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dadsbongos · 3 years

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Psyche Taxi

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa: Killing Harmony Dynamic: Shuichi Saihara/Reader Warnings: chapter 1-2 spoilers, this whole thing is a delusion, mentions of a hit and run (psyche taxi shit), brief description of hit and run aftermath (psyche taxi shit) Summary: Shuichi reunites with a woman he's never known inside his psyche taxi. ~~~

The sun was hot and it felt as though her skin would begin to peel at any moment if she didn’t get a taxi soon. Pink sands kicked up with the wind and the occasional bright red bird passed by overhead. There was the outline of purple buildings far in the distance and yet she knew that they were unattainable. They were just as real as she was, which is to say, nobody knew for sure.

All she knew was that any time she tried going near them, her body found itself right back at the corner in the road she was at now. Though, she’d always been traveling by foot - maybe a ride via car would work better. It wasn’t technically the same thing as all the other times she’d tried, and therefore, it wasn’t technically insanity.

Along the vividly purple horizon, she spots an aggressively yellow car swerve into the lane nearest her. She taps a foot in waiting and looks down at the driver as he pulls up.

His golden eyes are sunken and weighed down with heavy bags, bangs hang low in his face to hide the pale flesh of his face. His complexion lacks sweat and that’s how she knows his vehicle is much cooler than the desert she’s always known.

There’s blood and chunks of meat in his taxi’s grill and that’s how she knows he doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings.

His lips hesitate in their question and he sounds tired, if slightly horrified, “Was it the lab window that Ryoma was brought from?”

She circles around the car and gets into the passenger side, pulling down the visor and unshielding the mirror to look at her makeup. Perfect condition despite her sweating in the sun. That’s when she notices that all traces of sweat have vanished from her inside this taxi. Putting the visor back up, the woman of the night shrugs,

“Would that not be the victory of common sense?”

Silently, he nods and she learns that he claims to be a man dubbed Shuichi Saihara.

She’s not sure how she knew Ryoma - but she’s certain she knew him her entire life. A man of short stature and ambitions larger than life - all of them were ripped away, to which he responded by ripping right back. And she couldn’t blame him. The world was rotten and it was only a matter of time that the people would follow.

“His heart wasn’t always frozen solid,” she watched Shuichi flinch at her statement, “But, of course, you know that, don’t you?”

He nods once. Then twice. Then his brows furrow.

“I thought he’d be okay.”

“You had hoped he’d be alive when the morning came.”

“I wanted everyone to be alive when the morning came.”

“You are a kind man but you hold too much weight on your own brain,” she looks out the window as the desert fades away and streetlights begin flooding in, neon signs burning her retinas. She looks back at Shuichi as he keeps his eyes tight on the road, “The anxiety inside you masks itself as care but one day, when there is not many of you left, you will realize it was never your fault and there is nothing you could have done. It is better to accept this now rather than cling to a blanket that will wither away at the slightest hint of winter.”

“I could’ve stopped by his lab and offered to walk him to his room…”

“You could stay up all night and be just as useless as you would be if you’d gone to bed. There is nothing you could have done,” she feels him shiver and his heartbeat quickens and while she remains in the dark as to how she can feel him, she knows it’s real, “He was destined to die.”

There’s silence passed between them as the car drives through a rest stop and into more desert. But this desert is new. It’s muted in comparison to the one she’d always lived in.

Yellow sand, blue sky, brown rocks piling high to the heavens, she reaches a hand out the window and notes that it doesn’t feel as insufferably hot as her street corner. It’s unnatural. They pass billboards with a woman of white hair and yellow overcoat and Shuichi barely spares it a glance.

She almost asks if he knows her when she remembers that not only does he not know anybody, but she also knows everything he does. She can feel his brain and heart and they intertwine dangerously. Just barely separating long enough for him to clear a murder case before letting the execution rest over his aching bones for the rest of his short life.

He picks up speed, “Ryoma was brought to the gym from the gym window, correct?”

She barely nods, “You already know what happened.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“You’re absolute.”

The billboards morph again and the lights grow stronger, an overhanging blue settling over the scenery. Bright buildings shining their obnoxious show into the taxi.

Cars begin pulling along the road beside them, weaving in and out of their window views. Shuichi’s tires screech with every swerve and his shoulder crunch into his torso at the unpleasant sound.

The purple tinted city she’s pretty sure she’s always aimed to enter comes closer into sight.

Shuichi turns his head to look at the woman, “Was his body transferred from window to window?”

More neon signs scorch into their eyes and its bright shades of purple that are stuck in her brain as they pull closer to the city of her nightmares.

“It would be impossible to do so via the pool, no?”

“Right.”

He takes his hands off the steering wheel to rub at his heavy eyes and the car continues straight.

“What will you do now?”

“Tell the others what I know,” his heart grows heavy at the sudden thought that this woman who he’s given a face, voice, and personality - almost - will disappear, he grabs one of her hands, “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly as the purple city she always wanted inside begins vanishing, she peeks in the rear view mirror and sees nothing but blank whiteness behind them as well, “But you should convict her. Before you are accused of hiding the murderer.”

“Kirumi’s kind,” he opens his car door and thinks back to the piece of glove he’d found at the pool, “I don’t know why she’d do this.”

“Motivation runs strong in people with steeled hearts.”

He nods once. Then twice. Then throws his body out of the taxi as it continues speeding down a nonexistent road.

She looks down and sees her legs have also disappeared with the end of Shuichi’s taxi daydream. It’ll be mere milliseconds before her consciousness does too.

But at least he’ll have solved another case. And the class will be saved.

#shuichi saihara x reader #shuichi x reader #saihara x reader #ndrv3 x reader #drv3 x reader

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

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I'm sorry you've had a rotten day D:! If it's not too much to ask could you do Fireman Tony losing a bet and having to pose for a calendar set to raise money for a charity (perhaps Peter is the photographer and in charge of said charity)???

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

That’s very sweet of you, nonnie! This was the perfect way to cheer me up, so thank you for that, too! It got a little porny - I hope you don’t mind :P

warnings: NSFW blowies and firefighter Tony goodness

Around the firehouse, frat rules applied. Which meant that toilet seats were never safe and bets were ongoing and made frequently. As the Chief of the station, Tony got to be the facilitator of many of the things that went on around the firehouse. When he set up the calendar photo shoot to benefit the local children’s home, he never figured he’d be actively participating – but that’s what he got for being a hot head and betting on something he never should have.

It all started when Bucky brought UNO in during one of their lull shifts. It took a lot of convincing, because most guys hadn’t played the game in years – but once it got started, things got nasty very quickly. Give men the ability to get competitive and it’s fucking on. They were playing last man standing rules – so everyone with cards in their hands kept playing until there was an ultimate loser.

The round that Tony decided to sit in on was one of the biggest yet. They jammed together six decks of cards and let the game goes at it might. Steve had already bet Bucky that he wouldn’t give the crew a show on the pole, and Clint stood in his boxers for the rest of the night. Aside from all the laughs and the sore stomach muscles, Tony was starting to get a little worried. He’d been hit with three ‘draw four’ cards in a row, and the lack of organization of the cards in his hand made it hard to play quickly – or intelligently for that matter. He held so many cards, it was a wonder that most of them were total shit.

