#the mice in the walls keep me awake a lot so i hope this is coherent its been a stressful time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pluto-art · 4 years ago

Text

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

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

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Rollerskates

For the Harringrove April prompt month! What if someone else encountered the mindflayer...I don’t know what this is, have some silly horror I guess

Hawkins was the worst. Billy knew this--he’d known from the time they drove through the two-street town, he’d guessed when his dad praised the damn place and its down home American values--but he’d never guessed some sludgemonster would try to drag him into the ironworks, and he’d definitely never guessed whatever the fuck it was, it would send spies.

He glowered over from his lifeguard station at the row of rats outside the chainlink fence of the pool. They were brave, knowing, somehow, that he couldn’t take his eyes off the pool for more than a few seconds to hose them down. Billy glared back at them every few seconds--these huge rats, lined up like bowling pins, staring. He’d started carrying a notebook to jot things down, not because he thought a goddamned soul would believe him, but to check that at least if he was hallucinating, it was consistent.

A kid hollered, splashing, and he yanked his gaze back to the pool.

Sometimes they switched, he was fairly sure, watching them with binoculars. There was a light grey one that hadn’t been there before, and a really fat one he was sure he’d have remembered. He counted them, and made a note. They were spying on him in shifts, because it was goddamn Hawkins, and the rats--and the steelworks, apparently--were possessed.

He was vaguely tempted to go back, or ask around town if the old factory was haunted, but every time he thought about it, he broke out in a cold sweat.

Every time he left the pool--every time he went anywhere--he could hear the soft squeaks of the mice, and the dragging sound of their piper. She looked younger than Max, with overalls and rattling dark braids, but she swooped around on her rollerskates, playing her recorder, and the rats obeyed her.

Billy’d tried chasing her, once, but he could hardly catch up to rollerskates, and she skated backwards away, staring him in the eye. He chased her two blocks, then rolled after her in his car, as she looped through driveways and through garages, an endless maze of shortcuts where he couldn’t follow, and he finally realized she was leading him back to the Steelworks. He spun the wheel, leaving skid marks on the road as he sped back home, and laid awake, with his pillow over his head, listening to the rats in the walls.

After a week of the dragging sound of rollerskates in the street outside at night, the sounds of the off-key recorder warbling over the fence at the pool, and the gnawing rats in the walls, he tried cornering Max. She just squinted at him, blinking slowly with huge dark circles under her eyes, and suggested blearily that he stop leaving food in his room.

“They’re not normal rats,” he hissed at her, and she stopped, glared at him, and then shook her head and walked off.

It wasn’t just Billy, either. The front page of the Sunday paper--read in Neil Hargrove’s voice, because he wasn’t letting anybody else read it, even though he was taking forever settling himself--was about a guy running around Main Street with a shotgun, screaming about rats and rollerskates. He’d finally tried to shoot the cops trying to get him to drop the gun, and been hit by a car, and when it revealed he was already under investigation for burning crosses in a local family’s yard, even Neil hissed. His autopsy revealed his toes and fingers had been gnawed on by rats.

“What a nice town,” Max said dryly.

There was an interview on TV with a guy’s wife--she’d called the police because her husband had stormed out in the middle of the night, screaming about rats. She had bruises all up the left side of her face, and something deep in Billy shivered as he wondered about the darkness around her wrists, whether her husband had left bruises there too. She flinched away from the reporter every time he moved, and he lowered his voice, grimacing.

“We’d been fighting,” she whispered, and Susan put her hands over her mouth, glancing at Billy. “We kept hearing rollerskates,” said the woman on he news, crying. “I-I hope he didn’t hurt that little girl.”

Neil Hargrove stared out the window for hours that night, between glaring at Billy, and putting out poison for the rats.

Billy went to get in his car that night, and there were rats, rats on his seats and dashboard, and he yelled, slammed the door, and walked out to where there were people, stalking as fast as he could down the street. He realized he was walking away from home, but he didn’t want to stop, so he just headed wherever he saw a group of people. He elbowed his way into a crowd of people loitering around the drug store, and came face to face with Steve Harrington and his loud, curly-haired shadow.

They stared at him, their mouths sucked in on soda straws, but Billy was on his last nerve. “You fucking grew up here,” he hissed, stepping closer, “--right? What the fuck, Harrington. What the shit is with these goddamn rats?! Why do they want me to go to the Steelworks--who the goddamn is the shitbird on roller skates—”

Harrington just blinked his big stupid cow eyes and frowned, but his sidekick said “Wait, what? The Steelworks?”

“The fucking Steelworks,” Billy repeated, his eyes flicking between them as they exchanged an obvious glance.

“That makes sense,” the kid said, digging out a map, and Billy growled.

“What fucking makes sense,” he asked, through his teeth, as Harrington leaned in to see the map, slurping his soda.

“Lot of sightings around there,” the kid said, glaring up at Billy.

“Sightings of what,” Billy hissed, and Harrington shot him a glower.

They didn’t really answer, but they let him follow them to a payphone, and Harrington called the sheriff.

“You can’t call the police on rats,” Billy bit out, feeling like a moron, kind of, for not trying it himself.

“Shut your face,” Harrington told him, and then proceeded to ask for the sheriff himself, and Billy couldn’t help himself, craning over Steve’s shoulder.

“My car’s full of rats, my walls’re full of rats, I never stop hearing the roller skates—” he yelled at the phone, and Harrington elbowed him off.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve been such a shithead to Lucas Sinclair,” the kid said, sounding pleased.

“Fuck you,” Billy spat back, pretending his voice hadn’t cracked. “Who the fuck even is Lucas Sinclair?!”

“Sir,” Harrington said. “Uh, Hopper. Billy Hargrove thinks it’s out at the Steelworks. Yeah. Oh, um.” He turned to frown at Billy. “Are you sure you don’t need--we can help, we’ve—” he sighed. “...I guess we can keep an eye on him.”

“I mean, do we need to?” the kid asked. “The rats can have him, far as I’m—”

“We’ll make sure nothing happens to him,” Harrington gritted out. “As long as he lets us.”

Billy snarled at him, but he let them bundle him into Harrington’s car, and curled up on Harrington’s couch, while Harrington himself stalked around his house shooting the occasional glare in Billy’s direction.

“...was Lucas Sinclair the kid...that night,” Billy asked hoarsely. “Max’s friend.”

“Yeah,” Harrington said, sarcastically. “Nice how it only goes after the shittiest people, right?”

“Fuck,” Billy whispered, swallowing. “Fuck.”

After a while, Harrington sank down on the couch next to him, and Billy flinched, then tried to pretend he hadn’t, growling. “They’ll take care of it tonight,” Steve told him, sighing. “With flamethrowers.”

“Holy shit,” Billy said, staring at him.

It was true--Billy woke up the next morning on Harrington’s couch, thanked him awkwardly, and went home to find his father had left during the night, chasing a girl on roller skates.

He didn’t return.

But, as Harrington had said, there were no more rats. Billy still saw the girl, occasionally, her glare pointed, but she didn’t come near. He considered trying to apologize to Lucas Sinclair, and finally asked Max, reluctantly, whether she thought the kid would even want to hear it.

“What,” she said, flatly.

“Maybe I should just stay away,” Billy muttered, as they maneuvered around each other, doing the dishes. Billy couldn’t quite get over the thought that everybody had acted like the three people taken hadn’t deserved to live, and the rats had not been outside Billy’s house for his father. Neil had deserved better, Billy couldn’t help thinking--he’d been right about Billy, after all--but on the other hand, he’d definitely charged out trying to murder a little girl on roller skates with his bare hands, so Billy felt a little bit vindicated, after all the things he’d muttered about his dad.

When he saw the little girl again, he yelled out, ��D’you think your brother would want me to say sorry?!”, and she skated to a stop, turning to glare at him.

“Would you mean it?” she hollered back, her hands cupped, and Billy nodded.

“I’ll tell him,” she shouted back, and skated off.

Max started bringing Lucas around, after that, and Billy always got them whatever takeout they wanted, and stayed the hell away. Lucas nodded to him, after a while, and Billy’s spine loosened.

Billy nodded to Harrington, too, when he saw him, and after a while, Harrington started nodding back, until Billy let the uneasy squirm in his guts every time they met eyes guilt him into saying, “Sorry.”

“What,” said Harrington, looking weirded out. The mall was barely open, and he glanced around, like he might need backup.

“Sorry for that night,” Billy said. “And--and for...helping me. Sorry I ended up your problem.”

Harrington just stared back at him. He laughed, though, when he found Billy in his driveway, grimly cleaning rat shit out of every surface of his Camaro.

The little girl just made him buy her ice cream, which he was fine with--she’d hop in his car, and they’d drive over to buy ice cream from Steve Harrington.

“I wasn’t possessed, god,” she groaned. “I was doing God’s work.”

“It promised you ice cream, didn’t it,” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows, and she sighed.

“I was possessed by capitalism,” she sighed dramatically.

After Steve got off work, he climbed in Billy’s car, and they’d drive out to the quarry and talk. Billy watched him the way he had at first--stupid Steve Harrington, with his stupid hair, and his stupid fucking smile--until he’d realize Harrington was talking again, and Billy was missing it, again.

“The hell d’you keep staring at,” Steve asked, laughing, and Billy groaned, rubbing his face, but Harrington didn’t seem pissed, so Billy just kept running up whenever he saw him, and Harrington started putting an arm aorund his shoulders. The like, sixteenth time Billy almost forgot himself and kissed him, watching Steve’s lips from inches away, Steve smiled, a little crookedly, and pulled him back as he stepped away. They stared at each other, and then Billy scrambled away, swearing and kicking at rocks.

Billy had his first gay kiss in the ice cream shop, with the scary little rollerskater wolf-whistling, and Harrington’s chocolate-sticky fingers in his hair. It tasted like waffle cones.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove #harringrove april #Erica Sinclair does not get mind-flayed #She's a vigilante for justice #On roller skates

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

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Stealing Past the Windows | Platonic Leone Abbacchio x Reader

You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

Content Warnings: Prostitution & Dubious Consent

You wish you were a mortician so that maybe – just maybe – you could be used to death. You long for the ability to shut away your grief, to turn it off as if it is nothing more than a lightbulb that hangs above your head – to flip the switch.

Your mother leads you towards the parking lot behind the cathedral. You have only just fastened the seatbelt over your lap when you notice him: the mortician standing next to a dumpster, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His necktie is loose and his hair a disarray. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a cloud of smoke. Perhaps morticians were not as used to death as you thought.

Something taps against the windshield. Pattering, uneven beats, not unlike the pianist’s scant repertoire from the procession. You wish that your mother would have hired someone better, someone who was not the sostituo commissario coordinatore’s daughter.

“It’s raining,” your mother remarks, her voice no louder than a whisper. Rain – of course it rains today of all days. She sighs and grips the steering wheel. If her hands were not covered by her black gloves, you might see that her knuckles are white. “They never said it would rain. How are we supposed to bury him in this?”

You realize that, perhaps instead of death, you long to become better acquainted with unpredictability: the death of your father, rain during a funeral, a lousy pianist . . . And Leone Abbacchio’s sunset-colored eyes meeting your gaze from across the parking lot. You bring your hand to your mouth and bite down on your curled pointer-finger to keep from calling out to him – what are you doing here? Permanent suspension and a slanderous newspaper article were not enough to satiate the part of you that yearns for his retribution.

Your mother follows the hearse, but you do not dare to look away, even as the car turns onto the street. You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

If, even after everything, a mortician and death are no more than steely work associates, then surely a distance exists between a prostitute and sexual intimacy. You never let the men take you from the front: your fleeting decency is preserved by the sorrow that suffocates you each time you are forced to solicit yourself to pay off your mother’s debts. You tell yourself that it is better this way – better than starving on the streets or lying dead in a dumpster, a proper unmarked grave.

Adaptability has helped you to cope with unpredictability. Now, you pray for blindness. Blindness so that you no longer face the men who leer and lead you into alleyways and dingy hotel rooms; blindness to forget that home is nothing more than a moth-ridden mattress, vacant memories, and a box fan; blindness, so the sounds of mice scurrying in the rafters become your mother teetering on loose floorboards as she stands over the kitchen table and prepares dinner.

Blindness so that you might forget the callousness of solitude.

A gust of air reaches for you. You tug your skirt over your thighs, a feeble attempt to ward of the chilling temperature. The waiting comes with confliction, for in the moments when you are alone, you are glad to be untouched. And yet, trepidation reminds you that a prostitute who does not meet her nightly quota is expendable. Your mother learned that – her final anecdote to you was a bullet.

Two women stand across the street. The glow of a cigar illuminates the space between them. An emaciated feline stalks down the sidewalk; she carries a kitten in her mouth. Footsteps – a man approaches you, his hands buried in the pockets of his striped dress slacks. He leans into the wall, only inches from you. He smells of tobacco smoke – you never cared for tobacco smoke. You blame it on your father’s influence.

You name your price, and he grabs your wrist. “I just want you to suck me off,” he sneers before pulling you into the alley. The air there is heavy: already, you have forgotten how to breathe. “You only get paid if you swallow. Got it, puttana?”

You nod. The pavement bites the skin of your knees. Your palms grow clammy. A knot forms in your belly. It never gets easier. The reflective surface of his belt’s silver buckle is an unwanted mirror. Sunken eyes stare back as you fumble with the latch. You no longer recognize yourself – it is a stranger’s gaze that watches your movements. You are a woman drowning, yet desperate for a glass of water.

Fingers pry at your arms. For a moment, you are airborne as he lifts you from the ground and pins you to the wall. His breath curdles in your ear – the rasp of his tone and the overwhelming scent of charred leather confirms that he is indeed a smoker and not a victim of secondhand exposure: “I’ve changed my mind. Ti sto fottendo.”

You shiver, but not because you are cold, even though the night air assaults your bare legs, which have been freed of your tight mini-skirt; pink polyester gathers at your ankles, tethering you. His teeth graze the crook between your shoulder and neck. His body cages you. The breeze wafts through your hair, gentle tresses clinging to his skin. In another life, he might have been a lover. But a lover does not pay you for sex.

Your fear turns to ash and dies on your tongue. Every gasp for air is an inhalation of his scent – stale cigarettes. It laces through your throat and burns you alive.

You wait until you are sure that he is gone before you pull your skirt up. Your core throbs. Your legs tremble. Your backend meets the ground as your knees fail you. The money lies just beyond your reach, but you cannot bear to touch it. The mere thought of even looking at it sends a jolt of nausea through you.

It can stay there a little longer – it is not pride that compels you to leave the money be: it is dignity.

You do not notice that you are crying until you feel the familiar sting in your eyes. An anguished scream tears itself from your mouth as you slap the ground and kick into the rusted trashcan beside you. It topples over – you wish to be buried alive in food scraps and disposed condoms because it is not better this way.

A tawny colored beer bottle shatters at your feet: a mosaic of glass shards. In each broken piece laid out before you, you see your reflections – in every groove, ripple, and adhesive spotting that has been left behind by a missing label. One shard is your father’s funeral and a smoking mortician, and another shard is the eternally frozen face of your dead mother, and another shard is the first man whom you sold your virtue to.

And yet, one shard is a series of train tickets, from Napoli to the lavender fields of Aix-en-Provence, and another shard is a glass of Bordeaux Red that you share with a lover on a balcony overlooking the plaza of Place Richelme, and another shard is a newborn babe nestled in the white laces of her bassinet, the glow of the setting evening sun stealing past the window of the nursery and painting the walls with a glorious apricot light. And among them all, shards of men whose touches and faces blend together, shards of hands that wring your neck. Perversion, starvation, and seclusion. Mice in the rafters, a battered mattress, and a box fan.

What good is a pretty future if you must suffer for it first? You realize, as your fingers float over the glass shards, that you have been on this journey to Aix-en-Provence – to somewhere better than Napoli – your entire life: that you are sitting on a train, still, though once you thought it moving. You are forever rooted in place.

Your scuffed stiletto grinds the glass into the concrete. Happiness demands too much from you. You stomp each shard until they split and become a million more pieces – so small that they no longer speak to you.

The final shard is a pair of sunset-colored eyes and silver hair. You freeze, your foot suspended above the piece of glass. You meet his gaze from across the alley. You want to bite your finger – it is a nervous habit that you had promised to quit after the funeral, after your mother had found you bandaging your bleeding hand with toilet paper in the bathroom at the burial site; she had never forgiven you for staining your dress.

You cannot look away from him, even as he drops the paper brown grocery bag snagged around his wrist in favor of ushering you into his arms and onto your feet – your head on his chest, held in place by a single hand that coaxes through your hair. You do not bother to push him away, because it feels good to be held; though every fiber of your being tells you to loathe this man, you find that you cannot. Hatred costs too much energy, causes too much stress; you do not need either. When he pulls away to inspect your face, you do the same to him. His mouth moves, but you do not hear the words that fall from his lilac-painted lips. The dark rings beneath his eyes are rival to yours. You wonder how much sleep he has lost, for every night spent thinking of you.

Steam from the coffee mug wafts into the air in a delicate spiral. At this hour, the café is nearly empty. A man with lavender-blonde hair types into his laptop computer; he lifts his beverage to his lips without tearing his gaze from the screen. Aside from him and an older woman, who is clipping coupons from a newspaper, you and Leone Abbacchio are the only other customers. It is a sharp contrast to the usual bustle during the day; without the business men fighting for their morning espresso shots or the mothers stopping for a pastry after sending their children off to school for the day, it feels like a graveyard.

The soft hum of the kitchen radio echoes through to the dining room. The coupon-clipping woman taps her foot to an offbeat cadence. You tug Leone’s jacket by the lapels, securing it tautly to your skin. He had insisted that you wear it, because of the cold. Truthfully, you know that it is for modesty’s sake. Regardless of the reason, you are grateful. He clasps his own porcelain mug but does not drink. Perhaps it is still too hot, you wonder.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not,” you finally say. Macchiato pools on your tongue. It has been far too long since you have had coffee that was not made from instant crystals; you savor it. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if not for you, after all. But, the caffè is a nice gesture.”

His teeth graze his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he says with hesitation. “I’m sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

“You’re wasting your time, saying you’re sorry, because there aren’t enough apologizes that could even begin to make things right. An apology won’t bring my father back. An apology won’t bring my mother back.”

He shudders and sighs. “I know . . . I know that.”

An uncomfortable silence hovers over your heads. At last, Leone drinks his coffee; it is a much-needed distraction from the conversation that has haunted him until this moment. His greatest fear has been to face the family of the man he had indirectly killed. It was a mistake to have gone to the funeral – he knows that; he was never sure what to expect that day. The sight of your mother following the hearse in her station wagon while you stared him down, until finally you disappeared, had shaken him – he fell to the bottle that very night.

Leone’s cellphone vibrates atop the table. The green screen casts a reflection upon the window beside you. Flashing digital numbers tell you that is is 23:13 – you only have forty-seven minutes to give the money to your procurer. You instinctively pat your pocket. The money is not there. Upon the realization that you have forgotten it back in the alley, where it is no doubt buried under the fallen trash of your breakdown, you down the rest of your drink. “Thank you for the coffee,” you say to Leone. “I should get going – I need to get back to work.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not going back there,” he says to you, a strange inflection in his tone – worry or anger, you cannot tell the difference.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do.” His bark is beguiling, and it commands you to stay seated. For every moment that he stalls, the knot in your belly constricts tighter and tighter, until it feels as though your intestines might burst. When he speaks, a gust of air rushes through you: “Let me . . . Let me try to make things right. Let me start by getting you out of there.”

You tense at his words. “You speak as if you think it’s easy to get ‘out of there,’” you sneer. “As if you think you could actually help me.”

“I’ll pay off your mother’s debt,” he insists with a sudden burst of confidence.

It is your turn to stiffen. “How do you know about that?” It is then that you take in his appearance in earnest – his clothing looks expensive, even though he is clad in only a sweater and jeans. You doubt that his makeup came from a drug store. If exorbitance had a scent, it would be that of his cologne: woodsy and sweet. He could never have afforded these things on a poliziotto’s salary. “You work with them, don’t you?”

“No.” The waitress leans over the table to top off Leone’s mug. He offers her a nod and she pledges a smile. She scurries back to the counter in a flurry of floral-pattern skirts. The way he avoids answering your first question tells you enough: you understand that it is far too complicated to be uttered aloud in a public space. “I just know the right people.”

“I don’t want your help,” you tell him, albeit too quickly. Dignity compelled you from taking the money in the alleyway. But it is not dignity that holds you from accepting money from a former dirty cop: it is ego laced in hubris. And it is his bribery, shrouded in penitence, that beckons for your clemency. “I don’t need your help.”

“Stop this.” His words scorn you. “Don’t let yourself get killed because of your pride. I know what happens to women like you. You’re not a human being to them: you’re nothing more than a money-maker. Damn it, I’ve seen girls younger than you that – “ he cuts himself off. “Getting killed over the grudge you hold against me – it’s not worth it.”

“I can’t accept help from the man who ruined my life. It means you’ll expect me to forgive you.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just want to prove to you that I am sorry.” When you bring your pointer-finger to your mouth and bite down on your knuckle, he can see you in the station wagon again. Although, instead of a mourner’s garb, you wear a scanty skirt and a cropped blouse. “What about your father?”

You pull your finger away; a thread of saliva connects from your skin to your quivering lip. “Don’t you dare mention him,” you hiss. “Don’t act like you knew him: he was nothing more than a coworker to you.”

“It’s not for forgiveness. Let me help you because he would never want to see you like this.” You can practically hear the twitching of his jaw. A tear falls, and then another. And another. He wipes the back of his hand over his dampened cheeks. “He loved you – so much. More than I think he ever loved your mother, if you’d heard the way he spoke about you . . . One of the last things he ever said to me was how he couldn’t wait to see the type of person you’d become. Un dottore o un insegnante: it didn’t matter to him, so long as you were happy.” He looks away, as if he is ashamed to face you, though rightfully so. “I did know him. I knew the man who would have given anything for his famiglia – for you.”

Your heart aches – for your father or Leone or even yourself, you are not sure. While it pains you to admit it, the man sitting before you has uttered the truth. Your father would want you to accept Leone’s help. It might be your only chance for a fresh start – to usher the still train along. Suddenly, the lavender fields feel so close that all you need do is reach out to feel the purple tendrils within your grasp. Paradise is not too far.

You sigh, shakily, before you give him your answer: “Okay.”

You thought your response would satiate him – instead, the tears he sheds fall faster. He brings a hand to his forehead to pinch his temples between his thumb and ring-finger, to shield his face: a man torn apart by his own chagrin. His other hand is outstretched before him, fingers formed into a taut fist. You are sure that his nails will puncture his skin if he squeezes any tighter. The music from the kitchen stops. The woman places down her scissors and her newspaper. The man with lavender-blonde hair closes his laptop. The ticking of the wall-clock is the only sound that reverberates through the café. It is only minutes until the new day.

