgusting energy was. You took a step forward, eyes wide and trained on Theta first—was that Pantalone’s doing? But as you turned to look at him, your gaze caught sight of a figure down the hall.

Dottore.

You were bleeding.

Dottore could feel his cheeks stinging but he hadn’t been sure what it was until he got to the hall in Pantalone’s wing where Gamma had left you. Theta was on the ground, empty-eyed and still, turned off courtesy of Dottore, and Pantalone was standing to the side of you, seemingly unimpressed by the whole situation.

But you were looking at him, and only him, and he could only focus on you, eyes tracing the blood as it dripped down your cheeks to your neck, dribbling down your skin. With creased brows and lips pressed together tightly, he couldn’t tell if the look you were directing toward him was suspicion or anger or something else entirely. The only thing he could feel from you was what he assumed were the remnants of the confrontation with Theta: fear, anxiety, skepticism, confusion, disgust.

Disgust, was that directed toward him or Theta or both of them? It didn’t sit well with him. He wondered how much Theta had told you, and he wondered how much you’d been able to piece together from what he had. Dottore had been hoping to keep the existence of the segments a secret from you.

The last thing he wanted to have to do was get into depth about what they were because if he knew you even half as well as he thought he did, he knew it would turn into an interrogation of all that he’d been up to with his research. Even when you were young, when the third phase of the bond had first manifested, he had to be careful about what he was thinking about so that it wasn’t transcribed to you. Countless times he received words from you that could have only been originally given by him: the names of the segments, residue, deactivate, and Dottore knew that you must be taking every word he sent you to relentlessly research into them.

“Doctor,” Pantalone finally drawled as Dottore came to a stop in front of them, forcing his attention away from you just for a second. “It’s about time that you’ve leashed your mad dog, I’m quite tired of dealing with him.”

Dottore didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, he focused his attention back onto you—the only apparent wounds were the deep scratch marks on your cheek and wrist, painful but mostly superficial. It would heal in a few days at most, he would pass along an ointment to Pantalone so he could give it to you to speed along the healing process.

The issue for Dottore laid in the boy tucked neatly in your arms, hiding his face against your skin.

The Kappa segment.

Dottore exhaled. That would be trouble trying to handle. The Kappa segment was skittish and nervous. He usually only stuck around Epsilon, Iota or Gamma, he even tried to avoid the other segments if he could. Dottore had a feeling that it was because they reminded him of their father but he couldn’t be sure.

Either way, he had never latched onto someone like this before and Dottore had a feeling it would be an issue trying to get him away from you. He didn’t like shutting down the younger segments—or any of the segments for that matter because it tended to mess with their wiring—but he thought he might have to in order to get the kid back to the estate without alerting the entire palace to your presence and relationship to him.

His eyes lingered on you, only for a few more moments, watching the way you held Kappa close, arms wrapped around him tightly as if to shield him from danger. Kappa seemed like he was on the verge of dozing off, his shoulders rising and falling steadily—he’d never seen him so comfortable with someone that wasn’t Epsilon before. Something unfamiliar tightened his chest. Longing? Desire? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

He looked away sharply, finally turning his attention to Pantalone.

“Regrator, don’t act as if you spend all of your free time reluctantly handling my segments. You are usually asking for them, in fact,” Dottore said dryly. He barely spared you another look as he said: “I’ll handle this. Go back to your room and rest.”

Your face twisted and Dottore bit back a sigh, realizing that round three of his war of words with you was about to begin.

“I am not a child,” you shot back, voice tight. “You can’t just send me to my room. I have questions and you will give me answers now. I’ve waited long enough.”

Dottore had a feeling that you were not just talking about the past few hours. You were talking about the decade he had spent ignoring your existence. Unfortunately for you, he had no interest in answering your questions, not now or ever.

He turned his attention back to Pantalone, ignoring the furious look that spread across your face at being blatantly ignored. Luckily—or unluckily, time would tell—Epsilon stepped in. He watched as your brows dipped in suspicion, looking between Epsilon and Dottore warily. If you hadn’t put together something was very, very wrong with the existence of Kappa, Gamma and Theta already, he had a feeling that Epsilon’s appearance just sealed it.

Dottore turned away as Epsilon took your hand in his to press his lips to your knuckles before he gently led you in the direction of the door on the left. Gamma and Iota followed behind, the latter far more excited than the former. Gamma cast one last pleading look in Dottore’s direction just as Iota slammed the door shut behind them.

Dottore, as he turned his attention to Theta’s still body, thought this might just be the worst case scenario. All three of the children. Theta. Epsilon. The last segments Dottore wanted meeting you all somehow managed to do just that within hours of you being in Zapolyarny. This would spread to all of the rest of the segments in no time and then he would have Zeta demanding to see proof of your existence and Rho lurking about curious; he’d have Delta bashing down the palace door to get Iota away from you, convinced by Lambda that you were only here to deceive them. And he’d have Lambda doing god knows what to try to remove your existence from their lives so they could continue their research without distraction.

He needed a plan of action and he needed it fast but first, he had to deal with this.

“What happened?”

“Two aristocrats came up looking for the Kappa segment,” Pantalone said off-handedly. “Your soulmate interfered.”

“Interfered?” Dottore demanded. “What was she doing wandering around?”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “Was I meant to lock her in her room?”

Dottore looked at him coldly, silently telling him yes, he should have. They could not afford to have any of their subordinates run into you, much less any of the Harbingers and he knew that some of them would be searching for you. He remembered Columbina’s cryptic comment about you a few months ago, Sandrone’s fury at your presence in Snezhnaya, Arlecchino’s odd interest in you—and if Arlecchino was interested, it was only a matter of time before she sent her attack dog after you to find out whatever she wanted to know. Keeping you isolated from the rest of the Fatui was paramount.

“What happened with Theta?” Dottore asked after Pantalone let out an exaggerated sigh of agreement.

“What always happens with Theta,” Pantalone said dismissively. “He gets set off and lashes out. Was going on about her faking the bond, apparently Lambda is going around convincing them she’s lying.”

Of course, Dottore thought bitterly. He knew that Lambda had been talking to Zeta, Delta and Rho but he thought the segment knew better than to get Theta wound up about this.

He took a deep breath, taking a step away to calm himself down. Well, that made that decision: the first thing he had to do was talk to Lambda, he couldn’t have him turning the segments against you, least of all Theta, who was very liable to attack those that he thinks did him wrong. After that, he would figure out what to do with the rest of the segments because in stopping Lambda, he would have to admit to them all that you were his soulmate, that this was all real.

That this was all real.

Dottore shut his eyes briefly, unconsciously looking in the direction of where you, Epsilon and the kids had disappeared behind the dark door that led to your room. His body itched to follow them in there—the bond in work, surely, but he could feel it was getting stronger. It was stronger than it was while he had been dancing with you, and even stronger than it had been while talking to you outside of the washroom. He should just grab Theta and drag him back down to his lab, leaving Epsilon to deal with your interrogation, but his feet weren’t cooperating.

“You should speak to her,” Pantalone said as he turned to go back to his own room. “If you’re going to have me confine her to this wretched place, you should at the very least, explain to her why… lest you have a very unhappy soulmate on your hands. I doubt that would be conducive to productivity.”

Dottore hummed dismissively, glancing back at the door once. He supposed should, he didn’t want to deal with your turbulent emotions, especially when he was going to be dealing with the segments.

Distantly, a part of him wondered if he was just using that as a logical excuse to give in to the pull of the bond.

“And Doctor, do get me that prototype by the morning as promised.”

You felt overwhelmed. The older boy, Gamma, was sitting in the corner of your room, knees tucked to his chest as he watched you with the younger two. Kappa was fast asleep now, tiny arms slung around your neck as he slept—you had tried to place him down on your bed but whenever you tried to pull him away from you, his arms tightened and he started stirring awake. The other one, you didn’t know his name yet, was kneeling on the floor next to the bed where you were sitting, big red eyes peeked above the comforter, watching you with varying degrees of suspicion and distrust and longing.

He had the same scar on the upper half of his face that Gamma did, you couldn’t help but notice, down to the burn patterns and wrinkles. And they were identical, if Gamma was a few years younger, he’d be the spitting image of the kid. It was impossible. Not even brothers can be so similar as to be identical down to the wrinkles and patterns in scars.

So, what were they?

You had to have been onto something when you thought it was some sort of experiment—Kappa was too young to have been born eight years ago, Gamma and the new kid were too similar in appearances, if you saw correctly when Kappa partially knocked off the mask even Theta seemed to have some scars on his face, and Theta and Kappa both showed a strength that did not reflect in their body.

A throat being cleared knocked you out of your thoughts, your eyes drew up from the kids to where the man was standing near the door. He gave you a small, apologetic smile as his eyes met yours—red and gentle.

Who was this?

You watched the man with thinly veiled suspicion. He looked just like Dottore, silvery blue hair styled the same way and even wearing a similar dark button-up that he did.

Except unlike Dottore, he was not wearing a mask.

His skin was smooth compared to the scars of the children and instead of the ever-present frown of Dottore, the corner of his lips were turned up. You had grown used to the cold aloofness of your soulmate over the years, it unnerved you how someone could look so much like him and yet feel entirely different.