One by one, the guys checked out until it was Rhodey and Tony left – the two leaders of the station going head to head. There were shouts and cheers all over the place, both men starting to lose their cards quickly now that there were only two people and the deck was pretty small. “What’s the bet?” Tony heard when there were only four cards left between them. Looking up, Tony blushed when he saw the look in Rhodey’s eyes – the four years of college they spent together reminding him that his best friend could be ruthless when he wanted to.

Finally, Rhodey filled in the rest of the class – the room going quite when he lowered the deck and looked straight at Tony. “Loser poses for all twelve months of the charity calendar,” Rhodey said, a smirk on his lips. The two of them spent a couple hours planning out the poses just days ago – there were some a couple of very questionable ones that he all of the sudden regretted choosing. Sucking in a breath, Tony did the only thing he could and accepted, his head already hanging in defeat – he was sitting on two yellow 7’s.

It didn’t matter that Bucky slipped Rhodey a ‘draw four’ card in the end, Tony already figured he was doomed to his fate. The men broke into applause when Rhodey slammed down his last card – a triumphant look on his face. “I can’t wait to see this,” he exclaimed, his smile reaching the shit eating territory pretty fast.

Which is why, a week later, Tony found himself being fitted into the outfit and put into a chair that would inevitably lead to him being made up into a shiner, more glistening version of himself. Though he felt resigned to his fate, it would have been nice to be on the other side of this situation, laughing at the fool getting his picture taken – instead of being the one getting laughed at. Either way, he spent a little extra time in the gym over the last week, so he and his body were more than ready.

Walking out into the mostly cleared out station in just his suit and nothing else on underneath, Tony felt himself flush – there were less people in the room than he figured and the whole thing seemed way more natural than some of the other shoots that went down in the firehouse over the years. There weren’t any fancy lights or loud assistants bullying him into this position or that – simply a man, a camera, and the computer the images would manifest on.

For the first time, Tony noticed the younger man – and he was obviously younger, the shine of youth still diligently clinging to molten brown eyes. He was a bit on the shorter side and very lean – though he could immediately recognize the bulge of a bicep when he raised his hand in greeting.

His hands were big – like they were made to be wrapped around the priceless piece of equipment he was holding (or other things – but now wasn’t the time for those sorts of thoughts.) The most important thing for Tony was his smile, though – when it broke, his lips spread until they were practically touching his ears – and his cheeks colored, that fire engine red so beautiful; a swift reminder of the thing he loved the most.

“Hey, Chief Stark,” the photographer started, long legs carrying him over until they were standing face to face. “I’m Peter Parker – I’ll be doing your photos today.” He stuck a hand out between them, that smile on his face spreading a little bit more when Tony finally caught his eye. He carried an air of confidence that not a lot of people his age could even think to achieve, let alone project.

Taking his hand, Tony felt himself smile, too – his customary resting bitch face slipping for just a second. “Nice to meet you, Pete – I hope you’re planning on making me look pretty,” Tony replied, his brow quirking, the smile on his face shifting from soft to playful. He even let himself chuckle when Peter’s blush deepened – the red taking on more of a maroon tint to it now.

“I don’t think you need any help from me,” Peter remarked without thought, his own eyebrows raising in challenge. And who was he to fight with such a thought like that? Especially when it was being delivered from that of an beautiful individual. Nodding in answer, Tony let his thumbs slip under the suspenders of the fire suit, his eyes wide.

“Good answer, Peter Parker – good answer.” He shook his head, turning it after a second to give himself a visual break. It was going to be hard to focus on looking at the camera with anything other than hunger, this kid was too gorgeous for his own good. “So, where do you want me?”

The next hour flew by without Tony noticing much of anything other than the softly spoken cues and explanations of the poses that Peter wanted him to go through. He wet himself with the hose and leaned against the 141 engine, he climbed the ladder with one of the suspenders slid off his shoulder and his suit dragging down until it was almost too obscene – he even let Rhodey throw a bucket of sudsy water on him. Despite some of the humiliating catcalls he got from some of the guys, Tony enjoyed every single second of it.

At the end of it all, Peter finally came up for air, his eyes no longer seemingly like a secondary attachment to the camera in his hand. The kid was talented – there was no doubt about that. Tony didn’t need to see the photos to know just how good they were going to turn out. The natural way he took in the light and allowed Tony to be himself spoke of experience and understanding.

He caught a smile from the young photographer and saw his hand beckoning him over – the kid’s eyes wide with what seemed liked excitement. “You’ve got to check a couple of these out,” Peter proclaimed, his fingers already clicking through the digital roll on the computer. Tony watched them all pass across the screen in hyper speed – the poses moving from one to the next like a flip book. He settled on one and turned the computer so Tony could see it more fully.

Tony immediately recognized the moment – the water was just splashed on his face and he raised a hand to get it out of his eyes – his fingers were tangled in his hair and the water was flinging back off the strands, his face completely lit up from the shock and excitement of the moment. His jaw dropped a little – in all of his time participating in something like this, he never encountered a picture of himself he liked so much. His instincts were absolutely correct – Peter Parker was immensely talented.

“Damn, I look amazing,” Tony couldn’t stop himself from mumbling. Peter’s answering giggle had him turning his head, his cheeks on fire. Peter was looking at him funnily, a hand over his mouth to stop the further chuckles from falling out, probably.

“You’re the hottest person I’ve ever taken photos of, Chief,” Peter whispered. His hand moved from his mouth into his hair, the strands standing on their end after fingers were dragged through them. His bright eyes were mostly pupil and if Tony were reading the room right – it appeared that Peter Parker did in fact like what he saw.

Looking around, Tony noticed that most of the guys were occupied – half of the crew out on a call and the other outside in the gym or playing pick up on the court. He wet his lips and went for it – what could it hurt? “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that, Parker. Want to see the rest of the station? I can show you where the five-time fire station chili cooking championship winning chili was cooked, if you’re interested.”

Peter took the offer for what it was and followed Tony further into the station – the older man pointing out the couple things of interest on his way through the bunks into his office. There was no time for Tony to formulate his next move because his back was hitting the door – the force of impact closing it the rest of the way. Tony smirked when fingers gripped the still wet suspenders, Peter’s eyes totally taken over by the blown pupil now – the invitingly warm brown completely gone. He managed to drag in a chocked off breath before lips were descending upon his own.

How Tony ended up pressed against his office door with the photographer on his knees in front of him, he never would have guessed. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he didn’t spend too much time worrying about it, either. His fingers were tangled in the thick curls of Peter’s hair, his hips doing their best not to give in and thrust into the delicious suction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the moans from slipping from his lips – Peter’s attention on him too damn good.

The younger man’s hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, his fingers tight in their grip. His mouth slid down until his lips were bumping against the fingers there, his cheeks hollowing out to smoothly suck as Peter pulled his head back up and lavished the tip of his cock with his tongue. He would pull off every couple of passes and let the flat of his tongue run from root to tip, Peter careful to spend several agonizing seconds lapping at the ridge right at the head.

