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scary-grace · 11 months ago

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 21) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 21

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You were okay with that when you bought it, but right now the thing that’s wrong with your house is the fact that you’re not in it. Tomura is coming home today – is home right now, in fact – but you’re not there with him. Instead you’re out to breakfast, in the same diner where you and the others plotted to kill the conjurer, with every single human in the neighborhood. Plus Inko, because why not?

You said you’re in the diner. It would be more accurate to say that you’re trapped in the diner, because you’re stuck in the corner of the booth between Shinsou and Jin’s entire family, wedged in so tightly that going out over the table or under it would be impossible. You’ve determined that this is Aizawa’s fault, so you glare at him. “There had better be a good reason why you dragged me here.”

“It’s for your own good,” Aizawa says. “And for Tomura’s, so if you claim to care about him –”

“If I claim to?”

“You’ll allow us to speak. We have more experience with this than you do.”

“None of us had help,” Jin’s mom says. “We had to figure things out by trial and error, and given the situation, we didn’t think it would be fair to let you go through the same thing.”

“Helping a ghost get used to being a human is hard,” Shinsou says. “And getting used to being human is hard for a ghost. We’re helping you. The other ghosts are all at your house helping him.”

“Oh.”

“They have a lot of stuff to explain,” Keigo says. “Stuff you wouldn’t want to explain. Like body stuff.”

“And hygiene stuff,” Inko adds. “They’re used to dematerializing any time they get dirty. Having to clean up is an adjustment.”

“It’s all an adjustment,” Aizawa says. “Our purpose here is to make the adjustment as easy as possible. Let’s begin.”

“No, let’s order,” Keigo says. The server’s here. “Hi. We’ll need a lot more coffee than this.”

There are so many of you that ordering takes forever, and while you wait your turn, you think over the events of the last few days. You went back to work the day after you were discharged from the hospital, scared the hell out of your coworkers, and got booted out by Mr. Yagi, who insisted you go home and rest. You went to the hospital instead, hanging out in Tomura’s room with the ghosts who were on shift. You and Hizashi spent some time formulating a backstory for Tomura, one that lines up with the lies you already told your parents, and Mr. Yagi helped you sneak the fake birth certificate into the government records. That was your first day out. On your second day out, you got to go back to work.

Work sucked. You tore through your inbox like a crazy person, trying to get as much done as possible, knowing you’d be out the whole next week and probably longer. Your progress was impeded by your coworkers, who’d heard rumors about what happened – you and your boyfriend getting kidnapped by a serial killer – and wanted to know if they were true. Surprisingly, Nakayama came to your rescue, shooing the others off. She made it clear that the price was a tell-all happy hour later on, but you decided it was worth it to get everybody else off your back.

Tomura woke up officially last night. The ghosts went to pick him up this morning, right around when the humans dragged you out of your house. You haven’t even seen him, and you’re so crabby about it that when the server asks you what you’re having today, you order half the menu on Aizawa’s dime.

Keigo manages to hold in his snickers until after the server’s walked away. “Gotta fuel up for when you get back, huh?”

“Hey. Gross,” Spinner protests. “There’s kids here.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. I saw what he looks like now. Too much exertion would probably kill him.” Keigo tips a huge wink at you and you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I officially call this meeting of ghost friends anonymous to order. Who wants to start?”

“Probably one of you two,” Jin says, gesturing at Inko and Aizawa. “You all have the same kind of ghost.”

Inko and Aizawa trade a glance, and Inko speaks up first. “Be prepared for a lot of frustration on Tomura’s part,” she says. “Most ghosts permanently embody themselves into healthy forms, so it’s likely that he’ll perceive some unfairness, and possibly express some regret. It’s got much less to do with you than with the adjustment to living as a human, so try not to take it personally.”

“Yeah, don’t take anything personally,” Jin agrees. “Himiko bit us a lot at first. For, like, no reason.”

You try to imagine Tomura biting you for no reason, and can’t. “Remember,” Aizawa says, “Tomura wouldn’t have been capable of permanent embodiment unless it was what he truly wanted. That doesn’t mean adjusting to it will be easy.”

“Like Takami says, the physical stuff is hard to explain,” Shinsou says. He grimaces. “But even just the rules of being human are a lot for them to figure out. They’ve been watching us all follow the rules, but they’ve never had to do it themselves, and they’re still them. They still don’t get a lot of the stuff we do. He’s gonna ask a lot of questions. And he’s gonna complain.”

“Magne had this thing about crosswalks,” Spinner says. “Also about clothes. She still has a thing about clothes. She thinks she can wear whatever she wants, wherever she wants, whenever she wants, as long as the important bits are covered up. I don’t really know how to explain that you just can’t do some stuff.”

You sort of like Magne’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about it, but you can see how it would cause trouble. “The more power they had before they embodied themselves, the less attentive they are to social norms or boundaries,” Aizawa says. “Behavior in public is something to be watchful of. A public indecency charge is not something you want to incur.”

He’s scowling in a way that says this piece of advice is coming out of personal experience. You can’t decide if you want to hear the full story or if you never want to think about it again. “I mean, I think you’ve done sort of a good job training him on this stuff already,” Keigo says. “He’s got some social skills.”

You feel like he might be giving Tomura a little too much credit. “Like three social skills.”

“That’s three more than Dabi’s got,” Spinner points out, which shouldn’t really make you feel better but does anyway. “I hung out with him more than anybody except her, and he’s not that bad. It’ll probably get harder once you two start going out in public, but he’s not starting at zero. He’s at like – level three.”

“One level for every social skill,” Shinsou says, and snickers. “Nice.”

“I think the larger problem is overstimulation,” Jin’s mom says, and it takes all your self-control not to start in with some really inappropriate thoughts. “However they’ve been perceiving through their senses when they’re embodied, it’s much more intense when the embodiment’s permanent – at least from what we saw with Himiko.”

“In general, they struggle with one sense more than the others,” Aizawa says. “For Eri it was taste.”

“Himiko, too,” Jin’s mom confirms. “That might have been what the biting was about. She also struggled with smell, which makes sense, since taste and smell are fairly connected. What about Magne, Spinner?”

“Sight for sure,” Spinner says. “Light sensitivity, color sensitivity, everything. She sees colors the rest of us don’t even know exist. It’s cool. But it sucked at first.”

“For Hizashi it was hearing,” Aizawa adds. “Ghosts are able to hear in multiple dimensions, and his hearing was particularly sensitive as a ghost. It took him two years to be able to go without noise-canceling headphones outside.”

You have a feeling you already know what Tomura’s oversensitivity is going to be. Given the number of contact allergies he’s already displayed and what he was like as a ghost, physical touch is going to be a big problem. It’s so daunting to think of that it pushes you into asking your first real question of the day. “How did you help them cope with it?”

“Patience,” Inko says.

You thought that was a given. “Time,” Jin’s mom adds.

“Space,” Aizawa says, and everyone nods. “Now, for the first few weeks –”

You knew helping Tomura adapt to being human wasn’t going to be easy, but as the ghost friends outline all the things you hadn’t even considered, you begin to grasp just how hard it’s going to be. Every last ghost did damage to their relationship with their human, or humans, while they were trying to adjust. Every human had more than a few moments of thinking how much easier it would have been for their ghost to stay a ghost. Even Hizashi and Mr. Yagi, who were the most intentional about their embodiments, had days where they made living with them feel impossible. You’re glad everyone is being honest with you, thankful that they aren’t sugarcoating it, but your stomach is tying itself in a knot.

Tomura’s embodiment wasn’t just an adjustment, it was a last resort to avoid being sucked back into the world between. And it almost didn’t work. If even the ghosts who wanted this were nightmares to live with at first, what’s going to happen with him? Nobody can answer that for you, or tell you how to cope with however many times Tomura will probably tell you that he wishes the two of you had never met. All they can tell you is the same three things: Patience, time, and space.

To be fair to the ghost friends, they highlight the fun stuff, too. Spinner talks about taking Magne to a museum for the first time, and to a mall. Jin and his family turned themselves into foodies so they could try everything alongside Himiko. Even before Shinsou and Eri were adopted, Shinsou taught himself to make candy apples, because Eri had seen them on TV and wanted to try them. Aizawa, looking as calm and reflective as you’ve ever seen him, talks about taking Hizashi to movies, to concerts, to the opera, and watching him hear things as they were meant to be heard for the first time. Inko, smiling broadly, tells you about when she was pregnant, and Mr. Yagi’s reaction the first time he put his hand on her stomach and felt Izuku kick.

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost,” she says, laughing. “He didn’t know babies did that.”

Keigo is laughing, too. You picture Mr. Yagi’s startled expression, the one you’ve seen so many times right before he starts coughing blood, and find it in yourself to smile. “They’re still themselves underneath it all,” Inko says. “Even if it takes time to see.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Most of the plates are empty, including yours. You’ve been eating steadily just to have something to do with your hands. “There’s one more thing,” Keigo says. “Stronger ghosts keep some of their powers when they embody permanently. According to Touya, Tomura kept a lot of his. He can still read auras, like they all can, but he can project a pretty strong aura all on his own. And he can still drain stuff, even if he can’t do anything with the life-force. So far it’s looking like he needs to touch something with all five fingers for it to happen, and since it’s not anything close to a natural human ability, he has to really want to destroy it. Just keep an eye on him if he starts to get mad.”

“Okay,” you say. “What else?”

“We’re happy for you,” Shinsou says, and Inko nods, smiling still. Everybody’s smiling, now that you notice it. “It’s a big thing. And it’s a good thing. Now you’re really part of the neighborhood.”

You could be. You can be, now that you and Tomura can both leave if you want to. For a moment, hope begins to tug at you – but then you remember what Keigo said, and what everybody else said about patience, space, and time. It’ll be a long time before the two of you can be part of anything. And probably a long time before the two of you are a two of you again, too. Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he looks at it. “They’re finishing up over there. We should head back, too.”

He heads to the cash register to pay the bill, and the rest of you work on extricating yourselves from the booth. You wince as you stand up, feeling your stitches pull. Keigo notices. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll live.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard with this stuff,” Keigo says. He gestures awkwardly at his broken arm with the other. “It’s a lot to bounce back from. I’m here when you need to talk. Like I have been.”

“Same here,” you say, and Keigo smiles. “And, um – thanks for taking over with the kids, during the fight. I had to try.”

“It was a pretty good try,” Keigo says magnanimously. “You ran a fire poker right through that guy’s chest. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You know, I think your house is still the scariest house in the neighborhood,” Jin muses. “I figured Dabi’s house or Aizawa’s was going to take over, but nope. Tomura still has a bunch of his powers and you almost killed two guys. You’re the scariest for sure.”

The scariest house in the neighborhood, and now you’re part of the reason why it’s scary. The list of things that make you feel better these days is short and weird, and Jin’s statement gets added almost instantly. “Thanks.”

You all carpooled in the Bubaigawara van, and Jin’s mom parks it in front of her own house, allowing everybody else to spill out onto the sidewalk. You and Keigo and Aizawa are last out, and as you get your feet under you, you notice a lot of ghosts milling around in front of your house. In front of it, not inside the fence. You make your way over, stumbling a little bit. “Did he kick you out?”

“Nah, we left. Figured he needed some processing time,” Hizashi says. He’s looking past you, at Aizawa. “Hey, what are you doing walking around? You’re supposed to rest your leg.”

Himiko skips up to you, towing Eri and Izuku after her. “It’s all fine,” she tells you, smiling. “He understands everything and we gave him some of everybody’s clothes until he can buy his own.”

“He looks even more like me now!” Eri is bouncing from foot to foot. “He’s going to come over to our house.”

“Oh.” You wonder if Tomura actually meant it, or if he just said it so she’d leave him alone. “That’s – nice.”

“You’re invited, too,” Eri assures you. Then she, like Hizashi, looks over your shoulder. “Dad! Hitoshi!”

Himiko peels off to meet Jin, leaving you with Izuku, who’s watching the house. “Tomura’s still really powerful,” he says. “Even when he’s human the aura is still there. Dad says he could probably take on a strong conjurer, even like this.”

“What else did your dad say?”

“That’s for you to ask Tomura yourself,” Mr. Yagi says, drawing up alongside Izuku. He smiles at you. “I’ve cleared your schedule next week. Let me know if you need more time.”

“And call if you need anything,” Inko reiterates. She takes Mr. Yagi’s hand and wraps an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Come over for dinner when you’re ready.”

“Yes!” Izuku looks way too happy at the thought. “I have lots of questions for both of you!”

You decide you’ll wait a while to take them up on that invitation, but they’re not the only ones who stop to talk to you specifically. Each of the ghosts stops by briefly, all of them reassuring you that Tomura’s fine. You’re not going to believe them until you see it for yourself.

Finally, Aizawa and Hizashi are all that’s left. Aizawa hands you a book – another one of his. You read the cover out loud and snicker. “What To Expect When Your Ghost Embodies Itself? Great title.”

“It’s a little boring,” Hizashi says, and you realize he doesn’t get the joke. Aizawa is smirking slightly. “Good stuff in there, though.”

“It covers everything we discussed earlier, and a little more,” Aizawa says. “Good luck.”

“You probably won’t be up to it, but come over later if you want,” Hizashi says. “That conjurer ruined our Halloween, so we’re throwing a make-up party at our place. Costumes mandatory.”

There’s no way you’re making it to that party. You thank them for the invitation anyway, tuck the book under your arm, and step through the front gate into your yard. Up the front steps, through the unlocked door, into the front hall. Some part of you is expecting Tomura to materialize in front of you, but he can’t do that anymore. “I’m home,” you call out, and Phantom comes scrabbling across the floor towards you, wagging her tail. You greet her, then pick her up. “Tomura?”

“In here.”

He’s home. Your heart leaps so hard and fast it seems a little ridiculous, and you hurry into the living room to see him. He’s there, sitting on his usual couch cushion, wearing some bizarre mix of clothing from every guy in the neighborhood, plus a pair of socks that could only have come from Himiko. The urge to launch yourself at him, to climb all over him like he’s done to you so many times and prove to yourself that he’s alive and he’s safe, is overpowering. But you remember what the others said. Patience, time, space. You don’t want to overwhelm him. You set Phantom down on the couch next to him and take a few steps back, keeping a respectful distance.

It’s quiet for a while. You break the silence. “How do you feel?”

He has the hood of his hoodie up, throwing his face into shadow. “Like shit.”

That’s about what you were expecting. You need more detail if you’re going to help, but you don’t want to push him. “Did everything go okay at the hospital?”

His shoulders lift, then fall. You see him grimace. “It was weird. All that stuff they did. The stupid paperwork is over there if you want to look at it.”

“Okay.” Before, when he wasn’t human, you’d have helped yourself. Now – “Do you want me to look at it?”

Another shrug. If he didn’t want you to, he’d say no, right? You pick the folder up off the coffee table and open it to the discharge summary, which is a mistake. The list of injuries Tomura came in with is staggering. Seeing this, you’re amazed they only kept him in for five days. “Well?” Tomura asks.

You set the folder down. “You healed up really fast.”

“There are things wrong with me,” Tomura says. One hand rises to scratch his neck. “My skin is messed up. I’m – allergic.”

“I have allergy medicine for stuff like that. And itch cream.”

“They gave me some.” Tomura still hasn’t taken down his hood. “What did the humans want?”

“They wanted to tell me how to help you adjust,” you say, and Tomura makes a derisive sound. Phantom stirs, whines, and noses closer to him. “What did the ghosts want with you?”

“To explain.” The derision is obvious in Tomura’s voice. “Like I’m stupid or something.”

“You aren’t. They don’t think that,” you say, only to realize that Tomura still probably knows what the other ghosts are thinking better than you do. “They probably don’t want you to make the same mistakes as they did. From what the humans were saying, they all made a lot of mistakes.”

“They almost scared their humans off.” Tomura’s voice goes weirdly flat. “I already did that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know what I look like. When I saw the picture on the ID, that was the first time.” Tomura seems to sink further into his hoodie, and suddenly you understand why he hasn’t taken down the hood. “No wonder you didn’t want me embodied. You’d have to look at me all the time.”

“Tomura –”

“I just wanted to stay. I didn’t want to go back. I thought it would be the same, but it’s not,” Tomura says. There’s a weird strain in his voice now, one you’ve never heard from him but know intimately yourself. “There are things wrong with me. I’m ugly. You wanted me when I was a ghost and I was powerful, not when I’m human and weak. You won’t even come near me.”

“No,” you say, and Tomura scoffs. “No! When I was talking to the others, they said it’s hard to get used to a human body – stuff might be harder to cope with now that it’s permanent – they said I should give you time and space –”

“I didn’t do this so I could have time and space!” Tomura’s still got enough power to rattle the walls without raising his voice. “I did it so I could – so we –”

His voice breaks. Phantom edges closer to him and he shies away, both hands coming up to cover his face at odd angles. You stand there for a moment, paralyzed by the decision between everything the other ghost friends told you and what Tomura’s saying now, what he’s doing now. But in the end it’s not a decision at all. You hurry around the coffee table, move Phantom to the cushion at the far end of the couch, and sit down right next to Tomura, getting in his space without asking the same way he always does to you. You pry his hands away from his face one at a time, and he fights you. He’s fighting you with a fraction of his strength and you both know it. “Let go. I don’t want you. I don’t want your pity –”

“It’s not pity,” you say. He lets you have one of his hands and you immediately try for the other. “I don’t know what this is like for you. I’m trying to do the right thing, but I should have just asked you what you needed. I can do better.”

“You don’t want to. You don’t want this!” He pulls his hand free of yours to gesture at himself. “I know what you wanted. You wanted –”

“You.” You don’t even have to think before you answer. “I wanted you. I want you.”

He stares at you from between his fingers. You give up on trying to free his hands and press in close against his side. He startles at your touch, but doesn’t shy away. He smells like the hospital. His voice is quiet, shaky, strained. “You liked when I was cold.”

“It was nice. But I’ve got AC. And now I can hold you for as long as I want without getting frostbite.”

“You liked that I got rid of the bugs.”

“I’m still making you get rid of the bugs,” you say, and Tomura makes a sound that’s too watery to be laughter. “But I can get rid of my own, too. I had a whole plan for that hornets’ nest.”

“Your plan sucked.” It did sort of suck, looking back. Tomura’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You liked when I was stronger than you.”

“You’re still stronger than me.” You can feel it when you touch him, a faint thread of power vibrating just beneath his skin. “That’s not the important stuff.”

“What is?”

“Everything else,” you say. “You’re still you, Tomura. It might feel different to be in the world like this, but you’re still who you are. That’s who I want. Who I love.”

It’s quiet for a long time. “You liked the way I looked before.”

It’s a weird enough thing to say to startle a laugh out of you. “The way you look now is how you’ve always looked, Tomura. Your hair’s a different color, that’s all.”

“I always looked like this.” Tomura sounds skeptical. “You said I was pretty.”

“You are pretty.” You reach for the edges of his hood and his hands come up, grasping your wrists, holding you still. He holds you there for a few seconds, then lets go, and lets you pull down the hood.

It’s him. Those same features you saw outlined in steam in the bathroom, on your back porch with the ashes of a hornets’ nest at his feet. The same red eyes that have watched you for almost two years, that have catalogued every inch of you, that looked up into yours after the gateway to the world between slammed shut for the last time. You’ve seen all his expressions before, except this one: The way he looks when he’s been crying. As you watch, his pupils open and shut, and more tears slip down his cheeks.

You scramble to wipe them away, cradling his face in your hands. He flinches when your palm gently meets his cheek, and you draw back, only for him to catch your wrist and press your hand hard against his skin. That feels normal enough to make you smile. Tomura’s never been shy about pulling you around. “You’re pretty,” you say again. “You’ve never looked any different than this. I like it. I don’t care if you do. I don’t care about anything except that you’re home.”

“But –”

“The next words out of your mouth had better not be ‘Dabi said’.”

An aggrieved silence falls, and you find yourself struggling not to laugh. It feels normal. It feels like any weird little argument you and Tomura have had, except that he can’t dematerialize to teach you a lesson and you can’t end the fight just by stepping outside. “You love me,” Tomura ventures after a while. “Like this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say. “Of course I do.”

Tomura knocks you over a second later.

Cuddling on the couch is more complicated than it used to be, mainly because Tomura’s a long way from being used to what touch feels like in a truly human form and he can’t get comfortable the way he usually would. If he can barely stand to stretch out on top of you, there’s no way he can handle kissing, and you can tell that the overload of sensation doesn’t turn him on so much as it fries his brain. Not that that stops him from trying to kiss you more. “Take it easy,” you say. “You just got home. I don’t want to take you back to the hospital because you tried to kiss me and had a heart attack.”

