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blackleatherjacketz · 2 years ago

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Torn

Frank Castle x Female Reader, Steven Grant x Female Reader

Summary: Frank gets jealous that you’ve moved on, especially when he finds out who it is.

Warnings: Territorial Frank, Jealous Steven, Infidelity, Implied Sexual History, Kissing, Exes Returning From the Past, Frank Castle Growling, Two Hot Marvel Men In The Same Room

Notes: This is purely self-indulgent so I’m sorry and you’re welcome!

Word Count: 1.5k+

Part 1 of Show Me

Read more MARVEL stories HERE! Read more Oscar stories HERE!

Tags: @acutecupidity @likedovesinthewnd @genevievedarcygranger @letsby @skittle479

Frank walks around your apartment as if it were his own, as if he were your husband returning home from the war instead of just a casual lover from your past showing up out of the blue.

You watch him pace along your floorboards, his boots creaking against the hard wood as the mere sight of him causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. It’s electric, this inexplicable tension that stirs deep inside of you whenever he’s close by, ignited by nothing more than a look in his eye or a twitch of his lip. You hold your breath as he traces his fingertips over the back of your couch, outlines the pictures along your walls and fingers the liquor bottle you’d left open on the counter. He’s scouting, collecting little pieces of evidence about what you’d been up to this whole time he’s been gone.

“I missed you,” he whispers, addressing you without even bothering to turn around. He clenches his fingers into a fist to stop his trigger finger from twitching, pulsing it open three more times before shaking it out.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you admit a little too quickly, realizing only now that you shouldn’t have opened the door to begin with. You glance at your watch, manually taking your eyes off of him in an effort to redirect your energy. “What do you want?”

“I can smell him,” he grumbles, looking over at the two empty glasses on your coffee table, rings of sugary alcohol still sticky around the bases. “I can smell him all over this fucking place.”

“Really?” If he thought he could just waltz back in here after being gone for so long without an explanation, then he had another thing coming. “Who?” You decide to play dumb, folding your arms across your chest in disbelief. “Who can you smell, Frank?”

“Spector.” His whisper is a bit louder this time, the single word coming out in an angry growl as he turns his head to finally face you.

A rush of warmth floods your face and neck, his pinpoint accuracy coloring your skin a bright red as your heart sinks into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel this guilty, shouldn’t have this knee jerk reaction to defend yourself, but here you are, feeling like you’ve committed adultery against a man who’d left you high and dry.

“How’d you know?” Your voice is shaky, the mixture of emotions making it waver halfway up your throat.

“What’d you mean, how’d I know?” He huffs, dismissing the seemingly obvious answer with a wave of his hand.

You start to wonder if he’d spent hours holed up on the rooftop across the street, watching you through the scope of his rifle as Marc, Steven and Jake all had their way with you day and night. You wonder if he’d met Marc on the streets fighting some big bad together, only to pick up on something he said to follow him back to you. And then, for a split second, you start to think that he actually cares about you enough to offer an explanation for his disappearing act, that he was here to patch things up with you but got distracted by Marc’s scent instead. Each idea sounds just as crazy as the next.

Frank starts to circle his way around your living room, taking inventory of every window and door before eventually stopping directly in front of you. That undeniable tension continues to grow as he takes you in with those wildly intense eyes, holding you in place. His close proximity allows you to breathe in the deep sandalwood of his cologne, mixing in with his sweat as it brings up vivid memories of his hips buried beneath your thighs with his fingers in your hair.

“How long you been sleeping with him?” His full lips remain parted as he asks his question, stepping so close to you that his boots tap the toes of your shoes.

Really? Now he decides to care, to communicate verbally? Unbelievable!

“I thought you knew everything already.” You scoff, smirking as he closes the space between you even more.

“Oh, come on,” he teases, brushing your cheek with his knuckles before curving them under your chin. “He got a bigger dick than me, is that it?”

“Jesus, Frank.” You place your palm on his chest to keep him from getting any closer, trying your best to avoid answering his question.

“I go off on a mission and come back to you playing house with a man who dresses up like a mummy every night?” He smiles, a jeering look painting his features as he forces a laugh. “I mean, what do you see in that guy, anyways?”

“We’re not doing this, Frank.” You’re not sure who needs more convincing of that fact: him or you.

“Why not?” He feathers his folded hand down your neck and shoulder, the rough scar tissue on the backs of his fingers leaving a trail of goose flesh in its wake. A small smile starts in the corner of his mouth as your body reacts to him like it always does, quivering beneath his touch as he towers over you. He still knows just how to start you up; small, gentle touches on your most delicate areas before his hands and lips start claiming purchase over every inch of you, inside and out.

“This isn’t fair. You don’t get to do this, not now,” you repeat reluctantly, voice shaking a little bit less this time. You try to ignore the feeling his breath on your cheek sends down your spine, twisting your stomach in a knot that’s all too familiar. You have to continually remind yourself to stay strong as he cups your face in his hands, your deafening pulse pounding against his wrists. “You can’t come back like this just because you want to.”

“I know.” He rubs his thumbs across your cheeks, pressing the rest of his fingers into your hairline as he rests his forehead against yours. “I know, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head slowly, his nose brushing against yours as his lips creep closer to your mouth. “But I’m here now.” He breathes into you, tilting your chin up so that you have nowhere else to look but into his eyes.

That black tarry abyss nearly pulls you under, wrapping itself around you completely as his lips crash into yours. The forbidden temptation tastes like heaven and the bitter black coffee that keeps him alert, sweetened only by the salt of his skin and the iron from his wounds. A faint feral growl brews in his chest as he parts your lips with his tongue, pulling you in closer by the back of your head as if he were trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Frank, I can’t!” You manage to push him off of you for the first time in your life, your yearning body loathing your moral compass.

He lets you push him back, letting go of your face with hands in the air like the wanted criminal that he is. “Okay,” he nods, eyes darting over to the door as the sound of a key fiddles into the lock.

Thank God and Oh No cross your mind at the very same time as you hug yourself in an effort to calm your body down, leaning your back against the wall. Frank takes the hint and steps further away from you, staring at the door with bated breath. Both of you watch as the brass handle turns clockwise before breaking the threshold between here and there, the pressure in the air almost static. You aren’t sure who's going to be walking through that door in the next few seconds, and can’t exactly guarantee Frank’s safety.

“Right, what’s all this, then?” Steven looks at Frank and then at you, confusion knitting his brows together as he attempts to put the pieces together.

Oh, thank God, you sigh in relief.

“What’s with the accent, Spector?” Frank’s tone isn’t meant to come off as accusatory, but his default timbre is inherently aggressive.

Oh great, they do know each other, after all. Fuck.

“Spector?” Steven puts his keys back into his pocket and kisses your cheek, his eyes trained solely on Frank. “You a friend of Marc’s, then?” He shuts the door behind him, jaw clenching tightly as he undoubtedly consults his alter on where they could’ve seen this man before. “Afraid he won’t be in for a while, uh…” he pauses and squints at him, collecting more information before properly identifying him, “Frank.”

Speechless, Frank stares at the both of you in awe, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to make sense of the situation before he remembers to breathe again.

“Frank was just leaving.” You reassure Steven, leaning into him as he palms the small of your back. “Weren’t you, Frank?” You glare at him until he nods, pressing his lips together in a thin fine line.

“That’s right,” Frank relents, taking his time walking toward the door as Steven opens it again. His boots creak a little louder this time, the wood painfully straining under his tremendous weight as gravity pulls him toward the center of the earth. He pauses just before crossing through the door frame, looking at Steven like some sort of failed science experiment before saying “Keep her safe, yeah?”

“Not a problem, mate.”

#steven grant #frank castle #oscar isaac #jon bernthal #moon knight #the punisher #steven grant x reader #frank castle x reader

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dearamericaroyaldiaries · 3 years ago

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Get In Losers. We’re Going Witch Hunting

I Walk in Dread- 1691(-1692), Deliverance Trembly

By Lisa Rowe Fraustino

Don’t judge the picture. Google had no images that I felt comfortable using license wise so I took a (bad) picture of my copy.

Age of Protagonist: 12

#ReadingThoughts

-Before I even start I am digging the Puritan names. First Remember Patience and now Deliverance (and I would come to find ANOTHER MEM!!).

-My edition looses points or not having a ribbon even though it’s hardcover. This negatively impacts my reading experience for Reasons.

-Hold it. Is her uncles’ name really Razor Strap? I know Puritans were big on using random phrases from the Bible for their naming, but is that really a phrase in the Bible? Also, Sister Mem had me confused it was Mem from the last book for a hot second.

-SO do Mem and Deliverance just live with their uncle? Just the three of them? (The answer I quickly found was yes.)

-I appreciate the lesson on town politics. That's important for the Salem area in 1692ish.

-I am confused by what’s happening with the year. Why is it Dec 31, 1691, then Jan. 1, 1691, and then Jan. 2, 1691/2. There is a bullshit explanation in the about the author section. If you’re worried about Accuracy when it comes to the Julian vs Gregorian calendar, put something in the text. You’re average grade schooler isn’t going to jump to that . If I remember correctly, there’s something about the Gregorian calendar differing from the Julian calendar in the Anastasia book that is handled better. Liv explains other things to the reader, why not this?

-Why is a 12 year old more responsible than a 17 year old? Especially in 1692. Mem should at least have a higher opinion of herself in the family hierarchy and be preparing to keep her own house as a wife.

-Again, I feel Mem should be more mature than Liv.

-Liv can use her sister’s boy-craziness to her advantage. Mem is willing to shovel shit if there are attractive members of the opposite sex in the vicinity.

-Allergies=Witchcraft. That explains so much about me and my life. Though I suppose it makes sense from a 17th century Puritan POV.

-Mem wants to be a stepmom to 9 kids all of whom are most likely closer to her age than she would be to the potential husband? The last part might not be a big concern in the time period but good gracious that’s too many kids for my liking.

-Age update- some of the kids would be older than her or her age.

-I feel the average target reader would need an explanation of what “God’s Elect” means. Most 12 year olds don’t have a strong grasp on post-Reformation Protestant Theology.

-Poor Liv. She wants to fit un but is failing spectacularly.

-Is Liv going to be among the accused? She’s not on the best of terms with the accusers and has been or will be associated with at least three people who were accused and killed.

- They used the strong trick for loose teeth in the 17th century? I have no evidence or data to argue one side or the other but I am suspicious. Somewhat amused, but suspicious.

-I find the tithing man hilarious. I want a stick with a fuzzy rabbit foot on one end and a knob for whacking people on the other. Also, he deserved getting thumped back by the one guy,

-I am calling bullshit on Goody Corey sniffing out only girl scent. Either it’s a bit or she’s a witch, not her husband. (Spoilers: He’s accused and refuses to confess so the town can’t take his land and is pressed to death while trying to get a confession. Post reading note: I totally forgot/didn’t know that Goody Corey was also accused and killed.)

-I don’t know really anything about the real Goody Corey, but she seems like a stand-in for an enlightened modern person, above the provincial notions of witchcraft and the commonplace racism toward Amer Indians. I’m not saying everyone thought they were the devil, but a majority thought that they were superior to the indigenous peoples of the American colonies.

-Mr. Cooper’s letter is too vague! We need deets!

-Because this is told through Livs’ eyes everyone asking about their uncle and checking in on them comes off as invasive and nosy but as an adult, a twelve year old and a seventeen year old have been left on a farm by themselves for almost two months at this point is an issue. Is he ever coming back?

-WHAT!? Goody Corey has a bi-racial son born when she was estranged from her first husband? Prepare for a wikipedia tangent because I had to a a google to corroborate this. Wikepedia backs this up but what it doesn’t back up is the timeline. I read her as in her 40s or 50s in the book. According to wikepedia (don’t judge me, it’s good for basic facts and a starting point) she was 72ish in 1692 and this biracial son was her first child who would have been 50ish at this point and was born before Martha Corey was ever married. *End Tangent* Good for her though if she did indeed five her husband an earful after Liv left.

-Hold on. Mr. Cooper wants to talk to Uncle Razor Strap about Mem marrying Darcy, not him. Mem is gonna be devastated.

-Would electricity have been a concept a) known in 1692 and b) be well enough known that a random 12 year old in the colonies with little formal schooling would be comfortable enough using the phrase “electrical lightning.” No, I will not be googling this. Googling historical facts is one thing, googling sciencey things is another thing entirely,

-Did the girls hear the stories and then claim to have witnessed ZYX or did they independently corroborate the stories? One is much less suspect than the other.

-At this point I wonder will we ever meet Uncle Razor Strap? Is he dead? Is he trying to get back to Salem? Is he abandoning them?

-I feel the leap to “Am I a witch?” after having a weird dream about nursing a baby Sarah Goode is sensible as someone who has been about to call the Vatican several times when their period was late. In those cases clearly the only explanation was pregnancy, even when physically impossible just as being a witch is Livs’ conclusion here.

-Hopefully the girls can just get out of the Salem area soon and the landlord giving them to the end of the month is a neat enough excuse.

-So Mem thinks that Goody Corey is a witch but is okay with Liv going over there?

-How scary it would be to worry that the one family member you have in the area, who should be protecting you because you’re 12, might accuse you of witchcraft.

-I am delighted the the horse can act as a chaperone. Really? Okay.

-How does the horse give permission to whisk a fainted person into the house? It’s a horse.

-So now Mem is forcing Liv to read her diary to her. Rude.

Thoughts on the Afterward

Meh. Mem marries Darcy but dies young so Liv gets her man. They return to Salem. They don’t go West like they talked about. Liv has a gagillion great grands. No one ever fount her journal. Meh. I’m happy she was happy and all but meh.

Overall Thoughts After Reading

It took almost 200 pages to get through four months. I think I just don’t care for the author. I should have liked this book. It ticks multiple boxes that should be my jam but something about it just... is a no for me. Maybe it’s because I have zero nostalgia for this book. It took me about 4.5 months to get through this book and finding it boring is one of them. No one seems like a well rounded character who has any growth. Last book Mem had a whole arc where she came to terms with losing her mother but this time Liv didn’t really seem to change or grow.

I had high hopes. This book came out right as I was aging out of Dear America but I remember the hype around it on the Scholastic website. (Yes I was a wee nerd who hung out on the Scholastic website.) Sadly I was disappointed.

Also, we nope out of the actual trials. The first trial wasn’t held until JUNE. The book ends on April 30. Yes, we get to see the initial hysteria and flurry of accusations and arrests, but this was just the beginning. This seems like a cop-out.

Rating: 3/10 Sisterly Cat-Fights

Other contenders included False Accusations (this one seemed unfair because while I believe no one who was accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Hysteria was actually practicing witchcraft, I can’t say with confidence that the accusers were all lying. They may have believed honestly that they were afflicted by witches so calling them false accusations seem disingenuous.) and Bible Verses because Puritans. In the end, I had to honor the brutal way Mem and Live went after each other. Apparently in addition to being sickly, Mem was also small because how else could a 12 year old take her 17 year old sister like that.

#Dear America #Read with me #Puritans #History #Historical #Deliverance Trembly #Salem Witch Hysteria #Salem Witch Trials #I get minorly sweary again. At this point just accept it.

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simprisottowriter · 4 years ago

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Do you think you could do the same fluffy headcanons but for formaggio and Melone 👉👈

I'd be more than glad, anon!! ♡ La Squadra deserves so much love and appreciation! They're a 'one of a kind' group! When you first see them, you feel like there is something more. They’re not just a team. They’re a family, full of trust, with a past that we may never know. That’s what makes them shine! Especially Melone and Formaggio! Both very interesting and lovely choices! As always, hope you like these headcanons!

°Fluff Headcanons°

◇ Melone is a very private and guarded person. Would casually overshare details that better be left unsaid, but he’d never speak openly about anything serious. He treasures memories he has made with his loved ones, and wouldn’t really want other people talking about them.

◇ Programming takes up a lot of precious free time of his day. It saddens him that he might not have enough time to spend with you. So, while working, he'd be so focused at what he is doing, so it wouldn't bother him if you messed with him a bit. Braiding or brushing his hair, painting his nails or drawing on his arm are some of the things he'd let you do on him, to cure your boredom. Though, if you start annoying him by poking him on his face, he'll stop concentrating on the screen, giggle at your silly antics and start poking you too.

◇ Has a distinctive aroma of cheap perfume, paired with the faint smell that computers emanate, like when the chemicals start to burn when the hardware gets warm. Though, his hair has a sweet and clean aroma, probably from the melon-scented shampoo he uses.

◇ No matter what time you wake up, you'll find a warm cup of coffee left for you. You have noticed it's never scorching hot or very cold, no difference if you wake up too early or a bit late. Melone saves each time how many hours you sleep in Babyface's database, and it always predicts what time you'll wake up next day, with incredible accuracy. When it's almost 10 minutes before you rise and shine, he takes a break for once and prepares your coffee. Leaves it neatly with a cute printed card from Babyface, with hand-written words of affirmation for you!

◇ His sleep schedule is messed up. Like, really messed up. One day he might wake up when dinner is ready, and the other he might not even sleep at all. When waking up early, you have seen him numerous times in the living room area, working endless and inhumane hours. His expression is weary and tired, but when he notices you walking in, he sits straight up. His eyes light up and his smile warms your heart, as he waves at you and gently calls your name. You mention to him that you're genuinely worried about his health, but he keeps insisting that it's not a big deal. Generally, it's random for him at what hour he wakes up. He never can follow a schedule. Might not show it, but the pressure and uncertainty of his job fill him with anxiety. It's hard to maintain a normal sleep schedule when you are so unsure of the future.

◇ Affection is a confusing thing for him. The first time you'll meet him, he'll seem like the most affectionate and touchy-feely person. Will keep asking the weirdest and most intimate stuff just to mess with you. Though, when being by his side for a long time, you realize he's actually a bit awkward. When he falls for someone, he’s afraid that he might weird them out. And he doesn’t want to lose them so easily. He will respect your personal space a lot. Verbally, he'll drown you with the strangest and sweetest compliments. But whenever he wants your attention and affection, he'd rest his head on your shoulder or hold your hand. Doesn't seem like the most easily flustered person, but he turns really bashful with just an affectionate touch. Once he becomes comfortable enough in your presence, get ready for surprise hugs! ♡

◇ Doesn't really cook, but would definitely do the chores before you even mention them. In La Squadra, they split the chores evenly, and each member does their share. He would always finish them first and early in the morning, so that he would have time to work on his computer. Bless his little workaholic heart.

◇ Following the above, he would be so concentrated on finishing his job, that he wouldn't even take breaks. Melone doesn't have the best connection with his surroundings, or his needs. He would appreciate so much having someone remind him to take a break for once from work.

◇ Whenever he’s tired, he leaves Babyface in your care. It’s very close to a computer, but the trick is that it charges from being used. As Babyface fills with energy, Melone does too. So he lets you watch series, search whatever you want, or play any old school games he has downloaded (Like Pinball Space Cadet and Minesweeper. He’d probably have the Oregon Trail too.)

◇ He has Clippy on his computer. That’s all.

◇ Extremely honest and blunt. Melone might be adorably weird and constantly giving effusive praise to his close ones, but he never sugarcoats any serious issue. He doesn’t mix his work with his personal matters. At whatever he is doing, he is always extremely professional and does his best in the time he’s given.

◇ During winter, he randomly makes pillow forts from the couch pillows. When returning from work, you might find him lounging under a pile of carefully placed pillows, huddled in blankets and such. The more stern La Squadra members might discourage this behavior, but truth be told, you rarely see the pillow fort without Risotto or Prosciutto chilling in it. They insist that they’re not enjoying something so childish, but it’s difficult to move them away from it. Especially when Formaggio brings over his kittens and lets them loose in the pillow fort. They’ll make up any excuse not to leave.

◇ With this man around, a diagnosis from a doctor would be useless. Whenever you are feeling a random pain or cannot understand if your symptoms link to something, you'll just have to tell him. He’ll usually answer to you in an enigmatic way, with a question, hinting on what you will need to check.

◇ Babyface completes this ability of his. One of the things his computer can do is sensing the symptoms of every person that is close to Melone, and interpret their meaning. Whenever Melone tells you subtly that you have to give a little bit more care to a part of your body, it is because Babyface is predicting some possible but harmless illness, like a cold. This is how he shows his love for you. He hates this ability much more than he would like to admit. It pains him that he has sensed so many serious and incurable illnesses, on people that were full of life and joy.

