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alexis-royce · 6 months

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WIP game, (aka proof that I certainly don't finish everything that I start!)

I was tagged by: @the-dye-stained-socialite

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Please don't get too attached to any of these. Each one is equally likely to languish in draft purgatory or get made into a fully-fledged-whatever-it-is.

Grounds for Termination (Chrome and Prism)

Mostly text below the cut:

No Spoilers (Fallen London)

The third member of the book club had been uncharacteristically quiet. His pencil had been scribbling away for weeks now. Occasionally, Pages would demand to see what the man had been writing, wary of some kind of treacherous spy notation. But each time, his notebook was spun around, revealing a veritable sportsman’s notation of the conversation, complete with tally marks, denoting points. The Jovial Contrarian would flash an expression charitably known as “punchable,” before returning to his note-taking. Great rhetorical zugzwang did not come without effort and study, and if a man wanted to keep his edge, it was frightfully important to find and study such excellent examples. Cards, at a glance, found themself exceptionally leery of the notation system employed by the contrarian, but before they were ever quite able to question it, some little spark of conversational fluff would waft by, reigniting their squabble with Pages, and more pressing matters would take prescience.

Mastery and the Marvellous (Fallen London)

“Stop that. Why are you rubbing your eye?” “I’m. Rubbing my eye?” She stammered. “I suppose-“ “Hypothetical. I know why you are doing this. Your hand. It vexes you.” “If my hand hurt, why would I rub-“ “Your hand of CARDS, Human.” “That hand’s fine, too-“ The movement was sudden, but there was no harshness in its tone. It stole the cards from The Disgraced Academic’s grip, and spread them out on the table. “Oi!” The Academic reached for them, but Pages shooed her away. “Do you want an afternoon’s amustraction, or do you want victory?”

Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying (Fallen London)

There was a long-running argument as to the exact shade violant most resembled. As a light, it was redder than blood. As a pigment, it was nearly indigo. But everyone who saw it agreed that the effect was much the same as spotting a running rivulet of blood from the stomach of a loved one. It commanded attention, to the distraction of all other things. The Ex-Disgraced Academic’s fingers trembled as they scraped violant eyeshadow from their compact, dragging it across their upper eyelid, and into the creek behind the bridge of their nose. They fanned it out, under their brow, nearly to their temple. It was a daring use of rouge, and frankly scandalous. But it was exactly the sort of hue that would distract from the blossoming crimson stain oozing from their abdomen.

Dissociation (Deadly Premonition, HUGE spoilers)

First off, Zach could come to the front whenever he wanted, so it wasn’t a problem or anything. The white room was only a room in their dreams. When they were awake, it was more of the feeling of white, then anything else. A pull at the back of his skull, as though gravity shifted at the edge of his brain. But he didn’t have to stay back there or anything. When nobody was talking to them, he liked to strum on their base, or stitch new patches onto their jacket. He liked to get fancy with the stitches, and York was pretty encouraging about it. But the other guys made one crack about embroidery, and it took Zach four months to even pick up a needle again. Sure, he sometimes bumped into things while walking. But Zach was fine. He wasn’t trapped at all.

Experimentation / Muzzle / transformation (Jekyll & Hyde)

Pain hurts worse the more damage it does to you. For Henry John Albert Jekyll, transformation was excruciating. There simply wasn’t a way to reframe it as beneficial. Alchemy followed a process, and one of the first steps was the stripping of vice. This position wasn’t meant to be anything beyond a simple Nigredo stage. The sloughing and burning of vice. It would have hurt, but it would have been a pain of catharsis. The bitter medicine fed to him in bed by a nurse. A scalding bath. The screaming voice of his father, correcting a shameful behavior. The mortification of flesh. But what was good and noble was being ripped from him. His patience, above all other things. Everything was louder as Hyde, everything was loud and impossible to abide, beer was richer and gin sweeter, the thighs of a woman were soft and the moans of men buttery.

The Outside, Chapter 4 (The Stanley Parable)

He went instead to the encyclopedias, pulled one down from the shelf, and then three more. Volumes 23-26. He opened two of them to random pages and left them open on the ground, then opened the other two, quickly turning pages one at a time. Lots of text, lots of images… THERE. Two of the volumes were displaying identical page layouts. Two sets of articles on mangroves, not a single difference between the words and images. Volumes 24 and 26 had repeated content. But when he flipped the books closed, both covers listed “Volume 25.” No…he’d been certain that he’d pulled four differently numbered books off the shelf. He checked the row again, and there, plain as day, was the untouched copy of Volume 26. If Stanley had attempted to relay this fact to another person, they’d likely tell him that he’d made a mistake. The library simply happened to have two copies of Volume 25. It was odd, sure, and bad luck that he’d managed to grab the one book that would trip him up. But those coincidences were more likely than…what? He was dreaming? His senses were handling input incorrectly ? The world around him was a poorly designed fabrication, scrambling to patch itself with limited content and memory allocation? Stanley’s fingers twitched.

Ash and Herbert Comic (Evil Dead, Re-Animator)

Panel 1 Ash, taking his pants off Ash: Hey short stuff I gotta thank you for doin’ me this solid Panel 2 Slumps down in a chair, boxers and hairy legs, kicks his feet up: Ash: I ran outta pharmacies after the S-Mart in Kalamazoo refused me service. Panel 3 Foreground, a syringe flicks bubbles, Ash prattles on in bg, full of a staggeringly self-assured confidence They say it was “because a horde of giggling demons ate the receptionist,” but I know transphobia when I see it.”

Charles Augustus Milverton Adaptation (Sherlock Holmes)

Watson later apologizes. “The very minute which my own blood cooled, I realized that I had committed upon you the same crime of which I had accused you. I was the cold one, not you. And I fear that it was not the young lady’s feelings which I’d been attempting to protect.”

Otto's Mind Design Docs (Psychonauts 2 Spoilers)

Lead Into Gold Roughs (Serialized Killer Spoilers)

Harold “Weird…is this some kind of accountability that isn’t based off fear?” — Maggie: Arrrrrgh Harry’s buzzing around in here telling me what to do.{w} Shut up I don’t take orders from ANYONE! Maggie: GRRAAAAAAHHHH! with vpunch Maggie: huff huff pause Maggie: Hawley, tell me what to do. — Harry "Well, DeLus was ACTUALLY locked in her basement by her father. There wasn't a lock on MY basement door. Show hawley sarcastic Hawley "Yeah, that's completely different." #Harry does not pick up on the sarcasm Harry "I've led a very fortunate and privileged life."

Hojojutsu (Lupin III)

Page 1 Zenigata is walking past a line of recruits, who are saluting. Narration: Inspector Zenigata Koichi is diligent, Zenigata continues to walk by, the word balloons follow him Narration: and hardworking, Zenigata continues to walk past the line of recruits Narration: And Tireless, One of the recruits, under his salute, grins. It’s Lupin. Narration: And A FOOL. Jigen Curse Comic Page Le Salle is a room that dwarfs the Mona Lisa, and how small it is in real life frequently disappoints people. Similarly, the man removing it is dwarfed by the space he fails to magnificently occupy. Rolling up the painting is Jigen Daisuke. Zenigata keeps his gun leveled. Balloon: Jeez, Pops, put that away before you hurt someone! The room is big, and there are only two men in it. Zenigata: Lupin? Come on out, and I’ll swap the gun for cuffs! Jigen, Mona Lisa in hand, brushes back his jacket, reaching for his gun. Jigen: You want me to take care of this? Page Zenigata’s confusion is making him upset. Balloon: Are you nuts? I’m already very mad you capped one guy, don’t push your luck! Under the brim of his hat, Jigen grins. He abandons his draw. Jigen: Whatever you say, Boss. Zenigata finally loses it. Balloon: Hmph, you only call me “Boss” when you’re upset- Zenigata: What the HELL’S goin’ on, here?! His grip is tight on the gun. Zenigata: Where the hell is Lupin? He bellows, in quite the action shot. Zenigata: Because that voice… ...ain’t him! Page Jigen stops for a moment, putting the Mona Lisa into a canvas tube. He slings it over his shoulder. Jigen: Well, that’s rude. Jigen begins to walk away. This conversation is built of linked speech bubbles. It’ll be a little confusing to read, but that’s okay. Zenigata is also confused. Jigen: You’d think he’d be happy to see his reason for living! I know, it’s been what, six months? Six months without a good chase! Must’ve been goin’ stir-crazy. Page The brim of Jigen’s hat tilts up, and a ray of moonlight passes over his face. He’s not doing well. The smile on his face is very Lupin-esque, wide eyed and energetic. But it sits poorly on this gunman. It doesn’t suit him, and with good reason. Jigen: That’s okay! I was itching for a heist, too!

High Protocol (NonPlatonic Forms)

“I can’t believe I shaved for this.” “Shut up, Liam.” Lee found it exceptionally rude that, almost as soon as he’d been able to speak again, he wasn’t allowed to use his voice anymore. “Yes, yes,” Niles worried at the cuffs of his jacket, and straightened his lapels, “an utter shame that the world won’t be graced with your croaky voice. However, the point is for you to be perceived as little as possible. If you draw attention to yourself, it will soundly defeat the point. Lee didn’t think that he was dressed to blend in. The suitjacket was immaculately tailored, and cut from a black-on-black brocade. He’d managed to slick his hair back into place, and he could see his face in his shoes. There was something satisfying about being dressed so elegantly. If you could pull off a look, it made you into a walking piece of art. Neat! But the collar was tight, the layers had already made him begin to sweat, and the shoes pinched at his toes and heels. Lee looked great, but it was a trade-off he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make for long. Niles began to fuss with Lee’s tie, now. Initially, he held tie after tie up to his neck, debating between endless shades of black, wrapping them around his collar in half and full Windsors. As his fingers brushed against Lee’s neck and chest, the sensation was more than enough to distract Lee from the pain in his heels. But the analogue method was too cumbersome for Niles, who quickly reverted to cheating. A snap of his fingers, and a new tie sprang about Lee’s collar. Another snap, another tie. Snap, snap, snap.

Gray Jacket Chapter 20 (Lupin III, and I do actually plan on finishing this one)

It wasn’t unheard of for them to bump into the same opponent once or twice, but over the past couple years, a young swordsman had kept popping up. A genuine, 20th-century samurai, hakama and katana in tow. Lupin had squarely beat him on all fronts, of course. Nobody was ever really any match for his own dazzling brilliance. But the Samurai had survived both encounters, and after a particularly lengthy little job plundering a pair of scrolls the samurai had been ordered to guard, the samurai had tried a new tactic. He’d shown up, barging straight into Lupin’s hideout, shoulders piled high with all his worldly possessions, determined to study, with Lupin as his new master. After all, Lupin had bested the samurai and his master, multiple times over. If he wanted to learn from ‘The Best,’ then it would be Lupin, and nobody else. At that moment, however, ‘The Best’ was plowing straight [OH NO THIS PART IS EXPLICIT], and the samurai’s declaration of intent to dedicate himself to Lupin’s tutelage was drowned out by an overcome moan of [YEAH YOU CAN'T SAY THAT IN CHURCH] and Lupin wasn’t in the habit of making artisan, single-sourced love if he had a looky-loo breathing down his neck. Across the room, Jigen turned the page of his newspaper. “The boss is busy. Come back later.”

Off the Cuff 2 (It's in the title)

"Ahhhhhh, {i}Christ.{/i}" "It’s my ex." "You ever been in one of those relationships that just consumes you from the inside?{w} You really, really know it’s a terrible idea, but that hardly helps.{w} You draw a line super early: clear, definite boundaries." "And then you realize that you’re both insanely fucked up, and neither of you has the same definition for what you’ve defined." "Why do I always find myself in these sorts of scenarios?{w} All I can do is sigh." "Nobody tells you that a 5\’2\" spitfire is going to be utterly irresistible to so many people. Hey, I try to warn them." "Too many folks out there touch-starved, I guess.{w} You pat them on the head once, and they think you’ve got an immortal, irreplaceable bond,{w} and then they drag you away to their laboratory where they just can't stop raising the dead, and you’ve got a whole 'nother issue to deal with." "Oh, well.{w} It do be like that sometimes."

Mecha Pilot Lee AU (NonPlatonic Forms)

The screen illuminated Lee's face. “Huh. That’s weird.” “What’s weird?” If she hadn't been a 15-meter mech, she could’ve been arching an eyebrow, for all her timbre implied. “Diagnostics were checking to see if you’d suffered data loss in the attack, but it’s the opposite. There’s new data in here.” Lee preemptively logged the finding analog-style, pulling out a notebook and copying down the file name. “Oh, uh. Don’t open that.” She coughed. “That’s private.” Lee smirked. “Julia is not supposed to be saving personal files to your hardware, Channery. It’s a security issue.” “Where else is she supposed to save them? Come on, Lee! The enemy built me with barely any memory as it was! I know that I’m not supposed to be developing a history or memories, but you know better than I that I can’t accurately cross-reference them against any moral codes besides treasuring Julia!” “Oh. So it’s. Uh. Personal?” “Extremely.” Channery glowered. She couldn’t really fire her pulse charges at an ally, but her tone didn’t exactly encourage Lee to test it. “Channery, you know that I’m going to have to double-check this, right? I have to extract this and run it on a limited server. If it’s malicious…” “It’s not malicious! But it is, you know…” she hissed through her not-teeth, “…off-book pilot/apparatus bonding techniques.” “Any events that take place inside a cockpit are subject to government surveillance,” but Lee groaned as he said it. Julia and Channery weren’t the first pair to commit ‘off-book activities,’ and they wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t even an illegal activity, so long as you were the only pilot assigned to the mech in question. But some pilots looked at the memory reserves in the mech’s hard drive, and figured that, so long as the AI was going to be adding the occasional movie, song or mission footage to its memory banks, there was space in there for their own precious memories of hanky-panky. Fucking the mech wasn’t illegal. But saving your own unapproved files to the hard drive was.

And last but not least, from the 51k nanowrimo version of Lead Into Gold:

20th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My one and only, You are quite right. I meant to write you a love letter, but instead, wound myself up in fears and concerns for myself. This next letter must scoop you up into my arms, and submerge us both into the warm comfort of my adoration. I miss you dreadfully; during the days there is my research to keep me company, but it is a cruel friend that runs me ragged and leaves me empty. I’ve grown accustomed to welcoming you to dinner every night, and have been considering hiring a cook, if research continues to go well. It is not fashionable to have servants, as the aristos in other cities do, but the hiring of a weekly maid is quite normal, and has worked well for me. I have kept her from touching the guest room- which is quickly taking place in my mind as ‘Hawley’s Room’- but I cannot say the same for myself. I have slept in there twice already, and worn your sweater while I slept and while I but these hints of you are not the same as your presence and words. You know, as much as I may consider the opinions of others, their presence is extraordinarily draining. I have had three dinners since you left, all of them supposedly university functions, but all also including a number of businessmen. I knew that this was a common occurrence in the chemical and engineering departments; the end goal for most research is to patent and sell to the highest bidder. But as you mentioned, I am quite well off enough that to sell would be quite unethical of me. So it is obnoxious to continually wish for a dinner discussing university business, and to get this other sort of business, instead. Were you here, I wonder what you might have said. And yes, I am sure that that must be an odd thing to hear from me, who is constantly tutting and pooh-poohing you for your lack of manners. But what seems irksome in abundance can be precious in absentia. And your forthrightness is a blast of cool air in these stuffy meetings. The lot of us stuffed-shorts spend hours and hours carefully twisting our words around, into pretty shapes, hoping to avoid offense. But all that that really seems to accomplish is to raise the standard. And thus, words that are not pretty enough become an offense. A missed complement becomes a slight. It is enough to make me long for you to insult me. I am no masochist, but the sense of security one gets by being insulted in good faith? It is endless. To know that one’s faults are perceived, and still accepted, is more flattering than a hundred compliments. That is part of the charm of you, one that is not easily seen by those deluded enough to expect empty flattery. You do not insult out of some desire to exercise power, or to harm the person with whom you speak. You do so out of the simple, innocent desire to speak what is true, or to assist another in correcting a flaw. And thus, when you speak praise, it holds a value to me which is deeply precious. And all the moreso because your opinions and insight are excellent! When we differ in perspective, it is not long before you are able to sway me to your side of the matter, and I feel all the richer for it. I miss them deeply, and remain, Ever Yours, Harry P.S. I am enclosing some additional notes on the new detection device, and I hope that they are of value.

25th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My Failing Wordsmith, It confuses me to no end, how a man who spins the most poetic words of love in person, cannot manage to do the same on paper. I do not feel submerged in affection yet, you must open the tap further. I apologize, I am in a lackluster mood. I’ve seen neither hair nor hide of the demon, though the readings are exceptionally strong. I end each day in mounting frustration. One of Rakove’s damndable wasps escaped from its carrier the other day, and when I swung at it, the horrible things was impertinent enough to sting me. That was, in effect, the end to my entire day. Unlike you, I do not handle pain well, and the swelling in my arms was enough to command my thoughts, and I took to bed. I tried writing to you, but it was as though the blinding light at sea, searing my eyes, were all concentrated on that one spot on my arm. All I accomplished was to ruin two sheets of paper with curses, and they are illegibly mediocre ones. Professor Rakove did his best to assist, but his research in the matter is still lacking, and the salve which he applied to the sting only made the situation worse. He asked me questions, attempting to ascertain my status, but, delirious with pain, I cannot tell if I was any help. He stayed by my side for the rest of the day and night, and I appreciate his diligence, giving up valuable research time to care for me. I am still weak, and he supposes that I might have been allergic to the sting. I have told him that while I may grumble about it, he is forgiven in my heart, so long as he fixes the latch on his bee carrier. I shall continue to convalesce, but I won’t improve without affection. Yours. I demand it, so that I may remain, Ever Yours, Hawley

#That being said if you'd like to encourage me to make more of any of these #Then go ahead and comment or send an ask #I am committed to NPF and Lead Into Gold and Gentlemens Club at the moment #But enthusiasm and support can steer my brain in the Actually Making Stuff direction #WIPs #Fics #The Stanley Parable #Psychonauts 2 #Deadly Premonition #Exit #NonPlatonic Forms #Scribbles #I know that there's more rattling around but I'm not going looking for them

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Note

Jean with their almost full term wife just being extremely uncomfortable, they cry a lot and are just ready for the baby to be out?

Here I go... this has been in my inbox for an embarrassing amount of time but I had this plot in mind for two years and I was waiting for this moment to be animated to be able to write and post this... Listen while you read → the sound of silence by Simon and Garfunkel

Pairing: Jean/ Reader

Tags: hurt/comfort (yes my ✨favorite✨), Jean being a sweetheart

Warnings: pregnancy, grief, mentions of labor and childbirth, crying, Post Sasha's death

The Sound of Silence

The dull, gray shade that was plastered all over the sky was accompanied by an excessive stride of frozen air that was blowing on your hair, sending stray strands of (e/c) flying all over your eyes. A few droplets fell faintly in random places over you and on the freshly trimmed grass that was swaying under your feet. There was a vast variety of tombstones that surrounds you, sternly and calculated lined up tombs extend to a tragic horizon, where your eyes couldn't seem to find an end to. A few leaves were being blown around over them, as well as fresh flower petals, ones you could recognise as you had seen numerous people leave bouquets to their deceased loved ones for all the time you'd stayed here.

Inevitably, the gravestone you were resting your back on was frozen, making your whole body shiver as you lean on it, but you chose not to pay any attention to it; you simply buried your chin between your knees and closed your eyes before letting out a sigh escape you. Your stomach tightened as your chest hitched and you instinctively brought a hand to rub over your swollen tummy. You inspected the bum by running your hand around it, rubbing on a few places near your inverted belly button, pressing slightly over the top as you felt the probing piece of flesh flick in the palm of your hand underneath your dress.

When you felt a kick, a single leg movement push against the insides of your stomach, though, you took away your hand, slamming it onto the ground as you tried to grip onto the moist soil right next to you. It was kind of a peculiar feeling and even now, nine months in you were still fully uncomfortable with it. Being pregnant wasn't something you've enjoyed; rather was more like a hazard to your very health and was reason you were relieved of your soldier duties. And you secretly cursed Jean and yourself a bit for allowing this to happen.

Who on their right mind would enjoy swollen feet and back pains, who would enjoy the crazy mood swings and the fatigue that causes you to be unable of even taking a stroll around the town? Who would ever want to feel suffoccated by how big their pregnancy belly had turned? Not you. Definitely not you, but according to your mother they were supposed to be something you'd enjoy later on.

Now, you weren't so sure.

And you were so overdue yet you weren't even sure you could even take care of your child in the mental state you were in.

Sighing hard after taking a deep inhale you dug your frail fingernails into the soil, feeling the ominous tears that the angry skies were begining to pour. Your eyes lingered on the shapeless coulds, focusing onto the dull, stripped light that could barely peak from underneath them. You felt the faint river of a tear run down your cheek at the sight and the skies responded right back at you with a loud thunderclap. It almost felt as if the skies were mourning Sasha just like you. Maybe, if you tried to convince yourself, you'd believe that it was your childhood friend that cried with you due to your departure.

Feeling your body go stiff and your face go numb from the fresh needles of the cold air that was blowing on you your scrunched your nose upwards, hoping for the action to stimulate even the tiniest blood flow to the numb tip. It didn't, and the tingling sensation of a sneeze madxhed it's way to your blood vessels, scratching methodically at all the right pressure points to force it's release. Finally and with a loud blow you felt your chest go in shock as you sneezed, your whole body joltimg up on your very spot.

Still you sniffled the little drops of moisture with the inside of your elbow, you couldn't find it in you to move or get up, you couldn't even try to find an ounce of physical strength inside your body. Sashas tombstone provided some strong comfort for you though, acting as your only comforter against the cold.

"This can't be any good for you."

A soft, large and so very warm hand came to rest upon your shoulder; delicate fingers gave you a squeeze as a bulky thumb rubbed a few circles to the end of your collarbone. You didn't even have time turn your head to see who it was, frankly because you knew.

His scent, his warmth, his touch, his whole aura practially screamed his name.

"Jean?"

"It's going to rain really hard you know." He said, planting a kiss to your temple. "wanna go back?"

"No." You sniffled dangerously.

"Okay then, I-" Jean paused before squating to your level "I guess were staying here for a bit."

"Thank you."

The soft ruffle that you felt on your hair was Jeans reply and it tousled your hair slightly, allowing the shy blond to catch a tiny sniff of your sweet scent to which he sncrunched his nose slightly and proceeded to place a kiss at the top of your hair line. Then, once again, he placed another kiss on your temple.

Fidgeting with your hand while trying to undig it out of the soil, you closed your eyes at the feeling, expecting the tiniest bits of adoration to enter your body through that kiss. Jean rested his head on your shoulder from his squatting position and you smiled a tiny bit and only in the blink of an eye, exhaling a cold huff of air to his face. A sharp pain in your chest was starting to spread, pushing back away over everything else that lay inside your body, strangling the insides of your throat.

"I miss her already."

You felt your breath chock you from the insides of your throat dangerously; a tight, looking knot was finally making its binds tighter and even more evident to the depths of your stomach as it spread to your throat.

"Me too"

"And God she was more that me excited for our baby."

As you shut your eyes, in frail attempt to mute the memories of Sasha that were coming back to your vision, a single tear rolled from the corner of your eye. With a shaking hand you managed to grip onto the side of Jean's coat; the chachi makò cotton coat rubbed against your thum as if protesting for the dirt that was being wiped on it, yet Jean didn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for so long when you're dysphoric about pregnancy."

"Its-its fine" You sniffled, a hitched sigh escaping the depths of your throat.

"Mmm baby, it's not, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't bring Sasha back with me too she'd talk to me everyday about betting on how we're going to have twins."

As another thunderclap roared in the background, Jean found it fitting to move his aching legs and shift his position to the ground. As he took a turn, he placed another kiss just next to your eye while he took your hand in between his. With a soft thud he came to rest his body next to yours and you made a slight move to allow him a little more space before his back finally came to rest to the small tomb right behind you. A hand came to wrap around your shoulders lovingly silently begging you to push your head down to your lover's shoulder to which you eagerly complied.

"I kinda think she was right, I'm too huge, I can't even breathe properly these days." Another tiny peck was placed to the top of your head as you spoke. "To be honest," You sniffled "whatever it is I want it to be out."

"I know."

"And I don't want to accept that Sasha died, I grew up with her Jean."

"I know baby." He said and placed a new kiss to your head.

"And for the love of any fucking intelligent titan I'm so swollen and I'm angry and all that could make me happy right now would be you Connie and Sasha teasing me about it."

Jean felt your back pulp on him like a jolting lighting has just fell from the sky. He heard the hard sniffle of your nose and heard the painful sob that was stuck to the back of your throat as your sentence came to an end. This, with a burning desire to let his own heart go loose came the feeling of his own eyes stinging, his own chest jolting, his fingertips gripping onto the side of your head as if they were hanging onto you for dear life.

"All I get though is this stupid tomb!" You cried and threw a clenched first backwards towards the tomb, hitting it with all your potential might as you chocked on your next words. "This stupid fucking reminder that my best friend is dead."

It was so dearly painful. Your heart hammered in your chest in protest to your refusal to deny Sasha's death, your stomach churned in a coiling fire and the big swelling bumb under your right hand rioted against your mourning. But you failed to give a care. Your best friend in the whole world was dead.

You could still remember when you decided to join the military together, you still remembered your very first friends, you still remembered how she and Connie were the ones to help you and Jean get together. You remembered the way you'd play when you were kids and how you'd spend days sewing clothes just to play like you were paying a visit to Sina in your most elegant attire. You remembered watching her fall in love with food and with whom you had thought could be the man of her life.

You remembered every single miniscule moment of your life spent with Sasha and it crushed you.

Nevertheless when Jean's long fingers came to sway over the roots of your hair and his nose nuzzled to the top of your hairline, his lips rubbing onto your soft hair, ready to press another kiss at any given time, your face softned, taking away the chocked sob you were about to let out with it. You brought your hand to your face, pulling your sleeve to cover it up and put it to your nose to wipe the runny goo off of it.

"I know, shh" The ashy blond rubbed his chin to the side of your scalp, giving you the tiniest bit of affection from it before bringing his nose back to your head to rub it on the spot again.

Then, the way that you sighed was almost silent.

Save for the whiny hiccup that escaped you.

"Please don't cry so much, I'm going to panic."

A tiny laughter inevitably escaped you. You remembered that phrase very well. When you had caught Jean crying after Marco's memorial he had came running into your arms, sobbing like a madman and you had wispered the same words while rubbing your palms soothingly over his back. That was the same night that you decided to follow him into joining the scouts, the first night of an endless personal misery.

"It's just-" You cried "I just can't, we've lost so many people and it hurts Jean. I should have been there."

"Shh no, don't think like that."

Jean was holding back tears for you. It was evident in the way that he was shaking and jolting his head from time to time. His palm was flexed in a fist, tightly resting over your shoulder as it gripped a fold in your cloack. You only breathed harder at the realisation, feeling your chest sink in a tremendous amount of pain that left you hollow. You felt another kick coming from the inside of your stomach to which you shut your eyes to, too afraid to see the outline of a hand or a foot appear under the thin linen clothe of your dress. And just like before, another heart wrenching sob escaped you.