Leone Abbacchio is man frozen in his past. Despite the turmoil, despite the grief and accrued traumas, you do not hate him: though unable to move on, he is driven by audacity. You once thought him cowardly, but a craven would never have reached out to you: a craven would rob you of your second chance at life. You respect the weeping man seated across the table, so much so that you clasp your own hand over his fist as a gesture of solidarity. His breath catches in his throat as his quaking body stills. You have nothing to say to him – but no words could convey the thoughts that weave through your mind. His wrist rotates beneath your touch. Palm to palm, his fingers reach for yours and entwine.

Forgiveness is a virtue you cannot afford. You will not forgive him – not now – but you will heal: together.

| 3170 Words |

#leone abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

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penaltybox14 · 4 years ago

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Decofiremen: Josiah’s dream

@darknight-brightstar says I should number these but like, numbering is for squares, man. @zeitheist @its-skadi

In the dream, where his leg is straight and true, he lights on the driver's seat of the engine - sometimes drawn by a team, sometimes one of the new kerodiesels, but whatever it is, it is red, and loud, and fast, and his heart quickens just to see it - and he looks down and Silky is there. In the dream Silky is older: his jaw is sharper, his eyes just a little crinkled at the edges, and there is a promise of gray in his dark hair.

In the dream it is autumn, with the sky so blue you had to thank it for being so beautiful, with the leaves off the city's skinny trees fluttering like cats and mice across the cobbles and the macadam.

Silky's helmet has a white shield and a brass horse at the crest. Josiah can never quite make out the station number - but Silky pats his sure, strong, unfettered leg and in the dream he says, what'd I tell you, Birchy, what'd I say?

Said we'd have our own house, didn't I?

But this is the dream that never happened, and when Josiah follows Silky's gaze, the smoke swallows him, and he falls, and the beam falls with him, with Silky's cry and Silky's reach too late and too short, and when he wakes - sweating and gulping - there is no one around, nobody but him and his knotted, useless leg and the pain, always the pain he breaks his nails on the sheets to keep from screaming.

Eddy and Parker, and Monroe and Jackson and Kittredge, the resident trainers, are all fine men with fine strong sear who rode the boards and worked the lines and bore the weight into the belly of the beast, and they know. They know the dream, because it comes to them and taps at the shuttered windows of their eyes and whispers, wake, wake up. It's what you learn, when the sear settles - how to listen, how to witness, how to set aside the smoke and know. That means some nights you wake with the visions of other men rattling about in your brain, and that means some nights you wake getting a pillow to the head from your bunkmate.

They have the sense not to say much, or maybe they just don't know what to say at all. Like the Battalion Chiefs and the District Captains at his promotion, when he stood there propped on crutches, teeth clenched and eyes wet.

(Silky had been there, too, hadn't he. Silky had got a medal on his belts, and Josiah got a captain's coat and a one-way ticket upriver.)

(Silky had ought to be the captain. Like in the dream. But that was the dream that never happened: Silky only sat beside him in the ward at Bellevue, and got a medal for dragging him out from under a beam that both of them should've seen coming down.)

He had taken the rank on his feet out of some kind of spite, the same restless tiger that had paced inside his chest since he learned to talk, maybe the same beast he had been born with.

It was the tiger that had taken the boy from the county, wasn't it? Toe to toe with the doctor and the ward-master, teeth set, his skin hot, his shoulders steadying for a fight, until they had grimly given in and handed the boy over. Consider it a favor, Josiah had spat at them. We'll take the lad and you won't worry 'bout him setting your place afire.

Silky would have told him not to. Silky would have kept the tiger in the cage and his blood from boiling.

(But Silky would have taken the boy, too. The burned and bandaged hands that held his in the hospital ward would not have left the little fellow to his lostness among the addled and the empty men.)

Josiah hasn't dreamed of the beam or the dark that filled his eyes and lungs, or the pain of his shattered bone and scalded skin, in a long time. He thinks that might be better than the dream where Silky boosts up to the driver's seat with him and says get on, the city's waiting. The dream that comes so close it's like the moon kissing the midnight. The pain he can reckon with: the pain is real.

(So is Silky, still, but far away. Eddy says he ought to write. But he can't find the words.)

The first night the boy stays with them, they bunk him in with the lads, who have gotten aa cory explanation and seem to take him as a younger brother. Antoine Vestry and Ellis Palmer, who are close to being assigned their stations and sent down, settle the lads down and make sure the Cleary boy has a cubby to start and a place in the washroom amidst the rowdiness and swinging elbows. They are kind young men, Josiah thinks, and they may even be wise sometime.

That first night, Josiah is caught by sleep like a sneak-thief, and finds himself already dreaming of a house he has never seen. He looks behind him for Silky, but no one is there. He looks ahead for their captain, but no one is there. He smells the smoke, and somewhere, far off, a little girl is crying, and it's getting softer, and softer, and there is a roaring around him that he knows, the sound of a fire waking to its own heat and rising, finding the cracks in the walls and the gaps in the windows, sucking up all the air, feeding and growing and pawing at wood and carpet and plaster.

He looks ahead for Silky, who isn't there, and he looks in his hands for the hose, but his hands are bare and empty.

The house throbs with heat, and the walls begin to come apart, and he can't hear the little girl crying anymore, he can only see the boy, lost and coughing, stumbling away from him when he says wait, come back, it's coming down, you got to stop, it's coming down -

Eddy is pounding on his door but he is already awake, he is already into his brace as sure as he had clipped the quick-hitch to any horse, and he is banging into walls and coming down the stairs swinging on the bannister and trying to keep his bad leg out of the way of the rest of him.

The lads are all clustered around like worried birds, Antoine and Ellis first among them, along with Betram Cochrane who has the slowest times on the rigging because he always stops to help his mates, and Jules Menlo who seems to know what's wrong with an engine before the hood's even popped. The lot of them sleep-mussed, chiding the boy, bantering among themselves. The little fellow is at the middle of it all, rail-thin and ragged, pale as milk with eyes like a buck in the cross-hairs. Josiah drops, clumsily, on young Cleary's bunk, and the boy in the long hallway, the boy sobbing on the wide green lawn, the boy calling for his sister in the dark, stares back at him.

The hallway is the boy's hallway, the house is the boy's house. It's the factory fire where him and Silky saw the panicked men leap from the belching windows only to strike the pavement like burlap sacks of bone and blood, where a woman was caught behind a door and cried out for them, but the choice was to breathe or to free her and they couldn't do both.

"Wake up, son," he says. "Come on now. You're alright."

Young Cleary looks at him from twelve years old, from his hallway, which will be the place his dreams will live the longest. Young Cleary comes haltingly into his body and his eyes. He trembles.

The lads are bantering and he shushes them, waves a hand.

"What ye screaming about, little fella?" Ellis asks.

"Cap?" The little fellow rasps. "Capper?"

Josiah nods.

Antoine says they were only teasing. Ellis nods.

"You like music, little fella?"

They don't wait for the boy to answer. Jules tells Betram to get his fiddle - "On your leave, Captain Birch."

Josiah remembers his own nights at Wynantskill, learning the fireman's song with Silky, with the lads, with Kidder Parson nodding along at the dormitory door. "Don't keep us up all night, Bertram."

Bertram seems glad to have something to do with his hands, and he seems able to spin a tune from air, as if he is unspooling it from the night itself.

"Capper..."

He looks to Davey again.

"Could you tell me the story from the train again? About the fireman, and the horse?"

Davey seems to watch him from his hallway, as if he isn't sure yet which house to settle in - the one by the lake, which is only dreams and ashes, or the one neither of them knows yet, or the one here and now, the house made of lamplight and hopeful voices and a fiddle's melody. Davey's eyes are full of ghosts he hasn't made peace with yet.

"Alright," Josiah says. "Alright, so, once, a long time ago, before there was a city - before there was even a dream about a city - there was a man, and a horse, and a fire..."

#decofiremen #decofire #process your trauma dammit #yes I know he should write to silky #give him time

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2manyfandoms2count · 5 years ago

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#MarichatMay Day 25+26

In which Marinette and Chat Noir adopt some kittens, and Marinette realises Chat is a lot more like a cat than she realised (also a prequel for the next prompt). Hope you enjoy!

@marichatmay

---

Day 25: Blep + Day 26: Toe Beans

Marinette was feeling morose. She couldn’t quite say why, but something told her the last akumatisation had something to do with it. She had no memory of it, apart from another Ladybug coming in, erasing what she’d been writing on her gift for Adrien and the next thing she knew she was standing on the steps of the Trocadéro, empty-handed and an awfully bad feeling in her gut. She had put on a brave face, tried to pretend everything was alright, but there was a constant nagging, at the back of her head, accompagnied with flashes of bright white and icy blue, which distracted her a lot.

Chat and Adrien both noticed her change of mood in their interactions with her. Her classmate had thought, at first, that the characteristic slower pace of the ending school year could explain her lack of focus. But the lighthearted, funny, sunny girl he was used to hanging out with as Chat had also disappeared. She was almost apathetic at Home, her latest projects half-abandoned in various places in her room, but there was a restlessness, an anxious edge to her as well, that was seemingly soothed by Chat’s presence. He noticed that lying next to her, she would fall asleep easily, despite her comments on her current insomnia.

Marinette wanted to talk to Chat about how she was feeling. She really did. He was the only person who could probably understand. If she had been affected by previous events, surely he must have been too? She had tried to broach the subject with him, but she didn’t know how to go through with the conversation without saying something she shouldn’t. The fact she struggled with expressing her feelings didn’t worry Chat as much as the panic in her eyes when she talked about them did. He couldn’t think of a way to help her in the long run. He thought being there for her, while giving her emotional space, to let her process her feelings was probably the best he could do. He’d be damned if he’d leave her alone with her thoughts, and if he wouldn’t help her get a break from them sometimes, though.

Hence the kittens in Marinette’s room. Three babies Adrien hadn’t been able to resist as he walked by a pet store in the school vicinity. He’d immediately thought about Marinette as he saw them, how sure he was they would make her feel better. He’d found an alley to transform as he walked out and had gone straight to her place, mindful of the beings in the box he was carrying. He’d barely been able to contain his excitement as she let him in, her curiosity piqued by the container he was holding.

“Purr-incess, you’re going to love this!” He had opened the lid very slowly, as if performing a magic trick. She had gasped at the site of the baby cats, one of which was asleep.

“Chat they’re so cute!!” She squealed as she delicately picked one of the awake cats, an orange tabby cat, which meowed gently at her touch.

Chat mirrored her, cradling his own grey kitten and scratching its belly. “I meow, right?” He grinned as he felt the baby’s tiny claws on his glove.

“They’re so tiny! Look at the little toe beans!” She cooed in response to the meowing.

“Hey, how come you never compliment my toe beans?” Chat asked, slightly offended.

“You have toe beans?” His goal to distract her and amuse her was going very well, he noted.

“Purr-haps you should check for yourself.” Chat carefully set down the kitten he’d been holding out of the way before rolling onto his back and lifting his legs up so Marinette could see his feet.

“Oh my goodness, you actually do!” She gently placed the tabby in the box, and focused on the bright green squishy pads on her partner’s soles, an almost awe-struck expression on her face. She reached out to touch them.

“Whoa, there, Purr-incess, what do you think you’re doing?” Chat recoiled at her approaching hands.

“I want to touch them!” Her pout turned into an devilish grin as she slowly crawled closer to him. “Kitty, don’t tell me you’re... ticklish?”

“Me? Meow way!” He scoffed, although instinctively inching backwards as Marinette approached.

“Why don’t you stay still for a moment then, so I can test that theory?”

She got close enough to graze his foot, triggering a kicking instinct in him that she barely dodged, her usual escape reflexes impeded by the fact she was laughing.

The cristalline sound Chat hadn’t heard in a while filled the room, Marinette rolling on the ground, clutching her stomach as she gave in to the merriment. It felt so good to laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she had. Chat wiggled on the floor in delight, feeling satisfied. This was all his doing. What a great friend he was. He blepped unconsciously, closing his eyes as he basked in her laugh. It faltered a little as the girl tried to catch her breath, but the combined sight of Chat and the blepping kitten next to him sent her in another fit of giggles, complete with tears streaming down her face.

“Chat... I’d never noticed... how much... of a cat... you are!” She managed to fit between intakes of breath, fishing for her phone to take a picture.

Chat cocked an eyebrow as he opened an eye. “Being a cat is literally the job description, Purr-incess.”

Marinette managed to control her laughter enough to resume a normal conversation, although her shoulders still shook occasionally. “I know, but it just hit me! I knew about the purring, but you blep, too!!” She all but shoved the picture she’d taken in his face, her laughter erupting again. Adrien would have to move over. That photo was making it on her wall, next to her bed so she could wake up to it every morning.

“Maybe one day I’ll let you see my reaction to cucumbers.” He winked, turning to the kitten at his side which had started meowing.

“No wayyyyy.” She grinned.

Noise emerging from the box caught her attention. The third kitten was now awake, its green eyes contrasting with the black of its fur.

“Look, this one looks just like you!” She gasped as she lifted it out of the box. She stroked it lightly. The cat purred under her fingers, and attempted to lick them. “Aren’t you the cutest little kitty?” She cooed as she played with it, dodging its claws.

Chat felt a pang of jealousy, which he knew was completely uncalled for. How could he be jealous of a cat. He smiled at the sight of happy Marinette. He’d really missed her. He hoped she would get better soon.

“Do you want to keep it?” He blurted. He knew a pet could not replace a therapist, or someone to talk to in general, but it could be some well-needed emotional support.

“Really? Could I?” She looked up, and there was such joy in her eyes he wouldn’t have been able to refuse her even if he’d wanted to.

“Of course! If your parents are okay with it, of course, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble...” He thought of his own situation. He probably would get into trouble himself if his father found out he was harbouring two cats behind his back. Then again, he had managed to hide Plagg, and he was high maintenance. He was actually surprised no one in his household questioned the amount of expensive cheese he insisted on keeping in his room. His room was probably big enough to hide animals as well, but purr-haps leaving one here would be safer.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine with it, Papa’s been talking about getting a cat for a while. He says it’s to prevent mice from invading the bakery, but I think secretly he’s just soft for them.” She said in a hushed tone. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy here, Kitten Noir.” She added for the cat, lifting it up to eye level.

“Kitten Noir? Fur real?” Chat asked, his heart fluttering in his chest. She was naming the cat after him.

“It’s very fitting, don’t you think?” She shone a bright smile his way. “He can be our baby.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Chat’s heart rate was off the charts at the sign of affection and the insinuation that they could be parents together. Holy Camembert, how much he would like that. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, gathering his remaining kittens in an attempt to conceal his fiery cheeks.

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to come around more often to make sure he gets a paw-per upbringing. I don’t trust you to teach him puns.” Chat said, straightening up and trying to act casual.

“I would really like that, Kitty.” Marinette said softly, almost shyly, as she got up as well.

They walked up to her balcony. Chat didn’t particularly want to go, but the orange sky told him he should be on his way. Time sure does fly when you’re having fun, he thought, calculating that they must have spent at least a couple of hours playing around. Marinette tugged at his free arm before he left.

“Thank you, Kitty. For everything.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. Chat refrained himself from bringing his fingers to the spot.

“Anytime, Purr-incess.” He smiled, a warm feeling spreading inside of him. “You can always count on me, Mrs. Noir.”

She smiled fondly at him and waved as he leapt off the roof. She clung to the inner fuzziness Chat jokingly calling her his wife had created. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she enjoyed feeling herself again. She skipped back down to her room, humming. She picked up Kitten Noir and stroked him absentmindedly, waiting to hear her parents to go downstairs. One thought filled her head as she waited. She couldn’t wait to see her Chaton again.

#marichatmay2020 #marichatmay #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #blep #toe beans #cat shenanigans #elle writes

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7-wonders · 5 years ago

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Everything All At Once

Summary: Summers are supposed to be fun, not stressful. Whatever deity is pulling the strings in your life never got that memo, apparently.

Word Count: 3651

A/N: Sorry for how long it’s taken me to post this! Life has been crazy lately. Enjoy, and if you did I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblogged!

The process of moving, while normally quite stressful, is made simple with magic on your side. Boxes are packed according to room in a matter of minutes, dirty floors are cleaned with a glance, and the need for a moving truck is eliminated when items can just be transmuted to your new home. Even dealing with the bigger pieces of furniture that you no longer need, such as your bed and the couch, is an easy task when your new Antichrist roommate can just snap his fingers and send them to a thrift store in need. That last act is done much to Michael’s chagrin, who presents the admittedly tempting option of dropping them on your enemies. In mere hours, your once-full apartment is now completely empty. You’d be lying, however, if you said you were going to miss it. If anything, you’ll miss the certain sentimental value that your first apartment holds within its walls, but the cons of this place (a shower that never heats up, testy thermostat, that one time there was a family of mice living under your kitchen sink, and so much more) far outweigh any pros that could convince you to stay.

Adjusting to living with Michael full-time, however, proves to be the main challenge of your move. Just redecorating your room caused his face to turn a sickly shade of white, horrified that the once-pristine black and silver color scheme has been taken over by tapestries and fairy lights. It was especially painful for him to comply with your request to remove the large pentagram on one of the walls, but you suspect he did it because he doesn’t want to make you mad. He’s already aware of just how monumental a concession of living with him was, and he would rather not push his luck. Your new living arrangement, though, is going to be the only victory you give him if you have anything to say about it.

“No school for three months, then?” Michael had asked when you were hanging clothes up in your closet.

“Thankfully.”

“So I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you since you won’t be darting in and out between classes.” His tone was all too hopeful, and you hid a smirk at the meaning that he wasn't doing a good job of hiding.

“Well yeah, when I’m not working.” You weren’t looking at him, but you knew that his jaw was clenched tightly.

“Why would you be working? You’re aware of how much money I have at my disposal; there’s no logical reason why you need to have a job.”

“How else am I going to pay you rent?” He breathed in harshly through his nose, and you buried your face is a shirt to keep from laughing.

“Excuse me? You--you don’t have to pay me rent, (Y/N), you’re my wife.”

“You’re letting me live with you, it’s the least I could do.”

“If,” Michael stopped, choosing his words carefully, “if that’s what you would like to do, then I suppose I cannot stop you.”

“Thank you!” you said cheerfully, going back to the task at hand while humming a song that had been stuck in your head.

It’s not like you’re that determined to keep paying rent now that you live with Michael. In fact, if this was any other person and not the Antichrist insisting that you don’t need to pay to live on their property, you would happily oblige. With Michael, though, things have to be made a little difficult for him. Ever since the contract negotiations during your first weekend at what you’ve come to refer to as Langdon Manor, you had remained adamant that nothing would change just because you were now bonded in unholy matrimony. For the most part, that has remained the case. It’s also just fun to see how mad you can make him before he needs to go be alone in his office, but that’s besides the point.

Nannying, although not glamorous work, pays better than any other job you’ve had. Getting to look after cute children is also a plus, and they keep you busy enough where there’s never a dull moment. The two kids that you nanny, sisters Maggie and Sarah, love going to the pool and playing make believe. They play so well together that you often find yourself just reading a book and keeping an eye on them while they decide to run a daycare or start a school. Easy work, even if the hours are sometimes less than ideal. Their parents, a doctor and a police officer, work odd hours and have a penchant for date nights on Fridays, which is often their only time off without the kids. It’s not an inconvenience to you; extra hours equal extra money, and the girls go to sleep early enough that you can just watch videos on your phone until they arrive home.

The only one who has a problem with your hours is Michael, of course. You’ve suspected since the house party three weeks ago that he’s been trying to figure out how to ask you out on another date, but obstacles have managed to shake up any plans he may have. He’s not the most subtle, asking you on every Wednesday what your plans are for Friday while trying too hard to look like he’s not invested in your answer. By this week, your third straight Friday date night shift, he’s over it.

“But tomorrow you don’t work, right?” Michael asks from the speakerphone. Your phone is resting on the kitchen counter, the girls in the living room while you make a dinner of chicken and rice for everybody.

“Nope,” you say, leaning back to make sure the girls are still watching their movie instead of beating each other over the head.

“We’re having a movie night tomorrow.”

The tone of finality in Michael’s voice makes you laugh. “A movie night? Michael, have you ever even seen a movie before?”

“Yes, (Y/N), I have seen a movie before.” You can almost hear how he’s rolling his eyes right now. “You can pick the movies, and I’ll worry about the snacks?”

“No. Knowing you, your snacks will be something like pickled eyeballs washed down with a tall glass of ice cold blood. I’ll be the one in charge of snacks.” You can’t resist slipping a joke in there, and Michael sighs heavily.

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home?”

“Yep, bye.” You hang up the phone curtly when the oven beeps, more focused on pulling the chicken out than crafting a sincere goodbye.

Turning around to put the pan down so you can slice the chicken, it’s not at all surprising to see the girls sitting at the table and staring at you. The two love to eavesdrop, especially when it comes to people talking on the phone.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sarah asks, her blonde curls bouncing in her ponytails.

“No, he’s not, and you shouldn’t be listening in on other people’s conversations.” It’s impossible to be serious, and a smile plays on your lips as you dish up three plates and put them on the table.

Right as everybody starts to eat, Sarah gasps and bolts up from her chair. “I forgot Aunt Stephanie!” You look at Maggie for an answer as Sarah runs off, but the older girl just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do you have an aunt coming over? Your mom didn’t tell me anyone else was going to be here tonight,” you ask.

“No, it’s a picture that Sarah keeps in her room, sometimes she likes to have it with her.” Sarah comes back as Maggie explains her sister’s actions, clutching a framed photograph to her chest. Setting it down next to her, you see the senior portrait of a smiling blonde girl staring back at you. Her hair is crimped in some places and straight in others, reminding you of the 90s, and she’s wearing classic goth makeup.

“She’s pretty,” you compliment, smiling as Sarah digs in.

“She’s up in Heaven, so we never met her,” Sarah replies in that easygoing tone that all young children use to reveal information in.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly, not really sure how to respond.

“Dad hardly knew her, either,” Maggie retorts. “He was little when she was killed.”

“Your aunt was killed?”

Maggie nods, smirking since she knows something you don’t (ten year olds are going to be the death of you), “uh huh, she died in that school shooting, the one at Westfield High School?”

“Well, at least you get to hear some neat things about her from your family.”

The girls both nod and go back to eating their food, but you just stare down at your full plate, pushing the food around with your fork as your hands shake imperceptibly. Like a puzzle, the pieces all click together. You nanny for the Boggs family, the patriarch of which had a sister named Stephanie, who was killed in the Westfield High massacre. The massacre that was perpetrated by the unwilling sperm donor from which Michael sprung, Tate Langdon. Everybody knows about the infamous Westfield shooting in the way that everybody knows about Columbine or Sandy Hook. You just didn’t know that the family of one of the victims was now employing you.