You raised your chin as Epsilon came to sit on the edge of the bed next to you, keeping your expression stony, studying him to try to figure out what he wanted from you.

“Peace,” he murmured. “I’d just like to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He had a white handkerchief between his fingers and you were acutely aware of the blood still dripping down your cheeks and arm. He raised his eyebrows, but sighed when he realized you weren’t going to budge, placing the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you have questions. I can answer them if you’d like.”

Of course you had questions, but could you trust him to answer them?

He didn’t appear as if he was trying to deceive you, his eyes were warm and his lips were lax, he had none of that tightness that Dottore usually had. Was he faking it? Or was he wanting to help you? You couldn’t tell, his demeanor was throwing you off.

“You’re really her?” a new, young voice said softly, voice hesitant but tinged with the slightest bit of hope that had your heart aching. You looked back toward the kid as he peered up at you through thick curls of hair cautiously. “Our soulmate?”

Our.

Your ears rang, distantly watching as the boy reached out for your hand, thin fingers playing with yours until he reached the one your thread was looped around. From the corner of your eye, you looked at the older man, who was watching you with a knowing expression.

Our.

How was that possible? He could clearly see your thread, trying to play with it and tug at it in the same way you used to as a child, but he had no connecting one, like the Doctor did. Did that make you his soulmate but he was not yours? Was there such a thing as unrequited soulmates? But you didn’t think it was that simple, there was a critical piece of information you were still missing.

But the kid was looking at you again, anxiously awaiting your response, and you didn’t have the heart to deny him. Even if you weren’t sure what was going on, he could undeniably see your thread.

“Yes,” you finally said, watching as he lit up, red eyes pooling with tears and lips trembling as he flung himself forward, burying his face into your lap. He jostled Kappa, who kicked his foot out instinctively, but the kid was unbothered.

“I knew you were real.” His voice was muffled into the cloths of your dress. “Everyone said you weren’t but I knew you were.”

Your throat tightened and your now free hand twitched from where it was laying on the comforter of your bed, coming up to pat his head.

You let out a shaky breath, lifting your gaze to focus on the man still sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with an indecipherable expression.

“I’ve never seen them take to someone like this before,” he said softly. “I suppose it’s just further proof that you are who you claim to be. Some of the others thought it might be a ploy.”

Others, you wondered distantly but you were more focused on the last thing he said, face twisting.

“I would not fake a soul bond,” you said tightly, mind turning to your stepfather and your mother, your dead father and your destroyed family.

“I insulted you,” he realized. “My apologies, it was not my intention. I was not one of the ones that thought that way but I figured it was best for you to know and prepare, some of them might doubt you when they meet you.”

“How many of you are there?” you asked, but the more important question that you just couldn’t push out was what are you?

“Excluding the Doctor, there are nine of us. I’m called Epsilon. Kappa is the youngest, then Iota, who is on your lap, and then Gamma, who’s sitting over there,” he explained.

You looked back over to where Gamma was sitting. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out the window into the dark night… or maybe he was. Amused, you realized that he was still watching you carefully through the reflection of the window. As soon as he realized that you noticed what he was doing, he turned his head away quickly.

“He’ll warm up,” Epsilon said quietly. You looked back toward him, watching as his lips turned up, red eyes glittering, as if sharing some secret with you. “He’s nervous.”

You couldn’t help the way you let out a puff of amusement, studying Gamma and the way he was digging his nails into the palm of his hand and tapping his foot against the wood of the window nook incessantly.

“I don’t… really understand all of this,” you finally admitted, relaxing a bit with Epsilon. You let yourself lean back against the large, decorative pillows set up on the bed, watching the man that looked eerily similar to Dottore, wondering if this was what he looked like beneath the mask as well.

“This is new for all of us too,” Epsilon told you, “so I can’t really explain to you what all of the bonds might be or mean… but I’m sure that is not what you’re asking right now, is it?”

“Not entirely, at least. First I’d like to understand…”

What you are. What they are. Why you can see the thread and why the children think that I’m their soulmate too.

“Well, I’ll do my best at explaining then. You deserve that much at least.”

The heavy weight on your chest lifted, if only a little. You thought that this might be the first time in weeks, months, that someone was actually giving you answers. Your father passed and left you with only questions, the masked person from the inn gave you even more questions and not a single answer, and now even Dottore refused to answer your questions, he just sent you away for Pantalone to deal with.

“Thanks,” you said softly, eyes meeting his again.

Epsilon gave you a small smile, lips parting to speak but before he could say anything, the door to your room opened again. Your gaze shot up, eyes falling upon a familiar masked figure standing in the frame, lips pressed together tightly.

“Epsilon,” Dottore said coldly. “Bring Theta down to the lab.”

Epsilon sighed heavily, shooting you an apologetic look before rising to his feet. “Another time,” he offered, and you nodded, disappointed, ignoring how Dottore’s lips turned downward.

Epsilon made his way out of the room, slipping past Dottore, and Gamma threw himself off the nook and scampered after Epsilon, fleeing the room without another look toward you.

The door slam shut behind them, an eerie silence sweeping over the room as he left you with Dottore.

Dottore’s already sour mood worsened when Epsilon flung him a triumphant look as soon as his back was turned to you. He wondered what he said to you in those few minutes he was in here alone with you but for some reason, he doubted that you would tell him and he by no means wanted to add more fuel to the fire by appearing interested in you. Narrowed eyes followed Epsilon as he left the room, shutting the door harshly behind him and the Gamma segment so he could speak to you without unwelcome ears listening in.

The Kappa and Iota segments made no move to leave—one being fast asleep and the other now watching Dottore suspiciously, shifting behind you to peek over your shoulder at him. Dottore could see the boy clutching something in his hand, knuckles white around the object and arms tensed as if ready to throw it. Dottore raised his eyebrows, albeit knowing neither of you could see the action anyway.

He ignored Iota and drew closer to the bed, taking a seat on the opposite side of the mattress that Epsilon had been sitting on as he observed you. You looked exhausted—your eyes looked heavy and tired, they didn’t have the same spark in them that they had earlier in the night, and the blood from the scratch marks on your was smeared messily, staining your skin and dress.

Irritated, Dottore wondered why Epsilon hadn’t cleaned it up, pulling out a cloth from his jacket pocket and shifting a little closer. He grabbed your arm first, ignoring that tingling sensation as it reappeared as soon as the pads of his fingers were pressed against your bare skin, and especially ignoring the red thread tied around your finger.

He could feel your eyes on him as he carefully wiped away the blood, distantly noting that Iota had shimmied out from behind you and was darting to the opposite side of the room.

“He will not bother you again,” Dottore finally said, sparing a look to the side as Iota approached from the side, this time with bandages. He eyed the boy curiously, wondering if this room was one of the places he fled to those rare times he was stuck in the palace and got overwhelmed by the amount of people. Iota turned his head away pointedly and Dottore just shook his head, taking the bandages and wrapping them neatly around your wrist and forearm.

You didn’t respond to him and Dottore glanced up at you, waiting for you to say something. You looked away, Dottore bit back an irritated sigh, tying off the bandage and moving a bit closer to look at your face.

“Thought they just called you a doctor for the irony,” you snipped half-heartedly, keeping your eyes averted as his fingers grabbed your jaw, turning your head to the side to see just how deep Theta had cut you.

Dottore let out an amused puff of air. “They do,” he drawled, “but I’m usually presented as one to acquire more willing test subjects. I must at least know the basics.”

You gave him a withering look from the corner of your eye, bottom lip pushed out. He was grateful for his mask hiding the way his gaze lingered on it, focusing back on the scratch marks. They weren’t too deep but he didn’t have an ointment with him to spread over them, so instead he just pressed the handkerchief to the skin, cleaning up the blood.

“What are they?” you asked, eyes steeled for an argument.

Dottore sighed heavily, considering briefly trying to avoid the subject but you did not seem keen on letting this slide and he was not in the mood for an argument. He wanted to get this done and get out of your room as soon as possible, even if his body was betraying him by allowing his fingers to linger on your cheek as he wiped away the blood.

“They are me.”

Concise and to the point, as he always was, Dottore waited for the explosion of questions and demands to come from you but you only stared at him, studying him. Again, Dottore was grateful for his mask because he did not like the way he felt beneath your gaze.

“How?” you finally questioned.

“Experimentation,” Dottore said dryly, your eyes narrowed as if that was an obvious answer. His lip unconsciously pulled up into a smirk. “I was able to isolate and extract my consciousness at specific periods of my life after years of study into-”

“Irminsul,” you finished for him, voice little over a breath and eyes darting down to your forearm.

Dottore’s lips pressed into a thin line, watching you carefully—he did not like that, or did he? A part of him was impressed that you’d managed to put it together so easily just from the little he said and the words that had been transcribed to you through the bond. But on the same note, he thought that the fact that the bond had given you enough words to so easily string together how he had gone about his research was unnerving.

Not for the first time since the bond appeared, Dottore felt distinctly violated.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Study into Irminsul. All I had to do was create vessels for the consciousnesses after extracting them.”