◇ His typing speed is 600+ characters per minute. Agile, and precise typing. Rarely misspells anything. His fingers look like they’re almost floating while he’s typing. He doesn’t even have to think where to press next. It's almost automatic for him. You find it extremely impressing, but he insists it isn’t that difficult to achieve.

◇ Has collections of old computers and phones, some of which are just spare parts of them. Refuses to throw the parts out, since he insists he might need them for the devices he makes.

◇ His ideal date would be staying at home, playing video games or just cuddling. Melone enjoys quality time the most. Though, he wouldn't mind going to a technology museum or to a planetarium with you. He finds it very sweet that you acknowledge his interests. (Also would love a karaoke night.)

◇ He isn’t fond of using pen and paper. For him, typing in his computer is the easiest way of writing. But whenever he has to finish paperwork, his handwriting is so distinctive and easy to recognize. Clean, sharp and evenly spaced. Just like it was written on a typewriter. Not slanted, with relatively large and slim letters. The exact opposite of graceful cursive letters. His signature is fairly simple, and easy to the eye. Whenever he doodles, Microsoft Paint is his go-to software. Likes making random lines with the pen, and then filling the spaces with the paint bucket. Usually also doodles criss-cross lines and spirals.

◇ In his work, he’s always expected to be very distant and leave his emotions aside. Laconic, aloof and giving off a “crazy scientist” vibe. Though, he’s not stern and ruthless like Risotto, neither as assertive as Prosciutto and is by far different from Ghiaccio's lunatic attitude. He doesn’t believe he has a role that shines in the team, but he couldn’t care less. He goes at his own pace. That makes people put the “careless and cold” tag on him. But Melone is more than just that. He feels a lot, but internalizes his emotions, since it’s unexpected of his character to show what he feels. Every sensation is so repressed, it will take patience and time to reveal them. Very similar to the closed nature of Babyface, a device full of data that he can only decipher. A stand is the manifestation of someone's soul. Babyface's haunting existence lurks behind unspoken, soul-wrenching events. Unknowingly, he represses all these painful memories. Diving deeper in his past could bring you pain but also understanding for his behavior.

◇ About privacy, Formaggio wouldn’t be very similar to Melone. He wants to flaunt what he has (this also includes the relationship you two have!), but will immediately stop if it puts you in danger. Though, he loves you so much and he likes to show this all the time! Sounds cliche, but he would be the guy to put his arm around your shoulder while walking outside.

◇ Usually, he's the last to rise and shine, so he appreciates waking up to a cup of coffee prepared for him. The fact that he goes to bed way too late might be at fault. Others believe that, during the night, he's probably in missions or out doing dubious stuff. In reality, he just binge-watches movies, plays video games or searches cat videos till early in the morning. Typical guy stuff.

◇ Ideal date? Genuinely anything. Formaggio loves hanging out with you, and is a big fan of the outdoors. From going for a drink, bowling or even to an amusement park, it's no different for him. He just likes going wherever would make you happier the most. But would definitely enjoy a night watching sports or staying home and playing with the kittens he owns.

◇ Very physically expressive and observant! He is in tune with his and other people’s emotions. It’s very easy for him to recognize whenever something is bothering you. He won’t ask directly what’s wrong, but he’ll lead the conversation to that subject. He’ll give you space to express how you feel, and try his best to support you and immediately find a practical solution to the problem!

◇ Just because he is the most cheerful and energetic in the team, that doesn't mean he can't be in low spirits sometimes. When full with negative emotions, he never makes them clear. He maintains his carefree persona, since he doesn't want to make you worry about him. Won't express his feelings, unless he is cornered with questions. And when you call him out on these white lies, he just hugs you. No words spoken. Silence full of love and care. Formaggio's way of showing love is physical, and he heals this way. Whatever bothered him is gone from his thoughts after a long and supportive hug from you.

◇ Incredibly good at betting games. Wins almost every time because he is good at reading the body language of his opponent. When the situation is dire, he’d use Little Feet to his advantage, and with simple and unnoticeable movements he’ll ensure that the game ends well for him. At the worst situation, he might do that, but he’s skilled enough to not go through with cheating. He brings you with him whenever he can, and finds it cute how you are so impressed by his every move.

◇ If this wasn't clear enough, this man loves pranking others. Especially harmless call pranks. Even to the rest of the La Squadra members. Would be the person to call any number that is written on random places, like on bathroom stalls or any wall. The pranks would be more successful if he wasn’t dying of laughter each time. His main victim is Ghiaccio, since he takes every joke and prank personally and starts continually ranting about them!

◇ Has a strong smell of alcohol, paired with the scent of leather and body spray.

◇ Doesn't have the money to buy you a real mansion, but he would use Little Feet on you and make you small enough to pass time in the giant dollhouse he has. It is a very frilly and girly dollhouse! The detail he has put, in decorating it, is admirable! Would definitely use the doll brushes to style and brush your hair. Can you just imagine the amount of doll clothes and accessories he has for you? My heart!

◇ Cat father. Takes so much care of all the cats in the neighborhood, that they gather around him and overwhelm him with meows while he is just chilling outside. Plus, it would be impossible for him to not have a few kittens of his own. He showers them with affection and care, and he’s never bored to play with them! Especially elderly cats. He wants them to have the happiest memories in their remaining years. Frequent visitor in animal shelters, and has always some cash aside to donate, to ensure that the animals are well-fed and properly cared for. You’re the only one that knows about this soft side of his. Has never revealed this to the rest of his teammates, since he wants to maintain the bad boy™️ image.

◇ Bold, spidery and often illegible handwriting, that is all over the place. Very fast and precise at note taking. Prefers pen over pencil, as he never uses an eraser, and always crosses out any mistake. I’m not really sure if he is the one that finishes paperwork in La Squadra. Though, he draws the silliest sketches on whatever paper he gets his hands on, or even on his desk! The paperwork he “borrowed” (from Pesci, probably) is also filled with unfinished hangman and tic tac toe games he played with you, during serious La Squadra meetings.

◇ Formaggio's stand continually shrinks things, with intensity that becomes clear only in the end. Minimizing their value. This could be the idea he had of himself in the past. But now, Formaggio lives in the moment. He wants control over things that he couldn’t control in his past. He showers you in compliments and affection, since he never wants you to feel the loneliness and worthlessness he lived through. Maintains a very excited attitude and is very cheerful all around, because he never wants to waste a moment in his life. He wants to shape a new, better life by your side.

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despairofthefuture · 4 years ago

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Despair of the Future: Prologue

Knock knock knock!

A series of knocks on the door earned Yasuhiro's attention, causing the Ultimate Clairvoyant to turn his head towards the noise. He threw his legs over the side of his bed and stretched his arms over his head before standing and walking over to his door. When he opened it, he was surprised at who was on the other side.

"Junko!" The future teller exclaimed. "H-hey! What's up?"

The Ultimate Fashionista beamed at him, flashing him a peace sign. "Yo! I'm great, Hiro! Hope I didnt bother you!"

Hiro shakes his head, standing to the side to allow Junko entry. "No, no! I was just surprised to see you! Like, no offense or anything, but I wouldve thought youd be too good to spend anytime with someone like me!"

Junko raised a brow as she walks into his room. "That sounds like if anyone were to take offense itd be you."

Hiro scrunched his eyebrows as Junko continued.

"Anyway, I stopped by cause I was wondering if you could read my future!"

The older Ultimate blinked in surprise. "Wait, really?" He asked. "No one ever takes me up on that offer!"

The fashionista shrugged, looking around the boy's room. "Eh, I think they're overreacting. I mean, most fortune tellers are lucky to get a five percent accuracy rate. The fact you have thirty percent is really impressive!" She turns to him, still grinning. "And I have something I really wanna know if it comes true!"

Hiro couldnt help but smile, happy someone finally recognized his talent. "In that case, sure! I'd be more than happy to tell your future!" He told her, going over to his desk and gathering his clairvoyant supplies. "And since you're one of my friends, and the only one to recognize how amazing my abilities are, I'll even do a reading for free! Hows that sound?"

The pig tailed girl's smile widened. "Aw, that's really sweet of you, Hiro! Thank you!"

Hiro shrugs as he sits cross legged on the floor and lays his supplies in front of him. "Ah, it's no biggie." He assures her, patting the ground in front of him to signal for her to sit as well. When she does, the fortune teller beams at her. "Alright! What do you say we start with a simple palm reading? That way I can get a good feeling for if this thing you wanna happen will come true!"

Junko nods. "Sounds good to me!" She agrees, and holds her right hand out to him, palm out.

Hiro takes her hand in his own and, taking one of them, begins tracing the inside of the girl's hand. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the lines he feels as he tries to make a connection to Junko's future.

~~~

Screaming.

Crying.

Curses.

These are the only things Yasuhiro can hear.

Blood.

The scent burns his nose, causing his eyes to tear up. The smell is overwhelming, as if he were standing in a pool of it up to his waist.

Panic rises in the clairvoyant's chest, and his head shoots around, desperate to see something, to find where he is.

He wished he hadnt.

Sayaka was propped up against the bathroom wall, a kitchen knife protruding from her stomach with blood splattered around the room, and on the idol's body.

Junko-no. That had to be Mukuro. Her telltale freckles gave it away, despite her attempt to disguise herself as her twin-impaled by spears and left lifeless on the gymnasium floor.

Leon, Hiro's closest friend, was pelted by baseballs, his body left battered, bruised and bloody tied to a pole.

Chihiro, bludgeoned by a dumbbell and tied by an extension cord.

Mondo, reduced to nothing but butter.

Taka and Hifumi, their heads caved in.

Celeste, burned to cinders.

Sakura, her own life taken by poison.

These images flooded his mind. No matter where he looked, he saw them. His friends, his classmates, the ones he cared about dearly, dead in brutal ways.

Yasuhiro clamped his hands over his mouth, feeling bile rise into his throat. Before anything could come up, he saw one last image, and this one caused his blood to run cold.

Junko, the one he was reading the future of, stood at a podium. She was proudly proclaiming how this was all her doing, how she wanted all the world to feel such despair, and how she loved watching them all kill each other to escape a world that was in ruins.

And suddenly he was back.

~~~

"Gah!" Hiro let out a scream as he gasped for air. His hand grasped at his chest as he looked around frantically. The comforting scenery of his room relaxed him slightly, and his heart slowly began beating normally again.

"Hiro? Are you alright?" Junko's voice caused Hiro to jump and look over to her. The girl had her head tilted. "What did you see?"

The clairvoyant stared at her, the images he saw before invading his mind, nearly causing him to panic again. He managed to swallow it back down. "A-ah, yeah. I-Im fine! Y-you uh, dont have to w-worry about a thing! Everything you want g-goes off without a hitch!" He told her shakily.

Junko furrowed her brow, but at his answer her face brightened. "Really?! Shit, nice!" She stood up. "I think that's all I need. Thanks so much, Hiro! You're the best!" She smiled at him and waves. "You take care now, you look like you've seen a ghost!" She giggled before opening Hiro's door and leaving.

And then Hiro was alone.

As soon as he heard the door closed, the fortune teller shot to his feet and began panicking. "W-what the hell did I just see?!" He exclaimed, pulling at his hair. "All my friends...they...they were dead! And...so brutally! And Junko..." His face paled. "...She did that. She caused all of that pain, that...suffering!" He shook his head, gripping it tightly with his hands. "No. No that cant be true. It cant!"

"Tch, now you dont believe in your abilities?"

Hiro whirled around at the voice, and he froze at the image of his best friend, Leon Kuwata.

"L...Leon?"

The red haired boy smirked and waved. "Hey, Hiro! Wassup, bro?"

The clairvoyant just stared at him. "Wh...I...I dont understand. How did you get in my room? Why are you floating? A-and why are you transparent?!"

The baseball star rolled his eyes. "Wow, dude, you really arent the most observant." The ginger moved closer to his friend, getting right into his face, which caused Hiro to take a step back. "I'm dead, Hiro. I'm a ghost."

Yasuhiro's eyes widened. "Wh...what?! No! Hell no, that cant be true! I just saw you this morning!"

Leon held his hands up. "Whoa whoa, calm down, dude!" He tried to soothe the older man. "I'm not that Leon! I mean, I am, but not?" He scratched his head. "Its...complicated." he shrugged before continuing. "Basically I'm from the future. You know those visions you saw? Yeah. If they come true, that's what's gonna happen to me and all our friends." His expression becomes serious. "And you're the only one who can stop it."

Hiro's eyes widened even further, and he took several steps back. "What?! What the hell?! Are you crazy?!" He exclaimed. "If all of this is true, a-and I'm still not convinced this isnt all just a fucked up dream, how the hell am I of all people gonna stop it?! You know me, dude! I'm not brave, or smart, or strong or anything!"

Leon sighed. "Hiro, you're the only one who knows Junko's plan. You're the only one who can see me. You have to do something to stop her, or it wont just be our class that gets fucked over. She's gonna destroy the whole world."

Yasuhiro freezes. "The...the whole world?" He repeated, his voice a low whisper. He felt like he was going to faint. This was all too much. The fate of the world was on his shoulders? What the hell was going on?

Leon watched his best friend and frowned. "Look, I can tell you're overwhelmed. Obviously you need some time to process all of this, so take it. I'll come back later. Just...you gotta think about it."

As the redhead finished his sentence, Hiro watched as he began to disappear. "W-wait, Leon!" The brunette exclaimed, reaching his hand out towards him. "Dont go! I-Im still confused!"

But despite his pleas, Leon vanished before his eyes. Hiro stared at the spot the ghostly vision of his friend had been moments ago.

Suddenly he collapsed to his knees, the exhaustion of having learned all of these things finally catching up to him.

Yasuhiro stares blankly into space, running through everything once more in his mind. He had no idea how to process this.

And then he heard it.

The quiet whispers of many spirits as they begin making contact with him.

Yasuhiro Hagakure is now open for questions!

#danganronpa #despair of the future #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #trigger happy havoc #yasuhiro hagakure #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #danganronpa hiro #asks open #junko enoshima #leon kuwata

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sachigram · 4 years ago

Text

Telescope Now Chapter 6

((click here to read on ao3!!))

After the swirl of colors dissolves into nothingness, and Izaya can't tell up from down anymore, the first thing he's truly aware of is a bright, all encompassing light. He stares at it through blurry eyes, his lips turned down as he blinks and tries to make sense of it. His fingers twitch, and he looks down at his feet as best as he can, but he can't lift his head very much.

The second thing Izaya notices is that he's not alone.

“Iza-nii!”

He glances to his right and sees Mairu there, her eyes wide. Kururi is on the left, a soft smile on her face. Both of them are crying, and both of them are holding his hands.

“Am...” Izaya croaks. He clears his throat, swallows. “Am I dead?”

“Almost, you dumbass!” Mairu says. She takes the liberty of sitting on Izaya's bed. “You got hit by a truck! We didn't see it, but a lot of people did! They said you flew, and they said there was blood everywhere—“

“You died. Then you came back,” Kururi says, her gentle voice somehow cutting through Mairu's passionate spiel.

“Yeah, I was getting to that! A civilian gave you CPR on the scene, and then you got to the hospital and died! But they brought you back. You've been asleep so long.”

“Coma,” Kururi adds.

“How long?” Izaya asks. His entire body is stiff. He doesn't feel much like himself, but he imagines it might take a while to feel normal again.

“A month! A whole month!” Mairu says. She leans on Izaya and peers up at him. “We didn't call Mom and Dad. Your will said not to unless you died.”

“Oh, good. I don't want to deal with them,” Izaya says. He grimaces. “My throat hurts.”

“Water,” Kururi says, holding up a glass with a straw in it. She holds it still while he drinks.

“You had a tube in your throat. They said it'd be sore when you woke up.” Mairu nuzzles her face into his chest.

“Wow... Who knew you two actually liked me?” he jokes.

“Shut up! Fuck you! We just wanna be there to watch it happen when you die!” Mairu lifts her head and glares at him, her eyes watery. “You gotta pick something way cooler than getting hit by a truck. That’s way too easy!”

“Your crying face is so ugly,” Izaya says, and then he smiles when she starts crying even harder.

“Oh, yeah? So's yours! Yours is uglier!” Mairu swats him, and it's only then Izaya realizes he's crying, too.

“Must be a family trait.” Izaya groans at how heavy his body feels. “I'm still tired.”

“You can sleep again, if you want. But the doctor might want to check you first. Do you remember anything?” Mairu asks.

“A lot of things.” Izaya looks between her and Kururi. “You were dead, weren't you?”

“Huh?” Mairu frowns. “Us?”

“Yeah. You were dead, but then you weren't. We had a funeral.” Izaya struggles to remember details of it, closes his eyes when they become too heavy to deal with. “You haunted me... Was Shizu-chan here?”

“He was there when you got hit... Hey. Iza-nii?”

“Mm?”

He doesn't hear her reply before he falls unconscious once more.

***

Time passes. The first few days, Izaya isn't able to stay awake for long periods of time. Despite being out of it for a month, he feels his sleep wasn't restful, and he slips in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he wakes to the twins at his side, sometimes to the doctor, a stern looking woman with her hair swept in a tight bun. Sometimes there are nurses. Sometimes he's alone.

His injuries were extensive, a long list of things Izaya tunes out because it reminds him too much of Shinra's rambling. The doctor insists he stays a few days for observation, so he spends most of his time bored, but it's better with the twins around. They keep him company when they're not in school, and they don't leave until the hospital staff makes them. Izaya doesn't remember ever spending this much time with them, even when they lived together, and despite his eagerness to leave, he enjoys it. He missed them, he realizes, and he didn't even know how much until he almost died.

One day before he's discharged, he finds himself engrossed in playing Go Fish with them. They're all cheaters, so it erupts into a lot of arguing, and the twins keep ganging up on him, swapping their cards like they think he can't see. Sometimes he allows it, but for the most part, they fight until suddenly hours have gone by.

“Do you have any queens?” Mairu asks during their last game. Visiting hours are almost over, but they asked the nurse if they could finish their current game before the twins leave.

“Go fish,” Izaya says, and she pouts at him.

“Are you lying?”

“If I was, why would I tell you I was?” Izaya asks. Her eyes narrow suspiciously before she draws from the deck.

“Kururi, do you have any queens?” Izaya asks, and Mairu throws her cards at him.

“ Cheater! You're a cheater, Iza-nii!”

“Oh, you said queens. I'm sorry, I thought you said something else,” Izaya says, holding her off while she tries to jump on him. Kururi watches with an indulgent expression, and she quietly gathers all the cards back together.

“So you're going home tomorrow?” Mairu asks after she's worn herself out.

“Yes, and it's about time. I hate hospitals. It's the whole reason I have my own doctor,” Izaya says. Shinra hasn't visited, but Izaya isn't surprised. The only one to see him aside from the twins was Namie, who only did so after he blew up her phone and threatened to dock her pay.

“Okay, well we're coming over tomorrow night! And we'll watch movies. You have all the subscription services, anyway. Make sure you buy snacks!” Mairu smiles excitedly, and Izaya scoffs.

“You both have access to all my subscription accounts. You're like parasites. I'll make sure to buy lots of vegetables for you to snack on.”

“No! You better buy good snacks! I mean it!” Mairu raises her fists, and for a brief second, the twins look younger, the way they did when they'd cling to his legs and torture him for hours on end. He blinks and they're back to normal, young women who still torture him for hours on end, though they grew out of clinging to him long ago.

“Okay, okay. Text me what you want,” Izaya relents, leaning back into his bed. Both of them watch him thoughtfully.

“You're being much less of an asshole than normal,” Mairu says. “Is it 'cause we died in your coma dream?”

That's what the twins have taken to calling it, “Izaya's coma dream.” He recounted as much of it as he could to them, excluding the parts about Shizuo for obvious reasons, as well as omitting just how much he missed them. As it turns out, there were some accuracies to the things he dreamed, overlap between the dream and reality. Some of the things he experienced really was because the twins were speaking to him, usually while poking and prodding at him, demanding he wake up. His binder of old poems sits on a little bedside table, brought by Mairu, who read a few of them out loud and threatened to post them online if he didn't wake. Next to the binder are two vases of flowers, one sent by Simon, a coupon for sushi pushed into the stems, and the other sent by Shiki, a brief wish of wellness written on the card that came with it, though Izaya is certain it was for the twins' sake rather than his own. Izaya can recall the brief recognition of a floral scent in his dream.

