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simmerandwrite · 4 years ago

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strangers - steve rogers x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment and non-consensual touching, swearing.

Word count: 4870

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When your subway ride home takes a turn for the worst, you hope a stranger in a coffee shop will help you out.

Notes: If you saw a snippet of this the other day, here’s the full thing! I wanted to tackle some ‘in need of saving’ tropes and this just sort of happened. I’ve never posted straight up on Tumblr before but I’m a bit lacking in my experience with reader fics, so I figured this was a good place to share it. no beta, any mistakes are my own! If you like it, let me know - thanks for reading!

—

Steve Rogers liked his days off. Not that he had a set schedule week to week anyway but when things aligned correctly, he could do whatever he wanted. No world saving, no training, no report writing, no meetings.

He had scoped out a small little coffee shop in Brooklyn where he liked to spend these quiet afternoons. Usually with a book in hand (he had so many books to catch up on) or some music loaded to his phone (Nat was currently educating him on 90s punk rock) or a notebook and pencil. People watching served as wonderful inspiration to sketch.

He sipped his cappuccino, eyes tipped downward at the book ahead of him on the table. He was interrupted just moments later as someone dropped into the chair across from him.

Now, Steve wasn’t intentionally hiding out at this hole-in-the-wall cafe. But he did put on his laughable disguise still - a beaten up Yankees cap and his prescription-less thick framed glasses. He liked the anonymity. That didn’t always stop people from recognizing him.

As he opened his mouth to question the person who was suddenly joining him for coffee, she slid her phone across the table to him. Her hand shook. His eyebrows flexed into a curious frown as he looked at the screen displaying a plainly typed note:

‘Do you mind if I sit someone is following me home sorry to disturb you’

—

As if your day hadn’t been absolutely terrible enough, you spotted the gremlin of a man on the subway watching you again. You knew he worked somewhere in the same office building as you because he always trailed a few paces behind you when pushing through the revolving doors in the lobby. It wasn’t uncommon to see the same people on the same subway line at the same time every day, but this man’s presence had become an unwanted downside.

He was always there. Worse than that, he seemed to be always watching you. Today, it was even more obvious that he was following you.

When that thought first occurred to you, it had been really easy to shrug off. He was just a guy taking the subway. But when he happened to be on the later train with you one day, an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach.

And now, as the car was filling up even more after the second stop in DUMBO, he had moved to stand and put himself even closer to you.

You had been going through so many Next Steps. God, that phrase was the bane of your existence. Next steps, next steps..

Maybe you could tell him to fuck off. You could make an appointment with Leanna in HR and see if there is a way to figure out the name of this guy - though he didn’t work for your company so that was likely going to be a dead end. You could start taking the bus to the village before grabbing the train. Maybe you could Uber home some days instead of taking the subway. Not that you could afford that but this guy was..

You stiffened immediately.

This guy was touching you. In the midst of the crowded subway car, he was pressed against you entirely. And was he.. His hips were moving against your leg and.. Wait, that was two hands on your hips now.. Hot breath whispered against your neck and -

Fuck.

You threw yourself through the mob as the train came to a stop. With hurried feet you ran onto the platform and up the stairs, doing your best to weave through the flow of people, like a fish trying to make it upstream. You tried not to be obvious but as you snapped your head over your shoulders to look back, you saw him there again.

He was smirking. No, snarling.

Next steps, next steps.

You joined a sea of people crossing the street, taking your first left to try and steer yourself into a particular direction. You were still a far walk from your apartment but with this man on your heels, you didn’t want to lead him anywhere near there.

You grabbed your phone from your jacket pocket, unlocking it quickly and scrolling through the contacts. Surely there had to be someone you could call but even then, what could they do? Offer advice?

It didn’t occur to you until then but would it be valuable to call the cops?

Despite the late day sunlight, you suddenly felt very aware of the emptiness of the sidewalk on that side street. You needed to be around people. It definitely wasn’t logical to be anywhere near alone with this guy and -

It sounded like his footsteps were getting closer. With a panicked gulp, you yanked on the door of a little hole-in-the-wall cafe. Your eyes scanned the space quickly once you were inside. You probably shouldn’t sit alone, you couldn’t run to the bathroom if you aren’t sure where it is or if you needed a key. There were too many variables.

You needed something. Next steps..

You spotted someone sitting at a small table near the window and without thinking, you sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening and you rushed over. The man was clearly alone, a half consumed ceramic mug of coffee sitting to the right of his book.

Swallowing hard, you quickly typed on your phone and slid it across the table to him after you sat. You tried your best to stay very calm and hoped that he would play along. God, what if he didn’t play along and -

Behind you, the door chimed once more and you desperately wanted to see if it was that man - if the gremlin had followed you inside. You clasped your hands together in your lap and forced a smile on as you looked at the stranger sitting across from you.

Despite not knowing him, there was a familiarity about his appearance. Behind his thick glasses, soft blue eyes searched you carefully. His eyes flicked to the screen once more, stiffening in his chair as he looked past you towards the rest of the cafe.

With his right hand, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small notebook and a pen. He scribbled something quickly and turned the page towards you.

Are you hurt?

You shook your head quickly. He offered you a tight smile and wrote once more.

Buzzcut, grey jacket?

Your eyes blew open wide and you tilted your head into a nod.

I’m Steve

He flipped the notebook closed and extended his hand across the table, palm facing up. He leaned forward just slightly, meeting your eyes with a reassuring smile. “Play along.”

Your eyes flicked to his hand and you slowly unclamped your own, grabbing his on the table instead. He was doing an impressive job splitting his attention between you and his surroundings, eyes scanning the room. He squeezed your hand very gently, brushing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Tell me about your day.”

You sucked in a hard breath. You weren’t entirely sure what his strategy was but something told you this guy was in your corner. Though despite that, you could feel another set of eyes on you.

“Uh,” you started quietly, letting the air escape your lungs. “Surprisingly, I didn’t think it could get worse before I got on the subway after work. I had a review meeting that was not great and we had a free catered lunch that was not vegetarian friendly. Missed an important email and deadline and… well, here I am whining about it and interrupting your day. Listen, I’m going to-

You moved to stand up but Steve shook his head, grasping your hand. “Give it a few more minutes, I think he’ll give up and leave.”

His words were casual but had an authoritative tone. Once more his eyes left you, looking towards the front of the cafe. He raised his free hand and motioned to one of the baristas. You weren’t certain if this was the type of place who served people at their seats but clearly he had a comfortable rapport as the young girl approached with a warm smile on her face.

“Hey Tia, could I get another?”

“Anything for you?” The barista turned her head as she asked, pony tail moving from side to side.

“Uhm.” You paused and thought. You certainly had no desire to even consider a coffee order when you felt someone’s linger gaze boring into you. “A decaf con panna, if that’s possible.” The girl confirmed it was with a nod then left the table side.

“Con panna?” Steve’s lips pulled into a curious smirk. Something about his smile calmed you.

“Espresso with whipped cream on top,” you answered. “Short and sweet.”

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

Steve sure had a soothing smile. When his thumb stopped tracing against your palm - when did that even start? - you felt an empty sadness about the loss. Wow, what did that even say about your standards when a stranger was brushing his thumb against your hand that you were so grateful for? Well, it was a thousand times better than someone rubbing his -

You winced at the memory, biting down as you clutched your bottom lip between your teeth. Though that shameful feeling hadn’t disappeared, you managed to keep it at bay. But now, it seemed to have left an image you were unable to blink away.

The sweet smell of whipped cream and the shuffling of paper cups broke you from your trance. You reached for your bag to fish out a few dollars but when you looked up, Steve was waving a hand to stop you.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate his kindness. You did. You really, really did. But given the last half hour, you still had a hard time settling your nervous mind.

“Thanks, Tia.” Steve’s eyes were jumping around the place as the barista grabbed the cash he offered. A loud stomp of footsteps drew their attention as the Subway Gremlin saddled up beside the table.

“Sorry to be a bother, darlin’ - any chance I can borrow your phone?”

You couldn’t help but look at him. Though his words were directed at the barista, he made a point to glance over at you.

You felt Steve’s hands grip yours. When you looked towards him, his eyes were very carefully watching the man. How did he manage to -

“Sorry, we don’t have a dedicated line available to customers.” Tia politely shook her head, pointing towards the door. “There’s a CityBank up the street that can help you, I’m sure.” She shrugged and headed back to the coffee counter.

The man stood still, opening his mouth to argue.

Steve sat back, shoulders broad and steady. “Did you need directions there? I think it’s just two blocks. Maybe 500 paces.” His tone was flat. “Just out the door and you’ll be on your way.”

You kept your eyes on Steve. He kept his stare directed at the man. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the man moved his feet. He turned on his heel, though not before stopping to look at you again.

“I will see you tomorrow, dar-

Steve released your hand and pushed his chair back, standing quickly and grasping the man’s shoulder.

Steve towered over him. “You have five seconds.” The man pulled away from Steve’s grip then finally stomped away. You kept your eyes tightly shut until you heard the chime of the bell indicating the movement of the door. Then, you collapsed onto your arms on the edge of the table.

Steve, meanwhile, headed to the door and kept watch for a few more moments to ensure the man actually departed from the area. Then, he stopped at the counter and exchanged a few words with Tia before returning you.

You were still doing your best to encourage the floor to open up and swallow you whole. How had this even escalated? The worst part was your mind seemed clouded with doubt. This man, you hadn’t even interacted with him before. Why was he suddenly so invested in you? To a point where he might follow you home? Were you just another target or had this been intentional?

You considered yourself a fairly observant person and yet..

You twisted your hands together in your lap and tried to consider what was going to happen now. Next steps, next steps..

“Hey.” Steve returned to his chair. Your eyes flicked up towards him, noticing he was sliding a bottle of water towards you. Your sad little espresso and whipped cream treat was deflated next to it. “Are you okay?”

You reached for the water bottle, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink. “I don’t know.” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “No, actually. I’m not. It somehow feels like my skin is on fire and my lungs are failing me and I’m sweaty but I’m not and - and -

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Steve spoke so calmly and evenly. “Just take a slow breath with me, okay?” You closed your eyes once more and followed his instructions as he walked you through a few breathing exercises. “That’s great, you’re doing great-

When he stopped speaking so quickly, you opened one eye to look over at him. His cheeks were a warm shade of pink and his mouth was twisted into a frown. “What?”

“It just occurred to me I didn’t get your name.” He paused, as if to consider his next thought. “Although, given what just happened with that man, you are under no obligation to tell me anything about yourself. I just.. I’d like to help.”

His genuine concern for you was surprising. You allowed a small smile to stretch across your face. “You’re very nice, Steve.”

You gave him your name and he smiled back, repeating it to himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your smile turned downwards when you looked towards your phone. “I should probably get going. Again, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this mess but I appreciate the… solace.” You took a deep breath and pushed your chair back, pausing to tip the lukewarm espresso into your mouth. “I owe you one.”

You winced when you heard yourself and sighed. Why did you say that? This stranger, this friendly, broad shouldered, tall, handsome stranger who’s day you interrupted, did not need your weird backhanded flirting. In fact, even though every signal in your brain seemed on edge after, well, everything, the only thing that seemed to ground you now was the kindness of Steve. So you tried to will yourself not to ruin it with any additional commentary.

You weren’t entirely sure what had driven you down this particular street into this particular cafe and towards this particular man. But, you were certainly grateful. “Actually, do they have gift cards here? I’d love to buy you one to say thank you and -

“Are you going to walk? Wherever you’re going right now?” When you looked over, you saw that Steve had stood, too. You saw his eyes move towards the door and the far windows up the street where the man from the subway had gone. “I don’t want to overstep but I hope you’ll let me walk you home. Or far enough away to have cleared his radar.”

“I feel like I’ve already wasted enough of your time, Steve.” You truly felt worse and worse for interrupting his afternoon.

“Please, I insist.” Steve tilted his head, half a smirk on his lips. “You just said you owe me one, so. I’m cashing in the favour.”

“The favour repayment you’re cashing in is.. you doing me another favour? Do you know how favours are supposed to work?” Admittedly, you knew you would feel a lot safer having someone walk home with you. And something about Steve made you feel very secure, his presence like a comforting shield.

“C’mon,” Steve replied with a laugh, nudging his head towards the door.

When you stepped onto the sidewalk, you stopped to think. “Let’s go this way.” You turned to the right and Steve followed, staying on your shoulder closest to the street. You walked in a comfortable silence - which made you nervous at first. Then, as your steps fell into a pattern, the quiet soothed you.

You pushed your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you turned down the next block. You looked over at Steve, who turned his head towards you as you shifted. “You didn’t ask anything else about the man.. Who followed me.”

A quiet hum came from Steve. “I didn’t think I should. You seemed shaken up enough.” He shrugged, peering down at you through his glasses. “If you want to talk about it..”

“I work in this big office building in Midtown. The Clifton building?”

Steve motioned his hand diagonally. “Little bagel place downstairs? That’s right down from The Avengers tower, isn’t it?”

You nodded along. Right. Stark Tower was The Avengers Tower, now. It was the most iconic landmark on that block. “Yes. Actually, I work on the 40th floor, which makes for a great angle to see Iron Man coming in.” Your smile was fleeting when you continued on. “It’s a huge building. I work in human resources for this pharmaceutical company.. But there’s a law firm in there, too. Insurance companies, start ups.. Hundreds of people in and out all day long. Yet, that man on the subway has managed to..” You stopped yourself before your chest got too tight. “Let’s just say I’ve seen him around before.”

“Do you know his name?”

“That’s the thing!” You couldn’t help but laugh now, shaking your head in dumbfounded confusion. “No. I have no idea who he is. But he often gets on the same subway line as me, watches me from across the crowd then today..” You stopped and dragged a hand down your face. “It’s a sad truth but I would say most of my friends have been.. Touched inappropriately on the subway before. I guess it’s a weird right of passage or something..”

“Wait - what?” Steve stopped in his tracks and reached his hand out to grab yours. You stopped and looked up at his eyes, somehow both soft and dark with concern. “He touched you? What do you mean?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if his ask was authentic. When you saw the disappointment in his face, eyes flooded with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you realized his reaction was genuine. You opened your mouth to explain but suddenly it seemed impossible to find the words.

Steve let go of your hand as he absorbed your lack of response and reached for his phone. “You can file a police report, right?”

“No, no.” You stopped him, placing your hand on his as he held his phone. “Trust me, that’s just paperwork that goes nowhere. Without the guy's name, absolutely nothing would come from it anyway.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I might just adjust my work hours and change my route home for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll give up.”

Steve muttered something to himself, shaking his head. His face shifted from concern to something else, like his brain was working on a different trail of thoughts. He spoke your name quietly, drawing your attention to him again. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Steve’s kindness was a strange contrast to the entire experience on the subway. How one man could have such questionable intentions while another apologizes with sincerity for it was nearly jarring. Although, it did suddenly occur to you that Steve was just as much of a stranger.

“The worst part is.. men like that sever any opportunity for trust in other people. Especially blind trust. Like me telling you, a stranger, where I work and walking you to where I live. Funny enough though - every wire in my brain should be telling me not to and how it was a bad idea but.. I guess there is something about you.”

Steve sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he considered his response. “When you walked into the coffee shop, you could have asked the barista for help or tried to hide out in the bathroom. But you sat next to me instead. How come?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Like I said, there's just something about you, Steve.”

You walked in silence again, feet falling into a pattern once more. The sky was growing darker, the air cooler. After crossing the street again, you looked at him. “How do you feel about Prezio being traded to the Orioles?” You reached out and tipped up the brim of his Yankees hat. “A tragedy, right?”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he tipped his head. “I think it was a huge mistake. Don’t you think we’ve had a hard enough year as it is?” Your silence was filled with baseball talk instead and it seemed to put both of you at ease.

“This is me.” You stopped outside of a short apartment complex, pointing a thumb to the door.

Steve smiled, one hand in the pocket of his jacket as he studied you. Was this it? After the wild rollercoaster of emotions you had spilled onto him in the last hour, parting with nothing else seemed empty. Lacking. He opened his mouth and closed it, once then twice.

Finally, you cut in. “Thanks again, Steve. Really. If you hadn’t played along and scared him away.. well, I’m not sure where I would be right now. It means a lot that you cared enough about a stranger to make sure I was safe.”

Steve sighed out your name. “I’m sorry your barometer for kindness is so low.”

You sighed. “Yeah, me too.” Part of you wanted to do something. Say something else. Linger a tiny bit longer. But your feet shuffled and your hand reached for the door. “Have a good night, Steve.”

—

“I need a favour.”

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine. Did you lock yourself out of your computer again? FRIDAY can help with that.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I recognize that scowl. How can I help you?”

“If I provided you some video footage from a security camera, can we track someone down? Figure out who they are? For full transparency, it’s just a civilian.”

“Sounds like we’re operating outside of the law, Rogers. Can you provide me with more context? I don’t mind the grey area - I just like the drama, too.”

Steve sighed, then reluctantly explained himself. The cafe. Your panicked message. The stalker of a man. The way you dismissed it all as a normal, unfortunate side effect of existing as a woman. His barista friend provided him with camera footage but he wasn’t sure it was enough.

Tony pinched between his eyes. “Men are scum. And I say that as someone in the practice of trying to be better. Recovering scum, if you will. I’ll see what I can do. FRIDAY, how quietly can we get into the security database at the Clifton building?”

—

Although you hadn’t lied to Steve, it occurred to you on your journey home that your guard should remain up. Which is why you had actually allowed him to walk you to your aunt’s apartment, instead of your own. She was happy to see you burst through the door and insisted you stay for dinner. That was a tiny silver lining to the whole mess.

The next day though, the thought of going into work was suffocating. So you opted to spend the day working from home instead, which your boss had been agreeable to, at least. One day rolled into two and you successfully avoided the office building until the following Monday. But then, you needed a plan. Next steps, next steps.

You took an Uber to the office early and left late at the end of the day, leaving out the back stairway and crossing a few blocks to take a different subway line home. It was unfortunate you had to cater your life to the chance you would run into this goon again, but your sense of security was slowly returning. That had to count for something.

Things shifted later that week. There was a sudden new policy sent out to all the staff in your office outlining new building ownership and training about sexual harassment policies.

“It’s a long time coming,” you heard someone mutter out in the elevator as you headed down towards the lobby.

“Guess Tony Stark just wants to own the whole block,” their coworker chirped back, pulling to loosen his tie.

There was even more commotion when you exited the elevator and walked towards the large glass doors. A team of NYPD officers were standing outside, shoving someone in the back of their cruiser. Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t be certain but from that angle, you certainly recognized the bad buzzcut. Your eyes darted around the lobby anxiously and across the room, a small crowd of suits and officers had formed near..

Tony Stark, himself.

Before you could even try to understand what was going on, you heard someone calling your name. You turned your head and saw someone who looked a lot like -

“Steve?” You took a few steps towards him, pausing to glance from him back at Tony Stark and.. “Oh my god. You’re Steve Rogers. Why didn’t you say something?”

Captain America had walked you home. Hidden behind glasses and a hat. And you always considered yourself observant.

Steve just smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be thanking you for all of this chaos?”

Steve furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I’m extrapolating here but the same day my subway stalker gets taken away in cuffs, Stark Industries buys out this building and mandates a new policy and code of conduct.”

Steve pursed his lips, swallowing back a mischievous smirk. “Here’s the thing. It occurred to me that your best choice of action after that day was changing your entire life to avoid that man. And I couldn’t help but think about how broken that system was.”

You sighed. It had occurred to you, too. While you were relieved to shake the man from your trail, your mind considered he would probably turn his attention to someone else. And that wouldn’t be fair.

“Well, Cap. Job well done. That scum of a man had priors in Jersey, too.” Tony Stark himself had walked to where you and Steve stood. His hand clapped on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re at least going to ask her out, right? I mean, I bought an entire building for you - make a move, pal.”

Steve flushed pink and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“I’m getting a bagel. You want a bagel?” Tony raised an eyebrow from you to Steve again, smiling proudly.

“I’m good. I recommend the poppy seed though!” You called as Tony flitted away, narrowly avoiding a proper looking blonde woman who seemed very tired.

You turned your attention back to Steve. “He seems like a lot.”

“He is.” Steve nodded, motioning his hand. “I know it’s only one thing, maybe a ripple in making a difference but.. I’m hoping one less inappropriate person on the subway can give you peace of mind.”

You smiled again. Though you had seen many appearances by Captain America on the news, seeing the man in person was different. It seemed Steve Rogers walked the walk. After parting ways with him before, though he had crossed your mind, you didn’t anticipate your menial issues leading to this.

“Thanks. Really. Even one person makes a difference.” You reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Steve.”

“I’m sorry about Tony, though. His comments about asking you out and.. that certainly wasn’t my goal here.”

“I don’t know. You just did me a huge favour getting rid of that gremlin. I think I owe you.”

Steve caught your cheeky smile and stood up a bit straighter. “Well, in that case, the Yankees are playing the Sox tomorrow night. Tony never uses his tickets and the seats aren’t half bad. What do you say?”

“You’re cashing in this favour to take me on a date? Usually people ask for help moving or a ride to the airport or something.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Sure. I guess you can take me to the game, Steve. If you ask politely, I’ll probably even hold your hand.”

After work the next day, Steve met you outside and you took the subway together to the stadium. You knew this wasn’t the end of it for you or anyone else worried about their personal boundaries being crossed. But, as you gripped the subway pole and your fingers grazed against Steve’s, you could finally breathe again. For the first time in a while, you weren’t anticipating next steps.

It was just you and the kind stranger from the coffee shop.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x oc #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #reader fanfiction #idk yall #simmerandcry #simmer writes

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artisqueer · 4 years ago

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RetroBangBoy AU - My Time, Finale (ao3)

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairings: Jungkook x reader, OT7 x reader, ft namkook, namjin, taekook.

Warnings: Language, brief mentions of violence, death and alcohol.

“…oh yes, so pretty, Dear. Whoever receives this must be very special,” the old woman says as she wraps a small item for one of your classmates.

You peer over their shoulder to get a look. It’s a marbly bracelet. Each glass bead resembles a colorful beach stone, with one long pendant carved in the shape of a crescent moon. It's very pretty and must hold great significance. The classmate bows to the woman and turns around to leave.

Your eyes meet.

“Jungkook??”

His widened eyes match yours twice over.

Jungkook is on this trip too? But he’s a greaser…How did I not see this one coming!

Field Observation #6: You are not doing a good job avoiding boy drama, Bighead.

“Hi, big—I mean, Y/N…” Jungkook stammers. A camellia-hue blushes at his round cheeks as he moves aside for you to set your items on the counter. He drops his gaze down to his shoes and his long hair falls over his face.

The tone of surprise in your voice echoes in your ears. You cringe at yourself, hoping Jungkook didn’t notice and take offense. It just never occurred to you that Jungkook is the academic type. You round off the reasons in your head. He’s a greaser and rides in Joon’s motorcycle gang, you’ve never shared a class or seen him study, he’s always dressed like a punk and has skipped every school event ever, and, and… when you went on that date to the drive-in movie he never mentioned school. You get a flashback of him making out with the french fries and drinking two chocolate milkshakes. He had no interest in you at all.

Did he really keep this persona from you? That he’s so… cool?

The lady looks from you to Jungkook and back to you, very clearly enticed by the tension. You scramble out of the awkwardness, trying to make light talk. Jin made it so easy.

“How have you been? I didn’t see you on the bus earlier or else I would have—" you ramble on, quickly paying for your items.

“It’s OK. I tend to lay low. I was in the back…on the bus, I mean. Rode here with Tae, actually.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

The old woman slides a small card across the counter. “For the ring, Dear,” she gestures to the small ring in your hand and smiles at you both tenderly. “It’s from the future, so use it well.” She gives you a wink. (mood rings first appeared in 1970)

You tuck the small card into your jacket pocket along with your tangerines and slide the ring onto your middle finger. You both bow to the old woman and walk out of Yeongjusan House with your souvenirs in tow. Once outside, the ring changes color from amber to yellow.

“Oh, you rode with Tae? Is that…OK?” you pose curiously.

“What, because we’re into different subcultures?” he chuckles from behind his messy long hair. His voice is always so quiet speaking to you like if he used his full volume he could break something, or someone. “Pfft, Bighead really,” he continues, “I wonder how you even got nominated for this retreat.” He laughs as he runs away. You make to playfully hit his arm but miss as he pulls away with excellent reflexes, giggling behind his tiny travel bag while you gawk at the size of his arms. There’s no way. What do greasers, eat??? It’s like their muscles just pop out at the most inconvenient times, like right now.

“I thought greasers and jocks hate each other. It’s kind of the point. Having different class backgrounds and all…” You kick some tall grass.

“That’s a stereotype, Bighead. Just because an ideology is popular in a group doesn’t mean we all believe it. Tae isn’t like most jocks, he’s…different.” Jungkook’s smile seems to be the only thing visible behind his shaggy rockabilly.

“So you guys are…friends?” You ask hesitantly.

“I guess,” he plays with his tattooed fingers. “He’s been helping me with a project, so we’ve been hanging out a lot lately. But,” he pouts, “my gang doesn’t really know.”

“About the project or Taehyung?”

“Well, both,” he laughs nervously, “it’s a bit complicated.” He rubs the back of his neck again, and you notice the pulsing veinery dancing from his knuckles up to his forearms. Damn.

He doesn’t seem ready to talk about it. You clear your throat and change the subject. “Well, we have half an hour before the next group activity. Want a tangerine? It’s grown locally! ” You chuck one to him and he catches it with both hands.

You settle on the hillside, a shady patch of grass overlooking the northern face of the island.

“So,” you say between peels of the tiny fruit, “what subject were you nominated for?”

“Physics. I don’t usually participate in school stuff,” he stares down his tangerine, “but I really want to see the caves.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a ribbon. You stop peeling to watch him gather his hair and tie it up. When did it get so long? Now you can finally see his big eyes.

“Huh? Caves?” you weren’t listening because you were distracted by his beautiful side profile. What is it with these nerds and their caves?

Jungkook returns your gaze. “Have you heard of the Bermuda Triangle?” he says with big round eyes sparkling. He gets up and approaches the flat rock next to you. With one swift motion, he jumps and lands on top of it, no hands. Core strength. He stretches his arms above his head and his shirt rides up a bit. From your position on the ground, a glimpse of the unobtrusive trail below his navel invites your mind to fantasies of a very different kind of field trip. He looks down at you sweetly, waiting for your reply.

You shake your head, “I’m more of a biologist. Educate me?”

He gestures for you to join him up on the rock. Though Jungkook made it look easy, the climb for you is much more grueling. He lifts you up with the strength of one arm until you’re shoulder to shoulder. You try to get breath into your lungs without seeming too obvious. Struggling, your nostrils flare and the wind picks up. It carries hints of his musk and sweat. You can’t help but inhale deeply until his fragrance fills you with assurance. Glancing down at your hand, you notice the ring is bluish-green but you can’t recall what the card said.

The bluish-green ocean on the horizon looks like the perfect backdrop for Jungkook’s physics lesson. He starts, “Eight years ago, ships started disappearing out in the western sea. First a small fishing boat, then a big cargo ship, it didn’t matter how big or how many people. They just, vanished. No bodies, no debris, no trace. No one could explain the missing wreckage, so the papers wrote about violent storms to give the families of the lost some closure, something to blame. Only, it would happen again, within the exact same coordinates…The Bermuda Triangle. I think I have a theory. It can be explained with physics, the magnetic field, more specifically. Some physicists believe there’s something special about the Bermuda Triangle’s location in the magnetic field. There are believed to be other places like Bermuda,” Jungkook looks from you to the coast, “and one of them is here.”

“You mean, the legend of the caves? Where the pirates disappeared? I thought it’s just a local myth…"

“There’s more to it than the legend.” He leans in and whispers, “The government’s studying it closely too.”

“What,” you chortle loudly, “the government is funding myth-busters?”

Jungkook’s face is serious af. “It’s not a myth, Bighead. The Republic of Korea started building a naval base here in 1933.” He points to the east. The tall glass building of the research facility can be seen from here, shimmering in unnatural contrast to everything else on the island. You squint.

Field Observation #7: You definitely need specs..and to read more news.

Jungkook continues, “They started planning a naval base on the island some years ago. Construction started in Gangjeong village right over there,” he points west to the ferry docks where you first arrived. “The base was designed to be a mixed military-commercial port so that it could handle ferries, cruise ships, and…warships and submarines.”

“Why would they want a naval base here? It’s just a quiet little sanctuary…” you say as you both sit down on the rock.

He rests his arms over his knees. “That’s exactly what the local villagers said. They were strongly opposed to it. Many worried that the private lab was doing experiments hazardous to the environment. They organized many protests, but in the end, they could only slow down the process. The military moved in with force and built the complex anyway.”

“But that’s like, totally against everything this retreat is about. What about all these scientists working at the conservatory, aren’t they here to study wildlife and protect it?”

“Where do you think their funds come from, Y/N? The lab is backed by the military, which means everything they do is government research.”

“How do you know all this?”

