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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years ago

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My Entry for the @konoblog-simps College Au event. I had to write this after moving to my new place with little to no actual wifi and most of it was done on my phone so...ya, that was fun lol.

Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Anko, Maito Gai, Uchiha Obito, Nohara Rin, Genma.

AO3

Tags: College au

Word count: 2791

Summary: Hatake Kakashi is a genius. Top of his class in every subject, he rarely ever has to put effort into his assignments, and as a rule he doesn't. Except when it comes to Photography.

Special thanks: @saudade-mayari and @punk-pandame for help me out by Betaing the fic i had to write on my phone mostly.

Biology had never been one of Kakashi’s favourite subjects. It was tedious, boring and had little to offer that challenged him in a meaningful way. Of course, that could be said about most of the classes that he took, but today’s problem was biology.

He’d deal with the other classes when he had to sit in them listening to the professor drone on about a boring lab that involved little to no actual skill and could just as easily be done on a computer. There were so many more interesting things he could be doing with this time.

Things he could be learning without having to cut open a frog just to get a good look at its insides.

“Alright!” Hearing Anko’s cheerful voice, Kakashi directed his gaze towards her. The only thing that could be expected when Anko was happy about something, was danger. It was what Anko lived for. The thing that gave her life, and today was no exception judging by the gleeful look in her eyes. “Let’s see what’s hidden inside of you.”

How she could have so much fun with something as simple as a dissection, Kakashi would never know. Though, at least she could find some enjoyment in a class that offered nothing but boredom for him and many others. So much fun that even when she started to cut into the poor frog’s exposed belly, there was still a giant grin on her face. An expression that made her look a little mad, in his opinion.

One that he couldn’t help but feel the urge to photograph.

Forgetting about the task at hand, he reached down to grab the messenger bag that he had set down beside his stool upon taking his seat and quickly dug out his digital camera. A small, simple camera that he had bought specifically for his photography class. Not a purchase that he had been expecting to make when he decided what subjects he wanted to take this semester, but easily the best purchase he had made. No 30,000 Yen textbook could ever hope to compare to the beauty of this camera.

Switching the camera on, he peered through the viewfinder and waited for the lens to come into focus. Just as he pressed the shutter button, successfully capturing a photo, Anko threw her head back and cackled. Even without looking at the LCD Display to see the picture that he had captured, Kakashi could already tell that it was perfect. With a look of maniacal glee on her face, Anko painted a delightful picture of the perfect Biology student. Someone who could find excitement in even the most mundane task set in front of them.

If anyone ever asked Kakashi to choose one picture to show people what a mad scientist would look like in real life, he would have to choose this one. There wasn’t a soul in the world who had ‘mad scientist’ down quite as perfectly as Anko, and if Biology class was good for anything it was showing just how much joy the woman got from things that would disgust or bore any other human.

“Mr. Hatake,” dragging his eyes off of his camera, Kakashi cringed when he saw Professor Orochimaru standing there glaring at him with that same unimpressed look he always had when he was speaking to Kakashi. “I think it would be best if you paid attention to the task at hand, rather than sneaking photographs of your classmates. Don’t you?”

Biting his tongue, Kakashi tucked the camera away in his bag and set it down beside his chair once more. It was best not to get into an argument that he was unlikely to win, even if returning his gaze to the poor frog laying on the table in front of him did drain all of the excitement he had been feeling just a second ago while holding his camera.

“Hey,” lifting his eyes, he watched as Anko leaned over the desk. That same joyful smile that she had been wearing while dissecting her frog was still plastered on her face. “You’ll show me the picture after class, right? I want to make sure I look perfectly terrifying in whatever picture you’re about to print off of me.”

Terrifying. That was certainly one way to describe her.

“I’ll show you after class,” he promised, giving her a playful wink. “Just try not to make a mess while you’re having fun.”

His comment was met with a laugh. “No promises.”

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

After a long day of classes, it was always nice to head out to his favorite café and get a nice cup of hot chocolate. An hour to relax before he started working on assignments, or headed to his part-time job at the university's campus bar.

Just some time to recharge after a long day of being bored out of his mind from monotone professors and lessons they always swore would require everyone's full attention to be understood, but never really did.

Today, he was not getting that time alone he usually needed so badly. Instead, he was sitting at a table with his three best friends, and the three loudest people in all of Konoha University.

Nohara Rin, beautiful and kind but with a voice that could not be missed by anyone. A trait she had picked up from spending so much time with Obito, no doubt.

Speaking of whom: Uchiha Obito. The second loudest student in all of Konoha University and possibly the world. Brash, knuckle-headed and dumber than a sack of rocks some days.

Ok, most days but Kakashi liked to give him the benefit of the doubt sometimes.

And then there was Maito Gai. Sweet, handsome, and always bursting with energy. The only person who was louder than Obito, and he made sure to leave no questions about that fact whenever he spoke.

How Kakashi had ended up with these three as friends he would never know, but he also wouldn't change it for the world. Even if his ears were ringing after five minutes with all three of them.

"How can you even say that?" Obito threw a hand over his heart in one of the most dramatic displays of horror Kakashi had ever seen. "Nutritional science? Better than theatre? Lies! Utter lies!"

"Maybe in your mind," Rin responded with a roll of her eyes. “Not everyone thinks Theater is the best thing ever invented since Dango.”

Gai wasn't so calm about Obito's response though. Not one to be outdone, he threw his hands down on the table and stood up in his spot so that he was staring Obito down. "At least Nutritional sciences can be used to help people," he defended his class with the same fiery passion that he showed with everything he did. “You're just learning to put on a show, which I'm convinced is a blood trait already for the Uchiha."

Kakashi couldn't find it in him to argue with that. Obito may be one of the most dramatic people he knew, but when it came to the Uchiha he was hardly the only one. Most days Shisui could give Obito a run for his money when it came to dramatic flare.

A fact Obito always got upset with him for pointing out.

"Kakashi, back me up here," Gai turned to look at him with soft black eyes that Kakashi would happily get lost in for the rest of the day. "His major is just...it doesn't serve a purpose."

"Someone has to be entertaining in this world, beast face," Obito protested. "And what's Kakashi going to say? His major is so boring he looks like he's going to fall asleep in class all the time."

"That's not wrong," glancing towards Rin, Kakashi jutted out his bottom lip to form the most pathetic pout that he could. "What? It's true! Today in biology you took a picture of Anko instead of doing the assignment."

Sometimes he forgot that he shared classes with Rin, but she always found a way to remind him, which wouldn't be nearly as bad if she didn't call him out on being a lazy shit like that in front of Gai.

"Kakashi, are you ignoring class again for photography?"

There was a disappointment in Gai's voice that he couldn’t stand hearing. As if he was about to be scolded for his life choices when he would much rather listen to Gai talk about how amazing he was.

But since he was now clearly upset with him thanks to Rin, there was only one option left to get him off of his back.

“I believe you were talking about how Obito's major isn't nearly as useful as yours," he offered, sticking his tongue out towards Obito when he immediately started to scold Kakashi for turning the conversation away from his own inability to focus in class.

"Well, yes-" watching as Gai turned his attention back to the conversation, immediately picking up where he had left off as if there had been no interruption, Kakashi couldn't help but reach into his backpack and pull out his camera.

Did he really need a picture of the moment that Obito stuck a finger out and poked Gai in the nose while desperately defending his major?

Yes. He did. Not only would it go well with the project, but the look of annoyance on Gai's face was priceless.

Definitely a picture worth putting in his personal photo album.

"I told you," turning his camera towards Rin, Kakashi snapped another picture just as she stuck her tongue out at him. "Tell me I look pretty in it."

Peering down at the image display, Kakashi smiled softly. "Absolutely stunning."

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

There was a process that Kakashi had when it came to choosing the perfect pictures for his project. First, he would go through his camera roll and make a mental note of all of the best pictures he could find. Next, he would transfer everything onto his laptop and then move the pictures he wanted into a folder for printing.

After getting the selected pictures printed, he would sit down at the small desk in his dorm room and organize them into the perfect design for his project. Whatever pictures ended up not fitting, would ultimately go into the small photo album that he kept under his desk. A book of personal favorites that he would look at on those really bad mental health days where he just needed something to make him smile. Even just for a moment.

It was a long process, but there was a reason he had never gotten anything less than a ninety on any of his photography projects.

Not that he really ever did poorly on any of his assignments. He actually did quite well on all of his lab assignments for biology and chemistry, even if he had a bad habit of not paying attention. It was probably the main reason his professors didn’t like him all that much.

“Still working on that, huh?” Glaring over at his roommate’s bed, he watched as the brunette stared back at him from over top his business textbook. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put even half of this amount of effort into any of your other assignments, and I’m pretty sure those ones actually matter for your major.”

It was a true fact, just not one he wanted to hear.

He caught enough shit from Rin and Gai about his less than enthusiastic approach to his major.

“Don’t you have a small business to start up?” He huffed, turning his attention back down to the assignment in front of him. “Or did it go bankrupt already?”

“My business going bankrupt is as likely to happen as you actually telling Gai you have a crush on him,” Turning in his spot once again, Kakashi opened his mouth to argue against Genma’s frankly insulting assumption, only to find himself facing down a glare that could rival Rin’s angry look. “Don’t you dare try to lie to me, Hatake. Anyone can tell you have a crush on Gai.”

It wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t that obvious about it, was he?

“But that’s not what we’re talking about here, is it?” Genma continued. “We’re talking about your work ethic when it comes to assignments, and the fact that you’d rather put all of your efforts into the assignments for the one class that holds no value to your major.”

It was rather rude, Kakashi thought. First Genma called him out on his little crush, and then he turned around and scolded him for wanting to work on his photography assignment. Just because it didn’t hold any weight for his degree didn’t mean he shouldn’t put effort into it.

“Science is…” ‘Boring’ lingered on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn’t quite the word he was looking for. He actually loved Science, and had chosen the major hoping to explore a few different options after getting his degree. “Well, I love Science. Biology is interesting, Chemistry is a blast,” sometimes literally, if Anko was in the class with him. “And don’t get me started on Environmental sciences. I love it to bits. It’s just…the professors.”

There it was. The explanation he had been searching for.

The classes weren’t boring if they were being taught by the right people. Professor Uzumaki always made Astronomy interesting with her grand explanations and detailed outlines that drew his attention in. She never had any complaints about Kakashi not being focused in class. In fact, she had told him on multiple occasions that he was one of her most engaged students.

“Professor Orochimaru make’s biology seem like a chore, and the only thing interesting about Chemistry is watching Anko test the limits of just what can be mixed together without blowing the classroom up.” He was actually surprised she had managed to avoid doing that to date, given just how often she liked to experiment with chemicals. “But Photography is interesting. Professor Namekaze lets us explore things that we like, and the only restriction we have is the assignments due date and the basic premise of what the assignment is.”

This assignment for example.

His professor's words had been on repeat in his mind since monday when they received the assignment, and every picture he had taken since then had been carefully thought out to fit the assignment.

Though, now that he thought a bit more about it, he was missing one picture. Something that would tie the project together perfectly.

“Hey! Are you listening to me, Kakashi?” Picking his camera up off of the desk, he turned in his spot to face Gemma and brought the camera up so that he could peer through the viewfinder just as Genma tossed his book off to the side and started to crawl out of his bed. “Don’t you date-”

It was too late though. As soon as Genma started to reach out towards him in a poor attempt to snatch the camera away, he snapped the picture. The final piece to make the perfect assignment.

There was no way he would get anything less than a ninety-five on this one. The pictures were too perfect.

“Maybe I'll print you out a copy,” he teased, lowering his camera so that he could smile at Gemma. “You could use it for your tinder profile picture. Then at least all the people you bring over would know what they’re getting themselves into.”

The look on Genma’s face spelled trouble. As if Kakashi had just opened Pandora's box and released all of the worst plaques onto the world.

“You know, I have plans to hang out with Gai tomorrow,” Yep, that was definitely the worst punishment for his transgressions. There was no way this could possibly- “I think I’ll tell him about your little crush. How you can never shut up about him, and that dorky smile you get on your face whenever someone mentions him.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled a lecture from his father when he was young. A long explanation for why murder was wrong, and not a solution to all of lifes worst problems.

Surely this was an exception.

No one could possibly prosecute him for Genma’s murder when they found out what a cruel, horrible man he was.

And even if they could, they’d have to find the body first.

#Hatake Kakashi #Maito Gai #anko mitarashi #genma shiranui #Nohara Rin #College Au #Collab #sorry XD

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hanamakkiss · 4 years ago

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One Dumb Deed Deserves Another

Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

Summary: Five times Iwaizumi and you meet.

Word count: 4k+

A/n: this took so long... but I quite like it! Pretty much just fluff and shenanigans. As u can tell I’m in love with him.

Your first meeting was nothing short of disastrous, Iwaizumi fondly recalls.

His peaceful morning walk through the park to campus was shattered by one very loud, very directed at him shouting.

“HEY! HEY YOU!!! THE GUY IN THE DENIM JACKET!!!! HOLD ON A SEC!” a high-pitched yet commanding voice echoes through the practically empty park, clueing him in that it was probably him you were referring to.

He pauses to look skyward, making a silent prayer for the strength to make it through the day, before turning around. He’s met with a red-faced young woman who was currently struggling to catch up to him.

You stopped a few feet in front of him, hands on your knees, panting, and he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Hi,” you look up, unabashedly grinning, and he finds you have a surprisingly sweet voice when not shouting. He quirks a brow, inquiring.

“Yea so, uh, I'm a photographer," you hold up the camera around your neck, "student, actually, and uh, I just took a photo of you? I mean, I did, cause your back looked really nice with the surrounding trees and sky, especially when you were staring at something, a bird maybe? And with a little colour editing the image would really pop, so the photo turned out really nice," you smiled shyly, looking at the photo in question (presumably).

“O...kay?” he’s not sure how to respond.

“Do you want to see it?” your smile is infectious.

His lips quirk up as he steps closer to you, peering over your arm (it really was a cool photo), “But you’re telling me all this why...?”

“Oh! Right. So, uh, I wanted to know if you would be okay with me using your photo in an assignment? I understand if you want to say no, but that would be such a pity, cause you look so cool here, and if no one else got to see it it would be a tragedy. But it’s up to you really! I could just keep it in my files maybe? If you would allow me!” your face has steadily gotten redder with every word that tumbled out of your mouth, and at the end of your spiel you were looking absolutely mortified, using your camera to hide your face.

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine, you can use it,” he latches on to your shoulders hoping to keep you grounded as you looked on the verge of hyperventilating, “Are you alright?”

“Yea! Yea, I’m fine, I just didn’t expect you to be so,” he tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing, “hot,” you squeaked out.

At your response Iwaizumi's face burns up. He knew people generally found him attractive, but to have it so bluntly said to his face, was not exactly something he was used to. Especially when said with such sincerity.

His hands immediately retract.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess? Uh, I’ll be seeing you then, good luck with your assignment.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes!” you gave him a low bow, nearly slamming into his chest in the process. Standing back up equally as suddenly, you rushed to introduce yourself, face still the shade of ruby.

He can’t help but chuckle, “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he offers.

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off by an alarm that blares from your bag. As you scramble to shut it off, your eyes bulge. “Shit! I’m gonna be late! Sorry! I need to go now!” You shoot him an apologetic smile before sprinting.

“Thank you again! I’ll treat you someday!” he sees you wave from afar.

Iwaizumi is just left in your dust, amused and wondering how would you, considering he never even gave you his number.

Your second meeting was pure coincidence.

He was in line at the campus cafe, when the short person in front sneezed so hard they fell backwards into him.

Oof. His hands reached out instinctively to catch them.

“Hey, you alright?” he peers down into their face-

“I’m so sorry!” they tilt up-

and the two heads collide.

He grunts, rubbing his chin where it hurt. The hood falls off their head.

“It’s you.” he could almost laugh at the comedic timing, of course it’s you.

You look up, hands still covering your forehead, and exclaim excitedly, “Iwaizumi! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, ruffling your (already mussed up) hair, “I’m good, how did your assignment go?”

“It went great! My tutor only had constructive criticism for it. Speaking about that, let me buy you a drink,” you attempt to tame the mess he created, “as thanks,” you grin.

Any refusal on his part was washed away by your insistence, leaving the two of you on the side waiting for your morning brews.

“By the way, is it okay if I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“Ever since that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, shyly, (he tenses, vaguely aware of where this might go) “and I was wondering if you would maybe, you know, if you’re free, would you be willing to” you took a deep breath, “be my model?” your eyes were practically sparkling.

Iwaizumi feels light-headed. It's amazing how every other sentence from you gives me whiplash, he thinks, it must be a skill. He mentally heaves a relieved sigh, happy that he didn’t need to reject another date offer.

His silence causes you to fidget, looking away, “Uh, it’s really okay if you don’t want to, I just thought you would be a good fit for my next project, and you seemed like a nice guy, so I thought it would be worth a shot, and I could always-”

"No, no, I’d be glad to help you out," he finds he prefers you when your eyes have a shine to them, and it’s not like he had too much on his plate at the moment.

The smile you show him is infectious, and he really can’t stop his features from mirroring your own.

You actually remember to exchange numbers this time, promising to text him about the specifics of the photoshoot soon before (once again) rushing off for class.

As he’s walking, iced coffee in hand, he mulls over the fact that he’s entirely comfortable around you, despite barely even knowing you.

Your third meeting was certainly a colourful experience.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

On the mentioned day, Iwaizumi finds himself sighing when Hanamaki ushers a mousy looking you into the gymnasium.

“Found this one outside muttering “Iwaizumi” in a panic,” he gives a good natured laugh, “figured she could use some help.”

“Thank you so much! There’s way too many people here, I thought this was just a practice match…” you trailed off.

Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare, “It is, and it’s all because of a specific bastard,” he jabs a finger in the direction of Oikawa, who was currently surrounded by girls.

You take a quick photo, “And who is he? Seems popular,” you inspect the photo.

“Oh? You’ve never heard of Oikawa Tooru? College superstar?” Hanamaki leans in towards you, smirk in place.

Seeing you shrink back, Iwaizumi instinctively moves closer. Makkis eyebrows lift.

“Oh! I’ve heard that name before! My friends talk about him sometimes! This is my first time seeing him though,” you happily snap another shot, “they’ll like these.”

He watches you review the photos when Matsukawa appears next to Makki, “Who’s this?”

“Oh right, let me introduce you guys,” and he calls over the rest of the team for a round of introductions, ending with Oikawa, who waves at you from across the court before calling everyone to start warm-up.

Throughout the game you stay near the sideline, careful to keep away from the ball’s trajectory (you can’t afford another camera), snapping as many impactful shots as you could. You managed to get a few good shots of everyone, and some satisfactory shots of Iwaizumi.

It comes to a close with him scoring the winning spike and you rush to get every possible second of it. As you watch the team celebrate the point through the lens he suddenly looks straight at you, and flashes you the biggest grin you’ve ever seen him sport.

And it’s like the world goes silent and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The only saving grace you have is your fingers instinctively pressing the trigger, cementing this moment in time.

You’re shocked out of your reverie by the shutter clicking and you hurriedly smile and flash him a thumbs up, hoping the warmth of your cheeks was unnoticeable from the distance.

As soon as he’s done with the after match meeting he rushes over to you, followed by a couple of teammates who were interested in the photos.

“You alright?”

“More than alright! This was my first time watching volleyball and so close to boot! You were amazing! Spectacular! Especially that last point! I got some good shots of it! Wanna see?”

In your excited rambling you failed to notice the faint pinkness of his face, thrusting your camera towards him.

Soon a little group had gathered around you, jostling to get a better view of the shots you took. Scrolling through one by one each shot was met by rambunctious comments as they marvel at how they match looked through a camera. Nearing the end of your roll, Matsukawa makes a comment.

“Why are so many of these photos of Iwaizumi though?” his eyes hold a teasing glint that looks out of place with his mouth still in a fine line. (You choose to ignore the concealed assumption for the sake of your heart.)

Your mouth forms an O, looking straight at the person in question, “Did you not tell them?”

He avoids your gaze, “I didn’t, only said that you were our photographer for this match,” he scratches his neck.

You let out a mirthful laugh at his embarrassment, eyes twinkling, “To answer, the only reason I’m being your photographer is cause Iwaizumi agreed to be my model for school, and I’m doing it as thanks,”

"If you need a model, wouldn't someone like me be better?" Oikawa flashes you a cheeky smile.

You cock your head, appraising Oikawa. He preens under your stare.

"It wouldn't work for this project,” shaking your head slightly, “you know your own attractiveness, and have made it a part of your identity. On the other hand, Iwaizumi has confidence that solely stems from other aspects of his life, this causes him to radiate a kind of rugged charm that just pulls people to him. Like some kind of reliable pillar, it makes you want to depend on him. That kind of energy was exactly what I was looking for!" you beam.

The boys blink, clearly surprised at your answer. Oikawa is the first to break the silence, laughing.

"Wow, Iwa! I didn't know you had such amazing energy! Wonder if you would share any of that with me someday!" he pats him on the back harder than necessary. Iwaizumis’ face burns as he glares at his best friend, daring him to say another word.

At Iwaizumi's less than stellar response, you start to worry you’ve said something wrong, "Oh, uh, I didn't mean to imply you weren't attractive! In fact I think you're probably one of the most attractive people I know, uh and I didn't mean to call you a pillar! It's just a phrase!" you slap a hand across your mouth, eyes going wide. A pillar? Seriously? God, could this get any worse?

“Let me walk you out,” Iwaizumi grits out as his friends laugh.

Newsflash, it can.

You withdrew into yourself, resigned to just let him push you out. The walk to the gym entrance is silent.

Just as you were about to split, he speaks.

“Sorry...about them,”

You look back, surprised. “Uh…?”

Eloquence.

He gives you an embarrassed smile, “They can be a bit much, but they mean no harm.”

Oh. It still takes you a second to realise that his earlier irritation was not directed at you, and you mentally sigh in relief. “It’s cool, they were nice,” you smile.

“You looked really uncomfortable in there,”

“Ah,” you rub your neck. “I’m just... not the best around big groups,”

“Ah.”

The two of you shift awkwardly.

“I’ll be going now,” you make to leave, “Thanks again,”

“No problem.” He laughs, ”Think you gave me too much praise back there,”

“Nah, just cause you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there,”

The huge smile that accompanied your words causes his heart to skip a beat.

“See you around,” you give a little wave.

“Uh-yea, see ya.”

He watches you walk away, heart threatening to jump right out his chest. Before he can even begin to contemplate what just happened, an all too annoying voice interrupts him.

“You’re into her.”

“Am not.” He huffs toward the brunet.

Oikawa just laughs, “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s into you too.”

“Keep talking and I’ll kick your ass.”

The taller boy skirts away, giggling. He doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks pink.

Your fourth meeting was Iwaizumi’s’ prayers answered.

After the match, the two of you don’t cross paths much, opting instead for online communication.

Due to both of you being terrible texters, the text conversation never goes too in-depth. Mostly keeping to studies, interests and random topics. It’s only when one of you calls the other, that the conversation intensifies, lasting several hours.

After one such call, Oikawa groans from the doorway. Iwaizumi instantly springs up from his bed.

“Why don’t the two of you get together already,” he drags out the last word.

“Why are you in my room.”

“It’s 1am, you’re messing up my beauty sleep.”

“You were eavesdropping,” he squints, tone accusing.

“The walls are thin! It’s hard not to,” Oikawa defends himself, “besides, you laugh like a goddamn horse.”

At Iwaizumi’s glare, he backtracks, hands raised defensively, “I’m kidding! Kidding! Goodnight Iwa,”

“Close the damn door!”

He sighs, finally alone and wonders how is he going to ask you out for a meal. (Just to hang out, definitely not a date)

When you text him again.

Damn, this is as close as he’ll come to believing in higher power.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next week, he rushes down to the gallery after his evening class. He makes it with half an hour to spare.

Looking around, he quickly spots some familiar portraits and makes his way over. He sees you engaged in conversation, and he likes to think that the way your face lit up upon eye contact has something to do with him.

You cut the conversation and step towards him.

“You made it!”

He lets out a chuckle, “Course I would, sorry I’m late, class got dragged,”

“No, no, glad you’re even here,” you wave your hand flippantly, drawing his eyes to the rest of your body, where you had worn a simple cocktail dress that fit you well.

He takes in a sharp breath, “You look great,” slips out.

“Oh, um, thank you, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” your smile takes on a bashful shade and he looks around at the other patrons, grimacing.

“Bullshit, I didn’t know it was such a formal event, otherwise I would have dressed better,”

Your eyes quickly scanned his outfit, dark wash jeans paired with a white tee and bomber jacket, “You look fine,” leaning in, you stage-whisper, “If you ask me, you look a lot more put together than most of the people I’ve seen today.”

“Earlier on someone even came in piss-drunk,” you laugh.

“No way, midday?”

“Yes! Security had to escort them out, total mess. It was entertaining though,” you gently guide him towards your portion of the exhibition.

5 portraits titled Magnetism hung neatly on a wall. Two of them of him, he notes.

“It’s just a student exhibition, so it’s not much,” you explain, chuckling.

He frowns, “Don’t downplay your skills, you worked hard and got selected right? That counts for something,”

Your face goes slack for a moment before morphing into a soft smile, “Thank you, I do have a bad habit of that.”

He feels a warmth creep up his neck, shitshitshit, that’s not good for my heart, quick-

“So what’s the inspiration behind your portraits?” He shifts his attention towards the exhibition (ie. away from your warm eyes)

This easily distracts you and you go into an excited monologue about your motivations and what you were trying to convey through the atmosphere, lighting and editing. He only manages to keep up with half of it (it has nothing to do with how cute you looked animatedly waving your hands around).

You move on to explain each photo and how they embodied a different aspect of Magnetism that you wanted to convey to the viewer, ending with the photo you took of him the day you met.