“And they are… you?”

You were looking at Kappa with a different expression now, Dottore couldn’t figure out what it was but it made him uncomfortable, vulnerable. There was a reason why he made sure to keep all of the younger segments far, far away from people. Dottore let his hand drop back to his lap, folding the handkerchief and placing it back in his pocket.

“Yes.” His voice came out colder and sharper, and you caught the change in tone, looking up at him quickly with furrowed brows. “I’ll be taking them back to the labs.”

You didn’t look pleased, frowning as you looked down at Kappa, who was still fast asleep. Behind Dottore, Iota let out a noise of protest but Dottore only had to turn his head to the side to stop the boy from speaking his complaint out loud.

“So what? You’re just going to leave again?” you asked harshly.

“Did you think I was going to stay?” he quipped back, sarcasm dripping from his words. “That you and the younger segments and I were just going to be one happy family?”

To your credit, you didn’t look too perturbed by the harsh words but he knew it affected you, if the way your grip tightened on Kappa had anything to say about it.

“You can’t just keep me here,” you spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not-”

“You’ll find that I can do whatever I want,” Dottore corrected, rising to his feet.

You didn’t hesitate, shifting Kappa down to lay on the bed next to you as you moved forward, fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place. A commendable effort, but all it would take was one quick snap of his wrist to free it from your hold…

But he did not snap away his wrist. As easy as it would have been, instead he just stood there, staring down at you, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. He tensed as if to pull away but his body didn’t cooperate—he blamed it on the bond but he wasn’t so sure that was the case.

“I’m not done,” you said. “I have more questions.”

“Another time,” he dismissed, finally forcing himself to pull his wrist back. Again, he felt a strange void as soon as the pressure of your fingers was removed from him. “I’ve wasted enough time tonight.”

Wasted?

“Wasted?” you echoed his very thought, scoffing loudly before shaking your head. “You know what, I don’t really care. What I do care about is knowing what that energy was around Pantalone—what was that?”

Dottore looked at her steadily from beneath his mask. “That is none of your business,” he said coolly. “Do not go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong lest you find yourself a guest here forever.”

The look you gave him was nothing short of murderous. “As if I won’t be already,” you spat, rising to your feet to take a few steps closer to him after he moved away. Dottore remained rooted in place, looking down at you. “I will not be kept here like a caged animal.”

“Then maybe you should not act like one.”

“Excuse me?” Dottore’s words held no weight, but he did very much enjoy goading reactions out of you, watching as your face twisted in fury at the insult. “I came here for a reason, Doctor, and that reason was not to be imprisoned by you. I have information I need to find and one way or another, I will acquire it. You can either-”

“You will do as I say so long as you’re in this palace,” Dottore said, cutting you off by pinching your cheeks between his fingers and tilting your face up to look at him. “Just because we have a bond forced on us by Celestia does not make you untouchable, control that tongue of yours before it lashes at the wrong person. Once I get the information I want, I will consider getting you what you want. Then, we will never have to see each other again. Until then, you have reaped what you sowed and it is no one’s fault but your own that you were not adequately prepared for the consequences of your actions, do you understand?”

Just for a second, he watched as a helpless expression spread across your face, eyes glassy and lips pressed together tight as you stared up at him. His tongue itched to say something else but no words formed on it before you snapped your face out of his hold, looking away.

“Get out.”

A part of him wanted to refuse just to be spiteful—was it spite? Or was it something else, that heavy feeling weighing at his chest? That was a question he was not ready to answer, so instead, he smiled thinly:

“Gladly.”

i promise they’re going to start warming up to each other soon more than just in their internal narration <.< soon as in very soon wait til you see the scene i have planned

RBS APPRECIATED!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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ryomaandgundhamkin · 2 months ago

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Okay. I have a lot to explain. First:

Listen- I am REALLY sorry for not drawing a lot. For the last month (by this point it’s probably been a month), I’ve been really, really behind on drawing and TSAMS lore. I don’t really feel that I’m apart of the fandom anymore. I just lost all my energy to actually dedicate myself to the lore of the show. I feel exhausted. Plus, school isn’t helping. For the last two weeks it’s been kind of hard for me, I mean aside from my trip, but then I had to catch up on work then do 1 project. I had two tests today.

Art block is hitting hard and I hope you understand. I just feel like I want to draw, I have a lot of ideas, I just can never get a result I actually like. It’s a process of drawing and deleting all my progress. I feel like it’s either 1., I make too much art, which in turn exhausts me further, or 2., I don’t make art at all. I’ve just been lurking around Tumblr and going around, like “oh I’m so going to draw this”, but I’m realizing that I definitely do not have enough energy to draw anything TSBS right now.

My main focus at the moment is school and school only. I hope you understand this because I had a shit ton of late work I had to do from the days I missed while I was away (7 fucking pages), and I had to zoom through that, THEN I had the science test. I had my math test today and I did well and now I’m tired af. I just don’t feel like drawing in general, period. Coloring maybe, but I just have too many things to do OUTSIDE of drawing online on here. Basically this is just me taking a small break. I’m sorry that content may be slower on my account, but I feel like I need this or else I will eventually just actually pass out from the stress. No one did nothing wrong aside from me. I’m just torturing myself. My brain hurts and my sleep schedule is damaged. Planning events is NOT fun and every weekend, I seriously just want a break, but OH someone’s coming over or we’re doing something or we’re going somewhere. I seriously cannot take a break unless I have NOTHING TO DO, which is kind of impossible considering my mother’s plans.

I just don’t feel like drawing. I feel like I’m starting to sleep more early everyday. My mind is a mess. It hurts. It hurts.

I’m just so sorry about this. I hope you guys understand I may not be in the best mental state (even if I act like I’m not, and same at with school, @kiwikay3 …), and I don’t feel like drawing for a bit. Just expect me to give you updates once in a while and maybe that’s it. Just don’t expect a ton of content or doodles from me.

This problem has nothing to do with you guys, I just want you to know this and know what to expect from me from now on. I’ll catch up with all my art requests and things like that eventually, I just feel like school has taken a toll on me. On my health. But, just myself overall. I don’t want anyone to worry. I’ll probably be active less and less so it’s fine if you unfollow me or something because I feel like I’ve already failed you all, and I’ve already reached the peak of my art journey (mid-October or so). I’m so sorry but I feel like when I write these I just get so emotional and I can’t really describe any of it in words. I’m probably going to sleep after this before I actually start crying. I’m actually so annoyed and sad and I just feel so many emotions. My brother is not helping, because HE does not care about his physical health so me and my parents do instead.

Sorry. Thank you all.

I feel like I’m going to have a mental breakdown fuck i hate this

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the-afterparty-au · 7 months ago

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[✨*ABOUT✨]

The Afterparty AU is briefly summarized as taking place in a party within the void, lasting forever after a genocide route that was never undone. After many months of nothing but wind, our first fallen human realized the world was not going to be reverted by the player, and they stayed true to their word of Erasure. Chara however, simply getting bored decides to play a game framed as a experiment & brings back all the monsters you failed to befriend in a Genocide route back for a encore. Allowing everyone to reside in the void, a space between files & between deltarune and UNDERTALE. The amount of monsters that are happy about this is uncertain, but all of them are certainly questioning literally everything that brought them here. (Lightly Inspired by these fanworks so, Thanks to @garbagechocolate, @djsmell & @jazze-bee for accidentally inspiring me to make a whole AU)

By; Modphys (They/them) (Main Blog & Art Blog: @kates-cave & @ryzies-ralley) Modtaton (He/they) (Main Blog + Art Blog: @spiltmilk34 & @spoiledcheese34 | Instagram ) Papymod (She/they/he) (Main Blog + Art Blog: @theartistthatcantraw & @fail3dexp3rim3nt) Also thanking this for the text boxes haha

[*TAGS]

#ModAlphys🍍 #ModMTT🦝 #ModPapy💀 - Content from specific Mods

#OutOfVoid - General out of character posts/Asks/Announcements Etc.

#PostsFortheVoid Reblogs of any Fanart or random posts I/we might reblog

#PostsOfTheVoid Extra Content asks lore etc. not relevant to the actual plot Or announcements

#TheAfterPartyAU In universe & Main Story posts

#AskAfterparty is any asks in character

#ModsQ&A, Any Asks directly for the mods + #ModsArt is any Art Directly from the mods (not counting story)

[📋*RULES 📋]

[*Current AU Status: Active]

- No SERIOUS NSFW media. Swearing and certain (Chara Frisk & Flowey are all children) jokes are allowed but actual sexually explicit content & HARD GORE is prohibited. Plus the mods are minors

- Harassment towards me, Or anyone of Any group, will not be tolerated

- Repeat asks will probably be ignored, sorry.

- Please Be patient, This blog does not have a schedule & updates come out when they’re ready (aim for at least 2 weeks)

- No Magic!Anon please, While this story is a bit aimless it’s still there, plus Keep Roleplaying limited maybe. Makes my life easier.

- Technically not a hard rule but If you’re asking & have an ask blog I recommend you add your @, Love seeing other AU/Blog’s Out there in the wild!! Doesn't matter the fandom either :D

- Probably will close the ask box if it gets too full, might cap it at 20 0r 25.