“That doesn’t happen,” Tomura says with confidence. Then, as you watch, you see him start to doubt himself. Some how he’s less sure about humans now that he is one. “Does it?”

“It could.” You remember something from a few days ago about how too much exertion on not enough calories could damage Tomura’s heart, and he still feels way too thin. “Can you reach your discharge papers? I want to read them.”

He reaches out to grab them from the coffee table, but it’s ever so slightly too far away. Before he’d dematerialize one hand, snatch them, and bring them back. Now he just glares at them and keeps glaring – and as you watch in some mix of surprise and horror, the folder lifts from the table and drops to the ground next to the couch.

Tomura realizes you’re staring at him and smirks. “I never said all my powers were gone.”

Now that he’s realized you still love him, he’s cocky, but you’re not annoyed about it. You’re not going to forget what it was like when you got home, what it was like to see him cry, and you’re not dumb enough to think today will be the last time it comes up. Tomura flops down again, his head against your chest, and you pick up his discharge papers and flip through them. Sure enough, there’s one specific instruction highlighted and in bold type. “No intense physical activity until you’re cleared by a doctor,” you say. Tomura scowls. You keep reading. “Your follow-up’s in two weeks. It’s not that long.”

“Maybe if we go slow –”

“No.” You set the papers down and trace over one tendon in his neck, wincing as he twitches and writhes and digs his knees and elbows into every soft body part you possess. He’s lying on top of all your stitches, and it’s starting to hurt. “You can barely handle being touched at all right now. I’m not going to send you back to the hospital and I’m not going to melt your brain.”

“It’s my brain. I get to decide –”

“You don’t get to leave me,” you say, and Tomura looks up, startled. “Two weeks.”

Tomura studies you for a moment. Then he flops down again. “Fine. Two weeks. But then I get to – what happened? Why did you make that noise?”

You tried not to. Really. But one of the too-prominent points of Tomura’s ribcage just dug directly into one of your largest wounds, and you think you might have popped a stitch. Tomura sits up, pulls you with him, starts yanking at your shirt. “I want to see. Let me see –”

Your shirt turns to dust in an instant. You didn’t realize Tomura could do that to things that weren’t alive, and you sit there, bemused. Tomura is staring at you, eyes blazing with fury. “My marks,” he says, and you nod. It occurs to you that this is the first time he’s seen the extent of your injuries. “How did he take them out?”

“One at a time. With a knife.” You try to make light of it, try to sound like it isn’t haunting you, like waking up in a hospital bed after it was all over didn’t scare you so badly that you had to be sedated. “Not my best Monday ever.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Tomura’s voice is hard. “He hurt you so much you wanted to die. I should have killed him slower. It should have taken exactly as long as this did.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover up the worst of the wounds. The doctors who treated you had decent poker faces, but since you’ve gotten home, you’ve gone out of your way to avoid getting a good look at what happened. Tomura’s expression as he looks at you tells you everything you need to know about how bad it is. “I haven’t even had them for a week yet,” you say. Your voice sounds thin. “They won’t look like this forever.”

Tomura’s jaw clenches. “I don’t care what they look like. I care that they hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You sit there numbly and Tomura watches you, clearly thinking something over but not doing it, whatever it is. “I can’t,” he starts frustrated. “I can’t do the thing I want to do anymore. When I wasn’t materialized I could –”

He makes a gesture, and suddenly you understand what he means. You crawl forward across the couch into his arms, and he wraps himself around you. It’s not like it was before. He can’t enfold you completely like he used to, fitting like a second skin. But now you’ve got something solid to lean against, someone who’s warm like you are, someone who maybe understands how you feel about this whole thing. Tomura’s hugs were always a little awkward, even when he was fully materialized. He didn’t understand what was comfortable and what wasn’t, why you’d be at ease in one position but not in another, and he’d complain when you tried to adjust. Tomura’s not complaining now. He adjusts with you, and once you’re settled, you try not to move too much. It’s weird. But it’s the kind of weird you can get used to.

“You smell nice,” Tomura says after a little while. He unwraps one arm from around you and sniffs his own armpit. Then he makes a face. “I smell weird.”

“You smell like the hospital,” you say. “We can fix that. Want to shower?”

Tomura gives you a suspicious look. “I’m not allowed in the bathroom while you’re in there.”

“That was before.” You think over the events of the last week. He’s already seen you naked. The two of you have had sex. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s human. Whatever objections you had, they aren’t valid anymore. “The rules still apply if either of us is using the toilet, but we can shower together. If you want. Do you want to?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, which means yes. “I thought you’d never let me.”

There are a lot of things you thought would never happen, and a lot of them happened in the last week. You pull yourself out of Tomura’s arms reluctantly and lead him up the stairs.

You check over your wound care instructions and Tomura’s as he gets undressed. Everything looks about the same for both of you. You also take the opportunity to go over the list of known allergens the doctors gave you yesterday. Almost all your soaps and shower products meet the criteria already – low to no scent, hypoallergenic, no harsh chemicals. You set out an extra towel and an extra sponge and lay down a bath mat, then turn on the water.

Since you met Tomura you’ve been taking hot showers, but they can be hard on skin, and you don’t want Tomura to faint. You opt for warm water instead, take off your own clothes, and inspect your stitches for a moment before stepping into the shower. The spot Tomura elbowed by accident looks unhappy, but the coarse black stitches haven’t come undone. Seeing them makes you feel sick. You look away and step into the shower, leaving the door cracked for Tomura to follow you in.

There’s room for both of you inside, but it’s a close fit. You have a feeling that you and Tomura will be having a discussion about the impracticality of shower sex at some point in the future, but that’s not for today. You switch positions carefully with Tomura so that he’s under the majority of the spray and watch him startle as it patters against his skin. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You’ve spent a lot of time wondering what Tomura’s thinking since you met him, but it occurs to you that you can ask. “What’s going on up there?”

“It’s – so much. Loud. But not loud. It feels like – a lot.” Tomura’s hair is plastered to his face from the water. He pushes it out of his eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t want to get out.”

“We won’t get out,” you promise. “Take the time you need.”

He twists this way and that under the spray, working on getting used to it. He’s got stitches, too, all of them taken with the same coarse thread as yours. “Now what?”

You pick up a bottle of shampoo. The mild kind. “Put this in your hair and sort of scrub it around, then rinse it out,” you explain. Tomura brushes his hair out of his eyes again, looking vaguely skeptical. “Or I can do it for you.”

“You.”

You should have known he’d answer like that. He’s got enough of a height advantage on you that you’re going to need him to sit down for this to work, and there are an awkward few minutes while the two of you get settled. You lean back against the wall, and Tomura leans back against your chest, head tipped forward. “Make sure you close your eyes,” you say. “This will sting if it gets in them.”

Tomura nods without looking up. You pour some shampoo into your hand and get to work.

His hair is tangled, like always. Worse than always, because he’s been materialized this entire time, and he hasn’t brushed it at all. You forget about washing his hair for a second in favor of detangling it, and Tomura slumps back against you. “You’re still doing that now that I’m here all the time? I thought you’d stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Tomura says quickly. You return your attention to the knot you’re working through. “I thought it was just because I was a ghost.”

Huh. “What other things do you think I was only doing because you were a ghost?”

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of things. If Tomura had asked any of the other ghosts about them, he wouldn’t have had to worry, but they probably would have told him not to be stupid, which is probably why he didn’t ask. No wonder he was upset when you got back, if he thought he was losing so many things – sleeping on top of you, sitting on your lap, having his hair played with, being held. He names gesture after gesture as you untangle his hair, and you reassure him about each one.

Once you’ve worked through all the knots, you move on to washing Tomura’s hair in earnest. You don’t think you’re doing a very good job, but when your fingers slow their progress, Tomura complains in a voice that sounds distinctly sleepy. “Don’t. It’s nice.”

You add conditioner, too. Tomura probably won’t bother with it in the future, but you might as well give him soft hair while you can get away with it. Then you shake him out of relaxation and help him to his feet to wash off. He’s sort of floppy when he’s tired, and although you can already tell that it’ll annoy you sometimes, right now it’s just cute. There’s no way you’re telling him he’s cute. You hand him a sponge and some soap and put him in charge of washing his front. You’ll take care of his back.

The fight left Tomura beaten up all over, but his back took a lot of damage while he was caught between the living world and the world between, and it’s where the majority of his stitches are. Even looking at them upsets you. You can’t help but think that if you’d been faster to get to him, if you’d been stronger, if you’d called the others to help you instead of waiting for them to come on their own, he wouldn’t have spent so long trapped between worlds. He wouldn’t have been hurt like this. But that’s only the last set of mistakes you made. If you’d killed his conjurer like you meant to, he’d still be a ghost, and there’d be no marks on him at all.

“Hey.” Tomura glances over his shoulder at you, and you realize that your hands have gone still. You duck closer, hiding your face, and go back to washing, but Tomura’s not fooled. You keep forgetting, somehow, that he knows you as well as you know him. “Don’t make that face. You’re just a human. What were you supposed to do?”

“Kill him.” Your voice wavers. “So you could be human because you wanted to. Not because you didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He turns to face you, and when you don’t look up, his hand rises to hold your jaw and tilt it upward. “If I was just doing it to avoid going back, it wouldn’t have worked. I wanted to be like this.”

You know that, but – “I wish I hadn’t let you get hurt.”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t let my conjurer torture you.” Tomura gives you a few seconds of protesting that characterization of events before he springs his trap. “See how dumb it sounds when I say it? It sounds dumber from you, since you’re the human and it wasn’t even your job. You told me the stupid plan the others had. You were never supposed to do it.”

He pauses for a moment. “I guess it would have worked if I’d been materialized, though. Dabi saw you stab him. He said it was kind of hot.”

Your mind goes sort of blank at the sheer weirdness of that statement. “And he’s still alive because?”

“I can kill him whenever I want to,” Tomura says. He turns away again, and you go back to washing off the unstitched parts of his skin, shaking your head in bemusement. “I bet it was really hot.”

Tomura thinks the fact that you ran his conjurer through with a fire poker is hot. That’s probably a good thing, because you’re not sorry you did it. You rest your forehead against the back of his neck for a second, resisting the urge to kiss him, and note that his pale skin is turning pink and flushed from the water. The water’s not that warm. You should probably get him out of here sooner rather than later. Inko warned you that newly embodied ghosts aren’t aware of the physical sensations that proceed things like throwing up or passing out, and you’d really prefer for Tomura not to faint in here.

Tomura complains about having to get out, but you remind him that showering is something humans have to do regularly and shoo him out anyway. You stay in a little longer to wash up, then step out into a mildly steamy bathroom. For a moment you’re cast back into the memory of the first time you saw Tomura face to face – in this bathroom, outlined by the steam, looking you up and down with a smile you couldn’t identify as creepy or not. Thinking about it now, you know it wasn’t creepy. He was proud of himself for figuring out how to make himself visible, proud that you could see him at last. Standing here more than a year later, it’s hard to believe how much has changed.

There are puddles of water down the hall on the way to the bedroom, evidence that while Tomura’s figured out showering, he hasn’t figured out drying off. When you step into your room, you find more evidence in the form of a pile of wet clothes discarded on the ground. Jin’s mom said that the ghosts have to learn by experience sometimes. You glance towards the bed and find Tomura sitting on it, dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants of unknown provenance and – “Um, is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.” Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You’re not thrilled to see that it’s survived his embodiment. “It was right there. It fits.”

You buy your pajama shirts almost comically oversized, and Tomura’s not all that much taller than you. Something that’s huge on you is still pretty big on him. It fits, but it’s the principle of the thing. “Didn’t the others give you clothes?”

“Yeah. They didn’t smell right.” Tomura pulls the collar of the shirt up over his nose and mouth and breathes in. “This one smells like you.”

You were never into stealing your boyfriend’s hoodies, back when you had human boyfriends. You don’t love wearing other people’s clothes. But apparently there has to be at least one clothing thief in every relationship, and Tomura’s taken over the role. Tomura yawns so widely that his jaw pops, then recoils. “What was that? Why did I do that?”

“That’s a yawn. You’re tired.” You were thinking about street clothes, but just like you did the last time you and Tomura were in this room together, you opt for pajamas instead. “I could go for a nap, too.”

You climb into bed on your usual side, leaving the door cracked open for Phantom in case she comes up, and Tomura gets awkwardly into bed on the other side. “How do I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep.”

Right – he’s spent the last week either in an induced coma or heavily sedated. He hasn’t had the chance yet to fall asleep naturally. “Get comfortable,” you say, and Tomura, semi-predictably, abandons his side of the bed in favor of getting in your personal space. “Now close your eyes. You’re tired, so I bet your eyelids feel kind of heavy, right? Let them close. Think about stuff if you want to think about it, or don’t think about anything. It’ll happen on its own.”

“That sounds too easy,” Tomura mumbles, half-asleep already. “Sometimes it takes you forever.”

“Sometimes it’s harder than others,” you admit. “It’s pretty easy right now. Just relax.”

Tomura mumbles something else, but you can feel the tension leaving his body, until he’s relaxed save for the icy thread of ghostly power running through him. It’s faint, but you have the sense that that’s illusory, at least a little bit. Tomura might be permanently embodied now, but he’s the most powerful of the embodied ghosts, and probably still the least human. He can’t dematerialize anymore and he needs to eat and sleep, but it feels likely that the effect of his powers on your daily life won’t change too much.

But you can figure that out later. Right now he’s asleep next to you, his red eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, warm and breathing and undeniably alive. The same kind of alive as you are, finally. For good.

You shift a little closer to him, and his arm wraps around you tightly. That’s fine with you. You close your eyes and fall asleep almost as fast as he did.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of your phone buzzing, startling you out of a nightmare. You have all kinds of material for nightmares now, and your subconscious has been mixing and matching it in increasingly horrible combinations for the last few nights – or afternoons, since you can tell by the light coming through the window that sunset is a ways off. You reach for your phone, desperate for a distraction, and Tomura’s arms tighten around you. He sounds like he’s mostly asleep when he speaks. “No.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You get ahold of your phone and flip it to silent before reading the texts. They’re from Shinsou.

Shinsou: are u guys coming or not

Shinsou: everybody else is

Shinsou: Eri says you have to or she’ll cry

Shinsou: she says Tomura promised

She mentioned something about that earlier. You shake Tomura’s shoulder. “Did you promise Eri you’d come to the party?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “She wouldn’t leave until I said yes.”

Great. “How much do you care about making her cry?”

“I don’t care,” Tomura mumbles. You wait. “She backed me up in the fight. I owe her.”

“So we have to go,” you realize. The idea is less upsetting to you now than it was when you first heard about it, namely because you just had a nightmare and you don’t want to go back to bed. You text Shinsou back. Your dad said it’s a costume party. Do we have to have costumes?

Yeah. Shinsou sends a shrugging emoji. Not serious ones. One of my dads is going all out and the other one just has cat ears on.

Aizawa can get away with just cat ears – he’s the one hosting the party. You and Tomura are going to have to come up with something a little better. Shinsou texts again. It starts in an hour. Be there. You really don’t want Eri to cry.

You’d feel really bad making Eri cry, especially now that you remember her helping Tomura during the fight – and saving your life just beforehand. You start to sit up, and Tomura drags you back down. “No. I like sleeping. I want to sleep.”

“Humans sleep every night,” you remind him. “You can go back to sleep later. Right now we have to go to a party.”

It takes a while to drag Tomura out of bed – twenty minutes at least, leaving you with forty minutes to come up with some kind of costume. You get in your own way a little bit when you realize how cute Tomura looks with bedhead, then order yourself to pull it together. Tomura can’t shadow you as closely as he did when he could dematerialize, but he still gives it his best shot, and you two end up colliding and tripping on each other – and on Phantom – way more than is actually necessary. After ransacking your house for costume ideas and coming up with nothing, you finally turn to Google for help.

Tomura reads over your shoulder. “These are dumb. I thought Halloween was supposed to be scary.”

“It is,” you say. You decide to get into the part of Halloween that’s supposed to be sexy later – later, as in next year. Or never. “This is the wrong neighborhood for scary, though. No matter what I dress up as, I won’t be scarier than everybody else who lives here.”

And that’s when it clicks for you, oddly enough – it clicks, and you can’t help but laugh. The perfect low-effort Halloween costume. How did you not think of it before? Tomura eyes you suspiciously. “Why are you laughing?”

“I have an idea. It might get us kicked out.”

“If we get kicked out, we can come back and go to sleep again,” Tomura says. Introducing Tomura to the concept of naptime may have been a mistake. “What is it?”

You head for the stairs, and the linen closet. “You’ll see.”

It takes you approximately two seconds to assemble the first costume, and once you do, you show Tomura. It occurs to you way too late that he might think it’s offensive. But once he realizes what you are, he cracks up laughing – then wincing, as the laughter strains the stitches on his back. “They’re going to hate it,” he says. “I bet they won’t even let us in.”

“If they don’t let us in, then we get to go home right away.” You gesture at the linen closet. “Pick your poison.”

It takes you a few more minutes to leave, mostly because Tomura insists on bringing Phantom, and Phantom needs a costume, too. She’s a lot less into her costume than you and Tomura are. She keeps wiggling out of it, and while Tomura tries to lure her back under the sheet, you peer out the front window. The street still looks like hell. Everybody’s houses are still at least partially wrecked. If you drove past this neighborhood, not knowing anything about who lives here and why this happened, you’d avoid it like the plague.

You watch as Keigo and Dabi and Natsu leave their house. Natsu looks like he’s wearing normal clothes, but Keigo has a fake halo and Dabi has a pair of devil horns on. It occurs to you that Dabi might be the only other person in the neighborhood who thinks your costume is funny.

“I got her to wear it,” Tomura says, and you turn to look. There’s Phantom, wearing a flower-patterned pillowcase with holes cut out for her ears, eyes, and nose – and there’s Tomura, wearing a grey sheet over her head with holes cut out so he can see. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad,” you say. You’re pretty sure she’ll forgive you both when she realizes you’re headed over to Aizawa’s house. Shinsou is probably her favorite person other than Tomura. “You look pretty.”

Tomura gives you a once-over. Your sheet is lavender, and you accessorized with a pair of reading glasses you accidentally stole from Mr. Yagi’s office and never gave back. “Cute,” he decides. “The sooner they kick us out, the sooner we can come back.”

He heads for the door, opens it, and steps outside. You gather up Phantom’s leash and follow him onto the porch. When you turn to lock the door, Tomura stops you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they do when he’s smiling creepily on purpose. “Don’t bother,” he says. “This neighborhood is still mine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You tuck your keys back into your pocket and make your way down the front steps, to the front gate, and out onto the sidewalk. It’s not until you hear the gate’s hinges creak open again that you realize Tomura hasn’t followed you. You turn back. “Tomura?”

Tomura’s hesitating on the far side of the property line. You can’t figure out why. He’s left before. He was away from the house for five days – but not by choice. The ambulance took him away and the other ghosts brought him back, but in all the time since he was summoned, Tomura’s never left the property of his own free will. You hold out the hand that isn’t grasping Phantom’s leash, and he comes closer to take it. His hand is warm.

Warm, and a little sweaty. He’s nervous. “We don’t have to go to this thing,” you tell him. “You just got home today. It’s a lot. If you’d rather stay home, we can.”

“You want to go.”

“I think it might be fun.” Mostly you want to see what Hizashi does when you roll up to his party dressed like the world’s most stereotypical, low-budget ghost. “But I still like it’s best when it’s just us. If you don’t want to go, we won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

“Because you love me,” Tomura says, almost hesitantly. You nod. “I love you, too.”

It’s a good thing you’ve got the sheet on. You’re not sure you want Tomura to see the goofy smile you’re wearing. Tomura raises his free hand and touches your mouth through the sheet, feeling along the curve of it until you dare to kiss the tips of his fingers. He startles, and you remember the touch sensitivity. It’s fine when he’s the one initiating contact, since he’s the one who decides what he can handle, but you need to be careful. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He kisses you.

It’s not a great kiss, given that there are two layers of cotton between your mouth and his, but you’ll take it. You’ve always been willing to take what you can get from Tomura, and you’ve gotten more than you ever expected. It came at a price, sure. You’ll be paying that price in one way and another for the rest of your life, but it’s worth it. It would be worth it if Tomura never crossed the property line again.

But Tomura draws away from you without letting go of your hand and steps forward. You step back to give him space, and watch as he sets one foot over the line and onto the sidewalk, and then the other. And all at once, for the first time in a hundred and ten years, there’s nothing wrong with your house at all.