“It’s the subject of my research.” He looks around again, the bun atop his head bobbing side to side. “That’s what Tae has been helping me with.”

“Jungkook, I don’t understand. What’s Tae helping you expose the lab for? What do you think they are hiding?” You stare down his side profile. He bites his bottom lip with his bunny teeth.

“It’d become very dangerous for you if you knew,” he reaches to fix your wind-tousled hair. “Trust me.”

Field Observation #8: Don’t trust men, unless they are Jungkook.

He gives you a warm, reassuring smile. “Let’s get going now, we don’t wanna miss the next activity.”

***

The chaperones lead everyone down the hill for the next activity on schedule. The Butterfly House.

Jin has not returned yet, you’re starting to miss his chaotic antics. At the front of the crowd, Professor Choi is desperately trying to get the class’s attention. Several stern scientists are hovering on the side, waiting for silence so they can deliver the welcome introduction. Once it quiets down, two of the scientists give a run-through on the Butterfly House rules. Among them, it is expected that all students keep their touching to a minimum and especially, keep out of the restricted areas marked by red fence. Hunger strikes your tummy, and you wish Jin were here to cure it with his magic snack bag. A nudge to your rib sends you out of your daydream. You turn to your side. Jungkook has a giant butterfly resting on the tip of his nose. Its shimmery blue wings gently tilting up and down. Jungkook is still, afraid it will fly away. You giggle at the sight of him holding the breath in his cheeks.

The class breaks off into groups to tour the facility.

“Good Afternoon, students. Welcome to our 30-by-15-meter glass atrium.” Your group leader reads off a script as student’s heads tilt back to observe the magnificent architecture above. “We are proud to receive you as guests of the first walk-through butterfly habitat in the eastern hemisphere. It first opened in 1957, so you are the first scholars to visit. Inside these walls, you will find some 500 free-flying butterflies of up to 25 different species. There are about 15,000 to 20,000 known species of butterflies found worldwide and many yet to be discovered. You may find swallowtails and birdwings, brightly colored, or camouflaged among the plants. Some might be difficult to spot, as butterflies can be as small as 3 mm, but can also be as large as 304 mm….”

A small butterfly floats past the guide’s shoulder and rests on it. “Ah, a Sasakia charonda, the great purple emperor. Native to the Korean Peninsula, Japan, China, and northern Taiwan, and Vietnam. As we see, butterflies can be orange, white, black, and even purple. However, they cannot see how beautiful they look because butterflies can only see red, green, and yellow. The journey to becoming a butterfly is always an inspiring tale.” The guide struggles to find their place on the script.

You tilt your head back and stare in awe, the scale of technology here is incredible. Your biologist brain buzzes with millions of questions. How did they replicate a tropical rainforest like this in 1958? Are there places like this in Japan too, or perhaps the United States? The facility is lush with amazon trees and exotic plants. It’s so dense. Thousands of vines cover the floors and wrap around the trees. Layers of moss and countless species of flora and fauna lie in the shaded canopies. Vines dominating the taller trees cross overhead, reaching over through air to dominate the other side. Some climb so high they span the atrium’s glass ceiling, where the sunlight pours in strongest. An astonishing vision of Darwin’s theory of natural selection.

The guide has found their place in the script and begins reading. “There are, um, four cycles of the butterfly’s life. A butterfly starts out as an egg. Then it hatches into a caterpillar, called the larva. The larva goes into a cocoon called the pupa stage, and finally, emerges as an adult butterfly free to spread their wings and fly. We have a display with pupa ready to hatch, please follow me…” The students clamor excitedly after the guide, who disappears down the pathway in the thick greenery.

Yelps can be heard in the distance as students and chaperones alike encounter all sorts of buzzing insects. You duck below the low-hanging vines. One thing they forgot to mention is the climate control in here. Somehow, the air in the atrium is kept very humid to mimic that of the Amazon rainforest. After a while, the moisture in the air becomes nearly suffocating. Jungkook, however, seems to be doing just fine. Suddenly, he reaches for your hand and clasps it in his, clammy.

“Look, there’s Jin!” you almost yell. Your hands are torn apart as you run over to the fence. Jin is working on the other side in a glass office. His face is buried in an apparatus that looks something like an advanced microscope. Dozens of flasks, books, and petri dishes are strewn across the bench before him. He looks like he’s busy.

“This area’s off-limits. I don’t think we can interrupt him.” Jungkook tugs at your sleeve. You expel air and look back at Jungkook to find that the blue butterfly has returned. Right atop his head, it sits, flitting its wings as Jungkook scrunches his nose. The butterfly doesn’t budge.

“Looks like Morpho adonis.” The angelic voice comes from behind you.

Jungkook rolls his eyes with the butterfly still on his head.

“Jin! You looked really preoccupied. What are you working on over there?” you indicate the room guarded by the fence.

“Oh, just some plant cell assays. They think they discovered a new species of moss in a cavern, so I’m helping look at samples. It’s promising. I’m running the RNA against the ones from my own research. If it matches, the cave is likely the one they’ve been looking for, a habitable location for—well, uh it’s confidential. Sorry, you understand.” His smile is still so genuine even when he’s withholding secret government information.

Jungkook tenses at the mention of “caves”.

“Have you seen it?” he asks.

“Seen what?” Jin returns.

“The cave. Have you been there?” Jungkook’s hands are shaking a little, so you move closer by his side and take his hand.

Jin’s eyes follow the movements of your hands. Just like they did back at the library the first time you met.

“I haven’t, no.” He lies.

“Sorry Choco, I’ll have to join you again tomorrow. Professor Moon asked for my help and it seems like it's going to take the rest of the evening. I’m sure Jungkook will keep you company for dinner in my place?” He gives you another sweet smile, but it has a bitter undertone. Much like Namjoon, when he had seen you with Yoongi’s jacket on that weird day.

Field Observation #9: Stop reading between the lines, they don’t like you like that.

“Before you both go—Jungkook, I have something for you,” Jin rolls up the sleeves of his lab coat and steps back into the room before returning.

He holds his hands out and you both peer down at the delicate thing sitting in his palms.

“What is it?” Jungkook nudges.

“Juniperus shimpaku,” Jin beams, “a bonsai.”

You watch Jin place the small tree in Jungkook’s outstretched hands.

“Give it to Namjoon, as my peace offering. Tell him it grows near the sea, so it will prefer regular misting. The foliage is needle-like now because it’s young, but as it grows older it will get scalier. One of the best things about Shimpaku is its hard resinous wood…ideal for advanced sculptural techniques such as jin, shari and sabamiki.” Jin bursts into his signature windshield laugh.

This time you roll your eyes, but Jungkook giggles along.

“Uh, thanks I guess,” Jungkook accepts the gift. “But I don’t know why you don't give it to him yourself. Knowing Joon, he’s pretty old-fashioned. If you've pissed him off, he can be really petty and hold a grudge. He holds things in until it gets really heavy—”

At that moment, a loud engine bang is heard from outside the atrium. The glass walls shake and the birds in the trees fly away in droves of panic.

“What the hell was that?” you say, but nothing else happens. The disturbance was momentary.

"Nothing to fear folks," one of the chaperones calls from a distance. "A small aircraft had to make an emergency landing nearby. Idiots over-estimated their weight capacity and ran out of gas. Carry on."

“Anyway,” Jin continues, “take good care of it until you can give it to him. Oh, and if you’re prone to Drosophila melanogaster with your regular houseplants, you might want to lay off drowning the soil...”

“Droso-whatagaster?” you both say.

“Fruit. Flies.” Jin sighs. “Now please, go before someone sees you here. I am restricted material!” He grins at you and waves you off.

On your way out, your hand finds Jungkook’s again. Less clammy than before.

“Thank you for visiting the Butterfly Habitat, we hope you’ll gain a greater appreciation for butterflies and their place in the world’s ecosystems. Before you leave though, remember to check your clothing for any hitchhikers and pose by the Heaven Lotus for a memorable photo!” the chaperones guide you out toward the Heaven Lotus, where Taehyung is snapping photos.

“Jungkook, are we still on for tomorrow?” Tae heavily eyes your locked hands before Jungkook lets it go. Jungkook nods. You both smile, ready for the flash. Click.

***

Jungkook eats dinner with you at a Haenyeo House. Four bowls of jeonbokjuk (abalone porridge) to be exact. Afterward, you browse the framed black and white photos on the wall. They tell the story of the haenyeo (sea women), the island’s legendary sea divers. Since the 18th century, deep-sea diving for fish became the work of women until their workforce outnumbered the men. So much so, the island has become a semi-matriarchal society, where the head of the heterosexual household is the woman, not the man. You and Jungkook remark if that is possible here in 1958, then why not on the mainland? The villages here seems to be ahead of their time. Patriarchy and heteronormative standards are still dominant in most places and probably will be for many years to come. After digesting your abalone with more discourse about dismantling the patriarchy and capitalism, you and Jungkook go out on the beach.

The sun has already gone down, marking the first day of the retreat over. The only light source radiating from the campfires along the beach and the star-lit sky. The campfire nearest your sleeping tent is vacant. The question of sharing a tent crosses your mind.

“Arent you going to tent up with your assigned travel buddy?” you ask Jungkook.

“My what?” he sips from his flask then stares expectantly at you.

“Your travel…buddy??” It’s not a weird question, right?

“Where did you hear that? I can guarantee there's no travel buddy list,” he giggles into his flask.

“But, Jin said…” You reflect on the words as you stare into the fire.

Water shoots from Jungkook’s nose as he tumbles forward. “He said he was your assigned travel buddy?! Ahahaha—”

Apparently, there was no such thing. Jin made it up just to have a reason to be with you during the trip. What are you supposed to think now?

You’ve had a long first day, to say the least. Jungkook helps you relax. The night passes too quickly as you exchange stories under the stars. At some point, you pass out asleep and feel Jungkook place his jacket over your chest. He carries you into the tent. You roll over onto your stomach and splay like a starfish. Jungkook struggles to remove your shoes and get you into the sleeping bag. Then the darkness swallows you and you drift into a deep sleep. Whatever comes tomorrow can’t possibly top the day you’ve had.

***

You wake the next morning to an empty tent and two layers of sleeping bag. The extra is not yours. Your back is stiff and you feel like your whole body has sunk two feet in the sand. After a little morning spruce, you find Jungkook having breakfast by the campfire. The bonsai tree sits on a rock in front of him and the souvenir bracelet rolls between his fingers.

“That’s a really nice souvenir!” you sit beside him.

“Thanks. It’s for, um, Namjoon actually. Ha ha. You think he’ll like it? Joon loves the sea but, he works so much. He’s studying part-time and can’t take advanced classes.” He scratches the back of his round head again.

“That’s lovely, Jungkook. I think he will definitely love it.” Jungkook is so sweet, you can’t help feel a little jealous after how aloof he was with you on your first date. “Oh, this is totally random but speaking of Namjoon, you haven’t heard anything from him, have you? Last time we spoke was kinda weird…I thought maybe he said someth—"

“Y/N. I have to tell you something,” he hesitates, lingering for permission.

“What is it?” you say. The morning wind on the beach is a little chilly. You fold your arms across your chest for some warmth.

“Do you remember that day? The day I was supposed to pick you up after work?” he fiddles with the bracelet.

Now it’s your turn to choke on your flask. Your stomach feels like it’s going to sink with all the emotions of that day returning. Jin completely avoided this conversation, but here goes Jungkook getting right into it.

“Yes, I remember it all too clearly,” you sigh. “I was on my way to the parking lot where I thought you were picking me up. I was walking by the court while the jocks were playing a game. Then the ball went out of bounds and hit me. I passed out and woke up after Yoongi, uh, resuscitated me. His hand was injured and he looked really mad. He still took me to Namjoon’s. Namjoon was acting all weird about it, but I still don't know why.”

“Well, that’s one version of it. But that’s not our version.” Jungkook explains.

“You see, I have um, I have a secret. The project I mentioned that Tae is helping me with, it’s a dangerous project. A few months ago, I discovered something while experimenting. I may have sort of opened a dimensional rift.” He waits anxiously for your response.

“What does that mean, Jungkook. You farted?”

“No! Haha. In quantum physics, there’s a theorem called the Casimir effect, it essentially says that if you conduct the right amount of energy through the right materials at the right time, you can open a door through space-time.”

“Time travel?” you question.

“Yes!!! Time travel.” He whispers. “I messed with it and got it right. That day you got hit with a basketball, it wasn’t the players' fault, it was me! Haha—.” He says it too happily for your taste.

“Hey!… I thought the jocks might have done it on purpose,” you pout.

“It was an accident, I swear to Namjoon! I haven't completely mastered control over this thing yet. That day I was running a bit late, so I thought, "why not?" . It worked obviously, but there was some, uh, glitching. It was not a clean jump. I injured some people when I jumped back, especially you. I'm really sorry. Only Yoongi and Namjoon knew about my jumping experiments then. Yoongi rushed there to stop me. It could have been a disaster, Y/N. But I figured out that I can do a cleaner jump if I have a stronger source of energy. The vacuum isn't it. ” his eyes are sparkly again.

You are quiet, thinking.

“So, let me see. You can travel through time using science, but you don’t have a good grip on the specifics yet. Yoongi, Jin, and basically everyone else knows about it now. You all got together while I was passed out and schemed a lie so I wouldn’t find out I got knocked by an experimental poltergeist. Am I understanding it correctly?”

He blinks. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Jungkook. You are so cool…”

He blushes, “I’d rather be dead than cool…”

“Since I’ve already been a victim of your jumping experiments. Can I know about the cave?”

Jungkook sighs. “I told you yesterday that the cave is like the Bermuda Triangle. Under ideal conditions, the cave can be a portal for time travel. The lab doesn’t know what conditions exactly, but I do. They aren’t up to anything good with it. If the lab got its hands on time portal capability, it would have the power to manipulate the past and future. Taehyung did some journalistic investigating on the lab. It's called Heaven, Inc. Before it got the military permission to colonize the island, they were just another underfunded private lab, doing shady work for shady leaders. Corrupt stuff. Tae discovered that the lab has already found the cave and they've closed it off. It’s not much time before they get the conditions right. Do you see why we have to intervene? Only we know about it. The cave would be weaponized. A weapon of dimensional shifting.”

“Jin can't know what he’s part of, right? I mean, he would never volunteer for something like that. He’s good…”

“I dunno, he definitely knows where the cave is. Tae and I have a plan. We’ll follow him to the cave and film it all. The video will be released to the papers and the government will have to shut down the complex.”

“That’s doesn’t sound like a good plan, Jungkook. It’s dangerous. They have the strictest enforcement here. What if they stop you?”

“Trust me, Y/N. They need a really big source of energy to open the portal. After my experiments, I think I figured out how it works, but I’ll need your help..." He looks at you with the same expression he’s had the whole time, “Can I kiss you?” Endearing and determined.

You are completely startled at the turn of confessions.“It's for science, right?”

“For science,” he grins.

“Ok, I trust you.”

He lunges forward and kisses you passionately on the lips. Your eyes shut tight and butterflies erupt in your atrium. Not counting Yoongi’s resuscitation technique, this is your first real kiss. Jungkook’s hand comes up to hold your face. He brushes your cheek and lingers, savoring you as long as he can.

At last, you break. “Wow,” he pants, “thank you.”

“Hey?” you pant back, “this better earn us the Nobel Prize.”

***

Taehyung joins you and Jungkook at 7 o’clock sharp, carrying several duffle bags. He sets them down and slicks back his hair. “The name’s Bond, James Bond,” he says with a deep voice. Jungkook ignores him, too deep in thought focusing on the surroundings. Tae turns to you for approval and flashes his adorable boxy smile. You are really about to embark on a covert operation with Taekook.

You squat behind the dense thicket, waiting. Jin passes by with a group of serious scientists. As usual, Jin looks too chippy first thing in the morning. He stands out like a sore thumb. The youngest in the group and the most enthusiastic. Still, he remains well-mannered and eagerly follows orders as they prep for their second day excavating the hidden site.

The three of you follow the group down to the north-facing coastline, staying out of view. The group you’re tailing disappears into a tunnel behind a glistening waterfall. You wait behind some big rocks. A branch cracks behind you and you spin around. Funny. You could swear you saw a glimpse of the big-breasted mathematician's ass hanging out of a tree. No way. You're probably still dazed from locking lips with Jungkook. There's no way Namjoon would ever be here. Then, Jin’s laughter emerges from the cave as he leads the group back out. He saunters past, delightedly chatting up the eldest scientist. You sigh. Poor Jin, he really believes this about some moss.

“Well, we found it.” Taehyung whispers. “That was easy.”

Too easy. An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Like right before you are about to lose something. You glance over to Jungkook who is contemplating the next move. Your lips are still tingling from his kiss. Was it real? During your first date, he seemed so aloof. Sure, he was always sweet and protective, but it didn’t mean anything. That’s just how Jungkook is.

Yoongi’s old words ring in your ears,

“Listen, Dove, it’s just a random coincidence. It could have been anybody…”

Yoongi really meant it. He knew. They all knew.

Taehyung holds the fence open for you and Jungkook to climb through. He leaves the duffle bags by the waterfall and only grabs the camera. He takes photos of the chain-link fence protecting the cave entrance. A sign reads “RESTRICTED ACCESS”. Inside, the cave is more like a tunnel. It's cold, dark, rocky, and slippery. Jungkook lights a match and asks you to stay while he explores the interior.

You stick with Taehyung as he takes more photos. “You knew about Jungkook’s experiments?” you probe.

“Sweetcheeks, I’ve always told you, haven’t I? I appreciate art.”

Jungkook runs back from the tunnel, excited. “Hey guys, come check this out!”

You both chase after him.

“Careful, it’s slippery in here!” he yells back through the darkness.

You reach a clearing lit by torches. There's a lot of industrial equipment. Looks like the scientists have come this far. Jungkook examines the mysterious gadgets laying around, one by one. Everything has the same logo, Heaven, Inc.

“Extensional tectonics,” Jungkook mumbles. He walks to the center of the clearing and looks at the wet floor. A man-made “X” marks the spot. “It’s here, inside the Manjjanggul Lava tube. This is the dimensional rift..."

In geology, a rift is a linear zone where the lithosphere is being pulled apart. They form over thousands of years, often at the central axis of most mid-ocean ridges. The new oceanic crust and lithosphere form at a divergent boundary between two tectonic plates. The Manjjanggul Lava tube tunnel is said to be one of the longest, measuring around 7.5 kilometers deep.

Extensional tectonics, as Jungkook said. The Manjjanggul Lava tube is the second Bermuda Triangle. Conditions just right for space-time travel, if supported with a powerful catalyst.

The kiss. The kiss was the energy. Jungkook is trying to manifest the kiss into the big energy he needs to open the portal. You must be…his catalyst.

A purple light begins forming in front of Jungkook as he stands still.

“Wait don't start yet, I need to get the video camera!”

"Well Taehyung, I don't know how it starts only when it starts...and it's starting now!"

Tae runs to retrieve the equipment from outside.

You flinch as water drips on your head from lava rock on the ceiling. The walls of the cavern start vibrating on rhythms, like the pace of a butterfly’s wings or a human heartbeat. The ring on your finger blackens as a void opens within you, a creeping bad feeling. You push it down.

“What’s happening?” you move to the edge of the wall.

“It’s stopped. I felt stronger energy a few minutes ago. It’s gotten weaker for some reason…” he concentrates hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Jungkook—” you start to say. But Taehyung runs back.

“Has it worked yet? Did I miss anything?” he tosses the bags down and starts to assemble the video camera as quickly as he can.

“Wait, I feel something…” Jungkook plants his feet on the marking and holds his arms out in front of him like there’s an invisible wall there. An obscure purple cloud glows before him and the tunnel vibrates with more strength.

Tae starts filming. You flatten your bodies against the wall as more water drips from the shaking ceiling.

“I feel it.” Jungkook closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. He extends his arms farther out, pushing against the translucid wall. “It’s….happening…” he grunts as he puts all his might into the force. Blue and white hues emerge from the vortex developing at his hands. The walls of the cavern pulse even harder. You cling to the wall as you brace for the unknown.

Then, an echo of running footsteps down the tunnel gets louder. Indiscernible yelling and swearing as the heavy steps approach.

One deep voice penetrates the cave and spikes the walls harder than the supernatural force at Jungkook’s fingertips can.

“Stop!” Namjoon shouts.

“Choco! Get away from him!” Jin appears behind Joon. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. Jungkook is not listening anymore. The force in his hands surges and cave walls begin to give way. Tae fumbles with the camera, desperately trying to capture the phenomenon as the tunnel shakes more violently.

Jimin approaches calmly, “I think we would all like to live, so let’s all hold hands and walk out of here in one piece…”

“I can’t leave,” Jungkook replies through the translucent shimmer. "We have to destroy this place."

Namjoon steps closer, cautious of the rocks beginning to crumble overhead.

“Jungkook, please. You are putting yourself in danger…” he pleads. The leader’s fear growing with each passing second until Namjoon breaks down and tears flow from his eyes. With that, the portal opens, rendering Jungkook helpless to its mystical aura.

Everyone is puzzled. Yoongi’s level voice is heard over the rumbling, “What just happened, why is it getting worse?” Jungkook doesn’t know, but his mesmerization with the portal overtakes him and he can’t hear the others anymore. A deep part of his conscious is already elsewhere, they’re losing him.

Jungkook’s peaceful face shimmers with waves of violet and pink. His eyes wide open, soul entering into a new dimension while his body still hangs back. Grounded in something. Or someone.

Seokjin pulls you away, trying to get you out of the tunnel. Before he can get you very far, Namjoon grabs hold of your free arm. A massive pulse sends a long fissure across the floor, dividing the space in two. You’re being pulled in two directions, Jin on one side and Joon on the other. The tunnel begins to collapse. Hoseok yells for everyone to get out. You must pick a side or you'll die.

A segment of lava rock falls, nearly crushing Taehyung who has dropped the camera. He runs to Jungkook but more rock falls, blocking him. You’re held on both sides. You look up from Namjoon’s chest. His cheeks are soaked in tears.

“You put everyone at risk,” he glares at Jin.

“Me?” Jin argues back, tugging you to himself. “Your greasers are to blame! You let Jungkook and Taehyung do something dangerous. They even brought Y/N to the cave. I made you all swear, did I not, to keep Y/N out of this! What Jungkook was doing was never safe! We had a choice to stop the lab from finding the portal key. I mocked up the plant samples to destroy the evidence and convince them this is not the place. No one was going to get hurt! But Jungkook, he made his choice. He chose to destroy the site altogether. He chose violence!”

You’re suddenly thrust away from the pair as Namjoon lunges toward Jin. He throws the first punch. Jin collides with the wall behind them. Joon makes for another hit but Jin headbutts him first, tackling the six-foot-tall man to the ground, which is now being pelted with falling lava rocks. You lose balance on the shaky floor and start to fall backward. Yoongi catches you in time and shields you from the debris, looking for a way out.

Was that true? Was Taekook’s plan all along to destroy the cave? Who is right? Who is trusted? You remember Jungkook's words. Trust me.

NamJin curse at one another as they wrestle to the ground. The leader of the greasers and the leader of the jocks. Peace was never an option, was it.

Suddenly, the pulsing hum stops and there is silence. From Yoongi’s embrace, you can still see Jungkook. One moment he is there, standing on the X mark. Namjoon reaches for him but in a moment that feels frozen, lasting longer than a moment should, a whirring noise slices through the cold air, then…Jungkook vanishes. ZAP.

All that’s left in Namjoon’s large hand, the moon bracelet. Only the sounds of heavy breathing and dripping water fill the void. Jin rises from the ground and catches his breath. He looks up at Namjoon in confusion. Still silence.

Namjoon is about to say something. Then ZAP… he vanishes through thin air. The bracelet drops to the wet ground and rolls toward you. What the fuck! Everyone looks at each other. What is happening?! A moment later, Yoongi follows. ZAP. Jimin. Taehyung. Hoseok. ZAP ZAP ZAP.

Only you and Jin are left.

***

The following morning, your school formally announces the reported disappearance of six of its students, four of whom were not attending the retreat. Their names are printed in the paper, along with their photos.

Kim Namjoon. Min Yoongi. Jung Hoseok. Park Jimin. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook.

All Heaven, Inc. facilities are shut down for further investigation. The remaining students are sent home early in the morning. Police recover the Heaven, Inc. lab equipment from the Manjjanggul Lava tube, but can't find a single trace of the missing students. Seokjin's father gets a lawyer for the other families and files a civil suit.

The long bus ride home is melancholic. You were up all night being questioned by the police, nothing you said was written down. The reporters will dismiss the truth and release their own narrative in a few months.

The students had a secret party on a sailboat, they got drunk, had a dispute, forgot to tie it to the dock and drifted out in the middle of the night. No bodies were found. It was an accident. A simple mistake of rambunctious youth.

You and Seokjin remain quiet. Neither of you feel like talking. Six of your friends have just vanished. You fear the worst. You have endless questions. Where are they? Why did everyone but Jin jump? Did they make it through safe? Will they ever come back? What will their families do? The void inside only grows. Your racing mind exhausts and you lean your head on Jin’s shoulder. It’s big and sturdy and safe. Whatever happens from now on, at least you will have Jin by your side. You fall asleep.

***

The sound of Professor Choi quietly nudging you awake causes you to jump, “Wake up, Dear. You are home.”

“Huh, what year is it?” You rub the sleep from your eyes and feel a cramp in your neck. There’s no other student left on the bus but you. The spot next to you empty, with all but a snack left on the seat. You pick up the wrapped choco pie and stare at it. No way. Did Jin get time warped? He couldn’t have he was with me…

“It’s 1958, Dear,” Choi laughs. “Don’t forget your belongings. I’ll leave you to it.” The professor walks off the bus.

Jin got time-warped with the rest. This is not a dream. You are not dreaming.

All seven of them...left you.

Field Observation #10: It was a f*ckboy au after all. What did you expect, Bighead?

See you in 1985 :)

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emersonfreepress · 4 years ago

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What would the ro's be like in a zombie au?

whyyyyy anon whyyy. I'm actually gonna write this in like.. slightly different terms, you'll see. any time I even briefly think of a zombie au I'm just like

I WANNA WRITE IT SO BADDD

i don't even allow myself to entertain it for very long because getting into that would be the worst thing ever for my productivity with the alpha omg 😂😂 so I'll put like the ideas that pop into my head for writing a zombie au, to work some of that creative frustration out 😆

so in this very general, absolutely noncommittal idea of mine, the main cast are older and the setting is in and around a civilian settlement led by the Emersons.

and as a refresher, i like my zombie aus to have fast zombies and fast infections ^ ^ 28 Days Later/Train to Busan style babyyyy, we the Sprinting Dead up in this bitch 😆

= = =

Gabe is, predictably, looking for what's left of his family. Following rumors of safe havens and bunkers and such. Starts the story as someone who tries to be diplomatic, if not outright pacifist, but as times get tougher and resources dwindle, he'd become one of the most cutthroat motherfuckers in the wasteland. Low-key though, low-key. People won't trust you if they know you’re capable of throwing them to a horde for strategic reasons. Like if Rick turned into Shane (for those of us familiar with early Walking Dead--idk did that happen eventually? i gave up before we even met Negan lol). The end justifies the means :) Damn, I can legit see Gabe going full evil in a zombie au omg 😂😂 i want to write it so fucking bad

Preferred weapon for zed encounters: rifle

Preferred weapon for human encounters: handgun

Faith in humanity: fucking zero

Zombie kill count: plenty; the type to kill every zombie he has spare ammo and time for

Human kill policy: When it benefits him or the people he’s looking after

Survival rating: B+; he can make it out of some pretty dire situations through sheer will to live and ruthlessness

- - -

Kile has arrived--clearly, this is the timeline they belong in. They start their journey with Gabe (and their doggo) and stick to him like glue, even reluctantly so when Gabe eventually has them join the settlement. This can only go one way, though: Kile's just too much of a wildcard for the group and hates being told what to do. (Especially now that society has fallen, wtf) They'd make their exit alone and unannounced aside from a brief head’s up to Gabe. It's slightly bittersweet, but also? They get to loot and hunt and sneak around and kill fucking zombies, all by themself. Kile is a loner, a hiker, and a hunter to begin with so they do beyond fine on their own. However, once the inevitable violent human threat comes for the settlement, Gabe is sent out to convince Kile to come out of isolation, just this once please, to be the camp’s super soldier help defend the camp.

Zed weapon: p much anything they can get their hands on, ranged or melee, blunt or sharp, w/e; improvised weapons

Human weapon: hunting knife

Faith in humanity: never had any to begin with

Zombie kill count: lol infinite?? any zed they come across is double-dead if they have the time for it

Human kill policy: at Gabe’s direction or when provoked enough/threatened

Survival rating: A-; they trust no one, live in isolation, and prioritize survival above all else. only reason it’s not higher is they would risk their life for Gabe or their furbaby and also... their own Rambo-esque antics def attracts the occasional horde lmao

- - -

Jack... this poor boy, he doesn't deserve a zombie au 😂 He's one of those people that first believes zombies are just sick people, too squeamish to keep up with TV news coverage at the onset and too upset to consider anything else. He'd hunker down at home, staying holed up even while his neighbors evacuated, and probably be discovered while the main group is looting the same place as him. When people try to tell him the real state of the world, he'd be in denial until he absolutely couldn't be anymore. idk, probably after Kile shooting a bunch of non-lethal holes thru a zombie to make a point (attracting more in the process lol).