There was drool dripping from his chin onto the floor below them – the whole sight absolutely indecent. Tony let his head rest against the heavy oak of the door, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Pete – you have the dirtiest little mouth,” Tony babbled, his hips finally giving in to the temptation to press forward into the last couple inches of Peter’s throat. The slight gag had a bead of precum dripping from his length – the feeling a glorious prelude to the lewd pulse of orgasm. Peter moaned around him, the vibrations adding to the deliciousness.

“You were meant to choke on a cock, weren’t you? You look pretty doing it – your eyes a little watery, drool dribbling down your chin. It’s fucking filthy – wonderfully salacious. And you like that, don’t you? Dropping to your knees like this, letting me gag you with my cock.” Tony emphasized the words with a change in the grip of Peter’s hair and a sharp thrust of his hips.

At that point, Tony could do nothing other than hold on for the ride, his body moving on autopilot – mind so strung out from the suddenness of having his brain sucked out through his cock and the severely pornographic sight of Peter unzipping his pants and fisting his own raging erection. A part of him wanted to draw away and spend a little time watching the scene – but he was too far gone, his balls already drawing up with his impending orgasm.

“Fuck, Pete- I’m close. So close,” Tony panted out, his hips coming to a stuttering stop when Peter took him all the way down his throat and swallowed around him. Pulse after pulse of warm cum slide down the boy’s throat – the tension of Peter’s constricting throat muscles pulling even more from him.

Through the haze of his afterglow, Tony watched Peter pull back and gasp, his hand flying over his cock. Watching him cum all over himself and the floor had Tony’s belly clenching with renewed arousal – everything about what was in front of him absolute perfection. Leaning heavily against the door, Tony loosened the grip of his hand in Peter’s hair – his fingers moving until they were resting lightly against the back of his head, instead. “Fuck,” he muttered again, his entire body on the verge of falling over from too much stimulus and a whole lot of fatigue.

After a few minutes, Peter looked up at him, eyes shining – “Will you fuck me against the truck next?”

Suddenly, thoughts of sleep were the furthest from his mind.

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #firefighter tony stark #photographer peter parker #ironspider #ask prompts #bobbie writes #nonnie #anonymous

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allisondraste · 4 years

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Temperance 34/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: Nathaniel and Erina have a serious discussion

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Starkhaven, 9:28 Dragon A stack of envelopes sat open on the nightstand, the letters in each read countless times, the closest Nathaniel could get to hearing Liss’ voice. He still missed the sound of it, of her. Her letters were nothing more than an echo of the past, something he no longer had, most likely for good. He sat in his bed, staring vacantly at the pieces of paper that tormented him, feelings he could not bury, no matter how many times he stuffed them in the sock drawer.

He didn’t know why he still waited for a new letter to come. Liss made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t be writing anymore, unless he chose to answer her, and of course, he hadn’t answered her. It was the outcome he’d strived for since her first letter came. It was what he wanted, or at least that is what he told himself. If she could move on and forget about him, then she could be free to find happiness, love, adventure, all of the things of which she dreamed that he could never promise her. Then again, if it was for the best, why did he feel as if he was making a huge mistake? Should he not feel better? Relieved?

Sighing, Nathaniel slid out of bed and moved to stand up. Of course, he would have preferred to lie there all day, feeling incredibly sorry for himself and sulking; however, Rodolphe was not keen on him lying in bed all day, and was especially unsympathetic to the sulking. Not to mention the fact that if Ben even suspected him of wallowing in his own misery, he’d hunt him down and drag him out on some ridiculous trip to town in an attempt to knock him out of it. No, it was absolutely in his own best interest to get up.

He yawned and stretched as he walked to his dresser, pulling open drawers to get the articles of clothing he needed. As he gathered everything up into his arms, something collided with his back, a hand snaking its way over his shoulder to cover his mouth. He dropped the clothes, pulse jumping. Instinctively he moved to pry his attacker’s hands from his face; however, as he did so the person used their weight to throw him off balance, pulling him to the ground. Ignoring the pain of the impact, he continued his struggle, tugging at grappling hands, until he finally broke free and rolled, quickly straddling the attacker and pressing their arms to the ground over their head.

Erina’s head, he noticed as he looked at the incredibly familiar face smirking up at him, panting and eyes sparkling. He shook his head and laughed, releasing her arms, and bringing his hands to her face as he bent down to press his lips to hers. It was a different sort of attack, one she countered in full, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her slender fingers through his hair as she deepened the kiss.

“Welcome back,” he said breathlessly as he pulled away from her, uncertain whether it was the fall or the beautiful woman that knocked the wind from him, “I suppose it is pointless to remind you that you may use the door.”

“You are correct,”Erina answered, laughing and loosening her grip on his hair, allowing her fingertips to trace a trail down his neck and over his shoulders. “Sneaking in through the window makes it all feel so… forbidden.”

Nathaniel snorted and pushed himself up from the ground and rose to his feet, extending a hand to her. “We needn’t a window for that. I will just introduce you to my father.”

”Pass,” she said dryly as she took is hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. She dusted off her breeches and continued. “I only like the illusion that it is forbidden. Reality is shit.”

“It isn’t all shit,” Nathaniel objected gently, as he moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing his lips to the crook of her neck. She shuddered and he smirked. “I missed you.”

It was the truth, and yet the words were as rotten in his mouth as a lie. It had been nearly two years since their first night together, a moment of drunken recklessness that had since taken the shape of some ill-defined relationship that neither wanted to admit was more serious than they had intended. Nathaniel found comfort in Erina’s company, in knowing that she would always come back to visit him, and that she did so enthusiastically. Though she never spoke the words, “I love you” wrote itself on her face when their eyes met, and he hated himself because he couldn’t decide if he felt the same.

“I missed you, too, my dear,” Erina hummed, head falling back against him.

“How was Antiva?”

She stiffened in his arms, answering hesitantly. “I… did not go to Antiva.”

“You told me you were going to see your family.”

“My family is in Denerim. My father was born there, and has some family in the alienage,” she admitted, solemnly, “It is a long story, and one I do not wish to discuss, but Ferelden is safer for us now."

“I am glad they are safe,” Nathaniel said, squeezing his arms around her more tightly, and resisting the urge to pry.

“Me, too,” she sighed. They stood in heavy silence for several moments before Erina turned in his arms to face him, gazing up into his eyes. It was only then that he could truly see the sadness hidden behind hers, the tears just on the verge of falling. It was also only then that he’d gotten a good look at her face, new bruises and scrapes he had not seen in all of the excitement of her arrival.

“Ri,” he said, bringing a hand to her cheek, gingerly touching one of the bruises, “What happened?”

“I told you I do not wish to speak of it,” she snapped, voice wavering.

“You’re hurt.”

“You should have seen the other guy,” she joked, though it fell flat. She looked down at the floor and then back up at him. “Don’t you worry. I made those assassin bastards pay.”

“The Crows did this to you? Why?”

“I... was not honest with you before, about my relationship with the Crows,” she explained, flicking her eyes away from his. “I did not want to scare you away by telling you that I was one, that my mother was as well. We left the guild several years ago, in opposition to a contract they wanted my her to fulfill.”

