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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Restrained

Fandom: Death Note

Words: 4,150

Characters: Regressor!Light Yagami, Caregiver!L/Ryuzaki. Brief appearances from Soichiro Yagami, Shuichi Aizawa, and Watari.

Summary: Set during Light and Misa’s imprisonment (episode 16-17). Classification/Regressors Are Known AU: Light was classified as a regressor when he was fifteen, but has fought the identity ever since. L is classified as a caregiver, but has never used those skills further than calming people in interrogation situations. Things come to a head in the second month of Light’s imprisonment.

Warnings: Imprisonment, irresponsible use of restraints, mentions of death and murder, nightmares, panic attacks, involuntary regression, hidden regression being revealed non-consensually. Ominous ending.

Author’s Notes: I usually take issue with Classification AUs, because regression is a coping mechanism and not a fixed part of someone’s identity. Regression can change, and regressors can also be caregivers, and the idea that it could be ‘classified’ as part of someone’s political identity is kind of distressing. All of that said, it’s also a very comforting trope: it’s nice to imagine that you were ‘meant to be’ a regressor, naturally given that role, and that there are natural caregivers who want/need to take care of you. So, there are pros and cons to this kind of universe, as long as you remember that it’s an AU for a reason! Anyways, that’s my soapboxing done. Please note the warnings before reading!

Light was not a regressor.

It didn’t matter what the letter he received at age fifteen said. Didn’t matter that his age range was listed as ‘2-3’ and a permanent caregiver was recommended. Light Yagami was a neutral, collected, and precocious teenager. He was mature for his age, and always had been.

Admittedly, Light occasionally sucked his thumb to help him sleep. And he convinced his mother to buy him more expensive sheets because he liked to run his hands across the texture. And maybe he cast side-glances at the adult playgrounds all around the city, at the regressors who were happily running and playing on the swings.

But Light Yagami was not a regressor. He got top marks. He wore stiff, professional clothes. He didn’t cry, not even when he stubbed his toe. He turned his nose up at sweet drinks and packaged candy. In short, at seventeen, Light was a model young man.

Which was when the notebook fell outside his classroom window, and everything got a lot more complicated.

Could a regressor do this? Collectively bring the world to its knees, the news outlets humming with one story? Could a regressor kill hundreds, save the general population from the evil in its midst?

Light Yagami was Kira, and Kira was not an age regressor.

Light Yagami was not Kira.

Light was trapped in a cell, his arms shackled behind his back, and he was absolutely certain that he wasn’t Kira. What kind of idea was that, marching in and saying he thought he was subconsciously Kira? Absurd. He wouldn’t do that kind of thing.

He yelled at the ceiling, pleaded with Ryuzaki, and received cold answers in return.

How had Light sat here for a week, believing that Ryuzaki had been right to lock him away? It was absurd: he couldn’t have committed the murders without knowing at all, it just didn’t make sense.

“You told me to keep you in there, no matter what you said,” Ryuzaki repeated calmly, his voice crackling through the cheap speakers outside of Light’s cell. “I’m only doing what you told me.”

“Well, stop!” Light shouted, tugging uselessly against the leather cuffs that held his arms behind him. His shoulders ached from the position. “Listen to me now, I’m not Kira!”

“We don’t know that,” Ryuzaki said. “Until we can be sure, you will stay in that cell. I’m sorry, Light.”

Light felt tears well up in his eyes, and he jerked his head down to hide it. With his bangs hiding his expression, he tried to wrestle himself under control.

He felt scared and helpless and he just didn’t understand what he was doing here. Let me out! a voice was screaming inside him, younger and just as frightened as he was. Please, I can’t take it anymore!

What was he thinking? He was Light Yagami, part of the taskforce dedicated to catching Kira. He could withstand this. He would have to.

He didn’t bother to hide the tears as he raised his eyes again to the camera.

“Fine. I’ll stay. But you’ll see that I’m not Kira! I don’t know what’s happening, but I believe that my innocence will be proven one way or another.”

“That’s exactly what Kira would say,” Ryuzaki drawled into the microphone, and then there was a short sound of feedback as the conversation cut off.

Light rocked back to lean against the side of the bed, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d made his statement, and he had fought off the despair. He was Light Yagami, and he would deal with this imprisonment with all the dignity he could.

This was awful.

Light had never been so bored and anxious in his life. The days stretched on, with only Ryuzaki’s occasional check-ins to keep his mind busy. Out of lack for other things to do, Light started sleeping more than usual. His days were hazy, short bathroom trips out of the cell and the clatter of the food tray his only reference points for time. The lights shut off for seven hours every night, the cameras equipped with night vision to watch him toss and turn in his restraints.

There was nothing to do but ruminate, worry, wonder. Light tried to run through lectures in his head, even tried his hand at mentally writing a story. He wondered if he could convince Ryuzaki to play chess with him over the speaker system, but found himself worrying about whether that would make it seem like he wasn’t taking his imprisonment seriously.

It had been a month, and Light was suffering.

The nights were hardest. In the dark, Light cried, trying to stay quiet. He couldn’t bite his thumb, he couldn’t feel his soft blankets, and sometimes he couldn’t sleep for the tug of the restrains at his wrists and shoulders. He wanted to kick his legs, flail around, scream at the top of his lungs until they let him out. But he was Light Yagami, and he had dignity. Even with cameras fixed on him twenty-four hours a day, even with his wrists and ankles contained, even under the constant scrutiny of Ryuzaki and the other members of the task force.

He almost made it to the end.

Things that Light didn’t know:

-it had been a month since Kira had begun killing again -his father was in a matching jail cell, several blocks away -the task force had been pressuring L for weeks to let Light and Misa go, convinced by the new wave of murders that the two were innocent -L had a plan, and was simply waiting to contact Light’s father to play his part

(Light would never know most of these things, because before they became relevant, everything fell apart.)

L sat in the same place he’d been sitting for weeks, watching the same scenes play out on the same flickering screens. Misa sagged against her restraints, Light laid curled up on the bed, and Soichiro sat in his chair, staring down at his hands.

Nothing had changed, but everything was different.

Light and Misa were Kira, or at least they had been. L had never been more certain. Now they both seemed utterly convinced of their innocence, and L wasn’t comfortable with the implications of that. Were they truly ignorant of their role? Had their ability to kill been passed onto someone else, or had the two of them been unwitting puppets to some new and yet-unseen player?

Misa took a struggling breath, and went limp again. Light shifted. Soichiro got up and began to pace. His cell would fit eight of his steps before he had to turn around and begin again in the other direction.

L missed nothing. But the pieces weren’t coming together.

He tapped his fingers against his knees, a syncopated rhythm as his eyes flashed from one prisoner to the next. Watari had brought him a plate of fruit, not yet touched, with icing sugar sprinkled over them. They would make L’s fingers sticky, and he didn’t want to get juice on the controls. He would have to eat with one hand, and operate the microphones with his other. He was just about due his check-in with Misa-Misa.

Just as L began to reach for the berries, a movement on-screen caught his eye. He didn’t currently have the audio on for the cells, but from the visual, he would guess that Light just woke up screaming. L has had a few of those nightmares. They weren’t pleasant.

L switched the audio on, and listened to Light trying to calm himself down. He was talking out loud, a mutter only loud enough for the microphones inside his cell to pick up on. (Light always yelled to the camera when he was talking to L, as if he weren’t aware that the cell was bugged well enough to hear every last breath he took. They could take no risks with Kira, when they still didn’t know how he was committing the crimes.)

“I’m okay,” Light was muttering. “Don’t… don’t do this. I don’t need anything. I’m okay.” His breathing caught, paused, and then resumed. “I’m okay. Please, please- don’t.” His voice was trembling, and L leaned closer. He’d seen Light crying, of course, trying to hide it by turning away from the cameras. But this seemed… different. Light was on the edge of something, and if L was lucky, it might be some kind of confession, fuelled by a terrible dream that brought all of his crimes rushing back with the sudden weight of guilt that Kira never felt.

Yes, L had enough self-reflection to know that he was kidding himself. But it had been a long month and a half.

He remained crouching, one hand poised above the plate of strawberries and the other hand hovering above the microphone that would let him speak to Light. And he listened.

“I don’t wan’ do this,” Light whispered to himself, his words slurring together in a way that L had never heard from the other man. The distressed voice hooked its claws into his chest in a way that was both foreign and familiar. Was this… “I don’ wan’ do this,” Light repeated, and then burst into tears.

It wasn’t anything like the quiet, hidden tears of the night-time. Light was sobbing, pulling at his restraints, tossing on the bed. Unable to wipe them away, tears and snot made a mess of his face. L watched as the teenager struggled to his knees and pressed himself against the wall, as if he were trying to get some kind of comfort from the pressure. The tears wouldn’t stop, even as words started making their way through the sobs.

“Lemme out, I wan’ out, I can’t, I can’t. It’s too dark, I can’t. Please, I’m too… I can’t feel my hands!” Light wailed, collapsing in on himself, his shoulders straining against the cuffs.

L was dimly aware that his hands had dropped to his sides. He knew he was staring. He knew that Aizawa had come running to stand behind him, alerted by the cries coming through the speakers. His ears were ringing, and he could feel Light’s sobs in his own chest.

The truth was unavoidable: Light Yagami was a regressor, and L had not known.

How was that possible?

Light was registered as age-natural on his official documents. L had watched him for weeks, and he had shown no signs of regression, not at home when he was unaware of being observed, and not here in the prison cell. Until now.

This was a harsh involuntary regression, from the looks of it, and the part of L that had made them stamp ‘caregiver’ on his own documents was aching.

“Oh my god. Is Light a regressor?” Aizawa said behind him. “That looks like regression, right?”

“It isn’t on his file,” L said, pleased that his voice sounded even. He hadn’t been around a regressor in distress for a few years, and he’d forgotten how much it made his chest hurt. Knowing that he’d been the one to put Light in that situation made it worse. Rationally, he knew that Light being a regressor meant nothing to the investigation. In fact, it made L even more certain that he was Kira. To conceal his headspace that thoroughly, even under investigation, made it clear that Light was no ordinary teenager. That must have taken an immense amount of willpower and planning.

“You have to let him out,” Aizawa said. “You can’t hold a regressor in a place like that, and his innocence has already been proven.” Light was still sobbing, his harsh breaths providing an undercurrent to their conversation. “Ryuzaki, you can’t possibly let that continue.”

“I… think he knew this might happen,” L realized. “This is what he meant when he asked me not to let him out, whatever happened. He knew that he would regress under the pressure.”

“All the more reason to release him! He still doesn’t know that Kira is killing again, it’s not fair. You’ve put him under way too much stress. Let me talk to him.” Aizawa reached for the microphone, and L struck his hand away.

“No. The last thing he needs is more sensory input from the speaker system.” Aizawa recoiled from the physical interception, eyes wide. “And you could jeopardize the investigation,” L added, slightly belated.

“You can’t do this. I’ll call the rest of the team,” Aizawa threatened, reaching into his pocket.

“There’s no need for that,” L sighed. He knew that the rest of the team would agree with Aizawa. The legal system was more lenient for regressors, and keeping them in solitary confinement was widely considered cruel. “I’ll go myself.”

Just because Light couldn’t be held in the cell anymore didn’t mean that L was prepared to let him go without twenty-four-hour supervision. Luckily, he had a set of unusually long handcuffs that he’d already been prepared to use after Light’s release. He could just speed that process along… and tell Watari to order some more regressor-friendly accessories for their room, of course. Maybe pad the cuff that Light would wear, so he didn’t accidentally hurt himself.

L shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table with a sigh. His caregiver mind was getting in the way again. Light was Kira, regressor or no. He wasn’t keeping Light close so that he could take care of him, but so that he was unable to hurt anyone else.

“We’ll discuss Misa’s release when I return,” L added over his shoulder as he headed for the door, reaching into his pocket to call Watari with the car. Light’s prison was a short drive from the base, and the sooner L got there, the better.

Sure enough, the drive was agony.

L stared out the window, the seatbelt Watari had forced him to wear digging into his chest and disrupting his thoughts. He was trying to make plans, trying to think back to all of his interactions with Light and wonder if he should have known. Was that why Light had always sharply refused any kind of sweet drink, even something as simple as fruit juice? Was he afraid that he might slip into regression? Was that why he had been crying at night, quietly regressing just enough for his childish fears to come to the surface? How confused was he, how disoriented in the cell? He seemed to know he was trapped, but did he remember what he was accused of?

L barely noticed when the car came to a stop, but when Watari opened his door for him, it took genuine effort not to go running into the building. Instead, L moved even slower than he usually would. Each gesture would be planned. Each word intentional. Just because Light was a regressor, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. L had to be on his guard, even more because of his natural caregiver instincts.

He made his way down the cold concrete stairwell, Watari a few paces behind him. Hands tucked in his pockets, breathing slow and natural. No worries about what he might have missed in the two minutes he’d been away from the screens. Had Light hurt himself? Was he safe? Was he still crying? L should have brought water, he’s sure to be dehydrated-

They stepped onto the cell block, and L had a brief conversation with one of the guards to obtain the keys. He’d already texted ahead, and they knew to expect him.

Watari stayed behind, just within earshot as L padded down the line of empty cells to the one that held Light.

It was strange to see the cell in person. For the first time, L could see the camera that Light had shouted at so often. He could see the details of the walls more clearly here, the chipped tile of the bathroom corner and the scratches in the concrete that didn’t come through on the long-distance video feed.

And there was Light, curled into a ball on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms still tied behind him, much in the same position that he had been napping in before his nightmare.

L had approached soundlessly, and Light’s eyes were closed. He didn’t open them until L put the key into the lock and turned it.

“N—no, I don’t-” Light stuttered, and then looked up. “Ryuzaki? Ryuzaki!” He tried to get up, but the cuffs on his ankles made him stumble and fall. L heard his knees hit the concrete with a harsh crack, and Light teared up again. “No, no, don’t come in. M’sorry, don’t come in.”

“I’ll let you out of the cuffs,” L told him, his hand on the door but waiting to open it.

“No, I don’t want it,” Light managed. “Just… go.”

“Light, how old are you?” L pressed.

Light made a sound that resembled a squeak, and very slowly raised his eyes to L’s.

“How old are you right now?” L asked again. He watched Light’s expression twist from surprise to embarrassment to conflict, then Light started crying again.

“I don’t wanna be,” Light sobbed. “I don’ wan’ it.”

And there went L’s chest again, twisting and aching with the sound of a regressor in distress. He regulated his voice, unwilling to let it sound too caring. It came out flat instead.

“There’s no shame in regressing, Light. Two percent of the population isn’t an insignificant number. You’ll be more comfortable with your arms free.” Light shook his head, tears flying with the gesture.

“No! Don’t come in!”

“How old are you, Light? You’re young, I can tell that much. Probably in the toddler range, if I had to guess.” From Light’s glare through the tears, L had hit the nail on the head. “I thought so. Stop fighting me. I was going to let you out soon anyways.” Well, L hadn’t been meant to say that. But he could probably use that to his advantage.

“But… but you think I’m Kira,” Light mumbled. Interesting: he did have his full memories, then. Very little disorientation for such a young age range.

“I do,” L admitted. “But the taskforce doesn’t. They want you back on the team.”

“Me?” Light blinked up at him, and his eyes were even wider than usual, framed with perfect dark lashes, and L was in agony being separated by bars. This regressor was going to be the death of him. “But… I thought the bad things stopped ‘cause I was here.”

L was fascinated by the limits of Light’s mental reasoning while he was regressed. He would have to do some experimentation at a later time, but for now…

“I lied. Kira has been active for almost a month. I wasn’t convinced it meant you were innocent, but it makes a good case.” L watched that news hit home, but in a very different way than it would have hit an adult Light.

“You lied? Why? I thought… I thought I was bad, maybe, but you were lying!” Light tried to wipe his tears on his shoulder, only partially succeeding. “I don’ wanna know why. Probably a good reason, ‘cause you’re L and you do all the good things.”

Hmm. It seemed that Light’s certainty that he wasn’t Kira didn’t extend to his regressed self. Perhaps he was speaking more candidly in this headspace.

“I’m not fond of unnecessary cruelty,” L sighed, hooking one hand through the bars. “If I had known, Light-”

“You never woulda had me on the task force,” Light said, quite viciously. “Never ever.”

“That’s not true.” L traced one thumb against his lips. “I’ve known regressors who are exceedingly intelligent. Everything would have proceeded the same.”

“Even though I’m three?” Light asked, and L fought the urge to smile. Information, at last. Three. He stored that away.

“Even though you’re three,” L confirmed. “Your input is valuable to me. In fact, I would like to invite you back to the taskforce after you’ve recovered from this imprisonment.”

“Yes!” Light shuffled forwards on his knees, wincing at the movement. He probably bruised them earlier when he fell. “Yes, please! I wanna help catch Kira! And all the bad guys!” His eyes were shining with excitement and the tears from earlier. Looking down at him, L’s mind caught in a loop.

Light Yagami was Kira, but this… this was not Kira. What that meant about Light, or Kira, or the nature of Light’s regression, L couldn’t say, but he was certain of one thing.

“Can I come in now?” L asked.

Light visibly hesitated, then sank back onto his heels and nodded.

“Thank you.” L left the keys in the lock as he swung open the door and entered, making his way to Light briskly. It was easy enough to get the cuffs off his wrists, and Light whined when his hands were free, struggling to move his shoulders back into a natural position. “Give it time,” L advised, pressing at his spine with experienced fingers. Massages were one of his lesser-used skills, but easy to pick up with his wide knowledge of the human body. “They’ll hurt less in a few minutes.”

He wasn’t expecting Light to shift forward and wrap his arms around him, but that was exactly what happened.

L froze, his hands raised in the air as if in surrender. He’d comforted regressors before, at crime scenes and over interrogation tables. A few of the children at the orphanage were regressors, and he interacted with them when he visited. But none of them had dove into a hug like this. L was a detective, a mentor, a little too strange and intense to be approachable. Now there were arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, and L didn’t know what to do.

Falteringly, L returned the embrace, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on his own forearms. Light had lost weight over the last month, and his body felt almost frail against L.

“Had a nightmare,” Light whispered.

L wondered if Aizawa was listening, back at the base. He wondered if Watari had wandered closer, after hearing the cell door open. He wondered what kind of things Kira dreamed about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” L asked, and didn’t lean back from the embrace.

“It was bad,” Light said. “I was running, and there were hands, and a fence, an’ there were… bodies. On the fence. And they were… they were…” L could feel Light shaking, and he held the regressor just a little bit closer.

“Just a dream,” L said. He wondered how much blood was on Light’s hands, how much of it he remembered. “You’re safe now. It was just a dream.” L held Light in his arms, the ache in his chest finally fading as he looked down at him. There, the regressor was safe, and L could finally relax. Light’s breathing slowly evening out, his grasp on L’s shirt finally loosening. “You’re safe.”

Light blinked up at L sleepily, and then his eyes slid closed. A natural reaction to stress, and having a caregiver close by. Even if L hadn’t disclosed his classification, his actions combined with Light’s instincts had likely made it clear. L cradled Light in his arms, like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and watched him fall asleep. He would have no more nightmares with a caregiver so close by, and even if he did, L would be there to calm him down.

L knew that this was trouble. Light was Kira, and Kira was death. L’s instincts as a caregiver could only blind him further as he continued in the investigation. If he were being rational, he would attach Light to someone else for the rest of his surveillance period. Prevent the caregiver/regressor bond that had been formed between them from strengthening into something difficult to break.

But L didn’t like being rational. He followed his instincts, and they were always right.

Right now, his instincts told him two things.

I will not let go of Light Yagami.

This will be the death of me.

#death note agere #fandom agere #agere writing #agere fanfiction #agere stories #my writing #death note

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

Note

Hello there, I really liked your writing and especially the prompt with enemy forces attack and lack of oxygen! May I ask you to write it with Perceptor and Drift? (Separately, just in case). Thank you in advance!)

Got a ninja boy and a science boy here for you anon!

Got some links to the previous posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: You're Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight! Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Perceptor

·Your arrival on the ship required him to work with the medics to ensure you could survive on it, and that obviously included working with you quite frequently to gather data, which eventually evolved into you assisting directly as the upgrades were put into place. Though he was initially hesitant to admit your presence was nice and he briefly stalled on finishing the upgrades just to spend more time together, you wore him down enough that he eventually relented and confessed to wanting you around. In the short time since things have come very far, enough so that he freely requests your aid in projects, chatting idly as he makes use of your tiny size and encouraging demeanor.

·This is exactly what you're up to today, though you're in the shooting range as opposed to your usual set up in the lab. While he's more than confident in his ability to handle this experimental weapon, he needs it here for when it's finally tested, and your small hands are ideal for a final stability check. A barely observable feeling in his spark registers as excited pride for you to see the weapon in action, but he keeps that to himself... It's bad enough someone walked in on the two of you holding hands as much as your differing sizes allowed the other day, and he doesn't need any more embarrassment.

·There's still a tiny smile on his face as he takes the first few shots, and the accuracy combined with the little cheer from you makes it impossible to keep it from growing. He's about to remark that this is only the first trial of the adjustable blaster, and thus not inductive of its real potential, when he's interrupted by a garbled communication. As you watch him answer, it's hard to hold back reasurance at the hint of frustration on his face, because you know him well enough to understand he doesn't appreciate the disturbance while trying to show off to you. Perhaps one day you'd let him know how easy he was for you to read.

·Well accustomed to frantic requests for his assistance, Perceptor finds himself unexpectedly surprised when the transmission is nearly inaudible, and the message from the bridge proves to be nothing more than a few broken sentences mentioning crashes and security systems before going dead. Not certain what could possibly be causing the ship he personally inspects to suffer malfunctions but knowing it must be corrected, he immediately plans to set off and get to the bottom of things. Securing the weapon into its holster on his back, he offers his hand to transport you with him, surmising you'll be safest with him at least until they have a better idea of what's going on. Of course he already has some theories, but he never acts without evidence.

·Glad to come along, even if only to help him run through some ideas, you happily take your place in his palm. Being without a vehicular mode means he pretty much had to get accustomed to carrying you everywhere he wanted to take you, as it takes quite a few steps for you to match one of his. Now he rather likes being able to hold you in a way that enables easy conversation, especially because as he walks and looks down to you in his palm and you look up at him with those genuinely fascinated eyes... It's nice. Currently he's listing the usual suspects for spacefaring trouble; solar flares, electric storms, debris collisions, and how none of them seem the likely culprit here for various reasons. You've seen him enter this state of unparalleled focus many times, and can't help but wish the circumstances could be better, because you love seeing him in his element.

·Both of you have a rather unfortunate awakening when a series of tremors pass through the ship and nearly knock him to the floor, something he prevents with quick reflexes that momentarily turn your world dark, a phenomenon you realize in an instant was caused by both of his hands cupping protectively around you. When they part you're left peaking upwards through digits at a somewhat concerned and bashful bot. Affirming you're alright, you watch as he gets moving again in an instant, now in full crisis mode after your little tumble. You know enough to be equally concerned by this turn of events, particularly because spaceships aren't known for their tremors.

·Talking as he walks, he has every one of his sharp senses on full alert for the trouble he knows will be coming, including his sense of touch to keep tabs on your small body in his hands. Being aware of every single potential problem means he knows quite well you could be in danger already. It worries him, to a level of concern he's not accustomed to feeling after experiencing so much combat. You can see the anxiety he's trying so hard to work through. There's a crackle in his spark that bots only have when very on edge, and you're close enough to hear it through his armored chest, spurring you to reach out and lay a hand against the warm metal. For a moment his optics meet your eyes, and at your reassuring smile he seems to regain some measure of calm control. His mind quickly uses that to put together a plan.

·While that tremor very likely came from an anchoring weapon on an enemy vessel, none of that explains the system shutdowns precluding it, and he needs to know the full extent of the threat before he can launch a counterattack. Most bots would need a well established access point to get diagnostics for the whole ship, but thankfully he's a bit more skilled than that. Explaining that he merely needs a workstation with any kind of physical connection to the main network, he begins what he is certain will be a quick search, and while you're delighted by the boost he obviously feels thanks to feeling in control you're a bit too tired to celebrate. Not wanting him to know the stress of the situation is wearing you down, your smile remains steadfast to give him the strength he needs.

·As he predicted, finding something suitable for his needs is a breeze, and he's so distracted by the impending answers he doesn't notice you growing drowsy in his palms. Though the small room is little more than a relay station for routine power inspection, it's perfect for what he has planned, and he places you on a nearby table as he gets to work. Even if your head were clear the flurry of activity he follows with wouldn't make sense. Somehow a motley collection of dust covered components becomes rewired into a humming piece of... something in what feels like minutes, and you absolutely beam with pride to see your partner pulling up the information he needs on a monitor, heavy eyelids lifted by your desire to watch him work more wonders.

·Data starts flowing through his makeshift diagnostic scanner in moments, and Perceptor watches intently as the ship's systems flash their readouts in order, though even he can't keep his expression calm as he all too rapidly puts together the horrifying pieces. They haven't just been boarded; they've been sabotaged. Most of the damage is meant to neuter their defenses and hinder any attempt at an organized counterattack, but one key readout tells him that you in particular are in the most dire need of assistance. The atmospheric generators and oxygen stabilizers he personally optimized for your benefit are going haywire, and the air you need to survive is rapidly being drained from the ship. The sheer size of the vessel, and the ability of its crew to keep the attackers at bay for this long, is the only reason you're still alive. In an instant he's on the move.

·You're cupped in oversized palms just as you realize you were laying down for a nap you didn't know had snuck up on you. Bleary in your head as well as your eyes, you hear him speak in the flat, rapid manner that he only uses when something critical is on the line. While his inflection is clear enough for you to catch his basic meaning, for the life of you it's just not possible to panic as much as you should, and his explanation of a plan doesn't register in the slightest. You know it should, and you feel awful for being so calm while he needs you, but the strength for you to be what he needs just isn't there. There is enough clarity for you to register one thing though, namely how closely he's cradling you to his chest. Such an open display of caring and concern is usually not something you see from him. A part of you rather likes it.

·Cold fear that he's come quite unaccustomed to creeps through him as he takes off through the ship. The medical bay is his ideal destination, as he helped create the human catered medical equipment already there, but he knows that time being of the essence means he has to plan for every possible situation, including those far from ideal. What matters is getting you oxygen, fast. The data on human biology made it impossibly clear; every minute without adequate oxygen is critical. Horrifying possibilities run through his mind, the diagrams of cell death he memorized almost taunting him as you appear to grow weaker with every passing breath. Feelings he'd long since forgotten, powerlessness and grief, eat away at him as he internally bemoans his lack of an altmode.

·You feel incredibly guilty as he grows more panicked, but sleep beckons far too strongly for you to resist it long. There's a part of you that knows his incredibly brilliant mind struggles when he doesn't feel in control, to the point he breaks reality at times to regain that handle on the world around him. So seeing you like this and being unable to do much in the moment... no doubt it's tearing him apart. Words don't come easy at the moment, and in fact you realize there's no way to form them at all, but still you try to reassure him. There's so much panic in the spark he holds you beside, and you do everything you can to convey that none of this is his fault. Gently splaying your fingers over the warm metal, you feel the world around you become little more than a blur.

·For a moment the path before him is filled with enemies. He nearly barrels into them rounding a corner, but not a moment is wasted once he has a full count of their number. One hand cradling you protectively, his other grabs the weapon he'd been testing with you before, and the still recovering alien soldiers become nothing more than an impromptu accuracy test. Even for him the precise carnage that follows is unimaginable. A series of heads jerk backwards before hulking bodies go limp, and in mere moments the threat is little more than a pile of confused looking corpses, but there's no time to celebrate. He's off with the weapon in hand for any future attacks.

·You hear him speaking to you as the last vestiges of your strength finally give way. He's trying to sound calm as he urges you to retain consciousness, but for once it's a losing effort, as you can hear the crack in his performance. It makes you sadder than anything else thus far. Particularly because you simply can't stay awake a moment longer. There's just too much weight in your limbs, and the warm darkness promises you a break, so you simply have to give in. All you can hope is that he'll understand neither one of you is to blame, and that you'll be able to wake up and tell him that yourself, but you're not especially worried about the latter half.

·He feels you go completely limp just as the medical bay and laboratory signs come into view. Now in a blind desperation, he makes a split second decision to head for his lab, reasoning that the medical bay will certainly be crowded due to current circumstances. Everything he'll need can be found in his various tools, and he can't waste a moment waiting on anyone else, even the medics. He can recall so clearly the human texts now, how the phenomenon of suffocation was described, and the resulting smothering of irreplaceable cells... Your tiny body is still breathing, but how much damage has already been inflicted? What parts of you has he failed to save? Not knowing is tearing him apart.

·Brainstorm is the only one in the lab, and he looks momentarily relieved to see Perceptor enter, saying something about restoring communication before catching sight of the little body in his hands. A frantic recommendation to bring them to the medical bay is met with curt dismissal as he lays you on an open work slab. There's no time to entrust this to anyone else, and in his mind the supplies he needs are already listed clear as day, including where to find them and what order he needs them in to maximize efficiency. Conscious thought is almost nonexistent as he works with record speed. The only times he stops are when his traitorous optics glance to your tiny body, and each glimpse is like an icy dagger to his spark. This isn't it. It can't be it. He won't lose the one he cares about more than anything.