"I didn't want to say goodbye." Jean said quietly, his voice coming as a breath that barely brushed your ear. "You didn't even get to say goodbye and that's bad of me to say, but I didnt want to see what I saw. I didn't want to say goodbye. I don't want you to suffer. I don't want to suffer either."

"Jean.."

The sniffling of your nostrils wasn't nowhere near coming to an halt, thus the back of your sleeve was the ideal solution to your distress; had you had any more little power in your body you would reach for the handkerchief in your shoulder bad. But that couldn't be the case. Not until you could feel your feet.

"(Y/n), baby... I'm sorry. I promise I won't let anything happen to you and our baby. Even if it means I have to sacrifice my life for you to be safe."

A gasp came out of your mouth quicker than you had anticipated. The hiccup that escaped you was accompanied by another burning hot tear that run down your eye, your whole spine giving in to the wave of fear that shook you, resulting in your head jolting in shock. Your hand shot to his, gripping it with force to bring it over your stomach, your fingers clinging onto his while pressing hard in between his knuckles.

"Don't say that shit, you're not dying Jean, get that thought out of your idiotic head," You inhaled through hitches "I'm going to die a pitiful death if you leave me."

"Please don't do that." Jean clenched his teeth.

"Then don't die too you idiot."

Another rush of a few raindrops started pouring, this time even more quickly that before. The grass under your feet swayed, each spiky peak bending and bouncing as the weight of the rain hit the ground. Big blotches of water were now forming on your attire, waiting your skin as they came to connect with each other, darkening the brown color of the linen skirt you were wearing. Jean wrapped his hand tighter around you, rubbing his cheek to the top of your head again with mellow force, as if trying to assure you it would be okay for you to stay there for only just a moment more.

And you begged to listen to his silent proposition.

Letting his hand rest loosely over your swollen stomach, you took a deep breath, allowing your self to flex your toes inside your shoes. Your indstep steamed as the little strap squished you so hard that you tried your best to convince yourself you weren't going to deal with a blood clot. You hated that you had come to despise your favorite pair of shoes. All you ever wished for was that then would just fit you like normal. Still, even to that thought, the little being inside you took half a leaping turn, giving another kick to the top of your stomach.

Had Sasha been here she would have told you something to help you get your mind off of it. She would have teased Jean for not being able to keep it in his pants and you would have laughed, feeling the tentuon easing off.

Still, the kick, that most women would have found one of joy, only turned your insides like clothes swept by a tide.

"I want to throw up." You announced, half looking at Jean

"Because of the kick? Or the thought of it?"

"Maybe-maybe both."

It was then that another kiss was planted in your forehead. The raw sound of lips smacking filled the air against the drenching water of the rain, giving a little antsy essence to the gesture. Jean rubbed his closed mouth against your skin with his eyes closed in his best effort to help you calm down.

"Now now," He whispered "It wouldn't be the best thing to throw up in the cemetery, would it?"

With closed eyes, you pouted and shook your head twice in response.

"Okay then, I have a proposal for you."

"What?"

"Want to go visit Marco's grave? And then get you somewhere warm? And changed?"

Your pout intensified amd you fixated your gaze at the ground with furrowed brows. The nauseating feeling in your stomach was coiling begging to obertske you, but there was something so warm about Jean's sweet tone that fought it violently, so much that you could even feel your face loosen up as you melted under his touch.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Okay then."

You shivered slightly as Jean took his arm off of you and dug it to the ground, giving himself a little prompt as he bend his knees closer to his body before stretching them to get up. Next, he leaned towards you, extending a long arm to your side, his thick, enormous palm stretching as it signaled you to place yours in it. Lifting a hand to his direction faintly you manages to place your palm into his and soon you managed to feel his fingers tighten a grip over your knuckles.

Still though, you couldn't find it in you to get up.

You stared at Jean with brows that screamed in apology, lifted skin littered with regretful lines. You had been feeling heavy lately. Everyone knew that, everyone who laid eyes on you questioned hoe you even managed to walk normally. But today you had struggled to get out of bed so much that you had even considered asking to be carried to Sasha's grave, knowing full well that you were too heavy for this to be a reality.

"You can do it."

"Give me a second, I can feel my lower stomach pulsating."

Jean eyed you with concern, his thumb quick to rub a circle over the knuckle of your pointer finger. You only gave him a mixed look next, squeezimg him just a little as you started pulling his hand. You had to get up. You couldn't stay in the rain until someone picked you up bridal style. Thus, you gave a little push. Just a teeny, tiny push to prompt yourself up and meet Jean halfway.

"Oh, oh crap."

In that moment you couldn't even think of a worse mistake that you had made in your nineteen years of life.

"What?"

You didn't want to believe it. No. It couldn't be happening now.

"Uhm, my water just broke."

"WHAT?"

"There's fluid leaking down my thigh and I'm pretty sure I didn't just pee myself. I wouldn't do that in a graveyard."

In between Jean's petrified expression and the trembling pain in your core, you somehow found yourself be eerily non panicked about the happening. As much as you wanted to scream from the pain, as much as you felt like your feet where going to give out, you were nowhere near turning pale yellow like Jean.

"Was this supposed to happen so suddenly?" Jean breathed heavily.

"Well" You cursed under your breath as you clutched over your stomach "I have been overdue for some days now and, ah fuck this is painful-"

"I'm really, really freaking out right now. What. Do. We. Do?"

"Calm down, let's go to Marco's grave."

"What? No!? Your waters literally broke. They broke, oh my god I'm going to be an actual father." Jean let out a chocked scream while running his other hand through his hair and gripping despairately on the roots.

"Jean, okay I migh-" A sharp pain went through your core "I still have a lot of time until my contraction is big enough for the baby to come out."

"This can't be safe."

"I'm telling you!"

Jean took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell, his shaking fingers steadied just a tiny bit, his trembling feet suddenly felt just a little more steady. This wasn't a time to panic, of course, he knew that far. The look you were giving him, even though it was pained, screamed that he could trust you; despite either of you having absolutely no idea about childbirth, he knew that having an anxiety attack this early into labor would only cause a worse experience for you.

Plus, he was the one who suggested they you'd visit Marco, and he wasn't about to say no to you at your current situation. With a hand bend over his hip, he prompted your own to snail through it for support. At least if you were going to do this, he'd basically walk you there. Pressing his lips together, Jean gave you an longing look, letting a deepnsigh escape the depths of his chest.

Eagerly you nodded at him, linking your arm with his. You softly dug your button lip under your upper flesh, trying your best not to bite into it as another rush of pain washed through you. Having contractions this frequent only meant that you had to rush and you knew that better than anyone else, but there was this little voice in the back of your brain that begged you to not take this moment away from Jean. With a final little stroke at Sasha's tomb and a tear running down your wet, stinging eyes before you matched away and to the direction of Marco's grave, you let yourself think you could hear her say a tiny good luck to you.

"Okay, let's go see Marco alright?" Jean said with a hint of glimmer in his eyes "For five minutes."

"Okay and then I'm going to go and have your child."

"Quite literally."

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @ladyofpandemonium @levisbrat25 @callmepromise @hawkssnugget @berrijam @thethyri @nobody-knows-anymore @lzrers

#jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein imagine #jean snk #jean aot #snk x reader #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk imagines #snk season 4 #aot season 4 #angst

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melliflovs · 3 years

Text

Beautiful Mess - Gojo x Reader

Word Count: 1,675

Warnings: Angst, longing, kinda sad

Summary: Reader comes to terms with her feelings after being faced with her emotions once she sees Gojo again for their monthly battle, even if it gets interrupted.

A/N: I didn't check this for errors cause my computers about to die but I wanted to post this for you guys!

Requests open!

In truth he found you incredible, but would he ever admit it? No. Of course not.

It was moments like this, the stars shining down on you and the wind blowing through your hair that made Gojo pause. He wished things could be different.

You could've been teaching alongside him, or anything else from the life you chose. He frowned to himself. Were you really happy?

At least twenty curses surrounded you. The dark purple aura slowly beginning to cover you from his view as you laughed in the distance. He just wanted a moment more to watch you before the inevitable battle before the two of you.

You knew he was there, close enough to see but too far away to touch. For now, you'd continue on as you were, playfully petting a curse on its head. It resembled a dog and chose to stay by your side, granted it looked and smelled horrendous but you'd take what you could get. They milled about you, waiting for their commands. They were all grade 3 curses, childs play for people like Gojo - people like you. But they weren't supposed to be strong, they were just to garner attention.

After the purple fog fully enveloped you Gojo knew it was time. You stood high on the tallest skyscraper, the clouds within reach.

You always thought Gojo was incredible. Irresistible looks, unbeatable strength, and a massive ego. Time spent with him was cherished, even if it meant small tricks and claims to get his attention but he never failed to deliver.

You heard his footsteps approach slowly, with your back turned the curses began to howl. A small smile tugged on the edges of your lips but you held it back. Slowly you turned to face him.

"Come with me." He said, Gojo had his hands in his pocket with a blindfold covering his eyes. You wondered if you'd ever be able to see them again.

"Traded out the glasses, huh?" You teased, "Do the students find it more intimidating." Sparks lit up your eyes as power began to surge through you.

Gojo smirked and flexed his muscles at you "I was always intimidating, just thought the blindfold added more flare."

He wished they'd stop sending him, the elders always too quick to call upon him once they knew you were involved. They started questioning why the job was never 'finished' they wanted you dead. You were the villain in this story, the creator of curses and sorrow. But how could someone so beautiful be so destructive? It didn't make sense to him.

The first time you'd met Gojo you were both 16. He was a student at the time, sent to a school to take down a low-level curse. It was a teaching method of his Sensei's to send his students alone on smaller tasks - one he ultimately ended up using himself. Instead, he found you surrounded in a purple haze curled into a ball.

You were so small at the time, anxious and afraid with tears streaming down your face. Gojo could feel the power inside you, radiating from your fragile body. It brought him to his knees in front of you. It was the first time you'd ever seen his eyes, hair hanging out in front of his face. He reached out to you, mesmerized by you.

He'd never encountered power like his before, different from his yet so similar in strength. Gojo was so distracted by you that he ignored the scattered limbs of what used to be your fellow classmates.

When he looked at you he was amazed, every single time. But you'd grown now, no longer the scared little girl who didn't know who or what you were. But you knew now. Years of hating yourself for what you were born as, what you'd accidentally do to people. Eventually, you embraced it.

In the years that you'd been actively on Gojo's radar, no one had narrowed down what you were. They knew you were human, a child abandoned and forced into foster care. From what he could tell your emotions were so strong that the smallest offense could make the curses in the surrounding 10 miles stronger and multiply them. You were no longer a grade 3 curse. You were special grade, a girl with explosive feelings that were considered to be on the same level as Sukuna.

You still didn't compare to Gojo though.

"Come with me, (y/n)" He repeated, his eyes desperate under the blindfold. He wondered if she could tell how much he wished she would listen to him.

She shook her head lightly, lowering her head to the ground. "You know I can't do that Satoru."

He nodded in response, he knew she was right. They'd execute her if she followed him back to the school. In a way (y/n) reminded him as Yuji, the elders were cowards whatever they couldn't understand they eliminated. Eventually, they'd meet the same unfortunate fate. Gojo wouldn't be able to protect either of them.

Gojo was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of a single snap. Looking up he watched as all the curses surrounding her dive off the skyscraper and into the city set loose to wreak havoc. The dog-shaped curse stayed, wagging its crooked tailback and forth.

"Good," He teased, "Was starting to get a bit crowded up here."

The purple haze had almost completely disappeared from the rooftop once the curses left. You took a deep breath, "I'm not ready yet, Gojo. Ten minutes."

He jokingly checked his bare wrist as if looking at a watch "Fine" He pouted "But I'm counting."

You gave him a weak smile, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down, letting your legs hang over the edge. You'd be lying if you said looking down didn't make you feel sick, you were at least 100 stories above ground. But the lights were so pretty, the glow of all of them lit up the night, reflecting in your eyes. You felt his presence approach you, standing behind you as you sat.

"Why does it have to be this way?" You whispered, it was so quiet he might not have been able to hear you. It would've probably been for the best if he hadn't.

Hesitantly he placed his hand on your head, giving your hair a soft pat. He made you feel so little, so small in comparison. Just like the day you met. "Because life is unfair to powerful people."

You hummed at his response, "I wish things were different." You tilted your head up, looking at him through your lashes, hair falling in your face. "I wish we weren't such a mess."

"At least we're a beautiful mess." He said grinning down at you.

"I miss your eyes Gojo, why cover them like that all the time?" You asked, still staring at the dark blindfold. You could only imagine what shade of blue hid behind it.

"Decided not everyone should have the privilege to see these sparklers." The smile on his face grew as he said this, quirking his head to the side.

"Can I see them?" The more time you spent in his presence the calmer you felt. Gradually you felt the weight of your powers lift off your shoulder. A calm smile never had any trouble settling on your face whenever you were around him. It was hard to admit, even to yourself, but looking at his shining smile for the first time in months made you realize you'd missed him. "Please Gojo."

His grin faded into a soft smile. Nodding his head, Gojo reached up and began to untie the knot holding the blindfold.

"I think it's been ten minutes, Satoru. What do you think?" The voice made the two of you jump, Gojo's hands dropping away from the halfway untied covering. "Maybe you just got distracted with" He waved his hand around distastefully "This."

"Leave. Now." Gojo whispered, just low enough that the new man wouldn't be able to hear him. He seemed afraid, not of the man but of what would happen if any of his higher-ups found out about the two of you - whatever you were, even if you didn't know yourselves.

He stalked over the man, who was dressed impeccably in a white button-down. He held a wooden paddle tightly in his hand and pushed up his glasses as Gojo walked up to him.

"Look, Nanami, it's not what you think." He said holding up his hands defensively. Realistically he didn't know if his colleague would even believe any lie he could up of in time. Gojo tried to straighten himself out. Putting on his signature smirk, "You know how I get around the ladies. They just can't help themselves."

Nanami let out a sigh, looking at his friend with pity. "The way she looks at you... it's like she'd be willing to take a bullet for you." It wasn't normal the way you looked at Gojo. Like he was the sun and you were a flower stuck in the shade. "And I'm sure under that ridiculous blindfold you were looking at her like that too."

Gojo stayed quiet, the fake smirk dropping from his face. The silence hovered for a moment, making his chest fill with dread as Nanami thought it over in his head.

Suddenly he turned, beginning to walk towards the exit. "Come on, let's go."

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Gojo asked as he followed his coworker. He wrung his hands nervously together.

"No."

He let out a sigh of relief. A small smile began to tug at his lips, he was grateful to the blonde, not many people he knew would risk helping him like this. Subtly he looked over his shoulder.

Thankfully you were already gone, thankfully you were safe. At least for the time being. As he stepped towards the stairwell to make his way down the skyscraper, Gojo realized one thing:

You never got to see his eyes.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk nanami #nanase nishino

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

A Future That’s Worth It

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+ (lots of implications but nothing explicit)

Original Idea: Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I have some headcanons on height and weight of the characters that I used for this one. Have fun!

^^^^^

The bed dipped behind me. I’d been more than halfway to sleep, but the movement shocked me awake. I rolled over.

Rhysand gave me a lazy smile. “Evening, love,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Technically no, but a little bit.”

“Sorry.” The look on his face implied he was in no way genuinely apologetic. He shuffled to get more comfortable, one wing draping over the two of us, and loosed a long sigh. I snuggled against his bare chest, eyes on his tattoos.

“Something the matter?” I asked quietly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“If I never have to truly fight again, for the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life, I will be grateful,” he said, breath fluttering my loose hairs.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I felt a claw against my mental shields, a single, gentle drag against the black marble I used to keep my private thoughts private. A request for entry. I reached out tiredly to feel his own mental shield was already lowered. A rare occurrence for him. He had one of the most complex shields I’d ever experienced.

I let the shield drop. His presence overwhelmed me almost immediately. I’d probably never fully witness the extreme depth of his power, but it dominated over my little well of magic by what was probably thousands of times.

His presence was the comforting, healing darkness of lovers clinging to one another. The gentle shade under a wide oak tree on a hot summer day. Nothing of the sharp, secret darkness of spies and assassins. The soft night of dreams. “Do you feel peace, now?” I asked. “Now that the King of Hybern is dead and his army decimated?”

“It’ll take years for me to reach true peace for that, after all the pain and death and suffering. But I feel peace right now, holding you. I feel a grim tranquility in knowing I would gladly cause more carnage if it meant keeping you safe. I hated releasing that beast inside me during the war, but I’ll always go feral to protect what’s mine. You, our family, this city, our people. All of it. I would fight until my own death to ensure the future of those I’m responsible for.”

“Self-sacrificing fool,” I teased. There was no bite to the words.

“You’re one too,” he retorted with the same tired lack of malice.

“Never said I wasn’t. Therefore, you can’t call me a hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me. “Get some sleep, High Lord. We both need it.”

He brushed some of my loose hairs from my face. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” I smiled slightly.

The sweet caress of his darkness in my mind soothed all the day’s worries. If neither of us ever had to pick up a blade for a battle ever again, it would be too soon.

I reached up with the hand around his waist and stroked the bone of his wing. He shivered, but he’d taught me where to touch to calm, and where to touch to excite. His other muscles were pliant, relaxed, as I ran my fingers gently over his wing.

We put each other to sleep not long after that.

—

“—told him it was a bad idea, but he was just like, ‘Stop telling me how to live my life!’” Mor’s loud voice woke me the next morning as the doors opened downstairs, the last bit dropping as low as she could go in a horrible but hilarious imitation of Cassian. Amren’s laughter followed.

The bed was empty besides me, but Rhys’ side was still warm.

I got up and pulled on my dressing gown over my nightgown. I brushed my hair briefly so it wasn’t quite so tangled and ventured out of our room.

Mor and Amren had already made it to the kitchen and were raiding the pantry for breakfast.

“What’s a bad idea?” I asked around a yawn.

“Cassian was gonna challenge Azriel to a flying race. From the House to the roof here,” Mor explained, pointing directly overhead.

“Azriel’s gonna win,” I said.

“That’s what I said. Cassian didn’t listen.”

I chuckled, joining them for breakfast.

Amren looked around. “Where’s your High Lord?”

“I was gonna ask you two the same thing. I assumed he got out of bed and came down to talk to you guys. Sheets were still warm when I woke up.”

Mor’s expression turned to one of amused dread. “He’s gonna join the race,” she said.

“I bet you’re right,” I replied. I rubbed my eyes. “They are five-and-a-half centuries old and they still behave like children.”

“Glad you’re his mate and not me,” Amren said with a smile as she drank from her goblet and shuddered. She hated food still, but she no longer had a choice.

“Frankly, me too,” I said. “I can’t imagine the chaos the two of you would cause.”

Mor laughed.

I assume you’re at the House of Wind? I thought down the bond, pushing the thought hard to make sure he received it.

Yep, Rhys’ voice replied in my mind.

I’ll be on the roof. Mor and I will referee.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The words were too laced with laughter to be the truth.

Children. All three of you, I fired back.

All I got in return was his rumbling laughter. Distant thunder promising a welcome summer storm.

“Wanna join me on the roof?” I offered to Mor and Amren.

“Not really,” Amren replied.

“I will,” Mor said.

The two of us climbed up the stairs and sat on the white-painted iron chairs. Mor had a cup of tea and I had a mug of molten chocolate.

I looked up at the House of Wind. So far, there were no figures flying around its peak.

Mor lounged on her chair and eyed me. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrugged. The early spring air was still clinging to the cold of winter and my satin dressing gown and nightgown were clinging to the cold right along with it, but it was something of a welcome change after the stifling heat under the covers in bed. “I’ll be fine for how long it’ll take Rhys and his brothers to get here.”

You ready? I asked.

Waiting on you, he replied.

We’re ready.

Then look up.

“They’re going,” I said to Mor, turning my attention back to the House.

Sure enough, three figures leapt off a balcony near the peak, streaking in a straight line toward us, wings barely extended to keep them aloft and at the angle they wanted. From their distance I couldn’t make out who was who yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Five gold marks on Azriel,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to always bet on Rhys?” Mor teased.

“Azriel is lighter than Rhys and Cassian. I’m making an educated guess.”

She laughed. “Okay. Five gold marks on Rhys then.”

We watched them get closer.

“Rhys is going to be offended you bet against him,” Mor remarked.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Rhys can winnow and Azriel… kinda does to. With the shadows. I’m not sure how he does it,” Mor mused. “But, Cassian—he just flies everywhere. So he’s probably a little better at it than both of them. More practiced, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah… how about, if Cassian wins, we each give Amren five marks?”

Mor laughed. “She’d love and hate that. That we made her bet for her and chose Cassian.”

I shrugged. “Probably. But she wouldn’t mind the money.”

“Not at all.”

I caught glints of blue and red. Rhys was on the left, no Siphons, with Cassian in the middle and Azriel to the right. I still couldn’t tell who was in front, but it looked like I might have been right about Azriel. He looked like he was barely ahead of Rhys and Cassian.

As the three drew closer, I realized this was the future we’d fought the war for. The future full of fun and joy. The future of stupid games and meaningless bets. No gambling lives. Just a few marks for no reason other than fun. If Rhys never turned into that beast again, if he’d done enough to ensure our safety and security—finally—then it was all worth it.

They were close enough to see their faces now. Mor and I cleared a place where three could land all close to the same time and not knock over any furniture or trip. While Mor thought it’d be funny, I didn’t want anyone to face-plant off the roof.

Azriel slammed feet first into the roof. I thought I heard the attic rattle. Rhys hit barely half a second after, with Cassian right behind.

Mor gave me a long-suffering glance and sipped her tea. “I owe you five marks,” she said before flouncing back downstairs.

“You placed bets?” Cassian asked.

“You’re surprised?” I retorted sharply. Azriel snorted quietly.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said.

“You bet against me?” Rhys sounded offended even as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His warmth banished the cold clinging to my dressing gown.

I shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to rise to his bait. “Azriel’s lighter than both of you. Skinnier. He can probably cut through the air easier. I made an educated guess,” I said, repeating what I said to Mor. I tilted up onto my tiptoes and kissed Rhys’ chin, since he was too tall for me to reach his cheek.

Rhys chuckled. “That’s okay, because I owe Cassian ten marks. I bet on Azriel too.” He kissed my forehead. The four of us still on the roof started making our way down. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever anyone can find!” Mor shouted from below.

I grabbed Rhys’ wrist and held him so Cassian and Azriel would get ahead of us. When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around him. “This is the future we—you—fought for,” I whispered. “Is it worth it, to you?”

“I can’t think of anything more worth it.”

“Me neither.”

We held each other for a few more moments.

Then Cassian was calling us to haul downstairs before the food was gone.

Laughing, we descended.

#Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #A Future That's Worth It

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alwaysbeliev · 3 years

Text

I Can’t Lose You

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for the @rdr-secret-cupid adventure this year. Thank you for the prompt, @bloodylove3 and I hope you enjoy!

summary: When Dutch asks you and Arthur to pretend you're married for a job, you're nervous that you won't be able to hide your feelings for the outlaw. You manage to keep it in line, but things go wrong fast.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

word count: 3497

link on AO3

“Alright, here’s where we’ll start.”

It was mid-afternoon. The heat from the sun above was overwhelming, burning whatever it touched. Not even the shade was a relief with its cover. Animals all around were burrowed underground, hiding inside of trees, splashing around in the cool river nearby, and doing their best to stay out of direct light. You idly watched a small mouse scurry through the grass, digging at the dirt every now and then before disappearing into a hole. Quietly, you wished you were that mouse.

For the hundredth time, Dutch was reviewing his next grand plan. There was a tipoff about a decent score, something that would help the gang move to a new camp, and it would be almost easy to pull off. Almost. But he was careful to plan, detailed to a fault, and now you had to sit through another lecture about making sure you were in the right place at the right time. He stood just inside the flap of his tent as he talked. The others were in a loose circle around him and Hosea.

You felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of your neck. What you wouldn’t give to go jump in the rushing water just a hundred feet away, even fully clothed. Imagining the relief alone made you sweat more. You could feel your skin throb, your cheeks turning red, your shirt sticking to your lower back…

“Hey!”

The sharp sound of Dutch’s voice cut through your daydream, snapping you back to reality. Others were snickering as you jerked your head over and tried to pretend you had been listening.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there has been a small change of plan.”

Whoa, Dutch was changing his plan? But the score was just a week away now.

He carried on, “Arthur will be playing the part of your protective, but quiet, husband. You will need to cause a big enough distraction that we can enter without tipping anyone off. Can you handle that?”

“I thought Hosea was providing the distraction?” Your mind was turning, scrambling to remember if that was the original plan or if you were suffering from heat stroke.

“As I had said before, Hosea will be needed outside. It would seem awfully suspicious to outsiders if 5 men all seemed to suddenly rush inside together, don’t you think?”

You supposed he had a point. Outwardly, you agreed with him, but inwardly, your heart was pounding. Arthur? Husband? You barely made it through the rest of the session, managing to excuse yourself as soon as Dutch was done talking. Never before had you felt the palpitations on your chest that you did now at the thought of being with Arthur Morgan. Not just being with him, but pretending to be married.

To say that you had a crush on Arthur was putting it lightly. From the moment you had met the outlaw, the sight of him caused your heart to race faster than his beautiful horse. You could barely speak around him, let alone carry on any conversation, and you were certain everyone in camp knew about it. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly had approached you just last week to tease you about the way you fumbled over your words when Arthur asked a question. Now you had to pretend to be married?

The group dispersed as Dutch finished his grand lecture, chattering excitedly about the huge score. You felt light-headed and were rooted to the spot. Dutch was right, it should be easy, you had played the actor’s role many times before, but this… This wouldn’t be acting. And surely someone was going to notice that.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A week passed quicker than any week you’d been through before. You and Arthur had prepared a scene, practicing to get it right, and you were feeling slightly more confident. The cowboy still gave you flutters in your heart, but rehearsed lines were much easier than improvised ones, and you were positive he hadn’t seen the longing in your eyes. It was easy.

But what wasn’t easy was how inseparable the two of you were becoming. Every morning, Arthur approached you near the campfire, offering a small treat, typically a piece of chocolate or a small fruit. The first time, your cheeks had flushed hotter than the summer sun. It hadn’t improved much. You would review your plan for the score, pause for a lunch time meal, and continue in the afternoon. Arthur often seemed to have other ideas, wanting a change of scenery, and you would find yourselves a few miles from camp on some rocky outlook or on a river’s shore, just shooting the breeze while the sun seared high above. Arthur even managed to convince you to leave your horse once, riding behind him with arms wrapped around his chest, content just to be near him.

Finally, the day arrived. The gang all arose early, gathering their tools uneasily. Nerves always ran high the day of, regardless of how much planning had gone into the score, and your stomach churned. Karen had lent a hat, Mary-Beth a beautiful dress in your most favorite color, and you felt so fluffy and over the top. When Arthur saw you, his face seemed to go slack, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My, my, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled, taking a few lazy steps to close the gap to you. “Aren’t you lookin’ mighty fine this mornin’.”

Pouting and embarrassed, you waved him off, brushing a tight curl over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask the color rising to your cheeks.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, now, I’m only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He laughed before looking somewhat sheepish himself. “Besides, you really do.”