The End

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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jqmalikhsgib · 5 months ago

Text

too sweet

one

eddie covers his eyes as he walks out of his apartment complex in new york. the paparazzi blinds him with the flashes of their cameras as they ask him a bunch of questions. Eddie’s simply ignores them before getting into the back seat of his car as his driver takes off.

he pulls out his cell phone to call his manager. they were on their way to pick up the younger, curly haired boy.

“henderson, be outside when we pull up! i don’t want to be late. i got shit to do man.”

“yeah, what’s that? hang out with yn all day?”

he could almost hear the boy smirking. “none of your business. just be outside.” eddie ends the call before sighing.

he opens up his messages before smiling. yn had texted him a cute little photo of her holding the plush pillow he’d bought her last week. she looked adorable as always.

it’s been six amazing months with her. he fell for her so hard and fast, like no other. before dating yn, eddie had been sleeping with whoever wanted to get into the rockstars pants. he lived the rockstar dream forreal. sex, drugs, and rock and roll. his friends were either dating or married by now. eddie thought he was still to young to settle down. he’s had only been twenty-nine after all. but on his thirtieth birthday, when most of his friends from high school had canceled coming to his party, he’d been alone with strangers or some celebrities he barely even knew.

he looked around and felt alone. when he saw yn his heart skipped a beat—or maybe it was the cocaine he’d consumed just ten minutes before—and he felt alive again. at first he ignored his heart beating out of his chest and the butterflies in in stomach. he’d thought he’d just fuck her, tell her to leave his apartment the next morning, and be labeled as an asshole once more by another artist who assumed they’d start dating soon after.

yn was completely different. as soon as he approached her, she’d roll her eyes at him, call him a junkie loser, and went off to find her best friend who forced her into coming here. that made the metal head open his eyes. no woman has ever turned him down—at least not since high school—but here he was, being called out by the most beautiful woman he’d seen.

eddie had to know who was. finding out she’d been a famous rapper, he contacted her agent, got her information, and met her at an award show. when he saw her again she’d look amazing. during the after party, he walked over to her again and had to know what turned her off.

yn shrugs her shoulders and let him know she’s dated nothing but drunken, drug addicted, losers in her life and was done picking up the pieces for them. she wanted someone stable who could take care of her and visa versa. a healthier relationship where she didn’t have to babysit a man. eddie understood that. it wasn’t like he was addicted to drugs, he was addicted to partying, but he knew if he wanted a chance with yn he’d have to change.

so, he asked for a chance. she was very hesitant until she agreed three weeks later. since eddie has cleaned up his act. he stopped partying so much and started taking yn out instead. he’d take her to the fanciest restaurants, closing it down for the evening. but she wasn’t into that.

yn told him she’d be fine, perfect even, if someone would simply take her to any fast food restaurant and get the most fatty foods their were and cuddle on the couch while watching some sitcom. eddie provided her with just that. from that moment he fell for her. she wasn’t like these other hollywood superficial stuck up brats like he’d seen over the last eight years of being in the spotlight, no! she was just like him.

she grew up in texas. the neighborhood she was raised wasn’t exactly the greatest. she learned a lot from her mother but her father hadn’t been a good man and was arrested when she was just six years old. her mother died two years later in a car accident. she’d been raised by her grandmother from that moment on. eddie started to love her more and more as the time went by.

eddie had thought long and hard about asking her to move in with him. he knew they’d only been together for six months but he knows she’s it for him. all his life all he’s ever wanted love and support. he’d have it in his uncle for years, his friends, and even bought love once he became successful. but he’s never had something like this before. he wants to wake up next to her and go right back to bed the next night. eddie thought about the life they’d have together. one day he will marry her and maybe have a couple of babies running around. he knew it may seemed fast, but yn was the one. he made up his mind last night. he’s gonna ask her tonight after dinner and hope to god she says yes.

when eddie arrives to dustin’s penthouse he sees the younger boy kiss suzie before hopping in the backseat of the car next to eddie.

“hey dude!”

eddie had hired dustin to be his manager once the boy graduated high school in hawkins. dustin was someone who had amazing planning set skills, he’s organized, and unfortunately the kid was right—and very condescending about it—all the time! dustin was the perfect person to manage his schedule. on top of that he knew dustin. he would wasn’t like these hollywood elites who wanted nothing but half of your earnings for doing the bare minimum. he knew dustin wouldn’t screw him over.

“what’s on the agenda today, henderson?”

dustin grabs his folder and reads over eddie’s schedule. eddie didn’t have much planned today. he’d mostly just be doing a few meet and greets with fans, promoting corroded coffins third studio album coming out in june.

“after you’ll have the next two days to just relax. i was thinking maybe we could call up el to hang out. she’d been a little down since the break up.” dustin states.

eddie sighs.

he hated that eleven was going through this break up with mike. all those little rascals were like little siblings to him. though it felt like him and steve were more like co parents to them than anything, he loved them all unconditionally. still, he knew mike had been fighting his feelings for will for so long. it was only a matter of time before mike finally confessed to will how much he loved him. it couldn’t be easy though. with will being her step brother and both him and el still living with their parents, he knew mike would still be coming over. it sucked seeing them together, he’s certain. he remembers the same thing happening when nancy broke things off with jonathan to be with steve again.

he knew just like jonathan, el would move on and find someone for her.

“it depends how tonight goes for me.”

dustin frowns. “what’s happened tonight?”

“im gonna ask yn to move in with me.” eddie smiles hugely. dustin stares at him long and hard. he bites his bottom lip trying to keep whatever he thought to himself. eddie noticed and nudged him.

“what’s with this look, henderson?”

“it’s just—don’t you think you’re moving a little too fast? i mean you just barely said ‘i love you’ to this girl. are you sure you’re ready for this big of commitment? she hasn’t even met any of us yet.”

“yeah, so?”

“eddie, she hasn’t met wayne yet! that’s the most important person in your life. how could you be ready to move this girl in when you barely know her? im just saying, have you thought all this through?”

“dustin, you don’t get it man. ive never felt this way about anyone before. i love her and im ready to take this step. i thought it all through. every last bit of information, every pro, every con, everything man! if i wasn’t sure, one hundred percent, i wouldn’t be asking.”

dustin hums. “i just think she should meet your family first. in fact you should probably meet hers if it’s that serious.”

eddie thought about it before they pulled up to the center eddie was meeting with fans.

when eddie got home he sighs as he takes off his dirty clothes before hopping in the shower. he thought about what dustin said once more before getting out and ready for his date.

he knew how he felt for yn. he knew she was the one for him. he knew he wanted her here everyday, but dustin had a point.

wayne wasn’t just his uncle. he’d been the man that raised him when his mom ran off with some rich asshole and his dad got arrested for nearly killing someone. wayne was more of a father than his real dad. he was the most important person in his life along with the rest of the people from hawkins. they were his family. if he wanted yn to be apart of his life he’d have to introduce them at some point. eddie smiles as he texted everyone, letting them know he’s having a get together im hawkins soon and everyone better show up or he’d knock on their doors and force them onto the plane himself.

when he heard his door bell ring he got up and opened the door. there stood his beautiful girlfriend. yn smiles shyly as always before eddie kisses her cheek and allows her in.

“you look amazing, sweetheart. absolutely gorgeous as always.” eddie states.

“thanks, eds. you look handsome as always.”

“sorry im running a little late, babe. i had to sign a few autographs and take some photos.”

“yeah? how were the fans?”

“amazing as always! they’re all excited about the album coming. one of them asked about you.”

yn blush. they’d been keeping their relationship a secret for awhile now. it wasn’t too much of a secret, really. they’d been seen going out to dinner, having lunch, walking hand and hand occasionally. it was out there, but neither of them confirmed nor denied the rumors. though they did recently had their fans go crazy. eddie had only been following corroded coffins official page for years. recently he followed yn. yn on the other hand hadn’t followed anyone until she followed eddie back. the internet is losing their shit over eddie and yn new found relationship. the two didn’t mind though. they loved their fans but they also loved a little chaos and drama more.

“yeah? what’d they say?”

“they said my girlfriend is the prettiest woman out there and asked if we’re ever gonna confirm we’re dating.” eddie wraps his arms around her waist.

“hmm, what did you say in response?”

“i just said thank you and took the photo.”

“not suspicious at all.”

“i don’t think so.” eddie said smugly.

yn kisses him passionately. eddie hums before pulling away while yn groans. “later. i wanna take my beautiful girl out, show the world she’s mine, then bring her back home and maybe dance to some cheesy ass song, yeah?”

“that sounds great, eds. come on! im starved.”

eddie chuckles before grabbing his keys as the couple leave his penthouse and head out to dinner.

um—do you guys like this? is it worth asking if you want to be on the taglist? i kind a just stopped asking and stopped adding people to any taglist because i thought maybe my stories weren’t that good.

im self doubting honestly. i even thought about quitting and deleting everything i wrote. idk anymore.

anyway, tell me how you feel. hope you like it, really.

#jqhotchner #jqhotchner masterlist #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson series #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar eddie munson

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afictionaladventure16 · 2 years ago

Note

cat dad pedro and the cat he “didnt want”

El Gatito (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Word Count: 2,094

A/N: I'm not Chilean I am Mexican... soooo I tried my best to do what I thought he would say... But I hope this is what you were hoping for!

Your heart pounded in your chest as your anxiety rose the closer you got home. You giggled as the small kitten you rescued moved inside your sweatshirt, with every move it tickled more and more. Finding the kitten was not on your agenda for today, nor was it on the agenda for any day and you knew it definitely was something that your dad wasn’t going to take lightly.

He loves animals, but with how hectic his schedule is, he felt like owning one wasn’t the right choice. Especially how bad he felt having you jump from place to place when he was off filming, but you had begged your dad many times to let you get some sort of pet. The first was a goldfish, that lasted a good few months until your cousins accidentally dropped it on the floor and well, anyone could imagine how well that went.

The second was a hamster and well, your dad tried to play it off that the hamster ran off, but it did not take you long to figure out what really happened. After that, your father started to get bigger roles and it meant being away for longer periods of time. Which led to his decision on no more pets.

But now, you were thought you were responsible and old enough to get a pet and it was as if the universe was agreeing with you. On your way home from school you heard a small meow coming from a trash bin from one of the neighborhoods near your apartment complex. You couldn’t believe it when you found the little kitten in a tapped box, with only a few holes in the box for air, how cruel humanity could be. You didn’t hesitate to pry open the box, inspecting the small kitten before tucking it under your sweatshirt to shelter it from the harsh winter air.

You don’t know how your father is going to react, but you knew the kitten was better off now here with you than it was just a few minutes ago. “It’s just temporary,” you said to yourself, “we’ll foster it until we find a new home for him.” You were confident in your plan, pretend to foster and just slowly fade until a foster fail.

You sighed to yourself as you walked into your apartment building, making your way to the elevator. You looked into your sweatshirt as you waited for the elevator, “I really need you to be on your best behavior, kitty,” you whispered, hoping that the kitty remained silent long enough for you to make it into your room. The elevator door dinged as the doors opened, you stepped in, pressing the correct button for the floor.

Once you were in front of your door, you took in a deep breath before opening the door. “Papi?” you called out as you stepped inside the apartment. You felt the kitten move slightly at the sound of your voice, you walked down the hall, “papi?”

“In here, cariño!” He called from his office. You walked over to the office, standing at the doorway. “I only got a few minutes before I have a meeting, so How was school?” Your dad asked as he looked at you with a big smile.

“It was great!” You smiled, “I won’t keep you, I have a lot of homework to do,” You said as a small meow came from your sweatshirt.

“What was that?”

“N-Nothing,” You smiled, “I should ge-” another meow, followed by the kitten beginning to rustle within your sweatshirt.

“Cariño, what’s that moving inside your sweatshirt?”

“What’s what moving inside my sweatshirt.”

Your dad sighed, taking off his glass before pinching the bridge of his nose, “Take whatever is inside your sweatshirt out right now.” You stared at your dad for a second, hoping that maybe his meeting would start and he could forget everything that is happening right now. “Saca lo! Horita mismo, Y/n!” (take it out, right now)

You rolled your eyes, taking out the small kitten from underneath your sweatshirt, “Ay, Y/n. Ya sabes lo que siento por tener animales.” (you already know how I feel about keeping animsl)

“I know, papi, but I found in a trash can,” you looked up at your dad with your best puppy dog eyes. “He was inside a box that was all taped up, it was so cruel.” Your dad sighed, you were right it was cruel and well, he felt like arguing with you on this would probably turn into a big argument. Maybe it was time for him to give it a try. Plus he couldn’t say no to those eyes of yours.

“Okay, fine, pero no quiero mirar caca en el piso, okay?” (but I don’t want to see poop on the floor)

“Well, it’s a cat, he’ll poop in a litter box.”

“I guess that’s better than nothing, I don’t want scratching up my furniture either,” he sighed, as he glanced at his watch, “My meetings gonna start in a little bit. We’ll talk about getting him to a vet later, for now I want you to do your homework.”

“What? Why?”

“Because your a cat mom now, mija. We have to go buy things for your kid, right?” You couldn’t help but smile, “now go do your homework.”

~~ Time Skip ~~

It had been a few months since you’ve gotten the kitten. Your dad had taken a while to get used to the idea, but today was going to be officially the first time your dad had to take care of the cat without you there. You had planned on going to a friends house for the weekend, meaning your father had to do everything for the kitten.

“He eats at 6 am every morning,”

“6 Am?!”

You gave your dad a small glare, “I feed him before I go to school, so yes, six A.M.” He sighed before motioning for you to continue. “And then he eats again at Three Thirty P.M. otherwise he has small snacks in between and before bed. You have to clean his litter box every day or he will not go and it’ll start to stink.”

“This cat is more high maintenance than I am,” your dad commented. “Anything else?”

“Make sure he has water at all times and he likes to cuddle at night. He might get three A.M. zoomies, but if that happens just leave him in my room to let it all out.”

“Zoomies?” Your dad gave you a puzzled look.

You smiled, “you’ll see tonight.”

“What do you mean, I’ll see tonight?”

“Nothing! See you tomorrow!” You grabbed your things and walked out of the apartment, leaving your dad with your cat.

Pedro looked over at the cat, who had been staring at him from the couch, “No me mires asi,” (Don’t look at me like that) he then rolled his eyes, “I’m talking to a cat.”

The rest of the night was peaceful enough for Pedro and for a moment he thought you had overexaggerated how crazy your cat can be. He glanced over at the cat who had spent most of the night laying down on his designated pillow on the couch, that’s all he’s been doing all night. It felt easy enough for Pedro.

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” Pedro began to say, “Should’ve gotten a kitten sooner if this all you did.” But Pedro would soon regret saying that. He went to bed not long after midnight, leaving the door open to his bedroom and your room to give your cat options to sleep in. He wasn’t sure if your cat would want to sleep in a room he has yet to step foot in, but Pedro had given him the option. “Goodnight, Gatito,” (kitty) Pedro said as he layed in his bed. Gatito wasn’t your cats name, but your dad couldn’t help but always call him that.

Pedro wasn’t sure what time it was when he heard the loud crash, but his first thought was that it was finally happening. His place was finally getting broken into.

He ran out towards the living room, “What the!?” He exclaimed as he saw his T.V. was on the ground along with a few couch pillows. “Que cagada paso!?” Pedro heard a meow coming from behind him, he turned to find your cat walking in from the kitchen, “Gatito, what did you do?” And in an instant it was as if your cat was on drugs, he began climbing the couch and then ran along the cushions.

Pedro groaned to himself, you had warned him about this. He ran behind the cat, catching him after a few minutes. Placing the cat inside your room, he closes the door behind him, “No wonder her stuff is always broken,” He said to himself as he placed the cat on the floor. The cat continued with his chaos, as if nothing had ever happened. Pedro laid himself on your bed, hoping the chaos would soon be over. He watched as your cat ran from one side of the room to the other and couldn’t help but laugh at the silliness. Of course, he could’ve been angry about the broken television and the other small things that are completely replaceable, but he wasn’t. Because that’s what they were, replaceable.

It was all replaceable, to him, everything except for you and the joy this cat had brought you over the past few months. For a long time Pedro was worried about how hard it would be for you, travelling to and from different places, staying at his sister’s house for long periods of time, and not having your mother. He noticed the sadness in your eyes, even if you tried to hide it from him and he always tried his best to be everything you needed. All he hoped was that you knew that and maybe he was quick to say okay to the cat because he saw something in your eyes he had missed. He saw something light up and he saw the little girl he missed and deeply cared for.

Pedro’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard a loud purr come from his side, he glanced over and spotted your cat cuddling beside him. He took in a deep breath, placing his hand on the cat, “you’re not so bad after all, gatito.” Pedro closed his eyes, the purring was soothing to him.

You came home earlier than expected the next day. You weren’t having that much fun at your friends house, “Papi?” you called out, but no response. It was still before nine, so there was a good chance your dad was still asleep. You made your way over to his room, but was quick to notice the open door and the empty bed. “Weird,” you said to yourself. You shrugged to yourself, he could’ve gone to run errands; you made your way over to your room. As soon as you opened the door, you were met with a surprise. Your dad laying on your bed, dead asleep, with your cat curled on top of him. You smiled as you took your phone out and captured the moment before posting it on your instagram, captioning it, “The dad and the cat he never wanted. #CatDad”

You climbed on the bed, lifting your cat off of your dad, “What are you doing with my gatito?” You heard your dad say.

You chuckled, “Your gatito?”

“We bonded last night,” your dad mumbled, “now put him back.” You rolled your eyes before placing your cat back on top of your dad. Your dad opened his eyes before sitting up on the bed, placing the cat on his lap. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, “What are you doing home so soon?”

You shrugged, “was anxious to see the damage.”

“No damage here.”

“Really? Because it seems to me we have no T.V.”

“Some damage here,” your dad smiled.

“Plus, I would have never gotten to see this gem if I didn’t come home early,” you said as you pulled your phone out and showed him your instagram post.

“Ay, mija,” Pedro exclaimed. “You couldn’t have made me look, I don’t know, nicer? Look you can see the drool on my cheek!”

You laughed as you zoomed into the picture, “even better!”

Pedro couldn’t help but laugh too, it was contagious. The drool on his face didn’t matter to him, all that mattered was that you were happy.

#Pedro Pascal Fic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x daughter #pedro pascal x daughter!reader #Pedro pascal daddy #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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meadow-roses · 5 months ago

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Meet the Family - Part 3

This scene is around three years old, and was started as a character study/exploration for Grace and her friends to get a feel for how they are involved in Felix’s backstory plot. This is not a scene in the actual story and a lot of the “plot” is not canon, but I thought it would be fun to share with you guys! Enjoy!

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4

*******

Dinner with Grandma. A very normal family event. Why Grace was taking him to meet her Grandma before her parents was making Felix rather curious, but he had baked a batch of cookies and gone over his alibi in preparation for all the nosy old lady questions. He was nervous, but he was ready.

He had offered to do the driving, but Grace had politely declined. He was still recovering from an accident, she said, and she was happy to drive for him. Felix felt the familiar tinge of guilt at her belief in his lie, but he had shrugged it off with a smile and thanks. Hopefully soon the world would be safe enough for the truth to not be dangerous.

Felix watched the city pass by out the window of Grace's old-fashioned car. He realized, as each turn brought them closer to the more shady parts of town, he really should have asked her where they were going and given the address to someone just in case. Although, if Grace wasn't to be trusted it would be unlikely she'd give him the correct address. Kidnappers aren't known for being particularly honest people. And while he trusted Grace, his agent wasn't going to be happy about this.

The city looked very different here in the outskirt neighborhoods. Instead of the uniform rows of identical houses, exact replicas of each other down to the matching hedges underneath the front window, the homes here were all unique, reflecting the personalities of the people who lived inside. A hodgepodge of shapes and sizes in various states of repair, their roofs were dwarfed by the colossal skyline of the rest of the city behind it. They drove past disheveled apartment complexes, cozy looking cottages tucked behind fairytale gardens, homes of painted wood, plastic homes with their faded colors, metal homes with rusted tin roofs, some that looked inviting while some… that didn't.

He shifted his grip on the arboform tub of cookies in his lap. He could trust her, right?

"Speedbump!" Grace called out cheerfully as the wheels hit a bump of cement in the road.

The little blue vehicle jostled its passengers against their seatbelts as it tumbled itself up and over. Felix was watching the street signs pass by, making careful note of their route so far. It had been a long time since he had last been in this section of the city- on this specific street actually. He wondered who was living in Edward's house now, and if they would have taken down the ridiculous looking flamingo in the front lawn.