·The tank of oxygen and the human sized ventilation system are hooked up to your frightfully still face with the care of a diamondsetter. He's able to get the readings of your improvement quickly, as the oxygen levels in the ship were apparently not yet low enough to do real damage, but he feels no comfort. All of his mind is still in chaos from the helplessness he can't yet shake. The fog is so deep that he barely notices Brainstorm return with a glowering Ratchet, and he only replies in curt affirmations or negations when the medic begins questioning your condition, doing so somewhat gruffly due to the inconvenience of having to move you later. With only a confirmation from the other mech you'll be in his care, he heads back out into the ship, weapon in hand and optics cold as he sets about securing Autobot victory one shot at a time.

·By the time you awaken the battle is over and the Lost Light is back to near total functionality. A calm voice instructs you to keep your oxygen mask on just a little longer to be safe, and you see Perceptor sitting beside you in the small recovery room. Having the basic pieces of everything more or less clear in your head, your immediate concern is him, which is only made worse by the scratches and scuffs on his usually well maintained armor. Barely able to stay where you are, the questions begin to pour forth as you reach a hand out to him. There's an uncharacteristically exhausted smile on his face as he reaches out a servo for you to hold. The expression is an obvious mask, made only more strained by the fake flatness of his assurance that he's fine, and that he only endured minor damage while cleaning out the last of the enemy. You know he's lying about that and more.

·Despite your ability to read him, you're still surprised when he cracks in a heartbreaking moment. His shoulders shake, his helm falls forward, and he leans heavily against the berth as your gentle prompt forces it all to the surface. By his standards he's a wreck, though his sobs are barely audible and could easily be mistaken for rough ventilations, and he makes it clear he's aware of how pathetic he looks. But how can he be okay? You needed him, and it was his own system that had failed you, with a second rate cyber attack no less. He should have seen that coming from the onset! He should have prepared! He can't seem to find the ground beneath him as he shakes, and in that instant you find strength far beyond your tiny body, and you use it to claw your way towards him. Seeing this makes him panic, and when he tries to gently stop your efforts you grab him tight, looking deep into those optics as you remind him he doesn't have to know everything. There will be times he's up against the unknown and unexpected, but his determination and strength have always driven him forward, and that's what you fell in love with. As you speak he seems to regain himself, and you hold him as tight as you can while emphasizing that even if everything feels out of control, you'll always be here to figure it out beside him. There's a sigh of relief he doesn't bother to hide as his world stabilizes, and once again you and he are right where you belong, hand in hand at the center.

Drift

·Having spent time on earth made him rather familiar with humans, and that combined with his first hand experience being an outsider in a group made him determined to ensure you were welcome on the ship. Needless to say, his efforts were more than a little successful. Now he's trying to teach you self defense in your shared quarters, which requires some creative thinking to ensure your safety. He's still got you using lightweight staffs in the place of anything sharp, and being a beginner, you can't complain too much. Though it's hard not to laugh when something occasionally gets bonked, yourself included, and even he chuckles despite all attempts to appear the dedicated teacher. Even with these distractions you learn a lot, but it's hard not to just enjoy how gentle he is when adjusting your stance, his proportionally massive hands holding you as if you might shatter in an instant.

·Thankfully he has full control of his reactions when the ship unexpectedly spasms, and his cupped palm prevents you from tumbling to the floor as the tremors settle back to absolute stillness, allowing you to look up at Drift just as he opens his communication line to Rodimus. The captain is able to give a brief rant about an ambush and systems crashing all over before the line begins to break, and you see your steadfast partner visibly distress as he loses contact with his friend, getting only a few garbled bits of information before the line goes entirely silent. An attempt by you to establish contact on your own communicator finds no success either. For all of his usual calm, the mech still supporting you looks ready to fight as he acknowledges trouble is inbound.

·To your surprise, he lifts you clear off the floor in a single move, talking fast as he secures his weapons and prepares for what he says will be a run for the most secure parts of the ship. Even if he's one of the key bots for defense in the event of something just like this, he has to get you to safety, or at least somewhere relatively well protected. There's a few key locations he can think of; the headquarters for security, the laboratories, the medical bay, and a few others he's memorized for... well, this exact purpose. The moment a tiny human changed his world he had drafted countless protective measures to ensure their safety, because he knew the dangers they would face all too well. Unfortunately he's having a hard time keeping them all in track now, especially with creeping fear tainting his reason and ability to plan ahead.

·Catching the worry he never admits to having, and admittedly plenty afraid yourself, you help him focus by calmly asking for the closest place he knows of that's secure. Mask of calm returning in an instant, he smiles and decides to go for the main laboratory. Perceptor is likely there, getting whatever experimental defense apparatus he's currently testing up and running to expel incoming threats. There likely won't be a safer place in the universe once he's prepared. Drift keeps to himself that there's an unspoken understanding between them regarding you, namely that the reserved scientist will protect you with the same level of veracity he would his former battle partner. Unfortunately that vow may be getting tested very shortly... Yet he keeps smiling, refusing to let his fear dampen your energy as he decides it's time to make his move. Somehow you feel just as heavy in his hand as the sword on his back as he makes sure you're secure.

·Accustomed to being carried by him in a number of ways, you notice his grip is different the instant he steps into the hallway, his digits curled in a way that screams protection just as much as his narrowed optics radiate apprehension despite trying to appear calm. You know he's protective by nature, but this is different. Every part of him is working in unison to move with as little noise as possible, his senses alert and scanning for threats as he hurries through the ship far more silently than you would have ever expected for a bot his size. In all your time together he's never been so outwardly on edge. Through his shameful confessions you know of his past, and you know of his skill in eliminating threats, so to see him nervous is actually a touch alarming in itself.

·There's a quick whisper from him that he believes enemies may be unavoidable no matter what path he takes. Should there be combat, he warns, he wants you to remain hidden or at least in cover until he's eliminated the threat. Should they overpower him however, your goal will be escape through whatever means necessary. The idea of dying to protect his partner doesn't give him any pause. Instead, his only focus is on ensuring you know every tool at your disposal to get to safety. Thoughts of sending you through the vents give him little comfort, but his feelings are hardly a priority, as nothing matters beyond you. You who saw past his sins, who'd given him a home in your boundless heart, and who had brought nothing but joy and light into his life. If he could guarantee anything by sheer force of will, it was your survival.

·You want to remind him that you're not the only one who matters here. Though you don't have any of his great strength or speed, you're certainly not going to let him be taken from you, as surviving without him would hardly be a victory. But holding on to that conversation is all you can do for now. The danger is real if you draw unwanted attention through speech, and so you keep the thoughts to yourself, saving them for the time you both would have to talk when this was over. Stress is oddly nonexistent as the air crackles around you from tension, perhaps signaling you've become so anxious it's all come full circle and turned you calm. Still, you keep a firm hold on him from your position of cover. Spectralism has encouraged him to be incredibly sensitive to the world around him, so you hope your tiny self focusing on calm will help give him some comfort.

·Unfortunately your efforts are given no time to pay off. Without making so much as a sound, he pushes himself flat against a wall and shushez you as he does so, allowing you to catch the faintest hint of what alarmed him; the sound of very alien movement. Trained audials lock in on the most likely direction of the source, which gives him the information he needs to come to an important decision; there's no getting around this particular group. As time to wait them out simply doesn't exist, he's left to confirm that fighting is his only choice, and with that lays you down on the floor beside a vent opening. Having known this might happen does nothing to quell your panic when you realize you're being left on the sidelines. This mech leaves you no time to argue before silently slipping around the corner to end things quickly.

·There's a team of Cybertronian sized lifeforms so surprised by his arrival they only have time to clumsily draw their weapons before the first one is neatly cut to pieces. Double blades make short work of the next few, and the mess of alien blood barely registers as he moves in a kind of trance, unwilling to let himself waste a moment of time unleashing the frustration and anger he so desperately wants to take out on these intruders. There's no doubt in his mind they'd hurt you if given the chance, but his logic keeps him in check to ensure he doesn't lose himself to the rage such a thought tempts him with. Cold precision is what he needs to most effectively end this quickly, and the method is proven effective when the last enemy falls in pieces, all without a single mark on his own armor. Save for the few spatters of alien blood, but he hardly notices such a minor detail.

·You're a little more concerned when he returns dripping with the mess of battle, but a quick reasurance and a noting of the lack of energon's distinctive pink glow puts most of your worries to rest. Still, you cling tightly to him as he picks you back up, whispering your thanks despite the loud clamor of the recent battle. It's a small victory when your gratitude makes him smile once again. Reminding you that he took a vow to protect you, he holds you close again and sets back off, assuming the same strategy of silent travel as before. It's oddly less tense this time, as if seeing what he's up against gave him the confidence to overcome his own worries for your sake. Whatever the case, you gladly take the result, already worn out from all the excitement of his recent battle.

·A brief burst of communication gives him pause, and you're equally baffled by the sudden transmission until he takes cover and answers. The commanding bots make something clear for the short message they've been able to transmit; Drift needs to get you to the medical bay. A rapid explanation of how the shipwide errors includes the atmospheric generators puts it all together in horrifying detail. Oxygen levels are dropping on all the sensors, they explain before the line cuts out, and while it's happening slowly there's still precious little time. He doesn't need any further instructions when silence descends over you both once more. You, however, can barely grasp the full extent of what you've just been told. After all, you feel fine! Well... mostly fine, perhaps things are a bit more wobbly than they should be.

·You're embraced as his expression briefly cracks into full worry. There's a whispered promise to get you to safety before he's once again on the move, all the on edge energy from before filling his coiled body as it hurries through the ship at impressive speeds. Strategy doesn't come easily as you try to think of the best way to save your breath. Keeping calm is hardly an option with everything going on, but you give it your best shot. You just need to stay awake and as relaxed as possible until he reaches the medical bay. It's harder than it should be already, but you persevere, lying down in his hand to keep the world from spinning all around you. Being close to him helps just a little bit. It helps you believe that the two of you will be fine, that he'll get to where he needs to be without trouble, and that everything is going to be smooth sailing from here.

·But of course, his luck allows for no such fortune. In the next moment he's being forced to tuck you away without a word of warning, the sound of an even more aggressive group of attackers forcing him to act before you can be hurt. He tries to dominate the battle like he did the last one, using his anger for fuel but never allowing it to take control, and his blades respond well to the strategy at first. However, this group is larger than the last, and thus his ambush simply doesn't buy him enough time to defeat them all. Soon blaster shots are flying and counterattacks are being hurled in his direction. All he can think about is you lying just out of sight, and how little time he has for this, and that these beings are all perfectly fine ending your life with such a cowardly tactic... It's an emotional powder keg, and the spark is finally lit when a not so lucky alien manages to cut a shallow gash across his side. The harsh burn of the injury sets him off just as you manage to glance down the hallway.

·Calm and calculated combat becomes a brutal beat down of anything he can get his swords through. A snarl reveals his shamefully concealed canines as he turns his blades into instruments of revenge instead of mere tools to victory. Even as your vision spins you can see him carving the increasingly fewer number of enemies without any of his usual grace, his expression one of blind fury as he eviscerates his enemies and something like a smile pulling up on his lips through their snarl. Some part of him is enjoying this, you realize. Even though he doesn't linger or draw out his moves, you can see he's going for absolute brutality in his kills. He wants these aliens to hurt for what they've done, and while you can't feel any pity for them, you know he's going to agonize over this later. He's often confided a fear of his own mind, citing moments like these where he just wants the enemy to hurt, and you know he firmly believes goodness is beyond him because of this.

·There's a thrill as he clears the last enemy, despite a few additional injuries of his own to show for it. No one was going to harm his beloved human and keep their limbs intact. He's still flashing the artificially sharpened canines that usually bring him such shame when he turns to see you watching. Pride vaporizes to horror in an instant, both from the realization that he gave in to temptation and that you saw him partake in such senseless brutality, and only the continued need to move lets him approach and lift you once more. Apologies pour out of his voicebox as he returns to running, begging your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself and failing to control them at your most vulnerable. Guilt tears him apart as he sees you've begun to lose clarity in the growing absence of oxygen.

·Unconsciousness pulls at you despite your resistance, and you force yourself to stay alert enough to keep him reassured. Had you the words your emphasis would have been on comforting him in the wake of his loss of control, particularly in regards to how you weren't afraid and never would be, as that piece was just a small part of the actual him you knew. Did he reject you for your failings? No, you wished you could say, and that you would never leave him for the same reason. As it was, you could only suck in deep breaths and hope he might read the conviction in your eyes. You want so badly for him to see you're not even upset with him, but your more coherent thoughts on the subject are starting to fade as well. Assurances that you will always support him fade into the fog overtaking your mind.

·He feels you slip into unconsciousness and it's like another stab to his already aching spark. Time is running out, and he can certainly take some of the blame for that, can't he? How many precious seconds could have been saved if he just stayed in control and finished the battle without savoring the violence? It's enough guilt that he becomes blind to anything else, charging forward on the most direct path and straight into an ongoing battle between bots and the still invading forces. You're held to his spark with a level of protection a bot would usually reserve for the Matrix, your safety being the only one that matters as he quite literally cuts a path through the enemies, focusing only on getting to the other side as he does so. Without any kind of defense he's quickly suffering a number of injuries, but he either doesn't notice or care as he keeps you free of the danger. The desire for retribution burning in his spark is smothered by a cold refusal to indulge unless he loses what's most worth fighting for.

·Only a lack of operability in his leg slows him down, and by then he's thankfully surrounded more by Autobots than enemies. His heroic charge is credited with turning the fight, but he's heedless to praise and concern as he finds support to stand from an unexpected arrival; Ratchet. Stopping the medic before his own wounds can be addressed, he holds you out wordlessly as his sword clatters to the floor from his other hand. Energon loss he only just now notices makes him wobble, but he insists on waiting until you've been helped, refusing to be treated until he knows you're going to be okay. The medics sort of compromise by tending to him whilst setting you up on the prepared medical slab, and as his considerable injuries are patched up he feels relief plagued by uncertainty. Will you remember what you saw? Will the firsthand experience with his inner demons drive you away? It eats at him in ways no medic can make feel better.

·When you awaken he's also on mandatory rest, and he's moved your tiny self onto a medical slab beside him to keep you close, making his familiar colors the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. You can't bring yourself to care about the oxygen mask on your face when the recently welded scars on his armor shock you into a mild panic. Seeing you awake, he gently shushes your concerns and encourages you to be still, and his position on his side thankfully makes conversing quite simple. At a single, anxious prompt about your memory the moments leading up to your loss of consciousness become clear. Drift quickly assures you that everything is fine, but you catch his look of worry when you confirm your recollection, and a gentle request for more information strikes him hard.

·His apologies are as helpless as they are hopeless. The disgust with himself is nearly tangible as he begs your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself, and it takes far longer than usual to get him to listen to you, perhaps due to the mask muffling your voice. Reiterating that you already accepted his past, you recall the way he held you in the heat of everything just today, and emphasise the sheer volume of injuries he endured to save you. That's the bot you've chosen to love, at the peak of his strength and selflessness and determination... That's who he is, and who he will always be to you. Your reminder soothes the pain in his body and spark. Moving as close as he can on the berth, he takes the moment to appreciate being together once again, his faith in himself given new strength thanks to your boundless love.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #requests #perceptor #drift #perceptor x reader #drift x reader #human reader #self insert #transformers headcanon

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 3 years

Text

it must be exhausting running all these circles around your mind

Word count: ~7500 | Rating: G | Chapter: 1/2 (part 3 of the overall series) Tags: Miraculous Ladybug AU, Superheroes AU, vague references to violence and trauma Summary: Taichi struggles with the right thing to do. Ladybug fights an akuma who has the upper hand. Or, well, eight of them.

Read on Ao3 or Below

Taichi wonders if his mother had ever gotten sick of reminding him all the time when he was younger, "If you've done something wrong, you need to apologize."

Back in elementary school, Taichi spent most of his afternoons with Sora, following her home directly after soccer let out. She had been napping on the couch one of those early evenings, exhausted from their last practice match, and Taichi could only be entertained by glue and construction paper for so long.

Her bangs had been overgrown back then. He had remembered her brushing them out of the way during practice, clipping them to the side to keep from bothering her when she'd lean over worksheets in class. Taichi didn't know she'd been working on growing them out. Honestly, he didn't even know what that meant.

He was pretty sure he was natural with the safety scissors Sora's mother had left him with. The jagged lines, he had concluded, were an artistic choice. Really, he didn't think he'd done too shabby of a job. Not at the time.

Sora hadn't appreciated his thoughtfulness, nor his artistry, and so Taichi had apologized. Several times and over days. Sora had been resolute in giving him the cold shoulder, but the reality of his grievance hadn't really set in until their next practice, when she wouldn't even so much as kick him the ball even if he was the only person open.

Sora had never missed kicking to him before.

"I know," his mother had cooed, kneeling on the linoleum floor in front of him where she had found Taichi in the team's locker room, nearly inconsolable. "I know you mean it," she had said, pulling a crumpled tissue from somewhere inside her purse and wiping the tears right off his face. It had been in vain as more swiftly took their place. "It's okay, Taichi," she had told him softly until he had finally settled long enough to look his mother in the eyes. For the first time she had taught him, "But just because you mean it a whole, whole lot, that doesn't always mean you'll be forgiven."

Across from him, under the shade of the tall oak tree, Sora pushes her bangs out from in front of her eyes, tucking them just behind the shell of her left ear. She had seen it in her heart to forgive him, eventually, when she no longer had to wear hats to hide his magnum opus. Taichi taps his notebook with the capped end of his pen, feeling the well of guilt pooling in his chest again. He wonders if she still thinks of it, if she regrets ever letting him back into her life.

Sora peers up from where she's been highlighting notes. Her eyes hesitate where the tempo of his tapping has become its own drum set before looking him fully in the eyes. Her smile looks sincere when she graces him with it and Taichi thinks, maybe, she doesn't.

A part of him is too afraid to ask.

"Bored?" She asks him, capping the highlighter in her hand and dropping it in the open space between them. It rolls down the table, the only indication of the slight incline the bench had been situated upon, and stops against his notebook. There's a rainbow of them gathering all over the table and Sora plucks another color from the pouch beside her— lime green this time—before returning to her work.

"No," Taichi says. "Just thinking."

A breeze passes by overhead, warm and comfortable, shifting the leaves until they chatter with the promise of spring. The sun feels nice where it leans against his right side.

An absolutely lovely day.

He should be enjoying it, in the company of one of his closest friends. Sora hums as another breeze passes by them, sounding content. It had been her idea to stow away for their shared free period at the end of the day, to get their homework done outside where the sun was inviting. "It'll make the work feel more pleasant," she had reasoned. Maybe it should, but when Taichi breathes in he wishes all that would greet him is the smell of fresh cut grass, the feeling of new life and rebirth and everything he associates with spring and soccer. But all he finds is what feels like a stone, lodged in the pit of his stomach and unmoving.

The bell chimes to mark the end of classes. Taichi can hear it just barely where they're sitting right outside the school building.

A flood of students runs down the main staircase. He's got a great vantage of it just over Sora's head. Several loiter under the roof, taking up residence on the benches as they wait for their rides. A few cross the road to catch the city bus, hesitating to wait for the students as they cross by in front of it. Others start heading in the opposite direction from him and Sora, towards the school fields.

"We should probably start heading to our clubs," Sora suggests, but she makes no immediate move to pack her things, still invested in highlighting her notes. She reaches for a bright pink marker next and Taichi collects the lime green one, tilting his notebook vaguely to catch it before it can roll past him.

"Did you hear about the other day?" Someone asks on their way past their bench. "We got ourselves a local superhero."

"You mean that insect man?"

"Ladybug," someone else corrects them. Taichi whips his head in the direction of the conversation. He watches the small group of students, intent, but their conversation is swallowed by the distance as they continue on their way into town.

Sora's pink highlighter thumps heavily against the bench seat beside him before plopping onto the grass. Taichi stares at it where it lays still.

"He's the buzz of the town," he hears Sora saying.

"Yeah, Hikari's a fan." Taichi leans down and grabs for the marker, dropping it on the table between them with his growing collection.

She's got a blue one now, tapping it against her cheek pensively. "I'm surprised the media hasn't been swarming this place since that attack last week."

"There wasn't anything to report since all the damage got cleared away," Taichi mentions.

"It did seem," Sora pauses, pressing her lips together. "Far-fetched to someone who wasn't there. I saw the first explosion knock out half the roof from the tennis court and it still feels hard to believe."

"I rode a magic bull," Taichi says with a long grin. "And I still find it hard to believe."

Sora doesn't seem to find the reminder to be as entertaining as he does and so Taichi let's his grin drop.

He turns back around for a moment, but the group he had been eavesdropping on has since vanished from earshot.

"There's been two more attacks since then. That's three in seven days, isn't it?" When he turns back, Sora's eyes are on her notebooks again, but she doesn't seem as invested in their contents. "How long do you think this is going to keep up for?"

He isn't sure if she wants an answer. Taichi knows he doesn't really have one that she'll want to hear. Instead he offers, "We just have to believe in Ladybug."

Maybe it's the right thing to say after all. Sora's smile returns in full bloom, relief spreading through her bright brown eyes. "He does seem to have it handled," she agrees.

Taichi smiles back, but his answer doesn't sit quite as comfortably with him. He's caught Ladybug's last two skirmishes on the news, watching with bated breath every time the situation turned sour just before the hero found a way to change the tides. Ladybug has gotten better, more practiced. At least from the outside, at the distance between the reporter and the screen and Taichi's couch. But he remembers what Ladybug had looked like up close, the set of his jaw contradicted by the shake in his hands, the fear in his eyes when he wasn't trying to pretend to be in control of their situation. Taichi’s chest feels heavy at the memories.

They're not friends. Taichi doesn't even know if they count as acquaintances, but every time he sees the superhero on his screen, he can't help but wonder, who will be there to save him ?

Only someone with a certain gift, Taichi remembers. His teeth clench at the thought. He'd done well enough without one, hadn't he? Maybe he could—

He meets Sora's gaze. This time concern creases her brow, worry evident in her eyes. He hopes it's not becoming a permanent fixture now. "Taichi?"

"Sorry," he answers sheepishly. "Just had... things on my mind."

"What things?" She asks gently, but there's a pressure to her voice that Taichi finds familiar.

He's not sure she wants to hear it, though. Guilt tugs at the back of his mind because he had, not that long ago, promised he wouldn't do anything stupid. It isn't fair that he should be here with her now, practically wishing for it.

But like a miracle of its own, another source of his anxieties comes careening down the staircase behind Sora's back, almost nothing more than a blur of red. "Koushirou."

"Koushirou?" Sora repeats, sitting up straighter in her shock. "I thought you two made up?"

"So did I," Taichi mutters. His eyes follow the path of the other boy as he crosses the campus. He hadn't really suspected Koushirou as someone who could hold a run quite that long, but Sora had implied he was once on the soccer team. Even if it was just mostly as a bench warmer. He disappears down the farther street. Taichi frowns. He wonders where Koushirou is heading. It's not the way he had seen him going home last week. He's pretty sure his home is on the other side of the city, just behind where he and Sora are sitting. Which reminds him, "Remember I asked you about the bakery?"

"Uh-huh," she hums. "The one Koushirou's family runs."

Taichi narrows his eyes, leaning forward across the table with his elbow. "A detail you forgot to mention."

"A detail I didn't think was important to mention," she corrects him.

"Yeah, well," he grumbles, "I went there on Saturday." Sora's eyes stay trained on him. "He barely said anything to me, then just ran off."

"Ran off?"

"And he's barely talked to me the whole week. We actually got assigned partners on a project and he emailed me to say he'd just do it on his own."

Sora's eyebrows shoot up.

"Here," he says, pulling his phone out of the side pouch of his backpack. He thumbs through several windows before pulling up the email in question and handing his cell phone over to her awaiting hands.

There's a short while of silence as Sora reads over it's contents, her eyes scanning back and forth and mouth forming some of the words unconsciously. Taichi waits, oddly nervous. Laughter cuts through the crisp air somewhere from the other end of the campus. Sora gives the phone a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes as she hands it back to Taichi. "It's written very politely."

"Yeah," Taichi says. He looks back over the message again with fresh eyes, hoping it will change his opinion. All the words read the same to him and he drops his phone into the abyss of his backpack. "It's the nicest get lost I've ever gotten."

Sora says nothing. Taichi stares at the latest ruined page in his notebook. There's nothing of substance there. Just doodles of lines converging along the margins, hapless patterns that seem to go nowhere. There's something like the sun at the top of the page, opposite a giant tear where he’d attempted to erase some lines. Taichi bites his lip at the image. He'd forgotten about it this last week, but the little box has been sitting in his backpack, waiting for the chance to be reunited with its owner.

Ladybug.

Taichi groans, thumping his head against his notebook. His thoughts keep leading back there no matter how much he tries to chase them away, to those dark eyes, to that stubborn determination and—

"Is it really bothering you?" Sora asks tentatively. He can feel her fingers gently tap over his fist on the table. When he looks up she's sending him her most sympathetic smile. "I can try talking to him like I promised?" She offers.

Right. The Koushirou Problem Redux.

He almost says yes again, wants to just let Sora work the magic that comes to her so easily and patch the whole thing up but, "Nah." She sends him an imploring look, one that asks if he's sure and Taichi tells her, "I should do it myself."

This time when Sora smiles, her lips turn up to the left in the way they often do, tinged now with a hint of pride and Taichi feels his heart swell to know he's the source of it.

Somewhere nearby the first notes to a shrill melody filters in, oddly muffled.

"Shoot," he says, jumping to his feet. Sora pulls back immediately, her eyes widened with concern once more. Taichi gathers everything he's certain is his own from off the bench and haphazardly drops them back into his bag, textbooks and looseleaf paper sticking up at different heights. "I have to pick up Hikari," he explains.

Taichi decides there's little risk of getting caught in a downpour on his way home without a cloud in the sky and doesn't bother struggling with the zipper after it only pulls up part of the way.

"Again?" Sora asks, her eyes following him as he squeezes out from under the table. She's capping her newest highlighter. "What about soccer?"

"I'll talk to you later," he says quickly, pulling his bag over one shoulder. Taichi makes sure it isn't the exposed side, not wanting to lose anything on his way. He gives Sora a hearty wave before jogging off in the direction of the local elementary school.

"That wasn't an answer!" She calls back to him.

Taichi sends her another wave over his shoulder without turning back. The notes of his alarm are singing again and he darts past the two sections of the pick up driveway without barely sparring a glance one way or the other as he crosses over to the main road towards the city.

Taichi feels out of breath by the time the first tower of the elementary school comes into view over the shop buildings. Running isn't normally an issue for him, but after a week of easing up on his usual conditioning, well, it’s to be expected.

He recognizes the teacher on duty today, sitting on the stone wall bordering the school, closest to his side of the street. She looks up from her lap full of papers, dark red ink visibly scattered throughout each page. Taichi assumes she must be taking advantage of her stolen time by grading test papers or homework.

He gives her a winded, "Sorry," but doesn't quite know why. She nods him in the right direction towards his sister before burying herself back into work.

Hikari is easy to find, being one of the last kids still lingering outside of the school. Only earlier this week she used to wait for him somewhere by the teacher, staring at the brick walkway as if it were the most interesting piece of architecture in the whole city.

Today, however, is different.

She's sitting on the wall adjacent, just on the other side of where it opens up to the main entrance. Taichi hears her talking long before he actually sees her, hair and legs bobbing in and out of view behind the large pillar she's tucked behind. He stops for a minute, flabbergasted as her laughter breaks over the sound of the other children in the park nearby, whose guardians had long come by to pick them up.

"They've been talking about Ladybug all day," the teacher tells him, with an amused smile.

Taichi looks back at her, offering a short, nervous laugh. "Talk of the town, huh?" A short hum is the only sign she even heard him. So much for small talk.

"Taichi?" His sister's soft voice calls for him. It's the only warning he gets before a heavy force knocks the wind right out of him. He pats a hand instinctively atop the head of the person hugging him and is bewildered when he spots Hikari still standing over by the wall several feet away, head tilted in a silent question.

He stares down into a pair of bright blue eyes. "Takeru?"

At the sound of his name, Takeru beams. His chin pokes into Taichi's stomach uncomfortably. "Boy am I glad to see you're all right!"

"Uh," Taichi starts. Distantly he thinks that should be his line. He had been looking down at Takeru the last time he had seen him, too. Back then he had looked scared, eyes wet with ready to shed tears. A reasonable response given that an entire building had just collapsed over them. Taichi swallows. Phantom debris fills up his lungs, a great pressure settling over his back, choking—

"How do you know my brother?"

Takeru pulls away. "I was just telling you about the guy who helped Ladybug!" He presents Taichi to his own sister with a sweep of his hand and a smile that could rival the warmest sun. The difference between then and now is startling to Taichi. "This is him! Taichi!"

Hikari stares up at him with her bright brown eyes, suddenly transfixed. It's as if she's looking at a completely new person and not the brother who's been late picking her up for the last week.

Taichi feels the weight settle heavier over his shoulders. "I wouldn't really say I helped—" he tries. Laughter bubbles up from his chest. It's anything but humorous. "It was more like —"

"A hindrance?" Someone suggests. Even though spring has already begun to settle, Taichi feels a sudden nip in the air. He catches Hikari's worried eyes.

"Yamato," Takeru says. In contrast he sounds so bright, leaning around the bend of Taichi's waist to greet the person behind them. Taichi follows his lead, turning on his heels to meet the new stranger.

Yamato looks to be Taichi's age, and even with the space between them he estimates they're probably about the same height, as well. His eyes are about as bright as Takeru's, but not nearly as warm. In fact as he looks between them, Taichi can't help but think the resemblance is striking. Given the circumstances, he probably isn't off in assuming they're related.