The parts of his dream that didn't happen were his own torturous thoughts, some of them guilt-related, while others were things he's longed for but would never admit, even to himself. As for Shizuo, Izaya has no idea if Shizuo was ever really there or not. The twins say they don't know, but they think so, as they've seen him around outside the hospital. The nurses say they haven't seen anyone else when Izaya asks, though a few of them have conspiratory smiles he doesn't quite trust.

“Maybe my head injury changed my personality a bit,” Izaya suggests. “Turns out you don't annoy me as much as you normally do, but I reserve the right to change my mind on that.”

“Oh, blah blah. We'll see you tomorrow!” Mairu chirps, and she tackles him in a hug. Kururi joins a moment later, though her embrace is much gentler. They wave at him one more time before leaving him alone. He sighs and picks up his phone, planning to work a little to occupy himself, but someone else peeks into his room.

“Izaya-kun!” Shinra waltzes in, a ditzy smile on his face. “So, you cheated death again, huh? You really are like a cockroach!”

“How wonderful of you to say. Took your time in visiting, didn't you?” Izaya sets his phone down and smirks at Shinra, who rolls his eyes.

“What fun is there in visiting someone in a coma! You wouldn't have known I was here.”

“I've been out of the coma for a few days now. Besides, as it turns out, I was aware of a few things.”

“Really?” A spark of interest lights in Shinra's eyes.

“It was like a fever dream. Everything was just...jumbled. It was a strange experience, like my normal life mixed with nightmares and bits and pieces that didn't add up. I've already forgotten a lot of the details.”

“ Fascinating! Well, you're not the first to say such things. Some people can wake up speaking an entirely new language, you know? Some people live their lives as normal before finding themselves waking in the hospital.” Shinra takes a seat beside Izaya and pats his arm. “What parts do you remember about your dream?”

“The twins were dead,” Izaya says, looking down at Shinra's hand on his arm. “I couldn't really figure out how they died, and I kept seeing and hearing them even after they were supposed to be gone. It was like the more they haunted me, the more I realized they were actually alive, but no one believed me, and the more things I couldn't make sense of, the more I thought I was crazy.”

“Well, you are crazy, but not because of that. Sounds like some part of your brain knew you had experienced a trauma. It's not surprising you convinced yourself of a death in the family.”

“I thought of the truck a few times, too. Hell, maybe I was trying to tell myself they were the ones who got hit. Who knows?” Izaya sighs. “You were in my dream as well.. Possibly most suspicious of all was you actually being a decent friend for once.”

“What! I'm the best person you know!” Shinra wails.

“That's not saying much, but no, you're still one of the worst.”

“I won't take that personally because of who's saying it. Like you're a good judge of character.” Shinra crosses his arms. “Well. I'm glad you woke up, anyway. As much as you deserve horrible things, you're still my friend. It'd suck if I was suddenly down to one.”

“You're too kind, Shinra.”

“Shizuo-kun has been really...ah. He'd kill me if he knew I was talking about him to you!” Shinra shivers and makes a face. “But it's not like you'll be going out of your way to see him since you've got a broken leg. Not unless you want to go back into a coma.”

“I can't say I enjoyed it all that much,” Izaya says, though he certainly enjoyed certain aspects of it.

“He was pretty distraught. He said he was chasing you when it happened, said he tried to grab you, but it was too late. He hung around until the ambulance got there. I think he blames himself for it,” Shinra says.

“Well, I've gotten him hit twice now. I suppose he owed me one,” Izaya replies, and Shinra clicks his tongue.

“He owes you more than that! But Shizuo-kun is a good person. I'm sure he'll be happy to know you're going to be fine, at least until he kills you himself.”

Izaya keeps his face as impassive as possible, though Shinra has always been the one to see through it. They watch each other for a moment, lapsing into an easy silence. They've always coexisted well together, well enough that Izaya knew the dream Shinra was off, even if he couldn't place why.

“I don't suppose you want to play a quick game of poker, do you?” Izaya asks.

Shinra laughs. “Not with you! You're a cheater. Anyway, I only had a few minutes to drop by. I better be going now.” He stands, puts his hands in his pockets while he hovers.

“I'm going home tomorrow. I guess I'm stuck making dinner for the twins, so you can come mooch off me, if you want.” Izaya swallows, already knows what Shinra will say.

“Nah, I've got plans with Celty. We've gotten even closer and more in love in the month you've been asleep! I'll regale you sometime, since I know my true love gives you inspiration in your life!” Shinra grins, and then he pauses, tilts his head as he scrutinizes Izaya. “What's that look for?”

“Nothing. You're right, you're busy. I'm just still a little loopy,” Izaya says, and Shinra hums thoughtfully.

“Well, get some rest. Allow yourself to heal before you get back to your usual vile ways, and call me if you need! I don't know how often I'll answer, since it depends on what Celty and I are up to, but I'll get back to you.” Shinra smiles once again, and as soon as he came, he's gone.

Izaya shakes his head before he falls back in bed, laughter bubbling up before he can help it. He laughs and laughs, holds his sides when it starts to hurt, but he keeps laughing anyway.

“Vacation's over,” he says to himself, closing his eyes when they start to burn. He rolls to his side and keeps laughing, and when a nurse wanders in to ask if he's alright, he can't quite figure out how to answer.

***

Once he's back home, he begins to feel more like himself. Namie returns with her usual sour attitude, and he's taken by surprise when she volunteers to cook dinner. Usually, he has to torment her, and even then she'll sometimes still mess up the food she makes, usually by making it too sweet or too spicy. He watches her suspiciously as she bustles around, her back to him.

“Am I still in a coma?” he asks, pushing himself away from the desk so he can follow her around in his office chair. She scowls at him.

“I've been off a month, so I've had enough downtime. Besides, I expect overtime for this.”

“Right, that's fine. Hey, make extra, okay? My sisters are coming.” Izaya scoots back to his desk and starts typing, not realizing at first that Namie is staring. “What?” he asks when he finally notices her eyes boring into him.

“I thought you didn't like them?” Namie asks. She puts her hand on her hip. “All you ever talk about is how much they annoy you.”

“Yeah, well, they do annoy me, but they were pretty distraught by all this. I'll let them hang around until they remember they can't stand me.”

“Shouldn't take too long, then.”

“You can stay for dinner too, if you want. Mairu thinks you're pretty since she doesn't know any better.” Izaya leers at Namie, who looks very much like she swallowed a lemon.

“No thanks. Your sisters are almost as creepy as you,” she says.

“Ah. Well, the invitation is still extended.”

“Look at you, all hospitable. Never would've pegged you as the generous type.” She turns her back to him, and his grin stretches wider.

“As if you'd peg anyone other than dear Seiji-kun.”

She drops the spoon she's holding and stomps towards him, and since he can't run, he winds up scooting around in his chair, cackling as she slaps at him and chases after him, yelling about what a horrible pervert he is.

***

A month later, Izaya is meeting with Shiki about a job. Shiki has opted to come to him, since Izaya is still recovering, and Shiki can be surprisingly accommodating when he wants to be. Shiki arrives with two men who stand on either side of Izaya's door, and Shiki enters the apartment, bowing to Namie when she lets him in. He raises a hand when Izaya starts to stand.

“No need. You're in a cast, after all.”

“Thank you, Shiki-san,” Izaya says, leaning back into the couch.

“You look well.” Shiki walks to a cushy chair he favors during his visits. Izaya had Namie help him move it in front of the couch just for this meeting. “I hope your injuries aren't still bothering you?”

“Ah, just the leg. It broke in a couple of places, so the cast is on for at least another month.”

Namie returns then, places a cup of tea on the coffee table for Shiki, bowing before she goes back to the desk.

“My lovely secretary really makes this all so much easier. I'm truly blessed,” Izaya quips, and when she cuts her eyes at him, he winks.

“I hope she's being paid extra,” Shiki says, picking up his tea. He blows on it, watches Izaya with an amused expression.

“Oh, of course. She insists.” Izaya crosses his good leg over the cast. The worst part of it all is the itching . He can't reach inside the cast, and he's had an itch for the better part of the day.

“I'm glad you're doing well. We have other sources, but I admit you're one of the more pleasant to interact with,” Shiki drawls.

“What a compliment! Comparing me to the scum of the city is cruel, Shiki-san!” Izaya laughs. “I wanted to thank you for the flowers. I know you and Akabayashi-san checked in with my sisters while I was out. They kept the flowers you sent, dried them and made them into bookmarks. I'm glad to know they weren't alone.”

“Your sisters have quite a few friends, all seemingly older than they are,” Shiki says. “I often spot them around the city traversing with the wrong sort of crowd.”

“Family trait,” Izaya responds with a smile. “There are too many things to get involved with in the city, after all. At least they have people looking out for them.”

“It's heartening to hear you care for them. Usually you're so detached, Izaya-san.”

“You think so? We're just not an emotional family. Rest assured, I watch out for them in my own way. I keep them from kidnapping famous actors, at any rate.” Izaya reaches beside him, places a folder on the table for Shiki. Izaya spends most of his time online, but there's something so charming about paper files. He's glad to know Shiki feels the same.

“You're already done?” Shiki asks, leaning forward to take the folder. He looks impressed. “You've hit the ground running, Izaya-san. Ah...in a manner of speaking.”

“Hit the ground limping, at the very least.”

“Thank you. Akabayashi-san will be happy to put some hoodlums in their place. He's been getting antsy. It's been quiet without you around.”

“Coincidence, I'm sure! I'm happy to hear the city was quiet while I was in the hospital. I'd hate to miss too much excitement.” Izaya falls silent as Shiki reads over the papers. The TV is on, but it's muted. A home improvement show is playing.

“Very good, Izaya-san,” Shiki says, standing. “Sorry I can't stay and finish the tea, but I have work to do.”

“No apologies necessary. I hope you'll forgive me for not walking you out?” Izaya says, and Shiki arches a brow at him.

“I've excused you for more, haven't I? Get well soon, Izaya-san.”

Shiki leaves with the men, and Izaya uncrosses his legs, flops dramatically into the cushions.

“God, how pompous. Being in a room full of men in the middle of a 'Mine's Bigger Than Yours' contest is the worst,” Namie drawls from the desk.

“Oh no worries, Namie! Yours was definitely the biggest in the room!” Izaya looks up at the ceiling as he puts his arms behind his head. “We should order lunch.”

“You're not going to insist I cook for you today?” Namie asks.

“I'm craving ootoro! I haven't had it in so long. Doesn't Russia Sushi sound good?”

“I'll order it,” Namie says. “Can't risk you changing your mind, after all. I'd rather not have to make anything.”

“You can have Simon deliver it. We both have too much work to do to leave the office. As it turns out, I have a coupon!”

Simon arrives about an hour later with his usual booming voice and blinding smile. He waltzes inside and places his giant hand on Izaya’s shoulder.

“Izaya! Good to see you. I heard you lost fight to truck!”

“Oh, yes, it was a close one. Thanks for the flowers,” Izaya replies.

“Flowers good for health, but sushi better. I'm glad you used coupon!” Simon hands the bag to Izaya and waves joyfully at Namie, who waves back before going into the kitchen to grab drinks.

“Would you like anything before you're off, Simon? I have some bottled tea,” Izaya says.

“No, no. It busy day. I best get back.” Simon looks closely at Izaya and gives him a smile. The next time he speaks, it's in Russian. “I don't guess this near death experience changed you much?”

“ Of course not. A tiger never changes his stripes, does he?” Izaya says, also in Russian.

“ No, he doesn't. I hope you return to the city soon, Izaya. It misses you. But I also hope you don't mess it up too much. I love the city.”

“ As do I, Simon.”

Namie returns and hands Izaya a glass of iced tea. She sits in the chair Shiki vacated and opens the bag, passing Izaya his food before opening her own container. She frowns.

“We didn't order all of this,” she says.

“On house for pretty lady and Izaya!” Simon says, and then he bows to her. “Get well gift.”

“Thank you,” Izaya says, happy with all the extra sushi. He pauses. “No specials, right?”

“No. We know you picky.” Simon offers one last smile before he makes his way out. He stops when he reaches the door, turns to look at Izaya over his shoulder. “Shizuo was there today. He asked about you.”

“Did he?” Izaya asks, keeping his face neutral. That was definitely the kind of thing Simon could have said in Russian, so he knows there's a reason Simon said it where Namie could understand.

“He troubled by what happened. You should call him, make amends. You two have been fighting so long.”

“Shizu-chan knows where to find me. He also has my number. Trust me when I say I have no desire to see or speak to him, especially with my leg the way it is,” Izaya says, and then he eats a piece of ootoro, keeping his back to Simon.

“I see,” Simon says. “Tigers are not cowards, Izaya.”

He leaves before Izaya can respond.

“What was that about? Even Simon knows about your monster crush? How pathetic are you?” Namie asks. She never looks as happy as she does while being antagonistic. Izaya likes that about her.

“It's not exactly a secret Shizu-chan hates me. Apparently we're a bit of an urban legend around here.” He withholds a comment about Seiji, knowing they'll only bicker back and forth. Mealtimes are meant to be enjoyable, and Izaya doesn't want either of their bitterness to taint the food.

The door bursts open suddenly, halting the conversation.. Namie jumps, almost dropping her takeout, but Izaya has gotten used to Mairu's grandiose entrances by now. She gallops inside, Kururi trailing behind her, and she pounces on Izaya from behind, leaping over the back of the couch.

“I-za-nii!” she sing-songs, and then she steals a piece of his sushi. “We're staying the night tonight! We didn't ask first, since you might've made some excuse for us not to.”

“Great,” Izaya says. Kururi rounds the couch to come sit beside him, and he hands her the takeout bag.

“Oh, guess who we saw today!” Mairu chirps, rearranging herself to sit on Izaya's other side. Her legs kick out, shaking the whole couch. “Shizuo-san! He was working with that guy and that pretty girl! He asked us about you, and I told him if he wanted to know, he should see you himself, and you know what?! He didn't get mad! Isn't that amazing?!” She bounces in place.

“Mairu,” Kururi says calmly, and Mairu stops moving as if she's been shocked, looks wary of Kururi, probably due to the spray bottle Kururi keeps for these occasions.

“Since when did everyone decide to mention that moron to me so cavalierly? I thought we all knew not to mention us to each other,” Izaya says, and Namie rolls her eyes while the twins both sigh in unison.

“Iza-nii, how are you this stupid?” Mairu asks, and Izaya glowers at her.

“All men are stupid,” Namie replies.

“Oh yeah? Even your darling brother?” Izaya asks her, and rather than react to it the way he hoped she would, she just shrugs slightly.

“Sure. He's with that bimbo, after all.”

***

By the time Izaya gets the cast removed, he's so pent up with extra energy that his skin feels as if it's vibrating.

He hasn't stayed locked inside the entire time by any means, but he's had to be careful and on guard, usually accompanied by Namie or Shiki's men, who generously drive him to and from headquarters when Shiki is too busy to meet at Izaya's apartment. Izaya hasn't been able to go off by himself the way he likes, and he definitely hasn't done any work outside of his office, not wanting to risk being injured again while he's been on the mend. If there's anything Izaya hates about humans, it's their limitations, and that goes double for his own.

He opts to have Shinra remove the cast rather than go anywhere else. Shinra's chatter is obnoxious, but he's more convenient to deal with the majority of the time. He's cheerful as he works, prattling on and on about Celty, speaking so fast that Izaya can hardly decipher any of it, not that he's trying very hard to.

“There we go! All finished!” Shinra says happily when the cast is fully off.

“ Finally,” Izaya groans, reaching down to scratch at his skin. “It's been driving me insane.”

“So what now?” Shinra asks. “You're all healed. It's like the accident never happened.”

“I wouldn't say that. I certainly remember it well.”

“What about the dream you had? Do you still remember it?”

“Parts of it,” Izaya says. “Some of it's fuzzy, but I remember highlights.”

“You got off easy, but I'm sure you know that. Fate's always been kinder to you than you deserve!” Shinra stands and stretches before he gathers his things. “You should talk to Shizuo-kun, by the way. He's been moping around lately, and it's intruding on my time with Celty!”

“ Why does everyone insist I speak to that imbecile?” Izaya asks with a grimace.

“Because you want to, and because he wants you to.” Shinra grins and closes his briefcase. “Sometimes things really are that simple, Izaya-kun.”

***

It's business as usual after the cast comes off. Izaya leaves Namie to handle the paperwork and the computer files, and he roams around the city, happily resuming his usual activities. He's on his way to a cafe to grab some coffee when he sees a familiar van parked across the street, anime girl on the door shining as if she was just washed. Izaya chuckles to himself and makes his way over, lifting his hand in greeting when the van's occupants notice him.

“Izayan!” Kawisawa launches out the door and is in front of Izaya before he can so much as blink. You're all better! Did your brain get scrambled in the accident? Have you seen the error of your ways?”

“Rest assured, if anything, I'm worse now,” Izaya says, and she grins at him.

“You look well, Izaya,” Kadota says.

“Aw, Dota-chin, don't flirt with me in public! I'm shy, you know?” Izaya asks, batting his lashes playfully. Kadota rolls his eyes, clearly trying to hide a smile.

“Tell me, Izayan, is it true Shizu-Shizu was there when you got hit?” Kawisawa asks, yanking on Izaya's arm. He frowns at her, worried she'll rip his coat sleeve. “Did he carry you to safety? Did he give you mouth to mouth?! I need to know! Paint the picture for me! So there you are, injured, gasping for air, and in your line of sight, before it goes all dark, you see him, the man of your dreams, crying and gripped with fear at the very thought of losing you—!”

“Kawisawa-chan, you've got quite an imagination,” Izaya says, tugging his arm free from her. “I can't tell you what happened, unfortunately. I was a little busy trying not to die.”

“If you don't know, that means I could be right!” she shouts, practically foaming at the mouth. A hand reaches out of the van and grabs the back of her collar, tugging her inside.

“She's been like this since it happened,” Yumasaki says, poking his head out and giving Izaya a little wave. “She's asked Shizuo too, but he won't answer her at all, so she's just been going wild with the theories. She wrote a story where Shizuo was on a horse when he saved you.”

“A horse?” Izaya asks.

“It's not impossible! Celty-san has a horse, and they’re friends!” Kawisawa shrieks, and then the van shakes as she grapples with Yamasaki. Kadota sighs before he hops out of the van and slides the door closed on them.

“So you're doing better?” he asks.

“Can't complain. Should I take it personally that you didn't visit me?”

“They were only allowing family when I tried. We spent some time with your sisters, though. Made sure they were eating and gave them rides home when visiting hours were over. They were pretty messed up over the whole thing.”

“I'm glad they had some friends around. They're still being a little clingy, but I suppose that's understandable.”

Kadota grins and puts his hand on Izaya's shoulder. “Maybe the truck did scramble your brain, huh? You're being nice to your sisters. Never thought I'd see the day.”

Izaya shrugs. “They're not so bad as long as they don't get splashed with water or fed after midnight.”

Kadota laughs loudly, and Izaya smirks up at him.

“So what brings you here, Dota-chin? Did you need a caffeine fix, too?” Izaya asks.

“Nah, Togusa is in the store over there. Some kind of magazine article on Hijiribe Ruri. He's still obsessed with her. I'm sure he knows all there is to know, but he buys everything they release on her anyway.”

“How tragic for him she's taken,” Izaya says.

“He'll get over it. Hey— Do me a favor okay? Between us. Wait a while before you fuck with Shizuo again. He's working through some stuff,” Kadota says.

“I've got no desire to see him, believe me. It's more likely he'll spot me and attack all on his own.”

“I dunno, man. He's pretty messed up about what happened to you. Maybe you guys could use this as an opportunity to finally bury the hatchet. It's been peaceful lately.”

“The natural state of things isn't 'peaceful'. Something will happen whether I'm involved or not,” Izaya replies. “Besides, Shizu-chan will get over whatever he's working through, and he'll be the one to throw the first punch, just like always.”

Kadota makes a face. “I really, really don't want to prove Erika right here, so all I'm gonna say is that Shizuo isn't acting like someone who saw the person he hates most almost get killed. He's acting like he almost lost someone important to him. Maybe you guys should talk, at least. I'm not saying you’ll be all buddy-buddy, but it's worth a shot, right? I know you don't hate Shizuo as much as you claim to. You're actually pretty easy to read.”

“Am I?” Izaya asks. “Careful, Dota-chin, you're making a lot of assumptions.”

“Somehow, I think I can take you if I had to.” Kadota ruffles Izaya's hair, and Izaya huffs, shoves Kadota away, and tries to straighten his hair with his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Just talk to the guy. Shizuo is level-headed when he wants to be. Just don't piss him off and he’ll listen.”