“Fun fact: this is my second favourite photo of you,” you grin cheekily.

He plays along, “Why so?”

“Caaaaause it led to us meeting!” Your playful demeanour shoots an arrow straight to his heart.

Now grinning, he continues the banter, “And is the other photo your favourite?”

“Nope! That’s the third, because it shows everyone’s trust in you,”

He’s a little intrigued now, “Then which is the first?”

“Thaaaat’s a secret!” You wink, cheeks flushed.

Andddddd there goes his heart.

He’s forced to come to terms with the fact that his infatuation with you has turned into a full blown, rock to the face, crush. And all in the span of a second.

He flushes, “Well, maybe another day then,” and turns back to the photos.

“None of these people are facing the camera. Why is that,”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all day!” And you go into another spiel. He realises just how much he enjoys listening to you speak about your passions.

Soon the curator announces the closing of the gallery and the two of you make your way out. You make an offhand remark about still needing to cook. He immediately suggests grabbing a bite together and you are just as quick to agree.

After enjoying a wonderful dinner at a local restaurant, you stop him just as he tries to get away with paying the bill.

“Hey! I’ll pay half, let me see the receipt,” you reach for the check, only to have it pulled out of your grasp.

“Nah, my treat,” he continues to wave the check out of your reach. This goes on for a little while before you cry out in annoyance.

“Oh come on, you don’t have to, this isn’t a date or anything,” and he freezes at your words.

He’s caught off guard by how much he wishes it was, if only the little words would dislodge themselves from his throat and let him ask you out.

With him distracted you lunge for the check and succeed, happily scanning through and making calculations. Once done you hand it back to him and promptly transfer the money.

You leave the restaurant in high spirits while Iwaizumi feels kind of feels defeated. He still offers to walk you back to your dorm, which you agree to after minimal convincing.

The walk back is filled with conversation that flows naturally between the two of you, making up for your horrendous texting game. It’s something he finds he doesn’t mind, as long as he knows you actually like talking to him, he’s fine with waiting hours for a reply.

“So, this is me,” you come to a stop in front of an old building. It’s not far from his apartment, he makes a mental note.

“This is you,” he cringes inwardly.

Thankfully, you just laugh, “Thanks for coming to the exhibition and spending time with me, I really enjoyed that…uh...”

His lips turn up, teasing, “Not-date?”

You flush, “Yea, that not-date,”

Both of you stand in comfortable silence, unwilling to part. He knows how stupid this is, two idiots just skirting around a relationship, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Sometimes he wishes he was a teensy bit more like Oikawa, but the thought is vanquished before it could even begin to take root.

“So,” you break the silence, “see you around?”

He lets out a breath and nods, “Yea, definitely,” and you wave.

He waits until you’re safely in the building before making his way back, sighing way too much for someone in college.

He spends the walk thinking about how much he enjoyed that “not-date”, and hopes soon he could enjoy an actual date with you.

Your fifth meeting was the end of Iwaizumi’s patience.

It’s been weeks since he’d realised his feelings for you. And he knows you feel the same way towards him too. You’re not subtle.

You are, however, extremely oblivious and respectful. Ever since he had mentioned early on in the friendship that he wasn’t looking for anything relationship-wise, you had dutifully dodged every single one of his advances. At this rate, your non-existent relationship was on the road to nowhere.

He’s sick of it, and at his wits end.

He finds Makki and Mattsun lounging in the living room.

“Hey, uh,” both heads turn his way. “I need some advice.”

“Well, my friend,” Makki moves, patting the newly vacated seat next to him, “you’ve come to the right place,”

As the couch dips under him, he takes a moment to register that Yes, he is really doing this, before he launches into detail about his feelings, frustration with the state of things and asks for help.

"Simply put,” Makki interjects, “you want to do the do, want to pound that duck, want to woohoo her-"

"What the fuck is a woohoo," Iwaizumi cuts him off sharply.

Mattsun's jaw drops. Makki gasps in delight, clapping his hands together, "A woohoo is when two sims who love each other very much-"

"Oh my god," he sinks his head into his hands, "you're referencing the sims, to talk about sex."

Oikawa sticks his head through the door, "Who's trying to woohoo who?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Iwaizumi screams.

Oikawa dramatically places a hand on his heart and almost looks hurt before realisation dawns. “This is about little miss photographer, isn’t it?” He smirks when Mattsun wiggles his brows suggestively as a response.

Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh, resigned, "Yes, it's about her. Also, no," he looks to the strawberry blond, "I don't just want to have sex with her."

"So you do want to bang her," he could feel the smugness emanating from all three of them. The vein on his forehead threatens to pop. He passes a hand over his face, wondering if an aspirin could save him now.

"Just... just help me think of a way to ask her out,"

"Why don't you just ask her straight out? Always works," Oikawa supplied.

Iwa groans, “If I ask her out normally she’ll think its just as friends,”

A pause.

"Also I want it to be special, like a cute story for the future, you know?" he admits. Makki coos.

Silence falls as they brainstorm.

After some time Matsukawa pipes up, "I... might have an idea,"

All heads swivel towards him.

"She's a photographer, right?"

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"Iwaizumi! Over here!" you excitedly wave him over.

"Thanks for willingly being my model again," you grinned, "somehow that physique of yours seems to get me better critiques. ...Wait a minute, does my tutor have a crush on you?" he sighed when you seriously pondered that thought for a moment.

You give him a brief rundown of your assignment and what you needed him to do. It was rather simple this time as the focus was more on lighting, you just needed him to walk casually and look at the camera every once in a while.

After the first couple of shots you see him reach into his pocket and pull out some sort of... banner? Your brows furrow as you continue snapping shots. Only when he fully unfurls it do you cease movement, letting your camera slip out of your hands entirely.

Thankfully, your camera strap works perfectly and the weight of it dropping against your neck brings you back to life, snapping your mouth shut.

Iwaizumi Hajime stands five feet away from you, holding up a small banner that reads “Please go on an actual date with me.”

“I- You- what….?” Is the best you come up with.

He grins, “It reads, I really like you, please go out with me,”

“You like…?” Seems like you’re full on malfunctioning now, and about to overheat too.

“I like you, have been liking you for a while now,” he rubs his neck nervously, “so, what’s your answer?”

You nod frantically, no longer trusting your mouth. His grin stretches impossibly wide.

You’ve always known you were a bumbling idiot and a mess. But now looking at his laughing face backlit by the setting sun, you can’t help thinking that maybe being an idiot wasn’t all that bad.

The shutter clicks.

This might just be your favourite photo yet.

(Matsukawa is later asked how he knew you would like such a gesture. “Judging from the way you spoke of her, I figured she was into sappy shit, and that you probably was into it too.” He gets headlocked for a full five minutes.)

#Iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagine #koi writes #hope yall like it

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reneesi · 4 years ago

Text

i never would have thought // CH.07

WRITTEN PORTION

The clock on the sleek mint green wall of the train station read 10:15. Only 2 minutes had passed since (y/n) had last checked it, never the less at 10:18 her eyes where shifting to read the time once more. (Y/n) wrung her hands together, gaze falling to her feet for what felt like the millionth time. She wasn’t nervous, or more like she wasn’t nervous because of Tsukishima, she was just in a hurry! At least that (y/n) told herself as another wave of fluttering washed through her stomach and up her throat. Her breathing had been weirdly staggered all morning, and though she’d never admit it (y/n) had spent a little too long picking out her outfit. Eventually she had settled on a pastel pink tank top and light wash overalls along with low white socks that had cute lace trimming along the edge. It was simple enough, nothing that seemed as though she had necessarily tried but enough of a difference to elicit an exited “You look really cute today!” from her little cousin Natsu as she was leaving the house.

(Y/n) went through her mental checklist, again, attempting to calm her nerves. If she had forgotten anything she’d have to walk all the way back home to grab it and would probably loose too many daylight hours. Speaking of which she was already falling behind schedule given the fact that Tsukishima had yet to arrive. (Y/n) pulled out her cellphone, reviewing her last three text messages again. It had been nearly half an hour since Tsukishima had sent his simple “Im on my way.” And yet he was no where to be seen.

Sighing, (Y/n) sat on the nearest bench, frustration threatening to consume her. She tried sending another text. She checked the clock once more, 10:20. She sighed.

“This fucker…” she mumbled under her breath, staring at the time on her lock screen. They had agreed on 10 o’clock sharp. Well maybe not “sharp” but it had still been 10-ish as in around 10, not 10 fricking 30. (Y/n) calmed herself yet again, wanting to maintain a positive attitude for the long day that was certainly to come. Five more minutes, she thought. Five more minutes and if he didn’t show she’d call Tsukishima until he picked up the fucking phone.

Five excruciatingly long minutes later, (Y/n) was holding her cellphone to her ear, dial tone ringing its mechanical melody. (Y/n) bit her lip.

“Idiot.” A familiar voice scoffed from behind, as a sideways palm came over her head, hitting her hard enough to elicit an ouch of compliant.

“Why would you call me when I’m right behind you?” He asked, voice even and monotonous as always.

(Y/n) turned to look back at Tsukishima, sending him a glare as she stood.

“Because you’re 25 minutes late!” She accused, pointing an enraged finger at his chest.

“I told you somewhere around 10.” He shrugged, moving past her as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah well I thought that meant maybe 10:05 at the latest? What kind of idiot thinks 10:25 is around 10?! Thats around 10:30 more than anything!” (Y/n)’s voice was rising with every word, “And where are you going?!”

Tsukishima stopped and looked back over his shoulder, not an ounce of readable emotion across his face.

“We’re going to miss our train.” He said evenly, before turning back to walk onwards. (Y/n)’s eyes widened and in a scramble she picked up her backpack and stumbled to catch up, boarding the train just after Tsukishima. Once they had settled into seats right by each other he mumbled quietly.

“You wanted to go to the city right? The train leaves at 10:30 so as long as I was here before then everything is okay, right?”

Rosy pink bloomed over (Y/n)’s cheekbones, her head dropping slightly to hide her face. Suddenly she was too close to Tsukishima.

“Y..yeah.” (Y/n) uttered, embarrassment pricking at the tips of her ears as the nerves in her stomach flared.

The two rode in silence for the remainder of the trip, Tsukishima tilting his head to stare away from (y/n) while listening to music though his headphones, and (y/n) sneaking glances every so often at Tsukishima. She argued internally that she was just doing pre-shoot mental plotting. Deciding what poses she’d put him in, what kind of lighting would look good and so on. But it was during these reticent glances that (y/n) noticed Tsukishima’s hair was still damp. A single droplet of water rolled off a strand of shimmering blonde every so often, and with the early light each bead shone like a crystal. Upon further inspection (y/n) concluded he must have taken a shower not long before his departure given the fresh glow of his creamy light skin and the hint of shampoo that hung in the air between them. It was a scent close to laundry detergent and something else she couldn’t quite place, something sharp and intriguing.

(Y/n) felt something strange bubble in her chest, similar to nervousness but different enough to be foreign, and realized she had yet to pull her eyes away. Mentally she thanked the higher powers that Tsukishima had settled down facing away from her and leaned her head back, moving to stare at the ceiling. If not for his position he would have otherwise noticed not only her staring but the hints of pink and red that had failed to leave her face since the beginning of the train ride.

They arrived at the city around 12 PM, (Y/n) complaining loudly at the sheer amount of time “wasted” on the train. She quickly declared their first order of business to be finding a spot with some sort of decent lighting and taking a few preliminary shots to determine the best angles for the shoot. The pair walked around for a while, passing sarcastic jokes and small retorts back and forth. Every time they’d pass a window, on of them would make some sort of judgment call about whatever was being displayed and in the turn the other would jump in to defend said item.

“I just don’t see how you could hate a hat so much! It’s got flowers!” (Y/n) explained, mouth wide and aghast

“It looks tacky.” Tsukishima shrugged, (y/n) shook her head tragically

“Oh Sucky-shima, when will you learn the true beauties of this world.” She sighed drastically, Tsukishima snorted in response

“You’re the one who said that strawberry shortcake looked soggy, which was just factually incorrect.” He threw back, side eyeing (y/n) with a raised brow

“It did not look appetizing.”

“You just have no taste.”

“I don’t dislike strawberry shortcake! There’s just better out there, and I am a person of taste” (Y/n) defended.

“Plus I could probably make a better one.” She finally added, after a long beat of silence. Tsukishima looked like he had something to say but ultimatley didn’t reply, instead he simply rolled his eyes and continued in silence.

Eventually the two came across a fairly empty park and settled into a well lit corner of the greenery. (Y/n)’s camera flickered on and after some button pushes and general adjustments she looked up, half expecting Tsukishima to be in some sort of position. But to nobodies surprise but her own, Tsukishima only stood a couple feet away looking around awkwardly. (Y/n)’s breath caught in her throat as she considered going over and positioning him herself, only to realize that would require touching him which might make things even more awkward than they already where. Because even for all the friendly banter they’d grown to take comfort in, they were still barely good friends and a thick layer of discomfort was very much present between the two.

“H-how do you want me to stand?” Tsukishima asked after one two many moments of silence had passed. It was difficult to tell due to the harsh light and hot weather but (Y/n) could have almost sworn Tsukishima was beginning to develop a soft blush atop his cheeks.

“U-um, why don’t we start with some sitting one! Like on that bench!” (Y/n) pointed, giggling forcibly at the end of her sentence. She cringed inwardly. Tsukishima only nodded, walking over and taking a seat on the bench she had selected.

(Y/n) took a deep breath, it was always weird in the beginning. She always felt awkward at first, so this was no different. All she had to do was get into a groove and she’d be in her element in no time. Then everything would stop feeling so suffocatingly weird.

“Okay, um, don’t move just maybe rest your arms on the top behind you and put that leg over the other, wait not like that I mean-“ (Y/n) blushed, resisting the urge to cover up her face with her hands. Tsukishima looked up at her, confused.

“Just, sorry, just sit however makes you comfortable and try to um relax.” (Y/n) finally sputtered out, sighing as she brought the lens up and squinted. This was going to be harder than she thought.

The first couples shots were tense and really REALLY awkwardly positioned. Tsukishima looked like a broken store mannequin that was being held at gunpoint. But once he noticed (y/n) had started to relax, Tsukishima began joking around again, throwing insults and light criticisms at her in a playful way that felt comforting to their dynamic. Once (Y/n) started laughing again, the ice began to melt and Tsukishima was able to produce a much more normal looking pose. After a half hour of shooting like this (Y/n) stopped and plopped down beside Tsukishima, leaning back into the bench. She began to swiftly click through the images, deleting most of them.

“What was the point of that if you’re just gonna delete them?” Tsukishima asked, furrowing his brows in annoyance “Now I’m gonna have to do all that work again.”

“Relax, that wasn’t the actual shoot. I was getting some test shots to see what exactly I wanted and also what you’d be comfortable doing.” (Y/n) explained, pausing on an image of Tsukishima with his head back, a smile barely visible but never the less present. She smiled to herself, moving on to the next picture without deleting it.

“Since clearly you don’t like to smile for the camera we’re gonna do a stylized phtoshoot so your facial expression doesn’t hinder the process.” She continued, emphasizing the last bit in a sarcastic tone.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes,

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” He sighed, melting back to lay against the bench in a half seated half slipping off sort of way.

The next couple hours were long, to say the least. (Y/n) barked orders from afar at an increasingly annoyed Tsukishima, as the day grew hotter and brighter forcing the pair to change the spot they had settled into. The stances Tsukishima took only really worked half the time, since he was mostly too tense or couldn’t figure out the desired posing from (y/n)’s words alone. Regardless, (Y/n) refused to go over and physically put him in position in fear of accidentally ruining the easy atmosphere they had finally achieved. And as they trudged on, the heat began to wear them down, gathering sticky sweat across their foreheads which dripped down to their chests which fueled their matching exhaustion.

Eventually Tsukishima came to a halt

“Okay, enough.” He ran a hand across his forehead “We need to take a break.”

(Y/n) considered arguing but as she felt another bead of sweat roll down the back of neck she decided that maybe just this once, she’d have to listen to Tsukishima.

“This shit is no joke, now I understand why people get payed to do it.” Tsukishima huffed, collapsing back onto the bench they had initially sat in, which had now come to be in the shade. (Y/n) tossed him a water bottle from her backpack and sat beside him, popping the cap off and guzzling the cold down her throat. The refreshment of the cool liquid was unparalleled, and as she drank (Y/n) felt streams of water slipping down her chin. She exhaled, wiping at the wetness with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, it usually isn’t this hot though.” She remarked, shooting Tsukishima a look of apology before leaning back to let her head fall off the edge of the bench.

“Had Tsukishima been blushing just now? No, it had to be the heat.” She pondered internally, staring up and enjoying the way the tree’s leaves moved in soft tandem with the wind, streams of light breaking through the shrubbery.

“You said you needed something interesting, right?” Tsukishima asked a few minutes later

“For the photoshoot?” (Y/n) asked, pulling herself back up to sit upright while turning to look over at Tsukishima

“Yeah, I had an idea.” He began

(Y/n) tilted her head expectantly.

“What if we used the water, from the water bottle? You could probably create a cool effect with that right?” He suggested, holding up his half empty water bottle. (Y/n) narrowed her eyes, thinking for a moment

“That… could actually work.” She pipped up, energy returning in a burst “Wait! I think I have an idea.”

(Y/n) scooped up her camera, fiddling with the settings as she looked around for a spot to shoot. In the blur of excitement she took a hold of Tsukishima’s wrist and dragged him into position.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, jeez.” He grumbled clearly annoyed, not attempting to pull his hand away despite this. (Y/n) released his hand and began adjusting his shirt, and it was then that she realized just how touchy she’d suddenly become. She peeked up at him and this time he was definitely blushing. Her own cheeks flared and (Y/n) jumped back, vision hazy with embarrassment.

“S-sorry! I didn’t even-“

“It’s fine.” Tsukishima scoffed, looking away to avoiding her eyes “It’s just part of the job right?” He shrugged, feigning indifference that was clearly contradicted by the red on his face.

(Y/n) bonked herself internally, he was probably so embarrassed and uncomfortable. She stood farther away but positioned him physically none the less, making sure to only touch him if absolutely necessary. As she set up the exact shot she wanted, (Y/n) mumbled little apologies in between, biting her cheek to calm the raging nervousness at the pit of her stomach that only worsened with every touch.

Eventually they were able to get a picture that (y/n) deemed presentable and the pair moved on to the rest of the portfolio, since the major piece had been accomplished. The two first years ended up staying out until the sun began to set, partially because they kept pausing to banter in between each click of the shutter but mostly because (y/n) couldn’t help but to stop and stare through the lens every so often, making some snarky remark to hide the way her breath caught behind the camera.

Orange light swallowed the tile and columns all around, painting the empty train station (Y/n) and Tsukishima had come sit in in a soft gold hue. The sound of wind and far away trains whirred in the distance and the weather had cooled to a comfortable warmth, the kind felt by a fireplace in the dead of winter when snow falls on eyelashes and the air smells like sugar cookies. A gentle warm, like that of a blanket.

The sticky sweet vanilla dripped onto the floor beneath her and (y/n) licked at her ice cream bar, hoping to catch the next drop with her tongue instead.

“Thanks for helping me out today.” (Y/n) finally mumbled, eyes fixated on the barely visable pink tinted clouds that lay in the far away sky. She could feel Tsukishima next to her, radiating subtle warmth which was sort of strange since he was always so cold, not just to her but to everyone. It was hard not to think so much about him, when he was only centimeters away.

(Y/n)’s mind wandered back to her slip up and suddenly she remembered the feel of his wrist in her hand, and another wave of hot brushed over her face. His skin had been… soft. She peeked over at his hand, the free one that lay in the space between them and wasn’t holding up an ice cream bar. She’d never really been one to pay attention to such trivial details, but now that she knew what his skin felt like, (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if his hands were just as soft.. how his long slender fingers would feel wrapped around her own.. what his palm would feel like against her cheek-

“Yeah, no problem.” His response was like a snap back to reality, and although Tsukishima hadn’t noticed the way (y/n) had been staring longingly at his hand her blush still deepened as she lowered her gaze back to her feet.

In the end, (y/n) got ice cream on her overalls and a pestering poke to the cheek from Tsukishima.

“Don’t zone out while you’re eating ice cream, idiot.” He’d sneered, causing (y/n) to slap his hand away in protest. The two had argued back and forth before eventually boarding the train and much like that morning, had rode home in silence. When they had arrived back home, there had been only a slight pause on Tsukishima’s part before the two had exchanged goodbyes and parted ways. In that moment before their departures, Tsukishima had looked confused, almost as if he’d been trying to figure out his next play in a long game of chess, but a look like that only had a lifespan of about 5 seconds on a face like Tsukishima’s. (Y/n) sighed in exasperation, throwing her head back to stare at the stars as she walked, she never could read Tsukishima… So what the hell had he been thinking?

CH.07 II you owe me

A/N: Hi, i am SO SORRY! I really was trying to stick to the uploading schedule and then i just got absolutely hit by life. Last weekend was kind of really crazy and i knew i had a big chapter planned so i didn’t wanna sacrifice the chapter in order to release something earlier :/ Then yesterday I was still trying to finish up this chapter and it kind of all snowballed together. To stay on schedule Im gonna double upload wednesday since i still owe you guys another chapter. I hope this one sort of makes up for the lateness, since this is the first REALLY long one in terms of ss and writing! Again, i’m really REALLY SORRY :(( But i hope you guys enjoy!!!

The picture of Tsukishima from the photoshoot with the water bottle is FANART and nOT MINE, it belongs to @unico_ts on twitter!! All credit is her’s!! Go check her out, her fanart is DIVINE <3

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Tagslist: @domtamaki @kodzu-ken @clowninfortodoroki @kageyamasbabygorl @miya-yume @chaelysian @kittyddandnyla @chaseyui @it-was-just-a-ship @melanie09astrid @naorii-chan @chaoticalybiased @saltyteefff @aristatrois @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @raineedayze

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vacation-grif · 4 years ago

Note

What kinda feelings?

A LOT, ACTUALLY. Like I said before, the RTNY group was telling me to skip it because it wasn’t a good season, and I want to express how much I wanted to just form my own opinion, only to end up agreeing with them in the end. Let me break this down as best as I can now that I am on my PC. I mean no disrespect to the director and writer, as well as the cast and crew. Honestly, I’m worried that my opinion makes me feel like a boomer at this point.

First off, if anyone was going to tell me that I’m going to have headaches over bright flashing lights and colors over a Red vs Blue series, I wouldn’t have believed you. As I said before, they should’ve just called this “Red vs Blue: Epilepsy Warning THE M0VIE”. I understand that they are using the Unreal Engine, because my god the graphics on this is INSANE. But everything is...too bright. TOO. BRIGHT. Everything has a lens flare no matter where the camera turns, and with the high paced action, all the lights and colors, it HURTS.

Next, this is a fully CG-animated season. We haven’t had one like that in SUCH a long time, and this is the first in the 20-ish years of Red vs BLue. When I was a kid who didn’t have a cellphone, I could only imagine what Red vs Blue was like when my best friend would play it over our landline on a weeknight before we would go to school the next day. And I would come over and be like, HOLY SHIT. IS THIS FUCKING HALO?! So imagine my excitement when after 8 years of Red vs Blue using Halo 1 to Halo 3 assets, you see a Warthog just crash through the walls of Valhalla, something you’d never see in a Halo game. A fully animated scene of Grif running over Washington (hell yeah), and an angry Washington outside of his game model just climbing onto the hood of the car and shooting at Grif through the windshield at pointblank range. Then cut to episode 10 of the same season, Tex makes her triumphant return, fully animated instead of her Halo 3 game model. And in the last two episodes of the season, you get OUR VERY FIRST FREELANCER VS FREELANCER FIGHT. You find out this was the work of the late Monty Oum (rest in peace), and until Season 10, Red vs Blue was THE HIGHEST POINT OF YOUR FUCKING LIFE.

Then we go to Season 12 where the animation post Oum (he was working on RWBY at this point but iirc this was just before he died) was choppy at best and didn’t feel right until Season 13, where within the one year the animation team REALLY stepped up. And this actually carries over into Season 17, Singularity, where it became more animation and less game effects, or rather it was balanced. It wasn’t extravegant like Oum’s works, but given that these are the Simtroopers, some Freelancers, some Mercs, and time gods, it felt par for the course. It felt right.

We cut now to these upgraded graphics, which felt like when you were playing on your Xbox 360 and you jsut FUCKING SHOT into the Xbox One. It was, as you would say, unreal (lol). But it felt...off. The first two episodes, the entire action didn’t feel like what you spent 16 seasons watching. It felt like a whole another beast entirely. With the use of super powers, you would think oh the Freelancers had that! Yes, but those were all suit enhancements. These...didn’t feel like it. Zero’s and Phase’s teleportation didn’t feel like something that Fragmented AI can control. Shatter Squad’s at least felt more at home.

The models themselves were a bit off too. Choppy at best, but understandable given that they were using the Unreal Engine. But you notice that they do a lot of hand on hip pushed out to the side type of thing a lot? Everyone does it. Except Raymond, West, and the big dude. Like the SASSY STANCE. Also, there was way too much power stance. Where if your feet were shoulder width apart, it was a bit wider, and also the pelvis was out a little more. A bit weird. Finally, everyone has an ass. Everyone. Even West. West has an ass, it was like, everyone was dummy thicc and the clap of their ass cheeks was alerting Viper.

Next, voice acting. I...absoultely could not stand the voice acting. It was completely over the top, overdramatic, over exaggerated. Granted, I’m a singer, a perform, but I’m not exactly a good actor myself in the few shows I’ve actually done. It felt like watching an anime. When you wtach something with dialogue of your own language, you can tell when you feel something is to over the top. If you watch something of a language you don’t speak, it’ll go over your head, unless you start to speak that language, and you speak to people who speak that language, then you start to pick up what is regular speaking and what is acting. When an anime gets dubbed, most times, the voice actors tend to over dramatacize in the same way the Japanese due, and some times it works, most times it doesn’t. This is because the Japanese way of acting comes from kabuki theater. When English dubbers do that with this weird over emphasized emotions, it is extremely offputting.