You paused, taking in his sincere compliment.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t have time to respond as Dutch stepped out of his tent, looking the picture of graceful leadership, commanding everyone’s attention. As you turned your body towards him, you saw Arthur’s gaze lingering on your figure, the dress complementing you perfectly. You focused on tugging on your white lace gloves, trying to turn your ears where it mattered.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Alright, Mr. Callahan, now, here we are!”

Your voice pitched up, you pointed out the grandest building in town: the bank. Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post before hopping down, turning to help you down, your big skirt catching slightly and flouncing as your feet landed. Grinning at him, you tugged at his arm excitedly.

“Come on, darling, we gotta go get us a loan! That house ain’t gonna buy itself, you know!”

It was clear you were amusing the man at your side. Your anxiety was causing a jump in your performance, pushing you a slightly uncomfortable bit above believable, but you were pretty and young and the men were watching you. That was all that mattered.

With a grand gesture, you shoved the door to the bank open, stepping into the marbled interior with your boots clicking. The teller glanced up from whatever paperwork he was looking at. For a brief second, he studied the two of you, his eyes lingering on you in particular, before a fixed smile appeared on his face.

“How can I help you?” he drawled. As practiced, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you butted in before he could.

“Why, hello, Mr…?” You swept forward, extending a hand for him to shake. He glanced at Arthur in disbelief before gingerly shaking your hand.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Oh, Mr. Monaghan, how lovely!” You grinned widely, shaking vigorously. “Yes, me and my new husband here are looking to buy a house! Isn’t that just grand? We just got married, you know, just last week! Oh, we had the most beautiful honeymoon, didn’t we, darling? Traveled to see the ocean, oh it was gorgeous! Simply gorgeous! Have you ever been, Mr. Monaghan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Not the way you planned it.

“The birds were so lovely, there were so many of them! Oh, and the food! Simply divine! Have you had seafood before? Crab, lobster, shrimp, oh it was perfect!”

As you rambled, the doors swung in again, allowing entrance to John and Javier. You didn’t spare a look for them, your energy pointed at the teller, and as planned, he didn’t seem to notice them. Your shrill voice and wild theatrics had his whole attention. You carried on as the men got into position.

“They paired the shrimp with-- What was it, my love? This wine, it was a red, wasn’t it? Or was it a white? Mr. Callahan is just hopeless about these things, you know, I’m glad I’m here to help him. Oh we had the most wonderful time together! I thought it might rain one day, there were these horrible gray clouds, but he told me not to worry, even though I wanted to, and sure enough, the sun was out by dinner time!”

The doors creaked again, allowing the last two men in, Dutch and Bill. All 5 men exchanged a look and, in one swift motion, they pulled their bandanas over their faces and drew their weapons. It was satisfying to hear the clicks of a few hammers. Your grin turned wicked and the teller suddenly realized what had happened.

“We’ll take that loan to go, if you don’t mind.” You couldn’t help yourself. Arthur quickly stepped forward, shielding you with his body so your face was hidden, and you hurriedly moved towards the back of the men, allowing them to do what they needed. It was relatively painless and quiet, the teller moving hastily and without hesitation, filling bags with money and even allowing them access to the room with the safes. You served as lookout, casually standing at the window to keep an eye peeled for the law. Only when you heard Dutch’s signature goodbye did you turn away from it. Arthur made eye contact with you and playfully raised his eyebrows as he strode towards the door and you, ready to make for the horizon.

Without warning, the doors flew open, banging against the wall from the force behind it. Several lawmen were standing, guns drawn, ready to take out the outlaws. Instantly, shots were being fired. You didn’t know who fired first, but you dove out of the way, gripping your hat tightly so it wouldn’t be left behind. For some reason, your only coherent thought was Karen would have my hide.

Men were shouting, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Flat on the floor, you couldn’t see anything, only heard Dutch shouting orders, police filling the streets outside, the solid sound of bullets connecting with flesh. There was nowhere to take cover. Somebody stepped on your leg and you gasped from the pain. A hand gripped your ankle and dragged you towards a wall. Panicked, you tried to scramble away until you registered Arthur’s voice trying to reassure you.

“You boys play nice!” a deep voice bellowed from the porch. “We don’t want no hangings, now, y’here?”

“We will play nice when you play nice, Sheriff!” Dutch barked back.

“This is a fucking massacre!” John spoke to the room at large. The men that had entered before were all on the floor, blood pooling around them, their guns laying forgotten on the wood. More were shouted outside. They were organizing to block all exits from town. There was no way you were gonna make it out now, you started to fear, and you could see the shared looks of the men with you echoing the same sentiment.

A surprised cry arose from outside as another gunshot cracked through the air.

“There’s Mac!”

With renewed energy, everyone jumped up and sprang for the door. Feeling marginally brave, you snatched a gun from the floor, hoping you wouldn’t have to use it. Bill led the way out. Javier, John, and Dutch quickly followed, and Arthur made up the rear with you in tow, sticking to him like glue.

The sun outside was blinding. You barely caught a glimpse of the street before you were rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Back pressed against the wall, the pounding in your head started blocking out your hearing, and you only felt the vibrations in the air and under your feet. Even with all of Dutch’s careful planning, you were still trapped in this mess…

Arthur shouted your name. He stood, almost pressed to you, eyes burning. You snapped to attention, gun at the ready.

“We gotta make a break for it! Be ready on my count!”

It was all you could do to nod. You saw his horse in your peripheral, antsy and pawing, but waiting. You tried desperately to calm your breathing and gathered your skirts up out of your way. At the mark, you all ran, each in slightly different directions to mount their horses, spurring before fully mounted. Arthur was first and you scrambled after him, latching onto his arm and using the momentum of his horse to swing your leg over, skirts be damned. With a sharp cry, he urged his horse forward and away from town.

For a brief moment, you were free. Pounding hooves sounded behind you but were fading fast. The shouts of men continued to rip through the air, but you realized that they, too, were slowly growing faint. And then a stabbing pain exploded in your thigh. A scream escaped before you could stop yourself. Trained well, Arthur didn’t stop his horse, but he tried to see what had happened, calling back to you with increasing desperation. You had been shot. The panic, the shortness of breath, and now the pain was too much. In a surprisingly short matter of seconds, black filled your vision and you were gone.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The rustle of the trees. The soft sound of running water. Crackling of a campfire. Low voices outside your tent. Your hair brushing your face. Dull and throbbing pain in your leg. Heaviness in your chest. And, finally, the realization you were laying on a cot and not your usual bedroll.

Slowly, your eyes blinked open. This definitely wasn’t your tent. These weren’t your blankets. Only the soft glow from the fire and a few lanterns shone on the one canvas wall. It was enough light to see that this was Arthur’s tent, the small table with his journal and flower, his photographs on the wagon side. His smell on the blankets. You breathed in deeply.

A snort by your feet caused you to startle. Sitting up slowly, you saw Arthur slumped in a chair, his hat drawn over his face, arms crossed as he breathed evenly, the occasional snore breaking the silence. An strong and sharp pain made you hiss and, in turn, woke the outlaw from his slumber.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, barely awake himself as he sat up.

“Regrettably…”

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Not great,” you said, chuckling a little. “But I’ve had worse. Why am I here?”

“Thought you might like a real bed. Well, realer than your bedroll. We can put you out for the wolves, if ya like.” His teasing tone was back, but it was more strained than normal. He looked absolutely exhausted.

“No, this is fine. It’s… nice.”

Silence fell again. You stared at a thread on the sheet while Arthur stared at you. Usually there was a party the night after a big score, everyone drinking and being merry. There was a strange lack of boisterous laughter, though, and you had the weird feeling it was your doing.

“How did we make out?”

“Oh, we escaped,” he said, leaning back in the chair again. “But we’re trapped here awhile, there’ll be law crawlin’ everywhere for a few weeks.”

“How much?”

Not even your fixation on the money got him to crack a smile.

“Dunno.” Shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve been in here, makin’ sure you don’t die.”

Arthur’s behavior was bizarre. You hadn’t seen him behave this way when another gang member was injured, not even when John had nearly been lost last year, and it was starting to worry you. Was there something else you didn’t know about? Was your injury more serious than he was letting on? For a moment, you studied his face, the ache and shadows clear in the weak light, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the barest sign of a light track down his cheek.

“Arthur…”

It was such a soft whisper, you weren’t sure he had heard you at first. He lifted his eyes to meet yours. You tried desperately to read him for a second before finally caving.

“Arthur, what happened? Did someone not make it?”

At long last, he managed a short huff of air that might be mistaken for laughter. Shaking his head, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands across his face, removing his hat and setting it on his wardrobe. When he looked at you again, he actually had a small smile, and relief had replaced what you had mistaken for grief.

“No, no, nothin’ like that.”

“So what’s the matter?”

He tilted his chin up, exhaling long and low towards the sky, seemingly contemplating something. It was quiet for an achingly long time. Another deep sigh and he brought his chin back down, meeting your gaze steadily.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he murmured. “I heard the shot, your scream… I thought you were gone for sure.”

Okay… you thought, still bewildered. We’ve almost lost people before. What makes me special?

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you…” You had seen him struggle with words in the past, but this was different. It was almost as if his voice was physically fighting him on saying anything. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, truth be told. You mean-- That is, you’re very important-- That’s, well…”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you realized what he was trying to say. You didn’t dare utter a word, hoping, begging him to just spit it out. You weren’t positive this was happening, as now you were almost certain you had actually died and this was the beginning of your personal heaven.

“I can’t lose you, darlin’.”

The tears spilled over and dripped down your cheeks. You couldn’t even feel the pain in your thigh as it felt like a major weight had been lifted off of you. Arthur was startled, concern growing once more on his face at your tears, but when you started to grin and laughter bubbled up, he relaxed and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, dropping his eyes and smiling himself.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to hear,” you finally said, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I can’t lose you, either, Arthur. You mean the world to me.”

Slowly, the cowboy rose from his seat and approached the edge of the cot. You gingerly shifted yourself over to allow him to sit beside you, and he took the opportunity. You soaked in the other’s presence for just a moment. With the softest gaze you had seen from him, Arthur returned his attention to you. He lifted a hand to cup your face, his rough thumb stroking your cheek as he drank in your features, looking truly content for the first time. Gracefully and ever the gentleman, he tilted your face up to meet his as he carefully kissed you. It was light at first. He was testing the waters, not pushing too fast. But when you met him eagerly, he leaned in, hard.

You didn’t dare breathe for the duration of the kiss, your heart a frightening combination of pounding and not beating at all. The taste of whiskey lingered fresh on his lips and left your mouth tingling. When Arthur pulled away, you shifted forward slightly, not wanting it to end. But, courteous as always, he pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead and then sat back again. Your eyes flickered all over his face. You were still unsure if you could catch your breath.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” he muttered. All you could do was nod. Wow…

“Can you stay with me?” you blurted out. “Tonight?”

“O’ course,” he agreed. He tugged his boots off as you scooted as far over as you could, lifting the sheet for him to crawl into. Warmth radiated from his skin and it was like stepping into a comfortable bath as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed into his chest, drinking in his smell with your face buried in him, hands gripping his shirt. The dull sting in your leg was in the background of your mind. It didn’t matter to you, though; you were safe here. And this wasn’t going to end any time soon.

#arthur morgan #rdr secret cupid 2021 #arthur morgan reader insert #arthur morgan x reader #angel writes

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mha-princess · 3 years

Text

Don’t Let Me Be | Bakugou x Reader

Genre:Angst | Tea Shop AU | stranger to lovers | Oneshot/Ongoing | eventual smut

Word Count: 1.2k+

Warnings: mentions of depression/sadness/sickness

Summary: as the seasons change you stand at the counter unmindful and aloof, but when a boy enters the shop you cease your boredom and take his order. But every second he draws. closer an overwhelming sadness fills the room. Interested by him to try your best to befriend him a figure why this boy is so sad.

A/N: just like my previous oneshots if you would like me to continue this story a comment, reblog, or a like is appreciated! ⁍̴̆◡⁍̴̆ )⊃♡- Anako

Song recommendation for this fic - Song Request by Lee Sora

The faint scent of boiling herbs filled the small oak shop as the last reminants of winter faded away outside of its wooden walls. A slow somber ballad flowed from the small speaker at the back of the shop, filling the space with a indescribable melencholy. The transition from winter to spring was always a weird one? It was almost as if the weather dictated your mood.

Well whatever it was your shift was going by unspeakably slow. But to be fair it wasn’t all that bad, the tea shop provided a very calming setting to cope with the ever changing ordeals of life. The shop was never empty but it was never unbearably busy either. On occasion a couple would sit and have a cuppa but most of the time people ordered their teas to go.

The door of the old shop is pushed open with minimal force, the ringing of the bell shifting your attention to the direction of the sound. In lumbered a boy, his clothes baggy and oversized as if he were trying to fend off the dying cold, his hair colored a light blond creating a perfect contrast to his red irises, and the expression on his face unclear due to the the scarf wrapped firmly around his neck slightly covering his mouth.

“How may I help you today?” you question, grabbing ahold of a sticky note to take down the order.

The boy’s eyes gloss over the menu before he responds, his voice muffled by the scarf. “I’d like to have a chamomile tea.”

“Sorry,” you shake your head, “can you repeat that for me?”

He hesitates before pulling the scarf down. “Can I have a chamomile tea?”

“For here or to go?”

“Uh,” he glances around the shop before going back to looking off to the side, “here is fine.”

“Your total is five dollars and eight cents, you can sit wherever and I’ll bring you your tea when it’s ready. Can I get your name?”

“Katsuki,” He answered, handing you the exact amount of change before walking off to find a seat.

As you dip the tea bags into the steaming kettle, the once transparent water slowly turns a dark green. You then advert your attention from the tea to the boy who had just entered the shop.

He’s seated by a glass window, his shoulders slumped and his arms appeared to be wrapped in a cris cross form around his stomach as if the abundance of clothes weren’t keeping him warm enough. His eyes were glued to the outside scenery, which in your opinion wasn’t very pleasant.

The trees still weren’t fully resurrected from the harsh winter, a months worth of snow was just now succumbing to the rising (yet still low) temperatures, and the wind tumbled the streets litter up and down the cracked sidewalks. Why would that be captivating to anyone?

The kettle whistles indicating that the tea is done. With caution you pour the tea into a porcelain cup top it off with mint leaves and plate it on a saucer. Carefully you walk over to the table and set the tea infront of the unmindful boy.

“Order for Katsuki,” You state, pushing the saucer towards the boy but he still doesn’t notice your presence. Involuntarily you let your hands reach out to tap his shoulders. The male inhaled sharply as if you had just caused him physical pain. Startled by the noise he just made his eyes find yours to see if he had scared you any but he quickly looks away, unable to make eye contact.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“No im sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I just don’t think you heard me the first time, which is fine.” you smile softly, looking around the shop to see if there were and unsuspecting customers, “Would it be a problem if I sat with you? Buisness is kind of slow today.”

He shrugged before allowing himself to nod yes. Upon sitting down you were able to get a closer look at his features. His lips were chapped, molded into what seemed to be a frown and the underside of his eyes seemed to be a light shade of gray.

Your eyes follow his movements as he reaches out to grasp the handle of the tea cup. As his fingers slip from the cuff of his hoodie you notice that his hands appear to be covered in this scratches and welts. His fingertips were also lined with callous skin.

“Be careful, it’s hot.” You warn, watching the boys lip curl to blow the liquid. After taking a sip he sets the cup down and looks out the window once more. It’s was clear that if you wanted a conversation you’d have to try harder.

“So how’d you hear about this place? You look pretty young and people like us don’t come here often.” You smile turning your gaze towards the window. The boy swallows before answering your question.

“I use to live in the neighboring city. I moved here not too long ago but a lady used to tell me about it. She-,” the boy pauses, “ She always wanted to visit here.” His voice drawn to that of a mere mutter as he finishes his statement.

“Does she not live around here?” you question.

“Something like that,” The sullen look on his face growing even sadder as his arms go back to caressing his sides. You had clearly just unintentionally hit a nerve. You refrain from asking anymore questions, and just sit and watch the rain drops pitter across the window sill. The musical ballad filling the silence between you too.

“It’s raining again outside the window. These moments make me think of you. I can’t sleep. This silence and the melancholic sound of my heart fill the room. Making me go crazy. So I turn up my radio. Somewhere, I hear someone’s voice. And on the radio. That sad story is so much like my own.”

As the hour fades and closing time nears the boys eyes never move from the window. And the longer you looked at him the more you felt a solace form in your heart. An overwhelming sadness had you firmly seated, unable to leave. Maybe it was the clothes he wore that were clearly there for comfort or maybe it was the way his eyes told a sorrowful story.

In a last ditch attempt to get the boy to talk to you, you dish one more question. “Do you think you’ll come back sometime? Like it doesn’t have to be tomorrow or anything, I just think it’ll be nice for us to have some tea when I’m not on the clock then maybe we can go to a bakery or something, since your not familiar with this town? I could show you around.”

The boys sits firmly in the seat, his eyes still glued to the window. His expression never changing.

“You don’t have to answer right now.” you add, “It was just a suggestion.”

The boy turns and gives you nod he then reaches into his wallet to leaves you a tip, before rising to leave. He mumbles a quick thank you before exiting the shop.

“What could have someone that out of it?” You question grabbing the cup of green liquid. “He didn’t even drink much of his tea.”

“That tea was damn disgusting.” Katsuki says caressing the matte photograph. The picture showcasing two people,there’s a older female, smiling her hand placed on a younger boys head whose looking at the camera in distain. The once matted photo slowly becoming glossy with the tears of its beholder.

“You old hag. We were suppose to go to that shop as a family.” he choked, the saltiness of tears entering his mouth.

“If you don’t get well soon, I’ll lose it,” he sobs clenching the photo between his fingers.

“I’ll lose it.”

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#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #anime #bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #eventual smut #angst #mha princess #bakugou drabble

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noladyme · 3 years

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You and Me makes Three - Part 1

Lyla moved to San Fransisco for work, and for a fresh start. The standoffish guy across the hall of her sublet peaks her interest in more ways than one; and when he finally opens up, she jumps at the chance to get to know him; and whatever it is his dark secret is.

Eddie Brock x OC Lyla

TW: smut and fluff

I’d found the sublet on craigslist; which I came to regret, when meeting the current tenant. Ziggy – as the guy called himself – turned out to be a long haired ultra-deuche; who’d spent most of our first meeting looking down my top, and talking about his upcoming tour of Illinois, with his band; Dirty Riders. I’d had my share of adventures with guys in bands; but in Ziggy’s case, I could literally smell the perfume from the chick he’d probably banged the night before.

After spending 20 minutes trying to distract me from the task at hand; I finally got him back on track, and we’d come to an agreement on the rent for the 3 months I’d be using his place. It was steep, but after having landed the job at a private school – and having been asked to start the week after – I needed a home; if only temporarily, while I looked for something else.

With most of my stuff in storage; all I had with me the day I was supposed to move in, was a couple of suitcases; and three boxes of essentials – like my books, pens and notes. And of course, my computer – my lifeline.

The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest; so, when I realized the door phone wasn’t working, and the Zigster wasn’t answering his cell, I was lightly panicking. I was standing alone on a street in a new city; with my most valued belongings, and no way to get out of there; as the cab that had brought me, took off as soon as the driver got my last box out of the trunk.

I kept calling Ziggy, and pounding the button for the apartment; but nothing came of it. I sat down on the doorstep, and was just about ready to cry; when a guy in his 30’s, wearing a casual leather jacket, walked up to the door with a key. “Excuse me”, he muttered, pulling out his keys. I looked up at him. It was hard making out his eye-color – blues, greens and browns meshed together to make a color all of its own. I found myself caught up in trying to distinguish the different shades in them; when I realized that he was about to unlock the door, and walk in.

“Hey”, I said. “Do you live here?”. He sent me a friendly but reserved smile; making me also notice his full lips; and the way his front teeth were just a little bit crooked – just enough to make him look interesting. “Yeah”, he said. “I do… Can I help you?”. I let out a relieved smile. “I live here too”, I said. “Or, I’m supposed to… I’m subletting from Ziggy”. He raised his brows. “You’re a friend of Ziggys?”. “Not exactly”, I scoffed. “He’s leaving town for a few months, and is letting me use his place… but the door-phone isn’t working, and he isn’t picking up his cell”.

The man seemed to be having an internal dialogue, before coming to a conclusion. “Yeah. Ok… come on in”. “Thank you!”, I smiled; almost crying in relief. I picked up my suitcases, as he unlocked the door, and carried them inside; after which I got the first two boxes – the man holding the door for me. I thought I heard him mutter “Fine!” under his breath, before he stepped outside, grabbing the last box for me. “Oh crap! Careful, that’s heavy”, I managed to say; before he groaned from the weight of the many books, I’d stored in it. “Shit, no kidding”, he grunted.

He put the box down just inside the door. “Do you need help up the stairs?”, he asked; obviously hoping for me to say no. I smiled and shook my head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks!”, I said. I stuck out my hand to shake his, and told him my name. “I’m Eddie”, he answered. “I guess we’re neighbors. I live across the hall from Ziggy”. “Thanks for the help, Eddie”, I grinned. “I’m Lyla… by the way”. “Nice to meet you”, he muttered. He walked up the stairs, sending me an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

Five trips up and down the stairs later; I finally had all my things outside Ziggys door. I tried calling him again; and heard a phone ring behind the door. You’ve got to be kidding me! I banged the door. “Ziggy! I’m here”, I yelled. “Open up, you dick”, I added, below my breath. I looked behind me, at what was apparently Eddies door; and saw something move behind the peephole.

I banged the door again. “Ziggy?”. Someone coughed and moved around some stuff behind the door; and Ziggy finally opened; looking at me with a seriously hungover expression. “Fuck. What’s today?”, he rasped. “Wednesday”, I said exasperatedly. His eyes widened. “Shit, beautiful. I’m so sorry!”, he said smilingly. “Come one in!”. “My name is Lyla”, I reminded him, and stepped in behind him. “Lyla-licious”, Ziggy sniggered; making me want to barf violently.

The studio apartment was, if possible, worse than I had imagined. A heavy smell of incense, weed and stale beer hung over the room; and a collection of bongs shaped like female torsos sat on a shelf. Ziggy had decorated the wall over his bed with posters of his own band.

Ziggy scrambled to get his things together. Apparently, he’d not packed up his things for the upcoming tour of steakhouses, coffeeshops and dive-bars throughout Illinois. “Let me just get this…”, he smirked at me; before rubbing himself as close as possible to me to get to a pack of xxl-condoms on a shelf in the kitchen area. “You know, if you need it, you’re welcome to hang around after I get back”. “I’m gonna be pretty focused on getting something permanent set up”, I smiled; swallowing bile. “Absolutely, yeah. That’s so cool”, he said; leaning against the counter I was standing by. “Just let me know, ok?”. He put his hand on my shoulder, and squeezed it. “Sure…”, I said, and stepped back; going to check out the rest of the space.

It was one room – combined livingspace/bedroom/kitchen. A small bathroom with – thank God! – a bathtub; which was going to need some serious cleaning before I’d even put a foot in it. But it was mine… at least for the next three months. It’s not a lot, I thought to myself. But I can work with this.

Ziggy seemed to have his stuff packed up; and was standing in the doorway to the small bathroom; blocking my exit. He had a guitarcase casually hanging from one shoulder. “So… I’m ready to go”, he smirked. I nodded and half smiled. “Keys?”, I said. “Right. Here…”. He handed me a set of keys “If I get any mail…”. “I’ll let you know; once a week, like we agreed”. “Yeah”, he smirked and nodded; looking me over like I was edible. “So, I’ll call you?”. I swallowed bile again. “Yup”, I said, and reached out my hand to shake his. He took it; and held on to it; letting his thumb stroke my fingers. I will tear off your arm if you don’t let go, I thought to myself.

“Take care, Lyla”, he said; and winked at me; before finally moving away from the doorframe; and grabbing his bags to leave. “Shit, I forgot. The guy across the hall… he’s kind a of weird. Be careful, ok?”. “Sure…”, I muttered, and walked after him to the door, closing it behind him. I let out an audible sigh of relief, and put on the door chain.

---

I opened the windows, and got to cleaning. An old ashtray shaped like an avocado, turned out to be an actual shell of an avocado; and for the third time that day, I almost vomited. Riffling through some old dusty cd’s of Ziggys, I found a Fleetwood Mac album. “Yes!”, I cried out. At least you have that going for you, Ziggy, I thought – until I realized he’d never unwrapped the cellophane around the cover. I unwrapped it myself, put on the album; and skipped to my favorite song; singing along to the lyrics. “… well, I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cuz I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older…”.

Someone knocked on the door. For a second, I was afraid Ziggy had changed his mind about touring, and had come back. I opened the door slightly, leaving the chain on. Outside stood Eddie. “Hi”, I said cautiously. He seemed warmer. “Hey. I think you dropped this in the hallway”. He was holding one of my notebooks. I unlatched the chain, and opened the door fully, taking the book from him. “Weird”, I said. “I could swear I’d packed it in the bottom of one of the boxes”. Eddie smiled nervously. “Well… maybe it jumped out”, he said. “Maybe”, I chuckled. “Thanks”.

He lingered. “The music…”, he said. “I’m sorry. Is it too loud?”, I asked. He shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine”, he said. “Just different than what usually comes out of this apartment”. I laughed. “Yeah… The Zigster seems to have a very specific taste”. “Yeah?”, Eddie smiled. “You should see his collection”, I said. He nodded and smiled crookedly. “Maybe… sometime”.

I noticed the door to his apartment was open. It seemed like the mirror opposite of mine. Just less disgusting. I met Eddies eyes. I still couldn’t figure out the color of them – all I could conclude was that they were… kind. I would have lost myself in them, if he hadn’t turned to walk back into his own place. “Uhm, Eddie?”, I said. He looked at me again. “Could you point me in the direction of a good… grocery store?”. Idiot… He scratched his head. “Yeah, I mean… I do most my shopping at Mrs. Chens, down the street”, he said. “Just don’t tell her you know me. She’ll try to sell you meditation tapes and scented candles”. I laughed. “A scented candle wouldn’t hurt this place”, I said. “Ziggy left behind some pretty gnarly smells”. He laughed. “He’s a… special guy”. Our eyes met again for a moment. Eddie seemed to want to say something else, but then his eyes moved, as if he was listening to something. “I gotta go”, he said; and went into his apartment, closing the door. He's strange, I thought. But something inside me wanted to figure him out.

---

The next few days went by without much happening. I finally finished cleaning my new living-space – except for the mattress. I couldn’t get myself to sleep on it, after I’d taken of the old bedding left behind by Ziggy; and finding quite a few stains I didn’t even want to touch with rubber-gloves – so I’d slept on the couch so far.

Once, I’d run in to Eddie by the mail slots; exchanging a friendly helloand a smile. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of the door, carrying a messenger-bag and a motorcycle helmet. I noticed him opening his own slot. It had E. Brock, written with bold letters on it. Watching him walk away down the hall to the door; I couldn’t help but bite my lip and smile. He moved like he was late for something; but at the same time didn’t want anyone to tell him when he was supposed to get there. Like some kind of internal struggle, I just wanted to unwrap and explore.