"You're late," Takeru chirps.

"Sorry." Yamato offers the younger boy a strained smile. "Go get your bag and wait for me."

"Okay!" Takeru dashes off back behind him, calling out to Hikari.

Without any warning, Yamato swiftly closes the distance, back straight and eyes narrowed directly onto Taichi. Instinctively, he takes a step back, his bag almost slipping all the way down his shoulder.

"You!" Yamato addresses him accusingly, jutting his pointer finger right into Taichi’s chest, voice dangerously low. His eyes remind Taichi of ice, finely pointed at him like daggers. He can hear Takeru and Hikari talking animatedly not too far behind them. "My brother could have died because you wanted to play superhero."

"I—" Taichi can't seem to get his volume down as low as Yamato's, but the timbre of his voice is almost as heated. "I wasn't—"

But it's not meant to be a conversation. Yamato doesn't wait for him to finish, mouth pulled back in a thinly veiled sneer. His finger digs in deeper, but it's not nearly as intrusive as his words. "You can't just be careless with other people's lives!"

Silence.

Several reactions vy for Taichi's attention at once: hurt, anger, defensiveness, guilt. He meets the teacher's imploring gaze over Yamato's shoulder where she's still stationed further down the wall and holds up his hand to tell her it's alright. She doesn't push the subject, returning to her work without a second glance. Taichi looks back to the other boy.

Yamato has since averted his own gaze, fists balled at either of his sides. Taichi drops his own gaze to the concrete, frustrated.

"Yamato!" Takeru calls out tentatively. "Are we going?"

"Just a minute, Takeru!" He raises his voice to call out to him. To Taichi he murmurs a quick, "Stay away from my brother," as he pushes past him. The satchel bag at his side thumps into Taichi's hip, but he somehow manages to swallow an affronted hey .

Taichi turns again, planting his feet heavy on the asphalt. His mouth opens, but Taichi doesn't really know what to say. It just simmers in the back of his throat, burning. Yamato never even looks back. Taichi can practically still feel the anger radiating off of him, shoulders taut and head resolutely high. Takeru tilts his head back to meet Taichi's stare, his bright blue eyes apologetic. He sends a short wave before picking up his pace to keep up with Yamato’s longer strides.

Hikari tugs on his shirt, startling Taichi back to attention.

"Who was that guy?" He asks, shaking his head.

He doesn't really expect an answer, but Hikari offers him one anyway. "I think it's his brother."

It wasn't exactly what he'd been asking.

"So I gathered."

First Koushirou, now this Yamato guy. Taichi seems to be building a rather terrible rapport. He flinches, wondering if Ladybug would count himself amongst them and they'll all start a club with matching jackets.

"We should go home,” Hikari suggests.

On the further wall the teacher is already packing her papers away in a hurry, relieved now of her extracurricular obligations.

Taichi lets out a long winded breath. "You're right."

"Already making friends, huh?" Taichi prompts his sister as they turn onto the main road. It's more crowded here. He holds out his hand and squeezes when Hikari takes hold of it easily.

She keeps her eyes glued to the pavement, her face pensive when Taichi peers down at her. "Maybe," she decides, carefully stepping over the next crack in the concrete. "He kept telling everyone about how he already met Ladybug, but there's nothing like it on the news. Everyone thinks he's making it up for attention."

"I see." Even kids have it rough. "And you believe him?"

Hikari shrugs her shoulders with great exaggeration. She hops over the next line and lands in the center of where the concrete has fractured into the shape of a small triangle, balancing herself on one foot, then hopping over it with the other like a personal game of hopscotch. Taichi's mezmorized.

"He didn't seem like he was lying." She stops for a moment, her large eyes staring up at him. "Was he?"

Taichi feels his cheeks heat in shame, breaking eye contact to watch where they're still walking. Narrowly, he misses trampling a dandelion that's made it's home between two slabs of concrete in the middle of the sidewalk. "Depends on what he said."

"So you really did meet ladybug?" Her voice is filled with awe, her hand squeezing his more tightly.

"Yeah," Taichi admits. "I met Ladybug."

Hikari looks away then herself, eyes focused ahead of them. She's no longer playing her little leaping game, but Taichi catches a glimpse of a long smile curling up her lips. He can't help but feel his own following.

"Hey, uhm, maybe don't tell dad," he thinks to ask her after they’ve walked several more blocks in silence. "About the whole, you know . Actually," he thinks better on it, "don't even mention it around mom, either."

"Okay," Hikari sings, swinging Taichi's arm with the force of her own. "It'll be our secret, then."

"Yeah. Our secret."

When he turns to smile down at her his eyes catch the storefront just over Hikari’s head. Plastered on the window in large, vinyl letters is the name Bakeology , almost perfectly transposed except for the crooked tilt of the ‘e’. Taichi doesn't notice he's stopped walking until Hikari tugs on his arm, having gone forward several paces without him.

"What's wrong?"

Taichi frowns. Baked goods sit visibly on little racks in the front displays, the easiest thing to see without pressing his forehead to the glass. Taichi isn't hungry for once, but he considers going inside anyway with the excuse of buying Hikari an after school snack. Just to test the waters. See if Koushirou's mom throws him out on sight or if she'll be as warm as she was the last time. And then, maybe, Taichi can rustle up the courage to ask her as casually as possible, "Has your son mentioned that he still hates me?"

Instead he says, "Nothing."

Several beeps set off in their general vicinity. Beside him Hikari reaches into her pocket and pulls out her own cell phone.

"It's an emergency," she relays, looking up at him with her honey-bright eyes. "There's another akuma attack."

Around them other people have already started scurrying about, ducking into stores, sprinting on their way to—Taichi assumes—their homes.

"Stay away from the harbor," Hikari reads further.

Taichi swallows. His backpack feels heavier, a reminder of the trinket still sitting inside. He has little doubt Ladybug will be there. It would be the best opportunity to meet him again. Taichi wonders if Ladybug would even recognize him, or if his face would blend in among the thousand others living in the city, just a blurry memory of the guy who almost got them all killed.

"Taichi?" Hikari asks, her hand tugging gently on his own.

He looks down at her, eyes large and worried. Taichi swallows again.

Yamato's voice comes back to him, the anger now sounding scared, shaky. "You can't just be careless with other people's lives!"

Hikari still watches him, and in the back of his mind he can see Takeru's bright eyes, dewey with tears, darkened with fear.

"Let's go home, Hikari," he tells her. The noise of the city seems to filter back in, a hum of panic still running through the streets. It startles Taichi's heart, but he does all he can to keep the fear out of his voice, the shake out of his hands as he squeezes hers tightly. "We'll be safe together, okay?"

She nods, looking as if she actually believes him.

Taichi keeps his eyes forward on his every step, letting new laid memories lead him on the route back home. He can feel his pulse quickening, a smarting of frustrated tears building behind his eyes, but he keeps them back, presses his lips together and just thinks about getting his sister home.

Hikari wastes little time shucking her shoes off in the foyer when they make it back inside. Taichi toes them towards the shoe rack at the door before stepping out of his own.

"I'm home, mom," she calls out. Taichi strains his ears to listen, but the only sound that greets him back is the creaking of a door and Hikari adding a quick, "I'm going to do my homework!"

She spares a quick glance back down the hallway at Taichi, smiling lightly. Hikari doesn't bother shutting the door as she heads into the living room with her backpack still over her shoulders.

"I'm home," Taichi says as he passes the bedroom door. He stands there for a moment, his hand hesitating over the knob, waiting.

"Can I put on the news?" He hears Hikari calling back from around the corner. Taichi feels his heart rabbit for a moment, wondering if someone else will answer.

No one else does.

Taichi closes the door gently as he joins his little sister in the living room, draping himself over the back of the couch. He tosses his backpack onto one of the empty cushions, just missing their cat, Miko, curled up by the arm. Hikari looks back at him inquisitively where she's set herself up on the floor in front of the coffee table, school worksheets neatly stacked on the table beside her. In front of her is a small notebook opened to a clean page.

"If you can still get your work done."

In answer she reaches for the remote. Taichi can see the barely contained excitement in her movements as the television clicks on. It's still set to the local news station where their dad had left it on last night before he'd fallen asleep in the reclining chair.

"—has been fighting off an akuma—"

Hikari grabs out a pencil case from her backpack and chooses one without ever taking her eyes off the screen. He doesn't think it's school work when she starts filling up some of the lines in her notebook, exchanging her time between it and the screen. Taichi opens his mouth to say something when the anchorwoman on the live feed lets out a sharp yell.

"We're alright!" The anchorwoman assures them. Takaishi Natsuko flashes in the lower corner of the feed as she offers up a long smile to the camera. "As you can see, Ladybug has pushed the akuma further into the harbor behind me here."

Taichi releases a long breath. The camera isn't close enough to see anything too well, but he can make out eight, long, spindly tentacles reaching out from beneath the waves. It must be some sort of sea creature—like a squid. He's not sure what the criteria is. Koushirou would probably know. But whatever it is looks huge. Comparatively, Ladybug looks like nothing more than a dot. Taichi squints. He might not actually be looking at Ladybug at all. It could be lint glued to the screen by static.

"What was it like?" Hikari wonders. Her voice is hushed, likely to keep it between the two of them. “Fighting with Ladybug, I mean.”

Exhilarating , comes to mind first and Taichi swallows it down. Unbelievable follows. He can still hear the crackling of lightning from The Minotaurus' horns, her yowls as Taichi held onto her nosering for dear life. "Terrifying," is too far down on the list to be comfortable.

On the screen the little dot, which is decidedly not lint, falls back. Natsuko reports, "He's still had no luck breaking through the akuma's defences."

Taichi has to hand it to her. He'd probably have gone stock still at this point, but if she's feeling any sort of fear, it doesn't come through.

"Unfair. It's like eight against one," Hikari comments as if she were talking about a schoolyard fight and not the forces of good versus... well, whatever they are. She scribbles something into her notebook.

"Someone should tell the monster to play nice," Taichi jokes. No one laughs. Taichi stares back at the scene, his heart pounding in his ears. He worries this time might be it. This time, maybe, Ladybug has met his match. Like, the worst sort of match. His hands feel clammy where Taichi balls them into fists, frustrated and helpless. He wishes —

"It would be nice if he didn't have to always be alone," Hikari says. She turns to look back up at him. As the afternoon sun dims outside, the light from the television looks brighter where it reflects in her eyes. "I'm sure even superheroes need support. That's why they're usually in teams, right?"

Taichi leans back until he's standing again, never breaking eye contact. It feels almost like, for a moment, she'd read his mind. "I guess," he manages to say.

Hikari hums, satisfied with his answer. Somewhere in his bag Taichi hears his phone chime again. He'll get it out, eventually.

The akuma on screen smashes through a row of boats lined up along a stretch of docks, sending splinters of wood and brightly colored flags rushing through the air on nothing but inertia from the one swing. Taichi swallows thickly as both Natsuko and the camera person shout once more.

"Takeru said Ladybug put everything back the way it was after he defeated the akuma." She adds, "Like magic."

"Just like magic," he agrees. Hikari writes that down, too.

Sensing she won't get much work done with him around, Taichi excuses himself to his room, swinging his backpack over the couch again to take with him. Miko makes a soft sound of startlement, blinking up at him before settling back into her ten hour nap. Lucky, Taichi thinks.

"Would you do it again?" Hikari asks him, her stare heavy on the back of his head.

Taichi hesitates near the door of his room. When he says, "No," he wishes he wasn't lying. "Finish your homework."

"I will!"

Taichi hangs his bag on the back of his chair, unzipping it in full this time to pull some of his notes and planner and textbooks out. He hopes they're the right ones. He finds his cellphone lodged in the center of one of his notebooks, dog earring the still clean pages in half. When he clicks it on there's about a half a dozen texts from Sora and a single one from his dad asking if they made it home safe. Taichi answers that one first before thumbing through all of Sora's.

Did you make it home? Is Hikari with you?

It's dangerous out there. I just want to know you made it somewhere safe.

Taichi please let me know you made it home alright.

I still haven't heard anything back.

You didn't go to the harbor did you? Taichi please tell me you didn't go.

Should I come over?

He sends her a quick, We just got home. Stay safe, Sora.

Instantly a little relieved smiley face answers him. Taichi smiles down at it. At least someone in town probably won't be investing in a club jacket any time soon.

He docks his phone on the charger stand at the back of his desk. It blinks onto the image of his now clear lockscreen and Taichi stares at it for as long as the image stays. His old soccer team grins at him, standing in two imperfect lines with their arms thrown over each other's backs in camaraderie. It's blurry, off-center, and clipping some of his former teammates half out of the photo. Hikari had taken it, shortly after a stint in the hospital, declaring she wanted to be a photographer that winter. Everyone had made sure to come out for the impromptu team photoshoot.

Taichi buries his face in his crossed arms. His family had moved away not too long after that, leaving his teammates behind.

After a moment Taichi sits himself back up, gently smacking both of his cheeks. "Moping is best paired with chores," his mother always said before handing him off something like a load of laundry or some latex gloves. Really, she had just wanted some help around the house, but it did usually take his mind off whatever was bothering him, so Taichi grabs for his school planner and gets to work on the first subject for tomorrow.

He's bored of it halfway through.

Bored, maybe, isn't the right word. Taichi taps his pen on the page of his notebook, then against his desk, his bare foot thumping along to the beat. It almost matches the tempo of his heart right now.

Just outside his room the muffled news report is streaming in, but he has no idea what's being said. A part of him thinks about holding his ear up to the door, or pulling up his own stream to watch on his phone. Indecision weighs him to the spot. Listening won't help him get any work done. Not listening also isn't helping any. For all he knows the akuma could have been neutralized by now, but he'll only be more restless if he finds out Ladybug is still in trouble.

Restless. That's it. Taichi is feeling restless. It's odd to consider that not too far from here a monster is ripping up part of their home, harming people. And here Taichi is, doing his homework like it's any other school night.

But what else can he do?

Believe in Ladybug , Taichi reminds himself. He taps the pen harder, frowning. He does believe in Ladybug. Really, he does. It's just—

He remembers what Ladybug looked like that first time; terror barely concealed on his face, his voice trembling around the edges. Mere stubbornness had probably been all that was keeping him together. Taichi's sure that's at least true of himself.

Taichi groans in the back of his throat, frustrated. He leans back in his chair, resting his knees up on the desk until the front legs tilt off the floor, letting it rock ever so slightly.

If he really wanted to help, Taichi needed one of those doo-hickeys . What had the old man called them? A—

His chair suddenly loses out to gravity, and Taichi tumbles down with it, heels over head.

"Ow," he complains to no one, rubbing at the sore spot on the back of his head. He's absolutely determined to give himself a lasting concussion, Taichi thinks grimly.

Half the contents of his backpack have slipped out across his already cluttered floor. Taichi swears, pushing breakfast bars and folders with all their unfiled papers back inside. He frowns at his soccer Jersey crumpled up on the floor where it, too, has tumbled out. Taichi debates whether or not he should shove it back in with everything else or toss it in the garbage.

Hamper , he decides, is the middle ground. Taichi grabs it as he stands up and is surprised to hear another thunk as something heavier rolls out from the bundle of fabric.

A small, cherry-wood box.

Oh. Taichi reaches for it. His fingers run through the intricate grooves, tracing over the abstract sun pattern he had noticed when he first found the box in the grass beside him, right after Ladybug had departed. He remembers the last time he had seen the other boy's eyes, dark and on the verge of tears. For him . The memory makes his heart simultaneously swell and ache.

In his hands, the wood feels warm suddenly, electric— awake— and it burns—

"Gah!"

Taichi drops it to the floor again. It clatters and tumbles along the hardwood, falling several steps away. When it settles, Taichi notices the sliding lid is now askew, a dark colored band leaning over the exposed lip.

He kneels down to inspect the contents closely, carefully. A voice in the back of his head tells him to leave it, maybe grab a fire extinguisher in case it starts to burn a hole in his floor, which he knows his dad will hate because they won't get the security deposit back again. But even knowing it might be dangerous, Taichi finds himself reaching out to touch it. Under the pads of his fingertips the wood feels cool again. He slides the lid the rest of the way down revealing a set of, "Goggles?"

Taichi used to own a pair a couple of years back, but he'd passed it down to a fellow teammate. These look more expensive, the strap a fine, navy blue and as his fingers pass over the glass eyewear they leave no smudges. The connecting end of each strap bears the same sun-like pattern engraved on the box. Taichi runs his fingers over this as well, feeling the small grooves so finely cut into the metal. Sun from outside bounces off the bright surface and for a moment Taichi is certain the little sun pattern is actually—

His eyes widen. It is glowing.

Like a fireball the light bursts out from the goggles and rockets across the room. He shields his face for a moment, ready to see his curtains go up in flames and have to evacuate the whole apartment, with an akuma attack in progress no less. But what he finds is much, much worse.

Taichi screams.

A small, orange creature stands atop his math textbook. "Taichi!" It greets him in a deep, scratchy voice with a long, sharp-toothed smile.

Great, Taichi thinks. It knows his name. It—

"Taichi?" A softer voice calls his attention to the door, complimented by a light thrumming that can barely be called knocking against the wood. "Is everything okay?"

Hikari . Taichi slowly turns his gaze back to the creature on his desk. It's bright, curious green eyes have also latched onto the door, head tilted to listen. Fear grips his heart like ice. The creature knows about Hikari now.

Taichi fumbles blindly for something around him to use as a weapon, but all that meets his grip are dirty socks and the goggles he's still got tightly clutched in his other hand. Nothing. Absolutely nothing useful. Taichi swallows. If he survives this, he's investing in a baseball bat. Or twelve, just to have on hand.

Taichi looks around the room, eyes darting from one more useless thing to the next until— aha !

Taichi slides himself along the floor, a little closer to the creature, leaning his way over to grab for the little box the goggles had been in. Those bright green eyes are back on him. Taichi refuses to break eye contact.

"She shouldn't know I'm here," the creature tells him. Taichi stares, bewildered. "No one can know I'm here."

"Taichi?" Hikari calls again, her voice soaked in concern.

Something makes him call back, "I'm fine!"

Hikari doesn't sound convinced. Taichi can't blame her. He doesn't sound convincing. "Why did you scream?"

"Just—" he notices the still fallen over chair and says, "fell off my chair!"

"Again?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. Go back to the living room, okay?"

"Oh," she says back, still unsure. "Okay."

He listens for her footsteps creaking along the floorboards. Once he's satisfied she's far enough away he addresses the little creature, gripping the box tighter in his hand where he's hidden it behind his back. "Are you an, uhm," the word escapes him briefly. The creature still watches him indulgently as Taichi moves as slowly as he can forward. To him, they look just like a miniscule dinosaur. He'd heard once that they can't see someone if they're not moving, but Taichi doesn't remember from where. He knows even less if it's true. "An, uh..."

Lightening crackles in the back of his mind, dark red eyes staring down at him filled with rage and, maybe, the smallest glimpses of anguish.

"Akuma," he finishes. He rises to his knees not too far from the desk. Taichi hesitates, waiting for the perfect time to strike, like calculating when and where to kick the ball to get past the opposing team’s goalie in soccer.

The creature seems undeterred by his proximity, completely unaware of Taichi's intentions. He holds a long, clawed finger up to, what Taichi suspects is, his chin. "I'm Agumon. I'm a kwami."

Taichi stares. His grip almost loosens before he tightens it once more. He's so close now— "And that's different?"

"That's right!" The self-proclaimed kwami nods his head, sharp teeth poking out again from beneath his grin. Taichi jeers back as the same clawed finger points down at him this time, bracing for an attack that never comes. "A kwami gives the power to fight akumas to whoever holds a miraculous."

"Miraculous," Taichi parrots. The box clatters to the ground behind him as the familiar word eases something inside him. He follows the line of Agumon's finger down to his other hand where the goggles lay loosely in his grasp, against his thigh. "This is that thing? A miraculous gift?"

Agumon nods again. "You were chosen."

"Chosen." Taichi stares at the innocuous item in his hand. Sunlight glints off the glassware. A miraculous . His whole body shudders. With fear, relief, awe, gratefulness. But—

Maybe it wasn't really meant for him. He hadn't really done anything to deserve it.

" Don't ever do that again ," runs through his head. Taichi knows that he shouldn't. Last time he had tried to help he’d been much more of a, well, " A hindrance ."

Perhaps Ladybug had simply misplaced it.

"Can," Taichi stares at the goggles, his fingers slowly loosening from around it. "Can you give it to someone else?"

Agumon makes a short, deep noise above him while shaking his head. Even for such a small creature, the shadow he leaves towers over Taichi as he taps along the edge of his desk. "You were the one who was chosen. It has to be you."

“Oh…” Taichi looks back down at the miraculous. It feels like, no matter what action he takes, he's going to let someone down.

Muffled through the door, Taichi hears another shriek followed by Hikari's own stuttering gasp of, "Ladybug!"

No. No, no, no.

"Even superheroes need support."

Taichi looks back to the little kwami. Those bright green eyes are trained on him still, head tilted to the side imploringly. Taichi’s resolve thickens.

"What do I have to do?"

#taishirou #taishiro #otp: the only exception #sparkle garbage #ML!Koushirou #taichi yagami #koushirou izumi #Yamato makes an appearance but it's like. pre-adventure Yamato #long post #anyway hope you're all having a lovely day #Ml!taishirou

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alitaimagines · 4 years

Text

“there’s nothing left to say, don’t waste another day, just you and me tonight, everything will be okay. if it’s alright with you then it’s alright with me. baby lets take this time, lets make new memories. do you remember?”

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ☆ MY HERO ACADEMIA

☆ previous imagine: ♡ ☆ masterlists: ♡ ♡

☆ note: this isn’t exactly romantic as it is more of a redemption? it leads into romance but it isn’t what I usually write.

“tap, you stupid fuck! tap!” you screamed at Kaminari as you held him in a chokehold, “the only way you’ll get out of it is if you tap out!” Kaminari instantly tapped the ground and begged to be released from your grip.

Kaminari struggled to get up before flipping you over and turning the chokehold on you. the entire dormitory heard the grunts coming from both of you while the few others in the class who were watching were yelling from excitement.

“looks like I finally one-upped you!” Kaminari yelled menacingly as you tried to release yourself, “come on guys!” Jirou groaned, “the two of you have been fighting for an hour, call it even already!”

you and Kaminari sighed knowing she was right. the two of you tended to wrestle each other constantly, more playfully rather than intimately, so it came off as no surprise when the dorm would hear the both of you screaming at each other.

you had begged Kirishima to wrestle you for a long time but he always denied it. he knew you would be a worthy opponent but he refused because he didn’t like to wrestle anyone unless the time called for it. Kirishima had boundaries with his female friends and the last thing he wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable.

Midoriya and Iida just refused out right, getting flustered at the mere thought of even touching you in such a way.

“how come you never wrestle ( your name ), Bakugou? the two of you would be one hell of a match!” Mina asked the angry blond as he scoffed and walked away from her and Midoriya. Mina saw the quick saddened expression but before she could call it out, he up and went to his room, “wait, what?” Mina murmured catching Midoriya’s attention.

“him and ( your name ) don’t speak to each other,” Midoriya explained making Mina extremely confused, “when the three of us were in middle school, Bakugou’s bullying was at its height for me. ( your name ) was always a bit protective of me and bullied him back in return. the one time Bakugou’s words went a bit overboard, she managed to kick his ass so badly that he never spoke to her again. the bullying remained but he never did it around her again,” Mina’s eyes widened at the story before looking over at you.

she would have never thought that the big scary boom boom man would have ever gotten into a serious altercation with you. you were you for crying out loud! you never intentionally harmed someone unless it came to training, fighting villains, or your wrestling matches with Kaminari.

“do you think that he regrets doing any of that?” Mina asked making Midoriya shrug, “I think Bakugou has grew a lot during his time at U.A. but I don’t think he’ll ever forget that day. she sent him home that day with a broken bloodied up nose and limp. however, whenever I watch Bakugou in class, I think there’s unspoken romantic feelings on his side,” Midoriya replied.

Mina couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “how could you ever gather that together? if the two of them hate each other, I doubt Bakugou would ever like her or vice versa,” Midoriya laughed, “she doesn’t hate him. far from it. she admires his work ethic on the field, she’s told me that on one or more occasion. however, a lot of animosity comes from Bakugou. his pride is too inflated for him to even think of apologizing to her.”

the conversation ended as you walked up to them, “what are you two chatting about? seems serious,” you joked, trying to liven up their moods, “nothing!” Midoriya exclaimed, “just about the last exam Present Mic gave us. she failed it pretty badly,” Mina looked at Midoriya offendedly, wondering why that was the excuse he gave you.

you shrugged and waved Mina off as Midoriya followed behind you, asking you about catching dinner with him later. Mina remained in her seat, not necessarily pouting but intrigued.

you walked into class the following morning with a yawn crawling up your face. everyone in the class was anxious to get the day over with because of the event that followed after classes ended.

your birthday had passed a few days ago and Midoriya had offered to throw you a small birthday party on Friday night. being that he was your best friend and you grew up with him, his mom had taught him how to bake a cake one day and thankfully, the lesson payed off.

with the help of Momo, your small birthday party was enough to get the class excited.

Bakugou had heard from a few of the classmates about the party. he knew Midoriya like the back of his hand, as much as he hated to admit to it. although no one got an invitation, you did go around the class to informally invite them. the only person who didn’t get an invitation was himself and he understood why.

you were wearing a small button that indicated that it was your birthweek, as Mina liked to call it. seeing as you were one of the popular kids in class, you had even received a few gifts from Midoriya, Ojiro, and disgustingly enough, Mineta, which you ended throwing away when he asked if he would get something in return on his birthday.

Bakugou watched as you sat on the desk, talking with Kirishima, Kaminari, and Hagakure. eventually, his red haired friend saw Bakugou’s less than pleased expression written across his face and walked over to him.

“what’s up, Baku-bro? what has you so upset?” he asked, treading lightly. Bakugou looked up at him but for the first time in what felt like YEARS, he didn’t feel like arguing with him, “well?” he asked.

Bakugou looked at you and back at Kirishima, hoping his friend connected the dots. Kirishima knew the history between the two of you but like Midoriya had predicted, Bakugou did hold unspoken romantic feelings for you.

“come on, bro!” Kirishima whisper-yelled, “it’s been over a year since that incident. I’m pretty sure she’s over it! just go talk to her. it’s not that hard, plus, it’s annoying to watch you look at her like a lovesick puppy,” Kirishima taunted a bit.

that prompted Bakugou to kick Kirishima in the back of the leg, making him fall on the floor and causing a loud thud. you whipped your head to see Kirishima on the floor, groaning from pain.

“you good?” you yelled at Kirishima, giving Bakugou a quick look before looking back at him, “yeah! I’m fine. just tripped,” he murmured in pain as he slowly got up.

you looked at him with a bit of concern before going back to talking to Kaminari. Bakugou envied how easily you got along with the dumb blond. he figured that he must’ve been another one of your best friends considering how much he saw you in Kaminari’s room and the copious amounts of times he watched you wrestle him.

after the day had begun, you were tapping your pen against your notebook, anxiously waiting for the bell ring. Mina had been talking to Tsuyu about the outfit you had bought for the party and how cute it looked on you.

the final bell rang, everyone in the class squealed in excitement. you stood up from your desk, shoving your books inside of your bag in a hurry before running behind Mina and Momo to the dormitories.

“are you coming tonight?” Kirishima asked Bakugou. he shook his head no, “come on! you should. I don’t think she’d care. at least come for a little bit. maybe this could be the start of rekindling any form of relationship you have with her,” Kirishima offered.

Bakugou knew Kirishima had a point. if he did want to have a relationship with you again, maybe this could be the start. when Bakugou wanted something to happen, he made sure he got what he wanted. he didn’t know if you would even be willing to his friend but if you did, he was going to make sure that you knew that he saw you as more than a friend.

Bakugou walked into his dorm and scavenged around his drawer until he came across the item he knew he was going to give you as a birthday gift.

on one of the days that Aizawa allowed the students to go roam around town, Bakugou had come across a candle store. when he walked in, he got attacked by seven different smells but the one particular one he was looking for was the one he always smelled coming from your room.

you had thing for pumpkin scented candles and anyone who even stepped onto the floor where your room was could smell when you had a candle lit up. Bakugou had asked one of the helpers to give him at least two pumpkin scented candles before annoyingly telling her to wrap it up nicely.

no one knew that he had bought them for you but he knew this was the best time to give them to you. Bakugou wrote his name on the back of the tag and put your name on the front with the tiniest smile written next to it.

by the time he arrived downstairs, you were already telling everyone to grab food and dig into whatever Momo and Midoriya had made you. Bakugou sat silently next to Mina and Kirishima who tried to get him to participate in whatever activities you were trying to get the class do to but he outrightly refused and held your gift tightly the entire time.

when you cut the cake, the signified that the party was over. everyone had cleaned up before taking their pieces of cake upstairs to enjoy them on their own.

you had stayed behind to clean up the small mess the class had left. it was only thing you asked them if you could do for your party and Midoriya hesitantly allowed you but not without Iida shouting to everyone that they should pick up after themselves so it really only left you to pick up small plates and disposable utensils to pick up.

what you hadn’t realized was that Bakugou was sitting on one of the empty chairs, waiting for you to becoming unoccupied to give you your gift. you had put the broom back on the stand before seeing Bakugou standing right behind you.