“I’ve read somewhere that once one becomes a Crow, they do not get to leave,” Nathaniel said, brows pressing together in confusion.

“They don’t,” Erina stated tersely, “At least not alive. We’ve been hiding from them for years. It’s why I was in Tantervale when we met.”

“I take it they found you, then.”

“They almost killed my mother while she was sleeping. If I hadn’t have been there…” She trailed off.

“I’m so sorry,” Nathaniel said, gathering her back up into his arms, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Hold me.” She glanced up at him, a small, sad smile on her lips. “Do the thing where you make me feel safe.”

He pulled away a bit and searched her face for some sign that she was teasing, but he only found sincerity in her smile. She leaned forward, kissing him so softly that it ached deep in his chest, then looked up at him expectantly. He returned the favor, taking her face in his hands and leaning down to press his lips to hers as tenderly as he knew how, wiping the tears from her cheeks as he did so, and then bent down to pick her up and carry her to his bed. His arms were no swords, his body no shield. He could not protect her from the chaos around her, but if she needed someone to hold onto in the midst of it all, he could at least be steady. Besides, after a morning spent with someone out of his reach, he welcomed the embrace of someone he could actually touch.

An hour or so later, they still lay in his bed, Erina curled up next to him, face nestled against his chest, an arm and a leg thrown across him. Her body rose and fell slowly, and he wondered how long it had been since she actually slept. Nathaniel wasn’t tired at all. In fact he was quite the opposite, heart still pounding from the excitement of the morning. He had no intention of disturbing her, however, perfectly content to stay there beside her all day, holding her close, and running his fingers through her hair. It was comfortable, pleasant, and he liked the subtle illusion of domesticity more than he cared to admit.

A sudden knock at the door startled him, and he rolled his eyes, looking down to see if it had woken Erina, but she had not stirred.

“Who is it,” he asked as quietly as he could and still be heard. He prayed that it was anyone but Rodolphe.

“It’s Ben,” said the voice from the other side of the door, and Nathaniel sighed in relief. He was also proud of the other man for actually knocking.

“Alright give me a moment,”Nathaniel said as he began to gently untangle himself from Erina’s arms. She furrowed her brows and grunted, but didn’t wake up entirely. He grabbed the sheets and coverlet, pulling them up over her shoulders, and then hurriedly got dressed.

When he answered the door, Ben examined him, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. “Ri’s here isn’t she?”

“Yes— how did you know?”

“Your hair’s a bloody mess,” Ben remarked, with a wink, “And your shirt’s on backwards.”

“So?”

“So either you’ve completely forgotten how to get dressed, or Ri’s in your bed right now.”

“Sometimes I wonder how it is that I have yet to strangle you,” Nathaniel said dryly.

“You love me.” Ben grinned widely and cocked his head.

Nathaniel sighed in response. “Unfortunately.”

“I don’t mean to bother you, Nate, but Rodolphe’s been king for you. You know how he gets.”

“Did he say what he wants?”

Ben shrugged, and Nathaniel rolled his eyes. He didn’t much care for the prospect of leaving Erina alone in her distress to go polish some armor or teach some brat of a recruit how to use a bow. Though it was not entirely selfless of him, as he would much rather go back to bed, and hold a beautiful woman in his arms for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he had to do what the knight bade, lest he lose his position and the roof over his head.

“Very well. Let me just… get dressed properly.”

“Take your time.” Ben nodded and moved to lean against the wall, clearly intending to wait for him.

Returning to the room, and closing the door quietly behind him, Nathaniel removed his shirt and put it back on, this time with the front of the garment in the front where it belonged, and took a comb to his hair. Once he finished he walked over to his bed where Erina still slept soundly, hands tucked under her face. He regretted having to wake her, but he didn’t want her to think he’d just run out. More importantly, he didn’t want her to leave.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, nudging gently until she stirred and groaned, blinking away the sleep from her eyes and smiling as she spoke. “You better have a good reason for waking me up.”

“I am afraid not,” Nathaniel answered, “Rodolphe sent for me so I have to leave for a while, but I didn’t want you to wake up and think I had run off of my own volition.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled groggily, “Do I need to leave?”

“No,” he answered, pressing a kiss to her temple, and standing up, “Unless you wish to. I would prefer it if you stayed.”

“Then I will stay,” she said through a yawn, smiling as she drifted off to sleep once again, and he left the room and headed down toward the courtyard with Ben.

“It’s pretty serious between you two, huh,” Ben asked once they were sufficiently down the hall.

“It’s pretty something,” Nathaniel deflected, not wanting to have the conversation that Ben wanted to have.

“You’re pretty something ,” the other man quipped, dropping the subject nonetheless. He had learned to read Nathaniel’s tone after all.

They walked in relative silence down to the training yard where Rodolphe waited, silence with the exception of Ben’s quiet humming that he obviously did not believe Nathaniel could hear. Outside, the air was chilly and the sky overcast. After a brief lecture on punctuality and a few personally directed criticisms, the knight asked Nathaniel to assist with the drills. It should have been an honor and privilege— it was— however, it was an inconvenience at the moment.

Still, he performed his duty as he was expected, instructing the nascent archers in correcting their stances and helping them to actually hit targets. One day, they would be among one of the most elite contingent of archers in Thedas, but for the moment, they were little more than children, sons and daughters of noble houses, most of whom needed their egos deflated more than anything.

Nathaniel wondered if he would have been like them, too, had his life circumstances been different. It was a strange relationship to have with one’s past, to be grateful for something that only caused pain. As much as he held himself apart from many others from noble families, he knew he still reaped the benefits of privilege. He still had the Couslands, though he was not so certain where he stood with them anymore. If they despised him, he would not blame them.

The recruits tired after only couple of hours, and it would have been pointless to attempt to instruct them further. He released them, and prayed Rodolphe required nothing else of him for the day. As he turned to exit the training grounds, he caught a glimpse of Ben sitting at the edge of the grounds, collecting arrows from the targets and putting gear away.

“Need help,” Nathaniel called, waving at him.

“No,” came Ben’s reply, “I’ve got it sorted. You just go take care of that lady-friend of yours.”

“But—“

“Seriously, Nate. It’s just some arrows. I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Ben.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Leaving quickly before the other man changed his mind, Nathaniel headed inside and back to his room, where he hoped Erina still lay. The wish was mostly selfish, admittedly, though she had seemed content to remain in bed and rest. She needed to rest considering everything that had happened to her.

He knocked lightly on the door before entering so that he didn’t alarm her. She sat up in his bed, covered only by the sheet wrapped loosely around her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Nathaniel’s chest clenched, stomach twisting into knots as he noticed the worn stack of papers she held in her hands.

Liss’ letters. He’d been so distracted by Erina’s arrival that he hadn’t even thought to put them away, leaving them out of their envelopes and on the nightstand ready to pique the woman’s interest. He was such a bloody fool. Of course he could offer his excuses, tell her the correspondence was one-sided, that Liss was a friend and someone from his past. Even if she believed him, that would be little use in explaining why they’d been out on his nightstand, why he’d been reading them just before she had gotten there. No, it was useless. Instead, he quietly closed the door behind him and moved to sit on the foot of his bed opposite to her.