In some places, the voice acting is poorly done. Jen Brown’s performance from just getting out of a hospital to giving an expositional lecture about the new cast in literally 5 seconds of time was...off. Carolina should’ve had more time to recover, especailly after losing Washington, one of her closest surrogate family, she felt...a little too calm and normal. Not like the Carolina who was hesitant but trying her best to be a whole better person (see the Paradox Arc, S15-17). It was jsut quick shift, and now she’s making snarky remarks in that Jen Brown voice she does (my god step on me please) and also being a mother hen. Also, she really calls Washington David way more this season than she ever did before that.

Fiona’s performance was shaky at best in my opinion, I don’t know her very well outside of what everyone says. All I know is that sometimes, the way she emphasizes some of her lines don’t fit the situation very well. I think East/Phase was a lot better done than One imo. But she was mostly angry and competitive.

Raymond is the textbook definition of what I hate about taking a character’s role and making it their entire personality. Think of it like watching Power Rangers, and all of their roles is just defined by the shit they say. Jason is the jock, Kimberly is the pretty girl, Trini is......I’m not gonna lie, I don’t...know what to classify Trini, Zack was the cool guy, and Billy was the nerd (Tommy was Jock II also the rebel/loner). Raymond reminded me a lot like Billy, where Billy was defined by being so smart, half of his dialogue was just look at me, i’m fucking smart, let me use all of these big words. Half of Raymond’s dialogue was, look at me, i’m the tech guy, I’m nerdy and loveable, it felt like it was too over the top of trying to stand out. By the end of the season, after East’s big reveal, I started to like him a lot more because he knew what was more at stake. I want to say that my initial impression of him was immature at best.

West was too stiff. Just.. Too stiff. I get he’s old. But show some emotion, please.

Why am I emphasizing on this more? When you listen to the dialogue of RvB, and then you listen at this, even with the return cast of Carolina, Washington, and Tucker, the direction was different. I think it’s because of the new medium with Zero being all super animated like an action, where RvB was just a bunch of net videos that you’re gonna laugh at with well timed jokes. It was super casual, but also super real. Geoff and Gus and everyone else aren’t big actors or anything, but that’s what made it feel real. That’s what made RvB feel like its own thing.

In terms of writing, I get that this is RvB meets FnF (Fast and Furious). But I honestly feel that it doens’t belong. The story of Shatter Squad vs Viper would have been a lot better if it didn’t have the RvB name tacked on. It’s such a cool concept, but given what RvB was before, the tonal shift is jsut too great, especially when you only have 3 of the previous cast returning.

Speaking of, what happened to Tucker?! What happened to the guy who became a leader? Responsible? Not as arrogant? Maybe playfully arrogant at best, but not stroking his ego? What happened to HIS SWORD? Did they forget how Tucker’s sword works? That it only works IF HE DIES? Tucker didn’t die, and yet Phase was able to use his sword (which by the way is now hers). One of the earliest stories/gags of RvB and they just...retconned it and threw it away! Also, Tucker’s voice acting did NOT match the scene at all. It’s like watching a video game that was localized from Japanese, and the dubbers spoke too fast before the character could finish. Tucker moves outside of his dialogue and there is this weird seconds of silence. That...that was just a BAD return for him.

My final thought is that, if RvB Zero is not...the RvB I grew up with. Maybe the jokes are dated, but the memories of what RvB was is still real. This just...doesn’t feel like RvB anymore. This should have just been it’s own show, it’s own story, replace Wash and Carolina and Tucker with new characters, it just wasn’t their place to be in this.

The only thing I liked about this? I’m glad Danielle (I’m assuming this is how you would spell her name) didn’t go AWOL and returned to the team. I actually really liked her the most next to Axel. She was done dirty, but she still held on to that one bond she had as East that Zero didn’t give her as Phase.

I know this is probably not a great opinion, and I really hope that Rooster Teeth finds the ground they want this series to go in. Sometimes, you have to try new things, or else staying stagnant will make it go stale. It’s all about trial and error. I don’t know how everyone else feels about Zero, how the new audience and the old audience feels. RvB as a whole wasn’t perfect. They had their down moments. But when you feel that way for an entire season...it’s a problem.

#grif liveblogs #grif liveblogs rvb #rvb #red vs blue #red vs blue zero #Anonymous #spoilers #rvb negativity

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itsuki-minamy · 4 years ago

Text

“SIX IDOLS”

CHAPTER 2: “YATA MISAKI’S BUILDING EXPLORATION! HAUNTED HOUSE EDITION” (Part 2)

* K - Six Idols (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

The director puts his hand to his jaw and thinks. Yata looked at his figure expectantly.

"It is true that this will hinder the schedule."

"Really?!"

"Then, let's go find the rabbit."

"Eh?"

The director and other members of the film crew rose to their feet one after another. From those who handle the light to the makeup, they try to go with the director. Yata instinctively tried to stop them.

"Wait a minute! Why is everyone going?"

"As we will be looking for him, it is better to have more manpower."

"That's right, oh, yeah, then I'll go with you."

"No, if we let the actor do these kinds of tasks, the name of the show will be frowned upon. Yata-san and Kamamoto-san, you should wait here."

Just with that, the other members except Yata and Kamamoto walked out of the reception room.

"……"

Yata stretched out his empty hand and sat back on the couch.

The reception room, where the current had already been introduced, felt even colder when the equipment left. Yata flailed his legs fiercely, staring into the dim lamplight. He cannot say anything and is calm.

He feels bad because he is worried about the normal path. As an important figure in the world of idols, Yata pays tribute to Kokujoji. He is concerned about the status of the great man, not because he is afraid of this eerie western-style building.

While repeating his trembling thoughts, Yata was confident that the team or the rabbit would return as soon as possible.

And 30 minutes passed, 1 hour passed.

It seems that the rain has stopped a bit. Instead, thunder was heard more frequently. The haunting and rumbling sky sometimes casts a light similar to a flare on the window. This time, Yata realized that his body was jumping.

"It's not too late?"

Unable to suppress the trembling voice, he talks to Kamamoto. Kamamoto keeps his camera on the table in front of him, arms crossed and silent.

Yata was driven by anxiety and shook his shoulder.

"Eh? Kamamoto?"

Kamamoto lowered his head in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Don't fall asleep, fat man!"

"Hmm!" When he touched his head, Kamamoto's sunglasses slid off.

Kamamoto makes a shocked voice, dressed like an idiot with sunglasses hooked to the edge of his ear.

"What is it? What is it?"

"Idiot! The others haven't come back yet!"

However, Yata's anger did not seem to be transmitted to Kamamoto at all. He stretched out humorously, grabbed the camera from the table, and stood up.

"I'm in trouble. Then I'll search a bit!"

"Oh, why?"

The voice was about to scream, but Yata no longer has the psychological margin to worry about such things. Kamamoto scratched his head like he was in trouble.

"No, it doesn't matter what you say. If they don't come back, it's only natural for me to go looking for them, right?"

"That said, the directors have not returned. If you go, the same thing will happen, right?"

Kamamoto bowed his head and pointed the camera at Yata. Yata's face is reflected in the black lens. Kamamoto had a ridiculous tone as he clearly reflected his scared face.

"Maybe Yata-san… Are you afraid of being alone?"

"Moron!"

Yata's low kick went through Kamamoto's right knee and the giant rolled on the ground.

"Hey, Yata-san, please stop hitting me!"

"Ah! Maybe it's because I don't like your comments?"

"Just kidding! Yata isn't scared at this level! I get it!"

"I go to search..."

Yata responds with a negative voice like a different person than until now. Kamamoto stood up while rubbing his knees and headed straight for the exit.

"Then, I'll go for a bit."

Kamamoto left the room. Yata was left alone in the reception room.

"……"

He cannot hear anything but the sound of rain, thunder, and the beat of his heart. He feels restless and walk around the table for no reason. Check the clock almost every minute. Every time, he repeats the idea of going round and round, why he hasn't come back yet.

At that moment, the roar of the guitar solo echoed through the hall.

"What?!"

Involuntarily, he raises a strange voice and jumps. The guitar solo echoed in Yata's bag that he had left on the couch. The fiery melody is a representative song of "Red King Idol" Suoh Mikoto, which Yata respects.

Yata took out his PDA while suppressing his heartbeat.

The incoming call was from Kamamoto. As soon as he answers the call, Yata yells at him.

"Hey, don't call suddenly!"

As he screamed, Yata felt relieved somewhere in his heart.

Kamamoto on the other end of the phone echoed the usual subtle voice without knowing such complicated psychology.

"No, I'm sorry, Yata-san. I thought it would be bad for Yata-san to be worried, so I'm sorry."

"Are you eating something?"

"Eh? No, no way..."

"You're eating! Where are you now?"

"Oh, no... it's like a kitchen."

"You're stupid! How do you eat in someone's kitchen when you visit their house? You can't do that, even if you're a visitor!"

Yata yells. At the same time, when he looks out the window, he notices that his expression has softened. Kamamoto's usual eating habits seemed to be irreplaceable and encouraging at this point.

Kamamoto says, while making a locking sound.

"Well, you often say that if I'm hungry, I can't do it, right? And I came here guessing."

"Eh?"

"I could see a figure here, so I thought it was a rabbit. It was wearing white clothes, so I'm sure it's correct."

A small shadow was born on Yata's slightly warmed chest.

A figure in white clothes.

"Hey, Kamamoto."

"Hmm? That? That, maybe..."

When he hears Kamamoto's voice as if noticing something, the shadow gets bigger as it swells.

"Wait a minute. Come back!"

"No, what are you talking about, there was a rabbit. Sorry! When can I start recording?"

There, Kamamoto's voice cut off.

The shadow fills Yata's heart. Yata clenches the sweat from his hands that slowly spreads onto his PDA.

"Hey! Kamamoto! Come back!"

"That? It's weird. Why?"

"Kamamoto!"

"Why was his neck looking away?"

Almost at the same time as those words, a wet sound echoed off his PDA.

It's like hitting a wet leather bag on the ground.

It's like squashing a rotten tomato.

A sound with an ominous premonition clung to Yata's ears.

"Kama-…!"

The calling voice was interrupted by a loud sound that pierced the tympanic membrane. Maybe that's why he dropped his PDA. He lets it go involuntarily, and Yata looks at his PDA. Notice the words "Rikio Kamamoto" floating just below the "Call" screen.

After a while of silence, the speaker began to pick up the sound of "something."

Tap. Tap. Yata notes that the sound that resonates regularly is footsteps. Facing Yata, who is stuck as if frozen, the speaker mercilessly continues to reproduce the sound of "something".

"Heh heh heh."

In the end, a sound like that of a laughing voice, and the call was cut off.

Seeing the words "End of call", Yata noticed the sweat on his back.

There is certainly "something" here.

Yata thinks about it while being driven into a panic. Can't imagine what it is. Is it related to that white figure? What happened to that rabbit and the members that went looking for him?

And Kamamoto...

"Ah!"

Clenching his fist and teeth, Yata stared at the living room door.

If Yata were alone, he would have screamed and stormed out of the reception room, rushing into mountains of thunderstorms. Not good in this situation, let's be clear. It is incredibly scary. Even now, his knees are shaking and he can't even stand.

However, Kamamoto is here. There are also directors and film crews that came with him.

If he abandons them and runs away alone, he will deny the human Misaki Yata.

"Damn!"

Yata slammed his hardened fist against his thigh. That doesn't stop the shaking of the knees, but it is something.

Thus, pain inspired Yata. He strides across the room and kicks the door open before crossing.

"Wait, Kamamoto! I'm going to help you now!"

Screaming to inspire himself, Yata stepped into the darkness in front of him.

++++++++++

Kamamoto said at the end that he was in the kitchen.

Of course, Yata does not know the layout of the building. Still, since it's a kitchen, he guesses it's somewhere on the first floor, and he walks down the hall in big surprise. The lamp, which should be from the lighting equipment, was not on, and Yata had to use the light from his PDA as a flashlight and advance terrifyingly.

Lightning and thunder roar. The entire view of the hallway was projected for a moment as if the camera's flash fired.

It's a long corridor with blood-colored ridges and bone-like walls. The portraits are evenly spaced on the wall.

As he slowly advances, Yata tries to keep the portrait out of his eyes. Because the line of sight can match. Because if he looks at them, they might laugh at him.

If he looks at a portrait, his heart may explode as if he is doing his best live. Yata still couldn't die. He couldn't die until he saved Kamamoto and the team members.

"……"

The blankness on his face means that fear outweighs courage. There is no colleague from the "Homura Performing Arts Office" who can laugh at him, they are not here at the moment. Yata has to fight both loneliness and fear.

Fold the corner twice.

Apparently it is a corridor. Maybe the kitchen is not on the first floor. If that happens, he will have to climb the stairs. That fact began to haunt Yata's thoughts.

Before entering the hall, a white figure reflected in the window for a moment flickered in Yata's mind.

Climbing the stairs means going to that figure. Yata wasn't sure he could get into such a situation even though he no longer had the courage to oppress it anymore.

When, suddenly, the door on his left moved with a piercing noise.

"Eh?"

Yata jumped to the ground in a squeaky voice.

The door opened slowly as if it had a will of its own.

The warm breeze that flowed from there caressed his taut cheeks.

He's sure it was moved by air flow or something, until he found out, it wouldn't move.

Thousands of words that are less than thoughts fill his mind. The instinct of "I want to get away from here" and the belief that "I can't abandon my friends" conflict with each other, and Yata's body tends to be rigid.

As it is, a minute has passed.

Nothing happens.

Realizing that, Yata began to move. The doorplate illuminated by the light of the PDA came into view.

The word "Dining Room" was written there.

"This is here?"

Muttering to be sure, swallowing hard, Yata opened the door.

The spacious dining room was filled with humid air. There is a long table as seen in the movie and several chairs around it. A three-pointed candelabrum on a pure white tablecloth receives the light and glows golden.

Yata scans the room while glancing at the scene. If there is a door that leads to the kitchen, that will be the goal.

The feelings of wanting to find them and not wanting to find them are in conflict in Yata. It was the manifestation of the two feelings that filled Yata's heart, the instinct of not wanting to face loyalty and the belief that he should help his companions.

Suddenly, Yata felt something crash against his toes.

It bounces and terrifyingly points the light to the ground.

It was a ham. A thick, boneless ham that appears to be around Yata's foot. There is evidence that the packaging has been broken and removed.

Kamamoto no doubt picked it up and ate it.

He had been here.

"Kamamoto?"

His voice echoed mysteriously. When he turned on the lights, the door that would lead to the kitchen was open. Yata went in there.

The kitchen floor was damp. When Yata's shoes hit the wet floor, he made a sticky noise and pulled a rope between his shoes and the floor.

The light from the PDA trembled as if Yata's discomfort was transmitted.

The previous light reflects the ground. Yata arrived when there was a trail of something crawling across the red-black wet ground.

At the same time, there is a watery sound in the kitchen.

Kucha, Juru, Picha, Nichi, Giri.

He doesn’t notice it from the sound of the rain. he could hear the sound all the time.

Jutsu, guchitsu, baki, zuru, gucha...

Maybe he didn't want to realize it. Because it was a realization of Yata's fear.

Baki, Bagi, Goritsu, Boritsu, Jururu.

However, Yata had to face realization. He thought that he had to record it in his own eyes no matter what result he was hoping for.

A trembling light crawls across the ground and follows the bloodline.

"It" was closer than he expected.

He was wearing white clothing, similar to a dress. The word "it" comes from the fact that it was so worn that it was hard to see. The hem ripped like a saw blade and dirt that has mixed in here and there has soaked it. It was probably the dirt that caused the thread to stick to the soles of Yata's shoes.

"It" seemed to turn away from him and crouch like a monkey, shaking his head vigorously. He shook his pure white hair, moving his face further and further, and moving his hands to break something.

Each time, the watery sound from before, resonates.

A familiar giant lay in front of "It"

Kamamoto's eyes, illuminated by the lights, were wide open and were no longer looking at anything.

Yata took a step back, it would be terrible to blame him for being shy. Yata's survival instinct demanded a distance from "it", just as a hunted animal would reflexively frighten. Holding his mouth with his hand, while pouring a fixed stare at "it", Yata tries to leave the room.

There was a dry sound under his feet.

"… ?!"

Yata hastily points the light at his feet.

There were Kamamoto's sunglasses. Stepped on by Yata, the lens of the sunglasses snapped in two.

He looked up from the sunglasses and saw "it", terrifyingly.

The movement stopped, as if it had frozen.

Even arms thin like dead trees and hair white like ceramic remain frozen.

The neck began to turn silently.

Slowly and precisely, like the gears of a machine. Turning sideways, diagonally back, and turning 180 degrees, it "saw" Yata.

Kamamoto's words revive in Yata's mind.

("Why is your neck there?")

Looking at Yata with only his face, with his body facing forward.

"It" moves just a little.

Random blood-soaked teeth were stained with a speckled pattern of yellow and red.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaah!"

When he noticed, Yata was sprinting down the hall of the building.

Screams of flight and senseless came from his mouth, the eyes had shed tears incessantly. He is not sure where he is going. However, he wanted to get away from that kitchen as soon as possible.

Yata slipped and fell, trying to turn the corner of the hall at full speed. He crashes into the wall and stops, reflectively looking at the darkness from which he ran.

He couldn't find the figure for "it."

However, only sound was heard.

Regularly echoing sounds and footsteps approached Yata from the other side of the darkness with a speed that shook fear.

Yata got to his feet and started running. His brain made a full rotation. Remembering the layout of the building, He try to find a way out.

As he ran down the hall, he saw a familiar sight.

This is the entrance hall he saw when he first entered the building. A ridiculously huge chandelier and a portrait of Daikaku Kokujoji on the wall of a huge staircase. Yata immediately took the door that led to the outside of the left door.

No matter how much he pushes or pull, it won't open. Even if he turned the key like crazy, kicked the door, or slammed it, the heavy door would not stubbornly move. Full of irritation and anger, Yata says, "Come on! What's this? Open up! Open up!"

However, the screaming, almost crying, stopped immediately. The footsteps were getting closer.

Hita, Hita, Hita, Hita.

Yata let go of all his emotions and ran like a ball. He refused to be there putting all his physical abilities that he refined as an idol.

Yata, who was running like the wind, soon found a bath.

When he enters, it was divided into several private rooms. He pushes open while checking with the PDA light and it slides inside.

When the lights went out, the bathroom filled with a darkness that seemed to crush him.

Yata supports his head as he shakes on the toilet seat.

("What is that, what is that, what is that?")

Did "it" eat Kamamoto?

Anger at his partner's murder swelled through his body, but much more than that, fear of the mysterious monster in front of him. The monster crawls out looking for him at this very moment. Just imagining it makes his skin rust.

After doing it for a while, Yata suddenly came up with something.

"I have to ask for help..."

Of course, the reason the idea that was taken for granted didn't come up until now is because his brain was engulfed in fear. Yata tapped his PDA with his shaking finger and first tried to contact his most trusted boss, Izumo Kusanagi.

At that moment, he heard a voice from the depths of the darkness of the hall.

"Yata-san, where are you? Please answer."

Yata stops his finger and raises his face as if flipped over. The cold, sweaty expression shone with wonder and joy.

"Kamamoto...?"

"Yata-san, please help me. I got hurt."

Without a doubt, it was Rikio Kamamoto's voice.

It has been delayed, but it cannot be wrong. Yata stood up in the bathroom of a private room and sharpened his ears.

Kamamoto's voice seems to come and go right outside the bathroom. Or maybe Kamamoto, who was lying at the time, was still alive. Perhaps he escaped from the monster and came to ask for help.

("Here! Kamamoto, I'm here! We will run away together!")

Yata hastily shut his mouth when he was about to scream.

Not out of self-protection, it was out of doubt.

Is that really Kamamoto's voice?

There is no reason. The questions equal to intuition, however, get louder and louder as he hears Kamamoto's voice.

"Yata-san, Yata-san, where are you? I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I don't care, I want to eat soon."

He had goose bumps.

No matter how much it is Kamamoto, in such a situation, he couldn't think of making such a loud voice and worrying about food.

Yata sat back on the toilet seat. He keeps his mouth closed with watery eyes to prevent any sound from escaping.

Still, Kamamoto's voice continues to call him by name. "Yata-san, where are you?"

Suddenly, Kamamoto's voice cut off.

"……"

Yata blinked. A tear drop was shed. He wondered if he was gone.

There is no way to confirm it. There is not an iota of courage to get out of there. Yata took out the PDA again and started the message app. He absolutely did not want to talk. First he would call Kusanagi, then Kusanagi would call the police.

Yata's PDA sounded with a roaring guitar solo.

"Eh?"

Suoh Mikoto's guitar solo, which he is more intoxicated with than anyone, now sounds like a devastating call from the devil. Yata hurries to look at the PDA. While cursing the idiot who made a call in such a situation, he looks at the screen regretting not having put the silent mode.

His spine froze.

The name "Rikio Kamamoto" was etched on the screen.

He hung up the call and turned off the PDA. As he did so, he thought.

He couldn't think optimistically that Kamamoto was alive. The voice from before was definitely not Kamamoto himself.

So the current call was... that "thing".

That "thing" took Kamamoto's PDA and called it, to find out where it turned on.

About the same time, he was convinced of that, there was a sound of footsteps.

Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap. He has regular intervals and gradually but surely approaches Yata.

Can't bear it. Yata decided to reject the reality in front of him.

He closed his eyes tightly. He covered his ears with both hands. Even if death falls from above one day, try not to look directly at it.

Yet in the dark, Yata thinks.

A feeling of strangeness.

A person can stop his movement of his own free will, but he cannot stop his will. The feeling of strangeness that was born in the dark grew in Yata's brain, because there was nothing else.

Why does he hear footsteps?

The floor of the building is completely strange. The kitchen was really different, but the hallways and bathrooms were filled with crimson delicacy.

The heavy boots would make steps. But that step is barefoot. No matter how fast he run barefoot, the sound should be absorbed by the relief and disappear.

So it's "it".

At that moment, there was something that shone like a revelation.

Can't stop thinking. The discovery cannot be ignored. In that sense, Yata must have been more human than anyone. Even if that means ruin, to confirm his own conscience, he opened his eyes and turned his face away.

On the bathroom ceiling, "it" was stuck.

His palm with dirty claws, every time it sticks to the ceiling, makes a "thump" sound. That was the true identity of the "steps". When he turned his head upside down, the ragged white hair was tousled. Stuck to the ceiling on all fours, "it" had bright red eyes that glowed negatively, exposing turbulent yellow and red teeth.

In the form of a predator who found Yata with no escape.

"No, aaaaaaaaaaah!"

Yata screamed with all his soul. At that moment, Yata's sight turned white.

++++++++++

"Hey! It was amazing!"

With such a voice, the door to the private room was opened.

Behind the door, the film crew, illuminated by electric lights, waited. Kamamoto Rikio holds up the camera, and a man in sunglasses and a red helmet holds a sign that says, "Don't miss it!" The man in the sunglasses looked a lot like Yata's trusted boss, Izumo Kusanagi.

"……"

Yata was watching the scene with all faces dead.

Kamamoto, who should have died, looks at a man who looks like Kusanagi while holding the camera.

"Kusanagi-san, this is…"

"I don't think there will be a reaction. So again."

He hit the sign in front of him.

"Yata-chan? Are you really okay?"

"……"

Yata cannot react.

When the man who looked like Kusanagi sighed, he left the sign to Kamamoto and entered the private room.

"Sure! The idol has a fluid face during the tea ceremony!"

Gently tap Yata's head.

"Ah! Eh, that? Kusanagi-san? Why?"

Kusanagi shakes his head at Yata, who drips confusion as is.

"That's why I told you about it for a while. It's a shocking show! The target is Yata-chan, and the tricks are us, 'Homura Performing Arts Office'."

At that moment, a figure fell from the ceiling. That monster with a shabby dress and white hair.

From "it", the horror was completely lost. She pulled her false teeth out of her mouth, tucked her white hair back, and turned her red eyes to Yata. "It" he breathed through her nose, giving a feeling of fullness to her young face.

"How was it? Was my performance terrifying?"

"Oh, you did it perfectly, Anna!"

"He was scared of you!"

Look at the friends who are raising their thumbs.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?!"

Yata screamed as loud as he did before.

Ten minutes later.

Yata was angry at the entrance of the building, which was fully lit.

"What's that? It's terrible, Kusanagi-san! Please tell me in advance if you do this kind of thing!"

"Ahaha, Yata-chan, don't talk nonsense. If I told you, you wouldn't be surprised, right?"

"Kamamoto, you were an accessory too! I really thought you were dead!"

"Well, it doesn't matter how much food you eat there, doesn't it?"

Yata struck Kamamoto's head with all his might for the first time in a long time, gathering in his fist all the reaction of fear and anger that he had suffered.

With Kamamoto crouched on his back, Yata turns his resentful eyes on Anna.

"And Anna... even you..."

Anna suddenly looked away, perhaps uncomfortable.

"Because it was work.", Anna muttered.

So everything, it was something that had been organized from the beginning.

The place where the program will be broadcast is "Shirogin Deluxe" remains unchanged. However, it was not actually a visit to Kokujoji's house, but rather a project presented by the "Homura Performing Arts Office".

After seeing it, "Idol King" Isana Yashiro said, "This looks interesting!", And this project received the full backing of the "Tokijikuin Agency". Small dark vision cameras were installed around the building, rabbit costumes rented, and a recreational facility that was no longer in use. The words, actions and reactions Yata has done so far are said to be fully reflected.

Everything to give the Yata lens the greatest fear and obtain the best recordings.

Kusanagi happily explains.