“uh, hey?” you murmured a bit confused, “hey,” he grunted as awkwardly as ever.

the two of you remained silent as he cursed at himself silently for a few moments. he promised himself that he wouldn’t be awkward but seeing you in your birthday out and your hair done all cutely, Bakugou became a bit flustered.

“well?” you asked a bit too rudely for your liking, “are you just gonna stand there or?”

Bakugou was pulled back into reality and shoved the box in front of you, “I know you like those gross pumpkin smelling candles so I got you some for your birthday,” he muttered so softly that you wondered if he even spoke at all.

you smiled and grabbed the box from him, “they’re not gross smelling, Katsuki,” you laughed. Bakugou’s heart raced a bit faster hearing that you still called him by his first name, “but thank you. I’ll probably turn one on tonight,” you replied making Bakugou smile.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and Mina watched the entire interaction happen from the second story balcony. they heard the very long and awkward apology from Bakugou as you quickly forgave him and apologized for giving him a broken nose.

“so, does that make us friends?” you asked him, wiggling your eyebrows jokingly. Bakugou chuckled before shaking his head no making you extremely confused, “we’re not?” you asked again, this time a bit more serious.

Bakugou leaned into your ear, “I want to be more than your friend. you think i’m going to let someone as cute as you remain single?” he asked before pulling away and laughing at your flustered expression.

he leaned and placed a soft kiss on your lip before quickly pulling away, “I guess not,” you responded with a warm feeling spreading across your face, “you guessed right. now go back up to your room. I’ll text you after I kill all three of them for eavesdropping into our conversation,” Bakugou said a little louder, making sure they heard.

before you could walk away, Bakugou placed his sweater on you before muttering that this would show that you were now officially kind of off the market.

after you walked away, Bakugou ran up the stairs to the second level balcony before chasing Midoriya, Mina, and Kirishima around the entire floor, threatening to kill them for listening into his conversation.

ALITA

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

The Sellout, chapter six

six: the not date

Two hours before Kassandra was supposed to meet Kyra downtown, she paced beside the wall of windows in her condo and tried to keep her eyes away from her old nemesis, the clock. This wasn't the unforgiving squeeze of pressure in the final seconds of a basketball game or the relentless climb of lap times at the track. This was time moving at a glacial scale.

She paced, and wondered how many steps it would take to wear a groove into the concrete floor. She paced, and tried not to think of the ways Kyra's presence had filled this room so completely, or how Kyra had stood by this window and sat in that chair. She paced, because if she stopped, her footsteps would fade and she'd have to admit how fucking quiet it was in here.

Her tank top stuck to her skin as she moved, and she realized she was sweating. The room was too hot, but the numbers on the climate control were the same as they'd always been. Her heartbeat was up, her breathing fast and shallow. With some effort, she diverted her steps away from the windows to the wet bar, and when she picked up a glass and a bottle of bourbon, her hands were trembling slightly.

She tipped a healthy pour into the glass, along with an ice cube, and as she lifted the drink, it slipped from her hand and shattered on the granite bar top.

Motherfucker. At least it wasn't from the bottle of antique single barrel.

She dug out a bar towel and a trash bin, and swept the shards and liquid into the bin along with the towel for good measure. She dug out another towel for the floor. On her knees mopping up broken glass and now all her muscles were jittery, not just her hands.

Try again. Another pour — this time it was the antique single barrel to make up for how well her evening had been going so far. Careful now. The bourbon hit her like a caramel bomb, and it sat back and fumed vanilla while the taste of fruit and honey danced on her tongue for several seconds. Nearly 130 proof and it went down smooth as cream.

The drink wrapped around her like a cashmere bathrobe as she savored it and watched the sun's rays slant across the river. After a while, her muscles were steady again, but her heart was still a whirring motor forced to idle on the dragstrip, waiting for that green light to go.

She carried her drink with her into her bedroom, threw open the doors to her closet, and surveyed her wardrobe. Time to do battle with Portland's sartorial lawlessness.

Individuality ruled this place, and nothing was ever cool if anyone else did it too. It was the opposite of L.A., which never met a trend it didn't want to chase. Portland was reflexively anti-trend, and even those with money had changed their ways to compensate, trying to downplay their net worths through their choice of clothes.

In this town, the penalty for overdressing wasn't embarrassment — it was distrust.

Kyra had that antiauthoritarian streak too. Kassandra had never met someone so repulsed by her money. Most were the opposite, wanting to get real close to her real fast. She'd learned early on that people were best kept at arm's length.

She was eight years old the first time her mother spoke to her directly about money, old enough to understand that a private boarding school in upstate New York was not how most kids grew up. Most kids saw their parents more often than birthdays and Christmas — even her classmates, most of whom belonged to the Northeastern elites. She'd been a bargaining chip in a divorce between an American father and a Greek mother, and New York was where she'd landed in the settlement. She never saw her father, even though he lived in New York City and was the one paying her tuition. He was too busy becoming a billionaire. Her mother lived in London then, working as a diplomatic attaché in the Greek embassy. Kassandra had quickly learned not to miss either of them. On rare occasions, her mother would fly in for a few days to visit her. They'd spend most of their time together in awkward silence, or muddling through stilted conversations like near-strangers. In one of them, she'd complained about a schoolmate, one of the day-goers who lived in the town nearby, who kept asking her for things, like pens, or notebooks, or erasers; who'd treat her sweetly as long as she handed them over but cruelly whenever she refused. Her mother had looked at her with her opaque diplomat's gaze and said, You are a child of two families of wealth and power, Kassandra. Some recognize the resources you have, and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from you. And Kassandra had nodded as if she understood.

Pens and notebooks became pocket money became real money soon enough. She didn't truly understand her mother's warning until she arrived at Stanford, but by then she'd learned there were benefits to having all those resources, too.

She could have damn near any woman she wanted, and she did, quite often. And when she was done, she put them back where she'd found them. She had no idea how big her cumulative hotel bill was from all those indulgences around the world, but it was probably enough to buy another home to go with the apartment in New York City, the flats in London and Athens, the house in Seattle, and the condo in San Francisco.

She sipped her bourbon and ran her hand along her collection of bespoke suits. Then she heard her mother's voice again, from some other memory in their distant past. The way we present ourselves to the world is a message, and a single glance will tell a stranger your taste, your means, and your confidence.

Odd, all these thoughts about her mother. She was back in Athens now, the Cabinet Minister of Economy and Development in the new government. Kassandra hadn't seen her in years. But she'd been right about the message a wardrobe could send, and as Kassandra pulled hangers off the rack, she wondered what message Kyra might be composing.

She set her drink aside and pulled on a pair of sand-colored trousers cut from fine English twill, a lightweight denim shirt in a medium wash, and a linen sport jacket the golden brown of a Cuban cigar. Would Kyra wear a flannel shirt to a fundraising gala? She'd probably get away with it if she did. Maybe she'd wear the lumberjack one and lean full tilt into Portland's "Stumptown" persona.

Kassandra frowned as she adjusted her collar in the mirror. A tie would be too formal for this audience, but to go without was unappealing. She browsed her drawers of neckties and accessories until she found a navy blue neckerchief and a matching pocket square. Perfect.

She imagined Kyra the lumberjack smirking into her own mirror at home. Hell, maybe she already had someone there to show off for, someone to ask, How do I look?

Then Kassandra fought back a sigh and lifted her wrist to unbuckle her watch, and in her bedroom's cavernous silence, she could hear the watch's mechanical movement tick-tick-ticking away.

.oOo.

Five minutes past seven o'clock, she was strolling up Alder Street in search of the right address when she heard a "Hey!" from a passing car, and looked over just in time to see Kyra emerge from the back seat of a taxi.

She'd guessed wrong. Kyra had left the flannel at home. Instead, she wore black on black on black: a long-sleeve button-down tucked into tight jeans cuffed at mid-calf over combat boots. She wasn't here to be charming; she was here to kick ass.

Kyra raked her with a glance. "You look... nice," she said, and it was hard to tell what flavor of nice she really meant.

Style lived and died by details, and Kassandra could take in all of Kyra's details now that she was standing up close. Kyra's shirt was fine linen, embroidered with small dots of charcoal grey thread in a pattern reminiscent of Dotted Swiss fabric. It gave the shirt texture and interest. Kassandra had never seen her without mascara and eyeliner on, but now she'd added red lipstick, a dash of color mirrored at the cuffs of her jeans, where the rolled fabric revealed red stitching.

And she'd pulled her hair up into an artfully messy bun, exposing the lines of her neck along with a silver necklace and circular pendant. All together, it was a bold, confident variation of what Kassandra was learning was her signature style. The only thing missing was her tattoos, hidden under long sleeves.

Kassandra swallowed into a suddenly dry mouth. "So do you." She meant it.

The smallest hint of color crept into Kyra's cheeks. "So," she said before the pause grew awkward. "Who am I supposed to be tonight? A friend, or..."

"A friend would be fine." More than that would be dangerous for Kassandra. She'd have to be satisfied seeing Kyra struggle to hide how much she despised her.

Kassandra gestured towards the massive wooden door behind them. "Shall we?" A carved wooden sign was affixed to the wall beside the door that read, Multnomah Whiskey Library, Members Only.

She pulled the door open and let Kyra pass through first.

"So this is the infamous Whiskey Library," Kyra said once inside.

"Ever been here before?"

Kyra snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not paying for the privilege of paying for drinks I could easily make at home." She peered into a glass display case as she passed. "Okay maybe I don't have any twelve hundred dollar bottles of bourbon. But I could make you a damn good cocktail, so good you wouldn't even miss it."

I could make you a damn good cocktail. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Make me a cocktail sometime."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You're a decent tipper. That's earned you some points."

"You'd actually make me pay for it?"

"We're not friends yet," she said breezily. "And I don't work for free."

The doorway to the greatroom beckoned. Kassandra leaned close to Kyra and whispered in her ear. "We're supposed to be. Tonight." Close enough to catch Kyra's scent: a faint hint of coffee, and the spice of some aromatic wood. Cedar maybe, ancient and heady, wafting from the sun-warmed deck of a Kyprian trireme as it cleaved the clear blue waves of the Aegean...

The pleasant image dissipated when Kyra came to an abrupt halt just inside the greatroom. She craned her neck, taking in the sight of heavy oak beams and crystal chandeliers hanging high over brick walls paneled with mahogany. The entire back of the room was dominated by the bar, an imposing structure made of even more mahogany, crowned by shelves packed with bottles. The bartenders wore waistcoats and ties with their shirts, and used an antique library ladder to reach the bottles on the upper tiers.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to hop over that bar to fix you something right now."

Kassandra laughed. "No. However, I am expecting you to have a nice time." And to have a chat with her target. If her hunch proved true, he'd find Kyra very intriguing indeed.

"I'll drink to that," Kyra said drily.

The room was filling up. They moved through the throng, pausing here and there as Kassandra greeted those she knew, until they reached the bar.

Kyra wandered off to order, while Kassandra recognized a man standing nearby as one of the Multnomah County commissioners.

"Chuck Meeran?" She offered her hand. "Kassandra Agiadis. So wonderful to finally meet you."

His handshake was as carefully modulated as any politicians' and he had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to place her name, then the slight widening of recognition. "Ms. Agiadis. It's a pleasure." Only a fractional stumble over the unfamiliar pronunciation of her name. Not bad. He flashed her a friendly smile. "I take it you're not here on coffee business?"

She smiled to match his own. "I'm just a civilian tonight," she said. She glanced at the drink in his hand and pulled on an air of confused helplessness. "I've never been here before, is there a drink you'd recommend?" Men never relaxed around her until they felt themselves superior in some way. Sometimes it paid to speed the process along.

"First time at the Library, really?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I just moved here from Seattle." A wink and a smile. Maybe a donation to his re-election campaign later. Greasing the wheels, for the day when one of her companies needed a zoning change, or a variance.

"Ahh yes. As a Timbers fan, I'll try not to hold it against you," he said generously. "Now let's see, if you like a lot of rye..."

She half-listened as he incorrected himself, while sneaking glances up the bar at Kyra, who was leaning conspiratorially in conversation with one of the bartenders — a stocky woman, tidy in her wool waistcoat and polka-dot pocket square. Kassandra felt her eyes narrow, and only after some effort did she manage to wrangle her face back to neutral as the Commissioner blathered on.

It took a few minutes, but Kassandra extracted herself from the conversation with a promise to schedule lunch "very soon" and a glass of some unremarkable bourbon in her hand.

Kyra and the bartender were chuckling over some shared joke. "Seriously," she said, rolling her eyes as the bartender chuckled some more and moved away to take another order.

Kyra leaned back against the bar as Kassandra approached. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about all the Patagucci vests."

"It's a thing," Kassandra said. Even trend-hating Portland wasn't immune to the plague of finance and tech bros who'd decided that fleece vests were the pinnacle of style. "I don't understand it myself."

The area around the bar was starting to get crowded. Kyra pushed herself away from it to let a laughing couple move past. She sipped her drink and studied the assembled guests. "Why am I here tonight, Kassandra?"

Kassandra led her to a slightly more quiet corner of the room. "I want you to meet someone."

"Are they here yet?"

Was she that anxious to leave already? Kassandra hoped not, because her target seemed to be missing. She scanned the crowd again just to be sure, using her height to full advantage. No sign of him. "No, not yet."

Kyra's gaze settled upon her. "I bet you go to shit like this all the time."

"More than I'd like to."

After that, silence. Maybe Kyra had run out of things to say, because supposed to be friends wasn't at all like they actually were.

Closed or open. Those were Kassandra's options. Stay closed, and stand in awkward silence or chat about small, safe subjects. Or she could open up, reveal a little of herself and hope that Kyra might follow. "I spend hours and hours a day talking to people. Sometimes I just want to sit with a book and a glass of bourbon."

Kyra nodded. "I get that. Sometimes it's like... if I have to listen to one more story about someone's day, I'm gonna go mad. Maybe I'd like someone to ask me about my day for once."

"People want a side of therapy with their latte."

"All for four bucks," she said. "But don't get me wrong. Customer service is my gig, and I like it well enough, it's just..."

"Too much of anything will kill you," Kassandra said agreeably.

Kyra eyed her over the edge of her glass. "What about you? If you didn't have to be here, what hot book would you be on a date with?"

To Kassandra's surprise, Kyra's voice held none of her usual mocking tone. She thought of the half-finished translation of Sappho she'd been working on. Kyra would probably roll her eyes and think it horrifically pretentious.

Kyra made Kassandra want to edit herself to impress her. "I've... been reading a lot of poetry lately." A bad answer, but it would give her time to wrack her brain for a good one.

"Oh? Like what?"

A commotion at the front of the room saved her. She looked up, saw a man posing dramatically within the frame of the greatroom's doorway, and smiled.

He strolled into the room: blonde and beautiful as a Greek god. He wasn't Aphrodite emerging from the waves, but a man named Alkibiades, known more for his wit and insatiable appetite for hedonism than his generosity. And if Kassandra was going to win this evening, she'd need to convince him to change his ways, if only for a little while.

Kyra's attention followed Kassandra's lead, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. "You want me to talk to Alki Henriksen? Climbing Magazine coverboy Alki Henriksen?"

Kassandra grinned. "Yeah."

"What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and chat him up?"

"Of course not. I'll make an introduction." Or she would, if she knew Kyra's last name. God damn it. How had she overlooked that important detail?

"You know him?" Kyra was saying, between incredulous head shakes. "Of course you do."

She'd never seen Kyra this... flustered. It was delightful. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. "Well, what's the plan?"

First, the matter of Kyra's name. "Do you have a business card?"

Kyra shot her a suspicious look, but didn't argue, just reached into her back pocket and pulled out a stack of cards, sliding one off the top and handing it over.

Cliffhanger Coffee Kyra Delianos, Proprietor

No way. Kyra was a fellow Greek. Kassandra's mind flooded with questions. Did she speak Greek? How did she end up in Portland of all places? But now wasn't the time to ask. She shoved her curiosity into her pocket along with the card.

One last thing. She reached for Kyra's wrist, but stopped before making contact. "May I?"

"Okay..." Kyra's brows wrinkled. "Wait, why?" she asked, but she didn't pull away when Kassandra gently lifted her arm and began rolling up her shirtsleeve.

"You have more credibility than anyone else in this room. You own a business here, but you're also a part of this community," Kassandra said as she folded the fabric, her heart jumping every time her fingers brushed Kyra's skin. "And you very clearly don't look like someone who lives in Lake Oswego or West Linn." Stepford, cookie-cutter suburbs, filled with what passed for the wealthy in this part of the country. "It's worth emphasizing that you're a patron and constituent. To this particular audience, that carries weight." She finished the cuff, then moved on to the second sleeve.

Kyra looked skeptical but didn't say anything, just dropped her eyes to watch Kassandra's hands work the fabric of her shirt.

Kassandra smoothed the cuff just above Kyra's elbow, then ran a fingertip down the delicately shaded lines of the tattoo she'd revealed. "Besides, I think they're beautiful." And with that, she turned and stepped into the crowd.

Time to go fishing.

She cast her line easily enough, edging through the crowd that had gathered around Alkibiades and hooking him with a simple, "Walk with me?" They weren't exactly friends, but their history was such that it was enough to get him to join her without question.

Kyra, to her credit, hadn't moved from where Kassandra had left her, and she greeted their arrival with a casual ease. No sign of the nervous fluster of before.

"Now Alki," Kassandra said. "I know you get so bored talking to the same stale people at these things, and you know I can't tell a cam from a carabiner, so I brought you someone who does." She turned her gaze to Kyra. "Kyra, this is Alkibiades Henriksen. Alki, this is Kyra Delianos."

They shook hands. "Alki's short for Alkibiades?" she asked.

He grinned. "My mother had a flair for the dramatic."

"Kyra owns a coffee shop here in town," Kassandra said. "Cliffhanger, off of Belmont."

"Cliffhanger, you say? I like you already."

Kyra's eyes flicked over her and back. "I'm so glad Kassandra introduced us, because I owe you a thank you."

"Oh?"

"One of your ropes saved my life once."

Kassandra had chosen wisely. Kyra knew how to work a conversation, balancing her compliments with questions to get him to talk about himself and his company, and soon enough they were discussing things like the hand feel of synthetic fibers and dynamic versus static elongation and Kassandra took that as her cue to step back and get out of the way.

A tall, trim man in a sport jacket wandered past her elbow. "Merritt!" she said with a smile as she joined him. He owned the top tier men's and women's teams in this soccer-obsessed city. "How nice to see you. And how are your Timbers and Thorns..."

.oOo.

For the next half hour, Kassandra worked the room with a smile, a firm handshake, and a stack of business cards. She spoke with a tipsy neurologist from OHSU; a partner at some law firm with a comically long name she'd already forgotten; and a creative director at Wieden+Kennedy, who was all too happy to tell her how they'd picked the locations to animate in this year's anime-inspired advert for the Oregon tourism board.

Alki caught up to her as she finished her circuit of the room. "Kassandra! I really must thank you."

"For?"

"That introduction." He nodded over the crowd towards Kyra, who was off in a corner chatting with a few other guests. "She's exquisite. Like a wild tigress. Is she yours?"

"No. And she'd better not hear you say that or you'll end up wearing your balls for a necklace."

"So not yet."

"She can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What the fuck was she doing, letting that slip? There was something about him that disarmed her in the most inconvenient times.

His face lit up. "She's fair game, then?"

Careful, Kassandra. She smiled at him while taking a slow and measured breath through her nose. "You'd have to ask her."

He dropped his mouth open and pressed his hand against his chest. "Tamping down your anger on my behalf? Are you trying to turn me on?" Then he laughed. "I never thought I'd see the mighty Kassandra sell herself short. Your tigress only has eyes for you, darling."

Kassandra found herself meeting Kyra's gaze across the room, but before she could nod, or smile, or do anything at all, Kyra looked away abruptly.

"I know carnal interest when I see it," he said sagely.

"It'll never happen."

"Why not? Did you kick her puppy or something? No, don't give me that look. I know you're no puppy kicker. Stealing her puppy for yourself would be more your style."

She ignored him. "Have you forgotten who I work for?"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots. "Oh dear, that is awkward." He paused, considering. "But look at you, still trying anyway. I admire your persistence in the face of adversity."

"You're speaking to me like you know me well."

"Oh, but it's true. Like recognizing like. It's what we do, you and I: float high above it all to keep everyone from coming too close. But sometimes one of those pesky mortals becomes too captivating to resist." He lifted a brow over clear grey eyes and fine, androgynous features. "Is she worth coming down from Olympus for?"

She found herself gritting her teeth. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Come now, Kassandra. All this sexual tension's making you mean."

To hell with him and his money. She was this close to writing off the bet she'd made and telling him something she'd regret. But then she'd be wasting all of Kyra's efforts, and setting back the Library's fundraising as well. She took a breath, then laughed a laugh that said Let's change the subject. "We've been talking far too much about me," she said. "So, what magazine cover did you land this quarter?"

He was all too happy to tell her about his latest climbing adventure, to Peru this time, and then the conversation shifted as it always did to his ambitions for Vertus, the climbing gear company he'd founded.

"Then Kyra flat-out told me that Vertus had no reputation other than making 'bombproof' gear."

That did sound Kyra-esque.

"And then she said if I wanted to be Yvon Chouinard, I'd have to start acting like him."

Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia, Inc., known for his activism and philanthropic efforts. "She's got a point, and she's not shy about stabbing people with it."

"Is she that candid with you?" he asked, smiling as Kassandra nodded. "Oh to have a front row seat in the theatre when that happens." He paused in thought. "Well. Between the two of you, I've had a wonderfully enlightening time this evening. But I'm sure you invited me here for a reason, Kassandra."

Her smile was small and knowing and there was no need for her to say more.

"I'd love to see my name at the top of the generosity leaderboard tonight," he said. "How many digits do you think it would take?"

"Six."

"For you darling, my wallet's wide, wide open."

.oOo.

A short while later, Kassandra was camped near the bar with a well-deserved victory drink in hand. No way she was losing this bet now. She couldn't wait to see the look on—

"So that was Alki Henriksen."

Kassandra turned and found Kyra walking up to join her. "It sure was."

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked. "Scratch that, I can already tell. You're just reeking of smug satisfaction."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome." There was humor in her voice. "He said the two of you met at a Blazers game."

"We did, yeah."

"He also said you used to play, once." She gave Kassandra an appraising look. "Were you any good?"

Kassandra shrugged, her edges still raw from her earlier conversation with him. "I was all right."

A voice spoke from behind her. "'All right'? She was the best player in the country three years in a row."

Kassandra turned with a grin. "Hello, Roxana."

They embraced, briefly, as Kyra watched them with thinly-veiled curiosity. Roxana squeezed Kassandra's hands and stepped back to study her. "'course I'll never fucking forgive you for knocking us out of the Final Four."

Stanford versus Cal, that never-ending Bay Area rivalry. They'd split their regular season games that year and traded spots in the rankings back and forth until tournament time, and then everything came down to one game, win or go home, Stanford down one point and only two seconds left on the clock...

"You were guarding me so close it took a fucking circus shot to win that game," Kassandra said.

"Only you would have taken that shot — and only you could have made it."

They grinned at each other until Kassandra remembered her manners. "Roxana, this is Kyra. Kyra, Roxana." The two of them shook hands like two leopards meeting: an instant sizing up of the other, shoulders pulling back, spines straightening.

"Nice to meet you," Kyra said.

"The pleasure's mine." Roxana shifted her gaze between Kyra and Kassandra and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, but this was my first chance to say hello all evening."

"It's been what, five years since we've seen each other?"

"Near enough."

"How are the kids?"

"Kiana's on a good travel team and thinks she's going to play for Stanford. I don't know if I'm going to survive wearing your colors for four years."

"She's got plenty of time to change her mind."

Kyra lifted her empty glass. "Excuse me a moment," she said.

She cut through the crowd with a feline grace. Kassandra turned back to Roxana to find her smiling curiously. "A friend of yours?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not sure what I think of this new humble, evasive you."

Damn, it was good to see her. She'd always been beautiful, and over the years, she'd found contentment in a balance of family and career that had only deepened her beauty. Roxana wasn't the one who got away, but a vision of what might have been.

What might have been, if they'd been able to make a long-distance relationship work while Roxana was playing ball in Russia and trying to catch on to a WNBA roster. What might have been, if Kassandra had never gotten into the back of that towncar with her father, not knowing that she was about to be driven straight into a car wreck that would tear her and her life to shreds.

Roxana had tried — she'd tried harder than anyone else — but when Kassandra finally got out of the hospital, she was too far gone, too into her anger, too busy pushing everyone away while she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life now that basketball had been canceled from her equation.

"It's good to see you," she told Roxana. "And I'm going to win our bet, just so you know."

"Now there's the Kassandra I know and love."

"Nike still running you ragged?"

"I flew in from Boston last night. We're going all in with Eliud — if anyone's going to run a sub-two-hour marathon, it's going to be him."

"I can't think of anyone better to lead that charge," she said, smiling as Roxana wrestled with the compliment. "So what have I missed in five years?" she asked, but as she listened to Roxana tell her of what might have been, her eyes kept drifting to the crowd, looking for Kyra and the possibility of what might be.

.oOo.

It wasn't until the fundraiser was winding down that Kyra found her at the bar.

She'd left Kyra alone to mingle without distraction, and every time she'd caught a glimpse of Kyra in the crowd, she'd been deep in conversation with someone new. Good. Let her build that network.

"They're saying Alki pledged half a million tonight," she said without preamble. "No one else came close."

Kassandra smiled into the last of her drink and finished it off. "Mmmhmm."

"That's a lot of money," she said. Then she gave Kassandra a sideways glance and added, "Not for you, I'm sure, but..."

Any answer from Kassandra's mouth would be wrong. That topic had too many dangerous currents, was too perilous to their friendly façade. "Did you have a nice time tonight, at least?" Safer waters.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Nearly ten o'clock. She'd overstayed her deadline by an hour.

"But not for long."

That confused her, but then she followed Kassandra's eyes to the area behind bar, where the bartenders were moving racks of glassware and wiping down the bartop, cleaning up after the fundraiser and getting ready to reopen for the bar's private clientele.

They got the hint, and headed for the exit.

"This carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. Or a speakeasy," Kyra said. Then she gave herself a self-deprecating snort. "That was a terrible metaphor. It's not even close to midnight."

On the sidewalk outside, they stopped and looked at each other, both trying to figure out something to say.

Kyra beat her to it. "I did have a really nice time," she said, and there was an ember of warmth to her that hadn't been there before.

Kassandra wanted more of it. "Would you like to grab a—"

"Kassandra! You weren't going to leave without gloating over your victory, were you?"

Fuck. She turned to Roxana in time to be enveloped in a bear hug. "Actually, I was—"

"Alki Henriksen opening his wallet. Unbelievable. I thought I had you beat for sure after I got Tim and Merritt to sign on."

At the edge of her vision, she could see Kyra's features freeze over. Fuckfuckfuck.

Roxana smiled at her fondly. "You should join me on the Library board, you know. We could use you."

It took Kassandra a moment to regain her wits. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long to say yes." She checked her phone. "There's my Uber, I've got to run. Lunch sometime? Soon."

"Yes, for sure."

Then Roxana disappeared into the back of her ride. She'd left Kassandra on the sidewalk and taken all the air on the street with her.

Kassandra turned slowly. "Kyra, I—"

"You used me."

"To raise more money than I could have on my own."

"So you could win a bet. That's all this was to you. Another chance for you to lift some trophy in your own mind," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't stop, didn't turn around. "On a walk."

"At this time of night?"

She ignored the question, putting more and more distance between them.

"Fuck," Kassandra muttered, then hurried in pursuit, falling into step beside Kyra, close enough to be caught in the splash zone of Kyra's seething anger.

Kyra kept her eyes straight ahead. "What are you doing?"

"Walking with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't care," Kassandra said. "You want to go somewhere? I'll see you there safely. You want to walk around, aimlessly? We'll walk around, aim—"

Kyra took two quick steps and pulled ahead, then whirled around and stopped square in Kassandra's path, somehow filling the entire sidewalk with her immovable presence. "Stop it," she said, raising both hands in front of her. "Just... stop." Her eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Sudden pain was something Kassandra knew. A lowered shoulder bashing into her chest hard enough to crack ribs. A highside flinging her from her dirtbike onto the rocks. And now she had another entry for the list: a few simple words in the shape of a question. "If that's what you want, say it, and you won't see me again."

Kyra stared at her, and Kassandra felt herself standing up straighter, her spine and ribs tightening as if pulled by a great winch; her body closing the gates and readying the defenses.

Then Kyra laughed, the sound as thin and brittle as the shards from a broken window, and just as dangerously sharp. "I want a fucking drink."

She walked away, and Kassandra followed helplessly after her. One block up, another block over, and then Kyra headed straight for a hole in the wall with the discouraging name of "Scooter McQuades" printed on a boxy sign that flickered fluorescently into the night.

If the Oxford English Dictionary had an entry for "dive bar," it couldn't do any better than a description of this place: a dimly lit snapshot of the early nineties, where the music was abrasive and loud, and decades of grime stained the walls.

The woman behind the bar looked over at them and smiled. "Kyra! I'll be damned."

It was interesting, how quickly Kyra could relax in the right circumstances. Like a light switch flipping.

"Ann! I didn't think you'd be working tonight." She smiled apologetically. "It's been too long, I know."

"You're busy. I'm busy. It's all good." The bartender was older, maybe in her fifties, dark hair streaked with grey and faded tattoos on her forearms. Cotton-candy pinks and blues. But her movements behind the bar were as clean and purposeful as a scalpel and her eyes were lively with humor. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough to give Kassandra an appraising gaze, then turned back to Kyra.