* Have funnnnn. =)

[*⚠️ *WARNINGS ⚠️]

This AU is estimated to be 15+

While I don't plan to include shipping, it might sneak its way in here, who knows.

Swearing in Asks Is allowed plus the mod swears. (Steer clear of slurs, even if you can reclaim them.)

Scarring, Blood, Death, themes of unreality trauma & gore is around, Everyone was brought back from the dead. Additional CW for mentions Genocide considering this au is after one.

potential mentions (& possible depictions) of suicide & Self harm, Fratricide, Mind Control (Possible Manipulation), & Divorce.

While this aims to be (kind of) joke au, General CW for potential disturbing content is out there.

Feel Free the DM With any warnings I missed & should include

[*ACT - ASK] - ASK BOX STATUS [OPEN]

*Chara - 💔 *Frisk - ♥️ *Toriel - 🔥 *Papyrus - 💀 *Mad Mewsy - 💢 *The Undying - 🦈 *Muffet - 🕷️ *Mettaton NEO - 👾 *Sans - 🦴 *Asgore - 🔱 *Flowey 🌻

DNI LIST

Homophobes, Terfs, LGBTQIA+Phobic, Racists, Xenophobes, Pro shippers, Anti-Anti's, Misogynists', Cancel Culture & Cringe Culture, NSFW/18+Blogs, Abelists, Zoophiles, Anti Semitism, Hate speech, MAPS/Pedos, Discourse Blogs, AI supprters, Y’know the basic DNI criteria stuff (Just don't be a dick man this feels dumb to make.)

[*LINKS – 📎]

Beginning - N/A

Arcs - N/A

Character Sheets - N/A

Most Recent - N/A

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sunflowersandsapphires · 11 months ago

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Heaven Help the Fool

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 5

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, angsty matthew, hints of matt's jealousy, cuddling? idk this one is relatively tame (especially compared to Ch 4)

a/n: This chapter is pure sugary fluff. I ended up cutting this chapter in half because it was approaching 10k. This is the 1st half :) I hope you enjoy!! Thank you to @madschiavelique for helping me rewrite this multiple times!

Side note: I will probably wait a month or so before updating this again. I'm trying to get 5-7 chapters written so that I can post biweekly for the rest of the year to keep y'all fed!

w/c: 4.2k

Despite the brief hiccup in your friendship–courtesy of one douchebag boyfriend–you, Matt, and Foggy had been getting along swimmingly recently; so well, in fact, that Foggy would only refer to you as “The Three Musketeers”, complete with embarrassingly clumsy fake sword swishing, of course. The thought of the two of you air-fencing as you giggled to each other never failed to make him smile.

By some miracle, the conversation he’d initiated with you about your growing distance had actually gone well and sparked a positive change. You’d apologized profusely, asking a number of questions, about how Matt was feeling and why, to guarantee your understanding. And, thankfully, he’d been able to answer them without exposing his feelings for you. In the end, you’d promised to return to your original schedule of study sessions, as well as give Matt and Foggy notice if you would need to cancel. Nothing outrageous, just being more mindful about communication and the time you were spending with your friends.

Unfortunately for Matt, and Foggy who was slowly stepping aboard the “Everett Sucks” train alongside his roommate, you’d also suggested that the two of them hang out with you and Everett in order to get to know him better. The idea was harmless, even adorable if you asked the love-sick part of Matt’s brain, but the outcome was hellish.

About a week ago, Matt and Foggy had accompanied you and Everett to a haunted house–listening to the macho third year “protect” you from strobe lights and masked actors despite you not being all that scared. Though he had brought a date himself, Matt had barely even smiled at the poor girl, preoccupied with Everett’s fingers brushing over a patch of exposed skin on your waist at every opportunity. Clearly, he hadn’t been inconspicuous about his attention being elsewhere, given that the night had ended with him getting a face full of hot chocolate from his snubbed date. The sticky droplets soaking into his clothes were nothing compared to the irritation he felt when Everett slapped him on the back—shaking his head as he imparted his wisdom to the first year. “Sorry man. Girls will be girls.”

Then, of course, there’d been last night. The three of you had attended a halloween party at Everett’s place, and the guy had refused to walk you home even though it was cold, dark, and dangerous considering how tipsy you'd been. If Matt and Foggy hadn't been there, who knows what harm could have befallen you? Even before that, Matt had been clenching his fists all night, hearing Everett blabber over you and swat your hands away in front of his peers, claiming he wasn’t in the mood to hold you. If Matt was in his place, he’d–

No. These were the exact thought patterns he needed to avoid to prevent another…mistake like the night at Fogwell’s. He'd been doing a decent job not falling down the same rabbit holes–that would all be for nothing if he started fantasizing again now.

But how could he not? You were so thoughtful, and intelligent, and adorable, and goddamn magnetic. Every action you took reeled him further into the treacherous web he was trapped in–unwittingly intoxicating him with your kindness. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met, that fact had only been highlighted since he’d embarrassed himself at Clinton Church.

Shuddering against a gust of wind, Matt continued his brisk pace down the sidewalk as his fingers grew numb around his cane. He was quickly regretting his decision to leave his jacket behind. Hopefully, the bookstore was willing to shell out the extra bucks for a decent amount of heat and he wouldn’t find you as a popsicle when he took shelter.

Huffing out an irritated breath, Matt rounded the corner towards your place of work. It had become almost a habit for him to accompany you during your shifts, keeping you company and working through assignments together. Honestly, it was the best part of his day.

Matt frowned as he closed in on the bookstore. He was having a difficult time hearing your heartbeat, which was usually pattering away, steady as rain, a few feet from the entrance of the store. As he pushed open the glass door, he could finally make out a steady thump accompanied by your familiar scent in the far corner of the shop.

The constant smell of ink and stale paper, now mingling with the slightly acrid smell of dust burning in the vents, stuck in his nostrils—as it always did when he arrived here. It was comforting, in a way, reminiscent of both you and the library at the orphanage, where he’d spent much of his freetime as a child.

Smiling to himself as he approached you, he folded up his cane and let his body relax in the warm bubble of generated heat. You were asleep, curled up around whatever project you’d been working on like a cat on a sunlit patch of carpet. Settling on the floor beside you, Matt propped himself up against a bookshelf before unzipping his backpack as silently as he could. It wasn’t the most organized set up to work with, laying his textbook on the floor and holding his computer in his lap, but after the late night you’d had, there was no doubt you needed the rest.

Body twisting in sudden discomfort, you whimpered beside him, unwinding from your bent shape and towards his body. Readjusting so that your nose was pressed against his thigh, you sighed, brow unfurrowing. Even unconscious, you appreciated his presence.

The denim of his jeans couldn’t have been comfortable for the delicate skin of your nose, but he was hesitant to move an inch if it meant waking you. Besides, the small pinpoint of heat against his thigh was rather pleasant.

Listening to your slumbering breaths, Matt was reminded of his childhood meditation sessions–the sound acting as a barrier between him and the rest of the world, clearing his mind without any effort on his end. He matched his breathing to yours, heart rate slowing to mirror yours as he ran his fingers along the lines of braille in his textbook.

As Matt worked his way through two separate reading assignments, you slept peacefully, nuzzling into his leg every so often with a soft puff of an exhale. It felt like Matt had only spent mere seconds in this unintentional paradise when you began to stir.

With a stuttering breath, you stretched, the sound of your muscles tightening akin to plucking a guitar string rapidly. As you regained awareness, Matt could hear the spike in your pulse–you must have noticed him, then.

“Morning, bug.” He murmured. On a whim, he ran a hand over your shoulder gently, not wanting you to feel unwelcome or embarrassed for lingering in his personal space. “Have a good nap?”

Beneath his palm, you relaxed, your lashes fluttering as you hummed appreciatively. “Hi. Sorry for using you as a pillow.”

“No apology necessary. You ok?” He squeezed your shoulder as you sat up, pulling at your clothes to unfurl the wrinkles from them.

“Yah, just tired after last night.” You laughed, but the sound was a step too high in pitch to be genuine.

“Ugh, I feel you. I think both Foggy and I spent more time in the bathroom than in our beds last night.” Matt chuckled, trying to quiet the devil inside him with a reminder that you’d come to him if something was actually wrong.

Grimacing, you knocked your shoulder against his. “God, Murdock–” You giggled, pressing a palm to your stomach. “My hangover is much too present for that image. Warn a girl next time.”

Shooting you a bashful smile, he nodded dutifully. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok, trouble. No harm done. Well, not much.” With a heavy sigh, you rubbed at your eyes, leaning to grab something that had slid beneath the bookshelf Matt was seated against. “Damn, this manual must have been more boring than I originally thought. It knocked me right out.”

“Learning astrophysics on the side?” Matt jested, smirking at you.

“Oh yah. Astronaut is my backup career.” You laughed, the sound beautiful, and real, this time around. “No, um, setting up a new printer, actually.”

Confusion pooled in Matt’s stomach, for some reason you were embarrassed by the machine behind you, if the heat flooding your cheeks was any indication.