It’s something that sticks with you long after the girls have gone to bed, and even as you drive home after their parents (the Boggs’, you remind yourself) arrive back from their date. Whether Tate was influenced by the Devil or not, he is still ultimately responsible for the choices that he made. This legacy, the dark thoughts and the murders and the horrible things, extends far beyond Michael. Tate may consider Michael to be the penultimate evil, one who he could never be associated with, but it’s true when they say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Michael’s still awake when you get home, having gotten in the habit of waiting up for you since you still lived at your old apartment and he would wait for your text to let him know you had made it safely. He’s sitting in the main living room (of which there are three), reading a book and petting your cat, who’s curled up peacefully on his lap. You toss your shoes and bag in your room before sitting down next to him, picking up your now-disgruntled cat and cuddling her to your chest.

“What are you reading?” you ask him, not able to see the cover that’s obscured by his hands.

“One of those Harry Potter books you told me to read. I must say, I am enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.”

“Goblet of Fire, that’s a good one. I’m glad you like it.”

Michael marks his place in the book, setting it down next to him before giving you his full attention. “How was your day at work?”

“It was...okay?” Michael frowns slightly, not pleased with that answer.

“Did something happen? Did the children finally act out with their parents gone?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just--something they said,” you trail off, picking the skin around your thumbnail instead.

“What did a ten-year-old and a six-year-old say to you that rattled you this much?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, especially when you’re looking at me with those eyes,” you mutter, looking up at him. “Their aunt, I guess, was killed in a school shooting. The Westfield High one?”

Michael looks at you seriously, your recollection of the girls’ words obviously catching him off-guard. “And that got you thinking--” “Not in a bad way or anything, you know I don’t blame you at all for Tate’s sins. It just...got me thinking, I guess.”

“About how much fate must hate us?” Michael laughs bitterly.

“Tate,” you ignore Michael’s last comment, too lost in your thoughts, “loves acting like he had nothing to do with you and that you two couldn’t be more different when, in reality, you’re more alike than he cares to admit. I mean, he shot up a goddamn high school and set his stepfather on fire years before you were born. It really should not have surprised him that he fathered the Antichrist, whether it was willingly or not.”

“I wouldn’t shoot high schoolers, that’s far too messy.”

“I know that, but what I’m trying to get at is that everything, in some sick and twisted way, all comes back to you. I can’t even go to work now without being reminded of you and the carnage that the Langdon name has wrought upon the world. The same name that I carry now too, I guess.” You laugh bitterly at your misfortune, knowing that you can never escape Michael wherever you go.

“You’re being too introspective for your own good tonight, (Y/N). You need to breathe, okay?” Michael takes your hands and forces you to focus on him, making you realize that you’re barely huffing out shaky breaths. “Like you said, you don’t blame me for Tate’s sins. While I have done bad things, they are all to serve a greater purpose. Tate--he was just a dumb kid who hated the world and wanted to kill people in an attempt to feel something.”

You stare at him, repeating Michael’s movements and taking deep breaths while trying to calm down. You’re not sure why this has freaked you out so much: maybe it’s because you’re married to the sire of this mass shooter, or it could be concerns that any future children that you may have with Michael (God forbid that ever happens) would carry a bit of that darkness in their souls.

“We’re having an impromptu movie night tonight,” Michael says suddenly.

“Why not wait until tomorrow?” Maybe it was a distraction tactic, but it certainly did its job.

“You’re too worked up to sleep, and I worry about you being alone with these dark thoughts swirling in your mind. You need something to take your mind off of it.”

“But we don’t even have snacks.”

“Go check in the kitchen, the staff tends to overstock it with food I would never eat. I’ll pick the movie. Put on some clothes to watch a movie,” the thought of sweatpants calls your name at that, “and meet back here in ten?”

You nod, running your hands over your feverish cheeks before standing up and walking towards your room. As you throw on your favorite sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, you can’t stop thinking about your outburst. The knowledge that you were babysitting the nieces of one of Tate’s victims shouldn’t have messed you up like it did, and maybe it’s just you being overly paranoid. Whatever the reason, you’re more than eager to find some candy and popcorn and eat enough sugar to make your thoughts go numb.

There’s plenty of candy hidden on one of the shelves of the staff pantry, and you leave an apologetic note explaining that there was an emergency and promising to restock tomorrow. The popcorn selections are endless, and you end up popping two bags when you can’t decide. Carrying the goodies back to the living room, you see that the lights are dimmed and there’s a nest of pillows and blankets on the couch. The movie’s already cued up on the television, and you smile at the familiar music playing through the speakers.

“Sorcerer’s Stone?” you ask, sitting down next to Michael and pulling a blanket over your lap.

“I’ve never seen the movie before, and since I already finished the book I want to see which one I like better,” Michael explains sheepishly, stealing some popcorn from you and pressing ‘play’ on the remote.

It’s easy to get lost in the magic of Hogwarts, even though Michael keeps making snide comments about how he doesn’t need a wand to do more impressive magic than that. You let them slide, not too bothered about it when you constantly point out differences between the book and the movie. You both finish the first movie strong, albeit with a lack of snacks, and eagerly pop in the second to continue the marathon.

Throughout the course of the movie, you had inched closer to each other ever so slowly. Using the excuse of forgetting to move back after stealing a snack, or having to move in order to have an equal amount of blankets, results in the most awkward move you’ve ever seen someone pull. Michael, under the guise of shifting to get more comfortable, tries to sneakily slide his arm around your shoulders. You notice the ploy almost immediately, and smirk at him when he thinks he’s pulled it off.

“Really? What teen movies have you been watching lately?”

“You knew?” Michael asks, withdrawing his arm from where it’s sitting around your shoulders.

“Michael, that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Of course I knew.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks bright red as he looks back at the screen.

“Just because I called you out on it doesn’t mean that I’m not fine with it.” You’re not sure where this sudden streak of bravery came from, but you’re going to take it and run with it. Grabbing his hand, you place it in the previous position of being draped over your shoulders. Leaning into Michael’s side, your head rests on his chest as your eyes go back to the movie. “This good?”

“Yeah, this is--it’s fine,” Michael’s voice comes out at a higher pitch than normal, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

It’s a lot more difficult to continue watching the movie as the night wears on, and you find yourself more focused on just trying to keep your eyes open than on how Harry and his friends are going to figure out what’s petrifying the students. Michael can tell that you’re on the verge of sleep, nudging you gently every time you start to nod off. “I’m up,” you’ll always reply, “just resting my eyes for a sec.” It’s amusing, and he would send you to bed were you not so adamant that you’re completely awake.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls gently, your tired eyes flickering up to him.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that...well, do you think that you could ever, uh, like me?”

“I do like you, dumbass. Why else do you think I’m sitting here watching movies with you?”

“I know you like me as a friend, but I mean--could you ever see yourself thinking of me as something more?”

“Is this because of what I said earlier, about your legacy?”

“Yes and no. This is something that has been on my mind for quite some time.” You’re awake now, and you sit up and pull yourself out of his embrace.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“I’d rather we discuss it now,” Michael says carefully, knowing that you’re starting to get stand-offish. “(Y/N), you’re very aware of my feelings for you and that I believe what my father has told me about the two of us. I just want to know--I deserve to know how you feel about me.”

“Do you even know how hard it was for me to trust you after you kidnapped me?” you ask, standing up and clicking the TV off. Michael stands up with you, making sure you don’t run off before he’s gotten some answers.

“I thought we were over that by now!”

“We are, but--”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that you’ve been in love with me from the moment you first saw me, and I don’t even know if I can let myself have romantic feelings for the fucking Antichrist!” The anger in Michael’s eyes is extinguished, replaced with a crushing sadness.

“You told me that you didn’t blame me for how I was born,” he says quietly. You bite your lip, realizing you just hit him in his weak spot.

“I don’t, Michael, but you’ve also done a lot of bad things, you’re doing bad things, and you’ll continue to do bad things.”

“I would never do those bad things to you. Everything I do is to benefit the plan that my father has.”

“But what if one day his plan changes and you have to kill me?” you shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect against the sudden chill in the air. “You can make all of the excuses you want, but at the end of the day you’re still the Devil’s son, murdering and plotting the end of the world.”

You should have stopped long before this, but the words just won’t stop flowing out of you now that you’ve spilled them. Michael runs his hand down his jaw, nodding slowly. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

He’s thrown you off, and you’re sure it’s obvious that he has. “What?” You’re expecting him to yell, throw things, and maybe slap you again. Instead, he’s eerily calm.

“I asked for you to be honest, and you were, so thank you.” He turns to leave, his movements stilting and robotic.

“Michael,” you reach for him, unsure of what you should do.

“Get some sleep, you’ve had a long day.” Michael smiles weakly at you, his hand resting on the door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod dumbly, mutely, unable to do anything but watch as he leaves. Suddenly, you’re entirely too aware of how he must have felt all the times he wounded you with only his words. It’s a bitter feeling, one that replaces the lingering sweet taste of candy with sour words you had spilled so recklessly. It’s a taste that won’t go away, long after brushing your teeth and falling asleep with the taste of salty tears on your tongue.

/////////////////////////

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#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagines

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swellwriting · 5 years ago

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LOVER Pt.1

- I Forgot That You Existed -

Bucky x Reader/ The Winter Soldier x Reader

A/N: Welcome to the beginning of this journey, hope you are excited for the rest of the story, please let me know what you think, like/ leave a comment/ reblog and all that stuff it’s really appreciated :))

Word Count: 2.7k Series Masterlist Part 2

Warnings: Just violence for this chapter.

Hydra had fallen and S.H.E.I.L.D had fallen with it, given they were truly one and the same in the end. But just because the secret was out, it did not mean that Hydra had gone extinct. They thrived working in the shadows and casting new light just made more shadows in new places for them to hide. Like rats they scurry from one safe place to another, making new hidden bases, moving back and rebuilding old ones. That was their dumbest tactic.

On their tails, they had the Avengers chasing them, and the Avengers weren’t easy to hide from since they seemed to be growing in numbers every day.

To make matters worse for them, because you just loved to make things worse for the organization that ruined your life and stole it from you in more ways than you could count, they had you, their very own prized “Asset Number 2” who was living just to continue to kill them all. You wouldn’t stop until you could safely say that Hydra was a thing of the past.

And any new organizations like Hydra that came up, you would put their fire out before they could burn someone else as they did to you, as they did to him.

You would search for intel, scan digital global maps, return to old bases trying to find where the disease of Hydra had spread to next. Hydra was right to call themselves by this name, Lerneaen Hydra being the type of monster that when you cut one head off, two more would grow in its place. It was tiring chasing after the “heads” but what else was their really to do with your life, with your abilities, work in a small town diner? Not a chance.

You consider for a moment what it would be like, serving drinks with a cherry fake smile, winking at men that made your stomach curl for an extra tip, and then bringing them out back and slitting their throats for trying to put a hand up your short uniform skirt? It would just never work out.

The explosive device you had set on the door goes off, blowing your hair back and spreading a bit of heat against your cheeks.

“That was a close one.” You thought aloud, feeling your face to make sure your eyebrows were still there. You had been looking into this specific base for a long time, you were tired of trying to figure out passwords and lock codes so you did a small heist of the local police department armoury and decided the loud and proud approach was more your style today. The alarms blared like music to your ears.

“That’s right, panic, scurry around like rats, grab a weapon, it won’t help you.” You say in a sing-song voice, purely for your own amusement, it had been a long while since you had had a partner to joke with.

You grab your .44 magnum revolver from your thigh holster, lean up against the wall and listen for nearing footsteps around the corner, you check and make sure you have all nine bullets loaded and when you hear the tip tap of the scurrying rats you duck down and peer around the corner, shooting upward as the men run towards you in blind panic. There were six of them, you counted each one as you put a bullet in their heads, even as they realized you were there and went to turn and run you were too fast.

You took a moment to admire your work because hell if you didn’t who else would?

The men wore bleachy white lab coats now stained in their own dark blood, “damn lab rats,” you say with a spite filled yet satisfied grunt as you spit on their bodies.

You look down the hallway, no one else seems to be there but you know better than to waltz down there with only three bullets left. You grab a grenade off your hip, pull the pin and hold it to your lips as you count to three before dramatically rolling it down the long hallway like a bowling ball until it hits the door at the end and stops.

You hear men begin to yell “grenade” but your timing’s too perfect, they don’t even finish the word before their lips are probably blown right off their faces.

“Strike!” You congratulate your self as you slowly stride down the hallway, a swagger to your step. Fuck a diner, this was what you were good at. You excelled at this.

One of the men wasn’t quite dead, you walk up to him, stick the heel of your boot into his chest where the skin is torn open and then kiss the blade of your knife before pushing it through his heart. You fake a frown as you watch the light leave his eyes.

“Awe just a spare, you ruined my streak!”

As if human lives were equivalent to bowling pins, but in your mind, the lives of Hydra officers were lower, even lower than an inanimate object, but can anyone blame you, they treated you the same way.

You skip down the hallway, twirling your knife in your hands until you think you hear a noise, holstering your knife you grab your prized AP4 gun off your back and hold it up to your line of sight, tired of the dramatics and wanting to see Hydra blood splattered on the walls of their underground steel hell box.

You find nothing and no one as you kick the door to the lab open.

In total there were only a few lab rats and couple meek soldier mice? Hydra must be feeling the pressure you’ve been putting on them lately, good.

You plug in your USB and start the download of all their files, this will help you figure out what Hydra’s up to and where their other basses might be.

You hear a noise down the hall, one expertly quiet footstep that only a super-soldier would notice, you should have checked the surroundings before you left your back so open, someone comes in and you raise your gun at them about to yell at them to drop their weapon, until you realize you are being held up by a man with a bow and arrow.

You laugh for a moment, he shoots an arrow as you lower your gun and you catch it, breaking it in half thanks to your super-soldier strength and laugh. Your laugh fades to shock when someone walks in beside him, his gun is covering part of his face but you recognize that metal arm, that messy hair that needs to be trimmed, his face as he lowers the gun a bit to look at you.

“Winter?” You ask, losing all of your focus as your mind panics and before you realize the stupid arrow guy shot again, right into your stomach, it feels like a sharp pain, it goes straight up your spine and into your head making your vision go blank and your stomach ache. You’re lying on the ground, when did you fall?

“Fuck,” you say but it comes out so quiet and you feel so weak, you squeeze your fingers to stay awake, to focus but something is wrong, something is so very wrong.

You hear faint footsteps.

“Someone already cleared out this base, I’m assuming it’s our gal there that you shot in the stomach without thinking.” Says a voice you swear sounds like Tony Stark, or at least how he sounds on tv.

“She was pointing a gun at me!” Clint defends and Bucky chuckles as he walks over to you, you’re alive and struggling on the floor, like an animal, helpless and visibly angry about it as you grab at your stomach.

“She’s not dead,” Bucky confirms as he grabs your hand, but he doesn’t look at you like he knows who you are, he doesn’t look sad to see you dying on the floor. And as the pain fills your body, as your head pounds against your skull, your eyes water, your mouth tastes tangy like metal you realize he has no idea who you are, your eyes go wide as you desperately try to speak to him, but you spit up blood which horrifies him.

“Impossible, I’m using those arrows you made me Tony, you said instant kill, that doesn’t look instant.”

“They are poison coated, Legolas, the poison should kill any normal person within seconds, seems our gal here is both a badass Hydra killer and a special enhanced. Barnes bring her on the jet, let’s nuke this joint.”

Clint instantly feels bad as he watches Bucky carry you away, how was he supposed to know you had killed those guys in the hallway, he came in after Nat and Cap who went into a different room, so he just assumed they had taken care of them. He looks at the small pool of blood you left behind on the ground and then grabs your USB, putting it in his pocket and hoping he can give it to you later.

You are only partially conscious, conscious enough to hear and to feel the pain circling your body but that’s about it.

You feel them lay you down and then strap you in, a safety measure, perhaps to keep you in place, or more for their own safety, you aren’t sure. You blackout from the pain, only waking up sometime later, you aren’t sure where or how long it’s been but the room is bright white, it’s filled with fancy technology on the walls and a nurse looks you in the eyes and then scurries away to get the others.

You blink a few times, sit up even though it sends shooting pain up your spine and to your toes, your brain feels numb, they must be heavily medicating you, and to achieve that they must know about your…abilities.

“We go into lots of Hydra bunkers, it’s not rare to find specially enhanced soldiers there, or traces of their past existence, but it is rare to find one who seems to be doing exactly what we were,” Tony says as the room quickly fills with various curious Avengers

“Do you usually shoot at them too?” You ask.

“No.” Tony answers easily while Wanda answers simultaniously, “yes.”

Tony looks at her, raises a playfull brow which gets him a shoulder shrug in return, and then turns back to you.

“Lets cut to the chase, you’re special. Another Super soldier by the looks of it,” he says as he flips through your lab results.

“I’m the same as Winter, same make, different model.” You joke as you gesture to your body.

“Winter?” Steve asks confused.

“Yeah, Winter, he is the only reason I even got shot, he broke my focus. I’ll never be killed by a dude with a damn bow and arrow.” You counter thinking that somehow answers who Winter is.

“Who is Winter?” Tony says, asking you again.

“How do you not know who he is? He was with you, in the base, on that jet. I saw him and blanked. The Winter Soldier, I’m exactly like him, he helped them create me, I am a copy of him.”

“Let me guess your name is Summer right?” Tony jokes.

“Spring, actually. Hydra is really creative, luckily they maxed out at two of us and didn’t run out of seasons.”

Tony chuckles at the nickname and speaks up, “FRIDAY, call Barnes to the medical ward.”

Then you just wait, still confused still in pain as the love of your life walks through the door.

“You didn’t tell us you knew our almost casualty here?” Tony asks and Steve listens intently, never having heard of “Spring” before now.

“I don’t?” He answers and your heart drops. You were right, your hunch from the way he looked at you before was right, it wasn’t that he moved on and didn’t care, it’s that he completely forgot, he has no idea who you are.

The Avengers, or at least the ones in the room, Steve, Tony, Clint, Sam, Wanda and Bucky, all stare at you with looks of confusion and some filled with accusation.

“So your story doesn’t work,” Sam suggests, instantly not trusting you, not that the others trust you any more than he does.

“It’s not a story, or an excuse it’s the truth. I was The Spring Soldier, Asset number 2, I was created by Hydra, I was the only person they found who could survive the half-assed knock off serum they created and used on Winter first. I was trained by Winter, he was my partner, my lover.” You say the last part quietly and they pretend not to notice as you look at your hands.

“You just don’t remember me, it’s happened before,” you finish.

“I thought you got all your memories back Buck?” Steve asks.

Clint chimes in, “How do you even know if you remember everything you…forgot,” but no one pays attention to him.

“I do,” Bucky assures himself aloud.

“I forgot you existed once too, and I’ve dealt with you forgetting me before too. After you left Hydra I couldn’t find you anywhere for years, they said you went chasing after some old friend, they couldn’t find you either.

I heard that you joined the Avengers and there were all these trials in the news and it seemed like you had moved on and I was tired of chasing after you so I thought it was my turn to forget, I begged a lower officer to perform the procedure, I thought to forget you would be hard, painful. I thought that it would kill me, but it didn’t. It wasn’t long before the memories rushed back. You should remember me too by now. What all do you remember, about the past?” You spill your guts, quickly running over your past skipping some of the darker moments. You ask the question as calm and collected as you can, masking the heartbreak as you search for answers.

“I remember Hydra, I remember the war and I remember Steve but not you,” he says so flatly like he isn’t bothered. As if he isn’t even trying to rack his brain for memories of you.

And he looks at you in this way that breaks your heart, behind his eyes there isn’t love, there isn’t hate, just indifference.

And it hurts because you want him back so badly but he doesn’t seem to care. As painful as the past is you crave it at this moment. Life with Winter was hectic and hard but it was worth it to be with him, this peaceful and quietness that lingered without him, without being part of Hydra was deadly. And then he had to twist the knife.

“I remember everyone I’ve ever killed, I remember everything the soldier did but I am not him.”

“Yes, you are!” You say raising your voice a little, like a wounded animal backed up against the wall.

“No, I’m not.” He says and he doesn’t yell but he says it like he’s so sure of himself and it hurts, a blow to the heart as if he’s stomping on the memories as if he’s ripping up pictures in your face. And he isn’t saying the words out loud, he’s not saying he doesn’t love you, but he might as well be.

As Bucky leaves the room in a rush the team gives you a new mix of looks. Tony looks at you as if you’re a new project, something begging to be fixed. Clint looks guilty and confused. Sam and Steve are both defensive, they had spent so long helping Bucky move on from his past, helping him believe he wasn’t the same person, that it wasn’t his fault and here you come, ruining that idea.

Wanda looked neutral, like she sort of felt bad for you but also didn’t trust you either.

The love of your life just walked out the door, leaving you behind like dust without a second thought, for what felt like the hundredth time, and you were stuck in a room of strangers who were all silently judging you and making their own opinions on you.

To make it worse you were handcuffed and strapped to this damn hospital bed. You had to get Winter or Bucky to remember you and you had to get the entirety of the Avengers to trust you and believe you aren’t a threat. What a fucking nightmare.

Part 2

Tag List: @finnofamerica @theseuscmander @fortisfiliae @theboywhocriedlupin @draqcnheartstrinq @carolinesbookworld

Let me know if you would like to be tagged, this series is getting its own special taglist since I discontinued all my other ones.

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justimajin · 6 years ago

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Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ⌠Part 1⌡

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (2.8k) Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU

⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye...

⇢ Warnings: some swearing, this is the first time I’ve tried to put all the members in one fic and I hope I was able to somehow balance out the chaos

⇢ Disclaimer: I have done my research but this will contain some medical inaccuracies. They should not be taken seriously and are only being used for the sake of fictional purposes.

⇢ Next Update: Friday, April 12 ┈ find the prologue here

You reach over to turn off the dripping tap, taking the used blue colored latex gloves hanging on the side of the counter and discarding them promptly into the biohazardous trash. Your eyes carefully skim over your hands, flipping them over several times with precise inspection before agreeing that they were clean and sterile. Walking outside the dark confines of the room, you reach over to grab the familiar white coat and drape it over your shoulders alongside clipping the laminated plastic onto the front pocket.

The lingering images of the previous scene re-play themselves in your mind.

A success. A win. A victory.

The words radiated throughout the operating room in bliss when you had managed to remove the tedious tumor invested deep inside your patient, but in an instant you feel defeated when you notice the individual that had so patiently been watching the entire process unfold in front of his eyes.

The image of his satisfied smile, alongside a subdued gesture in clapping for you lights your veins on fire and aggregates them. Your hands clench into fists and your teeth grind at the prospect that it wasn’t a simple congrats, but his exact way of performing an act of mockery for you.