He’d almost immediately join the medical team at the settlement and as word spreads about how easy he is to talk to, he quickly becomes the literal on-site therapist. It's a role he embraces but... idk if it's an emotional burden he can bear. He's very emotionally resilient! But he ain't a professional lol imagine a whole settlement of traumatized zombie survivors seeking you out for counseling, yikes. He also can't say no to a person in need, so instead he quietly spirals into a very private depression while continuing to help others!!

Zed weapon: Oh gosh, do I really have to?

Human weapon: ...Kindness?

Faith in humanity: Unrealistically high

Zombie kill count: Single digit

Human kill policy: Not ever, unless completely unavoidable and to defend the defenseless

Survival rating: C...? idk, that feels generous. D+. To be protected at all costs!!

- - -

Jessie also had the initial reaction of hoping zombies could be saved, but she woke up from that dream swiftly. The science-minded person that she is, esp with her interest in biology, leaves her determined to find anybody who's got the intellect, expertise, and resources to start doing actual work toward a treatment, cure, vaccine—anything. Nothing would get her to finally unabashedly embrace her love of science (and innate leadership skills!!) faster than a zombie apocalypse! In fact, it’s thanks to her that the Emerson settlement’s got a small but growing team of scientists doing as much research as humanly possible to best educate the others on the outbreak and zombie behavior. Def no zombie experimentation going on though lol. ...Not yet, at least.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: rifle

Faith in humanity: High! We’ll find a solution! Don’t give up hope!

Zombie kill count: Double digits, but less than 30

Human kill policy: Only in unavoidable self-defense or defense of others

Survival rating: B! She has experience with ranged weapons, farming and gardening skills, first aid, camping experience, and a can-do attitude with a healthy dose of realism!

- - -

Rain remains cargo as I said in the last post about this 😆 They'd be very good for keeping clothes repaired and making useful modifications in the settlement, but their life up to this point has been very sheltered and privileged. We're talking somebody with a chauffeur and a personal chef before the outbreak! They would contribute to quality of life and homemaking efforts more than anything—an overlooked aspect of these scenarios tbh! After as many months of dragging their feet as possible and being nigh impossible to track down when you need them, they eventually become involved in meal planning and even help out with medical stuff if they're asked.

Zed weapon: how do you reload this thing again?

Human weapon: switchblade or other concealable sharp-pointy

Faith in humanity: Very low

Zombie kill count: 0! Can you believe it!

Human kill policy: Well if it’s you or me, of course I’m choosing me.

Survival rating: C. Being so tiny helps them find good hiding spots and their self-preservation is high enough to keep them from unnecessary risk-taking. Plus they're very stealthy! Self-defense is a major issue though, so hiding is always their best option.

- - -

Rupan/Rohan scouts for and leads scavenging missions and is Curt's right hand on the recruitment team. The two of them together are the perfect combo of diplomacy, debate, and deception--although R is more honorable about the last one and will only deceive for strategic reasons. When they aren’t looting and recruiting, they’re doing peacekeeping inside the settlement. Most social disputes end up getting brought to them for mediation and they’re pretty dang good at making and enforcing calls. One day they’ll wake up to realize they’ve basically become a sheriff and feel the need to puke their guts up and do something, anything, to reassure themself they’re still punk 😂

Zed weapon: SMG

Human weapon: shotgun

Faith in humanity: Believes in fundamental goodness but knows better than to trust first impressions

Zombie kill count: decent, more than 40; you won’t catch them having a field day tho, they’re trying to gtfo of most zed situations

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. And they aren’t, at all, immune to a revenge rampage either...

Survival rating: B-. Can handle themself both with humans and zeds but is vulnerable to hostage situations and truly difficult sentimental/interpersonal decisions!

- - -

Vivian/Vincent manages inventory and stock and they run it so efficiently it’s scary! They're the perfect pick: a hawk-eyed tyrant and tattletale 😂 Despite constantly butting heads with just about everyone on every imaginable thing, they quickly become an important part of the inner circle of decision-makers for the settlement at large. Terrible at stealth, jumpy, and squeamish at the sight of blood and gore, they literally never go on missions unless they're 100% needed for their expertise on a supply run. (They would deny all of these shortcomings are that big a problem, meanwhile R is definitely acting as their bodyguard lol.) When they do tag along, they're prone to becoming the damsel in distress. Seriously, it happens near every fucking time. It's like they just attract only the most improbable and perilous zombie attacks and hostage situations 😆

Zed weapon: shotgun

Human weapon: handgun

Faith in humanity: Medium; seeing people work together at the settlement helps restore it a bit

Zombie kill count: Double digits, under 25

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. Well, no, not by me! Get one of the ruffians to do it!

Survival rating: C-. They’d be higher if they weren’t such natural zombie bait.

- - -

Heidi is running the settlement, well-organized to the degree of actually managing to bring bureaucracy to a post-zombie apocalypse settlement 😂 People are free to come and go, but getting in if you don't live there requires trading something of value (fuel, med supplies, food, etc), temporary surrender and registry of firearms and explosives, and you gotta GTFO at the time and date specified upon entry! You can stay long-term if you contribute to the community in a tangible way—and each person admitted is approved by Heidi personally. Yes, every individual. No, she has no free time. And she is not known to be lenient with rule breakers—you want rule bending, you’ll have to go to Curt for that. People kind of hate her, but it can't be denied that she runs a tight ship. She kind of throws herself into the work to avoid the harsher reality at large and hasn't left the settlement in a long time. She's out of touch with how bad things have gotten in the wastes, but she knows better than to take reports at anything less than face value--even when she's skeptical.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: handgun; dagger

Faith in humanity: Medium. It fluctuates, honestly

Zombie kill count: Double digits, less than 20

Human kill policy: Violent threats must be taken out if they can’t be reasoned with. Spare those who surrender, eradicate those who don't, keep an eye on the newbies. Not tryin’ to nurse any vendettas around here lol

Survival rating: B. She's good with a firearm, masterful at persuasion, and savvy enough to calculate risks appropriately. Also far tougher than her prim exterior and demeanor suggests!

- - -

Curt leads the recruitment and reconnaissance teams! When a new person or group shows up in the area, Curt's the one who stalks watches them, decides if they're worth approaching, and if they should be approached with an invitation, a simple acknowledgment/announcement of their presence, or an outright armed warning to leave the area. He also keeps tabs on morale and general confidence inside the settlement, alongside R. When he isn’t leading those efforts, though, he’s flirting with settlers and squirreling his way out of manual labor and other chores. He’s also secretly growing weed at his place--don’t tell Heidi or Vi ‘cause they’ll wanna yell at him and ration it UGH.

Zed weapon: SMG, explosives

Human weapon: handgun, dagger

Faith in humanity: Pft, sorry, what now?

Zombie kill count: ...way more than you’d expect

Human kill policy: I don’t start confrontations, but I sure as fuck end them.

Survival rating: A! He’s good at playing hapless idiot when it suits him to be underestimated, good with firearms, and capable of being ruthless and decisive in life or death situations! Plus he has no qualms about ditching the settlement if he decides it’s not working out for him. Just don’t tell Heidi lol

#the rest are under the cuuuut #had to stop myself from writing too much SEVERAL times #love me a zombie apocalypse #lovely anon #answered #ROs #whoops got carried away lol #spent most of my work day finally finishing this ask because VIVA PROCRASTINATION #someone help ._.#phew #feels good to finally get it out of my system tho #now I can promptly never ever write it 😂#AUs #fave #scenarios

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prvt-tucker · 5 years ago

Text

Subculture Appropriation: A conversation with my therapist fiancee about the Beetlejuice musical

Okay so, some context before go into this. I don’t normally like going into identity stuff but antis will come for you if you don’t so here we go:

My fiancee is a trans clinical psychologist, likely neurodivergent. However before going into clinical, they got their undergrad in social psychology and because I was a historian before I became too ill to work, I love to talk to them about culture, society, social movements, etc (my brand of historian was a sub-type called social historian, ie I studied the societies, and social movements and every day lives of ordinary people in the past rather than say, military bullshit. I fucking hate military history lol). As additional context for what I am about to talk about here, I was raised by two gay dads, one of whom was an OG 80s punk who lived in Philadelphia during the AIDS crisis.

Also, full disclosure: I love the Beetlejuice musical. I don’t love what it’s done to the fandom but I love the musical; not all Beetlebabes hate the musical.

Okay so:

The thing that gets my goat about the shitty hot takes a lot of gen z has around Beetlejuice comes from what my partner has termed “subculture appropriation.” Let me explain.

Goth and punk are subcultures. They were, in the 80s, revolutionary. They were radical, and they were not accepted in the mainstream. My dad, with his mohawk and tattoos designed himself (he was a horror comic artist) and multiple hand pierced ears and chains around his neck, was not well received in my small town in NJ. When we lived there, in the early 2000s, we were the only gay family in the neighborhood. Gay marriage wasn’t legal, and I was shunned in school for being the girl with two dads. Gay rep in media was pretty much limited to Queer Eye and the L Word. It was a different time.

Gothic subculture, even in the early 2000s, was not mainstream. My small group of friends in high school (we were all goth and emo) were shunned. A lot of us were some flavor of queer. Some of us were POC. Some, like me, autistic. A lot of us had eating disorders. We were bullied incessently, to a point where many of us had severe mental health problems and had spent time in and out of psych wards. This was also not seen as mainstream and labeled us even more as “freaks.”

Beetlejuice was the movie and cartoon for us, by us. It was a cult classic. It was not something most kids were watching, but I grew up strange and unusual. Beetlejuice spoke to an entire generartion of goth subculture.

Nowadays, things are different. Hot Topic doesn’t play Pierce the Veil at ear numbing volumes when you go into the store. You’re likely not gonna find those hideous punk pants we were all enamored of back in the day. Instead, you’ll find Disney. Fandom. Anime. Bob’s Burgers. In the last decade, goth has been watered down to appeal to the masses (much like other nerdy subcultures) because capitialism ruins everything. So, enter the Beetlejuice musical.

I love the musical because it spoke to me, the little girl I once was, who watched the cartoon with my dad on CN. But I noticed, once the show blew up on Tiktok, things changed. And the reason was a mainstream teen audience picked up on something very specific to a subculture. And then they made it there’s-- hence the term subculture appropriation.

Beetlejuice has its roots in gothic literature, dating back to the 19th century (my friend magicalmolly on tiktok has an excellent “understanding gothic literature” series that covers this). One of the main tropes of gothic lit is Death and the Maiden-- aka Beej and Lyds. It is not a mainstream romance, and it’s not supposed to be. If supernatural romance makes you uncomfy, then maybe this genre isn’t for you.

The problem is when something with tropes specific to a subculture enter the mainstream, they are going to be villainzed and misinterpreted because mainstream Beckys who think they’re goth because they paint their nails black have absolutely no sense of history, context, and nuance that the themes of the show give. As a result, suddenly the shitty hot takes pop up. And yes, age gaps are icky irl. But in this genre, they are bread and butter (Lindsay Ellis has a good video on this called My Monster Boyfriend). As a result, suddenly a bunch of kids come into a niche that isn’t theirs, demand we re-arrange the furniture for their comfort, and in general start trying to push the subculture out of its own space.

This isn’t, by the way, gatekeeping. This is appropriation. When you go into a niche subculture created by the marginalized and try to make it your apple pie bullshit, you are appropriating a space that doesn’t belong to you. As a result, you have two choices: you can either educated yourself on the culture, its history, context, nuance, and decide its for you and dive in. Or you can leave. But it’s frankly gross af for you to barge in, try to rewrite history that in the case of the subculture, goes back decades, and in the case of gothic literature, centuries. That is the playbook of colonization (and I know you little fake woke shits are gonna derail the entire argument because of this but I haven’t seen any of y’all write a fucking 60 page thesis on nationalism, colonialism and antisemitism in France so get fucked).

I’m bad at conclusions so if you made it this far, any OG babes feel free to add on with your thoughts bc we old ass goths gotta stick together. Thanks for coming to my historical context essay.

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #Beetlejuice and Lydia #BeetleBabes #beetlejuice bway #anti culture #anti beetlebabes

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unsaidmar · 4 years ago

Text

One, The meeting.

Plot: Both Spencer and Olivia mourn their losses. Maybe doing it together works best.

WC: 2k, I get carried away.

CW: Brief mentions of death.

A/N: Hi y’all! I’m very excited to share this. I submitted it for a creative writing assignment last week and I thought I would share it here too. This is the first time I post what I write and I kinda want to make this a series.

Olivia knew pain was lighter on the shoulders when carried with someone else, she was completely aware of the fact that pushing her friends and loved ones away was the last thing you’d want to do when grieving. Didn’t stop her, though. Opening up was a conscious effort she had to make.

Lia had been gone exactly 467 days. Each one harder, longer and duller than the last. Her mom had told her that pain didn’t have an expiration date, that she shouldn’t worry about getting over Lia’s death sooner than she was ready to, but nothing could help the feeling in the back of her mind, the little voice that reminded her that the world did not stop spinning when she left. Even if she felt like it did.

Mornings were almost automatic at this point. Get up, make an effort to look better, grab an excuse for breakfast, promise mamá you’ll get something else on the way to work, drive mindlessly to the place you knew like the back of your hand. The Grey Roots was special, it seemed to transform people’s perspective as soon as they walked in, it was full of memories and knowledge. That much was true for Spencer Reid.

Maeve had been gone exactly 278 days. Each one harder, longer and duller than the last. The team did their best to navigate around Spencer’s grief, always taking hints the he dropped. A fake smile that meant “we can ignore my loss today”, a shrug accompanied with the ghost of a smile that meant “today I’m feeling better, but I’m not expecting it to last”, and the words “I’m fine, I promise”, that roughly translated to “this is manageable today, so don’t ask me about it”.

The love and sense of protection the BAU had over Spencer was instinctual, which was hard when he seemed to be a thousand miles away while standing right there. Morgan had said that if isolation was what he needed right now, isolation he was going to get, but always with the promise of his friends running straight to him if he needed the comfort.

On his days off, he tried coming to terms with the loss. Loss was a tricky thing, Spencer thought. By definition, it was the state or feeling of grief when deprived of someone or something of value, so if it meant the absence of something, why did it feel like loss went with him everywhere?

The Grey Roots was a landmark in the man’s life. Maeve had recommended he visit the museum while they were corresponding, which he was more than happy to do, always trying to find a way to feel closer to her than he could actually be. Now his visits changed in nature, he was there to reminisce. To try and get the optimistic feeling of loving her to come back.

The stranger that usually walked around the museum with files in her hands went unnoticed for a while, but to her, Spencer had never gone unnoticed. She had been watching him his last four visits, visits that were a lot closer together than the usual visitors liked, which naturally, sparked her interest. She was drawn to him, always turning her head to check if he was there and her eyes lingering for a beat too long to try and come up with an excuse to start a conversation.

Olivia cared very little about dating and would usually turn down people’s advances, but as he sat there, earbuds in and basking in the sunlight the botanical garden side of the museum had to offer, she couldn’t help but hope he was one of those ballsy men that usually approached her. Apparently, the gods felt bad for Ollie, because as Spencer stood up to go, a book slipped out of his bag onto the floor. Oblivious to it, he kept walking.

“Thank the fucking gods” Ollie whispered to herself as she made a beeline for the book. Trying to reach the tall guy, she elbowed her way through the people walking in front of her and tapped him on the shoulder. Play it cool, dork.

“Hey” she said trying to get her breath back. “You dropped this back there” She tried not to fixate on the way his curls looked with the sun shining directly on them, or on the way his eyes took in her presence.

“Oh, thank you so much” He rushed out, grateful that he didn’t have to lose the last thing that connected him to Maeve and cursing himself for being so careless.

Make conversation, now. Say something. Anything. “I take it that’s important, you look relieved” she giggled to try and appear chill. Failing miserably, of course.

“Um, yeah. It was.” Beat of silence. “It is. It was a gift” He answered looking down at his feet, holding on to the book like it might disappear if he doesn’t.

Now, genuinely relieved she could spare him the disappointment, Ollie looked up at him. “Then I’m really glad you didn’t have to lose it” She replied, mirroring Spence’s thoughts, which made him smile.

To the doctor, looking at her felt almost offensive to Maeve’s memory, like she could see him staring curiously at this kind stranger whose eyes were enticing enough to make him forget how to talk. His best friend JJ was the best at reading his expressions and figuring out what he was thinking, she was smart enough to know Reid felt guilty for wanting to move on and leave the pain behind, so she made sure he knew that no one expected him to act like a widower forever, not even Maeve. After all, no one tells you how long you’re expected to mourn a loss, there’s no unspoken rule of appropriate sulking time. 278 days later still felt like too soon and just about enough at the same time. Strangely enough, he wanted to keep talking to this girl, and it would have to start with an introduction.

“I’m Spencer”

“I’m Olivia, but please call me Ollie” or call me anything you want.

“Ollie, good” he let out a giggle that was uncharacteristic of him to say the least. Mainly because he had never made it this far into a conversation with someone as pretty as Ollie. “You work here” It wasn’t a question, he noticed the plaque pinned to her shirt that read Dr. Olivia Vega, Conservator.

“Yes, I’m one of the conservators here. I know I might not look like it, but I promise I know my stuff” This observation prompted Spencer to give her a once over and he smiled at how right she was. She was wearing black cargo pants and a simple lavender t-shirt she seemed to have cropped herself, her arms were covered with little tattoos and her dark hair had streaks of purple in it. She was a sight to see, and hadn’t she been so kind and smiley, Spencer would’ve been intimidated by her. “My mom always says I look like I dropped out of high school to form my own punk band” She added, interrupting his train of thought. “I kind of agree with her now that I think about it, but I have a doctorate in history and that’s not very punk”

“Well, I’m a federal agent but I look like my grandpa, so I’m right there with you”

You do not look like a grandpa. “A federal agent, huh? The wall-climbing, gun-shooting, vest-wearing kind?”

“Sometimes, yes. But I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit so the work I do revolves around profiling people, we try to narrow down the suspect pool by studying the way the crime was committed and making educated guesses about what kind of person would do that and the possible motives behind it. I also have doctorates, but not in history” He said, glad he could sound cool in front of what appeared to be the coolest human ever. Maeve doesn’t mind you moving on, he repeated to himself.

“Judging by the fact that you didn’t introduce yourself as ‘Doctor so and so, but you can call me Spencer’ I think you’re nice and not full of yourself” Ollie joked. “I would have been super intimidated if you’d lead with that”

Is she a witch or am I thinking out loud? “You should see the people I work with. I look like a 12-year-old boy compared to them” She erupted in laughter, causing Spencer to blush. “I’m not kidding, they call me ‘kid’ and ‘pretty boy’”

They got that right, you are pretty. “No way, my older co-workers call me ‘kid’ too! And I’m their boss. The least they could do is call me Doctor Kid.” She pretended to pout.

A mom with a stroller trying to walk past them made the two realize they were still standing in the middle of the path, so entirely entertained with each other that they didn’t notice the third-grade class that had just passed them. As if the realization had struck them both at the same time, they looked back at each other, both of them trying to stretch the interaction as long as they could.

“Do you, maybe, want to have this conversation somewhere else? Perhaps not in the middle of the crowd?” She asked hopefully.

Taken aback by the offer, Spencer agreed and followed her back to her office, that looked exactly like he would expect it to. A bunch of framed pictures with friends and family covered the wall to his left, she had a jean jacket full of pins hanging behind the door and a bunch of miscellaneous books on a bookshelf right behind her desk, all of them with post its sticking out and what he assumed were her bookmarks.

After offering him coffee, they talked about all the things they had in common and relished on the things they didn’t. It was refreshing to get out of their heads and talk about something other than what stage of grief they were in. Spencer was glad that Ollie had approached him first, otherwise he wouldn’t have met her or even know she existed. A text from Penelope brought him back to reality and he sighed at his phone when he read it.

“I have to go, we got a case” He said, annoyed.

Ollie tried to mask her disappointment with an airy laugh, “Oh those fucking serial killers, so rude of them to interrupt our conversation”

Come on, Spencer. Say you want to see her again. Maeve doesn’t mind. Faster than he could process, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “I want to see you again” He declared; eyes wide, afraid he came on too intense.

“Well, what a coincidence. I want that too.” She smirked, thanking the gods for all the love they seemed to be showing her today. She took a bright pink sharpie from her drawer and scribbled her number on Spencer’s palm. “Please, don’t wash your hand before you save the number” She hoped she hadn’t blown her cover as the chilliest most relaxed person ever with that one sentence that sounded like she was begging him to call her. He took out a little white card from his bad and handed it to her.

‘SSA Dr. Spencer Reid. Behavioral Analysis Unit’. Two phone numbers were displayed along with the FBI logo. Which made Ollie look up to question it.

“Bottom one is my personal line; top one is the work phone” He anticipated the question.

The shit eating grin he was wearing did not go unnoticed by her friends back at the BAU, but he brushed them and their raised eyebrows right off. This whole thing with Ollie was his to keep. At least for the moment.

That night, even though spent in a dingy motel a few minutes out of Redding, Pennsylvania, Spencer slept better than he had in 278 days. He wasn’t an outgoing person at all, he didn’t ask for numbers, he didn’t agree to have coffee in some stranger’s office, he didn’t text bright pink numbers sloppily written on his hand. But maybe the way they met was a sign that he should, maybe, no matter the outcome, he wanted to see where this led. Not even sure what this was.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey, this is Spencer. I didn’t wash my hand” sent at 2:13 am.

“I mean, I did. Just not until I texted you” sent at 2:13 am.

Back at her own apartment, Ollie made a mental note to go visit Lia so she could hear all about the handsome man she had met. Following the advice her therapist had given her, she took out the notepad she had devoted to the letters she wrote her and started writing what she would give anything to be able to say to her face.

#criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x latina reader

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hakuogakuen · 5 years ago

Text

Hakuouki SSL: Prologue

EDITED 7/31/20

Hello! Here is the translation for the SSL prologue. Primary translation is by yuugs, with proof reading done by shizuumi, kuririn, and dei-hime. Translation begins below the cut!

― May ―

Chizuru Yukimura: "The door and windows are locked..."

~ding dong~

Chizuru Yukimura: "Heisuke-kun, are you awake? It's almost time for school..."

"..."

"......”

FInally, the door opened.

Chizuru Yukimura: “Uh! Um... It's Yukimura. Hello? Heisuke-kun―"

Heisuke Toudou: "Sorry, Chizuru! Gimme five more minutes!!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh... Heisuke-kun!? Geez..."

‘Five more minutes, huh...? There's still some time left, so I guess it should be fine...’

Chizuru Yukimura: "... It's already been five minutes...Is he still not ready? ...What now? Should I ring the intercom one more time...?"

Heisuke Toudou: "Morning! Also, sorry!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh, Heisuke-kun! Morning!"

This is Heisuke Toudou-kun, my next-door neighbor. We attended the same high school, and walked there together when we can.

Despite being a junior, a grade above me, he hated me calling him ‘senpai,’ since we were childhood friends.

I'd counted on him since we were little, but he sometimes overslept or played video games all night, which could be a problem.

Heisuke Toudou: "We good for time? How bad's it look?

Chizuru Yukimura: "I think we might not make it...!"

Heisuke Toudou: "Seriously...? Okay, let's book it!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Yeah!"

It was shaping up to be a bit of a busy morning, but we had to hurry―!!

Heisuke Toudou: "Dammit, if my alarm just rang properly, we'd have definitely made it on time!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Heisuke-kun, you said that last time as well."

Heisuke Toudou: "M-My alarm's busted! I'll buy a new one next time!!"

???: "Sure is noisy this morning, huh?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Ah..."

Souji Okita: "Morning, you two."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Good morning, Okita-senpai!"

This is Souji Okita-senpai, a junior. He was in the same class as Heisuke-kun, and we were pretty good friends. He could be a bit mischievous, and like to take pictures with his smartphone. Occasionally, he'd email me and I wouldn't know how to respond.That did bother me a bit.

Heisuke Toudou: "If Souji's here… then we're seriously late!"

Souji Okita: "Maybe... But it's not that bad. Not like the school's going anywhere anytime soon."

Heisuke Toudou: "It’s absolutely that bad! The gatekeeper of hell's waiting for us!"

Souji Okita: "Haha, you're exaggerating. No need to be so scared."

Chizuru Yukimura: "L-Let's hurry anyway! Okita-senpai, you should try and run!"

Souji Okita: "...Looks like I'll have to play along."

After that, we began running for our lives. Of course, tardiness was against the rules, but even with that, there was another reason we didn’t want to be lateー

Heisuke Toudou: "All right, and he's saaaaaaafe!!"

???: "Unfortunately, he's out."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Huh..."

Hajime Saitou: "Sorry, but as a part of the disciplinary committee, I can't make any exceptions. Not even for five seconds."

Kaoru Nagumo: "What he said. A shame, really. You ran so desperately just to make an own goal."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Kaoru...and Saitou-senpai...!"

...Yes, the reason we ran so frantically is because of the disciplinary committee.

This is Hajime Saitou-senpai , a junior. A serious and deeply earnest person, he was a feared member of the disciplinary committee. Heisuke-kun often called him 'inflexible', but he's tougher on himself than anyone else. I think he's a good person. Although he might not be the best with words, he was a good senior in my eyes.

This is Nagumo Kaoru, a sophomore, like me. He's actually my twin brother. Why our last names differed was a long story, but basically, we grew up separately when we were young. Initially, I was happy that we were going to the same school. But... Kaoru wasn’t the politest person ever. He would even disrespect our seniors without a second thought, and he always made me nervous…

Heisuke Toudou: "It was only five seconds! The gate isn't closed yet ―just let it slide!"

Kaoru Nagumo: "No. How would letting you go benefit us?"

Heisuke Toudou: "Maybe it wouldn't, but it's not like it'd hurt you either!"

Hajime Saitou: "Heisuke, this isn't open for discussion. The rules exist for a reason."

Souji Okita: "You heard him, Heisuke. Too bad."

Heisuke Toudou: "Souji, whose side are you on?!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "U-Um... Heisuke-kun. It's a fact we were late. We can't do much about that."

Heisuke Toudou: "But...!"

???: "Pipe down! What are you up to there!?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh...!"

Toshizou Hijikata: "Saitou, Nagumo! It's time. Close the gate."

Hajime Saitou: "Yes, sir."

Kaoru Nagumo: "Hmph, that's a shame."

Toshizou Hijikata: "Heisuke, Souji, Yukimura! You three hurry up and head inside....Don't be any later than you already are."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Y-Yes, sir!"

This is Toshizou Hijikata. He was Heisuke's and Okita's homeroom teacher, and also taught classical literature. He was very harsh, but passionate about education. As well being the vice principal, it was said that he was a childhood friend of the principal, Kondou-sensei. He always looked tense. He had this prickly aura about him that kept people away.

Toshizou Hijikata: "I swear... You never learn. You're late every single day..."

(A flash lit up his face and a camera shutter noise sounded.)

Toshizou Hijikata: "W-What was that?"

Souji Okita: "Haha. The wrinkles in your face are even deeper than yesterday's."

Toshizou Hijikata: "Souji! You punk!!"

Souji Okita: "Would you like to compare yesterday's pic with today's? Here, take a look."

Toshizou Hijikata: "I don't need to! And don't take photos of people without their permission!"

...Seeing as everyone else was afraid of the vice principal, Okita might have be the only one who could banter with him like that... With that thought, we headed past the school gates.

――The private school, Hakuou Academy.

This school was an all-boys school up until this year. Thanks to the principal Isami Kondou-sensei and his efforts, the school became co-ed recently.

Somehow, I became the first female student at Hakuou Academy...

...And the only female student.

Of course, I was a little nervous when I learned that there were no other girls... But the people here were really nice, and I had always been good at getting along with others, so I was doing pretty well.

Chizuru Yukimura:"...Oh no! I have to get to class soon...!"

"Thank god, I made it in time..."

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "Hm? It's not like you to show up at the last minute, Yukimura."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh, Ibuki-kun. Morning. This morning's been a bit much..."

This is Ryuunosuke Ibuki-kun, my classmate. He could be a bit blunt at times, but he was a kind person. He always had milk and red bean buns for lunch. When I asked him if he was eating enough, he would say that it couldn’t be helped, since he had no money… He complained about someone called Serizawa-san being rough and tyrannical to him. I wondered what his relation was to Ibuki-kun, exactly.

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "The teacher's about to arrive. We ought to take our seats now."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Yeah, thanks, Ibuki-kun."

???: "Take your seats, you lot. Homeroom's about to start."

Chizuru Yukimura: "!"

While I hurried to sit down, Harada-sensei smiled at me from the front of the room.

Sanosuke Harada: "What's wrong, Yukimura? It's rare for you to be late."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Y-Yes... I'm sorry..."