“You're giving me an impossible task, you know?” Izaya mutters petulantly.

“Yeah, but you're smart. You'll figure it out.” Kadota smiles and crosses his arms before he chuckles softly. “You crazy kids.”

“Just kiss him when you see him!” Kawisawa shouts, and Izaya looks up to see her face pressed in the window of the front seat. “Words don't matter! It's about the passion!”

“Christ.” Kadota grumbles and shakes his head. “I'm really never gonna get a moment of peace if she's right about this.”

“As if you've ever been a huge fan of peace,” Izaya says. “Personally, I find it to be overrated.” He waves before he makes his way over to the cafe, and when he looks back at the van through the window, he sees Kadota and Yumasaki fighting to hold Kawisawa down, and when Togusa returns to the van, he takes one look at the scene before turning and walking away.

***

Funnily enough, Izaya sees Shizuo again at Sunshine 60.

Izaya is finishing up a meeting with a client, exiting the restaurant when he spots Shizuo walking past with Tom. He wonders if Shizuo is there for work, but it's more likely they're just hanging out. Tom and Shizuo are actually friends more than coworkers, and Izaya keeps in mind that Vorona might be lurking around too, as fixated on Shizuo as she is. Rather than approach as he's always done, Izaya stays still and waits for them to pass, and as soon as they're out of sight, Izaya finds himself taking the familiar path to the roof.

It's a clear night out, and it's freezing. Izaya huddles into his coat and stands near the edge, looking down at the specks of light below. So many people, all of them living their lives, and despite their numbers, Izaya finds he feels alone. Part of him wishes he bought a bottle of sake along, but it would've just been for the sake of nostalgia. Izaya still tries hard not to think of the dream, but like most things to do with Shizuo, Izaya finds it creeping into his mind often. He sighs loudly, watches his breath cloud in front of him.

“Why the hell am I mourning something that never even happened?” he mutters. The twins are alive, he's alive. In the end, that's all that really matters, right? Everything else is just remnants from a dream.

He tenses when the door opens behind him. He already knows who it has to be, but he's surprised all the same to see Shizuo there, hands in his pockets, a weary look on his face.

“Shizu-chan, what a surprise. Did you follow me?” Izaya feels the weight of his knives in his pockets, and they comfort him. This is the real Heiwajima Shizuo, one who hates Izaya and wants him dead, one who chased him into the path of an incoming truck, intentional or not. Izaya can't let his guard down.

“Haven't seen you in a while,” Shizuo says. He's not wearing his shades for once, Izaya notes. Shizuo's eyes are oddly earnest when they're not covered and aren’t full of rage. That's one detail Izaya got right in his dream, at least.

“Aren't you always telling me to stay out of the city? Maybe all it took was a truck ramming into me to make me listen. Really drove the threat home.” Izaya sits on the ledge, facing Shizuo, his back to the abyss below.

“Don't,” Shizuo growls. “Don't make it into a joke.”

“Why not? It's kind of funny, isn't it? Some part of you must think I deserved it. I certainly think I did.” Izaya tilts his head to the side, studying Shizuo. “What's eating you, Shizu-chan? Usually you would've launched at me by now. Look, I'm even on the edge of the building! I've made myself an easy target for you!”

“I said to fucking quit it!” Shizuo shouts. His voice echoes around them. “I didn't come here to fight with you, okay? For fuck's sake, flea, you almost died in front of me, so stop being an asshole for once in your life and listen to me, 'cause I have shit to say.”

Izaya mimes zipping his lips, and then he gestures for Shizuo to keep talking. Shizuo glowers at him, seeming to be on the edge of some kind of breakdown. It's fascinating, and Izaya feels the innate urge to keep pushing Shizuo towards that edge, eternally curious as he is to observe results.

“Well? Are you going to talk, or is the fact you're having thoughts at all making you short-circuit?”

“I hate you,” Shizuo says in response, and Izaya wonders if this is supposed to be profound in any way. “I really do, okay? I hate you so fucking much that it keeps me up at night. Every problem I've had, every time some fucker comes at me with a weapon, all I think about is you, and how you probably had something to do with it. You're a terrible fucking person, and I've spent years thinking of how I wanted to kill you, how much better my city would be without you in it.”

Izaya keeps his face impassive as Shizuo starts pacing. Clearly Shizuo is experiencing enough emotion for both of them, after all. It looks exhausting.

“I told myself at first that no matter what happened to you, whether you woke up or not, that I didn't care. I didn't want to care. It was what you deserved, and maybe you actually deserved worse, but goddammit, Izaya, I keep reliving that day over and over again, and all I can think of is how I wasn't fast enough to save you.” Shizuo stops pacing, turns and looks at Izaya, a helpless look in his eyes. The strongest man in Ikebukuro, helpless. What a thought.

“I see,” Izaya says, not really knowing how else to respond. “So you feel guilty.”

“'Guilty' doesn't seem strong enough,” Shizuo says, back to pacing. “I don't feel responsible, I don't feel like it was my fault, I just—“ He pauses, throws his hands in the air, and growls in frustration. “It felt like a waste, Izaya.”

“Because you wanted to kill me yourself?” Izaya prompts.

“No, because it was too fucking easy, too fast for that to be the end!” Shizuo snarls and exhales deeply before continuing. “You know, all that time I chased after you, and you were never scared. You came back over and over, and I never even thought about what I'd do if I actually caught you. It was just a goal, one of those things you tell yourself to keep you going, but I think... I think I was happy you kept coming back, in some weird, fucked up way. You were the only one who kept fighting with me no matter what. I hated it, but I think it was...a comfort, too. I got used to you coming back. I thought you always would.”

Izaya thinks of the Shizuo in his dream, the one who laughed and toasted his whiskey mockingly to Izaya. “You're the most stable thing in my life.”

“Part of me kept waiting for you to show up and say it was all a joke. I didn't... Fuck.” Shizuo groans, makes a violent gesture with his hands. “I didn't want to think about you actually being gone.”

“Tell me, Shizu-chan, did you come to see me in the hospital?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo looks up at him sharply, an oddly bashful expression on his face. “Would you believe me if I said I could feel you there?” Izaya remembers the comforting pressure of a hand in his, one too large to be either of his sisters'.

“Shinra said you dreamed...” Shizuo mutters. “Said you woke up spouting some shit about the twins being dead.”

“It was my life, but it wasn't. There were details that didn't add up, and the people around me were... wrong. Not necessarily better or worse, but not themselves. I found myself surrounded by others, and wouldn't you know it, that's when I realized it couldn't be real.” Izaya leans back a bit, crosses his legs in front of him. Shizuo looks on warily, as if prepared to leap forward in case Izaya leans back any further. “I was forced to take a good look at things, at various versions of my life, like hundreds of mirrors surrounding me. It was like being inside a telescope.” Izaya forces a smile. “Part of me didn't want to wake up.”

Shizuo sighs softly, and he steps forward, takes the liberty of sitting beside Izaya on the ledge. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes.

“So what now?” he asks.

“Well. I suppose this is the part where I tell you that your feelings are a normal trauma response to what you saw. I could've been anyone, Shizu-chan, and you would've felt just as guilty because you were there to see it happen,” Izaya says.

“Fuck that, it wasn't anyone. It was you.” Shizuo lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. “You were just so lifeless, folded all wrong like a ball of paper. I got your fucking blood on me.” His head tilts slightly towards Izaya, though he keeps staring forward. “It was you, flea.”

“Mm. So it was.”

“You're being weirdly understanding about all this. I kind of thought you were gonna throw a knife or something when you saw me,” Shizuo says, flicking some ashes away.

“I'm not ruling it out,” Izaya promises. He turns to Shizuo and smiles at Shizuo's perplexed little frown. “I suppose I'm just not surprised. To me, this isn't our first conversation about this.”

“Huh? What, was I in your dream or something?”

“You were. You were there more than anyone else, if you can believe it.”

Shizuo's face flushes, and he coughs slightly on his next exhale.

“You know,” Izaya begins, “I'm not sure exactly what it was I experienced. I can say it was a dream, but at the same time, it could've been a glimpse into another universe, another timeline. I saw so many things, some of them I can't remember clearly, but I remember you being there. It made me happy, Shizu-chan, and it was hard to know you wouldn't be there anymore when I woke up.”

Shizuo stiffens, his fingers clenching around the cigarette until it snaps. He curses when it burns him, and he throws it away with an angry little huff before he turns back to Izaya.

“I had dreams, too,” he says. “Nothing as weird as yours. Mostly just about us in high school, I guess since that's the most time we ever spent together. I kept wondering how different things might be if we ever tried to get along.”

“'What if' is a dangerous question, isn't it? Let's consider it progress that we're sitting here now.” Izaya smirks at Shizuo, who immediately narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Shizu-chan missed me.”

“I did not,” Shizuo says defensively, and then his eyes widen as if the thought only just now crossed his mind. “Or...I did? Fuck. I think maybe I did.”

“You don't know?” Izaya asks, and he can't help but laugh at the bewildered expression on Shizuo's face. It's been so long since he's laughed like this, without bitterness or malice. It really is just funny.

“Fuck you! Stop laughing!” Shizuo glowers, seeming to sink into himself when Izaya only laughs harder. “You're the worst. I hate you, I really do.”

“Then why did you miss me?” Izaya lilts, and Shizuo crosses his arms, looking pointedly anywhere but at Izaya.

“Maybe I'll still kill you. Shitty flea, you piss me off,” Shizuo mutters, mostly to himself. Izaya can hear his teeth grinding.

“Relax, would you? I missed you, too.”

In an instant, all the anger drains away from Shizuo's face. He turns to Izaya, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

“You were with me, but it wasn't really you. I missed my Shizu-chan! Another is no good for me.” Izaya stands and stretches, aware Shizuo's eyes are still on him. He takes a few steps towards the roof entrance.

“Wha... Hey! Where are you going?” Shizuo asks, following after, as always.

“It's cold. I'm cold.” Izaya stops abruptly and turns to face Shizuo, who stops just short of ramming into him. “Let's go get a drink somewhere warm.”

“Like, uh. Like a date?” Shizuo clearly has all the experience of a fumbling teenager, and it's so charming somehow, so unlike the Shizuo in Izaya's mind, and that's enough for Izaya to know this is really happening.

“Yes. Like a date.”

Shizuo smiles, and Izaya finds he doesn't mind that he can't recall what the other Shizuo felt like or smelled like, doesn't mind having to learn it all over again. All that matters is this: Shizuo walking behind Izaya, holding onto the back of his coat with a gentle hand, directing him to a bar down the street that has a special on half-priced bloody marys. Shizuo laughs, says it's perfect for a flea like Izaya, and Izaya savors every second of it, orders a bloody mary just to make Shizuo laugh harder.

In another universe, they never come near the truck, and life resumes as normal. In another, Izaya doesn't confront Shizuo that day, and Shizuo never knows Izaya is in the city. In another, Izaya is killed instantly, and in another still, he never wakes up, and Shizuo is consumed by grief he can't explain, and a confession he'll never voice.

But in this universe, Shizuo sits in a cozy booth across from Izaya, their feet touching under the table as they talk and laugh together until the bartender is closing down. They step outside, and Izaya turns to leave, is startled when Shizuo's hand grips the back of Izaya's coat and tugs him closer. Izaya laughs delightedly, and he tugs Shizuo along to Shinjuku while Shizuo tries very hard to look annoyed by it. They wind up sprawled together on Izaya’s couch, TV playing lowly in the background, and when they wake up curled into each other, Izaya smiles sleepily, lifts his hand to Shizuo’s cheek, and kisses Shizuo as easily as if he’s done so a thousand times, and will do so a thousand times more.

#telescope now #Shizaya #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #halloween fic #this is the end! thanks for reading you guys <3

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synthsizedproductions · 4 years ago

Text

Short #1: Life Debt

CW: Strong language, abuse of power, cat attack

Have I told you the one about how I got my first pet? No? Oh, you’re in for a treat.

I lived a pretty normal life back then. Just a high school kid with a dead-end job, absent parents, and more mental instabilities than the whole of the Glennbrook Institution. You can bet I’m glad that madhouse didn’t exist when I was that age. The stories that come outta there…Tales for another time, eh?

Anyway, I walked everywhere because damned if I could afford gas. Or a car. Or a bike. Like I said, dead-end job. On top of that, my parents decided since I had a job, I should pay rent and shit. They said it was to teach me “responsibility” and “frugalness”. You know what it actually taught me? Landlords are dicks. Remember that lesson, kid. It’ll come in handy. Trust.

So, I’m walking to work. It’s this little shithole office with gray walls, gray carpets, and gray people. It didn’t help that the place was poorly lit. When I first started working there, I came in with a smile and a goofy bowtie covered in purple rubber dupkies. I thought it would make a good icebreaker with my new co-workers, and maybe I could make some friends for once. All I made was a scene when the boss man flipped his shit about it being loud and distracting. Good thing I need the job more than I wanted to sock that ass right in the nose. Now I learned that bosses were dicks, too. Another solid lesson.

Hm? What’s this got to do with my first pet? Gimme a minute, kid. Geeze. You first years are so impatient.

Anyway, so, I’m walking to work when I hear a cat screaming. Sounded like a fight. Normally, I wouldn’t bother investigating that kinda thing, but something didn’t sound right. Like, this fight wasn’t gunna be a fair one. I glanced at my watch. I was ahead of schedule. There was no way this would take longer than a few minutes. Just had to scare off a couple of cats, maybe a street dog or something.

So, I round the corner and that’s when I realize there weren’t just two cats facing off back there. It was a whole mess of cats, dozen or so, ganging up on this scrawny tabby cat who they had cornered between two buildings. These cats were mad. I had no idea what that one cat had done to piss off a whole colony, but I was certain it wasn’t going to survive this encounter.

I was considering booking it when the cat’s eyes locked on mine. One was blue, the other green. I could see how scared it was. Pits, I could almost feel how scared it was. My survival instincts, what few I had, disappeared and all I could think of was rescuing the tabby cat. I barreled my way through the crowd of felines, scooped their target up, and ran like it was my life on the line. When I heard the colony hissing and spitting behind me, I was no longer sure it wasn’t my blood they wanted. The tabby hissed over my shoulder, its tail whipping about and smacking me in the face as I fled.

I yelled in agony as one of the cats leapt upon me, digging its claws and teeth into my skin and ripping my work shirt. I threw the offender off and picked up my pace, my heart pounding harder than I’d ever felt before. I winced when the cat in my arms dug its nails into my shoulder, but my pain was forgotten when a shot of adrenaline hit me. I sprinted down the road faster than I’d ever gone before. I wasn’t sure how I was pushing myself that hard, but I didn’t care. I needed to get away from that crazy colony and maybe I could still make it to work on time.

I practically tumbled through the building’s entrance, scrambling away from the door when razor-sharp claws swiped at me from beneath it. I backed up until my back hit the reception desk.

~~~~~~

“Might wanna change up your cologne, hun. Looks like you’re attracting the wrong kind of pussy.” Maribelle grinned at me, but her expression fell when she saw my back. “They were out for blood, weren’t they? Better grab a shirt from lost and found before the boss sees you. Why were those cats coming after you?”

I moved to lift the cat I’d rescued to show her, but it was gone. I didn’t remember it leaving, but I figured the chase still had me on edge and I could have missed it. “Um, I guess I just pissed them off.” Before Maribelle could ask any further questions, I darted into the storage closet, found a shirt that would fit me, and made my way to my desk like it was any normal day. I sat down and began my data entry, losing myself in the monotony.

My concentration was broken when I felt something brush against my leg. I looked under my desk to find the eerie feline staring at me. “There you are. How did you get up here?” I looked around before scooping the cat up and placing it in my lap. It purred louder than my brother’s motorcycle. I’d never had a pet. My parents were both allergic to pretty much every animal. I tried to talk them into getting me one of those newfangled Fazyn since they’re designed in the lab to be hypoallergenic, but they also cost more than my family made in a year.

I smiled down at the content creature. “If you behave and stay hidden, you can stay.” It settled in my lap, purring in great contentment as I pet the cat. I didn’t let myself get too distracted. I still had a job to do and the end of my shift was hours away. Despite the mountain of tasks on my plate, I calmly meandered through them, taking a moment to pet the tabby after every few files.

“Gravtik!”

I fell out of my chair when my boss screamed my last name, looking up at the red-faced Dwarf in utter confusion. I whipped my head around to find the cat, but it had disappeared.

He glared down at me with his hands on his hips. “You’re behind on your daily quota. I told you the next time I caught you slacking off that your ass was on the line. I do not have time for lazy losers like you. Get up, get back to work. You’re working through lunch.” He stomped away before I could respond.

I righted my chair and moved to sit in it, but stopped short before I sat on the tabby cat. “You certainly have a knack for disappearing at the right time.” I shooed the cat from my chair and sat down. I held a hand in front of its nose when it tried to jump into my lap again. “No, no, no. I need to focus. You’re bad for my focus.”

It blinked at me and tilted its head one way and then the other, its ears twitching. I stifled a yelp when the cat bit my ankle. I leaned down to scold the animal but was suddenly hit with a wave of energy like I’d downed every coffee in the city all at once. I gazed at my computer in a daze and placed my hands on my keyboard. My fingers went into overdrive as I ran through the documents I was working with. I completed more in ten minutes than I had in the last week. I panted when all of the assignments were complete, my hands all but useless. The tabby rubbed against my leg before leaping into my lap again and I laid my shaking hands on the feline’s back, its warmth and purring soothing the aches in my joints.

“Gravtik!”

I closed my eyes and sighed when the burly man in a suit stormed over to me. “What’s up, boss? I finished all of my work.”

He crossed his arms. “I saw that. You even did it with higher accuracy than is actually possible for a person. What did you do? What program did you download on our computers?”

I shook my head and stared at him in bewilderment. “What? I didn’t do anything that I don’t normally. I guess I just really wanted my lunch today.”

My boss grinned at me with a wicked look in his eyes. “I actually came down here to tell you that since you did such a fast, efficient job, the execs want you to work through lunch anyway. I told them you wouldn’t mind.”

My computer beeped and my task list filled in an instant. I felt a mix of anger and despair which burned in my chest. I watched my boss leave, my hands clamped around the arms of my chair. The cat mewed at me and the heat of my rage cooled. “How did he not see you?”

I watched my coworkers shuffle away to eat their gray food in the gray breakroom and my stomach growled. “I really could have used that lunch break. Gilbert’s is still open and I could go for some nice hot chili.” I closed my eyes and imagined the mild, smoky smell Gill managed to balance just right. I could practically smell it.

That’s when I realized, I did smell it. When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by an enormous takeout container filled to the brim with chili, steam wafting into the air. I looked around and tried to find whoever left this feast for me. There was no one. No one but me and the tabby. I narrowed my eyes at the cat who had an oddly satisfied look. “How did…did you…? No, that’s not possible. Maribelle must have snuck up here.”

I knew I should have just gotten back to work. If the boss caught me eating at my desk, that would be it for me. My belly growled to remind me I hadn’t eaten at school. Or before leaving my house. The delicious scent was too enticing to resist. I shoveled my food into my mouth as I worked, trying to push myself to work at the impossible pace I had minutes before to no avail.

“Gravtik!”

I froze with my last spoonful of chili on my spoon, my heart sinking when he stormed his way to my cubicle again. “What do you think you’re doing? How did you even get that in here? You know what? I don’t care. This is the final straw, Gravtik. Pack up your desk and get out before I have security escort you out. Good luck getting another job in this field. I’ll get you blacklisted so fast your head will spin.”

The tabby jumped onto my desk and stoically stared at my now dumbfounded boss with contempt written on its face. I didn’t even think cats could make expressions like that. “I would reconsider whose head is up for spinning, underling.” My boss and I stared at the creature on my desk. Its mouth hadn’t moved, the words projected into our minds.

My boss took a step back as his face paled. “What the fuck is going on? Gravtik! C-control that animal!”

The cat and I looked at each other and I shook my head. “I think you might be confused about the relationship between me and…um, what’s your name?”

Its tail flicked so fast it appeared the tabby had multiple tails. “You would not be able to speak my name. Even if your vocal cords could make the correct sounds, it would likely drive you mad to speak. But you may call me Tom.”

“Tom? Like, a Tomcat?”

Tom tilted his head. “I had not considered that when choosing my name. I’ll have to keep that one.” The cat’s attention snapped back to my trembling boss. “You have been quite cruel to my new friend. As he has saved my life, I owe him a life debt. However, I cannot stand cruelty for cruelty’s sake., so this one is free.” Tom flung himself at my boss and a black hole appeared underneath him, swallowing him whole and closing just at the cat’s feet touched the ground.

My eyes went wide. “Where did he go? What’s going to happen to him?”

Tom dug his claws into the carpet and stretched as far as he could. “He is in the cruelty box. What happens next is up to him. You are unlikely to see him again. He seems like the stubborn type.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “So, how do I explain his disappearance?”

Tom gave me a puzzled look. “Why would you need to explain this at all? He is gone. He will be replaced. The universe will right itself.”

I flopped down in my chair. “What is that supposed to mean? What are you?”

Tom climbed into my lap again and settled. “What I am is complicated. To put it in a way you will understand, I am an Elder Deity and I am trapped on your plane of existence. I seek a way home but have been unsuccessful thus far. I was trying to blend in with those cats, however, they were less than pleased by my presence.”

I scratched him behind his ear. “Wait, why couldn’t you just do to those cats like you did to him?”

Tom purred with a satisfied grin when I found a good spot. “I was running low on Magic. It takes quite a bit to maintain this form so I may walk among you Mortals.”

I frowned, uncertain I wanted the answer to my next question. “Then how did you do it now?”

Tom yawned and I caught sight of an impossible number of teeth in his mouth. “You chose to save me. I chose to empower you so we could both escape. As I said, I owe you a life debt. A life debt that now connects us until the universe has deemed our transaction complete.”

I tried to process his words…thoughts…This was all so confusing. “So, are you saying you’re feeding off of me so you can fuel your Magic?”

Tom laid his head on his paws. “If that is how you wish to see it, though you are describing a parasite, which I am not. This isn’t a one-way exchange. Did you not appreciate the help I gave you with running or getting your work done? Did I not make your life a little easier?”

I couldn’t refute his words. It had been nice to feel more than just a scrawny teenager with no future prospects. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

The cat shrugged and stretched out on my lap. “That food I retrieved for you smelled very good. We should get more.”

Before I knew what was happening, I was walking out of the building with Tom draped over my shoulders and straight for Gilbert’s Bar. “Hey! This is my body. You don’t get to just control it.” My body stopped moving and my feet felt rooted.

Tom hopped down and stared up at me with glowing eyes. “We should come to an understanding.” His shadow morphed into a far larger creature with six tentacle-like tails. One of the shadow tails shot at me, burying itself in my chest and wrapping around my heart. “This is OUR body right now. I owe you a life debt, but do not forget which one of us holds the power in this exchange. I cannot kill you, but I can make your life miserable and filled with pain. Do you understand your predicament?”

I nodded, gasping when the pressure on my heart dissipated. I took shaky breaths and touched my chest, my heart beating in an irregular way until Tom jumped onto my shoulder again. “So, how about we get that chili.”