“Oh, did the old one break?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Er,” You paused, looking between him and the plastic box beside you. “No, well not yet, but…just promise me you won't be mad. Well, you’re entitled to anger, I guess, because I may have overstepped?”

Thoroughly bewildered now, Matt swiveled his chin so that his attention could focus on your general area. “Overstepped how?”

“I sort of badgered my boss into buying a braille printer?” The sentence was phrased as a question, but the thing was there, beside you. It's existence evidence that you had definitively obtained one.

Matt was silent for a moment, processing the new information. It suddenly felt like he had swallowed a golf ball. He could barely make out the pounding of your heart over the blood rushing in his own ears. “Um...”

“Shit, Matt, I'm sorry. I should have asked you before I did it. I meant to, I just—” Your nervous ramble was punctuating with small wisps of heat emanating from your gesturing hands.

“Sweetheart,“ He interrupted, snatching one of your dancing hands out of mid air and holding it delicately. ”Please breathe. I'm not angry with you.“

”Oh thank god.“ Your body slammed into his, nearly bowling him over, as you tackled him with a hug. Your nose was chilled as it bobbed up and down the skin of his neck. ”I don't know what I'd do if you were mad at me. I care about you a hell of a lot, trouble.“ Your lips tickled his throat, breath ghosting over his shoulder as you murmured.

”I care about you too, sweetheart.“ His voice was strained, his thoughts consumed with surprise and adoration. He didn't deserve you.

”Hey, don't say that!“ Shit, he must have said that out loud. ”Of course you deserve me, Matt. And you deserve Foggy, and anyone else who you enjoy being around. You're a good person, Matt. You deserve happiness.“ You spoke firmly, not leaving room for his internal doubt.

Constricting your arms, it seemed like you were trying to meld your body with his. One of his hands pressed into the grimy carpet as he held the two of you up, the other rested around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt.

”Shut up.“ He muttered, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he turned his focus to the rough threads of the stiff carpeting beneath his hand.

”Never.“ You giggled meekly, squishing him to your body one final time before releasing your grip. ”Now I should probably get back to building this printer, if you ever want to be able to use it.“

”Did you want a hand?“ He offered, sniffling discreetly.

”I'd love one! Will you read me these while I reorganize? I got to step 7 already.“ Handing him the packet of braille instructions out of the manual, Matt skimmed the bumps until he found the proper section.

”You attached the paper tray?“ He asked, waiting for you to confirm before reading the next step aloud.

A few days after painstakingly building a new printer together, you found yourself sprinting for the door to Matt’s building, which was rapidly closing and just out of your reach; you stifled a victory squeal when you were able to step into the threshold of the dorm before the door locked on you. Now you wouldn’t have to ask Matt to let you in the building, and that was pretty fortunate given how on edge the poor kid seemed already this morning.

You tended to rise early, given your rigid schedule of classes and work shifts, preferring to start your day just after the sun rose and have as much time to accomplish things as possible. Matt wasn't as much of an early bird as you were, but he tended to wake up before 9am on weekends, while his blond roommate would sleep well past noon if he had the option. Because of your similar schedules, you weren't surprised that Matt had called you; you were surprised, however, that he sounded so miserable before 9am on a Friday.

The conversation hadn't been long, just Matt asking if you'd like to come over and a small warning that he'd ”woken up on the wrong side of the bed“, but you weren't phased. While the handsome law student tended to be on the more reserved and sarcastic side, he was rarely noticeably irritated—tending to play it off with quips to keep his cool around anyone he didn't know too well. There had been a handful of days where you had witnessed his anger slipping through the metaphorical mask that he wore, but he never aimed it at you. Every once and a while, his tone would get a bit snappish, but it never went further than that, and you trusted him to keep his wits intact when he was upset.

So you came quickly with hot breakfast as a peace offering to provide the help he'd asked for, in his own non-descriptive way. Taking the cement steps two at a time, and deftly avoiding the perpetually damp spots on the landing (ew), you were able to make it from your place and to Matt's door in under 30 minutes.

Raising a fist to knock on the thick door, you jumped in surprise—nearly spilling the coffees—when Matt yanked the door open before your knuckles had even skimmed the surface.

”Christ, Matt!“ You squeaked, shaking off the residual adrenaline as he beckoned you inside and shut the door behind you.

If he hadn't already informed you that he was feeling out of it, his lack of opaque lenses would've immediately alerted you of the fact. Matt was very averse to interacting with people without his glasses covering his eyes, even when the only people around were you and Foggy. You'd never brought it up before, not wanting to add to his clear discomfort about the topic, but you assumed he was self-conscious of the way he looked without them.

Regardless, seeing his hazel eyes darting ambiguously around you made you catch your breath. You'd only caught glimpses in the past, but uncovered? They were stunning. The brown of his irises was flecked with green and the reflection of sunlight made them look like pools of honey.

Hearing your choked inhale, a peach-colored blush bloomed across Matt's cheeks. “Shit, hold on, let me find my glasses. I set them down last night and I—” Pacing around you, Matt began to frantically rummage around on his bed, where he'd dumped a pile of what looked to be most, if not all, of his belongings. “They're here somewhere, I know it.“

Setting the paper cups on Foggy's nightstand, you walked a wide arc around the anxious boy as if he were a startled animal, gently laying your hand on his wrist. ”Matt,“

Looking up dolefully, Matt's eyes were glassy as he rambled. ”I'm sorry. I misplaced them. I should've warned you—“

”Matty, stop for a minute please.“ You encouraged, waiting for the boy to pause and take a breath before you continued. ”You don't need to wear your glasses around me, trouble. I'm sorry if I seemed thrown off, I was admiring your eyes.“

”You were...admiring them?“ Matt's voice broke around the question and your heart squeezed.

”Yah, Matty, you have beautiful eyes. I've never seen them up close before.“ Taking his hands, you ran a thumb over his knuckles as he processed your words.

After a minute of silence, you tugged him towards his desk chair. “Why don't we sit for a minute and have breakfast before sorting through your stuff.”

Letting you maneuver him into the threadbare seat, he tilted his head as you placed a paper bag and disposable cup on the desk next to him. “You brought me breakfast?”

Chuckling at his genuine confusion, you nodded. “I did. It would help me feel better if I 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed', so I figured it couldn't hurt. It's just a muffin and a latte from Blue Java, nothing special.“

Matt didn't say anything, his lips still pursed as he opened the bag and began unwrapping the pastry. After breaking off a few pieces to eat, his frown ebbed. ”Thank you.“

”Anytime! So, doing some reorganizing this weekend?“ You sipped your own coffee, trying not to laugh as he wolfed the rest of his muffin down.

”Something like that,“ Matt grumbled, tossing his balled up trash into the plastic bin across the room with ease. ”Our room was just, I don't know...gross, I guess? It needed to be cleaned and when I realized I couldn't find my glasses, I just freaked. I woke Foggy up, and neither of us could find them, so I started putting everything on the bed.“

Matt's lips quirked into a tiny smile. ”I think I scared him because he said he had to study and just disappeared. He's probably asleep in the library by now.“

You chuckled, picturing the blond passed out in the rows of old books. ”Well, his loss. I'm a hoot to clean with.“

”Is that so?“ Matt remarked, grinning fully now.

“Just you wait, Murdock. I have been told I am a fun AND efficient cleaning partner. Let's get this party started.” Standing up and brushing your hands together, you turned towards the items haphazardly stacked on Matt's bed. “How can I help?”

Retreating into his shell a bit, Matt scratched at his neck. “Um, are you sure you want to? I mean, Foggy isn't here to confirm, but I have a really specific method for organizing my belongings, and I would understand if you didn't want to be bossed around.”

“Matt, it's your stuff that we are straightening up. You're allowed to be bossy.” You assured, silently cursing everyone who had planted seeds of doubt in this wonderful man’s brain.

“Ok, just tell me if you want to leave.” Matt ordered. You mock saluted in response.

“Yes, sir!” You giggled as he shuddered with a scoff.

“You asked for it, sweetheart.”

The next several hours were spent sorting through the deceptively small pile on Matt's bed. Matt tasked you with sorting things into categories, which mostly meant separating clothes from school supplies, while he put things back in their designated areas. After finding his headphones tangled, one of his binders broken, and still having no clue where his glasses were, Matt was sliding back to the edge of his rope.

His jaw tensed as he grit his teeth, running his fingers along the sleeves of the sweater he was trying to fold in an attempt to straighten them. Growling in frustration he tossed the sweater back onto the bed and ran a hand over his face.

“C'mere, trouble.” You extended your arms to him and he gratefully collapsed against you. Rubbing small circles into his tight shoulders, you felt a burst of pride as he relaxed against you. “You getting fed up again?”

Matt nodded, face still buried against your neck. You frowned understandingly, untangling the tousled hair along his nape. “Hmmm, I guess we could take a break, what do you think?”

Matt whined, tugging your hips toward his bed.

Laughing at his reaction, you scratched at his scalp. “Ok, Matty. Why don’t we stop for a bit, then? Sound good?”

“Mmmhmm.” Matt murmured, legs turning to jelly as you massaged his pounding head.