Your efforts are to be rewarded, but now you just see them all drown in vain.

The thoughts continue to pester you to no end, but as you make a turn into the patient ward, you decide it was time you had brushed them away. Because at the end of the day – your patients were your number one priority first and foremost.

“How are we feeling today?” You question, clipboard in hand and a fresh pen clicked when you approach one of the nurses replacing an IV for an elderly man. Your prior knowledge about him was particularly vague, only knowing he recently gone through a major stroke and was brought through an ambulance urgently. He appears to be looking well awake and from your own physical perspective you don’t see him residing within the hospital for long.

“Better, but I’ve been having some pain in my right arm.” He gestures towards it and you immediately place your clipboard down to examine it. It didn’t appear to be swollen which was a relief to you, but it could essentially indicate that there was some sort of problem ensuring within his nerves. You quickly wrack through your head, accounting that he physically appeared to be fine which meant the blood clot lodged in his brain had been successfully removed due to therapy by medication, but the nerve issue must have resulted from the aftershocks of the clot.

You scribble down onto your clipboard your observations, “It could potentially be an issue, are you able to move the muscle?” You gesture for him to reach forward and a crease sets in your brows when you notice him struggling with the action – leading to more scribbling in your notes.

“I’ll give you some medications to deal with the pain temporarily, but if it continues then I’ll have our head doctor take a look at it.” You give him a soft smile before making a couple more notes. Moving across to the next patient, you continue the process until you have properly assessed every patient in your individual ward and decide to head into your office to secure the documentation.

Your mind still swirls back and forth in regard to the events this morning, but they dissipate when you open the door to your office and scoff at the sight before you.

“Seriously?” You question, the man in front of you bolting up in his seat and hurriedly securing his food into a nearby drawer cause you to roll your eyes at the failed attempt in doing so. He gives you a cheeky smile, the food being painfully way too obvious when it piles in his cheeks at the gesture.

You walk towards your desk, which was in corner placed in front of his. “Listen, I understand that you get hungry and need to eat, but I’m not going to be the one cleaning up after we have a mouse infestation.” You wave your hands away, sinking into your chair.

The black-haired man quickly swallows the rest of his food before swinging his chair to roll and bump into your desk, startling you, “That’s inhumane! Someone needs to be sharing with those mice.”

You snort, “Tell that to Namjoon next time.”

“What, are you crazy?! But don’t tell on me Y/N, pleaseee.” He pouts and you keep wondering to yourself how a grown adult could act in such a childish way.

“Fine. I won’t tell if you can get this done for me.” You stand up and graciously stack up a pile of paperwork for patients onto his desk, a devious smile on your lips.

He lets out a loud groan, looking at you with pleading eyes before he rolls back slowly to his desk, knowing you were being serious. He had been slacking far too much and being your intern meant he needed to live up to the role.

“Y/N, what’s this?” He questions, displaying a document that wasn’t traced in your own writing and your eyes widen.

“Damn it, why is Jimin’s stuff mixed in with mine?” He shrugs and you abruptly get up. He innocently side eyes you when you grasp for door knob and you roll your eyes again, turning around to which he beams up at.

“Do you want to come too Jin?” He furiously nods his head, possibly in attempt to get himself away from the paper work, before hurriedly joining you and you let out a small chuckle.

He was pretty endearing for being a pain in the ass to deal with.

Leaving your office, the two of you stride down the halls and you flinch when the sound of fluttering laughter boom through the entirety of the hallway. You glance around to locate where the sound was exactly coming from, but upon arriving at Jimin’s office the large group of female workers are spotted crowding closely near the entrance. Your eyes land onto their field of vision, finding the rare sight of someone standing front of the office and leaning down to give a small boy what appears to be a yellow lollipop. A soft smile decorates the corner of his lips, gorgeous white pearls being showcased alongside light crinkles in his eyes. The man raises himself up instantly when he catches the two of you staring at him, the young patient he was attending to happily running off into his designated ward.

“A-ah, Dr. L/N.” He greets, ignoring the pending female eyes that are glued to him, but his voice is so low that you have to subtly lean forward to hear him.

“Hello. And you are?” You question, leaning again to hear him but the answer doesn’t come out from his mouth.

“Y/N, are you hitting on my new intern already?!” The loud, obnoxious voice blares out, alerting quite literally everyone in the hospital of his presence. He swings an arm around the quiet boy, black tousled hair pushed back and only clothed in a white dress shirt; complete absence of the essential white coat.

“Greetings Dr. Park.” You muse and Jimin frowns at the title, suddenly mimicking a crying face.

“Y-you know, I miss the days you called me Jimin.” He pretends to fake sob into his intern’s shirt and you don’t fail to catch the roll of eyes the intern does when he subtly pats Jimin on the back.

“Dr. Park can you stop ‘crying’ already and introduce your intern?” Jimin hurriedly stands up, a bright smile on his face when he hugs the living daylights out of the man.

“This is Jungkookie!” Jungkook does a subtle nod as confirmation in the midst of trying to separate himself from Jimin and you let out a low chuckle at the display already. He was going to have to put up with a lot.

“Nice to meet you Jungkook. If you need any help around here, you can ask me or Jin who is also my intern.” You gesture towards him and Jin kindly nods, before Jungkook suddenly narrows his eyes and shifts closer to him.

“How old are you?” Jin is a little taken back with the question.

Jungkook’s eyes widen with the response. “26.”

“You’re five years older than me!” Now you’re a little taken aback with his age, but Jin’s eyes blow up and he looks completely flabbergasted with the sudden new information.

“Five? Y/N, we need to get this kid out of here, they’re hiring literal children now!” He begins to frantically search around and you can already hear Jimin protesting at the idea in the background.

“Children? You’re five years older than me and you’re an intern! You haven’t even moved up to being a doctor!” Jungkook says and there’s immediate silence, before Jin launches himself forward and grabs a fistful of Jungkook’s shirt. You widen your eyes, knowing it wouldn’t be good if they started fighting there.

“ARGH. Shut up. All of you.” An annoyed voice pitches through and you get a jump scare when the blonde-haired doctor strolls behind you, eyes flickering in irritation.

You feel at ease that everything has cooled down, a comfortable silence in the air but it soon diminishes when Jungkook opens up his mouth.

“Isn’t it nice knowing you’ll be dead before me?” Jungkook mutters and you slap a hand on your face when the banter continues, volume increasing even more.

You sigh, “Nice try Yoongi.” You look at the man who holds a dead-pan expression.

“I was sleeping in the back and they ruined my nap. Who even is this guy?” Yoongi gestures to Jungkook, who suddenly doesn’t look like the same shy boy you had encountered minutes ago.

“Jungkook. Jimin’s new intern.”

“Yoongi! Yoongi! Isn’t he amazing?” Jimin exclaims, gesturing towards Jungkook.

Yoongi scoffs, “Amazing until you drive him away like you did with all your other interns.” You stifle back a laugh when a horrified expression arises on Jimin, who begins stuttering at the new shade of red that colours his face.

“T-those were-“

“Remind me again why they were all females? Caught in the bathroom doing what exactly?” Yoongi lets out a gummy smile and you turn your head to the side when the laughter comes spilling out, but its soon cut off when two men walk towards the crowd of doctors and interns in the group.

Immediately the volume lowers down and you muse how much power Namjoon truly has, his presence only being needed to quiet everyone down. He’s carrying some documentation with him, but his head perks up at the sudden silence and he lets out a small dimpled smile. Walking towards Jungkook, he pats him on the back.

“I hope you guys will treat our newest recruit well.” Jungkook frantically nods and you laugh a little on the inside. It was his first day here and he’s already managed to capture Jimin’s heart, strike a loud fight with Jin and irritate Yoongi at the same time. From your prior experience, you know he’ll fit in just as well.

“Ah! Y/N!” He excitedly turns over to you and then pats you on the back, “Congrats on the successful operation, your patient is doing significantly better now.”

“Y/N’s surgery was a success!!” Jimin cheers.

“Such a good surgeon.” Jin claps dramatically behind him, a huge grin on his face.

Jungkook comes over and gives you an awkward thumbs up which makes you laugh. Yoongi approvingly nods at the news.

“It could have been better.”

The voice breaks through your cheers and your eye subtly twitches when the familiar heavy steps enter into the vicinity. Clad in an elegant white coat alongside perfectly framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, his long brown hair brushes subtly against his forehead with his large strides and a fire has already been lit inside you.

“What was that, Dr. Kim?” His professional name grits out from your teeth and he smiles, the constant appearance of it making you wonder if there even was a possible way to wipe it off his lips.

“From what I saw, your patient entered a critical zone twice, not just once, and if it wasn’t for the nurses assisting you, you could have very well punctured into the pancreas, a vital organ if I might say.” He cocks his head to the side, letting his observant input sink in and you squeeze your eyes shut when it all processes.

He was right.

Entering the critical zone was something to be prevented at any measure because of the patient’s life being at risk and you could have easily punctured their pancreas thanks to the faint shaking of your own hands. It wasn’t something you had incrediable regard for because your patient survived the operation, but the faint light in the darkness of the situation is covered up when he points it out and it is one of the many reasons of your deeply rooted hatred for him.

He was observant, he was able to pick on such small things and he would use any gate of opportunity he could get to criticize your work. It irks you when he decided so kindly to do this in front of Jungkook, coincidentally at the same time you had met the new member of your institution.

He keeps staring at you, patiently waiting for a response and you’re at a complete loss of words. It doesn’t help that his stare feels so heavy on you, boring dark lasers that dig into you. You let out a deep sigh, resuming back into your professional state before you stare back at him, the fire in your eyes being up again.

“Thank you for the input Dr. Kim. I’ll be sure to keep in mind of it.” You give him a tight smile and he stands up straight again, pleasantly nodding before he swiftly turns away. The atmosphere long dying out when his heavy footsteps fade away but the anger seeps out of you when you want to stalk up to him and give him a piece of your mind.

“Easy girl.” Jin grabs your arm, “You’re here to save people, not kill them.”

“W-who was that?” Jungkook quietly asks, a hand on his racing heart to steady it from the new intrusion.

“Dr. Kim. He works as a doctor as well as a surgeon here. Him, Y/N and Namjoon are the only ones qualified here to do operations.” Yoongi states, a disinterested look on his face.

“Why was he talking to you like that?” Jungkook questions and you let out a stiff smile, before Jin jumps into the conversation.

“Him and Y/N have this...” He stares at you for a moment, contemplating, “Rivalry? Super distaste of each other? Basically can’t leave them in a room together or they’ll murder each other, in fact this one tim-“ You slap a hand on his mouth, glaring at him.

“That’s enough Jin, he doesn’t need to hear about all that.”

“He seems a little scary...” Jungkook squeaks out, but Jimin laces an arm around him.

“Don’t worry, you’re my intern so you won’t have to put up with Dr. Kim at all. That guy never even takes anyone under his wing.”

“Why not?”

“He likes to be independent. Doesn’t really being here unless he gets payed. It’s all about the money for him in the end.” You say, rage still boiling inside of you at the bitter words.

“He is the best surgeon among us though, he was once able to do a full heart transplant by himself and save the patient in time.” Namjoon looks at you and you know he has a point. Dr. Kim was known for his prestigious reputation among all of you, but the claim that it was unbeatable wasn’t something you necessarily liked.

“Yeah he did...” You roll your eyes along with the statement.

“Personally, I think the two of you could be good friends.” Yoongi states, and immediately your ears perk up in confusion.

“Friends? These two? Are you so sure about that Dr. Min?!” Jin exclaims but Yoongi nods.

“You won’t want to admit it, but you guys are similar in nature.” His conclusion makes you want to laugh, the very suggestion seemingly sounding so fabricated that you wonder in what possible universe, could you and Dr. Kim possibly get along.

“Yeah right.” You scoff, turning with Jin following behind you when the thought appears once again but you simply brush it off.

There was no universe that could be created, in which you would get along with the likes of him.

#taehyung fanfic #bts taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung doctor au #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #bts v fanfic #bts v doctor au #bts doctor au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {16}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 15. Dejected

A/N: These are my writing partner FOW’s Headcanons/OCs of Hans’ brothers.

16. Oh Brothers

Hans' night was less than pleasant, but he woke as the doctor arrived to tend to his wounds again, and breakfast was brought. His dinner tray remained untouched, but he accepted breakfast.

"Wasn't in the mood." He assured, before anyone could ask about dinner. "I'll take breakfast when company leaves, I'm not accustomed to eating while being observed." He acted as though nothing was wrong and nothing had happened. He had been visibly miserable the night before, but Westergaards were lions, not sheep or mice. He would not express his misery for long. He could not be seen to be weak. He had already allowed for too much weakness. He was determined to stand and walk a bit, even if it hurt. Enough to pace, he hoped, if only gently.

Elsa had trouble falling asleep after her excruciatingly long day, her mind just wouldn't shut off worrying and overthinking, eventually she passed out from exhaustion. Morning arrived too soon, she stayed in bed a little longer than usual, awake or trying her best to stay that way. She couldn't lay there long, she had her duties to attend to and Hans was her main concern. Getting some food in her system helped her feel a little more awake, though she continued to yawn frequently, even if she tried her best to resist it. Shortly after breakfast, she decided she had to go see Hans, or else she would be unable to focus. Arriving at the door of his chamber she hesitated for a moment. The guards had left earlier that morning, after the doctor came to visit and saw Hans was alive and well (maybe he was not the latter, but he was the former at least). Elsa considered knocking, which she'd gotten out of the habit of doing with him. She thought if she'd heard his voice first that would ease her going in, but then she ran the risk of Hans sending her off before she could really get a chance to see him. Elsa took a deep breath and quickly grabbed the door knob and made her way in. What she saw when she entered worried her, he was out of bed and standing or at least trying his hardest to, she knew he'd likely pop his stitches if he overexerted himself before he (or at least his body) was ready, possibly prolonging his recovery more than if he'd just been patient.

Hans adjusted his shirtsleeves, looking out the window thoughtfully.

"Good morning, your Majesty." He remarked, his tone light, but his face more serious than perhaps he ordinarily would have had it. "Don't worry, I'll eat later. I just haven't gotten to it yet. Wanted to get a little more movement. You've no idea how exhausting it is to be unable to move until you are." Though he kept his tone even, he was certainly not moving much, and after a long pause, reached out to steady himself on the wall as he moved carefully back to the bed. It was clear it still hurt significantly, and he wasn't taking any chances he didn't feel he had to. He made it seem like it had nothing to do with Anna or their conversation last night. It seemed he would do all he could to avoid the thought. Elsa was still concerned, especially seeing his serious face. It was obvious moving was a real struggle. She was sure what Anna said had brought about his stubbornness to get out of bed and try to do something . Elsa really wished to scold him for trying to force himself, but knew that might not be the best idea. She sighed heavily.

"I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to be stuck in bed for so long, especially considering you'd almost fully healed and then a surprise attack brought you back to square one," she sympathized. "Just please be careful, we wouldn't want you to strain your body too much before it's better," she cautioned him. Elsa slowly approached him, keeping her distance, but was ready to assist him in a second should he come to stumble.

Hans nodded, and moved back to the bed with slow, firm steps. In spite of his calm and unaffected face, it still looked painful. He sat again and gestured as if to ask her if that made her happy, without his usual sense of humor about it.

"It is a frustration, to not have things to do, or indeed, ways with which to do it. I'd sooner be in chains, at least in those I could walk, stitches, I find, are much more restrictive-- when they aren't snapping. I may have popped one last night, though I forget what I'd done to do that." He certainly didn't forget what would have made him move, just which gesture in particular did that. His conversation was colder than usual, none of his typical good humor or light sarcasm or even his ill-advised self-deprecating remarks. Instead, it seemed fairly clinical.

"I'd just as soon be doing government work. No offense to your wonderful choices of books, but at least I feel productive when I'm reading documents. Not that I'd ordinarily have much to do with anything beyond orders, wanted posters, and shipping papers, but I do have a talent for people, generally." Not always. But then, if he wanted to manipulate Anna a second time, he'd had tactics. He didn't. He very decisively didn't want to show her his scars or throw anything back, when he knew he deserved the harsh words he got. He very specifically didn't mention his conversation with Anna, he didn't want to bring that up again to damage his new day. Better to move on, and get back to himself. Or whatever he assumed himself to be, today. It certainly seemed different from who he was the day before.

Elsa wished to discuss what Anna had said to him last night, and tell him what Kristoff had suggested, that Anna would strike people where it hurt the most without realizing when she was angry, but she didn't mean it. Yet, Hans seemed to want to put what had happened between him and Anna behind him, he was still certainly not his usual self, but much less distant than last night and Elsa didn't wish to sour his mood again. Elsa bit her lip and pondered for a moment.

"Hmm...You know, you might not be able to help with my paperwork directly, per se, but I think there is a way you could assist me and lighten my load. It still involves reading, though, a lot of it actually. I spend a lot of time doing research --too much time actually-- looking for certain bits of information in books, I think it might make my job a whole lot easier if I had someone helping me with the research for me and summarize the information I need. I feel bad loading you with work while you're trying to recover, but if you really desire something to do, you can aid with that --it's not too straining, well maybe mentally-- and it would be much very appreciated," Elsa suggested.

Hans considered the thought a moment, seeming almost distracted from another line of thought.

"I could take on a few of those tasks for you." He agreed, with a more pleasant tone, though he still seemed to be keeping his face uncommonly neutral. "I've just thought of something I could do, as well. The guard staff need retraining. I can start writing out guidance, perhaps a paper test to see where these guards are at. I'll need to talk to Captain Kristofferson, I'm sure he'll visit later. It seems I get a lot of visitors these days. Not that that's a bad thing." He let a little more of his old smile in, at that.

"Thank you, for your visit last night. Brief as it was, it was appreciated." He assured her. He still didn't seem to want to talk about why she visited, just to let her know that he appreciated it all the same. "It seems I should have an inordinate amount of time on my hands while I heal. I'll certainly not be able to train the guard properly if I can't lift a sword. Don't think I wasn't tempted to, but alas, standing is enough to make my stitches complain, I won't chance lifting my arm above my shoulder to claim it from the bureau. Damnable thing about torso injuries-- once you get one, it hurts everywhere." He chuckled a little, wryly. It was true, so far as he could tell.

"Thank you. That sounds like another great idea, if I catch the Captain in the halls first, I'll be sure to ask him to drop by as soon as he can," she nodded. "Oh, of course, I promised you I'd come visit, didn't I? And I'll try my best to keep it," Elsa reassured him with a tender smile. "And no one expects you to exert yourself more than you're able while you're recovering, so please try to take it easy so you can get back to health as soon as possible,"she insisted as she gazed softly into his eyes. She was a bit relieved that Hans was unable to lift his sword or at least was not going to try.

"Ability is a funny thing, your Majesty. We are all able to do much more than we think we are. It's just a matter of how much well-being one is willing to trade for it." He admitted, giving a casual shrug. "But, her Majesty would be unhappy if I got injured again. Therefore," He gave an exaggerated shrug. "I have no choice but to simply get better." There, at least, was a hint of his playfulness.

"Perhaps have him wait a half hour or so after you leave. Sooner or later, I ought to get to breakfast." He joked dryly, nodding to the tray. "I imagine you wouldn't be happy if I skipped it again, and I would hate to disappoint." Not for himself, but for her. He didn't seem to care much what happened to himself. But if he truly cared for his health, would he have sailed back into hostile territory in the first place?

Elsa could hear bits of his usual playfulness come back and it eased her, if only a little.

"You're right to assume, her Majesty, would indeed be unhappy," she nodded. So he hadn't eaten his dinner. Maybe she should have fed him last night after all. "Yes, please eat, sooner is preferable, before it gets too cold. If her Majesty finds out you've skipped again she would not only be displeased, but also feel inclined to feed you herself, to ensure you are feeding yourself properly." She didn't know why she kept talking about herself in third person, maybe it was Hans' more seriousness that brought it out.

Hans smirked to himself, and stifled an obvious laugh. "If I were a more playful or flirtatious soul, I'd say that would be a perfectly good reason not to eat. But, I've never been a man to allow others to do anything for me." Still, he smiled at the challenge, intentionally trying to fluster her. He truly was the playful and flirtatious foul, even when he tried very much not to be.

He easily succeeded in making her face flush, with his words as well as his smile. "Uh-I'm well aware of that," Elsa answered with a slight fluster in her tone. She knew Hans strives to be independent as possible and not be seen as a burden, he did almost let himself die in the dungeon because of it. "Um, before I go, to let you eat, would you like some ice?" Elsa asked. Ice had become her go to deflector to get herself out of an awkward conversation. She hadn't even started thinking of what she was going to do once Hans healed and it was no longer a viable option, she'd become too dependent on the excuse already.

Hans kept his expression moderated, a mild smile, though there was still a spark of amusement. "I would be glad for some ice. My wound does still pain me, as you can likely tell. As much as I keep my pains quiet, it would be silly to pretend I don't have them now, I suppose." He smiled a little, gently. Perhaps a big step to admit he had one nonetheless. "And how are your wounds?" He clearly cared about her minor injuries with the same care she had for his stab wound.

Elsa had completely forgotten about her own wounds, since they felt insignificant compared to Hans', they were nothing more than a scrape and a bruise. It had been two weeks since the attack so they'd been healing up nicely since then. She had incurred two minor wounds, physical ones at least. The first was but a small scratch on her cheek. It had healed rather quickly, especially with the help of Kristoff's salve. The scratch no longer stung so she'd ignored it's existence. It was now a soft pink color, probably easily blending in with the blush of her cheeks. It had become nothing other than a barely noticeable blemish on her porcelain skin, at least to her. Her second injury, on the other hand, was still somewhat of an inconvenience. She no longer wore a sling to support her arm, but it still wasn't fully healed either. "My wounds? Well, as you can see, I'm at least able to move my arm now," she answered as she demonstrated some motion as she positioned herself to ice his wounds. "Though I must admit my arm is still a bit sore and I've got to be careful when lifting my arm too high or too fast, but other than that I think it's been healing up fine," Elsa reassured him with a smile. Elsa focused and started using her magic. "There's still no word from the Isles as of yet, but hopefully we'll receive correspondence soon."