This is Sanosuke Harada-sensei. He was my homeroom teacher, as well as the P.E. teacher. Friendly and open-hearted, all the students looked up to him as if he were their big brother. He used to go to the same Kendo dojo as Heisuke-kun and Nagakura-sensei, the math teacher. Even now, they all still seemed to be close.

Sanosuke Harada: "Well, I can imagine the reason why. You know, you can just ditch Heisuke if you think you'll be late."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Um, that's… I'll see what I can do about that..."

Sanosuke Harada: "Yeah, please do. Well, let's wrap this up quickly. Today's announcements are--"

I didn’t want to just leave Heisuke-kun behind... ‘I’ll try to figure out a way so I can pick him up earlier…’

Classmate A: "Phew, it's finally time for lunch."

Classmate B: "Yeah, I'm starving. Hey, Ibuki, you eating at the cafeteria?"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "If you treat me, I’ll go."

Classmate B: "No way!"

Ryuunosuke Ibuki: "Then don't ask. You know full well I'm low on money."

Classmate A: "U-Um, Yukimura-san, what about you? We can go together if that's cool―"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Me? Well...."

While it made me happy when my classmates invited me to have lunch with them…

Chizuru Yukimura: "I'm sorry… I already have plans. Maybe another time?"

Classmate A: "I-I see..."

I apologized once again and then headed to the cafeteria. At lunchtime, the cafeteria got so crowded, it was like a battlefield. It seems like things are ramping up with everyone on an empty stomach…

Heisuke Toudou: "Oh, hey, Chizuru! Over here, over here!"

Heisuke and Okita are waving at me.

‘I can't keep them waiting, I have to hurry...!’

Chizuru Yukimura: "Hm.... Should I get set meal A?”

I bought a ticket for set meal 'A' from the vending machine, and then joined the line.

Genzaburou Inoue: "Oh, Yukimura-kun. You came to the cafeteria today."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Inoue-san, hello!"

This is Genzaburou Inoue-san. He was in charge of cooking the meals for the cafeteria, and his food was always delicious. He was very kind and warm, and students affectionately called him the “Mother of Hakuou Academy”. In fact, rumor has it that he was quite a big-wig as well. But was it true, I wondered.

Genzaburou Inoue: "I’ll keep your portion on the smaller side. The boys’ portion could be a bit too much for you."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Thank you so much!"

His effortless consideration for others was one of his best traits, to me. I would have liked to take some cooking lessons from him one of these days, too...

Souji Okita: "You kept us waiting. Oh. You don't have much on your plate, as usual."

Chizuru Yukimura: "You think so?"

Heisuke Toudou: "Chizuru's a girl, so of course she'll have less, right? You don’t eat that much either, Souji."

Souji Okita: "And you eat a lot. For your size."

Heisuke Toudou: "That wasn't necessary!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Hehe."

After a fun lunch, I parted ways with Heisuke-kun and Okita-senpai, and headed back for the classroom.

Shinpachi Nagakura: "Yo, Chizuru-chan!” Working hard today?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Hello, Nagakura-sensei!"

This is Shinpachi Nagakura-sensei. He was a math teacher and a close friend of Harada-sensei's. Much to his dismay, he was often mistaken for a P.E. teacher, which was no surprise, since he always wore a jersey. He was hopeless with money management and often got in trouble with Hijikata-sensei because of that. But otherwise, he was a great teacher.

Shinpachi Nagakura: "Are you done with lunch already? If you wouldn't mind, I've a small favor to ask of you.”

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh, yes! That's fine. What is it?"

Shinpachi Nagakura: "Sorry for the trouble. I just wanted you to deliver this to Sannan-san for me."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Sannan-sensei... So the infirmary?"

Shinpachi Nagakura: "Yeah. I've, uh...got some other things to take care of. Yeah."

Chizuru Yukimura: "I understand. I'll head there now!"

Shinpachi Nagakura: "Great. Thanks for the help!"

I headed off to the infirmary with the manila folder Nagakura-sensei gave me.

Chizuru Yukimura: "Excuse me."

Keisuke Sannan: "Oh...Yukimura-kun. Are you unwell?"

This is Sannan Keisuke-sensei, the school nurse. He was always calm, kind, and willing to lend a hand. Knowing that, it was strange how most students tried to avoid ever going to the infirmary...

Chizuru Yukimura: "No, I'm fine. Nagakura-sensei told me to hand this to you."

Keisuke Sannan: "Nagakura-sensei...?"

Keisuke Sannan: "Ahh...I see now. He didn't want to deliver it himself, so he used you instead."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Huh?"

Keisuke Sannan: "Heh... He actually missed the deadline for the submission of his documents, you see? I suppose he didn't want me getting angry with him. I'll have to have a word with him later… To think he sent you on a fool's errand when he could've done it himself."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh, no, it's really no trouble."

Susumu Yamazaki: "Excuse me. ...Oh."

Keisuke Sannan: "Oh? I see that I've got many visitors today. You're here too, Yamazaki-kun."

This is Yamazaki Susumu-senpai, a junior. He was in the same class as Saitou-senpai, and his homeroom teacher was Nagakura-sensei. As part of the Health Committee, he frequented the infirmary to help Sannan-sensei out with his work. Yamazaki-senpai was a very strait-laced person, who'd never slack off on any of his committee work.

Susumu Yamazaki: "Pardon me! I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation..."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh, no. It's alright! I've already finished up here."

Keisuke Sannan: "How cold of you. Are you implying that you've no business talking to me now that you've wrapped up here?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Huh, wait― What!? N-No! That's not what I meant..."

Susumu Yamazaki: "...Sannan-sensei."

Keisuke Sannan: "I know, I know, Yamazaki-kun. I was only teasing."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Really...?"

Keisuke Sannan: "Heh. It was only a joke. Feel free to come by anytime, now. Of course you should visit when you're feeling ill, but do stop by if you have other concerns as well. I have some good medicine."

Susumu Yamazaki: "Sannan-sensei? But that's...!"

Keisuke Sannan: "Yamazaki-kun. Is there something you'd like to say...?"

Susumu Yamazaki: "...Nothing."

Chizuru Yukimura: "???"

The bell for afternoon classes rang just after I left the infirmary.

Chizuru Yukimura: "I'm already so sleepy..."

With my full stomach and the warm weather, I began to feel a bit drowsy. Thinking that, I returned to my classroom.

Then, as usual, I finished my afternoon classes...

It was time for homeroom again.

Sanosuke Harada: "...and that's all for today. Those in clubs ― give it all you’ve got. Those going home ― take care not to wander about too much."

Whole class: "Yeeessir."

Sanosuke Harada: "...Oh, right, Yukimura."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Yes?"

Sanosuke Harada: "I also told Heisuke. Don't be late tomorrow."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Y-Yes, sir...!"

Sanosuke Harada: "Hahaha, don't give me that face. I'm not really angry with you. Well then, see you tomorrow."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Right! Have a nice day."

I smiled and left the classroom.

Chizuru Yukimura: "Hm? What's going on.... What's all this commotion about?"

???: "Hey, hey, move it, bastards!"

???: "I'm so sorry, but if you could make way,please."

Chizuru Yukimura: "...That voice is..."

Chikage Kazama: "Hmph. For these nobodies to block my path... unforgivable. Those who dare defy yours truly, the eminent student council president, Chikage Kazama, must prepare to face the consequences."

Kyuuju Amagiri: "...Please understand this is to avoid further trouble, from what you can see here."

Kyou Shiranui: "It’d be less dull if some guys here had the guts to throw down with him though."

Chizuru Yukimura: "......!"

When I saw those three cut through the surging crowd, I thought to myself, 'Oh, no.' I really didn’t want to get caught, if I could avoid it. But as that crossed my mind...

Chikage Kazama: "Oh... You came to meet me yourself. What a praiseworthy sentiment, my betrothed."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Ack! It was a coincidence...!"

Kyuuju Amagiri: "Greetings, Yukimura-kun. ...You have my sympathies."

Chikage Kazama: "Amagiri. What do you mean by that?"

Kyou Shiranui: "The man said what he said. Ain't that right, Chizuru?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Um......"

I was at a loss. I could only stand there in silence.

This is Chikage Kazama-senpai. He was a senior, and the student council president of Hakuou Academy. He was always accompanied by his attendants, Kyuuju Amagiri-senpai and Kyou Shiranui-senpai, and acted as if the whole world belongs to him.

And why, really, why did he want me to be his bride? He decided that completely on his own...

This is Kyuuju Amagiri-senpai, another senior who acted like Kazama-senpai's watchman of sorts. ...He didn’t look anything like a high school student. There’s really no other way to put it. But I'd decided not to worry about that. He was probably the only person able to put up with Kazama-senpai's recklessness with any amount of success.

And lastly, this is Kyou Shiranui-senpai. He was also a senior, like Amagiri-senpai, and always with Kazama-senpai. However, unlike Amagiri, he didn’t seem to really respect Kazama. He could be violent sometimes and a bit scary, but occasionally he could be quite kind too, according to his whim.

Chizuru Yukimura: "Um... Kazama-senpai. I've repeatedly asked you to not call me your wife, so please stop..."

Chikage Kazama: "Why?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "W-Why....? Because it's not true!!"

Chikage Kazama: "...I can't hear you. Amagiri, what is the girl saying?"

Kyuuju Amagiri: "......She said that she is currently undeserving of the honour of marrying you."

Chizuru Yukimura: "What?!"

Chikage Kazama: "Is that so. Such a commendable attitude; such humility is a virtue."

Chizuru Yukimura:: “But, th-that's not...!"

Kyou Shiranui: "Give it up. He doesn’t wanna hear it."

Chizuru Yukimura: "No way!"

Chikage Kazama: "Hm... Fine. I'll overlook this for today. But know this, Chizuru. Once I set my eyes on my prey, I never let it escape. I suggest you ready yourself by coming to a decision.”

Chizuru Yukimura: "Kazama-senpai! Wait...!”

Without listening to a word I said, he turned and left, along with Amagiri-senpai and Shiranui-senpai.

...As they were leaving, Amagiri-senpai bowed deeply to me.

Chizuru Yukimura: “I would rather that he deny it along with me, though...”

"Phew..."

Somehow, after that, a wave of exhaustion came over me, and I let out a sigh. At that moment…

Isami Kondou: "Hm? If it isn't Yukimura-kun. Are you heading home now?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Kondou-sensei!"

This is Isami Kondou, the founder of Hakuouki Academy. He was always full of enthusiasm. Just watching him and his energy inspired me to do my best, too. His topknot hairstyle surprised me at first. But it seemed that he sports one as his own policy of sorts.

Isami Kondou: "Glad to see you're doing well. Have you had any issues lately?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Thank you very much. Everyone's very kind and polite, so I'm doing well!"

Isami Kondou: "I see, I see, that's great! To think that you're the only girl among a sorry lot of guys."

Isami Kondou: "Even now, I think the admission interview was a bit crazy. I'm sorry about that."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Ahaha..."

As I remembered the Hakuou Academy entrance exam, a wry smile came to my face.

That was back in the winter of this year. I was at a loss for which school I should attend.

My friend, Osen-chan, suggested Shimabara Girls' High, which she was attending... It was an upper-class all-girls school, and I was worried about the formalities and expensive tuition fees.

Many other schools also interested me, and I just couldn't make up my mind.

Then, as I was trying to decide…

Heisuke Toudou: "Hey, Chizuru! Come to my school! Starting next year, they'll accept girls as well!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Oh... Really?"

Heisuke Toudou: "Really! Go to the same school as me!"

At Heisuke-kun's suggestion, I began researching Hakuou Academy.

The tuition was pretty cheap, but more importantly, their educational ideals resonated deeply with me.

And so, I decided to take the entrance exam for Hakuou Academy.

It was difficult, but thanks to the work I put into revising, I managed to pass somehow. What I was most nervous about was actually the interview afterwards. What would they ask me? As my heart began to pound thinking that, the person I faced in the interview was…

Toshizou Hijikata: "...Chizuru Yukimura. Our academy will begin to admit girls for the first time next year. Depending on the situation, the number of girls may be considerably low. Could you focus on your studies in such an environment?"

Chizuru Yukimura: “...I may have fewer female friends, which might be lonely. But studying is bound to be the main priority for school, so I'll be fine."

Toshizou Hijikata: "...Why did you choose our school?"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Though this is embarrassing to admit… For one, the tuition is cheap. I don't want to burden my father,” I said. “Beyond that, a childhood friend of mine attends this school, and he told me this was a good place... And after looking into it, it seemed to me that this academy creates an environment that puts their students first... So now, I want to study here. That's what I truly think."

Toshizou Hijikata "...I see."

For some reason, Hijikata-sensei had kept silent for a while after that.

With his most serious expression yet, he had finally opened his mouth again, and asked me this:

Toshizou Hijikata: "...Last question. Can you recite our school's educational philosophy?"

Of course, I had responded immediately.

Chizuru Yukimura: "Yes! It's 'Sincerity'!"

Toshizou Hijikata: "......"

After that, I made it. I was able to pass the admissions process.

At the time, I would never have guessed I'd be the only girl in the school. That had me fairly worried at first.

Isami Kondou: "I can tell you now that Toshi was against accepting female students until the very last minute.” He continued, "Ah... How do I put it? Um, we're a school with a short history, even if we have noble ideals and whatnot... So, when the proposal to accept girls was raised, Toshi insisted it'd distract the current students and disrupt their discipline."

Chizuru Yukimura: "S-So that's what happened..."

Isami Kondou: "The compromise was that Toshi would interview candidates himself. And here you are ― the only girl who passed! But I am really sorry. You must have felt out of place. I wouldn't blame you for feeling nervous..."

Chizuru Yukimura: "Kondou-sensei... It's true that I did at first, but I'm alright now. And besides... Now that I'm enrolled here, I think it was one of the best decisions I've ever made!"

Isami Kondou: "R-Really...! Thank you!! There may be hard times along with the good ones… But I want you to be proud that you're a student Toshi himself accepted, and enjoy your time here. As the principal of this school, I'll be watching over you!"

Chizuru Yukimura: "Thank you so much!"

Mr. Kondou waved me off with a smile and, after waving back at him, I left the school.

Chizuru Yukimura: "I'm home...! ...Haah... It feels kind of lonely when nobody's home..."

My father, a doctor, was on a business trip to some remote island, and wouldn’t be coming home for a while.

Our family clinic was also closed. While I was used to it by then, I think I took it for granted that someone would welcome me home before.

Chizuru Yukimura: "Hm?"

‘I should probably reply as soon as I can.’

-----

Sub: About emails

Since we're in the same class and we're pretty much friends, I'll tell you something.

At the entrance ceremony, the school admins announced that they would contact us via email. Have you registered an address?

You're going to start receiving emails, but apparently you can only reply to them right on the spot when you receive them.

You'll be able to check your email history later, but you can't reply.

If you want to reply to a message, reply on the spot.

Well, even if the school contacts you, I'm sure it'll just be chatter from teachers and students anyway.

That's all I wanted to tell you.

-----

Chizuru Yukimura: "Huh?"

"It's Ibuki-kun again."

-----

Sub: Ryuunosuke Shop Grand Opening

My bad, I forgot I needed to tell you one more thing.

As you spend time at Hakuo Academy, you'll accumulate points from doing things like replying to emails or playing mini-games.

Now that my shop has opened, you can exchange those points for various goods at the shop.

There is a limit to the number of points you can have, so use them quickly.

There are also certain things that cannot be obtained until a certain time has passed, so come and look often.

I mean.

The operation of this shop is a matter of life or death for me.

I'm begging you!

Please exchange points!

-----

"Alright, I guess I'll take a look next time."

After I checked the email from Ibuki-kun, I put my phone on my desk and looked out the window.

Chizuru Yukimura: "...I have my friends and teachers. It'll be okay."

‘Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day. I'm sure I won't have time to feel lonely then.’

A place dear to my heart, where I could enjoy my everyday life.

My days at Private Hakuo Academy had only just begun――

#Hakuouki #Hakuoki #Hakuouki SSL #otome #fan translation #common route #prologue #updated

25 notes · View notes

surejo · 5 years ago

Text

( victoria pedretti, cis woman ) hey ! have you seen JOSEPHINE “JO” CORMAC around ? SHE works at the HOT COCOA STAND at big bear resort, but they must be off their shift by now. well, if you do see them can you let me know ? they’re 24 years old & they’ve been working here for TWO YEARS. they tend to be +OPTIMISTIC & +EMPATHETIC, but can also be -IMPRACTICAL & -PASSIVE. the other employees have labeled them THE IDEALIST. thanks a lot ! ( the few nights the stars can be seen, books worn down by dog-ears and marks left throughout the years, the first crisp breeze of autumn, the duality… of t.s. eliot )

OK. a few notes before i get started:

1) i hope everyone loves how i literally j copied my ivan stuff. url format? ‘sure jan’ lives on. theme? too lazy to find a different one that’s easy to work with. luv that for me. 2) speaking of this theme i forget if i addressed this on ivan’s blog but tabbed bullets don’t appear tabbed.... so if anything seems like it doesn’t make total sense.... it is supposed to be tabbed™. 3) get ready for drama!!!!! you may ask yourself “but the app looks so tame! there will be no drama!” but you are wrong........ because she loves cats. the t.s. eliot book......... the musical........ even the movie.

ok jo,, is also a resurrected character,,, hence how i already kno,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, that she loves cats. anyway ! let’s begin ! (listen,,,, the intro format will at least be a little different from ivan’s ok im evolving)

QUICK FACTS:

full name: josephine “jo” rose cormac

date of birth: march 6, 1995

*does not perfectly reflect the below big three zodiac chart because that’s too much math

zodiac big three: pisces sun, gemini moon, cancer rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual ( preference for women bc we luv that for her but we also luv leaving things open to chemistry )

education: bachelor in english - literature that she is doing nothing with

enneagram: 2w1

mbti: infp

various inspirations: eleanor crain ( the haunting of hill house ), dolores price *as a child and towards the end of the book ( she’s come undone ), fox 8 ( fox 8: a story ), “why try to change me now?” - fiona apple (cover), “be still” - the killers

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: verbal/mental/emotional abuse/gaslighting, very slight implication of spousal abuse, brief mention of car accident/death & drowning

( ivan and jo’s breakout pop-punk single: “fuck happy backstories!” stream it on spotify ! )

jo......... was born into the wrong family, let’s get that out of the way.

it was pretty clear she was a ploy to save the marriage of her parents ( who have names: lucy and benjamin, luv that for them ). it didn’t seem like they’d ever picked up a parenting book, gone to a parenting class, rly prepped for being a parent at all...... in their entire lives.

that being said, her mom was actually decent at parenting. her major flaw, though? ok, so you know how kids usually have that one bedtime story that they love and want it to be read to them over and over? well lucy complied ! but y’all wanna know what that book was ?

t.s. eliot’s “old possum’s book of practical cats” whfeiuldjkn

anyway ! when jo was seven, after many failed attempts and simple threats, her mom was finally divorcing benjamin for realz. due to his volatile nature, it was becoming very clear that she was the more fit parent and she almost got sole custody ( the only reason benjamin was motivated for it in the first place was the power so?? )! how exciting!

but the keyword is ‘almost’!

alexa, play ‘my heart will go on’ but the off-tune flute version

just as the proceedings were going through, jo’s mother was hit by a drunk driver on new year’s eve. the car skidded onto some ice, minimal damage done... then the ice broke.

jo and benjamin both devolved after that. jo withdrew more into herself and pretty much coped by..... just reading old possum’s a LOT (hate that for her). all mopey, benjamin became much less outwardly violent. the keyword is ‘outwardly.’

ya, instead of j bein like “i will just chill” he was like “i will just make my rage more subtle because in this house, we love intimidation, manipulation, hostility, the blame game, and gaslighting! uwu” managed to convince jo that her mother’s death was somehow her fault, that he was the only person she could trust, that she will never be able to live without someone else, etc., etc.

a few years in and a cycle of many impromptu sleepovers began. luv that for her. hate that for her, but luv that for her.

there is a lot i cld talk abt here, but it all seems like it cld j be tl;dr’d as: “basically became the surrogate daughter of a bunch of other people”

as for things that r not tragique™, jo was v much a drifter when it came to friends. managed to make a fair amount bc she does not seem like she will put a tadpole in ur hand like ivan. also j a people-pleaser but that’s starting to get into her personality which is another section.

did go to college. luv that for her. has NO CLUE what she’s going to do with her degree, but she can make some really sick niche william faulkner jokes.

began seasonally working at big bear during the winter break of her last year in college because bitch needed some money!! wound up loving it and was like “i think,,,, i will continue to do this,,,, the people here,,,, r cul,,,,”

still visits benjamin every once in a while. not a way to say that uwu you should forgive ur abusive parent(s) uwu rather that jo.... still has slight belief in him. just to end on something emo.

THE REST IS HISTORY!!!!

TL;DR:

started life out as a saddie, not a baddie. still not a baddie, but no longer as much of a saddie. loves “cats” and there is no irony to that statement. can make good niche literary jokes, but that’s about it.

PERSONALITY/MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

a child. a literal child. a child to the point that she should have supervision when she goes on grocery trips because she falls for marketing ploys so easily. can’t believe she hasn’t fallen into a pyramid scheme yet.

an absolute dumbass. again, can make some great niche william faulkner jokes, but ask her the order of the planets? “...well mars is somewhere in there.”

unironically LOVES cats - both the musical and movie. thinks jennifer hudson’s grizabella is the best. will start sharing random facts about it or old possum’s book of practical cats if she runs out of things to talk about but feels pressured to keep talking. was broken when she first read a different t.s. eliot poem and realized he was actually super dark. the only thing that got her through it was a comparison to batman :\ bruce wayne is old possum’s, batman is everything else.

to take a brief break from fun personality facts, v down on herself bc benjamin’s words rly!! stuck with her!! convinced she is an absolute idiot and does not trust her own memory. v indecisive bc of this and always longs for someone to help her figure things out. tries to distance herself from memories of her mother because, again, benjamin got to her. her love of cats doesn’t help that, but... can you believe that’s her coping mechanism? makes up for it by giving all of her love 2 everyone else!! we love tragedy!! and needing to go to therapy!!

secretly knows her love of cats is weird and dumb. a part of her knows why it’s considered one of the worst musicals ever. but LISTEN. we luv rly weird coping mechanisms!

big dreamer. will develop the most impractical goals. she usually knows they are impractical, but still..... uwu

has decided everyone is good until proven bad! except for,,,, like,,, murderers and rapists,,,,

is #StraightEdge for the most part,,,, literally has a drink maybe three times per year

says “like” a whole lot for someone who majored in english with a concentration in literature and should therefore be more eloquent.

i am not great at these sections!! feel free 2 j refer to her zodiac, personality tests, and character influences!!

literally fox 8. i put the others there bc she’s similar but wow,,,, if u read fox 8 (it’s a short story i recommend it i luv george saunders u can find a pdf online),,,, she is fox 8.

here u go here is a sample that doesnt need context: "Fox 4 woslike: No ofense, Fox 8? Your ideas are not super praktikal. Dreem, dreem, dreem, said Fox 11. Fox 41 woslike: Fox 8, does this honestly never get old for you?"

OH ALSO. she has a slet. a cat,,,,, named asparagus,,,, whom she calls “gus”,,,,, and y’all know WHY.

recent development: has downloaded tor so she can get on the dark web. why? because she thinks there will be more funny animal videos on there. is shockingly good at navigating it.

CONNECTION IDEAS:

close friends bc we luv that –– roman (nuanced), aylie (nuanced), hazel (nuanced), cleo (nuanced), vic (nuanced), marco (nuanced)

childhood friends whom she possibly had impromptu sleepovers with bc that is v soft and,,,,, y’all i left the city blank for a reason. –– hazel, marco,

on that note, the person who was like “wait,,,,,,, u know that book was turned into a musical right,,,,,, like,,,,, a musical literally everyone knows” and shook jo’s world

good influence / bad influence –– cleo, vic,

~*confidant*~

roommate

exes –– ian,

reciprocated pining

unreciprocated pining

someone..... who has accepted..... that she likes cats.... in a way that is not ironic. will see the movie with her. –– aylie,

an enemy,,,,,, aka this person was like “cats is literally the worst thing in the entire world” and now they r on jo’s very short hit list –– riley

idk!!! im also obvs up for brainstorming!!! luv that!!!

** descriptive connections page is here ( only people who i’m messaging are on it, but i ?? would love to plot w everyone ?? so don’t make the short list make u think i’m trying 2 limit it 2 these ppl auhfoeidla )

LIKE THIS OR HMU TO PLOT !

#bigbearintro #y'all my intro style evolved!#there's a tl;dr beneath the bg info bc i!! rambled!!#i feel like i went back and forth b/t proper grammar/punctuation and.... not.... caring.#also i am. dumb 2night. it j took me a hot while to figure out how to spell punctuation and it still doesnt look right the english language #is so weird????#we post this before we have many followers we die like men.

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dailyskyferreira · 6 years ago

Text

Sky Ferreira Returns With an uncompromising vision and the studio hours to back it up, the enigmatic singer is back with a new single—and a promise that her first album in six years will be worth the wait.

So, what’s Sky Ferreira been doing all this time? Well, for the last 35 minutes or so, she’s been in the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when she finally emerges, eyes wet, arms full of winter layers. It’s a late-February afternoon at New York City’s Russian Tea Room, the fabled blini-and-caviar haunt of candy-red banquettes and eternal Christmas ornaments where Madonna once worked the coat check. About a half hour ago, the 26-year-old singer turned up for our afternoon-tea reservation only to disappear in an immediate whorl, as if a czarist vortex sucked her into the basement. What she had thought was an asthmatic flare-up, she now explains, was actually a pretty severe anxiety attack. A panicked twinge remains in her expression, like the distant memory of tasting a lemon. In town from Los Angeles for three days, she tells me, “I’ve been anxious to the point that I haven’t slept at all.”

It’s a nerve-wracking moment for Sky, a pop artist, actor, and model who’s lately been keeping a low profile. This is partly because she seems to find the social contract of the PR exchange stressful, but also because she doesn’t want to suck up all the air before she gets a chance to breathe. “You really can get sick of someone’s face,” she says, as only someone who has loaned their own to Jimmy Choo and Calvin Klein could. “I don’t see the point of doing a bunch of photoshoots or press when I don’t have anything out.”

The fact that she hasn’t had anything out might be the biggest stress of all. Signed to Capitol Records at 15, Sky spent years in teen-pop A&R purgatory—groomed as a naughty-girl-next-door type with mall-Shakira hair and prefabricated singles with names like “Haters Anonymous” and “Sex Rules” (“We are animals/No matter what we deny/Our bodies strong, like magnets” are actual words she sang)—only to have her minders decide she wasn’t worth the trouble and shelve her long-promised full-length debut. Rather than give up, she used money she’d earned modeling and finished the album without their help.

Released in October 2013, Night Time, My Time was a rare major-label triumph of craft over product, a purposeful barrage of seething recriminations coated with ’90s-grunge textures and ’80-pop incandescence. It sounded like “My So-Called Life”’s Angela Chase mainlining John Hughes films and channeling her existential anguish into a record—except Night Time was the vision of a 2010s 21-year-old, and the truths were all hers.

The right people loved it. In the spring of 2015, Sky announced her second record’s name was Masochism and promised its first single that summer. The summer came and went, then the fall, and some winter too. On that New Year’s Eve, she addressed the delay obliquely on Instagram (“I refuse to put out something that isn’t honest”) and promised “in 2016 you will hear it.” In 2016, you did not, and now it’s 2019, and, still, no album. At this point, she can’t post online without some commenters popping up to heckle, “where’s the album sky” or “MASOCHISM!!?” or “still waiting,” like they’re hungry people rage-texting Seamless.

These impatient fans aren’t alone in their enthusiasm. “She’s one of those beautiful, rare people who can probably do anything,” says Debbie Harry, who’s had Sky open for Blondie. “If there’s anybody I would ever be jealous of, it would be her.”

Naturally, all of this—the anticipation, the unfulfilled promises, the time lapsed since her last release—is adding to the pressure she puts on herself. She feels like she has to explain. “It wasn’t by choice.” It wasn’t creative paralysis, nor was it a creative hiatus. “I wasn’t just taking time for myself the last five years.” During that time, she landed a half dozen movie roles, but she says she didn’t decide to focus on acting instead. “I never stepped away from music.” She alludes to vague external hindrances: “I’ve been at the mercy of people the last few years”; “gatekeepers”; “the rug pulled out under me”; a “someone at my label” who undid the generous arrangement she had to work with Kanye West musical director Mike Dean; and the very real issue of a young woman telling men what she wants and not settling for less. Then the labyrinthine nature of her production process is, as you’ll see, akin to playing charades blind-folded while riding a dog, and everyone else guesses with kazoos. Plus, she’s a perfectionist. Obsessive. She’ll do 800 takes. She’ll consider every option—and then she’ll consider it again.