“I suppose you do not want to hear an explanation,” he said quietly, attempting to mask the anxiety that burned in his chest.

“I do not need one,” Erina answered, just as quietly. None of the anger he’d expected to hear in her voice was present. “It seems quite clear to me.”

“Erina, I—“

“This girl—“ she shook the letters at him— “This woman. She loves you.”

“I know.” Nathaniel sighed, unsure what else to say.

“Do you love her?” Erina’s voice was still calm.

“I haven’t even written to her,” he admitted.

“That’s not what I asked,” she stated bluntly, “It says as much in her letters. I want to know if you love her.”

Frowning and hating himself for what he knew he had to say, he answered. “I do. I have for a long time.”

Erina laughed softly, sniffing as she shook her head. “I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” Nathaniel fought the urge to wipe away her tears.

“I am no fool,” she said sharply. Gathering the sheet up around her, she moved to sit next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “We have been seeing one another for nearly two years, and no matter how close I get to you, there are trenches I cannot seem to cross, walls that will not break. Do not think I have not noticed how you avoid defining our relationship as if it is the Blight.”

He wrapped a tentative arm around her shoulder, relaxing when she did not refuse him. “I’m sorry.”

“I cannot hold it against you,” Erina assured him, bringing her eyes up to meet his, “We do not exactly get to choose who we fall in love with.”

The pained expression that crossed her face in that instant, confirmed what Nathaniel had already suspected and sent a spear of guilt through his chest. He searched for the appropriate thing to say, and when he could find nothing, he searched for anything to say at all. The words ultimately failed him and he sat in shameful silence, hating himself more with each passing second.

Finally, Erina sighed and stood, picking her clothes up off the floor and letting the sheet fall to the ground as she began to get dressed. Nathaniel kept his eyes trained on the ground, both to be respectful, and to hide the tears that welled in his own eyes. His time with her had been the best he’d felt since he’d last been to Highever, and as much as he struggled to love her properly, he didn’t want her to leave.

Erina’s movements slowed down, and her footsteps drew closer. A gentle hand raked fingers through his hair, tilting his head back so that he looked up at her. The pooled tears dropped from his eyes, and her brows pressed together sympathetically.

“Don’t you start it, too,” she scolded through a tearful laugh, “This is already hard enough.”

“I apologize, it’s just—“ he began, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat— “I do care about you.”

“I know. I have never doubted that.” Erina brought her hand down to cup his cheek. “But I am not her, nor will I ever be, and you need to get this sorted before it eats you up. So do I.”

Nathaniel nodded, aching as Erina withdrew her hand from his face. “I wish I knew how.”

“Me too,” she said somberly as she picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Besides, it will be better for me to be near my family, to protect them. Perhaps one day our paths will cross again. when we both hurt much less.”

With that, she seemed to shake away the urge to embrace him, and turned swiftly to exit the room without looking back. Nathaniel remained in his stupor at the foot of the bed until he could no longer hear her footsteps. Scrubbing the tears from his face and brushing his hair back out of his eyes, he stood up and looked around the room for something to distract him, anything. His eyes caught on Liss’ letters, chest tightening as he picked them up from the bed where they were scattered.

It was irrational to blame the letters for the misfortune his own behavior had caused. Yet, had he gotten rid of them, had he truly let Liss go, he would not be in his current position. Erina would have stayed, and he could have finally given his all to loving someone else. He could have finally been happy. Instead, he was alone and heartbroken in a room with a stack of old paper that did nothing but make him miserable.

With nothing more than a deep breath he carried the letters across the room, to the small fire that had begun to fizzle out and dropped the pages into the flames. He watched as the pages scorched and disintegrated, until the words vanished into a pile of ashes.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #cousland #temperance #update #my writing

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rottenprincessshura100 · 6 years

Text

Clocks/sample chapter Meph/Shura fanfic

"So are you leaving?" Shura asked Mephisto as she watched him toss on his hat. "What am I supposed to be doing here? Having damn holiday?"

"I'm going back to work. It's Monday." He leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly and folded his arms. "You on the other hand will explore this apartment."

Shura cocked her head to one side in confusion. He smiled at her, his eyes full of mischief.

"This place is more than what it seems." He explained. "This apartment holds my special collection. I want you to explore it very carefully." Mephisto handed her a guilded key. "This will take you to the secret room, Amaimon will go with you, he's your guide."

"How long have you had this apartment?"

"I purchased it in 1860, it was a new build." He ran his fingers over plaster. "It's in the neoclassical style, I always preferred the Greek simplicity. It's timeless and requires far less renovation." He temporarily became distracted in his thoughts, before his expression turned serious. "In this secret room you will have access to different times and places. Whatever answers you seek can be found here."

"What answers am I seeking?"

"I have no idea."

" Past or future time?"

"Mostly past. Things I experienced and wanted to remember. I made an imprint of the moment and tied it to a corresponding object."

"Like in Harry Potter. Like some sort of Lord Voldemort shit?"

"What? Uhhh....nooo." He wrinkled his nose. "These are memories of mine. A knowledge cache. You are free to search through them, but nothing more."

"What....there's more?"

"There are other doors but those are not for you." Mephisto smirked. "Amaimon will show you which ones to avoid."

"Oh really?" She frowned. "What's in those other places?"

"That's none of your business my rotten love." He patted her on the head. "Be a good girl while i'm gone."

Shura bristled. "I am NOT a pet!"

"Could have fooled me." He winked. "You purr like a pet when I touch you in just the right way." He used the infinity key in a nearby door and was instantly gone.

Shura crossed her arms and sighed. "Amaimon. C'mon we have some exploring to do." He was instantly beside her. "Are we going to the clock room?" He was immediately excited. "It's the best place ever!"

"Huh? You want to go?" He nodded like a small child about to get a delicious treat. "Uh..ok." Shura placed the gilded key into the nearest door and as the lock turned a small twinkling noise could be heard. Shura sighed with apprehension. "Why does he want me to go in here?"

"I dunno. He's sharing his memories."

"Is it strange that i'm nervous about knowing too much about him?"

"You are asking a demon remember?" Amaimon sighed. "I'm an immortal, I don't worry about repercussions. I just react." He reached his hand past Shura and pushed his way into the room.

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

Shura gasped, the small apartment opened up into a stark white warehouse. The floor, walls and ceiling were painted in a bright titanium white which gave the objects the illusion that they were floating in gauzy softness. It was pristine and clean, not a cobweb or fleck of dust to be found. Wall to wall objects covered every spare inch of the place, save for a few walkways. Each item was carefully catalogued with time, date and description. Amaimon was indeed correct, there were numerous clocks in the room from all different centuries. They kept the time with a symphony of ticking, twinkling bells and and the sound of chimes.

"Ok. Explain it to me," Shura crossed her arms. "What's with the clocks?"

"Brother uses time-pieces to keep track of the actual time in other timelines. If he needs to return back to a certain time, the clock will guide him to where and when. The other objects are simply imprints of brother's memories."

"How often does he come here?"

"Everyday, but you'd never know it. This room guides his thoughts and plans, he's careful and meticulous."