"You know, Yata-chan has become popular lately? He's been featured in entertainment magazines and online, and some people call him 'The Red Prince'."

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"So, I wonder if that's a little different from Yata-chan's politics. I brought this project to highlight Yata-chan's original charm here."

"Eh..."

Honestly, he's not sure about politics or appeal. Yata entered this path longing for Suoh. He really hadn't been aware of how others saw him.

Such a production was the work of Kusanagi at the "Homura Performing Arts Office".

"Thanks to that, I got a good photo! Anna did a good job, and two birds with one stone."

Therefore, it would be nice if Kusanagi were satisfied with his work, although he is not yet convinced.

However, Yata looks at Anna with concern.

"Well Anna, how did you do that?"

Anna shook her head.

"Eh?"

"I see, that... was it glued to the ceiling?"

Anna turns to the side. Look at the hallway wall, put both hands on it, and climb the wall while making noise.

Yata opened his mouth.

Anna asks, glued to the ceiling and looking at Yata upside down.

"What about this?"

"No... that... how...?"

"Expert."

Anna said it with a calm face. Yata watches her like he's looking at something incredible. No, the idea occurred to him that it would be impossible to practice or that she was ignoring the laws of physics, but he felt that even doing it was unsophisticated.

"Well then, what about that? That way of turning the neck."

"This?"

When Anna's neck began to twist, Yata hastily stopped her.

"Wait! Stop! Stop! You don't have to show it!"

Anna returned her head to its original position. Looking at Yata upside down, with a smile.

"Special training."

"No, it's amazing, right?! Kusanagi-san, okay? What are you doing as an idol?"

"Yeah, well it's a subtle thing to say if it's an ant or a pear, but... Anna did her best, so ant!"

"Sweet! Are you really sweet to Anna?"

"Haha, okay, this is also an art style. Wasn't Anna's threatening role in the hallway quite realistic?"

"Yeah, well, I thought my heart would stop..."

Yata muttered that.

Of course, the rage at being cheated continues to smoke.

However, it was even stronger than that, and relief filled Yata's heart. He really thought that Kamamoto was dead, and he really thought they were going to kill him. Rather, he even remembered to praise the production team that created such high quality.

"Well I'm excited about this too. Yata-chan had a good reaction too!"

"Ah…"

When Kusanagi hit him on the back, Yata gave a dry laugh.

"The event has been completed! Please go ahead!"

A staff member who was in charge of the location car outside the building called him out. Kusanagi and other members of the "Homura Performing Arts Office" follow suit and get into the car one after another.

The rain had completely stopped and the light was shining through the clouds. Looking at him, Yata suddenly called to Anna in the seat next to him.

"Hey, Anna, you were on the second floor when we entered the building, right?"

"Eh?"

"No, you know. I saw you by the second floor window."

Anna looks at Yata saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kusanagi, who had either heard or accosted him before, said with a bitter smile.

"Yata-chan, don't say weird things. No one went up the stairs."

"Ah…"

"I had no plans to use the second floor in the first place. No one should have gone."

The relief in his heart changes fast and cold.

So what did you see at the time?

Yata's neck was twisted back, as if it were a physical law. While he thought it was something he shouldn't see, he wanted to make his own discoveries, simple human curiosity.

The exterior of the desolate building. The windows on the second floor open in black at regular intervals. At one of the windows where sunlight enters after the rain, a girl dressed in white was smiling and showing her yellowish teeth.

#k #k project #k six idols #idol k #yata misaki #k stories #k fan clan

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nitewrighter · 4 years ago

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Ah okay!! How about Samir & Aedan being a bunch of sleuths trying to discover and dispatch the Talon scientists responsible for the creation of Andrea. Or basically Aedan asking Samir and maybe to an extent Sombra to find a way to completely trash all the cloning-related research that Moira got from his conception so that no more clones would be made to go through what he's gone through(the existential dread) or wind up becoming another killing machine like Andrea!

I really love this prompt! Though I think Aedan’s relationship to Talon’s cloning projects would probably be more complex than “TALON ONLY MAKES MONSTROSITIES AND OUR EXISTENCE IS ONLY SUFFERING.”

...okay did this fic turn into a “Mountains of Madness/The Thing” knock-off? Maybe. Do I still like it? Yes.

----

The four of them stood huddled together in front of a massive, ice-slicked steel door dug into the side of Monte Sarmiento. All of them were bundled up, virtually indistinguishable from each other save by the colors of their windbreakers layered over thick down jackets, and Marti’s black braid speckled by snowflakes. Their faces were mostly obscured by goggles and scarves, and what skin did show was chapped by wind.

“Secret South American lab?” Jaime had pulled one glove off and was picking bits of protein bar out of his teeth with his pinky nail, “Even for Talon, that’s... nnnot a good look.”

“Overwatch had them too,” said Samir with a shrug, “Though, granted, it was for Crisis-era prosthetics research.”

“I’m just saying!” said Jaime, he shuddered as an icy wind blew through and looked over his shoulder back at the snow-capped peaks of the Cordillera Darwin before pulling a glove back on, “At least we’re not in Argentina.”

“Overwatch’s was in Argentina, actually,” said Samir, and Jaime snorted.

“Focus,” said Marti, her goggles down over her eyes as she and Samir decrypted the code on the door.

“We’re sure this site’s abandoned?” said Jaime, “We won’t be activating any... ‘nuke from orbit’ failsafes, right?”

“Best intel Auntie and Lynx could get, and Winston’s satellite should intercept any signal it might send out,” said Marti, numerous lines of code running across the lenses of her goggles, “And the decryption should be complete... right... about... now.”

There was a deep whirring sound and the ice on the door fractured. The four of them flinched back as it fell down in sheets and shattered against the icy and rocky ground, opening into a dark, steel-lined corridor.

“Scout it out, Ebo,” said Marti, taking the small spider-like drone off of her back harness and setting it on the ground. The little robot scuttled into the darkness and one lens of Marti’s goggles lit up with a feed from what Ebo’s camera could pick up.

“...so when do we all get the cute little drone sidekicks?” said Jaime as the four of them lit up their flashlights and walked into the corridor.

“You’re welcome to build your own,” said Marti, shining her flashlight around the massive heptagonal hallway. There was a loud ‘thunk-CHUNK’ and the hallway suddenly lit up in unnerving red lights. It mostly eliminated the need for flashlights, but all of them hesitated to turn them off. There came a loud whirring and all of them flinched with alertness.

“Stay calm,” said Marti, holding up a hand to make them pause in their steps. she brought a hand to her temple, apparently focusing on Ebo’s feed in her goggles, “Security drones incoming,” she said. Jaime swung his rifle off of his shoulder and Samir materialized his rifle from hard-light, “Aedan, stay low. If they get your head the mission is scrubbed. Samir. Take drones at two o’clock to eight o’ clock. Jaime. Eight to two.”

Jaime audibly cocked his rifle. The drones came flying out of the darkness, unnerving things, radially symmetrical, somewhere between squid and jellyfish in their design, bearing some resemblance to the gwishin omnic but even more unnervingly reminding Aedan of the construction of his own mother’s combat suit with a strange tightness to their chassises. Aedan could already feel dread chilling his blood but both Samir and Jaime quickly and efficiently dispatched the drones. A few loud shots echoing off the metallic walls of the corridor and the drones spun and crashed to the ground next to them. About 7 or 8, virtual target practice.

“Not to jinx it but... seems a little underwhelming, right?” said Jaime, “As far as secret labs go?”

Both Marti and Samir gave Jaime a wary glance as if he might very well jinx it, but there was a sound overhead and all of them flinched, Jaime and Samir bringing their rifles to the ready, but only a few nonfunctioning drone chassis tumbled out of a duct. They glanced up at the duct, noting even more nonfunctioning drones jamming it. There was a scuttling sound and Aedan tensed, only to see Ebo scuttling back to Marti.

“...I guess at one point they were supposed to overwhelm any intruders with numbers,” said Marti, picking up Ebo, folding its legs back in, and tucking the robot back into a slot on the harness on her back. She glanced over at Aedan, stooping over one of the dispatched drones.

“Aedan, if you want to study it further, we can grab it on the way out---” Marti started but Aedan was folding and unfolding one of the wing-like appendages on the drones.

“Pseudo-organic...” murmured Aedan.

“Come again?” said Marti.

“Nothing just...” Aedan pulled himself up to his full height, “Technically they’re living things.”

“What?” Jaime tilted his head.

“Well... insomuch as a nanite is a living thing,” said Aedan, rejoining the group.

“...Are you good?” said Marti, as Aedan closed the distance between them.

“You need someone with experience in Talon’s science division,” Aedan answered with a level of obviousness.

“But are you good?” said Marti, “This mission is already hitting close to home with you---”

“Look, it’s just a practical exploration of one branch of the capabilities of nanite design,” said Aedan, irritated, “I’ve already gone through my whole stupid clone angst well before I even defected, I’m here to make sure something good actually comes of it. Which I can’t do if everyone is treating me like a Fabergé egg.”

“I’ll take your word for it...” said Marti, glancing off.

Aedan did his best to ignore the implications of her words as they continued walking forward. “I’ll take your word for it,” didn’t simply imply that she believed his words, there was another layer to it. “I’ll take your word for it,” easily translated to, “I believe that you believe that---and of course, just because you believe this about yourself or your situation doesn’t make it true.” But no, despite everything he strived for as a person, Aedan knew his very existence represented probably the ugliest side of Talon’s unfettered scientific ambition.

It’s why they brought me, thought Aedan as they reached another massive steel door and the three of them looked to him expectantly. There was a retinal scan terminal next to the door.

“Your time to shine,” said Marti, as Aedan stepped up to it.

“...couldn’t you have tried to decrypt it? Or blow it open?” said Aedan, stepping up to the terminal.

“We don’t know if that would have activated some self-destruct failsafe,” said Samir, “We want to see the lab how Talon would have seen it.”

“Of course,” said Aedan, bringing his eye to the scanner.

Two blue lines of light crisscrossed over his mahogany brown eye.

“O’Deorain, Moira,” an automated voice sounded from the computer, “Vocally confirm any guests with you for biometrics.”

A bit of panic flared up in Aedan’s chest, but he glanced back t his three compatriots and looked back at the terminal. Pitching his voice in the best approximation of his mother’s, he spoke, “O’Deorain, Moira, reporting. And three guests.”

“Accepted,” said the terminal, “Enter passcode.”

“What?” said Aedan.

“Verbally state your passcode,” said the terminal.

“Let me decrypt it,” said Marti, bringing her goggles back down over her eyes.

“Please enter passcode in the next... 40 seconds,” said the terminal.

“Will it decrypt that fast?” said Aedan, quickly.

“No,” said Marti, looking at him.

Aedan brought in a sharp breath through his teeth. His mother never had very good passcodes for anything, largely because she was dealing with Talon passcodes around every corner with Talon putting pressure on her to come up with new ideas all the time. What would she pick for here? What would she pick for now? Something obvious. Something reflecting her sensibilities.

“Please enter passcode in the next... 20 seconds,” droned the terminal.

“Uh, Aedan?” said Jaime.

“Darwin!” Aedan flinched at how loudly the word came out of him.

“Passcode expired. Please enter current passcode in the next...9 seconds,” said the terminal.

“Aedan--” Samir started.

“Beagle!” blurted out Aedan.

There was a pause of a few seconds, then another ‘thunk-CHUNK’ as the gears behind the door shifted, and the massive steel doors pulled away revealing a large lift.

“...How did you know that?” said Marti.

“Well,” Aedan shrugged, “Some side effects to Mum supplementing my memories with hers, I suppose, but mostly? We’re both lazy in our way. I mean, I supposed there would come a point where you get so exasperated with passcodes that you just defer to the passcode being the location the passcode is in so...” He trailed off and scanned the faces of his team members.

“Let’s just... get on the lift,” said Marti.

The four of them moved onto the lift. There were only two other floors. A main level, and what seemed to be a ship bay for evacuation or Talon drop ships. They opted for the main level. The lift hummed and all of them felt a distinct gut-sinking feeling as it plummeted.

All of them tensed as the doors opened to a massive chamber hewn into the mountain itself and supported by steel beams like the ribs of a massive beast. There were more ‘thunks’ and ‘whirrs’ as the auxiliary power lit up the lab, cold little white lights on footpaths thrummed up from the floor, creating an eerie lighting from below, and there were a few industrial lights shining down on a central lab table. Lining the lab walls however, were what appeared to be massive cylinders of tight bands of metal, each equipped with its own terminal and what appeared to be a generator.

“Full scan, Ebo,” said Marti, once again taking the little robot off of her back and sending it scuttling off into the dark recesses of the lab. Scalloping around the tanks, the little spider drone bustled around a corner into a corridor which Aedan assumed might lead to the generators for this lab.

“What are we looking at here?” said Jaime.

“I’d guess maybe cryogenic research?” said Samir, walking up to one of the metal cylinders and putting his hand on it, “Feels like it would be appropriate, given the location...”

“So we might just end up thawing out Talon agents if we touch the wrong thing,” said Jaime. He snorted. “Can you imagine just... being forgotten in a freezer for years?”

“...Overwatch actually had that happen with Doctor Zhou,” said Samir.

“Speculating gets us nowhere,” said Marti as she walked up to the first cylinder’s terminal. She brought her goggles down and activated the holographic screens of the terminal, her fingers racing across them to decrypt.

“It’s too warm in here for cryogenics,” Aedan said, mostly to himself as he headed to another cylinder He rapped a knuckle on the cylinder. The reverberation of the metal wasn’t quite hollow. He frowned and turned to the terminal, typing a few old Talon access codes. The holographic interface lit up, displaying flatlined vitals. Samir might be right, thought Aedan, It could be cryo... but another possibility was itching at the back of his mind. Aedan selected a button that said, ‘Open exterior shell,’ just as an excited huff came out of Marti.

“Got it--!” Marti started as the metal bands slid to the side but that tone of victory in her voice quickly shrank in her throat. Aedan glanced at his own cylinder and saw the bands sliding away from it, revealing glass and… yellow. His gut seized. All four of them stumbled away from the cylinders, shrinking in close to Marti in horror as the metal bands slid away to reveal two yellowish glass tanks, each with a naked man floating in it with dozens of wires stuck into his skin and a particularly unnerving wire ported at his temple. Mnemosyne, Aedan thought, mindlessly feeling at the side of his own head. It took a second to make out their hair in the yellowness of the tank, it was a bit long for amnio-tank regulations. How long had they been abandoned? How much did the biotics slow the keratinization process of the growth of hair?

“Blonde clones in tubes...” Jaime said, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice but somewhat blindly fumbling for Samir’s hand, “Like I said before: Not a good look.”

“Look at their faces,” said Marti, squinting.

The truth was their faces had that strange, anonymizing shadow of death upon them. The way death makes anything look so very remote from anything it looked like in life. They were in tanks of biotics, but all Aedan could think about were embryos and reptiles in jars of formaldehyde. But they could still pick up a sharp nose, a strong jaw, and thin lips.

“…Jack Morrison,” Samir said hollowly. Even without the scars, everyone could recognize that nose and that jawline from the posters that had colored their world since well before any of them were born.

“You’re telling me Talon devoted an entire lab to cloning Jack Morrison?” Jaime said, his face twisted up.

“It might not be just Jack Morrison,” said Marti, quickly heading to the lab’s central terminal, and Samir paled slightly.

“With all data on the SEP serum destroyed, it was their most logical bet,” said Aedan, “Short of grave-robbing other subjects from the Omnic crisis, but I doubt any samples there would be viable if they couldn’t scry the compound from genetic information.”

He felt Jaime’s eyes on him, shrewd and disturbed. Aedan pressed his own lips together, hating how much he still knew about how Talon thought. Hating how much he still thought like Talon.

Marti still had her goggles down, streams of data going over the lenses as she typed at the central terminal, “I’m getting the next one open.”

They all tried to keep steady, but the loud whirrs and ‘thunks’ which issued from Marti’s hacking efforts while all their eyes were fixed on the other clones in the amnio-tanks made all of them flinch.

A nervous laugh fell out of Jaime. “Keep expecting their eyes to open...” he said, his voice a little strained.

The metal bands slid away on the next cylinder, revealing not a blonde man but a floating amorphous pulp of black.

“Nanite amalgam?” said Aedan, tilting his head.

“What’s a nanite amalgam, again?” whispered Jaime.

“Baby reaper,” whispered Marti.

“They’re not ‘Baby Reapers,’” said Samir, “More like... Reaper goo coral colonies.”

“But we don’t--I mean Talon doesn’t usually let them get this big...” murmured Aedan, “It’s easier to observe cellular anomalies when they’re...” he trailed off and tapped at the monitor next to the tank with the black pulp. Aedan put a hand over his mouth.

“What?” said Marti.

“...it’s not a nanite amalgam. This... was an attempt at cloning Reyes,” said Aedan, his shoulders dropping, “Couldn’t maintain cellular cohesion. He...” Aedan took a steadying inhale, “In the most scientific terms... ate himself.”

Jaime’s lips pulled back from his teeth in some combination of repulsion and that odd scrambling need to use humor to try and maintain some mental grip on the situation but also knowing he shouldn’t do that for Aedan’s sake.

“Aedan, do you need to--?” Marti started.

“Open the next tank,” said Aedan, stiffly. Marti gave him a look and Aedan cleared his throat. “Please. If it’s... in your best judgment, team leader.”

Marti tapped away at the monitor again. The next tank was a similar black pulp but now in a roughly human shape, like a shadow.

“This one managed to maintain its hox genes...” murmured Aedan.

“I’ve found the ‘Emergency access’ channel--I’m opening the rest of them,” said Marti.

There was a series of clanks and whirring then and the rest of the tanks were revealed. These weren’t all identical clones. If Aedan had to make a comparison, he would say it was like An artist’s body of work as defined by a particular phase. There was Picasso’s Blue Period, and here was his mother’s “Try and create a supersoldier that combines the most terrifying aspects of both Morrison and Reyes with varying but all uniquely disgusting results” period.

“Subjects seven through eighteen,” Aedan said quietly, pressing one hand to the glass of an amnio-tank. He remembered McCree interrogating him shortly after his defection. Why does everyone always assume clones are made in bulk?

They weren’t made in bulk, thought Aedan, This is trial and error. This is throwing everything at a wall and seeing what sticks.

There was a man in the tank with a ruddier skin tone than Jack’s but hair too light to be Reyes’s--or at least most of him--his arms and legs tapered off into cloudy black points, like a piece of wood that had only half of it burned.

“Couldn’t maintain cellular cohesion at the extremities. Organs were probably in a state of peril from the start and failed as it moved inward,” Aedan muttered.

“Uh--Aedan?” said Marti, but Aedan moved across the next tank, featuring a man with similar features midway between Reyes and Morrison, in somewhat complete form, but with the entire back of his head dissolved and trailing up

“Could reconstruct most of his body but not the arbor vitae. Probably killed himself at the first attempt at a fade, yet the nanites still responded to the peripheral nerves. Very unusual,” he murmured.

“Aedan,” Samir’s voice was troubled but Aedan was too caught up in his observations, moving to the next tank.

The clone in this one was... unfortunate. Really more of just a brain and spine surrounded by a black cloud of nanites. “The previous couldn’t maintain the integrity of the central nervous system, this one couldn’t maintain the integrity of the periphera--”

“AEDAN!” Jaime bellowed and Aedan glanced up. Jaime pointed to the end of the row of tanks. The last tank was empty--or at least, what was left of it was empty. What remained of the tank was jagged glass rendered virtually white from all its fissures. They had all been so busy looking at the tanks and monitors they didn’t catch the shards of glass sparkling in those cold floor lights at the base of the final tank. The glass definitely showed that something had burst out of the tank, rather than a force shattering it inward.

“...do we know... why Talon abandoned this lab?” the words came out of Aedan squeakier than he wanted.

“Well, mostly our prerogative is to secure any Talon site that’s tactically viable,” said Samir.

Marti pressed a button on the side of her goggles and a clear tension overcame her, “And you know what?” she said, her voice pitching higher than usual, “Let’s consider this one secured! Let’s go to the lift, everyone!”

“What?” said Samir.

“But there’s still so much to--” Aedan started.

“We are going to the lift,” said Marti through clenched teeth, “Now.”

There was a scuttling and Aedan, Samir, and Jaime all instinctively clustered close, only to see Marti’s drone Ebo scuttling out of a dark corridor of the lab. Marti un slung her shockcaster off her back and fired off several tether lines behind the little spider robot.

“Uh, Marti--?” Jaime started.

“I said get to the li--” Marti shoved her goggles up off of her eyes as a horrible creaking, sloshing sound came out of the corridor behind Ebo, “NOW!” she shouted, “GO NOW!”

What lurched out of the corridor, Aedan couldn’t really compare to the nanite amalgams he had sent swarming over Urdr when he had defected with Rei. Too much of it was flesh-toned. But the black of nanites spiraled all over the whorls of skin and muscle making it up. Aedan didn’t try to make out how many eyes or hands were throbbing and blinking and clenching in it. Somehow, despite having far more eyes than any organism had any business having, all of those eyes fixed on them. Four dumb kids in brightly colored windbreakers standing smack dab in the center of the lab. Some of the eyes that looked at them were blue. Some were brown. Some had entirely too much pupil. Too much tapetum lucidum. Some were runny with tears and yellow gunk. The mass of nanite-spiraled muscles and flesh pressed out at Aedan like some creature trying to burst out of an amniotic sack. Aedan was frozen in place mouth hanging open, staring at this creature. This thing that came from a tank and was made of only a few smatterings of DNA and nanites, just like he did. He stood there, dumbly, until he felt felt Jaime grab his arm and he felt his own legs pumping as all four of them sprinted for the lift.

Marti fired out a tether at Ebo, caught the little robot, then yanked back hard, whisking the drone into her arms. She hugged it close to her chest as she ran. It wasn’t clear if she was protecting it or she thought it might protect her. Jaime just kept running, gripping Aedan’s arm so hard it hurt as Aedan flailed behind him, unable to pull his eyes away from the crawling, clawing mass that pursued them. Samir tossed out a few turrets to slow it down but soon surrendered to the dead sprint to the lift as the pulsing mass of flesh and nanites and muscles and sinew and limbs that didn’t know if they were hands or feet but were still reaching out, feeling out, followed after them. The four of them scrambled into the lift and Marti feverishly slammed the ‘close door’ button as the mass sloshed and crawled and reached for them. Samir brought up a hard light shield and the fleshy mass pressed against it, not-quite-hands pressing white against the bluish light before the doors of the lift finally closed and the lift shot upward.

“Guh--” some repulsed noise throbbed out of Jaime’s throat. Jaime, who never knew how to shut up for anything, was at a horrified loss of words. He suppressed a gag.

“Subject Eighteen...” the words left Aedan in a breath, a manic laugh shook him, “You created something with SEP serum toughness, and nanite adaptiveness but it wasn’t--it wasn’t...”

“Aedan--” Marti touched his arm.

“It was adapting,” Aedan was babbling, “It was adapting. It knew not to give itself a mouth or vocal chords because maybe then we could hear it coming--”

Marti suddenly pulled him into a hug.

“Probably converted what labtechs were here into biomass...” Aedan’s voice was breaking.

“Breathe, it’s okay,” said Marti.

“There’s a brain in there--maybe a lot of brains---maybe--” Aedan didn’t know why he kept talking. Maybe talking was all that kept the worst of the horror back. He felt Jaime layer himself around Marti in that same embrace.

“Tell me it’s not me--Tell me that thing isn’t me---” Aedan wasn’t quite sure when his face had gotten so wet with tears but it must have been bad because even Samir was piling into the hug now.

“It’s not you,” Marti’s voice was half-muffled against the bulk of Aedan’s own coat. Aedan just sank to his knees, his breath heaving between hyperventilating and sobs, and the rest of the team sank with him. Their only comfort was the thrum of the lift itself, bringing them up further and further from the horror below.

#moiraspawn #spiderbyte kid #mchanzo kid #symmarah kids

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sandalwoodhusbands · 4 years ago

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sooo.... new chapter when? 🤠

my dear tata tata, now that i'm finally done with finals (🥳🥳🥳) and our government has slowly but surely been lifting up the confinement my friends are very set on dragging me out of my house every day for the past week.

that means chapter 4 will be pushed back until monday probably (i'm very sad about it) but maybe i could interest you in some good old sexy elu times?

(also on ao3)

“Like this?”

“Stay still.”

“Make sure to get my good side!”

“Oh my God,” Eliott laughs, falling backwards on the bed as Lucas flexes his arms with a scrunched-up expression. “You’re such an idiot, fuck.”

“Hey! Eyes on the star here.”

Eliott huffs out another quiet laugh before sitting up. He brings his phone up to eye level, waiting until the lens focus on Lucas’ figure, and taps. Snap after snap, Lucas changes position every few seconds, each more ridiculous than the last one, and Eliott’s sides hurt from laughing this much.

He thinks this is the most fun he’s had in months. With them in their tiny apartment, loud laughter echoing against the walls, the summer sun disappearing behind the buildings.

Lucas sticks his tongue out, and Eliott’s eyes crinkle with something akin to happiness. He takes another picture.

This fucking boy, he’s gonna be the death of him one day.

“Are you sure this is my good side?” Lucas asks again, throwing him a glance from where he’s staring at the window. “Yann laughed at me when I showed him my student ID card last semester.”

“As if you have a bad side. And Yann is a tasteless moron.”

Eliott watches as Lucas’ lips twitch.

He manages to take a picture before Lucas is turning around, one arm already poking out from under the t-shirt he’s wearing. Eliott gives him an amused look, but Lucas just shrugs, getting out of the t-shirt and throwing it at Eliott.

Eliott catches it easily.

“I got tired.” He says, the corner of his lips quirking up. “I wanna try on something else.”

“Be my guest.”

There’s mirth in Lucas’ eyes when he turns to look over his shoulder. “Well yes, aren’t I half the owner of this apartment?”