But the primary reason it’s taken so long: Sky doesn’t just want her new songs done, she wants them to be good. By good, she means, executed the way she intended, no matter how long she waited to find the right violinist. Properly mixed so they don’t accidentally sound like pop-punk in the car, because “someone puts some shit on my voice” and she forgot to play them in an Uber. (Sky never learned to drive.) Songs that know their place in the broader pop continuum, not what’s hot on streaming. “I’m not looking for ‘a moment,’” she says. “I’m looking for a career—and real careers, you build them.”

She’s deemed two songs good enough to share with me. The first single, “Downhill Lullaby,” is a five-and-a-half-minute, goth-noir, chamber-pop piece—with strings!—that could have easily closed an episode of the revived “Twin Peaks.” (The association may be deliberate: Sky appeared in the show’s 2017 return, deeply admires its director, David Lynch, and the series’ music supervisor, Dean Hurley, produced the song alongside her.) Another forthcoming track, tentatively titled “Don’t Forget,” is a new wave time warp, a lovely bit of nostalgia therapy for people who were never there—even if it is, according to Sky, “about burning down houses.”

By now we’re settled into a booth, one Sky has selected in the empty part of the restaurant, far away from her manager and publicist, who’ve come along to chaperone. Her natural espresso roots have outrun her hair’s blonde highlights, and her dark T-shirt reads “CHICAGO METAL MANIA.” We’ve managed to order tea by asking the waiter to bring what he likes (a nice, orangey, spicy chai) and then momentarily horrify him when Sky asks if, instead of sending the teeny triangular sandwiches with mayonnaise back to the kitchen (she hasn’t touched them, and mayo makes her gag), we can give them to someone who’s homeless. “I’ll get you the ones without mayonnaise,” the waiter says, taking them away.

“I don’t have a back-up plan,” Sky says. “I never have. I don’t have an education. I don’t know how to, like, play music in the [traditional] sense. I’m socially awkward and stuff—I couldn’t really do a lot of other jobs either,” she says. “Literally, there’s no other option for me. So this has to work.”

There are many Sky Ferreiras. There’s Sky the model, a Hedi Slimane muse who’s walked the runway for Marc Jacobs and perfected a glare so haunted the Bates Motel must be jealous. There’s Sky the actor, who played a key supporting role in director Edgar Wright’s big-studio heist flick Baby Driver, but doesn’t have an agent. There’s Sky the live performer, who battles stage fright, but who also opened a 2014 Miley Cyrus arena tour, fell down an elevator shaft on night three, and still took the stage the next day.

There’s also the Sky here at the Russian Tea Room, whose left dimple comes as a surprise because, come to think of it, you’ve rarely seen photos of her smiling. The Sky who shouldn’t eat gluten because of an autoimmune condition, but doesn’t really tell people about it because it sounds like bullshit. The Sky who’s watched enough “Game of Thrones” to see her pets’ personalities reflected in the show’s characters. (For the record, her cat Egg would be a Lannister, while his brother Squirrel would be from the North.)

This Sky speaks in em dashes. It’s less that she loses her train of thought, and more that her thought train is screeching onto a new track. Sometimes you’re right there with her, but other times you’re watching the conversation from a distance like a detached caboose that just kept going straight. “I know I keep going in circles,” she says, “but my mind kind of always does that—spins.”

You don’t interview this Sky as much as steer her, but first you listen. “I’ve always been really shy,” she says, six minutes in. “I was actually mute for years when I was a kid.”

Little Sky Tonia Ferreira hummed along to the radio before she could talk. Raised around Los Angeles, mostly Venice Beach, her young parents split when she was a baby. Her dad tended bar, sometimes with her in tow, and when his roommates got cable, she devoured MTV. “I always hung out with a lot of adults,” she says. “I was, like, one of those kids.”

Being one of those kids meant she didn’t know how to talk to the kids who knew how to talk with each other. She was bullied constantly. She also had trouble with numbers and spelling—she suspects she’s dyslexic, but never got tested—and for a while, was so unhappy, she stopped talking altogether. “I had really long hair, didn’t speak, and had dark circles around my eyes,” she says, describing herself as a child. “I looked kinda feral.”

As the story goes, Sky’s first-grade classmates didn’t know she could talk until she sang “Over the Rainbow” in school. “As long as I can remember, I’ve felt the most like myself when I was singing,” she says. (Roughly 18 years later, she covered the Wizard of Oz ballad at David Lynch’s Festival of Disruption, and the director still raves about her version, telling me, “It was incredible. So beautiful.”)

She lived with her grandmother, who worked as a hairdresser. One time when Sky was around 7, she sang for one of her grandmother’s clients. Impressed, the man suggested she join a gospel choir. The man was Michael Jackson. So she did. Jackson also gave a 9-year-old Sky some grown-up advice that’s shaped her approach to art and music ever since: “He was like, ‘Don’t focus on things that are just around you—you need to look back to the history of music.’ And that’s what I did.”

Yes, Sky went to the Neverland Ranch—“a lot.” She also went to Jackson’s other houses. No, she didn’t witness anything untoward. “It wasn’t just because I was a girl,” she tells me, a few days before the controversial HBO documentary Leaving Neverland aired. “I was around a lot of kids.”

Yes, she’s grown hesitant to talk about her grandmother’s larger-than-life client—for all the reasons you’d expect, along with a few you might not. Like, that it’s difficult for people to wrap their minds around the fact that the King of Pop could be a formative elder acquaintance in the casually anodyne way of, say, a dancing-school teacher or a little-league coach—someone whose small encouragements could be so big. “I was really quiet, but when someone sees something in you...” she says of Jackson, before abandoning the thought. “I had a connection to him, but I’m not, like, his family.”

Sky has also routinely been asked to account for the bad behavior of men in her orbit. A dominant narrative surrounding Night Time, My Time’s 2013 release was her relationship with indie rock band DIIV’s frontman, Zachary Cole Smith—an ex-boyfriend with whom she was arrested that September. He was the driver of the vehicle in which heroin, ecstasy, and a stolen license plate were found (and someone who’s since publicly acknowledged his struggles with addiction). Throughout that album cycle, the arrest became a more delicious red herring than anything Sky had actually done.

“The thing that’s still so fucked up about that: I didn’t have a drug problem, I dated someone who had a drug problem, I was in a car with someone who had a drug problem,” she says. “No one wants to talk about how my charge got dropped.” And the whole Kurt and Courtney star-crossed mythos that dramatized the headlines around the arrest? Spare her. “I was really young; I wasn’t even 21 yet for most of it. That wasn’t my great love story of my life,” she says, adding, “The people that have treated me so much better—they’re the ones who deserve the attention, not that guy.” (Presumably, one of those people is her current partner, Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, frontman of the Danish punk band Iceage.)

Those who have followed Sky’s personal life could easily read “Downhill Lullaby” as an extended metaphor about a tumultuous relationship: “I can see that you want me/Going downhill too/Going downhill into a lullaby.” But she’s adamant about distancing her songwriting from the egos of her ex-boyfriends. “That’s the one rule I made,” she says. “The one thing that I’ve always had is my music. If someone treated me badly, they don’t get to have that. I don’t want to drag the weight of what they did around forever.”

For Sky Ferreira, time is not a flat circle, but rather a sticky mass of saltwater taffy. She tends to run late, but once she’s present and engaged, she can summon an Iron Man endurance. At the Russian Tea Room, two hours of conversation easily floats into six-and-a-half, and eventually we’re the last diners to leave. Somewhere in this elasticity, she talks about her refusal to give up on the work. “I’ve literally been using my life savings to do this record.” She is not motivated by money—to her, time isn’t money, but money is a thing to buy more time.

This springy relationship with time can make Sky seem almost anachronistic. In conversation, her offhanded pop-cultural mentions span director Todd Solondz’s 1995 cult indie Welcome to the Dollhouse, Courtney Love, the 1980 Loretta Lynn biopic Coal Miner’s Daughter, the 2018 iteration of A Star Is Born, and the cheerful ’60s sitcom “The Andy Griffith Show” (which she concedes, “No one my age knows”). Sky’s reference points, like Michael Jackson once advised, exist within a totality, not a blip.

One of her artistic lodestars glows brighter than the others: When Sky was 13, she discovered David Lynch. “He’s the first person who ever saw the world the way I saw it,” she says. “It was the first time anything made sense.” You can see Lynchian dream logic throughout her work. In fact, the staggering, airy title dirge from Night Time, My Time came to her in a dream. “I wrote it in the middle of the night, half-asleep,” she remembers about the album closer, which was built around a line spoken by the doomed girl at the center of the “Twin Peaks” saga. “Then I woke up the next day and I finished it in an hour. I still have the notes; the handwriting’s all fucked up. ” When she finished the song, she knew the album was finally done.

So Sky’s cameo in “Twin Peaks: The Return” had the meta-ness of astral projection. She played Ella, an enigmatic bar patron who talked about a penguin and flaunted a “wicked” armpit rash. “She played that scene so perfectly,” Lynch tells me. “She inhabited that character and made it real from a deep place. When she scratched that rash, you could really feel the itching!”

“Downhill Lullaby” summons the creeping orchestral gloom of “Night Time, My Time.” A sweeping arrangement in five parts, Masochism’s first single begins with a sashay of strings and an interpolation of the unmistakable squee of the Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony,” followed by a murmuring, angered bass. Sky exhales a numb indictment—“You leave me open/When you hit me”—and amid the layers of kettle-drum thunder and keening violins, there’s seduction and revenge, confusion and queasiness, silkiness and elegance. It sounds like the last thing Daniel Day Lewis’ Reynolds Woodcock hears before the poison takes hold in Phantom Thread.

This habit of visualizing music—Sky does it too. Except for her, it’s the first step of many in the song creation process: “I see it like it’s projected in a movie theater.” “Downhill Lullaby,” in particular, began with a vision of water in darkness. “Lakes kind of terrify me,” she explains, recalling a childhood memory of feeling lost in a Maryland forest that packs a similar unease. “In a lake, by yourself, you look at the bottom and it’s murky and still and you can’t really see anything or feel anything—and if you do, it’s fucking terrifying. It always feels like something will grab you and pull you under.” The eeriness became the foundation for the song.

She likens the ordeal of making “Downhill Lullaby” to Mickey Mouse’s Fantasia turn as the sorcerer’s apprentice. “You know how all the brooms are making a gigantic mess and the water starts rising and rising and rising and rising?” she says. “It was sort of like that: Magical, but at the same time, ‘What is going on?’ And then cleaning it all up.”

Her technique is more like a collagist—one who both scavenges her raw materials and oversees the fabrication—than a traditional songwriter. Conceptually, she works backwards, starting a song with an imagined outline of the final arrangement, isolating each sound element, and then embarking on the oft-laborious task of identifying studio musicians with the time and patience and willingness to conjure each sound individually, so that once she’s gathered all the pieces, she can begin the meticulous process of putting them all back together.

This unorthodox approach to songwriting has led to recurring logistical difficulties for Masochism. Namely, figuring out how to articulate what she hears so that someone who’s not in her brain can actualize it. “Nobody really understood what I was trying to say or wanted to do on paper,” she says. “It was a really long process.”

Sky never learned how to read music and she’s too self-conscious to use instruments that aren’t her voice in front of others. So if there’s an obvious reference point—like a certain note in a ’90s-radio staple she wants imitated—she’ll play that for her collaborator. But when there’s not, she’s often like a conductor asking to summon a mood.

In the case of Danish violinist Nils Gröndahl, who recorded all the strings on “Downhill Lullaby,” she recalls telling him: “‘Play it as if you’re one of the birds in Snow White, singing underwater, while slowly being suffocated by plastic.’” And you know what? In the end result, it’s easy to hear all that.

Additionally, Sky is even more particular about her final mixes. She will only be satisfied after she’s evaluated her song in seven different listening contexts: a car stereo; a smartphone with “regular” headphones; a smartphone with Apple earbuds; a smartphone’s built-in speaker; on a laptop; through “really bad, bad computer speakers—like the ones that came with Dells back in the early 2000s”; and the lush splendor of the studio, which is a personal luxury because, as she notes, “most people aren’t gonna listen that way.”

And she goes through this convoluted course of action for every song. It’s no wonder Masochism has taken so long. Says Sky, “I’ve accepted this is how I work and stopped feeling bad about it.”

Two Fridays after her insomniac New York trip, Sky is on the line, self-confidence restored, completing a high percentage of her sentences. Earlier in the week, she received the “Downhill Lullaby” master, immediately dropped her phone and shattered its screen, so now she’s on speaker. “I was like, I hope this isn’t a metaphor?” At least she’s laughing.

As for Masochism. She tells me she produced most of it herself, wrote with Los Angeles-based dream-pop artist Tamaryn, and worked with Ariel Pink collaborator Jorge Elbrecht. The proper album is coming, Sky swears, almost positively in 2019. Granted, she said the same thing last year—and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that—but this time, she has finally loosened her grip on some songs.

“Downhill Lullaby” may sound like dying Disney birds and “Don’t Forget” may be electro-pop arson, but Sky promises “more poppy” songs on Masochism too, as well as more “abstract,” orchestral stuff. “It’s very big, but also very violent,” she says, half-chuckling. “But not all the songs are super-dark.” Beyond that—the number of songs, tracklist, other credited collaborators—who can say? Sky can’t yet. She has some songs in mind she’d still like to write.

#sky ferreira #2019

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specialmindz · 6 years ago

Photo

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE!”

“*Sigh* Why...why do you do this? You know that’s not right.”

“...I’s ready to go Daddy...”

“No. No you’re not.”

“I’s ready to pay in da’ snow...”

“We’re visiting the king,” said Gaster, taking Papyrus’s boots and putting them on correctly.

He should be doing this himself.

“The king in the snow pace?”

“No.”

“He building a snowman?”

“NO.”

“alphys is sick baby bro,” said Sans opening a cabinet. “so i have to help dad work for the next few days. the king volunteered to babysit you for a while-”

“HE GONNA SIT ON DA’ BABY?!”

“no pap-”

“HE GONNA SIT ON DA’ BABY!”

“papyrus…”

“YOU GOTS TO TELL HIM I’S NOT AN EGG BIG BUTHER!”

“what...?”

“You gots to tell him I’s not an egg! The king be reeeaal tall and stuff so when he sees a tiny skelly baby such as myself, he only see mah bald widdle baby head and he probably think ‘wowie, I find-ed a tiny widdle egg on mah doorstep! I bet there be a baby chicken inside...I bedder sit on it, or is gonna get cold-”

“you’re wearing clothes bro.”

“Yeah, but he can’t sees em’ cause’ he too big...Imma draw a smiley face on my head. Where the markers be?”

“You’re not allowed to have markers.”

“Dat don’t mean I doesn’t need em’. Baby is NOT a butt-plug.”

“what’s a butt-plug?”

Gaster sighed, already exhausted. He didn’t want to bring Papyrus all the way to New Home, and he wanted to leave him there even less. King Asgore was the Underground’s only hope of escape at the moment...the only solid one at least. He was Gaster’s safety net of sorts if Sans turned out to be unable to teleport his brother past the barrier. Without the king, the royal scientist would be an even bigger nervous wreck then he was now, but no one else was willing to watch Papyrus and there was no way on earth the little troublemaker would leave them alone while they worked.

Picking up the baby bones with his wingdings so as to avoid being bitten, he looked the infant in the eye. “His Highness is very lonely Papyrus,” he said gravely. “and what’s worse is he doesn’t know the full extent of your horrendous behavior. That means he’s going to be spending a lot of time with you rather than simply leaving you to play his lost children’s video games; that being said, you need to be kind to him. If he dies, there will be no one strong enough to wield the human souls and break the barrier, understand?”

“Ooooh! Fluffy Buns gonna pay wit da’ baby?!”

“yep, so be nice to him bro. no hitting, no biting, no tearing anything up-”

“Okay, okay. I’s gonna be nice and quiet and just read books like a good bae.”

“NO BOOKS. Do you hear me? NONE. Do not read him ANY stories. He can read to you, but do NOT read to him, do I make myself clear?”

The last thing I need is an hour-long phone call from the old fool trying to find the right words to tell me how to raise my child.

Gaster got a lot of those from the queen long ago if he remembered correctly and they annoyed him to no end. Not just because she took forever to get to the point, but because she refused to even consider the possibility that HER kids were the ones that needed a talking to. In her eyes, it was always Gaster’s fault, not her precious Asriel or Chara.

Even though Papyrus spent most of his time around those two and I’M always working, it’s still somehow more likely MY influence, right.

I do wonder though, whatever happened to the old hag?

I know she abandoned her husband and the kingdom, but where exactly did she run off to?

“I can pay wit da’ snails?”

“You’ll do what he asks you to do.”

Papyrus blew a raspberry in the scientist’s direction, splattering him with drool.

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”

“have fun baby bro, and tell me everything when you get back okay? maybe if you’re reeeeally good, the king will help you get into daycare!”

“Absolutely not,” said Gaster, placing the baby bones under his arm. “sending him to daycare is out of the question with its current management.”

“huh? why? what’s wrong with undyne’s mom?”

His father shook his head. “I know the woman who works there personally. She uses her child’s temper as a tool for suing parents who leave their children at the daycare she now runs. Whenever Undyne throws a tantrum and hurts someone there, her mother accuses the parents of child abuse, claiming that despite Undyne’s reputation, the children keep trying to play with her because their parents order them to. She has the king completely convinced that they’re getting their kids hurt on purpose so they can sue her. It’s a complete lie of course, she used to work at the lab pulling the same money-grubbing stunts until I fired her.”

And this was BEFORE the Underground was such a poverty pot.

No doubt she’ll try to use Papyrus somehow, wretched woman…

“Her husband fought and died in the war and so Asgore not only sees her as a lover of children who does everything in her power to enrich their lives, but also sympathizes with her. He sees her as a single-parent with a troubled child living in a bad economy and thinks she’s selfless and kind, when in reality she’s as greedy as they come.”

“well...she can’t go doing that forever and ever and ever though right? even if everyone’s poor, the king will eventually figure out she’s lying. he can’t believe the ENTIRE underground’s out to rob her.”

Even if everybody IS poor, he should know he’s being punked. Not EVERYONE is gonna gang up on ONE person, especially if they need that person to watch their kids.

“He’ll figure it out eventually, yes...but for now, Papyrus needs you. He’s better behaved when you’re watching him anyway; now I expect the beakers to be in place by the time I get back Sans-”

“Nyeh? Snas not gonna tellyport da’ baby?”

“nope. dad wants to make me do all the prep work and use your trip to asgore’s as an excuse.”

Gaster rolled his eyes and left the lab. There was no point in retorting, Sans would never understand how lucky he was compared to the other children in the Underground. Unlike them and himself, he wasn’t a victim of poverty and no amount of arguing on Gaster’s part would rid the boy of the entitled attitude that came with living comfortably.

Lazy ungrateful brat...he really thinks every kid sits on their ass all day while their parents work. Preposterous. Back in MY day, we used to work in mines and factories at his age and both places were messier than the Nursery. We spent most of the money we earned on medicine just so we could work more and he’s complaining about setting up a few beakers...?

“I thought Sans Serifs made up for their lack of strength with superior intellect, but clearly I was wrong. Damn that Charles Dickens and his god-awful Oliver Twist novel! If Sans hadn’t gotten ahold of that book-”

“To be, or not to be! Nyeh hee hee!”

“That’s Shakespeare.”

“I has look-ed upon all da’ universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.”

“And that’s Lovercraft.”

“Waz Lovecafe?”

“Dr. Seuss for adults; you know what it is, you just quoted it.”

“Is mac and cheese?”

“YOU JUST QUOTED IT.”

“Yeah, but maybe I read-ed it off the box?”

“I highly doubt any form of Kraft Mac and Cheese would put the words ‘horror’ and ‘poison’ on their box,” said Gaster tightening his grip on the baby bones. The spring platforms were dangerous in Hotland when you were carrying things. It made him (and a lot of other people he imagined) wish that the elevators were better maintained as good food was only really found at the Resort or in Snowdin. That meant people who lived in Waterfall not only had to brave the harsh climate of Hotland, but also somehow carry their groceries back home across the springboards if ever the elevators were to break down, which was often...and today.

“WHEEEEEEE! DO A FLIP DADDY!”

Despite the overpopulation problem, there just weren’t many people who knew anything about complex machinery. Some monsters knew about the compromise Asgore had made with the humans long ago, but most did not. The deal was if he worked together with them to destroy the Horrors, they would refrain from mass genocide and settle for the monster’s self-imprisonment within Mt. Ebott. The king, in his cowardice, took the agreement and kept it secret from all his people, aside from the handful of Boss monsters he needed to raise the barrier itself...Boss monsters that had to put the barrier up from the outside in order to get it to work, which resulted in their destruction. His Highness, claiming the reason for the team up was because the Horrors posed a bigger threat to the earth, was left with weak monsters of all sorts with different backgrounds. None were prepared for Mt. Ebott. They weren’t a group of scientists, engineers, or soldiers, they were simply confused citizens who were one day told to gather inside a mountain by their king before being sealed inside and fed a bunch of lies.

There’s no one left down here who knows how to fix the elevators except me now, thanks to Papyrus. Asgore’s lucky I was already in here before this place was sealed, or he’d have quite a problem.

It would’ve been nice if he could go back to what he was doing BEFORE the monster came to Mt. Ebott and began piling work on top of him. He wanted and had been studying the strange climate changes within the mountain, trying to hypothesize if the volcanic activity had anything to do with the strange weather and if the source of all magic really stemmed from the Earth’s core, or if it was just a chemical reaction; but it had been so long since he’d seen his notes, he doubted they hadn’t already been chewed up by the hellspawn under his arm. Luckily, skeletons had the lifespan of a monster, and Asgore not only knew about the lack of educated monsters in the Underground, but was doing something about it, putting emphasis on certain subjects in schools and introducing the students to daily logic puzzles so that the next generation would be more tech savvy. It would take a while, but by the time most of the children in the Underground reached adulthood, most of them would know the basics of at LEAST electrical engineering and be able to fix those damn elevators.

If Sans didn’t have one hp I’d absolutely enroll him, but I need someone to watch Papyrus and he’d most likely be killed by one of those bratty school children. He’s too shy, small, and weak to be near anyone immature...I can’t risk it. Especially when I’m so swamped with work.

“It almost makes me want to try again...make a new clone and split it in half, this time the RIGHT way...but if I make another mistake, I’ll have FOUR children...”

“Nyeh?! You’s gonna make more babies?!”

“Absolutely not.”

“I wish to have a widdle sister. Not like Snas, I mean a REAL sissy-”

“Sans is the closest thing to a girl that will ever come near you, and I can say that with the utmost confidence.”

“Undyne a girl...”

“You heard what I said.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Who there?”

“What?”

“Snas say, when he do dat, I’s supposed to say ‘who there.”

“...”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Who there?”

“Stop that.”

Opening the door, Asgore greeted the two with a warm smile. “Welcome Gaster, I’m so glad you decided to bring your little one in person rather than having Sans simply teleport him here.” He bent down until he was eye level with Papyrus. “You’re looking adorable as ever Papyrus, it’s nice to see you too! You look like you’ve gotten a bit bigger since we last saw each other, ho ho ho!”

“You too.”

“PAPYRUS! I’m so sorry your Highness-”

“Oh don’t worry about it, I’m sure he means well.”

“NYEH HEE HEE!”

Handing Papyrus to Asgore, Gaster frowned as he watched the baby bones snuggle into the king’s chest...a tactic the infant usually used to distract the people he was trying to steal from.

“Get your wingdings out of his pocket. I told you to behave yourself!”

“He’s only curious my friend! I remember when my little Chara was still alive, they used to go through everything-”

“Where all da’ monies at? You’s a king aren’t you? You’s supposed to be wich!”

“Ho ho ho, you’ve got your brother’s sense of humor I see!”

“YOU’S NOT FUNNY!”

“We’re gonna have such a fun day!”

“ERRRNNN!”

“Alright, I’m heading off. I’ll return for Papyrus as soon as you call me,” said Gaster turning to leave.

“As soon as I call you?”

“Correct. When you reach the point where you no longer wish to watch him, give me a call and I’ll pick him up. One, two days would be nice, or whenever you feel like your life is in danger-”

“NYEHHHHHHH!”

“Ah! Oh dear, it’s alright little one, I’m sure he was only joking,” said the king, bobbing the infant up and down in his arms.

“He’s not upset. He’s only crying because that’s what babies do when their parents leave for work, or in my case, to go shopping. Papyrus will do what’s expected of other babies, as long as you’re watching him, in order to convince you he’s a normal infant…despite his exceptional talents. If he gets hungry, simply leave him by himself and he’ll fetch his own food, in fact, leaving him to his own devices is probably the best thing to do in general, especially if you’re at a loss.”

“Leave him by himself? That’s madness! I know he’s not a monster Mr. Wingdings and so should thus be raised differently, but my house is built for large creatures…my cabinets may as well be closets in his eyes! What if he gets into my cleaning supplies? He could be poisoned!”

“I’s going straight for da’ soap!”

“NO you’re not. He’s not your Highness. Remember, he’s a natural born liar and unfortunately, another trait he shares with his brother is he’s very attention-seeking.”

“Is you seeking mah foot up yo’ ass? Cause’ dat’s what it sounds like douche Daddy…”

Gaster didn’t respond. He simply turned and left, leaving behind a very confused and concerned king.

“We’s gonna read a book Fluffy Buns? Daddy said I could read alllll the books I wanted while I’s here…”

“Um…s-sure…” said Asgore, carrying the Horror into the living room. He sat down into his chair and watched as the baby bones used his wingdings to grab a random book from the shelf, all the while struggling to shake the uneasy feeling that had been steadily growing within him since he picked the infant up.

He was familiar with Horrors…he had fought them in the war after all, but he had little to no experience with their children. Apparently, the majority of baby bones were supposedly more intelligent than monster babies, though it did differ with each infant and had a lot to do with their typing. Verbal Fonts, which is what Papyrus was if he recalled, were the first to learn language and so were able to hold entire conversations at a very young age; entire coherent conversations. While other children struggled with multiple lisps, Verbal Fonts would speak clearly and be careful to only alter their speech enough to sound cute and maintain the love of the adults around them.

An intelligent infant is a dangerous thing…combine that with Papyrus’s ability and my love for children in general, and I’m at even greater risk.

I must be very careful of what I say…

“So Papyrus, if I recall correctly, each time you’ve visited my home you’ve crawled straight for my children’s room to play. We’ve never really gotten to know one another, have we?”

Papyrus stopped flipping through the book. “Nyeh?”

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself little one?”

The baby bones looked at his book and then back at the king as if he were unsure of what to say. For a moment Asgore thought he wasn’t going to speak at all; perhaps talking to Papyrus like an adult wasn’t the best idea. Gaster DID say he tended to act like a regular baby in front of others…

Did I make a mistake?

“*Ahem* My name be Papyrus and I’s two years old,” said the baby bones holding up two fingers. “I enjoy cuhwering, long crawls on da’ beach, and my big Buther’s company…his peasants I mean, he not own a company.”

“Heh heh ha ha!”

“As for my own endevors, I help the Underground by selling cheap affordable drugs to junkies so they overdose and die…or I WOULD do dat, if SOMEBODY would stop cutting off my supply.”

“…”

“Dat someone be YOU Fluffy Buns…”

“…I would appreciate it if you’d get out of the drug trade Papyrus,” said Asgore averting his eyes.

“Well I would appeciate it if you’d stop fuking wit my job security, NYEH!” Papyrus threw the book he was holding onto the floor. It didn’t have any pictures, so it was basically useless.

Not something meant for babies anyway.

“Dis book suck! Where da’ pictures at Fluffy Buns? You get dis from the weird part of the library?”

“Seriously Papyrus, about your job-”

“One time I went to the library to get some books for Snas, and I found a book just like this…cept’ it wasn’t like this, it was all soft like a blankey!” exclaimed the tiny skeleton hugging his Highnesses beard.

“Papyrus.”

“Dis book was weird as hell Mr. Buns! I open it up and it had zippers and buttons in it! BUTTONS! Who puts buttons in a book? They didn’t do nothing either! I undid the zipper AND the buttons and there no pockets or nothin’. What dat spose’ to teach the baby? How that edgy-cation-al? I thought it would at LEAST have pockets with stuff in em’ but it didn’t have CWAP!” yelled the baby kicking his tiny legs.

“…”

“I talked to Dirt-Butt about dis and he said the book was a met-a-phor about life. He said is supposed to teach you that life is full of disappointment and people who look for free hand-outs deserve to BE disappointed-”

“What? No!” cried Asgore horrified. “The book you’re describing is most likely a sensory book. It’s a book that acts as a toy for-who is this ‘Dirt-Butt?’ Why would he say something like that to you?!”

What kind of-

“…I thought it was deep.” Papyrus picked the abandoned book back up. “Dis a meta-book too? What it mean?”

“It…it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a book about snails.”

“I think it mean…exercising yo’ ima-gin-ation be more important than relying on someone else’s. Dat’s why it don’t gots pictures. Is saying ‘exercise your ima-gin-ation and make yo’ own pictures. Make your own books wit pictures so OTHER peoples can enjoy them. Give back to da’ community.’ What you think Fluffy Buns?”