Saturday morning, I woke up early for once, craving coffee and carbs. I had neither of those things in the kitchen; so, I got dressed in my favorite jeans and a light, loose t-shirt, to head out and track something down. As I was still new to San Francisco, I wasn’t sure about how the weather would be in October. I brought my short leather jacket. Just in case. I put a notebook and a pen in my shoulder-bag, and was off.

Outside the building I grabbed a free paper to have something to read. I took a streetcar towards the Mission District; enjoying the sunshine and smells from food carts we passed. Hunger was about to take me over; and I opened my paper, to distract myself. The headlines were mostly fluff stories and ads; except for a couple on the murder of a local politician, and animal attacks by the harbor. Some drug dealers had been found with their heads bitten clean off. I winced at the thought; before turning the page, and a new header caught my eye.

Home robberies in Downtown Oakland – Gangs or criminals on city payroll? - Story by Eddie Brock.

I was surprised for a second. He didn’t strike me as a journalist in the traditional sense.

The story was mostly an opinion piece, but was based heavily on facts he’d dug up from interviews with victims, and homeless youth in the area of the robberies. Eddie was questioning the arrests made on young gang members for the crimes; and in stead suggesting that city-leadership was paying crime syndicates to commit the robberies, to be able to gentrify the area. If he was right; this was a big story; so, I was finding it strange to see the story in a free newspaper.

I arrived near Mission Dolores Park; having read about a nice, upmarket coffee shop there; with donuts that the blogger had written were to absolutely die for. They turned out to be less so. After standing in line for 30 minutes; I was handed a stale cup of organically sourced, fairtrade coffee; and a donut that was hard enough to break a window. Stepping outside the shop; I decided to give it a chance; and bit in to it – instantly almost choking on the floury consistency of the pastry.

“They’re not very good, are they…”. I turned to face Eddie; standing with an amused smile on his face. “Nope”, I answered, and spat out the donut-bite into a napkin. “Sorry…”, I said embarrassedly. “No worries”, he chuckled. “If I’d known you were coming here, I’d have told you. They’re vegan…”. I raised my brows at him. “Shit, sorry! Are you vegan?”, he asked. “No”, I shook my head and chuckled. “But I’ve for sure had better vegan food than this”. He sighed and seemed to ponder something. “Come on”, he said, and gestured for me to follow him.

We walked down a narrow street; passing smaller shops and street vendors – some of which seemed to know Eddie, and sent him friendly nods. “You’re popular around here”, I said; walking next to him. He chuckled in response. “I dunno. I prefer buying from smaller shops. Personal touch, you know?”. “I get it”, I said. “Locally sourced, and eco-friendly; right?”. He shrugged. “Something like that”.

He stopped by a small storefront; displaying pride-flags and caricatures of politicians in the window. I knew already that I would like this place. The man behind the counters face lit up. “Yo, Ed! Back so soon, man?”, he grinned. “I know you got that parasite thing, but seriously…”. Eddie looked uncomfortable for a second. “Yeah, Don… this is my new neighbor”. He introduced me, avoiding my eyes. “She went to La Boulange”. Don inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Yikes… New in town?”, he asked. I chuckled and nodded. “Coffee black?”, Eddie asked me. I nodded. “Give us two blacks and a couple of glazed yeast”. “I’ll add some sprinkles for the lady”, Don winked friendlily. Eddie groaned. “Just… don’t make them the green ones”, he said. “I was high for 12 hours straight last time”. I laughed out loud.

We left the store; Eddie politely having paid for our coffees and donuts. Through the window I saw Don point at me, and give Eddie the thumbs up and a wink. “He’s a character”, I smiled. “He sure is”, Eddie answered. His voice was deliciously raspy, and watching him speak I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble his lips could get in to with mine. I had to shake myself out of the thought. “Thanks for this”, I said. “You haven’t tasted it yet”, he said.

I bit in to my pastry. It was carb-heaven in my mouth. “Oh. Oh my God!”, I said, mouth full. “I know, right?”, Eddie smiled. I raised my brows and nodded fiercely. “It’s why I go out of my way to come here every morning”. “Don’t journalists work all over?”, I asked, covering my mouth with my hand, as I was still chewing. He scrunched his brows at me in question. I pulled out the newspaper from my bag. “Oh, yeah”, he said. “I do freelance stuff mostly; but I have a position at a newspaper downtown. Used to write for The Globe”. “New York?”, I asked. “So, why move to San Francisco?”. He shrugged. “I lost the position for… being what I am. An honest reporter”.

I half smiled. “So, a new life”. “Yeah, and a girl”, he admitted. “My fiancée”. My heart dropped; and I did my best not to show it on my face. “Oh! You’re engaged? That’s great!”. “Not really”, chuckled. “I messed that up too… by being what I am”. “An honest reporter…”, I muttered. “And at times a little too cutthroat about it”. He sighed. “It’s good though. She’s good. I’m good. We’re good”.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why am I telling you all this stuff?”, he said and laughed. “Are you sure you’renot a reporter?”. “Nah. I’m just an elementary schoolteacher”, I said. “I do write, though. But not articles”. “What?”, he said earnestly. I shook my head. “Another time. I’m sure you have somewhere to be”. He looked at his watch. “Shit, yeah!”, he said. “Sorry, I gotta run”. “It’s fine. Thanks again”.

He nodded and smiled. “You take care, teach’”, he said. “See you around”. He walked away; scratching his head, and looking back at me a couple of times. I took my time enjoying my donut and coffee; and walked in the opposite direction. Eddie – Be still my beating heart.

---

I spent the rest of the morning trying to map out the best way to and from work. As I was starting the next Monday morning, the nerves were getting to me. They’re just 5-yearolds, I kept telling myself. 5-yearolds attending a private school funded by their very rich parents; and some pretty serious sponsors from Silicon Valley. And me without my degree from MIT…

I stopped at Mrs. Chens for some light groceries. Although I’d loved Don’s donuts – and his coffee had been heavenly – I was to anxious to see myself making my way all the way to the Mission District the next day; and I always needed caffeine and access to some kind of breakfast in the morning. The lady behind the counter – Chen, I assumed – seemed nice, though a bit standoffish; and quickly checked out my coffee, bacon, eggs, cheese; and other essentials. “You’re new here”, she said. “How did you know?”, I asked. “I usually only get regulars”, she answered, and narrowed her eyes at me. “I moved in down the street. My neighbor recommended your shop”, I smiled. “Who?”, she demanded. “Eddie…”, I answered timidly. Her face instantly became warmer. “He’s a good boy”, she said. “Tell him to pic up my cousins latest cd. It’ll do him good. As well as his parasite”. That parasite thing again. Weird. I thanked her, grabbed my stuff; and left the store.

I made my way back to the apartment; cranked up the Fleetwood, and danced it out for a while. I’d always done that; when I needed to get something out of my system. It was better than drinking myself into oblivion – and I was out of whiskey.

I was completely oblivious to anything around me, when I heard someone clear their throat. I turned around, arms in the air; and almost died from embarrassment. The door was open; and in the opening stood Eddie.

“Sorry, it was open”, he said; trying to stifle a smile. “Ziggy had a crazy ex kick it down once. It’s always needed an extra push and pull to close properly, since then”. I nodded, blushing. He held up a carton of eggs. “Chen said you forgot this”, he said. “Thanks…”, I said, taking the pack from him. I grimaced. “So… this is embarrassing”. He laughed. “What? The eggs, or the dancing?”, he chuckled. “Ha, ha. Laugh it out”, I said, stifling a smile. “I was enjoying the view”, he said; and glint to his eyes – before grimacing himself. “Sorry… that was… probably crossing a line”. “It’s fine… you’re fine…”, I said; realizing what I’d just said. “Good, I mean. Shit… I do this to clear my head, sometimes. Dance. It relaxes me”.

He laughed. “I just got back from… a thing”, he said. “I need to clear my head a bit as well. Was gonna take a ride up to Coit Tower”. I smiled; my blushing beginning to fade. “That sounds nice”, I smiled. He exhaled. “Yeah… do you wanna come?”. My jaw dropped. “Uh… yeah. Sure. I’d like that”, I said. What the hell, Eddie? Are you asking me out? “Great”, he smiled. “I was gonna take my bike; are you good with that?”. “I don’t have a bike”, I said. He chuckled. “Not that kind of bike”. Right. The motorcycle helmet. “And now I feel like an idiot”, I muttered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve met the biggest idiots in media, politics and sports; and you look nothing like them”, he said. “You do look like someone who needs to get out of this place for a while”. I smiled; grabbed my jacket; and followed him out the door – making sure it was properly shut behind me.

Eddie grabbed two helmets from his apartment; giving me another chance peak into his place. It smelled nice. Like tater tots and musky cologne. I didn’t know why, but suddenly it was my favorite smell. “Let’s go”, Eddie said; handing me one of the helmets; and we made our way down the stairs.

Outside the building stood a motorcycle. It was clearly well cared for. Eddie got on it, and put on his helmet; gesturing for me to get on behind him. “You should hold on”, he said. I searched for something to grab; and he took my wrists; pulling my arms around his waist. Wow. Ok. Firm. “You good?”, he asked. “Yeah”, I squeaked. He chuckled behind his helmet. “Sit tight, teach’”. He started the bike, and revved the engine; before taking off. “Oh my God”, I yelped; feeling his body shake in laughter in front of me.

I was convinced he took the steepest roads; scaring the shit out of me for the first few miles – before I finally got comfortable behind him. I relaxed my body; and let myself enjoy the view of the city in the dusk – and how close I was to Eddies warm body. I felt his calm breathing; and matched it – soon feeling completely relaxed. We hit a bump, making the bike jump a bit; and I laughed in glee; hearing him laugh along with me.

The drive was over way to soon for my liking. We’d made our way up Telegraph hill; and I got off the bike, taking of my helmet. “You liked that, huh?”, Eddie grinned at me. “Yeah, it was fun!”, I smiled. He looked at me; almost in wonder. “Was that your first time on a bike?”. “I tried it once, for like five minutes; when I was a kid, but kind of. Yeah”, I admitted. “I couldn’t tell”, he smirked sarcastically. I frowned in mock annoyance. “Shut up”, I said. “You’ve never had a better passenger”. He laughed. “Yeah… come on”.

The sun was going down; and we were too late for tickets to get up the tower; but Eddie seemed unfazed. “There’s a good view over here”, he said; putting his hand on my lower back, to lead me over to a railing. “You gonna push me over this thing?”, I joked. “Nah, would be a poor move for a first date”, he said. I looked at him. “This is a date?”, I smiled. He seemed to have an internal dialogue. “I… don’t know”, he said. “Do you want it to be?” I bit my lip. “Let’s see how good this view is; and I’ll let you know”.

The view was stunning. I could see both the lights of the city as well as the Golden Gate bridge. My jaw dropped at the sight. “Wow…”. Eddie looked at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty special”, he said.

I stepped towards the binoculars; searing my pockets for change. “I don’t have a quarter!”, I heard Eddie whisper. “It’s fine”, I smiled at him. “I can see pretty clear anyway”. He looked me, caught off guard. “Yeah. Sorry…”. I leant against the railing. “I could fall in love with this city”, I proclaimed. Eddie smiled warmly at me, walking up next to me – close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body.

We looked at the views for a while, talking about this and that. I told Eddie about my hometown, and how I’d loved it as well. “So, why did you decide to come here”. “It’s a long story”, I muttered. “Come on, I’ve already seen you dance!”, he chuckled. “You don’t like my dancing?”, I gasped in jest. He smiled. “You really put the oogie in the boogie”, he said. “You’re the most graceful elephant in a porcelain shop, I’ve ever seen”. “So now I’m an elephant?”, I raised a brow at him. He grimaced. “I walked right in to that”, he muttered. “Sorry…”. I smiled at him in forgiveness. “Seriously though. Why’d you make the move?”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to mess with him. “It’s embarrassing”, I said. He smiled encouragingly. “Ever since I was a kid… I’ve always wanted to act. Be in the big movies”. His lips parted, and he looked really uncomfortable. I continued. “So… I decided to give it a shot. Come here; and be near Hollywood, you know?”. I smiled earnestly. “I think I’ve finally got a shot; now that the studios are just down the street”. Eddie looked genuinely sorry for me. “Lyla… I don’t…”, he began. “Eddie…”, I smiled. “I’m kidding”. He exhaled in relief. “Thank God. I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you… You know?”. “I know”, I smirked. “’Cuz we’re a way off from Hollywood here”. I nodded. “About 400 miles. I realize that”. He began laughing, and shook his head. “Is this payback for the elephant thing?”, he said. I shrugged. “Maybe”, I smiled.

He bumped my shoulder with his own. “You’re bad news, darlin’!”, he laughed. “You’re not, though”, I answered. “Tell me; why did your article on those home robberies end up in a free newspaper, instead of some big ass media outlet?”. He sighed. “Not everyone wants to run the hard stories”, he said. “As long as it gets out there…”. I nodded. “I get it”, I said. “Besides, in a free paper the story will get a broader audience, right?”. He shrugged. “I hope so”, he said. “I think it’s an important story”. “Me too”, I agreed.

I told Eddie about my new job. “Private school?”, he grimaced. I laughed. “Yeah, I know”, I said. “Not very socially conscious of me. But the pay is good. And I needed a change”. “What made you move here? The truth this time”, he smiled. “It’s got to be more than the job. You don’t strike me as someone who does things just for money”. I chewed my lip. “I wasn’t in a very good place in my job, or my life”, I admitted.

He looked at me with warm eyes – the color even more indistinguishable in the dusk. I bit my lip; wanting desperately for something to happen. “How’s your head? A bit clearer?”, he said quietly. “Not really…”, I admitted. He let out a quiet laugh, and wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah, me neither”, he muttered. “Can I kiss you? I just feel like I should, you know...?”. I interrupted him by taking his hand. “Yes…”. He nodded and sighed in relief. “Ok. Then… I’m going to do that. Now”. I chuckled; and laced my fingers with his. He stepped closer; putting a lock of my hair behind my ear; before placing his hand on my cheek; letting his thumb stroke my cheekbone. “I like your eyes…”, he said. “Stop talking, Eddie”, I smiled. “Ok”, he said; and finally let his full lips meet mine.

It was soft. Gentle. I parted my lips; letting the tip of my tongue meet his. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me close; and I slid my hands around his neck – letting my fingertips play with the hair there. He pulled his head back a bit; letting our foreheads meet. “You’re… something else”, he smiled. “Something good, I hope”, I answered. “Yeah”, he breathed. “Can I… just… one more time?”, he muttered; before pressing his lips to mine again. I chuckled against his kiss; and returned his enthusiasm. This time there was a bit more heat to our connection. He held on to me; making me stand flush against him. I felt a rush of blood to my core; and my breath hitched.

Someone cleared their throat. Our lips parted, and we saw that we we’re being watched by an elderly couple. “You kids should take that somewhere else”, one of the men said. I flushed red, and Eddie took my hand. “Yeah. Let’s… go”, he smiled.

---

Once back at our building, Eddie gave me a hand to get off his bike. We walked up the stairs together, and paused in front of our doors.

“Thanks for this”, I said. “I needed a distraction”. “I’m a distraction now?”, Eddie asked with a smirk. “A good one”, I chuckled. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “Thanks for the… kissing part. I liked that”, he said. “I did too”, I said, before chewing my bottom lip for a moment. “We could do it again… If you want to”. Eddie looked relieved. “I really do”, he smiled, and took a step closer to me. I met him halfway, and leaned in to him, as he cupped my cheek, and our lips met. He took my bottom lip between his own; softly tugging it – and the repeated the process with the top one. My tongue brushed against his lips, and he met it with his own; letting them reacquaint themselves with each other.

Eddie put his arm around me, and I shivered in pleasure, as our hips met; and I felt his body’s very obvious reaction to our kiss. He let out a soft groan; a sound that sent electricity straight to my core. Grabbing on tighter to me, he almost had my knees give in. In spite of his normally withdrawn and almost aloof demeanor – which he’d relaxed somewhat, curing our evening together – he now seemed like he couldn’t get me close enough; almost hungry in his kiss. I was right there with him; ready to throw all inhibitions out the window, and let him take me in that hallway. I literally had to dig my nails in to my palm, to tear myself from the heated moment.

I put my hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and pushed him away as gently as I could. “I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”, he asked, in a surprisingly concerned voice. “No, Eddie; I’m…”, I tried. “I don’t always know my own strength. I’ll be more careful…”. Eddie seemed unable to stop talking. I put my fingertips to his soft lips – for a short second considering slipping one into his mouth; just to feel him suck on it – and took a step back. “Eddie, you didn’t do anything wrong. Really!”, I smiled. “But, I have this rule… I don’t have sex on the first date”. Eddie’s eyes widened, and he took a step back himself. “No… Of course! I don’t want you to think, I see you as some kind of… I mean, if you were, there would be nothing wrong with that… People can enjoy sex, that’s completely normal… But I would never expect you to just…” I couldn’t help but smile at his flustered babbling, but in the end, I decided to put him out of his misery. I leaned in, and gave him a short kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight”, I said. “Yeah… goodnight, Lyla”, Eddie said. He watched me as I unlocked my door, and I gave him a final smile, before stepping inside, and closing it behind me.

I leaned against the wall, and sighed frustratedly. It felt like everything below my bellybutton was literally screaming at my brain, saying; open the door, and stop thinking so much, you stupid blob of fat and water! I want to play!. I peeked out of the peephole, and saw Eddie beginning to fish out his keys. He looked like he was having a frustrated conversation with himself. He turned and looked at my door, and I quickly pulled back from the peephole. “You’re being an idiot”, I whispered to myself.

Before I knew it had happened, I had opened my door. “Eddie…”. He dropped his keys in chock, and scrambled to pick them up. His jacket and shirt rode up slightly, letting me get a peek at his tattooed torso; only making my resolve stronger. “Yeah! Hey… Hi”, he said, and got up to stand again. “You know, when I said I’d let you know whether it was a date or not…”. “Yeah?”, Eddie muttered. I chewed my lip, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I decided it wasn’t a date… So, technically, I wouldn’t be breaking my rule”. Eddie looked confused for a moment, before his eyes lit up. “Oh… Oh! You mean…”. He seemed unable to finish the sentence; and I felt my cheeks beginning to burn. “I mean, unless you changed your mind”, I muttered. “No!”, Eddie said, taking a step towards me. “I’d like that”.

I let out a pleased sigh, and was even more relieved when Eddie decided to take the lead, and step over to me; instantly capturing my lips in a warm kiss. I put my arms around his neck, and let myself float away in the pleasurable sensations his soft, full lips sent through my body. I’d known this man for less than a week – I could hardly say that I knew him at all – but everything in that moment was perfect; as if we were made to do this. Eddie pressed me against the doorway to my apartment, and let out a guttural groan when I ran my nails through his short hair. He pressed his tongue into my mouth, and once again I relished in his taste.

I looked out the corner of my eye at the main living area of my sublet, and frowned. I pulled back slightly, to be able to speak. Eddie moved his kisses down to my neck, and I gasped audibly. “Eddie… Oh, god. That’s… No, stop!”, I rasped. He pulled back instantly, and met my eyes. “What?”, he asked. “The bed in there is kind of gnarly… Can we do this at your place?”, I said. “Yeah, of course”, he smiled, and tore himself from me, to run over and open his own door. I closed the door to my own place – giving it that extra yank it needed – and stepped up behind Eddie. He looked at me over his shoulder. “Sorry about the mess", he muttered apologetically, and opened his door.

Eddie’s apartment was cluttered, but not dirty. I could have sworn I saw a few unwashed dishes by the sink, but when I blinked, they were gone; as if a shadow had whisked them away. He had post-it notes hanging with ideas for stories, and a couple that read things like If you eat it, replace it and Pigeons are not food. “Do you have a roommate?”, I asked. Eddie chuckled nervously to himself. “Nah, I… forget things”, he said, and tore down a note reading No roadkill in the tub!.

I decided against asking, and simply made my way over to the couch, letting my finger run along the back of it. “Do you want some coffee? Or a beer?”, Eddie asked, and moved towards the fridge. I bit my lip, and shook my head. “Maybe… after?”, I said, trying for seductive; and failing miserably, when I tripped over a stack of papers on the floor. Before I knew what happened, Eddie was next to me; catching me before I hit the floor. “Wow… you’re fast!”, I said. “I… did track in high school”, he said. “You were all the way over…”, I began.

Eddie pressed his lips to mine, to shut me up, and soon I was forgetting all about the ten feet he’d traversed in less than a second. As quickly as I could, I shed my jacket, and Eddie’s lips once again travelled down my neck. I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and couldn’t help put squeeze his biceps; finding them as firm as I’d imagined. As Eddie latched on to my pulse-point, I let out soft moan; and was rewarded with his hands moving down to my butt. Giving them a tight squeeze, he suddenly lifted me up, and made me put my legs around his waist. “Let’s move over here”, he muttered, and walked us over to the bed in the corner; gently setting me down on it.

We both began tugging at each other’s tops at the same time, but after chuckling at each other; we silently decided to take care of our own clothing. After I’d shed my tank-top, I kicked off my sneakers while Eddie took off his boots. We kept eye-contact as much as possible, and I saw nothing but appreciation in his gaze, as he saw me get more and more undressed. I was enjoying the sight of his bare torso as well; wanting nothing more than to bury my face in the soft hairs of his barreled chest. I pulled off my jeans – leaving me in socks, bra and panties – and moved back on the bed. Eddie raised a brow at me, and shook his head; and once he had gotten rid of his own pants, he grabbed my ankle, and pulled me closer. I yelped in glee as my groin met his, and he pushed me to lie back. I managed to reach down, and hook my finger into the waistband of his boxer briefs; but Eddie grabbed my wrist. “We got all night…”, he said. “But…”, I said. “Relax”.

He smirked mischievously, and kneeled down at the foot of the bed, and ran his palms up my thighs; leaving goosebumps in their wake. As he left a soft kiss on the inside of my left thigh, while his fingertips stroked circles on my right one. My breath hitched, as his warm breath travelled up to my warmth. I was ready to scream by the time his soft lips left an openmouthed kiss on my covered folds. “Please…!”, I whined. Eddie chuckled, and I felt his tongue lick a broad stripe against the lace covering my throbbing, most sensitive parts. Once again, I tried to take charge, by grabbing his head; but he grabbed my wrists, and forced them down my sides. “I really don’t want to have to hold you down”, he chided. “I kind of need my hands for what I’m about to do…”. I let out a frustrated groan, and relaxed my arms as much as I could. “Good girl…”, Eddie hummed, and let go of my hands. I threw my arms back, and grabbed for one of the pillows above my head, and dug my fingers in to it, to keep from getting in the way of Eddie’s work on my privates again.

With agonizingly slow movements, Eddie hooked his fingers into my panties, and pulled them down my feet. He held them up with one finger, and gave me another smirk, before flicking them away. They landed over his open laptop, and we both laughed for a moment; before Eddie once again lowered his face. The last thing I saw before throwing my head back in pleasure, was Eddie’s pleased eyes widening at his upcoming feast. His perfect mouth closed around my folds and clit, and he gave me a deep suckle, before flicking his tongue over my clit. “I know…”, he muttered. “Come again?”, I croaked. “I’m just enjoying my meal”, Eddie replied, blushing adorably. “Ok… Uhm… well, contin… Oh my god!”. Eddie had entered me with two fingers, and began moving them in a come-hither motion, while sucking hard at my nub. Letting out a growl against my wetness, Eddie soon had me seeing stars. As his fingers worked on my most sensitive spot inside, his tongue moved in a zigzag pattern between my folds; going up and down, and never forgetting to give my clit a languid stroke when he reached it. I put the pillow over my face, and cried out in pleasure, as Eddie worked me towards a mind shattering orgasm. Everything went white, and I’m pretty sure I floated above the mattress for a few seconds; as if something was lifting me in the air.

I was panting into the pillow and shaking all over, as I came down. “Don’t do that!”, Eddie grunted. “What?”, I muttered through the pillow. Eddie climbed up my body, and pulled it away from my face, looking flustered. “Just… don’t cover your face. I want to see you”, he said. “Ok…”, I said.

We smiled at each other, and kissed again. I could taste myself on his tongue, and enjoyed it more than was proper. Eddie laid down between my legs, and pressed against me; making me leave a wet spot on his boxers, from my still glistening folds. “Let me just get these off”, he smiled, and pulled down his underwear; and letting his erection spring free. I smiled in appreciation, and took a hold of my new friend; gently beginning to stroke it. “That’s… that’s nice”, Eddie said, straining to keep his composure. “A bit harder, please”. I tightened my hold, and received a deep moan in reply. “Condom?”, I asked. “Shit, yeah”, Eddie said, and reluctantly pulled himself out of my grasp. As he got off the bed, and ran over to search one of the drawers in his dresser, I snapped open my bra, and took it off. When he turned around to face me, with a foil packet in his hand, his jaw dropped at the sight of my mounds. “That is… Those are very nice”, he croaked. I chuckled, and pulled off my socks; wanting to be completely naked. “Oh, right!”, Eddie said, and tugged his own socks off, one at a time; losing his balance, and falling on to the bed next to me.

I nabbed the foil packet from his hand, and opened it carefully, pulling out the condom. Straddling Eddies legs, I closed my fingers around the tip of the rubber, and held it to the head of his penis. I rolled it down a little, before lowering my head, and closing my mouth around it; rolling it the rest of the way with my lips. Eddie let out a gasping groan, and looked down at me with wide eyes. Once the condom was all the way down his hardness, I released him from my mouth, and sat up; smiling sweetly. “Where did you learn that?”, he asked. “While you were doing track in high school, I was under the bleachers; doing other kinds of workout”, I shrugged. “It’s an interesting talent”, he chuckled. “I have many more”, I said, raising a brow at him. “I’m sure you do”, Eddie smiled, and grabbed the back of my head; pulling me in for a hungry kiss.

I was flipped onto my back, and Eddie placed himself at my entrance. “Yeah?”, he said, searching my eyes for the go-ahead. “Please”, I said, unable to hide the pleading tone in my voice. Eddie gave me one more deep kiss, and as he did, he pushed himself inside me; bottoming out in my warmth. We both moaned deeply as we were conjoined, and Eddie began moving slowly in and out of me. “You’re so warm… and tight!”, he gasped into my ear. “You fit perfectly”, I panted, and moved my hips to meet his every thrust. “I do, don’t I…”, Eddie chuckled. “Holy… wow”. I locked my leg around his hips, and Eddie grabbed my other leg; hooking his arm under my knee. With ever thrust, the head of his penis brushed against my g-spot; but even just the friction against my nub, and the feeling of his velvety hardness brushing against my walls, were enough to make me whimper in pleasure.

After a while of moving together slowly, I felt my walls beginning to quake; and Eddie’s face lit up. He began thrusting faster and harder, and soon I was crying out in ecstasy again. Every atom in my being felt like it was exploding, and I came around him. “Yes!”, I cried out, and Eddie laughed, seemingly overjoyed that he could make me feel this way. “Fuck, you look beautiful when you come”, he grinned. My hair was a tussled, and I was pretty sure my makeup was a mess, but I took his words as truth in that moment; convinced from the expression on his face, that there was no way he could be lying. “Thank you… for that”, I gasped. “And for the orgasm. That was pretty awesome too”. We laughed together for a moment, before Eddie leaned down, and kissed me. “Are you good to continue?”, he asked. “Don’t you dare stop!”, I exclaimed. “Ok… Turn around, then”.