Using one hand to shove aside the remaining items on his bed, you crawled up to the headboard and positioned yourself against the wall, letting Matt cuddle up to your side.

You immediately ran a hand back up to his nape, resuming the rhythmic touches that you knew would calm him down. Matt shuddered, rubbing his face into your shoulder as he stifled a yawn. Chuckling at his oddly adorable actions, you wondered if he’d slept at all last night. “You tired, bubs?” You asked softly, grinning knowingly at his affirmative groan.

“Go to sleep, bubba. I don’t mind.”

He must’ve been exhausted because his mouth stayed closed, though you had fully expected an argument. After a few minutes of deep breathing, his body began to slacken against your side. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you adjusted the covers as best you could, given that they were covered in a couple dozen pounds of stuff, and tucked him in. And, with Matt dozing at your side, you continued sorting through the pile spilling across your lap.

Matt didn’t dream much. Occasionally, he’d have a nightmare; his body experiencing phantom sensations like being hit or feeling someone’s pulse slowly fade, but that was the extent—until he’d met you. It was like you knew you had a direct line to his brain. Your soft touches lingered for hours after the contact ended, his frayed nerves still firing rapidly, replaying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, your lips on his forehead.

He wasn’t meant to feel the kiss. Not that it meant anything more than platonic affection—he was fairly certain it didn’t—but that didn’t mean it didn’t electrocute every cell in his body, vaporizing the immense heap of irritation that had been building since he’d started his day off so poorly.

You had that power over him. Haunting his every waking moment and chasing his subconscious while he slept. You were his constant.

Wedged against you and his headboard, he felt safe, and fatigue had quickly overtaken him. He slept more peacefully than he had in weeks because of you, though the lack of Foggy’s sleep apnea definitely helped. Wading through a field of mental static, he rested, until your subtle movements beneath him popped his bubble of solace.

“Matt?” You murmured, stroking a finger along his cheek.

“Hngh?” He uttered, blearily. Was that a word? He was pretty sure that was a word.

It must not have been a word because you shook with a giggle. Rubbing his cheek with your thumb, he could hear you nibble on your lip. “I gotta leave, trouble. I’m sorry, I’m meeting Evs soon.”

The mention of your obnoxious paramour drew him fully out of slumber. He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. “Shit, I’m up.”

“I’m really sorry to wake you up. Did you sleep ok?” Your voice wobbled with guilt and he tried to give a convincing smile.

“Yah I did. Thank you for staying.”

“Of course! It’s almost 3:00 pm. I texted Foggy and asked him to bring you food, he’ll be here with it soon.” As you spoke, you slid off of his thin mattress, adjusting your clothes and hair.

“Crap. I didn't mean to hold you hostage.” Matt grumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be! I enjoyed being your pillow.” You chuckled, but the statement held nothing but honesty, and that knowledge made his heart flutter. “I, um, I finished sorting your things. I didn’t put away anything unless I was certain of where it went, but…” You trailed off excitedly, snatching his hand from the mattress and placing a lightweight item in his semi-open palm.

“I found your glasses! They were behind your mattress, I almost missed them.”

Tracing the metal frames slowly, Matt choked on a breath. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Oh you don’t need to thank me, Matt. We take care of each other, remember?” Your smile was evident in your voice.

He stayed silent, far too concerned with preventing a voice crack to speak.

Realizing that you may have overwhelmed him, you hovered in front of the bed. “Sorry to throw all of that at you right after you woke up. Did you want me to show you where I put everything?”

“No,” He spoke raggedly. Clearing his throat, he started again. “No, I can figure it out. Thanks, sweetheart. For everything. Have fun on your date.”

Your heart stuttered as he mentioned your date. “Thank you, Matty. I will. Call me if you can’t find something?”

“I will, bubs.” With that final promise, he slid on his lenses and jumped out of bed to walk you out. Waving his final goodbye, he closed the door, falling against it as he gathered his thoughts.

Striding back to his bed, he let his fingers waltz over the meticulous stacks of his belongings. You’d straightened up his notebooks, folded his clothes, even arranged his textbooks in alphabetical order. All just because he’d been frustrated and asked for your help?

Running his fingers over the sweater at the top of the column of clothes, his throat constricted as wet trails formed down his cheeks. Pulling the garment to his face, he inhaled faint traces of your soap and natural fragrance, the scent embedded in the fabric. As the warmth from your body faded from his sheets, Matt crumpled to the floor, still clutching the woven sweater in his fist.

Thanks for reading!!!

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe@abbyhaslongshorts@mrs-bellingham@abucketofweird@yeonalie@jadeunstablexx@spider-murdock@0ctober-writes@danzer8705

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heygerald · 8 months ago

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 3

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic asshole. After their moment at the wrap party, Tom shows up at Parker's bookstore. How is it possible someone can be such an asshole when asking for a favor?

read the story here: prev / next

Two weeks later finds the weather outside shifting with the first hint of autumn; cooler temperatures in the morning greet Parker when she walks to work, and the coffee shop next door has started advertising their new fall drinks of pumpkin spice and cinnamon tea. She's seen her brother every day since the wrap party—partly because he always makes a point of taking some down time after finishing a movie to recover from his stunts, and partly because her and Jody have become fast friends—but she hasn't seen Tom since their moment in the bathroom.

She suspects that's for the best. The internet is flooded with paparazzi photos of him flouncing around town with models every other day, and she's still trying to forget how natural it felt to laugh with him.

But despite her brother's newly open schedule, and Jody's constant pestering to go spend a day at the beach, Parker finds her bookstore just as empty as always.

There are a few stragglers here and there throughout the day. Sometimes she gets lucky when a tour bus stops for gas and snacks, allowing an ensemble of tacky dressed tourists to flood her street for twenty minutes. On unlucky days, Mr. Chamberlain will stop in to peruse her historical section; but he doesn't have any sort of schedule or income, and those visits consist entirely of him describing last night's CSI episode to Parker before trying to set her up with his grandson. Once he bought a book from her dollar bin. He attempted to return it three days later.

On days like today, Parker is visited by a sixteen-year-old named Melissa who hangs out every so often while her mom attends overpriced Pilates in the studio down the block.

"...and then Peter was all 'no, sorry Mandy, I'm not interested". Like, hello! My name is Melissa and we've lived in the same neighborhood since we were four," said teenager was droning on from her spot atop the upcycled reading chair in the corner. She never failed to impress Parker with how much she could talk—the stories quite literally never stopped coming—while at the same time she managed to read about four books a week. Parker suspected that Melissa's brain represented something like the Rainbow Road in Mario Kart, when the music got a little too fast and the turns were a little too hard to keep up with. "Now, I have no idea what I'm going to do. There's no one else for me to ask since it's three weeks away."

Parker, only half-listening to the story, hummed from her spot two rows back. She had won several boxes of books at a local auction about a month ago and had done a pretty good job at pretending they didn't exist.

Ignoring the problem only lasted so long, however, and this morning she had ended up spilling coffee all over herself when her sneaker caught the edge of the box. Pride—and knees—damaged, she decided to tackle the issue first thing in the morning.

It was now four in the afternoon, and the books were mocking her.

"Can't you just go alone?" she asked.

"Go alone? Are you crazy! That's, like, really sad, Park," Melissa explained. She couldn't see her, but Parker could feel the judgmental look the teen girl was giving her. "Only losers go alone to dances."

"Baby did it."

"Who?"

"Baby. You know? You don't put Baby in a corner? That one."

A tut. "You should really update your references."

"Jesus. Since when did Dirty Dancing become an outdated reference?" she muttered while inspecting the spine of a mystery novel from the 70s. It had definitely seen better days, and when she shifted it, three pages fell out. Parker tossed it into the TRASH box with a sigh. "Is going to a dance with your friends considered outdated too?"

"That's the same thing as going alone," Melissa groaned.

"How? You're literally not alone."

"Because if I go with my friends, that means that I couldn't get anyone that wasn't a friend to agree to go with me. I don't need the whole school thinking that I'm a total loser."

"I went with my friends and had a blast. And I'm not a loser."

There was no response other than silence, and after a few moments Parker realized that if Melissa had nothing to say about the subject, she likely had nothing nice to say.

She cleared her throat before moving onto the next, and final, box hoping that there would be better books in it. So far, her KEEP pile was looking pathetically small compared to what was about to be binned. With a forced change of conversation, she asked, "hey, you grew up here, right?"

"Sure."

"Did you know the Sawyers?"

"Like, Miss Sawyer? Down on Oakcrest?"

"The fancy old house with the bushes shaped like dogs. I bought a bunch of books at her estate sale, and so far, they all suck. I thought she was supposed to be a big collector or something."

The sound of Melissa humming echoed throughout the empty store, and Parker peeked around the bookshelves to spot the girl lying upside down on the chair; Doc Martens stuck up in the air, long ponytail hanging to the ground as she played on her phone.

Parker rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, totally. But she collected those kid's books. Original copies or whatever. Mom said she paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for some rabbit book."

"...Peter Rabbit?"