"It can be a long boat ride. It's been, what, a few days? It will likely be a few more before it arrives. Or, I've forgotten time again. Perhaps they're taking their time to handle Weselton themselves, or trying to decide what to do about me being here. I'm sure they expected me to return-- and rather hoped I didn't. I'm not sure they truly understand how forgiving Arendelle can be. For the better, perhaps. War is not like my brother, but 'polite acquisition of power' is a strength of ours. Gerard is good with words, Felix is a true scholar with letters, between the two they could peacefully negotiate the tea from China, if they decided to." Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but it was nice to know Hans had a few positive things to say of his family. He sighed and took the time to appreciate the chill on his wounds. He always tensed just a little before relaxing, when she iced them. The cold stung or twinged at first, until he could relax into it. "They're good men, those two. Gerard was always harder to get to know, but I know he's a good man. He was there at my darkest hour, in spite of his busy schedule. That always surprised me, that I made notice. Felix seems quite boring by comparison, but I think he just has a niche sense of humor. Things he jokes about are funny to him because his humor has depth. He was never especially good with people, like Gerard, but we joke that he knows the text of any book that manages to find its way into the castle, without needing to read it. I know it was a joke, but I always felt it was a good enough reason to burn my pages." It wasn't often Hans spoke of his brothers, least of all with anything positive to say, but it was true that he did have a few good memories of the isles-- or at least knew a few good things about a few brothers.

Elsa was caught by surprise, Hans rarely spoke of his brothers much less spoke well of them or brought them up by name. Gerard must have been the person who saved him, from the darkness they had talked about back when she had broken down in front of him. It was nice to hear he had some respectable brothers among the dozen.

"Which brothers are those exactly?" Elsa was embarrassed to even ask, her cheeks reddening even more than before. Up until now Elsa had been visualizing his brothers as a homogeneous cluster of men. "I'm sorry for asking, this is the first time you mention them by name and frankly there are too many Princes of the Southern Isles to keep track of, especially when I can't match a face to a name." Or in this case a name to a number since she wouldn't exactly be able to see them. It was even more confusing since all of them were his older brothers.

Hans chuckled. "No matter, we sometimes call each-other by number, and it gets more confusing when one includes the twins and the other two brothers who may as well be twins. Gerard is the eldest, Felix the second. Gerard is best described as 'a red-haired King Arthur in training', down to his knight's sword. Felix is visually distinctive by his glasses and his slightly darker red hair. Genuinely, it's a few shades' difference and truly the only one with a different hair color, the lucky duck." He laughed dryly. "Would you like to know more of my brothers? I speak poorly of my family, but in truth, I do like a few of them, and others are only sometimes a problem. A few are genuine blackguards, admittedly." He shrugged one shoulder, looking only passing interest in that fact.

"Most of us play instruments, all carry some kind of weapon unique to them, and of course we all have our unique personality traits. We all carry numbers and most carry signet rings. Mine is probably stricken and put in a safe somewhere, if it hasn't been melted down. Some of us didn't stay in the line of ascension, for various criminal reasons. I suppose I can count myself among them now." He was prince in name only. A name worth only open visitation to his home castle, a place he never wanted to be in the first place. "I suppose if you ever wanted to really mess with the Isles, I could help you marry into it. Or Anna. I certainly know which brothers might be worth the effort." He laughed dryly, almost bitterly at the thought. "I wouldn't want to sentence you to my mother as an in-law, though. I can think of a few worse fates."

She knew the part about helping her or Anna marry into the Isles was a joking remark, but it still made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She furrowed her brows a bit. Hans really seemed to have some deeply rooted resentment towards his mother.

"I feel a little bad asking the Isles for aid, yet I know little to nothing about them myself. I think I would like to at least try learning all your brothers' names, if you don't mind sharing."

Hans nodded, and grinned in amusement, clearly up to some mischief. "Gerard, Felix, Gregory, Lars and Georg, Judas, Hammund, Sigir and Petrus, Simon, Bernhard, Eduard, and Hans. And if you can recite them all back to me I will be highly impressed." He spoke quickly enough, giving her a playful grin as if amused by the fact that his whole family was a struggle. "I said them in order, of course, though if you confuse the twins or the should-be-twins, it wouldn't be too great a surprise or loss, they are used to it." "I'll give you a hint, there's three G names."

"Wait, what? I didn't think I had to memorize them all so quickly, and in order. You could at least have given me time to come up with a mnemonic." Elsa groaned. "I don't think I'll be able to get them all, but I'll try my best," she nodded.

"Okay, so there's Gerard and Felix --you just talked about them so that was easy-- followed by Gregory or was it Georg --I can't remember-- then there was Lars --I believe-- Georg or Gregory -- and then I got really lost in the middle-- Uh... Jørgen? --no, that doesn't sound right at all-- and Harold? --that doesn't sound right either-- Sigurd and Peder? --yeah, I don't know about those-- and then there was a Simon --just like the name of the mirror prince-- Uh, then there's Bernard and Edward --I'm more certain about those two-- Okay that was twelve," Elsa had been counting with her fingers. "And that just leaves you, Hans, last but certainly not least."

"So how badly did I butcher it?" Elsa curiously asked. " I know I at least named thirteen, unless I forgot one or accidentally added a fourteenth prince."

Hans laughed a little at her attempts. "Sorry, your Majesty, but we do like to tease people with it." He admitted playfully.

"You did quite well, actually! A few in the middle were wrong, that's usually the way of it, though usually people remember a name like Judas." He smiled a bit. "The first is Gerard, a red-haired King Arthur type down to his knightly sword. A good sense of humor and the gold standard of sons, polite and good-natured and honorable and all those things, the spitting image of our father in his youth, but for father's facial hair."

"Felix, the second, is prim and proper, cold and analytical, knows every book in the Isles, seemingly. He does have his dry sense of humor and odd interests. I'm led to believe he can warm up to people, I don't know that I've seen it. You'll rarely find Gerard without him, but Felix does venture on his own in the castle sometimes. If Gerard is the face of the Isles, Felix is the brains, without him nothing would get done. His hair is darker, and he prefers a rapier."

"Gregory is a musician, married to a singer named Katharina. Both of them the kindest people one could meet. In a way, they both look strikingly like our parents, father's illness is in Gregory as well, and Katharina has mother's dark hair. But Katharina is more kind than mother ever could have been, and all the more beautiful for it, and Gregory never had to worry about being a king, and so devoted his life to his passions, and is happy. He's a bit bewildered at times for his medications. Opiates, unfortunately. I refuse to take them for pain, I've seen what they do to people, thankfully not in our family." Hans paused and grimaced a little, rubbing his pained wound slightly, pressing the ice closer. "Gregory carries a small dagger rather than a sword, and it was Katharina's 'welcome to the family' gift from Mother. She would have nothing to do with it, so he keeps it instead."

“Lars and Georg are the twins, youthful hunters determined to catch whatever great new beast and have adventures, as if we're still medieval. Hunters, not above hunting a red-haired fox like me now and then. I've learned a few tricks to avoid them. They're ostensibly identical, but they strive to at least look different. Lars prefers cool colors, Georg prefers warm, Lars keeps his hair longer, Georg cropped shorter. Lars is a hair leaner, Georg a bit softer. They prefer crossbows to blades, but do have preferences there that I forget."

"Judas is a church man, we think it has to do with his name. You could tell mother was getting tired of having children by then. He's serious, grim, a bit fire-and-brimstone for a Lutheran. I'm told his flock likes him, but I haven't been to church in years on the chance I'd run into him. Lean, tall, and a constant look as if you've told an inappropriate joke during Sunday school. Short hair, no weapon as a man of the cloth."

"Hammund is your stereotype of a working man. The Isles' official Master of the Horse, both tall and broad, soft and strong. He could lift a foal easily enough. Prefers a Zweihander. He's a boisterous man, with a loud laugh and a love of drinking and tavern songs. Supposedly has a history of getting handsy with barmaids, but we're fairly sure he'd have been poisoned by now if he'd done anything serious. He can get rough with brothers at times, but he also knows there's a line, even if it's a little further away than we'd often like. He's not one to kick while you're down."

"Then there's the disappointments, Sigir and Petrus. Both thieves, I think they go by 'sideburns' and 'patches', or something ridiculous like that, now. Arrested in a foreign kingdom for theft and some other things. Disowned, and thank god for that. Petrus broke my arm once to make me give into something, I forget what. It was the first real test of how well I could hide pain. They were suitably impressed by that. They aren't twins, but ought to have been." He slipped in that dark detail without flinching. If anything, he still seemed proud of it.

"Simon is the flirt, the kind one hears stories of, which is why I borrowed his name for my little story. All flirtations with women and drinks with men to talk about his women. Every woman, a conquest and every story full of nonsense. He's probably been run out of every tavern and woman's home at least once for some reason or other, but is charming enough and powerful enough to get forgiven. Worse, he's a terrible poet. Prefers a fencing foil, and not near as good with it as he says. Assume everything he says is a gross exaggeration, or a disguised insinuation."

"There's Bernhard, the sweet innocent one. He's a big man, soft in muscle and in heart. He likes to bake and spends all day at it. He's also Deaf. Felix invented a sign language to communicate with him, and all us brothers have used it since then fluently." Hans did a quick and deliberate series of hand signs as if to demonstrate, though faltered when he moved too quick and made something twinge in his wound. He didn't try that again. "We don't think our parents learned. Father tried but was always ill, mother never made time, so we signed behind her back. Just as well, it's better he does not know what she picks at him about, like a carrion bird. He just wants to bake in peace. Even Sigir and Petrus wouldn't give him problems. He's quite bright, but often gets left out of things like marriage proposal discussions. None of us like it, but who would take the time to learn his language? Our language? The castle halls echo horribly. Signing is sometimes the only way to ensure a secret stays a secret between two people."

"Then there's the other disappointment, Eduard. I love him dearly, as a brother. Long straight hair he takes care of, feminine good looks, always wry and playful banter, but he has a genuine care and sincerity for others. He gossips to get to know people and get in their good graces, and he knows every undesirable in the Isles; every person you don't want to know, but should. He's a 'disappointment' ostensibly because he joined the Thieves guild, truthfully because he prefers the company of other men, and that's technically punishable by hanging, still. Not for lack of trying to decriminalize it, but that's not likely to pass in the next few years. We, like most cases, quietly slide it under the rug. He's not a bad person, I don't care if Jesus himself comes down off the cross to tell me otherwise. He prefers a whip, but used to carry a rapier before an arranged marriage fell through. On her end, surprisingly, his spirits only improved from there." Hans was, at least, protective of a few brothers. "He and Judas haven't spoken in years, though the church is an easy walk and they are often both at the same family gatherings."

"Then the last disappointment, me. If I were to describe myself as I am in the Isles, I would say I am depressingly grim, dry and dark-humored, quiet to the point of nonexistent whilst at home, unless being observed. I would sooner not move for hours than be observed and commented on for doing something even bland and benign. My life is the sea and I'm best left there." What a far cry from the Hans she knew. Grim and dry, perhaps, but as his primary features? And quiet? "And that makes the thirteen of us. Now you know all you need to know of the brothers to tell us apart."

Elsa tried to make mental notes to remember them all by, Hans' descriptions helped. Gerard: Crowned Prince Arthur, Felix: Books and Brains, Gregory: Musician, Lars and Georg: Hunter Twins; Lars: Cool & Long, Georg: Warm & Short; Judas: Church, Hammund: Horses, Sigir and Petrus: 'Sideburns' & 'Patches', Simon: Flirt, Bernard: Baker, Eduard: Sweetheart, and...Hans: The Man of the Sea. Hans' description of himself had saddened her for multiple reasons.

"Okay let me try again," Elsa declared. "Gerard, Felix, Gregory, Lars & Georg, Judas, Hammund, Sigir & Petrus, Simon, Bernhard, Eduard and you, Hans ."

Elsa looked at Hans intently for a moment, thinking over the things he said about himself, among other things. "I have a curious question for you," Elsa started after a pause. "Why come back to Arendelle and surrender?" she wondered. "...not that I don't want you around, you've been a great help to me and my kingdom," Elsa added frantically, waving her hands slightly, so he wouldn't think she hated having him there. "It's just... that your man of the sea and even if you were stripped of your title... you could have easily hopped on to a boat, like the one that brought you here, and instead sailed far away from here and started your life anew. I'm just curious," she said softly. She knew how much he loved the sea, he really felt he belonged there, and he could have had the chance to be happy, or at least free, outside these castle walls. "Good, nicely done! I'm suitably impressed by your memory." He assured her with an impressed smile and nod. He thought about the question, leaning back somewhat. "I'd like to believe redemption is possible. I never wanted to do all that I did, and contrary to popular belief, I can feel guilt. I do, constantly. I wanted to, if not fix things, at least explain myself. And maybe a part of me hoped you'd have me killed or I'd live in a dungeon to the end of my days, and feel justice was done. If I was on a boat, then what, piracy? More crimes? Or would I be a nameless shipman with no adventure or exploration, to earn my way to the top again or forever stack boxes and scrub decks for god knows who? Mocked for being the failure prince? I'd sooner live the drama than try to avoid it and let it find me unprepared. The difference between wading into battle with a sword drawn, and being stabbed in the back with it. I'm not inclined to face away from danger." So he considered his reputation a danger? He seemed lost in his own metaphors, and not willing to find his way back out. "I'm also not inclined to make the things I've broken worse. I'm already another of the disappointments, my next option would be piracy, but if my 'in name' title is revoked, I wouldn't be able to visit the Isles when my father or Gregory passes, nor would they be likely to find me in time." He wouldn't risk that much. He wanted to be able to visit home, but still have adventure, if he was to live. What better adventure than a fruitless quest for redemption?

"I suppose in ways I've done a much better job of fixing things than I ever expected. Perhaps I should be thanking the Duke of Weselton for giving me the opportunity to prove my loyalties." His reasoning made sense. What good would running away do anyway? When it only seemed to create more problems rather than solve them, she knew that first hand. Elsa had only asked because it was the first thing that would have crossed her mind, but Hans did seem to handle his conflicts differently, he had more of a head-on approach, (he was not even afraid to face death itself), while Elsa tried to avoid conflict like the plague if possible. It might have seemed like the easier path to take, yet he really didn't want to lead a life of crime either, he didn't want his previous bad deeds to define him. She could understand why a guilty conscience could not let him move on with his life, someone with a conscience can never truly be free living with regret or the constant fear of your past coming back to bite you. Even if Hans did not like living in the Isles, he still cared for his family, even if it was only a fraction of it.

"I see," Elsa nodded as he finished explaining. "Well, I'm glad you chose the route of redemption, even if I had my doubts in the beginning, I don't regret deciding to let you stay in Arendelle." She said sincerely. "I hope you don't regret it either despite all the additional pain it has caused you." Elsa was not just talking about physical injuries. Elsa wanted to reassure him that his efforts weren't useless, that he was doing the right thing even if Anna didn't believe it, just yet or even ever, at least she did, and he shouldn't give up hope. She told him all this as one of her hands found its way atop his, for extra reaffirmation.

Hans listened, and seemed thoughtful. He still seemed to doubt himself, if not her. He seemed surprised by her touch, as if they hadn't held hands before. He didn't withdraw, at least not immediately, but he did look away, shamed by his own past, though he was still trying so hard to move against it.

"I'm glad at least that you appreciate my efforts." He seemed to have other thoughts, ones he didn't think to share immediately, as he considered things. "You know me. Pain will never stop me from doing what must be done."

He thought about it a moment, then remembered. "Ah, one more thing. Yesterday, I was asked to teach you how to use a sword. I must agree that it seems like a wise decision. You fear hurting someone with your ice powers because you think they mark you as a sorceress. Learn to use a sword instead, then, but do not be afraid to hurt those who would hurt you, or your reign will be a short one. I can teach you, when my own wound has healed. I'll train the guards in the morning, and you in the afternoon, if you'll acquiesce. It will be a dedicated workout indeed, for both of us, but it will keep me busy, you active, and ease the fears of the guard staff knowing that you can protect yourself." He spoke almost as if it wasn't optional for her, in spite of her being the Queen. The words to suggest that it was were there, but his tone said 'learn or you will wish you had'. Not as a threat, but as a prediction.

Elsa's face contorted and she shifted herself back a bit. She opened her mouth with a gasp of air as if to speak, but closed it again. Her brows were knitted and her lips pursed into a tight line. She remained silent taking a moment to process his words. After a pensive pause she opened her mouth to speak, letting out a deep sigh. "You know...I don't fear using my powers because people will brand me as a sorceress, say what they will of me, I couldn't care less what people think of me or my magic, at least not anymore. I refrain myself from using my powers against people because I know what they are capable of doing . And yes, I don't wish to ever take anyone's life, especially if it's at all avoidable, even if they wish to take mine." Hans himself was proof of that. All life was precious to her, that's one of the reasons why she couldn't bring herself to get rid of Olaf, Marshmallow or any of her other living creations. "What I'm actually afraid of is accidentally hurting someone I didn't mean to in the crossfire. I fear the frozen heart ." She looked down at her hands. "After I almost lost Anna because of it, I can't run the risk of inflicting that fate onto anyone else, ever . The only way to thaw a frozen heart is an act of true love , and that's not easy to acquire." She might have gone off on a bit of a tangent focusing on the wrong thing.

She sighed once again. "Even if I'm reluctant to use my powers to defend myself, I understand that it's wise to find another way to defend myself. I am the Queen of Arendelle, my safety is important, and though I do not wish to harm anybody, learning to use a sword might be the best alternative to protect myself without relying entirely on my magic," she considered with a deep breath. "I'll acquiesce...but only if you promise to teach me every non-lethal you can think of disarming an opponent, if I'm able to find a nonfatal way to incapacitate my opponent first, I'll do it, baneful force is a last resort." If Elsa had the option to do things in an innocuous manner she would do it in a heartbeat.

Hans seemed uncertain, considering it a moment. "A difficult question, you've posed. I myself have only directly killed with a blade a few men, some by legal execution for the safety of citizenry, and perhaps a few in that battle, though I never stopped to check. That's it. The problem is, it's not the lashes that nearly killed me, it was the loss of blood, and the infections that came after. A man can die of a paper cut if it's poorly-tended, and will you let it rest on your soul if it's your sword that caused the cut that infected him? The fact of the matter is, when a man wants you to die, your best option is to make sure he never has the chance to act on that twice." He paused, recognizing that that very much included him. "I stand by what I said." He added, with a little acknowledging head tilt. "That doesn't always mean killing them, of course. Without my sword I was thoroughly defeated at the Fjord, and that's the best way to handle these things. But sometimes deaths can happen whether you want them to or not. Come to grips with it early, and hope it never happens to you, but I can't promise that you won't be responsible for a death at some point. I can promise that if you follow my lead and learn what I teach well, then you'll be less likely to. But I'm going to teach you the fatal things first. You need to know how to not die, before you worry about the person trying to kill you." Hans could be stubborn in his own way. He needed her to recognize the truth of the matter: Swords were killing weapons. "I won't make you kill anything, though. I'm a bastard, perhaps, but not quite that bad."

Elsa groaned, clearly conflicted. "Fine," Elsa acquiesced. She was quite stubborn herself, it wouldn't be easy to change her mind, but didn't wish to argue. "I'll follow your lead." She was thankful he wasn't going to force her to kill something, to prove his point.

Hans tilted his head a bit and thought. "In truth, if you can learn to take the heat of battle in stride, you won't need much swordplay to win. All you have to do is freeze their metal blade and hit it hard enough. That's what happened to mine, I think. A significant temperature change can change the blade, and ice will make it brittle. An opponent with no sword, can't stab you with it." He proposed. "We'll see what it looks like when we get there. I was thinking of starting you with a naval saber, but do feel free to try out a few swords in your hand, see which ones feel right to swing, perhaps ask one of the guards who knows a thing or two about swords to teach you how to hold it just to know the right weight and size. We'll work on proper grips after." He was glad she agreed to try. He would do what he could to teach her-- once he could even hold his own sword, again.

Elsa liked that idea. She just needed to learn how to handle herself well in battle. Turning Hans' teachings into knowledge in her arsenal, so swordplay could just be techniques at her disposal to help her deflect attacks. She just needed to manage to learn how to effectively evade attacks with the help of her powers. She might be opposed to using her powers against people directly, but if she could somehow be able to use them against their weapons she had absolutely no problem with that. Where there's a will there's a way and Elsa would do everything in her power to find a benign way to deal with her enemies, if at all possible, even if she was fully capable of using fatal force, as well. Elsa nodded. "I'll see what I can do." She glanced over at his food tray. "I think it might be best if I leave you to your breakfast sooner rather than later, you know, before it completely freezes over and you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it."

Hans chuckled and nodded. "As you wish, your Majesty. I look forward to speaking to the Captain of the Guard later, if I can. Hopefully he'll visit before lunch, lest that meal be delayed too." It was a joke, of course. Hans would eat when Elsa left, as he promised.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Fanfiction #frozen fanfiction #fanfic #Shattered Reflections

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halfgclden · 4 years ago

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Three Blind Mice | Jack, Jacob, Abel

Date: May 16th, 2020

Summary: A band meeting in the dark.

Maybe it was a byproduct of having worn sunglasses for so long, but Jack could've sworn that lately his eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be. On top of losing one of them entirely, of course. Jack walked up to the front door to make sure the number was in fact the one he had received in the text. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Jacob to let him know that he had arrived. Jack started to pocket his phone then hesitated. Could he see the text? Jack pulled his phone back out and hit the call button instead.

Jacob was a second into listening to Jack's text when the text to speech cut off and his ringtone began instead, interspersed with the announcement that the call was from an unknown number. He raised one eyebrow towards Abel and held the phone to his ear. "Jacob speaking."

Abel raised their eyebrows back at Jacob and smirked at him. "I should have answered and acted as secretary," they whispered.

"Uh, hi," Jack responded. "It's Jack? O'Lantern? I'm outside."

"Ah, it's Mr. O'Lantern," Jacob stage whispered to Abel, loud enough to be heard through the phone, then lifted it back to his ear. "We'll be with you shortly." He hung up. "Would you mind opening the door?"

Abel pressed their lips together, amused. "Of course, Mr. Jain. Shall I grab us some refreshments as well?" They smirked and stood so that they could move to open the door.

"Water shall suffice." Jacob grinned at them.

Abel didn't bother to nod at Jacob since he couldn't see them anyway. They walked out of his room to the door and opened it, giving a bit of a smile to Jack from the darkness. "Hello, Mr. O'Lantern. We've been expecting you. We have quite a selection in terms of refreshment. Would you like... water?"

Jack blinked in confusion when the door opened and the room was pitch dark. "Uh, sure." He looked around the room cautiously as he stepped inside. "Is it regular water or are you poisoning me?"

Abel closed the door behind Jack. "Tap water. If you believe that the government is filling our reservoirs with poison to slowly mind control us, then I suppose we could be poisoning you." They shrugged one shoulder. "Did you want a glass?" They moved to the sink and began to fill two glasses, then tilted their head at him. "Did you need a light, by the way?"

"Uh, yeah, a glass is fine." Jack strolled into the apartment, looking around warily. "Uh, I mean, a lamp or something would be nice. But if this is your vibe, then, like... I guess that's cool."

Abel filled up three glasses and held one out to Jack. "I suppose... this is our vibe, though more out of a lack of need for any other." They shrugged one shoulder. "Can you make it to the back room," they asked as they nodded toward Jacob's open door, "or do you need a flashlight on the way, because I can turn on Jacob's light once we're there."