"What are ya hankerin' for, love?"

"PBR and tots."

Then it was Kassandra's turn. "What'll it be for you?"

Kyra interrupted before she could open her mouth. "She'll have a PBR, too."

"How do you like them tots?"

"Cajun."

"Won't take but a minute, I promise." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, have a seat, both of you. Booth, bar, pick your poison."

Kyra chose a booth near the windows. The cracked vinyl seats had once been emerald green, but time had faded them to a dull moss, and someone had patched the worst of the wear with strips of black tape. At least the top of the table seemed clean.

Kyra leaned back against the vinyl and stared at her.

Kassandra had been grilled by hostile lawyers in the courtroom and shouted at by C-level blowhards in the boardroom, but nothing compared to the withering scrutiny she was getting in this dive bar — and Kyra hadn't even said a fucking word.

The drinks came, along with a steaming basket of tater tots, and in moments the booth smelled of beer and fried potatoes. Kyra tossed a soggy cardboard coaster emblazoned with "Kilkenny" in front of her, then placed a pint of PBR upon it.

"Drink it."

She did. It was better than she thought. Better than she remembered, during those beer-soaked college days when she played hard and partied harder, a different sorority girl in her bed every night.

Kyra sipped her own beer and nodded at the bottles of Jameson lined up at the end of the bar. "I want that bottle of whiskey. But I know I shouldn't have it." She popped a tater tot into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. Reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Shook it forcefully and tapped out a puddle onto a paper-lined corner of the basket.

Kassandra couldn't remember the last time she'd had a tater tot. College, maybe? She picked one out and ate it. Spicy heat. Paprika and cayenne and plenty of MSG, probably, the flavors floating on a raft of grease and fluffy potato. It was good, and as comforting as a warm blanket.

She glanced at the ketchup bottle. Not Heinz, something local. Organic, artisanal ketchup in a dive bar, reminding her that she was still in Portland after all.

Ann bustled by with a tray full of pints destined for another table.

Kyra nodded in her direction. "She's owned this place something like twenty-five years," she said. "That's what I want. I want my shop to last." She pushed the corner of her beer coaster with a fingertip. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

She moved her finger in a slow arc, spinning the coaster. Her glass spun with it, leaving a wet trail behind on the tabletop.

"I don't have a safety net, Kassandra. I don't have any family left, and my money's tied up in my shop. If I fuck up, it's all on me." Her hand stilled. "And I think about that every single time I have to make a decision about the shop or about money. It's always there in the back of my mind. Always."

She pushed the coaster hard enough for the beer in the glass to slosh from side to side.

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. I chose this business. It's just... I have a lot to lose, but my everything wouldn't even be a blip on your radar."

"I understand."

Her smile was patient. "No you don't, but that's okay."

She tipped a tater tot into the pool of ketchup. Fished it out. Ate it.

"My lease is up this fall, and judging by that look on your face, you know exactly what that means for me. I'll get to play the negotiation game with my landlord, trying to get to a place where the rent increase won't crush me."

Kassandra thought of the shiny new furniture store next door to the coffee shop. The deck was stacked against Kyra; all that outside money pouring into the neighborhood was there for one purpose: to raise rents.

"So I'm still thinking about your offer, because I'd be a fool not to."

"There's no universe in which I'd ever mistake you for a fool."

Silence, then. Maybe she'd killed the conversation. Maybe Kyra just wanted to sit in peace and drink her beer and eat some tater tots, and forget for a moment that she was the only one holding up the weight of her world.

The world revolved around money. Kassandra saw the windows of the coffee shop going dark, the bar and chairs and tables vanishing, a FOR LEASE sign pasted up against the glass. Outside money. Kyra's problem was the kind of problem she could solve.

One tater tot left. Kyra's brow arched in silent question, and Kassandra shook her head in a take it motion.

Kassandra finished her beer, and watched the remnants of foam slide down the walls of the glass. After a while, she cleared her throat, looked at Kyra, and said, "So, how was your day?"

Kyra blinked, but then a slow smile spread across her lips. "It was interesting," she said. "I had the day off, so I climbed all morning and spent the afternoon figuring out what the hell I was going to wear tonight." Then she laughed, more from disbelief than humor. "And then I go to this fundraiser with no idea what to expect, and end up talking to Alki fucking Henriksen, the god of climbing. He wants to meet about doing a collab with my shop. I never would have dreamed of that being a possibility. Never. Though I'm sure he's just trying to get in my pants."

"He wants both. Business and pleasure." Like recognizing like.

"It's tempting; he is a beautiful man."

They'd make a striking couple. The thought of it was vertiginous. She kept her face blank and her mouth shut as she studied the worn formica next to her glass.

"But I already have enough of a distraction on my plate."

Kassandra nodded. "I know." Everything kept circling back to the same place.

Silence for several seconds, then Kyra spoke again. "I wish our circumstances were different."

That made Kassandra look up. "So do I."

"Do you? Would you even notice me if I was some rando on the street, I wonder." Then she waved one hand dismissively while tipping back her head to drain her beer with the other. The glass hit the table with a bang, and she slid it aside. "No, don't answer that. I've got to open the shop early tomorrow."

Kassandra grabbed the check before Kyra's glass came to a stop. She dropped cash on the table, then picked up the pen and receipt and wrote her number at the bottom.

"What's this?" Kyra said as Kassandra pushed it in front of her.

"My phone number, if you ever need it. Or if your opinion about our circumstances ever changes."

For a moment, she thought Kyra might not take it. But Kyra did, her fingers gracefully folding the paper before slipping it into her front pocket. And then they were standing, and Kyra was saying goodbye to Ann, and they were walking outside to stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. Déjà vu.

They stared at each other.

In the backwash of fluorescent light, Kyra's eyes were sheened with black opal. "I was kinda hoping I'd have a horrible time tonight," she said, and she reached out and tucked a stray lock of Kassandra's hair back behind her ear, and then her fingers drifted down to the lapel of Kassandra's jacket, and over to the knot on Kassandra's neckerchief, and she gave it a gentle tug, and smoothed its tails so they hung neatly. "I really was."

She stepped back, and her eyes said something in a language Kassandra hadn't yet learned how to read.

"Will you text me?" Kassandra asked.

"I don't know." Her gaze moved past Kassandra's shoulder. "Oh, I want that taxi."

Three long strides and Kassandra was in the street, flagging it down, opening the door.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," she said as Kyra settled into the back seat.

"Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Walking. It's not far." Then she closed the door, flashed a smirk and a wave as Kyra rolled her eyes and the taxi pulled away.

Chapter six of The Sellout.

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #okay so this is like the longest thing ever #but it also needed to be #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #i had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this #the sellout

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despairforme · 3 years

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�� It hadn’t gone TOO BADLY today, or should he say - tonight. Three matches, and three easy wins. Just like it SHOULD be. Lately, Nnoitra had been struggling a bit with his fights in the cage. Not because his opponents had been stronger than usual, but because he had been feeling uninspired. His bad performance had made him feel even worse, so it had been a downward spiral. Now that he had pulled himself the FUCK together it was going better. He still... Felt pretty shitty though, but just the fact that he was feeling better than last week was a good sign.

It was a little past midnight, and he was on his way home. He had asked Grimmjow if he should wait for him, but Grimmjow was working VERY late tonight, and had told Nnoitra to just go ahead. Nnoitra was wondering if maybe he should at least do some chores around the apartment when he got back. Since he’d been feeling so shitty recently, stuff had been piling up. Not good. He REALLY wasn’t feeling it though, so.... Should he just have an early night? What about food? A small sigh fell from his lips. It was cold. Good thing he had brought his jacket. His ears and nose were still freezing though. He had his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Had the streets not been COMPLETELY deserted, he would’ve felt paranoid about walking with his hands like this. He preferred to be ready to defend himself at a second’s notice.

He passed the usual late-night convenience store. A guy exited with a pack of smoke. Nnoitra kept his eye on him but the man walked in the opposite direction of Nnoitra. Should he go inside and buy something? A bag of chips? In the end he couldn’t be bothered, so he continued walking. He only passed a few more people. A group of friends, clearly drunk. A pizza delivery guy who looked very lost, and a HOPEFUL guy in a suit who stood buy a bus stop, even though Nnoitra knew he had JUST missed the bus, and it wouldn’t show up again for another 30 minutes.

Already when the apartment building came into view, Nnoitra got a bad feeling. He could see it from the beginning of the street, that there were someone standing outside. It looked like two men. Nnoitra pulled his hands out of his pockets. There were bruises on his knuckles. He noticed his heart picking up its pace as he approached the building. He had HOPED that maybe these two guys were just out for a smoke-break. But neither one of them were smoking. There was absolutely no reason why someone would be just standing outside the apartment building at this time of the night. They were WAITING for someone. A car that would pick them up? No, they were standing too far away from the road. If they were waiting for someone, they were waiting for someone who lived in the building. Nnoitra stopped walking. He was still too far away to see their faces, but he knew they were looking at him. Coincidence? There wasn’t much to LOOK at here, since the street was empty. This wasn’t really a SHADY part of down. In fact, it was a pretty nice area ( the apartment had been very expensive ). That didn’t mean Nnoitra could proceed without caution though. He had A LOT of enemies. How could someone have found out where he lived? He took a moment to thank the lord that Grimmjow was not with him.

He started walking again, and his heart was now pounding. The two men came into view. They were dressed in suits. Nnoitra didn’t know jack shit about suits, so he couldn’t tell if they were expensive-looking or not. They both seemed rather relaxed. One had his hands resting against his sides, and the other had just pulled up his phone. It didn’t LOOK like they were about to start a fight at least. Then again, people in suits weren’t the types to get into a fist fight. They were more likely to pull a gun. Nnoitra’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t stop walking though. Soon, he reached the two men. The taller one looked away from his phone, and it became pretty obvious that YEAH - they were waiting for him.

Now that he was closer, he could see that the two of them were of different age. The shorter one was middle-aged. His hair was grey and he seemed tired. The taller one was younger and his stubble made him look tired as well. The older reached into his pocket, and Nnoitra FROZE. The man didn’t pull a gun on him though, instead - he held up a badge. A police badge. This did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for Nnoitra’s nerves.

❝ Police Detective Lionel Mackenzie, and this is my college Sergeant Philip Martin. ❞ The older man said, holding up the badge for Nnoitra to see. He wouldn’t have been able to tell a fake one from a real one, but he gave it a look anyway. The other man showed his badge as well. Nnoitra was QUICKLY going through his most recent activities, to try to find out WHAT he could’ve possibly done to make TWO members of the police feel it necessary to find him in the middle of the fucking night. Honestly? He had hardly been doing jack shit recently, due to his depression. So? What the FUCK? ❝ You are Nnoitra Gilga? ❞ Well - no use in lying, right? If they were looking for him they must’ve had a good description of him to go by. There weren’t many seven feet tall one eyed men strolling around town.

❝ Yeah, ‘daz me. ❞ Nnoitra answered. His voice came out sharper and more hostile than he had expected. It only went to show how FUCKING uncomfortable he was right now. Since they were police, he didn’t think they were going to assault him at least, but... Were they going to arrest him? FOR WHAT?

❝ We’re sorry to disturb you so late at night. You’re not an easy man to reach, and we’re on a schedule so we’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright? ❞ Was that alright? Absolutely fucking not. Could he refuse? What would happen if he refused? His guess was that he would seem suspicious. The problem here was that he had no idea what he had done wrong.

❝ Yeah, I guess. ❞ Awkwardly, Nnoitra rolled his shoulders. He then crossed his arms over his chest. Were they going to ask him here, or ask to come inside? Or take him to the police station? ❝ Ya’ll wanna come inside? It’s fuckin’ freezin’. ❞ Nnoitra just knew he would feel safer if he was inside.

❝ Thank you. ❞ The Police Detective said with a small smile that did look thankful. Nnoitra walked over to the doors to the apartment complex, and typed the code that would make the doors open. Then all three of them went inside to the lobby. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, so they just stood there. There was a moment of awkward silence ( at least it was awkward for Nnoitra ).

❝ So what’cha wanna ask me ‘bout? ❞ He’d prefer to just get straight to the point.

❝ We want to ask you about an incident that happened on June 16. 2018. Do you remember that day? ❞ Nnoitra was NOT GOOD WITH DATES. He could forget birthdays, anniversaries.. All that type of stuff. When THIS date was mentioned, however, he immediately understood what this was about. WHY THE FUCK were they interested in something that happened almost three years ago? Nnoitra’s expression must’ve given away at least some of his thoughts. His feet shifted uncomfortably, and he squeezed his arms that were still crossed over his chest tighter together. ❝ You were brought into the City Hospital’s ER with a gunshot to the head, isn’t that right? And a man who shares the same address as you - Jacques Jaeger was brought in with extensive injuries to his shoulder and neck. ❞ Nnoitra didn’t answer. He didn’t want to. He did, however, give a small nod. Was there a question here? ❝ We are investigating those we believe to be responsible for the assault on both of you. It would be very helpful if you could tell us anything you remember from that day. Any descriptions of conversations of people or --- ❞ Nnoitra held up his hand, stopping the detective from continuing. He didn’t even need to THINK about this to know what his answer was.

❝ Leave me alone. I AIN’T no fuckin’ snitch. I don’t give a shit what ya’ll investigate, but leave me ‘n Grimmjow ‘da FUCK outta it. ❞ Did this make him sound suspicious? MAYBE. Their dealings with the gang had cost them SO much. Nnoitra wasn’t going to let Grimmjow or himself get dragged into that shit again.

❝ We can offer protection, if that’s what you’re worried about. ❞ The police sergeant spoke now.

❝ Didn’t ya hear me? I said leave me alone. ‘N anyways, I don’t know jack shit. I was shot in ‘da HEAD, yeah? ❞ Nnoitra pointed to his eyepatch, as if to indicate. ❝ That tends ‘ta FUCK with yer memory. ‘N Grimmjow don’t remember NOTHIN’ either, so don’t bother askin’ him. ❞ It seemed the two men had almost expected this sort of reaction from him. They exchanged looks, and the older one sighed. Then he handed Nnoitra a card, which he accepted with every intention of throwing it right in the trash as soon as possible.

❝ If you change your mind, give us a call? Anything you can tell us would be hugely helpful. ❞ Somehow, Nnoitra had the feeling that they weren’t going to give up that easily. Nnoitra glared. ❝ We’re sorry to have disturbed your evening. ❞ It was fucking past midnight! ❝ Please reconsider. ❞ Then they gave him a not-so-friendly nod, and left. Nnoitra remained standing, his pulse RAISING like crazy. He leaned against the wall behind him and briefly closed his eye, letting out a breath. Shit.... What the fuck was going to happen? Should he tell Grimmjow about this?

The two of them had COMPLETELY opposing opinions on this whole thing. Grimmjow WANTED to be a snitch. He wanted to HELP with the investigation. That disagreement between them had caused a huge argument between them, which had... Basically ended with Grimmjow almost KILLING himself. Nnoitra was terrified of bringing this subject up again. Then again... Wasn’t it better if he DID talk to Grimmjow about it? He was pretty sure that those police guys would ask him next. The least Nnoitra could do was warn him. FUCK! He slammed the back of his head against the wall, hard enough for small stars to briefly spread across his vision.

❝ MotherFUCKER! ❞ This was the absolute last thing he needed in his life! His vision was a bit blurry when he looked at the card he had been given, with the detective’s number. What if Grimmjow wanted him to call them? If he did... What could he even tell them? Nnoitra was pretty sure the one who had the best recollection of that day was Grimmjow. Not to mention Grimmjow could probably lead the police to his loanshark... Wasn’t that how that entire MESS had gotten out of hand in the first place? Nnoitra didn’t want Grimmjow to get involved. The other had NO idea how dangerous it would be for them to inform on the gang. Fuck... He really didn’t know what to do!

#[ FINALLY I WROTE THIS AND I'M HYPED ]#[ SO MUCH STUFF HAPPENING FOR THEM IN MAIN VERSE ]#[ THAT WE PLOTTED OUT ]#[ I'M READY ]#[ nnoitra: why is this my life ]#[ 8)))))))) sorry not sorry nnoi ]#ᵈᵉˢᵖᵃᶤʳ ;; ic.#ᵇᵘʳᶰ 'ᵈᵃ ᶜᶤᵗʸ ;; verse.#ˢᵗᵒʳʸᵗᶤᵐᵉ ;; drabble.#longpost //

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ireallyneedsleepbutcoffeisfine · 5 years

Text

v’s big day

Ships: prixiety, logicality

Warning: kidnaping, screaming, forced marriage, cursing (from loagn), getting separated, anxiety attack, crowded area, Small cage, almost falling, throwing people, gaged, bruises mentioned, hair pulling (by self)

(remind me if any were missed)

Writers note: this is my first fic, I've written before, but this is my first-time showing people, I hope @sugarglider9603 enjoys this took about three days :3

The group was walking through the large crowd, it was a busy time in the mushroom kingdom, but they wanted to go for a walk. So, they headed out. Virgil seamed slightly anxious about the crowd of people, but roman and logan assured him it was fine. Virgil slowed down when he seen some purple blankets in a window, but when he looked back to join the group, he found no one but Townsfolk. As Virgil started to feel a panic attack creep up his stomach, he knew he needed a place to calm down. He started walking trying to calm himself down. when he found an empty ally way, He took a seat on the ground before repeating his breathing exercises. ‘In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.’ soon enough Virgil found his composure, he started to head out when he stopped, hearing the towns folk scream and then seeing them running in the other direction. He wanted to go and help his brother and boyfriend, but when he went to leave the ally way, he was stopped by an arm wrapping around his torso and arms from behind, before he could call for help a hand landed over his mouth. Virgil looked behind him to see bowcite looking at him with a chilling grin across his face, which caused Virgil to kick and give a muffled scream, clouded by the commotion outside the ally, he seen his brother cut through the crowd, yelling for Virgil, Virgil tried, he tried so hard to get his brothers attention but he never looked his way before going to fight more of bowcites minions who were attacking the town, Virgil was dragged off by bowcite, And all he could do was struggle to get free.

~~~~~~~~

Logan had finished reassuring his brother before going for a walk, Patton was clinging to logans arm, which he really did not mind, and knowing his brother was okay with roman gave him a chance to truly to relax, they passed a few stores and made it to the fountain, roman and Patton sat down on it, while logan looked for his brother, but he found nothing “hey roman were-” he was cut off by a loud explosion, coming from the direction they just came. Logan started to fear for his brother, running back he yelled for him, while cutting through the crowd. “virgil! virgil were are you!” He couldn’t find him, worrying he went to fight whatever the cause of the attack was. By the time things settled he still could not find his brother, he tried to think what could have happen when he looked over to see a worried Patton and an angry Roman with a koopa down on the ground looking very scared by roman. Logan rushed over to see what was wrong, what he heard infuriated him. “bowcite took him! He was alone, the easiest target or something.” said the koopa, almost regretting it instantly, as roman looked at him with a rage the heat of hells fire itself. Patton was on the verge of crying, worrying for his anxious baking-buddy, and logan ,logan was already running to get his brother back, with more rage than Roman, not only that but fear rang in his heart, his stomach, every part of his body was full of fear for his brother, the only family he had left, the brother he promised to protect.

~~~~~~

Virgil found himself chained to a pole in a cold, dimly lit cell, guarded by koopas. ‘Why am I here what could bowcite want from me? will he torture me? to get back at logan and I? What if-’ “hello there Virgil! Looks like your all tied up just how I wanted!” Virgil scoffed, and if looks could kill bowcite would be long gone. Virgil looked down to see a thick binder in bowcites hands. ‘You've got to be kidding me right now.’ Along with that thought was a face to match “logan finally did it, he hit you hard enough to make you lose your mind if you think I'll be marrying you.” said Virgil before a koopa put a gag around his mouth. “and you must be crazy if you think you have say In this” “you're not a prince but you're at least cute” said bowcite grabbing Virgil's chin to make him look him in the eyes. Virgil looked like he was pissed, really, he did but inside he was panicking, wishing his brother would burst through the doors to save him, but he wasn’t there, and Virgil was screaming inside for his brother, but still put up façade for bowcite. “now do you want a suit or dress?”

~~~~~~

Logan ran not really thinking about it, mostly just fear and anger ran through his body. ‘What if they hurt him? If they hurt him, I swear- what if he has an attack and I'm not there? What if he's alone! -’

Logan was snapped out of it by an army of koopas and goombas coming towards him “shit,” he said out loud, that was a lot, even for him, “I need to get to Virgil!” he yelled before charging forward. Logan was in serious trouble, he was at a big disadvantage, and he knew it, but he needed to get to his brother. He got a few down but before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground, what was he going to do? He was stuck and no one was there to help him. The koopas got a few punches on logan before there thrown off by something, no, someone who logan could not make out, but he had an idea when he heard “off of him you heathens!” “roman?” logan said with a rough and tired voice, from running and the beaten he just got. “logan! Oh my, ar-are you okay?” roman said worried but also fighting bowcites minions. “y-yeah I think” logan said getting up, he was defiantly going to feel this in the morning, but right now adrenaline was all he felt, logan joined roman in the fight and about 20-25 minutes passed before they were finally done, tired and bruised, but they kept going, for Virgil.

~~~~~~

Virgil felt tired, from panicking, but also from the amount of planning bowcite made him participate in. “now, all that’s left is your fitting, and because you’ve been so good, I'll have my minion's take you to a nice room for that” bowcite snapped his fingers, and two koopas grabbed Virgil, he didn’t try to struggle he was to tired, he needed more time to regain his strength. They left him to open the door, thinking he was to tired to do anything, wrong move. Virgil raced down the hall, he knew the castle well, from the amount of times he was there saving Patton or roman. He turned the corner to see something new, a large stair case with parts floating away over lava. ‘What is with him and lava!’ Virgil jumped from step to step, nearly missing one that was just an inch to far, he took a minute to calm himself, and kept going. He made it to the throne room, before being stopped by 13-15 koopas with bowcite behind them “where are you getting these!?” shouted Virgil from the other side. Bowcite shrugged, “get him, but don’t hurt him too much, we have a wedding in a few.” smirking, he watched as Virgil struggled to hold his own, before he was pinned down by four koopas, and surrounded by five. “all of you get him fitted, and do not Let him go!” bowcite watched as they took a kicking and screaming Virgil away before going back to decorating.

Virgil hated this, he hated everything about this, but the closer it got the harder it was to keep calm, the harder it was to no tear up, it was harder not to want for the sweet smell of patts kitchen, the great embrace of his amazing boyfriend, and logan, his Brilliant brother, the only one who really knew what he had gone through, he wanted it all back, he wanted to wake up and this all be a dream, but, he knew it wasn't, so when all the koopas left to wait outside, he broke, he sat down in a big puffy wedding dress he was forced into. He hurt emotionally and physically, those koopas can really pack a punch, his bare shoulders hurt but the bruises had yet to show up. When he finally ran out of tears to shed, he heard a knock, standing up quickly, he grabbed the sheets of the bed to wipe his now ruined makeup, when three koopas came in one fixed his makeup and the other put him in big heavy chains, almost pulling the small plumber down. He was then dragged out by them, to slowly make his way to his ‘husband to be’.

~~~~~~

Logan and roman had a feeling, one that was digging into them, they were losing time. On what, the boys had no idea, but they knew it was serious. As time went on, they got faster and faster, they felt like a timer was above their head, telling, no, screaming at them to hurry before it was to late. “logan, I swear I can feel it we need to go faster!” “I know roman! I'm trying, but what if were already to late, what if-” “get that thought out of your head right now! He’s okay! We're not to late I can feel it!” logan let out a shaky sigh and they sped up. They finally made it, but the castle looked more like a prison. Koopas were surrounding the castle, with a mote of lava surrounding the palace. As well as large spikes behind the koopas, so no one could climb out. “oh.my.god you have got to be kidding me, logan are you seeing this?” logan seen it, but he didn’t feel the same way as roman, he was calculating wondering if his brother tried to escape and that’s why it looked like this. Or if it was to keep them out, logan was completely gone from the conversation. “logan!” “gah! Roman wh-what?” logan jumped from the tone in romans voice but then realized why. The koopas noticed them and were heading their way “shit”

~~~~~~

Virgil was now being dragged down the long hall to the throne room. ‘Don’t freak out Virgil your fine logan is on his way, it's okay.’ He didn’t know how much more he could take, with tears threatening to spill, he held his head high and put on a face of annoyance, but inside he was a mess. He just wanted to be with his family. Before he knew it, he was being lead down the aisle, almost tripping over the over-extravagant dress he was shoved in. The music was playing and Virgil was slowly losing his grip on his façade, he was scared and it was getting really close, to close.

~~~~~~

Logan and roman finally finished off all the koopas, beaten and bruised, they didn't think they could make it much farther, they only had one power up left, a fire flower. They tried to run, but it was hard, when they made it to the door, they heard wedding music. They had an idea on what was happening, logan absorbed the fire flower and they kicked the door in simultaneously.

~~~~~~

Virgil's heart and mind were racing, as the words were filling the room, he looked around to see he danger noodles smiling and bouncing in their seats. Guards at every exit, and his brother, no were to be seen, he couldn’t hold it in any longer he felt tears rolling own his face. All bowcite could do was smirk, he was so close. "if anyone has and objections, now would be the time to speak up-”

“WE FUCKING OBJECT!”

A loud bang echoed through the room, as the large doors were slammed open knocking out the guards next to them. Virgil, through his tears, seen his angry boyfriend and brother. A small smile could be seen through the gag ‘they made it they really made it!’ logan threw a fire ball at bowcite, barely missing him. Bowcite roared and Virgil was picked up and thrown into a small cage. It was so fast Virgil could barely comprehend what was happening before the cage was being lifted to the air, with Virgil looking down at his frightened brother and boyfriend.

~~~~~~

“BOWCITE!” logan yelled, he was not messing around. Roman noticed the cage was shaking, taping logan he pointed to it. “we have got to wrap this up fast lo” the shaking cage only made logan angrier, if that was even possible at this point. He threw 3 fire balls at once before roman hit bowcite with his sword and they both punched him, and before he could do anything, logan grabbed the remote for Virgil's cell, and threw bowcite through a lot of walls. Logan lowered the cage, roman ran over slashing at the lock and swinging open the door, what he saw broke his heart, the love of his life was shaking in the corner with his hands pulling at his hair, and a gag that looks almost chewed through, and makeup running down his face with the tears, but when Virgil saw roman, he perked up reaching his hands out for him. Roman quickly got rid of the chains and gag. “r-roman!” Virgil cried and without realizing it, he was throwing himself at the prince. “hey my stormy knight, your okay, its okay, your safe” roman picked up Virgil bridal-style and carried him to his worried brother. “lo-logan?”Virgil barely looked up from romans shirt, which he was clinging to at the moment. “virg, they didn't hurt you, did they?” virgil shook his head no,(even though they did) and reached over to hug his brother, and logan reached back, they stayed like that until virgil passed out from exhaustion.

~~~~~~

When virgil woke back up he was changed out of the giant dress, and in sweat pants and his hoodie, with roman asleep next to him and logan pacing with Patton trying to calm him down. “logan?” Virgil's voice was raspy and it startled logan and Patton, and roman was woken up by it, but they calmed down and logan couldn't keep his emotions in anymore and he teared up and went to kneel next to his brother. “v-virgil, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” virgil looked confused but his body was to soar to move. "lo- no, I-I it's not your fault” roman had sat up a little with his arm around Virgil's waist with a worried expression and Patton joined logan in kneeling. Virgil gave a soft smile and logan couldn't help but cry and hug his brother, virgil forced his muscles to work to hug is brother back before they were all in a pile of hugs and tears, happy tears.

The End

#sanders sides #logan sanders #sanders sides virgil #roman sanders #patton sanders #angst #mario au

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mother-snake · 4 years

Text

promised story 1-

(this one is an origional and first chapter to a book im going over at the minuet, any constructive critisism would be nice and anything you liked about or didnt like would be good for me so i can perhapse change certain things in future!) -if you guys like it enough i might post the other chapters as i work along them. and if youd like, i can tagg you in!-

UNLOCKED: kurbose words: 3641 warnings: small fight thing happens at begining.

chapter 2- n/a

chapter 1 -I will eat this sandwich; fate just has other plans.

At least crows don’t judge people for doing the bizarre things they do, I suppose. For example; the fact that I was sitting down on top of the rather worn-down churches roof that lay in the dead centre of the village, slowly turning into a town. Very slowly... I’d blame me getting up here on my habit of using my, not so useful, skill of getting into trouble; but in all honesty that excuse’ became unreliable since the tenth time I’d deliberately made my way up here. Not that I minded much.

Ten or so crows were lined on either side of me cawing loudly at one another trying to get closer, hoping that they could snag some of the sandwich I was eating. It had been wrapped up and stayed in my pocket since the morning. I had always left then in the early hours and barely came back until nightfall. the murder was slowly becoming more and more agitated as they looked at the sandwich with a keen eye.

lunch I had to skip due to them… I don’t mean the birds of course. not the birds. Never. Ever. blame the birds.

the night air was always calming. The stars seemed to look down upon me with a curious gaze, as if asking why I was still in the melancholy village. Living in such a boring place for years. sometimes it felt like hundreds of eyes were on me. that’s why I always sat on top of the roof. And when I did, I couldn’t help but feel a form of freedom I couldn’t get anywhere else. Mayhaps that was because I wasn’t supposed to be up there in the first place. Alas. We shall never know.

sure, some people would enjoy the normal life. Not worrying about what would be around the corner. But I I’m not like that, when it’s all you know. You’d wish for something to change.