Shura wandered over to a large ornate clock, two giant mechanical birds chirped and moved their heads towards her. The clock workings were insanely complex.

"That's fucking amazing." Shura remarked.

"It's from the renaissance." Amaimon stated. “Not interested in going back?”

"Hard pass." Shura chuckled.

They approached an odd German clock. Amaimon’s eyes widened with excitement. “This one is my absolute favourite.” He whispered with an edge of intensity creeping into his voice. At that exact moment the clock struck 12 noon. Two figurines voyaged out of the back of the clock, they bowed before each other. The couple began to dance happily in a small robotic circle, suddenly a darkly dressed figurine slid out of a trapdoor at the base of the clock. It produced an ax and lopped off the heads of the dancers. Shura’s mouth opened in shock.

“Amaimon, you’re one weird twisted bastard.”

“Whatever, it’s a masterpiece.” He stated matter-of-factly. “It’s basically mortal life in a nutshell.”

Shura wandered to another row of oddball objects and found a display of ladies' items hanging neatly. She read off the descriptions.

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

Princess Chione, Lioness position 1900 BC, Glass paste flower.

Lady Ardith of Wessex Shire, Lavender field. 1066, Aquila Vitrix.

Hiina Ishibashi, Japan, 1500, (I got a free ride), gilded comb.

Queen Isabella of Aragorn. 1548, Spain. Romp in the royal coach! *** Bracelet

Ultimate Sex Goddess, Wasn't her real name! **** Moulin Rouge, diamond garter belt, 1890

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

Amaimon let out a low whistle.

"Are these what I think they are?" Shura was totally disgusted.

"Uh Yeah.” Amaimon began to explain. “He saved those memories so he could go back and watch himself screw........"

"STOP.....I don't wanna KNOW!!!" Shura quickly cut Amaimon off. “Mephisto you goddamn pervert.” She grumbled. Suddenly a strange item hanging nearby caught her eye, it wasn't with the jewelry, but in a section full of weapons. It was a small and dangerous looking dagger.

Shura read the label, and the colour instantly drained from her face. "Oh fuck no...” She stammered. The tag said Tatsuko Kirigakure......

#mephisto pheles #shura kirigakure #mephshura

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thetravellingvagrant · 6 years

Text

Day 6: Iasi- Grumble Warning

Ok, so, I've fallen a bit behind on posts and the one I was working on just deleted itself in a fit of selfishness, so I plan, over the course of today, to upload three mini-updates of significantly reduced length, in an effort to not send myself mental, trying to catch up. Don't worry. You won't be missing much.

So, let's speed through day 6; for the first time on the trip I had managed to let myself wake up naturally, without my alarm or (despite their best, snore-laden efforts) room-mates prematurely rousing me. Consequently, I slept until 12 and had managed to waste a good portion of my first full day in Iasi.

I shared my room with an odd Romanian man, who we will get to later and another, eerily quiet, fairly creepy man who had sat stock still, the previous night, not moving, even to check his phone when it went off, save for one incident, where he sauntered directly over to my bunk to thrust a piece of melon into my face, to ask if I wanted some. I did not. Melon is gross. By the time I had woken up, however, both men had vacated the room, with my melon based assailant seemingly having done so permanently. I was very glad of this fact.

After a genuinely infuriating experience of trying to drag my incredibly low-end laptop through the relatively demanding experience of trying to book accommodation for Cluj-Napoca; my next destination, through AirBnB, who had also arbitrarily decided that I, all of a sudden, needed to scan my passport into the website in order to make any further bookings, for some mad reason, I finally managed to get out into Iasi, to explore the city properly. Sort of.

The sky was badly overcast, meaning, that once again, despite it being pre-sunset, my jaunt into the surrounding area would be undertaken essentially in darkness. Regardless, I pressed on to my first objective of the day; to hoover up souvenirs, like a mad tat-vaccuum.

I stopped, for what I hoped would be a flying visit, though actually ended up taking up a good portion of what remained of my day, at a gift shop I had spied on my way in to the hostel, the previous day. A timid little man greeted me upon my entry and asked what I was looking for, for whom and what my budget was. I told him and he considered for a moment, before demonstrating at wearying length each piece of stock he felt fit the bill, which, as it turned out, was nearly every piece of stock he owned. After an awfully long time, he stopped talking and I picked the piece of tat I most felt would make an appropriate gift and attempted to pay. He insisted on gift-wrapping it, despite the fact that I told him I did not need it gift wrapped, nor did I expect the structural integrity of the wrap to hold up, during my flight home. But, no. He did it anyway.

I left and, after a quick stop at a nearby mall to pick up a fridge magnet, upon which my demanding (though still nice) girlfriend insists I bring back for her, I was finally ready to explore the city. Like, for real this time.

I sat in a nearby park and pulled out the comically huge map I had been given by the hostel

I mean LOOK at it...

before feeling a bit embarrassed and putting it away, after taking a quick photo of it to take note of the highlighted areas of interest. I decided, in lieu of a better plan, to saunter between them, despite the fact that most, if not all of them just seemed to be old churches.

The walk was nice enough, with my podcasts filling my ears to distract me from the low-key mundanity and creeping cold that was setting in, though probably not of any huge interest to the blog, as it can be summed up in the single sentence “I saw some churches”. I nearly went to a museum which featured exhibits on life in the area at around 4000BC, which sounded interesting, but by the time I had arrived, it was getting close to its closing time, and so I did not.

I ended up, instead, in a nearby park, which my giganto-map had told me, I my memory served, had inspired numerous romanian poets to create their best work. It was, however, by the time I arrived, a little after sunset, and so I was only really inspired to leave.

Finally, I made a quick stop at LIDL to buy far, far, far too many pastries to make my nine hour train ride the following day, less shit.

The LIDL, though quite nice, had the curious flaw of not having any baskets for me to use, hanging around. People had trolleys, but I had no idea from where they originated. Instead, I was forced to just sort of fill my pockets, tuck under my arm and otherwise clutch onto the not insubstantial amount of things I wanted to buy. It was awkward and uncomfortable and for some time afterwards, my hands more resembled talons, but I powered through, little soldier that I am, and made my pleasingly cheap purchases. I remembered to buy a bag for the walk home.

I returned to the hostel and set about my evening bibble before being interrupted by my strange Romanian room-mate, whom I had previously mentioned. He stumbled into the room.

“...Deed you see the city?”

“Sorry?”

“...Deed you go and look at thee ceety?”

“What, today?” I asked, feeling vaguely affronted, like he was judging me for being in the hostel so often, when I could be outside exploring this gloriously mundane town. “Yes, I just got back.” I challenged, adding “I was out walking around for like five hours”, just to make him feel like a real piece of shit.

He seemed to drop the subject and wandered over to the window.

“You know eet was snoweenk earlier?” he said, desperate to prove that I wasn't paying enough attention to the outside world, apparently.

“Oh” I replied. “No, I didn't.”

“Yeah, its stopped now, theenk you meesed it”

Oh, fuck off.

“Ah, well, there'll always be more snow...” I said, philosophically.