He pulled out of me – leaving me feeling empty and wanting more – and grabbed my hip, to make me turn over. I got on all fours, and once again felt Eddie probing my entrance. He pushed into me with a pleased sigh, and began moving again. He shifted between fast and slow; as if every time he picked up speed, he willed himself to slow down again. “It’s ok. I can take it”, I said. “Alright”, Eddie panted, and let out a groan, as he slammed in to me. I feel forwards on the bed, landing on my chest; and felt my backside lift with every one of Eddie’s thrusts in to me. “… just go to sleep!”, I heard Eddie behind me. “I’m not…”, I said. “What?”. “I’m not asleep. How could I be?” “Oh… No, yeah; of course!”.

He snaked a hand underneath me, and expertly began stroking circles against my clit. I was soon, once again, feeling the familiar rush of an impending orgasm. “I’m gonna…”, I rasped. “Again?”, Eddie panted; still thrusting in to me, and having found the perfect rhythm for the both of us. “Uh huh…”, I whimpered, and turned my face into the mattress; crying out in pleasure. My walls contracted around Eddie’s hardness, and moments later, he let out a rasping groan; and came.

I was trying to regain my breath, and still feeling my muscles clenching throughout my body; as Eddie pulled out of me. He placed a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and got off the bed, to rid himself of the condom. I pulled at the sheet, wrapping it around me, as he returned to the bed and slipped his boxers back on. He looked satisfied, but also a bit frustrated, and I quietly excused myself to the bathroom, to clean up.

Through the door, I heard him shuffling around the small apartment, and seemingly talking to himself. “… stay out of it… was a me thing… I don’t need that”. I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable at the situation; and must have been stood for quite a while in the small bathroom, because suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Are you ok in there?”, Eddie called out. “Yeah!”, I replied, quickly finishing my cleanup, and washing my hands. I stepped out into the living area again, and gave him a half smile. “Uhm… are youok though?”. Eddie leaned in, and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, before stepping over to the fridge. “Of course… I’m awesome”, he said, and got out two beers. “That was great!”. I examined his face, and couldn’t help but frown. “Ok… You just seem a little out of it”, I said, and accepted the drink. “Are you regretting…”. “No!”, Eddie exclaimed, his eyes wide and earnest. “Not at all… I just get in my head sometimes”. “Ok…”, I muttered.

Eddie sighed deeply, and took my hand. “Come on”, he said, and pulled me over to sit on the couch. “That… what we just did; that was really great. You were great”. “So were you”, I smiled, biting my lip. “Yeah?”, Eddie said; a slight pink hue to his cheeks. “Thanks…”. As I took a welcome sip of my beer, he merged his fingers with my free hand. “I’d like to do it again… If you’re good with that”. “I’d like that”, I said. We sat for a moment in silence. “Do you wanna stay the night?”. “I should get going”. We’d spoken at the same time. “Oh… Well, if you wanna go…”, Eddie said. “I just thought – seeing as you said the bed at your place wasn’t that great – maybe you’d want to sleep somewhere else”. “The couch isn’t much better”, I chuckled. “Are you sure though? I don’t want you to think you have to…”. “I’d like you to stay”, Eddie said. I felt my cheeks burn. “Ok… I’ll stay”, I said.

Eddie lit up in a grin, and leaned in to give me a warm kiss. “I’m happy you moved in across the hall”, he said. “Me too”, I smiled. “Me three…! Too!”, Eddie said, his voice having shifted from deep, and back to his raspy tone within seconds. He cleared his throat. “Sorry… My throat is a bit dry”, he said, and took a deep swig of his beer. I frowned in confusion, but decided to let it go. We had just spent a good while exercising, and my own throat was a little dry as well; and I took another sip of my beer.

We sat for a long moment in silence, sipping at our bottles, and smiling warmly at each other; before Eddie frowned deeply. “I have to tell you something”, he said. “And… You might change your mind about staying”. I felt a shudder go through my body, suddenly worried where this was going. “What is it?”, I croaked. Eddie took a deep breath, and blew it out. He took my beer from me, and put it down on the coffee table, next to his own. Taking both my hands, he looked deeply in to my eyes. “Here goes… Uhm… Wow, this is hard”, he said. “Just tell me”, I said, trying for calm and encouraging. “Ok… I snore… And not in the cute way”, Eddie said. “I give the streetcars a run for their money, when it comes to noise”. I instantly began laughing in relief. “That’s it? You should hear me!”. Eddie raised his brows at me. “I’ll bet you 20 bucks and a donut from Don’s, I can outdo you”, he said. “You’re a journalist. Don’t you have a Dictaphone?”, I asked. Eddie sprang over to his messenger bag, and pulled out a small recorder. “Let’s do this!”, he exclaimed.

I got to my feet, and followed him over to the bed. Unwrapping myself from the sheet, Eddie gave me a sly smile, and pulled me in for a deep kiss – running his hands up and down my sides – before he let me crawl onto the bed. Once I laid down, he crawled in next to me, and put the sheet over the both of us. He clicked the record button on the Dictaphone, and put it by the bed: before pulling me in to his arms. I cuddled up against him, and let his warmth lull me; feeling suddenly very tired. “Goodnight, Ed”, I whispered. We gave each other a soft kiss. “Goodnight, Lyla”, he replied.

I was already halfway asleep, when something tucked us in; pulling the covers over us. “Eddie?”, I yawned. “Yeah?”, he asked hesitantly. “Was that you?”. “Yes!”. “Ok. Goodnight”. I was out.

---

#eddie brock #eddie brock fic #venom #venom fic #eddie brock x oc #eddie brock fluff #eddie brock smut

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 5/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read the final chapter below or the entire work on ao3

—

“Help us, Saras—” a stream of coughing rings out, eating up the rest of the words.

“What the hell happened!?”

“I don’t know! One minute he was kicking ass, and the next—”

“He’s down! Oracle, scan him for signs of life.”

Their voices sound far and muffled, like he was under a foot of ice.

“He’s alive, I know he is. Kikur…” More coughing, wet and almost retching. “Dammit!”

“Skull hasn’t moved in ages and we pumped him with more Diaharan than we know what to do with!”

“Then why isn’t he moving?”

He feels like he got hit with back-to-back garbage trucks, all fully loaded with an entire city’s trash and was going eighty down the freeway.

“I...I don’t know…!”

“Why not? Why the hell not?”

“Joker!”

“Unicorn—” Actual retching comes this time, sporadically. “Why isn’t—!”

“Please stop! You’re only going to get yourself hurt!”

“Akira. Quit it, or I’ll cast a Dormin so strong you’ll wake up next year.”

A groan escapes his lips, and all arguing stops.

“Oh thank god,” Makoto’s voice sighs in relief. “Skull? Can you hear us?”

“Skull?” A leather-clad hand touches his cheek. “Are you with me?”

Ryuji suddenly bolts upright. “Konoe!” The whole world lurching sideways but he ignores the nausea. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” Yusuke replies. He’s looking slightly better than when he last saw him, able to stand on his feet again. “Disappeared, just like the rest of them. In no small part thanks to you.”

“It was more than that,” Haru disagrees. “It was nearly completely thanks to him. Your last battle with him was quite a spectacle.”

“It really was,” Sophia agrees. “You got hit near the end, though.”

“Oh,” he forces a laugh. “My bad. Must’ve worried you guys. Thanks for the heal.”

“‘Thanks for the heal’?”

Any levity that was present gets sucked away as Akira pulls his hand away from him, expression unreadable. “It wasn’t just a heal, Ryuji. It was a Recarm.”

He winces, eyes darting away. “That must’ve been scary for you,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“I’m not interested in an apology. I’m looking for an explanation.”

“What am I supposed to explain? He caught me off guard, it happens. I might be good, but I’m not getting out of a fight with the creator of the Metaverse Part Two without a scratch.”

“It was a scratch. I’ve seen you take bullets better than that,” Akira says flatly. “The strangest thing about all this is that I think you knew about this. I think you knew what would happen if you got hit, no matter how light it was.”

Do not panic. Do not panic. “Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”

“I think something’s up and you’re hiding something from me.”

“Guys,” Futaba whispers. “Don’t fight.”

Akira turns on her, taking in her expression for a long moment before his eyes widen. “You know about it,” he realizes.

“What?!”

“You knew that he changed, and you didn’t tell me.” His eyes flashed. “Futaba, he could’ve died, and you didn’t say anything.”

“Stop it.” Ann’s voice was low and hard. “Don’t take out what you’re feeling on her.”

Looking away from Futaba, Akira scans each and everyone of their faces, and it dawns on him. “You knew.” Hurt takes up every syllable, heavy but small at the same time. “You all knew, and nobody told me. I can’t believe this.”

“Don’t get mad at them,” Ryuji snaps. There’s no way he’s letting his friends take the fall for his own actions. “You’re getting worried over nothing. I took a hit—that’s it. Bad guy defeated, let’s move on.”

“I’m not moving on if people on my team, people that I thought I could trust are hiding things from me,” he insists. “Especially you. Dammit, Ryuji, I thought I could trust you!”

His stomach doesn’t twist. Instead, a gigantic pair of scissors made up of Akira’s words goes ahead and snips off his stomach from his intestines, and he’s free falling with nowhere to crash land.

“What the fuck else do you want from me?” Everyone but Akira flinches at his words. “I beat Konoe, didn’t I? You were worried about that, you wanted to retreat because you thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I did it!”

“What I want from you is to be safe. That’s it.”

“But that shouldn’t be the only thing you want! Don’t you want us to win? Don’t you want us to be able to finish what we started?”

Akira shakes his head, frustrated, and starts rummaging through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“We aren’t fighting here.” A Goho-M flashes in his palm, and before anyone can say anything, they blink and suddenly they’re at the entrance of the Jail again. “Everyone, get out.”

Ryuji glares at him as the rest scurries to the entrance as quickly as possible without making it look like they’re making a run for it. Akira stares back.

“...Fine.”

The familiar but unpleasant swirl between the transition of the Jail and the real world takes over them, feeling their cells tear apart from each other before instantly clicking back into place, and then they were at the foot of the Tenboto tower.

Akira’s eyes don’t leave his. “Everyone who isn’t Ryuji, go find something else to do. We need some time to talk.”

Nobody questions it except for Futaba. “Um, do you want me to take—”

He shoves his hand in his pocket and throws his phone at her. Usually, the rose gold shade always makes him crack a smile, but he doesn’t even look at it this time. “Here.”

When she still doesn’t leave, Akira spares her a glance. “What is it?”

“Don’t...don’t be too harsh on him.”

“Don’t push it. I’m still upset that you didn’t say anything about this.”

Futaba’s head falls downwards as she walks away, Sophia in tow.

“So?” Ryuji crosses his arms. “Are we good?”

“No, we are not good, Ryuji. You argued with me over something stupid, spat in my face and deliberately went against with what I knew would be better for all of us, and worse than all of that, you knew that your defense is down by an insane amount.”

“Who cares if it’s down! Get the fuck over it, we already won.”

Akira's jaw goes slack. “Who are you? Why are you acting like this? What’s gotten into your head that you’re trying to pretend that I don’t care about your health and your safety?”

“Because you shouldn’t,” he insists. “You’re slowing the rest of us down by doing this whole hero schtick—if you just focus on what we need to do rather than something like my god damn endurance then things would go so much faster!”

“I don’t give a shit about efficiency, and do you have any idea what it even means for you to have a drastic change in your Persona? Or are you just looking for another stupid thing to argue about?”

He draws back, shame instinctively bubbling at the implication. “No, but it can’t be that damn important for us to be fighting like this.”

“Personas are the strength of the heart,” Akira roughly prods at his chest. “Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you believe in, your Persona would reflect that.”

“Okay? So what?”

A shift overcomes his expression, and Akira closes his eyes. When he speaks, it’s like he’s an ethereal being rather than a boy his age. “You seek power, correct? Since your name has been disgraced already, why not hoist the flag and wreak havoc?”

“The ‘other you’ who exists within desires it thus,” Ryuji finishes, frowning. “Why do you have that memorized?”

“Because I’ve memorized everyone’s awakenings, and because I think that’s the reason why you can’t take a hit anymore but you can throw a punch the way you can,” Akira shoots back. “You awakened your Persona to ‘wreak havoc’ on the people who piss you off, right?”

“Yeah.” His patience is waning thin. “What’s your point?”

“What if that feeling—rage against corrupt adults, your need to wreak havoc on them—what if that gets flipped around and you direct that on yourself?”

“What?” Ryuji shakes his head. “Is that even possible?”

“I can almost guarantee it, because your stats are shuffling like crazy. Your endurance is down, yeah, but do you know what skyrocketed in its place? What nearly tripled?”

“My strength?”

“Exactly. Look, I don’t know what happened, but something has shifted in your heart enough to make you believe that it’s more important to be strong than to keep yourself alive.”

Akira shoves his glasses higher on his nose, and Ryuji swallows when he sees his hand shake. “Tell me. Please. I won’t get mad, or disappointed, or whatever you think I’ll feel if you tell me. I just want you to be honest with me. I want us to work this out.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s really that simple. Like the two of them can take on any problem together, no matter how big it is, because it’s them. They’re two pieces of a puzzle—they can only ever see the bigger picture when they both click into place. It would be easy, because Akira makes it easy.

A droplet of rain lands hard on his shoulder. He opens his mouth.

“Just because I’m not telling you something, doesn’t it mean gives you the right to hound the fuck out of me until I cave.”

Akira recoils like he’s been slapped in the face. “I just want to understand.”

“And I just want you to leave me alone, okay?” He wipes away the rain from his face only for it to be replaced almost immediately. “You don’t—you just don’t fucking get it, Kurusu. You have no idea what it’s like being a piece of shit, you have no idea what it’s like being a moron, with everyone hating you—”

What? He doesn’t mean that. Of course Akira gets it. That’s how they got to know each other in the first place.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hear so much shit about you wherever you go—”

That’s not true, either. Why is he saying this?

“To have no one even take a look at you, to be a ghost, to not even exist anymore—”

Are you kidding? That’s all Akira lives through in his hometown.

Ryuji levels a gaze at him, chest burning. “You don’t know what it’s like being nothing,” he finishes.

Akira stands there, staring at him, refusing to wipe the rain away from his face. His mouth opens, before closing again, and shakes his head. His movements are jerky and stilted.

When Akira looks up, his eyes are empty. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He turns around and walks away without another word, leaving Ryuji to stand alone, drenched in the rain and feeling like gasoline is eating through his chest, and all he can do is burn.

Osaka has bright lights and has the scent of mouth-watering in its every nook and cranny, but the only thing Ryuji can process right now is the squelch of his socks with every step he takes.

He’s only vaguely aware that he’s moving, traversing through Dotonbori in a hazed state. It’s like his consciousness left his body, trapped and distant, the burning in his chest turned into something smoldering, filling his entire being with suffocating smoke.

Ryuji’s spent who knows how long staggering through the streets, unfamiliar sights with unfamiliar people, and none of it has the same excitement that normally comes with them visiting a new place. The rain hasn’t let up, and his t-shirt has long since been soaked through. His body is still crazy sore, with his ankles begging for rest, but the idea of stopping makes him nauseous.

A large body hits his shoulder, and it nearly knocks him sideways. “Watch where you’re going, dumbass.”

“S-sorry,” he manages, but the stranger is already gone by the time he finishes.

Ryuji scrubs his eyes and looks up, surprised that he isn’t horrifically lost. He’s at one of the dual bridges in Dotonbori, a place that he recognizes because he and Ann stuffed their faces with so much takoyaki they could barely breathe afterwards.

His body sags against the bridge’s concrete railing, exhaustion making itself known, forearms pressed in an odd angle that he knows is going to leave weird patterns etched into his skin. In his pocket, his phone buzzes angrily, but he ignores it.

He scrubs his eyes again, harder. He hasn’t cried, which sucks. In fact, he hasn’t even felt the familiar panic build up in him, and he didn’t even know it was possible to miss that feeling. The feeling of something other than the gaping hole inside of him, only getting bigger.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he was angry, just so he can stop feeling this never-ending plane of nothing.

That’s a lie, actually—there’s some anger, too. A lot of it. At himself.

His phone buzzes again, and Ryuji can’t even muster a meager response. I’m fine, don’t worry, is what he’s supposed to say.

Bullshit. All he can ever do is say bullshit, over and over again.

Pressing his forehead against the edge of the concrete, he grits his teeth, staring down at his hands, miserable and desperate for something to take away this gnawing feeling inside of him, eating its way through his gut like an insatiable parasite. He tries focusing on the waves lapping against the stone below him, on the pitter-patter of the rain that’s coating his skin, on the chatter from the people behind him, but he can’t because all he can see behind his eyelids is the hurt in Akira’s face and the crack in his voice when he spoke and it’s Ryuji’s fault because he fucking sucks and he’s incapable of keeping anything good in his life and he’s trying to cry but it’s not coming, why isn’t he crying, please let him get some fucking relief, why can’t he cry—

A shadow casts over him, and he’s about to move out of the way when shoes enter his periphery. Standard sneakers except for colorful beads tied into the shoelaces.

“Yo,” Futaba greets, holding an umbrella over him.

Ryuj tries for a laugh, but it comes out hollow and pathetic. “You track my phone?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “Akira mentioned that you have a thing for bridges.”

His heart goes utterly still, before beating into overdrive. “Leave me alone,” he finds himself saying. “Just fucking get out of here, Futaba.”

“No.”

“No?” It’s sick how fiercely glad he is to be able to grasp onto anger like a lifeline. “I don’t want to be around anyone, don’t you get it? Leave me alone, Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in the group.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“And why not?”

“Because you didn’t leave me, even when I really, really wanted you to.” The gaze behind her eyes is unreadable. “You dragged me out of my tomb, screaming and kicking, but you didn’t let go.”

His lungs tightened up. “I don’t want to be around anyone right now,” he says weakly.

“Then I’m not here.” Futaba readjusts her grip on the umbrella, careful that he was still covered. She trains her eyes on a random point in the distance, away from him. “No one’s here. I’m just another stranger, and you’re just some guy who’s talking to the rain.”

They stand there for a while, unspeaking. Each passing second lets the aggravation seep out of him, bit by bit.

“Can…” he tries eventually. Maybe he can let it out, just a little bit. Enough to stop the boiling froth from spilling over the pot, maybe the water would stop rising. “Can I ask you a question?”

When she doesn’t answer, he looks down into the black water.

“What’s it like hating yourself?” he asks. “Like, really, really hating yourself. All you want to do is hide, in your room or away from everyone else. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to disappear, either. You just want to...stop. To the point where you don’t even know what you want anymore—do you want to just keep hiding? Do you want to tell everyone, to finally let someone know? To let the one person who fucking matters know what’s happening to you?”

A boat passes underneath them, and he can see a couple drinking together, laughing. “Isn’t it so embarrassing? You failed so fucking much, and you’re only making it worse by hiding it from everyone. You hid it so much, you were so unwilling to let them know, that you actually ran the damn risk of them leaving.”

The last of Ryuji’s resolve, weak as it was already, crumbles. Something inside Ryuji cracks, and his eyes are wide, so wide they might roll out of their sockets. “I couldn’t tell him, Futaba,” he rasps out. “I couldn’t—what if he leaves me? What if I lose the only damn thing that made my life something worth getting out of my room for? What’s going to happen when he realizes I’m nothing more than the kid with the fucked up leg who failed high school?”

Futaba continues to listen in silence, unable to hold back the streams of hot tears running down her cheeks.

“He loves me,” he says this with an unshakeable force, an unforeseen barrier unwilling to be broken down by anything. “I know that for a fact. But—” he sucks in a breath, and before he can stop himself, he leans his body over the bridge.

“I’m so fucking selfish!” he yells. “I can’t! I can’t tell him! I can’t face another failure, I can’t do it, it’s going to kill me, I swear to god. I failed myself, I failed all of you,” he wildly gestures at her. “I failed my mom, but I can’t fail him. Not him, anyone but him.”

“Sir Sakamoto Ryuji.”

He turns his head to her with a crumpled expression, and she wipes her face with her sleeve before grabbing his hand, pulling him away from the bridge. Ryuji is too surprised to resist. ”W-what?”

She doesn’t turn back, and despite her hoarse voice, her words don’t shake. “I will not let you continue your great sin of wrath unto yourself. You cannot,” she tugs harder, and he stumbles forward. “You cannot keep yourself in this, this darkness of hatred and anger, and thus I, Sakura Futaba, a member of the Phantom Thieves, have decided to intervene.”

“Was—” It took a lot of effort, but he composed himself enough to keep up with her short legs. “Was that a calling card?”

“You’re damn right it is, with or without the fancy paper.” Futaba glances back, and her eyes are shining and determined. “I wasn’t ready at all when you guys showed up in my room to take my heart, but good thing you did, because that was exactly what I needed. So here I am dragging you out, kicking and all. You’re going to tell Akira—”

“I can’t,” he pleads, weakly crossing the street when she keeps pulling. “Dude, I just told you why I absolutely cannot.”

“You’re going to, and that’s final.”

“No!”

And to his absolute shock, she stops in the middle of the road, expression defiant. Cars honk and flip them off, but it does nothing to deter her.

“Get out of the way!” he screams, roughly pulling at her, but Futaba doesn’t budge. “Get off the road!”

“Welcome to my ultimatum: I’m not moving until you go to him!” she points directly at him, ignoring the way headlights flash over her and puddles splash on her shorts. “You say he loves you? Cool, now prove to him that you love him.”

Ryuji rolls up his sleeves. “I’m going to carry you off of the street, you gremlin.”

“Try me, because I’m going to scream so loud,” she says seriously, and he knows she is.

“You’re insane!” he yells back, because she is.

“And you’re a moron, and it’s not because you couldn’t do academic whatnot!” Her glare is hot steel and he’s nothing more than a warm stick of butter. “He’s known you since day one, has seen you at bedrock level, and he’s still following you around like you’re some kind of queen bee and he’s the hive. You’re going to talk to him, or I swear on my mom’s grave that I’m going to jump in front of a big truck and you’re gonna have to be the one to explain to everyone why I died.”

Screw it. He rushes forward, picks her up and, because she’s never been one to back down in anything, she screams from the top of her lungs until he eventually sets her down on the other side of the road.

“Hey!” she stomps her foot. “That’s cheating!”

“Are you out of your damn mind?”

“No more than you, you clown!” she yells. “Why don’t you want to tell him?!”

“I already told you why!”

“Then what if he felt the same? What if this happened to him, and he kept it from you this entire time?”

The thought is enough to make him feel uneasy. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“But what if he did?” Futaba insists.

“Then of course I’d want to know,” he answers before he can stop himself, and quickly adds, “But he doesn’t.”

“If he was, though, then you—” she prods his chest. “Are hurting him. You’re hurting him, and I thought you loved him, and I thought you didn’t want to disappoint him. You’re a gigantic hypocrite, and screw being a bad boyfriend,” she spits the word as if eager to rid it off her tongue. “You’re being a really freaking bad best friend.”

They stare each other down, with Futaba breathing hard and him, completely unseeing.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she says immediately. “But elaborate.”

“I’m being a really, really bad best friend.” His fingers make their way to the root of his hair and starts pulling. “I made this entire thing about me, and my problems.”

“To be fair, they were pretty big problems.”

“Yeah but...holy shit, I completely—I completely forgot that this trip is about Akira and to make sure that he’s smiling, and happy, and stress-free and—I fucked all of that to hell.”

“You did,” she agrees, relentless. “Totally screwed the pooch, but hey, you know what? There’s a big plus sign to all of this:” Futaba throws up jazz hands weakly. “You can still fix this!”

“I can still fix this…” he repeats, in a daze, and he slaps his face with both hands. “I can still fix this, dammit! This isn’t going to be another failure; I’m going to take this,” he wildy gesticulates around himself. “And shred it down so Akira doesn’t have to worry anymore. I’ll talk to him, he’ll understand, and we’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic rest of the summer vacation, even if my life is horrible and falling apart.”

She nods enthusiastically. “But we can all fix it together once we get back home. One step at a time. First,” she levels him with a look. “You’re going to talk to Akira.”

“I have to. He’s had my back since day one, and I promise I’d do anything for him.” Even if it means showing himself, every ugly part of himself, to the most amazing person that’s ever walked on planet earth. The panic twitches inside of him, coming alive again, but he doesn’t push it away. He lets that feeling wash over him, that adrenaline, and he starts jumping on his feet. “I’m going to talk to Akira,” he announces, looking around to see any place that Akira’s eye might catch. “I need to find him, ASAP.”

“Say no more.” She pulls up her phone. “This won’t take more than two minutes.”

Glancing around wildly, something catches his attention, and he grins. “No need. I know exactly where he is.”

“You do?” A hard slap lands on his back, pushing him forward with a yelp. “Then go! Run to him! Get out of your tomb, Ryuji! I’ll see you on the other side!”

He takes a few steps forward, before turning around and quickly taking Futaba in a hug. “Love you, shorty,” he says seriously.

“I love you too.” She hugs him back tightly before letting go. “Get out of here before you find a new insecurity to change your mind.”

Ryuji opts to ignore that last bit and sets off, sneakers slapping the wet concrete as he runs, Tenboto Tower already in his sights.

“Akira!”

Everyone jumps as he slams the glass entrance open, loud and unyielding as he runs past tourists, wildly taking in each of their faces and pausing at none of them. He sucks at everything—at school, at being a good friend, at basic communication. But this? Facing public humiliation in front of strangers?

“Akira!”

He can do this any day of the week.

Nervous employees start to approach him and Ryuji books it before they can get close. Not on the ground floor, but he knew that before he even came in here. Elevator, he thinks, skidding to a halt to see that it’s already six floors up. It would take too long.

Letting out a sharp breath, he lets his feet take him to the stairwell, apathetic to the fact that he’s about to sprint up eighty-eight meters.

He’s an idiot. A moron. World’s biggest buffoon. That doesn’t surprise anyone, least of all him.

The soles of his sneakers squeak as it slaps against concrete stairs, using the railing to propel him up faster.

And he hates it. He fucking hates being the dumb one so much that it hurts.

A couple that was making out screams when he barely dodges them, and he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

He wants nothing more than to bury that part of him. Shamefully, completely. Like a corpse, or some ancient artifact. Gone for the rest of time.

Sweat streams down his back and it’s gross and he doesn’t care, not one damn bit.

But if burying it means destroying what he built with Akira? If scrambling to hide actually makes things worse when the only thing he wanted was to preserve what the two of them have?

His throat is drying up and he can feel his thighs about to split in half, but he keeps going, keeps running.

Then screw it—the whole world is about to know what a big failure he is.

Ryuji bursts through the door to the top deck, gasping for breath and dozens of heads turn to him. Gulping down as much air as his lungs can take in, “Akira!?” he booms, and he knows he’s being an asshole but he doesn’t care right now.