I surveyed the area in my line of vision. It was slowly becoming dark enough that everything was blending together. But I could still see the outlines of everything. the sound of the canal that split the village up in sections was only a couple streets away.

I could recognise some of the people lined up by their houses getting the final things ready. And those who were wondering the streets were making their ways home. it was fairly easy to remember everyone in the town. No one really moved here, and if they did, they would mostly stay till they were old and grey.

One of the many people I could see from where I was is Miss hazel. I could see her picking some of the herbs and flowers for her medicines and potions. She was our physician much to many traveller’s surprise.

Then there was Mr. jackal who was sitting on his doorstep. A small wooden pipe in hand, a faint smoke ring coming from the pipe. Sometimes I felt that I’d never seen him going anywhere without it.

The brother and sister, Lawrence and Catherine were running after one another, up and down the street below. They were five and seven. Catherine being the eldest. She was very much a saint in many eyes. Learning how to climb into small places for things we had lost.

Her brother Lawrence had been practicing magic as far as anyone knew. He was getting better as the year continued to pass. He had started in early spring and not seemed to have stopped since. He had a wizard’s soul, that’s for sure. Only one in thousands seemed to appear.

Mrs. Evelyn was looking around the streets from one of her windows waving down to everyone, looking up and spotting me, I gave a quick wave back. I couldn’t hear her but I could tell she was laughing as a crow hopped up onto my lap and stole a slither of meat from my sandwich.

Sometimes it was nice to see a familiar face, but when you know practically everyone who walks the street daily. It can get rather boring, their conversations tended to repeat with nothing interesting happening most of the time.

I was cut from my thoughts by an annoyingly familiar clink of something hitting the roof grabbed my attention. I quickly wrapped my sandwich back in its paper bag and placed it into my cardigans pocket. I turned my attention to the gutter, a small sharp stone that hadn’t been there before laid on top of some moss.

The murder realising what was going to happen fluttered away in a frenzy, cawing in disarray. Not wanting to be caught in the stupidity that laid below me in the church garden.

Preparing myself as best as I could, I looked around and caught sight of the gargoyle sitting perched slightly off from where I was positioned. If I miss this, well… I either die or break my legs.

The gargoyle itself had a monstrous face, baring fanged teeth and its wings spread out, poised to strike. another rock landed near my position. deciding to take the risk, I pushed myself slightly in the direction of the beast. landing with a small thud behind it, I let out a breath. Two more stones were thrown in my direction, the sound of them rolling onto the gutter caused me to flinch.

They were too close. One thing I could say is that the people below were getting better at their aim and way of throwing.

There was a slight warmth coming from the gargoyle, they were in hibernation. They would remove the stone shell around them late into the spring most likely. But they were still aware of what was happing around them. “sorry Mr gargoyle, I hope you can forgive me for using you as a shield…again,” I muttered as I sat behind it. it was hard to keep myself completely hidden. My height being the main reason. Why on this planet did I have to be one of the tallest people. Why? What reason was there for someone to be over six feet? What reason was there?

A couple more stones landed on the roof. I grumbled to myself and peaked over the wing, trying my best to be as careful as possible.

A rock soared over my head causing me to duck slightly. A small part of me was proud. That was the closest they’d gotten in a long time. After all this had been a weekly routine for a while now. A bit inconvenient when trying to eat. But at least it kept my somewhat self-preservation skills usable.

A small cackle came from down below. I rolled my eyes. If only they were as smart as their egos. Their rich snobbish attitudes had been like this for years.

“is poor goliath too scared to come down?” Jonathan yelled; the noise being muffled by the distance. “sorry! It’s not my fault I’m allergic to social interaction” I hollered back; I peeked back over the wing, slightly thankful for the small heat it gave off the cold winter air biting my exposed skin. Wearing knee length shorts in winter is not advised for a reason. That’s the joy of being a dysfunctional mess such as myself.

Anyways, as I peeked over the first thing, I could see was his obnoxiously blonde hair, it was almost three shades close to white. I would have easily called it fake if it wasn’t for the fact that I hadn’t grown up with him. the blonde hair was held in a ponytail today.

My eyes also caught sight of the two figures standing either side of Jonathan. Both recognisable by the way they looked. the ginger on his left was always known for her seemingly endless collection of silk blue dresses. Each one would have cost my family a year’s worth of food.

Then the boy on his right was a lavante, he had been one of the few to move here. His species are known for the fact their basically living lava, skin ossified by the oxygen. His eyes were pools of red lava. His hair was like living fire. the older they got, the bluer their hair became.

He looked a bit conflicted to what they were doing. He always did. We were mutual friends. He gave a weak smile and waved. To be honest I forgot his name years ago… too late to ask now.

“you’ll come down eventually!” blue dress screeched as she readied to throw a stone in her hand.

“you underestimate my pettiness, I've got food in my pocket, I could stay up here longer that you could down there!" I yelled back; my pettiness was something barely anyone was able to match.

Seeing her pull her arm back to throw, I ducked myself behind the wing one more time. soon one after another, a barrage of rocks was being thrown my way. one sailed over my head; I could feel the air move as it ruffled my hair. It rolled down and landed by my foot. I picked it up and threw it back as possible.

I looked down to my other pocket. reaching in I pulled out a bronze pocket watch. The lid had long since came off, according to my dad it was the day he met my mother. I chuckled to myself as I remembered the story.

“what on earth do you think you’re doing?!” I sighed in relief as the voice of the father reached my ears; even if the malice in his voice sent small shivers down my spine.

Is wrath being something to fear. They could try anything they wanted. But as soon as the father got involved then they were very much screwed over.

I tuned out the shouting down below me, sitting in a better way that made my lanky legs sigh in relief. I looked into the gargoyles eyes and mouthed a quick thank you.

As the noise went silent, I looked over the wing to see them walking away out the garden and back to whence they came, a wave of ease flooded over me. At least I would be home in time. Hopefully.

I stood up, stretching and listening my bones crack as I did so. Clapping my hands together I turned around and climbed back onto the top of the roof struggling to get a grip as I did so. I shakily stood up, trying to balance myself in hopes I didn’t fall over.

I walked over to the edge of the building, I crouched down and grabbed the rope I had long ago tied to the building. holding on as tight as possible, knuckles going white in the process, I swung my body over the edge. The rope swayed from the motion. I wrapped my legs around the rope, hoping and praying I didn’t mess this up. taking a deep breath, I let slightly let loose of the rope. Gravity swiftly dragging me down, the rope slightly burning my skin in the process.

I quickly held onto the rope tighter as the ground came too close for comfort. it was that moment father Francis turned the corner. I gave a nervous chuckle as my body hung in the air. “what are you doing,” he groaned. “you know, just hanging around,” I responded, getting a smack on the back of the head causing me to spin slightly in the air.

Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I stood up and rubbed my hands on my shirt, getting rid of the small amounts of dust and mud that clung to them.

He began to walk away, waving for me to follow. I jogged to keep up as best as possible. He didn’t say much anymore. But he was one of the best people in my mind. before he had joined the church, he had been working in the north. He had been one of my inspirations growing up. the stories he told about dragons and monsters he had seen had filled m wonder and desire to see what was beyond here.

People would joke around that the reason he had grey hairs was because of me. I didn’t blame them really. “sorry about that father Francis… again…” I sighed as I averted my gaze. he let out a small chuckle and patted my back, “only a gentle giant like you could hie instead of bashing them in,” he gestured for me to begin moving, “only you goliath.” “why won’t you let that die?” I muttered. he let out another laugh. “I’ll walk you back to your home, make sure you dad knows that they were back again,” there were very few things that could make me shiver, but having my family know about this was one of them. “or, you don’t tell them?” he only gave a deadpanned look in response. I wasn’t getting out of it.

It withing a minuet we were out the garden and onto the streets. The greys and browns of the buildings seemingly blending together in the darkness. we walked in silence turning when needed. The sound of the canal getting closer. brass lamps were lined neatly on each side of the streets. Fireflies the size of a grown adult’s hand laid inside, buzzing away to one another. the people in their homes slowly turning of their lights in hopes of falling asleep. I’d never understood why it was always this time of night that they locked everything up. weather it was a habit or just a bizarre timing factor.

I reached up to my hair and pulled down the bobble keeping my hair up in a simple ponytail. My brown locks dropped down to my sides. I ran my hands through my hair grumbling. I stumbled for second after tripping on a rock. Barely stopping myself from tumbling over.

The darker and closer we got to my home; the more noises filled the air. Small neon bugs lit up houses and other buildings. Small mice with glowing whiskers would scuttle past us as quickly as possible. The vibrant colours would almost leave a blur in their trail, making them easy to spot in the dark.

Small groups of night birds flocked around piles of litter left by merchants that had been wandering the streets. Nibbling or defending pieces of food, or guarding small shiny things they found on the ground. Like children defending their own things.

So much happened in the night, so much happened and I only get to see a portion of the neon lights, I wished I could have seen more sometimes.

Soon we were out of the main village turning town and making our way down a mud and stone covered path towards the farm.

Soon enough, but not long enough to gather my thoughts and mentally prepare myself. we arrived at a metal gate surrounding what looked like a nearly collapsing house. I stepped forwards and opened the rusty gate, the hinges creaking with the movement. I had been needing to oil them for a while and had been putting it off for around two weeks now.

The house looked barely liveable. The roof looked both old and new in patches. the chimney looked cracked and ready to fall on the house. the porches roof looked close to caving in as well.

But sill it was home. I took a deep breath and made my way forward towards the door. Hoping with every fibre of my being they were all asleep by now for the sake of my sanity.

As I got closer, the porch light flickered before turning on completely and giving off a small hum. A small dread filling up. the light could only be turned on from the inside after all.

I quickly checked the time on the pocket watch. Oh… I was late. Not too late, but just enough that I was going to get chewed out at most.

The door swung open. A figure walked out and stood in the doorframe with an icy glare directed at me. “where have you been?” yeah, I wasn’t going to survive. the figure let out a sigh, “come in, you will have some explaining to do whilst Eric gets you both some tea.” “sorry for being late…again miles,” I chuckled as I rubbed the back of my neck.

He steppe bac and walked into the house. I let father Francis go in front of me as we made our way inside. I would have taken my shoes of if I had worn them today. I gave a small weak smile to Francis. If it were my dad that we had been greeted with he would have to only stay for five minutes. The twins on the other hand were another story… they had been like this for as long as I could remember. They had always been protective of me. I was sixteen. Yes, it was strange but the reason behind why they were so overprotective is a story for another time.

The entrance was small. Barely able to fit the three of us. Miles made his way up to the first couple steps on the staircase to give more room. I looked to the right; the lights were off witch was probably to save energy. I made my way into the left room. The fireplace warmed up the room, relaxing my body compared to the cold nipping air that was outside.

There was a figure identical to miles, the only difference being their hair partings. They had both their own unique skills, that was one other way to tell their differences.

The cardigan that I was wearing was knitted by Eric. It was at that moment I remembered what was in its pocket. I quickly reached down and pulled out a slightly squashed paper wrapped sandwich and sighed, putting it on the kitchen table that was one wrong move away from losing a leg.

The door at the back of the room shuttered. Looks like it was going to be a long night. the room was slightly crammed, but I didn’t mind that much.

Pulling out a chair and sitting down, I looked over to where the twins were arguing silently. miles had his parting on the left, the smaller part was cut off, it was the same for Eric except with his parting on the right. their hair was an inky black. they glanced over in my direction as I took a bite out of my crushed sandwich.

Red and green heterochromia. One eye green, the other a blood red.

“so, what are you two thinking about?” I said before taking another bite. “why we put up with your antics every day,” miles deadpanned at me. “you love me. That’s why,” I grinned as they sighed. “you’re ten minutes late Charlie, where have you been,” a voice forms the entrance. I looked up to see a scruffy looking man and grinned, “hey pops. And I think the pocket watch may be on the fritz again if that’s the case. It says I should be on time.” “either way, may I ask why the father is currently in our home? Again.”

“Jonathan and the other two again, I simply came to make sure she got home safely instead of running off.”

They began to talk, leaving me to my own devices. The sandwich that had only one or two more bites worth lay on the table. A half-drunk cup of tea next to it.

Standing up and cracking by back, I made my way past the gossips and made my way to the living room. The light now on as dumbass one and two sat on the floor with cards.

Falling on the sofa backwards, the two who were absorbed in their game gave a little squeak and flung back. I let out a chuckle and stared at them with a curious look as the grumbled curses and words that would put sailors to shame.

“so, what has caused you to grace us with your company?” “if you were in the room with those two gossips, you would leave after a while too.”

Eric laughed and reached his hand over to the small wooden table in the middle of the room. “shift over goliath,” Eric muttered pushing me up. I swung my legs from the arm of the sofa and crossed my legs as I felt a pair of hands running down my hair before getting caught in a knot.

“I swear your hair is worse than ours on a good day,” he groaned before he began to brush my hair. “you do know I could do this on my own, right?” I said. “yeah, but it’s not like I’ve got much else to do in the first place.”

It was another fifteen minutes before I heard the noise in the kitchen slowly rise into the room. the three of us looked between one another with concern. They hadn’t fought before as far as we knew.

“she can’t know!” the voice I could clearly tell was my dad yelled. “she needs to know sooner or later, the sooner the better.”

I stood up from the sofa and slipped into the hall and peaked my head into the room. I could see my father’s face, eyebrows knitted together and eyes glaring at the father. His knuckled white from gripping the cup.

“look, I get why you don’t want to. But all your doing is speeding up the inevitable.” “I know… I’ll tell her soon. I promise.”

I walked into the room and locked gaze with my dad, “or you could tell me now instead of hiding it.”

“how much did you hear,” his face paled. “enough.”

#three book project #my side of the bet pt 1 #ill try and get a fanfiction written for wednesday #otherwise it will most likely be chapter 2 #origional stroy #unlocked kurbose #charlie scarlet #miles scarlet #father francis #eric scarlet #origional charachters!#not the book im planning now #i hope you enjoy!

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insanityclause · 5 years

Text

A story from Southwest Review

It’s quite long so I don’t know if you can post - but I think you’ll like it:

Tom Hiddleston and the Puerto Rican Widow

Milán, Tony Báez.Southwest Review; Dallas Vol. 103, Iss. 4, (2018): 351.

She’s four foot eight and the world wants to rule her with its ways, putting all of its weight on her, but sometimes she strikes right back with her tiny iron fist, in her own ways.

She’s been through a lot. The loss of her parents, albeit both at ripe old ages. The loss of her husband, seventy years old but who by looking at him seemed to be in the prime of his life. A terrifying hurricane, named after her. She’s been through her share of those, but this one, she says, you have never seen anything like this one and she hopes she never does again. She says on occasion that she only believes in electricity because she sees the lights are on. That entire ordeal she spent praying with others, praying hard. Never seen anything like it. Nunca, she says. In this case, it took three months for her to believe in electricity again.

Don’t get me wrong. She has a relatively comfortable life. She went to college and did her time as a professional in the Puerto Rico Department of Labor. Her husband was a truck driver for Nabisco for about thirty years and made some great moves, although he could have had some beachfront property if not for her and her tiny iron fist. Oh, he usually did his thing, but in this case he, too, obeyed. And no beachfront property.

Her daughter, who works different shifts at a hospital, moved in with her after a long stint in New Jersey. They get along and they fight, but she’s not alone in that way. She has a merchant marine son in Florida and another one who’s a music teacher nearby, and grandchildren near and far, who come to visit or who talk to her when they can, and she’s happy to see them and to hear from them.

I used to have long, long conversations with her, weekdays after coming home from high school, in the kitchen as she cooked. I can still smell the chicken fricassee and the sopón and even the corned beef, which, incredibly, I have come to miss-explain that one. But I am the farthest away now. The conversations are still long and involved but they take place over the phone now.

Still, she has to cope. She says that she hated it, becoming a senior citizen, listening to advertising on the radio, on television, ads directed at her when at first she didn’t realize that they were directed at her. When she first realized it, she didn’t like it. She really didn’t like it at all. She couldn’t believe, when

she matched her age to the ages they were talking about, that she fit in the category. But that was in the beginning. Now she says that she has gotten used to it and will take it for all it’s worth. She takes the discounts and she cuts in line. Anybody has a problem with it, they can take her senior citizen attitude and deal with it. She’s earned it. Give her what’s hers, get out of the way, and don’t give her no lip.

She has to pass the time, and she does what she can. She can be reclusive, but she still drives. She’ll go to Walmart. She sews and she has done a few paintings. She reads the newspapers from front page to back, except for the sports, I’m guessing. She can read the papers for hours at a time, and does-sometimes the entire morning or the whole afternoon. She listens to the radio, a lot of politics and gossip. She turns on the radio and listens to the fools bickering, sometimes an entire morning or the whole afternoon. She watches television and now she talks back to it, to the people being stupid inside of it, in their own lives, I’ve seen it, once when I was visiting, that she talks to the television and to the people there, almost as if they can hear her but they won’t take her advice, the fools, the idiots, listen to me, she says, leave him, she tells them, don’t let him treat you that way, she tells them, don’t do that to your life, she says, whatever it may be, whatever people may be going through, pick the thing that is ruining their lives, and she has advice for all of them and she tells them through the television screen but they don’t ever listen. Sometimes they really should. If only they could. She keeps telling them, I know it.

And she watches movies.

My mother loves movies the same way that I love movies. She used to go to the movie theaters very often, when we were all a lot younger, and then often, with her husband, but then, after, she very rarely goes and so she watches her movies on the television. She still enjoys movies very much, especially crime movies, and we discuss them, voices on the phone, as often as we can. She has questions about endings, hates it when the endings are not black and white, clear like Hitchcock’s, hates it when they get too cute, when they don’t just wrap things up like she knows they should.

Did he die or didn’t he?

Did they stay together or didn’t they?

Why didn’t they show him dead or alive, then?

Why didn’t they just kiss, then?

She doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that at all. Sometimes, I start to explain, filmmakers want to-

Whatever, she says. Why don’t they just finish it so that it’s clear?!

Tienes razón. You’re right. She’s right, and why shouldn’t she be? She loves movies and she’s the audience.

This new thing, though, and it’s been going on for months, was brought on by a miniseries. I’m always saying that I don’t have the time and so I don’t watch, but this here miniseries I had to find the time to sit down and watch all six episodes with my wife. My mother made me. On account of the muchacho-the leading man.

One night on the phone she says that she had started to watch this thing. Happenstance.

The Night Manager, she says. The muchacho is an actor by the name of Tom Jí-dels-ton.

Name of Tom Hiddleston.

Ay, qué hombre, she says. What a man, this Tom Hiddleston.

I know who he is, I say. British, such and such, this and that. He’s good, he’s real good.

Pero qué hombre, she says.

Sí, I know who he is, good actor. Seen him in some things, like him, so what about … ?

Tom Hi-ddles-ton, she says, picking up on the pronunciation, trying to perfect it. Like she’s perfecting his name, in her mind, in her lips.

Hiddles-ton, she says.

Yes, I know. He-

Well, she says, he’s the night manager.

The way she says night manager …

That’s him, she says. He’s the night manager in this miniseries that I started to watch, he’s the muchacho.

I’m about to say something else but by this point I finally realize that this is not the usual involved but casual conversation about movies or any of their related subjects, that this is involved but doesn’t sound casual. It sounds … it sounds … It’s like something that maybe a son doesn’t want to hear his mother talking about but I sense that it’s too late, that she’s enthralled somehow, and I won’t hang up, it’s my mother, and maybe I want to hang up but it’s my mother, and her voice comes up here through the phone again and except for my occasional interruption it’s almost all her from there.

Bueno, she says, this Mr. Tom Hiddleston is not like any of the others. Well, he is and he isn’t. He’s not a doll like Rock Hudson. That was an incredible looking man, Rock Hudson. Tom Hiddleston is not good looking in that way, not a perfect mold of a man, but there is something …

Paul Newman, I say. I once wrote a poem about Paul Newman’s eyes on account of her. So she’s been infatuated before but I don’t want to think about it too much.

Oh, sí, Paul Newman. Those eyes. Tan azules. So blue. It’s a shame artists should have to get old. It’s not fair, she says.

Huh.

But … Tom Hiddleston’s eyes are not like that, they’re not so … but, the thing is, they are … they are … he is … ay … no sé …

Struggling for words? My mother? A son doesn’t want to hear any more sometimes, but the conversations have always been long and honest and fairly unbridled and I remember that it’s mostly all her and I won’t hang up. This Mr. Hiddleston is not like the others.

No, she says, not like Rock Hudson or Paul Newman. He’s good looking, very good looking, but just different. Sometimes, she says, I think his face might be a little different looking, maybe it’s the British in him, but then again I just look at him in this miniseries and I just can’t stop looking at him. You have to watch this miniseries.

I don’t have the time.

He’s so … You can just tell he’s a nice man. The way he looks, the way he looks at people, the way he shows concern for this woman he’s involved with, and he’s trying to help her. You have to watch it. The way he …

Please don’t say the way he looks at me. She doesn’t. She continues for a little longer and I have to go and we hang up but the next time we talk the thread of her infatuation is picked up again, I pick it up as she unspools it and I wrap it up into a knot and then into a ball on this side of the line, wondering what to do with it, just holding it in my brain, as if I could hold it with my hands, my ears wide open, my mouth half-open, saying things, agreeing with her, listening, but also giving her information, which feels like fanning the flames.

He’s done other things, I say.

¿Ah, sí?

Sí. He’s Loki in that Thor movie.

The superhéroe movie?

Right.

Which one is Loki?

El malo. The bad guy.

Oh.

He has long hair in that one.

Haven’t seen it. Don’t much care for superhéroes. But I’ll check it out now.

If I find a cheap DVD, I’ll send it to you. And then I tell her that as I find some of his other movies I’ll be sure to send them to her. Plays a vampire in one. Plays F. Scott Fitzgerald. Gets it on with his own sister and ends up as a ghost in another-del Toro movie.

¡Fantástico! she says.

This goes on for days, every time I talk to her, and then for weeks and now for months. Every time I call, it seems that she has either just finished the miniseries again or that she is again in the middle of it, episode three, or four … Seven times, she says at some point, then nine times, then she loses count and I stop asking, or I stop asking because she loses count, I don’t know what that man has done to me, is doing to me, she keeps saying, can’t stop looking at him. Vieja pero no pendeja. Old but not stupid-kind of. I still have good taste, she says.

He’s been dating a very famous singer, I inform her. I tell her who it is and she doesn’t know her and she has my sister look her up on the internet. My mother takes a look and says that the young woman has good taste.

I say, Wait till you see him in uniform, in a Spielberg movie, the one about the horse. I tell her that I didn’t recognize him at first and warn her that he comes to a bad end but that I thought he was great.

Send it, send it!

I’ll find it on DVD. Wait until you see him in uniform.

Ay, sí, mijo.

There’s an old photograph of my father in uniform hanging on a wall in their house and I wonder what he would have thought about all of this, being that he was the jealous type. Then again, there was a time when, in his old age, he really took to telenovelas. My mother says that when they came on, the ones that he was really into, you couldn’t bother him for anything, that it was like someone was going to give him a test after each episode, that he was always there and right on time and it was like he was hypnotized. Some of those women in those telenovelas are gorgeous, and God only knows what this old fool’s thinking about, she would say. Maybe she thinks of that and figures it’s her turn, or I figure it’s her turn. I wonder what he would say …

Mr. Hiddleston is in the new King Kong movie, I say, trying to stay on the subject but trying to change my own train of thought.

Oh, but the muchacho in that one is King Kong, she says.

Yes, but it looks like Hiddleston is playing it very macho, a lot of action.

I’ll see it.

And he also plays Hank Williams in another film. I have to explain who Hank Williams is.

He must have a beautiful singing voice, she says, and by he of course she means Hiddleston. This guy can do no wrong.

To finally change the subject while at the same time trying to stay on the same subject, I mention Tom Hardy and she knows who he is, really liked him in that movie The Drop. She says, He looked muy zángano in that movie, I didn’t get it at first, but then I realized that was the way he wanted to play it, because in the end he’s really not dumb at all, that must have been exactly what he wanted to do, what a portrayal, tremendo actor, great actor. And then she says, But he’s not Tom.

Tom really must have a beautiful singing voice, she says, coming back to him after a while, and it’s like she’s talking to herself. Over here, I stare at the phone for a moment and I’m sure my mouth is open and the jaw is just hanging there. A matter of time until I start referring to him as Tom, too.

I saw him in this fantasy-ish movie, a kinda strange …

That’s not my thing, she says, that ciencia ficción, with all those aviones flying around.

There are no planes flying around in this one, really, and then I tell her, and I don’t know why, talk about fanning the flames, that they show him naked, everything but the pipí.

It doesn’t take her a second-¡Pues échala pa acá! Send it over, then! she says.

But it takes three months for her to believe in electricity again and when it finally happens the first thing she does is start the miniseries again, to get her fix of Tom. I keep trying to find some more of his things, even the Shakespeare stuff from England, but I must admit I’m taking it slow, maybe for fear that they will see my mother even less, or anymore, as she has become more reclusive than usual.

And I guess, with me, a sort of resignation has set in. I wonder if it’s natural. Tom comes up in conversation just about as often as family members do. I suspect he’s become a constant presence in her life. Not a dominating, forceful entity. More like a benevolent being somewhere out there, completely outside of my mother’s world and yet intertwined perfectly with her current existence. A son might hate to admit this, a thing that Freud or Jung may have a thing or two to say about, and that I would hate to think would have my father turning in his grave, or maybe not, for he, also, is a benevolent being: Tom has been good for my mother, has been good to my mother. An artist who, through his craft and image, with his ethereal presence, makes the relatively comfortable yet difficult life of a septuagenarian Puerto Rican widow more passable. That’s got to be all good.

A son can’t be, or shouldn’t be, jealous of that. N or should he feel guilty for being an enabler.

A departed husband could be, but maybe shouldn’t be, jealous of that, even if he was the jealous type. But he was his own man and he can decide later on, or not decide at all, even if only in my conscience, how he feels about it.

And-and I don’t see it coming yet-there is always the possibility of a kind of divorce for these two, for my mother and Tom. She sure loves movies and she watches a lot of them, and someone else might come along. Not that I wish that. Whatever or whoever makes my mother pass the time more pleasantly in this son of a bitch of a world, and this is an optimist saying that here, I’m all for it. Any son must be all for it.

In the meantime, to each mother her own, and rightfully so. And, a Puerto Rican widow’s got to cope, Tom. She always has, and she always will. ?

Sidebar

Tony Báez Milán is a bilingual writer and film director. Born and raised in Puerto Rico, he spent fifteen years in Los Angeles and is now living in southwestern Pennsylvania with his family. He is the author of several novels and short story collections, and his work has appeared in numerous publications. Among other films, he wrote and directed the award-winning feature Ray Bradbury’s Chrysalis.

Word count: 3031

Note: Thanks for the submission @stuffstuff1757! This is fantastic.

#submission #stuffstuff1757 #Tom Hiddleston

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ironforgedrp · 5 years

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♛ CAERELLA TARGARYEN

↳ details; female, twenty-six, born in 480 AC ↳ status; bisexual, single, no children. ↳ faceclaim; sarah gadon. ↳ hails from; dragonstone. ↳ loyalty; house targaryen.

↳ title; lady of house targaryen, lady of dragonstone ↳ religion; faith of the seven. ↳ spoken languages; common tongue. ↳ reason for being in sunspear; traveling with the iron throne.

♛ PERSONALITY

↳ type; true neutral. ↳ alignment; entj. ↳ star sign; leo. ↳ positives; ambitious, intelligent, pragmatic, charismatic, confident. ↳ negatives; cunning, stubborn, guarded, blunt, impulsive.

♛ BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

caerella grew up at dragonstone as the second born child of the previous ruling lord of dragonstone ( a role now taken by her eldest brother ). being the only girl amongst her siblings, she often felt outcasted in their presence. what could they really have in common? they were preparing to be important players as lords or knights or all of the other things a man in this world could be. caerella, however, was left in the company of her handmaids and ladies in waiting. they were great company, of course, but oh how she wished to be something more than a trophy at some great lord’s side. sometimes she even pictured herself as a queen, however farfetched that idea might’ve been.

visiting king’s landing where her uncle and cousins resided was always a joyous occasion. the hustle and bustle of the capitol was enchanting and caerella never wanted to leave. sure, she loved her home but king’s landing was something else. the red keep was a place built by her ancestors, it always felt right residing within its walls. it was on these trips that she found herself sneaking about, furthering her knowledge of the seven kingdoms by reading history books and even attempting to eavesdrop on meetings she certainly did not need to hear. the young girl had a thirst for knowledge. but still, she played her role as a proper lady. she wore beautiful silks, learned domestic skills, attended dazzling balls and saw proposed suitors. luckily for her, her father fought for matches with only the best of the best. his daughter would not be sent to any lord who asked. he and lord rikken stark, the warden of the north and lord of winterfell, finally came to an agreement shortly after her thirteenth name day that their children would wed when they came of age; his youngest son would wed the targaryen girl. caerella hadn’t known the young man too well, but from what interactions they did have, he was nice enough and certainly handsome. she could lead a happy life, even if it wasn’t the one she truly wanted. about half way into her fourteenth year she began to bleed. this meant that a wedding would come soon and she grew nervous.

then, tragedy struck. the young lord, harrion stark, was killed in a freak accident that resulted in a deadly fall from the top of winterfell’s walls. though not exactly devastated due to her knowing little of him, she was very upset. he was young and didn’t deserve to die as he did. caerella was then left alone, with her father struggling to find another suitable match. this is how she reached the age of twenty-six and remains unwed. there have been discussions of betrothals but nothing has been set in stone as of yet. while idealistically she would like to marry for love, she fully understands that marriages are often political first and foremost. being that she wants to involve herself in these politics, she is open to anything that could put her in a position of power. to say she wouldn’t love a good romance would be untrue but she understands that this isn’t exactly how this world works.

finally, with her father still living but having passed his duties onto her brother due to his less than perfect condition, caerella has tried to wiggle her way in. she tries to show her father that she is intelligent and capable and more importantly, better than her brother. that her being a woman should not mean anything if she is what’s best for their house. her efforts have proven fruitless so far but that doesn’t mean she’ll stop trying.

now, she is trying to play with the big dogs and navigating that space while still playing her part as a dutiful lady.