“Who knows, man” he answered back, also philosophically, but at the same time, stupidly. “Weenters are getting warmer, you know”

“Yeah, true...” I mumbled back, out of politeness

“When I was a keed, always such huge snow in weenter, but nowadays, not so much”

“Well, that's global warming for you...”. My stock reply to people talking about weather I'm not interested in.

“...I don't believe so much in global warmeenk”

...Oh, no.

“Oh?” I queried, knowing full well that I was getting dragged down this rabbit hole, whether I wanted or not.

“Yeah, I mean it maybe happens, but its effect is like a drop in the ocean, compared to the governments weather controlling”

“...Wat.” I thought, and also accidentally said out loud.

“You know, chemtrails etc, you know government controls weather right?”

I wanted to just nod and smile, but I couldn't bring myself to. I had never actually come face-to-face with someone who harboured such a stupid belief. You hear about climate change deniers, flat-earthers and anti-vaxxers, but you don't honestly believe they exist. They're like Santa, or happiness.

“...I actually think that's a very dangerous opinion to hold, let alone spread. There's literally no evidence or science behind it, whatsoever.”

“Ah, you know science isn't always right? These scientists theenk something and then, a few years later, eets replaced by a new thing”

“Yes, but it's always replaced with more science...not just a wild, mental guess”

I don't remember exactly what he said after this, but I recall it being stupid. Something to the effect of “oh yeah? Then why do we have less snow now?”

I decided, at that point, just to drop it and be angry.

We talked a short while longer, before he vanished back into the common room to study for the university course he was undertaking while living here, which was also weird. Psychology, if you're interested, because of course it was. I have know idea what kind inperceptible mentalist lure has lodged itself at the heart of that subject, but, my god, it is there.

I bibbled a while longer, before sauntering down to finally use the shit, hostel kitchen to make some sandwiches; both for tomorrow's trip and tonight's dinner.

The climate change denier was in the kitchen, talking to some girl wearing a rough, loose fitting jumper, with her hair pinned up in neat dreadlocks.

“Oh, wow.” I thought to myself. The conversation I'm walking into is going to be fucking ridiculous.

“...You know why you're not supposed to eat fruit after a meal?” the man, let's call him Mental Andrei, said.

“Yeah, of course...” the girl replied, seemingly trying to make herself seem knowledgeable about a subject which was categorically mental and had no underpinning in facts.

“Because” Andrei continued “the food is already in your intestines and so the fruit goes straight through the stomach and go to the other food and it ferments and makes you feel sick. Maybe even make you vomit!”

I wanted so badly to tell him that what he said was fundamentally ridiculous; that a) food does not move from the stomach to intestine immediately after you eat it, that b) adding more food afterwards doesn't immediately mean that that food bypasses the stomach, like there's a big open plug-hole going straight through to your colon, which slowly closes again several hours after a meal and most crucially c) that humans have been eating and drinking fermented fruits for probably thousands of years, however, I kept tight-lipped, reasoning that to correct them would at best be a waste of breath and at worst, be an inescapable portal into their conversation.

I set about making my sandwiches, which were awful. Normally, I'd do a long description about how they were like someone throwing up into my nose and me snorting it into the back of my throat then swishing it around my mouth and that's what they tasted like, but because I'm trying to be brief today, I will simply say eating these sandwiches was like being kicked in the mouth by a shoe made of rotten meat. It was a sad, dry, gristly affair and I did not like it. Good thing I had just made four of them for tomorrow.

I then turned in to bed, eager to sleep, which which I did, after tossing and turning for a while, for at least an hour or so, before some absolute thundering prick decided the following things constituted acceptable behaviour; checking in at 3am; having a tour of the room and its amenities by the receptionist at this time; switching the room's lights on while he put took his stuff in; loudly and clumsily putting all his clothes away on /hangers/, directly next to the bed of someone, whom, for all intents and purposes, he could have happily assumed was still asleep; leaving the room, lights still on to have a shower, in the bathroom located directly through the wobbly cardboard wall from my bed and finally, coming back to bed to sit up, lights still on for a good hour or so afterwards, loudly coughing, turning the pages of his book and chuckling to himself.

It was a good thing I didn't have anything strenuous to do the next day.

...Oh, wait.

#travelling #vagrant #iasi #romania #churches #climate change #stupid #idiot #blue gifts

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dothewrite · 7 years

Text

pieces, number five

You’re knocked back and forth against the tidal waves of loss and redemption. Your back is bleeding from the harsh scrapes against the ragged concrete behind you- vandalized and long abandoned, this is the only place the authorities don’t look.

This is your home, and it’s empty without you.

It’s mediocre graffiti, you supposed you wouldn’t mind so much if it were beautiful and multi-coloured, but it’s just filled with cuss words and poorly sprayed slurs against harsh marks where people have spat or carved their initials into. This wall is where you place your mat against, every night.

Sometimes, when you feel like you have the strength, you gaze out into the pedestrian walk from your small corner. You’re careful not to be noticed, only the tip of your head peering past the sharp corner of the underground tube you live in. It’s been awhile since you’ve watched how the other side lives. On the quiet nights without rain or thunder, and when the roaring hum of passing cars has faded, you can sometimes remember the days when you had everything.

Well, not everything. You’ve never had everything. Just more than what you have now.

The sting of memory of lashes against your thighs, the venom dripping from carefully thought out words, the impassive expressions of loved ones walking past. You lived well, ate well. You house was large and beautiful, and your friends all great and magnificent.

You think that in that case, you have more now.

How far have you fallen? You like to think of it as a spectrum, rather than a meter. Even though the air is putrid, the clanging of stray cans and rotten leftovers flung over the edge of the railing into your abode, even though it’s been a week since you’ve had a shower, you can still breathe at night. Your eyes are drier than they have ever been in your years of life, a smile more ready to split your face than it had when you rustled around in satin sheets. Puppies in the park make you laugh, lovers with soft kisses make you smile, and the brilliance of the sunset makes your breath catch.

You’ve only ever used to look down. Now that you’re almost constantly sitting on the floor you’d become so acquainted with, you’ve started to notice the sky.

There’s no way for you to feel full, to feel happiness. But this is better than agony, you think. This dull, throbbing pain that’s the only thing that keeps you company on cold nights. Everyone’s thrown you away, like a phone after use, like a whore after cash has been stuffed in between her soiled breasts. Nobody wants to look at you now, and you’ve nothing left for others to take away anymore. All those people who claimed to love you, whom you grew up with and joked about inappropriate politics with- all gone. Your parents, split up, happy, without each other. Without you.

Your fingers have so much crusted dirt underneath them that they’re almost the colour of the darkening evening. You’re glad, for small graces, like the fact that you’ve never looked up at the pavement to see anyone you know. (Not that they’d look down into a place like this.) You don’t know how you’d react, if they’d ever recognize you, if they ever caught you living a life without them. You still remember their lying faces, their crying faces, until this day. It’s what you dream about when your mind has been exhausted of all pessimism.

You don’t believe in happiness, and you most certainly don’t believe in love. Urine, you think, is still thicker than blood. Water, is even more fickle. Covenant, womb, it’s all the same.

You believe only what you can experience, and for now, exhaustion will do.