Nothing happens. He grits his teeth and starts running again, soaked shoes ruining plush carpet as he looks for a familiar patch of messy hair. Ryuji evades tourists left and right, around gift shop stalls and hundred yen telescopes, ignoring the picturesque view from the huge glass windows. Just like he thought—from up here, it looks eerily like you were overlooking the entire city of Tokyo if you were desperate for any sense of familiarity.

And that’s exactly what Akira had needed at the time.

Come on, come on. He’s about to hit a full circle around the observation deck and he still hasn’t spotted him. I know you’re here. There’s no way that you’d be anywhere else in the city.

Ryuji takes in another breath, ready to yell out his name for the upteenth time, when he sees an open balcony, nearly empty except for a boy leaned over the parapet, eerily still and barely underneath the glass covering above him.

Despite his earlier fervor, Ryuji slows down to a walking pace, chest heaving and feeling like his heart is going to burst.

It’ll be okay. It’s him.

He takes his place beside him, mimicking his pose, leaning over the cool metal railings. Akira doesn’t even look up, which is what he deserves, really. The wind is light, and the city sparkles below them.

No games. No bullshit. Just him and his best friend.

“I failed second-year,” he says. “And also I think I’m at a real, real low point in my life.”

Akira’s face flits in mild surprise, but Ryuji doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to give himself an out.

He starts from the very beginning—from getting called into his homeroom, to Ushimaru giving him a look that said he expected this because that’s ‘just the type of student he is’, to hiding it from his mom, from Ann, from him. He tells him how being alone is tiring, but being with people is exhausting.

And the tears. The minute he started talking, the tears came and kept coming no matter how many times he wiped it away. At first he thought it was from humiliation, at the guilt from keeping it from Akira. But after a while, he realizes that keeping this huge, weighty, life-altering secret from Akira was hurting him, too. It’s like the entire sky got lifted off of him, and he can finally breathe again. For the first time, he feels relieved.

Akira stands there, silent the entire time, not looking at him but he knows he’s soaking in every word that he’s saying.

Ryuji stands up straight and faces him. His voice is barely above a whisper, used up and crackled like dried out stone. “Akira, I’m so, so sorry. I said horrible shit and I kept you in the dark for so long, and-and I forced everyone not to say anything because of my own issues, and I could’ve—” he flinches when he remembers feeling his life deplete out of him from a single hit. “I could’ve died, dude. And I kept it from you over something so petty like being bad at algebra. I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I know that now, and hindsight is a bit of a bastard.” He looks down, sees people from below, small as ants. “There’s no good excuse, I get that. It’s just...I was fucking terrified, dude. Of whatever you see in me fading away once you see me for what I actually am.”

Ruffling his own hair, he lets out a long breath. “Alright. I’m done. It’s your turn, if you want it.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Akira asks, emotionless.

“With my entire body.”

His feelings are twisted together between shock that he actually did it, and earth-shattering fear that something bad might happen. No, Akira would never in a million years openly mock him, but he can easily imagine a small, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. An it’s okay. I get it. A shallow hug and a kiss on the cheek. An obligatory comfort that Akira feels he has to give but Ryuji never wanted.

But what he didn’t expect was for Akira to suddenly start laughing.

Ryuji stares in shock as his shoulders, always straight back, hunches in on itself, shaking uncontrollably, hands instinctively flitting to his mouth but unable to hold in the snort that escapes through his lips.

“Uh,” he asks, confused. “What?”

“I—” Akira tries, but doubles over, gripping the metal railing. “Give me a second, sorry—”

They stand there for a few long minutes, Ryuji bewildered and Akira laughing harder than he’s ever seen him. Whenever he looks like he’s about to finish, Akira gives him a look, and starts laughing uncontrollably again.

Eventually, he sobers up enough to resume his earlier position. “Ryuji,” the smile is still stuck on his lips. “I love you.”

“...Okay?” he replies, still lost.

“And I’ve been in therapy since April.”

The entire world halts to a grinding, screeching halt.

“You’re—” Ryuji fumbles. “You’ve been in what?”

“Therapy.”

“Why?!” When Akira raises an eyebrow at him, he backtracks a little. “Okay, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just...surprising.”

He can’t even imagine what kind of metaphor he’d have to use to begin explaining the complexities of a Persona and Palaces. “Is it tough trying to explain all of this?”

“It’s not about the Metaverse or anything,” he says, and, with the slight mirth still stuck on his features, “It’s because I’ve been depressed for a few months now.”

About a trillion questions want to fly out of his mouth right now, but he settles on one for now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Akira looks up, staring at the few specks of stars that still poke out despite the light pollution of any big city in Japan. “I just think,” he starts. “That I’m really, really lonely.”

Before Ryuji can say anything, he cuts him off with a look. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he says, relaxing. “Because it’s not your fault, or anyone else’s. I’ve just…It’s been hard, going back to that life after living such a good one in Tokyo. When I finally came back home, it’s like I was stuck in a time loop. Every day that I stay there,” he stares down at his hands. “Is another day that everyone’s moving on without me.”

Ryuji nearly bites his tongue off in an effort to hold himself back. Move on? Without Akira? Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.

“It didn’t help that no one would even look me in the eye there,” he continues. “It got to the point where the days just blended together, the same cycle of nothing, the same day of being alone, over and over again. Worrying about being forgotten, being trapped and stuck.” Akira’s pale cheeks turn red. “Eventually, my grades started dropping,” he admits. “My parents noticed, because of course they did, and…”

Akira curls his fingers around the bar. “They threatened that they wouldn’t let me go if it stayed down.”

“Son of a bitch,” he hisses, unable to help himself. “What the hell, man?”

“I know,” he agrees. “Bad move on their part, considering that it got even worse after they said that. It’s...it’s actually why I’m getting tutoring now. Not necessarily for Tokyo U, but I really do plan on going to a Tokyo-based university. Because if I don’t…” he trails off.

“I am the only person in the world who isn’t allowed to say this, but,” Ryuji shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything, Akira? I could’ve visited you more, or had more phone calls, or, I don’t know. Something to help.” To help you the way you helped me.

“Good question,” he muses, slightly amused. “Alright. Imagine this. You’re a new kid in town with a criminal record. Everyone hates you, more than they usually do, and you were starting to accept that your life is just going to be like this. But suddenly, a guy comes barreling into your life.” Akira’s expression softens. “He’s loud, tough, and extremely cute, and next thing you know, he became your best friend. You don’t know what he sees in you, you don’t know what you did to make him approach you in the first place, but the only thing you know for sure—”

“Is that you’re never letting him go,” Ryuji finishes for him. “Even if it means hiding yourself away, yeah?”

Ryuji’s gazing down at the city beneath them, unseeing. He can’t react the way he wants to, but what the fuck.

Akira is the best person he’s ever met and he’s pretty sure at least twenty other people scattered around the streets of Tokyo would agree with him on that. Yet he hid such a massive secret from Ryuji because he thought that Ryuji would leave him? That’s beyond ridiculous. That’s messed up, that’s—

Ryuji looks up to see that Akira’s already looking back at him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yup,” Akira tries to pull it off like he was scratching his cheek, but the shine of the tear makes it obvious. “You got me.”

Finally, Ryuji cracks.

“I’m—” he chokes, wracked with grief. “I’m so fucking sorry. I am so, so sorry, you were going through so much and I didn’t even—”

Akira takes a step back, shocked. “Why are you the one apologizing? I’m the one who was too busy wallowing to notice that you had changed enough that your Persona—”

“Because you’re depressed, and I should’ve been there to help you!”

“And I said that it was never your fault!”

“That doesn’t matter, I should’ve helped you go through that, wait outside the clinic with you, I don’t know!”

“And I made you think that I would have left you if you failed high school, which is insane—!”

“Kurusu, I lied to you. I lied to your face, I said so much shit, I jeopardized the entire team all because I didn’t want to lose you—”

“Don’t,” he pleads. “I know why you did it, but me? I don’t have an excuse. I’m your leader—”

“I’m your partner—”

“I’m your best friend—”

“And I didn’t notice!” they both finish in unison, distraught and breaths heaving, hearts pounding in time with each other, always together.

And then they both laugh; it’s teary, wet, and they probably look insane to any tourist ten feet from them, but they’re cracking up because it’s hilarious. It’s absolutely hysterical that either of them ever believed that they would leave the other over something so stupid as their own perception of themselves.

Ryuji sobers up first, grin so wide that it’s hurting his cheeks. “Can I apologize one last time?”

“No,” he says, voice tender. “I’ve heard enough sorrys to last a lifetime.”

“Come on! Just one more!”

“Just one more,” he relents.

He throws his arm around Akira, squeezing him tight against his side. “I’m sorry that I’m apparently the most good-looking guy you’ve ever seen that you instantly fell in love with me.”

“Dammit,” Akira tries shoving him off weakly. “I knew you were gonna use that against me.”

“Damn right.” He kisses his forehead, gentle despite the rough grip.

“Can I apologize too?”

“Copycat. You can apologize once.”

“Okay.” Hugging Ryuji’s torso, they’re close enough that neither can feel the chill of the wind. “I’m sorry this happened to us,” he says seriously.

Pulling back, Ryuji frowns. “Dude!”

“I know, I know, what a downer. But it’s true.”

“It’s true,” he agrees. “But we can work on this. Together, this time. Like a couple of smart, capable people.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Akira murmurs before leaning forward and catching his lips. He tastes like rainwater and heat. He can feel his own lips twitch into a smile, and the vibration of Akira’s chuckle against his throat. It’s familiar, memorized, but he still makes sure to relearn it every time.

They kiss so deep that the hole inside Ryuji’s chest is full enough to burst.

“Kaboom!” Futaba had said.

The booming sound of a firework rings from up top, illuminating their faces in bright colors in the night. It reflects shades of red, yellow, blue and pink all over the surface of the water like paint buckets that got toppled over in a kindergarten classroom.

Ryuji’s chin is tilted up, watching them explode and take over his entire view of the sky. It’s almost blinding, but he can’t peel his eyes away from them even when he can feel them drying up.

It’s the last day of summer—his worst nightmare.

A purple one sparkles, the sound of the explosion delayed by half a second. He leans his head against Akira’s shoulder, lip quirking up when he feels weight pressing against the crown of his skull.

It’s the last day of summer, but he can’t feel anything but the warmth at his side, fingers intertwined with his, the ringing in his ears. Everything feels more real than they had in the last few months, the haze shifting away, the fog thinning out.

His heart beats strong in his chest. A hand squeezes his tightly.

Kaboom.

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs into the attic of Leblanc, the heat just as intense as it was this time last year.

Stray beams of light poured in from the open window of what has turned into a study cave for any of the thieves to use—cram books of trigonometry to art theory lined the shelves, the walls lined with study good luck charms that they had hoarded from any shrines that they had visited, and day-old tea cups and coffee mugs littered the desks.

Amidst all of that sat Akira, elbows propped up on the table, expression serious. “Happy last day of school,” he says, voice monotone, staring at the thick, impressive envelope in front of him.

“‘Happy’ my ass,” Ryuji flops down on the seat next to him, wood creaking under the sudden weight, nodding at the parchment. “Is that it?”

“If it isn’t, it’s going to be one insane train ride back home to get it.”

“I don’t know how you did it, man. I would’ve torn that thing open the minute I got it.”

Akira gives him an alarmed look. “You didn’t—”

He puts his hands up in surrender, holding a much thinner, yet somehow just as weighty sealed envelope between his fingers before throwing it down with the other. “I didn’t.”

“Good.” Akira doesn’t quite relax, but he lets out a breath. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, a little wobbly. “Moment of truth, huh? Either you got into school…”

“And you passed second-year.”

“Or we don’t.”

The silence that follows is heavy, contemplative, coating the air with something thick and hard to swallow.

Ryuji slams his hand on the table, gut twisting and knotting tightly. “Let’s fucking do this.”

They both reach forward to their corresponding envelopes, hands shaking but neither comment on it. Akira opens his first, and Ryuji very nearly bites it open just to get it over with. He’s suddenly glad that he’s sitting for this. His knees would’ve given out for sure.

Eventually, he finally gets it out of the envelope. His vision blurs as he starts scanning through the letter, eyes flitting all over the page looking for a few choice words, and his breathing stops cold.

He raises his head in time with Akira, and their eyes are wide. A wind chime clinks somewhere behind them.

“I got in,” Akira whispers.

“I passed,” Ryuji whispers back.

They stare at each other for a moment, before they explode.

Immediately, Ryuji jumps out of his chair and lifts Akira clean off his seat. “You got in!” he cries, and he’s not even embarrassed at the horrendous crack in his voice. “You bastard, I knew you could do it!”

“You passed,” Akira throws his arms around his neck and clings, so tight he can barely breathe. “I knew it, I could feel it, I knew you had it!”

Ryuji grasps the back of his hair, still spinning. “I’m so happy for you, I’m so happy for you,” he chants, his entire body feeling weak with relief and unencumbered joy but he knows he’d never drop him. “You fucking did it.”

“And you fucking did it!” He starts planting kisses on his head, his cheek, his shoulder, wherever he can reach. “You worked so hard, and you—” another kiss, this time right on his eyelid. “You did it, and I am so, so, so proud of you.”

With whatever last strength Ryuji has, he spins double-time, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Tokyo University, baby!”

“Third-year!” Akira tries, voice barely above his normal volume. “Third-year!”

He sets him down, and the grin on his face is wider than it’s ever been. Ryuji feels like he can eat the entirety of Yongen in one try. “You are—” he holds Akira’s face between both of his hands, face inches from his. “The smartest person on the entire fucking planet.”

“And you—” his eyes are bright, so bright. “Need to call your mom.”

“Shoot!” Ryuji slaps his forehead. “Totally slipped by me. Uh, I’ll—”

“Bathroom works, and Soijro locked up the cafe for us.”

“Boss is the best. I’ll be back,” he turns, headed for the stairs.

“Wait.”

Ryuji looks back only for a hand to hold his nape, pulling him forward. Akira kisses him, still smiling. When they pull away, he says, in a crystal clear voice, “I love you, I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

He could barely reply past the lump in his throat, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in that sentence. “I love you,” he manages. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I want to keep talking to you.”

“Of course,” Akira says, and Ryuji slips out of his grasp before he can do something stupid, like cry. Again.

Cracking the door open to the tiny powder room of Leblanc, he leans against the wall and catches his expression in the mirror—grinning and flushed with pleasure. It’s a good look.

He hits the speed dial on his phone, and his mom picks up almost immediately. “Did you get the letter?” she rushes out. “Whatever happens, you’re still the best son I could ever ask for, you hear me?”

“Ma,” the reflection’s grin grows impossibly wider. “I passed.”

The screaming from the receiver is loud enough that he had to pull it away from himself, wincing but laughing at her reaction. “I knew it!” her voice sounds years younger. “I knew you could do it!”

The wall is cool behind him, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, embarrassed. “Thanks, ma.”

“Of course, Ryu! Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” he blinks. “Well, yeah, of course.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle sounds through. “You could’ve stopped going to school entirely and as long as it made you happy, I’d go along with it.”

Air catches in his throat, awe-struck. He knew how she felt, but having her tell him at face value is something else entirely.

Ryuji’s about to answer when a cascade of voices and footsteps suddenly flow into the cafe, just outside the powder room.

“Akira,” Makoto says gently, audible through thin walls. “Did…?”

He doesn’t catch a reply, but screams and cheers fill up the cafe, dust falling from the ceiling as people start jumping up and down.

“I can hear your friends celebrating from here,” his mom chuckles. “I’ll let you go. Let’s get dinner when you get home, okay?”

“That sounds great,” he says, coughing, brushing the flecks of dried wood off his shoulder. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

He hangs up, sighing happily. After mentally preparing himself, he throws the door open, doorknob slamming against the wall that he prays didn’t leave a dent.

“Is that him?” Haru’s voice flows from above.

“That’s him,” Akira confirms.

Ryuji takes the steps two at a time, welcomed by the sight of everyone clinging to Akira with overjoyed expressions, and they quiet down when they see him.

Ann takes a step forward, gently letting go of Akira’s shoulder. “So?”

He takes a deep breath, makes a big show of kicking the floor boards, before looking up.

“Yeah, I did it.”

An eruption of pure noise goes straight into his eardrums as he’s tackled by arms and bodies, knocking him to the ground. Everyone’s yelling, some are crying, and he can understand exactly zero of what they’re saying but he hugs back as best he can. Through the cracks of shoulders and hair and necks, he can see Akira watching them all in amusement.

With no small amount of struggling, Ryuji wriggles a hand free and extends it to him. Akira doesn’t hesitate to take it, but yelps as he proceeds to get tugged right into the middle of the pile, crashing into three other people and loving every second of it.

Delusion is a real funny thing in hindsight. How could he have ever thought that he had nothing to be proud of? That his list of accomplishments added up to exactly nothing?

Yusuke is reciting victory speeches from wars won long ago while Makoto is listing off scholarships he can apply for in his third-year. Futaba is repeatedly hitting his shoulder, shrieking in his ear while Haru is quietly telling him how proud she is of him. Ann’s already pulling Shiho on speakerphone, and Akira has a look in his eye, a fondness that tells Ryuji that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The room is full, and the sun is still streaming through, warm and inviting. He wishes that Ryuji from a year ago could see this, see his friends that are still by his side, that will always be by his side, and rest easy.

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #plainly in truth #fic tag #mine #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #akiryu #pegoryu #chapter five huh? we actually did it.#shes completed babey

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spacetimewraithwrites-archive · 2 years

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tagged by: a re-tag by @drabbleitout! thanks! my words: crown, demand, palm, hover, threat tagging: @zmlorenz, @ashen-crest, @pertinax--loculos, @drippingmoon, and my husband and son, both of whom I currently love without condition but if they keep letting fruit flies into the fucking house then there will be one (1) condition lmao your words: see, blind, open, fall, deep

crown (Rebirth)—

"Have any more of that special tea lately?" Warren asked.

"Actually, yes, just an hour ago. The effects don't work quite the same way for me as they do for you."

"Then definitely save a stem for me."

Thrive didn't respond to that. He turned his head to look at him. "There's something I have to tell you."

"Ah, no," Warren interrupted. "Don't—just...hold that thought. Please? There's something I gotta do first, then you can confess that you're the crown prince of Andromeda or that you've been the head of a puppy trafficking ring for the last ten years or whatever all you want, I promise."

demand (Eternal)—

Warren shook his head in a daze. "You didn't know."

"No. I didn't know, because when have I ever had the privilege of knowing anything?" Thrive slammed a fist onto the table, splitting it clean in half, sparks and glass flying every which way. Warren didn't even flinch except to hold a hand up to shield his face.

"Thrive…"

"Quiet."

The demand didn't portray anything but internal frustration, and Warren didn't take it personally. He allowed Thrive time to walk away, to wander around the other rooms and process, vulnerability at its peak. He didn't follow, but left the direct vicinity of the possibly toxic smoke leaking from the table.

palm (Meridian)—

"Ooh." Warren pushed himself to standing and sidled up to Thrive, rubbing his palms together. "This is the plan...we pack as many of Efthim's people as we can onto this ship, say 'oops, looks like there's just not enough room, sorry,' then toss your sentries onto a passing cargo ship getting the hell outta dodge, provided they don't all succumb to the supernova first."

Thrive peered down at him with surprise and amusement. "Dark. Even for you."

Warren shrugged. "How many times have they actually done something you weren't fully capable of doing nor had you not actually done yourself? Tell me this—who would win a round of hand-to-hand combat? The lady who'd mastered five different types of martial arts and spent thirteen years in the Marines...or fuckin' you?"

"There was a time her accolades would've impressed you," Thrive said, a smile threatening to break through an otherwise well-maintained air of concern.

"And how would you know that? I haven't been impressed with literally anything else since I met you."

"Qrihk."

Warren blinked. "Gesundheit."

hover (Destiny)—

Warren caught sight of the small, rusty red shuttle that appeared as if it had seen better days hovering near the ramp. "Does that meet regulations? Looks like it was made out of tinfoil."

"It's fine, Warren."

"How am I supposed to get into it? It's not close enough to penetrate the gravity field."

Thrive stood behind Warren and pressed his hands to his chest from behind, holding his back flush against him. An abundance of air filled his lungs; so much so that he almost couldn't breathe out, and he became light-headed. He relaxed into Thrive, mildly surprised at the experience of heat being injected into his veins.

"...Oh," he said, his voice coming out in a deep exhale and hands sliding over Thrive's on their own accord. His ears popped. "Shades of my graduation."

threat (Rebirth)—

"Scotty, go," Guetry shouted.

All of the purple light at any point in his body drained out of him through the port, and he fell into the chair, dead weight. Thrive leapt over the console and swiped a data screen onto the window.

Warren started the timer.

As Varussa continued to avoid firefight that wasn't aimed at them, Guetry slumped over the console, still conscious but glossy-eyed and barely cognitive. Warren hurried over to him, kneeling on the floor and keeping him still as he threatened to spill out of his chair.

"I got you," he murmured. "You're okay."

"Guetry…?' Varussa said, her voice laced with worry though she couldn't look away from the viewscreen.

Guetry gripped Warren in tight, shaky fists. "I'm...I'm alright, Varussa."

#tag game #we've already had one infestation I had to work a couple weeks at diminishing and now another one's building and I'm losing my mind #I know I've been tagging y'all a lot and you're in no way obligated to do them of course

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smellycinnamonthundahfudge · 3 years

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fuck it. have the five page essay-ish thing i wrote on hoax.

it's so underrated and contains so many references to taylor's one great true love... that she lost.

(but there's also a bit about what the album cover means since i just think it adds to the evidence of something)

Let me take you on a journey, more specifically, the journey taylor’s music brought me to.

But fine for irl context, and disclaimer as well, I’m a new swiftie.

Yes, folklore was the one that really really pulled me in.

I’ve always loved her music, those that I knew of anyways, and she’s always held a special place in my heart and some part of me always knew that I was always going to explore her discography someday… and those days and months of exploring aforementioned music finally arrived.

So, for context, I’ll say that I mostly loved her bops. I always knew and loved her as that teenage girl feeling of wanderlust, and just wonder, and sweetness, and love…

That was what taylor was to me, the feeling of love.

It’s only when I very quite recently really really grew up and at the same time, taylor’s most popular music at the time, folklore, also happened to be really grown up, is when I realized and found out that taylor always had this depth to her.

So, for me, debut to speak now and half of red will always have that child-like wanderstruck look of awe and love vibe and feeling to me, cause nostalgia, it’s what I spent my life thinking of it and her as.

Also it’s been some time since I fully listened to those albums, so the journey/throughline narrative that I see from taylor’s discography is

Debut – young kid figuring it all out, emotional but sweet

Fearless – growth, ambition, dreams, complexity of wanting someone you know you’re not supposed to

Speak now – cinematic movie like quality of storytelling, these are fantasies, epics, novels all on their own, legend

Red – reckless abandon, intense extreme adult love, and also growth

1989 – true love, actual adulthood, scandal, gossip, hiding, protecting what’s important, dwindling mercurial highs

Rep - …

One thing that I started to notice only on 1989 and then it looked to be the case for the ff albums too, is that the latter half of one album oft bleeds onto the next one

So like the sound of I know places and even kinda wonderland to some extent, is very similar to reputation’s sound.

Then idk, new year’s day being a really sweet love song transitioning into lover

And then it’s nice to have a friend’s simple acoustic nostalgia & daylight’s nature imagery transitioning into folklore

And theeenn I’m betting the lakes as a positive song is a foreshadowing for the more softer positive outlook evermore is going to have, compared to folklore at least

But I honestly believe that if you look at the albums themselves, debut to speak now and red all seem to be about fleeting romances that pass and go

But 1989, that’s when things start to get real, and I believe, that’s when taylor really starts to get her muse…

Cause if you look at from 1989 to folklore evermore heck even to the rerelease of fearless and red…

These songs seem to be stemming from one relationship

A relationship that’s secret, that’s fragile and delicate, and complicated and complex

And correct me if I’m wrong, but…

Is king of my heart the first time taylor ever used the term, the one???

The one real thing you’ve ever known?? All too well

One touch you are in love??? One step one night

Point is, I think starting from 1989, most of the songs taylor wrote and sung about could all be attributed to just one person.

A tumultuous complex but nevertheless real and true love.

And I bring up the one connection because the one clearly parallels king of my heart

And all at once, YOU ARE THE ONE I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR

why would taylor write about losing someone that she thought she was the one if the person you think it’s about is still supposedly with her when she wrote it?

And finally, in taylor’s announcement of folklore, she wrote about an exiled man walking the bluffs of a land that isn’t his own, wondering how it all went so terribly, terribly wrong.

And in its music video, you get the same imagery?

…

You know where, … you… also… get… the same… exact… imagery…?

The folklore album cover.

Where it’s taylor, walking, in the middle, so small in the grand vast bluffs of a land that wasn’t her own.

In every single music video for every folklore song, the only ONE, THE ONLY ONE, where you get the same imagery, the same color palette as the album cover, is exile.

Which is about someone, a man walking the bluffs of a land that isn’t his own.

So if taylor is the man, then she’s

I can see you standing, honey

With his arms around your body

Guess who she has a close relationship with, who betrayed her, who got married to someone else?

*regina george anger screaming*

Me is a breakup song.

Taylor rereleasing red second has so much more weight to it now.

“In the land of heartbreak, moments of strength, independence, and devil-may-care rebellion are intricately woven together with grief, paralyzing vulnerability and hopelessness.”

moments of strength, independence, and devil-may-care rebellion – me, I PROMISE THAT YOU’LL NEVER FIND ANOTHER LIKE ME.

WATCH MISS AMERICANA AND I DARE YOU TO NOT SEE ME AS A SPITEFUL/VINDICTIVE/REBELLIOUS BREAK UP SONG

grief, paralyzing vulnerability and hopelessness – FOLKLORE.

Then I guess, fine… we’ll get to why hoax is so fucking meaningful yet you don’t understand why it is.

Yes, my only one.

Smoking gun.

I saw someone call this a reference to the fire and ash in mtr, but I also think of this as someone being your one weakness…

Think about it like this, in reputation

And what if the one person who kept you alive through all that

Betrayed you too.

Taylor talks so deeply and passionately over how much this person matters, they were her smoking gun.

Because they were what kept her going through the death of her reputation.

When no one trusted her that one person did.

They were her smoking gun.

My eclipsed sun.

Lover ended with daylight.

Taylor called reputation as night time.

And now what once was daylight has now been eclipsed over, by betrayal grief sadness desolation.

(darling this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart, folklore is as dark as rep)

Winless fight – ma & thp, fight that someday we’re gonna win.

They or she didn’t.

Frozen ground brings me back to holy ground and to doht, my love had been frozen

The imagery of hoax’s lv, is of a cliffside overlooking an ocean

Which brings me back to gorgeous, of OCEAN blue eyes looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die

Screaming, similar to mtr’s I still talk to you when I’m screaming at the sky

(sidenote might not related to taylor references, but that line gives me hopelessness give me a reason to live vibes, and what with gorgeous’ line of sink and drown and die and this is me trying’s Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down…

Anw… the sidenote is cause that feeling of hopelessness just really resonates with me personally, kind of the type screaming at the universe, at whatever’s out there why… sigh…)

Faithless love – false god

Hoax – illicit afairs

Blue… rep (delicate)

Best laid plan – dbatc, paper cut stings from our paper thin plans

Sleight of hand???