~~~~~~

And from that day forward, Tom was my constant companion. Hm? Where is he now? Sorry, kid. That’ll have to wait for another day. Go on. Get to class before I get you in trouble.

This story was inspired by this tweet from @hoplitnet.

#Enlightened #Content Warnings #Shorts

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epic-potato-crisp · 4 years ago

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Acquired (AjinWeek 2020/5)

Day 5: Favourite Headcanon/Slice of Life

Note: Is Ajin Week still ongoing? Asking for a friend :’)

Ajin Week Day 5: Favorite Headcanon/Slice of Life Izumi canonically doesn’t have many shirts, so theoretically, what if someone lend her some? (^o^) Tosaki/Izumi, some Ogura and Kuro-chan.

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

“Shimomura, may I ask a…presumptuous question?” Tosaki-san inquires one evening.

She turns around in the hallway.

They have just finished planning ahead for the next day (or rather, the week, because someone is a control freak, not that you’d hear it from her) and were about to head to bed.

Izumi bites back a yawn. It’s past 2 am. She already despairs at the thought of her alarm clock ringing in a few hours.

“Yes, of course?” she asks, uncertainly, having no idea where this is heading.

“Again, forgive me if this is…inappropriate.” Tosaki-san clears his throat, and she feels her face heat up. What exactly is he trying to say?

“Would you not prefer to…change out of your work clothes?” he asks, gesturing towards her white shirt, “It might be more comfortable. I mean, you don’t need to remain formal at all times. If you want, that is.” He trails off and Izumi wishes for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow her.

She takes a deep breath.

“I don’t have a lot of clothes.” she says, doing her best to retain a neutral expression despite the precarious situation, “Therefore, I’m a little limited in choice. But it’s fine, I prefer us spending our budget for Nakano and Nagai, in case his IBM starts attacking again.”

The last shirt had been torn to shreds beyond recognition. Even Kuro-chan had looked impressed.

“I see.” he says, nodding to himself. “Well then. Good night, Shimomura-kun.

“Good night.” she says back, and heads to her room. It’s the perfect time to read and try and forget about the previous conversation. After all, she had never really considered that anyone paid attention to what she wore. She didn’t really know how she felt about anyone starting to do that, in any way.

…

Ten minutes later, there is a knock at her door.

She gets up, startled and carefully opens it. It’s Tosaki-san. Her heart jumps a little at his appearance, and she blames it on her nervous system overreacting.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.” he says, and hands her what looks like a large grocery bag, “But I don’t need all of them, anyway.”

“All of them?” she questions, risking a look inside.

An array of Tosaki’s-san’s shirt stare back at her.

“They’re all washed, don’t worry. They may be a bit big for you, but if it’s just for the hideout, it doesn’t matter, I thought…” he drifts off while Izumi feels like her face has been set aflame.

“I can’t accept that.” she says weakly, unable to meet his eyes, her heartbeat accelerating.

“You don’t have to, of course.” he says quickly, tripping over words, “Just for back-up. This way, you can save up your business shirts for work-related outings.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Izumi manages to say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pauses before quietly adding a “Sleep well.”

and walking away quickly. “Sleep well.” Izumi mumbles and closes the door.

She then sinks to the ground and presses her face in her hands, screaming internally.

“Don’t comment.” she mutters, risking a glance at Kuro-chan who looks a little too smug for the hour.

“I can’t accept them anyway.” She says, uncertain if she’s telling Kuro-chan or herself.

She lies awake for another hour, staring at the bag that glows temptingly in the dim moonlight coming in from her window.

After managing to ignore it for a while, thoughts racing and replaying the scene with embarrassing accuracy, she gives into compulsion.

She fishes a black shirt out of the bag and, after a long contemplation, changes into it.

It’s logical, seeing how they’re wide and airy and she has but one nightshirt anyway that she’s wearing constantly.

They also distinctly carry Tosaki-san’s scent, but that’s a thought she shoves away as soon as it comes.

They’re comfortable to sleep in. That’s all that matters.

….

Izumi’s usually careful to change out of her - nightwear, as she calls it, before leaving her room for the morning. But days become a routine and they start earlier than she would like to. She forgets about it eventually.

It’s Ogura who catches her with it.

When she had walked into the kitchen this morning, at the crack of dawn, she had expected to be the only one around. That thought evaporated as soon as she saw the scientist lounging at the table.

“Cute.” he says, offering her a cigarette first and a coffee second, “The colour’s a good look on you.”

Izumi takes the compliment in stride. “Thank you.”, she says, and then waits for the unavoidable comment. Ogura is sharp in picking up these sorts of things. She doesn’t have to wait long.

“Crazy how multifunctional outfits are these days.” Ogura says, pouring her a cup and sliding it over the counter, “Is it one of Tosaki’s old shirts? Is it a fancy black dress? Who knows, certainly not me.”

He gestures at his lips in a sealing motion. Izumi hides a smile.

“It’s a secret.” she says.

#ajinweek2020 #ajin #ajin demi human #tosaki yuu #shimomura izumi #tosamura

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wildroseofarran · 4 years ago

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Plans for the Future || Captain Issott

Leslie: Leslie dropped another shell in his pocket. Quite a handful after an hour of strolling the beach. Calves and feet hidden behind perfect white sand. His nose was tender but ignored. Another shell gently cleaned and inspected.

Every offense to Regina Lawson was replayed. It was the little things. Forgetting to eat, dismissive of his own meditation. Irritability from his circumstances causing less than pleasant passes. A sharp look. A sigh. A forced smile. Pebbles became mountains. The man he was, was still the man walking the beach.

'The old me is gone,' people say in these situations. A ridiculous notion. People could improve, worsen, but they were the sum of their parts. He could smile now, sober, with the same kind intentions he was raised by, but Gina would forever carry every part of his sum.

Another shell for his pocket. Better to wait today.

Tristan: "You're gonna have me working like a dog, you know that?"

"Blame the mother-in-law for talking them into five courses!" Gina shook her head and handed Tristan a large bag.

Tristan took it and willed his stomach not to growl at the scent wafting from it. "Oh, I do. Gonna charge her out the ass."

Gina laughed. "So am I. Go on and eat that before it gets cold. I'll email you the purchase order."

"'Kay, thanks. See you soon."

Tristan emerged from the inn and immediately scanned the beach for Leslie, feeling decidedly cheerful despite the long hours of work in his future.

He was going to buy Les so many presents.

Leslie: Leslie was but a blond and blue speck in the distance. Rolled up jeans, shoeless, and nearly shirtless. His blue flannel mostly unbuttoned and arguing with the wind. Certainly not suitable for a luncheon. On purpose, of course, to better drive home how unsuitable he was to be there.

Tristan: Not just any speck; that was his speck. And maybe it was the romantic in him, but Tristan swore his eyes went right to Leslie with almost magical speed and accuracy.

He made his way over, stopping only once to pick up a piece of sea glass.

"Hey, sunshine," he called when Leslie was in earshot.

Leslie: A smile to mimic his namesake was given in greeting.

"I've found you a bounty!" he called. Turned to close the distance between them. Various cockle and murex on offer. More coquina than necessary.

Tristan: God, that smile was a beautiful punch to the gut.

"Look at you!" Leslie was greeted with a kiss the second he was close enough. "My fish tanks are gonna look so good."

Leslie: "How did it go?" he asked. Pocketed his findings and began setting himself to rights.

Tristan: “Got the gig and also a king’s ransom of work. Five course meal for one hundred and fifty people.”

Leslie: "All seafood? Really?" Color him impressed.

Tristan: “Only three of them, unless they decide to put fish in the dessert and the salad.”

Leslie: "Shrimp in a salad is delicious, I'll have you know. Scallops are better." Seafood dessert? The idea put a cringe on his face.

"A customer once tried to convince me shrimp and white chocolate go together."

Tristan: Tristan made a face of pure disgust. "Ew, no. It was a tourist, wasn't it?"

Leslie: "One of the first when I started with Myrtle."

Tristan: He shook his head. "That's some nonsense only someone who didn't grow up eating seafood would like."

Leslie: "I can't say I've heard worse."

Tristan: "I don't think anyone has, honestly." Taste couldn't get much worse than mixing seafood and white chocolate.

He held up the bag. "Hungry, sugar pie?"

Leslie: Leslie looked from the bag to Tristan. "Did you actually eat lunch or ...?"

Tristan: "Nope, got us lunch to go. Baked cod, salad, and some bread."

Leslie: "Tristie." He could just manage to sound disappointed. Baked cod sounded absolutely delicious.

Tristan: "Hey, it still counts as a lunch meeting if lunch is involved in some way. Besides, this way I get to eat with you."

Leslie: That sigh through his nose was of utter disapproval. He would have to make himself scarce next time.

"Where do you want to eat?"

Tristan: A kiss to the cheek was offered in apology. Leslie didn't have to say a word; that sigh said it for him.

"Anywhere you want, sweetheart. I can grab the blanket I've got in my truck and we can have a picnic or we could go home or to the square. The town is your oyster."

Leslie: He felt the kiss for its worth. His mind was made up, but this was no hill to die on.

"Somewhere with good light. I have something to show you on my phone. Preferably a laptop. Home, then?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Home it is. Your place or mine?"

Leslie: "Yours is closer. Mine is what I want to talk about."

Tristan: “Oh yeah? Well now I’m intrigued,” said Tristan, holding his free hand out to Leslie.

Leslie: The offer was taken and brought to his lips. A few playful bites to follow.

Tristan: He chuckled and tugged Leslie closer to kiss him.

"I better get you fed before you start eating me."

Leslie: "You'll taste like seafood, too. When was the last time you had a land mammal?"

Tristan: "Couple days ago. I was craving a hotdog like you wouldn't believe."

Leslie: "That's not mammal. That's an abomination."

Tristan: "It's beef! The proper hot dog way!"

Leslie: "There's enough sodium to kill a horse - that it's probably made of anyway."

Tristan: “Come on now, don’t ruin hotdogs. They are good wholesome junk food made of cows and not horses.”

Leslie: "Keep telling yourself that, love."

Tristan: "I will." Have another kiss. "All right, baby, let's go home."

Leslie: "I'll drive." Announced while climbing into the driver's seat.

Tristan: “Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” said Tristan, sliding into the passenger’s seat and handing over the keys.

“You know what we need? A hammock.”

Leslie: "Where are we gonna buy one out here?"

Tristan: “That I don’t know. Think Home Depot sells them?”

Leslie: "Are we going to Home Depot?"

Tristan: “Nah, not today. But it’s been on my mind. The weather we’ve been having makes me wanna nap outside with you.”

Leslie: "We'll have to look into it, then."

Tristan: “Hell yeah.”

Tristan spent the ride home sharing more of the details of his meeting with Leslie. It was the biggest contract he’d gotten in a while; enough to put some money where it was needed and have some leftover for a decent bonus.

Leslie: Talk of money with Tristan. Little slaps of reality. Not entirely sure of his decisions. A lingering ailment of his past.

"How many investors do you have?"

Tristan: "Just the one. I've had a few really great years, the Adrianna is in beautiful shape. Business is good."

Leslie: "Would you be uncomfortable with my contributing?"

Tristan: He smiled. "You wanna invest in my fishing business?"

Leslie: "I do, but I don't want any say in what you do."

Tristan: "What percentage would you like?"

Leslie: "This is so much easier on Robinhood."

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "You don't want a percentage? Can I tempt you with a small token at the end of my fiscal year?"

Leslie: Leslie put his best effort into a sober tone. One difficult to do in Tristan's presence. Not unlike their first night together. "I don't want you to feel like I have something over you, in the future."

Tristan: "Les, come on. I know that's not who you are. If I thought for a second that you were offering for any reason other than genuinely helping me, I wouldn't accept. And I know you wouldn't offer for any other reason."

Leslie: Softly he sighed. "How about we... we touch base on the subject again after what I have to tell you when we're home."

Tristan: "Okay, baby, that's fine. Kinda making me a little nervous." Was Leslie about to tell him some heavy life-altering thing? Had something awful happened?

Leslie: Tristan's tone told him to take his hand and give a mighty squeeze. "Get out of your head. It's not like that."

Tristan: He squeezed back. "You sure? I'm getting a capital 's' Serious feeling."

Leslie: "You think I'd be holding your hand right now if I planned something like that?"

Tristan: “I don’t know.” He smiled. “You could be about to tell me my face turned blue and ugly in the middle of the night and you’re trying to soften the blow.”

Leslie: "I know I tease, but you should know me better than that. I'd tell you your face is blue immediately," he grinned.

Tristan: “Awww, thank you, babydoll.” He brought Leslie’s hand to his lips. “Did you know I love you?”

Leslie: "No fucking idea! Holy shit, really?"

Tristan: “Really really. Crazy, I know.”

Leslie: "I know there is a balance, and things will happen the way they are meant to, and Fate only has one eye, but I'm still stumped at the two of us."

Tristan: “At how it took us so long and how we managed to end up here?”

Leslie: "Mhm."

Tristan: “Well, things slow down when you’ve only got one eye that you have to share with your sisters.”

Leslie: "Could also just say we're idiots."

Tristan: “Yeah, that too,” he chuckled.

Leslie: Leslie pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Keys tossed between hands as he stared out the window.

Tristan: "Talk to me about what's going on in that head, doll."

Leslie: "Your nervousness has rubbed off on me."

Tristan: "Sorry about that. Mama always said I emoted a lot."

Leslie: "You emote all you want."

Tristan: Tristan leaned over and kissed Leslie's cheek. "Come on, let's have some lunch."

Leslie: "Right." Tristan was helped inside. Locking the truck with the fob before shutting the front door and tossing the keys on the nearest table.

"Where's your laptop?"

Tristan: He set the food down in the kitchen and set about gathering bowls and forks.

"It iiiiiis.....on the bed. Should be charged and ready to go."

Leslie: He returned with the laptop and a lack of shirt. The results of his beach stroll apparent on his shoulders and chest.

"Alright. I'll pull up what I wanted to talk about. I want your honesty. That's all I want."

Tristan: "If honesty is what you want, then I'm here to give it to you." He started plating their meal. "Lay it on me."

Leslie: Pictures were downloaded from his email and minimized. Leslie leaned back in his seat and itched at his burn.

"A lot of love went into my house, but," deep breath, "I'm...thinking about tearing it down and expanding. But the thing is...I..."

Tristan: Tristan walked over, gesturing with a bowl. "Hey, hey, hey, leave that sunburn alone. I'll slather it in aloe here in a bit."

He leaned in to look at the laptop, only to lean back out in surprise. Not any negative surprise either. "You wanna expand? That's great!" He gestured again. "What's that hesitation for? Don't know how big you wanna go?"

Leslie: A song Tristan had sung before. Funny, he couldn't recall Oliver getting similar treatment. Another sign he should have noticed.

"It'll be healed by tomorrow." He could invest a conscious effort, but he simply didn't want to.

"No. Not that. Clive's had some blueprints in mind the moment he saw my place. It's just deciding between them. But...these weren't drawn with anyone else in mind. I don't...know...what kind of future I'm going to have and how many people should be included."

Tristan: That didn’t mean Leslie couldn’t be comfortable until then, but there were bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Very significant and important fish.

Tristan took a seat beside Leslie and reached for one of his hands. “And you want to know if now that we’re here, they should be revisited, right?”

Leslie: Tristan could have one of his hands. The other to fidget beneath the table.

"We've only just started. I don't want you to feel pressured into anything about the house, or why I want this. But the thing is... It feels wrong to move forward without your input. If why I want this, if any of it is too much, I won't - I won't guilt you into being with me. I won't do anything like that. I promise. We have to have the same vision and I don't know if we have the same vision. I'm just... verbal diarrhea right now. Sorry! You know that Charles - my friend you met with the locked chest, that Charles - runs a school for gifted children. Gifted like... me, kind of gifted. But not me. They call themselves mutants. There are these two girls. Ruby and Ester. They... They don't have family..."

Tristan: A soft smile played at Tristan's lips as he listened. He didn't mind the wave of words and thoughts; he wanted to know, wanted to understand, wanted to have the full picture in front of him. He liked to think he and Leslie were open books for each other, and that made conversations like this matter all the more.

"We have only just started, but when you think about it, we also haven't. Yeah it took us a while to get to this exact spot, but we've been with each other for years. I don't know, maybe it's me being a romantic or me being idealistic, but I've let my mind go to that place. To the wedding bells and the house and the kids running around. Not to say I want the bells right the hell now, I would never push that on you or pressure you.

"But I've always been able to see us take those kinds of big steps." He kissed Leslie's knuckles. "The way I grew up made me wanna have kids. My mom made me wanna have kids. For me it was never an if, it was always a when, and I'd like that when to be with you. It feels right that it's you. Right and good.

"Tell me about Ruby and Ester."

Leslie: "It does sound romantic. I love romance, I do, but I also know... this house... " Leslie waved his free hand. "This didn't happen in a day. I remember all the times you went on and on about projects. Here I'm talking about a new house. Children."

Swallowing, determined to push the conversation as Tristan encouraged.

"They're made of rubies and diamonds. They're hungry for knowledge. Not just about what I can do, but everything. Just touching on a subject they don't know, they dive into it. Ruby especially. She's fiercely protective. Ester is nurturing. They've been through so much. I'm... I'm scared. I've wanted to be a father for years, but I don't know how to - where to begin this."

Tristan: Now that took Tristan aback. Not the children themselves, no, it wasn't that.

"Rubies and diamonds? Actual rubies and diamonds that people make jewelry with? And they call that a mutation?" He gave a breathless chuckle and shook his head. "That's so much more. That's something bordering on ethereal and...divine. Two protective and nurturing little girls should know nothing but nurturing and protection.

"And I can't think of anyone better suited for that than you. No one knows how to be a parent until they are one. Mama says she became a parent the day she decided to keep me. I think that once you make that choice, that's it. You're a parent."