Eliott rolls his eyes with amusement. Still, he doesn’t miss one second of Lucas walking away from him.

The grey sweatpants he has on are loose around the ankles. They look soft; incredibly soft, drawing the curve of his ass perfect, and the waistband hugs his waist in a way it has Eliott wondering if his fingers would warm over if he slipped them under it.

There’s only so much a man can do when the guy you’ve been committed to for the past few years bends over right in front of your eyes. With no fucking shirt on. He’s not even ashamed when he feels something stir inside his pants, mouth going dry at the sight of Lucas’ spine arching up.

He wants to run his hands across that smooth back. Cover his shoulders with kisses and let his mouth trail down until his lips are swollen. He wants to pull him apart with his tongue, and let Lucas do the same to him. There’s no self-preservation when it comes to them; they take, and take, and take until the air in the room is sucked dry.

He’s never been this stupid for anyone before, ever.

“Holy shit.” Lucas’ voice cuts through Eliott’s mind. “I had forgotten we had this here.”

Eliott frowns as he watches Lucas disappear into the wardrobe completely. “What are you-?”

And his thoughts die at his mouth.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Lucas asks with a smug grin. His hands go to smooth down the brown jacket draped over his body, pulling it open enough for Eliott to catch a glimpse of his nipples.

The phone gripped between Eliott’s hands slips onto his lap.

He watches entranced, irrevocably captivated by the expanse of sun-kissed skin standing right before him. The jacket looks huge on him, hanging off his shoulders loosely and reaching past his hands. A protective flare raises inside of him at the sight of Lucas wearing his old jacket, a sense of possession that he rarely, if almost never feels.

Lucas’ whole body is a masterpiece. His toned chest makes Eliott’s lips tingle from afar, his flat stomach begging to get a set of teeth sunk into it.

“So?” Lucas asks again. There’s humor in his voice, but Eliott knows where to look. The faint pink on top of his ears isn’t just from the heat in the room. “Are you gonna take a picture or are you gonna stare at me forever?”

Eliott smirks.

Holding his phone up to his face, he frames Lucas in the middle of the shot. He notices the second Lucas sees right through him. Right through the screen, he sees Lucas’ eyes drop down for a second, gaze dancing by where there’s a bulge right between Eliott’s legs.

And then he’s looking right at the lenses, stealing Eliott’s breath away, and with it goes all of the composure that was left in him. Because Lucas looks at the lenses, and he wears that teasing smile that has been directed at him so many times. Because Lucas looks at him, and he lets his eyes fill with lust when his eyelids drop, and Eliott knows he’s not posing for the camera.

He’s posing for him.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, Lucas’ hand travels towards his groin. His eyes flutter closed when he grabs at his crotch, moaning softly as he squeezes before rubbing his palm over it. His blue eyes are bright on the screen, but the only thing Eliott notices are the fingers that slip under the elastic waistband of Lucas’ sweatpants.

He takes a snap.

Lucas’ thumbs toy with the waistband of the sweatpants. His fingers brush against his skin ever so slightly, and a shiver runs up Eliott’s spine when he thinks of getting his hands on him, too.

His hands freeze on the shutter when Lucas shows an extra inch of skin.

“Lucas…”

It’s said like a question. Like a breathless plead, his heart beating out of his chest as he watches Lucas reveal another inch of skin, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his hooded eyes staring at the camera.

Can I? He wants to ask. Can I do this? Should I stop?

But no words come out of his mouth, tongue tied between one moan and the next one.

“You can.” Lucas’ voice is surprisingly calm over the rushing of his ears. Eliott’s eyes snap up to Lucas’ face, finding pools of deep blue lust staring back at him. “I know you want to. I’m giving you permission.”

And what is he supposed to say to that?

So he says nothing.

He stays completely silent, taking snap after snap as Lucas starts to pull down his sweatpants more decidedly. There’s complete quietness in the room, only his ragged breathing echoing against walls, heavier and heavier the more skin Lucas shows.

His mind goes numb with want, heat growing from his chest and climbing up his neck, spreading down to his belly and making the inside of his underwear uncomfortably hot. Lucas takes it a step further, pulling down on the fabric enough to see the perfect outline of his dick catching on the waistband, and Eliott bites his lip so hard he’s afraid he’ll draw blood.

“Christ.” Eliott curses, squeezing down on his crotch with craving desperation.

It’s enough to encourage Lucas, who gives the camera one last tilted smirk before he’s pulling his pants down to his ankles.

Lucas’ dick breaks free from his pants. The pink at the tip stands out next to the tan of his stomach, and it twitches against his belly under Eliott’s stare. It matches the color in his chest, and in his cheeks and the top of his ears.

Eliott doesn’t know where to touch first.

“Holy fuck, Lucas.”

He sounds fucked out already, he realizes. And they haven’t even begun.

Fuck.

“Yeah?” Lucas asks. He’s looking at Eliott through his eyelashes, tucking his chin to his chest so a few strands of hair fall over his eyes.

There’s always that moment in someone’s life that breaks your identity in two, and from that moment on, you think of yourself as the person you were before, and the one you’re after. There’s a moment that reaches your core; that has such power over you it feels like everything that comes after is controlled by it.

For Eliott it was Lucas.

There had been a party, at the very beginning, and it says a lot about Eliott that he doesn’t remember much from it. Except from Lucas’ body under the neon lights that night. They’d been dancing, maybe with the wrong people, but they had gotten it right at the end. And then Lucas had tilted his chin up, and his tongue had been peeking out from his pretty lips when he smiled.

And Eliott knew he wanted him.

It happens again this time.

Lucas rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, and then his pink tongue swipes over the bruise he’s left there.

The phone flies over Eliott’s back.

It goes over his head, how he’s sitting on the bed and a blink after he’s so close to Lucas their noses almost touch. But it happens, and his heart beats at his throat, and Lucas’ face is warm under his palms.

“You.” He enounces the words carefully, whispering them in the gap between their mouths, feeling Lucas’ fingers dig into his arms. “Are the most fucking beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.”

Lucas sighs, and the breath that leaves his lips makes the hairs at the back of Eliott’s neck stand.

“Hmm.” Lucas hums happily. His hands slide up Eliott’s shoulders until they wrap around his neck, and he pulls them closer together. “Tell me again.”

Eliott coaxes open Lucas’ mouth with his thumb. He slips the finger between Lucas’ lips, pressing down on his bottom lip until he can feel teeth scrapping at it, and it’s not until he feels a hot tongue swirling circles around it that he lets go to crash their lips together.

Their mouths slide together, lips on lips moving eagerly with slick noises. Lucas’ tongue is in his mouth, and his nose drags across Lucas’ cheek when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

He can feel Lucas’ jaw working under his touch when his mouth parts. The grip on the back of his neck that Lucas pulls at when he nibbles at his lower lip before sucking on it. The heat between their faces, burning up his mouth until it’s tingling, and the shivers shaking Lucas’ shoulders whenever their tongues are pressed flat together.

“You look so hot,” Eliott pants between kisses. He presses harder against Lucas, until his back hits the wall, until their crotches rub together, until Lucas moans against his mouth. “Just standing like that. Fuck.” He leaves a trail of spit down Lucas’ cheek as his lips travel down his neck. “So fucking hot.”

Lucas loosens his grip at the back of Eliott’s head, grabbing the hand on his cheek before pulling it down between his legs. The second Eliott’s fingers brush against his length Lucas hisses.

“You gonna do anything about that anytime today?” He asks.

Eliott smirks against his neck before sucking a bruise behind his ear. When he pulls back, his tongue laps at the bruise softly, and he lets his lips drag down the expanse of his neck. Lucas gasps as Eliott runs one finger up his shaft lightly.

“Is that enough for you?”

“Not,” Lucas breathes. He makes a little ah sound when Eliott’s tongue runs over the mole at the base of his neck. “Not quite.”

With the hand that he has free, he pulls the front of the jacket open, fitting his hand against Lucas’ ribcage. With every kiss pressed down further, the heart under his hand beats louder, and he makes a show of taking one of Lucas’ nipples between his teeth, staring up as he rolls it around his tongue.

“Fuck.” Lucas’ eyes are clenched shut, mouth falling open with breathless gasps. “Fuck, Eli.”

He keeps drawing soothing circles on Lucas’ hipbone, even as Lucas’ moans turn impatient and his own jaw starts to ache hallway down Lucas’ stomach. The skin is warm under his lips, smooth when he draws on it with his tongue, and it makes the swell in his lips worth it when he feels Lucas’ stomach quivering.

“How about now?” He asks, and his lips brush against the base of Lucas’ dick.

Lucas exhales. “That’s better.”

With one last kiss to the inside of his thigh he wraps his mouth around Lucas.

He hears the bang on the wall as he slides his hands down Lucas’ body, looking up to find Lucas’ head leaning against the wall. From that position he sees the way Lucas swallows when he grips the back of his thighs, just below his ass.

He hums around Lucas’ dick, taking in his mouth as much as he can. Lucas’ breathing turns shallow, flush spreading to his cheeks. His mouth falls open every time his dick hits the back of Eliott’s throat. His fingers twitch hopelessly at Eliott’s hair, hips moving in aborted motions as Eliott bobs his head up and down.

“Lucas.” He rasps out, pulling away. He speaks between flickers of his tongue at the head, making Lucas moan loudly. “Lucas.”

“What?” Lucas pants. He looks down at Eliott. His face is red, glassy eyes twinkling with lust and mouth bitten red, shiny with spit. It’s enough to make the tent in Eliott’s pants impossibly tighter. “Fuck, what?”

Without saying anything, Eliott lets go of his grip across Lucas’ thighs, guiding his hands to the back of his head. Through his eyelashes, he watches the way a breath stutters out of Lucas’ chest as he intertwines their fingers on his hair.

He swallows Lucas inch by inch, head bobbing down to the pressure their hands make on the back of his head. The sound that comes from Lucas reminds him of a wounded animal when Eliott’s nose brushes against his belly.

“Holy fuck, Eli.” Lucas chants. He cards his fingers through Eliott’s hair, setting the pace. “Holy fuck, you’re so good.” His voice sounds breathless, out of it. Fucked out, even though Eliott is the one with a dick in his mouth. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

Eliott lowers his hands back to hold Lucas’ hips in place, digging his fingers into the swell of his ass. He hollows his cheeks, sucking, licking, humming at the back of his throat when Lucas’ body starts to get restless under his hands.

“Eliott,” There’s begging layered with desperation in his voice. His thighs tremble, and the flush in his chest gets redder with every heavy breath he takes. He’s so fucking beautiful, it feels like it might consume Eliott whole sometimes. “Baby, please. Oh my god,”

From the bottom of his fucking heart, it burns a craving that Eliott has never felt before.

He pulls away.

He shoots up on wobbling knees, trapping Lucas against the wall. Lucas makes a confused noise, but Eliott shushes him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His lips move frantically in search of Lucas’ mouth, hands tugging at the hem of his own t-shirt to take it off himself.

Lucas kisses back just as enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s middle and pressing their chests close together. His dick gets trapped between their bellies, and with every shift in their position Lucas mewls against Eliott’s mouth.

“I needed to touch you.” Eliott whispers with urgency. His hands run up and down Lucas’ sides, over the back of his thighs, under the swell of his ass. He clutches Lucas closer to him, holding him tight as he presses hard kisses to Lucas’ lips.

He’s never felt this kind of desperation; the one where your heart is at your throat, where you feel like the life will slip out of your fingertips if you don’t bury them in someone’s skin.

“Please. I had to kiss you. Please, Lucas.” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for anymore, just that his tongue works in autopilot. Everything is burning hot inside the room. “I feel like I might die every second you’re not with me.”

“Hey.” Lucas’ voice is soothing against his temple. His hands are cool against Eliott’s cheeks, his touch soft as he presses their foreheads together. Lucas’ lips cover Eliott’s in a slow kiss, and then there’s blue staring up at him. “Hey, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” Eliott nods. Because he does know. Still, his hands tremble on the small of Lucas’ back, and he has to close his eyes to get a grip on his breathing. “I know.”

Lucas’ hands don’t leave his face when he kisses him again, and the heart at Eliott’s throat goes back down to his ribcage. “I will be yours,” Lucas whispers to the corner of his mouth, “for as long as you’ll want me.”

Eliott clutches the hem of the blazer.

“I want forever with you.” He murmurs, one breath away from giving out to Lucas’ hold. “For as long as I can.” Lucas’ smile against his mouth is something he wants to be branded in his skin forever. He starts smiling too. “You’re mine. And I yours.”

Lucas nods into the kiss. “You are,” He agrees quietly, “And I am.” His eyes light up a moment later, getting brighter by the moment like a sunrise, and then he’s saying, “but could we now please go back to the part where I’ve got my hands in your hair and you’re about to give me an orgasm?”

And despite himself, Eliott laughs.

Lucas grins childishly at him, dropping his hands low to squeeze Eliott’s ass over his pants. The movement makes their dicks rub together, both of them shivering at the contact.

“We could,” Eliott agrees. With one hand he makes the path down Lucas’ ass, brushing a finger between Lucas’ cheeks, and looks at Lucas with a raised eyebrow. “Or?”

The black in Lucas’ eyes eat the deep blue.

“Oh.” He exhales. “Or sounds very good. Let’s go with that.”

They fall into bed laughing.

They’re laughing when Lucas shoots a disapproving glare towards Eliott’s clothed chest, complaining that ‘why the fuck are you still clothed, and how is it fair that you’ve sucked my dick but I still haven’t even seen yours?’.

They’re laughing as Lucas so much as rips the jacket off his shoulders, because ‘holy fuck, no blowjob is worth all that sweating’.

They’re laughing, and laughing and laughing, bodies rolling around on the sheets with hands on backs and smiles pressed to each other’s mouths.

They kiss each other lazily, Lucas’ hips trapped between Eliott’s legs. Lucas’ hands run up and down Eliott’s sides as he kisses him, and Eliott makes goosebumps arise with the pad of his fingers brushing lightly down Lucas’ back.

Lucas’ eyes close every time Eliott buckles his hips up, and Eliott waits readily under him to swipe the moan away from Lucas’ tongue with his mouth. Their groins rub together wetly, a veil of sweat covering their bodies and making their bellies slippery as they sway in sync.

“How do you want it?” Eliott asks. He cups Lucas’ ass, spreading his cheeks apart and squeezing, kneading it like dough. “I owe you an orgasm, you make the rules.”

Lucas’ breath hitches as Eliott’s fingers brush against his rim drily.

He rolls out of Eliott’s arms, lying flat of his belly. His eyes are shadowed by the hair falling down his face when he pillows his chin on his arms, and his stare pins Eliott to the bed as he lifts up his hips teasingly slow.

His back arches, knees spread apart sinking into the mattress, ass on full display. He lets a smirk settle over his face, and then he’s tilting his chin towards Eliott’s face. “Like this,” He breathes. His mouth is open when he kisses Eliott, and his face shines with want when he pulls back. “I want it exactly like this. I want you to cover me completely until you can’t tell us apart.”

Eliott’s response gets stuck at the back of his throat.

Fuck.

Okay.

With weak legs he climbs over Lucas’ body, a buzz thrumming inside his veins that leaves him dizzy as he reaches for their drawer.

He positions himself between Lucas’ legs, running his hands over the inches of skin at his naked back before dropping to his ass. It reminds him of a rollercoaster, the way his hands go up Lucas’ ass and then follow the curve of his arched back.

Lucas leans back into the touch, moaning brokenly when Eliott’s fingers touch the crease of his thighs.

“If you really think this is the appropriate time to worship my fucking ass, I swear to-”

Lucas’ mouth snaps closed, the feeling of Eliott pulling his cheeks apart with his thumbs enough to shut him up.

“Indulge me for a second, baby,” his breath ghosts over Lucas’ rim. Lucas’ ass quivers against Eliott’s hold, and Eliott digs his fingers deeper into the meat of his thighs. He rubs slow circles on Lucas’ skin, blowing softly. “You enjoy it as much as I do.”

“I do, but,” a surprised moan falls from his lips when Eliott rubs the pads of his wet fingers over his entrance. “But fuck, if you don’t get your dick in me soon I’m gonna pass out.”

He pushes one finger in slowly. “Patience.” He whispers. With his lips to the small of Lucas’ back, he pacifies Lucas’ gasps, and with the hand running up and down his thighs he soothes the trembling of his body.

One finger turns into two, that turns into three, Lucas’ rim swallowing him up to the second knuckle. He leaves small kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, trailing up and down paths he’s roamed before as he moves his fingers in and out of Lucas. To the curve of his ass, to the bumps of his spine, shushing with his lips Lucas’ small cries as he twists his fingers inside of him.

“I’m ready,” Lucas groans, fucking himself back on Eliott’s fingers. “Eli, I need you.”

With one last kiss to Lucas’ plump ass he takes his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets and rolling on the condom. He pumps himself with a palm rubbing against Lucas’ crack, dick hardening in his hand as a strings of curses falls from Lucas’ lips.

His heart beats fast with anticipation, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he sinks himself into Lucas. Lucas’ breath is heavy under him, turning heavier and heavier the more his rim takes, pink and stretched around Eliott’s dick in a way it makes Eliott fear he’ll come the second he bottoms out.

“Down, down,” Lucas whines, making grabby hands behind his back. Eliott pushes closer with his hips, tangling their fingers together. “Down, I want you here.”

Eliott’s heart swells. He lowers himself down to Lucas’ request, bringing their hands above Lucas’ head and squeezing hard as he feels his dick sink deeper inside of Lucas. He mouths sloppily at the back of Lucas’ neck when he feels Lucas’ ass flush against his belly.

“Fuck,” Lucas groans out. “Fuck, it’s so much,” his head rolls to one side, cheek pressed against the sheet, and Eliott uses it as an opportunity to nose at his jaw. “So good. You’re so good, baby. God.”

His chest aches with the sweet feeling of Lucas’ back pressed to him, and he moves his hips in shallow thrusts. He’s addicted to the taste of Lucas’ skin under his lips, to Lucas’ noises ringing in his ears, this feeling of complete contentment as Lucas squeezes their hands together.

He lets their hips slap together, faster, and faster, and faster.

He can’t get enough: of Lucas pinned under him, of the sounds punched out of him when Eliott drives into him with sharp thrusts. Of the melody their skins play when they smack together. Lucas’ moans go higher and louder, and he curses, speeding up.

He notices Lucas is slipping on the bed when the thrusts turn deeper and harder, and he pulls back a little, kneeling between Lucas’ legs and guiding their hands behind Lucas’ back.

Lucas’ shoulders drag against the sheets as Eliott pulls him up.

He grips Lucas’ wrists tight, pressing them against the small of his back as he starts thrusting into him with fast jerks of his hips.

“Oh, my god.” Lucas gasps. His hips chase Eliott’s frantically, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly in Eliott’s grip. “Oh, fuck, how are you fucking real?”

Eliott pushes their palms together, squeezing their fingers. “And you’re asking me?” He pants. His eyes watch entranced how he disappears inside of Lucas, how the back of Lucas’ thighs tremble with exertion and pleasure. “You’re so gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. I’ve never met anyone like you. My baby.”

Lucas breaks free of his grip then, falling flat on his belly.

Before Eliott can ask if there’s something wrong, Lucas is turning on his back, patting Eliott’s stomach with his hands.

“Up here.” He gasps. His cheeks are red, hot under Eliott’s hands when he bends down to kiss him, and he’s saying Eliott’s name silently with strawberry lips. “Say that again. Again.”

Legs wrap around Eliott’s hips, and then Lucas is moaning wetly against Eliott’s mouth as Eliott sinks into him again. There’s fingers in his hair, running down his neck and gripping his shoulders, Lucas’ pink lips brushing against his cheek back and forth with every thrust.

“You’re my baby.” Eliott whispers breathlessly. His hips pick up speed, hiding his face in Lucas’ neck. “My baby, baby, baby. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Lucas cries out, tightening his grip around Eliott’s body. He trembles in Eliott’s arms, nodding at Eliott’s words.

“And no one else’s.”

“And no one else’s.” Lucas repeats. “And no one else’s.”

“Fuck,” Eliott places wet kisses to Lucas’ neck, blindly gripping at his hair, tilting his chin up. The roof of his mouth tingles, and a burning heat coils at his belly, heart stuttering out of his throat. He kisses him desperately, hungrily. He kisses him with his mouth, and with his eyes, and with his fucking soul. “Fuck, baby, I-”

And then he’s coming.

He doesn’t register anything except Lucas’ face, slack and brimming with pleasure, mouth open in a silent scream as he follows right after him. He doesn’t register the nails scratching at his back or the sound of an ambulance rushing through the streets a block away from their apartment.

There’s no room for black spots in his vision. His whole mind fills with the boy under him. There’s only Lucas, and the way he looks when they’re kissing, and the face he makes when he’s coming.

When Lucas’ voice comes back, Eliott smiles.

“I’m gonna sleep for three days after this. I think you broke me.”

Eliott bends down to steal a kiss from him. Because he’s there, and he can’t not kiss him when he’s so close.

“I fucking hope not.” He whispers between them. His fingers brush the hair off his sweaty forehead, and Lucas huffs fondly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever broke you.”

“Hey.” Lucas runs the back of his hand down Eliott’s cheek. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Hearts don’t break when it comes to us two, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

There’s a moment when they just look at each other, and then-

“Eli- baby, where the fuck is my phone?”

#et voila #back on my bs #skam france #elu #elu fic #ask #tara tag

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brianc521 · 5 years ago

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I Want A Baby

He was so determined to get you back for the hickey prank, but he wanted to get you in a way that you wouldn’t expect.

He waited a week and a half, long enough in his opinion for you to think that he was over the pranks. To you, you both were even now. To him, you’d started a war.

He’d been secretly watching tons of couple pranks on youtube, looking for something to spark his interest. He saw one a few days ago, and the response the boyfriend in the video had was making him wonder what you would actually say if he said this to you.

So he talked Connor into letting him borrow one of his small video cameras, hiding it in your shared hotel room before he left for the gym, that way when he was ready all he had to do was hit record. Considering that he always left his guitar case propped open, it was the perfect hiding spot to put the small camera in the little pouch, just the lens sticking out.

He smiled, and then turned to look at you still asleep in bed.

“Hey,” He leaned over you, kissing your forehead, “I’m headed to the gym.”

“Okay,” You whispered groggily, rolling a little to face him, eyes closed tight but leaning your face up with pursed lips for a kiss.

He chuckled, planting a sweet juicy kiss to your lips.

“You could stay and get a different type of workout.” You suggested.

He bit his lip and shook his head, finding you so adorable. Who else flirts in their sleep?

“We had that kind of workout last night Honey, you need to rest, I kept you up pretty late.”

You sighed, sinking back into the cushy duvet. “Okay, you’re missing out then.”

“That I am,” He brushed your hair back out of your face, “But I’ll make up for it tonight.” He leaned down for one more kiss. “Bye Love, I’ll be back soon.”

You didn’t even respond, already falling back to sleep.

All day he had made little comments, and it had helped that when everyone went to breakfast there was a family with two young toddlers in the booth next to yours.

The little girl was very keen on holding a conversation with you, and while she only spoke gibberish you acted as if she was telling you the greatest story ever.

“Y/n you’re really good with kids.” Connor commented, shooting Shawn a look.

So he’d charmed Connor into joining his team, telling him and only him what his prank was. Connor was less than impressed with the idea, but Shawn knew you in a way no one else did. And he knew this would thoroughly freak you out.

“Yeah, I have tons of little cousins.” You nod, waving goodbye to the little girl, telling her parents that it’s okay and you loved your conversation.

“What about you Shawn, like kids?” Connor looked at Shawn.

“Like my own?” He chuckled and your eyes popped.

“You got kids I don’t know about it?” You ask, sipping at your coffee.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No.”

“I mean I don’t know where you’d been before we got together.” You tease, poking his shoulder.

“Trust me, I ain’t got no kids.” He hums, and then mutters, “Yet.”

You stare at him, gulping and then looking down into your coffee cup. What did that mean?

You’d been a little standoffish all day, and now that you were back in the hotel he knew it was time to start his prank, so while you were in the bathroom taking a shower he quickly hit record and spoke a quick, quiet intro.

“Hey guys!” He waved to the camera. “So I’m gonna do this real quick because Y/n is in the shower, but as you know she pranked me with the hickey prank. She thinks that we’re even now but we’re not. You’ve started a war Baby,” He grins biting his lip. “So I’m gonna pull a quick prank on her,” He hears the shower turn off and freezes. “Shh, she’s coming.”

He waits a beat, and flops on the bed to wait for you.

You walk out, hair wrapped up in your towel, leggings and one of his new Guns and Roses t shirts.

“Hey,” You smile, hitting his foot as you walk past the bed to set your lotion down.

“Babe,” He says quietly, looking over at you.

“Mhm?”

“Can we talk for a second?”

You peer over your shoulder at him, letting your eyes scan the setting you’re in. He was looking at you with his serious eyes that you knew meant he had something important to tell you.

“Okay? What’s up?” You turn and lean against the table on the side of the room.

“Come here?” He made grabby hands at you.

You slowly make your way to him, climbing on the bed and sitting next to him as he props himself up on his left elbow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, brushing through his curls, smiling when he leans into your hand.

“Nothing, just wanna talk about something.”

“Okay.”

He fingers with the hem of the shirt you’re wearing and looks up at you through his lashes. “Know how we were talking about kids at breakfast this morning?”

“Mhm?” Your heart starts to race.

“And how you asked if I had any.”

“Yeah…?”

“I don’t,” He squeezes your thigh.

“I know, I was joking Shawn.”

“I know you were, but maybe I want one?”

You stare at him and try to tell if he's for real or not. “We talked about this no?”

“Yeah but things changed.” He whispered.

“What you want three instead of two?”

He shakes his head, and scoots closer to you.