Oddly enough, he realized after a moment's thought, it had actually been only a little over two years since it had all started. Strange how much could fit into such a small amount of time.

"Well, here we are," Grace said, gently easing down on the brakes as she turned into a cracked asphalt driveway.

The car shuddered and lurched in protest until it finally came to a stop. Felix made a mental note to remember to take a look at her rotors.

Grace turned the key in the ignition and shot him a grin before jumping out the door. An exceptionally wide grin, Felix thought, as he opened his own door. She must be really excited for me to meet her grandma.

Felix slammed the car door shut and took a look around.

He had been here before, to the house next door. He stood for a moment staring at the faded lawn flamingo with its plastic santa hat. Someone had added sunglasses and drawn a mustache over its beak. That was… weird.

"You coming?" Grace called from halfway up the walk.

"Uh, yeah!"

He caught up to Grace at the front door. She looked *really* happy now, practically bouncing on her heels with excitement.

"I forgot to mention this earlier," She said, overemphasizing her hand gestures. "But Grandma invited over some extended family for a quick goodbye party and because they wanted to meet you too. I hope that's okay?"

Felix tried not to express the sudden twist of apprehension he felt in his stomach. They were Grace's family. He *did* actually want to meet them- maybe with a bit more time to prepare himself- but surely it would be fine.

"Oh yeah, that's fine," he said.

"You sure?" Grace asked, her hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah! A little more warning would be nice, I'm not sure if I'll have enough cookies," Felix laughed nervously. "But I would like to meet your family."

Alarm bells were going off in the back of his head, but he ignored them. If this was an ambush why would she have warned him ahead of time?

"Great!" Grace grinned. "Let me know if you want to leave, sometimes they can be a little much."

Felix grimaced internally and wondered what exactly that meant as Grace turned to knock on the door. Maybe he had enough time to text the address to his mom, but it was already too late. Grace had skipped the knocking step altogether. She punched a four-digit code into the lock- too fast for Felix to catch the combination- and threw the heavy front door open.

"We're here!" She announced loudly as the door banged against the opposite wall.

Felix heard shouts and the sound of chairs squealing across the floor and footsteps thundering down stairs. It sounded like a few more than just "some" extra people.

He clutched the container of cookies closer to his chest as Grace beamed in expectation.

He was prepared to be assaulted by an exuberant crowd of loud, running people, but instead they filtered into the room from the various hallways and down the staircase completely silently. This he found was almost more intimidating, especially paired with their curious, friendly smiles.

Not a single person entering the room looked like they could be directly related to Grace, or even to each other for that matter.

The alarm bells in the back of his head took this as an opportunity to remind him of their presence.

Once he was thoroughly surrounded, Grace put a hand on his shoulder and gestured wide to the crowd.

"Everyone, this is Felix! Felix, this is my family!"

Felix made his best attempt at a smile and waved to the group with his free hand.

"Uh, hello. I brought… cookies." He held out the tub of cookies to the crowd as though it were a peace offering to a group of uncertain natives.

The crowd of people made no move to accept this offering.

Felix threw a glance in Grace's direction to find her practically glaring at the group of people arranged in front of them.

She mouthed the question, "*What are you doing*?"

The members of the crowd smiled broader in response.

Felix threw another uncertain glance in Grace's direction, but the moment he took his eye off of them the situation changed.

The two people standing directly in front of Felix stumbled to the side with shouts of alarm, attempting, and failing, to shield their heads from the cane waving wildly in the air.

The lady on the other end looked particularly fierce, glaring at the startled assembly behind wisps of unruly curls.

"What in the world are you all doing?" She shouted, making a point to catch a tall blonde man over the top of his head with a solid thunk. "Are you trying to terrify that poor man?"

Felix was feeling like the old lady with the walking stick was far more intimidating than the silently smiling crowd.

Huffing, she slammed the cane down on the floor in front of her and threw one last glare around the room.

Grace made a wide gesture around the room. "What the heck are you guys doing?"

"I don't know," the blonde man said, wincing and rubbing the top of his head. "We were told to not be intimidating, so I suggested we try being quiet and friendly. Like making friends with a cat."

"Seriously?" A woman towards the back of the group asked as she crossed her arms.

Grace threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

The man shrugged apologetically in Felix's direction.

"That was, not what I was expecting for sure," Felix said, choosing his words as he spoke. "But I do appreciate the gesture."

This situation was nothing like the one he had been imagining and mentally preparing himself for.

None of the people in the group seemed like they could be secretly malicious as they all chimed an apology and the old lady nodded approvingly.

He realized how tightly he was holding the container of cookies and loosened his grip, allowing the feeling to rush back into his fingers.

"Um, I made cookies," he tried again, hesitantly offering the tub to who he assumed was Grace's grandma.

"I wasn't expecting this large a group so I'm not sure there will be enough but-"

She cut him off with a smile and wave of her hand.

"Don't worry about that. You're our guest here and we made plenty of food. You can hand that to Lyra if you'd like and she can take it to the kitchen, or I suppose you could continue hugging it like a teddy bear."

Sheepishly Felix handed the tupperware to the girl that stepped forward.

She had long, silky, black hair and amber-gold eyes set in a completely expressionless face that seemed familiar somehow. She accepted the tub and was gone the next moment, slipping between two people and through the doorway into the kitchen.

With the tub of cookies relinquished, Felix awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets.

"So you're Felix then," the old lady said, taking several steps closer.

Grace beamed.

"Uh, yeah." Felix held a hand out to shake. "Nice to meet you."

"My name is Kate," she said, giving his hand a strong but firm shake. "But most everyone calls me Grandma. You're welcome to do the same."

"Thank you."

"Well," she said with a sharp inhale of satisfaction. "Make yourself at home, ask a lot of questions, tell a lot of stories, and have a good time. Don't let these wackos strange introduction bother you too much."

Felix gave an awkward laugh, unsure of how else he was supposed to respond.

Kate gestured down the hallway towards an open doorway. "Go on everyone, to the den. Let's not make things weird by just standing around in the doorway!"

Grace grabbed Felix's hand and led him at a brisk, excited pace to the indicated room.

“Come on guys, I want to do introductions!" She called over her shoulder to the others.

Kate took up the rear with a well pleased smile on her wrinkled face.

She hardly seemed to need the cane, Felix noted. He wondered if she carried it mainly to hit the unruly youngsters.

#guys i totally forgot I was posting this stgfhfhgv 😂😅#keepers written #keepers #dauntless wip #meadowroseswrites #writing #text #felix #grace #kate #deleted scene #writeblr #original story #oc

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risilence · 4 months ago

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Wrong Killer! (Angell x FChief )

Here we go again!! Just as promised the poll has concluded and Angell x FChief has won. I've prepared a sneak peek of the fanfic to come! (Please note that there might be changes in the final draft!)

Wrong Killer! (Rating to be determined)

Angell pedal along her final delivery route, mind empty as she breezed through the streets with idle ease. She had been all too familiar with her neighborhood, with the sort of people that frequent the roads of daylight thanks to her change of occupation. It was actually pretty soothing compare to the levels of stress and danger from her old job. Now that Angell worked as a delivery persona for a local restaurant in downtown West Side, Angell felt a sense of peace that couldn’t be gained anywhere else.

Peace that was shaped in the form of delivering takeout to all sorts of lively customers, having a stable income, and getting to go home every day on time. Nothing else to worry about, it was just her and food now.

Approaching a pedestrian red light, Angell came to a halt. The apartment complex right across the crosswalk was her last deliver of the day, but she caught something much more interesting to her right. Toward this direction sat a rundown convenient store with two little munchkins loitered the empty parking lot. They seemed more jitter today than normal, so Angell decided it would be appropriate to deal with them first.

Once the red light turned green for the diagonal road, Angell biked her way to the two teens. Her wheels crunching the loose rocks announcing her approaching presences, “Busy guarding Zoya’s puppy again?”

Even though they could hear her coming, the two whipped their heads skittishly at her. Simmering down from their fight or flight when they recognized Angell, “Jesus! You almost gave me a fucken heart attack,” The shorter teen spoke as she ungripped her lead pipe.

“Making enemies again?” Angell asked. Parking her bike in front of them as the other teen waved her off.

“Ignore Hella, she just scared cause of the rumors,” The blonde teen acted tough, yet she wasn’t fooling anyone either. Angell could see her shoulders trembling a bit, the small ounce of relief now that an adult was with them.

“Oh, shut up EMP! I’m not scared!” Hella crossed her arms. Going to sit on the cement parking block, her eyes closed in rage as Angell unmounted her bike.

Angell hadn’t heard about any rumors at all during her routes. She grew ever more curious that the Legion possessed confidential information that she didn’t, “What rumors?”

“Just gang stuff. You don’t have to worry,” EMP clarified as she preferred to stand. Her eyes scanning the lot for any suspicious individual, the rumors having indeed struck fear into both girls as they remained vigilant.

Angell raised her brow, “I’ll buy you two drinks if you tell me,” And like a fish to bait, Hella folded at the promise of a slushy.

After buying the two girls a well-deserved icy treat, Hella began to explain, “See I’m only telling you this cause you’re nice to us,” Ignoring the fact that they had made a prior slushy deal, she went on, “But rumor has it that THE Black Cat of East Side is lurking in our turf.”

“Black Cat?”

EMP not wanting to be out down by her companion explained into further detail, “Yeah, the Black Cat of East Side. Apparently, this guy has over one million deaths to his name! Killing his enemies with his large saber sword, cutting his victims into pieces and eating them!” She chomped the air replicating his eating manners, Hella rolling her eyes though they appeared to be twitching with irritation as if she believed these rumors to an extent, “And no police or any gangs can catch him! They’ve sent special forces, gang lieutenants, and even assassins to get this guy, but they all turn up dead. Fortunately, he hates confrontation and avoids the spotlight when he can! Like a silent jaguar within the folds of his urban jungle… these are in fact his cities,” She acted out. Pouncing around the lot trying to scare Angell, “They say he’s a gun for hire… and if that’s true than the fact that he’s in our turf could only mean one thing…”

Hella sighed as she slurped her drink loudly. Warning EMP to be quiet, but the other was on a narrative high as she tried to get some sort of reaction from Angell.

“He’s here for Zoya’s head!”

“For fucks sake, shut up already!” Hella stood up and wacked her behind the head with her fist, “Angell doesn’t need to know this! You’re going to scare her.”

Angell kept a serious face throughout the whole story, unbothered by the dramatization as she hid her amusement well. But upon hearing that she needed to be scared, she merely excused herself from the conversation, “If such a scary person is here, then I’d better go home before it gets dark.”

Hella nodded, “If you see any suspicious individual, you come and tell us. We’ll come to save you,” And EMP flinched at Hella’s bold statement.

“You mean you’ll come running, I’ll go get Horo.”

“Y-You coward!!”

Angell left the duo bickering as she mounted her bike again. Crossing over to the apartment complex, she went on with her day as usual. Her mind thinking over the outrageous rumor spreading around the underworld of Syndicate’s finest gang. It was amusing, her lips curling ever faintly at how much the Legion’s underlings were freighting over her nickname. Pleased to know that her legacy hadn’t changed in ridiculousness as she picked up her bike and buzzed herself into the electrical door gates. The window doors sliding open as she ventured in, taking the elevator to the sixth floor as Angell carried her bike.

She didn’t need to worry about being seen, she still wore her delivery uniform as she stepped out from the elevator. Walking to her last delivery door, Angell buzzed the bell as she listened to the steps approaching the door.

“Coming,” The woman spoke as Angell smiled at her tone. Opening the door, Angell came face to face with Syndicates finest police director, Chief, “Angell! You’re finally home.”

#path to nowhere #angell x female chief #ptn angell #ptn female chief #fanfiction

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porterdavis · 2 years ago

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Poverty is a policy choice

The Atlantic has an unflinching look at how the US is such a bad actor when it comes to poverty, especially child poverty, compared to the rest of the developed world. President Biden's Extended Child Tax Credit passed in his first year in office lifted 40% of the families living in poverty out of poverty, a stunning result achieved at a relatively small cost. The Republicans killed it.

There are tremendous knock-on benefits to lifting people out of poverty - healthcare costs go down, crime goes down, tax bases are widened, welfare rolls are reduced, productivity goes up. All these are well known. So why does America fall so short? Here are a few points from the article to consider:

Housing is typically the largest expense for a household. “Municipal zoning ordinances, enacted through referenda pushed by citizens’ groups and homeowners’ associations, and which prohibit the construction of multifamily apartment complexes in upscale neighborhoods, is a case in point. These benign-sounding rules foster segregation, effectively preventing the poor ... from moving in. Such policies are one of the few issues that Americans in red and blue states seem to agree on."

So yes, the NIMBY effect of the 'rich' forces the poor to live out of sight, unable to benefit from the schools, parks, and appreciation in property values enjoyed by the wealthy.

The financial structure favours the wealthy in a variety of ways. "When the wealthy patronize shops and restaurants that offer low prices and fast service, their satisfaction comes at the expense of cashiers and dishwashers paid poverty wages. When we open free checking accounts that require maintaining a minimum balance, we benefit from the fact that banks can collect billions of dollars in overdraft fees from poor customers who struggle to meet these requirements—and who often end up gouged by check-cashing outlets and payday lenders."

The notion that the government subsidizes the poor while taxing the rich does not take into consideration the massive tax benefits homeowners have with the mortgage interest deduction and state and local tax write-offs. Indeed, "the average household in the top 20 percent income bracket receives $35,363 in annual tax breaks and other government benefits—40 percent more than the average household in the bottom 20 percent."

"What is “maddening,” Desmond writes, is “how utterly easy it is to find enough money to defeat poverty by closing nonsensical tax loopholes,” or by doing 20 or 30 smaller things to curtail just some of the subsidies of affluence."

His bleak conclusion:

"Getting affluent people to engage in rhetorical hand-wringing over inequality is easy enough. Persuading them to yield some of their entitlements is a lot harder."

#poverty is a policy choice #the atlantic #nimby

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yournaothings · 6 months ago

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"Hello, friends. It's me, Killer! Welcome to the next chapter to my story~ hehehe~ I hope you're having a good time because we're just getting started~" Killer chuckles. "Before we begin the third chapter, I just want to say how happy I am to see so many of you coming here just for little ole me~ I've seen you're comments, both good and bad~ Oh, yes! That reminds me!" He leans in closer to regard you- Yes! You! The readers. "I may rizz the human during this silly little story, but my love only goes to my knives~ Oh! And Horror, too!"

The author returns to the office to find Killer tapping away at her laptop- "What? Killer! Damn it! I told you not to mess with my computer!" Author is quick to shove Killer out of her seat, sending him a small glare. "If you break my computer, I'll beat the crap out of you!"

"Relaaax~ I was only sending my readers a messages." [He makes Author type that, since Author is a big meanie and won't let Killer touch her computer.]

"Sorry, everyone. We're going back to the story now." Author says, sending yet another small glare towards Killer, who stole her damn snacks- what the fuck?

---

The human's home wasn't bad. They lived in a complex apartment in a nice little neighborhood. The green lawns were freshly cut, allowing everyone to go outside and enjoy the beautiful day-

"Ugh- no one cares about what the outside looks like! Just tell them about what happens to my human and their friend! We've got lots to do in this story, Naomi! What am I paying you for?!" Killer shouts, interrupting the author from their storytelling.

The author is so embarrassed for being called out like that, but she turns to glare at Killer. "You don't pay me anything, Killer. What the fuck, man. Why are you still here, anyway?" Killer waves at her dismissing her question easily. "Don't worry about it- just get on with the storryy!" He stomps his foot in a small tantrum before pulling out his knife, and gave the author a wry glare. "Don't make me stab you."

The Author wasn't scared; she only gave him a flat look. "That's no way to speak to the person who is writing "your" story." Killer groaned dramatically and released a heavy sigh. "Fiine! Please get on with the story. I want the readers to see what I do to the roommate-" [He grins sadistically.]

"ACK! THIS IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE!" The author raised her voice in panic, quickly moving on to the story and stopping Killer from breaking the fucking fourth wall. [Is this what you deal with, CJ? Crying face.]

---For real this time---

The human invited the three skeletons inside of their home, offering to make them some tea, or whatever they wanted. Horror hummed curiously as he opened the fridge to see what kind of food the human had within. He was disappointed to see there wasn't much food in there, his disappointed groan caught their attention. They walked over to peek under Horror's arm to see their fridge was almost bare. "Oh yeah. I haven't gone grocery shopping yet."

"So, you have a roommate?" Killer asks while leaning against the kitchen counter in the human's small kitchen and spun his knife around again- no wait, that was the human's knife. "Don't steal my knives, Killer. Please." The human told him while giving him a suspicious look. "I do have a roommate-"

"What is going on in here?" Said roommate stepped in right then, having heard the strange voices in their home. They looked at the human and gave them an annoyed look. "Where have you been? It's not like you to disappear and bring guys home? What's happening here?" The roommate didn't seem pleased with the three skeletons presence in their home, or that the human had left without a word only to show back up unexpectedly.

The human smiled to their roommate, clearly not bothered by the annoyed glare their roommate was sending them. Behind the human, Dust sat at the dining table. His hood pulled over his head as usual, his eye lights snuffed out as he watched the new human closely. He didn't trust them. Something didn't seem right and it had him on edge.

"Well, I won a contest, so I got to hang out with these guys. They uh, stream games and do other silly things. It was a lot of fun. But, I'm home now. They won't be staying long, so don't worry." The roommate regarded the three monsters before turning their attention towards the human. "Why don't I make you some tea? I can make the others some, too." The human smiled joyfully to their roommate as they thanked them. "Do you want me to help?" The roommate shook their head, and shooed them out, along with the skeletons. "No, I've got it. Why don't you go show the skeletons around."

Killer's grin widened in excitement. "Yeah! You should show us around! That way I know how to get in easier when I stalk you later~" He laughs mischievously. The roommate sent a disgusted look at Killer who caught sight of it, but didn't react to it. Dust on the other had did, his eye sockets narrowing. Killer gestured for his buddies to follow the human as they left the kitchen, preparing to show off their apartment.

"This is where Nightmare ripped you out of your AU?" Killer asked as he pushed his way through Horror and Dust and into Angel's room. Angel stumbled over their words while trying to tidy up their room. They weren't expecting any guests and hadn't cleaned up before everything happened. "Yeah, this is it." Angel replied nervously. They hurried over to Killer's side as he started to mess with their computer. While Angel attempted to keep Killer from messing with their personal computer, Dust remained in the doorway of Angel's bedroom. His mismatched eye lights glared down the hallway, suspicious of Angel's roommate.

"What are you looking at, Dusty?" Horror asked with a hum. He stepped up closer to look over Dust's head. "I've got a bad feeling about that other human. I don't trust them." Horror chuckles softly, his larger skeletal hand patting Dust's shoulder as he replies, "You don't trust anyone, Dust." Dust's only response was a small hum. His eye lights shift over to regard Angel, who was still trying to keep Killer out of their computer files. "I swear! I don't have anything worth looking at in there!" Angel cried as they lost the fight against Killer, who laughed manically while he dived into their precious files. "Let's see what you've got in here~ hehehe~" To his dismay, he didn't find anything suspicious, but did find some art they have done of him and the gang. He perked up while looking through Angel's collection, who started to get embarrassed from someone seeing their unfinished work.

"Hey." Came Dust's rough voice, catching Angel and Killer's attention. The two glanced over at Dust, who looked tense. His blue and red eye lights spoke volumes of distrust. Angel started to fidget uncomfortably, worried that Dust was angry with them for whatever reason. "What's wrong, Dust?" Dust stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Your roommate sucks." Angel looks surprised, their eyes widening in surprise that he would say that. Then, they smiled. "They're not bad. We just came in unexpectedly with no warning. I'm sure they were just startled." Dust barked a humorless laugh, not believing any of Angel's explanation. "Startled. Right."

"What's wrong, Dusty~ you don't like their roommate?" Killer asked as he stood from the desk chair he had been sitting in and walked over to poke fun at Dust. "I don't trust them." Dust grumbled as he glared at Killer. "You don't trust anyone." Killer repeated Horror's word from earlier. "How bad can they be?" Killer snickered. "They're not bad, I promise." Angel told the boys, giving them their usual smile. Dust's eye lights disappeared, his eye sockets as dark as the void. It gave him a scary look. "I don't trust promises." He says. Killer pouted and pokes at Dust repeatedly. "Lighten up! You're being rude to Angel!" Angel laughed softly, shaking their head. "It's alright, Killer. Dust can have his own opinions."