Five whole minutes pack us up leave me with it???

Could barren land also be bluffs of a land that isn’t his own?? Idk… *shruggie*

Ash from your fire mtr

New york, DBATC, 1989, false god, cornelia street

Hero died, remember when I said I’d die for you? False god

What’s the movie for, exile, I think I’ve seen this film before

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart

Like I said, reputation… who was her saving grace/smoking gun from all that

THEY WERE THE ONE, THE ONLY ONE, TAYLOR HAD WHEN SHE WAS PULLED APART

SO THEY KNEW, THEY KNEW HOW MUCH IT HURT HER

BUT THEY BETRAYED HER ANYWAYS.

Password let you in the door, I knew you’d come back to me, front porch light cardigan

What you did was just as dark, just as hard

Why wouldn’t it be?

They were the one she had throughout all that turmoil… yet they betrayed her too…

Kingdom come undone – komh, we rule the kingdome inside my room

Beaten my heart – KOMH, dbatc

The feeling of thinking you found the one, the one you’re going to spend the rest of your life with… the one you would throw away all of this for…

Don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do

You don’t want anyone else but them if they were the one you were going to throw it all away for…

You don’t wanna say goodbye…

You just wanna keep feeling the pain, the love, the conflict that you had with them…

You don’t wanna say goodbye

#hoax #folklore #hoax taylor swift #taylor swift #i love you taylor #gaylor swift #writing #songs #music #love #<3

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

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Stan Falls in Love With a Frog

We started talking about a new Scenario in the Discord, and it’s been making me very happy, especially since the Scenario takes place in a Mystery Trio-style AU, and I’m a big fan of the Mystery Trio AU. So, I whipped this up earlier. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Stan sat on the edge of the dock, looking out over the water of Lake Gravity Falls. In the fading light, mist curled above the lake surface. He sighed and reeled his fishing line back in.

Dammit. I shoulda got here earlier if I wanted to catch anything. Stan wasn’t opposed to night fishing in general, but he was opposed to it in Gravity Falls. He had seen in person some of the weird things that came out when it got dark. Something surfaced in the lake, breaking the thin layer of fog. Speaking of… Stan idly watched it swim. Wonder what kinda spookum this one is. The creature pulled itself out of the lake and onto a large rock. Stan’s jaw dropped. That’s a chick!

It was rapidly getting darker, so he couldn’t make out many fine details. But the creature looked eerily like a human woman. With the exception of elongated, webbed feet and ears, what looked like a pair of antennae, and mottled skin. She pushed back her short hair with hands that also seemed to be webbed.

What the hell is that? Stan leaned, squinting, trying to get a better look. The movement knocked his tacklebox into the lake.

“Shit!” he swore. The woman looked over. Her eyes, glowing a soft blue, widened. She dove back into the lake. Stan sighed. “Great.” He got to his feet and trudged back to the Stanleymobile. Before he got in, he glanced back at the lake. The water was as smooth as glass.

It was like the woman had never been there.

-----

Stan returned to Lake Gravity Falls the next morning at the break of dawn. Normally, he wouldn’t wake up so early just to go fishing, but Ford and Fiddlenerd had a full day of traipsing around in the forest planned. If he wanted to actually have enough time to catch something, he needed to fish before, not after.

If Fiddlenerd’s weird little sister wasn’t visiting, this wouldn’t be a problem. Stan sat down at the edge of the dock and opened the tacklebox he’d “borrowed” from Fiddlenerd. But Fiddlenerd wants someone with actual muscles to be there to protect her from whatever’s in the woods today. There was a loud thunk to his left. Stan looked over. He gaped. The tacklebox he’d dropped in the lake yesterday sat next to him.

“What the hell?” Stan opened the tacklebox to inspect its contents. It was soaked through, which made sense, given it had been at the bottom of the lake the night before. But other than his fresh bait, nothing was missing. “How did-” There was a soft splash. Stan looked up. A creature was in front of him.

It’s that one lady from yesterday. She was mostly submerged, with only her eyes and the crown of her head above the water. Her hair was a black that, like her light green skin, blended in with the lake. She looks sorta like a frog.

“You brought me my tacklebox,” Stan said. The frog woman nodded. “Why?” She hesitated, then sunk underwater. Stan waited for a few minutes to see if she would come back up. When she didn’t return, he sighed and began to set things up to fish.

The missing bait makes sense now. Of course a frog would eat all my worms.

-----

“It’s about time!”

“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too,” Stan groused, pushing past Ford and into the house. He’d spent more time than he meant to fishing. Naturally, the moment he came back home, Ford got on his case.

“We were supposed to leave an hour ago! Today’s plans are completely ruined!” Ford said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Walking around in the woods isn’t something that takes all day, Poindexter.”

“The specific location Fiddleford and I were going to take his sister to is quite some distance away.”

“It’s fine, Stanford,” said the aforementioned sister of Fiddlenerd. She was laying on the living room couch, reading a guidebook on amphibians of the Pacific Northwest. “I was hopin’ to check out some of the cute places in town, anyways.” She smiled at Ford. “The forest can wait fer tomorrow.”

“I- but-” Ford started.

“Before you short-circuit, Sixer, I’ve got a question,” Stan interrupted. Ford glared at him. “So, I saw this frog-lady at the lake-”

“Frog-lady?” Ford scoffed. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Fiddlenerd’s sister still. “Are you mocking me?”

“What? No! I thought you liked weird shit. I mean, you came up here to study it and dragged me along to be your muscle.”

“I like magical creatures, Stanley,” Ford said, crossing his arms. “Not regular humans who have features you might think resemble an amphibian.”

“She wasn’t a regular human!”

“There are no humanoid amphibious creatures around here,” Ford said firmly. “There is, however, a woman in town who was born with webbing between her fingers and couldn’t afford the surgery to get it removed. I think it’s rather cruel of you to make fun of her.”

“No, I wasn’t-” Stan sighed. “Whatever.”

“Go upstairs and change,” Ford instructed. “You smell of fish.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Doesn’t Shower For a Week,” Stan muttered. Fiddlenerd’s sister snickered softly. He began to walk upstairs. “At least someone around here’s got a sense of humor.”

-----

Though he had returned to the lake at dusk that day, Stan hadn’t seen the frog-lady. He came back the next morning at dawn, hoping to spot her again. As he sat at the end of the dock, he found himself dozing off, lulled into sleep by the early hour and peaceful surroundings. He was jolted back to wakefulness by a splash nearby.

“You came back,” a voice said. Stan looked up. It was the frog-lady. Her head was now fully emerged from the water. She looked at him with intelligent blue eyes. Though her face was one shade of pale green, the rest of her head was mottled with darker greens. Her nose was thin and flat, evidently nonhuman.

“Well, yeah,” Stan said with a shrug. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “I’ve gotta thank you for giving me back my stuff.”

“It’s yours. Why would I keep it?” the frog-lady asked. Her voice was lilting and musical, sounding almost like raindrops hitting leaves. And yet, there was something about it that seemed familiar. Like he’d heard her talk before.

“I dunno. ‘Cause you could?”

“Heh.” The frog-lady smiled. “I don’t really have a need for human things.”

“What are you?” Stan blurted out. The frog-lady froze. “Wait, shit, was that racist of me or something?” The frog-lady nodded silently. “I take it back.” He cleared his throat. “My name’s Stan. What’s yours?”

I don’t wanna scare her off. She might be a frog, but she’s pretty cute.

“…Rana,” the frog-lady said after a moment.

“That’s pretty.”

“Thanks.” Rana chewed on her lip for a moment. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know what your brother does.” Rana’s eyes bored into Stan. “I know he likes to study critters like me, with or without their consent. Are you collecting data for him?”

“Please.” Stan waved a hand airily. “Even if he and Fiddlenerd were both in full-body casts, he wouldn’t want me to collect data for him.” Rana managed a small smile. “He’d probably hire some weirdo from town to do it instead.” Rana snickered softly. Like her voice, it sounded familiar. A car engine roared to life, the sound echoing across the lake. Stan looked over. Someone had pulled into the parking lot. He looked back at Rana.

She was gone, only a few ripples remaining on the surface where she’d been.

-----

Stan paced in the living room. It had been a week since he learned Rana’s name, and many more meetings with her at dawn. And to his shock, he was beginning to fall for her.

Sure, she’s not human. Sure, she hasn’t come out of the water all the way yet. But she’s nice and funny and teases me when I say something racist against frogs. Stan smiled fondly, remembering how he had brought her worms yesterday, only for her to throw them at him. I like a lady who doesn’t take any shit. He frowned. She doesn’t like worms…what does she like? I’ve gotta impress her if I’m gonna make a move on her. She gets spooked so easily.

“Stanley,” Fiddlenerd said wearily. Stan stopped. He looked over at the card table in the corner, where Fiddlenerd was working on some sort of machine. “Yer goin’ to wear a hole in the wood if ya don’t stop pacin’!”

“Nah, let him keep goin’,” Fiddlenerd’s sister said. Once again, she was on the couch reading a book about amphibians. “Maybe he’ll pick up the pace and start a fire.” She smirked at Stan, who merely rolled his eyes in response.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. Fiddlenerd’s sister shrugged.

“I like it here. I’ll stay until Fidds kicks me out.”

“So, you’re never gonna leave,” Stan said flatly. Fiddlenerd’s sister snorted in amusement. Stan sighed. He looked back at Fiddlenerd. “Do you know anything about frogs?” Bringing up frogs to Ford only resulted in him scolding Stan, no matter how Stan phrased his questions. Fiddlenerd shook his head.

“No. But Angie does.”

“Who’s Angie?”

“Wh-” Fiddlenerd set down his wrench, staring at Stan. “My sister!” Stan looked at Fiddlenerd’s sister, apparently named Angie. She waved at him cheerfully. “She’s been here fer over a week and ya haven’t even learned her name yet?”

“It didn’t come up,” Stan said with a shrug. Ignoring Fiddlenerd’s sputtering, he sat down next to Angie. “So. Your name is Angie.”

“Yes. It is.”

“It’s a lot more normal than Fiddlenerd’s name,” Stan remarked. Fiddlenerd let out a squawk of protest. Angie sighed.

“Spit it out. What do ya want?”

“Do you know about frogs?”

“I certainly hope I do, since my doctorate is in herpetology,” Angie said tartly. Stan frowned at her. “The study of reptiles and amphibians.”

“Ah. Okay.” Stan scooted a bit closer. His nose picked up on a faint pondwater smell coming from Angie. She eyed him warily. “What do frogs like?”

“What do-” Angie stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. What do frogs like?”

“I mean, it depends on the frog.” Angie rubbed the back of her neck. “What do ya need to know this for?”

“There’s this frog-lady that I met-”

“Oh, pish posh,” Angie scoffed. “I’ve heard ‘bout yer frog-lady from Stanford. He says that she don’t exist.”

“And you’re just gonna believe him?”

“I ain’t an expert in the wildlife ‘round here. Stanford is. I don’t really have a choice but to take him at his word.”

“Where’s that famous herpetology skepticism?” Stan asked. Angie rolled her eyes and got up, setting her book on the nearby end table.

“I’m goin’ fer a walk,” she said. “If I see any frog-ladies, I’ll let ya know.”

Great. She was my best shot at advice for Rana. I mean, she knows frogs and she’s a woman! Stan’s eyes landed on Angie’s book. Hmm… He picked it up. There was a bookmark. He thumbed to the bookmarked page. It was the beginning of a chapter on a specific genus called Rana. Huh.

“That’s weird,” Stan muttered out loud.

“What?” Fiddlenerd asked.

“None of your business,” Stan shot at him. Fiddlenerd rolled his eyes and went back to working on his machine.

My frog-lady has the same name as a kind of frog. Makes sense. Stan looked over at Angie, who was putting her shoes on by the front door. But why was Angie looking up that kind of frog?

-----

Rana giggled at Stan’s latest terrible joke. Stan beamed.

“Glad you’ve got a sense of humor,” he said. Rana smiled. Car tires crunched on gravel. Stan didn’t have to look to know that it was the arrival of the early fishermen. After two weeks talking to Rana, he’d developed a routine. He would sit at the edge of the dock and wait for her to emerge, then the two would chat until the first fishermen showed up. Stan sighed. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked Rana. Rana nodded. She dipped underwater.

Stan got up and made his way down the dock, ignoring the fishermen who clearly thought he was insane to be at the lake so early for no apparent reason. He walked over to where he normally parked the Stanleymobile, only to remember he’d parked by the edge of the forest that day.

“Great decision-making, past Stan,” he mumbled idly. “Parking where the gnomes could bite through your brake lines again.” He went to the Stanleymobile. Before he opened the door, however, he heard a large splash and leaves rustling nearby. A voice swore softly.

That sounded like Rana. Stan tucked his car keys back into his pocket and went into the woods, following the sound of Rana’s voice. He arrived at a small clearing at the edge of the lake. Rana had pulled herself onto shore. Stan stared at her. It was the first time he was seeing below her neck up close; he’d only seen her full body once before, back when he knocked his tacklebox into the lake. Her front was the same pale green as her face, with darker greens mottling around her sides and back. The texture of her skin looked soft and slimy. Despite her hourglass figure, she was fairly flat-chested.

I mean. She is a frog. Why would she have boobs? Rana pulled herself up into a seated position, leaning against a tree trunk. Stan stared at her long, flipper-like feet. No wonder she swims so fast. Suddenly, her feet began to shrink. Stan’s eyes widened, watching Rana’s flippers change to pale, human feet. His eyes widened further as he realized that her feet weren’t the only thing changing. Before his eyes, Rana was transforming from a frog-lady into a naked human woman. One that Stan recognized.

Rana got up and grabbed a pile of clothing from behind the tree, mumbling to herself. A twig snapped under Stan’s foot. Rana’s head shot up. She stared at Stan in horror.

“Stan?!” she squeaked. Stan swallowed.

Damn, her nose gets flat when she’s a frog.

“Hey, Angie.”

#I based Stan's frog-lady off of the nixies from the Spiderwick Chronicles #so if you want a frame of reference I would google image search that. they are v cool looking #anyways this Scenario is fun and I love it v v v much #Mystery Trio AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Angie McGucket #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #Nixie AU

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itsmespicaa · 3 years

Text

Regrets

Summary: A deeper look into Cassandra Cain's life after the Anti-Life virus struck the whole Universe and her interactions with her family.

(Alternatively: Cass gets the hugs she deserves in DCeased)

Note: The art I drew for this fic is here.

Read this on AO3

There was no time to lose.

There was still so much...life in this building. So much to protect. Cassandra is beyond glad they‘ve all decided to stay—these children...are not like her. Or Jason. Or even Gordon-

"Jim," he sighed, wistful and...sad. Eyes briefly lost in what was no doubt a shrapnel of memory that cuts and pricks deep into your chest, pushed aside to focus on the present—to survive—no matter how painful it digs into your soul. She understood. He glanced at her and smiled. "Jim’s fine, Cass. We’re all family, right?”

These children needed them, and...perhaps a part of her needed them too. They all needed each other now, one way or another.

Nights are...the worst.

Sleep has never come naturally for her, even before...everything. Before their whole world fell apart. She was not unfamiliar with loss, but this- there was no time to mourn or- or even breathe. No time to look back and realize just how much was taken from them.

Survive. Move forward. Survive, kill, survive. Keep each other safe.

Her mantra—the only thing that mattered now.

She did not allow herself to think of Barbara‘s kind eyes, or the last time she heard Dick laughing in the manor. She did not think of the fistbump she shared with Tim on their last patrol together.

She did not allow herself to think about Bruce, of the comforting weight on her shoulder after another successful night a few days ago. An easy night—quick and simple. So...different from the nights now that her chest ached and ached-

Nor did she allow herself to think about Stephanie, who wasn't even supposed to be in Gotham now. Her mother too...surely...?

(But Batman was supposed to be invincible, and yet, and yet—)

No. No time to look back. No time for hope or questions with no answers.

Nights are the worst.

Beyond the stillness of the night, beyond the quiet of the sleeping children...the monsters lurk and scream. She could hear them, clear as day—sleep did not come to them...so nor would she.

Instead, she sat in a corner—not too close that she could be spotted instantly, but close enough to aide should anything happen—silent and watchful over the children now in her care. It soothed her, seeing them so peaceful. Their innocence not yet fully stolen from them.

A night without one of them waking up from a nightmare was all that she asked for.

"Cass."

She did not turn to the voice. As she waited, her brother finally came to sit beside her, knees drawn up to his chest as if to mimic her.

On a better day, she would‘ve smiled at this.

She didn't smile.

"You really should rest," murmured Jason after a while. "I‘ll watch over them tonight. We need to be in tip top condition if we plan on protecting them."

Facing him, face impassive, she signed: You? Sleep?

A huff, eyes dim. "Touché."

They sat there, side by side, watching the faces of those more vulnerable than them for a long time, the noise from beyond the walls momentarily cut out as her focus zeroed in on the children.

"I buried them," said Jason suddenly, breaking the fragile peace. Cass does not stop, doesn‘t have to ask who he meant.

"I should‘ve told you sooner, but with everything going on..."

Words were never her allies, and they weren't one now. Cass swallowed the lump growing in her throat, along with whatever words she was about to say.

I know, she touched her cheeks twice instead, trusting in her brother to see it.

Jason definitely noticed, because the next moment he was slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Like a puppet cut loose from its string, Cass melted into his side, finally allowing herself a small moment to just-

Mourn.

She and Jason were never as close as her and Tim, but they understood one another, possibly better than most in the family. They would spent rare moments reading together in the manor‘s library, comfortably co-existing. Now-

No more words were spent that night, the two of them silently supporting each other as they accept their new reality. She did not move to wipe the few drops of tears tracking down her cheeks, and Jason said nothing.

How cruel is it that the ones to survive are the people who had touched death before?

...Damian? Alfred? Her hand moved as she looked at him, mouth pressed in a thin line. The only ones left. And their youngest sibling. The expression that reflected back at her was just as grim, but the lines on his face were noticeably lighter, and Cass can tell from the loose grip on her shoulder—from the set of his jaw that it was not a bad news.

"Both are still alive in Metropolis last I checked yesterday," he said, fingers picking at a loose strand on his jacket—nervous, "and hopefully they’re with other heroes too. I...try not to check too often. Gotta save the energy of the car, y‘know?"

And I‘m scared to know, was unspoken, but she heard it. Saw the fear in his creases, the anxiety in his sunken eyes.

The regret.

Cassandra understood. There were regrets she would have to live with now too.

She nodded, looking back at the children again. A sense of tranquility finally settling in her chest, the anguish she felt not completely extinguished...but there was only so much she could bear at a time. These children are her priorities now, her new family, and...

Little brother, she tugged and signed at Jason before resting a hand on his back. "Keep you safe," she emphasized each words, tugging on his red hoodie—now splattered in different shades of red.

That...startled a laugh out of him. A small quirk of lips, but Cass saw it as what it is and beamed too, subdued as it was.

"I don‘t know about me being the younger brother," he chuckled softly, "but I'm glad I have a kick-ass sister like you. I have your back too, Cass. Always."

She would not lose any more of her family if she could help it. New or old.

Even if she had to sacrifice herself.

Her mother. She was-

Cassandra watched as the children exit the bus and can’t help the bittersweet smile tugging the edge of her lips.

She was a hero.

In the very end, she died a hero. Protecting the life of innocents and...her family.

Her heart felt too heavy to maintain it however, and after making sure all the surviving children are accounted for and comfortably settled in their new home, she wandered over to the newly chiseled statue the Green Guardian—Ivy had bestowed upon them as a token of respect. A gift.

She stood before the likeness of her mother, her last moments playing over her mind like a broken cassette.

Her eyes burned and she blinked, rapidly.

"Hey."

The white-haired lady. Moved with quiet grace almost as good as her. Almost.

She nodded back in lieu of a reply.

"Complicated parent issues?"

"...Yes."

A sigh. "Same."

They stood there, side by side, both lost in thought as they gazed upon the legacy their parents have left.

"Despite everything..." whispered Rose, "We still love and miss them, don‘t we?"

"She was...not a good mother," began Cass, trying to find the right words to describe the turmoil of emotions warring within her. "But she loved me. And I...loved her. In the end...that‘s all that matters."

A curt nod. "I get it. Really.

"I know loss is inevitable now," continued Rose, hand seemingly wanting to reach out before pulling back abruptly, "but...I‘m sorry you had to see that yourself. I‘m here if you want to uh- talk and all that. Or even just my company."

Cass was...touched. It was a sweet gesture, considering they haven‘t had much time to get to know each other before arriving here.

Smiling quietly at her, she pointed at herself and signed: Conversation. Not good. Rose‘ sign language skill isn‘t on par with hers or Jason, but it’s enough.

She smiled back, laughter in her voice: "So we won‘t have to speak. I can be a good listener when I need to be."

At that moment, Cass decided she liked this girl. Suddenly grateful to have her here—that her brother had her too.

It was probably that thought that prompted her to get her attention, her hands moving quickly: You. Jason. Happy?

Surprisingly, that brought on a small blush on Rose‘s already rosy cheeks, and Cass‘ smile widened.

"We- haven‘t made it official or anything but...yeah. Yeah, I think we are." Rubbing the back of her neck, bashful eyes cast downwards in a rare show of vulnerability, she reminded her so much of Stephanie that she had to bite down her lips to keep it from wobbling.

Instead she gave her the warmest grin she could muster, focusing on the person in front of her now. "Good," she said, before pulling her in for an earnest hug.

For a while Rose just stood there, letting Cass do all the work—but then she grasped her back just as tightly, finally realizing that the hug was for Cass herself as much as it is for her.

They both lost their parent, now truly orphans like everyone else, and Cassandra‘s...grateful she wasn‘t alone for this.

"I see you two are bonding already," came a familiar voice.

Lo and behold, Jason appeared from behind them with a smirk. He and Rose exchanged a look and before he even turned to her, Cass already knew what he was about to do.

She returned her brother‘s embrace, accepting it for what it was. I‘m sorry, his body screamed—sad, sad, sad. Sad for...her.

Standing toe to toe, he dwarfed her in comparison, and Cass was all of a sudden struck with the memory of the last time she hugged their father (Bruce, not Cain. Never Cain.) A sharp twinge of pain swiped at her chest, a simple wish that...she could‘ve hugged her mother too.

Physical affection did not come easy to Jason either, but Cass knew he was tired of regretting, tired of letting people go when everything you loved could be taken from you at any moment and...she felt the same.

Regrets seem to be the only constant in their life now.

After pulling away with a playful shove, she pointed at Jason then Rose, tapping her two 'K' hands together. Take care of her. She glared pointedly at Jason for a few seconds before her face broke into a smirk.

A cheer of laughter erupted from the three of them at Jason‘s indignant 'Of course!' sign.

It was definitely the highlight of her day.

---

Weeks later, when night fell and the world ran a little slower, Cassandra watched over them all as she always had.

Her small family is safe now—her brother and sister-in-law somewhere outside of prying eyes but still near enough for her to reach (Jason had reassured her himself). The marriage itself was nothing as fancy as the movies she watched with Tim and Steph had shown, but it was...festive. Magical. Beautiful. Ivy had gifted them with beautiful garlands and flower chains that grew from the earth, vibrant roses uncurling at every corner to celebrate their union—a symbol of hope that could flourish amidst the dreariness of their reality.

The sheer joy she felt and saw from the two newlyweds was enough to assuage her constant state of alertness. She kissed both of their cheeks and hugged them close, lips pulled wide on the happiest moment she had felt in a very long time, a comfortable warmth curling in her chest. Their happiness was infectious.

Yet now—

"You should rest, kid."

She wasn‘t the only one restless.

"...Jim. Rough...night?"

A puff of cigarette. "Something like that."

Silence reigned over the living garden, the stars above brighter than it had ever been.

"You were close with my daughter?" asked the Commissioner all of a sudden.

"...Yes." Her reply was careful—while time had done its magic, a balm to gaping wounds on the soul, their memories of Barbara were still fresh on both of their minds. It still...hurt, and no doubt even more so for him. "She was my...mentor. She was like...like a..." Mother, she did not say. Before Shiva, before Bruce truly stepped into his role as a father.

But Jim picked it up nonetheless, nodding to himself. "Good. That‘s- really good."

For once, she genuinely wondered what the aim of their conversation was.

"We might not be close, Cassandra," he watched the puff of smoke that formed around him, casual and honest, "but you‘re Batman‘s daughter, and my daughter...knowing her, she undoubtedly loved you too like one. So that's more than enough to make you family."

Nodding, already connecting those particular dots together, she tilted her head. And?

"And I would do anything to keep my family safe," he turned to her, pain in his eyes reflected in her own. "But you understand that more than anyone else, don‘t you?"

Cass looked away, his intention finally dawning upon her.

"I- don‘t want to lose them too," she whispered to no one, her fear carried over in the silence of the night, the huge vines and trees providing a shelter from the horrific wailing of the monsters lurking just outside the garden walls.

They‘re the only ones I have left, she did not say.

Instead of a reply, Jim squeezed her shoulder in solidarity.

Cass is eternally grateful he did not try to console her with empty words.

"SHAZAM!"

Electricity and raw, undiluted power surged through her, tingling in her veins with the telltale sign of ancient magic.

Fury. White, hot blistering fury.

She did not waste a blink at the corpse now lying beneath her, eyes already roaming to find Jason who- no.

No.

Rose knelt beside him, sobs rocking her frame, every inch of her body screaming pure sorrow and Cassandra reached out, denial on the tip of her tongue- before a hand stopped her.

Damian.

Now an adult, creases wrinkling his forehead so much like his father. He shook his head, still gripping her arm and unwilling to let go. Cass could push him away despite his strength, especially with her newfound powers, but—but she didn‘t.

Cassandra Cain, blood daughter of Lady Shiva and David Cain, adoptive daughter of the Batman, fell to her knees and hung her head in her palms, holding back the agony clawing at her inside out. Hollow, hollow, empty.

No.

She promised-

What good was all this power if she couldn‘t even save her own family?

No tears came forth despite the stabbing wound in her chest, an ugly rage building up in the back of her throat, threatening to lash out with the pulsing energy in her fingers.

"Cass," Damian‘s soft plea snapped her out of her haze of red and self-destruction, and she finally looked at him, truly looked at him—his locked jaws, the tremble masking his own shock and anger, and- she blinked, vision clearing. Stopped.

Nothing could bring him back. Not her anger, nor revenge.

She stood up to her full height, Damian on her elbow, and locked eyes with Constantine standing right across from them, hoping the daggers she sent him from her gaze alone is enough to convey the amount of hatred she felt at that moment and floated over to Rose, her cape billowing behind her.

Someone else needed her now—move now, mourn later. Rinse and repeat.

---

The last remnants of warmth lingered in Jason‘s crushed body as she gingerly carried him out of the pocket dimension, and Cass felt her resolve weakening for a brief second, her powers slipping and she- nearly dropped to the ground. No one noticed, everyone lost in their own thoughts at what had transpired in so little time.

Her grip tightened.