“I want one now.”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows shoot up and you lean back from him. “What?”

“I want a baby.”

You choke on your own spit and push away from him. “Are you crazy?”

“No, I want a baby with you.”

Your eyes are crazy wide as you stare at him. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Shawn we decided it was way too soon.” Your brows furrow.

“But like I said things change.”

“I’m 19, you’re 20, we’re not ready for a baby.” You shake your head.

“Yes we are!”

“No we’re not Shawn.” You stand up, that way he can stop trying to hold you.

“Come back here.” He whined, “We’re just talking.”

“How are we supposed to have a kid huh? You’re always on tour, and I haven’t even decided what to do with my life. I don’t know if I’m gonna go to school or not, I’m still figuring things out.”

“Exactly, so if we have a kid, you’ll have time to be a Mom.”

“And you?” You point at him.

“I’ll be there, you guys can come with me.”

You stare at him like he’s grown three heads. “Go with you? Is that what you think. That you can just pack up a newborn like it’s a guitar case and throw it on the bus and wait until you’re ready to interact with it.” You throw your hands in the air. “We can’t have a newborn on the road.”

“Sweetheart, calm down.”

“And if I say no?” You put your hands on your hips. “If I say that I’m not ready for a kid, and I won’t give you one right now? What happens then huh?”

He stares at you, and pinches his fingers. He hadn’t expected you to ask this question.

“Then I, I don’t know.” He shrugs.

You freeze, and he knows that that was the wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know?” You ask, voice breaking. “As in, like you don’t know if you could stay with me if I said no.”

His head whips up and he can see that you’re really thinking he would leave you if you said you didn’t want kids right now.

“No hey,” He shakes his head. “Come here.” He reaches out and pulls you back on the bed.

“I’m not ready for a kid Shawn,” You shake your head, breathing picking up. “But if you are, then maybe we’re not-”

“Shut your face.” He covers your mouth. “It’s a prank, don’t finish your sentence.”

“What?”

“I’m just pranking you Honey, oh my god.” He wraps his arms around you, feeling your heartbeat. “Baby!” He yells. “Your heart is beating like a hundred thousand beats a minute.”

“It’s a prank?”

“Yeah, I had to get you back for the hickey.”

“You don’t want a baby?”

“I mean I want babies with you, but sometime in the future, not now.”

“Really?”

“We talked about it Babe, you’re right, we’re too young and wild.” He flares his eyes for a moment getting you to giggle.

“Jesus, I feel like I can breathe now.”

“How’s that for unprankable?” He grins, quoting Brian.

“I never said I was unprankable.”

“No, but you started a war you didn’t even know about.”

“Where’s the camera then?”

He stands, clambering off the bed and grabbing the camera from his guitar case. “Welcome to team Shawn.” He shows you, and your flushed cheeks.

“Nah, team Y/n all the way. Mine was so much better than yours.”

He shakes his head, “Let us know what team your on.” He flips the camera so he can record the both of you as he sits on the bed. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh.

“He’s got it coming.”

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Box Boy Bedtime

(CW: slavery, dehumanization, videotaping, implied noncon, creepy + intimate whumper, creepy comfort, brainwashing)

Tag list: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog

Part 1

*click* *click*

“Position six,” Ren ordered blithely, and Soren stretched his hands out in front of him, close together so Ren could tie or handcuff if they wanted. They lifted their fancy camera again and took two more pictures, one frontal view, one profile.

*click* *click*

“Position seven.” Soren stood straight and crossed his arms behind his back. Ren was photographing each position to spruce up the guidebook. Sure, the infographics were useful, but why would they want to look at pictures of stick figures when they could have their sweet Soren acting them all out?

On and on the camera clicked. Soren, for the most part, seemed calm. Like when he would make beadcraft keychains and get really into it, practiced and second-nature and thoughtless.

“Position seventeen,” Ren ordered, and blinked with surprise when Soren walked away from them, to a nearby wall where he placed his palms and forehead against it with his legs spread and ass out. Ren laughed, but took the picture, and then rounded to the side. Pretty Soren glanced up at them, and when they smiled at him he smiled back, bashful and pleased. Ren really hoped that they caught that on camera.

At the end of it all, Ren clicked through the photos on the tiny display screen, making sure that they didn’t need to retake any, and gave Soren a quick kiss on the cheek when they were satisfied.

“We’ll need to do this again when your hair’s all grown out,” they mentioned off-handedly, “But I think these will make great placeholders for the booklet until then, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Soren hummed with a nod, leaning in close to them and glancing at the camera display, seeing himself keeling pretty.

Ren lifted the camera again and adjusted the focus, close range now.

“Exalted?” Soren asked, confused, and Ren pulled their eye away from the lens a quick moment.

“Just for fun, because you’re pretty,” they said brightly, and brought the camera back up just in time to see Soren blush and duck his head, a lock of hair falling over his bashful smile.

*click*

“Such a pretty little angel,” Ren murmured, smiling fondly down at the photograph. “I’m going to go print these out, m’kay? I bet you’re tired.”

Soren glanced up hopefully. “It, has been a long day, for me, Exalted.”

“Oh, I bet it has,” Ren cooed, reaching out to brush that stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Go ahead and take a bath, sweet honey babe. I got you some nice products that’ll help your pretty hair grow out faster, and soap that’s good for delicate skin. And you’re so fragile, aren’t you my little bird?”

“Yes, Exalted,” Soren sighed happily, leaning into their palm. “Thank you.”

They kissed him again, then gave him a nice sharp pat on the cheek. “Go on, then. I’ll check in when I’m done printing these out, and then we’ll get you nice and comfy in your bed.”

He smiled at them so gratefully, warm and soft with a genuine affection, and that delighted want-have-want-have fluttered inside Ren’s chest again. They had to put in genuine effort to leave the room, leave their precious Soren even for a moment, but they really did want to bedazzle the handbook with photos of their precious angel, so it had to be done.

Besides, they thought with a private chuckle, it wasn’t like they’d really left Soren. They jiggled their computer mouse and tapped twice on their tablet, pulling up the video feeds while the computer woke up. They’d tested all the cameras well before Soren had arrived, waving to themself and watching their own waving on the tablet screen. They could access the video feeds on their tablet, computer, phone, and work computer, so even if something broke or ran out of power they would always have plenty of alternatives. They hooked up the fancy camera and started the download, examining their pet.

Soren was naked, and while that wasn’t anything particularly special, knowing that they were seeing him naked while he didn’t know that sent a thrill up their spine. He was examining the adjacent bathroom, also redecorated before his arrival, seeming to have trouble taking it in. The tub was massive, with water jets in the side and all sorts of soaps and bubbles lining the inner rim, easily large enough to lie down completely submerged within. Nothing but the prettiest of bird baths for their little angel. The shower curtain looked like an honest tapestry, and the mat was cloud-like in shape, texture, and appearance.

He applied the hair products liberally, thank goodness, they would hate to have to correct their precious Soren so early in, and seemed to enjoy the soak, afterwards. It even looked like he started dozing, a little, which made Ren giggle delightedly when they realized. Oh he must be very tired. They idly pasted the photographs into the booklet while he bathed, and when he pulled the plug of the tub they got up and headed back over.

They’d timed it just a tiny bit too early, winding up in Soren’s room before he emerged, pink from the heat and in a towel, but they smiled and acted like they just arrived.

“Oh, you’re out? Perfect, Soren. Come here,” they said, hands outstretched, and he rushed to them, rushed to the safety and warmth and comfort they offered so freely. “Let’s get you dressed and to bed. It’s been a long first day, huh baby?”

“Yes, Exalted,” he murmured into their shirt, fingers pressing ever so gently into their back where he clung to them.

“Here, I put your pajamas in this drawer,” they said, showing him, pulling it open by the gold-painted handle and taking out a soft and fluttering nightgown. Soren, once again, ran his hands over the fabric eagerly, stunned by how soft it was, and put it on before tugging at the bottom of it with a sudden spike in anxiety.

“Um, Exalted?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“Do I, get to wear, maybe underwear, or pants, with this?”

Ren laughed, squishing his freckled cheeks. “Of course not you silly goose!”

“Y-yes, Exalted,” he muttered though his smushed face, making it come out more “yef evahded.”

“Alright, into bed with you, angel,” Ren ordered cheerfully, stroking their hands up over his face, then down his pretty hair, shoulders, arms, and finally taking him by the wrist, guiding him to the golden canopy. They pulled at the cloth, opening it a little wider, and Soren climbed in, fumbling a little when the mattress and thick comforter dipped more than he had expected them to. Ren laughed at him, giving a playful swat to his rump as he crawled past.

“Now, gimme goodnight kiss,” Ren said sweetly, crawling in after him, on top of him, caging him in with their limbs. They dropped their weight onto him again, their hips forcing his legs open and apart, and he began to tremble ever so sweetly as they kissed him. They took their time with it, deep and heavy, hands sliding beneath his light body wrapped only in the thin nightgown, feeling the planes of his shoulder blades and the divot at the small of his back. Soren wrapped his arms around them too, one hand in their hair and the other clinging around their neck, and he pressed up against them, into their touch. Needy, needy, needing them, needing them so badly.

It was with great satisfaction that they pulled away, feeling his body follow, feeling the way he held on just a second too long before realizing he had to let go, seeing him staring up at them with wide-blown pupils and parted lips, wet with spit. It was with great satisfaction that they had riled him up all sweet and supple and wanting, and would now be leaving him without granting him any satisfaction whatsoever.

“Under the covers, precious boy.” Ren giggled, “You’re very good at goodnight kisses, now go to sleep.”

“Y-yes, um, Ren,” he said, and Ren felt another thrill shoot up their spine. That was the first time he’d used their name since coming out of that box, and it felt important that it was happening then. That it was happening now.

Once he was settled in amongst the pillows, thick comforter pulled up to his chin, they gave him one final caress along the side of his pretty face, golden hair damp beneath their fingers, and stood, pulling the canopy closed behind them. They went to the balcony doors, then the windows, pulling the billowing curtains shut one by one, and then turned off the bedside lamp. “Sleep tight, my darling,” they crooned, turning off the overhead lights before shutting the door. They pulled at the chain of their necklace, producing the key, and locked Soren’s door behind them. He would never leave that room without them.

They watched on their phone to see if he would touch himself, with the door locked and no one around. They wanted to know if he would take care of the little problem they’d given him, if he would shudder out a gasp and moan their name, if he’d be silent, or if he’d refuse his own touch at all, squirming to get comfortable until it went away.

He actually ended up falling asleep mere moments after they pulled up the video feed, body slumped and boneless, laying half on his side. They blinked, but, well. He really had been tired, then.

Poor thing, so exhausted, he really must have had a hard time, then, before coming here. Before being Ren’s, like he was rightfully meant to be.

Why hadn’t he come begging? When things got hard, surely he had to have known they’d take him back… Maybe they hadn’t impressed that on him enough. They’d been foolish and ham-fisted, then, maybe they hadn’t told him frequently enough that they loved him, that they’d always be happy to do anything for him, that they never minded one single request he ever made. Or maybe he truly had gotten a real stick up his prideful ass, so upset over a little temper flare he’d rather risk everything than come back where he belonged--

They grabbed their wrist, forcing their fingers to relax before they cracked the phone screen. They counted their own pulse, feeling their heartbeat press up against their thumb. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if some fuck had screwed Soren over and left him desperate for any option or if he’d just had a long stroke of bad luck. It didn’t matter if he was too proud to come begging for forgiveness for rejecting them, or if he’d thought they wouldn’t forgive him, even if he begged. It didn’t matter how he’d become desperate (even though the thought of someone purposefully scamming their sweet, precious Soren set their pulse skyrocketing), it didn’t matter why he’d signed himself over to Whumpees-R-Us, it didn’t matter what had happened between that godawful haircut and Ren finding him on the internet listings.

All that mattered now was that they had him. He was there, and he was theirs. He’d messed up, but they’d managed to fix it, the stars had aligned and even though he’d done a domino line of stupid things they’d still managed to get him safe and warm and home and eating out of their palm, finally, finally!

They turned off their phone and turned on the final recording device, a baby monitor disguised as a little figurine angel on the bedside table in Soren’s room. They didn’t expect anything to happen overnight, Soren clearly needed his rest, but it would be a good habit to establish.

How fortunate, then, because something did happen that night. They woke to sounds of distress filtering in through the monitor, and for a moment couldn’t place the noises, before sitting bolt upright. Soren.

They were at his door and fumbling with the key in an instant, then rushed to the bed, throwing back the canopy.

“Soren?”

Soren gasped, eyes flinging open and jerking upright, eyes blindly searching his surroundings in a panic.

“Ren?” Soren cried, head snapping to them. He reached out, hand shaking, and Ren took it, sliding onto the bed with him. “R-Ren, I, I, y-you’re--”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” Ren murmured, realizing now that it was just a nightmare. He’d only had a nightmare. “Shhhh, angel, it was just a bad dream.”

Soren made aborted little half-words, eyes searching their face, and then he nodded, sobbing, chin wobbling in the way that meant he was trying not too.

“Come here, come here,” Ren crooned, pulling him into a crushing hug, feeling his rabbit pulse beneath their fingers. “It’s okay, my delicate little crybaby, I know you need to let it out,” they murmured, mouth to his ear, “Precious little crybaby, sweet little crybaby, it’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, you’re in my arms, sweet little crybaby boy.”

He cried into them, clinging to them, never once trying to stifle himself or push away after they’d told him it was alright, and they relished it. What a glorious thing to wake up to. Soren was scared and shaking and desperate and needing them. He wanted them so badly, cried out for them in terrified half-sleep, and wept into their shirt. When he seemed to start calming down, a ping of sour mood hit Ren and they kissed Soren’s hair.

“What was your nightmare about, sweet angel?” Ren asked, syrupy and smooth, and was silently delighted when his shivering picked back up.

“Y-you, didn’t want me, you p-put me back in the box, and,” Soren hiccupped out, and Ren had to press their face into his hair, hide their reaction from his eyes. How perfect! “And you sent me back, and everything was confusing, a-and terrible, and I didn’t know what I did wrong to,” Soren sobbed, high and cracking, and Ren stroked gently down his beautiful hair, “m-make you not want me anymore!” Soren’s breath jerked, chest spasming with it, and Ren pulled back, eyes soft and concerned and betraying none of their inner delight.

They took his hand and lifted it to his collar, pushing his fingers around the gold.

“Soren,” they crooned, “whose are you?”

Soren blinked, sniffed loudly, and gripped his collar tightly, other hand coming up and joining the first.

“Yours.”

“Who do you belong to?” they asked, just as gently.

“You, Exalted,” Soren said, body slowly unwinding, trembling dissipating, knuckles white from his grip.

“You will never,” Ren pet the hair back from one side of his face, “ever,” they pet the other side, “belong to anyone but me. You’re mine, Soren, forever, forever and ever. No one else will ever touch you, no one else will ever get you, you’re never leaving this house unless it’s on my leash.”

Soren hiccupped as he smiled up at them, pressing into their palms, cheeks tearstained and ruddy.

“Never, Soren,” Ren soothed, “You’ll never leave me.”

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dudeandduchess · 5 years ago

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Shinjurō: Teletubbies AU

NOTE: This is pure crack, please don’t be offended. It was inspired by my conversation with @biznichwrites earlier, and voila. She only made it worse by adding in a fantastic doodle of Daddy Shin as a Teletubby.

Warnings: Crack, Excessive Smoking, Mentions of Drinking, Drunken Slurs, Language

The first day of production had been hellish. Never in Shinjurō’s life had he imagined himself as the main star of anything— let alone a kid’s TV show.

And it was safe to say that it was driving him up the wall.

Every waking moment was spent hearing ‘time for teletubbies’ over and over, while the joyous giggles of his youngest son— Senjurō— echoed within the studio they were using.

The same dastardly song blared through the speakers, which signaled the start of the very same routine that Shinjurō’s had memorized seamlessly at that point.

He tried to shake his hips as best as he could— without agitating his joints too much, but kept the scowl on his face. He found no reason to smile anymore; not when his son’s own production had robbed him of his dignity.

Shinjurō went through the motions: skipping around the speaker pipes, and then showing off his dancing skills to the camera, right before going in for a stiff hug with his co-stars.

“Cut! Dad, you were scowling too much in that shot. Let’s do it again, from the top!” Kyōjurō hollered over the bullhorn, which had the older Rengoku’s scowl darkening even more.

And slowly, his co-stars all inched away from him, because the word ‘fuck’ written on his stomach started to get more evident— a clear sign that he was losing his patience.

“Someone put some paper on that, please!” Kyōjurō cried out to his stagehands, while the small group to his right passed a sheet of paper and a roll of tape around— trying to determine who was going to be the unlucky sacrifice for that day.

“Fuck this shit! I need a drink!” The Rengoku patriarch announced with a snarl, right before hightailing it out of the studio... like the diva that his son thought he was.

***

Take 20 for the first goddamn scene, and they still weren’t done. Shinjurō’s hands were shaking with rage, as well as the need to have a smoke... or a drink, or maybe even both.

Because Kyōjurō wanted things to be perfect, and it was pissing him off.

The piece of paper taped to his screen covered up the word ‘fuck’, but just barely. It even flapped around when he moved— which added to more of his irritation.

He couldn’t run around and frolic like all the other Teletubbies without having it flap around like a loose pussy.

Kyōjurō called for a five minute break, which he took advantage of by taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it with a shaky hand.

Not even a minute had passed by when they called for production to start going again, so in his haste to find an ash tray, he lifted the cigarette from his lips and snuffed it out on top of the purple Teletubbie’s head.

The costume had singed a little, and was covered with ash, but he didn’t care as he tossed the cigarette butt behind a patch of plastic flowers.

“Can we take this thing off?” He yelled to Kyōjurō, as he tinkered with the flapping sheet of paper taped to his body.

“Not until the bad word fades, Dad!”

“You’re the reason I drink!” All eyes shot between the two men, waiting in anticipation for what the director was going to say.

To everyone’s surprise, Kyōjurō merely laughed and said, “I know that. But let’s take it from the top.”

At that, a disgruntled scream left Shinjurō’s lips, even as he stomped towards his marked place for the beginning of the scene.

***

“Okay, I have bad news, and good news...” Kyōjurō began sheepishly, while his right hand scratched at the back of his head. “The good news is that everyone did amazing!”

People clapped at that, all while trading friendly pats on the back. However, everyone steered clear of Shinjurō who was slouching in his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Just tell us the fucking bad news!” The older man snapped, which had his eldest son grinning sheepishly at him.

“The bad news is... we didn’t get any of it on camera. I take full responsibility for not checking if the lens cap was on... so... I’m sorry.”

Wide-eyed and truly enraged, Shinjurō got up from his seat so fast that it toppled over with a loud clattering noise. “Fuck this shit! Fuck you! And you! And fuck you too! Fuck all of you! And fuck me too!”

With that, the Rengoku patriarch stormed away from their group, scowling at everything and everyone that he’d passed to give him a wide berth.

“Dad! Wait!”

He whirled around at that, nostrils flaring and bloodshot eyes wide with rage. “If you even breathe my air, Kyōjurō, no one’s going to get out of here alive!”

However, the next day was a much better day for filiming— as Shinjurō had managed to calm down, and Kyōjurō had made sure to check if the lens cap was on that time.

#rengoku shinjuro #crack au #teletubbies au #daddy shin

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okaybutlikeimagine · 5 years ago

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okay guys, i know i talk about music a lot but FUCK there are SO many songs that could have been played while Billy fights alongside Steve like???? what were the Duffer Bros. thinking not doing this???

Maneater - Hall & Oates??? Dark Night Aesthetic of Steve w/ his bat and Billy w/ his weapon of choice (preferably NOT his fists, says Steve, but we all know Billy would probably wanna just straight up use his fists until Steve has to shove some random blunt object into his hands to Protect Him) stalking through the night and the fog is low to the ground and the street lights are illuminating them every now and then and there’s a slight neon hue. Demogorgon is the Maneater. they smirk to themselves a lot bc they’ve fuckin’ GOT THIS, dudes. they’re a power couple and a power fighting DUO. people (like Nancy & Robin) might express some concern about them going out to fight just the two of them but they don’t know what they’re talking about bc they’ve Got. This.

Welcome to the Jungle - Guns N’ Roses... uh.... helloo?!!! THE MOST BADASS FIGHTING SONG EVER???????? that guitar riff?????? that background beat???? that wailing voice???????? “Watch it bring you to your knees/i wanna watch you bleed”??? IMAGINE THEM just WAILING on demodogs/demogorgons/creepy monsters w/ nail bats and whatevers else!! back to back as they do super cool duo fighting tricks?? (also this song is So Sexual and self indulgent and just makes me think of Billy/pain kink Harringrove but we can get into that later)

Keep Yourself Alive - Queen. do i even need to explain??? another badass guitar riff. perfect for beating monsters faces in. awesome, cheesy 80′s camera angles of Steve fixing his hair and Billy smoking a cigarette inbetween beating monsters up. opportunity for them both to have a little conversation before they fight to be like: “Hey Hargrove.”

“yeah, princess?”

“... don’t die on me, alright?”

*billy silently short circuiting bc Steve is showing concern for him*

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty boy. You’d die without me.”

Psycho Killer - Talking Heads. another self-explanatory one. whiny voice and absolutely SICK chords/beat. a lot chiller than the last 2 but w/ lots of opportunity to have cool as fuck camera angles of them grimacing and getting weird monster blood on them as they help each other out. maybe even Billy driving the Camaro into some monsters as they tear down the street/backstreets of the town and lead the monsters away from the rest of the group as this song blasts through the radio and Billy is just yelling bc “WOW this shit is therapeutic, Harrington”

(loosely based on this gorgeous art piece)

Take My Breath Away - Berlin is for those slow, corny, hazy shots of the boys beating monsters/evil bad guys up and either Billy is watching Steve so intently as Steve takes his nail bat to a demogorgon’s face or Steve is watching Billy just as intently as Billy takes his knee to some evil scientist dude’s balls. and the camera gets all fuzzy bc “wow look at that super hot boy beat the shit out of that bad guy, i think i’m in love” and there’s super cheesy little lens flares as they stare and absentmindedly punch some impending danger in the face bc yeah, they’re still in a fight but they can’t take their eyes off of that boy beat that monster up wow, we love corny 80′s shots.

Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting) - Elton John which is also pretty obvious. fast paced and fun and maybe another song where Billy is ripping down the street in his Camaro w/ Steve in the passenger seat (and maybe Max and Dustin in the back w/ Dustin bein’ like: “-oh shit oH SHIT OH SHIT.”

and Lucas just yelling: “SLOW DOWN”

and Max bein like: “Dustin, calm down. Lucas, help me figure out how to load this gun”

Lucas: “a gUN??????”

Dustin: “SHIT!”)

and Billy “whoo”s along w/ Elton as they race to where they need to go and smack monsters in the process. Steve reaches out the window to smack a demodog in the face w/ his bat

anyway all i’m saying is, the Duffer Bros. missed some B I G opportunities for our monster fighting boyfriends to fight side by side to badass songs and that’s the real tragedy

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themockingcrows · 5 years ago

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Familiar Ch. 5: Quicken

This chapter is mildly not safe for work This chapter is available on my AO3! All the preparation in the world won't ready you for some things when it comes to cohabitating with a bird hybrid, but some things come more naturally than others.

“Hold still,” Dave said, carefully aiming the shot so he could capture John and the surrounding moss in the shot. He’d been trusted with Dad’s camera for the day again, and he wasn’t going to mess up the chance to make the most of it. He’d already taken shots of the surrounding woods, but taking some nice shots of himself and of John were still high up on his list. He had to keep track of so many things with this camera: how much film was left, that the lens cap was off, that everything was in focus, that his hands didn’t shake, and God forbid that he didn’t drop the camera again.

“How much longer till I can move,” John groaned as if he were dying. Seventeen years old, and he still didn’t have an ounce of patience to his name. Dave took a snap, pulled back from the camera and threw some leaves on top of John before adjusting them individually, trying to make it look as careless as if he’d been sleeping in the forest all autumn instead of dodging puddles of mud and praying it didn’t rain yet again before the shoot could be finished.

“Close your eyes and stay still,” Dave grumped, snapping a few pictures at different angles before giving the go ahead to rise.

Grunting, John sat up and pulled leaves out of his hair, dusting sticky flecks of dirt and moss off his jacket and the back of his head. “Oh FINALLY, my ass was going numb. Do you realize how cold the ground is out here?”

“I was born outside, John.”

“I mean currently. With a human ass. Human ass thermometer says it’s too cold to be sitting on the ground,” John explained, coming to stand closer to Dave’s side as he looked around. “Where else did you wanna take pictures? It’s supposed to rain later, Dad wouldn’t want his camera wet.”

“I know. I was thinking somewhere a bit further… there’s a stand of trees and this huge pile of rocks, I wanna get some angles of that.”

“Big pile of rocks. Exciting.”

“It’s a huge pile, John, wait till you see it.”

John hummed and nodded to show he was listening and believing as much as he could, but it was difficult. For one, he was chilled and Dave’s fascination with photography could be tiring to keep up with. For another… he was distracted.

Dave had been more hands on the last few weeks, more touchy feely than usual. He lingered with wake up kisses, kept finding more and more excuses to settle on John’s lap. He also kept making sure John got the bigger half of things suddenly, making sure his plate was first in the line and that he got plenty of snacks. Dave kept being caught staring, watching, lingering in doorways to keep track of where John was. He’d improved his rock collection with shiny stones from here and there… though also he was gifted with bottle caps and soda pop tabs, beads and odds and ends from around the house and up in the attic. It was sweet, really, but it was a bit confusing, a ramp up on his usual behavior.

Noticing so much of Dave’s abnormal behavior was making John notice Dave and his mannerisms more. The way he touched his face when he was crouched on a chair, the way he flipped his hair out of his eyes but refused to let Dad trim it shorter, the way his face screwed up when he got a good scratch between the shoulder blades, the way his wings twitched and splayed out when it was grooming time. The way he smiled, frowned, the way his face relaxed when he napped against his shoulder in the afternoons while John worked on schoolwork.