Dust's eyes lights ignited faintly while looking at Angel. "You're too nice." Dust said before slapping Killer's hand away from him, stopping Killer from repeatedly poking at him. "Oh, thanks!" Angel smiled widely- "That wasn't a compliment. Seriously, you're too nice. That's a bad thing. Being nice will get you killed, Angel." Dust tells them. Angel was at a loss for words, their smile dropping from Dust's brutal honesty. "Aw, you made them upset, Dust." Horror told Dust, who simply turned away in time to see the roommate step into the hallway and make their way into Angel's bedroom with a mug in hand. They offered a smile to Dust, but he immediately knew it was fake. They slipped past Dust and stepped closer to Angel. Dust's eye sockets narrowed when he smelled something off about the drink.

"Here you go. It's your favorite tea." Angel smiled and thanked them while taking the mug into their hands. "I appreciate it, thanks."

"Didn't they say they would make us something, too?" Horror asked his two other skeleton buddies, a little disappointed that the roommate hadn't brought them anything. Or at least him. "Yeah, they did say they'd get us something, too." Killer huffs annoyed. The roommate acted strangely while watching Angel bring the mug closer to their lips, the rim pressing against their lips.

A bone suddenly came flying at the mug, smashing into it. Surprisingly, the porcelain didn't cut their lip when it shattered. Angel was quick to step back so they wouldn't get burned by the hot liquid. They turned to see both Killer and Horror startled, while Dust's eye lights burned with his magic. "Dust?"

"They poisoned your tea." Dust said, his eye sockets narrowed. The roommate grew tense, their glare fixed on Dust. "I didn't poison it!" Dust gave a hostile grin. "I could smell it."

Killer and Horror turned to glare at the roommate, while Angel turned their attention to their roommate, their expression contorted in a confused and hurt look. "You tried to poison me?" Angel asked, seeing the hateful glare their roommate, their friend gave them. "Why?"

"You piss me off. I don't want to live with you anymore." The roommate started to explain, giving Angel an angry, hateful look. When you didn't get the hint that I wanted you out, I decided to do something about it. Too bad that your stupid skeleton friend caught my attempt to kill you." Angel jolted as if they were just slapped. They might as well have been from the hostility in their roommate's voice. They were hurt, their heart throbbing in pain from betrayal.

"That's not very nice." Killer said, his knife in hand and ready to stab. He was clearly not happy with the turn of events. "That's a shitty reason to kill them." Dust growled out. Horror summoned his axe, holding it in both his hands looking very menacing. His one good eye light seemingly glowing with anger. "That's unforgivable."

The roommate sized up each skeleton, before they turned to glare at Angel. "Didn't realize these three were your dogs." Angel gasped angrily, and shoved their roommate. "They're not my dogs! They're my friends! What the fuck?! I can't believe how awful you're being! You could have just said something to me! Why give hints that you wanted me gone? Is this just an excuse to kill someone and get away with it?" Their roommate had a burst of anger, their expression twisting in such a hateful and dark look before they shoved Angel against the wall. Their hands were quickly around Angel's neck and squeezing Killer teleported right beside them, his knife quickly making a quick slashing motion, effectively slicing the roommate's neck open.

Angel gagged when their roommate's blood poured out of their neck and all over their front, they had to turn their head to the side to keep the blood out of their mouth. The roommate slumped down onto the ground, too far gone from being saved. Angel slowly turned to look down at their roommate in horror. After their mind registered what had happened, tears blurred their vision, they glanced up at Killer. The murderous skeleton spun his knife around, his grin wide and proud at his handy work. "Problem solved~" He laughed and caught Angel's tearful gaze. His grin dropped and he slipped his knife back into his jacket. "Aw, don't cry, sweetheart! I did you a favor! They were trying to kill you!"

"Y-You didn't have to kill them, Killer!" Angel cried. "They.. They were my friend, I'm sure we would have been able to work through our problems without anymore violence." Angel said with their voice raised. Dust huffed out a laugh and rolled his eye lights. "This was an obvious, kill or be killed moment. You seem to forget that we're murderers." Killer grinned, though he was obviously irritated that Angel was upset with him for doing his job. "Dusty Poo is right. I wasn't going to let some nobody hurt ya! They tried to kill you, so I killed them before they could do anything to you!" His grin fell again, his tone was irritated. "You should be thanking me."

Once again, Angel was reminded that these three were murderers. Their job was to kill. Angel embarrassingly wiped away their tears and glanced down at the deceased body on the floor. Killer had killed them because they were trying to kill Angel. He was protecting them, and they repaid him by yelling at him. It made them feel worse. "Shit, I... I'm sorry, Killer. It's just that... They were my friend." "Yeah?" Killer asked as he nudged the dead body with his sneaker. "They were a shitty friend." He perked up and grinned at Angel. He raised his hand and booped their nose. "I forgive you~ Come on, let's get you home."

"Huh?" Horror hummed in confusion. Dust also looked confused, then narrowed his eye sockets at Killer. "The Boss is going to kill you." Killer turned to grin at Dust. "Nah~ He won't! I'll tell him what happened, and he'll let Angel stay!" Horror grinned and chuckled. "Hear that, Angel? We actually get to keep you!" Angel looked nervous, glancing between Horror and Killer. "Do I get a say in this?" "Nope!" Killer was quick to say and grabbed Angel's arm and tugged them towards Dust and Horror. "You're one of us now!" Having said that, Killer and Horror began to chant; "One of us, one of us, one of us!"

Dust wanted nothing to do with Horror and Killer's antics. "You guys are fucking idiots." He tells them as they prepared to teleport back home with Angel. "You're just jealous that I took the EXP and you didn't~" Killer mocked, laughing at Dust. Dust narrowed his eye sockets and summoned his Gaster Blasters. Killer screamed as Dust fired his Blasters at Killer, destroying part of the house-

Horror was quick to grab Angel before they could get hurt and teleported back home. All the while, Dust and Killer fought against each other, destroying the entire house and all of Angel's belongings. Oops.

"Where are the other two?" Nightmare asked after Horror and Angel arrived home. Horror gave his boss a quick explanation of what happened, and judging by Angel's negativity, it was true. "Oh yeah." Horror laughed. "Killer was teasing Dust that he took that human's EXP, and Dusty Poo got angry. They're fighting in Angel's AU now." Nightmare released a heavy sigh and pinched his nasal ridge. "Idiots." He grumbled.

"EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE!" Dust suddenly appeared in the living room with Nightmare, Horror, and Angel. "What?! What's on fire?!" Nightmare asked, his annoyance growing. "Oh shit!" Killer laughed when he appeared beside Dust. He held his middle and bent over as he laughed hysterically. Dust grinned at Killer and chuckled. "We set the neighborhood on fire. Oops." He laughed and shrugged. "What?" Angel asked shocked. "You fucking idiots!" Nightmare rolled his cyan eye light and turned away from his idiots, walking away. "Help the human settle in, and leave me alone. I've had enough of you fools for one day." Killer straightened up having calmed down from laughing so hard. "You got it, boss!" He saluted again, before grabbing Angel and dragging them away to find them a spare room. Horror decided to go cook something up for the team; they deserved a nice meal after everything. Dust walked over and collapsed onto the sofa, yawning loudly before letting himself doze off.

#yournaothings #undertale au #Killer Sans #Nightmare Sans #Dust Sans #Horror Sans #Reader #Murder Time Trio #Cjdoesva #angerisflawed #blanksceneva #callmeslate #Chilling With the Murder Time Trio

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vigilantebarbie · 1 year ago

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i keep my jealousy close chapter three: i had to stop myself

chapter two

chapter four

Infatuation with a hint of obsession? Adrian knows all about that

"Dude shut the fuck up about this girl! You met her, what, one time? Put that shit in your spank bank so we don't have to hear about it." Chris almost yelled, interrupting Adrian mid-sentence. Adrian hadn't stopped talking about you since that night outside Fennel Fields, driving everyone around him off the wall. It had been tolerable at first, meaning the first hour. It had been two weeks since that day and he would always find a way to bring you into the conversation, based solely on your text conversations. He'd been bummed that you hadn't been able to hang out since that night but your schedules conflicted so much that neither of you had the time. Not that it stopped him from doing patrol in your neighborhood immediately after he got off work. If you didn't have such an early work schedule, you might have noticed the masked weirdo in a kevlar suit lurking around your complex and occasionally, climbing a tree to see into your apartment window. To make sure you were safe, of course. He'd noticed your cat, and your cat had definitely noticed him sitting in that tree.

"Bold of you to assume I haven't already done that," Adrian replied, grinning when everyone voiced their disgust at the thought. "Besides, we're supposed to hang out tonight since I told Sylvia that I'd report her for coming to work high if she didn't switch shifts with me tonight." Weed wasn't illegal anymore so Vigilante couldn't do anything about Sylvia, but not coming to work high had to be some sort of corporate rule. Ignoring Chris' vocal disdain for hearing about you, Adrian went right back to texting you while on his way out for the day.

I just have to go home and shower, workout was really intense today. I'll see you there!

Replying to his text with a soft smile, you went back to focusing on your hair. You'd slept with braids in your damp hair after you showered last night and now your long hair had a controllable wave to it but you didn't want to leave it hanging around your face. Another half-updo would have to do. You were only supposed to be going to the arcade, there was no need to be dressed up. But here you were in a cute little dress, sweater, and your cutest shoes. Your phone screen lit up again, unfortunately, a text from the very same person who had caused you to move to Evergreen. Once again, asking you if you could talk. Normally, you'd have blocked him since you weren't answering. But the desperation was kind of hilarious in the most pathetic way. Swinging your bag over your shoulder on your way out, making sure your keys were in hand before locking your apartment door and heading out to the arcade.

Adrian had beat you to the arcade even with his shower and almost tripped over his own feet when he went to greet you. You were even prettier than he remembered you being and you’d definitely sent a selfie or two during the last two weeks. “Are you ready to get your ass kicked by the arcade master? I sure hope you prepared cuz I’m really good at like, all the games,” He started to ramble again but you didn’t mind it. You didn’t really talk a lot anyway. “I’ve beaten all the claw machines. Those are totes rigged but you gotta know how they’re rigged so you can beat the system.”

You nodded. That made sense, in a way. “But how are you at Dance Dance Revolution? Because I’m actually the queen of that game.” now you were lying. You hadn’t played that game since sixth grade at a birthday party. That was like saying you were good at mini golf, a total lie. “How about whoever has the least amount of tickets at the end of the night has to use them to buy the other person whatever they want with their measly tickets? Like an eraser or one of those dorky little alien things you put on your fingers?” You noticed how he tensed up at the brief mention of aliens, shaking it off like it was just an aversion to them. After all, you were still creeped out by the ones from X-Files.

“Deal, I can’t wait to see what kind of fucking lame eraser you pick out.” He laughed, leading the way to the token machine so you two could play games to your heart's content, all the while hoping you weren’t as good at Dance Dance Revolution as you claimed to be.

The pair of you had been playing for hours, not even close to bored when your phone rang. “Sorry, I thought I turned my do not disturb on when I got here…fucking fuck…I gotta take this.” you were pissed. Your ex had decided to call you and since everyone could hear your loud ass ringtone, you couldn’t ignore it. “I’ll be right back” Rushing outside to talk so you didn’t disturb anyone any further than you had.

Adrian followed, frowning deeply at the way you seemed so distressed by this phone call. “I told you, leave me alone. I don’t want anything from you. Ever again…yes I’m serious!!!! I left for a reason??? You were a dick to me, why would I stay??? Go to hell.” You snapped into the phone before hanging up, shocked to see Adrian standing in front of you looking concerned.

“Everything okay? Don’t lie.” He seemed like he cared. So you told him everything, everything about the shitty relationship you’d left behind you and hoped would have stayed behind when you moved here. About how your ex was bothering you for the last month about getting back together and begging you to come back home. How you’d ignored him until he got pissed off and called. Adrian nodded along while he listened to you vent, calculating a plan in his head to make this guy pay for this. “But don’t worry about him, he doesn’t know where I live now and I’m changing my number soon.”

Biting his tongue to stop himself from saying that he’d kill anyone who ever made you this distressed again, he nodded once more “Cool beans, let’s go back and play some games cuz I’m kicking your ass.” He put his hands on your shoulders, turning you and directing you back inside. Not before noticing your ex’s name on your phone and giving himself a mental reminder to look the guy up. A visit from Vigilante might make him leave you alone. It wasn't like he didn't have a perfectly good reason.

That fucker would pay for making you upset

#i keep my jealousy close #adrian x reader #adrian x you #adrian chase #vigilante x you #vigilante x reader #peacemaker 2022

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janetbrown711 · 2 years ago

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These Hands of Mine are Clumsy, Not Clever

Pigsy and kids go apartment shopping in the snooty part of town and Pigsy hates just about every second of it. He then shows the kids a thing or two around the restaurant until Tang shows up and shows him a thing or two too

tw for Tw for internalized/external fatphobia, microaggressions, and extreme self deprecation.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ao3 Link

Being a demon in a highly human populated city was difficult, even under regular circumstances.

Being a demon in an uppity rich people neighborhood with two orphans who did not look like they belonged to him was a whole other kind of difficult.

He could practically feel the eyes on him the moment he set foot outside of the subway behind Mei and MK, who were none the wiser. Pigsy was no stranger to stares and so just tried to keep his eyes low, hands in jacket pockets, and mind focused on their destination, while also making sure Mei and MK were on track too.

It had been two days since the adoption, and the second time they had really ever gone “out”, and the first time they set foot in a wealthier part of town. He always had a distaste for the upper crust of Megapolis, but he knew now for the kids’ sake, he was going to have to learn to get used to all the looks. After all, his only other option would be making his glamor suddenly twenty million times stronger and just wear a human disguise 24/7, and– yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen.

A part of him wished Tang was here– sure, he had a bit of social anxiety with everyone except him, for some reason, but him being a human would probably cut all the gawking in half.

Nono– that was a stupid thought– you don’t just ask customers to go apartment shopping with you– that’s weird. And he clearly has some kind of anxiety-! Pigsy could never ask him to go out with him to go out with the kids and him and face all that judgment and stuff. He never asked for this!

Pigsy was a grown ass man, he could handle this himself.

After a couple twists and turns, as well as accidentally taking a wrong turn and having to walk back three blocks and make a left instead of a right, they arrived at the truly massive apartment complex that was nothing like his part of town in the slightest.

The building had that kind of futuristic architecture to it that wasn’t exactly unfamiliar– gentrification had been growing in Megapolis for years– but this building you could tell wasn’t overpriced and poorly made. No, it was curved and classy and if he tilted his head it could kind of look like a crystal chandelier.

He didn’t do that for long, of course, and ushered MK and Mei inside, receiving strange looks from the massive security desk.

“Can I help… you?” A guard asked from behind his desk.

“I’ve an appointment, bud,” Pigsy rolled his eyes and showed him the printed out email. The guard looked it over, then looked Pigsy over, before silently pointing to his right with his thumb as an audible click rang out.

Something told Pigsy he wasn’t going to be getting anymore conversation out of that guy and so took the hint and opened the door for Mei and MK and they went into the main lobby.

Though ‘lobby’ did not feel like the proper word for Pigsy– it was more like an airport terminal. It was truly gigantic with a lot of benches and shops and rich people services, including a spa.

“Mr. Piggy, can we look at candy?” Mei pulled on his sleeve and pointed to a candy stand.

“We’re gonna be late for our appointment and I need you two to not get lost,” Pigsy shook his head and looked over the print-out he’d shown the guard. The chef, however, made a fatal mistake when he glanced at the kids a second and saw them putting on their best puppy dog faces.

“Gah– maybe after– we really can’t be late,” Pigsy rubbed his forehead.

“I’ll take it!” Mei grinned widely and Pigsy wondered when oh when did he become so soft.

Eventually he figured out their guide’s office was on the seventh floor, so they had to locate an elevator and take that up. And christ– even the elevators were fancy. They all had benches and a guy to specifically push the buttons and most were made of glass so you could look down at everyone in that rich person’s version of a marketplace.

When they stepped out of the elevator, the secretary behind the desk labeled “Rent and Housing Affairs”, didn’t even try to hide her gawking, staring at Pigsy with wide eyes.

Great.

“Um...Hi.” He said curtly, causing the lady to snap out of her disturbed trance. “I have an appointment with Zhao Fen. Name’s Zhu Bajie.”

“R-right, yes, let me just…” She glanced at Pigsy again before shaking her head and focusing on her computer screen. While they waited, Mei and MK wandered over to the fish tank in one of the walls and watched them.

“Ah– um– are those children..?” The secretary glanced at Pigsy again.

“...With me?” He asked, which made her laugh awkwardly. Pigsy rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, they’re my kids– what’s this gotta do with my appointment?”

“O-oh, well I have to report any unaccompanied minors and– just– nevermind,” She smiled a bit before typing more.

“Ah, yes, I see your name right here and– Aha-! Miss Zhao is expecting you, so you can just head on back– third door on your right,,” She said, hitting a buzzer and yet another door clicked.

“C’mon Mei, Mk,” Pigsy called for them and they scurried back and down three doors on their right, where Pigsy knocked on the door labeled, “Miss Zhao Fen – Head Leasing Agent”.

“Come on in,” A voice called from behind, and after taking a long breath, Pigsy did.

Immediately upon seeing Pigsy though, Miss Zhao Fen nearly choked on her coffee and had to spend a solid minute clearing her throat.

“Y-you’re… Zhu Bajie?” She asked, looking him up and down like all the other fifty billion strangers he’d met.

“Yes,” Pigsy said, and before she could even ask he pulled out the email and his ID, both of which she took from his hand and looked over.

“Right– Zhu meaning Pig,” She shook her head as she looked at the papers.

“Hmm… Well I suppose everything appears to be in order. You may sit,” She said, gesturing to the four seats across from her desk. Mei and MK had no trouble at all, but Pigsy felt the sides of the seat squeeze his hips again and all he could think to himself was if this place was really so high and mighty why on earth couldn’t they just get more comfortable chairs.

His question was slightly answered when he could see the corner of her mouth flickering as she examined her screen.

Shocking, truly.

“Mr… Zhu, tell me, how exactly did you hear about this building?” Zhao Fen asked.

“Recommended,” He stated, and the kids gave him funny looks that he replied with a small shrug.

“By whom?” She looked at the demon.

“A friend and a lawyer.”

The head leasing agent typed a few more things into her computer, clicked a few things, typed more things before asking: “Mr. Zhu, are you sure this neighborhood is right for… your kind?”

Pigsy’s eye twitched. “Why yes, I am sure.”

“‘Your kind’? What’s Mr. Piggy’s ‘kind’?” Mei tilted her head and the agent was reminded of MK and Mei’s presence.

“Well– I’m of course referring to your salary. Monthly rent averages about 50k a month, and I just don’t think–”

“I have the evidence of income– it was in all those emails, so how's about you skip your little lecture and give the dang tour already, hm? Pigsy snapped.

The lady huffed and typed more things, making Pigsy bite his tongue.

Him and his goddamned temper…

“Says here you’re just looking for a three bedroom two bath?” She asked, and he nodded. With a huff, she typed more things, and then dug through a drawer for a ring of keys.

“Alright, let’s do this,” She said, walking out of her office and holding open the door for them. Mei and MK thanked her as they walked out while Pigsy gave a single nod.

She led them out of the office section and into an unfortunately not glass elevator, where she hit the button for the 75th floor and it took them up at dizzying speeds that made their ears pop and the chef grab the handle. Once it halted, she quickly walked down and led them to apartment 7512 and unlocked it.

And holy fucking shit– this place was like the goddamn Ritz– marble flooring and everything.

“This here is the foyer, that to your left is a Bluthner Grand Piano. Down this way is the Grand Hallway which has a door on your left to the library/office–” She said, taking them down and showing them the massive collection of shelves and books within.

“It comes with your standard copies of Journey to the West, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and Dream of the Red Chamber but also some more western classics as well. The rest is up for you to decide, of course,” She said, and upon hearing Journey to the West, MK immediately ran to the shelves and started looking for it.

“Should… we..?” She looked at the boy strangely.

“It’ll keep him busy,” Pigsy shrugged.

“Alright then,” She said, stepping out and Pigsy and Mei followed since MK was content to curl up on one of the couches and read.

“From here we enter the open concept living room, kitchen, and dining area– all with state of the art technology, including automated curtains in case you don’t want all the light from the wall-to-floor windows getting in. There’s also a gas fireplace, a 108 inch TV, and if we go to the kitchen you’ll see two gas stoves, plenty of cabinet space and the latest Whirlpool fridge,” She said, casually pointing to each thing as Pigsy went to inspect the kitchen and Mei the living space, which included her flopping on each individual couch and pile of blankets set out.