“I think it’s a book about snails.”

CA-CLACK!

Papyrus dropped the book again.

“…”

“I liked dat book, is easy to read.”

“You didn’t read it.”

“There was dis one meta-book I find-ed that I still can’t read dough. Is hard like dis one, made of wood, but it had weird stuffs inside dat was scratchy and rubbery and foamy and-”

“That’s another sensory book. Babies are supposed to touch the things inside the book to learn what they feel like.”

“Even the dead kitty?!”

“Dead kitty?”

What?

“There be a page inside that say ‘kitty’s are soft, feel how soft the kitty is?’ and there be fur sticking out page! I touched it and it was real fur Fluffy Buns! Someone squished a cat in a book and put it on the shelf!”

“No.”

“They squished it flat like Undyne…”

“No, also don’t talk about Undyne’s chest like that…it’s not nice.”

“Why not? She do! I ask her one time, ‘hey Fish-Lady, where your boobs be? Yo’ muder gots boobs, so where yours?’ and she go, ‘I don’t know, I think they ran away while I’s sweeping. My mama keeps hers in a hammock cage thing so they don’t get away, but she never bought me one cause’ she cheap.”

Asgore rubbed at his temples as if trying to will away a headache. He didn’t know if it was Papyrus’s seemingly boundless energy, continuous change in subject matter, or lack of listening skills, but the boss monster was feeling more and more drained as the conversation continued.

He expected a Verbal Font to be a chatterbox of sorts, but he didn’t expect it to physically affect him. It felt as if his mind were currently running a marathon whilst leaving his body behind.

Perhaps I’m just getting old, it’s not as if Asriel didn’t ask a million questions when HE was younger after all…though he wasn’t anywhere NEAR as bad as this. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised however, toddlers are one thing, but babies are quite another; they know even LESS about the world around them. Everything is new and exciting for a baby, so of course a Verbal Font like Papyrus is going to want to talk nonstop about even the smallest of occurrences.

Peeking through his fingers, the king watched Papyrus chatter on, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

Stars above, I can only imagine how tired Mr. Wingdings must be on a regular basis. Perhaps I’ve been pushing him too hard with all these demands…as important as they are, his children should come first.

“…So I say, ‘you needs boobs Fish-Lady for your footure babies! Erybody knows muder milk be the most nutritious!’ and then she did dat thing where her eyes get real big and her voice get loud and she scream, ‘OH MY GOD! WHAT IF SOMEONE STOLE MY BOOBIES WHILE I WAS SWEEPING SO THEY COULD HAVE FREE MILK?! WE MUST CAPTURE THESE VILLAINS AND BRING THEM TO JUSTICE!”

Asgore brought his hands down. “Was this last week?”

“Nyeh? I don’t know, why?”

“Because I got a lot of complaints about Undyne last week. That’s why.”

“Then yep, probably, cause’ she and I went around asking people bout’ her boobs and she beat up lossa people. The ones who laughed. She said only bad guys laugh at the unfor-tune-ate.”

“That’s,” the king groaned pitifully. “That’s not a good reason to assault people…”

“Is good enough for her.”

“I CAN SEE THAT,” said Asgore loudly before quickly catching himself and correcting his volume. “How about I make us some tea?” Getting up, he sat the baby bones on the chair behind him and headed towards the kitchen, a tactic he often used whenever he was in an uncomfortable situation, however he didn’t miss the glare the little Horror shot him on his way there.

“Babies don’t dwink tea! Babies dwink MILK! Dat’s why Undyne’s boobies be so important! Why you no listen?”

“I’m listening…”

“No you’re not, you weave right in da’ middle of mah story!”

“You’ve told many stories already, why not take a break?”

“A bake? I don’t need no bake! I gots to pactice my font daily or I’ll be weak when I gets big!”

His Highness glanced over his shoulder, placing a full kettle of water on the stove. “I see…so these stories of yours are a way for you to practice your lying without suffering any severe long-term consequences. I suppose it’s safe to assume then that most of what you’ve said about Undyne’s…rampage, is entirely false?”

“I doesn’t remember ERYTHING she say, or the EXACT words she used, but I’s still telling the tooth. I’s a good bae, ya’ know? I help Undyne when she was feeling sad about not finding her boobies even dough I didn’t have to. I told her mah Daddy could make her some new boobs wit his science and then she was happy, all cause’ of me.”

“Your father eh? So if I call your father, he’ll tell me the same thing?”

“Yep. I aspect so. He the one who solved da’ mystery of the missing boobies too! My Daddy a hero even dough he suck.”

“Right.” The king stood in near the stove watching the kettle, he was torn between going back to the living room and hiding in the kitchen. He WANTED to keep listening to Papyrus, but he was tired and the infant’s loud high-pitched voice was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure how much helium Gaster was pumping into that baby’s room, but it sounded lethal, which was too bad because one of the few things Asgore took pride in was the fact that he was a much better listener than his wife. He loved her, but he was all too aware of her awful tendency to jump to conclusions before hearing an entire story and how much pain it could bring others, so he made it a point to do better. To BE better. It was almost like a secret and silent competition of sorts where he would struggle to become the prince’s favorite parent…though it was embarrassing to admit and deep down, he knew it wasn’t right.

There was even a shameful time when he went overboard and blamed her a bit for their children’s deaths, though he NEVER said anything about it verbally. As king, he had to work most of the time to maintain the Underground, especially considering the shape it was currently in, which meant TORIEL was in charge of watching the children throughout the day. He didn’t know exactly WHEN Asriel left for the human village, but there was a time when he suspected it was while his wife was supposed to be keeping an eye on them. The idea should have made angry or sad, but instead he only felt an embarrassing sense of triumph that he hated himself for.

That is, until Gaster set him straight one night at Grillby’s.

“Don’t be a fool. Your child left in the middle of the night; it was no one’s fault, much less your own, unless you make a habit out of watching your offspring sleep.”

“How can you be so sure? We don’t have cameras around our house OR the barrier.”

“Common sense. Her Highness homeschools them in the morning so it’d be impossible to leave at that time and had the prince left in the afternoon, it would have taken him hours to traverse his way down the mountain due to the unfamiliar terrain and to even FIND the village. He’d only be able to reach it by nightfall when most of the humans sleep.”

“I…I see.”

“You’ve spent most of your life in the countryside, you must know what it’s like. The small villages that dot such places usually comprise of farmers…an early to bed, early to rise type of people. There’s little to no chance that there’d be enough of them awake to swarm your son, unless he left in the middle of the night and arrived at the village in the morning. Blaming yourself is irrational behavior, as is drinking away your day at the bar.”

“Y-You’re right…thank you.”

“…Then I tell Undyne to use her cute voice cause’ my stink Daddy don’t look up from his papers, but she still scu it up. She go ‘peas mister science man, can you make me some new boobies? I needs em’ for my wife and kids.” Papyrus shook his head. “Stupid Fish-Lady, I told her she stupid too. Wives don’t need milk, BABIES need milk, but she call me a clown fish and told me to shut my cwap mouth. ‘You doesn’t know ANYTHING stupid baby! I saw my mama use milk for her coffee and big people LOVE coffee, so he gonna feel bad for mah wife and kids and give me boobs for a bargain!”

“…I’m curious as to what your father’s response was.”

“Daddy told her dat she took after her muder and to ask HER where her boobies were.”

Asgore nodded, though the baby couldn’t see him.

Ahh, the old ask-your-mother response. I remember using that many a time.

If he recalled however, it never ended well. Passing uncomfortable situations like that onto his wife proved to be...problematic, as the queen was stubborn in her ways.

“I do hope you didn’t bother that poor woman Papyrus.”

“Nyeh? Poor?” Papyrus looked confused. “She not poor! Undyne’s muder wich! I knows cause’ she gots vases with no flowers in them. I asked her why that be and she said it was none of my beeswax and to not come in her house when the door be locked…I think she sold Undyne’s boobies Mr. Buns, but I can’t proves nothing…I think dat’s what Daddy was trying to tell us.”

“I assure you, she did nothing of the sort-”

“Can I borrow yo’ boobs Fluffy? You doesn’t need them no more right? You give them to Undyne?”

“I don’t…I don’t have those things,” said Asgore, wincing as he heard the pitter patter of tiny boots headed towards the kitchen.

“You look like you do…” said the baby peeking around the corner.

“WELL I DON’T.”

“But you look like you do…hey, what chu doing?” asked Papyrus tilting his head.

Picking up the infant, Asgore began carrying the Horror towards the room he was currently renovating. “Why don’t we go play a game while the water’s boiling, hm? I’m sure you’d rather spend time playing than talking to an old man like me. I’ll even play with you! How’s that sound?”

“Annoying…”

“Ho ho ho!”

As his Highness began to set up the game counsel (something that had to be done every time his children played a game), Papyrus glanced around the room, the previous conversation forgotten. Nothing had really changed since he’d last been in here…in a sense anyway. Chara and Asriel had always been very competitive and it continuously resulted in the destruction of everything in the area except the game counsels they were using. The place itself was a mess of broken toys like the Nursery, but there were scorch marks every which way and bits of splintered wood from destroyed furniture. To his right he could see something that may have once been a table of sorts, so he imagined the princes might have been eating and gaming in the same place; a practice he THOUGHT their mother had banned long ago due to the stains on the wall from food that had no doubt been thrown in a rage after one of the children’s gaming sessions.

Despite spending so much time together, the two had personality traits that contrasted greatly with one another. Asriel was a coward and Chara wasn’t.

That being said, the little goat monster had a tendency to use underhanded tactics to win games when he saw he was losing, such as complaining to their mother about Chara killing Yoshi so he could keep his high score in Mario, or pretending to “accidently” pull his controller out of its socket so his loss wouldn’t count. It infuriated Chara, who was much more mature when gaming, and it often led to violent fights and ultimately their games being taken away for a week or so while the king and queen had the game room repaired.

As a baby that valued courage more than most, Asriel’s behavior disgusted Papyrus, but he stayed quiet about it while he was over. After all, the baby was a guest and no one was perfect. He suspected that Asriel’s parents and environment in general played a big part in feeding his friend’s cowardice, that and monster babies weren’t like skelly babies. They didn’t seem to have the natural instinct Papyrus had to try and grow up properly. They weren’t born with a sense of discipline or ambition; In fact, from what he DID see, all monster babies did was sit around and wait for others to do things for them. He knew because they didn’t change when they became toddlers or even children like Asriel. They still spent all day playing for fun and making demands instead of practicing their magic or trying to intentionally learn new things.

“They spoiled.”

“Hm?” Asgore turned from the counsel and looked around. “Yes, I suppose we did spoil our children a bit. There are times when I wonder in fact, if they’d still be alive if I had been stricter with them…made them afraid to leave the house without permission.” He chuckled and sat on the floor next to Papyrus. “Then again, children will be children and Asriel shared his mother’s stubbornness. He’d of left no matter what I threatened him with.”

Papyrus took up a Gamecube controller and glanced doubtfully at the king. “You know how to pay dis game, or is you gonna be an old person da’ whole time?”

“Excuse me? I set up the game-box didn’t I? Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean ALL technology eludes me young man!” Turning on the game, they watched through the cinematics until only the title screen SUPER SMASH BROS MELEE remained with the words “PRESS START” fading in and out at the bottom.

“…”

“…Why isn’t it starting?”

“See dat button in the middle of the controller there?”

“Which button?”

“The only one in da’ middle. The one that say ‘start.”

“This one?”

“Pess it.”

Asgore pressed the start button and they were taken to another screen with multiple choices that immediately made the infant regret keeping quiet about the choice of game.

“So this is that Super Smashing Fighters game you all love so much! Look at all these options…since I’m a ‘noob’ heh heh heh, I think I need some training…what does ‘1-P’ mean?”

“Go to ‘VS. Mode.”

“Alright…oh. Oh I see,” said Asgore as he was taken to the character screen. “Going straight to the game are we? You’re like Asriel it seems. You don’t want to give me a chance to learn how to play, you just want to win.”

“No Fluffy.”

“You wish to take advantage of my old age and lack of understanding.”

“No. We’s gonna fight as a team. Pick yo’ peoples.”

“OH! OH I KNOW THIS MONSTER! IT’S PIKACHU!”

“Pick yo’ peoples.”

“How do I pick Pikachu?”

Taking the controller from Asgore, Papyrus hovered over the yellow mouse and pressed the ‘A’ button. “You see dis button Mr. Buns? See how it gween like a stop light? Think of dis button as the ‘yes button’ If you want something you use the ‘yes button’ to get it. The red button here be the ‘no button’ if you don’t want something, you pess the ‘no button’ kay’? Cause’ red be a bad color dat means STOP like a stop sign.”

“What?”

“Use dis to pick stuff and dis to go back.”

“Oh alright.”

So as to avoid more annoyances, Papyrus went ahead and made the proper arrangements for their team battle, choosing Kirby as his character.

“Dis game needs more babies…”

“Papyrus. Papyrus look.” Asgore pressed a button on his controller. “He’s got a little hat, ho ho ho!”

“…”

“Aren’t you going to dress up your pink guy?”

“He don’t get clothes till he eat you.”

“Oh my goodness, there’s a princess in the game! Papyrus choose the princess, I bet she has nice clothes…oh no wait, be Pichu! That’s Pikachu’s baby right? We can be a family of fighters!”

“Pichu sucks.”

“But we can be father and son and-”

Papyrus quickly changed his character to Pichu and put Princess Peach and Kirby in the other two slots as their opponents. “Okay, there. I’s Pichu. We pay now?”

“Does he have any-”

The baby bones changed his costume.

“How adorable! This game is so very very cute! I don’t see why Tori had such a problem with it…maybe she didn’t know about the outfits? She had a habit of making mountains out of mole hills that woman…how do we proceed?”

Pressing ‘Start’ they made it to the stage selection screen where, thankfully, the king immediately chose the one with the giant pokeball on it, having apparently recognized the object from an old video series his children had found miraculously intact at the Dump.

As the game began, Papyrus’s annoyance faded a bit as he watched Asgore test out the controls without asking about them. He may not have known much about technology, but obviously his battle instincts transferred into the game, as he seemed to instinctively know not to distract Papyrus during the fight…that is…until he noticed their opponents where no match for the Horror.

“How do I catch you?”

“Nyeh?”

“How do I catch Pichu? Every time I throw these pokeball things at you they turn out to have someone in them already. Where are the empty ones, or how do I empty them out before catching you?”

“DON’T CATCH DA’ BABY!”

“You’ll be safe in the pokeball. It’s part of a grand strategy-”

“Dis not Pokemon! Dis MELEE! You just supposed to kill da’ pencess and the pink bae-”

“What? Killing?! This is a FIGHTING game Papyrus, we’re supposed to be JUST fighting, not killing!” His highness grumbled in frustration as the princess sent him flying into the abyss.

BOOSH!

“Is just a game Mr. Buns.”

“There are more important things in life than winning, child. Don’t-DON’T YOU PICK UP THAT HAMMER PAPYRUS! Did you not get in trouble for using such a thing in real life?!”

BOOSH!

Once again, Pikachu met his end to a frying pan.

The baby bones patted the king’s arm in an attempt to comfort the agitated monster. “Don’t be mad Fluffy, you do bedder next time!”

“What? I’m not angry! I’m not angry and that’s not the point!”

“You are. You’s mad cause’ the pencess be kicking you in your asshole.”

“She’s not-she’s not beating me, I’m letting her win because she’s a woman. It’s not good to hit women Papyrus, that’s not how a gentleman behaves!”

“Liar. She kick yo’ ass and now you’s mad.”

“I’m NOT angry. There’s nothing to be ANGRY about! This isn’t even a real GAME child! I told you I didn’t know how to play, so I need training. This game doesn’t count, it’s merely a learning experience!”

“A learning ah-sperience?”

“Quite.”

“Hm…then perhaps during dis game you can learn to be less of a bitch.”

“…”

“…What?”

“I’m calling your father.”

“Nyeh? Why? What I do?”

“You’re using naughty words and doing naughty things.”

“Ohhh, you wanna cry to my Daddy cause’ you feel embarrassed and you wants time to get good.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You wanna send baby home so you can pactice.”

“Absolutely not!”

REEEEEEEEEE!

“Oh look, yo’ tea be done! Now you can go to da’ kitchen and peetend mah Daddy just called to check up on things!”

“PERHAPS HE WILL CALL!”

CA-THUM!

As Asgore stormed away, slamming the door behind him, Papyrus crawled over to the prince’s toy chest to scavenge for new crayons to take home with him.

It was unfortunate that Asgore and Asriel were so very much alike when it came to anything competitive, but that didn’t mean he and Papyrus couldn’t get along in general. He had had a good time talking to the king and even though he was mad, the infant wasn’t worried in the slightest. His Highness was upset, but he wouldn’t stay that way forever. Despite the fact that he was definitely going home, he knew he and the king would play again some other day and the baby was looking forward to it.

And as for Asgore himself, he decided allowing Papyrus to ingest a bit of soap wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

Merry Christmas everyone! Sorry for the wait, I had a computer error that erased ALL of my progress. Even if I did make the one month deadline, this still should have been done earlier, so I made it longer as compensation.

Also I finished another chapter of Fonttale 3, so there’s that too. I hope you all have a good holiday with your loved ones and remember to cherish them while they’re still around.

On another important note, I’ve no idea who drew this, but appreciate it’s existence. I tried looking it up through reverse image searching, but after it showed me a ton of results and I clicked on one, Norton freaked out and warned me that it had just blocked something...so if you want to know who drew this, reverse image search is NOT the way to go, otherwise you’ll risk your shit. Just thought I’d warn people who don’t have computer protection.

#Fonttale #Fonttale au #Undertale #Undertale au #Papyrus #Baby Papyrus #Gaster #Sans #kid sans #Asgore #a bit of deltarune

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panda-noosh · 7 years ago

Text

Capo Crimine {James x Reader}{1/2}

Words: 11k

Summary: James Griffin was one of the most wanted criminals in town. He hid himself well, vandalised and tormented the small town you lived in on a regular basis. But of course, it’s you that comes across him in a dark alleyway as you walk home one night.

Genre: mafia!au??? [lowkey not really lmao]

Warning: violence - implied smut

Notes: p2 - masterlist

---

“- mafia has once again left their mark on the people of Targaiy Falls! After the bar fight commenced, the group that is said to be led by a teenage boy by the name of James Griffin fled from the scene, leaving multiple victims behind them. The police are currently calling for witnesses to the crime, and are welcoming any and all information regarding the rising mafia group. More on this story-”

You hollowed out your cheeks, plucking your headphones out of your ears and stuffing them into your pockets. Anything to avoid hearing one more blasted thing about James Griffin – a boy your age who was currently doing the rounds of Targaiy Falls, tormenting people like he had nothing better to do with his time.

It was all you had heard about for weeks now; every time you clicked the news on your phone, a new article would appear describing yet another bar fight, yet another case of vandalism, yet another victim found lying in their own blood in the middle of an alleyway somewhere – you should have been worried. At the end of the day, you lived in Targaiy Falls. Walking alone at night made you an easy enough target for this so-called mafia punk, but you worried very little about the whole thing. From what you had heard about James Griffin, he was some scrawny boy your age who let others do his bidding. Just because he gave the orders didn't make him the one to be feared.

You continued walking, refusing to think too much about the man in question. School had been stressful enough for you, and all you wanted right now was to get home to your housemates, eat whatever meal Hunk had managed to scrounge up with what little you had in the fridge, and go to sleep. It was easier that way. The world could be blocked out for a little while longer, and you could refresh your brain from everything that had happened today.

But it seemed as if Lance had different intentions.

Living in a household with five other people could be seen as a difficult task. There was always something going on, always some disaster that needed to be straightened out, always somebody complaining about something.

Honestly, you could see your arrangements working perfectly fine if Lance and Keith didn't live with you – or at least, not together.

As soon as you opened the front door, you were immediately blasted by the usual wave of yelling coming from the hallway, Lance's shrill voice mixing in with the monotone voice of Keith Kogane as the two of them argued about something that, no doubt, wasn't worth your time.

“How can you even think like that?” Lance yelled. “Did you not read the news? Oh wait, of course you didn't! You didn't reach that level of education before you dropped out, did you?”

“Lance!” Pidge barked, startling you. She was sat on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees and her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She was hidden by the headrest, her tiny frame not yet peeking over the top of it. “Shut up, for crying out loud! I have a headache!”

“What are they arguing about now?” you asked.

Pidge swivelled around on the sofa, her head popping up over the top of it. “Oh, you're home! They're arguing about that stupid mafia stuff that's going on – Keith wanted to go out and get some bacon bits today, but Lance won't let him go.”

“Aw, is Lance being protective over Keith?” you cooed as Lance and Keith finally made an appearance. Keith rolled his eyes at you whilst Lance looked as if his head was about to explode. His tanned cheeks were stained crimson, and his fists were clenched at his side.

“Wait until you hear this,” said Lance, marching over to you. You raised a brow, glancing at Keith over the furious mans shoulder. Keith didn't seem too bothered by the situation, merely leaning against the back of the sofa to watch what Pidge was doing on her laptop, the argument long since forgotten for him.

You turned back to Lance. “Okay.”

“You heard the news earlier, didn't you? The thing about James Griffin.”

“I heard a bit about it. What's that got to do with Keith?”

Lance's eyes widened further, his jaw dropping open. He opened and closed it like a fish out of water, words clearly playing on the tip of his tongue but none being enough to expose the anger and confusion he was feeling.

“Keith wants to leave the house!” he suddenly shrilled, pointing a trembling finger in Keith's direction. “The suns going down enough as it is! James's little group will already be out there, roaming the streets, looking for their next victim-”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Pidge scoffed. “The bar fight happened further down the street, anyway. All Keith wants is some bacon bits.”

“Bacon bits!” Lance was losing his head now, his face as bright as a beacon. He shook his head, running his hands through his brown hair as if he couldn't quite believe what was going on – you could only watch him in amusement. It wasn't unlike Lance to get overwhelmed over something so small; he cared for you all, that much was clear in the way he reacted to things like this. He could pretend to hate Keith all he wanted, but he was making it obvious right now just how much he worried for the man.

“Calm down,” you said, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. “Where's Shiro and Hunk?”

“Shiro's upstairs plucking his eyebrows,” Keith replied. “And Hunk's on his computer.”

You nodded in response, swiftly pushing past Lance to get to the kitchen. You were slightly disappointed that Hunk had decided not to cook today, though you understood why whenever you opened the fridge and were greeted by the sore sight of empty shelves.

You frowned. “I think we might just have to risk a late night shopping trip.”

“Have none of you guys been listening to me?” Lance yelled, spinning on his heel and kicking the fridge door shut in your face. You glared up at him, but he was too frantic to meet your eyes. “It's like you all have a damn death wish!”

“I think you're just looking too deep into things, Lance,” said Pidge. “We're all gonna starve to death if we stay cooped up in here.”

“I'll order us a pizza then, huh? Will that satisfy your need or do you still wanna go out and get killed by some Al-Capone wannabe?”

You snickered. “Oh Lance – you do keep me entertained.”

Lance glared at you. His face was still bright red. You sighed and straightened up, placing your hand on his shoulder once again; Keith and Pidge had long since lost interest in the argument, both of them now sitting side-by-side, playing a game of Sims on Pidge's laptop.

“I promise you I'll be safe,” you assured him. “And if anything happens to me, and James ends up slitting my throat or something, all of my inheritance goes to you.”

“Sorry?” Keith scoffed. “I've already called the armoire in your room if you die.”

“No, that's going to Shiro, actually, since he likes the wood it's made out of,” Pidge corrected.

“Thanks guys.” You turned back to Lance, settling a small smile upon your face in your attempts to assure him of your safety. “I'll be back in ten minutes – I'm just going to the shop down the street. I promise I'll be back, and I'll be in one piece.”

Lance sighed, and you knew you had won. He didn't say anything as you gave him a warm hug, grabbed your coat from the coat rack and made your way towards the front door, swinging your house keys around on one finger. You wouldn't take Shiro's car – there was no point in wasting petrol to get to a destination that you could walk to in a matter of minutes.

“Don't forget the bacon bits!” Keith called over his shoulder, before quickly snapping his attention back to the screen whenever the Sim of Hunk set fire to one of the pots. “What is this game? Hunk would never-”

His voice was cut off by the door slamming closed behind you. You looked around in the darkness surrounding you, before you started walking up the path towards the corner shop.

---

You balanced the food you had just bought on one arm, fumbling with your cell phone in the other. The packet of bacon bits lodged beneath your arm pit, you grumbled to yourself as you tugged your phone out of your coat pocket, looking down at the caller ID flashing upon the screen.

“Shiro?” you inquired to yourself. You weren't even aware that Shiro knew how to use a cell phone, let alone call someone on it.

You sighed, stopping by a bench and dropping the food down upon it. A packet of Pocky fell from the gap behind it, but it was much too dark for you to see where it had landed. You frowned to yourself, clicked 'ACCEPT' on the call and tugged the phone to your ear.

“What do you want?” you asked.

Shiro scoffed. “Hello to you too. Where have you gone? Are you shopping?”

“Yep. I can't let you all starve now, can I?”

“You're our saviour,” Shiro grumbled. “I need you to pick me up some wine gums from the shop. I ran out the other day and I refuse to drive without them.”

You clenched your fist tightly, trying to fight back the slight bubble of anger that arose in your system; you had just left the damn shop, and your hands were full enough as it was. With your stubbornness, refusing to spend 10p on a plastic bag that would rip as soon as you got in the house, you were stuck with trying to balance an entire weeks worth of groceries in your arms.

“Can you not wait until tomorrow?” you asked. “Is Lance not worrying about where I am at this point?”

“Oh, him? He got over that little meltdown as soon as you left.” You could hear Hunk howling with laughter in the background, followed abruptly by Pidge yelling for him to be quiet. Keith then followed suit, inquiring over why his Sim was glitching in the wall. “Just get me wine gums. I'll pay you back, and I'll cook for you tomorrow.”

“You're older than me, you know. You should be concerned with me being out so late.”

“I was. But then I realised I'd ran out of Wine Gums and now I'm worrying about that. So hush, and get the job done. I've got to go and make sure Pidge doesn't strangle Hunk.”

You sighed. “Good luck with that.” You cut the call off, running a hand through your hair as you stuffed the phone back into your pocket and got to work gathering up your groceries.

Another ten minutes or so outside in the pitch black would do you no harm. Sure, it was beginning to get very late, and there were a lot more risks surrounding you now, but you were safe. You walked quick enough, and you hardly looked like much of a threat – if James Griffin did happen to be lurking around in the shadows, he probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash in your direction.

No. You would be absolutely fine. Lance's words mixed with the uproar on the news channels was just getting into your head, panicking you about something that wasn't worth panicking about. The odds of you running into anybody who wanted to hurt you was most unlikely.

That was when the gun shot went off.

Perhaps it was the disbelief, your own stubbornness that kept you rooted to the ground for a moment longer than you deemed necessary. It was one single gun shot, but it was unmistakeable, ringing out loud and clear over the estate.

You froze, hands half full with food and drink that suddenly felt a lot heavier than it was. Your heartbeat thundered in the darkness. You couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. You couldn't do anything except stare into the pitch black, hoping and praying that whoever had just fired the round wouldn't be able to see you if you just stayed still long enough.

“Go! Go! Quick!”

A group of shadows sprang around the corner of the alley way a few feet in front of you. You still didn't move, simply watched them as they came springing around the corner, not even looking in your direction before they took off up the road. You watched them go, jaw dropped open and hands trembling – who were they?

“Son of a bitch!” somebody yelled, the voice sounding pained. It had come from the alley way the shadows had just emerged from – you waited a moment until they disappeared for good, their howling voices going silent before you dropped the groceries you had once bundled in your arms and darted towards the entrance of the alley way.

“Hello?” you called out into the darkness. “Is someone here? Are you hurt?”

“Jesus Christ, of course I am!”

Your eyes popped open in shock – you had heard the gun shot, but for some reason, you never once stopped to fathom that somebody had actually been shot. But now you could hear the pained voice – clearly male – echoing out from the darkness, all but begging for help.

“I – I'm not – Do you want me to call an ambulance?” you stammered, already pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“No! No, don't you dare!”

You froze. “But you've been shot.”

“For the love of – Just put your torch on. Don't call an ambulance. I'm fine. I'm good. If you just turn your torch on, you'll see that.”

You fumbled with the torch on your phone, hands trembling too much for you to be able to do much at all. You felt like crying, the panic mixed in with the shock making emotions crawl up your throat, begging for an attention you didn't want to give them.

You flicked the torch on and the alleyway was immediately lit up. Beer cans lay scattered around the large council bins pressed up against the graffiti-stained walls, and there was the unmistakeable smell of marijuana which suddenly seemed to grow ten times stronger now that you could see the environment you were currently standing in.

But what caught your eye almost immediately was the teenager curled up in the corner, clutching a bloodied hand to his rib cage.