"No, yeah, I can make it." Jack took the glass and started toward the back. "Are you guys, like... Electricity vegans?"

Abel exhaled hard in a laugh. "No, we just don't see the need to raise the bill when one of us is blind and one of us can see in the dark." They entered Jacob's room. "I'm going to turn the light on," they warned. "If that's okay with you."

"Ah, yes, people can see. One moment." Jacob leaned over and picked up the pair of sunglasses on the table beside his bed to put them on. "Now is fine."

Waiting for when Jacob put his glasses on, Abel pressed their elbow into the light switch, then looked at Jack. "You see, in terms of sight, Jacob and I are diametrically opposed, which turns out to work in our favour." They nodded and then took a seat next to Jacob on his bed, touching a glass to his knee so that he could take it from them.

Jacob took the glass from them and sat back on his bed, cross-legged. He took a sip, then lowered the cup to rest on his knee. "Abel explained our idea to you, yes?" he asked Jack.

"Uh, a bit, yeah." He stepped into the room and leaned against the wall. "They said you were thinking of doing music together? Like a group or something?"

Abel took a few sips of their water and then put it on the floor near their feet, though away from Jacob's so he wouldn't accidentally knock it over. "Just fucking around, honestly. I like your sound though. It's..." They wiggled their fingers. "Crazy? Kiff? Something in between those. Really cool."

A smile smile grew on Jack's face. "Ha. Thanks." He gestured toward Jacob. "Uh, you do music too?" Jack waited a moment, then added. "Sorry—uh, Jacob, you do music too?"

Jacob gestured vaguely in the air towards the small variety of instruments around his room. "One could say so. Music is one of my driving forces in life."

Abel snorted but didn't smile. "Jacob is in a handful of bands. I think he's trying to collect all the musicians at camp so that he can eliminate them all and become the alpha."

Jack nodded as he looked around at the instruments. It suddenly dawned on him that Jacob probably knew a lot more than he had let on during their first conversation about Jack's beats. He tried not to dwell on the thought as he felt his cheeks get warm. "Uh, you guys do stuff together? Like—music. Do you play together? Music?"

It was difficult not to laugh at Jack's questions, but Jacob managed to keep his reaction subdued to an amused smile. "Often, yes. My hope was that you could join us and aid in the creation."

Abel smirked at Jacob before looking back at Jack. "I fear we are encroaching on territory that uses too many innuendos. We really are just talking about music here."

Jack noticed how much Jacob and Abel's turns of phrase reminded him of Kieran. Unsure how he felt about that, Jack shook the thought from his head. "I mean, yeah. I'd be down to be your third. For music. Ugh."

Jacob did laugh now. "Did you come here with a separate goal in mind, Jack?"

"Oh my gods," Abel said under their breath, clearly amused by the whole conversation. "Should we ignore the fact that we sound like swingers or roll with it?"

"Ugh," Jack groaned, running a hand down his face. "Wow. I usually say this kind of shit on purpose and totally own it. I swear that if I was actually trying to hit on you, you'd know." Jack realized that this was probably not helping his case and clarified, "I'm just here for the music."

Jacob smiled towards Jack. "How disappointingly anticipated. We shall have to pour our freshly broken hearts into the craft." He took another sip of his water then placed it down. "Do you collaborate often, or not at all?"

"Not at all," Jack replied, suddenly feeling as though he were being surveyed. "Yeah, I just do music by myself. I do most things by myself, TBH. This is honestly the most socialization I've had in a week."

Abel could have laughed. They rested their hand on their cheek as they leaned forward, staring as their attention was now focused on Jack. "You'll fit right in, then. You can take a seat, by the way, if you wanted. If you wanted to remain standing that's also." They shrugged instead of finishing the sentence.

"What," Jacob began, picking up the extinguished end of the joint beside him and waving it in the air as he spoke. "Is your sleep schedule like?"

Jack drifted over toward Jacob's bed to sit on the edge. "Uh... I sleep at night? I don't know, pretty normal I guess." Jack pulled his legs up onto the bed and shrugged. "Why?"

Abel rested their elbow on their knee as they watched Jack, turning to face him as he sat. "Because we tend to make music during the witching hour when we're both lying awake with nothing better to do. Or in the late afternoon, after work."

"It can depend on the schedule of my roommate as well," Jacob added, shifting barely an inch over to give Jack room.

"Witching hour?" Jack narrowed his eyes. "So... You are inviting me to sleep with you. Like... Essentially."

Abel shook their head and snickered. "No, we're inviting you to not sleep with us. There is a key difference."

"Essentially, we would enjoy your contribution and collaboration in creation." Jacob smiled at him.

Jack grinned. Despite how strangely formal this all felt, he couldn't help but feel excited that somebody he didn't had reached out to him to hang out. "I mean... Sure. I'm in."

"Lekker," Abel said as they leaned back on their elbows, still watching Jack. "Do you smoke? You don't have to, it's just good to know so we don't have to offer you a hundred times before we get the hint."

Jacob paused, lighter already in hand. "Ah, good question to ask."

"Uh, yeah, sometimes." Jack shrugged.

"Would you like to now?" Abel raised an eyebrow. "Also, what do you use to make music? Just a computer?"

"Sure," Jack shrugged. "And yeah, I just use my laptop. I use Logic. What about you?"

"The technology is all Abel," Jacob replied as he lit up the joint in his hand and took a drag. He offered it in Jack's direction as he exhaled. "I simply pluck away at my instruments."

Jack reached for the joint, then hesitated. "Uh, sorry, one second." He patted his pockets and realized that he had forgotten to bring his gloves. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. "Uh... Sorry. Never mind."

Jacob patiently kept the joint outstretched. “Is something the matter?”

"No, I just forgot my—" Jack shook his head. "I just can't touch you. Phobos thing."

“Ah.” Jacob reached down and gathered up part of the flat sheet on his bed over his hand, then took the joint through the fabric and extended it in offer again. “Better?”

Jack laughed and dipped his head sheepishly. "Yeah." He reached out and took the joint. "Thanks," he added, taking a hit.

Abel watched the interaction like a tennis match before answering the question. "I use Ableton. I started because of the name, honestly, but I've found it works pretty well, and lets me record my own stuff, so." They shrugged instead of finishing the full thought.

"I may have a pair of gloves on top of the dresser," Jacob offered as the thought came to him. "They are fingerless, would those still be of assistance?"

“Ableton,” Jack repeated quietly with a chuckle. “Uh, sure. That’d be cool, thanks.” He held the joint out toward Abel.

"It is strange to use a program that uses my legal name," Abel said with a small sigh. They took the joint carefully, then tilted their head at Jack, taking a hit before they spoke. "What happens if we touch you?" they asked through a cloud of smoke.

Jacob climbed up off his bed and wandered over to his dresser, running his hand along the top until he found the gloves. He extended them towards Jack. "That was my next question."

Abel took another hit, then reached up to touch Jacob's hand, tapping the unlit end of the joint to the back of it.

Jack took the gloves from Jacob with a soft thank you. As he slid them on, Jack explained, "Uh, I have fear powers. If you touch me, you'll, like... Get scared." Jack shrugged. "Sometimes it's not that bad? Like, just kind of makes you uncomfortable? Sometimes, it's like... Panic attack level."

Jacob took the joint and returned to sit on his bed, facing Jack this time. "Fascinating. Is there a factor behind that variation?

Abel looked backed to Jack and nodded. "I understand. I can do... something like that. Not quite, but." They opted to not finish their sentence again.

Jack shrugged. "I mean, last time it happened and it was just a small thing, I was touching my friend. And then the last time it happened where it was a panic attack, she Lavagirled my eyeball into soup, so... Maybe it's a trust thing?" Jack nodded at Abel. "What do you do?"

Abel nodded slowly as they listened to Jack. "I can make people around me feel... awful? Dread, really. It's something I can kind of shut on and off, but it's hard to control when my mood spikes or drops, if that makes sense." They rolled their shoulders back. "It could be the same with you? The trust thing makes sense."

"Hm," Jack muttered. "Maybe. I don't know, I never really get to work on it. Not so enticing being asked to sit there like Little Albert while I try not to scare the shit out of you," he joked.

Jacob laughed at Jack's comment. "I would be interested to know if there is an ability that could counteract your own– in the way that should I encounter someone who was able to inflict pain with a touch, I could nullify it with my ability to lift pain. My sister is gifted with a power to temporarily alleviate emotional pain and trauma, there is a chance that she could foil yours in such a manner."

"Huh. Maybe." Jack thought about the possibility but found himself tiptoeing around the edge of an emotional rabbit hole. He decided to stow away the thought for later and change the topic. "So, uh, can I hear some the music you guys make?"

Abel’s lip twitched upwards. “It’s more an ability you practice out of necessity, but mine isn’t just touch, so I guess I had more of a need to suppress it?” They shrugged and then stood to get their computer. They shook out their hands before touching it, typing in their password, and taking a seat on the bed again. The screen stalled for a moment, and they held their breath, but it seemed to just be a case of slow internet connection. They opened the program to their most recent project and pressed play. The track started, stuttered, and then restarted.

"Is something wrong with your computer?" Jack asked.

Abel puffed out their cheeks and gave a small nod. "Yeah, me."

"Uh," Jack muttered in response, not getting what Abel meant.

“Abel is a human glitch,” Jacob explained in a way that explained nothing.

Abel nodded and wiggled their fingers at Jack. "Apparently being dead has made it hard for me to handle technology. Being into making electronic music is my penance, I suppose."

Jack arched a brow in confusion. "Dead, like... Inside?"

"That too," Jacob answered mildly. "But Abel also met an unfortunate end and bounced back."

"Funnily enough, we're making a track with that name." Abel nodded. "But yes, I kicked the bucket a few years ago and was lucky enough to have a father who could repair that. And now, for some inexplicable reason, it makes it hard for me to use my computer sometimes. Keeps me on my toes."

"Uh..." Jack scooted back on the bed. "Cool. Love that. That's great."

Abel laughed quietly and replayed the track, but this time it played through.

Jack nodded along. "This is cool. It's, like... Alt-rock-y? It's like those 2000's rock albums where the album cover was them looking really sad in front of a sunset and there's, like... Pool floaties and random stuff surrounding them."

Jacob snorted. "We experiment too. This is a compromise of our two differing tastes."

Abel smirked. “Funnily enough, that was the album cover that we had in mind for a photo shoot.”

"Seriously?" Jack asked, trying and failing to not sound judgmental.

"We talked about this, Abel," Jacob responded, straightfaced. "The artistic vision was pool floaties in front of a sunrise."

Abel nodded seriously, then smacked their forehead. “Oh my gods, you’re so right, I’m sorry.” They looked pointedly at Jack. “He’s our artistic director.”

Jacob shook his head slowly. "This is why I'm in charge."

Jack grinned. "Cool, yeah. I trust your vision."

Jacob pressed his lips together in amusement. "You would be the first."

"Can't imagine why," Jack responded dryly.

Abel smirked again, looking from Jack to Jacob. “Have I mentioned how well we all match, Jacob?” They looked back to Jack. “Originally, he told me to find you because you fit the whole ghost vibe,” they said, using air quotes.

"It's because no one else understands me," Jacob explained to Jack, tongue in cheek. He raised an eyebrow when Abel spoke. "Oh, please do fill me in. I imagine there is some physical similarity here that has left me in the dark on this joke."

Jack couldn't even be offended because 'ghost vibe' was shockingly accurate. "Uh, I mean, we all have white hair. And, like, half the amount of working eyes that three people should have."

"Oh." Jacob took a long drag from the joint that was still smouldering in his hand, then held it out to Jack. "You have white hair? Fascinating." He exhaled the rest of the smoke. "And I imagine you have but one eye, unless Abel has fallen upon some recent misfortune they have failed to mention."

“Isn’t it amazing?” Abel sighed. “Half the eyes, triple the white hair?” They shrugged and nudged Jacob slightly. “I never thought it was very interesting for me to bring up.”

The thought that Abel didn't think Jack's eyepatch was interesting to bring up put a smile on Jack's face. "Uh, yeah. The three of us look kind of intense, TBH."

Jacob took another hit from the joint when Jack didn’t take it from him. “Good to know. From what I have heard, aesthetics are a key selling point. Do the gloves match yours?” he asked Jack.

Jack laughed. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean—they look more expensive than I do, but I'm also wearing black."

“They match his and our aesthetic beautifully,” Abel assured Jacob, only half joking. “We’re literally third eye blind here.”

#c: abel #c: abeljack #c: abeljacob

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paws-and-claws-au · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 2: A Lonely Existence

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

Summary: In a kingdom where practicing magic is outlawed and mythical creatures are being hunted, one boy is caught in the crossfire between the two sides of the fight. Only an act of pure, selfless love will lift his curse and return his life to normal…but who could ever love a monster like him?

Chapter Summary: As Patton loses more and more hope with every passing day, Roman sets off to find the tower Remy told him about...with a watchful eye following his every move.

Warnings: Loneliness, fear, hopelessness

Pairings: Eventual Royality and Analogical

Word Count: 3,456

Song for this chapter: Temporary Nothing

AU Creator: @thegremlinprince

Fic Author: @ironwoman359

Available on AO3 here

The first time he’d heard someone climbing his tower, Patton had been excited.

It was a few months after the Dragon Witch had appeared, and Patton had been doing his best to keep his spirits up. There was hope now, real hope for the first time in years, he just had to hold onto it! So he tried to stay strong; he sang songs, he fed crumbs to the mice and birds that made their way into the tower, he distracted himself as best he could, and when he felt the pangs of loneliness in his chest grow, he tried to force them down by whispering it’s alright, someone will come for me, it will be alright, it will be alright soon.

That didn’t always work, and sometimes he found himself as a dragon, curled up in the corner with steaming hot tears dropping to the stone floor, but he knew it wouldn’t be forever…one day, someone would come for him and he wouldn’t have to live like this anymore. He just had to wait.

So when he first heard scrambling and scraping from the outside of the tower, he had been excited. He rushed to the window, already feeling the beginnings of a transformation as his spirits rose, but as he poked his dragon’s head out to see who was coming, he was met with an angry shout and a flying arrow from a crossbow. Patton yelped, and darted back inside, the tingle of magic inside that had been about to turn him back into a human stopping abruptly. Instead, as his heart beat wildly in his chest, he could feel his claws and teeth growing longer, his scales growing tougher, the heat in his center growing hotter.

“Foul beast!” a shout came from below, and Patton cowered away from the window. “Prepare to taste my blade and take your final breath!”

“No…” Patton whimpered, his heart sinking. This knight wouldn’t be able to save him. All he could see when he looked at Patton was a monster that needed slaying.

The knight’s head appeared in the window, crossbow at the ready, and Patton acted on instinct.

“Get OUT!” he roared, and the knight’s eyes widened in fear as Patton opened his mouth and let a stream of fire shoot towards the window. The knight made the very smart decision to let go of the windowsill, dropping several feet before he managed to find purchase on the tower wall. He tried a few more times to scale the tower, but Patton fought him off each time and the knight eventually gave up, shouting a few more obscenities at the dragon for good measure.

As he finally rode away, Patton collapsed on the tower floor and began to cry. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up in human form, curled up on the floor in a patch of sunlight streaming through his window.

That day, he learned that it would be harder than he thought for someone to break his curse.

There were more knights through the years, each just as cruel and vicious as the first. Time and time again, a tiny spark of hope would light in Patton’s chest…only for it to be quickly stomped out as again and again they proved what Patton now knew to be the truth. Patton was nothing but a monster.

And nobody could love a monster.

— — —

“What do you MEAN he saw you!” Desmond roared. “What was he even DOING there?”

“I-I, I don’t know!” the boy stammered hurriedly. “I think…he just goes there sometimes, the lady at the inn said something about plants…”

“I do not believe this,” Desmond grumbled. “What is the point of having you go on secret missions if you’re incapable of actually keeping a secret?”

“I’m sorry!” the boy pleaded, taking a step away and raising his hands. “I couldn’t help that he was there, it isn’t my fault that he and the prince stayed at the same inn!”

Desmond glared at him, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. You know, it’s fine. I’ve known Remy for years, I know how to handle him.” He sighed, and turned to the pile of notes and diagrams on his desk, muttering to himself. “It’s fine, we’ll just have to change some of our plans around and-”

“Uh, actually…he said he wasn’t going to get in your way.”

Desmond paused, and turned back to the boy.

“What?”

“He…he said he knew better than to try and get in your way…” the boy fiddled with the edge of his cloak. “And…he said…”

“What?” Desmond frowned, and leaned forward. “Tell me, what did he say?”

The boy looked up and met Desmond’s eyes.

“He said just because you think you know what you’re doing doesn’t mean you aren’t being stupid.”

“Oh…” Desmond sucked in a breath and the boy shrunk back.

“W-what? What does that mean?”

“Remy’s being cryptic,” Desmond said with a sigh. “Which means he’s playing things close to his chest, so we have to be ready for anything.”

He whirled around and the boy flinched, and the Dragon Witch sighed again.

“Always so skittish. Do me a favor and grow yourself a backbone, then get back out there and follow the prince. Don’t let him out of your sight. His birthday is approaching soon, and you know what that means. We haven’t got much time.”

The boy nodded, then there was a flash and a sleek black cat stood where the boy had been a moment before. The witch and the familiar locked eyes for a moment, then the cat turned and darted out of the hut. Desmond sighed, and sank into a chair.

“Remy…” he muttered to himself. “What are you up to?”

— — —

Patton was incredibly sore.

He’d been stuck in his dragon form for over a week now, and while his tower had been more than roomy enough for him when he was young, he now found himself terribly cramped in the space. He wondered, sometimes, if the reason the tower wasn’t large enough for an adult dragon’s body was because his parents had thought they’d be able to break his curse before he grew this big. Or maybe they didn’t realize just how large he would truly get as he matured.

Or maybe, Patton thought with a dull ache in his chest, they just hadn’t cared enough to consider it at all.

Not that it really mattered now. It had been seven years since his parents had died, seven years since the Dragon Witch had come to his tower and given him a chance of breaking the curse. Seven years of disappointment as knight after knight ventured into his tower with swords and bows drawn, angry voices sending him into a panicked transformation and leaving him no choice but to fight his would be rescuers away.

His transformations took longer and longer to come out of these days, and the fear that one day he would lose his humanity completely kept him awake at night, wrapped in every blanket he had in the tower in a desperate attempt to stop himself from shaking. When he found himself trapped within his dragon’s skin, there wasn’t much he could do now besides curl up into a ball and wait to turn back into a human.

Which, with how hopeless he felt almost all the time nowadays, was easier said than done.

A sudden screech from outside caught Patton’s attention, and he lifted up his head just in time to see a large barn owl fly up and perch on the windowsill of the tower. The bird let out another call, quieter this time, and Patton smiled softly.

“Hi there, pretty bird,” he murmured. “How’ve you been?”

The owl didn’t speak, as it was just an ordinary barn owl, but Patton liked to think that his feathered friend who flew by from time to time could understand him anyway. It was either believe that or face the crushing loneliness of his tower day after day.

“I’ve been about the same,” Patton continued, stretching out his left wing as much as he could and glancing at the pale blue scales he could see out of the corner of his eye. “As you can tell,” he added, sighing.

The owl squawked in response and cocked its head, fixing Patton with a pointed look.

“What?” Patton sighed, resting his head back down on his claws. “It’s hardly surprising, is it? It’s not like I have a lot to be happy about right now.”

The owl ruffled his feathers, then looked back and forth between the window and Patton several times. Patton lifted his head up again, and the owl dutifully hopped out of the way so he could look.

Sunlight poured into the room, and the stunningly blue sky outside was dotted with the whitest, puffiest clouds Patton had seen in a long time. A soft warm breeze carried the scent of pine needles and wildflowers through the tower window, and Patton closed his eyes, breathing deeply and taking it all in. When he opened them again, the owl had vanished from its perch, but Patton barely had time to wonder where his little friend had gone before the bird returned with a freshly plucked wild daisy in its beak.

It dropped the flower onto Patton’s claw, and screeched expectantly. Patton laughed, and as he did so, he felt a tingle of warmth glowing at his center. A flash of magic, and he was human again, a freshly picked daisy in his fist. He brought the flower up to smell, and he smiled up at the owl.

“Thank you, pretty bird,” he cooed, reaching forward and giving his friend a scratch on the head.

The owl leaned into the touch, then its gaze fixed on something above Patton and it squawked again.

“Hmm?” Patton glanced up, then sighed when he realized what the bird was looking at. “Oh, these.”

He ran a hand over the horns that were protruding out of his fluffy brown mess of curls.

“These haven’t gone away the last several times, I’m afraid,” he said, stroking the owl absently. “Guess that Dragon Witch really lives up to his name, huh?”

The owl ruffled its feathers, and Patton could have sworn it frowned, and he shook his head fondly.

“Now now, there’s no use getting angry, pretty bird. What’s done is done, we can’t change that, can we now?” He looked down at the flower in his hands and he sighed. “We just have got to live with what we’ve got now. And what I’ve got…” he looked around his tower, then wrapped his arms around himself. “Is this.”

The owl screeched indignantly, then took off from the windowsill. Patton went to the edge to watch as his friend flew in a few small circles outside before returning to its perch. It squawked again, flapping its wings a few times for good measure, before fixing its unblinking stare onto Patton.

“Out…there?” he asked, cocking his head. The owl chirped in approval, leaning towards Patton then turning and leaning back out of the window again. “Me out there…” Patton supplied, then he sighed. “Oh, I know pretty bird. Believe me, I know.”

Patton turned and set the flower down on his desk in the corner, then turned back to the owl with a sad smile.

“I wish I could leave, fly away like you. But I’m too big now as a dragon to get out, and there’s no way down as a human. Besides…” Patton felt tears prick at the edge of his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away. “There’s…nowhere for me to go. I can’t…I’m not…”

More tears fell, and Patton could tell he was in danger of transforming again, but so, evidently, could his visitor, and the owl chirped again, hopping forward and pushing his head against Patton’s hand. Patton smiled shakily, and began stroking the owl’s soft feathers.

They stayed there in silence, for how long, Patton wasn’t really sure, but bit by bit, Patton felt himself calming down. He let his hand fall away from his feathered friend, and he took a deep breath.

“I’ll be okay now, pretty bird,” he said quietly, and nodded at the owl. “Go on now, you have your dinner to catch I’ll bet.”

The bird let out one final screech, before it spread its wings and took off from the window again, leaving Patton once more to his solitude. Patton sighed once the bird had gone, glancing over at his reflection in a mirror that stood by his bed. The horns on his head were longer now then the last time he’d been human, but he couldn’t let himself think about that now.