Pigsy almost laughed as he examined the stainless steel stove– this place completely lacked character unlike back home. The marble and shine on every single surface rang out a song of consumerism, and how they would be replaced in two years tops under most owners without a doubt.

But goddamn was it nice.

“Woah-! Mr. Piggy! If you stand like this and look down at the ground it feels like you’re falling!” Mei had her forehead pressed against the glass and was laughing.

Miss Zhao gave Pigsy a look.

“Kid– maybe back away from there, we don’t want you getting sick,” Pigsy urged, which Mei groaned at but obeyed– now sporting a big red splotch on her forehead that made the chef laugh a little again.

She then proceeded to show the pig demon the bedrooms, which were way too big in his opinion– especially the master’s suite, which was probably the size of his current apartment and then some.

Mei really liked them though– she even called MK and they explored the walk-in closets and built-in shelves and how the two other bedrooms were connected to each other via a bathroom so they could hang out whenever (as if they couldn’t do that regularly but whatever). They flopped onto beds to test their bounce, did a race to crawl underneath them and end on the other side, and other kids stuff, and during most of it MK was still holding volume one of Journey to the West.

Pigsy couldn’t deny the place was nice– but he just felt so alien here.

Of course, he was alien here– this whole building probably didn’t have any demons whatsoever in all ninety five floors, unless they worked in the mail room or something.

He felt a bit like how MK did– finding something familiar and latching onto it; only difference was that he didn’t have something to latch onto, except maybe that oven and fridge.

“So what do you think, Mr. Zhu?” The agent suddenly asked for his opinion.

“Ah, you know it’s certainly nice and all– but a little big, isn’t it?” He scratched his head.

“This is amongst the smallest suites we offer here, Mr. Zhu. If you want smaller, you can look in your own neighborhood,” She tsked and wrote something down on a notepad.

“Woah! Mr. Piggy–! I can totally fit under the sink all twisty like!” MK called out from the other room.

“Can you get out though?” Pigsy was about to step in but MK slid right out with a big grin and thumbs up, to which Mei made him do it again and Pigsy relaxed a little.

“You know, Mr. Zhu, I think those children of… yours seem to really like this place. I can show off a few more if you’d like, but this is the only one of this size that will be pre-furnished, especially with that 1870 Bluthner piano,” She said.

Now, Pigsy wasn’t an idiot, he knew when he was being upsold and manipulated.

But at the same time, he really, really didn’t want to have to look over any more places, and the kids did look and sound kind of happy..?

And god– he really, really didn’t want to go furniture shopping…

“I’ll think about it,” He decided.

“Let’s continue then, shall we?”

The group proceeded to tour five more apartments, each stranger and bigger than the last and by the sixth, everyone was just about done. The entire time Pigsy half wished he just chose the first one and got this over with, but he knew it was better to compare and blahblahblah, he was a responsible adult.

Pigsy said he’d think about the offers before selecting anything and the trio was finally, finally free of that awful building and the stench of rich people. They made their way down the streets with haste and for once in his life, Pigsy was happy to reach the filthy subway, and happily paid for his and the kids fares and sat on the bench to wait for their train. However, after a bit of waiting Mei tapped his arm.

“Yeah kid?”

“...You forgot to go back to the stand for the candy,” Mei said, kicking the ground.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry– I forgot– I was just so sick of that place and–” He face palmed. “I’ll… I’ll make it up somehow.”

“No, it’s fine, Mr. Piggy– I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” Mei apologized, taking a step back.

“Kid–” Pigsy would’ve said more, but the rush and roar of their subway train snagged his thoughts and he focused on preparing them to get on.

“Great Job, Pigsy. Day three and you’re already breaking promises!”

The subway ride was pretty miserable for Pigsy now, who was kicking himself for forgetting something so simple, though MK and Mei were managing to mess around as they always did, reading the weird advertisements and maps and PSA’s plastered everywhere. He was happy they could bounce stuff off like that, but it kind of made Pigsy hate himself more for holding onto it.

When the train stopped, Pigsy was relieved to be back in his familiarly dirty and smelly part of town where the neighbors knew and didn’t give a shit about him. He took a deep breath of the cigarette stained air to really embrace his return home and felt himself finally relax after six hours in that hell hole.

“What’re we gonna do now, Mr. Piggy?” Mei asked, and Pigsy realized he didn’t have a clue. The day had started so early but felt like an eternity– there was still plenty of daylight to burn. As they got closer to the apartment Pigsy got an idea though.

“How’d you two like a proper tour of Pigsy’s Noodles? I can show you some of the food stuff and– shoot, I got delivery day tomorrow… Well that’s a problem for Wednesday. What’d ya say?” Pigsy asked.

“Can I touch the grill?” Mei asked with stars in her eyes.

“Uh– maybe when it's off?” Pigsy wasn’t sure what the safe answer to that was.

Mei gave an excited “ous” with an arm pump for extra measure as they walked across the street and around the alley where Pigsy unlocked the backdoor to the restaurant and flicked on the light switch, which caused the light to buzz at just the right frequency to bug Pigsy– and apparently MK too (he really should get that fixed).

“Alright, well– right over here is where we keep our ‘dry stock’-- things like bags of rice, dried chillies, flour– basically anything with a real long shelf life,” Pigsy said, and MK and Mei smacked the bags of rice with a giggle before MK raised his hand.

“What’s ‘shelf life’?”

“Ah– um– how long something can last before it gets mold and stuff,” Pigsy summed up.

“Oh, I know that,” MK made a face and shook his head.

pigsy was going to continue but Mk raised his hand again.

“Do we have to eat any of the food when it gets all moldy and stuff?”

“What-?! No– not even a little– kid, what makes you ask?”

“O-oh I didn’t eat mold like– a lot– it's just sometimes when my mom was mad at me for not eating and stuff– I-i’m fine-! It was just a punishment–! My fault really,” MK shook off the concerned look and laughed.

“Kid–” Pigsy closed his eyes and thought very carefully about what he was going to say next. “That’s…. that’s not okay– and it’s not normal, and it’s certainly not your fault. That– that’s practically poison for christ’s sake– I–” Pigsy took a breath, finding it hard to look at MK’s confused dark eyes.

“Just… again, you really don’t have to worry about that anymore, so… don’t. Please.”

Pigsy knew he could’ve phrased it better, especially as he saw MK being very much not swayed by his pathetic attempt at a heart-to-heart. He tried to talk again, but he just knew he’d fuck it up again. With a heavy sigh, he continued the tour.

He showed them where the “dry stock” was, where everything was kept and what stuff they were allowed to get down and stuff they should ask him about first, then he started to show them the kitchen, where Mei immediately put her hands on the grill, but it was fine because it was off anyways. He showed them pots and pans, and then he showed them the register, and said maybe in a year or two they could work it themselves, which they ‘ooo’-ed and ‘ahhh’-ed at.

Pigsy was good in his restaurant. He knew what he was doing when it came to cooking and noodles and cleaning and stuff.

But as he watched Mei and MK mess around and push random buttons on the turned off register, Pigsy couldn’t help but think about how he was terrible with people.

A part of him blamed his father and his bullshit parenting style, but another part of him knew he was an asshole anyways– getting into fights, smoking, picking way too many battles– he was dogshit at emotions, except for anger and self hatred.

He wasn’t built for this– he wasn’t built for any of this– God– everytime he looked at these kids he felt like he learned something even more fucked up than the previous time and he was just so helpless in all of it– and god– his instincts just wanted him to be worse– to yell and get impatient and roll his eyes– it was probably because he was a demon. He knew the stereotypes, and dammit, it fit almost every bill.

The kids didn’t need a demonic caretaker. They needed someone who could walk them down the street or take them to the park or something and not be met with stares or suspicion– someone who was good and nice on instinct– someone who had patience and could talk well– someone like–

A knock at the window snapped him out of his head, and his heart nearly stopped when he noticed–

“Mr. Tang!” MK waved from the register and the man waved back with a laugh.

Moving quickly with embarrassment, Pigsy stepped out from behind the counter and unlocked the door for his esteemed regular.

“We aren’t open, you know,” The chef said as he opened the door.

“Ah, you’re always open for me Pigsy,” Tang winked and stepped in. “Also– wow, you’ve got to tell me who your repair guys are because this is just– wow,” the customer looked around and whistled.

“Would if I could,” Pigsy shrugged and locked the door behind him.

“What do you mean by that?” Tang raised an eyebrow and laughed in that adorable way he did.

“Two days ago the place was just magically fixed up– literally don’t have a clue as to why or how,” The chef said and the kids “mhm”-ed in agreement.

“Ooo, maybe a fox spirit came in the night and fixed this place up for you,” Tang wiggled his fingers in a manner that made the kids laugh.

“Yeah, because I know fox spirits,” Pigsy rolled his eyes and went back behind the counter to start boiling water as Tang took his seat at the bar.

“Ooo– You gonna order something? Whatcha gonna get? I can punch the numbers in!” MK said excitedly.

“Hey– I wanna take Mr. Tang’s order!” Mei protested.

“Neither of you are going to take his order– he always wants the same thing and he never pays for it,” Pigsy teased his only customer.

Mei gasped. “But Mr. Piggy, you said everyone has to pay for their food.”

“I’m an exception, kiddo,” Tang smirked as he pulled his laptop from his bag and Pigsy started up the grill.

“What? Why?” MK asked. Pigsy felt his heart stop, and so forced himself to start slicing peppers while he waited for the pot to boil so he didn’t have to look at Tang.

Why?

Because Tang was cute. Because he came in looking as thin as a noodle. Because he smiled so stupidly at Pigsy at the register. Because he was so embarrassed he was short on change he looked like he was going to cry. Because he looked so happy when Pigsy said he’d give him the first one free. Because the stranger kept coming in short on change. Because Pigsy ‘forgot’ to ring it a few times. Because after a while he stopped pretending to even try to pay. Because Pigsy liked poking fun at the fact he never charged him. Because he was special. Because he was Tang.

“Because Mr. Pigsy here is very nice,” The customer said, and Pigsy nearly sliced his finger off in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder at Tang, who was smiling at him so warmly it made Pigsy’s face turn as red as the peppers he was cutting.

He quickly looked away and got back to slicing.

“Besides, I have like– no money and a man’s gotta eat,” Tang joked and Mei laughed.

“You picked the right place then because there’s no noodles like Pigsy’s Noodles,” MK said with a cheeky grin.

“Oh? That a new slogan?” Tang perked up in surprise.

“What’s a slogan?” MK tilted his head and Pigsy chuckled.

“Well look at that– you’re practically head of advertising,” Tang winked at the kid and got to typing on his laptop.

“Mr. Piggy, what does that mean?” MK turned to the chef.

“Means you’re smart and creative and stuff, kid– it’s a compliment,” Pigsy said, still not looking back as he started grilling the vegetables.

“Oh,” MK blinked, looking back at Tang. “...Thanks.”

“No problem, MK,” Tang smiled again.

MK smiled right back and got back to his important job of pushing buttons on the register, while Mei crept behind Pigsy and watched him work.

“You interested in cooking, kid?” Pigsy asked as he started to stir the noodles.

“I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen at home– this is cool,” Mei said, trying to peer into the far too tall pot.

“It is cool,” Pigsy nodded to himself, before asking, “Do you… want a stool or something?”

Mei nodded excitedly and Pigsy told her where it was in the cleaning supplies and the girl immediately scurried off to fetch it, returning in a flash and immediately sticking her head directly over the pot.

“Wow, that’s a lotta steam,” She said, having to lean back and blink it out of her eyes.

“Yeah– uh– hot water… does that,” Pigsy again fucked up talking like human being. Mei giggled a little and watched as Pigsy stirred and added salt before going to the sink to strain them.

Then he added the sauces, vegetables, and spices and in no time at all, Tang’s noodles were ready and Pigsy handed them off to his regular, all while Mei cheered and ‘ooo’-ed him on.

“You okay, Pigsy? You seem a little off today,” Tang said in a hushed tone, taking the bowl and accidentally brushing the chef’s fingers.

“I… went apartment shopping in the upper east side,” Pigsy said, quickly pulling his fingers away and handing Tang chopsticks.

Tang sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that can’t have been easy.”

“Y-yeah,” Pigsy couldn’t look at him again.

Tang furrowed his brow. “Do… you need to talk about it?”

“Wh-what? No, please– This is standard procedure– I knew what I was getting myself into– I’m fine. Really,” he tried to assure, but he was aware he sounded like a big idiot.

“Hey MK, Mei– how’d you two like to sit in a booth and color out these Journey to the West coloring pages, huh?” Tang suddenly switched gears and pulled out coloring sheets and a box of crayons from his bag.

“Would I?!” MK leapt from the register and dashed around the corner, immediately taking the papers and going to go color, and Mei followed in her friend's steps.

“What are you doing?” Pigsy whispered.

“A favor. Now tell me what’s going on,” His customer pleaded with him but Pigsy shook his head and started cleaning things up.

“Like I said, it’s nothing I’m not used to,” He half lied.

“You know that doesn’t make anything any easier, right?” Tang said, finally starting to eat his food.

“O-of course I know that–” Pigsy flustered. “I-i just– it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“...It’s not just you having been uptown, is it?” Tang asked.

Pigsy sighed as he scooped up the leftover bits of chili and tossed them into the trash. “I… maybe– but again, I–”

“I knew it,” Tang interrupted him. “Do you wanna talk somewhere more private?”

“Well– who’d watch them?” Pigsy crossed his arms.

“Psh, they have coloring pages and it’s not like they’re four or anything– they’ll be fine,” Tang brushed it off. “C’mon– let’s talk in the back.”

Pigsy would’ve protested more, except that Tang already walked over with his bowl and chopsticks still in hand.

Oh boy…

Pigsy followed him to the back “office” – which was really just a folding table and two chairs with a crap laptop and corkboard and when Pigsy hesitated to sit, Tang patted the chair next to him, making Pigsy feel wildly embarrassed.

“So what’s the matter?” Tang asked as he continued to eat.

“You know this area is supposed to be for employees only,” Pigsy gave him a look.

“You’re trying to deflect and it will not work my dear Pig Man,” Tang smirked and Pigsy gave him yet another look.

“Look– you can judge me all that you want but we’re at least friends, aren’t we? And friends care about when other friends are going through something so– just– tell me what’s wrong,” Tang said with such a genuine tone that it made Pigsy actually want to talk to him, which was insane to say the least.

“I… just… I’m not…” Pigsy took a deep breath in and out.

“I’m not good at this, Tang. I-i don’t know why I even agreed to this– I’m not a human, or a dragon, or fucking royalty– I’m just some fat pathetic lowlife of a demon with anger issues. I don’t even know what to say to them half of the time–! and they’ve just– they’ve been through so much Tang, especially that MK and I just–” Pigsy ran his fingers against his head. “I don’t think I cando this.”

“Pigsy, you aren’t some lowlife–”

Pigsy huffed in contempt.

“You’re a good person, Pigsy– that’s why you did this. You have a big heart deep in there and you care for the little guy,” Tang set down his chopsticks and put his hand closer to the chef on the table.

“Tang… I learned your name three days ago… a-and there’s just so much you and the kids and no one else knows about me, and I just– I hurt people, Tang. It’s my instinct to snap or yell or get frustrated and they don’t need that,” Pigsy looked away.

“Pigsy–”

“You don’t know me, Tang. Y-you’re just some freeloader who hasn’t been here long enough to know just how much pain I’ve caused those I care about– I mean– christ, you don’t even know about Sandy– a-and–” Pigsy realized what he said and his face fell.

“God– I did it again-! I mean– Jesus, Tang-! Look at me! I-i’m a fucking mess-! A mess you barely even know–” Pigsy felt a tight lump start to form in his throat.

“Pigsy–”

“A-and that’s a good thing, Tang… you shouldn’t know me– those kids shouldn’t know me– Nobody should– god I’m such a mess,” Pigsy whispered that last part to himself.

Tang sat in that confession for a moment, before inching his hand closer.

“Well what if I want to know you, hm? What if I want to know the kind noodle shop owner who’s given me free food for a year without even knowing my name?”

“Tang–”

“No Pigsy– what if I want to know the absolute saint of a pig man who risked life and limb for kids he didn’t even know and had no obligation to protect? What if I want to know the man who took in those two kids just so they wouldn’t be separated? Hm? Have you ever considered that I should have a say or could have a want in this? I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions,” Tang protested further.

“Tang, you don’t–”

“No– don’t you try and deny it– those are good things Pigsy and you did them because you are good,” Tang placed a hand on Pigsy’s shoulder that caused the demon to look at him.

“But you don’t–”

“But I do, Pigsy. I do know that because bad people wouldn’t do any of those things– hell, even just decent people wouldn’t. Even if your instincts are to fight or curse or yell, you do it for the right people and the right reasons, and if you didn’t in the past, who gives a shit because you do now, and now is all I or anyone else should care about,” Tang’s hand traveled down his arm until he reached the chef’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“They don’t deserve someone with a past like mine, Tang. They deserve someone who’s always been sweet and kind and good and– and someone like you,” Pigsy looked away.

“You think I’m... sweet?” Tang blinked, and Pigsy realized what he just said.

“I… um… y-yeah. I-i guess I do,” He shrugged a little, which made him also realize he was holding Tang’s hand. More importantly, he realized he wasn’t letting go either.

“I think you’re sweet too, Pigsy– a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” Tang smiled that stupid little smile he always had as he gave Pigsy’s hand another squeeze.

“I– um– Th-thanks… but I’m still– I’m just in so over my head, you know? I still don’t think I can do this alone,” He practically whispered.

“But you aren’t alone– you have me,” Tang’s hand moved back to his shoulder, before his eyes widened, making him pull away and spout– “i-if you want me to help– o-of course, I’m not like– intruding, I’m just saying– I-i–”

Pigsy suddenly laughed and now it was his turn to place a hand on Tang’s shoulder.

“I’d like that, Tang. I’d like that a lot.”

“Thanks,” Tang sighed a breath of relief as he looked back at Pigsy. “Again, you really are a big softie in there, you just gotta let yourself see it.”

“Yeah, I guess you might be a little right,” Pigsy laughed weakly with a playful shrug, and Tang rolled his eyes and laughed too.

“You know I’m right– and hey, if someone as ‘sweet’ as me can like someone as ‘awful’ as you, you really can’t be all that bad, can you?” Tang pointed out.

Pigsy had to think about that for a moment.

“Eh. You’re just different– an angel among men,” Pigsy half-joked.

“You think I’m an angel?” Tang laughed, his face flushing ever so slightly.

“Ah– well– you know–” Pigsy tried to wave off the emotion, but Tang placed a delicate hand on his cheek, which instantly got ten degrees warmer. It was made even worse when Pigsy instinctively placed his hand atop Tang’s, despite his heart pounding a mile a minute.

Suddenly, his regular was leaning really close, looking at Pigsy’s deep, dark eyes with a million emotions at once, and the chef knew he was looking back with a similar gaze. When neither one broke, Tang closed his eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly and as Pigsy closed his eyes and returned the lean, he soon knew the taste of perfection.

Tang leaned back for a second, looking the chef in the eyes to comment, “I think you’re pretty angelic yourself,” before Pigsy smiled and kissed the customer right back.

Heaven.

This was what heaven felt like.

“Mr. Piggy– look at what I drew for– what are you doing?” The small voice of MK made the two men practically fall out of their chairs and they stumbled to their feet, their faces hot and red with embarrassment.

“A-ah well, me and Mr. Tang here w-were just discussing–”

“--We were discussing some ingredient improvements for the rice noodles– it was a little dry,” Tang finished his sentence. Pigsy looked at him worried for a second before Tang shook his head slightly and Pigsy relaxed.

“Oh– well– uh– I drew you-! I-if you wanna see it– haha…” MK suddenly got embarrassed until Pigsy opened his hand, and the boy handed it over.

On the plain backside of the coloring sheet was a fairly impressive drawing of the chef’s battle three days ago with the tiger demons, though with the added detail of having a staff, a cape, and looking much cooler than he probably did.

“I love it, kiddo,” Pigsy smiled and gave the kid a thumbs up.

“R-really?!” MK beamed.

The chef chuckled. “Of course, kid. Would I lie to you?”

MK shook his head.

“Good, glad you know that,” Pigsy winked. “Mind if I put it up back here? Might help bring some life to all the paperwork I gotta do.”