Leslie: "Charles is... apprehensive of their learning witchcraft. I tried to explain that a good education is better than delving into something way over their head because they have no one. We all were raised with guidance. If a witch is determined to go down that road, they will, no matter the cleared path in front of them, but -"

Leslie closed his eyes. Well aware of how he must look. His usual confidence, impressive even by his perspective, had receded like a tide.

"The end of the day, they have to want me to be their father. By the time the house is done, they might not. I might just be a novelty to them. And Charles... Charles could say no. He has the final say. I can state my case, but I'm not going to fight him. And also, none of this is going to happen if you don't want it to."

Tristan: "I don't know your friend Charles all that well, but it...surprises me that he can have two kids in his care made of precious stones and be apprehensive of witchcraft. From what you've told me, it's not even something--I don't know, unnatural? that they'd be diving into. It's in them already, in everyone."

While Leslie's eyes were closed, Tristan leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was hard to miss that shaky confidence, and even harder to miss the reason.

"Leslie Issott, you could never be just a novelty to anybody. Not to me, not to those kids, not to anyone. I am in this with you. I want this with you. If Charles says no, it'll be to both of us, after we've made our case."

Leslie: That was precisely the point Leslie wanted to make for anyone interested in the craft. And Tristan just said it. Just accepted it. Damn near rendered his witch speechless. Only finding his voice after the press of lips to his skin.

"Y-Yeah. Exactly." Eyes slowly opened. "Are you sure? Tristie, I want you to be sure you mean what you say."

Tristan: Leslie would see a brilliantly smiling Tristan looking back at him. “There is nothing in my life I’ve been more sure of than you. I want to build a home and a family with you.”

Leslie: A deep breath later, Leslie nodded. Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on what. This was what he wanted to hear, but something felt missing. What that was, he couldn't see. Beyond a fog and just out of reach.

But he would smile anyway. "Want me to show you the blueprints?"

Tristan: Tristan kissed his witch's cheeks. This was only the first of many conversations they would probably end up having on the subject, he was certain. And that was exactly the way it should be. One conversation simply wasn't enough when you were talking about your future together with someone.

"Show them to me while we eat. Our stomachs and your blood sugar are going to start complaining at us here in a bit."

Leslie: "You mean my blood sugar," he smirked.

Tristan: “That’s what I said, you beautiful man.” Have more kisses to your face. “What do you want to drink?”

Leslie: "Thought you said our," he laughed as he was kissed. "Just water. I think I had the last of the tea."

Tristan: That laugh would never not be absolute music to his ears. It made him want to shower Leslie with more kisses and affection but he'd save that for later.

For now he got both of them some water and settled in to look at blueprints.

"All right, sweetheart, show me your vision."

Leslie: Sometimes all those affectionate names could be overwhelming. He knew they came from a place of honesty. The look in Tristan's eyes, it was impossible to think otherwise. But still, sometimes, he caught himself wondering if this was Callum's work. Leading a man on and dropping him. Those dropped pieces were delicate. He really did not like that druid.

But the witch just smiled, pulling up blueprints for two designs his father had drawn. A larger A-frame than his current model, and something a little more contemporary for the area. Larger ceilings versus a more intimate feel.

Tristan: Tristan took a bite of his salad and took a good look at the design, unaware of Leslie's thoughts and worries. Had he known them, he would've done his best to lay them to rest. The last thing he wanted was for his slew of nicknames to seem like they came from a place of overcompensation or some sort of residual issue. They came purely from fondness.

"I really like all the windows and that it's still an A frame. The upstairs, too. All that storage space."

Leslie: "I could flip a coin and live in either. I'm partial, but no one can beat these designs. I want a large kitchen. Maybe culinary lessons in the future. Private chef will only go so far in this town. So, classes."

Tristan: "I really like the porch on the one with the bigger kitchen, and the part that's screened in."

Tristan smiled. "You'd make a great cooking teacher, and private chef, and caterer. You could do it all."

Leslie: "But which kitchen, which house would best give me that?"

Tristan: “The bigger one that’s not an A frame, I think.”

Leslie: "Can you see yourself there?"

Tristan: “Maybe I’m biased because I live somewhere with a screened patio/porch area and I really like it, but yeah. I totally can. And look at that huge deck. You could grow so many magic plants on that deck. And I can get us some Adirondack chairs and we can sit out there in the evenings.”

Leslie: "I'll give it some more thought, but I'll let you know what I choose." Leslie stared at the screen for some time. "But..."

Tristan: “Honestly, whichever you choose will be amazing. They’re both great designs.”

Tristan turned back to Leslie. “...But?” he prompted softly.

Leslie: "Is this supposed to be only my decision? Do you want to live with me? See my craft day in and out? It's more than just herbs and playing with pixies."

Tristan: “I don’t know, yes, and yes.” He set his plate aside. “Part of me thinks that since you bought this house, your opinion holds more weight than mine. I do want to live with you. I want to wake up to you and fall asleep with you and see your magic and learn more about it and about you through it. I want to understand it all, not just the herbs and playing with pixies.

“Do you want to live with me?”

Leslie: "But that would mean," Leslie looked around Tristan's home. "That would mean the end of this, wouldn't it? I feel like one of Peter Pan's lost boys. Asking us to live together means growing up in a way I don't know if I'm ready for."

The laptop was closed.

"I want to live with you. But I think, first, I need to... do some things."

Tristan: Tristan mimicked Leslie and looked around at his furniture and trinkets. “This being my house? It is definitely a grown-up thing to do, moving in with your boyfriend, but it’s not an end. Well, it’s an end to living alone but it’s also a beginning.”

Still, he nodded. “You do what you have to, Les. We’re not on a deadline, there’s no rush. But if it would help, maybe we could do a trial run?”

Leslie: "A trial run, as in, my being here?"

Tristan: “Yeah, or my being at your house. Why don’t we live together for a couple weeks, see how we feel?”

Leslie: Leslie took a breath. "What would you say to, a counteroffer?"

Tristan: “Lay it on me.”

Leslie: "While the house is built, I live with you?"

Tristan: He smiled. “Works for me. Work for you?”

Leslie: "The house with the largest kitchen, can you see yourself there?"

Tristan: “I’m already in it putting our chairs on the deck and hanging up those cool backyard string lights like you see in magazines.”

Leslie: "All of your shells, your fish?"

Tristan: “How you do feel about living with fish, shells, nautical antiques, and the occasional rehabilitated hermit crab?”

Leslie: "As well as I hope you'll feel with spell books, dried herbs, and a record player."

Tristan: "I feel pretty good about spell books, herbs, and a record player. Got a ton of records from my mama we can play."

Leslie: His smile bloomed. "Will you have me for however long it takes?"

Tristan: "However long and then some."

Leslie: Leslie brought himself to his feet and into Tristan's arms. "I'll start putting things in storage, then."

Tristan: He was immediately embraced and kissed on his forehead.

“Let me know any way I can help. And also the best place for Opal’s cage.”

Leslie: "Maybe out there?" Tristan's face was held in both hands, given several kisses across the forehead and down the nose.

Tristan: Tristan smiled and closed his eyes, basking in the affection. “Out in the patio? She can have the fish as roommates.”

Leslie: "She might try n'eat the fish. We gotta find a way to keep her out."

Tristan: “The tank out there has a top that goes to it, just have to put it on. And the one by the stairs is covered all the time so the fish should be safe.”

Leslie: "I know I'm gorgeous and irresistible and fun at parties, but do you really, really want me day in and day out for what could be a year?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “You sure are and I definitely do. I want you in my bed all the time, to fall asleep to you and wake up to you.”

Leslie: Sounds better than a proposal. "I'm whelmed just the right amount right now. Kiss me?"

Tristan: “The perfect amount of whelmed, huh?” Tristan leaned in to kiss those beautiful lips. “I’m glad.”

Leslie: "Just right. Suffocating in happiness. Up to my ears in elation," he grinned.

Tristan: He laughed and kissed all over Leslie's face. "I'm even more glad. Hell, I'm friggin' delighted." One more kiss for good measure.

"Eat your food. Gotta nourish that beautiful body."

Leslie: "But what if I'd rather ravish your body?"

Tristan: "Far be it from me to stop you, but your blood sugar definitely will."

Leslie: "Thirty minutes? I'll survive thirty long luxurious minutes with you."

Tristan: "Okay, thirty minutes. I'm setting a timer though, to keep us both honest."

Leslie: "Timed sex? Sounds sterile."

A knowing smile his only tell, before lifting Tristan into his arms.

"How about that? Hmm?" To hell with a bedroom. The nearest cushioned surface would do.

Tristan: "I'd rather sterile than--oop!" A rather squeaky sound of surprise escaped Tristan as he was scooped up and carried to the couch, followed by an equally surprised laugh.

"You got me! Whatcha gonna do with me, oh mighty sexy witch?"

Leslie: There was something satisfying to carrying the man determined to haul him this where and that for the past months. He would be placed on the couch with a little more care than his lift. A witch between his legs, on his knees. Hands on either side.

"Do you mind if I do whatever I want?"

Tristan: Satisfying for them both. Tristan hummed and stretched as luxuriously as a cat, looking up at Leslie with a soft, adoring smile.

"I don't mind one bit. I'm all yours to do with whatever you will."

Leslie: "Whatever I will?" Tristan's shirt was slowly lifted, revealing a stomach worth kissing. "Are you sure?"

Tristan: He nodded. “I’m sure, baby. I trust you.”

Leslie: Please protect this beautiful body and mind and spirit, whispered against his skin. His prayer was safe and mysterious in Portuguese. His little secret. Kisses roamed from one side to the other. Buttons slowly undone for further blessed exploration.

Tristan: Tristan looked curiously at Leslie, wondering what language he was speaking but loath to interrupt. He could always ask later.

At the moment he was content to be loved on and explored, to let one of his hands play with Leslie's hair.

And if Leslie wanted to slide his jeans down, well Tristan would oblige that, too.

Leslie: He was going to enjoy every stage of undress. Socks, jeans, underwear, all pooled to his side and forgotten. The last was done sacredly, sliding hands underneath Tristan's shirt, slow in their climb over his ribs and encouraging the lift of his arms to do away with the final bit of barrier.

Tristan: He hardly needed any encouragement at all. He happily stretched his arms above his head so Leslie could finish undressing him, all the while growing more and more curious about what his boyfriend planned to do with his naked sailor.

"Want me to take my hair down?" Tristan whispered. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Leslie: "Absolutely down," he smiled. "Do you want me naked?"

Tristan: Tristan reached around to take the various ties out of his hair. "Every hour god sends, baby doll."

Leslie: His hands were taken, brought to the hem of Leslie's shirt. His smile unshakeable.

Tristan: "I get to do it?" Tristan sat up, smile matching Leslie's as he did away with his shirt. "Lucky me."

Leslie: "Luck does many things. Maybe luck brought me to a little fishing town."

But enough of that. Tristan's hands were returned to himself. Just a moment of tease. Keep those hands to yourself while I kiss your swollen needy body.

Tristan: "Maybe it did. And if it did, I'm grateful for it every single day."

Any protest Tristan had at being stopped in the middle of undressing Leslie died on his lips as those kisses touched his skin.

Tristan reached for him, suddenly needy for those kisses everywhere.

Leslie: A gentle protesting noise answered Tristan's wanting touch. He turned his head to find the wandering hand, kissed his palm. "Keep your hands to yourself, Tristie."

Tristan: “Aw, but you’re so pretty and half naked and touchable.”

Leslie: "Tell me more." While I kiss where you want most.

His warm tongue traced the shape, down the length to nuzzle his scrotum.

Tristan: "You're--mmmmm....." Tristan's back arched off the couch in pure pleasure, eyes closing of their own accord as sensation washed over him. He could swear he felt all the blood in his body rushing through his veins to pool between his legs and harden him nearly to the point of ache. It was pure hell not being able to reach for him.

Leslie was perfect, is what he was, and as soon as some of the blood rushed back to Tristan's head, he'd make sure to tell him that.

Leslie: Saying more than words could manage. He took him and swallowed, popped him from his mouth and went again. Down to his scrotum and back for more. This was deliberate sweet torment. An appetizer.

"Lube, baby?"

Tristan: Tristan's back arched again as a ragged moan was torn from somewhere in his chest. Maybe from his soul. He couldn't quite tell when his brain was leaking out his ears. All he knew was that the heat between his legs was spreading throughout his body and making that needy ache better and making it worse all at once.

"Uh...um...." He gestured toward where he thought the bathroom was. "Cabinet."

Leslie: "I want you ready for me by the time I get back." Back on his feet, shedding the last of his clothes for Tristan's viewing pleasure. Slowly and deliberate as his tongue. His briefs were tossed onto Tristan's lap before strolling to the bathroom.

Tristan: Leslie's departure was met with a mighty groan of protest, which was easily soothed as his witch finished getting naked. Viewing pleasure didn't even begin to cover it; it was pure torture of the best kind.

"M'ready for you now," he called after Leslie, tossing the briefs aside and stretching luxuriously. Everything was throbbing and begging for relief. "Come back, baby doll. I miss youuuuuu..."

Leslie: Leslie would be heard laughing from the bathroom. A quick swish of Listerine and a bottle of lube later he returned to straddle Tristan's lap, offering minty lips as he slicked two fingers for prep.

"Are you allowed to say you miss me? Dunno if you should."

Tristan: Tristan greeted Leslie with a slow grin, pulling him in for a kiss the second he was within reach. "Aw, come on. I'm already not allowed to touch you. Have mercy on a poor weak sailor."

Leslie: "Hmm." Lubrication was warmed in his hand, stroked over Tristan's tumescent cock.

"We need more condoms." Not for any other reason than textural pleasure. "Ready for me?"

Tristan: It felt like his whole body breathed a sigh of relief at Leslie's touch, even if it was short-lived. His shaft damn near twitched in a silent plea for more.

"I'm ready," he said with a vigorous nod. They could get condoms later. It was still afternoon right? Was he saying all this out loud? He couldn't tell with his blood roaring in his ears.

Leslie: The air left his lungs as he sank into Tristan's lap. That familiar wave of heat ascending to his chest, leaving a void preventing another breath. His first intake of breath was against Tristan's lips. Holding his face in both hands as he moaned with relief.

Tristan: Tormented relief. That's exactly how it felt being inside Leslie, how it felt having him exactly where he wanted him. He had to take a deep breath while he let himself adjust to the wet heat, tiny panting moans spilling from his lips. No matter how slowly his witch got into position, it was always a shock to his system in the best possible way. Had to be the magic.

"Les...Les...."

Leslie: Fingers pushed into Tristan's luxurious hair. Squeezed and made a bun with the tangles of his fists. Rather than bounce, he rolled himself forward and back, grunting softly cheek-to-cheek.

"Fuck me, Tristie. Touch me now."

Tristan: Tristan's hands were on Leslie before he could finish his sentence. They swept over his witch's body from shoulders to perfect ass and back again, all while his hips began a rolling rhythm of their own.

His lips would be just as busy, lavishing every bit of Leslie they could reach with affection. You'd think Tristan had gone weeks without touching and kissing him instead of a few minutes.

Leslie: Leslie leaned forward, giving Tristan ample freedom to thrust himself upwards at a rhythm worthy enough to jostle his senses. He clung to his head and offered his mouth, his tongue, and his desperate noises to their kiss.

Tristan: Calling his movements a rhythm was perhaps a bit too generous, but what Tristan lacked in finesse he made up for in enthusiasm.

There would be other occasions for savoring, for lingering, for teasing. On this moment on this occasion, all Tristan wanted was more of those gorgeous, needy little noises. Leslie was the center of the universe and the only thing that mattered was bringing him to orgasm; Tristan didn't have the presence of mind for anything else.

Leslie: This was a desperate cling, and he could feel the beginning stages of sweat. He had to let go of that hair and help himself, but he couldn't. Not yet. Just a few more rolls of his hips. One more rise to the very edge and down to the hilt and his sanity.

"Can you jerk me off?" Finally releasing Tristan's hair, he leaned himself back in his living seat. Both hands squeezed Tristan's knees as he braced himself.

Tristan: Leslie didn't have to ask. Tristan was already taking his witch in his hand, lovingly stroking Leslie's cock while his hips continued their desperate pace.

"That feel good, sweetheart? You're so fucking beautiful."

Leslie: A series of expletives escaped his chest. Not with or against his will. His mind too far north to care about fuck filling the room over and over again as he writhed, spilling hot white over his stomach and both their thighs.

And there it was. That post-orgasm laughter tightening his muscles. Head thrown back as he clung his hands to Tristan's knees.

"Cum for me, baby."

Tristan: The word fuck had never sounded better or more poetic.

Tristan gave a rumbling purr in approval, dragging Leslie down to take his lips again. He wanted the flavor of him making his head swim as he gave those final few thrusts and spilled inside him.

Leslie: Leslie shivered in Tristan's arms. Hugged around his neck and nuzzled into his hair. His thighs and cock were spent. Leaning dying weight into his lover's chest.

"I don't... even... remember what we were doing."

Tristan: Having Leslie lean his weight against him was what Tristan lived for. He loved it.

"Um..." He chuckled breathlessly and kissed Leslie's hair. "No fuckin' idea. I smell food though."

Leslie: "I want to eat everything in the house, but I'm so tired," he laughed.

Tristan: "You need to eat everything in the house. Blood sugar."

Leslie: "Five more minutes," he pleaded to those lips.

Tristan: "Three," Tristan countered with a teeny tiny kiss.

Leslie: "We won't know," he purred, eyes closing.

Tristan: "Mmm, you're right. Guess that means you better eat now," he said a grin.

Leslie: "Three minutes." It's already been one.

#Plans for the Future chapter #leslieeissott #tristanseger

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cacti-are-like-flamingos · 5 years ago

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The Golden Hand

° Assassin's Creed Odyssey Imagine °

Chapter 1

You arrive in the midst of the Peloponnesian Wars with a heavy desire to go back home. Fortunately for you, you just so happened to have saved a certain misthios and now he has a debt to pay.

Good luck on your adventure home!

Fem! Reader

Central Masterlist | The Golden Hand

First, there was nothing.

Just the coldness of your room, the soft humming of your air conditioner, and the darkness of your room.

Then?

A golden light.

It consumed the very whole of you, blinding your eyes. It was so bright, so warm. You'd have half the mind of where the light came from, why it appeared when it did, but it did. And you could do nothing to change it.

But this was just future you looking back on past you. Remembering your memories with a more sophisticated, matured perspective and with amusement as your key trait.

So why don't we just look at past you for the moment?

...

The sound of waves crashing onto shore stirred you up from your slumber. The scent of sea salt lightly stinging your nostrils much to your irritation. You groaned softly, a light, that you had yet to identify its source, disturbing you greatly. Clicking your tongue in obvious annoyance, you palmed underneath you with the intent of sitting yourself up.

What the-?

You fully expected to have met the comforts of your velvet blankets, however, that was.... not the case.....? Instead, under the pads of your fingertips, you felt hot to the touch, grainy.....sand? Your eyes snapped open upon the revelation hitting your core. Squinting them in pain as they adjusted to the brightness of your surroundings only to widen in shock at that sight that greeted you upon full-adjustment.

This was most definitely not your room.

Your breath caught up in your throat, heart pound harshly in your chest.

How the hell did you end up on a--- was it that light you saw?! What kind of fanfiction-like shit was this?!

You were in total shock. Not only were you somewhere highly unfamiliar to you, but...truth be told... It seemed as though you, too, were no longer in the same time period as before.

Large wooden ships that resembled dragons adorned the harbor of the land across the body of water off in the distance. Beyond the ships showcased the mountainous terrain of the region, gorgeous columned buildings adorning its grounds. Buildings that instantly recognized as the ones in your history books, specifically in the chapters surrounding Sparta and Greece and Athens and what not.

Could it be possible that you had gone back in time? To the time where democracy first began; a time where the gods, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon ruled? But then...that would mean you'd have traveled thousands of years into the past! Hell! How were you to survive this?! You couldn't even speak the language (or so you thought).

You struggled to compose yourself, the shock starting to wear off. Millions of thoughts coursing through your kind like a white water rapid.

What about your family? Were they looking for you? Would you ever see them again? How were you going to get back home? Just where the hell was you exactly? Where the fuck did that light come from? Why me? Why do I have to suffer this fate?