Flying over to an area she knew was designated for the ones who...passed, she laid him down as gently as she could, brushing away a strand of hair on his forehead with light fingers, despite how heavy it felt to lift them. Wiped away the blood on his face with care, her movements mechanical like the time she had to dress a corpse of a dead boy they had failed to save.

Then she waited.

And waited.

Jason wouldn‘t want to be by himself. All alone.

She sat there, waiting.

When Rose finally dropped noiselessly beside her, Cass stood up and walked away, giving them the privacy they deserved. Ignored the silent tears wrecking the younger woman, and the instinctive need to console and support her.

Let her grieve, she reminded herself.

Her youngest brother stood behind a large boulder just outside the area, gaze pointedly directed at the ground.

"Cassandra."

She stopped right by him, shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction. Waited.

His fist clenched tightly, teeth scrapping harshly against each other- "If I had known this would happen, I would never have—"

Gloved fingers grasped his shoulder tightly, and his mouth clicked shut.

"Please. Do not blame yourself," she murmured, calm and quiet, so unlike the weight dragging her down to the earth, burying her under. The magic that coursed through the blood, singing and wild, untamed as the raging sea.

Her fingers trembled.

She did not cry.

"I wish...I wish I could have talked with him more before. Know this Jason better," spoke Damian again after a long pause. It was an admission, hushed, voice laced with a regret so potent, it was impossible to dismiss.

So much regrets. Always. Always, always.

Finally, he turned to her with his cowl taken off, the pain in his eyes open for the world to see, for her to see, and she-

"I‘m so sorry, Cass," he whispered, broken, "I‘m so sorry."

Maybe it was his understanding, the honesty a huge contrast from the young, haughty boy who would hide his emotions behind a wall of anger and righteousness all those years ago. Or maybe it was the way his hand hovered beside him, a language as natural to her as breathing itself. Whatever it was...it unraveled the last string keeping her together, and she—

Not again.

Somewhere between then and the ground, her mask had been pulled down, and Cassandra finally let the weight in her heart crush her soul to dust, Damian‘s arms somehow around her and holding her close. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her tears creating a wet patch on his shoulder.

It was so tempting to call upon thunderstorms and lightning to put an end to all their suffering, an end to the anti-life once and for all—but she didn‘t. That was not their mission. Instead she let her eyes run dry, heaving quiet sobs into her brother.

The last two siblings held each other, grief and sorrow amplifying the desperation Cass felt growing within her.

It was a necessary sacrifice, she would know later.

But all she felt then was the despair of losing another family. The only one she had since their whole world turned upside down.

Damian was a solid weight that kept her grounded, and she was...thankful. Rose deserved to be supported now, rather than have another mess of emotions thrown onto her lap after all.

She felt her not-so-little brother bury himself into her shoulder and knew he needed this too.

It wasn't fair. It wasn’t fair.

...but nothing was.

Later, they would give Jason a proper burial. Later, they would be there carve the loving words of the life their brother had led. They would pay their respects, just as he did for their late father and brothers in the cave.

Later, they would continue to fight for humanity.

But for now-

"Damian," her voice cracked, too soft, too strained even for her ears. "I‘ll keep you safe. I promise."

A finality. An oath.

Not just to herself, but to Jason—whom she had failed. To their father, who entrusted the Bat mantle to the both of them, in his own ways. If it meant him surviving...

Damian froze and she knew what he wanted to say: Please don‘t make promises you can‘t keep.

But he didn‘t. Instead, he breathed out just as solemnly, the timbre of his voice octaves lower than it was a lifetime ago:

"...Right back at you, Cass."

#batfamily #cassandra cain #jason todd #damian wayne #dceased #dc comics #rose wilson #fanfic #Spica writes #oh look! :D i finally posted my fic ahaha

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sxvxrxssnape · 3 years

Text

broken crayons and half a peanut butter cracker

snapetober day 28: “what did you do?” / day 25: headache plot what plot? there’s no plot in parenthood

Tentatively, he opened his eyes.

There wasn’t an immediate assault of pain as he blinked through the tired haze still enveloping him, so he figured it was safe to fully open them. Severus sat up, carding lazy fingers through his hair, and glared at the part in his curtains that allowed soft sunlight to filter into his bedroom.

He had gone to bed last night, suffering, after finding his jar of headache balm both empty and repurposed for inane childish use. He’d immediately binned the idea of staying up to brew a new batch, electing for an early bedtime and a moment of well-deserved peace under cool sheets instead.

It was early, especially for a Sunday morning, but the bright June sun had no qualms against rising as such. He might as well take this time to brew, before the next inevitable headache came.

Dressing quietly in a pair of trousers and a grey henley, Severus crept out of his room and peered through the door across the hall. He could make out the sprawled-out outline of a toddler fast asleep in their crib, the knitted blanket Minerva had made him only covering a singular foot. He sighed as he made out the rising and falling of a tiny chest and flicked his wand to fix the discarded blanket before closing the door with a gentle click.

He still wondered how they both ended up here.

There was a twist in his stomach, a tug on a shard of something sharp in his chest, whenever he thought about Lily. It had only been a couple of months since she had died - since she had been killed, not just at the hands of the Dark Lord, but in a way, also at the hands of himself.

Taking in the child who had nowhere else to go was the least he could do.

Jumping off the Astronomy Tower was the other, but Albus had warded the Observation Deck not too long after his breakdown in the circular office and though it irked him that the Headmaster had such little faith in his - admittedly - suicidal potions professor, he should at least know Severus wouldn’t do something quite so. . .dramatic.

Or maybe he would.

Fine, Albus had a point, but Severus was still allowed to be mad about it.

He grimaced as he walked into a discarded toy, accidentally causing the contraption of colorful plastic to light up and start singing. His wand was still in his hand, so he cast a silencing charm over the boy’s door and flicked the off switch on the activity cube.

The cube wasn’t the only thing littering the corridor, or the rest of his living space truth be told, and he could feel the remnants of last night’s headache reigniting. He could make out a half dozen jars scattered on the floor as well and scowled as he picked up the one holding something inside.

If that little brat was playing with expensive potion ingredients, he was going to owl him back to Hogwarts and demand Albus rehome him, no living relatives be damned.

Instead, he found it full of broken crayons and half a peanut butter cracker.

On second thought, he might just rehome him anyway.

He stalked into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee, mentally going over the ingredients he would need to brew the much-needed headache balm. The sweet, earthy smell of dark-roasted Columbian beans permeated the air now, so he poured himself a mug and stirred in sugar.

He shook his head at the choice of mug - a tacky green thing that read “happy holidays” in the worst possible font - and took a long sip. It had been a gift from a first year - and not even one of his own first years at that, but a bloody Hufflepuff who wasn’t even good at potions - but last Christmas had been his first ever as a professor and despite scowling down at the child when handed the gift, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something whenever he looked at it.

So yes, he had packed up the stupid mug when term ended and it was time to go. It wasn’t even the strangest thing he had packed up. This time, he had an orphaned toddler he had been coerced - manipulated, guilt-tripped, asked by the child’s own dead mother, take your bloody pick - into taking with him.

At least he didn’t have to return to Spinner’s End.

If being handed the keys to a small cottage in Solva was the payment for raising a child, he supposed he could have done worse. Of course, the little house hadn’t been chosen with his comfort in mind, but more with the safety and well being of The Boy Who Lived.

Oh, Merlin.

He was really doing this, wasn’t he?

It had been easy when the school year was still ongoing - Minerva and Pomona especially, were keen to take little Harry Potter off his hands whenever he had a class to teach or potions to brew. He had just gotten the hang of walking then and could often be found stumbling through the castle corridors and babbling away to bewildered portraits and students alike.

Now though? Now it was him and him alone against an almost two-year-old who was insistent on getting into everything and disregarding every boundary Severus had set. He was just like his wretched father, but Minerva had simply laughed at him and insisted that’s just how toddlers were.

He didn’t bother to point out she had inadvertently called James Potter a toddler.

He was too busy freaking out over how his path had led him to this particular point in life. He didn’t know how to be a father - all he had to go off was what not to do, and that largely consisted of not shoving a child down the stairs or drinking himself stupid.

Severus finished his coffee and set the empty mug aside. He opened a cabinet and began pulling out what he would need, easily settling into the familiar routine of filling the cauldron with water, picking marjoram and peppermint from the windowsill planter, prepping his ingredients, and began brewing.

This wasn’t the first time he’d nearly thought himself into an anxiety attack over Harry’s permanent existence in his life. He didn’t even care how it had happened anymore, all he cared about was keeping the boy alive for the summer.

He’d deal with the the rest of his life part later.

He fished out the steeped bitterroots from the simmering cauldron and moved them to the cutting board, finely chopping up the softened magenta plant. Normally, he would discard them after this step, but he was intent on experimenting this morning in hopes of increasing the potency while also decreasing its unfortunate side effect of putting him to sleep after a few hours.

These days, he needed to be more alert and clear-headed.

Keeping the bitterroot in should do just that.

“Let’s see what happens then.”

Severus dropped about half of the chopped bitterroot into the cauldron and watched it carefully, wand at the ready in case the potion had an adverse reaction. The light blue brew was slowly becoming grey and he pursed his lips, adding a few more drops of peppermint oil as an inhibitor and nodded when the potion turned back to blue.

He turned the flames off and floated the cauldron onto the kitchen table, resting the hot pewter on top of a wayward oven mitt, admiring the ribbons of herb scented steam that curled from the finished potion. Now it just had to cool before he could store it - or test it.

Setting the cutting board back on the table, he took his assortment of knives and measuring devices to the sink and spelled the tap on. As water ran over the dishes, he began rifling through the refrigerator for anything he could use for breakfast.

It seemed they needed to make a trip to the local market soon - this afternoon, preferably - and he scowled at the thought. Picking up groceries wouldn’t be such a chore, he thought, if someone didn’t insist on picking up every interesting stone they passed or kept veering off the path to follow the ducks.

He was holding onto a carton of eggs and was moving aside containers of unlabeled potion ingredients for the last bit of swiss he knew was somewhere, when he heard an excited little yell sound off behind him.

He peered over his shoulder and dropped the carton of eggs in alarm.

“What are you - get down from there!” he shouted, taking in the scene before him.

The messy-haired, green-eyed one year old that should still have been asleep was now perched on top of the table - and how the bloody hell had he managed to climb up there?! - and was peering curiously into the waiting cauldron.

Harry had stepped in the remaining bitterroot and had a tiny fist full of Merlin knows what, and was sprinkling his finds into the cauldron just as he had seen his guardian do many times before.

Severus whipped out his wand and cast a shield charm on the cauldron as he rushed to the table and picked up the delighted child, moving him out of the way before the potion could potentially explode.

“What did you do?!” he demanded of the insufferable toddler, setting him down on the farthest possible counter and glaring down at him.

In response, Harry only clapped his hands and tried to peer over his guardian’s shoulder. “Ba!” he squealed, pointing at the cauldron.

Severus rubbed at his temple, another headache threatening to flare up. How had he been so careless to not listen in for Harry? To leave the cauldron somewhere he could reach - and how had he?! Hadn’t he learned better by now? The boy had been in his care for how long now? Six months altogether? Two weeks out of Hogwarts? And Merlin, what a mistake this was turning out to be.

He rested his forehead against Harry’s for a moment before setting him back down. He had half a mind to floo call Minerva and ask her to take Harry for the day while he brewed a new batch of headache balm and maybe drafted a plan to off himself.

He returned to the abandoned cauldron and blinked. The potion was still the same shade of blue he had left it. He swirled a stirring stick through it and eyed it carefully, but the balm soon became a muddy brown as he fully incorporated whatever Harry had added.

He tested a small bit of the potion on the inside of his wrist and hissed as the skin blistered, immediately wiping the ruined potion off on the hem of his shirt. He turned to glare at the toddler and found he had wandered over to the discarded carton of now-broken eggs and was playing with bits of shell, a bit of yolk rubbed into his curls.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” he sighed, in equal parts amusement and defeat. “What are you doing now?”

He vanished the eggs, much to the child’s confusion and levitated the spelled-clean, pajama-clad boy into the air. “Come, Mr. Potter, I believe we have breakfast to locate.” He reached over and turned the still running tap off and grabbed the floating child.

He hoped Minerva wouldn’t mind the company.

“Nack?”

Severus shook his head, biting back an affectionate grin as he grabbed his cloak and a handful of floo powder. “Yes, you can have a snack.” he confirmed, with a very serious voice, tossing the powder into the grate.

He draped the cloak over the boy, covering his face, and stepped into the fireplace. ------ self-indulgent trash where i based baby harry off what my own toddler did? he didnt ruin a headache balm but he definitely decided to drop a handful of odds and ends into my coffee cup so same thing. the egg incident was a nightmare and sev should consider himself lucky that he has magic

anyway, hello, for my birthday today i wrote neurotic dad!snape i might delete bc ik how dumb this was

#snapetober 2020 #severitus #snapedom #severus snape

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swan--writes · 3 years

Text

Beetlejuice’s Big Halloween Party

I thought about writing a Dewey Halloween, but let’s be real, there ain’t room for the both of these boys in this here holiday.

And listen, it is 2:30 AM and I just finished writing this. I wrote it all in one go. I’m not editing it. Please reblog though! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain!

Warnings: elements of horror, blood mention, eyeball mention

Words: 3,070

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Your demon laughed at you from the rafters of your barn. Ever since you had moved out to your farmhouse, Beetlejuice had been hanging around. Sometimes literally. Normally you found you didn’t mind the demon’s antics – he kept things lively when there wasn’t much going on out where you lived. Sometimes he donned an old sheet and floated around the house. Sometimes he went out into your backyard and howled at the tree line. And sometimes he dropped live bats from the rafters of the barn, directly onto your unsuspecting head.

Frantically, you waved away the little menace. All you could see were glimpses of a wrinkled snout and long teeth. It seemed to be flapping its wings as fast as you were flapping your hands, and by the time it managed to fly off, Beetlejuice was hanging upside-down in midair and cackling.

“Wow, what a jumpy breather,” he said, wiping a thick black tear from his eye. You thought you heard it sizzle as it fell to the worn wooden floor.

“Knock it off, Beej.”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Seriously!” You shook your head, fighting off a shiver. “There’s gonna be screaming hordes of children here in, like, an hour. I cannot still be cleaning up your messes when they get here. So, lose the bats and the bugs and the…whatever else you’ve got.” You narrowed your eyes at his tattered suit jacket.

“Relax, babes, I got it all under control.”

Without thinking, you took a step back as he righted himself in the air. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Hey, take the help or don’t. I’ll be here all night.” With that, he zoomed up to the rafters, dropping beetle carcasses in his wake. You shrieked and leaped back. “Beetlejuice!” you complained, only to hear his laughter.

It had been less than a year since you moved into your creepy old farmhouse. You still weren’t entirely sure if the creepy old dead guy had come with the property, or if he had followed you there. But when you found his name traced over and over again in the dust of every reflective surface in the house on the first night, you had almost left.

In the end, it was one of the movers who had summoned him. You had had two burly men helping you move your things inside. One of them had remarked on the odd name, Betelgeuse. The other had just happened to be an amateur astronomer. Before any of you knew what was happening, lightening was striking, thunder was rolling, wind was blowing, and the two big, strong movers were scrambling back to their truck. Thoughtfully, they did hurl the last of your furniture from the vehicle as they peeled out of your shaded, and winding driveway. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse…

“Okay, Beetlejuice, fine! Yes! I do need help.” You grumbled the last to yourself, trying and failing once more to move a heavy wooden table. It had been half an hour since the bat incident, and almost all of it had been spent on this table.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Beetlejuice.”

“I’m getting kinda tired, y’know…”

“Beetlejuice!”

“A’right, a’right, fine! Taskmaster, jeez.” The demon floated down from the rafters, snapped his fingers, and the table you had been struggling with walked itself over to where you had been trying to move it – against the wall, centered under a window.

The barn was a decent size. Average by northeastern standards, but tall as hell. Or, the Netherworld, you supposed. The structure of the thing was entirely wood, worn down and lightened with time. The posts were a richer color than the floor, which was covered in scratches and the occasional hay straw. There were windows all around, installed sometime within the last half-century, and the sun shone in brilliantly when it was up.

Now it was dark, even at 5:00 PM. As you watched, the decorations you had strewn haphazardly across the space leapt to attention. Miniature pumpkin lights snaked their way around the rafters and posts, along with actual snakes. A layer of fog coated the floor so thickly you could no longer see your own feet. What looked to be a hundred flaming tealights sprung up from every table – some with black flames, others green. The overhead iron-wrapped pendant lights dimmed and aged noticeably, some flakes of rust falling to the floor and becoming lost in the low gloom.

The jack-o’-lanterns you and Beetlejuice had carved the day before lit up abruptly. Paper bats and bloody eyeballs on strings dropped down to hang from the rafters. A soft, eerie music began floating through the room, and when you looked up you saw a greenish gray skeleton manning the DJ setup on a slightly raised section of the floor. It gave you and Beetlejuice a thumbs-up, its other decayed hand on a headphone positioned just a few degrees south of where its ear might have been.

“Thank you, I think--whoa!” Before you could finish thanking your demon, you heard a loud BANG. All the window shutters slammed shut.

“No problem, babes, but what are you gonna do for me?” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Politely ask you to open the shutters back up, please? It’s a full moon, we should be able to see it.”

Beetlejuice bent backwards unnaturally far and groaned. “Fine.” A flick of his wrist and the shutters swung open meekly. A few thick, black tentacles with a faint green sheen slithered in at the corners of each window, not breaking the glass but rather bending it open around themselves. The demon dusted off his hands and fixed his tie. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“How’d you get roped into doing this, anyway? I thought you hated kids.”

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t like them. One of the community theater guys asked me to.” You started for the barn door. Beetlejuice followed you, the tips of his shoes dragging the fog.

“Why?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Because the new, mysterious stage manager has a big, scary house in the middle of nowhere that no-one’s ever seen, that’s why.”

“Huh. Is he gonna be here too?” You didn’t have to look at Beetlejuice to know he was grinning.

Before you could warn him not to do anything dangerous, you opened the barn door to find your first chaperone. You weren’t sure if it was a state rule that a gathering of kids under a certain age needed adult chaperones, but knowing Beetlejuice, you were happy to have the help. This one was a theater mom. You barely knew her, but she said she would bring cupcakes, so you had shrugged and given her your address.

“Stephanie, hi,” you said, only mildly startled to see her so early.

“H--oh. Uh, hi,” she replied, now openly staring at Beetlejuice.

“Hi.” Still grinning.

“Um, who is this?” she asked, barely containing her horror.

“I’m–”

“Oh, this is, uh–”

“I’m her, uh–”

“Lawrence!” you said rigidly. “Lawrence…Beetleman.” You pulled at the demon’s arm and he dropped to his feet, stumbling to your side. You knew you should have rehearsed this.

Beetlejuice held out his left hand stiffly. “Nice to meet ya.” You elbowed him as surreptitiously as you could, and he dropped the hand, holding out his right instead.

Stephanie cautiously met his hand, then dropped it immediately. “Oh, I uh…you too, Mr. Beetleman?” Beetlejuice flinched and gagged noticeably.

There was a long silence.

“So…” you tried.

“Right! Yes, I, um…well, I came to help you decorate, but it seems like you have it all taken care of?” Stephanie glanced around you, coming away looking somehow even more horrified.

“Oh yeah, we got it covered, Stevie.” You tried to elbow Beetlejuice again, but he dodged. Moving forward, he took Stephanie’s arm at the elbow and led her into the barn. “Here, lemme show you where to put those cupcakes.” He nodded to the box she was carrying.

“Oh, okay. It’s Stephanie, by the way,” she said nervously.

“Sure.”

“Beetleman,” you cautioned haltingly, frowning at him.

“Don’t worry about it, babes. Don’t you gotta go put on your costume?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Stephanie spoke first. “It’s fine, I’ll just, um…”

“Yeah, she’ll just um. Go on,” Beetlejuice cajoled. Tightlipped and wide-eyed, you turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving the door open behind you just in case.

Surprising yourself, you managed to get into your costume in under thirty seconds. The makeup, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. There was something about the creaky sounds of wood settling and the draft through the second floor of your house that was making it more difficult than usual to keep your hands steady. But then, you had never been much of an artist.

So, you headed back to the barn in your broken shoes and your torn clothes, perfecting your shamble as you went. The door was still open. Stephanie had her back to you and seemed to be sizing up the tentacles on the far window, but Beetlejuice caught your movement as you tentatively stuck your head into the barn. You motioned for him to come towards you. He followed your lead.

Once you were both just outside the barn door, you turned fully to face him. “Hey,” you whispered.

“What’s up, babes?”

“I’m having a little trouble with my prosthetics. Could you do anything to make me look a little more…” You searched for the right word. “…horrifying?” Seeing Beetlejuice’s eyes light up, you held out a hand. “Without killing and/or maiming me.” You paused. “Or making the children cry.”

The demon gave you a look. “What, on Halloween? Huge cliché, what do you take me for?” You raised your eyebrows, but said nothing. He snapped his fingers and within an instant, you could feel your face and sections of your clothing stiffen with what you hoped was fake blood. “There: instant zombification.”

“Great, lemme just go check–”

“Sweetheart, trust me, you could strike terror into the hearts of any ghoul.”

“Do ghouls have hearts?”

“Whatever you do, never ask a ghoul that.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Beetleman.” Almost compulsively, Beetlejuice gagged again. You laughed and led him back into the barn. Stephanie turned to greet you, then turned away again. Your demon gave you a sidelong, self-satisfied look. You shook your head at him, but couldn’t force the smile off of your face.

The kids started showing up minutes later. Stephanie’s wife brought their two sons, then the community theater director came with his daughter, and on and on. Before 6:00, the barn was full. Nearly half of the children had entered the costume contest, which you had begrudgingly appointed Beetlejuice head judge of.

It wasn’t so much that you had invited Beetlejuice as it was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep him from staying. Short of banishing him, he would not be left out of your Halloween activities, and the last thing you wanted to do was banish the demon. He could be awfully cranky when he felt ignored, worse when he felt betrayed. Best to keep a close eye on him and leave it there. Shockingly, though, he seemed to be on his best behavior.

That wasn’t saying much, but you appreciated the effort.

He kept the live animals to a minimum, only ate one of the eyeballs hanging from the ceiling, and judged the costume contest as fairly as he could. Fortunately, there was a clear winner: a young zombie whose costume rivalled your own. The judge committee gave him a small skeleton trophy and a candy medal, took some photos with him, and you privately wondered if he had his own ghost-zombie at home to help him with his makeup. Then you shrugged it off and watched – half-mortified, half-impressed – as Beetlejuice summoned a few dead cheerleaders to sing a surprisingly smooth rendition of Time Warp. You were fairly certain a few of his bones came loose during the dance, but you let it slide. The kids were duly impressed, the parents were a suitable distance that they hardly noticed.

It wasn’t until 11:00 PM that all of the adults in the room realized that Beetlejuice had removed the clock that had previously hung on the wall opposite the barn’s door. It took the better part of a half hour to corral the kids to their parents’ respective vehicles, and most of them insisted on hugging you. Warily as ever, you eyed the ones who tried to hug ‘Mr. Beetleman,’ but he somehow managed to turn all of their affections into a high five. Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling.

Once everyone was gone, you turned from the door to assess the barn. It was a disaster. The jack-o’-lanterns had remained lit, as had the candles, but those were the only decorations at thirteen-and-under year old level that had remained undisturbed. The bottles you had placed on the tables, with their faded potion ingredient labels, were toppled over. There were drink puddles and food stains on the floor and half the fog had dissipated. Some of the eyes and bats had come down, others were tangled with the lights on the posts. Somehow, even the pendant lights were flickering slightly.

Beetlejuice did not need sleep. Maybe he could get tired, maybe he couldn’t. You certainly could, and by the time the party was over, you had maxed out your entire energy reserve. So, when your demon told you he’d clean up the next day, you agreed and gave no thought to the fact that it would take him all of two seconds to clean up that night.

Once you had seen off the last of the kids and all of the parents, you trudged back up to your big, scary house. All the light in the barn went out behind you, but you paid it no mind.

Somewhere between the barn and the house, Beetlejuice disappeared. Again, you ignored it. It wasn’t uncommon for Beetlejuice to vanish without telling you, and on Halloween night you imagined there were a hundred more fun things for him to be off doing than watching you get ready for bed. Especially when you caught sight of yourself in your entryway mirror. It was the first time that night that you had seen yourself fully zombified beyond a brief glance at your dim reflection in a darkened, tentacled window.

Your face alone had several large patches of what looked like gaping wounds, and you could see more peeking out from your formerly white collar. You had been going for Proper Academic Zombie, and you looked like you would need a degree in showering to get all this gunk off of yourself. At least you could reuse the costume, maybe disrupt a seminar or two.

Shaking your head, you flicked the light switch beside the front door to turn off the overhead light. Instead of just that light going out, however, the table lamp under the mirror went out as well. So did the hall light over the stairs to your left, the kitchen down the short hallway in front of you, and the living room light beyond that. You tried flicking the switch again. Nothing.

Suddenly, a slam. Several slams all at once. All the shutters you could see swung closed forcefully. From the sound of it, all the shutters on the house closed.

You cleared your throat hesitantly. “Okay, very funny. Beej, that’s you, right?”

Silence.

“Beej?” Though you couldn’t yet hear your heart, you could feel it struggling against the walls of your chest. There was a slight ringing in your ears – the ever-present remnants of your teenaged years. Outside of that: nothing. You took a step, and the creaking of the wood seemed to echo through the whole house. For a brief, crazy moment, you thought about going out to your car. But it seemed the porch light was out too, and being inside a dark house was better than being outside on a dark night.

So, you took another step. Then another. You cursed your shortsightedness in leaving your phone in your room. You reached the stairs. You climbed them, you turned the corner. The wood settle beneath your feet with a deafening creak each step of the way.

There must be a short circuit. There had to be, somewhere. There was no reason for you to have simply lost power. When you reached your room, you saw that your alarm clock was still lit and showing the time, and it was plugged into the same wall outlet as your dark lamp. The box was in your basement.

No way were you going into the basement.

You reached out for your phone. It was dead. You looked over to one of your windows. Of all the windows you’d passed, this seemed to be the only one whose shutters hadn’t closed. Slowly – more slowly than you had moved all night, you crossed the room to look outside. You could see the full moon in all her red-orange beauty. Then, you let out the breath you had been holding. The moon wasn’t going anywhere, even if all the other light was gone.

You should have known better.

A shadow dashed across the moon then, but not at the surface. Through the air. Close to your window. Very, very close.

There was a muffled thud somewhere behind you. You jumped and whirled around to look. When you noticed the light from the moon fading, you slowly turned your head back and saw the shutters swinging closed. Before you could reach out to even open the window, they were completely shut.

Another noise, closer this time.

You couldn’t move. Your heart was racing. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t breathe. You thought about jumping for your bed, some childish thought of pulling the covers over your head before the whatever-it-was could reach you running through your head, but even in your fear you knew it was foolish. It was too late – too close. Your stomach dropped, your hands shook, your legs felt like splintering wood.

Yet another noise. You heard the hinges of your bedroom door waver. It was pitch dark in the room. All at once, a ragged breathing rushed at you across the squeaking floor.

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Seriously, please reblog.

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