“Wow– okay!” MK flapped his hands a little, which made Pigsy ruffle his hair before finding a thumb tack and adding it to the corkboard.

“See? Even the kid thinks you’re a hero,” Tang whispered with a smirk as he grabbed his noodles and started eating once more.

That… was true. Despite his fuck ups, MK still clearly looked up to him. Pigsy would have to be heartless to try and leave now– hell, the kid would probably just blame himself and Pigsy wasn’t going to let that happen.

No, like the drawing showed, he cared for these kids, and yeah, he had bad habits and tendencies, but he did good things too… Maybe. Look– he was going to work on it so… yeah.

These kids didn’t deserve the bad, but they did deserve the good, and Pigsy would provide that for them in a heartbeat, and that was a Pigsy guarantee.

Wait…Holy fucking shit— did he and Tang just kiss—???

#lego monkie kid #lmk #freenoodles #pigsy lmk #tang lmk #mk lmk #mei dragon #mei lmk #dadsy #Pigsy needs a hug #i love some old gay men who are gay and old #they literally deserve the world #as do young mk and mei

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paisholotus · 2 years ago

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𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓈

Shuri's Pov

I walked out the airport with my bags, and Nakia told me that when I landed, a car would be waiting for me. I was looking through the doors when I noticed Nakia standing beside a tall, bald woman.

I gave her a wave and began walking towards them. With each step I took, I became more nervous. "Shuri, I'm so glad you made it here safely." She said this while hugging me. I just stood there awkwardly; I don't really know how to show affection.

She drew back and looked at me, and I turned my gaze to the woman behind her. "This is Okoye, Shuri." "She is a dear friend of mine. She was excited to meet you."

I smiled at Okoye and gave her a soft wave.

She removed her sunglasses and smiled, holding out her hand for me to shake. "I've heard a lot about you, Shuri." I raised my brow at her. Were the big bosses talking about me or sum? She chuckled and nodded towards Nakia. "Kia, has told us a lot about you." "And just how brilliant you are."

I gave her a small thank you, but I was still curious about who this "us" was. I thanked Okoye for volunteering to take my bags. I sat beside Nakia in the black Escalade, while Okoye sat in the front next to the driver.

I've never been in a fancy car like this before. Is this how all the new students get treated?

We were riding through Oakland, which was very different from Britain. Nakia told me that Oakland has the best food and a diverse range of cultures. So it shouldn't be that different from the UK because Britain is a melting pot in its own right.

Nakia told me, the neighborhood around the center was rebuilt by the King and Prince of Wakanda. She said that they built a new hospital, library, and school. Basically, they helped less fortunate kids.

I was fortunate to have Kate because I grew up in a poor neighborhood. Most of the time, I didn't have much, but my mother did her best with what we had.

"We've arrived, Sister." Okoye told us. And fucking hell, this place was massive. "Foster children are assigned a mentor and live in the school dorms. However, you will not be staying in the dorms." Nakia said.

I raised my brow and looked at her, confused. "Where will I be staying then?" She gave me a friendly smile and told me that I had my own apartment. I think there's something she's not telling me because why do I have my own flat? I got out of the car and followed Nakia and Okoye inside.

There were a lot of kids of different ages walking around. Nakia began showing me around, and we both peaked in different classes. She said that they provide free food, school supplies, and other things that kids may need. She told me my classes are engineering, physics, chemistry, medicine, and computer programming.

Nakia took me out to lunch, gave me my schedule, and told me that some people wanted to talk to me tomorrow but wouldn't tell me who.

This whole secrecy shit was getting on my bloody nerves. We rode back into town after lunch so she could take me to my flat. When we got there, I noticed that this was not your typical apartment complex. These were fucking condos! I've never been anywhere like this in my fucking life.

I looked over to Nakia and made a 'wtf' face at her, but she just shrugged and smiled. "Is this where I'll be staying?" I asked, and she nodded.

I lowered my head, rubbed my hands against my pants, and signed. I looked back at Nakia, who frowned, "Look, Nakia, this is all very nice, and I appreciate everything you're doing." "But this is too much. I can't stay here." She smiled at me and grabbed my hands, causing me to shift uncomfortably.

"Shuri, I understand that this may take some getting used to. But I'm confident you'll come to like it. A regular apartment would have sufficed, but we were under strict orders not to take "no" for an answer from you." "I'm sure you deserve this kind of treatment, no?" She said. still softly smiling at me.

I huffed, took my hands away, and nodded. She tapped my leg and told me to get my things so I could get settled in. I cursed under my breath and trailed behind Okoye and Nakia. We walked into the lobby, and this place looked like somewhere rich people lived, like big business people type shit.

We walked into the elevator, and I watched Okoye press "P" and I gaped at them. No fucking way; she just pressed that. We rode all the way to the top, and then it just hit me: I'M STAYING IN A PENTHOUSE?!

When we walked out of the elevator, I looked at the huge window down the hall, and we were really high up. "Well, this is where you'll be staying." Nakia said.

I walked into the room and stopped dropping my stuff on the floor. "Fuck me." I said lowly. To say this place was huge was a bloody understatement. I walked further into the room and snapped my head back towards them.

"You're telling me I'm staying here?" I asked them, and they nodded. Okoye then looked down at the beads on her wrist, smiled, and excused herself from the room. "OK, Shuri, I'll see you tomorrow; your mentor will be here in the morning, so get up early." She said, grabbing the door and closing it behind her.

I went to pick up my bags and went to find my room. When I found my room, I slowly walked in and sat my bags by the door. I felt my eyes watering as I walked towards the bed. I flopped on the bed and laughed as I cried. Never in my life did I think I would end up here. After everything I've been through, I've finally made it to the place I've always dreamed of being. Happy.

If mum could see me now. I lifted my head up and wiped my cheeks. I thought of something as I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. There must be something really important; they want to talk to me about tomorrow.

TagList: @ziayamikaelson@impremenior@griots-tales @shyjellyfish1 @bluesapphire2 @angelluminary @tuesdaylovesu @yannacakes22 @verachii

#shuri #shuri x black!reader #jamie harrison #urban hymn #black reader #black writers #black representation #black tumblr #self post #tumblelog #black excellence #black girls #poc reader #poc writer #letitia wright

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scary-grace · 1 year ago

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 16) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 16

The knock at the door comes as you’re putting on your shoes to leave, bright and early when the sun’s barely risen. Your mom calls out for you to go get it, since you’re closest, and you open the door just in time to get one of the nastiest shocks you’ve ever gotten in your life. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Hizashi says. He’s wearing a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulder pads and horrible triangular sunglasses, tinted yellow. “As to why I’m here at your parents’ house, I wouldn’t be if you’d stayed in your hotel like you were supposed to.”

Tomura did this. Why did Tomura do this? You hear footsteps down the hall and your mother almost knocks you over in her attempts to get a look at who’s at the door. “Are you Tomura?”

As pissed as you are that Hizashi’s here, the look on his face when he realizes he’s been mistaken for Tomura cracks you up. You lean against the doorframe, wheezing, while Hizashi tries to recover. “No, ma’am. I’m one of their neighbors.”

“Oh,” your mother says, puzzled, while you pray to every deity you can think of that she hasn’t realized that “they” refers to you and Tomura. You and Tomura, living together. “You’re a ways from home.”

“I’m on a mission! See, my husband’s a novelist – Aizawa Shouta, best of his generation – and your daughter agreed to take a research trip up here for him! But it looks like there’s going to be a lot more research than we thought, so Shou sent me up here to help out!” Hizashi gives your mother a smile that would probably be winning if it wasn’t so sharp. “Plus, I’ve got a car of my own. That way we can get back to the neighborhood tonight!”

You can only see your mother in profile, but you see her face fall. “You were supposed to meet the neighbors –”

“Oh, we can stay for that,” Hizashi says before you can say a word. “We won’t leave until after the party! Isn’t that right?”

He’s looking at you. You look back, wondering if he knows just how badly you want to kill him right now. “Right,” you say. You put your hand on your mom’s arm and she looks at you. “I promise I’ll stay for the party.”

She smiles at you, but there’s a line drawn between her brows, and you don’t know what to do about it. Not reassure her, that’s for sure. Hizashi clears his throat from the front step. “We’ve got lots of paper to go through. Let’s rock and roll!”

Your departure’s interrupted by your dad, who’s spotted Hizashi’s goddamn sports car and wants to ooh and ahh over it. Because your parents are both on the curb, you have to wait until you’re around the corner before you unload on Hizashi. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ask your boyfriend,” Hizashi says. His smile’s gone. He looks just as pissed as you feel, except you’re a human and he’s a way-too-powerful former ghost who really doesn’t like you. “Two seconds after you left, he started putting the screws to every ghost in the neighborhood, trying to make somebody follow you.”

“Why?” you ask, baffled. “Nobody out here is looking for me.”

“They aren’t looking for you, and they can’t sense you at a distance, but if they come across you at close range they’ll know exactly what they’re looking at,” Hizashi says. He taps the horn at a moped and nearly scares the driver into a crowd of pedestrians. “Your weak human senses won’t let you see them coming, either, which is why I’m here. Call me your early warning system.”

“Okay, but aren’t you going to attract a lot of attention all on your own?” You really don’t like the fact that you’re in Hizashi’s car right now. As far as you can tell, the two of you are still headed for the museum, but you could veer at any moment. “You’re the most powerful one in the neighborhood next to Tomura. People can probably spot you from miles away, and when they come looking for you, they’ll spot me.”

“Not until they’re up close, and I’ll know they’re coming. Plenty of time for me to hide you somewhere.”

The way he says that, it sounds like he’s talking about hiding your dead body. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even like Tomura. Why would you do what he says?”

“So he’d stop trying to bully Shou into it.” Hizashi’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled. “That, and one other reason. If anything happens to you away from the neighborhood, he’ll blow that house apart and come looking for whoever did it.”

And all Hizashi cares about is making sure Tomura stays in the neighborhood, stays a ghost. “You’re manipulating him.”

“As if. If anything, he’s manipulating me!” Hizashi scoffs. “I told him to send somebody else – somebody without kids, somebody who’s got free time on their hands – and he wouldn’t. Of course, his other option was Dabi, so that was never going to happen, even though Dabi owes him for sheltering Keigo during the Garaki thing – I swear, nobody does dick-measuring contests like live ghosts who are insecure about their humans –”

You’re pretty sure Dabi’s not insecure about Keigo. You hope Tomura’s not insecure about you, and even if he was, you’re pretty sure he could beat Dabi in a dick-measuring contest. Every time the two of you hook up you’re a little taken aback by how big he is. This isn’t a great time to be thinking about that. Luckily, Hizashi’s not paying attention. “But no! Instead of sending the neighborhood’s least favorite burnt marshmallow, he sends me. He must be really worried about you if he thinks it’s worth trapping us together in a car.”

You scrunch down in your seat, more than a little pissed off at Tomura. He might not know what Hizashi said to you the day of the fight with Garaki, but he knows it hurt you, and even if Hizashi’s changed his tune towards you, you doubt Hizashi actually cares whether you live or die. What Hizashi cares about is his family. His family, who will be under threat if Tomura destroys his house and leaves. His family, who Tomura will almost certainly kill if Hizashi lets anything happen to you.

There’s only one thing that can be said about it. “This sucks.”

“For once we agree.” Hizashi’s fingers drum against the steering wheel. “What’s the point of going to this museum again?”

“It used to be an asylum. The conjurer’s younger brother was there, and he died under questionable circumstances,” you say. “But he was there for a while before that. There are lots of records of him, and I want to see if he had anything to say about his brother.”

“Sneaky,” Hizashi remarks. “What are you hoping you’ll find?”

“I don’t know. Something. Anything I can use.” You scrunch further down in your seat. “I was useless fighting Garaki, but the stuff I found out about him helped us get ready. This is the only thing I can do that might help Tomura win.”

“You could always die. He’d be so mad about it that his conjurer wouldn’t stand a chance,” Hizashi says. “Of course, he’d probably take half the city out along with him.”

You decide not to dignify that with a response and resign yourself to an hour and a half of Hizashi picking on you, trying to get you to lose your temper. Your phone pings and you pull it out of your backpack to find Tomura’s contact number. He’s texting you. Is he there?

He’s not even pretending he didn’t do it. My parents thought he was you. You hesitate a moment, then send another text. I don’t need a babysitter.

You didn’t need to leave, either. Tomura discovers the emoji keyboard and sends you twelve in a row, none of which make any sense. Tell me if he does anything to you. I’ll kill him.

It says something about you that you honestly think it’s sweet of Tomura to offer, but it’s long past time for you to fight your own fights with Hizashi. You interrupt him in the middle of a lengthy digression about why Tomura chose poorly when he chose you as his human and drop the conversational equivalent of the atomic bomb. “You know, I used to wonder if you forced Aizawa to marry you.”

Hizashi nearly drives off the road. “You what?”

“Yeah. The way your meet-cute went, it sounds like he didn’t really have a choice,” you say. Antagonizing Hizashi is a stupid move, especially when you’re stuck in the car with him, but you’re tired of being his punching bag. “Did you ever wonder about that? Do any of you ever wonder if your humans really wanted you?”

“Watch it,” Hizashi warns through clenched teeth. “If you keep running your mouth off –”

“You say this kind of stuff to me all the time,” you point out. “Except you say worse things about Tomura than I’d ever say about Aizawa. I’m not taking it lying down anymore. So either we keep going like this and I give as good as I get, or we accept that we’re stuck together for the next eighteen hours and call a truce. Your choice.”

Trying to be reasonable with a ghost who doesn’t want to understand is like smashing your head repeatedly against a brick wall. But you can see that Hizashi’s thinking about it. He doesn’t like having his bullshit turned around on him, and he knows he can’t retaliate worse. And you are stuck together for the next eighteen hours. “Tell me about humans, then,” he says finally. “Since you know so much.”

“Can’t you ask Aizawa about humans?”

“There are things he says I won’t get. That he knows I won’t get, because my frame of reference is wrong.” It sounds like it bothers Hizashi. Like it bothers him a lot. “I’m two hundred and nineteen years old. My frame of reference is pretty fucking broad. But apparently it’s not broad enough to get it.”

“Get what?”

Hizashi doesn’t answer. “Here’s the deal. I’ll tell you everything you want to know about ghosts. The kind of shit your stupid brat ghost won’t say. You tell me what I want to know about humans. That’s our truce. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” you say, wondering what Hizashi thinks Tomura won’t say about being a ghost. “What does Aizawa think you don’t get?”

“Sacrifice,” Hizashi says. You blink. “If he had to save me or the kids, he’d save the kids, and he thought I’d say the same thing. Like it’s a no-brainer. Why?”

“I don’t have kids,” you remind him.

“The way he reacted, it’s not a parent thing. It’s a human thing. You’re supposed to choose the kids,” Hizashi says. “Why?”

“Um –” You really don’t want to wade into this, but you also don’t want to spend the rest of the day going back and forth with Hizashi to see who can be the bigger asshole. “It’s – when you have kids, they’re here because of you. The only reason they’re here is because you wanted them to be. So a lot of people think your responsibility should be to them over everything else. Over you and over your job and over the stuff you own – and over your spouse.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hizashi says flatly. “I love my kids. I’d do anything for them. Except let my human die.”

With Hizashi’s conjurer and Eri’s conjurer both dead, this little hypothetical is probably never going to come to pass. But you’re thinking of something else, something Aizawa said about how to convince ghosts to change their behavior. “Think about it this way,” you suggest. “If you saved Aizawa and let the kids die, he would never forgive you.”

“If I didn’t, he’d be dead. It wouldn’t matter.”

“Nobody knows what happens after you die.” You shrug. “It might be nothing, but you might see him again.”

Hizashi glances sideways at you. “It’s not nothing,” he says. Your stomach lurches. “The world we come from is called the world between for a reason. It’s our entire world, but it’s nothing more than a pathway for your kind. Sooner or later, you all pass through.”

You’ve seen into the world between. It’s horrifying. “Pass through to what?”

“We don’t know,” Hizashi says. “I’ve followed those paths. Most of us do, if we stay there long enough to grow up. We can’t cross over, so we don’t know for sure. All I can tell you is there’s something there.”

You think of something Tomura said a long time ago: They embodied themselves so they could follow their humans. Wherever they go. Even after they’re dead. Hizashi laughs quietly. “One of these days I’ll find out.”

He sounds pretty unconcerned about the possibility. Then again, he’s never said he’s scared of dying – only of outliving Aizawa. You don’t want to talk about the afterlife anymore. “Did I answer your question?”

“Close enough.” Hizashi merges onto the freeway and accelerates. “Your turn. Got any ghost questions for me?”

Just one. “What happens if a ghost kills their own conjurer?”

“Nothing good,” Hizashi says. Your heart sinks. “First of all, it’s hard. They’ll draw on their other ghosts to fight back, and you’ll have to blast through those ghosts, too. If you’re permanently embodied, it’s not possible. They’ll just kill you. If you aren’t embodied and you take out your conjurer personally, you’re breaking your link to this world.”

Aizawa told you there was only one way out once a ghost has been summoned. Probably because he never expected things to go like this. “It sends them back?” you ask. “Every time?”

“Every time I’ve seen, which isn’t many.” Hizashi shrugs. “Theoretically he could fight it. If he took out the other ghosts, drained his conjurer, and embodied himself, he’d have a chance. But he’d have to want it. More than –”

“He’s ever wanted anything else, in all his existence.” You don’t need to fill in what you and everybody else in the neighborhood have figured out already: Tomura doesn’t want to be human. “This is more important than I thought, then. If you want him to keep protecting the neighborhood, the rest of us have to figure out how to kill his conjurer.”

You and Hizashi spend the rest of the drive to the asylum talking about conjurers. As the oldest ghost you know of, Hizashi’s seen a lot as far as conjurers go, and he even met some of the other ghosts Tomura’s conjurer summoned. You ask him what they were like and watch his expression turn grim. “By human standards, I’m a monster,” he says. It doesn’t weird you out even slightly to hear him admit it. It’s more of a relief than anything else. “Compared to those ghosts, I’m nothing. We’re lucky none of them are left.”

“If none of them are left, then what’s Tomura’s conjurer going to bring as backup?” you ask. “There’s no way he’ll come alone.”

“More Nomus, maybe?” Hizashi runs a red light and waves cheekily at the semi-truck he just cut off before roaring into the museum’s parking lot at full speed. “Let’s hope this place helps us figure it out.”

The old asylum looks exactly like what it is – a place built hundreds of years ago to imprison people who just needed help. You don’t pick up anything at all from setting foot on the property, but Hizashi hesitates to get out of the car, and once he does, his face goes pale. “You’re not getting that? Damn. I guess if his aura didn’t put you off, this wouldn’t either, but – damn.”

“No, I feel it.” You do, not on the grounds, but with every step you take inside the museum. There’s something about this place – not scary, but sad. From your research, you know this was the kind of the place where people locked up their family members and threw away the key. You imagine being dragged through these doors, never to come out alive, and feel your stomach lurch. “It’s – not good in here.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Hizashi leans against the wall and takes out his phone, only looking up when he realizes you’re staring at him. “This is your party, not mine. Get to work.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter. Of course he won’t make himself useful. You square your shoulders and head for the front desk alone. “Hi. I’m here about Shigaraki Yoichi.”

“Yes, the curator warned me you’d be coming.” The docent looks you up and down. “What’s your interest in this former inmate?”

“I’m, um –” You should have thought of an excuse ahead of time. “I’m –”

“Sorry, she’s a genealogist. She doesn’t get out much.” Hizashi’s there, suddenly, his arm slung around your shoulders and his mouth running a mile a minute. “We’ve got this client, see – old family, not much to go off of, but he’s pretty interested in his family history. It took us a lot of legwork to find this place! We think this Shigaraki guy might be the missing piece in our client’s family tree, so we’re here to check into it. How about we get started?”

In spite of his bizarre outfit, the docent clearly finds Hizashi a lot more credible than you. It bothers you. “What happened to ‘your party, not mine’?”

“The faster we get this done, the faster I get back to my husband and kids.” Hizashi is all business as the two of you step into the archive room and stare down at the table full of documents that awaits you. “All right. Divide and conquer. I’ll take everything on the left, and you can –”

“I’ll take the left side,” you say. The right side has a lot of photos, and you don’t want Hizashi hovering over your shoulder while you’re trying to read. “It’s still my party.”

You’re expecting Hizashi to bitch about it, but all he does is ask you for a pen and one of the notebooks you brought, which you’re happy to provide. Shigaraki Yoichi’s files don’t have an organization system, or if they did, it vanished sometime in the two hundred years since he died. You resign yourself to starting from scratch, pull on the mask and pair of gloves the docent provided, and get to work with the first set of files.