He lay down on his bed, savoring the feeling of being able to stretch his limbs again before pulling a blanket over his head to block out any sunlight. It may have still technically been morning, but Patton found that he just was too tired to continue the day. There wasn’t much for him to do in the tower anyway, and none of his usual past times seemed appealing to him just then. He closed his eyes, and waited to be taken by sleep.

— — —

Even though the sun had barely risen when he’d started out, it was still nightfall by the time Roman came upon a scattering of shacks and huts by the river that could be called a village. He dismounted and took his horse’s reins in his hands, entering the settlement on foot. Most of the villagers had retreated indoors for the day, and the streets (if you could even call the beaten down strip of earth running between the buildings a street) were eerily empty as Roman headed towards what he assumed to be the village leader’s home, as it was the only structure in the town that stood at two stories high.

Roman knocked on the door, stroking his horse’s neck as he waited for an answer. The door cracked open, and a pair of curious eyes peered out.

“What d’you want?” a boy looking to be in his early teens asked.

“Hello,” Roman said, smiling down at the boy. “Tell me, is this where I can find the village leader?”

The boy raised an eyebrow, but nodded and turned, calling over his shoulder into the house.

“Gramps! Someone’s at the door for you!”

“Is it Margerie about her chickens again? Because if it is, then I swear–”

“Nah, it’s some guy in armor!” the boy called back, glancing at Roman again. “And he’s got a horse with him!”

“Oh? Very well, then.”

A soft grunt, then the door was pulled open, revealing a man stooped over with age standing behind the boy. His eyes swept over Roman, lingering on the royal crest on his tunic and saddlebags before turning to his grandson.

“Kai, please tend to our guest’s horse. Lucy will have to share her paddock tonight.”

The boy, Kai, nodded, and Roman handed over his reins, stepping into the house at the old man’s invitation. Once the door was closed behind him, the man turned and bowed as low as he could manage.

“Prince Roman, it is a great privilege. Many a knight has passed through our humble village, but never one as stately as yourself.”

Roman nodded, indicating with his hand that the man should rise.

“You honor me with your words, sir. I do hope I am not imposing.”

“Not at all, Sire,” the man assured him. “Please, come sit and rest yourself by the fire. Wherever it is you have ridden from, you must have travelled far to reach this place.”

“Is your village as isolated then in other directions as it is from settlements to the west?” asked Roman as he sat, grateful to finally have a break from riding.

“Indeed,” the old man nodded. “For years, there was nothing in this part of the countryside besides the Belmont Watchtower. A few decades ago, some settlers thought this would be a fine place to begin a new village, but not many people wanted to move somewhere so remote. Then, of course…after awhile, no one wanted to stay. Ah, but forgive me, I am rambling again.”

Roman cocked his head, smelling a story.

“Why would no one wish to settle here?” he asked. “The land looks good, and the river flows strong and clear. There is a pine forest I can see just over the northern ridge, no doubt suitable for hunting or trapping. Distance from civilization aside, it seems to me like this would be a fine place indeed to build a homestead.”

The man smiled wryly.

“Indeed, perhaps with a few more years work this place could have become quite prosperous. Then, nearly fifteen years ago, something changed.”

Roman leaned forward expectantly.

“The Belmont Watchtower no longer sits abandoned,” the elder continued. “A terrible monster now resides there, and though it has never left the tower to our knowledge, none wish to live in its shadow. The only villagers left are those who cannot leave, because they have nowhere else to go, or because they are too old or frail to travel.”

“Like yourself,” Roman asked, and the man nodded.

“My wife died many years ago, and my only daughter did not live to see her son’s fourth birthday. My grandson, Kai is ill as well, and cannot travel far. What’s more, over the years the villagers have begun to look to me for answers. We do not have much here, and it can be very lonely at times. But we make do.”

Roman nodded in understanding.

“While I’m sure it is hard to imagine how, I do believe I understand your plight,” he said, thinking back on his own life at the castle. Sure, he had far more wealth and privilege than he knew what to do with, but being surrounded by servants and advisors and nobles could make you feel just as alone as being in a settlement with hardly any inhabitants. Roman would even go so far as to wager that the people in this tiny village often felt less lonely than he. At least they had each other.

“And...the tower,” Roman asked, not wanting to dwell on such somber thoughts. “Who inhabits it?”

“As I said,” the man said with a frown, “a beast lives within its walls.”

“I have been told that if I wished to protect my kingdom, I would do well to face whatever is in that tower.

“Your Highness,” the man sighed. “As I said, you are not the first knight to have come here. In the past seven years or so, we have had many who sought to lay claim to whatever it is that creature is guarding. None have succeeded. While I have no doubt in Your Highness’s abilities, I must implore you to seek elsewhere for your prize. There are not many who can kill a dragon.”

Roman’s eyes widened. He was a capable warrior, it was true, but never in all his days had he faced down a foe as formidable as a dragon. He didn’t know if he could win in a fight against such a beast. He didn’t know if anybody could. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him that he had no business riding across the country going on “pointless adventures” and chasing “flights of fancy.” But then, another voice echoed in his head.

“You may find yourself in the face of danger the likes of which you’ve never seen, but behind it all lies a lonely soul that is desperate need of help.”

“I appreciate your concern, good sir,” Roman said, with another nod. “But it is not a prize or glory that I seek. This is a task that I must do.”

The man shrugged in a way that said have it your way, then, before rising to his feet.

“Whatever your decision, Sire, it is late now. Please, we have a spare room in this house for travellers. It is not much, but it is at your disposal.”

Roman nodded in thanks, and once again found himself in a sparsely furnished room, tugging off his armor. He glanced out the window, and saw the Belmont Watchtower peeking over a hill in the distance. A faint light shone from the tower’s window, and Roman felt a resolve stirring in his heart. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow, he knew that whatever was waiting for him in that tower would change his life.

And Roman was determined to be ready for it.

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

A/N: SO sorry that it’s taken me so long to finish this chapter guys, real life has just kicked me really hard in the gut with how busy I’ve been so far this year, but I’m so happy to finally have this out for you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with us! (I promise, next time Roman and Patton will actually be in the same scene XD) As always, reblogs and comments are hugely appreciated <3

AU Creator: @thegremlinprince

Other fics by @ironwoman359

A REMINDER - THERE IS NO TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC. If you’d like to stay updated with this AU, follow the @paws-and-claws-au sideblog! This here is my taglist for all my writing (which you can ask me to be on at @ironwoman359)

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#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #royality #analogical #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #morally grey deceit #remy sanders #paws and claws au #story

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ss-wingman · 5 years ago

Note

“Don’t be scared” with Illuso please 😍😍😍😍😍

Illuso - “Don’t be scared.”

You had no idea where you were; you just knew you wanted out of there… Where ever “there” was. You make out much of the room you were being held in - just that it was small and kind of dark with a little bit of light filtering in from a small window in the corner. There were a few boxes and some junk covered in… Blankets? Tarps, maybe? It didn’t really matter either way. You were tired and sore and just wanted to go home.

But no, here you were and why? Because of some local tough guys calling themselves a “gang”. They were just a bunch of street thugs with nothing better to do aside from giving people in your corner of town a hard time. No one took them too seriously - no one besides themselves, anyway. So, in a bid to make people want to give them their due respect, they took you from work to prove they meant business demanding your boss “paid their dues”. Isn’t this the kind of thing people paid off the actual mafia to deal with? Or did they only care for the threat they themselves posed?

You were starting to get impatient and agitated. You don’t know how long you’d been waiting in what you assumed was just someone’s basement but it was starting to get to you. You were sure you were alone, aside from a few mice rummaging around the area. The rustling and squeaks were, at the very least, were a welcome break from the silence and your own voice calling out until your throat was sore. The silence was maddening.

“Don’t be scared.”

Despite the instructions of the mysterious voice, your whole body tensed up. “What?! Who’s there?” You demanded. You looked around frantically, hoping for any sign of human life but nothing. Was someone there with you? Or were you hearing things? The voice sounded like it was coming from behind you but you couldn’t turn around all the way to check.

“Who’s there?” You repeated, trying hard to steel yourself despite the less than desirable position you were in. You wiggled and hopped, forcing the chair to turn just enough to see little more than a few broken boxes and a dusty, cracked mirror hanging crooked on the wall. But no other people.

You were about to resign yourself to the fact that you were probably just hearing things until some movement in the mirror caught your attention. The dust covering it made it hard it make out but it almost looked person-shaped and moving toward you. Your head whipped around only to see you were still alone. Definitely losing it, you thought.

You started to feel a little light-headed. Probably from fatigue or hunger. Your vision went fuzzy and the whole room seemed to flip around. You closed your eyes and shook your head and when you opened the again something felt… Off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but the room seemed different somehow. Suddenly the rope keeping you bound fell from your side. Your arms and body were sore but you were free.

“What? Who?”

You turned around to meet the face of a man you’d never met. A dark-haired man with bright red eyes and pigtails perfectly framing a quite handsome face, you had to admit. Not the thing to be focused on.

“I… Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“That you don’t need to worry about it. We need to get you out of here.”

“You’re really here to help me? Why?” You questioned, cautious of the stranger.

“Does it matter?”

You nodded stubbornly. You were grateful but didn’t want to just walk away with. You were going through enough at the moment.

He was clearly frustrated but gave into you. “I’m with Passione and the people who took you have been trying to intrude on our territory for some time. I guess my boss considered this the final straw before deciding they needed to be taken care of.”

You were still weary but you had enough sense to know what that meant. You swallowed a hard lump in your throat.

“You’ll be safe, though. Just as soon as we get you out of here.” The man helped you to your feet. Your legs wobbled and your head started to spin again.

“Can you move?” He asked. You waited for your head to stop spinning before trying to straighten up but fell against your savior.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You heard him laugh.

You didn’t have the energy to say anything back. You hadn’t realized how fatigued you were. How long had you been held there?

You felt your weight begin to shift as you were being supported by your savior. “Try to stay awake for a little longer.”

You nodded and dragged your way to the exit and he shuffled you into what you assumed to be his car. You were at some warehouse on a pier, it seemed, the scent of the sea filled your nostrils when you took a deep breath of fresh air. It was dark out and not a lot of people were out an about.

You leaned back into the seat on the passenger side of the car, reclining a little to get more comfortable. You looked up at your savior, heart fluttering just a little bit at the handsome man and how close you were. Or maybe it was just hunger and exhaustion.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked once he pulled off of the pier.

“My instructions are to take you to a hotel while my colleagues handle things. I can’t give much more detail than that.”

“Can I at least get your name?”

“Hm… Illuso. And yours is [Y/N] correct?”

You nodded. “How did-”

“It’s my job to know.

”[Y/N],“ he, Illuso, repeated. “Pretty name. Very fitting for you.” You could swear he winked at you. Your heart skipped a beat and you smiled.

“Do you always like to flirt on the job?”

“Not always, but I don’t usually get to watch over someone so attractive.”

Your face tinted red at the compliment. No. You couldn’t let yourself fall for it. “Just… keep your eyes on the road.”

“Fine. Fine.”

You turned to look out the window, watching the buildings and night sky go by through the window. You were out of that warehouse, and you were grateful for that, but there was still a lot ahead of you. You couldn’t bring yourself to sleep to but, just for the moment, you allowed yourself to relax just a little bit. Your body didn’t need the stress but you still had a lot to worry about. For now, you’d go along and hope for the best.

#jjba hcs #jojo hcs #illuso #illuso (jjba)#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #whump prompt #anon #this was gonna b more romantic #then it wasnt #well just thwy f@cked at tge hotel #i tried to keep it brie #but it just kept getting longer #long post

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fromheroestodust · 6 years ago

Text

Stab Wounds and Lipstick Stains

Summary: in the Neibolt house you have an encounter with Pennywise. Near death situations can lead to secrets being revealed.

Warnings: language, blood, violence

Word count: 2770

Pairing: Richie Tozier x reader

A/N: I know I've been writing a lot of It stuff recently but this idea came to me and I couldn't resist writing it :)

"We're actually going in there?" You ask, peering at the Neibolt house in front of you. The rotten wood and creaky steps seemed all but welcoming. Spiders, dust, and mice seem to come out of every crack and crevice. You feel your breaths become slightly labored as you stagger backwards until you lean against the fence. You could practically see the clown ready to pounce at you, waiting behind every corner and closed door for you to pass to snatch you. But that's bullshit. The clown doesn't exist.

"If I see that motherfucker I'm out." Richie states. You roll your eyes before recollecting yourself, pushing off the fence and coming to stand next to Beverly.

"So who all is going in?" You ask, walking up the steps to stand next to Bill. A smile grazes his face upon seeing your willingness to walk inside, no effort made to hide his relief.

"I'll go." Richie says, joining you at your side. You see Eddie take a large breath before walking up with the rest of you.

"Shouldn't some people stay? To keep watch?" Stan asks. Everyone nods before you four walk inside, leaving the others and stepping into the tomb of a house.

"So what do you think we'll find? Maybe one of those oversized clown shoes." You joke, nudging Richie's arm. Though, he doesn't seem to respond. He's to focused on the paper in his hands. "Rich?"

"It says I'm missing." Is all he responds. "That's my hair and that's my shirt and that's the date-" His voice continues to get louder and louder, prompting Bill and Eddie to walk over with looks of concern.

"Richie you're fine! You're not missing! It's all fake remember?" You yell back, lowering your voice when you realize yelling won't calm him down. You take the paper from him and place your hands gently on his shoulders. "None of that is real, it's all made up, okay?"

He's silent for a few moments, staring into your eyes from behind his thick glasses. You watch a war happen behind his eyes as he debates whether or not to believe you. He shakes his head as if to shake away his emotions before returning to normal.

"Right." He breathes. Bill and Eddie start towards the stairs, you and Richie right behind them after he'd gathered himself.

"There's probably enough dust in here to fill my house." You hiss in disgust, sneezing after taking the first creaky step, the staircase groaning under your weight.

"Or to fill Eddie's mom's tits." Richie adds. You roll your eyes and nudge him, still following after Bill and Eddie.

Something catches your eye in the corner on the landing halfway up the stairs. Curious, you walk towards it before picking it up finding part of an old red balloon. That's weird. Didn't Eddie say he saw red balloons in his encounter with It? By the time you put everything together in your head it's all to late. Every thing around you seems to be raised excluding the small landing of the stairs your on, trapping you in a cage of old wood and humid air.

"What- Richie! Bill! Eddie!" You scream running to what was once stairs but was now a wall, trying desperately to scale it but to no avail.

No one comes back for you, leading you to conclude they're stuck as well.

"It's just me and you now." A sudden eerie voice says from behind you. Your entire body freezes before you slowly turn around, revealing a seven foot clown with a demon like smile. "You look like you have the most meat on your bones."

A step towards you. You back up, nearly crumbling when your back hits the wall. The clown continues to stalk closer and closer, not stopping. The others stories made it seem like It liked to tease you all, but this wasn't teasing. No, this was much worse. Pennywise wasn't just playing with you, he was actually planning to hurt or kill you, and as much as you wanted to deny it, it was most likely to be the latter.

"Is this not real? Is this made up?" He mocks, a claw forming where his hand once was. "This is very real now." A sudden rough movement of his arm sends the claw into your stomach forcing a gasp out of your lungs. It retracts it's hand back to itself, your hands flying to the hole in your body as you lean against the wall and force yourself to stand in fear of never getting back up. A scream rings from upstairs, both of your heads turning towards the noise before back to each other.

"I'll be back for you." He calls before slinking into the stairs that slowly settle back into their original resting place.

Your whole body seems to be raging and fighting with itself, shutting on and off on and off, adrenaline rushing through your vains while your mind tells you to collapse. Pain comes in waves, in between being a numb nothingness where you can't feel anything. Your vision goes blurry and black on the edges but you force yourself to yell out to the others, desperate for someone, anyone to come.

"Rich! Bill! Ed! S-someone... Please..." You yell in a weak voice, slowly staggering towards the stairs. You make it halfway up before you can't force yourself to stay up anymore and your legs give out. You lay in a loose ball, your hands covering your wound. Blood pools around you as you cry - well you try to cry, but you can't force anymore than a few scarce tears out.

"Please..." You whimper. It was hard to focus on anything but the pain. No longer was a numbness taking over, but instead a pain to intense for you to even comprehend. You didn't understand how someone could feel this much pain. Pain. The only thing on your mind. Pain.

"Y/n! Where are you?" You hear a distant voice yell. You pick up your head to look around but all you see is the out of focus railing of the staircase and the blurry stairs leading to the ground floor.

"On the stairs." You try to yell, but it comes out horse and scratchy and more like a whisper than a exclamation.

"Y/n?!" There's more voices now, closer than before. Hope shines through the pain momentarily as you hear footsteps coming closer. Suddenly they're in front of you, multiple pairs of shoes in your view.

"Holy shit, Y/n? Y/n can you hear me?" A familiar voice asks, the body crouching in front of you. Who is it? Richie. That's it. It's Richie. They made it out alive. They're safe.

"Rich?" You answer, barely hearing your own words.

"Yeah, I'm here. Holy shit- where is all this blood coming from? Is-is that from you?" He asks. His voice is frantic. You nod with a small whimper, moving your shaky hands to reveal the hole in your clothes and yourself soaked in a deep maroon.

"What happened?" He exclaims, his hands moving but freezing as if searching for the right action to take.

"I don't... Know. Hurts." You answer. "Hurts a lot."

"Guys we need to get her to a hospital." Eddie speaks up.

"Yeah no shit Ed's." Richie quips. "Y/n, can you see okay?"

You look up at his blurry face, not to blurry to where you can't make out his features, but blurry enough to where you know it's not normal. You again shake your head.

"I'm scared." You say. You see everyone make a small face of surprise. You never admit anything like that. Sure, you were literally dying in front of them, but that's something they never expected. "I don't... Wanna die."

"You're not, we're going to get you help." Richie says. More surprise. Both of you were acting completely out of your usually. But, in this situation, that's kind of the expected.

"We need to get her outside." Stan says.

"How?" Beverly asks.

"We're going to have to pick her up." Ben answers.

Richie moves closer to you, trying to atleast help you into a sitting position but only gets your upper body into his lap before you can't handle it anymore.

"I can't I can't I can't." You cry, gripping Richie's hand. The tears were flowing now, hot and streaming down your face into Richie's clothes.

"Okay, okay it's over. Just stay awake." He says. You nod and focus on staying conscious, not releasing your hold on Richie.

"Should we a-a-all pick her up?" Bill suggests. They all nod reluctantly before moving closer and each taking part of your weight. A loud mix of a whimper and a groan escapes your lips as you force yourself to stay awake, stay aware of everything happening to your body. You know your limbs are limp, probably scarily still to the others but you can't help it. You have barely any control over anything below your arms. You hadn't let go of Richie's hand and he hadn't made an attempt to release you either. Well, at least not that you know of, you can't remember much.

You see Eddie walking next to you with his arm in a weird and unnatural direction, definitely a break.

"Ed's?" You whisper.

"Oh- yeah?" He answers, worry haunting his eyes.

"Why's it so stuffy in here?"

"Probably all the dust and rat shit."

You nod before letting out a cry when you all make it fully down the stairs, the last step being more of a jump sending a wave of pain through you again, fire replacing what little blood you have left inside of you.

They all set you down against the house, Ben and Eddie sitting besides you. You can tell your breaths are going back in forth between being to shallow and to large. You catch the worried glances you keep getting from the others. What if this is it? What if this is the last moment you're conscious and then that's it, all of your friends, everything here is gone; out of your grasp. What if you never get to tell them how you really feel about them?

"Hey, Rich?" You ask gathering your energy to look up at him.

"What?" He sits down next to you and you turn your head, barely being able to make out his eyes through his blurry glasses.

"I... I like you... As more th-than a friend." You confess. "I just want... Ed to tell yuh-you in case I d-die."

You watch as multiple emotions flash through him, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he answers, "I do too. You're not going to die. Bill and Stanley are going to get someone to help and and you'll all be okay."

"Yeah..." You whisper. Your body falls against Richie's as almost all energy is depleted from your body. Everything becomes more blurry and a slight ringing starts in your ears.

"Hey Rich? I don't feel to good..." You mumble, your words slurring together right before everything goes black.

When you were let out of the hospital which was surprisingly only two days (your parents saw it as unnecessary) the boys told you a fight broke out splitting you all, Beverly and Bill cutting off from the rest of you. You of course had been sorted into the larger group because of the obvious reasons.

Due to your parents removing you from the hospital much to early, you had to use a wheelchair when you left the house. The doctors said your stitches would tear open if you walked for to long or made any sudden movements. You would need the chair for two weeks, the estimated time for the skin to heal enough for you go actually do things like walking for more than five minutes.

Stanley's bar mitzvah was scheduled for twelve thirty. You sit in your room, struggling to put on the dress you'd made without harming yourself. Finally after ten minutes you'd gotten it on, you walking the few steps from your bed to your desk. You put on some makeup, just a simple red lipstick and mascara.

A bell sound rings through the house, signalling you to walk down the hallway. You stand in front of the door, straighten your dress, and open it.

"Hey Y/n." He greets, stepping inside. He wears s suit, his hair sleeked back on his head.

"Hi." You sit down in the wheelchair sitting idly next to the couch, your arms lying on the armrests.

"Are you ready to go?" Richie asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. Curiosity takes your mind as you pick up on the nerves coming off of him. How was the Richie Tozier nervous? The only time you've seen him slightly nervous is the Neibolt House. You let it be for now, mentally noting to ask him about it later.

"Yeah. Are we the only two going?" You ask as you start to walk outside, pushing your wheelchair out the door and down the few front steps. You quickly sit down, your breaths slightly labored from the small effort.

"Uh yeah. Yeah we are." He answers. You start to push the wheels but they are turned out of your hands as Richie pushes you. You didn't really like having others doing things like that for you but you didn't resist, knowing arguments with Richie last ages and never settle in one direction.

"I hate everyone being separated." You sigh, relaxing against the back of chair.

"It won't last forever but it's not like I'm going to cave in and agree with Bill. He was talking bullshit." Richie hisses. It's silent after that, both of you watching your surroundings as you get closer to the synagogue. Finally you arrive, quietly walking in and taking a seat. You stand up out of the wheelchair, Richie reaching for your hand as he guides you in to the seats before sitting down.

"Thanks." You say quietly. He nods before an awkward silence suffocates the air between you. His hand slowly reaches out for yours, the tips of your fingers brushing together causing you both to flinch before your hands lock. You both look down at your joined hands before looking up at each other, smiles painting both of your faces. It was a weird feeling, to touch someone. Your parents despised coming in contact with you and when they did it was screaming and hitting. Due to all of that, you didn't let people touch you very often and you never touched others in fear of being hit. This was different. It was gentle. His hand wasn't striking you, it was holding you like he actually cared about you. Someone cares about you.

The ceremony starts and you both turn your attention towards the middle of the room as Stanley begins to talk.