He couldn't have been much older than you. His grey eyes were already locked on your own when you looked down at him, his brown hair plastered to his forehead with the sweat coating his temples. It was freezing out, though, meaning he most definitely wasn't sweating due to heat.

You recognised him. Try as you might to deny such a thing, you had seen his face plastered everywhere these past few weeks – he was the troublemaker, the guy the news had been telling you to avoid for weeks on end.

“James Griffin,” you squeaked.

He groaned all of a sudden, arching his back. He squeezed his eyes closed, wriggling about on the concrete much more than you deemed safe. At his movements, the blood began to ooz quicker out of his side.

You were rushing towards him before you could think better of your decisions.

“Stop moving so much,” you hissed. “You'll – You'll do something, I don't know. I'm new to this!”

“Don't tell me what to do,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “I don't even know you.”

“Yeah, well, I'm the person who's about to rip a fucking bullet out of your side, so if you would just be quiet for a few seconds, that would be-”

“You don't remove the bullet!” he exclaimed, swatting your hands away. The movement must have caused him a great deal of pain, as he suddenly cried out and arched his back again. You looked into his face – his sharp features, illuminated with nothing more than the moonlight above him and your phones torch – to see that his grey eyes seemed almost cloudy.

If he passed out, what were you supposed to do? Leave him there? He didn't want you to call an ambulance, and now that you knew who he was, you knew why he wouldn't want authorities anywhere near him. But he was dying. Blood was pooling out between his fingers at a startling rate, and you were struggling to think of anything else to do.

Pidge and Hunk had their fair share of medical training – as did Keith, though Pidge and Hunk were the two you would trust most in a situation like this one. You thought about picking up the phone and calling them, remembered just who it was you were currently trying to save, and decided against it.

“Don't fall asleep,” you demanded, as if that would somehow help. “I need you to talk me through this. What do I do?”

James gritted his teeth a little more harshly, shifted so he was sitting uncomfortably against the wall. “I think – I don't think we're meant to touch the bullet yet. You need to apply pressure to the wound.”

You wrinkled your nose up. “But it's bleeding.”

James shook his head. Before you could react, he was taking his bloodied hands off of his wound, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you forward. You gasped, hands coming in contact with the skin he now had on show, having pulled his blue shirt up to reveal the gaping wound in his side.

You cringed at the feel of the warm blood pooling around your fingers. James sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and letting his eyes slide shut; you panicked.

“Don't close your eyes!” you hissed, nudging his leg. “It makes me think you've passed out.”

“Oh, don't worry,” he grumbled. “I won't leave you. That would be cruel of me. Who would walk a pretty girl like you home if I were to suddenly drop dead?”

“Stop that!” You closed your eyes, realising just how stupid this entire situation was. You needed to stop the bleeding. You needed to somehow find a way to remove the bullet from his side properly – Pidge would be able to do it. You were certain she had come home one day and told you all about the process of removing shrapnel from a person – how much different would it be to remove a bullet?

Until then, you just needed to try and dress the wound as best as you possibly could.

You removed your hands from James's side, grabbed his own hands and pressed them back against the wound. His eyes fluttered open only slightly, just enough so that he was looking at you through the bottom of his lids. You didn't give him any attention as you slid your jacket off of your shoulders and started ripping up the sleeve. Soon, you had multiple thick strips that you hastily began to wind around your patients middle.

He grunted, shifting to allow you better access. You tied the material off, picked up your phone and dialled Shiro's number.

“What are you doing?” James groaned. “I told you – no ambulance!”

“I'm not calling an ambulance,” you said. “Just sit there and try to . . . stop bleeding, I guess.”

James laughed breathily. “I'll try my damned hardest.”

Shiro eventually picked up. You could tell immediately that he had struggled to figure out how to accept the call, as you could hear Pidge in the background saying, “Ay, you did it!” as if he had just finished some massive race.

“Shiro,” you said. “I need you to get your ass in the car and drive down to the corner shop I was just at. It's an emergency.”

“An emergency? What happened? Are you okay?”

You nearly sighed with relief. You could already hear Shiro fumbling with the keys as he spoke to you. You could always trust Shiro to help you out, even if he didn't have much information to go off of.

“Yeah, I'm good. My – uh – friend here is not, though. I'll explain everything whenever you get here. Just please be quick.”

“I'm already out the door.”

With that, the older man hung up the phone and the alley way was seeped into silence once again.

You didn't wait long. Neither you nor James spoke much after the phone call was cut short, you kneeling by his side as he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing – you could hear that he was on the verge of passing out in the way his breathing was laboured, his throat closing up every few breaths and causing a skip in his inhalation. Every now and then he would suddenly lurch forward, letting out a cry that he always tried to muffle by biting down on his lip, though it was never any use. You still winced with the volume of it, still winced at just how painful it looked.

Shiro arrived a mere three minutes after the phone call ended. You saw him drive past the entrance of the alleyway towards the corner shop you had directed him to. You quickly excused yourself, rushed to the entrance and called Shiro over; he basically stumbled out of his car and sprinted over to you, holding a jacket out and placing it over your shoulders.

“What happened?” he asked.

You didn't reply. You simply span on your heel and guided him back towards James, who was idly looking at Shiro through the corner of his eye. He was fading. You could see it in the way he lazily grinned, an oddly attractive look for the leader of a mafia gang. You found yourself silently telling yourself off for thinking such a thing.

Shiro's eyes widened. “Is he shot?”

“Yes,” you panted, already grabbing one of James's arms. “Help me get him into the car. We need to get him back to the house so Pidge can see to him.”

Shiro span to look at you. “You're kidding. He needs an ambulance! Who is he anyway?”

“I can see someone hasn't been watching the news,” James croaked out, winding an arm around your shoulders and pushing himself up the wall with a heaving grunt.

“Y/N, what are you doing? Have you actually called 999 yet?”

“No, and I'm not going to,” you hissed. “Can you just grab his other arm and help me?”

Shiro shook his head once more in disbelief before he was sprinting to the other side of James and looping his arm around his shoulders. The older man continued to babble on and on about safety and health and infected wounds as the three of you stumbled to the car. James's head had long since drooped, lobbed against your shoulder as he struggled to stay awake.

You silently prayed to whoever was listening that you wouldn't have to watch a man die. At the same time, you silently cursed yourself for even trying. As soon as you had heard the gun shot, you should have span on your heel and darted in the other direction – then you could say you hadn't seen anything. Then you could say you weren't currently harbouring the most wanted man in town.

---

You closed the door to your bedroom as quietly as you possibly could, trapping a hectic Pidge inside.

As soon as she had laid eyes on the patient pressed between you and Shiro, she had lost her mind. Her laptop very nearly flew from her lap and crashed to the floor with the speed of which she had stood up, her eyes popping wide behind her glasses, her face draining of colour.

You had been forced to drop James's arm and scatter over to her, snatch her arm before she could even think of dialling the police. She had screamed, twisting and turning in your grip, but her small frame made it easy enough for you to lift her off of her feet and restrain her.

“I need your help! I need your help! He's going to die if you don't help us, Pidge!”

That was all it had taken for her to finally calm down and decide to help you out.

Now she was sat by James's bedside, having already plucked the bullet out of his wound. She had told you that the bullet hadn't gone through any serious ligaments or nerves, though the bleeding would take a while to stop and the bandages she had placed around his middle would need to be constantly changed – besides that, the bullet had been safely removed and James was currently resting in your room with Pidge by his side, double checking her own work.

You hollowed out your cheeks and pressed your back against the door, trying your hardest to catch your bearings. You were still in a state of adrenaline-fuelled disbelief, not quite understanding your own actions tonight. All you had done was go out to get food for your friends, but you had instead returned with an injured criminal.

“Is he going to be okay, do you think?”

Your eyes snapped open. Hunk stood in front of you, his hands nervously knotted in front of him.

“Have you been there the whole time?” you asked.

Hunk flushed, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I just got worried. That was a lot of blood on him.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled, looking down at your hands. You had washed them a large number of times, but there was still a red tint engraved in your skin. “It was.”

“Do you think Pidge did enough? Did you get to him in time?”

You sighed, stuffing your hands in the pocket of Shiro's jacket. “I hope so.”

“You hope so,” Hunk parroted. “Even though he's a wanted criminal.”

“I know he's a criminal,” you grumbled. “Doesn't mean I think he deserves to die. He's only going down for theft, you know.”

“And starting bar fights, and being in a mafia gang-”

“An alleged mafia gang,” you corrected. Hunk rolled his eyes, leaning against the hallway wall. “Look, as soon as he's up and healed, we can send him on his way and pretend we never saw him.”

“You're not even gonna tell the police that he was here?”

“What's the point in nursing the man back to health just to send him out to his doom again?”

Hunk looked at you then, a soft hue taking over his previously anxious expression. His eyes seemed softer, his eyebrows lowered over his lids and his lips forming a slight pout. “Y/N, he's a criminal. You can't forget that.”

You swallowed thickly, taking a small glance behind you at the closed door. You could hear Pidge chuntering away to herself, going over the checklist of everything she needed to make sure she had seen to in regards to the wound in the mans side.

You turned back to Hunk and nodded, pretending you were absolutely sure of yourself – you were, weren't you? You had to be, because at the end of the day, Hunk was right – James Griffin was a wanted criminal, and any association with him would be expected to be reported to the police as soon as possible. You were already taking a huge risk by allowing him into your home, nursing him back to health without letting the authorities know.

“I won't forget that,” you assured your housemate. “I promise. As soon as he's on his feet, he's out. No questions asked.”

Hunk nodded slowly, still regarding you with that guilty look. If he didn't believe you, he said nothing. Instead, the two of you stood in silence in the hallway, waiting for Pidge to finish up the job she had started in the first place.

---

It took four days for James to finally be able to stand on two legs.

You were the first one awake, as per usual. You had been forced to sleep on the sofa as of recently, meaning the crick in your neck was waking you up at the crack of dawn every morning, the pain too frustrating for you to drift back to sleep once you were awakened.

On this particular morning, you had busied yourself with starting breakfast early. You had a class at eight am, and you had nothing better to do with your time than organise something to eat for your friends once they all decided to drag themselves out of bed – Shiro had work at 7, meaning you had a good hour and a half to prepare him something to eat before he headed off.

You jumped at the sound of the kitchen door opening.

You span on your heel, immediately flushing at the sight of James Griffin leaning against the door frame. He looked slightly dishevelled, hair sticking up in a greasy mess a top of his head, his trousers hanging loosely from his bare hips – bare because he was currently shirtless.

His head was hanging down, gazing at his bare feet. You swallowed, tracing your eyes down his body. You hated to admit it, but it was obvious that he took great pride in his workout routine. Muscles protruded from his stomach, hidden only slightly by the stained bandage wrapped around his middle.

“Morning.”

His voice startled you back to reality. It was groggy, slightly detached. You inhaled sharply, turned back to look at the scrambled egg recipe you had open on the counter.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to seem cool. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn't stay in bed much longer,” he said. “I needed to get moving. What are you cooking? I'm starved.”

You raised a brow, turning to look at him over your shoulder. He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, pulled the salt pot over to him and idly started playing with the top of it. Salt scattered across the table top – he dipped his finger in it, licked it clean with barely a wince.

“Scrambled eggs and bacon,” you replied slowly. “Could you not waste our salt, please? We're all broke college kids – except Shiro, but he doesn't even like salt.”

A smile twitched at the corner of James's mouth. He didn't speak, but he followed your orders by placing the salt pot back in the centre of the table and leaning back in his chair. You nodded your thanks to him, turned back to the counter and continued your work.

For him, the silence couldn't have been all that awkward. Every time you looked over your shoulder at him, he was busy glancing around the kitchen with the utmost curiosity lighting up his features. He was tracing his large and scarred hands over the back of the chairs, dipping it beneath the table cloth to feel the wood of the table beneath it. He was leaning forward, reading the cringy signs hung up on the wall that Lance refused to take down because they reminded him of home.

The kitchen is the heart of the home!

Beware of the cook!

What's cooking, good looking?

But for you, the silence was excruciating.

You could hear him behind you, doing his own thing with little care in the world. You could hear his heavy breathing, hear his fingers tapping idly against the table top, and every single noise he made was a reminder that he was there. Him. James Griffin. Renowned criminal, a man you had promised yourself you would run away from if you ever caught a glimpse of him.

Instead, you had rushed towards him. And then you had healed him. And now you were sitting cooking him breakfast, despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to tell him to leave and never come back again.

“That Pidge girl was quite hostile with me,” he said suddenly. His voice startled you once again, and you cringed whenever the spoon slipped from your hand and landed with a clatter against the draining board.

“Right. That's just Pidge's personality, I think.”

“Does she take constructive criticism?” he scoffed. “She nearly ripped my arm out of my socket trying to roll me over a few days ago. For a small girl, she's got some strength in her.”

“Yeah, that's Pidge,” you grumbled. “The fact that you're a criminal might have something to do with her hostility, as well.”

James fell silent at that. You risked a glance at him. He was pursing his lips, not looking back at you but instead gazing up at the cupboards. His arms were folded high up on his chest, avoiding the bandages but still making him look stern and bothered by what you had just said.

You wouldn't apologise. Not whenever you had told the truth.

James inhaled deeply before speaking. “So you do know who I am.”

“Of course,” you said. “Your face has been all over the news.”

“So I've heard. You believe it all?”

You raised a brow. “Have I reason not to?”

“Well, I'm only asking because you helped me. If you believed the news, surely you would have left me for dead back in that alleyway – that's what most people seem to think I deserve.”

For some reason, the vulnerability of his words made your heart break a little bit. You knew he was just being manipulative; people like him were good at twisting your thoughts, making you feel bad for them even though they were the ones in the wrong. But still – you looked over at him and couldn't help but feel a little bit of sympathy.

He was your age. He had messed up a few times, and now the police were looking for him. Now the entire town saw him as this big bad presence, but he was sitting in front of you looking like he could barely hurt a fly, let alone start a -

You cut your thoughts off before they could get out of hand. What were you thinking? He was a criminal! A known, true criminal! The last thing you should be doing was sympathising with him!

“Yeah, well, I didn't,” you finally said. “Does your side still hurt?”

James regarded you with a look of amusement before he was shrugging and glancing down at his bare torso, examining the bandages. “It's stopped bleeding.”

“Does it hurt when you move?”

He did a small movement in the chair, rocking side to side. You were pleased to see that his expression barely shifted, though a slight twitch in his lower lip to indicate that he had felt anything at all.

“It seems to be healing up well,” he said, looking back at you with a grin on his face. “I have you to thank for that.”

You scoffed, scooping some eggs and bacon onto a plate and placing it in front of him. “You have Pidge to thank for that.

“I don't think she wants my thanks, to be honest. That's why I thanked you instead.”

You smiled shyly, leaning against the counter. “I'll take it.”

James nodded back at you before he looked towards the chair in front of him. You followed his gaze, feeling your stomach flip at the unspoken request. You didn't move, simply folded your arms over your chest and continued to casually lean against the counter, one foot propped up against the cupboards.

James sighed whenever you didn't move, him clearly thinking you hadn't gotten his silent message. “You can sit down, you know. I'm not gonna bite.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, but you were moving before you could balance out the reasons as to why you shouldn't. You sat down in front of him, watched him eat. He truly looked like he was at home, which was an oddly satisfying thing to see – you had helped nurse him back to health, had been determined to keep him alive all them days ago. Now, seeing him sitting in front of you as he enjoyed the food you had made him, it was an oddly pleasing sight to see.

Neither of you spoke much throughout breakfast – not until Shiro appeared, rubbing his bed head with one hand and fumbling with the buttons of his work shirt with the other.

He paused whenever he saw James and you sitting together. You flushed, just barely managed to flash him a smile and indicate towards the plate of breakfast you had set up for him. Shiro raised a brow behind James's back, but you were quick to wave his questions off with a chirpy, “Good morning!”

Shiro grumbled an incoherent response, grabbed the plate of breakfast you had made him before he was fleeing from the kitchen, leaving you and James alone once again – it seemed as if your friends were going to take a lot longer to get used to the criminal than you had.

---

Hanging clothes out to dry was a surprisingly good way to get your mind off of the mess your life currently was.

Pidge, Lance, Hunk and Keith had long since disappeared to their classes for the day, and Shiro had long since left for work, meaning you had the house entirely to yourself for a number of hours – well, that was what usually happened on a Tuesday. You would spend the day idly wandering around the house, watching television, perhaps catching up on a bit of studying from the class you had that morning.

But on this particular Tuesday, you wanted nothing more than to stay as far away from the house as possible. Last time you had poked your head in the door, James was fast asleep on the sofa with his hand resting against his forehead – you had snuck in, grabbed a pile of clothes from the washing machine and had busied yourself with hanging them out to dry, trying to forget the fact that there was a criminal taking a nap on your sofa.

He had surprised you with how human he was, you had to admit. Though you hated to think of him as anything more than a criminal, it was becoming more and more difficult to believe that he was so one-dimensional, that he truly was the monster the news kept trying to make him out to be. You had spoken to him on a number of occasions now, checking up on his wound and asking him about that dreadful night when the gunshot had rang out across the estate – he had stories to tell, reasons behind his actions that the news always failed to tell you about.

But again, you didn't want to let yourself slip down that path of thinking. At the end of the day, he was a criminal. He had hurt people, and that was all there was to it. You could not – would not – let yourself feel sympathy for somebody who could hurt others without a second thought, no matter what the other person had done to him.

There was a chill in the air today, but the estate was dry and there was at least a little bit of sunlight poking through the clouds. The clothes would take a little bit longer to dry than usual, but you found yourself feeling more grateful for such a thing than anything else – it meant you had an excuse to stay out a little longer. It meant you didn't have to-

“Do you not have a dryer?”

You yelped, spinning towards the door with one of Lance's soaked shirts pressed to your chest. James was standing in the doorway, rubbing at his bedhead with one hand. Luckily, he was now wearing a shirt, and he still looked half out of it from his nap.

You swallowed thickly, glaring at him. “Do you always have to sneak up on me like that?”

The corner of his lip quirked up in a frustrating smirk. “It's not my fault you're jumpy. What are you doing?”

“Putting the clothes out to dry,” you replied, turning back to the clothes line. You reached up, struggled to tug it down. In your fright, you had let go of it, meaning you would have to embarrass yourself for a few seconds as you tried to drag it back down again.

You heard James chuckle before he was reaching above your head and tugging the thin wire down to your height. You froze, biting down on your bottom lip. He shook the line again, signalling for you to take it.

You did so, nodding your thanks to him. He stepped back and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweats, watching you closely. You wanted him to turn away, to go back into the house and fall asleep again. You didn't like being the pinpoint of his gaze, not whenever you knew full well that your cheeks were aflame at the moment.

“You know,” he began suddenly, “whilst I've got you on your own, I was kind of thinking of some things I wanted to ask you. About – About that night.”

You winced. “Okay.”

“Did you see the boys running away from the alleyway?”

You shuddered at the memory, still ripe in your brain. As much as you tried to deny it, the sound of the gunshot still echoed in your brain, the sound of the boys telling each other to run still prominent along with it. Though you hadn't been injured, and though you hadn't seen the damage be inflicted, the sound of a gunshot was still fairly traumatising all on it's own.

“I didn't see their faces,” you shakily replied. “It was too dark to see much. I just heard the gunshot, and then they were yelling, and then these shadows just came sprinting out of the alleyway...”

“And your first thought was to go and check out what had happened?”

“I know,” you grumbled. “It's such a movie trope, isn't it? Instead of running away, I head right in the direction of the danger. It was just an urge, I guess. I wanted to see if anyone was hurt.”

James sighed. “But then you saw me...”

You paused, fingers clenching in the fabric of the shirt you were holding. “Yeah.”

“I bet you wanted to turn around and run away when you saw who it was.”

You turned to look at him then, one eyebrow raised. He had his head ducked down, was numbly kicking at some stones at his feet. He didn't look back at you, even though you knew full well that he could sense your gaze boring into him right now.

“No, actually,” you replied. “I didn't. I wanted to help you.”

He narrowed his eyes, still glaring at the floor. “That was stupid of you. I'm a wanted criminal.”

“So everyone likes to remind me,” you mumbled. “Doesn't mean I wanted to watch you bleed to death in front of me.”

He looked up at you through the tops of his eyelids. There was a whisper of a smirk on his lips, a slight hue to his previously pale complexion – the gunshot had forced most of the colour out of his skin, and he had once looked sickly as anything. Now, though, he was beginning to regain his tanned complexion, and his skin was now dotted with the evidence of being flustered.

“Well, I'll have you know that I'm grateful for the hospitality,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Even though Pidge nearly ripped my arm from it's socket, and nobody else dares to look in my direction.”

You winced. “Yeah . . . None of them really know how to handle the situation.”

“I can hardly blame them,” he chuckled. “It must have been quite a shock for them to-” He stopped talking. It wasn't gradually, wasn't a stutter – it was all of a sudden. He clamped his lips closed, head snapping to the side so fast that you very nearly winced at the thought of his bones cracking in his neck.

You didn't get a chance to ask him what was wrong before he was snatching the shirt out of your hands and tossing it to the floor. Your eyes widened when he shoved you back against the wall of the house, ducked his head down so his breath was mingling with your own. You wanted to gasp, opened your mouth to tell him to get off of you, but the feel of his fingers squeezing your forearms had you going silent, staring into his eyes in confusion.

He didn't once break eye contact. His lips were inches from your own. You could smell the sweat rolling off of him, could feel his body heat mingling with your own. Your heartbeat was erratic, uncontrollable. You were fairly certain he could hear it with how close he was to you.

But then you heard the voices, and it all clicked into place.

They were the same voices you had heard echoing out of the alleyway all them nights ago, the same voice that was once ordering his boys to run away from the scene of a man shot.

Your eyes widened. James gently shook his head, the movement barely visible if you weren't staring at him so intently. He was telling you to be quiet.

He pressed you a little bit harder into the wall. The two of you listened.

“I swear to you, there was a girl standing by the bench whenever we came sprinting out. She saw us, dude! She saw us!”

“If she was going to say anything, she would have done so by now, don't you think?”

“You're really gonna be that lenient with her? We've killed bitches for less than this!”

“We don't know who she is, and there's no point in wasting time trying to track her down. By all means, if you think it's that big of a deal, go ahead and find her on your own, but we have to concentrate on Griffin. I have a feeling he's still alive.”

“Well obviously. If somebody found his body, it would have been all over the damn news. The guy probably found help and fled the fucking country.”

“Maybe it was the girl who helped him!”

“Shut up about the damn girl!”

The voices slowly started to fade as the group of guys walked further away from your house. Your hands were trembling by the time they had finally disappeared all together, eyes wide with shock at what you had just heard.

James pulled away roughly, swinging his head around to look at the gate. You saw him take a step forward, immediately knew what he was planning to do. You lurched forward, grabbed his wrist and tugged him back before he could stampede after them.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, spinning around to glare at you. There was pure anger in his grey eyes, his lower lip trembling. Even his hand was trembling in your own, but whilst you were shaking from fear and shock, it was clear that his jitters came from anger.

“You're injured,” you said. “I'm not letting you go after them. You'll end up dead before you even have a chance to do anything to them.”

James gritted his teeth, looked up at the sky and inhaled deeply. “They saw you. They saw you. Do you have any idea how dangerous those guys are?”

You shot a glance down to the bullet wound hidden beneath his shirt. “I have a fair idea.”

James groaned and tugged his hand out of your own. “I should have known they were still lurking around this area. The bastards don't know when to leave well enough alone.”

“It doesn't matter,” you hissed. “There's no point in going after them until your wound has healed up fully and you can actually move without wincing.”

“They're gonna find us before then. You know that.”

You shuddered at the thought. “I – That might be the case, I don't know. I don't know how this all works, but what I do know-” You grabbed his wrist again and started tugging him towards the house. “-is that you need your rest, and you're not getting it by standing outside picking fights. Make yourself useful and cook dinner or something, but stay inside.”

James looked at you over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised as you shoved him back towards the door. “You know, people have gotten very hurt for speaking to me that way.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him one last time through the door. He stumbled over the frame, turned to look at you with his eyebrow still raised in question.

“I'm shaking in my god damn boots, James Griffin,” you said, before you slammed the door closed in his face and crumbled to your knees on the front door step.

----

As the days dragged on, you realised that there wasn't much you could do for James Griffin.

As far as you were concerned, you had done all you could do. The bullet had been removed and his wound was healing up well enough – over the past two weeks, his bandages had been stripped completely from his middle, leaving him with a nasty looking scab that he insisted on showing to everyone he could.

But it had been two weeks, and it was that fact that was beginning to irk your fellow housemates, Lance more than anybody else.

From day one, Lance had been terrified of the man and you couldn't find it in you to blame him; James was a criminal. Lance hadn't taken the time to sit down with him, to get to know who he was past what the news reported. Any time you made the offer to set the two up for a night of discussion, Lance would look at you as if you were insane before quickly telling you that he cherished his life on earth and would be doing no such thing.

Now, all six of you were sat in the living room watching TV. It was dark out, and Shiro had been kind enough to come home with a large pizza for you all to share – James had taken one look at you all gathering around the kitchen, gave you a warm smile before he was marching up to bed.

Those kind of actions broke your heart a little bit. Any time all of you were in the room together, he always felt as if he had to leave, as if he wasn't welcome. Nobody else noticed the way he would purse his lips, duck his head down and slowly stow off to your room, but you did. Even though it was James, you still felt bad.

“Should I leave some pizza for James?” you asked, slumping down on the sofa next to Keith. Your shoulder bashed with his, and Keith scowled before kicking your leg away lazily. You rolled your eyes, shoved his shoulder, and it was only then did you see Lance's horrified expression over his shoulder.

His eyes were wide, jaw open with half a slice of pizza drooping from his hand.

“What?” you asked.

“Are you insane?” he exclaimed, making Pidge jump with the volume of his voice.

“What's wrong with leaving him some food?” you argued. “He's gotta eat as well.”

“Oh, this is great. This is just great!” Lance shook his head, laughing without any sign of humour in his voice. “You've got a soft spot for him now, haven't you? It's been two weeks, Y/N, and he's still sleeping in your room.”

You flushed. “He offered to sleep on the sofa. It was me who told him to stay in there.”

“But two weeks!” Lance threw his hands up, a piece of pepperoni flying off of his slice of pizza and landing on the floor – Hunk scowled at the mess, but nobody had the nerve to speak up whenever Lance was having one of his meltdowns. “I've felt like a prisoner in my own home for two week! And you're sitting there getting all buddy-buddy with a criminal!”

“Lance, keep your voice down,” Shiro said. “Let's just watch the movie, and-”

“When are we all gonna finally admit that this is just dangerous?” Lance's tone had decreased now, almost making him sound tired, as if the fight had been drained out of him. He slumped against the sofa and ran a large hand over his face, sighing into his palm. “Sorry. Sorry. I've just been – Look, school's stressing me out and I'm just a little bit on edge. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

You nodded at him slowly before turning away – for some reason, you glanced over at the hallway, as if some part of you had been drawn to that area of the house. Though you were the first to see him standing there, it was Hunk who was the first to gasp.

“James!” he exclaimed.

Because James was there, leaning idly against the wall with his head ducked down in that fashion you had seen him do on so many occasions now.

He looked up only slightly, his eyes immediately finding yours though you hadn't spoken a word. You were shocked, a flash of guilt suddenly coming over you – he had heard everything Lance had said about him. He now knew that he was living in a house with people who were utterly terrified of him.

It couldn't have been a good feeling.

“James,” you said, voice quiet and lacking the shock you currently felt. “James, don't-”

James raised a hand to silence you, his lips pursed. “No. It's okay. He has a point.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You didn't get a chance to finish your curse before James was nodding at you, turning on his heel and heading back down the hall towards your room.

You weren't entirely sure why you chose to stand up and follow him, or what prompted you to think that this big bad guy would benefit from any comfort you could give him, but you were on your feet in a matter of seconds, plate of pizza in your hand, and following him.

“James!” you called out, ignoring Shiro calling your name behind you. “James, wait!”

You just barely managed to wedge your foot in the door before he could slam it closed.

“Y/N, please leave me alone,” he grumbled. “I need to pack up my shit.”

“No, you do not,” you grunted, shoving all of your weight against the door. Even with all of your weight pushed up against it, James still managed to hold the thing closed. “James Griffin, this is my room, in case you've forgotten. Open the door!”

That was enough incentive for him to scoff and step away from it. You stumbled into the room, kicked the door closed behind you, and turned to face him.

He looked truly and utterly worn out. Now more than ever, the bags under his eyes were illuminated and the dry skin on his lips had become more obvious than before. He rubbed lazily at his left eye before letting his hand drop, clapping against his thigh in a most impatient gesture.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

Now that you had been faced with talking, you didn't know what to say. All you knew was that you felt guilty, that you wanted to somehow untangle the words he had heard Lance saying and somehow make him understand that he was still welcome here – for some reason, he was still welcome.

Instead of talking, you thrust the plate of pizza in his direction. James frowned, looking down at it in confusion.

“I'm lactose intolerant,” he said.