"I guess," Melissa shrugged. There was a loud smack of gum popping before her voice rang out, "she did a bunch of donations to local art musuems and galleries and stuff. A phila-something—"

"Philanthropist?"

"—and there was some big deal about her donating everything to some charity. Mom was talking about it. Which, like, good for them or whatever but I don't understand how donating an old book is helping solve world hunger."

Parker let her head drop against the beat-up cardboard box in front of her, something despondent and miserable sitting on her chest at the realization that she had wasted time and money on nothing but crap. "Well, I wish I knew that before I went into a bidding war over this garbage. Are the Hardy Boys still cool or is that dated too?"

A judgmental laugh floated back. "Um, their name is pronounced Hemsworth, Park."

"I meant—" she started, before realizing that this was a battle she was never going to win, and even if she wanted to try the musty smell resonating from these boxes of crap had burned through her daily allowance of braincells. Something Melissa didn't seem to worry about as she puffed from her vape pen. "Forget it."

Not so shockingly, Melissa did not, in fact, forget it. Instead, she spent the next ten minutes describing in scary detail each Hemsworth brother, their looks on a scale of one to ten, their best movies, and why Chris was the dreamiest of them all. His hair and eyes were a big selling point, apparently, and as Parker listened to the teenager drone on, she couldn't help but wonder if Chris Hemsworth used box dye too.

So wrapped up in her own world of book sorting, Parker didn't notice when the front door opened with a tinkle of the bell until the shop went eerily quiet. Melissa, it seemed, had finally found a reason to shut up.

"I never liked Chris all that much," Parker said as she slowly gathered the KEEP bin and hefted it off the floor. Her lower back ached at the strain. Jesus, maybe I am old. Moving towards the front counter, she continued musing, "There's something about him in the first Thor movie, when his eyebrows were all bleached, that kind of turned me off. I think there's a word for that, right? The ew or something...."

She spots Melissa first.

The girl is sitting upright in the chair now, face flushed a deep scarlet red with a book held tightly in her lap as she pretends to read through it. Her phone and vape are nowhere to be seen, and she doesn't so much as glance up when Parker strides by.

"What happened to you?" she asks with an amused quirk of the brow. Melissa doesn't respond, and Parker turns to set the heavy box of books on the front counter when she spots the other person in the room. "Oh, sorry. I was in the back. Can I help—?"

It shouldn't surprise her as much as it does, but Parker blinks to find Tom Ryder standing on the other side of the counter staring at her with raised brows.

Tom fucking Ryder.

He looks better than the last time she ran into him. He has a nice tan going underneath a funky pair of yellow sunglasses that are, in her opinion, too big for his face. They look a little absurd with the whitewashed denim jacket he's wearing, but the yellow matches the bedazzled t-shirt he has on underneath, so she suspects it's some sort of fashion statement. Paired with an expensive pair of well-polished boots, it all looks quite absurd standing in the middle of her dilapidated bookstore.

Even more so when Parker realizes she's wearing nothing but a pair of cheap cargo shorts and an oversized Twilight sweatshirt that was covering the coffee-stained shirt underneath. (Team Jacob, always).

"Tom. Um... are you looking for Colt or something?"

In typical Ryder fashion, he ignores her question entirely to do a slow spin; blue eyes tinted by his glasses trailing over everything in sight. She can feel the judgement from across the counter, and when he finally fixes his sights back on her, his smirk is rage inducing. "This is your store. Seriously?"

Parker promptly plants her hands onto her hips with a scathing glare.

"Ok, what do you want?"

"Jesus, no wonder this place is empty," he drawls, a pointed smile tossed towards Melissa's prone form as he leans an elbow onto the counter. At being noticed, the teenager ducks her head behind the spine of her book as if she had just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. "Do you talk to all your customers like that?"

"Just the assholes," she retorts. Over Tom's shoulder she catches Melissa's book dropping down two inches, and the girl's face is completely aghast.

What are you doing! she mouths, that's Tom Ryder!

Parker rolls her eyes. As if she didn't know who the blinged-out asshole standing in her store was. Speaking of—he's still standing there smirking at her. "That's you, if I wasn't clear. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Tom snorts. "I think I got that after the fifth time you said it."

"And yet..." she gestures vaguely to him, then to her store.

Because he's never behaved like a normal person, however, Tom doesn't seem to mind the insult or the offhand comment that she didn't want to deal with him. Instead, he smiles while his gaze drifts from judging the bookstore to judging Parker. He gives her a glance over—up, down, lingering on her oversized sweatshirt, before going back up—and finishes with a snort. "If the door hits me, I'm suing for damages, and I doubt you could afford the lawsuit. Let alone a lawyer."

God! What. a. fucking. asshole!

Parker bites back the insult knowing that it won't do any good. They've played this game before, and clearly being called an asshole seemed to have lost some of its bite over the weeks. So instead, she forcefully returns her attention to the cardboard box and slowly starts sorting the books into categories. "Fine. Can you just tell me what you want so I can get back to my life?"

He shifts against the counter and over the mustiness she catches a waft of his cologne when he grabs a book at random from her pile. "Why else do people come to a bookstore? I want a book."

Parker snorts. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Seriously, what do you want?"

There's a moment of silence. She glances up to find him pointedly ignoring her as he flips through the book at random.

"You're... serious?"

He shrugs. "You said you have a bunch of sci-fi books."

"I'm surprised you even remember that given the whole," she sticks a finger into her mouth and mimes throwing up. He doesn't find it funny or cute and responds with a disgusted glare. Parker rolls her eyes with a shake of the head. "It was a—never mind. Why not order off of Amazon? I thought you said you've never even been to a bookstore before?"

This time, it's his turn to roll his eyes. He drops the book with a thwack before turning his attention to the overstuffed bookshelves at her left. At random, he starts ambling towards one. "You should be flattered that I picked your little store to start. Most people would kill to say that you know. Tom Ryder explores rundown bookstore in the shitty side of LA. If you had a picture, the paps would run it in every paper by tomorrow morning," he huffs.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to document this monumental occasion forever," she snarks, but follows after him anyway. His pattern is half-hearted; poking books here and there, glancing for hardly a second, before moving on. "And my store isn't rundown. It just has some... character."

He snorts over his shoulder. "That's what a Mom says when her daughter is ugly."

"Don't you go through PR training or something?" she scoffs as he diverts to a different aisle. "I can't imagine Gail would like to hear that particular opinion if I sold it to TMZ."

"Gail would sue you for everything you own," he laughed while flipping through an old copy of Gone with the Wind. Parker crosses her arms at him with a glare, and in response Tom flashes a too-white smile at her. "She freaked out about the mink rug, by the way. Was screaming and everything. It was hilarious."

Parker's heart stopped in her chest, but when there was no continuation of the joke—haha I can't wait to see you served with papers!—she furrowed her brows at him. "You didn't tell her it was my fault?"

A shrug as he shoved the book against her chest.

She huffed, turning the book over to check for damages, but when he turned his back... well, a part of her did wonder why he would keep that a secret if it was such a big deal. Was it to be nice? Or so he could hold it over her head indefinitely? Then again, if this was his attempt at blackmail, letting it go for two weeks seemed like the wrong way to go about it.

Deciding not to linger on unsolvable riddles, Parker returned the book to the end cap he had found it on and asked, "so, does this mean you've decided to audition for that sci-fi part after all?"

Her question went unanswered as Tom paused in front of the SEX & SEXUALITY section. He pulled a wrinkled copy of Fifty Shades of Grey off the shelf and waggled his brows at her pointedly. "Keeping the good stuff for yourself, huh?"

Parker responded by snagging the book out of his hand and stuffing it back into place. "You break it, you buy it applies here too, Ryder."

"Half this place is broken," he said with a pointed glance at the flickering overhead light. "I still can't believe you own this shithole."

"I happen to love this bookstore—"

"Oh, trust me, I can believe that you would own a bookstore," he said, and while there was nothing insulting about owning a bookstore on its own, the way that Tom spoke made it clear that owning a bookstore was not something he held in high regard. Then again, he spent all his time reading shitty scripts, so what would he know? "I just can't believe that you would own this bookstore. Like, you actually paid money for this place?"

"If you have to know, I used to be friends with the owner, and got a good deal on the property," she started to explain. He raised his brows at her while slowly perusing the RELIGION section, and Parker shook herself. She didn't need to explain anything to him of all people. The reminder helped her find some confidence, and she fluttered her hands at him irritably. "You know what—I don't need to explain myself to you. You've never even been to a bookstore before. What would you know about making sacrifices for something you believed in?"

Tom paused in his search. She saw his jaw clench, and eyes droop towards the creaky wooden floor beneath his shiny boots, and his comment from the other day drifted back to mind.

"You can be a real asshole sometimes, too, he had said.

And while guilt did block her throat up a bit—fucking asshole couldn't even let her defend herself without feeling bad about it—this time he didn't make any such reprimands. Instead, he just shrugged, before diving deeper into the store.

He cleared his throat. "I just expected it be nicer coming from you."

"Does something about me secretly scream rich girl to you?"

Tom harrumphed. "Trust me, no one is mistaking you for rich. Uptight, however..."