Stan had to do other things after his bar mitzvah leaving you and Richie to go to the arcade alone, neither of you bothering to go home and change in to something more casual.

"How are you so good at this?" You groan when Richie beats you yet again on Street Fighters.

"How about this, if you win this round, I will stop making sex jokes about you and Bev for a week." Richie offers.

"And if you win?"

"Patience youngin'. If I win, you kiss me."

Your mind goes blank but you bite your lip and give a confident grin, "You're on, Tozier."

Richie ends up beating you by the most out of all twenty games. Your jaw dropped as you turn and face Richie who stood with a you'll admit cute triumphant smile.

"Pucker up, Buttercup." He says, turning to face you.

You stand up, glance from his eyes to his lips, then quickly lean forwards, kissing him for two seconds - probably less. When you pull away you see a shocked expression on his face forcing a giggle out of you.

"That was short." He says, peering at you from his thick glasses.

"Keep dreaming Rich." You sigh, rolling your eyes. You stand on your toes and peck his cheek, leaving a red stamp of your lips. You grin but don't mention it, sitting back down in the wheelchair. You stared at the mark for the rest of the day in amazement. It was from you. You kissed Richie Tozier. You liked him and he liked you. Even with all the Pennywise shit, you knew Richie would be at your side. Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

#richie tozier mood board #richie tozier moodboard #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier #richie tozier x you #richie tozier x y/n #richie trashmouth tozier #losers club #the losers club #it #pennywise the clown #pennywise the dancing clown #it fanfiction #eddie kasparak #stanley uris #ben hanscom #beverly marsh

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hyphypmic · 6 years ago

Text

Expressionless

“Riou~” Someone was shaking him awake. “Riou~”

“Five more minutes…”

“Riou~”

Riou was actually awake, and has been for the past three minutes. He was good at pretending to be asleep (or dead) and he was taking advantage of it. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling.

“Riou I know you’re awake.” Riou felt a weight on top of him and he had to do his best to clamp down on the smirk that was about to dance on his lips. “Come on, breakfast is going to be cold. Riou-“

Riou, faster than his fiance could react, grabbed her and flipped so that she was under him. “Good morning.” He said with the smirk that he knew made her melt.

She laughed as he kissed her. “Good morning to you as well.” She said and stroked his cheek. “How was your sleep?”

“How are you walking?” He teased and kissed her on the neck.

“Hmm.” She hummed. “It took a lot of motivation to get out of bed, especially a bed with you in it.”

“So… does that mean round two?” He kissed her again. “Three?” He kissed her nose. “Four?”

His fiance turned red under him, clearly remembering what he was able to do to her. “Stop it!” She pushed at his chest. “Breakfast! It’s going to get cold.”

“But-“

As if on cue, their puppy jumped on the bed and barked.

“See. Even Haruki agrees.” The girl pouted. “And I made your favorite.”

“Did you use mice?” He asked and went in for another kiss.

She scoffed and pushed his head away before he could land another one. She stroked his bare chest instead, enjoying the feel of his toned muscles. She then idly traced the lines of his pecs and his abs. “No.” She felt him tense. “Though I did use the eggs, you know. Like normal eggs.”

Riou looked like he was trying very hard to control himself. He was just about to growl at her and take her like he did last night, but Haruki, their Japanese spitz, barked and actually managed to squeeze in between them.

Riou sighed. “Okay fine.” He got off of her and helped her up. “Let’s eat.”

—

“You know.” He said as he sipped his coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I was thinking, since it’s a bright, wonderful Sunday, we could go to the park.”

“Hmm. But this time you’ll be the one to scoop Haruki’s poop right?” His fiance said as she placed the dishes in the sink.

Riou almost spat out his coffee. “Eh? I never said anything about that.”

“Well, it’s your idea.”

“It’s your idea that we get Haruki.” Riou put down his coffee mug.

“Did you forget that you proposed to me with Haruki?” She crossed her arms.

“Did you forget that you wanted a dog in the first place?”

She went over to him and put her arms around his neck. His hands automatically went for her waist. “Mmm. I’m pretty sure you wanted him too.”

“Maybe I just wanted you instead.” Riou leaned down and kissed her. “He was just a tool for my plan.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm.” He kissed her again and pulled her closer to him.

Riou actually couldn’t be any happier. He had an apartment (well, a small apartment with a semi-functioning bathroom, but it was good enough), a puppy (which occupied half of the apartment), a semi-stable job as the head chef in a four-star restaurant, and the most beautiful fiance in the world. His fiance also worked at the restaurant, as his sous chef. They didn’t own it, but they owned the kitchen. God help those that defy the king and queen.

They were actually just about to go for round 2 when someone knocked on the door.

Riou ignored it for a bit, but the knocking started again. He groaned. “I’ll get it.” He kissed her on the nose and walked to the door. He picked up a shirt from where he left it on the couch and tugged it on.

He opened it and was surprised to see a military official standing in front. “Are you Busujima Riou and Akiyama Koharu?”

Koharu stood beside Riou in a flash. “Yes?”

The soldier handed them a letter. “You’re both expected to report at the General Headquarters at 0700 tomorrow.”

Riou’s eyes flashed in anger. “Wait, I already-“

“We are aware of your service Busujima. And yours too Akiyama. But it is the order of the Prime Minister. We are at-”

“Now listen here you fucking piece of shit-“ Riou grabbed the collar of the soldier and lifted him a few inches off the ground and was about to growl out more words but Koharu stopped him from unleashing the wave of anger he was holding back.

“Riou.” She squeezed his arm. “He’s just doing his job.”

Riou calmed down, but his face was scarier than any general’s. He dropped the soldier. The soldier cowered as Riou growled, grabbed the letter and slammed the door.

Koharu grabbed the letter out of his hands before he could crumple it.

“This fucking government.” He growled. “I already did my time.” His fists curled at his sides. “We already did our time. We already served this country for ten years, and the fucking government doesn’t give us a break.” At that he punches the wall hard enough for it to crack. Riou was sure his hand was bruised and it was going to hurt when they had to report in tomorrow, but he couldn’t care.

Both Koharu and Riou, aside from being brilliant chefs, they were also ex-military. They both joined when they were 17, Riou enlisting and Koharu enrolling in the military academy. They worked in separate sectors and were assigned and stationed in different places. However, they were deployed in the same place at around the same time. They’re similar in every aspect except for rank. Koharu and Riou were of different rank, and Koharu was actually higher than what Riou was. She was a commissioned officer, while he was a non-commissioned officer. She was already a first lieutenant and he was a sergeant. She literally had the authority to boss him around.

They met when they were under heavy fire in the early days of their ship assignments and they’ve been friends ever since.

It was only a matter of time before Riou admitted he had feelings for her, though he was a little (read: a lot, very, extremely) afraid because she was his superior. She could have him removed if that was the case (though they’d have to run it by the captain, but it’s not like Riou thought about that). For all that was worth though, it worked out in the end. Turns out she had a little crush on him too.

Koharu put down the letter and rubbed his arms. “Love. Please.” Her hands went to his shoulders and she gently turned him around. She then unfurled his fists and intertwined their hands.

“It just isn’t fair.” Riou knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You know we’re at war.” Koharu said. “We expected something like this to happen.”

“Yeah but I don’t even have commission. I turned that down because we-“

“We wanted to leave. I know I know.” Koharu wrapped her arms around him and leaned. “But I am a commissioned officer. It was only a matter of time before they called me back.”

Riou laughed bitterly into her hair. “No, I was going to say that I turned down the commission because we wanted each other. We were just a little bit selfish.” He inhaled deeply. “And the commission would’ve taken me away from you.”

Riou was offered to restart and become a commissioned officer after he came back from that field duty with Koharu. Koharu recommended him for that. The catch was though that he was going to be stationed on a different island. He’d climb in rank, but he’d be away from her.

He refused, opting to keep his role as a non-commissioned officer. He was then promoted to sergeant first class and later on, Koharu was his captain.

One more tour later, they resigned from active duty together.

Koharu leaned into his chest and breathed in. “Yeah.” She looked up at him. “We’ll be okay.”

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “I hope so.”

—

“You know.” Samatoki drawled while he lay on the couch, a cigarette in hand. “I’ve always wondered why I can’t get a read on Busujima.”

“Why? He’s like you.” Juto blew out the smoke he held in his lungs. “The only emotion he feels is anger.”

Samatoki growled. “You know what I mean. A dirty cop like you should be able to interrogate.” Samatoki raised an eyebrow. “Or have you lost your skill?”

“Tsk.” Juto rolled his eyes and then pushed up his glasses. “Maybe he’s hiding something.”

Samatoki looked over to Riou who was passed out on the seat in front of him. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to try finding out?”

Samatoki thought about it as he stared at Riou, wondering what he was dreaming about.

—

The battleship was supposed to be invincible.

Riou ran from the fire on the starboard deck. He used to put the flames out at the start of the battle, but he gave up. Their ship was going to go down. Some of the lower decks were flooded and the engine was coughing and pushing the ship along at the slowest speed possible.

“This was not supposed to happen.” The ship shuddered. “This was not supposed to happen.”

The plan was well thought out. They were just going to rendezvous with a friendly ship at the designated coordinates.

Riou had personally executed the traitor, but the damage was done. Two enemy ships intercepted them on route. The ship they were going to rendezvous with was two days out.

Riou held the nearest intact railing as the ship listed to the right. Riou kept moving, nearly stumbling over a dead body. Koharu was on the bridge, he had to get to her.

The battleship fired another round of missiles at the opposing ship, but the ship behind them shot and Riou could hear the screams of the men he trained.

“Bridge.” Riou panted and wiped the blood dribbling down from his face from the cut on his cheekbone. “Bridge. I need to get to the bridge.” He pushed against the railing and used the remaining strength in his legs to run.

He entered a hallway and pushed past panicking crewmen. He coughed because the smoke was getting too thick. But he knew the layout. He could do it.

He crouched since the smoke was thinner at a lower height.

He could hear Koharu’s firm voice over the intercom, but it was the exact orders he couldn’t believe. “Abandon ship! Get to the escape boats and pods. All crew abandon ship-” The intercom was cut off by the sound of an explosion.

Riou heard a shout and he wasn’t sure if it was from his own mouth. He moved faster.

Someone bumped against him. “The bridge is fucking gone man! There’s no way you can-”

“Shut up!” Riou yelled and pushed past him. He kept running for the bridge.

He managed to get up there and the officer was right. Half the bridge was gone, all of the panels were destroyed. The only thing that was intact was the wheel and the panel beside it. Koharu was passed out beside it, bodies of the other men and women on the bridge lay sprawled everywhere else.

“Koharu!” He ran and slid next to her. The ship groaned, it was so close to sinking. The engines were barely moving. The ship behind them was gaining.

The enemy that they fought was ruthless, they had the nasty habit of climbing aboard ships and killing or taking hostage the survivors. Even if Riou escaped with the others, he knew he was going to be gunned down. The only way out was the escape pods, the mini submarines that are programmed to take them to the nearest friendly land without piloting.

“Koharu wake up.” Riou shook her harder. “We need to go.”

Koharu groaned and opened her eyes. Her forehead was bleeding and her arm was bent at a bad angle. Riou almost sobbed in relief. She was alive. This was good. One step at a time.

“Come on.” Riou helped her get up. She got up with much difficulty and put a hand to her head.

“Check on the others.” She said and held the wheel.

“But-”

“That’s an order sergeant.” She barked weakly.

Riou was hesitant but he followed and checked. A few soldiers were still alive and he helped them get up while Koharu did what she could to divert all power to the engines. She was weak on her feet and one of her arms was useless, but she managed to do it, and the boat chugged along with new vigor, as if powered by the willpower of its captain.

Riou told the survivors to get to the boats and the pods and to move faster.

“Koharu. Now.” Riou went and pulled at her good arm. “We have to leave.”

“The autopilot is destroyed.” Koharu said. “But the self-destruct is not.”

Riou looked at the navigation panel and saw where she was heading. The ship in front of them was gaining. “Don’t you-”

“I have to.”

“This is not some movie Koharu!” He growled. “You’re not going to come back-”

“I know.” She said, her eyes glistening.”

“What good is your sacrifice going to be? Taking out one ship?”

“One ship. The ship that fired on us has their commander, their general.” She looked at Riou. “It will be a major set-back.”

“I’m not just going to let you do this!” He spun her around and took her face in his hands. “You are not going to leave me. We’re going to get married, have a family and build that house okay? Live to fight another day Koharu. If you die now,” He couldn’t finish that sentence. “If you die now… there’s… I…”

Koharu looked at the view in front of her and the nearly destroyed bridge. She stared at Riou, debating if she should just push him away, but she saw the look in his eyes and saw the truth in his speech. She slumped against him in defeat. She wasn’t going to let go of hope just yet. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Riou helped her walk to the door and gather the guns from the fallen men. He guided her down the ladder and all the way to the main deck.

The ship shuddered again and the couple heard metal groaning on metal. Riou looked overboard and saw that the pods and boats were racing away at top speed, but some were shot down.

The enemies from the other ship boarded their sinking ship. Riou and Koharu were the only ones left on the deck.

“This way.” Riou hissed and pulled her to the nearest corridor. He knew his way to the pods, but from where they are now, it was going to take a while.

Riou and Koharu made their way to where the escape pods are. They had to be quiet the whole way. No sound because they could hear their enemy gutting those above deck, or those who were still alive.

Koharu didn’t shudder, but the weight of each death was on her shoulders. She knew she couldn’t blame herself, but it was hard not to when she was their captain.

Every time they passed a dead body, Koharu closed their eyes. This was slowing them down, but Riou wasn’t going to stop her. She already felt bad enough that she wasn’t going down with her ship.

They made their way to the escape, and there were several left since there was enough for each crew member, but they had a big problem. Enemy soldiers were there, and there was no way to sneak past them.

It was a good strategy to secure the pods, but of course it made the couple’s job harder.

Riou let go of Koharu and looked over. There were five men. Koharu and him could probably take them, if they were in tip top shape. But now, they’re injured and he doubted he could do anything properly in this state.

“I’ll distract them while you-“ Riou started but then noticed Koharu wasn’t by his side anymore. “Koharu!” He whisper shouted and looked around. “Koharu!”

There was an explosion nearby and Riou almost fell over. His heart dropped. No. She couldn’t have-

But then heard footsteps and Koharu returned to him.

“Where did you go?” He asked as three of the men peeled away to check on the explosion. He gripped her good hand a little tighter than he should.

“Found a gas tube and a lighter.” She said with a small smile and Riou remembered why he fell in love with her. He also knew that there was no one more beautiful than her. “Do you think we can take them now?” She snapped him out of his momentary daze.

It was only a matter of time before the three came back. “Let’s go.” He said.

Riou ran out and attacked one of them while Koharu went for the other.

Even with one arm, she was formidable. She wasn’t a captain for nothing. Riou used his gun to knock them out cold and shot at close range so that the sound will be muffled.

They managed to take them and make their way to the escape pods.

“Riou.” Koharu said before they entered their escape pods. She kissed him lightly. “We’re going home.” Riou squeezed her hand and smiled.

“Just a little more Koharu.”

“Remind me to make you the best dessert when we get back.”

“Remind me to set that cake tasting appointment.” Riou replied.

Koharu laughed a little then went to hers.

Riou went inside his and closed the door.

Just as about they were going to hit launch, the three that left came back and started shooting at them.

Riou heard glass crack and his own pod shudder as bullets hit it. His pod dropped and he was engulfed in darkness for a split second before seeing only blue.

The pod had no communication whatsoever, and was only programmed to take them to the nearest base.

He passed out.

—

Riou woke up to the door of his pod opening. He pushed it open and was immediately greeted by hands. He sat up and immediately reached for his weapon and pointed it at them.

The hands backed off immediately.

“Stand down Busujima.” The soldier to his left said. “You’re in friendly territory.”

Riou assessed the uniforms of the men and lowered his gun. He looked around. He was at an island they passed by six hours prior. It was on the edge of Japanese territory.

The men and women that surrounded him were survivors. Their uniforms were tattered and they were injured. One of them had a broken arm.

Injured.

“Where’s your captain?” Riou barked, even if the one that ordered him to stand down was of higher rank.

“Busujima-“

Riou spotted a pod to the side, surrounded by several men and women, the door already open. He sprang out and ran to it. “Koharu!”

“Busujima!” The officer tried to hold him back but Riou pushed him so hard he fell.

They made it. They’re in friendly territory. They’re safe. They were going to leave this life behind. He was going to book that cake tasting. He was going to pay for the down payment for their reception place.

He pushed them aside. “Koharu!” He had a big smile on his face, expecting to be greeted by a warm embrace.

Then he looked down at the pod.

First thing he noticed was that the pod was filled with water. Next thing he noticed was that the water was red.

Koharu’s pale body was floating in it. Her eyes staring blankly at the sky. Her skin was all puffed and wrinkled from staying in the water for so long. Her stomach was bloody. Riou unbuttoned her uniform there and saw that it was ripped. Her abdomen was mangled by a gaping hole in the center. One glance at the cover of the pod said it all. A bullet pierced the glass. It must have been from one of those high powered guns to fracture that glass.

Busujima’s world spiraled, but he stayed on his feet. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he gripped the sides of the pod.

She’s gone. Riou had a reverse flashback of the kids he’d never get, of the house he’d never build, of the marriage they would’ve had, of the honeymoon he had planned, of the wedding he would’ve given her, of the life they would never have.

“Busujima.” Riou didn’t feel the hand on his shoulder. “Busujima.”

Riou just shut down. He felt numb. He paid his price already, and they still took the one thing he deemed as priceless.

Riou reached in the pod and lifted her body out of the water.

She drowned in her own blood. Alone. She died. Alone.

And he wasn’t there to save her as she saved him.

He couldn’t summon a tear as grabbed a canvas from one of the boats and he carried her to a place far away from the others.

Memories flashed.

Koharu seeing the ring on the collar of their puppy, who was in the care of their elderly neighbor. Her crying in joy when she saw him down on one knee.

Koharu moving to the apartment.

Koharu splattering paint on him.

Koharu having his back when they were on the ship.

Koharu blushing when he admitted he had feelings for her while he was drunk.

The first time they made love.

The first time they said I love you.

The last kiss she gave him.

He set her body down, fell to his knees and screamed.

—

It was hours before someone came looking for him. They found him just sitting there, staring listlessly at the wrapped corpse. The diamond ring he gave her clutched in his fist and her dog tags hanging on his neck.

“Busujima.” The Officer said. “The ship came. We’re departing.” There was a pause. “We need to go.”

Riou wordlessly picked up her body and walked to where the ships were docked.

He didn’t say a word as he set her down with the other bodies. He didn’t say a word the entire duration to the home base. He didn’t say a word whenever someone talked to him. He didn’t say a word when they arrived.

Riou said the words he had to say during the funeral and pinned the medal on her corpse. He carried the coffin. He folded the flag. He greeted the parents and said a few words, but nothing more.

Riou barely said anything when he packed his things and told his commander that he was leaving. The war could go to hell. He wasn’t fighting for anything anymore anyway. The thing that made this place home was gone.

He barely said anything when he got Haruki back.

Riou screamed when he went back to his apartment. He threw everything and swept all the things off the table.

Riou didn’t react when he received a letter saying that he was to be promoted. He didn’t even write a reply. Riou didn’t sleep for the next week as punishment.

Everything reminded him that she was gone. Everything didn’t matter.

Riou only showed a shred of emotion when taking care of Haruki.

Riou didn’t say anything as he wore his fatigues and and walked out of the apartment with nothing but the essentials and Haruki. He couldn’t even cook anymore with regular ingredients. He was a chef, but she was his other half. She was the reason why food tasted good.

He went to the forest and isolated himself there just so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

When the Age of H was announced, he couldn’t care any less. Fine. Let women take over.

When he managed to obtain a military prototype of a hypnosis mic because he had to give up his weapons (after pulling some strings and threatening and killing some people), he only felt some satisfaction.

When he was able to show off his skills and channel what he was hiding into words, that was the only time he felt free.

But whenever someone talked to Busujima Riou, they were greeted with an impenetrable mask and a blank expression.

Or they were greeted by an insurmountable wave of anger.

—

Riou woke up to Samatoki and Juto arguing.

“You shouldn’t have looked at it!” Juto said.

“Are you saying I can’t handle him?” Samatoki growled.

“You know better than to disturb an ex-military’s privacy!” Juto yelled.

“You’re the one that asked if I wanted to find out!”

“Eh?? I didn’t think you would do that!”

“Oh so you’re blaming me?”

“You’re being stupid you fucking idiot-“

“Say that again.” Samatoki said lowly, his hands curled into fists.

“You’re being stupid! You motherfucking-“

“Juto. Samatoki.” Riou sat up straight, wide awake immediately.

Samatoki and Juto stiffened. “Good sleep?” Juto asked.

“Satisfactory.” Riou replied. “What are you two arguing about?”

“We think you’re hiding something Riou.” Samatoki slipped into his Yakuza mode and Juto had a slightly panicked look in his eyes. “And we want to know.”

“I am not hiding anything from you.” Riou replied flatly.

“ I value honesty here.” Samatoki drawled and blew out smoke. “I can’t take someone who isn’t honest.”

“Ask then.” Riou said.

Juto at this point moved away.

Samatoki leaned forward, only a coffee table separating them. “I told you everything you need to know about me. Even about Nemu.”

“What’s your point?” Riou raised an eyebrow.

“ Why are there dog tags around your neck not your own? And who the fuck is Koharu-“

Samatoki was surprised to find a hand around his neck. He tried pushing Riou’s hand off, but the grip was like iron. “How dare you-“

“Ask me again.” Riou’s face contorted in anger and his grip on Samatoki’s neck tightened.

Samatoki was afraid of very little, but Riou’s eyes burned with something the yakuza boss did not want to tangle with.

“Don’t you dare ask me again.” Riou growled. Samatoki couldn’t breathe anymore and black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. “Don’t. You. Fucking.” He squeezed tighter with each word. “Dare.” He leaned closer. “Do I make myself clear?”

Samatoki nodded and Riou let go, shoving Samatoki against the couch for good measure. Samatoki wheezed and doubled over, holding his neck. “Fuck.” His neck was going to be bruised.

Riou walked away without a word, going to the fridge to get a beer with a blank expression. As if nothing happened.

Juto went to Samatoki. “Told you.”

Samatoki couldn’t even growl back. He now knew that the anger he provoked in Riou was nothing compared to that. “Noted.” He wheezes out and coughed.

Riou fingered the ring on his necklace as he sipped at his beer and got the dog food.

Riou fed Haruki and petted the dog softly. He was a lot bigger than when he proposed to her.

Riou stroked the fur, his back turned to MTC.

And a single tear rolled down his face and splat to the floor.

—

#hypnosismic #hypmic #riou busujima #angst #mad trigger crew

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