You were worried there’d be nothing useful, but it turns out that this asylum was pretty on top of things as a function of serving mostly rich families. The Shigaraki family was absolutely loaded for the time period, and if Akira’s managed to hang onto even a little bit of that wealth through the ensuing centuries, interest rates will have turned it into a fortune. With this kind of money, Shigaraki Akira could erase his own identity and recreate it a thousand times over, pay off anyone he needed to pay off, make anything that could be traced back to him disappear. With this kind of money, it’s a miracle you found anything about him at all.

But you’re not focusing on Akira right now. You take a few notes based on his brother’s admission paperwork, then open the folder containing the medical chart.

Shigaraki Yoichi was ill almost from birth. It looks like tuberculosis. That’s what the autopsy report says, anyway, and you’re not a doctor, so you can’t come up with another reason why his lungs might bleed. His mental health looks like it was normal for the first few years of his life, with an episode of some kind occurring when he was eight. When he was eight, and his brother Akira was sixteen. Yoichi is described as being tormented by nightmares, even in waking. He’s quoted as raving about cold places in his home, of unseen things touching him, of feeling constantly, unceasingly watched. Reading over it sends a faint chill down your spine, and cold certainty settles in the pit of your stomach. Yoichi might have been crazy. But he was definitely being haunted.

He had a pet – it doesn’t say what kind – that died, withered into a husk as it slept next to him on the bed. The family appears to have seen it as a small sadness, nothing worth crying over for more than a day or two. Yoichi saw things differently. He swore up and down to anyone who would listen that his older brother killed his pet. His older brother, and his friends.

The doctor or worker or whoever was taking Yoichi’s history took the time to point out that all of Akira’s friends, and Akira himself, were confirmed to be elsewhere on the night in question. But not all of Akira’s friends, you don’t think. At least one stayed behind. At least one couldn’t leave.

Your first big shock comes when you learn that Yoichi begged to be sent to the asylum, that he was happy to be there. He kept a journal during that time, too, and you turn the ancient pages carefully, reading the words of a long-dead man who, for the first time in his life, sounds completely sane. It doesn’t take you long to realize what must have happened. Yoichi figured out at some point that the ghost his brother summoned to haunt him was tied to the house. All he had to do to escape it was to leave.

Yoichi lived in the asylum for seven years before anyone from his family came to visit him. The notes say that after a visit from his brother, Yoichi’s mental health degraded significantly. It shows in his journal, too. He draws things – shapes in the shadows, in the smoke from a candle, in the steam – and with every page you turn, he sounds more and more desperate, more and more hopeless. He writes about marks that appear on his body, marks only he can see, and the slow, suspicious deaths of every friend he’s made. In the notes, he’s described as paranoid, fixated on his brother. In his journal, he’s perfectly clear: I will not survive much longer. I want it known to whoever reads this that he did this to me. But I will not go quietly. I will resist him for as long as my spirit holds out, in life and in death. For all his power, he cannot touch the souls of the dead. It is my turn to haunt him.

You tap Hizashi on the shoulder, and he looks up, annoyed. You ignore it. “Can humans stay behind?”

“What?”

“After we die,” you say, and understanding crosses Hizashi’s face. “Can humans stay behind?”

“In theory,” Hizashi says. “Why do you ask?”

You slide Yoichi’s journal carefully across the table to him. Hizashi reads over it. “It’s possible in theory,” he says again. “In practice, your kind’s souls leave this world like they’re being fired out of a cannon. It would take an insane amount of willpower to hang on without a living body as an anchor. I’ve met maybe two humans – ever – who could pull a move like that. Did this guy really want vengeance that much?”

“Not vengeance, I don’t think.” Your eyes catch on one word in the journal entry. Resist. “He knew what his brother was. He wanted to stop him.”

You look around the archive room, a thought crossing your mind. “Do you think he’s still here?”

“Doubtful. If he really stuck around, he wouldn’t have been tied to this place the way a ghost would be,” Hizashi says. “If he stayed behind and if he went anywhere, it was probably after his brother. Or after anybody who could deal with his brother.”

Somebody was dealing with his brother – Mr. Yagi and his master. Hizashi glances over at the journal again. “How does it say he died, anyway?”

The entry you just read is the last entry in the journal. You reach for Yoichi’s chart again and come face to face with the causes of death: Starvation and dehydration, both severe, with no other complicating factor. You recall a coroner’s report saying Yoichi starved himself to death, and the chart says he stopped eating, but one of the people who cared for him added a note of their own. They said that Yoichi ate and drank as normal, but it didn’t matter – He withered away before my eyes into a shell of himself. Withered. Just like the pet that was killed by the ghost did.

You don’t realize you didn’t answer until Hizashi leans over your shoulder and reads for himself. “This whole thing smacks of Tomura,” he says aloud. You glare at him. “No, I know this wasn’t him. But Shigaraki here has a type of ghost he prefers. They don’t just kill, they torment. They destroy.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“Artfully,” Hizashi says. He slides the notebook he’s been sketching in across the table to you. “There’s nothing artful about this.”

You take one look and recoil. “I did this off a sketch in there, since we can’t take photos,” Hizashi says. He turns the page quickly, but the image of Shigaraki Yoichi’s twisted, shriveled corpse is going to stick with you for a long time. “Check this out, though. Shigaraki Yoichi, age twenty-five. Who does he look like?”

Tomura. He looks sort of like Tomura. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Hizashi says innocently. “We’ve got no control over what we look like when we materialize, by the way. It just happens, and not everybody gets blessed with my good looks.”

“Why mention it, then?”

“It’s just funny,” Hizashi says. “How Tomura’s the only one who didn’t go completely fucking batshit crazy, and how he’s also the only one who looks like his conjurer’s crazy little brother.”

“He doesn’t look that much like him,” you say. You pull your phone out of your pocket, realize that you get approximately zero reception in the archive room, and stand up. “I’ll be back. I have to make a call.”

Hizashi shoos you off, and when you glance back over your shoulder on your way out, you see him peering at your notebook. Fine. It’s not like there’s anything in there you aren’t planning on telling the entire rest of the neighborhood once you get back.

The instant your phone gets reception back, you get a truly insane pileup of texts – from Magne, Himiko, Spinner, Keigo, and even Aizawa. But even all their texts together are still dwarfed by the sheer number of texts you’ve gotten from Tomura. You can only stare in horror, and as you watch, another three texts come in.

Two of them are from the ghost friends groupchat. Aizawa’s direct-replying to Keigo. What on earth possessed you to use that word?

It’s just a word! How was I supposed to know it would make him worse? Keigo’s indignance is leaking through the phone. ‘Dead zone’ is metaphorical! It’s not –

You stop reading and call Tomura before he can text you again or blow up the house. “I’m fine,” you say the instant he answers, and before he can say a word. “There are places where phones don’t get good service and the room the documents are in is one of them. That’s why your messages weren’t going through.”

“Then why is it called a dead zone?”

Tomura sounds stressed. You haven’t heard him sound like that since the time he conference-called the ghost friends while you were sick. “It’s just a turn of phrase,” you say. “Humans use ‘dead’ a lot to mean that something doesn’t work. Like something being dead in the water means it’s stopped working. Somebody being dead weight means they’re not helping as much as they should. The slowest runner in a race is dead last. Does that make any sense?”

Tomura’s quiet for a moment, then renders his verdict. “Humans say ‘dead’ too much.”

“Maybe,” you say. Tomura makes an irritated noise. “Hey, can you relax? I don’t know what you were doing to the house, but whatever it was, it probably scared Phantom. She doesn’t like loud sounds.”

“She’s fine. I wasn’t being loud.” Tomura still sounds guilty, which means something got damaged, and based on the fact that the entire neighborhood was texting you, it probably had something to do with the lights. You wonder how many lightbulbs you’re going to have to replace when you get back. “You should have told me about the spots with bad service.”

“I would have if I’d known you were going to freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Tomura snaps. “Did you learn anything? Was there any point to you going?”

“Yeah, I learned some stuff,” you say. “I’ll know more once I call my boss.”

“Is that why you looked at your phone? To call him?”

“I was going to text you, too,” you say. Tomura hasn’t been this clingy in a while. It’s getting annoying – except last night you were upset because he hadn’t called, so you’re clingy, too. “I didn’t come here to get away from you, Tomura.”

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t think you ran. I thought – I don’t know. He didn’t pick up, either. I thought –”

He thought something happened to you. “Nothing happened,” you promise. “I’ll be home late tonight or early tomorrow. Everything’s fine.”

“I should have gone with you.”

Your stomach clenches. “Don’t be stupid. We wouldn’t have anywhere to live if you’d gone with me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Tomura doesn’t follow up with what he’s actually saying, which is good, because you already know. This fight’s been brewing for a month, and you don’t want to have it over the phone. “Just go call your boss.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll message you when me and Hizashi are done. I –”

You cut yourself off one word into the slip-up. You haven’t come that close in a while. “What?” Tomura asks.

“I miss you. Bye.”

You hang up the phone, cursing the near miss. You have a rule about telling Tomura you love him, which is that you don’t do it. You call Mr. Yagi instead, and even though it’s Saturday, he picks up right away. “Sir, did you and your master ever encounter a spirit? A human spirit?”

“A human spirit,” Mr. Yagi repeats. “In what sense?”

“Something – friendly,” you say. “Or maybe not friendly. Just not harmful. To you.”

The instant you say it, you realize how similar it sounds to the way you originally thought about Tomura. Dangerous, but not dangerous to you. “I would not have called it human then,” Mr. Yagi says, “but for a time, early in our hunt for Shigaraki Akira, a presence accompanied my master and I. Neither she nor I had words for it. It was not something either of us had encountered before.”

Hizashi said it would be rare, if it was even possible at all. Mr. Yagi’s voice is wary when he speaks. “Why do you ask?”

“Shigaraki Yoichi. In his last journal entry, he swears to stay behind after his death and oppose his older brother,” you say. You hear Mr. Yagi suck in a breath. “Could it have been him?”

“If it was, the strength of his spirit must have been immense,” Mr. Yagi says. “Human souls were not made to dwell here without bodies. To remain with us as long as he did would take a tremendous act of will, and to provide any kind of strength – he aided us in our battles on more than one occasion.”

“So he had power.”

“Great power. Human souls aren’t fragile the way the souls of ghosts are,” Mr. Yagi says. “They cannot be blasted apart. In our early battles, this spirit – Shigaraki Yoichi, if you’re correct about this – shielded me from errors that would have killed me otherwise. Instead I was able to learn from my mistakes. By the time the spirit departed, I was more than able to fight for myself.”

So Yoichi’s mission did succeed. He was able to resist his brother. “Do you know why he left?”

“I assume that once we no longer needed him, his will to remain in this world was no longer sufficient to resist the pull of the world beyond,” Mr. Yagi says. “To resist as long as he did was miraculous.”

“How long ago did he vanish?”

“That will take me a moment. My memory is not what it once was.” Mr. Yagi speaks up again after maybe two seconds. “Between a hundred and a hundred and twenty years ago.”

“Okay,” you say. “Did he ever say anything to you? Were you able to communicate with him at all?”

“I was not, but my master was. I’ll check her journals and let you know what I find.”

You thank Mr. Yagi and hang up the phone. Before you go inside, you text an apology to the ghost friends groupchat for whatever nonsense Tomura pulled. And then you sit there for a second, trying to figure out how to respond to the pileup of crazy texts Tomura sent.

You try to put yourself in his shoes, think about what this looks like from his side. The person you care about has left. They gave you a phone so you could talk to them, only they’re not answering, and the person you sent with them to protect them isn’t answering, either. You know the world’s dangerous. You’re worried that the person you care about will leave you for good. You don’t understand enough about the outside world to come up with alternate explanations for the undelivered messages. Thinking about it like that, it’s not a surprise that Tomura panicked.

It's not your fault, but you still want to make him feel better. Feeling twenty kinds of crazy, you snap a quick selfie and send it to him. Then you send a message – thinking about you – and add a heart emoji to go with it.

It’s not a lie. You are thinking about him. The heart emoji isn’t a lie, either. But it feels weird. This is the kind of thing you’d do with a boyfriend, and Tomura – you remember last night and wince. The two of you defined the relationship. He is your boyfriend. Which makes it not weird at all, except for the part where your boyfriend’s a ghost.

Ghost boyfriend. You have a ghost boyfriend. The thought’s so absurd that you’re still giggling about it when you get back to the archive room. Hizashi looks up, scowling, as you step through the door. “What’s so funny?”

You put your mask back on and make an effort to get your shit together. “I talked to my boss. He says that there was a presence following them – helping them – from the time they started fighting Shigaraki until about a hundred and twenty years ago. After that it vanished. He said he thinks its will just ran out.”

“Huh,” Hizashi says. He doesn’t look convinced. “You know what else happened a hundred and twenty years ago?”

“You got an ear piercing you regret?”

Hizashi’s scowl deepens. “I know you’re not this stupid, human. What happened a hundred and twenty years ago that’s relevant to you, specifically?” You get the answer, but not fast enough for Hizashi’s liking. “If you’re right, if Yoichi stuck around, if he was helping your boss and his master, and if he fucked off purposely a hundred and twenty years ago, where would he have gone except straight to that house?”

“What would have been the point of that?” You look at your notes, then at the pile of papers left. Then at your watch. “Let’s just copy the rest of these word for word. We can go through them when we get back.”

“Fine by me.” Hizashi picks up his pen again.

By the time the two of you leave the museum for good, you’ve copied down everything including the photos, courtesy of Hizashi’s apparent skills as a sketch artist. You’ve also got a bunch of texts – from the ghost friends groupchat accepting your apology for all of Tomura’s nonsense, from your mom wondering what time you and Hizashi will be back, one from Spinner that’s just a list of crazy things Tomura’s been naming his Pokémon. One from Mr. Yagi, telling you that he and Izuku are compiling every mention of the spirit from his master’s journals. A bunch from Tomura that are just pictures of empty space, in various spots in the house, occasionally with Phantom in the background.

It’s so weird that you eventually have to show it to Hizashi, who takes one look and cracks up. “Idiot,” he cackles. “He’s trying to take a selfie.”

Live ghosts don’t show up clearly on camera, even when they’re embodied. Tomura figured that out about twenty photos in. Hizashi, who’s still got your phone and is refusing to give it back, reads the texts aloud. “I’m materialized so it should work. This is stupid. You’re gonna forget what I look like.” Hizashi howls with laughter. “It would be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

You snatch your phone away from Hizashi before he can read any more of your texts. You read the remaining messages from Tomura in silence. Phantom misses you. She keeps going from room to room and crying. That’s not a surprise – Phantom’s barely been away from you since you adopted her. It makes sense that she’d be worried about where you are. You said you were thinking about me. What are you thinking about?

A lot of things. You’re not sure how to break them down, but somehow it feels easier to talk to Tomura by text than in person. He can’t see your face like this, read what you’re feeling from it. He only knows what you tell him. Different things. What you and Phantom are up to. What we should do when I get back. Whether you and Tomura have been sharing space with the spirit of Shigaraki Yoichi all this time. If it was really necessary for you to send Hizashi up here after me. That kind of thing.

It was necessary. So you’d be safe. Tomura types fast. Are you coming home yet?

In a couple hours. I have to meet my parents’ neighbors first so they’ll know my parents weren’t lying about having a daughter.

That was mean. You shouldn’t have said that, but you’re tired and stressed, and you wish more than anything that you were already home. Tomura responds. When are they coming to meet me?

You almost choke on thin air. You don’t want to meet them.

I’m supposed to. That’s what happens with boyfriends in those dumb romance movies.

It’s been a while since you wished you’d been more careful about what you let Tomura watch. You didn’t miss the feeling, and you’d love to never put your parents and Tomura in the same room – but your parents know Tomura exists, and they want to meet him, too. We can talk about it when I get back.

Tomura’s only been texting for twenty-four hours, and he already has some bad habits, like hopping subjects whenever he feels like it instead of in any way that makes sense. Send me another picture.

You’ve created a monster. You sigh and send another selfie, and in the driver’s seat, Hizashi snorts. It bothers you for some reason. “Do you have a problem? How did you get pictures of Aizawa?”

“Took them myself,” Hizashi says with a shrug.

“Did he know you were taking them?”

Hizashi waves one hand. “Technicality.”

“No, it isn’t,” you say. “What did he say when he found out about you?”

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my hospital room?” Hizashi says, and you muffle a snicker. “But I’d just saved his life. That bought me a whole lot of goodwill. How did your gloomy brat introduce himself? Flopping face-first in your lap and begging for attention?”

“No,” you say. You’re not about to say that your first official introduction to Tomura occurred in your bathroom right after you stepped out of the shower. “A coyote broke into the yard and attacked me and Phantom, and he saved us.”

“Huh,” Hizashi says. It’s quiet for a second. “People are going to ask how you met him. If you want them to like him, tell them that.”

You sit there, your mind blank. “Say it was on a walk or something,” Hizashi continues. “Don’t tell them he was in your yard.”

“That’s good advice,” you say after a moment. “Thanks.”

By the time you get back to your parents’ house, their party is in full swing. You knew that they invited you for a reason, and that the reason was to prove that they definitely weren’t lying about having a daughter. You know that. And still, it’s – nice. It’s nice that your parents want to brag about you, to introduce you to their neighborhood as their daughter who’s got a job and a boyfriend and a house of her own. It’s nice to hear them talk about you like they’re proud of you.

You’re conscious of Hizashi lurking at the edges of the party, and Hizashi’s words never really left your head. Mommy and Daddy didn’t love you enough. Maybe they didn’t. There’s nothing you could have done to change the way you grew up. But you’re okay now. You’re happy now. If they want to be proud of who you’ve become, that’s fine with you.

It’s fine with you, but you’re still glad to be out of there when it’s time. Your parents are worried about you and Hizashi driving home so late, but Hizashi’s wide awake, and you don’t think there’s any way you can fall asleep in his presence. You’re pretty sure he won’t kill you, but still. “Here,” your mother says, pushing a travel mug full of coffee into Hizashi’s hands. Hizashi protests that she should keep her mug, and she shakes her head. “I’ll pick it up later. We’ll be coming down for a visit soon.”

It’s a good thing you’ve already said goodbye and gotten in the car, and that Hizashi’s car has tinted windows. You’re pretty sure all the blood drains right out of your face.

Even if your mom didn’t see it, Hizashi does, and he spends the first fifteen minutes of the drive laughing about it. “You should throw a party just like they did. Let them meet the whole neighborhood at once, and maybe they’ll be so distracted by the cute kids and what Dabi looks like that they won’t notice what a crusty goblin your boyfriend is.”

You scrunch down in your seat like a twelve-year-old. “I’ll just tell him to stay invisible. And I’ll tell them he’s out of town.”

“Good luck convincing him to stay invisible. They might be the two people in the world he’s actually interested in meeting.” Hizashi gets his snickering under control and sobers up slightly. “What is it with you humans and wanting to hide us from your families, anyway? We’re important, but you all do it. Why?”

“We’re used to you guys. They aren’t,” you say. “Even when you’re embodied, there’s something a little – off. More than just your eyes.”

It’s hard to explain what it is, but there’s something with every ghost you’ve met other than Mr. Yagi. Maybe if you’d known about ghosts before you met him, you would have been able to spot it with him, too. “Besides, I don’t get the sense that a lot of us have families we want to introduce anybody to.”

“That’s sort of a theme. Shou’s theory is that most people who end up hanging with ghosts have had some pretty bad experiences with humans.” Hizashi flips on his turn signal, hops in the high-speed lane, and floors the accelerator. “Your parents aren’t bad. A little cold, maybe. Definitely not bad enough to make hanging out with Tomura the better offer.”

He’s throwing out bait, waiting for you to jump on it. You’re not going to. You sit quietly as five or six miles zoom past, and Hizashi speaks up again. “What, you’re not going to defend him?”

“Nothing I say is going to change your opinion about me or about him,” you say. “Nothing you say is going to change my opinion about him, either. So there’s no point.”

“Stubborn, huh?” Hizashi chuckles. “I like that in a human. You probably could have done better than him, but he could have done a hell of a lot worse than you.”

Any compliment from Hizashi’s sure to have a backhand to it. You’re just tired enough to take this one at face value – ignoring the fact that the person giving it hates you, ignoring the fact that Tomura’s never going to embody himself permanently, ignoring the fact that you’re most likely walking into a fight you’ve been putting off for a month when you get home. You give up on scrunching down and roll your seat back instead. “Thanks.”

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