“...John?”

“Huh? What.”

“The rocks are here,” Dave said, gesturing proudly. “I was asking what you think. Thought,” he corrected.

John blinked, realizing he’d been following without paying attention. He glanced around to orient himself before taking in the view. The rocks were, as promised, pretty sweet. They were massive boulders with moss and speckled markings, balanced atop other boulders. The very top held a decrepit sapling that had tried to flourish and dried upon death, dangling at an angle by its roots. John whistled softly at it.

“Okay, this is cool. What kind of pictures did you want?”

Considering for a moment, Dave soon gave directions for John to climb the first stone and sit in different ways, standing on the last shot, before carefully coming down. If they were developed right, they’d hopefully come out looking how they did in Dave’s head. Maybe if they were in black and white they’d be more pressing, or sepia…

“Hey, let me take a few shots of you,” John offered with a grin, reaching for the camera. “I bet your wings would look great against the stone.”

Dave’s wings abruptly fluffed and splayed out showily before stretching and flattening out. He cleared his throat, coughed, and righted his wings again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Go up where I was and crouch. Maybe ditch the jacket, if you can handle the temperature,” he said, holding the camera up in front of one of his glasses lenses and smirking, crouching down to one knee for the full effect before standing up again. Okay, that was silly, he couldn’t see from that angle.

Hesitating for a moment, Dave pulled his jacket off and flared his wings again, flapping them a few times before he turned and scaled the rock face, finding the stable point John had been at before turning around and crouching. As expected, the dark feathers against the stone looked amazing in the dull light, and John found himself wishing he was better at photography to catch it in some better light. Maybe when they were home he could get a look at the feathers under the light and get a snap of them there, black and faintly iridescent close up where the filaments of feather connected.

“Got it! Come on down!” John called, grinning as Dave splayed his wings and hopped down, coasting a bit before flapping to stabilize his landing. When John grinned broadly at him, Dave’s wings twitched and tried to flatten out once more, fluttering when he turned to pick up his jacket and pull it back on.

A stick broke in the distance, though it didn’t catch Dave’s attention. John’s attention, however? He was predisposed to being overly aware of their surroundings when his head wasn’t in the clouds, especially when they were away from the yard. It was his job, guarding Dave’s existence from the outside. This deep in the woods should be safe, but there were natural threats to worry about, bears and other creatures.

...Or humans.

In this case, a hiker with a cell phone who was staring at them from a ways away before freezing and taking off running the opposite direction as if pursued. Cursing, John stuffed the camera back into Dave’s bare hands before grasping his upper arm and tugging, dragging him into a run the other direction.

“Fuck, wait,” Dave cawed, trying to cover the lens with the cap without dropping the camera before adjusting his grip and hurrying along after John, back towards the house. They sprinted, John leading them astray till things started to look more familiar and he corrected the route since Dave was the one who’d led them in this time, and didn’t stop till they reached the edge of the woodline.

Slowly, John sank down into a crouch and grasped the back of his head with both hands, panting heavily as he listened to his pulse hammering in his ears. “Shit, shit, shit… Shit.”

“John?” Dave panted, watching him before mimicking him, crouching down. One wing stretched out and curled loosely around John’s back like an arm, shielding him while he was down. “...John?” he asked again, worried.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. We’re fine. This is totally okay. We were just seen by a stranger with a phone, no big deal,” John rambled, only to go quiet and croon an upset noise out once more.

Biting his lip, Dave considered his choices. He looked around the empty yard, the distant shape of Dad’s car parked in front on the gravel, the shriveled remains of the garden and the last crops that hadn’t been picked yet, the vast amount of pumpkins on display. He looked back over his shoulder, back towards the woods he knew so well from before, then back to John’s shaking shoulders and panicked expression.

“Oh fuck, oh man, oh God Dad’s gonna be pissed off why wasn’t I watching clos-”

Dave had leaned and grasped John’s chin, holding it carefully as he pecked his lips once. Twice. Three times. Normally he’d pull back then and nuzzle while cawing affectionately… but this time Dave remained in place, lip to lip. He was letting out a soft sound, croaky singsong noises that were surprisingly comforting to hear, and didn’t pull back till John’s breathing was slower and calm.

“...Uhm.”

Dave just grinned at him and fluttered his wings hopefully, giving them small shivery shakes before folding them against his back once more.

“...Heh. Haha. Hahahahaha.”

“John?”

Caught up in the giggles, Dave adjusted his glasses and shook his head, holding a hand up begging for a moment to collect himself. It took the full minute before he could wheeze. “I’m s- Ahahaha. I’m sorry. Just. Fuck I was so freaked out and suddenly I’m getting kissed and just?? Ahaha that’s just so funny for some reason. Can’t panic while you’re being kissed I guess? Off switch located on the lips.”

Dave’s grin widened and he leaned forwards to repeat the kiss now that John was laughing, which only made him giggle more. The camera was set aside in favor of Dave crawling messily onto John’s lap, knocking him over, and then crawling up his body to keep the kiss going. They were a pile of laughter and kisses, Dave’s wings splaying out over the two of them and John’s hands playing along Dave’s ribs to tickle him, making him join in the giggles.

It was so hard to be stressed around Dave. It’s like he outright didn’t allow it to happen. Fuck he was lucky to have a friend like him.

...Er. ...Was he just a friend? Had he ever been just a friend, when so much hinged on making sure he was happy and safe and by his side? When his daily morning routine involved kisses and affection that John knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone else?

He was still being kissed by Dave when the giggles died down and he didn’t feel the urge to break it off or push him away. John felt warm in his stomach, a flush in his cheeks and down his back, lightheaded from the rush of laughter and the sudden stimulation. Dave was warm against him, his body weight slight but welcome, and the shadow of his wings beautiful against the dim light of the sky. John forgot how cold his ass was on the ground, that his dad might be able to see them. All that mattered then was keeping Dave close for just a little longer.

Lifting both hands up, John grasped Dave’s waist before raising up higher to touch the base of his wings, getting a soft, startled caw out of Dave before they fluttered and flattened out again as they had earlier. What was up with that? Or with the throaty noises Dave was making? It was cute, sort of like a sound effect from a game, clicky and croaky and tinged with the warm tones of his voice.

All good things come to an end. Dave was the one who eventually parted the kiss, face flushed and body stiff. He was arching away a bit, body seeming to want more contact but trying to avoid it at the same time. Specifically, he was keeping his hips awa-

Oh.

… Oh.

Clearing his throat, John gently pushed at Dave’s shoulders to get him off his lap, realizing he was at risk of the exact same thing. This was normal. Well. Not normal for them persay, but it was a natural thing to have happen? Fuck, he hoped he didn’t need to have a chat with him about it. Or worse, Dad.

… Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He’d handled the introduction to those things well enough when John himself was learning them, maybe having The Talk with him wouldn’t be life ruining.

Wait, why was he thinking about this, there were bigger problems at hand.

“Dave, we need to tell Dad what happened.”

As if remembering minutes earlier, Dave’s tense frame wilted and he nodded, glancing back to the camera before he crawled over to pick it up. Well. At least they’d managed to get a lot of pictures before being interrupted. … Not to mention getting to kiss him, that had been nice. Very nice, if the zinging in his pants was anything to go by.

Slowly rising, adjusting his jeans and dusting debris off of himself again, John slapped either side of his face a few times. “Okay. Okay, we’ll just go inside and Dad’ll be all ‘Hello, son! How are you!’ and I’ll be all ‘Hey Dad! We got seen by a hiker!’ and he’ll be all..” John trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure what his father would say or do. He groaned quietly.

“John,” Dave said, reaching a hand out. It was a simple gesture, a single word being a command as much as his name, an offer of comfort. John took his hand and laced their fingers before slowly starting the walk towards the house.

They were still peeling their jackets off when James strolled into the mud room with a smile. “There you two are. I’ve got some hot apple cider to share, if you boys would have some with the pie from earlier.”

Leave it to his dad to bake circles around everyone, but the idea of hot cider and some fresh pie was good, especially after the time in the woods.

“Sure, Dad.” Might as well get him nice and busy first. No, no, putting it off was bad. Gnawing his lip and squeezing Dave’s hand tight once again, he shook his head. “Dad? Something… something happened.”

Almost immediately James’ stance changed and his eyes narrowed, looking them both over from head to toe, checking for injuries or signs of damage. With no sign of blood of serious scuffs, he let out a pent breath and smiled again.

“Take a breath and tell me, Son, it can’t be that bad. I’ve seen your surprises before after all,” he said, gesturing to Dave before turning to head to the kitchen, the unsaid request for them to follow him hanging in the air.

“We uhm. We went to go take pictures, yeah?” John said, taking a seat at the table.

“Is the camera damaged? It’s okay if it is, but I’d like to know.”

“No, camera is fine,” Dave promised. “Not a scratch.”

“...You’re making me a bit concerned,” James chuckled as he cut apple pie into even slices and pulled out some whipped cream to top them with. “Go ahead and tell me before I start jumping to more conclusions.”

“Well uh. We.. We got the pictures,” John said encouragingly. “Then someone… might have probably seen Dave. Their phone was up, too. They might have gotten pictures.”

James slowed to a halt at the news before slowly making himself start to move again, bringing over the pie slices before going to get big mugs of cider for each boy’s place. He didn’t speak till everyone had a mug, and even then he was quiet as he sat down with a soft sigh, warming his hands on his cup.

“How close were they to you? Close enough to tell they’re not a costume?”

“I don’t know,” admitted John, looking down at his pie, one hand still clasped in Dave’s. It helped. “They looked fairly far away.”

“Well. I’ll keep an eye out for any signs of things, but odds are if they weren’t close, any photo they could get wouldn’t be the best quality,” James said. He smiled a bit. “We all knew this day might come. We’ll just deal with it best we can. Okay, son?”

John pulled up a smile the best he could, but he still felt worry. The smile faded and he eventually released Dave’s hand to clasp his mug, tilting the contents and swirling flecks of cinnamon and thicker liquid around the bottom. Home made cider really was the best.

“What do we do if the word gets out, though?” he asked, looking over to Dave. Though the bird boy had taken a sip of cider and seemed content, he’d taken out his chewing toy from beneath his shirt and was idly gnawing at it while the conversation remained intense, stress bouncing his teeth on the material. Gone were the days of stress biting elsewhere, but it was still a reminder that the topic needed to ease out soon enough or that toy wouldn’t last nearly as long as it could under normal circumstances.

“We’ll deal with it one step at a time, as it happens,” James promised. “If anyone comes knocking from the press, we’ll just have to keep Dave cloaked for a while. If anyone comes knocking from our higher authority… well. We’ll tell the truth and hope they understand the circumstances and that you were just a child.”

John’s stomach ached a bit, but he nodded. It was the best answer he could get given the circumstances, and it wouldn’t do to push further hoping for more. He finally took a sip of the warm liquid, feeling it slip down his throat to soothe his stomach like a hug. “Okay, Dad.”

“Now, let’s lighten up those faces, you look like the council is breathing down our necks already,” James chuckled. “What if Dave becomes his own form of notoriety? A… oh, what’s the word. A cryptid.”

“Like Moth Man or the Jersey Devil?” John asked. Dave looked at him, confused, not understanding. He spit his toy out to go back to sipping his drink, then set the mug aside to dig into the pie wholeheartedly. Even stress wasn’t enough to deter Dave’s appetite when snacks were involved, especially not freshly baked ones.

“Yes, precisely,” James said, before explaining the basic premise of a cryptid to Dave. “You see, if enough people believe a winged boy exists in the woods… the funnier and less real it sounds. The fewer people would believe the story to begin with.”

“But then you’d also get diehards who’d want to practically live in the woods, stalk the house, and never buzz off,” John warned. “We’d have to move!”

James pursed his lips as if the idea’s downside had only then occurred to him. “My. You may have a point there, John. Perhaps that wouldn’t be ideal after all.”

“I think being a cryptid would be fun, I could scare people,” Dave said, cawing loudly a few times and flaring his wings out in a showy fashion before they rustled and went back to normal folded against his back and the back of the chair.

“Hah! Well, at least he’s game if it came to that,” James chuckled. “Ah, I’ll develop the pictures for you later. Do you want them a certain way?”

“Black and white, please,” Dave asked. “Or sepia. I like how those look.”

Nodding, he reached for the camera and checked the number of shots left. “Hmm. We’ve got a few left on this roll. How about you keep the camera for now, and give it back when all the pictures are used up instead?”

“Are you sure?” Dave asked, pausing his pie destruction to look up with wide eyes.

“Positive. You’ve been very careful with my camera and it shows, I trust you with it.

Giddy, Dave beamed at him and went back to devouring the pie slice and whipped cream, getting a dab on his cheek and nose in his excited fervor of snacking. Laughing, John reached over with a finger to scoop the cream off, popping it into his own mouth without a second thought.

The sound from outside came first as a soft, low rumble that steadily grew in intensity until the windows rattled. Everyone went quiet before James looked to the window and hummed.

“Ah. The rain should be coming any minute now, then. The clouds were looking ready to burst all day today.”

“Should we get the candles? That was a lot of thunder.”

“Candles might be a good idea. Be ready to cast a few orbs as well for your room when you go to sleep, you know how dangerous it is to sleep with candles lit.”

“We know, Dad, don’t worry. Right, Dave?”

“Mhmm. Yessir,” he said quickly, rubbing his face with his forearm before putting his hands on the table and using them to push himself up from his seat. He scampered out of the room before coming back to put his dishes in the sink, then took off again at a dash, already knowing where the candles and matches were stored in their preparedness boxes and knowing which scented ones he wanted to use more than others.

“I promise, John. Everything will be okay,” James said softly once they were alone. “Try not to worry about anything. We’ve come this far and gone this long without any issues, we can handle a few bumps in the road. We’re family, after all.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks,” John said, finishing his snack up before going to hug his father, accepting the kiss to the side of the head and the firm squeeze of two large arms that eventually released him. “What’s for dinner later?”

“Leftovers,” James said. “And if the power goes out, snacks. Remember, don-”

“Don’t open the fridge, you’ll let all the cold out and it’s a pain in the neck to adjust cooling spells to the precise temperature in a confined space for however long it’d be out,” John rattled off. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I remember the icicle milk.”

James chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges as he stood up to take care of the dishes. “Go help Dave then, and make sure the windows upstairs are all shut for me?”

“Alright,” John called before taking off at a jog to catch up with the bird boy.

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

The storm that hit the house that night was bigger than anticipated. It didn’t knock the power out, but it was taking every opportunity to rattle the windows threateningly, to pelt the car with debris and what they were pretty sure sounded like hail, and to put pressure on every single tree in the forest. Breaking branches rang out like gunshots in the blackness, startling everyone who heard them.

Though they didn’t need them, John and Dave lit candles anyway, while John got a few light orbs going in different colors to drift lazily around the room, set to dissipate within several hours like gently floating nightlights. Dave was blissful with the scent of the ocean and the soft shadows the candles cast against the wall, curled up against John’s side on his bunk as John read a book. The camera had been left on the desk for now, safe and out of the way. His book didn’t hold his attention for too long, however, not with Dave pressed so warm up against his side and memories of earlier rushing through his head.

Unable to take it any longer, John coughed and set the book aside.

“Hey, uh. Dave? About earlier. What uh. ...What were you doing?”

“Earlier?” Dave asked, looking up from where the book was set, confused. “How much earlier.”

“You know what I mean, right? The kiss?” John asked, keeping his voice down to avoid his dad hearing. The last thing he needed was a Congrats On The Liplock! Cake in the morning. “You uhm. It was different from the ones you normally do, like in the mornings.”

Dave nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of course it was different, John, weren’t you paying attention?

“...Why?” John finally asked.

Here was where things got a bit difficult to answer. Dave opened his mouth, closed it, tried again and failed again. When the words wouldn’t come he puffed up and made an agitated cawing sound before dropping his head back to look up towards the ceiling and underside of the upper bunk to try finding the words hidden there instead.

“...Was it okay?” was what he finally asked.

“I’m. Well. ...Yeah. It was okay,” John finally said. It had been more than okay, actually. It had been kind of fantastic in the moment, but how could he explain that?

“Can I do it again?” Dave asked, cocking his head.

“Do. ...Do you want to?” John asked.

Dave smiled at him and nodded, already moving to straddle John once more, before John put his hands on his shoulders, face flaming. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just. Give me a second,” he said, fluster growing more intense when Dave didn’t seem phased. Though held back, he spread his wings and flattened them out as he had before, crooning that soft, croaking song once again as he bobbed his head a few times, eyes looking slightly glazed.

...Wait.

“...Are. Are you flirting with me when you do that?”

Dave paused his crooning, face reddening, and looked askew.

“Is this a bird flirting thing? Earlier too?”

Slowly, Dave leaned back and covered his face with his hands as he started to make the crooning noise again.

“It is, isn’t it! It’s. Wait, no, birds don’t flirt. Oh my God is that a bird sex thing?” John asked, smirking. Shit, Dave looked pretty cute like this, burning red in the face in the candlelight and trying to continue making his sounds as if he wasn’t able to stop himself from doing it.

It suddenly all made so much sense. The extra food, the preference for him going first in things, the shiny odds and ends, the staring, the extra touches. All of it made sense. ...Mostly.

“How long?” John asked quietly.

Slowly, Dave uncovered his face and wet his lips, the crooning noises stopping prematurely.

“...Always,” Dave said. “You’re always my most important. Most special. Mine,” he said haltingly.

Dave had been a fully grown crow before becoming a humanoid and growing again, adjusting to his new life. He had new habits to learn, new things to adjust to. John had never set him loose before, there had never been a chance for his familiar to breed if there’d even been an interest. Yet seeing him now, hearing him crooning, watching the displays and making sense of how hard he’d been trying it seemed obvious that Dave had chosen his partner already.

It was just up to John to accept or not.

Easy choice, after so long of being together and closer than close.

John reached his hands up and rested them on Dave’s hips again, waiting till he set his hands on his chest to balance before reaching up to kiss him once, twice, three gentle times, following the morning pattern. Dave pressed forward for the fourth time and held it, eyes closed and head tilted to deepen the gesture. John kneaded at Dave’s hips, keeping him close before humming into the kiss.

Dave’s lips still tasted like cinnamon from the pie and drink earlier, sweet and welcoming. He was a warm, comforting weight on his lap, and when he eventually stiffened and tried to pull away again, John tensed his arms to keep him scooped close. No escape. Dave hesitated… then dipped his hips forward instead of trying to go back, grinding downwards.

The candlelight grew brighter and flickered wildly, while the orbs above whirled around quicker and bounced into each other aimlessly like drunken marbles. Earlier, they’d stopped short of this but now there was no reason not to see where the rabbit hole led. John felt himself stirring down below, but decided well enough was well enough and ignored it. He was satisfied that Dave didn’t pull away when he released his hips, hands drifting up to instead touch softly at his wings, tracing feathers as they spread out. The bird shivered when he felt fingers tracing between his shoulder blades, the sensitive skin around where the wings protruded, then up towards his neck.

They wouldn’t go further than this, deepening kisses and warm touches, the shy press of body on body as stiffness appeared. John knew he’d need to have a conversation with Dave about it after all, probably explain a few other things… including some ground rules for the displays in front of his father, if all of those behaviors were flirting. There had to be limitations on things if everyone was going to keep living happily together, after all.

John felt Dave’s tongue and shyly opened his mouth to the invasion, allowing him even closer. Time swept away and all they focused on was warmth and touching of shoulders, hips, faces, chests. The taste of lip and skin, the sound of heartbeats syncing up as if hearing a song their hearts had long forgotten and falling into line. Safety.

Comfort.

The storm raged outside, but all that Dave and John were focused on was each other, only separating when they had to come up for air, smiling shyly and laughing before falling together again to kiss gentle and sweet. There was hunger there, just under the surface, but tonight? Tonight there was no place for hunger, just the wonder of being alive and together in the same space.

#homestuck #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #my fic #birdboy makeouts

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

Out of Control

The world passed by in a blur. Trees sped along outside the windows of the car. The engine roared like a dragon and the vehicle’s driver felt an unnatural fuel and fire in her veins.

A blood-red rising sun reflected off of her shades, glossy and shiny and marred only by a tiny crack on the left lens of her sunglasses. Clad in little leather racing gloves, Emily’s hands gripped the steering wheel like iron vices.

Something about the hum and the vibrations and the constant growl of the machine kept her calm. She loved the feeling of sheer speed, slicing through the world like a knife; and appreciated that sense of escape from reality that it always gave her.

Now, more than ever, she needed that calm, that sensation of riding the eye of the storm—that escape. Because she was going to see Julian’s killer in person and it was going to take everything out of her to not lose her mind.

Was it the gravity of fast motion, pushing her back into her seat that helped center her? Was it the threat of deadly accidents that freed her mind from every burdening thought and worry? Or was it because she felt both in control and dangerous whenever she drove too fast?

Emily wondered, but refused to answer her own questions.

She maintained a speed just a few miles per hour above the legal limit. Just enough to make good time on her ride to Starkford Penitentiary, and just enough to try to talk her way out of trouble if a cop pulled her over.

Thoughts surfaced. Thoughts about Kathryn Shaw. Emily tried to push them back down because they only made every one of her digits tense up more—the leather of her gloves cracked as her grip around the steering wheel tightened.

Any efforts to dispel the thoughts all failed. The image search on Shaw haunted Emily. Kathryn Shaw was just some forgettable D-list celebrity and the spectrum of her headshots ranged from pretty young lady all the way to monstrosity who had gone under the knife of plastic surgery too often for her own good. Murdering Julian Stone would probably be her biggest legacy, overshadowing her pathetic acting career and her quest for the perfect face.

This only fed the tension building in every fiber of Emily’s being, because Shaw’s obsession with her own beauty was what had killed Julian.

But was it just tension? Or pure anger welling up inside? The engine’s growls grounded Emily for a brief glimpse, allowing her to notice just how obscenely fast she was going now, and she eased up on her leadfoot for a bit. Every thought of Kathryn Shaw just poured more gasoline onto the flames of Emily’s fury.

As you know, every time you pour fuel into the flames, you run risk of the fire igniting the stream, traveling back up its length and blowing the canister up in your hands. That exact image entered Emily’s mind and made her crave another cigarette. It hadn’t even been five minutes since the last one.

No matter.

She rolled down the window on her old Charger and lit up her smoke. Swore up a storm as a chunk of tobacco got stuck on the car’s internal lighter and fumed out of the slot when she returned it. Instead of pulling over to fix this like a sane person, Emily took her eyes off the road and tapped the lighter outside her car door.

When she looked up, the honking of a horn ripped her right back into the reality of her current whereabouts and she reacted just in time, swerving back onto her lane of the road. The honking persisted, blaring and trailing off as the other car traveled down the opposite lane, expressing what she considered to be a petty anger when compared to her own.

Emily flipped the other driver the bird and took a long, greedy drag from her cigarette to cool off.

She always found it strange how little such near-death experiences like this never really fazed her. Some part of her was always prepared to die. Hell, the other part of her was already dead.

All the nights she had spent alone ever since Julian’s death, looking out over the nightly skyline of L.A., she had gone through every single stage—from wanting to die, over not seeing a purpose in life anymore, to wanting someone to pay, and ending up with a fire flaring up deep down inside of her, fueled by her darkest thoughts and fantasies. A fire that made her swear more than she ever used to; a fire that motivated her and would drive her to ever greater heights in her career.

Telling the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Exposing lies and toppling the liars. Bringing down all those awful pyramids of deception, tearing down the walls of filth built by the life-thieves and the soul-violators. Destroying the machinery of oppression fabricated by the real monsters of this world.

Her thoughts spiraled. The moment she realized she was thinking about her quest for truth and revealing the darkness to the world, no sooner did she remember that Shaw was to blame for her current anger. Emily had always been angry with the world: corrupt politicians feeding their fat faces, greedy psychopaths running the business world, and selfish assholes walking all over the downtrodden were everywhere. They didn’t even lurk in the shadows—no, the ghouls just lived in our very midst, normalizing their wicked ways and turning people jaded to the point of not caring anymore.

Every time she blinked, another six such shit-sticks just sprung into existence somewhere else.

While smoking cooled her down, it couldn’t put a lid on the boiling pot of rage bubbling in her belly region.

The whole ordeal of this prison visit alone would have been enough to make her mad, just thinking about it.

Short visiting hours. She had had to make an appointment over a month in advance. Fill out huge forms and provide copies of all sorts of personal documents. Wait for approval. Get all sorts of instructions on what she was allowed to wear or not: no orange, no underwire bra, no yoga pants, no sleeveless shirts, no open toes.

Luckily, her childhood friend Carlos had warned her about all this from his short stint in working at a different prison in the past. They might have just turned her away the moment she showed up if she didn’t meet all of their ridiculous requirements, and put her through the whole rigmarole of applying all over again.

All of this just to schedule a conversation—with her fiancé’s murderer.

Emily snorted, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. She flicked on the radio. An effective distraction would be great, any time now.

An overconfident voice actor spoke, “Enjoy a flat white at a price that’s easier to swallow from the—”

Raspy voice, trained in feigning gravitas, said, “Most of the things I do are misunderstood. Hey, after all, being misunderstood is the fate of all true—”

A dulcet male voice sang, “I’m gonna kick my feet up and stare at the fan, turn the TV on, throw my hand in my pants—”

Annoying advertising. Annoying talking. Annoying pop music. She kept poking the device to switch the channels. At the very least, she could direct her anger at the shallow superficiality of the world of radio entertainment, letting the heat die down somewhat and reducing the boiling of her blood to a low simmer. She avoided any news. News would just add to her anger.

The sunglasses shielded her eyes from the blinding light of the morning sun, still low on the horizon over the woods lining the road.