These stops didn't seem to stop, but, deep down, you knew that you had to deal with the situation at some point. And you'll be damned if you didn't deal with it now. Breathing in through your nostrils, you quieted down those meddling thoughts. Calming your once racing heart, you focused your attention to the beauty of the scenery. Focusing on that was better than letting it sink in that you might not ever be able to go back home. A soft, cool breeze blew across the water, pulling the locks of your hair into a small dance of sorts. Birds chirped in the distance, harmonizing with the chatter of villagers. You breathed.

"Okay...I can do this. I can totally...do this..." You muttered under your breath as you pushed yourself off the ground, shaking off the sands from the fabric of your clothing. After doing so, you brought your hand to sit across your brow line, using the shadow providing to help sharpen the outlines of your surroundings. Turning your body around, you noted how you were standing near a dirt road, a small forest just beyond it. You nodded to yourself. Heading over to the road, you were about to step into it when all of a sudden you spotted a carriage coming from one end of it. A horse-pulled it as a man sat behind them, on the carriage, with a whip in his hand. Two women sat within the carriage, joyously conversing amongst each other. You froze upon spotting their clothing. Glancing down to your own, you fantasized how things could've gone badly for you, or so you think it could've gone.

You would've stuck out like a sore thumb! A woman wearing nothing but some shorts and a tank top, not to mention, you didn't have any shoes on. It would've brought you so much unnecessary attention. You cursed under your breath. "I guess I have to stick to the forest then. Can't be seen until I get some era-based clothing." Clicking your tongue out of irritation, you waited until the carriage passed before darting across the road and into the shrubs of the forest.

Silently praying to whatever god was still out there, to send you some kind of savior.

...

Alexios couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh leave his lips, watching with tired eyes as the bandit called out to the others in their group. Reinforcements hurrying to the sight of the scene the second the cry was heard. The Spartan rolled his eyes, annoyance bubbling inside him.

"Malakas. Now I have to deal with more." He cursed under his breath, his brow twitching. He really couldn't catch a break, could he? Readying his blade, he tightened his grip around the handle. Soon, he was surrounded by four more bandits, wicked grins on their lips as they shouted," Victory!" One of then quickly lunging at him.

Seriously was that the main word of all bandits? The number of times he's heard a bandit screamed that is just too great to be normal. Making a noise of his own, Alexios dodged the attack with ease. With their side open, the Spartan lunged forward, striking the bandits side. The blade easily slicing through the clothing to the flesh. They went down in seconds.

One down. Four to go.

Speedily distancing himself from the others, Alexios unsheathed his spear, now both hands having a grip on death itself. A snarl spread across his lips, onyx eyes glaring fiercely at his opponents. A wicked smirk soon replacing the previous expression.

“Well? Don’t be a bunch of deilós! Come at me!”

...

The sounds of metal clashing agaisnt metal echoed throughout the vastness of the hill, capturing your attention almost instantly. At first, you imagined it could be a blacksmith shaping out new blades and daggers of that sort. But upon hearing cries of agony and pain, well that chased away the thought.

By now, you had reached the very top of the hill, jaw slackening as your eyes sparkled with pure awe as you admire the view that made itself available upon reaching the peak. You had literally no idea of where you were, but-but....absolutely gorgeous. The greenness and blueness of it all overwhelmed you. You could see the whole boundaries of towns, could see the people of those very same towns, hard at work. The buildings-Oh the buildings! In your time, there were only ruins of them, remnants of the distant past. But now? They were in prestige conditions, not one single ruin in sight! Oh, the beauty of it.

You would've loved to watch the sunset down by the ocean, yet the sounds of a struggle intrigued you even further. Anxiously licking your lips, you headed over to the direction of the clanging, careful to not get seen by any hostiles.

It seemed to have been coming from a little way down the hill, hidden under the protective covers of the trees. And as much as you wanted to ignore it and go forth on your little journey to find a way to get back to your time, something resonated deep inside you. Telling you to go check it out, that a surprise laid within the struggle you heard. Maybe you were going crazy, maybe the panic had finally fully set in. Nonetheless, you obeyed the little feeling’s wishes. You massaged your temples, “Oh buddy....I’ve got nothing left to lose. Might as well make the best of this situation.”

You soon made your way down the hill, mindful or certain...fatal...drops. You gulped at the thought of not spotting one in time. Pushing the gore-ish (Is that even a word, you wondered) scenario out of mind, you neared the origin of the fight, opting to watch from behind a wide tree. You breathed in amazement as you watched a single man take down two people at once. The swiftness of his steps, the ferocity of his attacks, the accuracy of his aims---it was just like the fights on tv, but better! You were entranced with all of his movements, it was as if you were the snake and he the snake charmer.

And as much as you wished you could describe how everything began to unfold, you found yourself at a loss. Nothing could describe the sight you saw before you. He was like a dancer, just prancing around as he continuously dodged every weapon that came his way.

That was until, being busy with the two in front of him, he had yet to notice the one behind him. “Oh shit!” You panicked, not really thinking as your body moved on its own accord. You darted out from your hiding place, swiftly picking up a blade that laid beside one of the slaughtered bodies, and took the hit yourself. Mustering all the strength you had to force the assault back onto the attacker.

Shit’s harder than it looks.

...

Alexios had half a mind as to what had just occurred, but the sudden sensation of something brushing against his spine alarmed him. Did he accidentally leave his back open for a slash? Pushing back on his attacker on the front, he bent forward, plunging his spear into the bandit's side. Swiveling around, the misthios trained his blade to attack, only to pause mid-attack at the unexpected sight of a gorgeous woman, wearing bizarre revealing clothing, standing in front of him. Her jaw clenched tight as she pushed back on the bandit’s blade with all her might. Unfortunately, he’d have to stop ogling at you as the enemy developed an upper hand, your grip on the bloodied dagger weakening, a cramp forming in your forearm.

Kicking the dirty bandit in the ribs, Alexios rushed at them, plunging his blade into the depths of their skull. Blood splattering all over him as he did so. Watching as the light in their eyes vanished, the Eagle-Bearer pulled the weapon out of them, the body dropping into the dirt. Grunting, he turned to you, questions and appreciation in his onyx eyes as they trailed down your figure, lingering their gaze on the exposed flesh of your legs, specifically the thighs.

“Who are you?” A look of pure bewilderment adorned your soft features, shocked at the fact that you could actually understand him. (You didn’t notice him checking you out cause you were too busy checking him out) Staring at him for a few moments more, the sound of him calling out to you snapped you out of your thoughts. Shaking your head, you regained your composure, steadying your laborious breaths.

“I’m (F/N). You?” He smirked in gratitude.

“Alexios. It seems that you have saved me from, what would've surely been, my untimely demise.” You couldn’t hold back a smirk of your own, amused by his words. He continued, nearing you with his hand outstretched for yours,” I thank you for having my back. I am in your debt. Is there any way I can replay you?”

A memory suddenly sparked inside you.

“I bought the new game of Assassin’s Creed!” Your friend squealed in pure joy, eyes gleaming with excitement. You smiled at his happiness, “Which one?”

“Odyssey. And in this one, you get to play as either female, Kassandra, or male, Alexios.”

“Ooo, nice. That's the game that has like, uhh, the-the-the Eden pieces thing right?” Marcus nodded. “Yeah.”

The memory was brief but it helped give you an idea.

With an awkward grin, you spoke.

“Actually yes.” He arched a furry brow, surprised by the speed of your request. Nonetheless, he listened, shifting his weight to his right foot.

“And what would it be?” Curiosity in his voice. You let out a nervous laugh, hopefully, he wouldn’t think you crazy.

“Get me back home...Please.”

...

(A/N): For the life of me I HAD to make the reader be able to understand and communicate because then I'll cry lol. The same thing goes for illnesses. You bring no disease and you're mostly immune to ancient disease until I deem it fit to make you sick. You also don't know shit about Assassin's Creed--- Absolutely nothing aside from knowing that's its some videogame, so you're literally entering into the abyss of the unknown.

Sorry if the greek words are wrong, I used google translate. And I used the modern language instead of the ancient so yeah.

Hoped you enjoyed!

Dedicated to: @theravenkingishome

#alexios x reader #alexios imagine #alexios #assassin's creed odyssey #assassin's creed: odyssey #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed #ac x reader #fem!reader #imagine #romance #ancient greece #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #reader insert #readerinsert #the golden hand

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dirtgal0re · 5 years ago

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under-appreciated films i love

10.) Den of Thieves (2018) starring Getald Butler, O’Shea Jackson JR, Pablo Schreiber & 50 Cent

typical bank robbery from robbers & feds POV but it has a gr8 twist

09.) Scent of a Woman (1992) starring Al Pacino

i like to think coming-of-age films can pertain to not just teens but adults too. i.e., American Beauty (1999)

this film is ab an older blind gentleman who is being involuntary accompanied by a young teen over Thanksgiving break.

08.) Prisoners (2013) starring Jake Gyllenhaal & Hugh Jackman

ab two families whose young daughters are abducted

acting is i m p e c c a b l e . this suspense builds up tremendously!

07.) My Cousin Vinny (1992) starring Joe Pesci & Marisa Tomei

ok this isn’t realllly underrated but for the millennial generation it is.

two college kids are on their way back to school but are framed for a murder they did not commit. one of their distant relatives appears as their lawyer, though he’s inexperienced.

MARISA TOMEI IS 11/10

the accuracy regarding legal representation & proceedings is crazy good & it’s also mad funny

06.) Memento (2000) starring Guy Pearce

this joint is ab a man with short term memory loss but the twist is ... ITS TOLD BACKWARDS.

most underrated amongst christopher nolan’s work imo

05.) Comet (2014) starting Justin Long & Emmy Rossum

a non-linear tale spanning over six years of a couples relationship

/bonus+/ cinematography & coloring is 10/10

04.) Thoroughbreds (2017) starring Olivia Cooke & Anya Taylor-Joy

originally written for the stage, this film is ab two estranged friends who set out to murder one of their stepfathers

oOF the cinematography & pacing is v nonconformitive & it w o r k s SO well

rip anton <3

03.) Love & Other Drugs (2010) starring Jake Gyllenhaal & Anne Hathaway

a young woman with parkinsons disease begins a casual relationship with a sales rep

saw so many fanvids with this flick i had to watch & fell in love

02.) Before I Disappear (2014) starring Shawn Christiansen, Fátima Ptacek & Emmy Rossum

originally a short film with the two main actors reprising their respective roles, this film follows a man, Richie, in the midst of committing suicide when he gets a rather abrupt call from his estranged sister, asking for him to pick her daughter, Sophia, up from school.

the film follows Richie & Sophie on a long night out as he tried to keep her occupied & distracted while her mother is being held in police custody.

Emmy Rossum as a mom.

with a sassy daughter.

amazing family story, truly.

01.) American Animals (2018) starring Evan Peters, Barry Keoghan, Blake Jenner & Jarrd Abrahmson

part film / part doc ab 4 college students who plan on robbing millions of dollars worth of priceless literature from their school library.

based on a true story, the real participants tell their sides of the story while also interacting with their re-enactors (?) that’s not a word but let’s act like it is

#den of thieves #american animals #comet #before i disappear #my cousin vinny #memento #thoroughbreds #prisoners #love & other drugs #scent of a woman

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years ago

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Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 19

Feeling Lance wriggled away from him, Keith tightened his hold around Lance’s waist. His husband had woken twice during the night, both times due to his aching head, and needing to pee from all the water Keith was forcing him to drink. Having cleaned the sizeable lump that had formed, the cut across the top wasn’t all that deep or serious, but being a head wound, it’d bled a ridiculous amount. Seeing the wound was relatively small had been a relief. He’d also finally noticed that his husband’s underwear was still down... which wasn’t his fault when he’d been more concerned about Lance’s lucidity.

“Babe?”

Tugging his hand away from his waist, Lance was sweet as he leaned back to kiss him on the forehead. He didn’t want Lance out of his view for more than a dobosh. He’d said as much each time Lance needed the bathroom. The Cuban let him help him the first time. To the door that is. Keith then evicted so he could pee in peace, left to sulk

“Morning sickness...”

“‘k, do you want me to come with you?”

“No. You sleep”

“Love you”

Kissing Keith’s forehead again, Lance barely got out his reply before bolting

“Love you, too”

Unable to truly fall back to sleep without Lance in his arms, Keith dragged the top blanket along with him towards the bathroom. Hitting the open button, he found it devoid of Lance. His heart skipping an uncomfortable beat. He wasn’t there. Tracking his way back to their room, he found Kosmo wasn’t there either, yet now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember with a hundred per cent accuracy that Kosmo had been on their bed. Still, Kosmo not being there was barely a drop in the ocean when compared to the rising panic of Lance doing a runner on him. Whatever it was, whatever was bothering him, he could have back to their room so they could talk about it. Even if Lance wanted to take Kosmo for a walk... He still needed to know things like that. Grabbing his boots, he ditched the blanket on the floor as he went about forcing his feet into his boots. Why was Lance so fucking stubborn!? He’d said he was going to throw up. Not vanish from the ship like that was a thing Keith allowed around here. Nearly forgetting his comms in worry, he doubled back to find Lance’s still there. His husband was grounded. When he found him, he was grounded.

Storming down to the cargo bay, the ramp was already down. Various items from their camp lay across the top, as if hastily thrown in. Sitting in the dark, Zethrid was staring down the ramp at something invisible

“Have you seen Lance?”

Walking up to stand beside her, Zethrid tilted her head back to gaze up at him

“He said he couldn’t find Kosmo so was going to have a quick look around camp”

Idiot. His husband was an idiot

“It looks to me like you packed up. Did something happen?”

“It started raining, so we moved into the ship. I offered to help him look, but he said he’d be right back. That was half a varga ago. I wanted to go after him, but if I woke everyone up, Ezor would question what I was doing out here in the first place”

Half a varga. Lance could have run laps around the whole clearing in that time. Keith would have stepped on to the ramp, if it wasn’t for something in Ezor’s tone that stopped his legs from moving. Zethrid was hard to read until you get to know her, like many Galra she still saw weakness as cowardly, despite the strength it took to admit you’re not doing ok. He felt the pull to ask her what was wrong, as clearly as if she’d tugged on his hand

“Are you alright? Did something happen with Ezor?”

“Do you think she’s happy?”

Keith shifted his weight, nervously rocking forward onto the balls of his feet, before dropping back

“I’m pretty much the worst person in the universe to be asking that one to”

“When you and Lance fight, how do you make up?”

“What happened? It’s not like you and Ezor to fight”

“I don’t know... Maybe we’re not supposed to be together”

“That’s crazy. You adore each other...”

“Do we?”

Zethrid was acting strange... Her and Ezor were one of the last couples Keith thought would ever hit the skids. The way they communicated was almost telepathically. All it took was a single glance between them, to express so much more than a varga long conversation

“Ezor is mad about you. And you’re mad about her. Have more faith in your relationship. Ezor’s not the type to keep her mouth closed if she’s unhappy. If something is bothering her, then try talking to her. Lance and I... we haven’t been doing to great when it comes to talking. But we’re trying to... It’s mostly my fault. I’m not as good with words as he is. I don’t mean to upset him, sometimes we go quintants without talking. He usually caves before I do. Why don’t you head back to bed? I’m going to go find out what happened to Lance and Kosmo”

“You think she’ll see me?”

“I think out of everyone here, you’re the one she wants to see the most. Have faith in yourself. I do. I’m heading out, I expect not to see you here by the time I come back”

Wandering around the forest close to the clearing, Keith was starting to get pissed. The puny amount of light coming from his comms barely cut through the overwhelming darkness. Tree shadows had him jumping, his heart thudding uncomfortably hard. Calling out Lance’s name for the umpteenth time, the half-Galra was getting kind of sick of yelling for his husband. The dripping rain had soaked his light shirt into dark murky grey. Kosmo was responding either. He may just kill the pair if he found them curled up sleeping. He was done. He was cold. Directionally misplaced. Miserably. And slightly murderous

“Lance! You better answer you damn shit! Kosmo!”

All of the trees looked the same in the dark. He had to have been trekking for at least a varga now. How could Lance have been so stupid as to go walking the dark!?

Tripping over another tree root, Keith was done. Opening his comms, he forgot about the magnetic storm, nearly throwing his comms in a fit of rage before forcing down a breath and redialing... and redialing... and redialing... and... finally quiznakking answering

“Acxa. It’s Keith. My dumbarse husband has gotten himself lost”

Sighing in annoyance, Acxa flared at him

“What do you expect me to do about that? He’s your responsibility”

Jerking backwards, Keith growled

“And I’m your commanding officer. Gather the others and meet me here”

“Fine. Don’t blame me if no one wants to come find him in this weather”

First Zethrid was acting weird, now Acxa was pissed. He couldn’t blame her. It was lousy weather, yet she wasn’t usually so pissy. With the call cutting out or Acxa hanging up, Keith hoped she wasn’t too pissed to come find him...

Being stuck in the middle of the forest was not Lance’s idea of a good time. For one, he didn’t have his shoes with him. And for two, he’d spent the last however long trying to untangle Kosmo from the thick brambles he’d gotten his coat caught up in. Finding Kosmo missing shouldn’t have been a surprise, yet when his fur son had refused to leave his side, he felt lonely without his warm and comforting weight... and worried he’d gotten himself into trouble, which he had. Whimpering softly, Kosmo had a deep scratch across his nose and blood around his muzzle from where he’d tried to get himself free. Apparently he was so stuck that he couldn’t teleport out.

“Lance! Kosmo! Where the fuck are you!?”

Barking at Keith’s voice, Kosmo wiggled, tangling himself further. Their son was stupidly stuck. Stupidly stuck for no good reason

“Stop it!”

Lance’s fingers had been pricked for pieces trying to free Kosmo. His whole body tail wag scratching them up further

“Lance?! Kosmo!?”

“We’re over here! Kosmo needs help!”

There was a long few moments of silence, before a scream. Kosmo bolting forward, cutting himself as he took Lance out as he tore clumps of out fur without dislodging himself completely

“Lance! Where the fuck are you!?”

Lance was torn between Kosmo and Keith. Kosmo was stuck, but Keith’s scream... Keith was the only one who could have screamed

“I’m sorry buddy. I’ll get your father and I’ll be right back”

Kosmo whimpered at him, pawing sadly

“I’ll be right back. I promise. Keith! Keith, I’m coming!”

“Over here!”

Jogging through the dense forest, Keith wasn’t terribly far from their location. His husband leaning heavily against a tree

“Keith!”

Rushing to him, his husband slapped his hand away with a growl

“Where the fuck were you!?”

“Kosmo...”

“Kosmo, what?! What have you done to Kosmo!?”

Lance ignored his husband’s anger, not that it didn’t sting as if he’d physically struck him, but because Keith had screamed. Keith was hurt and Keith wasn’t used to being hurt

“He’s stuck in brambles... I’ve been trying to get him out... What happened?”

“He’s stuck in brambles, and you thought you could get him out!? What kind of idiot are you!?”

“A complete one. Now what happened?”

“Something went through my fucking boot!”

“Stop yelling at me! I’ve been picking fucking brambles out of Kosmo! Show me your foot”

“You’ll only make it worse”

Lance was done. Soooooo done. Swatting down, he lifted the foot that Keith wasn’t weight bearing on. Running his fingers over the base, he could feel the ruffness

“I think a bramble went through your boot. Wrap your arm around me”

“What do I need to do that?”

“Enough with the attitude! I’m going to support you over to Kosmo, so I can get him free and we can get you medical help”

“None of this would have happened if you weren’t here”

“Oh get fucked. No one asked you to follow me. I was going to get Kosmo unstuck and come back with him”

“You should have woke me up! I thought you were going to throw up!”

Keith was acting strange... His scent... was weird. It itched Lance’s nose, stirring something in his instincts

“Kosmo didn’t come when I called him... Stop being such an arsehole. He can’t get out. You can at least limp. He’s stuck and he’s hurt”

Standing up, Keith slapped him off away again. Lance had known that Keith would most likely be mad... But it was Kosmo. Their fur son. Kosmo would charge into danger to rescue them

“You know what. I’m going back to help Kosmo. When I heard you scream... When he heard you scream... we both went into a panic. He tore himself on the brambles trying to reach you. And you can’t keep your tongue long enough to care. So stop being a dick”

“Fine. Whatever”

With his arm around Keith, he led him over to Kosmo who was still fighting to free himself. Growling, Keith pushed at him, resulting in his husband falling on his arse. Letting him fall, Lance stalked back over to Kosmo, only to be joined by Keith a few ticks later

“Get our the way, I’ll do it”

“I’m working on it”

“Right. That’s why he’s covered in scratches”

“He had most of them when I got here. Go sit down and raise your foot up. Don’t disturb the bramble. It’ll be bleed like a bitch if you do. Plus, we don’t know how embedded it is”

Starting to work on the brambles, Kosmo whined softly as he licked at Lance’s arm

“So now you give a shit. I have to hurt myself for you to care”

The lump that had been swelling in Lance’s throat, finally caught. He felt as if he’d never breath again. His words breathy and low, as his chest tightened

“I’m sorry... I’ve always cared...”