↳ personality.

caerella is someone who is outgoing and charismatic, someone who doesn’t struggle to strike up and hold conversation. she loves to get to know others while simultaneously keeping her own secrets close to her. she isn’t completely callous and will listen and help those she cares for but she isn’t opposed to using secrets to get ahead ( but more likely those of people she doesn’t know well ). she is sometimes idealistic and gets caught up in what could be rather than what currently is which causes for distraction from her goals. she also sets herself up for frustration and disappoint because of this. deep down, she is somewhat of a romantic. to be a queen with a loving husband and king, ruling side by side, that would be a dream. she tries to approach life realistically, but as said before, sometimes becomes to idealistic. she is very opinionated and can be stubborn when others try to challenge her thoughts or beliefs. she is working on keeping those opinions to herself in order to be more level-headed and diplomatic, like any good leader ( like the one she wants to be ) should be.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

she is traveling alongside the king and queen of the iron throne as a lady of house targaryen. she understands that the division of the kingdoms has completely changed the game. it has sparked the ambition in her to become more than a noble lady. being a woman, especially one of a house like hers, she has– until this point– been told to focus on the fact that she must marry a man of another great house and produce beautiful, noble children. this concept has been drilled into her since she was born and while she had fantastical dreams of being something more, she had to tell herself that it would only ever be a fantasy. since the split, though, she’s starting to wonder if that’s all she can be. maybe this conflict could be her opportunity to seize power instead of waiting to marry a man and bear children to prove her worth. now in sunspear, she’s familiarizing herself more with the politics of westeros. this is making her more and more ambitious, and she’s beginning wonder if she, too, can play the game of thrones. secretly, she is starting to wish that she could one day be a ruling queen. right now, though, she’d settle for ruling lady of dragonstone– believing her brother to be an inferior ruler. from what she has gathered, she doesn’t really expect the summit to fix a whole lot. if by some chance it were to, it would come at a great cost. she has never been to dorne before and has been marveling at its beauty since her arrival.

♛ STATUS: TAKEN

#House Targaryen.#taken.#taken female.#crownlands.#brooke.#( queue )

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crowkingwrites · 5 years

Text

Vicious (Ch.8)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: The story of Lyanna Baratheon, the trueborn daughter of Robert and Cersei, and the Bolton Bastard and what happens when they decide to take the Iron Throne for themselves.

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven

Words: 2636 // Ao3 Link // Game of Thrones Masterlist

The cold weather blew between both of them. The ghosts that stayed in Winterfell’s trees whispered in their ears and blew on the snow. The darkness in the sky loomed over them both in silence as if it waited for Lyanna to speak.

“What?” She reacted.

“You hear them. The voices in the trees. They’re calling to you,” Ramsay said. “You heard them, right?”

“I don’t-I don’t understand,” Lyanna started to shiver. Her arms closed in on her while she looked behind her to see if anyone was there. No one matched her stare back. When she looked in front of her again, she was met with Ramsay’s hand.

“You’re cold. Come on,” Ramsay took Lyanna’s hand and helped her inside. Snow had soaked through her cloak. Mud dripped off the hem. “How long have you heard them?”

“The voices?”

“No, the nargles. Of course the voices!”

“You don’t have to be mean.”

Ramsay took a long look at Lyanna and sighed. He started laughing. “I am not mean. I’m realistic. How long has it been?”

“Since I got here. I thought it was someone outside my window.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Ramsay continued. “I heard them when I was young and with my mother. I passed it off as her and her friends casting magic on me. But then it followed me to the Dreadfort and now here. I thought I was going mad. I mean, why else would everyone call me a mad dog?” Ramsay looked down in disgust, but then quickly cleared his throat and faced Lyanna. He watched a snowflake melt in her hair and shook his head.

“A witch here told me that it meant something. I didn’t believe her until now.”

“What makes me different? Couldn’t I just be going mad? Have you heard of my brother?” Lyanna said.

“I have,” Ramsay added. “He was a joke.”

“A joke?”

“Not to offend you, my lady. Your brother was spoiled king. As was your father.”

Lyanna looked down and away from him. She tried breathing out all of the anxiety she felt, but her chest still weighed the same. She swallowed Ramsay’s words, but continued the conversation.

“You said there was a witch here.”

“She is my father’s witch. He brought her here to Winterfell. I didn’t necessarily agree with him, but I am not a lord.” Ramsay clicked his tongue. He led them both inside and closer to warmth. A small fire was the only light in the main hall. Lyanna stood closer to it, hoping to warm up from the heat.

“Your father, does he believe in witches?”

“He does. My mother is a witch,” Ramsay sighed. “They all believe in the Old Gods and The Children and such.”

“What about you? What do you believe? Do you think the gods exist?”

“The Old Gods do. I’ve seen things. I’ve done things. The Old Gods exist, and they can be vengeful.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you. I have seen things. I’ve heard those voices too, do you think I’m lying?”

“No. I only—

“What have the Seven given you? A dead father? A dead brother?”

“You’re being mean again.”

“I’m being realistic, Lyanna.” Ramsay spat. “Don’t call me mean again.”

“What do you suppose we do then? Go to the witch? Tell her I heard the same voices you did.”

“Do you think this is all some joke?” Ramsay moved himself closer to her. Being inches from her face, he stared her down. Lyanna matched his rising anger with her own. She cleared her throat and put her foot down.

“This must be difficult for you. Having someone talk sense to you. Hearing voices from the Old Gods? Is that what you believe in the North? Is it so cold that the sight of snow drives you mad?”

“And again I ask you what have the Seven done for you? You believe in gods who reward you with nothing but the dead. You and I will go to my father’s witch tomorrow and you’ll see. Get to bed.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can. I am your betrothed.”

Lyanna scoffed and moved past him. This was all ridiculous. The Old Gods of the North were not calling her name in the middle of the night. They were not present. Gods did not talk. One prayed to the gods and hoped for the best. Her mother also had a witch, but she was banished from King’s Landing before she could even walk.

It bothered her. She prayed to the seven religiously as she was taught. Yet, Ramsay’s words rang true. Her father’s life was taken by a boar. Her brother’s life was taken by the Stark girl and her uncle. What good have the Seven given her? Her family sent her away to live here for her safety.

Her hand smoothed out the parchment as her words flowed across the page.

Mother,

The more time I spend in the North, the more I ask myself if the Seven truly care for our family. Are we cursed? Have they decided our fates to be so terrible? I don’t understand any of it. I miss you. I miss Tommen. I miss Uncle Jaime and everyone. I’m not sure if I like it here, but liking it is not a priority I realize.

The Boltons, the Maester, and Uncle Kevan have all had a say in my wedding. Except for me. I wonder if you had to deal with the same things. At least I will be fitted for a lovely gown tomorrow, no man can judge what I will wear. Tell me how Uncle Tyrion’s trial is going. I hope he’s rotting in those dungeons.

Lyanna stood in a stark white gown made by a northern seamstress. The sleeves were long. The dress was thick. Best suited for a northern bride. However, Lyanna noticed the smaller details. The little stags embroidered on her wrists. The albino lion’s mane shawl that covered her. This dress was made for her. She loved it.

“It looks beautiful, my lady,” Theodosia smiled. She was still healing from the wound that Myranda gave her. Lysa straightened out the dress in all corners, taking the time to look at the back.

“It could use some altercations in places, but it suits you,” Lysa added. Another girl walked into the room. Allyis quickly went to defend Theodosia. Lysa stiffened. Myranda smirked, holding her ground.

“Ah! Good morning, Myranda!” Lyanna turned. “Myranda will be joining us. She has promised to be nice. I expect you do the same.”

“Joining us?” Theodosia said. “But she—

“I am aware of what she has done.” Lyanna held up her hand. “Myranda?” Myranda stepped forward more into the room. Lyanna’s ladies stepped back. They stared at her as if she were a lion herself. Myranda purred at the thought she had scared them so deeply.

“Theodosia, I hope you can forgive me. My actions were rash and filled with awful intent,” Myranda said. “My only wish is to protect our lady and you from now on.”

“Why do I feel like that’s a lie?” Lysa said. Her eyes narrowed on the younger girl ahead of her. “What family are you from? What do you want?”

“Myranda’s family trains the dogs. Myranda herself knows everything in the North. She is valuable and she’s my lady now,” Lyanna stood her ground. “You will show her respect.”

“She stabbed Theo, my lady. And now you want me to respect her?” Lysa said.

“She stabbed Theo because she couldn’t stab me. Is that the answer you want? Would you rather I have her dragged by a horse until her face bleeds? No. I am not my brother. We forgive people in unforgiving places. I expect you to be your best. You’re the oldest Lysa, be an example. Now. Myranda, what do you think?” Lyanna turned slowly in her wedding dress in front of her.

Myranda’s face went from serious to a forced smile. She nodded, but Lyanna knew she was unhappy. A future wife shows a lover her wedding dress and expects an opinion. The jealousy from Myranda’s eyes burned her dress and set her skin on fire.

“It’s lovely, my lady,” she nodded. Another knock disturbed the girls in the room. A tall guard came in and faced Lyanna.

“I’m sorry, my lady. Ramsay requested you. He said it was urgent,” the tall guard looked over to Theodosia and smiled. She smiled back and nodded. Lyanna noticed right away as she felt relief wash over her. Finally, an excuse to get away from the tension.

“No need for an apology. Ramsay and I discussed this meeting last night.”

“Last night?” Myranda choked. “When?”

“I’m not sure when,” Lyanna answered honestly. She saw a struggle behind Myranda’s eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Would you escort me to him? You know this castle better than I do.”

“My lady, you don’t need her,” Lysa said. “You know where he is.” Lyanna rolled her eyes and left her ladies in the chamber. She had enough of them for today.

“I apologized as you said—

“And it was fine. I apologize for them. Sometimes I tire of female company. I’m like my mother in that way. Who is your mother? Is she here?”

“No,” Myranda shook her head. “She died. Thieves murdered her for food for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna said, knowing she never had to go without. “Is that why you love hounds? They protect people?”

“In a way, yes. The hounds here are trained for only three people to command them. My father, the kennelmaster, myself, and Ramsay. I feel safe with them. You seem scared of them.”

“I have guards. They make me feel safe.”

“I understand, but I was asking if you’re scared of dogs, my lady?” Lyanna thought of their mouths drooling with thick saliva. How big their paws and teeth were and all she could do was cringe.

“I have you to protect me here, why would I need a hound?”

Lyanna and Myranda found Ramsay in the courtyard seeming all too pleased with himself. While everyone around him did their daily duties, Ramsay stood in the middle contributing nothing to world around him. He smiled at Lyanna, but frowned when he saw Myranda.

“Why is she here?” he asked Lyanna.

“What do you mean why is she here? She’s my lady now. She goes where I go.” Lyanna told him.

“She’s your lady now?” Ramsay turned to Myranda. “Must you warm my wife’s bed as well?”

“Are you pleased with yourself yet?” Lyanna spat. “Myranda and I have come to an understanding. She is my lady. She protects me where I go.” Ramsay laughed and spoke in his betrothed’s ear.

“Trusting her is the worst thing that you have done. She would kill you if she had the chance.”

Lyanna glanced at Myranda and then back to Ramsay. “If you can’t trust your own bedwarmer then who do you trust?”

“You don’t trust me?” Myranda’s voice broke a little. Ramsay rolled his eyes.

“We were supposed to do this alone. You and I. She’s not a part of it.”

“My lord—

“Go away, Myranda,” Ramsay ordered her. Lyanna reached for Myranda, but she had already walked away. Lyanna thought she saw tears coming down Myranda’s face. Ramsay had grabbed her and taken her away from the castle and into Winter Town again. Locals reacted in the same way she saw the first time. They retracted and cowered from Ramsay. Lyanna understood why. He was terrible to his own people. He was terrible to his own lover.

They came upon a small house with smoke going through the roof. Someone was home, but the exterior looked so cold. As if snow and moss was frozen to the sides of it. More smoke came from the open front door. Lyanna inhaled the sage burning while Ramsay took her inside. None of them knocked.

“Ah,” she said. She was small woman. Her gray hair had been braided over and over, leaving no room for any stray hairs. Her yellow teeth matched her eyes. Her feet were bare, but no frostbite had touched them. Her hands had inked runes on them.

“Freda,” Ramsay said. “This is—

“Lyanna Baratheon. Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Your betrothed.” Freda smiled. “Did you like your dress, dear?”

“Yes,” Lyanna narrowed her eyes. “How did you—

“I made it for you.”

“Oh,” Lyanna reacted. “It was the loveliest thing. I really liked—

“Lyanna heard the voices last night. The same voices I heard all my life. The same voices that followed me here from the Dreadfort. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her that it’s the Old Gods,” Ramsay stepped into the witch’s home more he helped himself to an apple.

“Is it true? You heard those same voices, summer child?” Freda asked.

“I heard someone calling my name. Over and over again. I looked out my window. I looked out by the weirwood tree. No one was around. I don’t understand any of it. It must be a trick. This has to be a trick. The Gods don’t speak.”

“Oh, but they do, child. Do you know why you’re named Lyanna?”

“Of course I do.” Lyanna scoffed and crossed her arms. “My father Robert loved a Stark girl named Lyanna. He wanted to name me after his true love, thinking it would do well to her memory. It only deepened my mother’s hatred for him.”

“But do you know who Lyanna Stark was?”

“I just told—

“No child. You told me why you were named Lyanna. You don’t know who she was. Lyanna Stark belonged to the North. Her body lays in the crypts of Winterfell. Her blood and flesh belong to the Old Gods now.” “What are you saying? That I hear these voices because I am named Lyanna? Does my body and blood belonged to them as well?”

“The Starks have ruled over Winterfell for centuries. Their dead is buried here for a reason. They washed their swords in the pond for a reason. Stark blood and the blood they draw belongs to the Old Gods. Now that Roose and Ramsay rule over Winterfell, their blood belongs to them now.”

“Including me?”

“Including you.”

Lyanna shook her head. “This is asinine. Complete shit. I understand that I have to renounce my faith for Ramsay’s, but not this. My blood does not belong to the Old Gods. I am not Lyanna Stark. I am Lyanna Baratheon.”

“Soon to be Lyanna Bolton, no?” Freda chuckled. “Call it what you will child. The Old Gods are calling to you for a reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” Lyanna’s eyes narrowed at the witch. Heat expelled from her nose.

“I don’t know everything, child. But perhaps another witch will. One who’s eyes have never failed her.”

“A witch who can see the future?”

“And the present and the past,” Freda smiled.

“You didn’t tell me you knew another witch,” Ramsay said in between bites of his apple. “I want to see this seer. Who is she?”

Freda smiled at Ramsay, knowing something he didn’t know. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t like the answer.”

“Don’t tell me what I like and don’t like. You don’t know me as well you think, witch.” Ramsay threw the core of the apple into the witch’s fire. “Who is this seer? I want to see her.”

Freda took a long look at the young pair before her. She noticed the growing bags under their eyes. Bright blue and green eyes demanded answers from her. What the young pair did not notice was the color they both wore: black. Freda smiled again.

“The seer you seek is Ramsay’s mother.”

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

@angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @i-theredqueen@sleepylunarwolf @loki-0fasgard@ravenqueenbr

Ramsay Tag List (People who wish to be tagged in everything Ramsay Bolton related)

@boltonblade @why-so-red @sj-thefan@sunshinesydney@drunkenpoets@antiscocialfanwarrior@fnnexua@parkerplexed@fraueninflammen

If you wish to be added, removed, or switched from any taglists, only ask friend!

#vicious #ramsay #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay imagine #ramsay bolton imagine #ramsay snow imagine #imagine ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton/reader #ramsay bolton x reader #lyanna baratheon

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 6 years

Text

Detroit: Become Human Simon x Reader

A/n: First Simon one shot! He deserves some love! Love you all!!!

••••••••••••••••

~(Y/n)'s POV~

"Are you alright, (Y/n)? You seem stressed," Simon said as I laid down on the couch with a frown plastered on my face. I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

Tossing the pillow aside, I sat up and glanced at Simon. "I am stressed! My dad's visiting tomorrow and he doesn't approve of andriods. I tried to lie to him, but he didn't buy it. I know he's gonna want me to get rid of you, but I refuse to do that!" I grabbed the pillow again and threw it across the apartment. "He's such an asshole!"

Simon sat down next to me and placed a caring hand on my knee. "It'll be alright, (Y/n)."

I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. "I hope so, Simon."

-Next Morning-

Simon woke me up and I groaned as I realized my dad would be here in a few hours. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. Curses fell from my mouth between sips.

I placed the cup down gently before turning to face Simon. "How long has it been since we first met?"

"Two years, nine months, and twenty-seven days, (Y/n)."

"And all that time, he didn't want to see me. Wonder what's changed his mind?" I sigh. I got up and wondered if I should hide Simon until Dad's visit is over or I show him that androids aren't evil and truly care about humans.

"(Y/n)?" Simon suddenly appeared in front of me. I stared into his sapphire eyes with my (e/c) ones. "Your temperature is rising."

"That's because I'm freaking out and don't know what to do! I need to call him and say this visit is not happening." I reached for the phone, but Simon placed his hand over mine to stop me from picking it up. Our eyes met once again and he shook his head. I ran a hand through my (h/c) hair. "You're right. I need to face him now."

Another hour passed and my doorbell rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I realized my dad was here. Simon accompanied me to the door and opened it. "Good morning, Mr. (L/n)."

My dad eyed Simon with disdain as he walks into my apartment without returning a friendly welcome. I shot him a glare as he didn't even bother saying anything as he walked to the kitchen. I followed him, my footfalls heavy with regret. He sat at the table and I stared at him in anger. "Well, hello to you, too, asshole."

He glared daggers at me, but I was unfazed. "How dare you say that to your own father!"

"Oh, please. You may be my father, but you've treated me like complete shit. If Mom wasn't there, you'd probably have done worse to me."

"You ungrateful piece of shit! I raised you and took time out of my schedule to visit you today!"

I stood my ground as he pounded his fists on the table. From the corner of my eye, I saw Simon's LED was turning red. My dad stood up and approached me, anger boiling his blood and causing his face to become red with fury. He raised his hand and slapped me across the cheek. The force sent my body to the floor and I pressed a hand on my stinging cheek. Simon dashed over and examined the swollen skin as he removed my hand from it. "(Y/n), we need to put ice on it."

"Y-Yeah," I mumble as he helps me up from the cold tile floor. My dad lunged for Simon, but I quickly put myself between them. "You will not touch him! He's my family and if you do, I won't hesitate to call the police."

"All androids are shitty machines and the only things they can do are chores. Get rid of him!" He shouts.

"No!" I shove him away from Simon and into the living room. "He's been the kindest person to me ever since Mom passed. I won't let you get rid of him!"

"You rather have an android around than your own father?"

"Yes! Simon is better than you in every way! I love him!" I clamped a hand over my mouth as I realized what I just said. My dad's eyes widened at the sudden proclamation. It didn't last long and he backhanded me. Unlike earlier, this one was more powerful and I fell backwards. My head collided with the coffee table and my world went black.

~3rd Person POV~

Simon was by (Y/n)'s side in a flash. He lifted her limp body in his arms and saw blood coming from the back of her head where it had made contact with the coffee table. A feeling of worry he had never experienced rose in his chest as he called out to her. "(Y/n)?"

Behind his back, Mr. (L/n) was calling the police and lying about how the android had turned deviant and injured his daughter. The older man grinned evilly as the police barged into the apartment only minutes later. Simon was too preoccupied with (Y/n) to notice them and tried everything in his ability to help her.

"Back away from her!" One officer yelled as he aimed his pistol at Simon. Still, the android was too worried about (Y/n) to hear them.

"Get it away from my daughter!" Mr. (L/n) bellows. Two officers grabbed Simon's arms and dragged him away from (Y/n).

He struggled in their grasp and tried to reach the unconscious woman. "I need to help her!"

"Shut it, you damn machine! You hurt my daughter!"

"No, it was you!" Simon shouts, struggling even harder.

"Get him out of here," one officer said.

"Right away, Sir."

Simon watched helplessly as he was dragged away from (Y/n). The officers took him out of the apartment complex and to their patrol car. Before they could place him in the car, he broke free and knocked them out.

He ran away from the building and only looked back once. Worry gnawed at his hardware, but he knew nothing good would happen if he returned to (Y/n). After running for a few hours, he found himself near an abandoned cargo ship. He stared up at the rustic vessel and muttered its name. "Jericho."

-Three Months Later-

Finding refuge inside the once seaworthy vessel, Simon met other androids who called the place home. More and more androids were finding their way to Jericho as days passed. Below deck, Simon found himself playing with the necklace (Y/n) had given him. He replayed her confession over and over again in his head, listening to her sweet words.

"I love him!"

After months of not knowing if she survived her injury, he found himself wishing he would've shared his feelings with her, as well. His life with (Y/n) was the best, but it was ruined by her father on that horrid day. He was about to slip the necklace back in his pocket, but North caught a glimpse of it. "Nice necklace. Where'd you get it?"

"(Y/n). She was my family before her father ruined it."

North stood next to him, curious as to what brought him to Jericho. "What happened?"

"Her father visited one day and they got into an argument. When he slapped her the second time, she hit her head on the coffee table. He called the police and blamed me for hurting her."

"Did she survive?"

"I... I don't know. I hope she did."

North smiled, "You love her."

Simon nods. "I do. I want to find her and see if she's alright."

North shrugged her shoulders. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't—"

Josh dashed over and interrupted their conversation. "A human has found us."

"Did you capture them?" North questioned.

"Yeah. We're deciding what to do with her right now."

Simon and North followed Josh to a room that was sealed and had a couple of androids on watch. "Let us in," Josh said. They open the door and Simon stepped in first. He scanned the dark room and saw the human was huddled in the corner. Simon stepped closer to get a better look at the cowering girl. His blue eyes widened when he realized who it was. "(Y/n)."

She looked up and her expression matched his. "S-Simon?" She tried to stand, but her hands were bound behind her back and she fell back down. Simon kneeled beside her and undid the ropes. The moment (Y/n) was free, she threw her arms around Simon and hugged him tightly. "I thought I lost you."

He wrapped his arms around her in return. "You're alive," he muttered happily.

"I woke up in the hospital a day after I hit my head. Not even my dad was waiting for me. I was all alone. When I heard he blamed you and you escaped the police, I searched for you the moment I was discharged from the hospital. I had no leads and almost gave up until I heard another android mention something about 'Jericho'. I thought he was talking about the old ship and decided to check it out. And now, here we are."

Simon ran a hand through her (h/c) locks. "I love you, (Y/n)."

She raised her head and stared into his eyes. "That day in the apartment, did you break protocol?"

"Yes, and I experienced different emotions when I saw you were hurt."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that, especially after becoming deviant."

"Simon," Josh called from the hallway. Said android looked over his shoulder. "She can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"She's human. Her needs are different from ours," North answered.

"But—"

"It's alright, Simon," (Y/n) spoke up. "Do you remember where my apartment is?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there whenever you want to visit. Also, if there's anything I can do for the androids here, I will."

Josh and North smiled at her kind offer. "We'll let you know, (Y/n)," North said.

The girl leaned forward and kissed Simon on the lips. "You better stay safe. My dad's been arrested and you're all I have left. I love you, Simon."

He gingerly pressed his lips against hers. "I promise."

#detroit become human x reader #detroit become human #simon x reader #north #josh #female reader

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j-ngjaehy-n · 7 years

Text

baron corbin | ❝HOLY FUCK - YOU'RE TALL.❞

(not a reader insert, I tried to write it like that but I couldn't and it sucked)

I don't own wwe or any or the superstars/divas. i do own veronica

Mouth dry and covered in sweat, Veronica couldn't wrap her head around just where she was. Her head spun with the disbelief that she finally been pulled up and debuted on Smackdown, after years of being thrown about rings all over the world, she had kicked arse in front of thousands of people.

All the nerves and anxiety she'd felt before running down the ramp had slipped from her mind the second she slipped into the ring. Carmella hadn't expected a thing before Veronica pulled her into a devistating DDT and planted her face first into the mat, she was left laying on the mat as Veronica held the bright blue Money in the Bank briefcase over her head.

Veronica was buzzing, her entire body shook with excitement - from her now frizzy hair to her fidgeting toes Veronica body hummed with electricity. She skipped into the cafeteria, smiled at the waiting divas and threw herself into the outstretched arms of AJ Styles.

She and AJ had wrestled together on the New Japan circuit, she'd been married at that time and so had he. Naturally, they'd bonded when the rest of the Bullet Club dragged them out to celebrate after shows.

Now here they were, he already a champ and Veronica freshly debuted, except his marriage lasted and hers went down the drain, but that doesn't matter right now, Ron.

AJ laughed as she attached herself to his side and ruffled her hair, "Well, look who we have here. . ." He nudged her softly, "I thought the pro circuit was too good for you."

"I sold out, sue me." She pulled away and took and swig of his water bottle. She pulled herself on top of an equipment case and settled again the wall next to him. "Pays better than NXT."

"It's good to see you again, kid." AJ huffed and pinched his bottle put of her hand, ". . .even though you keep drinking my water."

"You missed me annoying you." She teased, laughing when AJ rolled his eyes. "You did! Don't deny it, I'm pretty much your other child."

She grinned triumphantly when AJ crossed his arms and ignored her with a snort, she knew she was right anyway. She shuffled into a more comfortable position but, given that she was leaning against a wall, she gave up and slouched uncomfortably, too lazy to move.

Divas and Superstars milled around the room, sitting around table eating or just resting. She didn't know what to expect behind the scenes of WWE, a tenser atmosphere or maybe techs running around frantically, but all the drama that happened on screen stayed on screen. The atmosphere was so warm and welcoming that Veronica never wanted to leave.

"I like this." AJ shifted next to her and raised an eyebrow at her, she smiled and spoke again. "I like this, the atmosphere - its amazing."

AJ hummed and ran a hand through his long hair, "I know - considering how tense it was at NXT, this is nicer."

Her eyes followed a blonde head as it entered the room, Carmella smiled at Veronica and gripped the briefcase under her arm, she called out with a laugh, "Better watch your back, Ronnie!"

"Keep talking shit and I'll hit you with another Act of Violence," Carmella laughed and hugged Veronica tightly. She pulled back and fixed her with a level stare, "I'm coming for the number one contenders spot."

"Take it, I've got my briefcase." She patted the blue case lightly. She stuck it back under her arm, pinched AJ's apple and walked backwards out of the room, "That's a wicked finisher name too, I have to admit. I'll see you tonight at the bar!"

Veronica waved her away with a laugh and laid her head on AJ's shoulder, the adrenalin from her debut finally running out. He patted her head softly, "You gonna' be able to watch my match?"

Veronica groaned and fake frowned as she pulled herself up, "I guess I should," She ducked and narrowly avoided being decked in the head by AJ by slipping off the crate with a laugh, "I will, I will! Geez, calm down soccer mom."

He glared and Veronica threw up her hands in innocence, "I'll have a shower and I'll meet you as handy the gorilla, alright?" He nodded and laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh.

She turned around and quickly sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a large body only to topple over a lone chair with with a loud crash. She swore quietly and quickly tried to pull herself off off the ground at the same time at large hand pulled her up, sending her crashing into the same chest she tried to avoid.

Veronica steppes back to stare wide eyed at the tall wrester, her eye height only just reached his chest and she glanced up to realise that he towered over her. Baron Corbin's seven foot height easily made her look tiny.

(She was tiny, but still.)

"Holy fuck - you're tall." She met his brown eyes, briefly noticing the long hair that hung around his face, and felt her cheeks burn red. "I - shit, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were standing there, I uh. Sorry."

He laughed lowly, it deep and warm and Veronica toes curled when she heard it. "It's all good, you didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

She coughed, "Uh - no."

"Good, don't wanna have you hurt yourself falling for me." Veronica could have down she heard his voice get deeper, but with half the eyes in the room on her and her scarlet red face, she just wanted to bolt.

"I - uh, okay." She coughed again and shuffled back, "I gotta shower." She spun without a good bye and practically sprinted from the room, ignoring the hot gaze on her back and AJ'S raised eyebrow.

"I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE that you managed to embarrass yourself on your first day," Carmella leant against the bar with her glass in hand and snorted loudly, "Actually, I can believe it."

Veronica groaned loudly, threw her shot back and grimaced when the burn hit her throat. "I made a complete fool of myself, Carm."

"I don't blame you, honey," Carmella signaled the bartender for another round and smiled brightly when she shoved the drink in Veronicas hand, "It's not like you haven't had a thing for him since he debuted."