"Oh, ha, hilarious, Tom. God! You're such an asshole," she laughed, but it was a mean sound, paired with a mean insult. It failed to have the desired effect, however. In fact, Tom seemed to have shifted from hating the insult to owning it and looked far too amused for her liking. Frustrated, Parker decided the best plan of extermination was a straightforward shot. Through gritted teeth, she asked, "...what kind of sci-fi book do you want?"

The rhinestones on his shoulders sparkled as he shrugged. "I don't know. I need to understand what gets nerds so fucking excited about this shit. Not too nerdy, though. Alright? I'm not trying to be a Trekkie or whatever."

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Parker wasn't sure what to pick first. So, she pinched the bridge of her nose to point out, "I have a feeling the so-called nerds making up your potential fanbase aren't going to appreciate being talked about like that."

"Who's gonna tell them—you?" he asked with a derisive glance over.

It was definitely true what they said about Tom Ryder; his effect on women was instantaneous. Parker just doubted the tabloids were talking about migraines.

"The sci-fi section is on the right," she sighed while pushing past him. It was one of the larger sections she had; it hadn't been a lie to say the books weren't selling all that well despite being her favorite. "What have you read before?"

The blank look he gave her was response enough.

"Ah, right, maybe... Altered Carbon?"

"Isn't that a tv show?"

"Well, yeah, but it was a book first."

He glanced at the book in her hand, but clearly wasn't impressed. Leaning on the shelf, he said, "why the hell would I read that if I could just watch it?"

"Sound logic," she tutted with a narrow eyed look. Parker returned the book with an eyeroll. "Fahrenheit 451?"

"Read it in high school. Not impressed."

She trailed the shelf while muttering, listing books in her head before subconsciously crossing them off the list of something he was likely to read and enjoy. "I guess that means you wouldn't like The Illustrated Man or The Martian Chronicles," she said to herself.

His arm brushed her aside to pluck out a familiar novel. "Nerds love this," he said while already flipping through the pages. She was surprised the size didn't scare him off immediately.

"Nu-uh. No way," she shook her head.

"What?"

"Dune is not a starter book."

He furrowed his brows crossly. "You don't think I'm smart enough to read this shit or something?"

You shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answers to, her mother's voice echoed in the back of her head.

"Reading Dune as your first sci-fi book is like jumping straight into the deep end," she told him in a much more diplomatic approach. "If a sixteen year old wants to start drinking, you don't give him scotch, you give him a fruity cocktail."

Tom huffed; first through his nose and then through his mouth but stuffed the book back onto the shelf anyway. To which Parker then had to put it back on the correct shelf with a huff of her own.

"Don't be a baby and just trust me that Dune isn't a starter book. Okay?"

"Well—what is? You're supposed to be the expert here."

"If you weren't so picky it would be a lot easier..." she deadpanned but returned to her search anyway. Tom didn't seem to like waiting, and scowled at her as she shifted past him. She ignored him as best she could while squatting down to the lower shelves. "Arthur C. Clarke is one of the best sci-fi writers. He established a lot of rules that still exist in writing today. And films."

Parker pulled one of his novels, before moving towards Asimov, and then finally to Sagan. They were all slimmer novels than Dune, but no less complicated.

"Contact is my favorite," she said, shoving the books into Tom's arms. His denim was rough on her hands, and she tried not to think about how feverishly warm his skin had been the last time she had been this close to him. Swallowing, Parker remained on task. "But any of these should be good starter books for you to get into sci-fi with."

He glanced at the choices warily. "My audition is next week."

"Then I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to finish these if you're really serious about wanting to get that role," she chirped.

Together, they wound back towards the front counter. The TRASH boxes sat in the middle of the aisle, and she carefully toed them to the side before trailing past. While she was pretty sure he had been joking about suing her, a workplace hazard was the last thing she needed.

"How do you remember all of this?"

"Where stuff is? I spend almost all of my time arranging books. I'm uptight, remember?"

She felt more than saw his eyeroll. "These books, the authors. You, like, know everything about them."

Parker paused. It definitely wasn't a compliment, but it definitely felt like it could have been. Then again, this was Tom Ryder. When she glanced up from the counter, she found that he already has his nose back in his phone, and the conundrum of compliment versus not was thrown out the window. Parker shot him an unimpressed look to say, "please tell me that you're not on SparkNotes right now."

It was his turn to pause. "I'm just... reading the descriptions."

"Maybe that's why you can't understand why nerds like these books," she argued, hands planted firmly on her hips now. "Why would I go to watch one of your movies if I already looked the plot up on Wikipedia?"

He ignored her point entirely to smirk. "So, you do see my movies?"

"Goodbye, Tom."

"Relax. I'm not going to spoil them, alright? What's the fun in that when I could read them instead, and then leave you a bad review when the books end up being awful?"

"You mean have your assistants leave me a bad review."

He didn't seem impressed at the jab but didn't defend himself either. Most likely because they both knew she was right. Parker shot him a smug smile that he promptly rolled his eyes at. "Hilarious. Just tell me how much the books cost so I can leave before stepping on a rusty nail or something."

"Didn't you see the sign out front? Can't come in without a tetanus shot due to liability reasons."

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but when she glanced up at him, Tom was wiping a hand down his face. "How much for the books, smartass?"

Parker was pretty sure she could upsell him. There was no way that he knew those three books, decades old with ripped pages, were only worth fifteen bucks together. And with all the Gucci name brand bullshit that he wore, she was pretty sure she could get away with telling him the price was a hundred dollars and he wouldn't even blink an eye.

But he was also a customer, a somewhat work acquaintance, and someone she really didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. Not to mention her brother's pseudo boss, and someone that knew she was guilty of wrecking a far more expensive rug than she could ever pay to fix.

"Just consider them a loan," she said before she could second guess herself. When Tom raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into his hairline, she waved a hand at him while half-heartedly returning to her job of book sorting. "If you're that put-off by it you can always pay me an agent's fee if you get the part."

He stared at her for a long moment, not necessarily computing, definitely hearing static, before Tom spared her an over-the-top eyeroll that surely had to have hurt to perform.

From his pocket he pulled out a couple of crumpled bills and slapped them onto the counter. He didn't even look at how much money it was. Just shook his head at her, glasses bobbing on his nose, before he was on his way out the door.

"Hey! Don't you want your change—?"

The door shut with a ting.

On the counter sat seventy-three dollars. Parker wasn't sure if she should be offended or complimented.

From outside there was the sound of an obnoxiously loud car engine revving, alongside the thrum of music, before it tore off down the street.

"What a fucking asshole," she grumbled with the shake of her head.

But it wasn't exactly an asshole thing to do, when she thought about it. And she would know; every exchange they had since being introduced had Tom acting like an asshole to her.

Or, well, not every exchange. Not when he had been, almost, nice to her at Gail's party, if only for a few moments when no one else was around.

"OH. MY. GOD!" a shrill voice shrieked across the store, bouncing off of bookshelves, as two boots went crashing towards the window. Parker was reminded in no gentle terms that they had not, in fact, been alone when Melissa smudged her face against the glass to peer out onto the street. "Holy shit! That was Tom Ryder! Tom Ryder! Are you kidding me right now? TOM. RYDER."

"Yeah, Jesus, I know who that was," she winced, pinching her ear when she thought the girl's high pitch yelp may have burst an eardrum. There was definitely a ringing as Melissa tromped around.

"You—he—I can't believe after all of this time you never once mentioned that you're friends with Tom freaking Ryder!" she squeaked.

"Well, hang on, we're not—"

"How long have you known him? How do you know him? Do you have his phone number? Ohmygod everyone is going to flip when I tell them that you know him. Tom Ryder!" Melissa shouted, phone already in hand as she started typing. "My friend, my dear friend and favorite bookstore owner, is best friends with Tom Ryder! Did you see his latest movie, Good Cop, Bad Dog? Ugh! He's so hot!"

"We're not friends," she said immediately, not even bothering to dispute the fact that Good Cop, Bad Dog was a puff piece in an attempt to market him for younger fans. "He's actually kind of an asshole."

The teenager shot Parker a scandalized look, mouth popped open into an O as her brows lifted to her hairline. "What? Are you kidding me right now? He just drove all the way out here to ask for your recommendation for a sci-fi book! His house is, like, fifty minutes from here with traffic. Don't call him that when you just became so cool."

Parker frowned. "How do you know where he lives?" she asked, before adding with much more intensity, "hang on a second, am I not cool?"

But Melissa was already moving on, the sound of facetime dialing on her phone as she darted back outside in hopes of catching another glimpse of the celebrity. Parker, in response, caught her head between her hands with a low groan.

And yet, she couldn't help but think about what Melissa said.

Tom Ryder was a total, grade-A asshole... right?

She cast a despondant glance towards the crumpled bills on the counter, then the box of books at her side, before fishing her phone out of her back pocket, and pressing the second number on speed dial.

"Hey," she said, "do you want to get, like, really drunk tonight?"

Colt didn't bother to ask why before he was checking what ingredients he had in his fridge and offering to invite Jody and Dan over for dinner. Sometimes, she really loved her brother.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #original female character #tom ryder imagine #series?

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