“Ah.” Quickly, you tossed the paper plate onto the bed before folding your arms and glancing at him properly. His eyes met yours. He always had such an intense eye contact, one that made you feel like he was somehow reading every single thought in your head, taking every single memory of yours for his own.

“And so I'll ask again,” he said impatiently. “What do you want?”

“Lance is a bit over-dramatic,” you burst. It was the only thing you could think to say. “He gets worked up whenever there's a new environment presented to him, and that's why he was kind of losing his shit downstairs. It's nothing personal.”

“It sounded pretty damn personal to me.”

“Yeah, well, it would,” you said awkwardly. You looked down at the floor, hollowed out your cheeks. “You just don't know Lance well enough to understand his brain, you know? He's not – He didn't mean anything he said. Not truly.”

James scoffed and folded his arms over his chest in that way he did so often, that way that drove you absolutely insane. It always made his gaze seem that much more sinister, and you refused to look into his face right now whilst he was doing it. You were positive you would start stuttering if you even tried.

“You don't have to believe me if you don't want to,” you continued. “But I also don't think – I don't think you should leave. It's not safe for you to be out there with them boys still looking for you.”

“Why do you even care?” James asked. “I've done nothing around here – nothing beneficial. All I've done from the minute I got here was put you and your friends in danger, and yet you're still being nice to me, worrying about me. It doesn't make sense.”

“Pidge didn't take a bullet out of your side just for you to go back out and get killed some other way,” you said. “You're healthy, and now you need to keep that health.”

“Oh, give me a break.” He shook his head and turned to look out the window. It faced the field behind your house. There were some kids playing outside, and for some reason, the sight of James looking down at people who were having a proper childhood broke your heart. “I wasn't meant to be safe, Y/N. I'm one of the most wanted people in town at the minute. You can't keep me locked up in this house forever, can't keep me safe. As soon as I leave here – which I will – I'll be right back on the radar again.”

“The boys-”

“It's not about the boys!” he exclaimed, spinning back around to look at you with a ferocious glint in his eye. “This isn't about the boys, or any of them other groups who are looking for me right now! This is about me putting you in danger for just being here! I need to get out, get as far away from you as possible, because I can't risk them tracking me down. I can't lead them right to you.” You froze. Your mouth was open only slightly.

You. He was worried about you.

You swallowed the golf ball sized lump in your throat and slowly let your hands fall away from your chest. James watched the movement with those fogged up grey eyes of his, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip in anticipation for whatever move you were going to present to him next.

“I don't need you to worry about me,” you said.

James's eyes slowly closed. “You really don't understand the severity of what's going on, do you?”

“I don't want to understand.” You stepped forward, hesitantly reached out before thinking better of it and letting your hands drop back to your sides. “I don't want to understand the severity of it, James, because them boys don't scare me. They don't bother me. What bothers me is the thought of you going out there and getting yourself killed – you nearly got yourself killed three weeks ago whenever you were shot in that alleyway! It was only by chance that I was grocery shopping in the middle of the night and heard it all happen.”

“God, you're weird.”

“James, promise me,” you said, sterner this time. “Promise me you'll wait until it's safe before you go and track them boys down.”

James looked at you, bit down on his lower lip. His eyes were burning holes in your own, but you refused to look away. “What if they find me first? What if they find you first?”

“Then we'll have no choice but to do something about it,” you mumbled. “But right now, you're safe. I'm safe.”

You heard him inhale a shaky breath. “It won't last forever, you know.”

“I know,” you croaked. “But we can enjoy it while it lasts, can't we?”

He chuckled, his breath fanning your face. It was only the feel of his breath on your skin that made you realise just how close the two of you were standing – when had you moved so close to him? You barely remembered, too caught up in the moment to really register anything you were doing.

“Enjoy it,” he repeated. “What do you mean enjoy it?”

Your eyes snapped up. He wasn't looking at you. His head was bent, and he was glancing down at his hands which were fidgeting uncontrollably between the both of you. The scars on the back of his palm were weirdly distorted with the shadows cascading over the back of his hand. His middle finger looked slightly crooked, no doubt broken a large number of times at this point.

You weren't sure where the impulse arose from, but you reached out and grabbed his hand in your own. He smiled at the gesture, as if he had been expecting it to happen and was simply waiting patiently for you to make the first move.

“You're a pain in the ass, James Griffin. You know that, don't you?” you whispered.

James chuckled then, finally looked back at you. He didn't need to say anything in return, his smile giving you enough assurance that your words had gotten through to him. Nonetheless, he still said, “Only to you, Y/N L/N,” and then he placed his lips ever so softly on your own.

For somebody as dangerous as him, his advances were gentle. They were delicate, like a flower petal being brushed against your mouth. You could feel the cracked lips over your own, but it was perfect all in it's own sense.

The two of you held hands as you kissed. You ignored the world. You let the moment overtake you, felt him shiver as he stepped closer to you. You weren't sure how many girls he had kissed in the past, how often he could let himself become vulnerable for others, but you didn't care in that moment. All you wanted was to savour him, let him know that he was welcome here, that you wanted him here.

You pulled away first. He chased your lips with his own before drawing back, looking slightly shocked that you hadn't continued kissing him for longer. You watched as he traced his tongue over his swollen lower lip, as if he could still taste you somehow.

You shuddered, gripped his hand a little tighter.

He leaned forward and clunked his forehead against your own. “It's been a while since I've – I've kissed someone. I'm sorry if that wasn't up to-”

You didn't let him finish, couldn't let him finish. You were not about to have this moment ruined by an apology.

The only way you could think to shut him up was by pressing your lips to his own, and whilst his kiss had been soft and gentle, testing the waters, you dived in head first. Your mouth slammed against his so hard that he stumbled back, his eyes widening as his hands caught your waist, dragging you back with him.

His back crashed against the wall and he grunted at the contact, but neither of you pulled away. His fingers dug harshly into your hip bones, dragging you impossibly closer to him. You could feel every inch of him, the harsh ridges in his stomach that were pressed against your own, his knee pressed between your legs, his body pressed against you.

It was too much. It was dizzying, electrifying, sending sparks up your body that you had only ever heard about in movies. But now it was happening to you, making you blind, making you lose control.

And then you had both shifted. James was stumbling forward, refusing to detach his lips from yours as he led you towards the unmade bed. Your knees hit against the side of it, and you fell into the sheets with a giggle.

James groaned at the noise, as if it had somehow brought him some sense of pleasure to hear it slip from your mouth. He pulled away and made his way down your neck; you could feel the warmth of his tongue trailing down the flesh, making you moan and arch into him. His hand slid from the back of your neck, down the valley of your breasts before coming in contact with your hip bone; he pushed your hips back onto the mattress, making you whimper from the lack of contact.

“Someone's eager,” said James, looking up at you through the tips of his eyelids.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed his jaw and brought him towards you for a proper kiss. He chuckled at your desperation, kissing you back with just as much vigour as you had shown him. As the two of you continued to kiss, you reached down and gently tugged at the hem of his shirt, requesting permission to pull the cloth from his body.

He pulled away from you then, still straddling you, still looking down at you with those clouded eyes. His brown hair was hanging limply in his face, and you didn't stop yourself from pushing it out of his eyes this time.

“The bullet wound...,” he said tensely.

That was all he had to say for you to understand where his anxieties were coming from. You tilted your head a little to the side, looking up at him with a small pout pressed upon your features. He bit down on his lip at the expression, gripping your hips a little tighter in his attempts to keep his control.

You slowly sat up, winding your hands in the hem of his shirt once again. “I want you, James Griffin. All of you. Scars and all.”

He stared at you for a moment longer before he shook his head in what looked like a mild state of disbelief. “Where have you been all this time?”

You grinned. “Grocery shopping in the middle of the night. How about you?”

“Getting shot in alleyways,” he replied, before he was stripping his shirt off of his back to reveal the wound that started it all.

You leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to the skin around it. James groaned, slumped forward so his chest was pushing you back against the bed, and then his hands were roaming your body again, his lips peppering every inch of you.

You knew it was insane. It was absolutely insane, and Lance would have a fit if he ever heard about it, but you didn't care. What you had said was truth; you wanted James Griffin. Scars and all.

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iwannafuckyexiu · 6 years ago

Text

A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO DEATH 002

TIGHT P.E. UNIFORMS AND AIZAWA'S KINKY BANDAGE SCARF to think about it, this whole anime can become a hentai if you have great imagination.

Click.

A boy stands beside the door, blazer slung over his shoulder, the top button of his uniform wide open and crimson tie hanging loosely around the collar. The first thing that most notices about him was his long and narrow but charming eyes then the ruffian temperament he has.

Overall, people conclude that he has nice looks to woo some girls but he seems too much like a rascal down the back alleys instead of a hero in the making.

And yes, it is Y/N.

"Woah, this class is full of beauties," he comments and flashes a slovenly grin to them as he leaned on the wall just beside him like he has no fucking bones.

"Who do you think is the prettiest then?" a familiar mustard head boy retorts with a very difficult question for anyone that has seen too much high score faces.

To that, Y/N just laughs: "Of course it's—"

"YOU!"

"I remember you asshole from the exam, you fucking stole one of my kills!" a pissed off voice calls, and oh boy Y/N thought it was familiar enough, as he did get kicked by him in the middle of his sleep when they first met.

"Language, Bakugou-san! We should be civilised and educated h—" this guy with glasses makes an attempt to lecture 'Bakugou-san' but gets cut off by that unkempt boy by the door.

Y/N walks over to Bakugou's table and plants his hands on his desk, veering down to grin at him, "Oooh, well isn't that Tsundere-kun who's oh-so passionate to me?" Tipping his chin up with two fingers, Y/N shifts his lips towards Bakugou's ear — to the point where the latter can sense Y/N's mellow breath against his left ear, "Why, missin' me?"

The close proximity and resonant voice of his finds Bakugou with a flaming face that stays even after Y/N backs away. "S-SHUT UP DIPSHIT! AND FOUR EYES I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A CIVILISED PERSON!"

"Okay, okay," Y/N puts his hands in the air and saunters away from the scorching piece of wheat, but his tone still as amused as ever, "I'll see you later boy."

"Hey Y/N!"

Rotating his head, Y/N recognises the mustard hair boy in one glance. His eyes arch as a lively leer contorts his features, "Ah, if it isn't blushy boy Denki here."

"Likewise, s-scoundrel."

"Awh I thought I'd at least be a charmer or something."

"Nah man, your whole body just shrieks: 'I like flirting with anyone that looks decent' and that's exactly true to you."

"But you're not decent — you're," Y/N pauses for a while, "pretty good." Not only pretty good. His yellow hair and semi-long fringe frame his face and jowl to perfection, those phoenix eyes of his when they curve into crescents as he smiles adds to the glamour. And not to mention his well-kept figure. All that makes him overall attractive to almost anyone — absolute hot punk boy there.

But all that description is just in Y/N's mind and he just can't really piece all his words together properly in one go.

"Pfft," Denki snickers at Y/N's lack of vocabulary and questions with a cocked brow, "did you run out of words from your dictionary or something?"

"Yep, I'm too illiterate for this shit," Y/N admits with a generous grin, splaying his hands out. But he continues shamelessly: "But at least I have a good personality."

Denki comically sweatdrops, "Good personality, sure."

"Uhm ... is this—is this c-class 1a?" the colossal door gapes open once again and a tiny broccoli head kid walks in, hands fumbling at the hem of his blazer and head poking out to check around.

Skin limpid as jade, cheeks still plump with some baby fat, peach lips a coral hue and teeth ivory white. He has an endearing face that makes all girls want to be his mother and freckles to add to it, but those lofty glaucous eyes and that innocent, chaste but anxious smile are the main highlights here.

"No, this is class 1c for crackheads," Denki says which makes a few other students including Y/N to choke on their giggles.

"Hi! I'm Uraraka Ochaco, remember me? Thanks for helping me in the exams!" a girl with mousy hair scurries over to broccoli kid, and she holds both his hands in her palms to show her gratitude and sincerity — which broccoli kid in reaction goes into a tint of crimson at.

"Oh shit, that guy gettin' some pussy there."

"Ahahah ..." broccoli kid laughs, quite strained as he turns to the speaker of that comment. Taking a brief glance at Y/N, broccoli kid's eyes enkindle once he remembers who he is and he exclaims, "Oh! I saw you uh—uh use your quirk to help a lot of people and you looked awesome running around!"

"A-And when you launched off from the wall to the kick the robot!"

"It was epic!" he concludes, doe eye glistening like the stars in a dark night as he gazes at Y/N with elation.

"He only got the kill because I was fighting it first!" Bakugou tries to interrupt but his signal's just too faint for Y/N to give a fuck at the moment, so this boy gets brushed aside.

"Thanks, freckles! I'm L/N Y/N but you can call me," he halts for a dramatic pause before resuming, "tonight." Y/N ends it with a classic wink which leaves freckles' poor heart in havoc for the second time of the day.

"A-Ah I'm Midoriya Izuku!" broccoli boy juts his hand out enthusiastically, so enthusiastic that his dainty fingers are trembling slightly.

Stepping forth, Y/N takes his hand and squeezes it as he cleaves onto it, "I'll take note of that~" After he lets go (which Izuku is so glad of because he feels like he's going to pass out from high blood pressure very soon if Y/N doesn't stop the pinching at his hand), he says to Izuku, "Anyways, I'm gonna go take a seat at the back there, see you later!" Once again, he leaves another victim of vigorous teasing and flirting shaken in his original spot for quite some while with his heart battering way too fast for his lungs to keep up.

Y/N ensconces himself at the back, in the seat just beside a boy Melanie Martinez hair that can without a doubt be the most beguiling person in the room. But the boy just seems like he doesn't want to socialise with anyone in the class, perching by his seat all on his own, completely silent.

So Y/N decides to speak to him, beginning by tilting over towards his desk, "Heyyyyyy." A pregnant silence fills in the gap between the pause before Y/N speaks again, "Aren't you gonna say something?"

"Say what?" half and half boy unexpectedly glances over to Y/N, chiselled features void of any sentiment at all, gelid and impassive.

Y/N: "Hol-y shit."

The boy's voice isn't exactly low and deep but it has soft and refined texture to it, serene tone adding an eccentric touch to it. And when Y/N sees his face — skin ashen as snow with the exception of the red patch to his left eye, knife-shaped brows and heterochromatic irises protruding his pretty features.

Half and half boy: "???"

"I'm just surprised of your front face and voice," clarifies Y/N, seeing his creased forehead and the modest curve of frown on his pale lips.

"Oh."

"So—"

Y/N switches his focus to the big yellow pile at the door, "Wait is that a big dick in a condom?"

The classroom gradually hushes down as they all stare at the condom-looking thing, all at a loss of words as the condom writhes into the room like a caterpillar.

"That took eight seconds for you all to quiet down," an exhausted voice comes from the yellow condom. And a man's face shows itself from the zipper, slowly getting out while he continues to speak, "Hello, my name is Aizawa Shouta and I'm your homeroom teacher for this year and probably the next and the year after."

He heaves a deep sigh: "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Doesn't look like it."

Not taking any attention to the remark, Aizawa just remains in his own world. He fishes out a pile of sapphire clothes and says to the class, "Okay that's that, now change into these P.E. uniforms, we're going outside."

"Where are the changing rooms, Aizawa-sensei?" four eyes questions the already tired teacher, glasses glinting in the artificial light.

"Look at the sig—ugh nevermind, I'll just tell you."

"Go out, turn right, turn right, turn left, then turn right."

"Thank you, sensei!" Four eyes bows literally ninety-degrees to Aizawa, to which the latter just hums tiresomely.

"Are we gonna like do track and field with our quirks or something? Because I can't think of anything else we can do on the field and train for being a pro hero."

"Probably, I'm fine with either since my quirk literally is designed for dodging and running away."

"Hah, fuckin' pussy."

"Is that a new pet name?" before Bakugou even retaliates something back, Y/N swivels to face him whilst he walks backwards. An impish smirk brimming his lips, he says, "because if so, I'll gladly accept it."

"Looks like our friendship has increased ey?" As he approaches Bakugou, Y/N skips forth and hitches an arm around his shoulder.

"Who's your fucking friend?" Bakugou smacks Y/N's arm away, a contemptuous look sweeping over his face, "you're just an extra."

"I don't mind as long as I get to see all these pretty boys and girls."

"Sicko."

In the chaotic changing room.

"Turn over, you fucking weirdo!" Bakugou glowers menacingly at the pair of eyes just staring at his figure, clutching onto a plastic bottle, ready to just fling it at Y/N directly in the head.

"Okay, okay," Y/N chuckles as he pivots around towards the vast sink.

"But L/N-san's still staring from the mirror ..." Izuku, the only person who's honest and morally righteous, mumbles before getting shushed by Y/N.

"Shh."

It is absolute heaven in the changing rooms to Y/N, good ass bodies everywhere. Especially Bakugou, Denki, and Izuku's — the well-built type, slightly fit type and the holy-shit-he-fucking-has-eight-packs-like-bakugou-only-has-six type. Although Y/N wished to see half and half's body, but that clearly didn't happen as the guy probably dislikes being open with other people and changed in a stall.

"L/N-san? L/N-san?" Izuku goes over to Y/N, seeing that he's just gazing over at Katsuki and Denki as they change into their sports uniforms. Receiving no responses from the boy, Izuku proceeds to hold his shoulders and swing him back and forth. "L/NL/NL/NL/NL/NL/N!!"

"A-Ah, stop shaking! I'm back!" Y/N opens his eyes wide, hastily halting the broccoli from continuing to shake him to avoid a tragedy that ends with him getting a concussion. After Y/N wears off the feeling to puke, he finally says, "Yeah what is it, Izuku?"

"What were you blanking out at, L/N-san?" curious baby, Izuku, queries with his pristine, glistering emerald eyes.

To such a cuteass Izuku, Y/N only responds with: "Well, my brother — that's ..."

Izuku: "...?"

"Nothing."

"You'll know once you get into the world of zeroes and ones."

Izuku: "?????"

Izuku can't do it anymore and just says, "Okay ... but L/N-san, aren't you going to change?"

"Oh right, thanks for reminding!"

Y/N unbuttons his white uniforms and slips it off swiftly, revealing a whole patch of hirsute skin. As he gets out of his pants, he steps into the P.E. uniform and skids it up his body in his own leisure pace.

The three victims of his can't help but stare at his slender figure, lips agape to a slight extent. Obtrusive collarbones and unmarred complexion are uncloaked for a brief moment, rather bewitching and ravishing to them. His draped eyes entranced into unbuttoning his shirt, lashes flickering slowly as his slim fingers flick open the clasps.

It isn't until Y/N walks out of the changing that the three crack out of their daze. Let's just conclude this with: they try their best to convince themselves that they're straight with the: 'I am straight as a flat surface' persuasion.

"These P.E. uniforms look cool as fuck on us!" this rock-n'-roll-looking boy blurts out, enlivened, his fists toss into the air, making him look like a complete teenager who's too outgoing and lively.

"Yep, I agree. I mean look at it sticking tightly onto their bodies, I'm—oh shit." Y/N feels a surge of heat flow through his nose and before he knows it, a habitual scent floods his senses.

"Your nose is bleeding!"

"Oh it's fine, I get it a lot," Y/N responds, his voice distorted by his fingers pinching at his nose to halt the bleed, expression composed enough to see that he's gone through the same process quite a number of times.

、、、

"Alright we're gonna do a Quirk Apprehension Test, so listen carefully," Aizawa says and proceeds to explain what they're going to do today and 'threatening' the students with: "Our school is pretty chill about freedom on campus and that also applies to teachers too, so guess what you little bitches? I get to use any teaching method I want." Cue the crooked smile that just gets intensifies thousand times with his pale complexion and dry eyes.

"Bakugou," Aizawa makes his call of death (to the others anyways), "how far could you pitch a softball in junior high?"

"Sixty-seven meters."

Hurling a ball at Bakugou (which he does catch), Aizawa orders, "Now, use your quirk this time and you can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle."

His hand gripping onto the ball so clinched, Bakugou paces forth into the circle. He takes his ready position, arm swaying back and legs proding into the ground. And he swings his arm forward to fling the ball out of his hand!

"DIE!!"

He thrusts the softball further by generating explosions, and the ball charges across the air at an impressive speed, tendrils of amber flames trailing behind.

"I bet he has mommy issues," Y/N whispers into half-half boy's ear, gaining him the look of daggers from Bakugou (don't ask me how he hears it) and a blank stare from half-half boy.

Aizawa lets Bakugou go back and unveils his score to the class — a whopping 702.5 meters distance. The whole class's jaws disjoint at the unbelievable mark, facial expressions just overwhelmed with revelation.

"Hold on we have to use our quirks for these tests?" Y/N looks around at everyone, they're all either gushing with self-confidence or abasing themselves. Only the nicest of them all, half-half boy gives him a nod.

"Fuck, man."

Embarking with the first activity, fifty meter dash, everyone has been doing a lot better than Y/N thought (which may just be him being an arrogant little shit) and that frets him. With four eyes' score of 3.04, ribbit-ribbit 5.58, and kinky-tail guy's 5.49, Y/N can sense peril in his own self-reliance.

Then it is Katsuki (after shamelessly annoying him, he finally got his first name) and Izuku's race. Both their veins are bulging out from their arms and necks, thigh muscles clenching taut.

"Oh, the cauliflower and broccoli are going against each other," Y/N remarks as he squats down by the side of the track in an amusement, speaking to probably the souls in the grass, "my favourite cp, bro."

"Cp?" Denki cocks his head.

"Couple, of course."

"OOOoooO," jeering with laughter, Denki takes in Y/N's 'you know what i mean good bud' smile with one of his own.

By the time the two immature teens set the seal on their conversation, Aizawa's already displaying the results of the dash for Katsuki and Izuku. And it is Y/N's turn.

He turns to take a brief look at who his opponent is and fuck. If he doesn't take a look maybe he can just act okay and chill, but he takes a look and holy shit.

"I'm up against you, my brother."

Half-half boy just hums as an answer which gets Y/N stunned in place until the a shrilling squeal from the whistle makes him realise that he's still in a race. Half-half boy's already skating on his ice when Y/N begins sprinting with his quirk, "Wait up, wait for me!"

Spoiler: half-half boy didn't wait for him (naturally but just gonna tell y'all). The whole way, Y/N concentrates his eyes at his feet for some reason, not paying any attention to his opponent and surroundings. Making it to the end, Y/N jogs over the finish line for a little bit before just lounging himself over the grass at the side, chest rising up and down as he regains his steady breath.

"Hah ... hah ..."

"What did I," deep breath, "get?"

"3.41 seconds, L/N-san," Izuku skips over towards the patch of grass Y/N is killing by laying on with an ardent beam and bottle of water, "that was great!"

"Thanks~" Y/N seizes over the bottle of water (he ignores Izuku's protest at him drinking from his bottle), stifling a snigger at the All Might sticker on it giving a thumbs up. He sits up properly with two legs in front of him and knees bent then gulps down a fuck ton of H2O, instantly drinking away half the water inside the bottle, "But what's next?"

Izuku blanks out when he realises that it's an indirect kiss since Y/N drank from his bottle lip-to-tip, not hearing Y/N's question.

Y/N repeats, this time louder: "Izuku, Izuku?"

That gets Izuku out of his thoughts, and he flusters up once he realises what he was thinking of but he still replies to you, "G-Grip Strength test."

"Let me die! Don't hold me back!" Y/N pretends to ram his head into the dirt as he kneels on the ground, arm swinging at the back randomly. He persists to do that for some time until pure broccoli calls him.

"Uh ... Y/N? We're going indoors."

"O-Oh, coming!"

Grip strength, Y/N's quirk and arms say no to that. And that's exactly what his score says too, sixty eight. And to that, Y/N only shrugs and comments, "Well, that isn't very optimistic." But that chill attitude shatters to fragments in seconds when he exclaims, "Even Tsundere-kun got such a high score!"

Katsuki who's just minding his own business by the sidelines with his always-looking-pissed face hears and whoosh! The fire has been lit. "Hey, what do you fucking mean?!"

"The literal meaning, of course," Y/N slims his eyes into a sly grin at Katsuki and diverts his attention to Denki whose score is just being showed, "Naisu, Denki!"

"Thanks!"

Strolling over to sulking broccoli, Y/N pats his shoulder and consoles him a bit, "It's alright Izuku my son, I'm sure you'll probably do great with the next activity. And even if you don't, the next next activity, next next next activity, you'll do good in at least one of them!"

"I can see your potential!"

"Mostly because you look like a typical anime protagonist but yeah I'm not gonna tell you that," Y/N mutters rapidly, too fast to the point that Izuku didn't get it.

Izuku, once again: "?????"

The next activity is the standing jump test, where it's basically like long jump but they just call it standing jump? Anyways, Y/N takes an advantage on it due to his quirk but beyond the mountain is another mountain and four eyes got the highest score.

The final test is the pitch-a-ball. He observes the girl before him, Uraraka, draw her arm back and hurl the softball out like anyone would do, but the ball never came back??? In the end, she got infinity — Y/N is just purely dumbstruck at the fact that it's a thing to panic about his turn.

And when it is his turn, he just breathes one big ass breath in and sends the softball propelling through the sky. Then it falls after one second.

L/N Y/N 71 meters

Y/N makes an attempt to defend himself, "That's purely my arm strength, I swear."

"Sure, pussy," Katsuki gives him a white eye.

"It won't be good for Midoriya if he keeps doing this," Iida (Y/N finally got corrected by Iida when he said: "Woah, four eyes' gettin' all that scores.") remarks at the sidelines, hands behind his back, making him look unfathomable and profound.

"Of course not, he's a quirkless weakling after all," condemning Izuku with every chance he can, Katsuki laughs icily to the point where he can compare to half-half boy's quirk.

"Quirkless?" Iida frowns and faces Katsuki, "It doesn't seem so from what I saw he did during the practical exam."

"What?!" The fire has been flared up again.

"Aha, you sound like Izuku cheated on you or something."

"Forty-six ...?" a quivering voice sidetracks Y/N's focus, only to see Izuku with his green pupils dilated and face empty of his usual naive smile.

"I stopped you from using your quirk," Aizawa speaks, directing Izuku to stare at him.

"But ... why?"

And then Y/N can't eavesdrop on them anymore due to Aizawa hauling Izuku towards him with his kinky ass bandage scarf that just looks like tendrils in tentacle hentai — Y/N swears he's seen the same product on AliExpress once under the sex toys category. But anyways, when Izuku finally walks back and does his throw, it is magnificent.

The moment Izuku slowly lets go of the ball, his fingertip transforms and the ball gets propelled into the air, cutting through like a keen knife! His score shows up at an impressive 705.3 meters, although his finger did break from overloading too much force into the tip, Izuku's brows finally untangle and he cracks into a grin.

But Katsuki just has to ruin the moment with his shriek, "What's this Deku?!" Sounding like a housewife that just saw her husband cheat, his eyes mantle with red veins, he continues screaming into poor Izuku's face, "I thought you were quirkless?!" Katsuki hoists a fist up to cast explosions at Izuku but a familiar roll of kinky bandage tows him away from the waist.

"Stop making me use my quirk, I have dry eyes now! Fuck!" Aizawa finally snaps, it's probably the class's idiotic-ness that pushed him to the point of swearing in school.

"Sensei, I think you should use some eye drops or something like dang your eyes are literally popping with veins," Y/N attempts to give helpful™ advice, "you can try Thera Te—"

"Shut up."

Y/N: "Alright, alright."

"Is your finger okay, Midoriya-kun?" Uraraka strides towards the beaming broccoli, questioning him with concern present on her face. Y/N blows a whistle at that — to which both teens take no mind to.

"Ah, y-yeah!" Izu·virgin and haven't talked to girls much·ku stammers over his words when Uraraka suddenly slaps his shoulder for his good job. Beads of sweat literally stream down the side of his face by the time Uraraka turns away to speak to pink avatar and invisible girl.

"Y-Y/N," Izuku rolls his name on his tongue, walking over to tug at the boy's shoulder, Th-Thank you for believing in me!"

"No problem, man!" Y/N springs up and thwacks his arm onto Izuku's shoulder, putting all his weight onto the tiny boy.

、、、

"Well I got third to last, that's something to at least cheer for since I'm not last hah!" Y/N stands with his arm akimbo, guffawing out loud for some reason before quickly adding, "oh sorry Izuku, not saying you didn't do great because you did good as fuck in the pitch test! I'm sure you're not getting expelled."

"That asshole of a teacher is probably just telling us that to make us do our best," cambering his chin at Aizawa's direction, speaking in a low voice to Izuku.

"Right, I lied about the expulsion thing."

Fucking silence.

Everyone's just fucking stupefied and maybe a bit pissed at Aizawa.

To everyone's blankness, big tiddy rock-n-roll hair girl just says, "Of course it was a lie, you'd get it if you really used your brain for a little."

"N-Nani."

"I feel betrayed."

"You haven't even known him for more than six hours, so what do you mean betrayed!"

TO NOTE skskskksks i am gonna start updating a bit slowly, so yep that's that

NOT PROPERLY PROOFREAD BECAUSE IT'S TOO LONG

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