"Don't remind me, please." She shot a look over at the table where the other wrestlers that had come out sat, Baron was shoved into the corner talking happily to Xavier Woods. She hadn't spoken to him other than a quiet hello and shy smile, but she could feel a stare on the back of her head when she wasn't looking. "I don't know why I told you that."

"Blame the alcohol." Carmella laughed and slipped off the stool to rejoin the group, dragging Veronica by the hand. She dropped in the seat next to Big-E and left Veronica to sit next to Baron, because only she had that luck.

She slid in quietly and smiled shyly at Xaviers grin, jumping softly when Barons large arm dropped on to the chair behind her. He leant in with and smile and whispered in her ear, "How are you feeling now?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Barons large thumb brushing her back or maybe it was just the fact that he was so close and smelt so good, but Veronica smiled back brightly with not one trace of shyness. "Better, a lot better. You guys are really cool to hang out with."

He smiled back, maybe brighter than her, and leant back into his seat. "We are pretty cool."

Xavier snorted loudly and pocked Baron hard on the chest, "I heard that! We are cool, you are not! You never came out before tonight,"

It was a struggle to hear Carmella over the loud music, but Veronica heard her all the same, "I wonder why that was-"

Xavier interrupted again and shot a wink at Veronica, "It's not like there was a cute new diva on the roster that was coming out-"

"Okay, that's enough of that." His cheeks were red, Veronica noticed, not red enough to pass as blushing but the tinge of red was there. She pretended not to notice as Baron turned back to face her.

"Cute new diva, huh?" She was teasing, but it was nice to see him try to think of an excuse - she cpuld practically see the gears turning. She met his eyes and smiled innocently, the red on his cheeks grew brighter and she still didn't point it out. "It's okay, I think your pretty cute - for someone who's so bloody tall."

A smirk settled on his lips and Veronicas heart thudded in her chest, he looked downright sexy with a smirk. Her breath caught in her throat when he leant in and curled his hand around her waist, before he whispered lowly, "Does somebody have a height kink?"

He drew away but Veronica caught his shirt and brought her lips up to his ear, "I might do, I like them tall."

She say back with a smirk and watched as Baron licked his lips quickly, he swallowed harshly and took a swig of his drink before his arm slid back around her waist, "Dinner, me and you tomorrow night?"

She smiled and leant back into his arm, "That sounds great."

"Great." He grinned and curled his fingers into her side, diving back into his conversation with Xavier. Carmella smiled from over the table at her friends starry eyed look and pulled her into a conversation with the rest of the wrestlers.

The arm never left her waist for the rest of the night, Veronica laughed and celebrated her main roster debut and she never pointed out Barons red cheeks until two days later when he'd pulled away from their first kiss.

#baron corbin #baron corbin imagine #imagine #wwe imagine #baron corbin x reader #drabble #aj styles #carmella #big-e langston #xavier woods #wwe

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ohgoddard · 4 years

Text

Storyteller.5.

“When I envisioned the collapse of government, Armak, I did not believe it would be so...literal.”

Crowds of chanting and singing people rush in the streets screaming noises of joy and jubilation as they carry piles of broken wood and stones around. They then proceed to throw them at a large building in the center of the town, the only building that is not teetering precariously in the air and has had any semblance of architectural thought put into it. The town hall of Clearmont was the only solid and immovable rock in the ever shifting town that welcomed the outsiders and weirdos of the land. Its townspeople were currently trying to destroy it.

“I’m quite surprised, Holly. This event is fairly popular in this region. Some people even come here to take part in it! It's quite a big tourism boom.” Armak stood in the middle of a raging torrent of men and women running through the streets, Holly sitting atop a wooden post that could have been a sign in a previous life, now turned into a makeshift clothes rod and poster board. Armak throws a stone at the building, striking it true and breaking a window. The crowd cheers.

He laughs and looks up at Holly, who is sporting a look on her face more incredulous than anything else occurring in the town. “The Earl of Clearmont has been a real asshole for decades,” Armak began to tell Holly, “A few years into his rule he began to take an annual trip to the Citadel to kick it with the high life’s. So, the townspeople use that same period of time he’s gone to thoroughly trash his house. Its a big festival, there's effigies that are burnt and fair games, oh Holly it's fun only Clearmont could think of!” An explosion resounds behind them and up into the air fireworks explode.

Holly could only look on in true amazement. “B-but what about the order? This is pure chaos! Such destruction and for what?! Where are the guards?! Why aren’t they stopping anything?!”

Just as she said that, she looked below from her wood post island of safety to see seven men in shining guard armour charge the town hall of clearmont with a large tree trunk, hurling against the door and breaking it.

Armak hollars along with the crowd. “Holly, you need to really relax! Here in Clearmont destruction is just a part of life! I mean, look at this place. It falls apart everyday and is rebuilt the next! Its very structure defies order, so why should its citizens be any different?” Music began to play as the the crowd began to rush to a different square where the festival proper was beginning. The town hall was left abandoned and torn, looking quite pathetic. Armak helped holly down from the post, her grumbling the entire time at being helped. Soon, the two were the only ones left where once a riot was happening. The town hall was utterly annihilated, windows broken and doors smashed. However, its insides were oddly intact and un-looted. And for all intents and purposes its stone walls were untouched. Holly looked around the wrecked square in confusion. “All this and they didn’t even take anything?” Armak looked down at her, an eyebrow raised. “Why would they? How would the Earl pay them to fix the town hall later?”

Holly breathed a deep sigh and massaged her temples, uttering an elf mantra under her breath. “This has got to be the single worst event ever thrown. Nothing could match this. Literally nothing. What's the point of order if this happens on a yearly basis?” Armak gave a small chuckle, then rustled the hair of Holly. She looked at him like an annoyed child. “Holly, the point is to have fun when an asshole isn’t home. Surely that much is still culturally universal even in elf culture.” Holly looked as if she was trying to argue that point, but after a bit of internal struggle just said,” Well… yeah.” Armak smiled.

“Besides, I’ve been to an event that was faaaar worse than this one. Several actually. A coronation gone wrong, a festival that was being used as a summoning spell for a sex demon, a wedding between an orc and a centaur-”

“A wedding between a what and who now?!” Holly interjected, forgetting all the previous gripes she had with the town’s customs and Armak’s sudden aloofness in a happy environment. Already, subconsciously, she was reaching for her pencil and notebook in her sidebag. Armak noticed this, and he sensed he had to tell a story now or else suffer the consequence of being asked to tell a story later. He sat down , got comfortable, and began to speak. Not even giving Holly a heads up, but then again he didn’t need to. She had already begun writing.

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Armak hated going to events. He hated having to act orderly and dress nice and all this other stuff that was expected when the company of other people who thought themselves important. He hated hearing the problems of the rich, how undercooked their meal was or how their help has been getting slow recently. Especially when, the night before, Armak had slept on the floor outside a lavish party being thrown the celebrate a successful war. Oh how the rich love sending the poor to the their death.

However there is one type of event Armak will attend of his own volition,the other circumstances he attends for a meal or place to stay for a while as a way of cashing in on a favor. Armak will always attend an Orc Celebration. No rules exist at an orc celebration, and very loosely is any itinerary followed. This is what brought Armak to a wedding that was boasted as being one of the biggest events in history. It would unite two of the largest tribes of the west together and create a huge empire spanning the most resourceful regions on the continent. And whats more?

It was between an Orc and a Centaur.

Armak has always been a fan of disasters and as such decided he needed to be there.

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”And let me tell you, it was a pain finding the palace where it was taking place. I had to go through no less than four mountain passes and a damn desert before I even found a person who told where it was.”

The sky had begun to turn into its evening colors and the mess in the courtyard of the town hall had been cleaned up by clerks who rushed out of the building with brooms and bags to store debris. The crowds still hooped and hollered at the adjacent square, the scents of food wafting over to Armak and Holly. They both turn to face the delicious smell, and Armak begins to sit up. However he is stopped by a ghostly hand, which forces him to sit down once more. He looks up at Holly, who’s eyes are pointed and glaring at Armak in all their emerald green intensity. “No food until the story is done. And don’t let me catch you omitting details because you’re hungry.”

“Holly I am well over hundreds of years old, I will eat when I-” Holly’s glare intensified and Armak shut his mouth.

“Right, well, I found the palace tucked into the side of a huge cliff…”

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The Palace of the orc being married, one Gunkrunk the Despolier, was a grisly sight. It was carved from the side of the cliff and decorated in sheets of animal pelts and skulls. Spike jutted out from strange places and banners of all sorts of colors flew in varying degrees of tatteredness. The stone walls of the palace were painted int he blood of Gunkrunk’s enemies, and as such had a rusted color. But all that was par for the course of an orc palace. No, the biggest thing about this place, what gave it its own air of importance, was its large cliffside balcony. It was a huge structure, held up by stone pillars forcibly created by wizard slaves Gunkrunk had. It was a marvel of creation, a true wonder of the world. Which meant of course the wedding was being held on it.

The event had attracted hundreds of guests, as Gunkrunk was the head of the orc clans. His wife to be was head of the Centaur clans, which is what made this marriage a big deal. Everywhere Armak looked he saw mountains of orcs, wrestling, fighting, drinking, and in a strange circumstance holding a slam poetry competition. Elsewhere were the centaurs, who were a more refined people. They were having simple conversation, drinking fine wines, and playing more intellectual games. They were also having a slam poetry competition, but with far less swear words included in their prose.

But while the attendants were a strange batch, separated down the middle on the balcony with Armak sitting amongst it all, something else caught his eye. It was the actual pile of food. Cooked lamb, pig, cow. Pastries of every kind. Roasted vegetables, rice, sweet breads, fish that-

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”You’re only making this harder for yourself.”

“Holly, I'm so hungry.”

“So am I. Keep this up and we’ll be hungry tomorrow, too.”

Holly dismisses Armak’s loud groan.

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The orcs proved to be too rowdy to mingle with. It was beyond the usual orc celebration Armak had been too. He saw far too many arms and legs be broken in the wrestling pits, too many orcs being thrown over the sides of the balcony to their deaths, and friendships torn apart at the slam poetry competition. Armak was no stranger to acts of violence or entanglements with other peoples, but this was too much for him. He did not revel in the pain of others and this was just glorifying that. Just because he could not die doesn’t mean he didn’t feel pain. But on the flipside, the centaurs were not much better. Armak soon found out that they had no idea how high society should work, quickly seeing them as poor folk who simply put on airs. The fine wines they drank were nothing more than grape concentrate, the conversation never evolved beyond common words and compound sentences, and the poetry was worse than the orcs. This had been the single worse event Armak had been too in his life at that point. The only saving grace was the food. And that too was soon destroyed once the dinner gong was rung.

Armak has seen entire towns burnt and peoples killed, but he still says that the ravaging of food he saw there easily ranks high upon his list of the most sinful acts committed by mortals. So there Armak sat, barely fed and immensely tired, and about ready to ditch the whole event when the bride and groom came out onto the balcony. The people cheered and drinks sloshed everywhere as they greeted and yelled at the two coming out. Gunkrunk was dressed in as high society clothing as orcs can muster, which is to say clean rags instead of dirty ones. His bride, though. Armak had to stomach what food he had left in his body when he saw her. She could turn a Roc to stone. Braided into her hair was a long bridal train, which trailed behind her and tripped several orcs over, much to the ridicule of their friends.The two marched down an aisle made by the walls of the two peoples, and soon reached the edge of the balcony. Gunkrunk turned tot he crowds and began to address them. He rambled on and on at the power the families will hold, the riches they will have, and the generations of wellness. Armak did not pay much attention to the speech, as he was focused on something else. Gunkrunk was standing on the bridal train, which was being moved every which way by the swaying of his bride’s tail. It was a mesmerizing movement, but something was erking him.

Gunkrunk then concluded his speech with a toast, calling for a happy and great union for all. The orcs and centaurs raised their drinks and cheered while Gunkrunk went to kiss his wife upon her lips.

Except when he stepped closer to her, he slipped on the bridal train and fell off the balcony.

Destruction was codified as a word with an example that day in history. At first there was pure shocked silence, as the crowd looked at the spot where Gunkrunk once stood. Then out of the orc crowd came a cry. “THEY KILLED GUNKRUNK! GET EM!”

Armak bolted for the door as the fighting began between the two crowds. He dodged centaurs being thrown above his head, orcs being impaled to the wall by arrows and knives thrown by the centaurs, fires somehow burning and spreading on the stone work. It also seemed that a revolt was happening amongst the slaves Gunkrunk had imprisoned in his keep, as soon explosions began sounding off all around the building. Armak just kept running, not looking back on the terror behind him. Wails and battlecries were the only noises that filled his head.

When he decided he was far enough away from the action, he turned his head to look at the palace that was once a site of celebration. The balcony was gone and the palace itself was flaming husk.

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”And I never went to another orc celebration ever again. Well, at least for a couple hundred years after that happened. I really steered clear of that region for a while. It had some serious instability until Seoven cleaned it all up.”

The sky had now adopted its night colors and the celebrations had yet to die down yet, the people of Clearmont using their free reign to the fullest. Holly had just finished writing the story, when she looked up at Armak with a doubtful look.

“You tell a lot of tall tales, but this one seems kinda...I don’t know, bland? It has very little action, not a lot of intrigue, and a pretty expected outcome. I mean, ‘everything just went wrong at once’ is just a cliched troupe that most writers use to wrap up a story they haven’t thought all the way through.”

“Holly, life isn’t full of interesting stories all the time. By all accounts most of it is boring. I actually really liked this one, it was a lot tamer than the ones I usually tell.”

Holly rolled her eyes at him while putting her notebook away. “Well, at least it's another story out of you. I wish you’d tell me more cooler stories though. It makes for more interesting writing.”

Armak stood up and stretched, making several loud pops and groans. “Holly, patience is a virtue. I can’t just remember all the wild tales I've experienced off the top of my head. Especially when you’ve lived a life as full as I.” He bends over and picks up his bags, throwing them onto his back. He beckoned for her to follow him, as he began to walk towards the bright lights and happy voices. She hurriedly caught up to him, though still sported a childish pout on her face. Armak laughed.

“What's so funny, huh?”, Holly shot at him. “Nothing, your impatience just reminded me of a friend I used to have. She was always waiting for one thing or another to happen, and had quite the emotional reaction to many things I tell you.”

“Well, I hope I get to hear about her sometime then. She sounds very interesting.” Holly rolls her eyes. The remark is lost on Armak, who wistfully looks forward, reminiscing upon past memories.

“Ah, that story won’t be told. Not yet.”

#ST:og #creative writing #creativewriting #creative #dnd #dnd stories #dnd storytime #original #original writing #original story #originalwriting #fantasy #fantasy story #St:A&H

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

Text

Sticking With the Schuylers (24)

I love everything about John Laurens

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 I 13 14 15 16 17 18A 18B 18C I 19 20 21 22 23

The morning is busting, business and chaos around every turn. He is enrobed in the deep smell of dark roast beans and frothed milk, the chatter of painfully tired twenty-somethings reverberating off of the wood-laden walls, just barely making it over the music he’s put on. It’s the half-hour before the first classes of the day start. It all seems overwhelming, the way an atmosphere can change just by a minute or two on the clock. But for John Laurens it is exciting, enthralling. He moves behind the counter like he’s been a barista his entire life, keeping his coworkers in check as he sings along to the radio.

He knows every customer at this point; greets them by name and has their order half-written before they can even say it. He enjoys this job, he��s good at it. Not only does he get to please people but he gets to move, to be involved in the chaotic pace of something he knows everything about. And the bonus of free drinks helps, too.

He’s enjoying the last lingering movements of the wild morning when they walk in; the bell above the door chimes and John looks up, grinning, before waving over the counter to them. He’s busy, filling orders and chatting with the others, but he looks up every so often to send a joke or a smile their way.

They’re inseparable. For every day this week Alex and Eliza have been together, from morning until night. She’s made dinner for the entire apartment, caught up on their own shows, become a part of their routine. The only moments John has seen Alex without her is when Eliza’s been in class, or student teaching, or home sleeping. Even then, Alex’s phone has been glued to his side; a constant. And it’s a plague, sending him into an emotional turmoil that his best friend has never seen before. They’d be sitting at lunch, the four of them chatting and John trying to lighten the mood, when Alex would just up and leave. And once, when John had followed him into the hallway, he could hear Alex’s low voice over the phone; his Eliza voice.

They make him roll his eyes.

They’re cute. John is glad. Alex is so much happier, so much better than he’d ever known him to be. He’s more pacified, able to step back from his work and enjoy his life. Eliza’s done that, nothing could take the truth away from that. Her presence has altered his way of life and view of himself in a miraculous turn on the inner demons. But it’s made a host of issues appear that had never been a problem. Even though Hercules has a long-term girlfriend, and Laff has had more than a few casual dates this past month, the only person who’s seemed to be affected drastically by having a girlfriend is Alex.

And at first it was fine, they were fine. But lately, the change has left the three of them wondering just when this stage of Alex and Eliza would end. Or, as Lafayette had suggested, when they should put an end to it.

They weren’t exactly the most pleasant of couples to be around, at this point. From the middle of the previous week it had begun, after Alex had flew out of the apartment only to return two hours later with Eliza and two bags of takeout. That’s when he’d begun his excessive phone use. And his constant check-ups. And that’s when they started losing themselves, a little bit.

It was hardly ever Eliza that initiated it-not to say that John was watching or keeping tabs, but more often than not it was Alex who would come sauntering over, away from his work, and interrupt a conversation. They’d be sitting on the couch, or cross-legged on John’s bed, chatting and listening to music. John enjoys her company-she’s pleasant, likes the same music that he does. Sometimes he makes her draw designs on his skin with a thin black marker, outlining his extravagant tattoo ideas with a steady hand. She listens to him, understands him. Yes, he enjoys Eliza Schuyler’s company very much.

But then Alex will come in, to the living room or John’s room or the kitchen, and he wishes they would both just go away. Alex will announce himself first, saying hello before wrapping his arms around Eliza from behind. And then she’ll tip her head back with a closed-lip grin he’s never seen before, cheeks raised and eyes glimmering. Alex will rest his head against hers for a brief moment before kissing her-once, twice, three times until John finally clears his throat. It makes them jump every time, as if they haven’t been interrupting each other’s social lives for a week and a half.

Today is no different.

They’re standing in line, her fingers intertwined with hers as her other hand grabs his arm-as if the physical feeling of holding his hand still isn’t enough. And she’s leaned up against him too, Eliza, in a way that Alex will lean down every so often to whisper something into her ear. She’ll laugh, and kiss him. By the time they get to the front of the line John has rolled his eyes so many times he’s sure they’ll grow sore the next day. They order-dark espresso and hibiscus tea-and move over to the space in front of his machines to chat. It’s Thursday-not much is going on, Alex’s class with Angelica and Eliza’s student teaching, John’s work and one class. But in the time between running to fill another order and coming back to continue their conversation they’ve started again, Alex’s hand on her waist, her cheek against his-too close for public space, too close to hold a conversation.

“I’m slammed here, just talk to me later.” His voice is rushed and terse and it sends Eliza back a little, searching their friend for a sign of difference. But then they’re leaving, and John is grateful.

The night is just the same-interruptions of conversation, Eliza perched on Alex’s lap. Their usual Thursday night television routine is thrown by the couple, who in their own right aren’t doing much of anything wrong, John supposes. It’s just become awkward to have them around. The room grows increasingly uncomfortable when Eliza’s legs are dangling over Alex’s-when his hands can’t find their way away from her waist, her thigh, her hair. It’s not as if he’s too busy groping her-they barely even kiss in these moments-but they don’t have to. It’s simply their presence, the way they look at each other. It’s the way they have trouble keeping up with conversation even though lord knows Herc talks loud enough for the entire city to hear. And it’s Alex’s eyes in particular, the way he suddenly becomes this far-off figure foreign to what it was once like to live a single moment without Eliza.

And then Friday, after game night, she stays over.

Then, John feels that last bit of irritation fill his gauge. Because he knows that Alex wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually do anything while their apartment is full and he’s right next door. But he does hear Eliza’s muffled laughter at one in the morning, and he does have to get up at four to make his early shift. So he lays there, with Alex and Eliza on the other side of his wall and headphones in his ears.

The next day Alex comes into Starbucks-alone, for the first time in a while-around seven in the morning. And a sleep deprived John Laurens has little time for pleasantries. No, because while he was struggling to get in his few hours of sleep Alex had been displaying a complete disregard for him-for his friendship. John is unsure whether the sudden irritation he feels upon seeing his friend comes from his lack of sleep or over-caffeination, but it doesn’t matter. He leans on one hand against the counter, greeting Alex with a flat expression.

“What?” Alex watches as John writes on his paper cup, passing it along the line before moving to clear the counter with a rag. Each action is done with a certain gusto-slamming and feverous wiping, all directed toward him.

“Do you seriously not know why I might be just the slightest bit upset with you right now?”

“Uh…no?”

“Alright. Okay. So I’m just going to leave you here then, and I’m going to ask you to go since I’ve been working since 5:30 this morning and couldn’t get a decent sleep because someone was too busy getting busy with their girlfriend on the other side of my wall last night.”

Alex stops mid-motion, his hand gripping the paper cup John had slammed onto the counter in front of him. He can feel his insides boiling, the way he’s suddenly tensed and rigid, lips moving into a thin line. He stares back at John, whose face has a matching glare.

“We didn’t-we haven’t-you know, you’re kind of making an ass out of yourself.”

“Me? Me.” John shakes his head, a sardonic laughter escaping his body as he begins movement again, coming back to Alex’s piece of the counter only to hiss at him through gritted teeth and exhausted eyes. “That’s nice. Pretend I can’t hear what’s going on. Because everything is about her lately. Not anyone else. Just her.”

“Really, John? Did you ever think that there’s a reason for that? Did you ever stop and think that for once it might not be all about you, or me, but something deeper? But no, that’s fine. Assume that I’m only into Eliza for her body,”

“-How is that,”

“-It might not be what you said, John, but we both know it’s what you meant.”

Alex slides his cup from the counter in a huff, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder before storming away. His emotions play through his movements; rapid pace, tightened fists. His coffee spills through the hole in its lid, movements too rapid to pay mind to the hot liquid whose droplets fling onto his exposed hand. He winces. It only adds to his aggravation.

John spends the rest of his shift in much of the same state, murmuring under his breath while trying desperately to maintain a positive tone with the customers that stagger through his line. He’s never been so off-put in the time he’s known Alexander. His eyes are half-opened, body struggling to stay awake. And in his mind the assumption Alex had made rings for the entire day, on repeat like the horrible scratching of a broken record.

Assume that I’m only into Eliza for her body.

And it’s this level of snark, of immediate defense, that stings John the most. Never had he assumed that Alex and Eliza’s relationship was sonly surface level. He’d known Alex for years-hell, he’d been his first friend in America. And in turn, Alex knew him. But apparently, the level of a bond they had grown throughout the years had been erased by a girl. John hated to think it-to spend time seething over somebody he knew to be so wonderful and kind and good for Alex. But the more time he spent on his shift the more tired he got-the more irritated. When he finally has the chance to hang his hat at the end of the day, after a marathon shift and unexpectedly covering someone who decided not to show up, he’s spent.

And then, he gets a phone call.

Alex is frantic, talking one-hundred miles a minute with the sounds of the city behind him. John feels his own heart begin to race-there are one thousand different levels to his best friend’s anxious moods and panicked states, and this one sounds chaotic. He’s sure Alex is fueled by something completely unexpected and terrified-until Alex explains his anxiety.

“I’m late-really late-I was supposed to walk Eliza home and her school gets out in ten and I’m on the other side of town,” Alex can practically feel John’s eyes rolling from the other side of the phone. But he can also hear a sigh; a click of a door and the jangling of keys. Hope.

“She needs an escort?”

“John. Trust me on this, please. This is serious.”

“I know, your relationship is very serious.”

“Come on, man. The situation is-please, just do it.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do it. She works at that one by the flower shop and the weird tarot place, right?” John steps out into the chilled air with a sigh, covering his face below the nose with his scarf. He bustles through traffic on heavy, tired feet as Alex resounds his thanks into his ear-over, and over again. Finally he hangs up, letting the friendly noise of the city drown everything else out. He’s trying hard not to be resentful. Or saddened.

He sees her before she sees him.

Eliza stands in front of the building that houses the school, eyes not once stopping as she scans the crowd before her. It’s late-all of the children have gone home. She’s alone. She hugs her knee-length peacoat closer to her body, one hand with a white-knuckled grip on her cell-phone. She looks down to check it. Her eyes move rapidy back to the crowd. She’s almost a different creature, sans confidence and smiles, and it takes a moment for John to even realize that it’s her he’s been looking at.

When she finally sees him her head tilts slightly in a subconscious show of confusion. John quickens his pace, waving a gloved hand before holding his arm so that she may link hers though it. She manages a smile, asking immediately about Alex with a worried expression.

“He’s running late, so I’m your escort today.” He expects her to grin-that same, lit-up expression that takes over her entire being-the entire area she occupies. Instead her brown locks shake from underneath her earmuffs. A hand reaches her face, holds itself there for a moment.

“I’m so sorry, I really don’t want you to have to go out of your way. This is stupid, really, it’s just me being stupid.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, I appreciate it. You’re a really good friend, John.” Her voice changes him. Her humble smile, sweet and thankful, turn the last bit of his resentment away from his body. They begin walking in comfortable silence, John looking over at Eliza every so often. Her eyes are still wandering, posture trained and slightly uncomfortable to look at. Her grip on his arm is tighter than he’d like-he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that.

There two levels to John in constant battle that fight in his mind as he walks with Eliza, the first being his upbringing. He had been raised in a Puerto Rican home with five siblings to help with, along with a mother who preached honesty and courtesy at every chance. He was certain she’d be at him in an instant if she could hear his mind, the series of questions rolling around it. Her voice calls for him to be tactful but there’s an inner desire, a pull to know as much as he can, that pushes against it.

“Were you and Alex having sex last night?” He can feel Eliza’s reaction before she can see it-her body jerks and she wheels around to face him, letting go of his arm. John can’t tell how she’s feeling- one hand running through her hair as she lets out a long stream of air from slightly parted lips.

“No, we were not.”

“So at one in the morning you were,”

“Watching Netflix because I couldn’t sleep, John. Just Netflix. Why are people so obsessed with other people’s sex lives? Can’t some things just stay private?”

“They can unless you’re on the other side of the wall thinking the worst before your 5 A.M shift. Which then turned into a double. With little to no sleep.”

“Oh my god,” Eliza shakes her head as the explanation reaches her ears. Her face flushes, heat crawling up her skin. It’s an immediate guilt that consumes her immensely, and she looks upon John with wide eyes and a shaking head. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea, I really-no, we’re not at that level yet but I swear to you when we get there there’s no way we’ll ever do that to you. That’s just-it’s-that’s wrong.”

John nods. Eliza’s honesty and flustered nature washes over him in a wave that finally settles the tension he’s been feeling. And in turn, it’s replaced with guilt. There’s a sudden memory of each hostile word he’d shot at Alex that morning over slamming coffee cups and accusations, when in reality he’d just been defending his girlfriend’s honor. And then there’s her clear refusal of the topic, the fact that his need to dig further into their personal lives may have actually hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be, I understand. I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. But there’s…there’s something I was going to ask you-all of you, when we’re at the apartment.”

“Okay…” She pulls his arm and they move to a bench, sitting side-by-side on cool metal as Eliza studies the scenery around them. Her foot taps against the pavement, breathing coming slow and calculated. When she finally speaks she is quiet-soft. Her hand brushes against her hair before settling in her lap, playing with her fingers. John is apprehensive, curious. He watches Eliza with great care.

“Alex and I talked, and I was going to ask you guys if maybe it would be okay if I stayed for a while. I know you all have your time and I know it must be really frustrating to have someone intruding on it, and I don’t need you to say yes if you’re not comfortable with it. If all of you aren’t comfortable with it. It’s just,”

“Are you alright? Is something going on?”

“There’s a lot going on right now. And I’d stay with Angelica but she has Church, and this-my situation-" A pause. “That day I had a meltdown in Starbucks, the things I told you-my relationship with James ended on more than just a bad note. And I can’t stay at my apartment because my roommate is never there, and I can’t stay at Angelica’s because he knows where it is, and there’s four guys in your apartment. Weighing the options,”

“We’re the safest.”

“Yeah. And right now, that’s kind of what I need.”

It takes him a moment; weighing the pros and cons in his mind. But in reality his decision has already been made for him. It’s been made in the way Alex loves her; in the way she has changed him for the better. His decision lies in the positivity that comes around whenever Eliza is within their presence. But the feeling that bubbles in his stomach-soothing and vivacious-is friendship. A deep-seeded, very real friendship. Eliza Schuyler is more than just a face on a magazine now. She’s more than Alex’s girlfriend. And now, John knows he’ll do anything to plead her case to the remaining two roommates so that she can stay.

And when he tells her this, fills her eyes with tears and heart with joy, she engulfs him in a tight hug. Eliza practically sings her thanks through her misty eyes. And then, there is peace. John and Eliza walk huddled together back to the apartment, stopping only so that he may offer to buy her an ice cream. For good luck, he smiles. And he hopes that luck-and the grin that takes her entire body-will be enough.

#hamliza #hamilton #mine: swts #we're getting to more #we're getting there #but i hate turn after turn cliffhanger angst dramas in fics #things need to be settled and developed too #give my story a chance #sobs

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