“You don’t! All you care about is having things how you want them! You probably got yourself pregnant so I wouldn’t leave you”

“I... didn’t...”

“Please. We all know you need to be the centre of attention. Why don’t you sit in the corner and scoff down those pills? Oh, wait.

“I’m Lance, I don’t need to do what the doctor says, because I’m such a screw up. Hahaha”

“Shut up!”

Scrunching his eyes closed, Lance forced his fingers to keep moving. Keith was in pain. Keith was in pain. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t. Trying to tell himself that wasn’t doing anything. Keith was right. He was nothing more than an attention seeking whore. He couldn’t even do his heat right. He couldn’t... he couldn’t take his pills. He couldn’t control his emotions around Keith. Keith didn’t want to be married to him any longer. He knew it. They couldn’t fix this. Keith didn’t want to fix this. Because he wasn’t worth it. Keith was like a bright and guiding light, while he was the dank sewers that the light never reached.

“Nothing to say? That’s not like you. Usually I can’t get you to shut your mouth. You keep yapping on and on. You’re so fucking useless. No wonder Allura had to off herself in order to get away from you. You couldn’t even kill yourself properly”

Keith’s words cut bone deep. This wasn’t lashing out from pain. This was a precise attack on his heart. His husband able to finally voice his thoughts, and stop hiding behind his lies. Everything must have been so hard for him. Putting up with him. Fucking him. Listening to him talk on and on...

“There you two are! What the quiznak do you think you’re doing!?”

Speaking for the group, Lance turned back to see Ezor standing in front of their companions

“Lance fucked up and got Kosmo stuck”

“That sounds about right”

Zethrid following up with

“He’s so fucking useless”’

Now he’d hurt Zethrid and Ezor? He hadn’t meant to... Zethrid had seemed down when he’d passed her, but she’d assured him she just needed some space to breathe

“Get our the way. We’ll get Kosmo out”

Shoved out the way by Zethrid, Lance landed awkwardly against his bruised side. He knew Keith didn’t believe that he’d been hit in the head and that’d been what caused him to fall from the tree. Taking out their blades, the group started working to free Kosmo, each of them sniping at each other as they did. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Zethrid and Ezor didn’t fight. They were one of those bad arse couples that were secretly adorable with each other in their private moments. He’d seen all the loving glances they sent each other’s way. It made him happy to know they were doing so well. This wasn’t normal. Digging his fingernails into his palms so he had something real to hold and focus on.

“Guys. I think something’s wrong. You’re all acting strange”

Pointing her blade at him, Acxa’s voice oozed poison

“The only thing wrong and strange here is you”

“See! That’s it! You’re all acting aggressive!”

“Because you’re nothing but dead weight!”

“There’s something wrong with this planet!”

“Then leave! You’re useless! I don’t know why my girlfriend has to waste so much of her precious time on you! She doesn’t even want you in the family!”

“It’s not you saying this! It’s... the plants or something!”

“Don’t make excuses for your weakness!”

Accompanying his yelling, and so loud it drowned out the screaming reply of Acxa, the brush litter across the forest floor rustled. Shuffling, creaking and snapping, the leaves danced as if on strings

“There’s something in there!”

Lance felt as if he’d angered the planet. The moment he’d said something, the air in the forest changed. His senses were telling him that they were no longer welcome there. Not once had he had that feeling while setting things up. It felt as if the forest was angry at them for existing. The brambles around Kosmo, that Keith’s team had been hacking at, started to regrow at an accelerated rate. Getting to his feet, Lance ran towards Zethrid, wrapping his arm around her waist and trying to pull her away. Shooting forwards her, the bramble twisted around her blade hand. Screaming in pain, Lance was thrown back as she tore away from and grabbed the bramble. Beneath his arse, the ground rumble, as if the planet was shrugging. Feeling it start to rise again, the Cuban rolled on all fours, making it a few inches before the ground beneath him gave way. His hands unable to find purchase as he slipped backwards, nails cracking and tearing in his struggles.

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pomegranate-belle · 6 years ago

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For Day 1 of MattFoggy Week: Favorite Canon Scene/Favorite AU

There’s a special place in my heart for my “Turn Left” AU, where lil Matty doesn’t give Stick that friendship bracelet; as a result, Stick doesn’t leave, Matt ends up becoming a member of the Chaste, and he and Foggy only meet during the DD S1 timeline. God only knows when I’ll make the time to really round out this AU and post it officially, but here’s the MattFoggy bits.

Matt sat on the roof, back pressed to the access door leading down to apartment 6A, and lost himself to the noises in the rooms below him. Soft breathing, snoring, and the gentle cadence of three resting hearts. All of it cradled in a quiet, familiar-sounding ballad. He hummed along for a few bars, feeling buzzy and drunk, and the world went soft against his senses like silk. For the first time since returning to New York, he’d found something that drowned out the pain and terror of the city around him. Arms wrapped tightly about himself, Matt yawned quietly and settled in for the night.

Matt clutched the edge of the roof tightly, his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth dry with… With fear. The voice in the back of his head that sounded like Stick was derisive, but Matt’s ears were still ringing with gunshots and his nose burned with the scent of blood and Foggy Nelson had almost died.

And despite all his training and all his strength and all his haste, Matt hadn’t been the one to save him.

The words hot beyond all reason came to mind first. The guy was about Foggy’s height, wiry and well-built with bone structure that a Greek god would cry over. His brown hair was tousled from the fight, and the split in his lower lip only served to emphasize the insane perfection of his features. His cheap plastic black sunglasses were cracked across the bridge, his equally cheap shirt ripped and torn, and his cargo pants splattered with dark spots of blood. The sneakers on his feet looked about five years old and the laces were frayed beyond belief.

“Uh,” Foggy stammered. “What. I… Who are you?”

“Matt,” said the stranger with a sharp smile. “You can call me Matt.”

“If they’ve all been working together, where were you and your weird ninja people when the Russians attacked Jo? Or Karen? Or me?”

“The Hand is all that matters,” Matt explained matter-of-factly, tossing his shattered sunglasses into the dumpster clear at the other end of the alley with alarming accuracy.

“No it’s not!” protested Foggy.

Matt scoffed, shaking his head and still turned towards the dumpster, away from Foggy.

“You don’t understand,” he said, in a very patronizing voice that almost made Foggy rethink his attraction to him. “The Russians, the Chinese, even Wilson Fisk, they’re all… They’re only human. The Hand, they’re a—they’re a different breed altogether. They have access to power normal humans can’t even comprehend. That’s why the Chaste exists, to stop them. Everyone and everything else is just background noise.”

“Well excuse me if I’m not, like, super reassured by that since those ‘background noise’ Russian mobsters tried to turn me into Swiss cheese!”

“So that’s it then?” Foggy demanded, head still spinning. “You just… Just swoop in, save me from ninjas, and then flip away?”

Matt tilted his head to the side. His expression was smooth, calm, a little skeptical.

“Basically,” he concluded.

“What… What the fuck, dude, who does that?”

Matt’s mouth quirked up into a really, really infuriating smirk.

“I do,” he answered.

And then he leapt up, latched onto a fire escape, and scaled it to the roof. Within seconds, he was gone.

“What the fuck,” Foggy repeated under his breath. “What. The fuck.”

I said too much again, he realized with a groan, and ruffled a hand through his sweaty hair.

Always were a sucker for a pretty voice, weren’t you, Matty? mocked the voice in his head that always sounded too much like Stick. It wasn’t wrong, though. Something about Foggy Nelson… Something was throwing him off. And that would be bad for everyone.

He’d need to keep his distance going forward, Matt decided. Protect Foggy from the shadows. Be careful not to speak to him again at all, let alone too much.

Staying away altogether never even crossed his mind.

“Seriously, you saved my life,” Foggy said emphatically. “Whatever it is, it’s no trouble.”

Matt shuffled for a bit, picking at the threadbare fabric of his pants. His shoulders were up around his ears, and his mouth was twisted in a way that very clearly screamed ‘pain’. With how tense Matt was, Foggy was pretty sure he himself would have tapped out, like, instantly. But then, well, Matt was some sort of crazy ninja, so maybe it was a ninja code stoicism thing.

“It’s…” Matt paused, wetted his cracked lips, shook his head, and made an odd aborted gesture with his hand near his right ear. “Too much. Too loud.”

Foggy frowned. Normally, he’d tap his foot while he considered the problem, but if everything was already ‘too loud, too much’ that couldn’t possibly help. Instead he scuffed a hand through his hair.

And then paused.

“I’ve got just the thing.”

Foggy stepped as quickly and lightly as possible over to his closet, and began rummaging through the disorganized pile of boxes in the corner. Textbooks, knickknacks, Columbia sweatshirt… There!

He returned with his prize clutched in his hands. Matt tilted his head, eyes closed, and swayed a little, dizzily.

“Headphones?” he asked.

“Oh contraire, buddy,” said Foggy quietly. “Not just any headphones. These babies are noise cancelling, and they got me through three months of pre-divorce blowout from a couple in 2-C.”

He settled them over Matt’s ears gently and grinned at the sight. After a few moments of contemplation, Matt opened his sightless eyes and smiled too.

“Oh,” he said softly, the tension sloughing off his frame like rainwater, and it was probably the most delicate, precious sound Foggy had ever heard.

For a badass killer ninja guy who also spent a good amount of his non-combat time just being a huge asshole, Matt was just… Entirely too fucking adorable. Jesus.

“Better?” Foggy asked, wondering if Matt would still be able to hear him, if his senses were really that good.

Matt’s blinding grin was all the answer to that question Foggy needed.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Matt’s lips turned up at the corners in the most awkward, heartbreaking little smile Foggy had ever seen in his life. He slid his unfairly beautiful fingers along the frames of the glasses one last time and then slipped them onto his face.

“Well?”

Foggy swallowed.

“They, uh… Look good, buddy,” he said, as if that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

“Oh my god he’s straight,” Foggy groaned into his hands. “He was raised by nuns and Jedi ninjas. He’s got to be so straight. Kill me.”

“Is this really the sorta bullshit at the top of your priority list?” Frank demanded, turning to Jo and Karen for an answer since Foggy was clearly in no state to give one.

“We lead complicated lives,” said Jo. “Now come on, Foggy, it’s not all that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s worse.”

Frank continued to look completely done, and Karen shot Jo a helpless look. Jo returned it with a subtle ‘ok’ symbol.

“Thought tall sexy blondes were usually your type anyway,” she mused. “Y’know, like Marci. And Captain America.”

With a groan, Foggy let his head thump against the counter.

“Between you and Matt, I’m starting to think I have two types,” he mumbled.

Instead of being actually helpful for once, Jo just nodded sagely.

“Well. You are bisexual,” she told him. “Now we know you’re not a fraud.”

“I hate you.”

“We gonna talk about those damn Hand ninjas or what?” Frank cut in harshly, although Karen thought she could see the slightest hint of softness, amusement, in his expression.

“We could all be dead in the next week,” Jo pointed out blithely, shoveling another bite of pie into her mouth. “Now is not the time for sleeping on concrete and eating gruel, Matt. Hell, things get much worse and I might pop a handful of Benadryl so I can eat a goddamn pizza again before I die.”

“Is that—is that really how you’re processing your mortality?” Matt asked after a long pause.

“Yes. Also, hand me that caramel sauce.”

Matt passed it over, his face somewhere between baffled and disturbed. Foggy just bumped his shoulder gently, holding out the plate of cookies.

“Look buddy,” he said. “Conceal don’t feel might work for you, but the rest of us don’t get into deadly ninja battles every day. And it’s not like one night of junk food is gonna negate those frankly impossible abs, so c’mon – live a little! Jo’s chocolate chip cookies are to die for.”

Matt picked up a cookie and nibbled at the corner delicately.

“I don’t have to be able to see them to know that stains like this don’t wash out,” Matt said softly.

He reached up, ostensibly to wipe the blood from his cheek, but his fingers were so trembling and nerveless that he only smeared it across his face.

“Not like that they won’t,” Foggy said gently, purposely misunderstanding him. “But get a little vinegar on it and your shirt will be good as new, Matty.”

Matt smiled mirthlessly as Foggy lifted the washcloth and scrubbed the blood off him.

“And my soul? Gonna clean that with vinegar too?” he asked.

“If I have to.”

“Whatever you—whatever you think we are, friends, or… We’re not. You can’t be more important than the mission. Having friends is just another weak point that an enemy can exploit,” Matt said harshly.

“And if you don’t care about anyone, what then?” demanded Foggy, stung. “What’s even the point of saving the world if you don’t give a shit about anyone in it!”

“I want… To make things better for him. To get him the hell away from that freaky-ass Jedi ninja cult,” Foggy admitted, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Beneath all the brainwashing and kick-ass martial arts, he’s so… Soft. Bright. Good. But I don’t think he’ll stay. Not for me, or for anyone.”

Jo nodded.

“It’s his choice, Fog, he’s a grown man,” she told him quietly, thinking of the gentle wonder on Matt’s face at the feel of silk, the taste of chocolate. “But, I. Maybe, you just have to give him a reason to stay. A place that could be home. We can do that, Foggy, I know we can.”

“… Matt…?”

Foggy almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Matt, standing in the middle of Foggy’s living room looking like he’d been through a woodchipper and then been patched up by… Well, by a machine. Not badly, per se, but with no regard for appearance. Bare-minimum, Spartan care, nothing cosmetic, nothing for comfort. It made Foggy think of Stick, and his stomach twinged with acid.

“Hi,” Matt said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Jesus Christ, Matt, what happened to you? What are you doing here, you look like you need a hospital!”

“We… We won,” Matt said, swallowing harshly. “Nobu’s… Gone. The rest of the Hand has gone underground, for now. They’re not working with Fisk anymore. You won’t have to worry about them.”

It was absolutely a circumspect way to look at the situation, clinical and bare-bones. But Foggy Nelson was a lawyer. A damn good lawyer. And he was great at reading between the lines. Finding the things people meant but didn’t say.

“The Chaste is leaving, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and mostly succeeding. “You’re leaving. This is goodbye.”

Matt swallowed noisily again, and refused to show his face. He ducked his head and studiously picked at a loose thread on his hoodie. Foggy wanted to shake him, to cry, to make demands, but he knew that only deep, open silence would draw Matt’s words out into the air.

“There never—” Matt took a deep breath. “Foggy, there never should have been a, a reason to say goodbye in the first place. We were never supposed to meet.”

“I don’t believe that, Matt.”

Matt stood sharply and ran his busted-up hands through his hair. He laughed, but the noise was nothing like the night they had eaten junk food together and tried to forget the world around them. There was nothing bright or happy about it.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Foggy, it doesn’t. Matter,” Matt hissed, pacing the room like a caged panther. “I was never supposed to interfere. Or, or care. I’m not a—I’m not like you, or Jolene, or Karen. I’m not even like Frank Castle. I have one job, one purpose, and that’s to stop the Hand. However I can, regardless of anything else. For right here, right now, that job is done. I just came to—I just. I had to… Just one last time, I had to…”

Matt’s pacing slowed to a stop, and he shook his head. The expression on his face was torn, helpless, and Foggy’s heart plummeted into his stomach like a stone, like a lead weight. His chest was cold, and his pulse was steady, and even though Matt was only feet away it felt like it would take miles to reach out and touch him.

“You could stay,” Foggy said at last, and couldn’t keep his voice from breaking. “With me. With us.”

“Foggy, I can’t.”

“You’re not a tool, Matt, you’re a person. A person I care about, we all do! And Hell’s Kitchen is your home! You’re worth so much more than, than cannon fodder for the Chaste’s bullshit ninja war! You’re Matt Murdock and you belong here! You could belong here. You could have a life and… And things for yourself. You’re worth that, no matter what that asshole Stick told you. You’re so kind and good and you… You’re worth everything, Matt. You deserve so many good things.”

When Foggy stepped through the door with Matt on his arm, Jo’s apartment fell silent. Several mouths dropped open, but Foggy narrowed his eyes and shook his head minutely.

“Welcome back, Matt,” Karen greeted at last, gently.

Matt’s smile was tremulous, but it was real, and that was enough for Foggy.

“Thanks, Karen,” said Matt. “It… It, uh… It’s good to be back.”

“Your glasses are on the shelf to your right,” Jo added. “We hoped… Well.” She cleared her throat, then abruptly pitched her voice into a more jovial tone. “The rest of us look like bad Elton John cosplayers when we wear ‘em so thank God you two finally showed up.”

Laughter rippled through the room and broke the last of the lingering tension as Matt snagged his glasses from the shelf and slid them onto his nose. With that last barrier put up, a certain tension dropped from his shoulders. Foggy shook his head and couldn’t help but smile.

“Gonna make room on the couch for us?” he asked. “Or do I have to sit my shapely Irish ass on someone’s lap?”

Matt clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“I’ve been what I am for—a long time,” he choked out. “And I know I can’t erase that but I’m not sure it’s what I want to be anymore. You know?”

Melvin nodded with a quiet hum of agreement.

“I was like that too. But Betsy says, she says you can always do better and change, if you wanna. Betsy helps me be good. Maybe your friends can help you.”

“Yeah. Maybe they can. But I think… I think I need your help too, Melvin. I need you to make something for me.”

“They’re in his apartment,” Matt said into the phone, making sure one ear was tilted towards the window – and Foggy and Karen’s heartbeats – even as he spoke to Jo. “He’s not even trying to hide. He wants to— to lure us out. He doesn’t even know Hoffman is missing yet.”

“They… Do they sound alright?” Jo asked weakly.

Matt took a moment to listen closer to the penthouse apartment. The heartbeats within were racing a bit, but Matt didn’t hear bones creaking when they shifted. He didn’t smell blood either. Fisk’s mountain-heavy steps thudded rhythmically across the floor of the room. Back and forth, back and forth. His voice, still low and growling, paced the same away. A quiet pendulum, a monologue.

“He hasn’t hurt them,” Matt assured Jo at last. “We’ll go in soon. Call Officer Mahoney, we’ll leave Fisk for him.”

Matt was distracted for a second by the restless movement by his side. Frank checking and rechecking his guns. He didn’t comment – the impatience was understandable, and it was thrumming through Matt’s veins too.

“You two,” Jo said, and Matt could hear her swallow nervously. “You be safe, both of you, and… A-and bring them back.”

Matt smiled.

“We will. See you soon, Jolene.”

Jo laughed, though the sound was wavering and edged in fear.

“You don’t see shit,” she said.

Then they both hung up.

“Finally,” Frank muttered. “We gonna go or what, Red?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Matt slipped his clubs from their holster and dropped the phone into their place.

“Matt…”

“Can I… Can I…?” he asked softly, desperately, his hands still framing Foggy’s face.

“Yeah, I…” Foggy nodded. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Then Matt leaned in and kissed him – soft, quick presses of lip to lip. One, two, three, four, five as though he had to keep making sure that Foggy was still there, still real. Each one sent a spark of warm electricity jumping down Foggy’s spine.

“Hey,” he said at last, between kisses. “Hey. I’m right here, Matt. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, so just…”

Pressing forward and smoothing a hand through Matt’s tousled hair, Foggy eased them into something slower and lingering. The tension dropped from Matt’s shoulders and he made a soft noise that had Foggy wanting to bundle him up in about fifteen fuzzy blankets.

“Foggy,” Matt breathed when they parted for air, resting his forehead against Foggy’s. “Foggy, I… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… He should have never…”

“Hey, c’mon. I’m fine. Karen’s fine. You and Frank saved us, Matt. It’s over, ok? It’s over.”

“You made the right choice, you know?” commented Karen. “I think… This is where you’re supposed to be.”

Matt grinned, the smile huge and dorky and wonderful.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so too.”

It was a heartwarming idea, Foggy reflected, to be able to believe that in the end all roads lead you home. He generally considered himself something of a skeptic – but with a cheap beer in his hand, pressed against Matt at shoulder and thigh, able to look at the full room of friends around them, it seemed about right.

#mattfoggy #mattfoggyweek #daredevil #writing #turn left au

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