More smoking, idly ignoring all the chatter and music from the radio, and sitting on the lid to the pot of rage inside of her. Another two hours of driving flew by. The landscape around her transformed along the way, with her Charger exiting the lines of trees and darting over the long roads in the hills, in the middle of nowhere.

Like blacking out, she sighed when she seemingly came to her senses in the lobby where visitors could wait.

The anger was back.

The stupid card machine kept spitting out her dollar bills while she attempted to charge it with money. After the sixth attempt and growing increasingly anxious about the guy breathing down her neck behind her, Emily slapped the top of the device three times.

One of the guards nearby cleared her throat and shot Emily a dirty look. Emily just glared back at her but swallowed a glib remark. Either she wanted to bottle all the anger up and direct it at someone truly deserving, like Shaw, or she didn’t want to get into trouble until she had done such.

In truth, Emily wanted answers. She just wanted to know why Kathryn Shaw had killed. The most mysterious thing about Julian’s death was why Kathryn murdered him. The police said that he had turned her down for repeat requests to conduct further rhinoplasty where other surgeons had already turned her down before, and she had snapped. Bludgeoned him with a tire iron and stuffed him into the trunk of her car.

Finally, the card reader swallowed her cash. Emily groaned and muttered more profanities under her breath and left, engulfed in a cloud of mounting frustration and volatile impatience. The man waiting in line behind her dodged away a full step when she glared at him while she took a walk to the vending machines.

Thinking about the circumstances of Julian’s death did the opposite of helping her temper or curbing any anger.

Supposedly, Kathryn had thought that beating Julian over the back of his head had only knocked him unconscious. In truth, he must have died slowly in her trunk. Painfully. The police detective Emily talked to didn’t say it in those exact words, but she knew enough to piece it together.

Not only anger accompanied Emily that day, but something else: fear.

Fear that she might lose control and do something like strangling Kathryn. Also, a fear of seeing the face of a murderer who had had so much surgery done that Emily only saw her visage as an accurate and frightening representation of what Kathryn truly was deep down—a monster.

The crazy bitch had killed her Julian because he refused to help her continue destroying her own damned face? The choleric reporter wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. It was so simple. Too mundane.

Maybe Kathryn Shaw could offer the straight dope. Maybe Emily could tickle it out of her, provoke her into spilling something she wouldn’t admit to the authorities. Maybe something darker.

Another wave of fury washed over her when she stood at the vending machines to get some snacks and something to drink. Everything cleaned out—empty. Nothing for her to buy after wasting cash on the stupid card machine?

Fuck this place, she thought. Fuck the entire prison system.

Under normal circumstances, she would have blurted that out; released her rage at one of the people working here. However, she wanted to avoid sabotaging her chances at speaking to Kathryn. Not only had the private penitentiary made this visit an absurd chore, she had had to get through lengthy talks with Shaw’s lawyers to get this going without outside interference.

Emily had signed waivers and papers just to promise she wouldn’t be using or publishing anything that transpired in this meeting.

In a huff, she sat down in the waiting area. Checked her emails on her phone to find another way of distracting herself. Canceled interview meeting. Bill. Bill. Bank complaining about her account being in the red. Bill. Advertisements. Annoying newsletter. Complaints about details on an invoice. Just a swamp of unanswered, unread messages she could not have cared any less about right now. Still, she found something oddly meditative about sifting through them and getting some of this busywork done.

Until she reached one mail: from an anonymous source in the crime syndicate exposé she was working on. The informant was backing off, chickening out, refusing to meet for a statement.

Emily blacked out. Next thing she knew, the display of her phone was covered in a spiderweb of cracks. Several people in the waiting room stared at her and her surroundings had gone dead silent.

A guard stood next to her and fidgeted, one brow arched as she stared Emily down and said, “Ma'am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t get it together.”

Emily nodded in defeat. Whatever she had just done that resulted in cracking her own phone—shouting? Screaming? Beating inanimate objects? The startled looks from the strangers all around her told her that her outburst had been profound. She also felt a lot calmer, like the valves had opened for a spell and released some of the steam. Judging by everybody’s reactions, she must have given off that exact air.

Though the anger was still there, albeit more subdued.

Emily Graves was an angry person by nature. Always had been. Her best friend Chris never liked how worked up she got when she ranted about anything and turned it into cascading and unstoppable tirades.

Today was different. She had never felt as angry as she did this day.

She did something uncharacteristically different and apologized. Standing beside herself and watching it happen as if she was in a dream, she wondered who in all hell’s name this Emily was—sounding meek and remorseful. But there she was, the other Emily, making sure she’d get through this day far enough to speak with Kathryn Shaw.

The guard left her alone to waiting, and Emily slumped into the hard plastic chair. The light glared too brightly in here for her to decipher anything on the now-cracked display of her phone, so she put it away.

Focus. Breathe.

Focus.

Forcing herself to clear her mind of all thoughts, Emily cycled through the things she had learned in Berkeley. She reverted into the green journalist, melting into the background and observing. Watching.

The waiting area had it all. The facial expressions on the people here, the invisible clouds of air surrounding them, carrying the entire gamut of emotions: joy, sadness, regret, anger, and everything in between. One of the other visitors waiting there emanated with an aura of rage to rival Emily’s own. It somehow helped her cool down herself, seeing this other lady completely self-absorbed in a blinding haze of wrath.

This kind of place could probably do that to anybody.

She took a deep breath and went to the bathroom. Carlos told her that going to the bathroom during the visit itself is a pain of its own, so it was best to get it out of the way immediately.

No mirrors in the restrooms.

Emily splashed her face with cold water. She wanted to smoke really badly. Even though she couldn’t inhale that sweet, sweet poison any time soon, she nervously produced the pack from her pocket book and checked it. Two smokes left; not even halfway through the day.

“One hell of a drive here,” she muttered. Another woman in the restrooms just gave her a funny look, and Emily returned to the waiting area.

Eventually, she was buzzed in.

They stamped her wrist with invisible ink. Allowed her to put all her possessions in a locker. Asked redundant questions. Sent her through the metal detectors, searched her, jammed a plastic pass into her hand. Half of the hurdles made sense to Emily, leaving her to wonder about the other half.

She sat in a small windowless room and waited. The thick doors and walls muffled the repeated buzzing for other visits elsewhere. Emily had expected them to be meeting with a wall of bulletproof glass separating her and Kathryn Shaw, but it looked like the visiting room was just an open space with two entrances—two ominous metal doors.

Table in the center surrounded by rigid plastic chairs, all bolted down.

A guard waited behind her, hands folded in front of her and probably staving off boredom whenever she wasn’t ready to pounce and intervene.

Little to stop Emily from exploding into a fireball and clawing Kathryn’s eyes out.

She wondered how often the guards here had to deal with drama like that. Emily found herself wondering what it would be like to be tased.

The other door opened, interrupting such thoughts, and two people entered. Kathryn, dressed in the orange jumpsuit of the inmates here, hands shackled with cuffs, was directed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. The guard accompanying her took her place behind her next to the other door.

Kathryn’s long blonde hair was frazzled, messy. Her bleary eyes darted around, barely registering Emily. She looked crazy, but not scared or threatening in any way. To the reporter, she looked far more pathetic than she had expected—not that that helped defuse the rage.

So Emily decided to start off simple. Ease Kathryn into things, and hell, herself as well. Maybe she’d keep her anger under control by conducting herself in a professional fashion.

“Hello Kathryn,” she said. Emily pressed her lips together so hard that they turned into thin white strips. “I’m Emily Graves.”

Kathryn nodded and emitted a feeble, “Hi.”

She looked her visitor up and down but evidently did not recognize her.

“I’m a freelance reporter who has worked for a few major outlets in California.”

Kathryn’s eyes went wide. Emily expected her to shrink from that, but triggered something else entirely. Kathryn nodded emphatically—excitedly. She was thrilled.

D-list celebrity alright. Probably thought she was going to get “justice” or exposure to use in her memoirs, or God only knew what.

“Now, just to be clear, I’m not here in a professional capacity,” Emily said, trying to suss out if Kathryn still had enough marbles left in her noggin for her to speak with her regular vocabulary, or if she had to dial down her language to the level she’d use for someone certifiable.

Kathryn’s face, disfigured from years and an excess of plastic surgery, scrunched up in confusion. She nodded some more, signaling Emily to continue.

“I came here because—”

Emily choked on the words. She choked on the thoughts. Instead of rage welling up, her mind flashed back to the moment when the coroner pulled out the metal slab. The slab on which a dead body lay.

She swallowed, hard.

She remembered the day she identified Julian’s body in the morgue, in the company of Detective Tanner.

Pale, lifeless, hopeless. Dead. Shattered skull. Shattered dreams.

Shattered heart.

Was her heart racing with terror, or slowing to a halt?

Kathryn just looked at her through wide eyes, expecting something. Something more. Something that immediately disgusted Emily.

Attention.

It brought the anger back. The simmering turned back up, like stepping on the gas pedal and revving the engine. The roar of the motor. The pressure of gravity, of speed, of powerful motion. Pouring gasoline into the fire.

“I came because you murdered my fiancé, Julian. I—I just need to know. I need to know why.”

Kathryn nodded some more, like a deranged toddler trapped in a horrific grown woman’s body. Then her nodding transformed into her shaking her head quickly. She squinted as she continued to shake her head in disbelief.

“No, Doctor Stone is fine. I didn’t murder anybody!”

Emily blinked, letting that sink in. She disbelieved the disbelief. The world slowed down to a halt. The imaginary car she was driving in crashed into a solid brick wall in slow motion. Scrap parts exploded into a dazzling rain of metallic fireworks.

The flames flared up. The stream of gasoline being poured into it caught fire. It traveled upwards, in slow motion, just like the car crashing into the wall.

The rage boiled. The lid shuddered, clattered. Emily’s heart was racing indeed, pounding like thunder. Like those Japanese drums.

“Listen, honey, I’ll be out soon and with my lawyers, we’ll clear this all up, just you wait and see. I’m so sorry about what I did. I lost it and—well, things worked out in the end, yeah? I’m sure Doctor Stone will do what I asked him for then, and we’ll find a way to—”

The rushing of blood in Emily’s ears drowned out this crazy bitch’s words. The world narrowed, with darkness encroaching from the edges of her field of vision until everything had turned into a tunnel, with the only light at the end of it consisting of this monster’s artificial-looking face.

The tunnel collapsed. Complete darkness. Just the pounding of those drums, the beating of her heart.

The sound that the human hand makes when hitting flesh is strange. Like a wet bag filled with raw meat slapping onto a hard kitchen counter. That association only registered with Emily with delay.

She must have slapped or punched Kathryn multiple times before the guards pried her away. Signing papers and getting reprimanded were things that came back to her later. Emily walked out of that hellhole, putting on her sunglasses again as broad daylight from the merciless sun instantly gave her a headache. Or maybe it was the dehydration coupled with the rage. Her mouth felt as dry as Death Valley looked.

She had lost time. Her wrists hurt, she had been detained temporarily. Someone told her this was not uncommon. Warned her, told her not to show her face there again. Said she was lucky Shaw’s lawyers wouldn’t end up pressing charges, because she’d probably forget what happened by dinner time.

Emily sat on the hood of the Charger, smoking. Only one cigarette left and four hours of driving back to Los Angeles ahead of her. A veritable tower of ash formed at the end of the glimmering little death-stick between her fingers. Her ears still rang with the aftereffects of adrenaline and rage.

In her mind, she went to and fro, like liquid sloshing back and forth in a bucket. Like the gasoline, always threatening to spill over the edge and fall into the flames; threatening to feed that all-devouring fire. She struggled to piece together what had happened but a burning darkness blotted out parts of those memories.

It couldn’t have been too bad or she might have gotten arrested on the spot. Or maybe the guards took pity on her, having a hunch about what was going on there. Or maybe this entire world was so callous and cruel that nobody truly gave a damn.

Whatever had truly happened in that cold claustrophobic room with the uncomfortably cool air conditioning, it had not helped Emily. Not at all.

She had walked out of Starkford with answers less satisfying than the meager ones she had entered with. She hated the concept of America’s prison system, but a more sadistic part of her hoped that Kathryn would suffer and rot in there for the rest of her miserable life.

Emily stamped out the cigarette, grinding it with her heel with extreme prejudice, and got behind the wheel again.

Speeding might help. Her addiction made her mentally check at which gas station she’d stop next to buy more smokes. Getting back to work, perhaps following up on the Mancini “murder house” next—maybe these things would get her mind off of the hell that was living on this God-forsaken planet, hurtling through space until the sun died and the heat death of the universe ended everything.

Or maybe just drowning everything in a bottle of whiskey.

But everything Emily enjoyed at this point was self-destructive.

Nothing would truly help. None of it would quench the fires of her rage.

Just pour more gasoline into the flames.

She revved the engine. The tires screeched and the Charger sped away.

—Submitted by Wratts

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lost-tanuki-tales · 5 years ago

Text

Hostage Situation - Part 1

Prompt challenge (~48h) : Isolation, Hostage. Cast: The Disaster Five Word count: 2.9k.

There was a camera. There was always that damn camera following him around, surveying his every move, that single implacable dark eye he couldn't escape from. Arkady didn't know if anyone was even watching him through there. He'd given it the finger about every hour just in case. The room was dirty, the cracks in the walls packed with old mud and mold. The smell was terrible and he was fairly certain it came from the mangy cot that was pressed against one of the more decrepit walls. There was a hole in the ground in the corner where he assumed he was supposed to relieve himself. Upon understanding that he wouldn't have a modicum of privacy for this, he'd whirled around to yell at the camera: "You're sick freaks!"

Of course, there had been no answer.

Arkady paced around the dingy room, fuming and grumbling under his breath, cursing himself and the others for not having seen this coming. They'd been hanging around in the same spot for too long, their ship must have been spotted and reported. Arkady remembered he'd seen a blurry reflection of a gray outfit behind him while he'd been outside polishing the last metal panels of the stock Leo had bought for the ship, and he hadn't turned around fast enough. Next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor as a long, skittering bug slithered over the back of his hand. He'd thrown it away with a shout of surprise and scrambled to his hands and knees, and only then had he noticed the situation he was in. Arkady hadn't been the only one at the ship at that time and chances were Leonida had been taken too. He wasn't sure about Grenelant.

Arkady didn't know what he was supposed to expect; interrogation could vary from a simple interview to torture, or maybe he was just being held in a cell until whoever had taken him decided what it was they wanted to do with him. This didn't seem like it would be a place linked with this planet's authorities, but maybe it was; they were a primitive population. No one came and Arkady spent the afternoon trying to kick at the cracks in the wall and the narrow metal door to no avail. There was no window to try and break through, either. They hadn't left him any weapons but at least he still had his watch. How long was he going to be kept here?

He looked up at the camera. "What do you want?"

No answer. Arkady cursed again, this time in the rough and blocky sounds of his native tongue, and he resumed pacing. He hoped Leonida would be okay. She was tough, tougher than him and Grenelant, so he knew he didn't need to worry too much. Arkady looked around and went over the room's faults again to try and discern a weakness to his cell. He didn't find any. At 3AM on the first day of his confinment, Arkady finally sat down against the cold, humid wall to wait for a new development.

The second and third day he spent trying to provoke the people behind the camera when it was clear that no amount of investigating would get him out of there. Food came twice a day through the flap at the bottom of the door and the only sound that ever accompanied it was that of footsteps. Arkady tried to get a rise out of whoever was behind that door in the beginning, and he asked about where the others were, but he never obtained an answer. He didn't even see so much as a shoe through that flap. It was just bread, water, and footsteps. No one ever came inside the room with him.

He'd been put in solitary before. The longest he'd had to do was five days. He could do this.

It hadn't exactly been a walk in the park the last time and it wasn't easier knowing he'd already gone through this before. Arkady tried to ignore the camera when he wasn't yelling curses at it. He didn't relieve himself for the first 21 hours and when he eventually had no other choice due to his painful bladder, he doubly flipped off the camera before turning around and unzipping his fly. He made sure never to face the black lens when he was urinating, bracing himself with an arm up against one of the walls in the corner, and that was enough to spare himself the shame- at first. It was an entirely different matter when he needed to defecate on the fourth day. There wasn't space to do it any other way and he was forced to crouch facing the camera, and even though he managed to cover up his front, he still felt like an animal. Humiliation burned at his nape.

Arkady decided he wasn't just going to sit there and wait for someone to show up if that meant he was letting some sick pervert watch him shit. He returned to investigating the room with renewed vigor and cracked several nails trying to rip and pull at the fissures in the wall. He punched and kicked hard enough to shake out some small pieces of mixed dust and gravel, but never enough to widen them. He began to feel helpless, and immediately on the rise of it felt a roaring anger that these maniacs thought they could keep him caged like some dumb fucking beast. He ragingly toppled the bed over to its side, revealing all manner of bugs and unsanitary forms of life beneath it, and then proceeded to alternatively hurl invectives at the camera and hit the walls. At the end of the day his throat was raw from screaming and blood was still drying at his fingertips.

He didn't know where Leo and Gren were. Maybe they weren't even there. Maybe they were already dead.

On the evening of the fifth day, Arkady refused the tray of food by violently kicking it backwards before it was halfway through the flap.

"Fuck you!" he yelled. "Fuck you, I'm not eating until you tell me what the hell's going on!"

There was no answer. Irritation flared in Arkady's chest when he saw the tray get pushed back in and he kicked it again, more of the already spilled water wetting the floor.

"Are you deaf? Tell me what the fuck you want from me!"

Nothing. The tray wasn't pushed back inside and the footsteps retreated, and Arkady was left standing behind the door with an overwhelming anger buzzing at his insides. He screamed in frustration and slammed his arm against the door.

He wasn't brought any food on the sixth and seventh day, probably as a punishment for his earlier refusal. He tried to calm down and center himself. If Gren and Leo needed help, he needed to keep it together for their sake; he'd need to look out for a chance to escape and he couldn't do that on an empty stomach. Arkady started trying a different approach to the person behind the tray of food when they came back with the same piece of bread and cup of water on the eighth morning. He kept his voice level as he tried to negociate answers, tried to come off as meek, tried to make them believe they'd somehow tamed him by depriving him of sustenance or that they'd at least convinced him to be more cooperative. But it was always the same silence. He'd never been very patient, even less in conditions such as the ones he was currently in, and he snapped again three more fruitless attempts at communication later.

"Come back, you motherfucker!" he snarled viciously through the flap in the door. "Fucking answer me!"

Fading footsteps, and Arkady only had his own hard breathing to listen to.

The days after that were spent in a tumultuous chaos of burning, crackling emotions that Arkady couldn't control. He unleashed a level of violence on the walls of his cell that he hadn't attained before, leaving bloody handprints on the wall where the skin of his knuckles gave way to bone, and he destroyed the dirty, stinking thing that was supposed to be his bed. He hadn't been sleeping much, the air was cold, the light was always on and he could feel writhing shapes beneath his body when he lied down. Arkady knew he'd been here for longer than he'd ever been put away in solitary before. He felt that the walls were gradually closing in, that the room was getting smaller every hour even if he knew rationally that it couldn't be the case. He was going stir crazy. He needed to be outside, had never been one to keep to the interior of the ship all day, never mind a space as small as this one.

Where the fuck were Leo and Gren? Were they dead? Had they just left him behind? Arkady knew he wasn't the most important asset to their team but Leonida wasn't the type to abandon anyone who still proved useful. She needed him. Grenelant couldn't do what Arkady did. It had to be that they either were in the same situation as him or just hadn't found him yet.

"Just talk to me! Fucking talk to me!" he screamed at the camera and at the foosteps, desperation tinging his voice despite his best efforts to hold onto his anger.

There was never any answer.

No one was coming.

Arkady tried to break the small flap at the base of the door multiple times, but it was sturdy and he was only flesh and bone against unyielding metal. Thick curses tumbled from his mouth each time a new nick appeared on the inside of his fingers, and in the end the only change that was brought to the flap were the deep rusty stains that lined its edge.

Arkady's heart started acting up in occasional palpitations that grew in frequency, and headaches began gathering at the center of his brain. He felt like the blood was pulsing much too fast in his veins, like his body was constantly in overdrive, and he wanted to bite at his wrists so it would stop. The food kept coming but the bread didn't taste like anything anymore. He needed more than the sound of his own angry voice. He needed someone to talk to him. He needed to see another person's face, he needed to see Leonida, where the fuck was Leonida?

Growing increasingly desperate each time he heard the footsteps, Arkady started pleading with them.

"Talk. Say anything, I don't care what it is, just fucking talk dammit."

They never did, and he'd scream and rage against the metal door as they walked away.

"Come back! Come back here and talk to me, you motherfucker!"

As soon as they were gone, Arkady would stop his screaming and slump back down to the cold, grimy floor.

He started having hallucinations sometimes around the middle of the- second? Third week? He wasn't sure. Days and nights tended to blend together now. He knew the camera could see him even if he covered himself when he needed to go to the hole. Sometimes he saw familiar shapes at the edges of his vision and his throat would seize up because he remembered what it had been like before. Other times Arkady looked down at his body and didn't recognize it. He stripped down without a second thought to check, only belatedly remembering there was a camera watching him and that they'd know. But they already did, anyway. Didn't they?

He couldn't sleep. He was going crazy.

He wasn't truly thinking that time when he started scratching at the walls in a wild frenzy, feeling trapped, trapped, trapped.

He stopped paying attention to the camera when he understood that the camera didn't matter. He'd also stopped looking at his watch sometime ago. The numbers were meaningless now.

Arkady sometimes could feel his ribs open up to let his pounding heart leap outside of his chest.

He traced the red outlines on the dirty walls with his fingers, and the scars that lined his skin, and it somehow soothed him when he usually couldn't stand looking at them.

At one point Arkady's breathing became shaky and it stayed that way. He didn't even know why it sounded so ragged all the time. The walls were always closing in. He sat next to the door and didn't move, occasionally rocking back and forth as he pressed his fingers to the irregular ridges of his skin. He'd get out eventually, right? They had to let him out eventually. They wouldn't keep him alive if they didn't need him. His throat kept catching on dry sobs and he hadn't cursed for days. There was no point to it anymore. Arkady wanted to hear a different voice than his own but listening to it sing an old Russian melody from his childhood was better than suffering the complete silence that crushed him when it stopped. The tune was scratchy and often slipped off-key, but at least it was noise. At least it was noise.

The door slammed open and Arkady's head jerked up, his heart skipping a beat at the crash of metal against concrete. His brain didn't catch up to what was happening until he was already being hauled upright with his wrists bound by a featureless and humanoid person, their face hidden behind smooth gray headgear.

"Wh-What- Where are you taking me?" stammered Arkady. His voice was wretched.

They didn't answer and Arkady felt a pit in his stomach that they'd do this to him even now. He stumbled in the corridor as he was pushed forward, his legs protesting against the sudden movements after such long disuse, and the individual dragged him along without a second glance. Arkady did his best not to trip and fall face first on the floor. He still couldn't control his breathing. They moved through long narrow corridor after long narrow corridor, all of them musty and dim. Arkady couldn't see shit after spending so long in that single, constantly lit cell. They took several turns in silence and stepped inside another room that was bigger than Arkady's cell, and his eyes widened in a reflection of Leonida's expression.

His mouth fell open in shock and he whispered in a still unstable voice: "Wh... What did they do to you?"

She went to answer, her jaw shifting beneath the bruises that littered her face, but one of the individuals plunged their hand in the hole that had been pried open in the synthetic section of her chest and Arkady cried out in horror when he saw the brutal way in which they were handling her.

"No, stop!"

Leonida's face was constricted and Arkady lunged forward to stop the torture, but a strong, bruising grip around his arm forced him to stay where he stood. He snarled out a curse with renewed vigor in the face of his captain's distress and kicked out behind him. It earned him a solid blow to the back of his already pounding head and he slumped, ears ringing in harmony with Leonida's low groans. He'd wanted to hear her voice, but not like this. Now he just wanted it to stop.

"Look at him," spoke a guttural voice from behind Arkady. "He has little fight left in him. He's waited for you two weeks, how much longer do you think he will last?"

The words were like a blow to Arkady's gut. Two weeks? He'd only been in there for two weeks? Arkady lifted a wild gaze to Leonida. She'd found him in two weeks, Grenelant was nowhere to be seen, that had to mean something. Did she have a plan? Was Gren waiting somewhere outside for her signal?

Despite the strained furrow of her brow, Leonida's brown eyes were trained on Arkady and it looked like she was trying to tell him that they'd make it out somehow. Arkady believed her. He had to believe her. Their captor was right; Arkady wasn't sure if he could handle much more of that terribly silent captivity, whether physically or mentally. He felt weak even with adrenaline coursing through his veins and Arkady remembered that even though they hadn't exactly let him go hungry, two pieces of bread per day made a pretty crappy diet.

"You can be repaired, monstrosity that you are," continued the deep voice. "He will soon fall into insanity and there will be no easy way to fix that. Tell us."

Leonida teared her gaze away from Arkady to look up at the person behind him. Her jaw clenched and she curtly shook her head in refusal.

Their captor was silent for a bit, and then said: "That is unfortunate." Arkady was manhandled back to an upright position and forced to look at his captor's featureless mask. "Maybe simple isolation is not enough."

Arkady realized with a jolt of dread when his captor started pulling him away that he was going to be put back in that cell, alone, for longer, and in worse conditions.

"No," he murmured. "No, wait, not again, no-" His voice faltered when they tugged on his bound wrists but he frantically shook his head, and he looked over his shoulder to call out to his captain. "Leonida! What do they want? Leonida! Leonida!"

But they were twisting and pulling at her delicate components now and her head was bowed, long blonde bangs hiding her face, shoulders tense, and Arkady was dragged away despite his struggling and broken yelling. Neither of them were going to see or hear each other again for some time.

(The Disaster Five are also on AO3.)

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