There’s a toe that nudges you, and a hushed whisper that sounds vaguely insistent. It’s been a long time since you’ve woken up to someone, but you’ve been on alert for the police long enough that it’s only a split second until you scramble into wakefulness.

Your eyes are still bleary, splotches of white in your sleep-filled vision, but you recoil and lift a hand up defensively all the same. Two pairs of owlishly focused eyes watch you right back, watching your hand form jerky patterns mid-air as you try to keep yourself steady.

The one with the weird monochrome hair speaks first, his voice a rusty harshness, the sound of a sandstorm.

“You’ve only got that blanket underneath you?”

“Bo-” the other interrupts, his voice a silky, deep contrast, “you can’t just say shit like that, man.”

Owl-hair blinks at you and smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry.”

It surprises you, how actually apologetic he sounds. The only ‘sorry’s you’ve ever heard are the ones where someone bumps into you on the street before they turn and see your face, or the ones that throw empty cartons onto you by accident when you’re sitting down, and they offer you a muffled apology that sounds like an excuse. Nobody ever apologises to you and mean it. Not even your own family.

You shake your head in slow response, and awkwardly push yourself to your feet. Sparing a quick glance outside at the sky, you note that it’s an unnatural light purple with fades of blue, and the thought that these boys hanging around a park at probably five in the morning might be dangerous.

Yet, instead, the one with the black hair splits into a wide smile. “Want somewhere warm to stay instead?”

“No.”

Time and days have passed beyond your observation, hours and minutes merely blending into the blur that are years and months- the only thing that matters is the number of times the trash collection comes to your park every other morning. Time isn’t necessary for survival, and it’s shown in how your voice cracks and shatters against brittle obsidian.

“Wow,” they both laugh a little, “been a long time since you spoke, huh?”

You stare them down.

“Who the fuck are you? Go hire a whore if you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The black haired one grins even wider, and owl-hair leans backwards dramatically and covers his mouth with a hand. “Savage!”

No, you weren’t savage. You were surviving, and one doesn’t simply do that without fending off horny fuckers in the middle of the night. Some of the patrons of this park are usually high, or disgusting, and even though you’re not exactly of the highest caliber yourself, you still have standards. You can’t control what life you’re leading, but you sure as hell can control who gets to piss you off first thing in the morning.

“Don’t talk to the homeless,” you snarl, “living in the city one-o-one. Fuck off.”

The taller, black haired one takes a step forwards and throws an arm in front of his friend. You mimic is step, only backwards, and pressing the curve of your spine into the shape of the dilapidated wall behind you. Your bedframe, you’ve taken to calling it with incredible bitterness.

“We just want to help. No strings attached. We were just passing by and you looked like you needed some life breathed back into you.”

There are a few seconds of silence where it’s a stalemate stare between the three of you, but you break it when you realize you can’t hold your breath for much longer.

“Don’t pick up strays either,” you sigh. It’s a coarse, rough sound that grates against your own nerves. “Don’t do shit you can’t follow up on. Seriously, just leave me alone.”

“No,” the answer comes firm and instant, owl-hair pushes the arm down in front of him and grabs yours in a swift moment. You’re frozen in place- his friend’s frozen too, in mild horror, but all you can see are those devilish, golden eyes that seem more earnest than a young baby’s. “You look like a good person. Y’know, underneath all that gunk. I- we,” he corrects quickly with a glance at his friend, “we just want to help. You. Maybe make a new friend, kinda?”

“With the homeless,” you find yourself repeating, blankly. These kids must be high as fuck.

“No,” the black haired one chimes in, shaking his head with renewed enthusiasm, “with you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I am homeless.”

“You don’t act like it,” owl-hair replies. He doesn’t flinch when your arm twitches, or when your eyes widen, or when your lips tighten in affront. “You even sleep kinda differently, with your stuff all neat and tidy and everything.”

Okay, now it’s getting a bit ridiculous and more than a little off topic. You weren’t going to share your sleeping habits with a stranger, no matter how homeless.

“Look, man, dude, whatever,” you snatch your hand out from his grip, “I’m not a pet project. I’ll sleep wherever the hell I want to, so you just hop off home, alright?”

“No!” This time it’s a shout, and it echoes brutally around all three of you in this wasted, filthy tunnel, and your hands fly to your ears in reflex. “Please? You’re not a project, we just-” He stammers, struggles, and you watch him with a distressing mixture of mistrust and curiousity and you know for a fact that you haven’t been shown kindness in so long that it’s starting to make you weak. “-We just like you. You seem okay, and we really want to help you. As a human. No strings attached, we just wanna know your story and everything.”

“Gonna raise me too?”

“If we have to,” those eyes are boring into your very soul, and even when you look away, you’re met with another pair. They’re less brilliant, more sly, but they’re more molten than solid and it feels like you’re drowning and drowning and drowning. “Be our roommate. Just, hang out, help us out with some stuff.”

“Wanna work at a coffee shop?” Black-hair intones smoothly, resting a careful hand on your muddy shoulder. It impresses you slightly, that he doesn’t even glance at the dirt that’s about to come off on his fingers.

There’s nothing to do but laugh. Laugh until your sides hurt, laugh until you’re crying, laugh until you finish laughing and they’re still there, with the same expressions on their faces.

You think that this absolutely has to be a dream- shit like this doesn’t happen to fucking hobos, people don’t just fall from heaven when you’re sleeping to pick you back up into society. This just doesn’t happen.

“You have a deal,” you hear yourself say, and it sounds like the ringing of a funeral toll.

You’re so weak, so very weak, and seeing their excited faces, you know that it’s going to crush you. They’re going to toss you aside when they’re done, when you’ve finally managed to love them in your own, useless little way, because they’re the sort of people you’ve only dreamed about having as friends. More than friends. Soulmates. You don’t deserve them, standing in torn trousers caked in mud and week old leftovers. Your clothes are hanging off your frame of skin and bones, and your hair is so matted against your skull that you can’t even brush your fingers through your fringe.

You’re going to end up more shattered than before, when they leave you. Because everything leaves. Sooner or later, you’re going to be all alone again, in a ditch, wishing for cancer because at least you’ll only need to keep living for three more months.

They wait for you to make a move to gather your things, but you stride ahead of them. There’s nothing by you that you’d want with you, not even the clothes on your very back. Grasping both your hands in each of theirs, the three of you walk through the park, painting an extremely strange picture. Tinted in the purple of dawn and highlighted with the dull expanse of filth, you look like the picture of salvation personified.

“Welcome home,” they tell you with ear splitting grins when you all tumble out of the elevator. Your new home is seventeen stories higher than your padding, framed by your bedroom wall, and the door handle you’re too afraid to touch.

They share a glance that you manage to catch between furious tears, and with two arms, they open it wide for you to take the first step inside.

This is how angels fall, you think to yourself. In the face of glory and kindness, the landing doesn’t even hurt when you fall from the heavens.

You take it. It’s the only thing you know to do- and if you’re going to fall and tumble from your dreams, you’re going to get as high as you possibly can. It’s the view, you see. And you do. Their smiles are like liquid gold, and haggard and utterly shattered by life, you just can’t goddamn help but smile right back.

#bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsurou #female original character #angst #sfw #pieces series #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #i writes the haikyuu

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